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1-800fandomqueen · 5 months ago

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Wedding Gift

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x fem!wife!reader x Feyd's Harpies

WC : 7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," reader is a woman but physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and left up to interpretation.

PWP, Soft!Feyd, Virgin!Wedding Night!Reader, Harpies are slightly ooc. Fingering, oral (f!receiving/partially m!receiving), squirting, handjob, cum-eating (kinda), unprotected PinV, groping, creampie. breeding kink, overstimulation, innocence kink, dumbification, tiddy sucking, nipple play? orgasm denial? (Feyd just accept my love) mentions of gore and Feyd's Harpies doing their thing, mention of cannibal!sm, wlw action (we're all fruity here), canon typical violence (including knives and blood), mentions of murder, mentions of Feyds' childhood (the Baron).

You stand there, hands clasped elegantly in front of you as the sound of the heavy door closing resonates across the barren room. Still in your wedding dress, watching as the three women sitting on the bed in front of you brush their hands across one another in barely-there feather-like movements; eyes like black bottomless pools, teeth to match those of your newly-wed husband.

You’d been watching Feyd’s harpies ever since you arrived on Giedi Prime a few moons ago. At first it was out of fear; the feeling of eyes completely eclipsed by darkness constantly watching you, stalking your every move and digging into your soul. You were aware that when you and Feyd first began courting he used them for his pleasure - the entirety of the planet knew what he did with the cannibalistic women - however as your relationship grew through soft touches and hesitant words it seemed as if his activities with them came to a grinding halt, a fear growing in you that they would attack out of jealousy; ripping your flesh apart and hiding the remains.

Feyd had quelled your worries, “They obey their master,” hands cupping your face to bring your gaze to his own, a smirk on his face, “My harpies would never hurt you, at least, not in the way you think they would, my little darling.” Face moving towards yours, his eyes darken as his mouth becomes a hair’s-breadth away from your own, black eclipsed ice-blue darting down to your lips, parted open in soft breaths that hit against his own; the temptation to connect his mouth to yours and claim you before your wedding is blinding, a primal urge building within him as he looks across your innocent and delicate features. He quickly moves his lips to brush against the shell of your ear, voice dropping down to a whisper, “My darlings would be, pleased, to tend to their little Na-Baroness,” fingers dancing tantalizingly down your arm causing a full-bodied shiver to slide down your spine, eyes slipping closed, “if you would ever like them to.” He quickly pulls away, sending a final glance down to your lips, his thumb coming up to gently drag across the bottom one, letting out a low hum from the back of his throat, then leaving the room.

After that moment you were more observant of their gazes on you.

They still looked upon you in hunger but Feyd’s words ring in your mind, and then you begin to notice the dragging looks up and down your body, their eyes focusing on your hands, your mouth, and other areas based on the revealingness of whatever outfit you were wearing that day. A deep warmth overtaking your face, ducking down to let your hair crowd around to veil your features. This sudden shyness not out of fear, but out of… something else entirely captured Feyd’s attention. He started noticing the way that you no longer cowered like a cornered animal when you were in their presence, and how you even let out a light giggle when one of his harpies cast you a hungry smile.

That’s when the thoughts started forming, daydreams of you and his darlings entwined with one another; moaning, groping, a mixture of limbs upon silk black sheets - thoughts leaving a tent in his pants, hard and throbbing in anticipation of you wedding night that grew closer and closer, a plan forming in his head to fully introduce you into his world.

“Don’t wear anything underneath it.” He had approached you the morning of your wedding, watching you through the mirror as you did your own hair, a hand gesturing towards your wedding dress that was delicately laid upon the bed under a thin sheet, blocking the fabric from his view - a belief that you had carried over from your planet, insisting that he shouldn’t see you in it until the wedding actually began - “It’ll make it easier for you to receive your wedding gift.” a smug smirk on his face as he promptly walks out of the room, leaving no time for you to say anything in return, a twinge of heat in your lower stomach as you clench in anticipation for your wedding night, returning back to finishing your hair, a heat overtaking your features.

Trembling lightly, either out of anticipation or fear it can’t be said, you feel two warm hands place themselves on your shoulders, his breath casting gently across your ear before his lips reach your temple, placing themselves in a chaste kiss upon your skin. His hands rub up and down in gentle movements - much gentler than one would believe he’s capable of - words spoken to you in a soft, yet raspy whisper;

“What’s mine is yours, little wife.” He pauses to place kisses down the side of your face to your neck while his hands move from your shoulders to the lacing on your back that holds your dress together, rough yet lithe fingers move to slowly undo the strings eyelet by eyelet. “My power… my room… my pets.” All it takes is for Feyd to cast a singular glance upwards as he continues his kisses to his harpies waiting across the room for them to come moving towards you. Their movements are light as air - for such scary looking women they have an extremely ethereal aura surrounding them - forming a half circle around you, their hands begin to flit across your body, claws gently drag across your skin, not slicing or scratching, but barely-there touches that make your entire body shiver and send a foreign wave of heat through your veins, letting out a light moan.

It’s as Feyd opens his mouth to bite hard on the crook of your neck as one of his pets simultaneously grabs your now untied dress by the neckline and pulls it down do you then let out a sharp gasp, the cold air hitting your sensitive skin. Goosebumps prickle your torso as your nipples pebble, made so more apparent by your back arching at the feeling of your husband's teeth sinking into your skin, pushing your chest outward.

You feel the vibration from Feyd’s laughter move across your skin, his hands holding you tightly by the waist as one of his pets pushes your dress all the way down, leaving you completely nude before them all. The harpies let out coos and giggles as they become more transparent with their touches, one pair of hands coming up to cup your breasts, petting, before getting too zealous and harshly pinching at your nipples causing you to jolt away, letting out a wince of pain.

One of Feyd’s hands leaves your waist and a split second later his blade is poised at her neck, causing all the harpies to drop their hands away from you, their noises of excitement ceasing.

“What did I tell you about being gentle?” his voice low and murderous, a white-knuckle grip on the hilt of the knife. “Didn’t I tell you my little wife is delicate?” You feel a heat run through your veins all the way up to your face, Feyd’s defensiveness over you filling your body with an unknown warmth that pools in your lower stomach. His pressure against his pet's neck grows stronger, a singular rivulet of blood seeping out from underneath the knife, causing the other two to immediately lock eyes upon it. They practically vibrate with anticipation as Feyd removes his blade, waiting for his command before they pounce. He throws the knife off to the side, one hand remaining on your waist as the other goes under your knees to scoop you up in a bridal carry.

“Get it.”

That was all he needed to say before his harpies jumped one another, the sounds of moans and licks filling the desolate room as Feyd carried you towards his bed, dropping you down delicately, hair fanning around your head like a halo. My own personal angel, he thinks as he looks at you, your eyes blown wide, lips parted in heavy breaths, and the way that the slick seeping out of your lower lips glisten under the harsh lighting of his room. He joins you on the bed, sitting back on his haunches as he pulls your legs over both of his hips, spreading your legs open so he can see his long-awaited prize in full glory. You look towards him as a smirk overtakes his face, his eyes rising to meet yours, the smirk growing even wider. He skims his fingertips across the thin skin of the dips of your hip bones, causing another shiver to course through your body.

“Are you ready, little wife?” his hands brushing up and down your sides, warmth seeping deep into your bones from his rough, training-calloused fingers. You give him a hesitant look, hands resting on your stomach as you play with your fingers, suddenly overtaken by the fear of failing at your marital duties. You look off to the side at the harpies, still entwined with one another in a flutter of black clothing and stark-white skin, then up towards the ceiling.

Feyd’s hands move from your hip bones to cover your own on your stomach, ceasing the anxious picking at your skin, a soft look overtaking his face, voice a soft whisper, “We’ll start off easy, my darling.”

He grabs your forearms, gently pulling you up into a sitting position before he makes his way behind you, still fully clothed, leaning against the black-covered pillows and headboard of his expansive bed. Feyd pulls you into his lap bracing each of your legs across his own, slick stringing as he holds you spread open for the whole room. He brushes his hands up and down your arms, warming you up as he peppers kisses on your temple, down your jaw, to your neck, and to your shoulder where his bite mark is now taking on a deep red hue, bruising beginning to leave it’s mark on you just as he wanted it to - staking his claim, mine.

His hands ghost across your breasts, fingers pinching at pebbled nipples, groping at the plush skin. A sturdy arm wraps it way around your midriff holding you tight against him, the other works its way down to your pussy, a singular finger drags at a torturously slow pace back towards your center, pushing your folds apart and sliding through them collecting all your slick before bringing his finger back up, watching the string that connects your core to his finger pull and then break. You watch as the hand moves back up to his face, head resting against his shoulder, gazing up at him as he sticks the finger in his mouth, eyes rolling back slightly into his skull as he lets out a deep, ragged moan.

The noise attracts the attention of his harpies, who break away from each other and make their way towards you, hovering at the foot of the bed as Feyd brings his hand back down, collecting more slick before beginning slow circles on your clit. There’s an overwhelming surge of pleasure that overtakes your body, an unfamiliar feeling that courses through every nerve ending in your body. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as your thighs slightly cave in, your muscles twitching at the unfamiliar experience. Feyd lets out a chuckle before his legs inch out even more, pulling your own along with them, rendering you completely void of any movement, fully spread before the harpies who gaze at your center with a predatory focus.

Feyd continues the circles on your clit, increasing the pressure but not the pace, leaving you with a deep yet slow build up. Fingers twitching, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, deep panting breaths painting his skin, sending a shiver up his spine at the warm feeling. Your hands coming up to grip what normal people would find painful at his arm that’s wrapped around your chest, nails digging into his skin, the sharp sensation only spurring him on. He keeps on with his pace until your little moans and soft noises become louder and more prevalent, watching your facial features as your brows draw up, lips quivering as a blind heat overtakes you; muscles lock up, fingers clench into his arm so hard you’re afraid you’ll break your nails off into his skin - not that he would mind - eyes clamped shut, stomach tensing as you arch upwards and off of Feyd’s chest, butt pressing into him, into what lays aching and straining in his pants, causing Feyd to let out a moan of his own. Pleasure courses through your whole body, sending shockwaves everywhere, cresting before it tapers off, Feyd’s movements slowing as you come down from your peak; shaking and shivering with aftershocks of your first orgasm.

Feyd holds you for a few moments, hand leaving your core and bringing it up in the air, beckoning forth one of his harpies, her mouth wrapping around his fingers before she lets out a moan that borders on a voracious growl, eyes snapping towards you with a hazy look. She licks his fingers completely clean, sucking every last drop of your release off of his digits. The others look on in jealousy as she finishes up and retreats back to the end of the bed, the one who Feyd nicked with his knife grabs her viciously by the back of her neck and pulls her forwards, tongue pushing its way down her throat to taste the remnants of your release from her mouth, letting out a growl of her own. The last harpy pulls her away before going in for her own kiss, the three of them becoming a tangle of teeth and claws at the foot of the bed.

Feyd shifts you off his lap, swapping places and lays you gently down on the bed, the sheets warm underneath you from where he sat. He hovers above you, eyes staring deeply into your own as you gasp for air. Feyd drops his head down to connect your lips in a passionate kiss, he braces himself on one elbow as the other hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb pulling your bottom lip down so he can push his tongue into your mouth, pressing against your own and mapping out every single nook and cranny. His kiss is dominant, possessive, he aims to claim and swallow you whole, teeth clashing against your own as he snags your lip between his teeth, biting down and dragging it out only to watch it snap back into place.

You claw at the fabric on his shoulders dragging down your nails, digging into the clasps in the front that hold his ceremonial shirt together, lithe fingers undo them, sticking your hands into the now-opened shirt, fingers dragging across sturdy skin and muscle, feeling them twitch under your hands, Feyd’s body unused to a tender touch. You keep this in mind as you delicately slide the shirt down his shoulders, keeping the kiss in-tact, rendering his upper-half bare as your skirt your fingers across him. Moving down his arms, touching his sides, dragging forward to his tense stomach, the wrapping around his neck to hold the top of his back, fingers touching the beginnings of what you’re sure are nasty looking scars, no doubt left on his marble skin by his uncle.

He revels in the gentle touch, Feyd basks in the moment of weakness he can allow himself with you, grabbing one of your hands and moving it down to lay over his heart which furiously pounds in his chest. While he might not yet have the courage to verbally tell you how nervous you make him, to tell you that your gentleness will take some time to get used to, he can physically show it, and by the way that your fingers gently caress the skin where his heart lies, he can tell you understand his hesitancy.

He shifts himself, placing aggressive kisses down your jaw, between your breasts, across your navel, and down to where you need him the most. He uses his thumbs to pull your lips apart, watching your hole clench around nothing, a new gush of slick slipping out, coating everything in a shine, you hold your head up in a haze, watching him gaze at your core within such an intense look, pupils completely swallowing the blue of his eyes whole and with a newfound fervor he grabs your legs and moves them to his shoulders and diving into your heat. He laps at you like a man starved, a crazed look in his eyes before they slip shut, tongue dipping in and out of you to collect all the slick that you’re producing. You let out a loud moan as his nose presses against your swollen bud, the noise prolonging itself as he vigorously shakes his head from side to side.

The heat builds in your groin, fire spreading through your veins at a rapid pace from the sheer intensity of another orgasm approaching so soon after the first one. Your hands move from his shoulders, to the sheets beside your head, to your chest; desperately trying to find something to hold onto. When you go to move your hands again you’re intercepted by two different yet equally frigid hands - one for each of your own - the other chilled fingers of their other hands making their way to your breasts, where the pinching and teasing of your sensitive buds is much more delicate than was previously shown when you first entered the room.

Perhaps over time, you’ll develop more of a tolerance to their harsh touches, embracing the pain that comes with any pleasure given by Feyd’s darlings; sharp nails digging into delicate skin, perhaps one day harsh enough to draw blood. You’re pulled out of your yearning thoughts as your head is lifted up and placed in a bare lap - at some point the harpies had undressed one another and were now naked upon the bed - angling you just perfectly so you can see your husband eating you out like you’re his last meal.

Nails drag across your scalp, hard enough to sting a little, but gentle enough for your eyes to roll back at the mixture of sensations flowing through your body. You can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, warmth spreading through you as your toes clench and you white-knuckle grip the hands of the pets holding your own, as Feyd moves his mouth up from your entrance to your clit, two thick fingers more than twice the width of yours taking its place, pushing in and curling up to press against a spot inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. You gasp, hips bucking up and away from Feyd’s searching mouth, which earns you a displeased growl, sharp, animalistic eyes snapping up towards your own, before he pulls his mouth away, commanding only three words to his harpies;

“Hold her down.”

And with that he dives right back in as agile, yet strong, arms place themselves across your pelvis and stomach, holding you down with an extreme force as you begin to squirm all over the place as Feyd doubles down on his ministrations. The harpy whom’s lap your head lays in reaches down to pinch and fondle at your breasts, a vulpine smile overtaking her face as she molds and kneads the skin, leaning down to encapsulate one in her mouth, and with the combination of Feyd’s fingers moving deep in you to touch your innermost sensitive spots, his mouth fervently suckling away at your clit, and her sharp teeth dragging across such tender skin; your body explodes in pleasure.

Your vision goes stark-white, limbs twitching and shaking, everything is suddenly muffled like you’re underwater, all your senses have sharpened yet dulled at the same time. Time has slowed down and all you can feel is white-hot pleasure engulfing your whole body from your head to your toes. Tidal wave after tidal wave overtakes you, letting out loud and breathy moans that echo through the whole room, unintelligible words slip through your spit-slicked and flushed lips, pleas and gasps of Feyd’s name, reverential, like he was a God. You feel your lower abdomen spasm out of control as you come back down to your body and your aftershocks begin to quell.

The bed underneath you is saturated and when you finally have the strength to open your eyes back up the lower half of Feyd’s face is covered in slick, a smirk on his face as he sits up, pants bulging to what must be an uncomfortable level, a wet patch only slightly visible where his tip sits straining against the fabric. He pulls his fingers out of you with a lewdly audible squelch, snapping his fingers on his other hand for the harpy closest to him to move forward, undoing his pants for him while he all-the-while holds burning eye contact with you. He moves his fingers up to his mouth, slowly sticking his tongue out before dragging it upwards at a torturous pace across his slick-pruned fingers, spit stringing to the digits.

“You taste divine, little wife,” Hand pulling away from his mouth and making its way down to his now opened pants, “It’s very rare that a man comes across a pussy as sweet as yours, how about our darlings have a taste, hmm?” A deep hum in the back of his throat, as his harpies tense themselves in a pounce position, the muscles in the thighs underneath your head quivering with anticipation.

No one moves, Feyd still holding eye-contact with you, waiting for your signal. You take a deep breath before giving the smallest of nods, the movement barely over with before the harpy who has you in her lap flips you around so your head is now down towards the bottom of the bed, your waist resting on her legs now as she holds your hips in the air, mouth diving into your sensitive area. The other two begin to lick clean your thighs from where your release gushed down your legs, and once that’s all cleaned up, the three of them begin taking turns placing alternative kitten licks across your clenching hole and clit, slowly building you up to a third orgasm.

A loud and rough groan brings your attention to Feyd just in time to watch him stick the hand that was previously knuckle-deep in your pussy into his opened pants, pulling out his cock; the skin red and swollen, an angry vein pulsing with need on the bottom leading from base to tip where there was the shine of smeared pre-cum. He throws his head back, hairless eyebrows furrowing as he holds himself at the base, cock twitching as pre-cum strings out of his tip. You marvel at the sight and size of him, letting out a moan of your own, not only from the ministrations of the three women lapping at you, but from the sight of Feyd fighting his own needs.

You reach a hand out, index finger catching the glob of cum, catching Feyd’s eyes as they widen, watching in anticipation to see what you do. You bring your finger to your mouth slowly, letting out a cheeky smile as you attempt to tease your husband. Holding your finger out in front of your mouth, slowly sticking your tongue out, copying his movements from earlier, flattening it against your finger before pulling it into your mouth. The taste of him is tangy and slightly metallic, but nonetheless has you moaning aloud.

Feyd shuffles forwards on his knees, bringing himself closer as he hovers above your head, grabbing your hand from your mouth, and pulling it to wrap around his base. At the feeling of your delicate hand wrapping around him he lets out a strained “oh fuck,” he tightens his fingers around your own before dragging your hand up his length, circling your fingers around his tip, a shiver running down his spin. He lets go of your hand and you continue the strokes on your own, Feyd’s hips rocking into your fingers with every downward stroke. His eyes slip closed as you decide to pick up the pace, throwing in a twist of your wrist as you reach the tip. You watch his sac draw upwards, muscle tensing as his jaw clenches. You decide to lift yourself up on one elbow, placing a kiss on the underside of his tip, letting out a little kitten lick.

He pulls himself back, letting out a strained noise and with a gesture of his hand his harpies back away from you, leaving you stranded on the precipice of an orgasm. You let out a frustrated groan as Feyd makes his way back to the headboard, leaning back in his original spot where the night started off, cock straining against his stomach. He gestures a hand towards you, holding it out for you to take. You shake off the displeasure at the loss of your orgasm and move to crawl towards him, taking the hand he was holding out to you and crawling onto his lap. Both of Feyd’s hands come down to your hips, pulling you down and rocking you across his cock, spreading your lips across his girth, covering himself in your slick. You gasp, staring into his eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

With each rock forward his tip presses deliciously against your clit, each little jolt sending shockwaves through your body. A sheen of sweat covers you, hairs sticking to your forehead, and you feel - you’re so warm. It fills every nook and cranny of your system, down to the marrow of your bones. You pull yourself even closer, your body positioned slightly higher than his and with every rock forward it brings your breasts to his face. On one forward rock he lunges his head forward grasping one of your nipples in his mouth and you gasp, head thrown back to arch your chest forward into his warm mouth. He groans as he suckles, lips forming a suction ring around your breast, pulling your perked nipple into his mouth with an aggressive fervor.

One of your hands comes up to grip the back of his head, a part of you instinctually reaching for hair that isn’t there but making due with the skin instead, nails digging into the surface, eliciting a sharp noise from Feyd, who grips you by the back of your own head, lithe fingers tangling into your hair and pulling your forehead down to his own, maintaining eye contact with you as he drags his teeth across your nipple, pulling off with a pop. Stopping your hips from their gentle rocking movement with his other hand, moving it down to cradle you by the back of your thigh right underneath your butt applying a gentle pressure to urge you upwards.

You extend backwards, pulling yourself away from Feyd’s chest so you can watch what happens next. His hand follows you, still tangled in your hair, before bringing it down to grasp your chin, controlling the movements of your head.

“Are you ready, little wife?” His hand positioning your head downward at your eager nod, posing your vision down. His voice drops down to a sultry and raspy whisper, “Watch what I do to you.”

And with that the head that was holding your chin moves down to grasp himself, fingers wrapping around his thick middle to bring the tip up to your opening, notching once, twice, then pushing in with the most painful, yet delicious burn you’ve ever felt. The unused muscles tense at the pressure of being stretched open beyond the two fingers that Feyd had used on you earlier. Your mouth gapes open at the feeling, watching as you sink down on him inch by inch, the slick coating him from where you grinded on him mere moments ago easing his entrance into you.

At the sound of the groan your husband lets out, you cast a glance upwards to look at him; watching his brow bone furrow in, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your warm, wet, heat enveloping him so snuggly. It’s perfect, Feyd thinks, you’re perfect, the sound of your breathy little panting gasps filling his ears, noises that he’s not even sure you’re aware you’re making. It’s a heavenly feeling, you sucking him in so tightly yet somehow still so soft and gentle.

Quite possibly one of the first gentle touches he’s felt in a while. You’re so soft, and warm, and comforting, and every single touch sends his nervous system reeling. Even back when he was still just a little boy on Lankiveil; huddling into his mother for warmth from the frigid planet, her body warm and comforting before turning just as frigid as the planet when Feyd killed her; all warmth leaving her body, leaving him in the hands of his uncle, never to feel a kind touch again.

Until this moment.

When you’ve sunk all the way down on him both of your hands come to lay upon his chest, thumbs lightly stroking the alabaster skin, touching the silvery scars that lie there. He waits a moment for you to adjust, noticing the slight grimace overtaking your features as your body tries to adhere to the intrusion. His harpies have taken themselves to the end of the bed, playing and petting and stroking at one another, but he pays them no mind. He looks into your eyes, trying to display what he hopes is a warm smile at you, lips still together so as to not scare you with his pitch black teeth. You give him a small smile of your own as Feyd wraps both of his arms around your back tightly pulling you against him, trapping your arms between his body and your own.

Warm lips graze your ear, “Ready?” a soft kiss pressed to your temple, head tucked completely into the crook of Feyd’s neck, eyes closed as you breath in his scent; something warm and musky, yet metallic in undertones. You can only muster a nod against his neck, body giving way as painful pressure turns into pulsing pleasure. Feyd places both feet flat on the bed, knees spreading to brace himself, pulling your own legs more open to sink just the smallest bit more down onto him - you didn’t even know there was more of him to fit in you.

He pulls his hips back, slipping out to just the tip, giving a few shallow thrusts, working you open a bit more. It’s within a single breath that Feyd suddenly plunges into you, thrusting into you at a rapid fire pace that causes you to practically scream into the crook of his neck in wholly-consuming pleasure. One hand moves down to rest around your ass, a finger feeling the stretched skin of your hole around his cock, heavy balls slapping against the skin there with each hard thrust. He can hear your whimpers and pleas being breathlessly whispered in his ear, ‘Oh Feyd - feels so-o good, you’re so…’

You lick and suck at the skin of his neck, mouthing over his vein thrumming under his skin. You can feel your orgasm building up, half-delirious and vision blurry with the overwhelming need to cum again. Your nails dig into the skin of his abs from where your arms are crushed between you two.

“Feyd I’m so close,” words drawn out into a long moan, “please, please, please, oh-” hips beginning a stunted rocking motion to try and meet his movements. You can feel Feyd’s cock throbbing inside you, thick veins and fat head catching on your gummy walls, his pelvis is wet from your slick, balls sticking slightly as they hit the skin of your ass.

“That’s it little wife,” heavy grunts rumbling from his chest, “cum for me, show me how much you love being my bride, show me how much you want it.” He moves both hands down to your hips and arches you outward slightly, allowing him to pummel into you at a deeper angle. “Your pussy is so tight -” he grunts, “practically sucking me in there. Are you trying to keep me here forever, little wife? Keep me buried inside your. warm. wet. cunt.” Words punctuated by harsh thrusts that teeter you over the edge. Your orgasm is so overwhelming as Feyd continues to fuck you through it, not even aware of your own actions when your teeth bury down deep into the crook of his neck, a slightly metallic taste filling your mouth as Feyd lets out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard.

He uses his strength to push you over onto your back with him hovering above you. Feyd pulls away from your mouth, cold air of the room hitting the raw spit-soaked skin, a dribble of blood on your bottom lip. He moves your legs from his hips to up by your shoulders, making eye contact with his harpies who lie contentedly at the end of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat, vulpine grins of satisfaction upon their faces. He gestures towards you, “hold her,” passing your legs to them before dropping almost his full weight down on you into a mating press.

Feyd continues his hard and fast-paced thrusts, your orgasm having no time to subside, keeping your mind fuzzy and your body compliant as Feyd’s Harpie’s have no qualms with pinning you down for their master. He looks down into your glassy eyes, your mind completely blank. You look so cute cock-drunk.

“Does it feel good, little wife? Does my cock feel good pressing against all the spots inside you?” You mumble incoherently, nodding mindlessly for him. “Want you so-so bad Feyd, need it…” “You want me?” another nod, fingers flexing in the hold that one of the Harpies has you in. “You can have me, little wife - all of me.” His thrusts grow sloppier, cock getting bigger by a subtle, yet noticeable, amount as the pressure of his impending orgasm builds up. “I think I’ll cum deep inside your little cunt, keep myself inside of you, hmm? I think I’ll have you again, and again, and again until my seed takes place in this warm pussy of yours - until you give me my heirs.”

The steady crest of the orgasm you had been riding peaks full force once more, pussy clenching so hard around Feyd’s cock it almost pushes him out. He fights against it, letting out a series of borderline whimpery-moans, pushing in deep once more before cumming; hot, thick, ropes of cum filling you to the brim, cock throbbing inside of you as he cums and cums, a neverending heat warming you from the inside out. He grabs at your legs, taking them back from his Harpies and wrapping them snuggly around his waist, hips still letting out little grinds of his pelvis against yours. One arm wrapping around your back while he rests on his other elbow as he holds his weight up from crushing you, pressing you right up against him. Feyd pushes his face into your neck, pressing little kisses against the warm skin, content hums coming from the back of his throat as he finishes riding out the last dregs of his orgasm. Your arms are let go of and you immediately bring them down to wrap one around his heaving shoulders, fingers stroking against his shoulder blade, as the other cradles the back of his head, thumb stroking the crease where his skull meets his neck.

When your vision finally clears back up the Harpies are gone, you hadn’t even heard them get up, leaving you and Feyd lying alone with one another as you try to steady your equally pounding heartbeats. After you’ve both had time to calm down, you place a gentle kiss against the shell of Feyd’s ear, gently urging him to get up as you feel his back muscles beginning to quiver. He does so begrudgingly, letting out a noise of discontentment. He pulls out sluggishly, not wanting to leave your heat, thumbs pushing your lips apart to watch your hole gape and clench around nothing, a glob of his cum working its way out before he scoops it up and pushes it back into you with his index and middle fingers.

You jolt at the feeling, letting out a whine of overstimulation and discontent. “Feyd,” hand coming up to smack lightly at his chest which he quickly catches and holds against his heart, pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers before getting off the bed. You tilt your head, watching upside down as he walks towards the bathroom, pale skin glinting in the light, muscles rippling throughout his whole body, your gaze coming down to rest on his ass. He leaves the door open, and you can faintly hear the sound of water running. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, immediately noticing where your gaze is zeroed in on, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips and he feels himself twitch at the intensity of your look.

“Are you admiring me, little wife?” The rhetorically playful question snapping you out of your reverie as you blush and look away, aware of the sound of his feet padding back towards you. Feyd drags a warm washcloth down one of your arms, across your neck and chest, then down the other one. He wipes down the insides of your thighs then very carefully across your puffy folds, earning a few winces and twitches from you as overstimulation and exhaustion fully take over. He wipes himself off as he walks back to the bathroom, slinging the washcloth off somewhere for the maids to get later.

When he makes his way back to the bed your eyes are sluggishly slipping closed, breaths growing a little shallow. He grabs you underneath your shoulders and spins you around so your head is back towards the pillows, moving down to clasp at the sheets that had at some point through the night fallen off the bed and brings them up to cover you. He climbs into bed next to you, pulling you in to lay on his chest as you make grabbing hands at him, hand coming to lay on his chest feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, throwing a leg over one of his own.

He kisses you gently on the crown of your head, taking in a deep breath. “Goodnight, little wife.” You mumble back your own sentiment, words muffled slightly. He can’t make out most of the words, but what Feyd does pick up is the soft ‘I love you,’ that you let out. Feyd stops breathing for a second, a momentary gloss of weakness and emotion flashes across his eyes that he immediately hides as if someone’s watching him waiting for the perfect moment to attack. His fingers twitch where they lay gently on your arm, not quite sure what to do. He settles on taking a deep breath and allowing himself to close his eyes to sleep, a sense of peace coursing through his veins.

“I love you too, little wife.”

A/N: Whew... that's all I've got to say.

Requests are open!

#mywriting #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rauth harkonnen #feyd rautha Harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #dune part two #dune #dune imagine #feyd oneshot #feyd rautha x you

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fleurhcss · 10 months ago

Text

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 - Hyunjin x FEM Reader!

cw : photographer Hyunjin, needs a muse, reader and him will meet in his exhibition, blood, murder, nudes, sculpture classes, dead body tw, if you are sensible pls don't interact, MDNI. SENSITIVE CONTENT!

sw : blood kink, hair pulling, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, anal, oral (both receiving), riding, humping, teasing, touching, masturbation, blowjob, marks, biting, choke kink, they'll have sex covered in blood.

wc : 9.025

synopsis : Hyunjin's a photographer and meets reader at his own exhibition. He falls in love with her beauty and the way she talks about art, so he proposes to her to attend his sculpture classes and then, after some of them, to be his model for a nude photography project, which will lead them to have sex. One day, she arrives before the appointment and begins to explore his study, finding a cupboard where he keeps all the heads of the girls he has seduced before her. But she's not afraid, she's excited. After a few minutes he shows up, catching her in the moment and she tells him her little dark secret, so they set up a murder and then fuck in the bloody mess.

a/n : hii... that's the first time for me writing here and writing in English so PLS im sorry if there are some errors!! I hope u enjoy this anyway 🎀🎀 I opened a ko-fi account, i will post there some stories and drawings, if you want to support me i will be grateful to anyone who wants to give me tips, ITS NOT OBLIGATORY

MASTERLIST

[ SMUT / TW ]

You have always been an art lover, which has led you to visit many exhibitions over the years. Photography and sculpture were your favourite subjects, and you have lost count of the number of exhibitions you have visited in your lifetime. However, it was a bit of a contradiction that art was not what you studied. You were a student of anatomy at university, which of course helped you to understand the human forms you so admired and loved to create. Although your studies were far from your true passion, you couldn't help but attend the private lessons that were often advertised in flyers around the city. That year alone, you attended no less than five classes, loving the way your hands shaped the clay beneath them. Its softness, the way it escaped your touch when wet: it was smooth, soft, elusive and malleable. Almost unpredictable, one might add. Once, because of a few air bubbles, you had to redo your work because it had burst in the kiln. Yes, one of the great faults of clay was its ability to burst if it was not perfectly formed. You were like clay, unpredictable. But you also loved the unpredictability of a photograph, the immediacy of a shot. The reality it represented. It was no coincidence that these were your favourite subjects.

You were walking around, sipping your caramel milkshake, after a long and tiring day at university. The music was on your mind, you imagined yourself in the scenarios that the soundtrack was transporting through your ears, but nothing could have distracted you from the sight of a giant billboard announcing a photography exhibition that weekend: The Art of the Body. This particular billboard had caught your attention not only because of the type of photography on display - nude exhibitions were rare in your town these days, too much of a scandal for the citizens. You were different, you appreciated every single muscle, every single feature of the human body. - But also for the way in which that body, unclothed, had been immortalised. Enclosed in a net that did not completely cover it, the woman's features were fully visible; she looked almost like a sculpture because of the contrast between light and dark.

You were enraptured by the image, your thoughts had clouded your mind, you had barely paid attention to the name of the photographer who was going to present this exhibition. But you didn't care, the subject matter was already of great interest to you. Nude photography by those who could not understand or feel it was considered almost scandalous. You found it a contradiction because very often the same people who criticised this kind of photography were the first to admire sculptures of the calibre and genre of Michelangelo's David, who, by the way, was naked.

For you, this kind of photograph was just like a sculpture. But warm, soft, even more real and expressive. You were sure that you would love that kind.

When you got back to your flat, the first thing you did was take a shower. It was the most plausible option after a long and tiring day, not least because you would have to clean up the mess left in your kitchen. In fact, by the time you found yourself having to clean it up, you were starting to get bored, so television would have been a good idea for entertainment at a time when all you wanted to do was sleep. You watched the news, and once again the topic of the day was the countless missing girls in your area. You wondered what was going on and why so many girls had mysteriously disappeared in a matter of days. There were no traces of mysterious serial killers, or even traces and statements from the victims themselves, if there were any. They had not been seen with anyone, nor had anyone talked about them. They had nothing in common. Or at least the police had not been good enough to find out. Well, in fact, the police had failed miserably from the start with the story of these girls' disappearance.

After all, there were no traces of the girls, and you had to clean up quickly because of the stench that was starting to fill the room.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

Finally, the long-awaited day of the exhibition had arrived, and you were excited just to think that you would be able to see such works live, even more so if they were all close to the one on the poster that had caught your eye. You were well dressed for the occasion, you wanted to make yourself presentable. You were also excited to meet the artist. You hadn't read the name, you weren't even interested in meeting him, but as the days went by, your curiosity grew and you did some research to find out who the man was: he was a young man - well, very young - his name was Hwang Hyunjin, a photographer and professor of sculpture. You were very interested in that because those were your two favourite subjects. So you had to admit that you had made yourself beautiful in order to look like that in the eyes of such a man. Also because you had seen pictures of him on some magazine covers and on the Internet, and you had noticed that he was indeed a handsome man. Maybe even more than handsome. He himself seemed to be part of a collection of sculptures.

His features were delicate but masculine, his body seemed well proportioned and he was tall and lean. He had dark, feline eyes and lips that were sure to drive all the women who had ever met him crazy.

You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and, after spraying on your ever-present perfume, you left the house, heading for the exhibition. It was Saturday night, the streets of your city were crowded, kids ready to go to some club, men with wives were ready to go to dinner. Saturday night chaos was, as always, inevitable.

You found yourself having to turn down your best friend's invitation to some club just to go to this exhibition. But she understood, she knew how much you loved art and you hadn't missed a single one of these exhibitions that came to your town every year. It was true, you had never missed one. Once you even got a cold and covered yourself well with a huge scarf and a heavy coat. Unlike the way you were dressed today. A tight black dress that stopped at mid-thigh, a long black coat, your beloved lace-up boots and a chignon that gathered your hair delicately. You were truly charming.

When you arrived at the exhibition, you immediately took a glass of red wine that was offered to every visitor. You were enchanted by the splendour that surrounded you. Photographs of all kinds: coloured, black and white, bodies covered in nets, naked bodies, bodies covered in liquids - water, blood - lying in the soil , all one with nature. But the photograph that struck you the most was of a body whose head could not be seen and it was crushed below the knees, while a long stream of blood was falling on it. It was strange, the photo was in white and black, well contrasted, sharp, but the blood had not lost its colour: warm red, carmine. You could feel its density, its fluidity, through the photograph. It had given you goosebumps.

A warm, but not too deep voice distracted you from your thoughts.

«This painting is called Passion's Flood.»

You turned to see the boy you had been searching for, for the past two days, and your mouth almost fell open.

His beauty was even more ethereal in person. The complexion of his skin was almost golden, and those eyes seemed to bore into you. The articles were not wrong, this was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He was elegant, refined, attractive. You didn't even know what adjective to use to describe him, to do justice to such beauty. You were so dazzled that you almost forgot everything you wanted to say to this man.

«Why this name? More to the point, why the adjective 'passion'?» you said as soon as you awoke from your almost trance-like state. The words slipped from your tongue, as did your curiosity as to the real reason for this choice.

It was strange to hear that such an image had been given such a name. You were curious about the definition of 'passion' for this man. Why it was associated with the image of blood. That rich red liquid dripping onto a naked body, accentuating the shape of the woman portrayed. This made the man behind you smile. He approached you and studied you carefully. He examined you from top to bottom. From head to toe. It was inevitable that he would find you a beautiful, attractive, girl. He bit his lower lip and glanced at the work in front of you, then shifted his gaze back to the subject of his interest: you.

«Interesting question, I see you also pay a lot of attention to the names of the works.» your eyes were fixed on his lips, watching them move at the sound of his voice. How he licked them and made them shine. Perfectly swollen and red. Watching him had become more interesting than watching his work. «Inevitably, the intrinsic meaning of the work itself could be understood from the name, but it is interesting how you used the adjective 'passion' to describe a body covered in blood. The work itself is interesting, it is rare to see something like this in an exhibition. You have a fascinating mind, Mr. Hwang.»

This only inflated the ego of the man at your side, who wasted no time in positioning himself in front of his own work. He flashed a smug, satisfied smile, interested in how your mind was working at that moment. He could not stop the instinct, the primal instinct, that inevitably drew him to you. He licked his lips for the umpteenth time and crossed his arms over his chest, allowing the fabric of the jacket he was wearing to fit better over the obviously defined muscles. «Call me by my name. I don't think there's much of an age difference. In any case, the definition of 'Passion Flood' in this case refers to the fact that passion can flare up in any way, at any time. The association with blood is not only because it automatically brings to mind a warm colour, such as bright red, but also because passion flows in our veins, in our blood. The blood itself evokes the heat, the impact, the sensation that passion can give us. A unique adrenaline rush. For few.» you were enchanted by the way his mind worked, the man was a genius.

Not only was he good at shootings, but the way he spoke to you, the tone of his voice, was like a mermaid to a sailor. He would lure you out to sea and then grab you by the tail. His piercing gaze was as if he wanted to trap you and drag you down with him.

«Your definition of passion is interesting, Hyunjin. I can also say that this definition fits perfectly with the way you create your works. If I may say so, this photograph is extraordinary, perhaps one of the best in this exhibition so far. After all, passion is what you do. Photography is in your blood, it is your passion. Art itself, right? Looking at this photograph, I can see the body of the liquid, the vivid colour and the contrast with the chiaroscuro of the body. I can see the softness of the flesh, its silkiness.» When you stopped talking, the man in front of you licked his lips, pleasantly pleased with what your mind could conceive in terms of art.

«Your mind fascinates me, ...?» he paused, clearly inviting you to tell him your name. You felt the blood boiling in your veins, a heat permeating your body. As if him had set it on fire. «Y/N,» you whispered, once again entranced by his beauty. You were sure he had bewitched you somehow. His charm was beyond anything else. Hwang Hyunjin was not just an artist, he was art itself.

«Do you also work in the field of art?» he asked, moving dangerously close to your body. Your mind went blank, he was far too close. You could not say a word. He was like a magnet, the closer he came, the closer you wanted to be. It was crazy how a man could have such an effect on you, who had always declared yourself a woman who would not be intimidated or subjugated by men. But with Hwang Hyunjin it was different. You were under his spell and would let him do anything to you just to feel him near you.

«I take anatomy classes, but in my spare time I take classes in photography and sculpture. Let's say they are my biggest passions», you could see his eyes light up when you said this. That was his moment. Hyunjin could not fail to use this moment to invite you to one of his classes. Yes, among the thousands of things Hwang did, there were also private lessons in sculpture and photography. And you could not help but be delighted, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. The one and only, the magnetic Hwang Hyunjin had personally asked you to join his sculpture class.

As he walked towards you, your bodies colliding, you found yourself squeezing your legs together, you felt a jolt penetrate your intimacy. His lips came to your earlobe and caressed it, «I expect to see you there, Y/N».

Needless to say, when you left that night, all you could think about was Hyunjin's pointed hands running over your body.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

It had been a really tough week at university, you had to dissect several bodies and your placement was about to start. You were going to be a trainee in a forensic laboratory, so your lectures were now harder and the level of attention they demanded was higher. However, the thought of attending evening classes that Friday, taught by Hyunjin - the man who had been on your mind for the past week - helped you relax.

Your best friend was aware of the little fixation you had developed with the man and often used it to tease you. When you told her you were going to meet him in class that evening, she made so many dirty jokes that you wondered if it was still her. But other girls had disappeared in those days and she didn't want you to be one of them. So she was worried. As you prepared to go to class, she had given you more advice than your mother had given you in your entire life. In fact, you felt like a daughter, a little girl to her. It was obvious that you would be careful, you wanted to return home safely.

So you prepared and made yourself beautiful, just to impress the man of your thoughts, and then you left the house, leaving a trail of fruity perfume behind you. That evening, even though the occasion was nothing more than a sculpture class, you had dressed well. You had on a light sweater that left a strip of your belly uncovered, burgundy with vertical stripes of fabric. Loose, baggy jeans below your navel and flats that matched the colour of your shirt. But the breeze that had risen that evening had forced you to put on your beloved leather jacket.

Your hair was loose, falling over your shoulders as one hand held the strap of the bag tightly. You were eager to see how Hyunjin taught during his lessons, eager to see those hands you dreamed of every night on you, running over the fresh clay, shaping it, imagining it to be your body. You were curious to see what this evening would bring, whether it would be as interesting as you thought it would be, or whether it would be a total disappointment.

Arriving at the location indicated on the flyer Hyunjin had given you, your eyes met the moment you crossed the threshold of the hall. He stood out like a marble statue, his hair tied back in a ponytail, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and baggy jeans covering a pair of brown and white Nikes on his feet. The piercing in his eyebrow made his gaze at you even more captivating. You entered, bowed and took your seat. They weren't all taken yet, surely he hadn't started because he was expecting a few more people to attend the class.

Behind him were blocks of clay and a table with all sorts of tools and materials for modelling. You assumed that he would be distributing these materials to the students himself, and were not at all surprised to find that most of them were women who were just as interested in the art as they were in the man who was going to teach it to them.

Your gazes were chained as if nothing could break it, it was only interrupted when Hyunjin realised that the hall was now full and it was time to start the lesson. He stood in the middle of the hall with a smile on his face, he was really handsome. He managed to be delicate and attractive at the same time. You were sure that this boy would not be easy to get out of your mind. It was clear that you wanted him more than you thought. «Welcome everyone, this is the first lesson of this course where we will cover the basics and modelling with clay. I have some tools here with me, after I give you a general introduction to the subject, I will hand them out to all of you, along with a lump of clay, so that we can begin the actual course.»

Needless to say, you lost focus after his introduction, too focused on watching his lips move and the vein in his neck throb. You watched his movements carefully, the way the fabric of his shirt occasionally allowed a glimpse of the hollow of his v-zone, the way the material of his jeans clung perfectly to his slender thighs. The man was a dream, and yet he looked like a demon disguised as an angel. His elegant, almost princely movements had managed to hypnotise you. You felt your body go numb and shot through with a long series of electric shocks, all of which landed in your stomach. The sexual tension you felt when standing next to Hyunjin was now sky-high.

It was Hyunjin himself who distracted you from your unchaste thoughts about him. He placed a series of objects on your bench and winked and smiled at you. That made you glow red, and not just on your cheeks. You felt a pleasant warmth spreading through your body and you weren't sure what it would lead to. Certainly nothing good in the state you were in now. «Good to see you here, Y/N.» he whispered in your ear, making you blush again. You lost your words.

As Hyunjin took his place behind a table with all the materials needed to mould the clay, it was fascinating to watch how his wet hands began to caress the block, softening it. Kneading, massaging the malleable material. But the thing that took your breath away again was the way his eyes locked on you as he spoke. As he explained how to handle the clay, as he squeezed it, as he moulded it in his hands, his gaze was fixed on you. You squeezed your legs together, and you were sure he noticed because of the smirk in his eyes. This made you even more embarrassed.

You watched as his tapered fingers created shapes, sweeping over the material, smeared with clay, to shape it to his liking. You wished you were that lump of clay. You wished he would touch you the way he did with that slippery material.

As you began to shape the clay yourself, you hardly thought about Hyunjin's fingers caressing you as you wished. Your mind was lost in the farthest reaches of your thoughts as you concentrated on shaping the lump. You hadn't even noticed Hyunjin watching your hands move as you did with his. His gaze devoured your body and hinted at what was going on in his mind. He was curious how those skilful hands would move around his member. It made him quite aroused, but he could not afford to have an erection in the middle of class by having unchaste thoughts about you.

As the classroom began to empty, the teacher greeted everyone politely and took the opportunity to approach you, who had not noticed anything, still lost in your world and the little statue you were forging. He positioned himself behind you as soon as the last student had left the room, and began to stroke your arms and blow on your neck. It was what brought your head back down to earth. You bit your lower lip as his hands moulded the clay with yours and his warm body clung to yours.

You found yourself gasping as his lips touched your lobe again. This boy would be the end of you, you were sure of it.

«You know, I noticed how your legs tightened at the sound of my voice. I also noticed your eyes burning into my form as I gave this lecture. I'm very curious to know what fantasies are running through your head, little Y/N,» he giggled, then washed his hands in the next sink and invited you to join him. And once again you were hypnotised, enchanted by his voice and his touch. When he took you by the hips, placed you on the only clean counter and spread your legs, you couldn't help but gasp. Words were dead in your throat now, you looked at him with bated breath and all you wanted to do was sink his face between your thighs. «Look what we have here, - he said, stroking your intimacy from above the fabric of your jeans, which he could feel were already wet, - there's no need for you to hide now. I got you,» he whispered again against your neck.

«Hyunjin... Please,» you murmured, your thoughts now clouded by the pleasure of his touch. «What? Tell me what you want,» he taunted you again. Your hand moved to his wrist and pushed it towards the crotch of your jeans. That drove him crazier than you thought.

He unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down to your knees, his gaze resting on the crotch of your now wet panties. You felt no shame, the only thing running through your body now was the adrenaline of being fucked by this man. Your rational part had been switched off by the only one part that had to take over. «Look at you, I haven't even touched you properly and you're already all wet, you little whore. For now you'll be satisfied with what I'm going to give you tonight, if you're good enough you'll get another prize after this one,» your head had fallen back and your back was now arched. It was only with his words that he had been able to bring you to this state. Giggling, he moved the fabric of your panties with two fingers, the same ones that slowly began to massage your walls, while his eyes carefully scanned every corner of your body. You were going crazy, you wanted more and your grip on his wrist let him know it. «Look at you, so needy for my touch. I have a crazy idea that you can't refuse. I need this favour. No one inspires me, attracts me like you do. Be my muse and let me photograph this beautiful, unclothed body,» he whispered into your ear, pushing his fingers further between your pussy lips.

He did not penetrate you, but you were sure that only with this type of touch you could come. You nodded, reeling from the spell he had cast on you, and he smiled, pleased at the state you were in. He moved closer to you, not a kiss, just a bite on your lower lip and one in the hollow of your neck. Which made you quite dizzy with the sensation of his fingers now moving in a circular motion over your intimacy.

«Very good, Princess. Now why don't you cum for me? Like a good girl,» he whispered and began to move his fingers at a speed you didn't think possible. But your mind was clouded and you needed to feel under your hands how much he needed your touch too, so with a grin you grabbed the crotch of his trousers and began to move your hand up and down, feeling how great his length was. But there was no pleasure in doing this from above his jeans, so you inserted your hand into the fabric and with quick movements began to masturbate his intimacy. His moans were satisfying and made your head spin, you were almost in the same state. He growled, moving quickly on your vagina as you did with his member, now a moaning mess, playing with the tip of his member, stimulating it.

It was obvious that after a few minutes you would cum in each other's hands with a loud orgasm, and you did. You screamed her name as her teeth sank into the hollow of your neck, biting it. «I have no class on Tuesday, come here, to this address, my long awaited project will finally come to life,» he whispered in your ear as he licked his fingers covered in your juices, just as you licked yours, soiled with his.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

To say that you had been thinking about what had happened with Hyunjin all weekend was an understatement. The boy hadn't left your mind for a second, nor had the feeling of his fingers over your intimacy. You were constantly thinking about what you had done and the desire to go deeper was alive and growing inside you. It was obvious that you wanted to be fucked by him, so much so that you almost forgot your own name. When Hyunjin was in front of you, all rational thought went out the window. When he had asked you to be his muse, a warmth had grown in your chest and spread between your legs. You couldn't wait to pose naked for him. To let his hands move your body as he wished. Even at that moment, his hands were touching you in your mind, as you rubbed against the pillow in your room, with another news report of a missing girl in the background. But your mind was too busy thinking about Hyunjin to listen to how this girl, unlike the others, you had actually seen in the course of sculpting that the man you dreamed of every night was taking.

When you reached your orgasm, certainly not like you did with Hyunjin's hand, you decided it was the best to take a shower. The next day was the big day you had been looking forward to. You were going crazy. Your best friend had called you to find out the details, but you still hadn't told her what had happened between you and Hyunjin, you would when you maybe had sex fully. Also because that was what you had hoped for most. To hear how he wanted to fuck you. You giggled to hear how she imagined possible scenarios for your encounter, if only she knew how far you had already gone.

When the time and day finally came for you to meet Hyunjin for 'his long awaited project', you couldn't help but feel the shivers running through your body. You wore your hair in a slightly dishevelled bun, a tight black skirt covering you to mid-thigh and a slightly unbuttoned blouse with a burgundy lace-embroidered bra wrapped around your torso. Black boots on your feet and the usual leather jacket over your shoulders.

You gasped as Hyunjin's slim and elegant figure appeared behind you. He was wearing a blue silk shirt that showed his chest, tight black jeans and pointed ankle boots of the same colour. Sunglasses and a necklace surrounded the beauty already present in the man, and the loose hair falling down his neck made him even more attractive in your eyes.

His gaze gave you goosebumps; he approached you with an almost devilish smile and greeted you with a kiss on the lips. At that moment, you felt the ground give away beneath your feet. You looked at him as, smirking at the way he was making you feel, he opened the studio door and let you in first like a gentleman. «I see you've made yourself pretty for me, little Y/N. I like the way you're dressed, that bra fits you like a glove, it's a shame we have to take it off,» he whispered as he slowly removed your leather jacket and put his glasses elsewhere. His voice guided you, sending shivers down your spine. You noticed that all the materials he needed were already arranged in every corner of the studio and understood that he didn't want to waste any time in arranging what he needed. Kissing your neck, he began to remove your shirt, gently running his fingers down your arms and then your torso, then removing your bra as well, cupping your tits with his hands and massaging them, causing you to give a moan of pleasure that made you throw your head over one of his shoulders. «They are perfect, they have a wonderful texture, a perfect shape to be cupped by my hands,» he blew on your shoulder, biting it almost violently. But this action only made you moan even more.

Slowly he began to move his hands down, caressing the rest of your body, making you gasp as he pulled off your skirt and then slowly your panties. You were completely naked to his eyes this time. He bit his lip as he caressed every part of your body, from your breasts to your bottom, cupping and massaging one of your buttocks. «Like a good little girl, take off your shoes and lie down on this wooden hoop,» he said, and you obeyed. Without a word. You felt his eyes burning on you, like fire. You lay down in front of him and let him touch you in any way that would satisfy his desires. When he grabbed the camera, you squeezed your legs together, already feeling the effect of his intense gaze on you.

It made him laugh, but not in amusement. Not at all. It was almost diabolical. You saw how he approached you by getting on top of you and opening your legs, he began to watch how your pussy shrank around nothing, completely wet. This made him move his nose closer to it and blow on it. It had driven you so crazy that you not only let out a long moan, but arched your back so that your vagina was closer to his nose. And he grinned as he slipped two fingers inside you without warning, taking a picture just as your back arched again, your head fell back and your lips parted in a moan. « Very good baby, you are the perfect muse for this project. No one could have done as well as you,» he whispered as he pulled his fingers out from inside you and brought them to his lips, sucking away your juices.

You went crazy, your body was burning even though you were naked, craving his touch, his hands on you. Every time he approached to take your picture, you hoped he would touch you, something more than mere caresses. Even if they were not 'mere caresses'.

But when he put down his camera and caught up with you at a fast pace, you realised that maybe he didn't just want to take pictures. And in the end, that was what you were hoping for. He towered over you with his body, observing how perfect yours was. He caressed every part of you until he lowered himself to your lips and began a ravenous, passionate kiss. You moaned at the contact and his hands began to massage your breasts until, running out of air, he pulled away from your lips and then lowered himself to your breasts and sucked on them voraciously. Your head was elsewhere, you could do nothing but give way to his touch. Your hands were harpooned in his hair, pulling at it. Your legs tightened around his torso as his pelvis moved in search of yours. Hyunjin was mad. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins; he needed to release all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. «My bitch, that's what you are. Just fucking mine. And like a good girl you are going to feed me now,» he smiled almost maniacally as his face settled between your thighs. He had taken off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, which were now too tight to contain his obvious erection. You clutched his hair as he began to bite your inner thigh, leaving bite marks and bruises everywhere. But you didn't care, you just wanted to feel him between your legs.

Hyunjin began to take long laps on your cunt, spreading it with his fingers so that he could better slide his tongue between your walls. You were a whimpering mess, all too pleasurable. He sucked and moved his tongue voraciously, as if he really wanted to eat you. He pulled at the lips covering your clit with his teeth and then sucked on them almost violently. You felt your orgasm approaching, but you didn't want to come like that, you wanted him to fuck you. «Please Hyunjin...mh...stop...it's too much, I'm about to come...!» you gripped his hair in a vice grip. But that did not matter to him, if it meant making you cum several times in one evening, he would do it without fail.

His mouth was harpooned between your walls, his tongue moving as if he were kissing you and not what was between your legs. You were going out of your mind and the closer you came to orgasm the more he felt it and went fast. «Fuck Hyunjin!» you shouted before cumming all over his face. Which pleased him by the way. He licked his lips and without a second thought started to kiss you again, so much so that you could feel yourself on his tongue. But that was not enough, he wanted you. «I'm going to fuck you so hard you have no idea. Now behave as well as you have so far and suck me off,» he said as he removed the last of his clothes. Your eyes couldn't help but stare at his erection, certainly getting him all the way in your mouth would have been quite a challenge. You watched him ravenously, having dreamed of this moment for far too long. You began to slowly run your hand down the length of him, massaging his balls as well, you were slow, running your fingers along the veins and playing with his head. He looked exhausted to see you like that. His moans became louder. You smiled and took him in your mouth, all the way to his uvula. This made him tighten his grip on your hair, which was clenched in his hands. He pulled hard on them as he fucked your mouth. Your hands were tight on his thighs as you slid it over your tongue. You spit on the tip, then took it back into your mouth and ran your tongue along every vein. Concentrating especially on the tip. «You are fucking phenomenal. My good whore, keep it up, faster,» he said in a broken voice as he used his pelvis to push against your mouth.

It did not take many more thrusts before it poured into your mouth in hot streams. You stared at him intently as you swallowed the liquid. With a grin, now his umpteenth, he ran his thumb between your lips, cleaning them of his own seed and attacking them with an almost violent kiss. It was so quick that you didn't even notice when he slipped two fingers inside you and began to move them quickly as his member became erect again. Seeing you under him like that drove him crazy and he couldn't wait to fuck you the way he wanted to. He wrapped one hand around your neck, making you moan. You didn't know that these things could ever turn you on, but with Hyunjin, with his hands on your body, it was impossible not to. Soon his fingers became four inside you, and the way he twisted them inside you made you think he already knew what your walls looked like.

It was unexpected for you when you were turned over and positioned on all fours with him standing behind you, erupting like one of your many beloved sculptures. He rubbed his erect member against your entrance, making you shiver as only he could. «God, I can't wait to fuck you, if only you could see the way your butthole is clenching around nothing as I rub against you,» he grinned. But you could feel it, you could feel it all right. «P...lease put it in, I need it Hyunjin mmm - make it quick please, fuck m...e» by now you were beside yourself. Your brain was disconnected.

You heard him laugh, pleased that you felt so weak under his touch. But you couldn't help it; it was as if he had cast a spell on you.

Without a word, he thrust into you in one swift motion. You let out a moan, just as he had. He pushed your back down so that your face touched the floor. You were a fire, you felt your body burning and you just wanted more, more and more. «Fuck,» he shouted. He had your hair in his grip as he squeezed your buttocks and began to thrust into you. You felt the floor turn and collapse beneath your body. You felt full and also heard the sounds Hyunjin made. He growled as he thrust into you with dry, precise strokes. «You're so fucking tight and hot. I could come right now,» he growled thunderously. You couldn't answer, too busy enjoying the feel of his dick inside you. But you needed to feel him deeper, you wanted to feel all of him.

You moved your pelvis closer to his, driving him crazy, he bit his lip while you were a moaning mess, doing nothing but mumbling unrelated words to each other. You were going crazy, you wanted to feel him burning inside you, between your walls. «Fuck, yes, shit!» you heard him say as he held your pelvis tightly against his. The strokes were faster, you felt his cock touching your sensitive spot, stimulating it. You were sure it would not be long before you came. He pulled your hair hard towards him and with the hand holding your pelvis he began to push your body against his own, as if you were standing up. He tightened his free hand around your neck and you moaned at the lack of air.

«Plea...se Hyunjin... harder... faster... fuck the...re...» you said incoherently as he bit your neck, leaving an obvious signal. «Shut up, I decide.»

He whispered in your ear, then increased his thrusts. He forced you back onto the cold wood and you felt his body crush yours as he squeezed your neck and thrust into you at a relentless pace. It was impossible at this point not to let out a loud, high-pitched moan along with your humours.

«Very good, Princess. Now make me come, like a good girl,» he said, overstimulating you, by this time you had reached your limit, your body was weak. But the sound of his thrusts drove you even crazier. After a few final thrusts, you toothed in the hot, sticky fluid that filled your hole. You moaned along with him, riding out his orgasm as his seed dripped from your thighs. He growled and let go of you, kissing your shoulder.

You never expected him to clean you up by putting his tongue between your buttocks and licking away his own cum. This made you moan at his touch, causing him to giggle, which made his tongue vibrate inside your hole.

As he stood up and began to clean it up, including you, he leaned towards your face and blew on your lips, leaving a slow, passionate kiss. «I want you here this Friday, Y/N.»

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

Days later, you were still thinking about the way Hyunjin had fucked you so well in the photo room. You couldn't get it out of your head. Even when you found yourself cleaning up the huge stinking mess you had made. That day you had made more of a mess than usual, you had to be more careful the next time.

When you had finished cleaning up the mess, you decided it would be better for you to eat: you had to cook lunch. The next day you were to meet the man who had been in your thoughts for two weeks. You couldn't think of anything else. Hyunjin really seemed to have cast a strange spell on you. But you didn't mind. Just like it hadn't bothered you to feel that his body was completely connected to yours.

After a quiet lunch you decided it would be best to organise your tools and materials, after this morning they were all in a mess and you hated mess. You had even left them out of storage the last time. So you stood patiently in front of your cupboard, arranging the duffel bag that you jealously guarded. Meanwhile, you wondered why the police still hadn't found anything about the girls. The number had increased enormously, and whoever was making them disappear had to be an expert to get away with it without leaving any evidence. You'd like to ask yourself who would ever be able to go unnoticed for almost twenty days while the police still hadn't found anything. After tidying up the mess you had made, you decided that it might be best to think about what to wear to meet Hyunjin tomorrow. You were extremely impatient.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

And there you were, in front of the usual studio. Where Hyunjin had arranged to meet you. You had dressed up, a black over the knee coat, your usual leather jacket, black boots and this time your long hair was over your shoulders. However, you noticed that the studio door was already open; maybe Hyunjin was already inside, just waiting for your arrival. You bit your lip, unsure what to do.

What would be wrong with going in?

So you did, but no one was there.

«Hyunjin?» you called, hoping that the man would appear before you. But curiosity got the better of you and you started walking around the studio, which was large but not too crowded. There were scattered tools, pieces of clay and photographic paper. But there was one thing that caught your eye. The door to a small room was half open, and from it came a strong smell that you knew too well. You were used to the smell. But you wondered why it was coming from the cupboard in Hyunjin's study and why you had never smelled it before, since you had been there twice before. So you went to the door, opened it and put your hand to your mouth.

You had just found the culprit behind the disappearance of so many girls in your town.

There were so many heads arranged in rows on tables, the blood had been cleaned off, but the skin looked intact, as if it had not decomposed. They looked like so many porcelain dolls. You started to get closer when you felt a presence behind you and your breath caught in your throat. «Someone found something they weren't supposed to see, don't you think, Princess?» you turned around so slowly that when you saw him covered in blood, an electric shock almost ran through your entire body.

But you were not afraid; your curiosity had overcome your fear.

«How did you make them so porcelain-like and not get caught?» you whispered as his body clung to yours, crushed against the wall. He chuckled, trying to see an edge of fear in your face. He was surprised to find none. That made you even more special and unique in his eyes. No one had ever been like you before. «Aren't you afraid? Ask me how I made them like this instead of running away and reporting me to the police,» he laughed. But you smiled, grabbed his hair and brought his face closer to yours. Lips on lips. «I'm not afraid. In fact, I'm curious. You made them look like so many disembodied dolls. Where did you throw their bodies without getting caught? It takes talent,» the answer made his eyes sparkle.

You were definitely different.

He grabbed you by the neck and tightened his grip. But you weren't afraid, you were sure he wouldn't hurt you. He was just angry because you made him feel different. Because it was you. You made him want you more than anything.

He slipped a hand under your dress, felt how wet the crotch of your panties was.

You giggled.

«You are different. You are not afraid. You're turned on by all of this, you sick little whore,» you laughed. At the top of your lungs. You pulled him closer with one leg and rubbed your pelvis against him, moaning. «I may have a dark little secret of my own, my dear Hyunjin. How about we take advantage of it?» you bit his lip. His head was spinning, he felt his hands burning. «First tell me about this dark little secret you little bitch,» you pressed your bodies together and felt yours almost catching fire, you wanted it. Again. At least you wanted him to make you come.

«Haven't you ever wondered why I take anatomy lessons when my passion is something else?» you giggled, leaving him confused. You were like him. «I love dissecting corpses even more when they are fresh and made by me, squeezing organs in my hands, and I would love to see them intact forever. Why don't you tell me your little secret? How do you make those heads like that?» you moaned under his touch, quickly rubbing your cunt against his thigh, wetting it. «You're fucking crazy,» he laughed maniacally and then began a fierce kiss, as if your bodies were about to catch fire. You continued to move on his thigh, moaning his name on your lips as you jerked him off over his trousers. All this was turning you on more than you thought. Your breath was short, you couldn't hold back any longer, so you let out a long moan, you on his leg and him in his trousers. It was fast but intense.

«How about cooperating, princess?» he laughed, still above you. «With great pleasure,» you whispered growling into his mouth.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

After that day, you invited Hyunjin to your house and showed him your collection. It was funny to see his surprised face. He never expected to see that side of you. That day, you orchestrated the perfect plan. Your victims had rarely been women, and his were all women. He also explained to you how he chose his victims, his modus operandi : he often went to this café frequented by students, and often heard these girls squawking like chickens and insulting art, a thing he revered. So did the woman's body. So why not get rid of them after seducing them and keep the body as a prize? It was a perfect idea in his mind. So he decided to prove it to you himself.

You stood at the table behind him and a certain Sasha, he had met her that morning when he brought you your coffee and decided that she would be the ideal victim. You watched as he tried to seduce her with a grin, running his hand down her back to her bottom. You bit your lip, a little jealous of the touch he was reserving for her.

When they got up, you followed them silently, already knowing where Hyunjin was taking her: at the back of his study was a large chamber where he carried out his murders and burned the remaining bodies: the clay oven, a very good idea, you thought.

Everything happened very quickly, the way he undressed her and she undressed him. You trembled. You hated to see the way the girl touched him. He was almost ready to fuck her when, with a wink, he moved you forward and handcuffed the girl's hands and feet. But she screamed in vain, the walls were soundproofed, Hyunjin really had thought of everything.

He took off your clothes, stroking your body, and put them aside with his own so they wouldn't get dirty. After all, it was impossible to remove blood stains from the fabrics. He bit your shoulder and patted your ass, then stood statuesque in front of the girl. You watched closely as he slit her throat with a sharp knife, splashing blood everywhere. And you flanked him as he opened her chest and began to harvest the organs that he would soon show you how to embalm. You loved it.

Soon a pool of blood spread beneath your bodies. You sat on his naked pelvis, as bloodied as he was. He brought the knife between your mouths and you did not hesitate a moment before licking the blood off the metal, crossing your tongue with Hyunjin's. His vermilion hands cupped your breasts, your thighs. Your body. You were the woman he adored. His muse. The half he shared his madness with. His illness. Your mouths met, you drew your lips together, biting your tongues. It was a fierce, ravenous, passionate kiss. Your intimacy rubbed against your naked pussy, wet and warm. You couldn't wait to fuck him. He bit your neck ravenously. As if he wanted to eat you. You loved the way he was so impetuous with you, so passionate. He drove you crazy. «How about we play a little princess?» he grinned, then put two fingers to your vagina and began to move them quickly. Your moans were disconnected and his lips were tight on your breasts, sucking on your nipples and pulling on them with his teeth. Your hands were harpooned in your hair, pulling at it. You definitely wanted more.

He entered you slowly, playing with your walls. As he licked the blood from your body. «Mhh, Hyunjin faster please,» you begged him, pressing your pelvis against his. You wanted more, you wanted him inside you. Your hand reached his intimacy and began to play with his glans, pressing your thumb on the tip so that he moaned. You loved seeing him like that under your touch, even more so when he was completely covered in blood. His hand reached your neck as you decided his fingers were not enough to satisfy you and stood up, sitting straight on his cock. This caused him to moan sharply. «Have a good ride, Hyunjinie,» you whispered in his ear. And he grinned. He took his fingers, smeared with blood and your fluids, into his mouth to lick it all off and then push it into your mouth, playing with your tongue as your walls adjusted to his thick length. You pulled your head back as he tired of waiting and gave a precise thrust inside you, gripping your neck tightly. You loved it when he did this. You began to jump up and down on his length, letting out moans that fortunately no one could hear thanks to the soundproof walls. Hyunjin bit his lip hard as you humped him. He loved the feeling of watching you riding him. He felt a unique warmth running through his body.

But he was tired; speed and strength were not enough for him. He made you lie down in that pool of blood, put his hands under your knees and bent your legs towards your breasts. He entered you with a precise thrust, as if he knew just the right spot to hit you, and your loud moaning let him know that was exactly where he needed to thrust. So with almost animal speed he resumed his thrusts inside you. He put your legs on his shoulders while he held your neck tightly with one hand and played with your clit quickly with the other. It drove you crazy. Your moans were now as uncontrollable as the times Hyunjin had cried out in pleasure. «Fuck Princess, how good you take me. Your pussy is perfect for me, so ,warm. You fucking hold me so well, you little whore,» he growled. You couldn't help but moan loudly at those words. You couldn't speak, every time you tried to say something the words died in your throat.

«I'm... coming... fucking H... Hyunjin for fuck's sake! Ther...e yeah!» you moaned one last time before tightening your warm walls around his cock. «Fuck I'm about to come too, squeeze me so fucking tight.» And he, now at the top of his lungs, poured hot streams into you, filling you. But he didn't come out; he decided to tear himself all over you as he filled you, letting his cum drip out of your cunt.

You stroked his long wet hair as he kissed your breasts. «You are mine forever, just know that,» he whispered, biting you. You giggled. «I wasn't planning on looking for anyone else after you, Hyunjin,» he smiled, then looked at you and licked a drop of blood that had fallen from your shoulder.

«I like you covered in blood.»

TAGLIST 🎀 : @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @sugarsweetsugarsweet @rylea08 @skzswife @hyunjinhoexxx @hyunjinnie2000 @boi-bi-ahaha @nanamongmong @yongbokkiesworld @hyunjinnnsgirl @reader1221

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ladybirdswritings · 1 year ago

Text

Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara was never known to be a man wanting. He was beyond content with the power surging through him upon his multiversal throne. That is until he lays his hungry eyes upon you. Now, he will do whatever it takes just for the taste of you… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

Notes: I couldn’t stop myself from this hades and persephone-esque fic so I hope you enjoy!! SW&P is far lighter if you desire that <3

next chap

one

Morning is a sweet greeting to you, warm and incandescent to shine it’s rays upon soft skin. As it always is. Though you find it to be dreary on days like this, as it is the same as the day prior, and the day prior to that day. As if it is not sparkling gold but shadowing gray.

All the same repetitive waltz for you.

Yet to your unknowing mind, much would change within the quick hour. Change not in the way of little things but rather in the way that would make your toes curl and your eager hands grab your tresses so you might not trip upon them on your dash toward the tallest hills.

You would have run had you known what was to come.

Yet you didn’t; and so? Your morning was quite a bore.

Similar to a zombie are your sunken cheeks and coffee kissed eyes decorated with awful bags. Your toothbrush is made of oak as is your boar-bristled comb. You tend to your prettying before slipping away from the hustle and bustle of a lively home. Four sisters and two brothers you sport, and an overbearing woman you dare to call your mother.

You made routine of this. Sneaking away with the latest print picked up from the small shop next to the apothecary in town. Out the oak wood door and past the burnt toast and meat to cuddle yourself comfortably against your favored weeping willow by the bend.

Your only company is the ducklings these days, though you don’t mind them much. They are mostly quiet beyond the occasional quack.

Serenity became you as you lay there in the remnants of springtime’s shadow, willfully sprouted in peonies and lilac blossoms.

Your print is a work of Austen, an old and worn thing but one you’d found comfort in recently. It would be your fourth time revisiting.

Would… however.

“Oh heavens sakes! You must enjoy making your mother walk upon tousled soil, girl! Have you got half a mind!? I don’t presume so otherwise you’d avoid any possibility of me losing a leg!”

A whine like that of a carnaged cat rings out from behind the bend. In the grassy plains your mother struggles her way toward you. You stand to your feet in swift motion, but your wandering eye finds curiosity in an unfamiliar bloom. Its colors an odd pairing of red and blue unfurled toward the sun.

What an odd thing, you think.

The huffing and puffing snaps your attention center, and you nearly grumble in complaint as you hurry toward your mother.

“Mama I was just—”

“Oh save it. I see you slip out each morning, I know full well your disdain for the company of your own family… but I didn’t come here to admonish you, sweet girl. Quite the opposite in fact. I am here to ask a favor of you. It seems the cold air has made our chickens most unwilling to provide us with eggs. Won’t you go in town and gather some?”

Like the rainfall’s mist caught by breath of wind, your hopes and plans of reading in the bend till dawn have dissipated. Pursing your lips, you nod— not wanting to administer a guaranteed headache at wake of your protest.

In to town you’ll venture.

✧*̥˚ … *̥˚✧

The cobblestone is cracked underneath your boot, as it is dampened by springtime’s departured mist. You like the clicking sound, though it is most lonesome at this ungodly hour.

The house cannot be run well with lack of your aid. Father left long ago and mother is just a dreadful housewife. The doctor blames her dissonance on the ailments within her mind’s confines though— she swears herself always to be whole and well.

Regardless, for the sake of your sisters— you help. Besides this, you owe it to her.

Your basket is made of weaved wicker and adorned with crimson cloth, at the end of the cobble is where life shines proud. A more lively gathering of townsfolk in search of early morning eggs to enjoy with their breakfast.

A single carriage, outdated as the things are, surges forward in an unstable command by a young man. He cannot be past twenty three, and his face is speckled with pale freckles. His hair is a burnt orange rasp.

The stallions are dark as midnight, sweat being huffed like chimney smoke from their nostrils. Dear god, the way he commands them is certain to ensure an accident.

You tuck the thought away in to the back of your mind to be focused upon your task. You’ll need no more than a dozen or perhaps three what with the vacuum cleaner your eldest brother refers to as his mouth.

Babblebrooke, it is where you’ve lived most your orphaned life. Surely some places have technology of picture books and magazines you skim through when you are awarded the rare chance but— you find yourself content with a place so simple.

You cannot imagine a life of loudness, no quiet space to tuck away and read. It’s a frightening thought.

The stand is nearby, only a few more passing steps and you’ll reach it. Your eyes are locked on the fresh berries, but you know full well you won’t have enough for them.

A bark startles you out of your trance, one excited and pointed. You jump at the sound and turn your head to find a cocker spaniel hound circling round and round to chase its own tail. You giggle at the sight, and its chestnut ears raise in alarm at the vibration.

Oh, it’s noticed you.

The little thing hobbles over excitedly, and you cannot help but bend on your knee to brush back its silken locks.

Beyond a canvas collar of pale pink lays a heart, engraved in molten silver the title: “Lyla.”

So she belongs to someone. Such a kind thing, they are to be a lucky companion indeed.

You smooth back the hair from her excited eyes before lifting to your feet again and continuing forward. She begins to follow you, but a movement in the alleyway shadows is a matter she finds far more pressing for her attention.

“Lyla…” you test in a whisper as you make your way behind a man hunched and gray— awaiting his eggs for breakfast.

Time seems agonizing and the line moves awfully slow, you peek behind the elder man to find annoyance laced in the eyes of the townsfolk. Blaire has taken a liking to the farm boy— it seems she’s busying herself with conversing nonsense with his mother rather than picking her fresh fruits for tart pastries.

You sigh, checking the time on your cracked, golden watch with impatience brewing at the soles of your boots. You sway on them, shifting your weight forward and back. No use just staring ahead.

Though it is quite loud, it doesn’t stop you from reaching in to your tote for “Jane Eyre.”

You find your favorite part, their first midnight meeting in the hallway. How romantic it is, you only wish that to be a possibility for you one day. You forbid yourself from joining the season of course but somewhere tucked away inside— you wonder how marvelous it would be for a broody and handsome thing to appear upon your doorstep with a bouquet the size of France.

You grin at the thought. Though it is swiftly interrupted by the quick patter of familiar paws.

“Woah! Easy!”

Your head snaps up at the gasps of those around you, and you are most horrified to see that the horses have reached the steep bend mere steps away. The ginger fool, they halt in warning and he kicks at them— slapping them with a russet pole. They comply, and the carriage loses control.

It creaks, hurling forward and disconnecting from its rusted shell. Tumbling at godspeed down the cobble and straight for little Lyla who lays mindlessly and happily on her back now.

Panic surges, and your eyes find worry in everyone’s features and yet no motive to act alongside it. Such cowardly men, allowing the poor thing to succumb to the bite of freak nature and cruel fate.

You won’t allow it. Though you feel frozen, the sharp and desperate shout of “Lyla!” from a phantom voice is enough to snap you back into the most horrible moment present.

“Christ!” You breathe, tossing Jane Eyre to the sapphire sky before surging forward. The carriage stalls on a pebble for a quick moment and it’s enough time for you to beat it by a mere step. You scoop the silly thing into your arms and as the wheel just grazes your skin— it is you now that is saved from immediate death.

A warm hand tugs at your wrist and you’re certain the brick wall has grown awfully large palms and fingers; for what you slam up against is hard and unpleasant.

You grunt, Lyla yelping in surprise where she is tucked up tightly against your chest.

Whistles and claps overtake the coward crowd and you sway upon your own boots as the wind itself makes you unsteady with its light graze. Firm palms steel you, grasping your shoulders tight to keep you together and well.

Your eyes venture on an upward path to find two crimson pupils imploring your features as if they are etched in stone and stored away in a beloved museum somewhere in Rome.

Brows pinched and quite bushy, eyes cold but curious, his reddened orbs search your face for what feels like a millennium. Fascinated.

Awed.

You blink, and the cry of the sweet creature in your arms breaks the trance you were entangled in. Lyla leaps from your arms and onto the cobble path— and you only huff and reach a weak arm toward her before the exhaustion of a skipped meal and your adrenaline fueled actions bring you to sit on the cobble ground.

He kneels beside you, the stranger. Yet you cannot find yourself mustering enough energy to truly examine his face. Just his eyes, rare things they are.

“She’ll be alright.” He whispers, hands still pleasantly upon your shoulders as if he fears you’ll topple over and shatter once he parts.

When you do lift your gaze however, stricken curious by the sickly silken sound of his voice, he’s gone.

“Thank y-”

The word croaks in your throat, and you can only wonder how it was possible… how quickly the phantom left you upon the cobble. The farm boy rushes over soon, much to the demise of poor Blaire. She stares on at the carriage and ginger man as if she wishes it was her nearly trampled.

He hands you fresh water and berries, and you wave his concern away and the crowd’s curiosity with a weak hand.

Your mind is only glued upon one thing.

The phantom.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @cybersry

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dirtyvulture · 1 year ago

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Darkest Knight - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 5568

AN: Click here for Part 2!

Despite that you finally get to sleep in a familiar place, it’s still hard for you to fully relax. Even after the feast Ororo had prepared for you and Natasha, the hot shower, and the fact that you’ve hardly slept eight hours in the last three days combined, you lie in bed next to Natasha, restlessly twisting and turning in the blankets.

“Don’t you want to fight back?” the guard taunts, slapping the tip of his cattle prod on his massive door of a shield.

You look down at your hands, which are wrapped in clunky metal gloves that encase your entire fist up to your mid-forearm. You can’t release your claws through them; you learned that painful lesson very early on.

“Come on, animal!” Another guard whistles at you. You crinkle your nose in distaste when you smell the fear on the men surrounding you. Despite their attempts to exude a macho and alpha persona, they’re close to wetting themselves in fear at being locked in a room with you.

One of the guards inches towards you, his cattle prod buzzing with blue electricity. You snarl in warning, shifting your feet that are chained to heavy shackles bolted to the floor. Even if you manage to kill every one of these guards, you’re still not going anywhere.

“Don’t make this easy for me.” The guard’s face lights in a crazed smile. He lunges at you, cattle prod first, which you easily dodge. You reel your fist back and punch as hard as you can at his knee. The guard screams as his leg folds backwards. He collapses, crying and whimpering, as the other guards converge on you at the same time.

The sharp pain of the prods stabbing into your back is immediately followed by the explosive burst of electricity and you fall onto the floor next to the guard, your entire body seizing and spasming. Two of the guards jump onto you, flattening you like a pancake and knocking all the air out of your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

Your head is pressed into the ground by a boot, but you have no strength to fight all of them at the same time. A cattle prod jabs at your throat and you hardly have time to register the pain before the electricity crackles and stuns you into unconsciousness.

You bolt upright, pillows and blankets flying. Your chest is heaving and you’re soaked in sweat. The side of your neck–where the Widow had stabbed you with her taser–stings with phantom pain.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

Natasha’s voice brings you back to the present. You’re not back in captivity, you’re not being tortured by the guards, you’re in your room at the mansion with Natasha next to you in your own bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, wiping at your forehead feverishly. “Just need the bathroom.” You feel Natasha’s eyes on your back as you get up and walk over to the connecting bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and taking a few bracing breaths. Your heart is pounding still and you know you won’t be able to go back to sleep any time soon. It’s almost three in the morning, according to the clock on your nightstand.

“Y/N?” you hear Natasha call you again, then the rustle of blankets as she tries to get up.

“Stay in bed,” you say. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Natasha is uncomfortable to be left behind. She knows that you’ve just had a nightmare because of the sudden way you woke up sweating and refusing to talk. She’s sad that she doesn’t know how to comfort you and wishes you weren’t so guarded about some things, but she recognizes that whatever gives you nightmares is a deeply personal and traumatic experience that you aren’t ready to share with her.

The door opens and you slip out silently, leaving Natasha to wonder in the darkness of your room.

You’re not sure where you’re headed, but your feet take a familiar path down the hall out to a balcony. It’s numbingly cold outside, especially in a wet short-sleeve shirt and sweatpants, but you welcome the freeze as you lean on the railing, looking out at the garden of the mansion. You rub at the patch of skin on your neck where the Widow tased you, but the memory from your nightmare dredges up a worse pain.

The time when you were held hostage by the government, experimented on like a lab rat, brainwashed to follow orders and commit the most unspeakable crimes on humanity. The bits that you do remember make you physically ill and you wish you could dunk your brain in bleach to permanently forget them.

With shaking hands, you take a lighter and a box of cigarettes out of your pocket, quickly setting one aflame and sucking in a deep lungful of smoke. It’s a terrible habit, even you’ll admit, but it’s a momentary distraction from the pain that you know will never go away. You flick the ashes over the railing, lulling yourself back into calm with the familiar motion.

“You know the professor doesn’t like it when you smoke on campus,” someone says from behind you and you startle. It’s Jean, dressed in a light, almost see-through nightgown.

“Um, sorry. Forgot,” you mumble, averting your eyes from her and stubbing the flame out on the railing. “Why are you up?”

“Your thoughts are very loud.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” While mindreading was a power mortals could only dream of, you were familiar with the real annoyances and headaches it could cause. It wasn’t a power that could necessarily be “turned off,” and even though you knew Jean tried to respect your privacy, sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“No, it’s okay.” Jean moves to stand next to you. The wind blows her scent in your direction, and the memories it sparks immediately has you turning red with embarrassment when she turns on you.

“Really?” she asks with a tone of amusement.

“You and Scott are still going strong I see,” you deflect. “No chance for us, I guess.”

“Y/N,” she says.

“Sorry,” you apologize again. Things between you and Jean have always been complicated. But a part of you will always see her as the one that got away. “Well, if you ever get tired of the Boy Scout, you know where to find me–”

“I couldn’t do that,” Jean says, and you sigh. “Besides, someone is much more interested in you than I am. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Hmm?”

Jean pushes against your shoulder. “I had a feeling your super senses were just for show sometimes. You’ve always been a bit of a dummy.”

“Dummy? Ouch.” You feign being hurt. “And I don’t know about anyone else being interested in me, you know how boring I am.”

“She doesn’t think you’re boring,” Jean says.

“Who? Nat?” It takes you a second. “I hope you’re staying out of her head, Jean,” you disprove. “She’s kind of new to the whole mutant thing.”

“Her thoughts are almost as loud as yours,” Jean defends. “And always on you.”

“Me?” You wonder what kinds of thoughts Natasha’s had about you.

Jean shrugs. “That’s for you two to discuss. But I’m not getting in between that. Besides, you know you like her, too–”

“Stop it.” Although Jean spoke the truth, you truly couldn’t imagine Natasha wanting you. You were, well, you, with all of your trauma and issues. You had lived for centuries and never found anyone willing to settle with you. Natasha would be no different, you were sure.

“Give her a chance. She really likes you, that’s all I’m going to say.”

You wonder if this is Jean just making things up to get you off her back.

“I’m not,” she says, clearly in your head again.

“That’s not fair, Jean. Get out,” you grumble, fishing in your pocket for the cigarettes again.

“Good night, Y/N,” she says, turning to walk back to her room down the other end of the hall.

“Good night, Jean.”

You light another cigarette, letting the smoke drift around your head. You don’t notice Natasha peeking out from behind the curtains. She had only caught the end of your conversation with Jean and was shocked that she had been the topic, especially with the kinds of things Jean had been saying about her. But Natasha had been secretly thrilled to hear that you might like her just as much as she did you. It seemed like this Jean person wasn’t a hindrance, but actually a help.

She watches you for a few more minutes, noticing how the smoking calms you down. Once she’s sure you’ll be okay, she goes back to your room to pretend to be asleep.

***********************************************************************

Fortunately, Scott does not do as he threatened and wake you up at six, so you and Natasha are able to wake up naturally and you take her downstairs for breakfast. In the kitchen, she perches on a stool while you cook scramble eggs for her. Just as you sit down to join her with your own plate, a young girl bursts in and makes a beeline for you.

“Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?” the girl asks in a southern accent.

“I got caught up with a few things, darling.” You get up from your stool to hug the girl, careful not to press your cheek against hers. She’s wearing long-sleeves and gloves, so you let her hold onto you for as long as she likes. “Good to see you again, kid. Nat, this is Marie–”

“Rogue,” Marie corrects, winking at you.

“Hello.” Natasha offers her hand to Marie, who doesn’t take it.

“Oh, it’s not personal,” Marie says. “Y/N can explain–”

But you’re not really in the mood to, so you swiftly change the subject. “Where’s your boyfriend?” you ask her, and she blushes.

“Bobby’s in class. I think.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because I wanted to come see you,” Marie giggles. Natasha wants to melt as she watches you interact with the young girl. You seem so casual and at ease it almost startles her, such a contrast to the broody and grumpy person she had been traveling with for the past three days.

“Well, I don’t want the professor coming after me saying I’m keeping you from your studies now,” you tease. “So get back to class, kid.”

“It was good seeing you, Y/N! And nice meeting you, Nat!” Marie bounds off.

“She’s cute,” Natasha comments.

“Yeah,” you agree. “You know, I found her the same way I did with you. Poor thing was clearly lost in a bar, so I brought her home and…” You pause as Natasha lifts her eyebrows at you. “Not like that, Nat. Come on.”

“I hope not. She seems a bit young.” Natasha is both jealous and annoyed now. She had thought her first meeting with you had been a special coincidence, fate causing your paths to cross, when clearly, you’ve had the same encounter with someone else before.

“Marie was seventeen when I found her,” you explain. “She was running from her parents after she discovered her powers. She…She can’t touch people. At least not skin-to-skin, or she’ll absorb the life right out of them. Or for people like me, our powers.” Your face darkens like you’re reminded of an unpleasant memory. Natasha reaches over the counter to touch your hand but you pull away before she can. “She’s a good kid and she’s doing a lot better now. I’m proud of her.”

Natasha can hear the sincerity in your voice. You talk about Marie like she’s your own child and she briefly wonders if you have any.

“When was the last time you were here?” she asks.

“It feels like forever, but it was probably only a year ago,” you answer.

“Everyone seems to act like it was much longer,” she teases.

“I know. I didn’t realize they’d miss me that much.” In fact, it was hard for you to think you were missed by anyone. You’d been alone almost your entire life, moving from place to place, person to person. Permanence was not in your vocabulary and you did as you pleased with little regard for consequences. Even your friends here couldn’t convince you to stay for long, although you came back more often than you ever thought you would. Oftentimes, you wished you had someone you could share your life with, but after being alive as long as you had been, you convinced yourself this was only wishful thinking.

After breakfast, you load the dirty dishes into the washer together. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour now.” You offer Natasha your arm, which she takes while trying to suppress a smile. With classes ongoing, there would be little distractions to interrupt you. You walk with her out the back door of the kitchen, wrapping around the side of the mansion to the sprawling backyard, marked with a basketball court, a garden, and even a little cemetery of its own.

“So, if Rogue–Marie–can ‘absorb’ people’s powers, what can your other friends do?” Natasha asks, trying to be as subtle and respectful about the question as she can.

“Well, Ororo told you the kids call her Storm. Where do you think they got that one from?” you ask.

“Because she can make storms?” Natasha guesses.

“If she wants. Or she could do literally anything she wanted with the weather.”

“Anything? Like, actually anything?” Natasha has trouble grasping the concept that a singular person could have the power to control the weather at will. She had heard rumors of people like Storm–of people like you–but didn’t know if they were true or simply a fantasy conjured up by the Red Room to scare them.

“Tornadoes, floods, heat waves, you name it. And Scott doesn't just wear those glasses to show that he’s a douchebag twenty-four-seven. He can emit laser beams from his eyes, so the glasses stop him from frying everything he looks at. Although I’m pretty sure he’s wanted to take them off in front of me more than once,” you add with a chuckle.

“So, what is your thing with him? And Jean? And what can she do?” Natasha peppers you all at once.

“Um…” You scratch your head nervously. “Jean has…telepathic abilities.” You answer the easiest question first.

“Like, she can move things with her mind.”

“Yes. And…she can read your mind.”

You wince when Natasha goes bright red, redder than her hair.

“But she doesn’t do it on purpose. She’ll mind your privacy,” you add hastily. You remember how shocked and embarrassed you’d been when you first learned Jean had access to your deepest and most vulnerable thoughts–and also your lustful fantasies of her and you.

“Were you and her…a thing?” Natasha asks, holding her breath while she waits for your answer.

“It’s complicated.” You sigh. “But yeah, at one point we were…a thing. Not anymore, obviously.”

Natasha knows it’s silly to be jealous when you and Jean are adults and supposedly past your fling, but she’s worried that you still might have feelings for her. “Do you still like her?” she asks, having no intent to beat around the bush.

“She chose Scott over me,” you say, although this isn’t quite the answer Natasha is looking for. “So I need to get over her and get a life of my own. I’m sure someone will come along…”

“Maybe someone has come along.” Natasha looks at you, nervousness and adoration in her eyes.

“You hardly know me,” you reject.

“But I want to know you. Please. Whatever you’ll tell.”

You appreciate her earnestness. “Let’s sit down then. It’s a long story.” Natasha warms at the thought of you finally opening up to her. You lead her to a bench in the shade of some trees, just in time as a bell rings and children swarm out of the mansion, carrying bags and books, hurrying off to their next lesson.

“How old do you think I am?” you ask Natasha.

“I don’t know, like 25?”

She looks stricken when you laugh, hoping she didn’t underestimate too badly.

“I was born in the 19th century–we estimate–so I’ve been about 25 for probably over 150 years now,” you reveal.

“Oh my God.”

“I know, hopefully you’re not turned away by it,” you say. “I guess you can just say it means…I’m experienced,” you defend with a smirk.

“So, you can’t die or you don’t age?”

“Both, I think. It’s part of my…mutation.” You don’t like using that word, but sometimes there’s not a better way to explain it. “Along with the healing and the claws.”

“And the metal?” Natasha had heard of mutants who could turn their bodies into metal, but not of one who had metal growing inside of them.

There’s a long pause. “No,” you finally say. “That was…um…” You wish you understood why it was so hard to talk about sometimes. It wasn’t like you remembered most of it, anyway. You had spent long, exhausting sessions with the professor trying to unearth the memories your own mind had locked away from you.

You take a deep breath. “I was part of this government program. The ‘Weapon X Project,’ they called it. We’re not sure if my participation was initially voluntary, but in the end it didn’t matter. They turned me into a weapon, that’s all you need to know,” you spit, surprised at the frustration that suddenly boils inside of you. “They had the metal surgically grafted to my bones and brainwashed me so I knew nothing but violence and destruction. I was the best soldier they ever had. I couldn’t die, I had weapons built into my own arms, I listened to every command they gave…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha says, resting her hand on yours.

“You know the funniest part is that I served in a lot of wars. But I wasn’t a soldier. I was a nurse.” To this day, you wondered what the government saw in you to recruit you into their program. You weren’t a naturally aggressive or violent person at heart. You just wanted to help people. “I wish I could forget the things I do remember.” You bow your head and Natasha instinctively leans forward to touch her forehead against yours. “The pain I caused. The innocent lives I took–”

“Y/N. Hey. None of that was your fault,” Natasha says.

The memories flash through your head. The hot blood on your face and hands that wasn’t your own. The laughing of the guards as they strung you up like a pinata, batons at the ready. The smell of your own fear as you lay helpless on an operating table.

Natasha wraps her arms around you as you tilt forward, burying your face in her neck. When you inhale her scent, slightly flowery with a hint of your shampoo, you calm down almost immediately.

“I know what it feels like,” Natasha whispers. “To not be in control of your body. To not be able to stop yourself from hurting someone.”

“You do?”

She nods. “The Red Room.”

And it suddenly clicks for you, although you’re not sure why it took so long. Natasha, while not necessarily a mutant, was likely treated the exact same way you had been in the Weapon X program. Here is one person who could understand you better than anyone else–even better than the people who could actually read your mind.

“You have to forgive yourself. Because you weren’t in control of yourself,” Natasha says.

“I should’ve resisted harder,” you whimper.

“No. You did everything you could. Besides, they would’ve found someone else to get their dirty work done if you refused.” Natasha is unbelievably wise for her age. You’re sure this is your good karma finally delivering this beautiful and understanding young woman into your life.

“Thanks,” you mumble, finally pulling back from her. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “You didn’t ask to be taken to another country, stuck in a truck for three days, dragged to a place filled with freaks like me–”

“Don’t say that. You’re not a freak and neither is anyone else here,” Natasha says. “You saved my life. Multiple times. I never asked you to and I never had anything to give you in return, but you did. And you still are. I can’t be more grateful for the night that I stumbled into that ratty old bar and met you.”

“Hey, the beers there are pretty good,” you defend good-naturedly.

“But the person I met there was even better.” Natasha’s hand comes up and rests on your cheek. You see her staring at your lips and you lean forward, unusually hesitant, but you don’t want to ruin this moment. “Can I…” she whispers.

“Of course, darling.” You press your mouth to hers, softly at first and then with a bit more force. Her tongue brushes your lower lip and the taste of her is toxic, causing a low growl of contentment to rumble in your chest. Your hands rest on her thighs, drawing yourself closer to her when–

“Hey, Y/N! Is that your new girlfriend?”

You yank back from Natasha with such speed Natasha thinks someone has forcibly torn you from her. Your head whips around and you see Kitty Pryde running up to you, books held in the crook of her arm, as she waves and whoops at you. A frighteningly tall, muscular guy trails behind her at a distance.

“Does no one go to class around here?” you grumble, getting up just in time for Kitty to fling herself at you.

“I didn’t believe Marie, so I had to come see for myself,” Kitty says, squeezing you so tightly you can’t inhale. “You disappear for fourteen months and then you finally come back with a new girlfriend–”

“Kitty,” you snap, wishing she wasn’t so forthcoming with her thoughts, even though you had been the irresponsible one for kissing Natasha out in the open.

“Hi, I’m Kitty!” The teenager ignores you and turns to Natasha.

“Nat.” Natasha is amused by her energy and your clear annoyance with her.

Kitty comes back to your side and leans in to whisper, although she still talks at a volume you’re certain Natasha can hear. “I think you picked a good one, she’s really pretty.”

“I know,” you hiss back, fighting a smile when you see Natasha light up in the corner of your eye.

“When are you guys eating lunch? Peter and I can join and make it a double date–”

“Oh, so you two are official now?” you ask. Kitty’s infatuations with him were utterly comical, and you wondered if he finally said yes to her only to get her to leave him alone.

“Well, no. But we’re working on it!” she insists.

“I see,” you nod in mock understanding, mostly because you don’t think you’ll ever understand the mindset of a teenage girl in the 21st century. “We’ll see you later then.”

“Perfect! Bye, Nat!” Kitty runs back off to join Peter.

You look back at Natasha and offer her your hand to help her stand up. “Sorry about…her.”

“I like her,” Natasha says. “And I like how much everyone here seems to like you, especially the kids. I knew you were a big softy under all that–”

“Okay, okay,” you growl, slipping your arm around her waist to bring her closer to you. You kiss her cheek lightly, feeling her skin heat up as she blushes at the affection. “Now, where were we–”

“Y/N. NATASHA.” A familiar voice booms out of nowhere. Natasha whirls around, looking up and down frantically in search of its origin. “PLEASE SEE ME IN MY OFFICE WHEN YOU TWO HAVE A CHANCE.”

“Is that…the professor?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah. Although he usually sends a messenger if he wants to communicate…”

“How did he do that?”

“Oh, he’s inside our heads,” you answer a little too casually. Natasha hardly has time to ask another question before you’re pulling her back in the direction of the mansion. “Come on. Let’s go see him before he sends Scott after us…”

***********************************************************************

“They know you’re here, Natasha.”

The words sent Natasha into a panic. Her perfect world has suddenly shattered with a poisonous dose of reality. She had almost forgotten the danger she was still running from, which removes her from her cloud nine high almost immediately.

“Then I need to leave,” Natasha says, pacing Professor Xavier’s office. “I’m putting everyone here in danger–”

“Nat, sit down,” you beg, feeding off her anxiety. “Please?” You hold out your hand and she finally grasps it and plops down next to you on the professor’s leather couch. “You’ll be safe here. I promised, remember?”

“But you’re not safe!” she emphasizes. “And neither is anyone else–your friends, the children–”

“We won’t let anything happen to them,” you assure.

“We have three days until they come,” Professor Xavier says.

“Three days–How do you know that?” Natasha asks.

Professor Xavier ignores her questions. “We’ll scare them away, but it won’t be a permanent solution. You are extremely important to them, Natasha. They aren’t happy to have lost you.”

“You’re…You’re not going to give me up, are you?” She clamps down hard on your hand, so hard that if your bones hadn’t been infused with metal, they might’ve cracked.

“Of course not. But we will have to discuss a long-term solution.”

“So, we’ll keep moving then. Right Y/N?” Natasha looks at you desperately and you shake your head.

“There isn’t a corner of this planet you can hide from them on,” Professor Xavier says.

“So we go to them. Right?” Natasha’s brain is churning with endless scenarios. This is not the first time she’s wished for a normal life. To come home to a loving family, to relax and spend time with them, her only worry being what to cook for dinner. But if she had led a normal life, she wouldn’t have met you. She might not have known about the population of people with actual superpowers.

And while no one–not even her–knew the location of the Red Room, she was certain Professor Xavier could figure it out with enough time (if he didn’t already know). But Natasha couldn’t endanger any of you more than she already had. This was her fight, not yours. As devastated as she would to have to leave you, she refused to put your life at risk because of her own past.

“Natasha, just remember that you aren’t alone.”

She almost jumps off the couch when Professor Xavier’s voice echoes in his whole office. You’re sitting completely still, not even blinking, and Professor Xavier looks at her with a calm smile. Natasha still doesn’t understand how he does that and realizes you never told her what his powers are.

“You know who you can trust and ask for help.” Professor Xavier’s mouth doesn’t move at all. “She cares about you more than you know. And she won’t let anything happen to you.”

Natasha glances at you, still frozen in time. She reaches out to caress your cheek, so overwhelmed at the thought that someone actually likes her and would protect her. Her whole life she had been forced to be entirely dependent on herself, not able to trust another soul, and then you had come along and convinced her that she didn’t have to live like that anymore. What had she done to deserve you?

“Thank you,” Natasha says, even though she isn’t sure you can hear her.

“She is just as thankful to have you. I’ve never seen her this excited to be around someone before. I know you’ll be good to her and take care of her in turn.”

“Of course.” Natasha couldn’t imagine treating you otherwise and she knows the professor knows this as well.

“Nat? Are you okay?” you ask suddenly, acting as if you hadn’t missed a beat in the conversation.

“I’ll be okay,” she says. “Because I have you.”

***********************************************************************

The impending third day weighs heavily on Natasha’s mind, so much that she can hardly enjoy her new relationship with you. At night, you’ve now finally welcomed sharing a bed with her, letting her snuggle up to you so she can share your body heat. You’re surprisingly more affectionate than she figured you would be, but you are still very careful whenever you hold her hand, almost as if you don’t trust yourself to be gentle with her. But Natasha knows you’ll never hurt her and she is very patient to show you.

“Bless their hearts to attack on a weekend,” Ororo says as you watch the last van full of children pull away from the mansion. Jean and Scott, at the professor’s instruction, had organized a last-minute weekend retreat for the students, sending them far out of the city where they would be out of harm’s way. Some of the older students, like Marie, Bobby, Kitty and Peter, had volunteered to stay and fight the Red Room agents. You weren’t very comfortable with the idea of them staying, but they refused to leave.

“Hopefully the school is still standing when they return on Monday,” Scott notes and you glare at him.

“They won’t bomb us. Imagine how that would look in the news,” Jean says.

“We’ll be okay,” you remind Natasha, who is exuding waves of pure anxiety. She wraps her arms around your waist, burying her face into your shoulder. You catch a glimpse of Jean looking at the two of you, but you’re not sure if she’s jealous or happy for you.

“The goal is to scare them off. Not destroy all of their numbers,” Professor Xavier chimes in.

“I’m just here to do whatever I need to to protect this school,” you mutter, although you’re not exactly looking forward to the bloodshed either.

“Yes, I know,” Professor Xavier says. “If you can keep their blood off my velvet curtains this time I would greatly appreciate it–”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupt, turning away in embarrassment. You and Natasha head back into the mansion while the others see off the last van. She goes with you to your room for some private time. You freshen up with a shower (having gotten a little sweaty helping the kids carry their overstuffed luggages into the vans) and Natasha writes in her new journal Marie gave to her. You come out of the shower, fully dressed but your hair wet and ruffled in a way that Natasha finds extremely attractive, so much that she immediately comes over and sits on your lap the moment you rest on the edge of the bed.

She looks deep into your eyes and you almost shy away; if you didn’t know any better you would have been sure she was trying to read your mind. Your hands circle around her back, holding her firmly on your lap as she leans forward to kiss you. Her hands bunch up in the front of your shirt when your lips touch as if she wants to hold you there forever–and you would gladly let her.

You fall back on the bed, Natasha wasting no time to straddle you and she grinds herself along your abs. You can smell her arousal and it makes your mouth practically water. You cup her bottom, squeezing teasingly and she gasps, a lustful spark lighting in her eye. Her fingers pop open the top few buttons of your shirt and she dips her head to nip at the exposed skin of your neck and chest.

“Nat,” you pant, jerking your hips up as you feel your own arousal building. “Are you sure you want to–”

“I want you so bad,” she whispers and a jolt runs through you. “But I…” You freeze, afraid that you’re inadvertently pressuring her.

“I can wait,” you assure.

“It’s not that.” She shakes her head. “It’s just…I haven’t really…” Natasha looks away from you in shame. While she isn’t exactly a virgin, she’s also never been intimate with anyone she’s ever cared about. She’s nervous to disappoint you or that she won’t be able to make you happy.

“It’s okay,” you say, kissing her softly. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Natasha sits back with a grin, reaching down to unbutton the rest of your flannel. You lay there patiently as she looks at you shirtless for the first time, admiring the defined muscles of your abdomen and shoulders. She licks her lips as she runs her hands along your exposed skin, which twitches and flexes as you hold back a laugh from the way it tickles. “Y/N, can I–”

The door suddenly bursts open and Ororo appears, wild-eyed and agitated. Natasha flops on your chest and you hold her protectively against you, completely annoyed at Ororo’s interruption.

“They’re here,” Ororo pants.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re here?’” you repeat, sitting up and struggling to button your shirt back up.

“They changed their plans last minute. Come downstairs now!” Ororo dashes out and you wonder if she even had time to process what she had seen you and Natasha doing.

“We’ll continue this later,” you tell Natasha, kissing her on the forehead and running out of your bedroom.

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

AN: It's getting hot in here. 👀

Part 4 is here!

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#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 4 months ago

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Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 5

MASTERLIST

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Summary: You go on a hunt to find Redmane Freyja.

A/N: Oh boy, another fight scene that I cannot write. This chapter mentions scenes of violence: blood, gore, swearing - all the fun things.

A03 link

Chapter 5: Challenge

"If thee dare betray me, I shall maketh sure thou art never blessed by mine own mother's grace again."

It haunts you his exact words, whispered as if death was watching your every move.

It's a challenge, though one where he can judge you for how foolish you are. If he really wanted you to do all this for his loyalty, you would've rather faced the golden hippopotamus again.

You tell yourself you'll prove him wrong, and wipe that smug attitude away when you return. That is if you do it in time. There is a sense of doom to your mission, one you think could go wrong. Redmane Freyja - someone you didn't get the chance to speak to - is a warrior through and through. Capable of standing for herself, and impressive in her prowess.

Having followed the Moorth Highway south, avoiding furnace golems and trolls that sit by ransacked carriages. By the time you see the ruins on the second night, darkness has fallen, and rain slashes in front of you. You decide it's best to take a rest.

You sit by the closest site of grace, and rain shields your vision, giving less visibility, but it is only the grace you look upon, watching intensely.

Torrent nudges you out of your thoughts momentarily, bringing a gentle hand out to feed him berries you gathered, whilst you rip at the bark-like cured meat. "What have I gotten myself into, Torrent?" You whisper to him tentatively, as your stead munches happily on the treats you provide. A flash of lightning casts the tree behind you to look like a mighty beast, yet you do not jump. Instead, you sigh, your body aches and your mind wishes for rest. "Doom follows me, and I can only welcome it."

Sleep does not come easy, not that it has for many nights.

When morning comes, you dismount from Torrent, and the stead disappears out of sight, back into the whistle for when you need him next. The ruins are a large formidable mess, crumbling from age with the heat of the stone burnt from eternal flames. You're aware of its underground structures, but it is not that you're interested in.

For in the centre, stands the person you've been looking for.

"Tarnished, I am pleased to see you made it out alive from the Shadow Keep." Freyja greets you smoothly, turning to face you, "Is the deed done? Is the tyrant dead?"

"No Lady Freyja, he is not."

The woman only gives a hum to your answer, "That is a shame. I will have no doubt when I tell Lady Leda, she will not be too pleased either.

"She will not hear of this news, Freyja," There was a sense of acceptance to your words. You pull forth your nagakiba, bending your knees as you hold a defensive stance, "For I have come for your life instead."

She is silent for what feels like forever until you hear the absurd thing. Laughter. She is laughing at you. "Did your new lord ask of you to do this? Ah, you foolish girl, what have you done?"

You don't answer her, but you feel something boil inside you. Fight me. Fight me now. "Do you believe Lady Leda will not hear of this? The news of my death will trigger my allies to come find you. Do you not hear yourself, who will stand with you? Miquella will not take lightly hearing of your deception."

It is only with a heavy sigh that eases you. She unsheathes her great sword, flashing like a giant sun. "Very well, Tarnished. May your foolishness be your undoing."

"May it be then." You say, and before you in a flash, she charges.

Metal hisses against metal as the great sword hits the side of your armour on your chest, caught mostly by your nagakiba, thankful that it does not slice through. It does, however, leave a long scratch down the steel.

You grunt. Freyja is a mighty warrior you admit, but she sweeps with her great sword with the intent of hacking your head off rather than trying to whittle you down. A foolish mistake, you note, rolling out of the way as her great sword swings down, hitting the very spot you just stood on.

You land a quick slash towards her, having almost no effect as she dodges easily, grabbing you tightly by the forearm and headbutting you with a crack that you think has split your skull. She tosses you backwards, her laughter raucous and vexing.

You continue to circle her, darting back and forth, slicing, which makes her have to try looking out for you. She makes for a big target, swinging her great sword around as she huffs and grunts like a beast not wanting to surrender. A true warrior of Radahn, you wonder why she chose to leave him. For what feels like ages, you both jab at one another, taking turns with neither gaining a hit or dodging the last second. Only one of your slashes with your nagakiba gets her on the back of her leg and you smile in victory underneath your helm, only to dodge out the way clumsily from another one of her heavy-hitting attacks.

"You're slow, Tarnished." Freyja mocks. "Is this the warrior Messmer fought? I feel sorry for him."

You hiss, slashing at her most vulnerable areas, legs, arms, twice at the shoulders in an attempt to get her to become sluggish. Freyja would not slow though, grunting from time to time, but overall seemingly not injured.

You wonder if Messmer did all of this as a cruel joke- to have you face the largest and most formidable of Miquella's followers. It would be easy to laugh too, for you were indeed the fool who accepted.

You continued, earning a slash to your shoulder at one point that has you promptly rummaging for a healing flask, dodging another attack as you down it. Your shoulder feels stiff, but it has healed the wound quickly enough for you to keep going for her. Circling, slashing, rolling. On and on, this dance goes on until you do begin to notice she is becoming slower.

You stagger her with a parry, going up behind her in a flash to stab her through the rib, getting through the gap in her armour as you kick her forward. Blood ruptures out as she gives a loud grunt, cursing you loudly as she lands on her feet before you can attack her again.

"I will not die today, Tarnished." You can hear her gritting her teeth, leaping like a cat into the air, her sword and herself swinging in time before she lands on the ground right in front of you. Debris and dirt hit you, rocks scrapping your exposed areas not covered by armour and you're flung backwards, landing not so gracefully on your back from the force of her landing. She strides towards you, thinking victory is ahead.

You roll to stand, thinking swiftly as you pull forth a perfume bottle, throwing it her way. It casts pockets of fire in her way, and she stumbles through it, patting herself as you can hear the sound of her blood bubbling and boiling from her cuts.

The next foolish thing you could do whilst she was occupied with the perfumed flames was charge towards her, running through the flames you cast as you scream, leaping onto her, kicking her in the gut that she is winded enough to have her great sword knocked from her hand. Now with her unarmed, you raise your nagakiba over your head, thinking it would be enough to strike the exposed part of her neck to give her a quick death, only to find she is slamming her fist into your gut too, not once, twice, knocking your sword from hand as she lands a punch to the side of your face, knocking you off her and onto the ground.

You scrabble, as she gets up, wheezing and whimpering as you pull forth another weapon. Small and delicate, the knife from your pocket would need to do a lot of damage, only she laughs at the measly size of it, charging you once more.

You dodge another punch to the side of your head, fear coursing through you, feeling more afraid than ever before. To be classed a traitor to all was not what you wanted, but you could feel yourself needing another flask immediately.

Freyja caught sight of it as you tried to reach for it, grabbing your wrist and twisting, releasing the bottles as they flew overhead you both, crashing with a shatter against some debris, clearly broken.

You can taste blood in your throat, coughing some up the more you move. Everything burns, pain that moves from one part of your body to the next part, screaming for rest, mercy. Freyja cries, raising her hands over her head as if ready to slam her fists down upon you when you see an opening. The exposed part of her armpit is uncovered, the blood seeping is her own. You miss the fists to your head, gripping the knife and using your other hand to drive it upwards, screaming with the force.

Freyja only hisses when you're face to face with her now. Her golden-masked face is all you can see, but you wish to believe her face has written on it either fear or approval. You don't think it's been driven hard enough into her chest, driving it deeper which earns a louder cry from her, followed by shallow, deep breathing.

"You fought well, Tarnished." She wheezes, "I pray Kindly Miquella will think the same."

With a final curse, she bends, falling to her back, her breathing ceasing with the blade poking out between her skin and armour.

It was only when you felt the sense of victory wash over that you felt something was off. Pain kicks in, replacing the adrenaline with a stinging sensation that begins to burn between your ribs. Horror rushed over you, catching you off guard. A cold sweat washes over. Crying out, you jump back away from Freyja's crumpled body, running shaky hands over your body to find what was sticking out of you. Oh Gods. You dread, crying out as a blade you hadn't noticed she had pulled forth, with a handle as thick as your forearm was now protruding in your side.

You had felt many deaths before and suffered great injuries, but none had been so foul as the feeling of torture before death came. You needed to find a site of grace before you lost everything. Gritting your teeth, your hands gripped the handle to the blade, reeling back from the pain of it so far lodged into you. One, two, three! You didn't want to give yourself any time to react as you pulled it out from you, screaming from both the alleviation and fear bubbling in your mind.

Immediately, your legs gave way and you fell backwards, limbs numb as you still held the bloody knife in your grip. You groaned in disgust, throwing it away as you remembered through it all that you couldn't just leave without the proof Messmer asked for.

"He better be fucking grateful." You spat, clutching your bleeding side as you tried your best to even kneel. With only the knife on you to use, it would be better for hacking than the thinner blade of your nagakiba. You knew what you had to do. Staring down at Freyja's corpse, you kicked off her helm, revealing a mass of unruly hair.

"Forgive me." You whispered, revealing her neck as you pressed the knife into her flesh, the sounds of hacking and sawing could be heard through the ruins.

Once off, you threw the head into a bag, tying it to your belt as you whistled for Torrent. It was hard not to stop yourself from gagging, the thick smell of blood wafted in the air, creating an even fouler stench in the ruins. You had been through worse, you reminded yourself, dying is now as familiar to you as waking up in the morning, but even on the verge of death, it was the worst feeling to experience. It was not the same as just suffering a quick and easy one, waking up by grace fully healed.

Once here, Torrent stands solemnly beside you, warily swaying as his beady eyes access you. It takes some effort to mount him, for the beast is patient, and you can only silently thank him for not bucking you off for how many times you try getting your leg over. Finally atop, your skin feels both hot and cold, your armour was sticking to your skin as if it was boiling you alive from the inside. The soft fur of Torrent was all you had to concentrate on, despite the feeling that your brain wanted to switch off. You fight it for as long as you can, hoping Torrent can guide you the way you came.

You didn't know how long you had been travelling back when the pain was ebbing away at your consciousness, your body was weakened and struggling to stay atop Torrent. Your skin had paled, hands were jittery as you lost the strength in your fingers to hold the reins. Your vision was spiralling, swaying like the waves of the shoreline, not certain what was up and what was down, but the feeling of your body swaying, and finally, falling and falling in slow motion.

You thudded to the ground, Torrent halting as he inspected you with a muzzle to your face, coaxing you to stay awake.

"Torrent." Breathing noisily, you would apologise to him when you found yourself at a site of grace. You dreaded knowing you would fail at Messmer's quest in his mind, but before you could think further of it, darkness swarmed your vision, and you thanked whoever was watching over you finally gave you comfort.

From the darkness, came distant, cold dreams, filling your mind with doubt:

..."They are incredible, are they not?" There is a sense of dread and awe as you stare up at the sky, bright and bold with the sounds of dragons. The creatures, large in age, sweep and dive down, creating rushes of wind to almost knock back the men who stand on the ground. Some are still wary, when the dragons came once, it had been to destroy towns and wage wars. Now, having them as allies was an unseen miracle. "It is your friendship with them that is outstanding." You marvel, turning to the man beside you, as regal and charming as those with royal blood. He carries himself with a way of understanding all, a calming presence that all could admire. He smiles at you, resting a hand on your shoulder. "I am certain they would love to meet thee. I have told them much and more." "Me? I am just a mere knight, here to serve, my Lord." "Yes, but my most trusted ally and loyal friend." The man chuckles, leading you down as if now is the right time to introduce you to the winged creatures.

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

... "Mother is to remarry again." The regal man says, this time you don't know how much time has passed. There is a slight tinge of disappointment in his words. He has his back towards you, the parchment thrown across his apartments. "I received her message when I broke my fast." "You know to whom?" You ask. "The Carian Queen's former husband, Radagon." "And of your father? What becomes of him?" "He is to begin his long march with many of his armies, my mother has decreed." He turns to you, sorrow that was not just in his voice but in his eyes. "She asks that thee join." You don't wish to, you want to plead and beg, but this sadness is not just felt in him but yourself, something you cannot understand nor explain. You think this man is unknown to you, so why do you feel such disgrace? All you can do is nod, acceptance heavy in your chest. "Very well, my Lord."

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

... A half bottle of wine is now neglected, and large calloused hands dance along your hips and thighs, lips pressed to the pulse point of your neck. "Let me speak to my mother," the man uttered, pulling you closer on his lap, "she will let thee stay." "I can't," you say, his hands felt so realistic in the fogginess of your mind, fingers stroking his jawline, "it is my duty not just to serve you, but your family as well." "I know, my sweet knight." He murmurs in understanding, a sense of despair consumes him, and when he tries to pick you up to continue things in the bedroom, you stop him. "Not yet, my Lord. I only wish to be in your arms tonight. One final night before I must leave." He smiles, kissing you with the need to remember the outline of your lips. "Anything for thee."

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

... A battlefield of blood and bone, ash and carnage. Men in golden armour surround you, in the dying, groaning for mercy and death, their voices dying down in numbers. You clutch your bleeding chest, holding a grand ornate sword in hand, and sweet tears drip from your eyes. You cough, spluttering crimson blood that dribbles down your chin. You stare up at the endless sky, with a man's name being muttered from your lips as you die.

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

Your lungs burn when you wake from a death-like sleep, coughing up the air and drinking it in as if you can still somehow feel the cold blade deep in your chest. You go to touch it, only to remember that it was all a dream.

"Easy, milady," a voice pulls you back to reality, and when you look at your surroundings, you're not staring into the golden strips of grace, but the roaring flames of a fire. Opposite you, sits a nomadic merchant, plucking at the strings of his instrument, "your wounds are still open."

Messmer. Is your first thought, and you dread to wonder if he thinks you've betrayed him. You're careless in the way you try to stand, running a hand over where the blade stuck through you, only to find heavy bindings that have been kept to stop the bleeding. You hiss softly, guilt pouring through at the attempt this merchant has made to keep you alive.

"It shall be enough to get you to find a proper healer if you're quick." He says in a soft tone, watching you through clouded eyes, his face half covered.

"Torrent... where is Torrent?" You're blinking back from the intensity of the fire in front of you, blinking back tears you're certain to have come from the cinders, not your life-like dreams.

"Ah, your stead," the merchant points, and through the bushes, you spot Torrent, munching on berries with no care in the world. "We found you in the nick of time, milady. If we had been any later, well... you would've been a goner."

You try to laugh at that, but you're unsure if he knows you're Tarnished. "Thank you," you stand shakily to your feet, throwing a coin his way that he accepts with some surprise, "I must be going now."

"I must warn you, Messmer's soldiers lurk on the roads. Best to keep to the woods." The merchant speaks with uncertainty as you coax Torrent to come to you. He does, stroking his snout before climbing atop. You feel just about better now that you've had time to rest, but you need to head back to Aldwin so he can stitch you back up. You've been gone so long without a site of grace that you fear you will begin to wither.

"It is alright," you speak earnestly. "He is looking for me."

A/N: I am aware that it's recommended not to pull sharp objects out of you unless you wish to bleed to death, but I guess Tarnished thinks it's the smartest plan. I do wonder who this mysterious man is-- oh well, I guess we'll never know *wink wink*

#messmer fic #messmer x tarnished #elden ring messmer #messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #elden ring fic #tarnished! reader #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #elden ring dlc #part 5 #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #messmer the impaler x reader

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jewishcissiekj · 1 year ago

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Just spent too much time making an awful The Dark Woman meme it's bad out here

Posting it won't just stay in my gallery for nothing

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allanodyne · 4 months ago

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We just severed these umbilical wires

by AllanOdyne

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dat-bruv-person · 5 months ago

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ᯓ★ me, you, and penacony

a/n: I’m back and raring to go guys <33

stellaron hunter!gn!reader x kafka, poc friendly because Natlan let me down BIG TIME.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Have you ever seen lights as dazzling as these, [name]? That one’s Silver Wolf – she insists on being the best at everything, whether it's games or real life; that one’s Firefly; that one’s Bladie (he’s a little dull, bless him) and those ones are you and I, because look how close they are. A small chuckle escaped the infamous Stellaron Hunter, Kafka, softened her magenta gaze towards her companion.

Stood on the edge of a balcony, peering down below to the disturbed and chaotic Sweet Dream, the pair entwined fingers as the eternally indigo sky was decorated with fireworks and flashes above them, and the scent of Soul Glad wafted into the air into their nostrils, and only got stronger as Firefly approached them with a tray of the bottled sunset liquid with a shy smile. Thank you, dear. the elegant beauty patted her on the head, to which the other squealed a little and went back to join her mara-struck and game-addicted friends. The moment was akin to when children finally leave their parents alone to have some time to themselves. Very romantic. And by the goo goo eyes she was giving [name], it seemed she wanted a piece of the fairytale magic for herself.

A cool breeze washed over the pair, cooling them from the heat of the pure romantic and sexual tension that rested on their shoulders. Golden lights spilled onto their faces and bathed them, especially the [hair colour]-haired Hunter. They looked divine, like an angel in this lighting. Where was the camera – someone needed to capture this moment forever. It wasn’t enough just to see it. Kafka drank it all in like a parched man in front of an oasis in the middle of a dessert with nothing for miles. Pressing soft rosy lips to their cheek, her eyes fluttered closed and so did theirs, savouring the moment. God this was nice. Sure, Silver Wolf was about to throw up all the Soul Glad she had just downed at the sappy sight of them both, and Blade grunted and averted his gaze elsewhere, but that was okay. This wasn’t about them. It was about Kafka and [name]. It was about how a chaste gesture turned into something soul-binding and shaping. It was about how each other’s skin felt against the other’s – how good it felt. [name]’s tantalising touch as their hand gripped their lover’s gloved one, touch gentle and firm at the same time, commanding her to stay with them forever and ever. North and South magnets, they were: unable to be separated once they were attached.

Upon realising, a few minutes later, that the lovebirds were going to be at their snogfest for a while, the quantum gamer yawned and snapped a few pictures of them, including one where she, Blade and Firefly (Sam in the photo, however) posed and held up their fingers in a steepling position, and another where they made a huge heart. How cute.

Ugh – are they done? I’m so bored. There’s no reception in this dingy area. SW flopped back onto the railing of one of the buildings and huffed before throwing a ball up into the air and catching it again.

Let them have this, okay? It’s been one hell of a while since we gathered together like this, with Elio sending us wherever he wants to act out the various scripts he has planned out. Do you guys reckon they’ve… you know… had their first kiss yet? Sighing dreamily, the ivory-haired young woman placed her head in her hands and joined her sister-like friend on the railing, absentmindedly running her fingers through the other’s silver tresses, and even attempted to try and touch Blade’s. When he showed no signs of pulling away, she freely twirled strands of red and dark blue strands around her index and middle finger.

No response, yet Firefly continued her daydreaming anyway. Do you think they’ll get married? Or maybe they’ll promise to stay together forever, bound together by only their lives. Kind of hoping it’s the first option, though: I want to wear pretty clothes and celebrate such an occasion with people I consider family. She blinked slowly, and an image came to mind that put a smile on her face.

Under the gaze of a sky similar to this one, Firefly skipped down the aisle with a basket of honeysuckles, blue hyacinths and basil, throwing petals all the way down in a light pink dress and headband. An odd combination of flowers, plus a simple outfit, but she couldn’t be happier for her friends, who were both in suits – with Kafka donning a veil – hand in hand as Silver Wolf bounced around the place taking pictures and Blade clapped stood in one of the pews of an abandoned and destroyed temple. Starlight poured through stained glass windows, painting the floor all sorts of colours to accompany the unconventionality of the makeshift wedding, and a familiar black cat leaped from pillar to pillar with an amused look on its tiny face, whiskers twitching. Both the sun and moon were at opposite sides of the sky which caused the space between the middle of them to form pink, blue and gold hues in between. A strange sight, but quite beautiful if the dreamer said so herself. Nothing would ever top that dream, and she wished for nothing but the best for all of them. Surely Kafka would laugh at her naivety if she even breathed a word of this to her and simply brush her off, but deep in her heart she knew they deserved better. They all deserved much better than their respective societies had to offer them – if they were part of it in the first place.

Finally tearing herself from [name]’s supple skin, the woman in question squeezed their hand and laid her hand on theirs once more.

I could get drunk on those lips, you know.

Shut up. [name] chuckled and a wide grin spread across their plush lips. How long do you reckon that lasted for? Their voice, a voice of reason within the group, seemed to be for only their lover’s ears.

Nowhere near long enough, doll. C’mere.

#ainsley writes #kafka x reader #kafka x you #kafka x gn!reader #kafka honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #firefly #firefly honkai star rail #firefly hsr #kafka hsr #blade hsr #silver wolf #blade #silver wolf honkai star rail #silver wolf hsr #stellaron hunters

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starbeltconstellation · 3 months ago

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No matter how I look at it, I get the feeling that Lesyle Headland is racist against Asians. Seeing all those characters portrayed by Asian people get mistreated horribly makes me very uncomfortable because I'm Asian myself, and I've been through that multiple times during my life. I'm not the only one who thinks that. I saw there are a couple of other people who think that Lesyle Headland is against Asians too. Kathleen Kennedy keeps pointing out the racism in the fandom, yet she ignores the racism that she HERSELF and her co-workers are doing, and that includes Lesyle Headland! Why did Star Wars now have to be in the hands of a Western company where they keep mistreating Asian characters and Asian people??? Now, with what happened in Sol in the finale, the SW fandom is going to be even more racist and spout more BS against Asians now. I'm tired af of all the hatred towards my people! Both Asians and the Jedi deserve better!!!

Hello, dear anon. ❤️

Firstly, I just want to DEEPLY apologize for the long wait in my response. 😅💔😖 I try not to get behind on asks, but life has been crazy for me at the moment, and especially with longer asks like yours, I really want to take my time and give a good and in depth response.

And yesssss! 👏👏 Speak your truth, dear anon! 😖✊

I will be honest and say that my view—while I HEAVILY dislike LH’s writing morals and style (and just the whole concept of The Acolyte show in general being some ‘girl power fantasy’ for women when the Dark Side is anything but that and is nothing but weighted chains tying you to the ocean floor to drown)—was more charitable at first where I know in my SOUL if I ever met this woman that we probably would not be able to get along if we talked about SW fandom lore too much. And I can accept that! 😂

Not everyone will like or agree with each other. At least she’s not as bad as Karen Traviss, because dear GOD I have recently just learned about the petty hatred that woman has towards the Jedi (with a WORD FOR WORD line of a character in her books EXPLICITLY saying the Jedi Order deserved their genocide! 🤢), and I KNOWWW I would dislike that woman if I met her on the street. I can acknowledge the incredible feat she accomplished with developing Mando’a, while still maintaining that she seems like a very mean spirited person to be around), and it is literally nauseating in the most highly disgusting and disturbing way.

KT is basically a rapid and foaming at the mouth Jedi anti who believes they “got what was coming to them.🤢🥶” LH on the other hand (at least in HER head), views herself as Jedi CRITICAL. And while there is a little bit of a difference there, it’s not as stark a line as fans would try to convince us pro Jedi’s to believe.

There are plenty of fair criticisms about the Jedi that I can acknowledge: the Shimi thing, for one, which is I think just a bad symptom of GL’s writing being more “metaphorical” than literal. Shimi HAS to stay on Tatooine because Anakin eventually HAS to murder the Tuskens in cold blood so GL can tell the story he wants to tell of how Anakin can’t let go, and so the Jedi are never given the opportunity to do what I truly BELIEVE they would’ve done, which is go back and free her, at least for the peace of mind of one of their newest initiate. The plot literally physically bars them from doing so.

And even THIS is not without its flaws, because they would ONLY have wiggle room to free Shimi after the heat of TPM problems had died down where they had time to do so… while walking past/avoiding eye contact with all of Shimi’s slave neighbors, because as specified before—The Jedi have no jurisdiction in the Outer Rim, and you bet your ass if they freed all those slaves and started a war with the Hutts with their little 10,000 strong army, the Republic would take one look and go “Lol, good luck with that,” and not help them at all, which would be basically suicide for the Order to try and accomplish on abolishment of slavery on the Outer Rim all on their own in the TRILLIONS of people in the galaxy. They do not have the MAN POWER for that. Not without the Senate army/clones.

People want the Jedi to do something about it? Get on the Senate’s ass about it then—the REAL people who are responsible for all of the shit going wrong in the Outer Rim while they line their pockets and kiss up to clueless galactic citizens for votes come election time. THEY are the ones that should be responsible for the problems of an ENTIRE galaxy—not a small little minority group (which I’ve already come to realize that the Jedi are. They are a culture/religion/family, and 10,000 is but a drop in the ocean of the galaxy. They are so small in the grand scheme of things that it’s SCARY when considering how easy it was for Palpatine to lead them to almost total annihilation) that try and try and TRY as hard as they can, which is apparently somehow NEVER enough, for the galactic citizens AND the SW fandom itself.

And why is that? Why is it so HARD for SW fandom to relate to them? Why does LH (who I’m sure in her head BELIEVES she’s as progressive as they come) view the Jedi as some type of “space cops” who are “oppressing 🙄” the Sith as a representation of her religious trauma that she is clearly projecting onto them as something completely separate than what the Jedi Culture actually is? Why does she view them as “emotionally repressed” and “almost catholic-like”, and views the fucking SITH (literal SPACE NAZIS 😭🤦‍♀️) as a representation for her persecution as a gay woman?

It’s because—just like MOST SW fans in the US—she cannot fathom a culture outside of the lens of western philosophy. In her mind, the Jedi aren’t a “real 🙄🤢” family. In HER mind, the Jedi aren’t necessarily evil, but she still believes those “poor little culty Jedi 😔💔🙄” didn’t see they were ‘sewing their own destruction’. (Which is blaming them. It’s BLAMING the victims of genocide, and it’s to this day the most disgusting thing I will always remember about the show’s “your actions will cause the destruction of every Jedi in the galaxy” quote that made Twitter go wild with genocide apologia galore).

Some lovely examples! 😁🙃🙃

Disgusting Example 1:

Disgusting Example 2:

Disgusting Example 3:

Disgusting Example 4: REALLY YIKES. 🥶

Disgusting Example 5: Ahhh, would you look at that? We’ve made it into good ol’ ✨dehumanization✨. 🙃🙃🤢

ALL of those examples are not a small portion of the fandom. They are the MAJORITY. This is what the MAJORITY of the fandom truly deep in their hearts believe about the Jedi and their culture and way of life, even if they won’t word it as bluntly as those commenters did out loud.

THIS is what I believe LH’s beliefs regarding the Jedi’s non-western culture is like. She thinks she’s being “fair”, because hey! I made you like Jecki and Yord, didn’t I? 😘😘😘

… And then mere episodes later, she throws the rug out from under you in having Quimir (who she has ADMITTED in interviews is basically her mouthpiece for her own personal thoughts on SW) dehumanize not just Jecki and Yord by saying they were “incapable of going deeper to care about Osha like she deserves 🤢🙄🥶”, but also just by dehumanizing the Jedi in general. It becomes CLEAR in the final episodes that everything was meant to lead up to Osha and Quimir meeting (because they’re clearly Reylo 2.0, and this was LH’s way of getting to smash her Barbie dolls together), which basically gives a feeling of hollowness to the entire backdrop of the show—because the rest of the characters ARE a backdrop to them. She FAKES THE AUDIENCE OUT by pretending to humanize Sol as someone repentant, teasing the possibility of him and Osha being able to talk things out, before swiftly turning him into a one-dimensional caricature of himself who seems to have done a complete 180 on his remorse, only for the sheer purpose of him and Osha not being able to have a conversation. You may say, “Oh, but the show is an unreliable narrator! 🤪🤪🤪”

Except… no, it’s really not. 😭🤦‍♀️ Especially with the way LH spells out that she AGREES with Quimir’s philosophy, she AGREES with that asshole Senator treating the Jedi like shit who are “corrupt/emotionally repressed space monks”, she AGREES with Oshamir fans’s interpretations that the finale of turning to the Dark Side is a TRIUMPH for Osha instead of a heartbreaking moment that will lead to only ruin.

And it’s because—just like most western fans—she just doesn’t even WANT or CARE to understand the eastern philosophy of the Jedi’s culture, and instead projects her feelings from no doubt sympathetic trauma onto something that has no true basis for it. She views something that doesn’t have the “passion” of the Sith’s ‘love 🙄’ as lesser than. She doesn’t really view them as a family, because she only believes in a more standard family dynamic, and instead views them as an institution that “brought everything on themselves. 🥶”

And… honestly? I think you’re basically RIGHT, anon. I don’t think it’s truly this big CONSCIOUS thing. I don’t think she wrote out Sol’s death for the sheer purpose of “Muah-ha-ha”-ing over Asian fans losing some of the honestly most MEMORABLE and AMAZING representation they’ve had in YEARS in the very franchise that borrows from their own culture and philosophy. But I DO think she doesn’t view it as something worth considering. Oshamir is where her mind was at at the end of the day (because ROMANTIC love is something she clearly views as the most important and powerful thing, because OSHAMIR is who stand together at the end. Not Osha or her sister), and I think any other storyline factors became all but insignificant to her in the grand scheme of things. It was easy to kill all of the Jedi characters, because the “new fave” was here—the Sith. And to be fair, his hotness drew in a lot of buzz! But the cancellation and the renew the series petition signatures I think show the gap in how many people were truly interested going forward that weren’t reylo 2.0 fans. Yeah, a lot of people are into villains. But even MORE people want to root for their heros. The Jedi are supposed to be the heroes of SW, and such a show PURPOSELY and VINDICTIVELY portraying them in the worst way possible (the EMPATHETIC SPACE MONKS covered up a massacre? REALLY? 😭🤦‍♀️) throws more people off than LH would like to believe.

The way she killed Sol… it was brutal. And in interviews, she says some bullshit like Sol was “taking away Osha’s agency” by forgiving her and telling her it was okay. Because the portrayal of the Jedi in this show isn’t just “showing their flaws! 🤪🤪🤪” It is purposely writing them in a way that they’ve NEVER been shown to act on screen before—all to make the villain sympathetic, because LH clearly has adopted the thinking (much as radical Anakin fans have), that because someone has become a villain, then SOMEONE must’ve forced their hand. But that’s not how all true three dimensional characters WORK. Yes, there are tragic characters whose circumstances make things worse, but the idea that a villain is always “misunderstood” creates the narrative that the HERO is somehow in the wrong. LH does this because both Osha and Quimir are her new OCs. She makes the Jedi almost completely OOC and portrays them as oppressive to JUSTIFY Quimir and Osha’s actions. Because THIS is what The Acolyte was about: giving Reylo 2.0 a happy ending.

There has been criticism from fans that Jecki and Yord were killed too early which only gave fans an “awww ☹️💔” feeling, because they barely had the chance to even solidify into real characters to make the audience sob and cry at their loss. And I would argue this thinking is right. Because if you look CLOSELY at the background, you can see how it all was just a hollow backdrop for LH’s “dark romance” idea. And I’m not saying such an idea was BAD—I’m saying it wasn’t originally marketed that way. Sol is marketed as the main character (representing Asians in a fantastic way), and then she brutally kills him off, because he was never REALLY important to LH’s story. None of the Jedi were. She was always more interested in the Sith. And so, she tries to make the Sith the “oppressed 🙃🙄”. And I would argue she fails at this with the larger audience, even if loud fans of reylo are chanting about it on tumblr and twitter. The viewership is lower than expected for the show (and part of that is because of the horrible racism and campaign against it from SW dudebros). But honestly, I think a part of it is just… what’s left? Everyone except Osha and Quimir are dead. Sol was brutally murdered on his knees (one of the best Asian representation I’ve seen in a while in SW) like he was nothing but garbage. The Jedi lost, and apparently LH has also character assassinated Vernestra by what she does in the finale, if the character’s fans huffing on tumblr are anything to go by (which is TOTALLY within their right to feel disappointed and angry over an aroace character being treated by the narrative like she and the culture she believes in have ‘no emotion or empathy’ 🥶🤢. There’s that good ol’ ✨dehumanization✨ kicking in again, huh?)

THIS is what SW has apparently decayed into. Into being vindictive and petty and blaming victims for their own persecution and pain. It’s a sign of a self involved culture, which is what the USA/the west is, I’ll admit. Other countries are collectivist. We are individualists. (ie; “I got mine.”) People ENJOY these tales of flipping everything around to blame the heroes and not the villains, because they SEE themselves in villains like Anakin or Kylo Ren or Osha and Quimir. And look—there’s nothing wrong with seeing yourself in a villain and even with sympathizing with them! Anakin’s past as a slave no doubt makes him very much deserving of empathy in that regard.

But the problem is—since they SEE themselves in the villain—then they don’t want the villain to be in the wrong (ie; Anakin). Because if the VILLAIN is in the wrong, then they TOO can also be in the wrong, and a lot of people don’t like to grapple with that. I have seen a recent post going around from someone I was pretty disappointed with that switched sides from pro jedi into anti jedi territory so vindictively and quickly (do NOT attack this person if you know who I’m talking about. I am bringing this up for the sheer purpose of meta. Not to pettily call them out or something), who was responding to an ask where the asker was thanking this person in basically defending Anakin by excusing his actions. The anon said they related heavily to Anakin, and apparently hated recent posts going around which call Anakin out on his behavior, because the anon and this person both believe that the criticism is meant to be vindictive and cruel, when that is rarely the case.

This is where the “Anakin was bullied by The Council/Mace/Obi-Wan” excuses come in. Because Obi-Wan gently offers CONSTRUCTIVE criticism at times, he is somehow viewed as someone who never truly respected or understood Anakin as a person. Because the Council didn’t worship the ground Anakin walked on and didn’t just let him get away with things without a sometimes gentle/firm reprimand, they are somehow viewed as people who have been out to get Anakin and ‘didn’t trust him’ since he was a child. Because Mace butted heads with Anakin at times because they had different opinions on how to be a good Jedi and in their battle strategies on the war, Mace is somehow the most petty and worst man alive who has been “jealous” of Anakin his whole life.

All of these above excuses—in the most nicest way I can state possible—sound like the platitudes that children tell themselves against parents who they’re angry at. This is WHY Anakin went to Palpatine; because Palpatine always told him “Yes.”

And believe it or not?

Sometimes being told “no” isn’t the end of the world or means people hate you.

Sometimes you’re a good person who made a mistake, and just need to be called out to get back on the right track.

Accountability.

LH apparently believes in none of this for her characters. The backstory crafted for Osha and Quirmir clearly shows that. It’s meant to ABSOLVE them.

Funny how the JEDI (the ones based off of Asian inspired culture in certain areas) aren’t given the same courtesy, huh? 🙃🙃

This is why the pro jedi fanfic I’m writing is free therapy. Loooool. 😂❤️

In conclusion—yessss, I think you’re pretty on the mark in a certain type of way, anon, even if we both have a little bit of a charitable gap for LH between the two of us.

I apologize for the late reply again! 😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ I hope the wait was worth it!

To any readers that stumble across this and are curious enough to check out my fic:

Tags:

@ensomnia

@heartfairy

@fangirlteallie

@shoniwake

@lemons-2-limes

@lexskiss

@spidersaye

@selenaftmarvel

@silverwoodj

@ajtaals

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skellymom · 3 months ago

Text

"Vagabonds" Chapter 23

"RETREAT"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 22 - "THE TEMPEST"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/762939005812801536/vagabonds-chapter-22?source=share

Word Count: 1.4 K

Background: Tiggy goes full Belgian Malinois meets doggy Xenomorph. The Batcher's struggle to decided what to do with an injured Hunter and Mad.

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series named Mad. Mad is an older single mother, close to almost 50 years of age (not many older female protaganists in stories, so I decided to make one.)

Warning: SW Canon violence, swearing, vomiting, blood, angst, dog mauls human (protective dog move), and disclaimer: I wrote this chapter WELL BEFORE the mudslides and flooding in the south occurred. Hopefully this plot device is not offensive.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-Wh1spers, @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive Pinterest: Bad l3atch, Pinterest)

CX repelled into his ship, immediately releasing LOVE. Tiggy, attached to his back, held on and alligator rolled him across the decking.

He couldn’t reach her, even if he tried. She went for the back of his neck; he blocked her snout with his hand. Tiggy’s teeth sunk in deeply.

CX screamed out in pain and frustration as she shook her head, mangling his hand. Blood poured from his gloves.

He dived forward onto the decking and let her alligator roll him towards the cockpit. From there, CX grabbed the back of his pilot’s chair. He couldn’t spare an extra hand to engage his ship to leave. He pulled himself upright with one free hand. Tiggy held onto him with her front paws wrapped around his neck, jaws still holding onto his other hand. Her back paws left the decking as he regained his footing, and she hung off his back growling angrily...

Just as Tech shot his ship.

The jolt from the Marauder’s cannon blast knocked CX backwards off his feet.

He landed HEAVILY on Tiggy.

CX heard a loud SNAP and the dog cried out shrilly.

She released him immediately. CX grabbed his blaster and swung around to shoot...

All he could see were shadows and his own blood splattered around the cabin.

CX would have engaged his helmet’s thermal vision had Tech not shot his ship a SECOND time.

The Marauder was considerably smaller than CX’s Dagger Vessel. But Tech was determined to make a dent in it.

Behind him, on the floor, Hunter continued to perform resuscitation on Mad... while bleeding profusely from his knife wound.

The Dagger ship took off quickly and Tech gave chase. He expertly shot at specific targets to disable the ship. His plan: to board it if possible and get LOVE and Tiggy back.

The Marauder gave chase behind the Dagger Vessel as it gained altitude.

Tech noticed the surface of the planet before climbing higher into Taphao Kaew’s atmosphere...

...people being swept away by the deluge of muddy water. A few ships hovered close to save the few lucky souls...

A deluge he and his shipmates helped bring forth to the surface of this planet...

Tech grit his teeth and followed CX’s ship out into dark starry space.

CX entered the jump code into his ship’s computer.

Several more cannon bolts hit his ship, knocking out the shield and partially disabling an engine.

Luckily, he had JUST enough power to make the jump.

He heard a low, angry rumble next to him...

Swinging his weapon up, the LAST thing CX saw before jumping into hyperspace...

...was a set of sharp bloody teeth cave in the faceplate of his helmet...

Tech helplessly watched the ship disappear into hyperspace...with NO idea where it went.

He punched in his own coordinates and jumped.

When the ship settled into a hyperspace lane, Tech sprang up from the pilot’s chair and joined Hunter.

Hunter continued to give breaths as Tech simultaneously performed compressions.

They continued together for some time...

Resuscitation seemed to last forever...

Until Mad gained consciousness, vomiting dirty water and debris into Hunter’s mouth.

He IMMEDIATELY turned and vomited onto the Marauder’s floor.

Tech ignored the horrible mess and stench, yanking Mad up off the floor. He hugged her back up against him, placing his hands together with clenched fists on her abdomen above her pregnant belly...

Then pushed inward and up.

Mad vomited out more water and debris with each push. Tech repeated this again and again...

Until Mad was empty and gasping for breath.

Tech stepped away from the vomitus, pulling Mad with him, then set her down on a bunk. She slumped down into a resting position. Tech rolled Mad to her side and placed her head on the edge of the bunk in case she vomited again. Her eyes fluttered closed, but she kept conscious. He noted her lungs sounded loud and wet.

“Aspiration pneumonia.” Tech remarked out loud randomly.

Hunter couldn’t stand the smell in the ship...and vomited again. He gave up trying to get up from the soaked decking and make for the refresher...as he slipped and fell on his ass...jarring his knife wound, causing him to retch again from the pain.

Tech slid through the mess, hooking his arms under Hunter’s. He pulled his brother off the floor, settling him onto the copilot’s seat gently.

“Mad?” Hunter weakly inquired.

“Alive, but worse for the wear.” Tech elevated Hunter’s legs by gently placing them on the Marauder's dashboard.

Hunter whined in pain, attempting to resist and go to Mad.

“Hunter, you’re seriously injured. STAY SEATED!” Tech scolded. Then engaged the Marauder to find the hyperspace lane where the Beldame was parked.

The Marauder arrived and docked atop the Beldame. Echo was the first to arrive at the open hatch.

“WHAT THE EVER-LOVING KRIFF???” He grimaced at the SMELL.

“No time, Echo! Help Hunter into the Beldame!!!” Tech gathered up Mad and headed for the ladder to the other ship.

Echo moved out of the way for Tech, making a beeline for Hunter.

“What happened? Where’s LOVE??? Oh...” Echo noticed the vibroknife sticking out of Hunter.

“It’s...complicated....” Hunter whispered hoarsely.

“You can explain it all later.” Echo got Hunter up and helped him onto the other ship.

“AUNTIE!” Sil ran up terrified. Omega wasn’t far behind.

“Help me, Sil. Mad must convalesce in her stateroom.” Tech ordered.

Sil helped Tech get Mad across the ship and into her bed, as Omega watched them anxiously.

“WHERE’S HUNTER???” Omega demanded.

“HUNTER!” Wrecker stuck his head into the bottom of the ladder between ships looking for his brother. Echo yelled down to him “He’s injured. Need your help...can’t get him down the ladder alone.”

“Will do!” Wrecker answered.

“Be careful of his left hip, ok?”

“OK...”

Echo dangled Hunter down the hatch feet first. Wrecker reached up, carefully grasping Hunter around this ribcage with both hands. Hunter groaned weakly.

“HUNTER...ARE YOU ALRIGHT!” Omega panicked when she spotted the knife.

“OOF...you stink!” Wrecker couldn’t help himself.

“Puke...mine...Mad’s...” Hunter managed to reply “Sorry...” He looked pale.

Wrecker held Hunter out away from him like a stinky Tooka cat. Omega followed behind wringing her hands. Wrecker carefully placed him on a bunk in the main ship area.

Sil ran out of Mad’s stateroom. “WHERE’S LOVE???” He begged Hunter. “Tech won’t tell me!”

Echo joined Omega and Wrecker, glancing at Sil...awaiting Hunter’s answer.

“Sorry kid...” Hunter’s face fell in sadly “LOVE was captured...don’t know by WHO...” Omega attempted to comfort Hunter.

Sil commenced into a HUGE panic attack, hyperventilating.

Echo put his arm around Sil, trying to calm the teen.

“...and...” Hunter hung his head weakly “...they got Tiggy too.”

“We’re over our heads in trouble.” Echo remarked. “Beldame STILL needs work...and parts.”

Tech added “Mad’s condition requires a bacta tank w/a medical nebulizer.” He nodded to Hunter’s injury. “YOU require surgery to remove that vibroknife. Without either, you and Mad will suffer in your present conditions. Prognosis is guarded to poor.”

Omega, hearing this ran to the ‘Dame’s first aid station and came back with bacta patches.

“WHERE are we gonna find a clinic AND a ship repair station?” Wrecker lamented.

Sil exhaled stressfully “Taavi...”

“What?” Echo blurted.

“Uncle Taavi...his ship MIGHT be in range...”

“Can... oof...” Hunter grimaced in pain weakly as Omega carefully applied several patches around his wound.

“Sorry.” She winced.

“S’ok, kid...” Hunter patted her head gently. “Sil...can we TRUST him?”

“With our LIVES.” Sil had calmed considerably with the revelation they had a possible safe option. “His sanctuary barge is one of the best kept secrets of the galaxy for people needing safe haven. Keeps moving constantly though, so he can be hard to find.”

“We have NO other options...call ‘em. ” Hunter trailed off weakly laying back upon the bunk.

“Eeeeh, kiddo!” Taavi’s voice could be heard on the comm. “YOU’RE ALIVE! THANK THE FORCE!!!” Beside himself with joy.

“UNCLE! We need HELP!!! I’m on the Beldame and Mad is badly injured!!!”

“Injured? How badly???”

“REALLY BAD UNCLE! Scary BAD!!!”

“Where’s LOVE?” Taavi squinted.

“A bounty hunter captured them, Uncle. I don’t know if we’ll ever find them!”

Tavvi didn’t hesitate “I’m send coordinates Nephew. COME QUICKLY!!!”

“Thank you, Uncle! We’re coming with a group of political prisoners, their child and a modified Omicron Class Shuttle!”

Taavi’s voice hesitated... then he mumbled something archaic in Pigeon Nomaadi.

“No duress, Uncle. They are FRIENDLIES.”

“Then NO messin’ around, GET HERE QUICK!!!”

The comm ended...

To read Chapter 24 and 25:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/764929745333927936/vagabonds-chapter-24-25?source=share

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

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silver-pieces · 2 years ago

Text

prisoners

Pairing: Cassian Andor x fem!reader

Word Count: Almost 8.7k

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate here.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut (unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink), physical pain & trauma, depression, nightmares, prison, prison labour, open sea & dark water

A/N: For the prompt ‘Nightmare/Soulmark’ in Andor Bingo, created by @sw-andor This fic features major spoilers for Andor S1. Keef = Cassian. Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics.

“What’s she doin’ ‘ere?”

“I think that’s obvious.”

“Yeah but, she’s a woman.”

“What do they care? Man, woman, we’re all just slaves - ”

“Oi! Table five.” Kino barks from behind you. He stalks over, meeting everyone’s eyes with a glare. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeh’ve given us a woman,” the redhead says. “No offence, love, but why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the other birds?”

“Shut it,” Kino growls. “It doesn’t matter why she’s here. She is. Now stop wasting my time and get back to work. Unless you want to get fried.”

Your feet shift nervously at the memory. Hot, electric pain. Everyone else stiffens too, a shared sense of dread filling the sterile air.

He takes you by the shoulders and pushes you towards one of the men. “Keef.”

A man with dark hair and even darker eyes looks up at the sound of his name, his gaze falling on you as he pauses mid-crank.

Your lips part, and your gaze lingers on the sight of his sleeves rolled up, his arms tensing with each push so hard, that, in any other circumstance, you might find it appealing.

“Show her the ropes.” Kino lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “And make sure she understands what’s at stake.”

The man gives him a subtle nod.

“You’re down four now, boys,” Kino says, his gaze shifting to you, “... and girl. No more distractions. Let’s get this done!”

They get back to work - a synchronised effort that you struggle to follow, only adding to the chaos happening around you. There are lasers and cranks and drills and pieces of machinery that they have to manually fit together. And the sounds are overwhelming - hardened voices overlapping with the whirring and clanking of the machines.

“I’m Jemboc,” the older one next to Keef says. “This is Ham, Xaul, Melshi, and Taga.” He goes around the table, pointing at each one.

You say your name in return, but it comes out feeble, your throat still not working properly. Xaul, the redhead, pins you with a look. Melshi mutters something to himself, shaking his head.

“Here,” Keef grunts to get your attention, beckoning you to his side. There's a lilt to his voice that pleases your ears. “Watch what I do closely. You have to pull your weight around here, or we all get fried, you understand?”

You manage to nod.

He removes the crank from the machinery and sets it aside, his hands moving deftly from one task to the next. You’re drawn to his hands, the display of skill and strength sending heat down your spine. His brows are lowered, his gaze focused.

Each part requires something different - to pull, crank, lift, reach, press, load. It's heavy labour, but he proves himself more than capable.

"It's easy once you get into the swing of things," Jemboc's voice taking you out of your trance as he steps beside you.

"Right.” You’re not sure you want to get into the swing of things.

The older man frowns at you, but there's a kindness in his eyes.

"Are you getting it?" Keef growls to you as he lifts his hands and backs away from the table.

You nod.

He draws near and ducks his head down, a patient look in his eyes. "Any questions, you can just ask me."

Your heart flutters. Heat rises to your face, though you're not sure why. "Thanks."

With a nod, he turns back to the table and starts loading alongside the others, letting you stand by his side and watch.

No more words are exchanged apart from the occasional barked order from the others - push!, lift!, and hands away!

They get more frantic as time passes. Kino calls something out and your table groans in response.

You realise that they're falling behind.

Get back to work. Unless you want to get fried. Shit. There is no way you're taking that punishment again if you can help it.

Stomach in knots, you step up beside Keef. "I've seen enough, let me help."

He eyes you, a muscle feathering in his jaw, before handing you the crank. As your hand closes around it, he mutters, "Be careful."

A shiver runs down your spine. His voice is low and smooth and it does something to your body that momentarily distracts you from this hell.

Hesitantly, you take the crank from his grip and fasten it to the piece of machinery.

"Table five, your productivity levels are unacceptable. Proceed to the centre of the room and remain on program."

The soles of your feet tingle with each step on the floor. Your head is spinning, heart pounding, mouth drier than a desert.

The others at your table stand with you in the centre of the floor. For a second, you allow yourself a glance over at Keef.

He’s staring straight forward, a dead look in his eyes, but the tiniest shuddering expanse of his chest betrays his fear.

You close your eyes and wait.

No no no no no no no no no -

It slices through your body and your muscles seize with pain. A cry escapes your lips. Your knee hits the floor painfully hard as your legs give way, and the cries of the others violates your ears, inescapable.

It's over in seconds, but it feels like hours.

Your lungs draw ragged breaths. Tears leak from your eyes, and you wipe them away before anyone sees.

Stand. The others are already getting up - you need to follow, quickly, before they decide to punish you again. But your legs are too weak.

A familiar outstretched hand enters your vision.

Your gaze trails up the veins in his forearm, to the sleeves bunched up over his biceps. "Come on," Keef urges softly. "You have to get up."

With all your willpower, you reach up and grab him by the forearm, his hand closing around the inner side of your forearm, bracing you there to help you up.

"Ah!" you hiss, pulling away as a sudden burning sensation flares where his hand touches you.

“Shit!” He grits out, exchanging a confused look with you, and then looks down at his own arm, where you touched him.

Your breath halts as you see it - the symbol burned into your skin, on the inner side of your upper forearm. It’s a simple slashing of lines, but the meaning it carries is far more significant - a soulmark.

He’s staring at the same symbol on his own skin in stunned silence.

“Keef,” you breathe.

Then the deep warped voice of the prison interrupts.

“Prisoners on program. Proceed to your quarters.”

He takes one frantic look at you, and then turns his head forward, following the prison directive and raising his hands behind his head on program. The sleeve, you noticed, he pulls down to hide the mark.

You quickly do the same, assuming the position, even though every fibre of your being is flooded with shock.

As you file through the doors with the others, you can barely hear anything over the pounding of your own ears. Your mind struggles to make sense of what just happened, let alone process everything else that’s happened to you in the last twenty-four hours.

Keef falls in line behind you.

Instantly, you feel his eyes on you, the heat prickling at the back of your neck.

The line of prisoners shuffles along through a long corridor, passing the night shift, stopping and starting up again until you're at your quarters.

"Jemboc, give her the orientation," Kino directs the older man, before leaving you behind to deal with another group of men.

Jemboc turns to you. "Come on, I'll show you your cell."

As he takes you down through the hallway, you see Keef emerge out of the corner of your eye, and when he reaches his own cell, so do you. Directly opposite from each other.

Your eyes meet.

Stars. Finding a soulmate is rare, practically unheard of for most. But he’s here, and the mark is burned into your flesh, still throbbing with fresh pain as you run your fingers over it.

Jemboc starts explaining what the lights on the floor mean, but you can’t seem to take your eyes off of Keef, raking your gaze over his tense form, brown hair mussed and grown out, dark eyes you could lose yourself in, even as you listen to Jemboc listing all the various rules.

“You understand?” Jemboc asks you.

Not really. “Yes,” you reply with a nod, dragging your eyes away.

“What are you in for, anyway?”

“Loitering.” You’ve grown numb to the anger.

“I see.” Jemboc pats you on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay, sister. We all will be, soon.”

“Hey!” The bark of another prisoner cuts him off.

It’s Xaul, pushing past the others, stalking towards you with a deadly glare.

You take a step back on instinct, and Jemboc folds his arms defensively, but it’s Keef who gets in his way.

With a growl, he pushes off the wall, getting in Xaul’s face before he can reach you. “What’s your problem, huh?” he growls. “You’re scaring her.”

Xaul growls, jabs his finger in your direction, and shifts his glare to Jemboc. “Not her.”

They exchange unreadable glances.

Jemboc scowls and takes him by the shoulder, leading him out of earshot from you. The two of them begin talking in low, urgent tones, Xaul shooting you another glare.

Your hands curl into fists at your side.

Hesitantly, Keef turns to you, his head ducked low in sincerity. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice coming out softer than you’ve heard before.

“No,” you say, even as warmth fills you at the concern in his devastatingly brown eyes. Stars, but the sight of him pleases you. “I think we need to talk.”

“Agreed,” he nods, holding his forearm with his other hand, his eyes briefly glancing down, “but we don’t have the time or the privacy in here.”

You draw nearer. “How long is left on your sentence?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes dart to Xaul and Jemboc. “I wish I could tell you. I - ” he cuts himself off as the floor lights start flashing.

In seconds, the hall clears as the rest of the inmates scramble to get into their cells. Keef pushes you towards yours. “Go.”

With his push, you step up into your cell before the lights can turn red. What was it Jemboc said? Seven seconds when the lights start flashing, then they turn red. And if you’re caught in the red light, you die.

On instinct, you turn back around to see Keef again.

Your soulmate.

He stands in his cell across from you, an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth in a grim line, as the lights begin to dim.

The floor lights turn red a second later.

There is no way to get to him now, and no way of talking across the hall without everyone in the surrounding cells hearing you. That’s not an option.

He lingers at the edge of his cell, and so do you, for a time, struggling with this new feeling inside you - this urge, compelling you towards him. Even if you don’t know him yet, you want to.

So you’re paralysed in silence; staring at each other across several feet of deadly flooring.

The murmurs of the other inmates eventually peter out, and as the snoring starts to rise, you feel your eyes growing heavy.

You curse beneath your breath.

Keef must hear it, because he raises his chin and nods in understanding, retreating from the edge of his cell and into darkness.

Grimly, you turn away from him, towards your bunk.

They're everywhere. They're watching you. They know what you've done. You're going to be punished -

You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

"Hey, hey, breathe." Keef's hushed voice carries across the cell.

Your eyes dart around until you see him, a broad mass in the shadows, sitting on the edge of his bunk across the way.

The soft sound of the other men snoring in their cells settles over the silence.

"It was just a nightmare," he whispers across the corridor. "I'm right here."

You blink back tears, and push yourself up by your elbows. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You run your hand down over your face. There’s been a lot of that lately.

A few shifts in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of your cell counting the seconds going by, running your fingers over the soulmark on your arm, unable to stop thinking about him.

You’ve memorised his form and features with almost no effort - the cut of his jawline, occasionally peppered with stubble if he hasn’t shaved, being your latest obsession.

And you can feel when he looks at you, too. Devouring glances out of the corner of your eye that set your cheeks aflame.

It’s like your body is on high alert at all times. Working alongside him throughout the day, barely able to exchange a few words without anyone overhearing, passing by each other, brushing past each other so close your skin hair raises, but not touching, never touching, just savouring the few small moments in his presence and then trying to go to sleep every night knowing he is a only few feet away from you.

But it’s worse, somehow, when you do manage to turn your brain off. That’s when the nightmares come.

It’s relentless and repetitive; nothing but the Empire and memories of pain, torturing you through your sleep.

Keef’s been developing shadows beneath his eyes as well. You wish you could talk to him about it, but he doesn’t seem to want anyone else to know about your soulmarks, and shit, neither do you. It's hard enough to even admit to yourself, let alone have the others staring at you, judging you more than they already do for being the only woman here.

And if the prison ever found out, they could take you away from each other. Your gut clenches at the thought.

Fuck. Trying to drag your emotions out of the gutter before you break is becoming harder everyday. The weight on your shoulders is crushing you, and you can’t see any light at the end of this tunnel.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you confess, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He stands, coming to the edge of his cell in the low, red lighting. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Don’t let them break you.”

You fiddle with your mattress. Don’t let them break you? They already are, and it isn’t your choice.

“Listen to me,” he says, raising his voice to a low growl.

You look up at him, drawing in a shaky breath.

“You had a nightmare, but you woke up from it.” The urgency in his baritone voice calls to you, and you stand, approaching the edge of your cell as he continues. “That’s all this place is. It’s a nightmare. You don’t realise it while you’re inside, but you’re in control. All you have to do is wake up.”

“What are you saying?”

He meets your gaze, an intense, unreadable look in his eyes. “I'm saying, hold on. Just a little while longer. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, before you realise what you’re saying. You blink and look away from him, frowning. “I can.”

His words paint a picture in your mind, one of you, years from now, out of here. On some beach planet or forest town, enjoying the sun on your face. This place, a distant memory in the back of your mind.

Just a nightmare.

A slight smile finds its way onto your face at the thought. You meet Keef’s gaze again, the fierceness in his eyes amplified by the red of the floor, and nod in gratitude.

“I’ll try.”

His shoulders relax slightly, and he nods. “That’s all we can do.”

You sleep.

There’s a warmth in you when you wake, a buzz from the memory of last night. That was the longest conversation you’ve had yet, and even if you couldn’t talk openly, it still felt real.

When you first open your eyes, you’re drawn to his cell on instinct, drinking in the sight of him every chance you can get.

But it’s like he hasn’t moved all night. He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall at the edge of his cell, arms still folded, and he’s staring at you, his dark brows furrowed, the slight stubble peppering his clenched jaw telling you he hasn’t shaved since yesterday. Movement draws your gaze to his arm, where his knuckles shift back and forth, running over that small mark on his arm.

Heat slowly rises to your face.

The floor is still red. The others are awake too, the few you can see from your cell having breakfast or pacing around their small cell. The slight murmur of muted voices blending together.

“Did you sleep?” you ask him.

He gives the subtlest shake of his head.

Your heart sinks.

It’s not just being around him that you can’t bear, it’s also seeing him suffer and not being able to help. You have to keep holding back these strange, rising urges to comfort him. It doesn’t help that he has those big, soulful brown eyes that could melt you down into the cracks of the floor.

You’re not in love, but he matters to you more with each passing day, and that feeling is killing you.

Damn, you thought you’d grown numb to everything, but suddenly the despair is back with a vengeance, and you have to look away to blink back sudden tears.

“Hey,” he calls to you. “You okay?”

Shaking your head, you blow out a breath and chant in your head, don’t break, don’t let them get to you.

He curses, and then he’s pushing of the wall to pace his cell. His shoulders tense with each breath.

You draw near the edge of your cell, watching him try to walk out the tension in his body, your heart caught between desire and despair.

It’s a vicious cycle of suffering between the two of you.

Then the floor lights shift from red to white.

“On program!” Kino calls out.

Prisoners load out of their cells, slowly getting into their line with murmurs and sluggishness.

Keef is already on the floor when you tentatively step down, enduring that moment before your feet touch the metal with your heart in your throat every time. White lights means it’s safe, but -

He approaches you suddenly, closing his hand around the nape of your neck, tipping his forehead against yours. Warm electricity floods through your veins and over your skin at his touch.

“Keef,” you stutter out, shocked at his public display, even as you sink further into his touch. The sounds of shock and angry voices from the men around you start kicking off, but you ignore them.

“Please,” he breathes, his forehead pressed firmly against yours, his face inches away, “it’s killing me. I know you’re scared - I know. What can I do?”

You shake your head. “I - ”

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Kino.

You pull him off you and step away.

He shudders at your touch, and you realise with a jolt that you took his arm right at the soulmark. For a brief moment, he cradles his arm, before Kino approaches and the two of you join the others in line.

“Hm?” The man raises his eyebrow at the both of you. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“It was nothing,” Keef responds. “Just making sure she’s okay.”

Kino glances at you, an unreadable look on his face. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say, but even you can hear the shakiness in your own voice.

He blinks, searching your gaze. Then he grabs Keef by the arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear.

As Keef listens, he sets his eyes on you, before giving Kino a firm nod.

Apparently satisfied, the older man steps away and raises his voice to the rest of the men.

“Time to face another day. Everyone, move.”

As you begin walking forward, you turn your head to whisper back to him, “what was that?”

“Don’t worry,” Keef whispers. “He’s on our side.”

The tension is high at table five.

“I don’t think they should be next to each other today,” says Taga, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

“Why?” Keef growls.

“Does he really have to say why?” Xaul interrupts. “You like her.”

“It could be a distraction,” Ham mutters.

“No.” Keef glares. “She stays by my side. Kino’s orders.”

“Oh, ‘Kino’s orders’? Fuck that. We don’t want to get fried 'cuz of you,” Xaul growls.

Keef turns his ire on Xaul. "And when was the last time that happened? If memory serves, not since she started here, under my guidance."

A mutter goes around the table.

"Table five, get moving," Kino warns as he passes by.

"Let's get this done," Keef growls, and that's the end of the discussion.

The next days feel different, and the same.

You try to hold on, like you promised him, but the nightmares and the sleepless nights are getting worse.

You touched each other for the second time ever, felt the warmth of his hands on you, breathed the same air, the memory of seeing the depths of darkness in his brown eyes up close is carved into your mind, and now the yearning inside of you has developed; a deep ache in your bones.

The others can sense something more is up between you. You feel their eyes follow you; but you can't bring yourself to care whether they notice the way he always rushes to your aid, or the soft exchanges of words, or the way the two of you never move too far apart. You can't fight this growing need to be around him. You're soulmates. Whatever that means.

"Doctor! We need the doctor!"

Your ears prick at the commotion at table two. Everyone keeps working, but out of the corner of your eye you watch as Kino goes over to investigate.

"Is it another panic attack?"

You push down on the drill.

"...he's not breathin'"

You lift it up and inspect the results.

"Shit. I’ll call the doctor."

Your table begins to lift the cog off the table to load it on the rack. You step away, watching them move. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man keeled over on the floor.

A little bit of your soul cracks.

Keef returns to your side, and it’s brief, but his arm brushes against yours.

He doesn’t even need to say anything - you meet his brown-eyed gaze and all the hurt in your lungs evaporates.

“Unit Five-Two-D on program.”

He flicks his gaze up to the entrance, a gleam in his eyes.

You put your hands behind your head and turn to face them as the doctor is lowered onto the floor.

The man is dead.

There’s a strange anticipation in the air, like the way the air gets dry before a storm hits.

You watch them carry the man away in a bodybag. You catch Xaul and Jemboc exchanging a look. You catch the way Kino nods subtly to Keef as he walks past.

Everyone goes silently to their quarters - not even a whisper.

“Fall out!” Kino yells.

You turn to Keef. “What is going on?”

He pulls you aside, leaning in with his voice down low. “Do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow, whatever Kino says, I want you to follow immediately. No hesitation. You understand?”

“What - ”

“I can’t explain. I wish I could, but - ” His eyes catch on someone over your shoulder, and his mouth closes in a grim line.

You glance back and see Xaul, watching from a distance, arms folded, jaw tense. He’s never seemed to trust you, and you don’t blame him, but the way he watches you at all times is hard to get comfortable with.

“I don’t understand,” you turn back to your soulmate and search his eyes, “but... I trust you.”

An unreadable expression flashes in his eyes, and then everything is swept away as he takes you by the waist, cups your chin, and sweeps you into a gentle kiss.

For a nanosecond you freeze, before the rush of adrenaline fills your veins and you melt against his lips. The soulmark pulses on your arm, and the most amazing feeling overtakes you, of drifting high up in the clouds and watching the sun rise. You pull him closer, threading your fingers through his hair. The bristle of his five-o’clock shadow makes itself known with each movement, desire pooling in your core as you move your body against his. He feels so real, solid and alive, and it’s breathtaking.

The sounds of the world around you only vaguely registers in your head. Men, shouting at you.

Fuck them. Nothing else matters. You’re in the arms of your soulmate and you never want to leave again.

Then one voice, Kino’s, pierces through your haze. “Oi! The floor!”

Your eyes fly open as Keef breaks off the kiss and pushes you towards your cell with a growl.

You barely have time to react. Between the flashing lights, you lunge for the safe zone, leaping up into it seconds before the place is bathed in red.

“Fuck!”

You turn around.

He stands in his cell across from you, panting, his hair mussed from your attention. His eyes are wild, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to drop dead.

The instinct to reassure him overwhelms you. “I’m okay,” you say, stepping away from the edge. “I made it.”

He closes his eyes, running a palm over his mouth, and his shoulders rise and fall with a deep, shuddering breath.

You look down at your soulmark. That heightened feeling is fading, fast, each second you’re not back in his arms. A vision enters your head, of you, throwing yourself across the hall, even though you know that ends in death.

“You two lovebirds have a death wish?” Kino yells from his cell.

Shit.

“I told you they were distracting each other.”

“Gonna get us killed.”

Murmurs ripple down the hall. Heads, poking out of their cells.

Keef shakes his head, eyes swimming with anger. His voice is low, but you still hear it above the din. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that risk.”

His words should fill you with regret, but a part of you, a small, stubborn part, thinks that maybe it was worth it anyway, just to touch him again, to feel his arms around you, the dominance of his kiss.

You close your eyes, a hand going to your mouth on instinct, fingertips trailing where he had his mouth on yours.

“Enough!”

Kino’s bark gets everyone’s attention instantly. The chatter dies down.

You open your eyes, and Keef is staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. Heat rises to your face.

“Everyone knows what the plan is. Yes?”

Mumbles of men in agreement echo through the hall. You tilt your head, trying to discern any information you can, but pick up nothing. Nothing except that Keef looking towards Kino’s cell with fire in his eyes - tense, almost like hope, but darker.

Anger.

“Good. Now’s the time to rest. Tomorrow, we fight.”

A chill runs down your spine.

He’s shirtless in the morning.

Instantly pushing yourself up, your gaze locked on his chest, his stomach v, his arms, you catch his attention with the sudden movement.

He snaps his gaze to yours, pausing mid-stretch. His arm pulled across his chest, braced against his other arm to stretch his shoulder, the ropes of his biceps on full display for you.

“Hi,” you say.

Your swear his mouth curves just slightly, a twitch in his face, and he nods at you.

“Hi.”

All the blood in your body has left your brain. You continue to stare at him like an idiot while he does some basic stretches, before the lights flick to white, and Kino yells his daily on program! while Keef slides his shirt back on.

You fall in line in front of him.

He stands closer to you than normal, pressing his up front against you, his breath fanning against the back of your head as he leans in. His lilting voice sounds lowly in your ear, a lilting, baritone sound. “Remember what I said?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “F-Follow Kino,” you manage to stutter out.

He hums in approval. “Good girl.”

Your thighs clench together.

He’s getting more bold in front of the others, more playful, and you can’t help but feel excited and nervous by the shift. Why has he stopped hiding?

The line starts moving forward, and you follow the person in front of you to the showers as normal, trying to focus on anything but what he just said.

He thinks there’s a chance you could both escape, you think, and then immediately regret that line of thinking. But it’s too late. That future you imagined - the one that he planted in your mind with his words, shifts, and suddenly he’s there beside you in each vision, relaxing, laughing, grinning like an idiot.

Fuck.

The shift begins, the men exchanging knowing glances that have anticipation and dread growing in your belly. You know what this is by now, you’ve put the pieces together despite their weird reluctance in telling you.

This escape plan is really happening.

The new prisoner arrives shortly after your shift begins, and when Keef returns from the bathroom soaking wet, you barely have time to react before shit hits the fan.

Obeying Kino’s orders, you watch as together the other prisoners hijack the lift and short out the entire system - no more hot floor.

As he reaches the top, Keef turns back to pin you with a wild, furious look in his eyes that fills you with fire. He jerks his head for you to follow him.

So you do.

You climb. You run. You follow.

A guard catches you and tries to pull you away, but Keef is there in a flash of red and the smell of burning flesh, grabbing you by the hand and telling you to run as the man slumps to the ground.

The loading platform ends in a sheer drop to the sea. Your stomach drops as you pull back, glancing around as others begin to jump.

This is insane.

“I can’t swim!”

You barely hear Kino say it over the sound of the wind and the other prisoners, but then he says it again, and there is no doubt.

You step up beside him. “Me neither.”

Keef stares at you in shock.

And then he’s gone.

One of the men drags him off the edge by accident, and a shriek escapes you. “No!” but you can only watch as he disappears from sight.

A second goes by, then two. More men rush past.

There's nothing but the sound of blood pumping in your ears. No matter which way you think about it, if you follow, you're dead. There's no way you can swim that far, and if Keef tries to help you, he'll probably just die with you.

You fall to your knees.

Others race past you still, flinging themselves off the edge one by one. Kino stands by your side, watching them with an empty gaze.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and find yourself subconsciously cradling your arm, the soulmark on it beginning to throb painfully. Follow Kino, he said, but you’re not sure Kino has any moves left. There’s none you can see; no way to survive.

Maybe you should just jump anyway and let fate decide.

“Nothing.” Kino looks down at the gun in his hand. “We’re going out, one way or another.”

You nod and take in a deep breath of salty ocean air. “Agreed.”

He says nothing.

“Ah!” Your soulmark throbs again, and you grip your arm, hissing through your teeth. “Fuck off!”

“Sorry?” Kino growls.

"It’s uh,” you pull back your sleeve to him, “my soulmark.”

He blinks. “Damn. Keef?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains you two then.” He nods, casting his gaze out to sea. “I... I have a family.”

You peer up at him.

“I just wanted to see them again.” He looks down at the gun in his hands again.

“At least you know you tried,” you offer. “Sometimes...” Keef’s words ring true, pouring from your lips even as you hear the memory of his words spoken in your mind. “...that’s all we can do.”

The two of you linger in silence. Below you, the forms of men swimming away from the prison spread out, reaching towards the horizon. The soulmark on your arm is aching something fierce now, calling you to the edge. But it’s the realisation that Keef must be feeling this pain too, that hurts even more.

You hope he is trying anyway, down there, despite the pain.

He’s probably thinking the same thing about you.

Damn.

You stand. “Give me the gun.”

Kino hands it to you without even looking, his eyes remaining fixed on the horizon.

You turn around, facing the inside of the prison, and point the gun at one of the panels of the wall. The sound of the blast almost deafens you.

The panels sizzle where the blast hit, but as you approach, you can see them peeling away from each other at the seam. Without hesitation, you wedge the barrel of the gun in the hole, and with all your strength, try to peel the panel off the wall.

“What are you doing?” Kino growls.

You glance back at him with a half-cocked shrug.

“Finding something that floats.”

Wet.

Cassian’s fingers close around sand. His lungs are on fire, exacerbated by the stinging salt he inhales with each breath. Everything hurts.

A shadow relieves him from the sun. He looks up and for a moment, it’s you, the beautiful image of you reaching down for him tilting this world on its axis. Then he blinks, and Melshi comes into focus.

“We need to disappear,” he’s saying, scanning their surroundings.

Cassian tries to push himself up, but there’s a terrible ache emanating from his soulmark. It was easy to ignore in the sea - everything hurt. But now it spreads through his body, an urging like no other to wade back out into the dark waves - to go back for you.

He wants to punch the man who tackled him off the edge. Whoever it was. But as soon as he hit the water, swimming was the only way to survive.

“Did ya hear me? Keef?”

With a grunt, Cassian sits up and brushes off his hands, wincing when his arm throbs with the movement. “Did anyone else make it?”

Melshi squints. “If they did, they didn’t follow us.”

Yeah, that’s what he thought. Even if, by some miracle, you did make it, you could be miles apart, with no way of finding each other.

It would be enough to know that you survived, but he’s never been that lucky. No. He thinks of you, of your tentatively hopeful expressions that get him through the day, that beautifully trusting look in your eyes right before he kissed you, and has to tilt his head back to prevent his eyes from watering.

His soulmate. Dead.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could save you.

“Keef.” Melshi stoops down beside him. “We have to move.”

“What do you know about soulmarks?” he murmurs.

Melshi sighs. “You’re dehydrated, mate. C’mon.” He goes to lift him up.

“No - no!” Cassian resists, pushing Melshi away and scrambling to his feet. He shoves back his sleeve and bares his soulmark. “I need to know! I need to...” He cuts himself off with a grimace as pain pulses through the mark.

Melshi stares at the mark, wide-eyed. “No shit. The girl?”

Cassian can only nod. “She doesn’t even know - my real name.” He chokes the words out past tears. “I thought I could save her. But she’s... she’s probably dead by now.” It feels like he’s separated from his body, like someone else is saying these things.

“Wouldn’t you know?”

Cassian stills. “What do you mean?”

Melshi hesitates.

“What do you mean?!” He grips at his hair, heart thudding in his chest so hard it might burst. “How would I know?!”

“I don’t know! It was just a story, back home - people said the marks are like homing beacons. So if she’s dead, your mark would... stop working.” He cringes, muttering, “it sounds stupid when I say it like that.”

Cassian looks down at it the throbbing, aching mark. He focuses on it, and - there - the throbbing pulls towards the sea.

He looks out at the waves. “She’s alive.”

His legs carry him forward, back into the sea. The sound of Melshi yelling behind him is a distant worry over the beating of his own heart, the very blood in his veins burning to get to you.

Then arms close around him, pulling him back. “You’re insane!”

He snarls and shoves Melshi back. “Get off me!”

“You’ll die!”

“I have to go back!”

Melshi lets him go. “Okay okay, just - just think about this! You’re no use to her dead.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand. If she’s alive - ”

“If she’s still alive, she’ll need more than just one man swimming out to rescue her!” His gaze darts down. “Is it getting better or worse?”

“What?”

He points to Cassian’s soulmark. “It’s painful, right? Is it getting worse?”

Cassian looks down at it. “It’s been about the same for a while now.” Fucking painful, but, “...maybe a little less than before. I don’t know!”

Melshi nods. “So she could be getting closer.”

“If that is how it works.” Instinct - the mark - tells him it does, but the panic in his chest won’t go away. He needs to see you. “So what do I do then? Wait around for her to find me? She can’t swim, so how - ”

“I don’t care!” Melshi interrupts. "But if you don’t return to shore with me, I will knock you unconscious and drag you back.” There’s a deadly serious look in the man’s eyes.

The ache within him isn’t going away. He’s not sure how much more he can take. But Melshi is right - it would be a death wish to swim back.

The prison is a blip on the horizon. Could you have really made it, somehow?

Melshi eyes him aggressively, waiting for him to make a move.

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “You really care about me that much?”

“You’ve been a bloody pain in my arse, but you were instrumental in our escape, so I figure I owe ya.”

With a nod, he looks back towards land, skimming his fingers over the waist-high water. “We wait here then.”

“They’ll be sending ships looking for us.”

“I won’t go any farther inland.”

Melshi shakes his head. “Fine.” With a splash, he begins wading toward the shore. “Then we’d better find some shelter for the night.”

It’s midnight. Probably, anyway. Cassian has no sense of time here, except that it's been dark for a while.

He sits with his face tilted up to the stars. The sea breeze is a cool rush of air, swaying the tree above and rustling his hair across his face.

He needs a haircut again.

The mark on his arm has steadied to a slow, aching pulse every few seconds, nothing more than the sensation of a mending bruise.

Melshi is right - he can feel it in his veins that you're getting close.

So he's waiting.

Sleep will not come to him tonight. Like you, it eludes him, and in its place, the unnatural sense that something is missing.

It's subtle, at first. A crashing of waves that don't fit the slow, steady beat he's been listening to all night.

Then, the sound of voices out there. A man's, deep and grating, and yours.

He'd recognise it anywhere.

He peers around the tree, out towards the sea, and sees a shape floating on the water.

“Melshi.” He hisses his companion’s name, getting up. “Melshi! It's them.”

“Huh,” Melshi starts, half awake.

“It’s them. I’m going to get her.”

He groans, shifting his arms up to cover his face. “They’re actually here? Wha’ are the chances? How?”

“I don’t know.” Breathless, Cassian turns toward the sea, towards the place his soulmark has been calling him towards all night. “But I’m going to find out. Come on.”

He runs to the water.

Sand sprays beneath his feet, then water splashes, and then he’s wading, then swimming, towards it. The shape blotting out the stars on the horizon morphs into two silhouettes sitting on some kind of raft. They’re slowly paddling their way towards the shore.

Cassian wants to weep with joy when he hears their voices - first Kino, then you.

“Is that - ”

“Keef? Keef!” you cry out, your voice hoarse.

His palm collides with the raft - a smooth white panel, and there you are, sitting on one side with a salt-streaked, wind-struck, beautiful face, staring down at him in wonder.

“Well shit,” Kino croaks, glancing at you. “You were right.”

Your hand rests over your soulmark as you stare down at Cassian.

Stars. There is so much he wants to say, but none of it seems like enough for this moment. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you - he can’t.

But as the waves gently rise and fall, Kino clears his throat pointedly. “Much as I love being surrounded by water...”

“Right, right.” Cassian grabs hold of the panel. “I’ll take you to shore.”

The soft strokes of the sea abuts his efforts as he pulls the raft behind him, until the sea floor shallows out and he can put his feet beneath him.

“You should be good now. You can stand,” he says, instantly returning to your side of the raft. “Melshi’s with me, on the shore.”

Kino nods, sliding off the edge. “We should bury the panel.”

“Agreed.”

You hesitantly dip your legs in the water, and Cassian places his hands on your waist ready to help you down. “I’ve got you.”

In the darkness he can barely see your face, but he could swear there’s a heat reflected in your eyes.

It feels good, coming to you aid on instinct. Putting his hands on you.

As he holds you steady, you gently slip off the edge of the raft and collide against him with an oof as you land.

Despite his exhaustion, his shaft hardens. To go from be denied his soulmate for so long, to this...

“Here,” he says, roughly pushing the panel towards Kino, his eyes never leaving your face. “Go see Melshi. We’ll catch up.”

The man grunts something, and begins to wade to shore with the panel, and then he’s forgotten as Cassian is drawn back to you on instinct.

His arms tighten around your waist, and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s struck.

You cup his face, gaze flitting between his eyes and his mouth, your breaths mingling, and then suddenly he’s pressing his mouth against yours.

You let out a cute little gasp against him, and his chest flutters, as you yield to him.

Yes. He burns with the rightness of this moment, and yet braces you against him as he deepens the kiss, like he’s afraid you’re going to slip away. He doesn’t quite believe you’re real yet.

Your fingers dig into his hair, and he likes it, the way you pull him into you with the same hunger and desperation he’s feeling.

“Cassian,” he breathes suddenly, pulling back for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours. “My real name is Cassian.”

“Cassian,” you repeat, and then your mouth curves into a smile - a fucking smile.

He almost groans. His soulmark pulses warmly against you. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding against him.

“You’re my soulmate.”

You nod again, clinging tight to him. “Yes.”

A low, reverent chuckle escapes him, and you let out a light giggle in response; together relishing in the intimacy of this moment.

And then you cant your hips, and his laugh turns into a groan, a new kind of bliss making itself known in the hardening of his length beneath his pants. He thinks he’s never seen anything as beautiful as the look in your eyes. Full of passion - a beautiful, twisting flame, but also, understanding. You barely know each other, and yet it’s like your souls know each other intimately; bound together by something greater than either of you can fathom.

With a swift motion, he sweeps your legs out from underneath you and hitches your thighs around his waist so you're floating in the water, anchored in place by him alone.

You press yourself into him, arching your back and leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

He kisses you with all the fervour and unfulfilled need building inside him. His hands come around your ass and dig in, tugging your crotch against him so you can feel his hardness.

Another heady, submissive gasp escapes you against his mouth, and when your legs open further to let him settle against you, he's done for.

“I know you’re probably tired,” he murmurs, “and we should probably get to shore, but I...”

You're nodding before he even finishes the sentence, making his heart soar with the needy look in your eyes. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, yes, please, Cassian, please.”

With a breathless laugh, he drops your thighs and takes you by the waistband of your pants instead.

Together, you work to pull it off of you. It’s awkward, messy, not how he imagined this going, but it doesn’t matter. The mood is playful as you struggle to pull your pants off beneath the water - you, bracing yourself on his shoulders, and him, trying to pull it off your legs and getting splashed in the process.

But then suddenly you’re fully naked from the waist down, and your laughter quietens as you draw close to each other again.

He can’t see your naked lower half beneath the dark water, but he can feel when you wrap your legs around him again.

Slowly, he places his hand on your bare thigh, treating the moment with all the reverence of a ritual, his soulmark tingling in anticipation and sending a shudder through his body.

With his other hand, he cups your face, searching your gaze.

“I’m clean.”

“Same.”

“Birth control?”

Something like pain flickers in your eyes, and you shake your head. “Not since... before.”

“Right. Of course.”

He hesitates.

The two of you just escaped prison, and if he’s learnt anything, this is not the kind of galaxy he wants to risk bringing a child into. He’s not even sure if he’ll survive tomorrow.

“What do you want to do then?”

“We could die tomorrow.” You shift in his arms, pulling yourself flush against him until his hardness presses firmly between you. “Fuck it.”

He tilts his head, a slight grin curling on his face. Stars, when you say it like that... With a clench of his jaw, he pulls you down slowly and impales you on his hardness.

His head falls back. You’re fucking tight. A raw, incredulous groan rises from his throat.

Your reaction has his head spinning - fingers winding through his grown-out hair and pulling desperately against him. He loves little hiss you make.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze and his seed almost spills, only holding himself back with the barest restraint. Must savour this moment. Finally being inside you - his soulmate.

He pulls you in for a hungry kiss. Heat rises between your bodies as you give yourself over to his touch, opening your mouth into his kiss and arching your back for him.

It’s too much. Unable to stop himself, his hands grip you by your thighs and he fully impales you, forcing your tight, inner channel muscles to give way and let his shaft thrust full inside you.

You brace his shoulders and writhe in pleasure. “Oh, Cassian, please, m-move - ”

That’s all he hears before his instincts take over, and he uses all his strength to thrust, desperate to wedge himself so far inside you he’ll never leave.

He plants his feet on the sea floor and braces you against him as you cant your hips for him. Your bodies are working overtime to create that toe-curling friction, thrusting into each other with bruising force, the waves splashing and breaking over your entwined forms.

Your mouths clash in a tangle of heated, desperate kisses that burn him from within. The tension is pulled taut between you, soulmarks thrumming in time with each other as you desperately unite your bodies as one.

He rocks his hips up between your open legs and hits home harder and harder with each slosh of the water. His hands grip you by the back of your shirt, fingers scrambling against the fabric to pull your body down as hard as he can.

Your head lols back in the water, a gasp escaping your throat. “Cassian! Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop - oh!”

He grunts in approval. His hunger for you grows, seeing you so vulnerable like this for him, desperate to hold out as long as he can to pleasure you. His thrusts grow even more frantic and sloppy - a fast, brutal jerking rhythm of pounding up into your cunt.

“My hope,” he murmurs in Kenari, barely hanging on to his sanity. “Better than anything I’d ever dreamt of.” He drinks in the sight of you, wet and vulnerable and all his, and his hardness gives a heady warning pulse of heat. He groans. “You’re everything. You’re mine.”

You let out a whimper in his arms, and then you’re tensing, your thighs, clenching around him with newfound strength.

“Cassian,” you moan through gritted teeth, “Cassian!”

The first jolt of pleasure wracks through his body without warning. At the realisation that you’re climaxing, he’s had it - he can’t hold back anymore.

He groans in disbelief. His brows draw together, the deep, intense, deliberate jerking of his body against yours faltering as pleasure takes over. A sound comes out of him, a mix between a desperate plea and praise, and then he’s coming inside you.

Fierce, intense waves of heat pulse into your raw, messy, clenching cunt.

His pleasure deepens as you open your legs even farther to receive his spend inside you. With a growl, he pulls you against him and jerks his hips against you once more, finishing himself off.

“Yes,” you moan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. The change in angle shields your face from the starlight, but the sound of your shuddering, desperate pants of breath are clear as day. You’re high on this shared bliss together.

“Don’t want to wake up,” he murmurs against your lips.

“You think I’m a dream?”

He traces up your arm and wraps his hand around the back of your neck. “You’re too good to be real. I’m not that lucky.”

You chuckle. “You are now.”

“We’ll see.”

It isn’t until the next morning, when he opens his eyes to the first rays of sun and you’re still there, asleep in his arms, that he finally allows himself to believe.

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