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brotherblaze · 2 months ago

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doloroso —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: Against his better judgement, Bucky calls you in to help Bob balance control while he adjusts to his mood stabilizers.

—word count: 2,1k

—warnings: mild gore

—also on AO3

Bucky’s grip around your bicep is firm.

You stand a few feet from the gaping void swallowing up the entire floor of the Watchtower. It hasn’t moved forward since you arrived. According to the docket Bucky sent over when he called, this is unusual. If this Void is truly as sentient as his information claimed, it (he?) should be advancing. You stare at the edges of the shadow, the way it laps at the glossy floor like the sea at sand and yet it doesn’t advance past a certain point.

“Look,” Bucky starts, his grip on your arm loosening, “I know… I know she had the whole ‘incapable of feeling fear’ thing going on but inside that is a maze of your worst memories. Just…” he pauses, presses his lips together, “keep moving. He’ll be in an attic-like room. Shaggy hair, baggy clothes. He’ll be the only one who interacts with you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

In the corner of your eye, Bucky nods and releases your arm. His footsteps retreat.

You stand at the edge of the darkness. It rushes forward, just barely missing the tips of your boots and then retreats, surges forward and retreats again. You can almost imagine the sound of the ocean and the wind and the birds. Or is that a memory — someone else’s memory?

The wave of soot rushes towards you and you take a step forward to meet it.

For the longest fraction of a second in your life, there is nothing.

Then, it’s hot. The sun is sweltering down at you. There are stairs and columns and trees —

People push past you, stampede up the stairs towards — that’s the Acropolis of Athens. Tall and mighty, foundation and pillars and roof uncracked, uneroded by the passage of time. Someone trips, falls and someone else grabs them by the arm, drags their companion along up the stone steps. Someone shouts, points upwards.

You see a man standing by the pillars.

In another life he could’ve been you and you could’ve been him.

In another life, you were him.

He looks at you and he smiles.

An arrow pierces the side of his jaw and tears through the bone. He crumples like tissue paper and people are on him in a moment. A hand grabs the bloodied arrow and yanks, pulls the whole jawbone off with it. It skitters across the stone ground until it hits the nose of your shoe.

A crowd surrounds him, hands tearing and punching and feet kicking and crushing. You look away.

There’s a doorway to a balcony-like structure. Beyond it, a room of gray and metal and ice. You don’t look at the carnage, at people clawing him to pieces and turn to step onto the balcony.

It is cold. Cold and metal and frost on the steel bars separating the small room from the larger one. The floor is concrete, cracked and crumbling, a hole the size of someone’s fist lodged into it. Your breath fogs when you exhale. The crisp winter air makes your lungs sting when you inhale.

The Winter Soldier is standing in front of the bars, its back to you. A man stands on the other side, dressed in a green military uniform. His chest is adorned with medals. He speaks in a low tone, tells the Winter Soldier something. You can’t quite make out his speech, the intonation of his words.

There’s a woman standing next to the Winter Soldier. Her hair is neatly braided to the side and her outfit is crisp, clean; a white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, a coat hanging on her shoulders. Her face is impassive but her body is turned towards the Winter Soldier, arms lax at her sides. Is she compensating for its blind spots?

Your eyes meet hers from across the room.

The Winter Soldier strikes. Its movements are quick and fluid and its human hand wraps around her throat. Her hands shoot to claw at its exposed hand and her mouth opens, face contorting in pain and — fear? Is that fear you recognize on her face? It feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there. It wouldn’t be the Winter Soldier — you’ve read her docket again and again and again to the point where you see the blocky letters on that paper even when you close your eyes — ‘claims to be incapable of feeling fear’. With how long she was appointed (self-appointed?) as its handler, The Asset should not — The Winter Soldier shoves its metal fingers into her mouth and grabs her jaw. Then, its flesh arm leaves her throat, fingers slotting into her mouth, too, and it pulls.

Her skull snaps loose from her jaw and flies across the room, hits the wall with a dull thunk and drops. It rolls towards you. Her eyes stare at you, unmoving, dull. They are your own eyes. You look away.

There’s a gap between the bars. The room on the other side has flowery wallpaper and a plush couch.

You edge past the Winter Soldier and slot your body into the gap.

It smells like smoke. The wallpaper is yellowing from the tobacco, peeling at where the wall meets the ceiling. The couch is ugly, a faded maroon with stains and cigarette burns underneath the plastic cover. The you that’s sitting on it, baby-cheeked and dull-eyed, is hunched over, feet not even meeting the floor.

The woman standing in front of you, a burning cigarette between her lips — her face is a blur. You cannot decipher any characteristics about it. The cigarette glows red hot when she inhales.

“That mouth will get you killed.”

You step past her, step over the ashtray on the floor. There’s a mirror on the wall that doesn’t reflect. In it, a man sitting cross-legged in an attic-like room. This must be Bob. You dive through the mirror.

This room is pleasant. Quiet. The air is clean, or cleaner than the cigarette smoke and smoke-stained walls, if maybe a little stuffy. Specks of dust dance around you as you approach the man.

“Hello, Bob.”

His head snaps up. “Who’re you?”

“If I said I’m a friend of The As — James, I’d be lying. But we do have history.”

“Why…?” he trails off, brows scrunching. He turns his head slowly, as if realizing where he is for the first time. “What happened?”

“You threw two supersoldiers through seven walls and then melted into the floor. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Bob buries his face into his hands with a low groan.

“Well, anyway, that’s why I’m here.” Bob pulls back slightly, hands dropping to his lap, and tilts his head up to look at you. “I can help you keep control while you get accustomed to your new medication. ‘S why he called me.”

He nods slowly, his grin lopsided and stiff, a notch between his brows. “Yeah?” His voice wavers. He blinks rapidly and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “How are you going to do that?” The lilt in his voice bothers you but you can’t place why. It gnaws at you, at the very center of your being, of your very existence.

“I’m more of a concept than I am human,” you say. “Listen: I will help you take control back from the Void and the Sentry. The road ahead is arduous, but so is the road behind you.” You close the already small space between yourself and Bob, and hold a hand out towards him. He drags his glassy eyes from the floor to look at your hand. “Now, could you please show me the way out of here, Bob?”

“It’s not pretty.”

“I just watched two of my past incarnations get their head and/or jaw ripped off. I doubt what’s in your past can scare me.” You nod. “We can hold hands if you think that’ll make it easier.”

Bob stares at your outstretched hand for a long moment. Finally, he accepts it and you haul him up from the floor with ease. His hand is warm around yours. You tug on it to grab his attention. “Listen: close your eyes and I’ll handle all the ugly stuff. The first time is free.”

Bone-deep relaxation washes over him as his eyes flutter shut. He hears the thud of your boots against the wooden floor and follows the pull on his hand. He feels light.

When Bob feels like he’s back in his body again, he finds himself sitting on his bed. You’re sitting right there with him, right next to him, thigh pressed against his, your hand still clasped in his. He drops it like it burns and scoots away from you. He stutters a half-baked sorry when his brain catches up to the faux-pas he’s committed. You don’t seem to be bothered by the sudden rejection.

“May I have my tie back?”

He blinks once, twice, turns his head to look at you because you’re wearing it, you were just wearing it when you held your hand out for him to take — it’s not there. Your eyes drop to his chest for a brief moment before they meet his again. Something in his hindbrain pings as wrong and there’s this… oppressive fear constricting around his throat. His windpipe is being crushed.

“You’re wearing it.”

His hand shoots to his chest and he feels smooth fabric underneath his fingertips. He nearly tears it over his head and forces it back into your open palm.

“Thank you.” Then, you stand and step over the things strewn on his floor to make it to the mirror hanging on the wall. He watches you undo the knot on your tie and loop it around your neck, tie it and smooth it against your torso. “So, a chicken?”

“I was—” he swallows around the lump in his throat, a hand on his chest rubbing circles over his shirt to ease the rapid stutter in his ribs, “Meth. I was on meth.”

“Self-medicating isn’t uncommon,” you note. You don’t even flinch when there’s a knock at the door, metal against metal but Bob nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart is beating against his ribcage like a wild horse trying to make its getaway. It might just burst from his chest at this rate. “Come in,” you say before Bob has even had the chance to consider inviting whoever it is in.

The door slides open and Bucky steps in, Ava hot on his heels. She makes a beeline for the bathroom while Bucky stops a step or two away from Bob. His posture is stiff and wrong and the feeling of unease in Bob’s chest grows, wraps around his heart and dives between his ribs — “You okay?”

“I’m not lifting him alone,” Ava announces, halfway out of the bathroom again.

“It’s not that difficult.”

“He’s 200lbs of douchebag.”

“Just… give me a sec.” Bucky looks at Bob again, brow scrunched and does a quick once-over of him. As if he’s checking for injuries. “Bob? You okay?” He repeats, tone even, still stiff.

Bob’s mouth opens and closes, opens again, a million and one thoughts racing in his mind, avoiding each other in near-misses and colliding together like a 17-car pileup on the interstate. “I… Yeah.” He nods his head. “Yeah. Is John…?”

“He’s alive. Out cold but alive.” Ava places her hands onto her hips and looks at Bucky. “I’m not lifting him alone.”

“For the love of —” Bucky stomps across the room and pushes past Ava into the bathroom. They exchange a few not-so-heated words, more mocking and bickering than anything angry. Something thunks dully against the ceramic tub and they both hiss through their teeth, followed by a stretch of silence.

“Great, now he’s bleeding, too.”

“Eh,” Ava says after a moment, tone flippant, “he’ll be fine.”

“You have good taste,” you say. Bob nearly jumps out of his skin again. He forgot you were here in the room with them. How did he forget? You’re holding his copy of Frankenstein in your hand, finger tracing the lettering of the summary on the back. “You’d be surprised how many modern movies are so obviously inspired by Frankenstein.” You slot the book back into its place on Bob’s meager bookshelf, which is just the singular shelf with six books and a fake succulent. “If you need me, or if you have any questions, I’m just down the hall.”

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his body fatigued. So, he just nods and tries to manage a smile. If it looks more like a grimace, you don’t mention it.

part 2

banners by @/cafekitsune

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x y/n #sentry x reader #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #sentry x you #thunderbolts x reader

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yaguniversity · 2 years ago

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Siding Exterior St Louis Large contemporary multicolored two-story mixed siding exterior home idea with a shed roof and a mixed material roof

#lap siding #mid century home usa #exposed steel #mid-century rehab #exposed structure

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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 6

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando felt like time was moving far too slowly.

He tried to keep himself occupied on the plane, but every moment felt like an eternity. His brain kept returning to thoughts of Lizzie, the words ‘multiple seizures’ running through his mind on a continuous loop.

He had never felt so out of his depth before. Racing? Sure. Even dealing with fans and the media? That was a walk in the park compared to the knot in his stomach now.

And worst of all, the not knowing was killing him.

He had no idea what Lizzie’s condition was truly like.

Was she not responding at all? Was she in a coma? Was she… was she even okay?

He barely managed to keep it together on the plane ride...The taxi ride from the airport to the hospital felt like an eternity. Lando fidgeted in his seat, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee.

Every second felt like an hour. Every minute felt like a decade.

Finall, finally, the Royal Sussex Hospital loomed large, its white walls and rows of windows a stark contrast against the grey English sky. Even though it was May, the cold air was biting at his exposed skin.

As he went through the doors, his nostrils were immediately assaulted with the sterile, clinical scent of the hospital.

"Elizabeth Treshton?" he asked at the reception, Lizzie's full name feeling foreign on his tongue. Did anybody ever even call her that? Lizzie was the name she introduced herself with, Lizzie was what friends and family called her…hell, even all the fans on her instagram account seemed to have adopted that name. Elizabeth Treshton seemed solely to exist to be put on her books and that was it.

The receptionist looked up at him with a small smile. "Yes, she's on the fourth floor. Room 404."

Lando's heart leapt into his throat. "Thank you."

He made his way to the elevator, his mind racing. Fourth floor. Room 404. Four was lucky. Right?

The elevator ride up to the fourth floor was excruciating.

The hum of the elevator’s motor and the faint music playing in the background felt like nails on a chalkboard to Lando’s already frayed nerves. When the doors finally slid open, he practically jumped out into the hallway.

404.

The room number was emblazoned on the sign next to a door partially cracked open.

Lando paused outside, taking one last deep breath to try and steel himself.

Standing outside her room, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock, introduce himself, or just stay quiet until the door magically opened. He debated for a moment, his hand hovering awkwardly for a moment before rapping lightly on the door.

There was no answer.

Silence filled the hall.

And then a voice called out, raspy and weary: "Come in."

Lando swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as a desert. With a shaky hand, he pushed the door open and took a single step into the room.

"You're...Lando Norris." His eyes immediately snapped to a man in his late 40s sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed. Lizzie's dad. There was no question about it. He looked just like her.

It was almost more as a statement than a question.

Lando, slightly taken aback, nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Uh, I came as soon as I heard. Is she...okay?” It was a stupid question, as his gaze fell on Lizzie...dead asleep in the hospital bed.

He wasn't sure what he had expected...maybe more machine's connected to her.

Granted, there were a few…her heartbeat was silently broadcasted to everybody in the room…there was an IV-Line in her hand…and there were also white bandages wrapped around her forearm. They were nearly the same white colour as her skin.

Lizzie’s father nodded, a weary smile on his face. "She’s stable. Hasn’t seized in over a day. But she’s been in and out of consciousness a lot. Not very responsive when she is awake, but the doctors say that’s normal."

Lizzie’s father took a slow, appraising look at Lando, like he was trying to piece together the weirdest puzzle of his life. “I must admit, I expected pretty much anything, but not you, to be honest," he finally said drily. "Richard Treshton. Most people call me Rick."

Lando nodded, tearing his gaze away from Lizzie for just a moment. "Nice to meet you, Rick."

He felt acutely aware of the fact that Lizzie’s dad was sizing him up.

Rick leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving Lando’s face. "How do you know Lizzie?"

Lando felt a pang of nerves. "We, uh...we’re friends."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Friend with the benefits sort of thing, or...?"

The blood rushed to his face. "We had two dates!" Lando blurted out. "We haven't...talked about...labels yet."

Rick raised the other eyebrow, now looking rather amused. "Ah, two dates then. I see. But not...dating."

Lando huffed out a breath. "We’re not not dating."

Rick chuckled, now looking thoroughly amused.. "Right. Not not dating. Clear as mud. Two dates, huh? But you’re already flying across the Atlantic to be here? Even though I am quite sure that there is some partying to be had in Miami?"

Lando felt his cheeks redden even further, but he held Rick’s gaze. “I care about her.” The words felt a little too raw, a little too real, and the weight of them hung in the air.

Rick regarded him for a few seconds. Then a small, tired smile appeared on his face.

"You really do, don't you?"

Lando nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He did care about Lizzie. Deeply.

"Just don’t make me regret letting you near her, okay?” Rick said with a sigh.

Lando nodded firmly. "I won’t. I promise."

Rick studied him for a beat, as if searching for any trace of dishonesty. Then he gestured to a chair next to the bed. “Sit. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

"Where's Mara?" Lando asked as he sat down, his eyes searching for the dog.

"I made Mara take Tasha out on a walk. She goes crazy when she is copped inside for two long."

Lando blinked twice. "You made the dog take Tasha out on a walk?"

Rick chuckled. "Technically, I told Tasha to take Mara on a walk, and she agreed. Tasha kept terrorising poor Lizzie everytime she woke…besides Mara was hard at work this week, she needed a break too….she was with Lizzie when the seizures started."

Lando sat down in the chair beside Lizzie's bed, trying to process everything he just heard. He had so many questions, but the one that was the most pressing on his mind was, "How did this happen? The seizures, I mean? Did something trigger them?"

Rick’s expression darkened. "She changed medications a few weeks ago. The new one didn't do a particular good job. Clearly." He sighed. "This is the worst it has been in...around 5 years," he said with a grimace. "Around the time Lizzie got Mara, we also found a combination of medications that minimized her seizures from every few days to every few weeks...This isn't normal for her," he told Lando seriously.

"Yes, she has epilepsy, yes, she will always have to deal with it, but Lizzie is normally able to live a a mostly "normal" life most of the time. She hasn't been hospitalised like this since her school years."

Lando nodded, trying to wrap his head around everything Rick was saying. His gaze went down to Lizzie, so small and fragile against the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. He had only seen her mostly healthy and whole so far. Even that evening after the one seizure she had had, she had looked tired, but not…not like this.

She had still been happy Lizzie who was snarky and witty and always ready to dish out a bit of playful banter.

This Lizzie was none of that.

She was pale and still, her face drawn and her body limp. Only the occasional twitch of her fingertips or flutter of her eyelashes indicated that she was still alive.

"Is this...going to happen again?" he asked weakly.

Rick’s expression was grave. "I hope not. Not to this extent, at least. She will have seizures in the future, but hopefully they won’t get this bad again.” He paused, studying Lando for a moment. "This is...a lot. I get it if you want to bail."

Lando’s head snapped up so quickly, it nearly gave him whiplash. "Bail?" he repeated vehemently. "You think I came all the way here to just bail?"

Rick shrugged a little. "No offence, kid, but you’re a world famous racecar driver. You’re known for being a party animal. This,” he gestured vaguely towards the bed where Lizzie lay, "is a whole nother level of commitment."

Lando bristled at that. “I am not afraid of commitment,” he snapped. “ I am not going to bail just because she’s ill.”

Rick just held his gaze for a moment, then chuckled. "You got a hell of backbone, kid. I see why she likes you."

Lando felt a small flicker of pride, but it was quickly overshadowed by worry. "How long do you think she'll be like this?" he asked, gesturing towards Lizzie. She looked so lifeless, so unresponsive.

"Ah, she'll wake up again in a few minutes and ask the same exact questions, she has been asking for the last 3 days," her father said drily. "Who won Miami?"

Lando’s jaw dropped. "Winning Miami is seriously the last thing on my mind right now," he said incredulously.

"Not on Lizzie's," Rick said with a laugh. At that moment, the door opened again. Mara ran into the room, tail wagging, immediately jumping up on the end of Lizzie's bed where there was a blanket waiting for her

Lando watched as Mara lay down on the blanket, head resting on her paws. She looked like she had settled in to stay.

"You owe Mum 10 bucks, Uncle Rick" came the voice of a young women from the doorway. "Hi, I am Tasha."

Lando turned towards the doorway, taking in the young woman who had just entered. She was striking to look at, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright green eyes. This must be Tasha. LIzzie's best friend.

"Hello," Lando said, surprised to find himself feeling a little tongue-tied for once. This young woman exuded a kind of confident energy that made him feel slightly...intimidated.

Tasha's gaze flickered over to Lizzie's form in the bed, her expression softening for a split second. Then she fixed Lando with a calculating look, head tilted to the side."Huh. So you are the Lando Norris."

Lando shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling under the spotlight. "Uh, yeah. That's me."

Tasha's gaze was scrutinising, like she was trying to peer straight into his soul. Then she grinned suddenly, her whole face lighting up. "Damn, Lizzie really wasn't kidding. You are pretty cute."

Lando blushed, caught off guard by how bluntly Tasha was speaking. "Uh...thanks, I guess?"

Tasha chuckled, clearly amused by his discomfort. “Relax. I’m not going to bite you. I just wanted to get a good look at the guy who’s snatched Lizzie’s heart.”

Lando’s blush deepened at that, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought. He was saved of more interrogation by Mara perking up

Mara, who had previously laid still on the end of the bed, suddenly lifted her head, ears pricked. A low, quiet whine escaped her throat, and she turned her head towards Lizzie.

Lando followed Mara’s gaze to Lizzie’s face, where her eyes slowly fluttered open.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed, like she was trying to remember where she was.

There was a beat of silence before Rick spoke up softly. "Hi, sweetheart."

Lizzie’s gaze slowly shifted, landing on her father. A small, confused frown pulled at her brows. "Dad?" she murmured, voice raspy. “Where...what…"

Rick shushed her gently, moving over to the bed. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re in the hospital. You’ve had a seizure.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Who won in Miami?" she croaked out.

"The race never actually started. The Miami Dolphins accidentally flooded the track, and now it’s an aquatic event," Tasha said brightly.

…at least Lando now knew what Rick had meant with Tasha kept terrorising Lizzie.

Lizzie slowly turned her head towards Tasha, her eyes slightly unfocussed. For a second, she just stared at Tasha, as if trying to process her words.

"You made that up?" she finally said faintly questioningly.

Tasha grinned, completely unrepentant. "Yep. But the look on your face was so worth it. You looked like a baffled trout."

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of Lizzie's mouth.

It was the first sign of life on her face since Lando arrived. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel a tiny bit hopeful.

"I feel like a baffled trout," Lizzie mumbled slowly, "Where’s Mara?"

As if on cue, Mara let out a soft whine and shoved her head against Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie’s fingers automatically curled around her fur. "Hey girl," she murmured.

She looked tired. And pale. And fragile. But still, in that moment, she was the most beautiful thing Lando had ever seen.

"So who's won Miami?" she asked, again.

"I did."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them

Lizzie looked up at him. For a second, she looked utterly baffled, like she was surprised to see him. Then recognition dawned in her eyes.

"Lando?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, unable to form words in that moment, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Her eyes flickered over him, taking in his tired, rumpled appearance. "You're here," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Lando could only nod, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. He felt the weight of Rick and Tasha's gaze on him, but he didn't register it. All he saw was Lizzie.

Lizzie’s hand was still buried in Mara's fur, fingers massaging the dog's head gently. Lando suddenly felt the need to touch her. To assure himself that she was really there.

He reached out, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she would disappear if he was too hasty. His hand hovered awkwardly above hers for a second, hesitating.

Lizzie's gaze flicked to his hovering hand, then back up at his face. There was a beat of silence, a loaded moment, a quiet invitation of sorts.

Lando hesitated for only a second longer, then carefully placed his hand on top of hers. Her skin was cool and smooth beneath his fingertips.

There was another beat of silence, the room heavy with tension. Then Lizzie turned her hand over, fingers intertwining with his. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt like everything. Lando exhaled shakily, squeezing her hand almost without intending to.

Lizzie's thumb rubbed over his knuckles gently, a soft and reassuring gesture. Lando was suddenly hyperaware of every detail about her. The warmth of her hand, the slight chapping on her lips, the circles under her eyes, the faint scent of hospital antiseptic on her skin.

"Either my brain is really scrambled, or you are actually here. Which one is it?"

Lando huffed out a quiet laugh. "I’m really here," he said softly. "Not just a figment of your imagination. I promise."

Lizzie’s eyes fluttered shut, relief and exhaustion warring for dominance on her face.

“You won?” She asked him, her voice slurring slightly.

Lando chuckled quietly, the noise bubbling up in his chest without his consent. "Yes, I won."

Her hand, intertwined with his, twitched slightly tighter at his words. "Really?" she repeated weakly.

"Really," Lando assured her softly. "Finished in first place."

He couldn't tell whether the emotions fluttering in his chest were joy or worry. Perhaps a strange mixture of both.

“I told you, you could do it,” she said simply.

Lando huffed out another laugh, the sound tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Yeah, you did. I should really start to listen to you more often."

Lizzie’s eyes flickered, fighting to remain open. She was losing her battle with sleep.

"You look tired," he said softly, rubbing the skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. "You should sleep."

Lizzie made a small, disgruntled noise. "Don’t wanna," she mumbled stubbornly.

"You need to," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You need to give your brain a chance to rest and recover."

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, but a massive yawn cut her off, her protest coming out as another tired groan.

"See? Your body’s betraying you," Lando said with a smile, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. Lizzie huffed, her expression somewhere between annoyed and too exhausted to care.

Her eyes were fluttering closed, trying to stubbornly refuse rest. But the exhaustion was winning, it was blatantly obvious. Lando gave her hand a light squeeze, bringing her attention back. "You need to sleep," he repeated, his voice even more tender this time.

Lizzie huffed again, but it was a weak sound, lacking any real defiance. She was giving in. "Fine. I'll sleep," she mumbled, her voice slurring with exhaustion.

She shifted slightly on the bed, still clinging on to Lando's hand like it was a life line.

Lando gave her hand another gentle squeeze, a silent encouragement. Lizzie let out a soft sigh, her grip on his hand loosening slightly as sleep finally closed in on her.

Lando watched, his heart feeling both heavy and light in his chest. She looked so small and fragile against the hospital sheets.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered softly, not sure if she could even hear him. But her fingers twitched faintly, a last, desperate attempt to cling onto consciousness. Then, finally, her hand went slack in his, and her breathing leveled out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Lando felt the tension ease from his body, a breath he didn't know he'd been holding escaping from between his lips. Lizzie was asleep, and it was the best state she could be in right now.

He looked up, suddenly remembering that they were not alone in the room. Rick was watching him silently, his gaze steady and observant.

Lando fidgeted under the scrutiny, his grip on Lizzie's hand unconsciously tightening. He'd almost forgotten about Rick and Tasha's presence, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

Tasha was watching him too, her expression hard to read. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glint that spoke of protective instincts.

"Relax, kid," Rick said, seeing Lando’s discomfort. "We’re not going to tear you apart."

Lando tried to suppress his nerves, but he felt very aware of the fact that he’s just held their daughter’s hand in front of them. "Yeah, I know," he managed to get out, his voice slightly shaky.

"Mara likes you, so I won't be too mean to you," Tasha said drily.

Lando let out a strangled laugh, feeling oddly reassured by Tasha's words. "Is...is that a good thing?" he asked tentatively.

Tasha rolled her eyes, but her expression was amused. "With Lizzie, it’s the highest form of approval you’re going to get."

372 notes · View notes

mrskokushibo · 1 year ago

Text

Wrong?

Muzan x fem!reader x Yoriichi

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dub con, threesome, watching corn, very NSFW, 18+. Modern AU. 7k words.

Summary: Your boyfriend Muzan is a star, and you love being his girl. But the man has needs that you have been neglecting for a while. Tonight will start a chain of events that will have you asking yourself if sex and love in a relationship truly should be inseparable?

A/N: I loved creating this storyline. This is a request from a friend. The only thing she asked for was Muzan's girlfriend falling for Yoriichi. It's one of my favourite stories to write - I got to spread my creative wings.

Masterlist

The club was full tonight, hosting the release party for a new book by one of the most prominent writers in the city. The venue was an old factory building, stylishly renovated with a mixture of white rendered walls, exposed brick, and steel structure, decorated with an eclectic and carefully curated selection of furniture ranging from sleek Scandinavian design armchairs to rococo sofas and chandeliers.

A place that quickly became a favourite with the cultural circles of the city. It was also the home of a popular nightclub on the weekends as well as the venue of choice for a society hosting slightly, well, different types of events, namely invitation-only orgies, that your boyfriend and subsequently yourself were always invited to, but had to decline due to your unwillingness to participate in anything like that.

Tonight’s event was the kind you gladly accompanied him to. As always on such occasions, your boyfriend Muzan Kibutsuji was one of the guests of honour. He was a young star writer, specialising in dark horror and fantasy, having sold over a million copies of his first novel at the tender age of twenty-three. Now, five years later and with another few million books sold, he was among the literary elites. He also had a background in acting, although there was a veil of mystery as to what type of movies, he was in.

You too were a writer and the two of you met at a seminar hosted by your favourite Japanese superstar novelist. Well, you would be lying to yourself if you thought you actually were a professional writer, more of an aspiring writer, really. Your studies and work took up most of your time, so the only writing you did was manga and anime fanfiction. Yes, you felt very inadequate at these parties, but you quickly adjusted to assuming the role of the supportive and devoted girlfriend of the literary star.

And tonight, was no different. You wore a brand new, figure-hugging little black dress and high-heeled thigh-high leather boots. Simple, but sexy. For the last half hour, you were standing idly sipping your champagne, while Muzan was involved in a heated debate with some older, seemingly unimpressed author and his artist friends. You were a little tipsy and were hugging Muzans arm all the while he was busy talking.

He was such a hottie, you thought, you saw the envious looks on the faces of his female colleagues every time he brought you with him to any event. Yes, you could consider yourself lucky. His looks were striking, as he was essentially an albino, meaning his eyes were red and his hair white and wavy, but he always coloured it black. The monochromatic colour combination together with his masculine yet defined and delicate features gave him an exotic and almost out-of-earthly aura. His muscular arms were covered with intricate black gothic tattoos (he had tattoos in other, more intimate places too) and he sported a tongue piercing. His style was a bit steampunk blended with hard rock, he looked good in suits and ripped jeans alike. And he stood almost six feet tall.

The boredom of just standing around was slowly leaving room for thoughts other than literature, you were getting a little horny, to be completely honest with yourself. You were into your third glass of champagne and were slightly tipsy, the ambient rhythmic music, warm dimmed lighting, and the buzz of people talking were putting you into a pleasant lull, making your senses pliable and receptive to new impressions.

Out of nowhere, you started to imagine what it would be like when an orgy is hosted here… the throaty moans and high-pitched squealing of female pleasure mixed with the deep raspy grunts of the men, loud screams of people climaxing and the wet, squelching pounding of flesh against flesh. You could picture naked bodies, bodies in provocative lingerie, illuminated and glossy in the warm light of the chandeliers. It is almost as if you now suddenly were curious about it…

And that is when you noticed him. That other man. He was standing in the middle of the room deep in a conversation with a group of young people. His appearance stood out in the crowd, he was very tall, probably well over six feet, maybe six feet three, with an athletic build. His hair was long and black, tied in a ponytail with cascades of shorter bangs framing his face. Red highlights illuminated his layered hair. He was dressed in tight black jeans and an equally tight black t-shirt, and was wearing long earrings with what looked like the rising sun. There was a strange red mark on his left temple, a birthmark maybe? You could not help it, but you found yourself staring at his bulging biceps every time he lifted his beer to his lips. You were amused with how boredom brought out such primitive instincts in you. You were interrupted by Muzan who nudged you gently,

‘Would you like another drink?’

‘Yes, please’ you replied.

He walked away to the bar while texting someone and smirking. He came back with drinks only to find a new group of colleagues taking his attention. So… you proceeded with your little dirty pastime. Suddenly, the man looked in your direction, a dark maroon gaze piercing straight through you. You froze, and at the same time, a familiar heat was starting to spread in your belly. Wetness was pooling between your legs and you were thanking yourself for wearing panties tonight.

He looked away again, but then his gaze was constantly seeking yours for the rest of the evening. When it was time for you and Muzan to leave, while walking past the group with the gorgeous object of your attention, he suddenly looked you up and down and gave you the most lust-filled gaze you could imagine. You were so stunned you kept on staring at him, your head turning back in his direction while you were leaving the room.

The ride home proceeded in awkward silence; you have never seen Muzan in such a strange mood. When you entered the penthouse, you slouched on the sofa and closed your eyes. You were a little tired from all the impressions, especially that specific one… You opened your eyes feeling the presence of your boyfriend. He was standing in front of you holding handcuffs. ‘Move to the armchair’ he commanded in a deep, raspy whisper, the way he almost hissed the words sent a chill down your spine. ‘What now?’ you thought puzzled.

‘I saw what you were doing all night. You were staring at that man like a shameless slut.’

His words were true, you were indeed staring, but so what, this came from the man who suggested attending orgies in the past.

Perplexed, you retaliated: ‘Am I not allowed to look at people anymore?’

‘Oh, my love, you were not just looking, you were eye-fucking him. Do you think I cannot tell the difference?’

You swallowed and obediently moved to the armchair.

He placed your arms on the rests and slowly cuffed each of them to the furniture. Then he picked up the remote and turned on the projector. What was instantaneously visualized on the screen went straight to your sex. It was a close-up of a man and a woman fucking, with loud, obscene moans serving as the soundtrack. The camera started slowly to move away from the copulating pair and the back of the male came into full view, intricate tattoos spreading over his back like a veil of black lace and long, wavy white hair snaking down his neck and shoulders while his hips were rhythmically moving back and forth to slam his dick into the woman. When the camera moved to show the front of him your heart nearly stopped, the red pupils staring intently at the woman he was railing, that face…. It was Muzan. So that was the acting career he was so mysterious about.

In the meantime, Muzan was in the kitchen part of the open-plan living space, texting someone. You were both completely silent while the sounds of sex were filling the space. A few moments later and a pair of now completely soaking wet panties, the doorbell rang. Muzan walked over to open it. His face was adorned with a mischievous smile as he glanced your way. What happened next was something you did not expect and that started an unstoppable chain of events.

The person Muzan let in the apartment was a woman, a petite blond with hair all the way down to her round ass, dressed in a sleeveless skin-tight latex dress, that showed off her large (most presumably) fake silicone breasts. A real little sex kitten. Muzan led her to the sofa and sat down spreading his legs so that she could kneel between them.

He parted her pouting pink lips with his index finger and slid it deep into her mouth while she released a throaty moan, he then pulled the finger out stroking her bottom lip, only to pump the finger back into her mouth even deeper this time while rotating it. His other hand slid down her dress off her breasts and started slowly caressing them, making her moan even harder. He was pinching her nipples, making her perfect little body arch in pleasure, and looking even hotter. All the while her small manicured hands were stroking his crotch and after her back arched from overstimulation, she unzipped his pants and gently pulled out his now fully erect, hard cock. She was stroking it gently and licking the sensitive tip.

Eventually, she sank her head down on the full length, stretching her shiny, pink lips, gagging a little, and continuing to bob her head up and down on his thick length. His dick was large, so that most of the time she was only getting half of it in her mouth with the rest of the shaft treated to a pumping motion by her delicate hands. He threw his head back; you could tell he was close. Her moans were getting louder too and a few moments later he grabbed her by her ponytail and the back of her head and shoved her down into his groin while bucking his hips upwards. The woman gagged heavily, the sound wet and sloppy. He climaxed.

Once he was finished, he let her head go and she slowly pulled away, gasping for air, with spit and cum connecting her mouth to his penis. She looked him in the eye with a submissive almost grateful look. He was still stroking her breasts, while she was licking up all the cum from her lips and sucking his cock clean. And then, just like that she adjusted her clothes, got up, threw him a little kiss, and walked out of the apartment. The porno on the screen was playing all the while this was happening adding to the already surreal and loaded atmosphere.

You were too stunned to even think, let alone say anything. ‘What the fuck did you just witness?’

Without a word Muzan got up from the sofa and walked up to you, his dick still hanging out of his pants. He knelt in front of you and put his hands on your soft thighs, slowly kneading them up towards your crotch. His hands were getting closer and closer to your wet lips and finally they reached your soaked g-string. Muzan started rubbing you through the wet fabric with two fingers.

‘Fuck you are wet. Such a whore you are, getting wet from watching other people fuck. You are a dirty little kitten, aren’t you?’

You were too ashamed to answer, ashamed that something so wrong and apparently hurtful aroused you. You should have been turning your head away, yelling at him, crying even. But all you did was watch… and get wet.

‘You see, my love, when people get jealous, they sometimes stop thinking, they do stupid things. Do you think, what I did was stupid? Hm? But, you know, I got jealous, very jealous. And when you have been such a prude with me for so long, never wanting to do the things I thought we should do and then go drooling after other men, what do you think I should have done?’ His voice was raspy and menacing, but also filled with lust.

Muzan’s fingers were now slowly spreading your labia and rubbing up and down between your slick-soaked folds. You were so wet, his actions created small squelching sounds. He added another finger and slowly worked his way into your dripping pussy, crooking a finger and pumping in with small circular movements that made your muscles clench around him. He then spread your labia and moved in to lick you between your legs. His was giving you long and slow, gentle licks all the way on the very inside of your labia, you could feel the metal of his tongue piercing leaving a streak of extra pressure and thus enhanced sensation on the thin strips of flesh it was touching.

Gradually, he started to increase the force with which he was working his tongue on you. Wherever the piercing pressed on your sensitive flesh, it was exerting extra pressure on your nerves. When he finally reached your clitoris and started circling around it and occasionally skilfully flicking his tongue so that the piercing would hit the sensitive nub, your thighs were sent into convulsions of pleasure. You were starting to edge, your climax so close yet his actions not decisive enough to grant you release. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, while he was flicking his tongue over your clit while all the while pumping his fingers into your pussy. You were so close; you were drooling and tears started to form in your eyes.

‘Muzan, please let me come, I’m so close’ you were moaning and squealing and when you thought he was increasing his pace, he suddenly pulled away and started uncuffing you.

‘Go down on all four for me doll.’

You did what he asked you to, as you were so greedy to come. You now had the porno in full view in front of you and there he was on the screen fucking two women now, one riding his face and the other his dick. Watching that made you so fucking aroused. It was wrong, but you could not help reacting to it in the way you did. You felt like an animal, driven only by instinct at this point.

Without a word, he spread your ass cheeks and aligned his hard tip at your entrance, and soon his thick girth was pumping in and out of your pussy, wet, sloppy, indecent sounds of the two of you fucking on top of the vulgar sounds coming from the porno were filling the otherwise so elegant and relaxing space of your shared apartment. He was thrusting so hard that with every move you were being sent forwards with so much force that eventually your whole upper body was flat on the soft rug with him pressing down your back with his hand. He increased the pressure, supporting himself almost fully on you, and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

‘I will now come inside you my little whore, I will breed you, because you are my very own whore, I bet you would like to carry my little brat, would you?’

With that he increased the pace and strength of his thrusts, you were clenching around him, desperate to come. His hips and lower abdomen were now pressed flush to your round soft ass and you could eventually feel his lower abs contract indicating his release. His orgasm must have been a big one as he growled while pushing himself in you and releasing a huge load of cum into your fluttering insides.

‘Fuck you were good, kitten. I will sleep so well now.’

He pulled out, stood up and grabbed the remote to turn off the movie, and left for the bathroom. You were left high and dry, or so you thought anyway…

When you entered the bedroom Muzan was seated in the chair lounge next to the lit fireplace and opposite of your shared bed, fully dressed sipping on a glass of single malt whisky. The flame was making his eyes look almost devilish.

‘Here you are. I think you do deserve to come after all, we do not want you to lose sleep, do we?’

There was something so menacing in his voice, something that was hitting all the submissive notes in your entire being.

‘Undress for me, doll’

Without hesitation, you started to take your clothes off.

‘All of it, now!’ He commanded.

You did as you were told.

‘Now. Lay down on the bed so I can see between your legs. Play with yourself for me, make yourself come.’

There was nothing else to do, but to obey and you already felt like you were in a trance, as if nothing of this was real. You laid down and started to flick your nipple and got your imagination ready, and the fantasy that was helping you get off involved the tall man from the party, your only invisible act of defiance against your boyfriend. You imagined him seated on a sofa at the party, with everyone watching while you came up to him and straddled him shamelessly. What followed made you move your hand down between your legs and masturbate. Your fingers were doing their skilled and experienced work and very soon you came. Your orgasm was intense, with waves of pleasure causing your body to arch and convulse, you released a small scream and when the waves of pleasure finally flowed away, you were just lying there, limp with soaking wet fingers and pussy. You licked your fingers dry and closed your eyes.

A harsh yank to your chin shook you out of your bliss. You opened your eyes and the only thing in your line of sight was Muzan’s cock.

‘Open your mouth for me now, sweetheart’

The gentle words were in such stark contrast to what he was about to do because as soon as you opened your mouth, he grabbed you by your neck and shoved himself fully into your mouth, making you gag. He stayed like this for a few seconds, savouring how deep inside your throat his dick was seated, and rotated his hips a little. Then he slowly pulled out, only to slam himself into you again, and again and again, until you were a gagging, drooling mess with tears and mascara running down your cheeks. He pulled out, drool connecting your mouth to his dick, and lifted your head up by yanking you up at your ponytail.

‘I think this is a good look for you, isn’t it, doll? My submissive little kitten, so sweet and obedient. ‘

He shoved himself in you again and this time kept on going until you could feel his muscles spasm and the warm, salty liquid filled your mouth and throat. He pumped into you a few extra times before pulling out. You swallowed most of the cum, but there was still some left on his cock.

‘Clean me up.’

You licked his dick clean and he lifted your head by the chin, so very gently now.

‘Hm, we will both sleep well after this, won’t we?’

And he placed the gentlest of kisses on your lips and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. You followed suit, but you knew you would most likely not sleep all too well, still trying to come to terms with what he has done in front of you with that woman, as well as trying to grasp how in the hell was it your fault. Was he really the jealous type?

The following day began with Muzan getting up and making you both coffees. He behaved as if last night did not happen, something that confused and infuriated you even more. Since it was your day off, you decided to head over to the gym to clear your head and hopefully figure out your next move. Both you and Muzan frequented the same gym in the neighbourhood, the gym was large, but with a relaxed atmosphere. There was also a martial arts dojo in conjunction with it that Muzan went to occasionally, but you never showed any interest in.

As soon as you entered the gym, you nearly froze in your steps. There, next to the reception desk was the man from the party, chatting casually with one of the personal trainers. You stalling in your movement caught his attention and he looked straight at you and waved. As if hypnotised you started slowly walking toward him and finally stopped in front of the man. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up to look at his face.

‘Hi,’ you blurted out.

‘I didn’t know you went to this gym?’

You kept on rambling as if the two of you were already introduced. He looked at you with slight amusement.

‘Yes, I do, and I believe I saw you at the party last night, yes?’

‘Yes.’ You nodded like the idiot you were. For every minute feeling more and more awkward.

‘Well, I guess we should have a proper introduction then. My name is Yoriichi’. He stretched out his hand.

‘Y/n’ you said with overdriven courage as you placed your hand in his large one for a courteous handshake.

‘Excuse me, boss, can you please sign this?’ the two of you were interrupted by an employee of the gym coming up to Yoriichi with some papers. You looked at him and asked surprised.

‘Oh, you work here?’

‘Yes, actually I kind of happen to own the place’ he answered shyly, scratching his head and blushing a little.

While he was busy flipping through the pages you could not help yourself but eye him off discretely and what you saw was waking up the most basic instincts in you. He was wearing cotton tracksuit pants and a singlet in a thin functional material, that showed off his huge toned arms. The outline of his pecs and abs were visible through the thin fabric, you also noted he had powerful, strong thighs, as the fabric of the track pants was stretched at the thickest part of his thigh muscles. You could not help to throw a glance at his shapely glutes and strong hips. When you thought about it, he really had the appearance of some ancient warrior, a samurai maybe. You swallowed quietly, an action he caught you in the middle of.

‘Well, I am done here. I will be taking the rest of the afternoon off today, so I guess I will see you around sometime?’ He spoke.

You just could not let him disappear like this. You gathered your courage and asked

‘Would you have time for a quick coffee then? I changed my mind and will work out later today.’

He studied you for a moment and answered.

‘Why not, actually? I do have the whole day to myself. There is a good café nearby’

You nodded and the two of you started walking out of the gym, him courteously opening the door for you. Luckily, the café really was nearby. You were enjoying your coffee and the casual conversation, but when your fingers met when reaching out for napkins, the two of you went silent almost simultaneously. The truth was that all through the friendly, harmless exchange you were imagining fucking Yoriichi, riding his cock, and touching him in a way that was anything but just friendly. The look in his maroon eyes was starting to reveal something more as well now.

And maybe he could pick up on your feelings because the tension between the two of you was becoming palpable. You were soaking wet between your legs and your breathing was becoming heavy, your arousal was powerful: the contraction of the muscles of your vagina started to feel more and more like a rope being tightly twisted into a knot, and this sensation was now spreading up to your cervix making your insides feel like they were on fire.

He sucked in his lips before finally speaking up.

‘You know, I live just around the corner if you would like to have … some lunch with me.’

As if in a trance you answered

‘Yes, I would like that’

But you already knew what you really would like and sensed that this was something he would like as well…

As soon as you stepped into the elevator, he came closer to you and kissed your lips. Very lightly at first, but as soon as he felt you reciprocate the action, he drew you closer to him and the kiss became deeper, with tongues swirling deep in each other’s mouths. He was holding his hips away from yours for now, most likely due to an increasing hard-on, he was a gentleman after all, and did not want to impose that soon.

His hands were caressing your back and your body started tingling in pleasure. He was so big, you felt cradled and sheltered, and his warm smell was like a feast for your senses. The elevator reached his floor and he led you into his apartment. It was a bright and beautiful space, cradled in light from the large windows, decorated in oriental, presumably Japanese fashion, with tatamis, low large futon like sofas, beautiful prints of Sakura trees and diverse martial arts weaponry adorning the walls.

He closed the door behind him and swiftly had you up against the nearest wall. He lifted you by your buttocks and you wrapped your legs around his hips. All the while you were entangled in a passionate kiss. He lifted you up and started walking toward the bedroom. When he sat you down on the bed, you began to remove each other’s clothes. His body was even more magnificent naked, and the cock looked… huge. Almost uncomfortably huge.

Yoriichi started crawling on the bed and on top of you, his large body towering over you and making you gasp. His warmth, his smell, it was all so close to you and all you wanted was to drown in him, let him devour you and fuck you senseless. He lowered his hips so they were flush with yours between your legs and started rubbing your wet folds and clit. You were moaning in pleasure. With the other hand, he started massaging your breasts and playing with your hard nipples. You were arching your body and moaning shamelessly.

‘Please fuck me, I want to feel you inside me.’

He did not hesitate to fulfill your plea. Aligning the tip of his cock with the entrance to your sopping-wet pussy, he started to enter you.

He was big, almost too big for your small body to take. Slowly and steadily, he was prying his way into you. Every nerve in your core was pulsing, welcoming this new intruder with increasing wetness and spasming muscles. Your pussy was clenching on him so hard that he was quietly groaning while pushing on into you. He finally bottomed out and lifted himself off you slightly to meet your gaze. His gorgeous maroon eyes now clouded in pleasure, he said softly,

‘I will start moving now, do you feel ready?’

Did you ever… ‘Of course,’ was all you could say in a weak voice.

Slowly, at a languid pace, he began to rhythmically pump into you, his hips hitting yours every time he was bottoming out. You have never been this stretched out in your life, his girthy, long cock literally moulding your velvet walls to its shape, hitting your cervix with every slow pump. You were starting to edge, with the sensitive spots deep inside you being stimulated nearly constantly now. He kept on going like this for a while making your eyes roll to the back of your head and drool running down the side of your mouth.

‘Yoriichi, can you go a little faster? I am about to come’ you moaned out to him, as you could not control yourself any longer. The knot inside you running all the way from your opening to the tip of your cervix, was about to burst.

He picked up the pace and soon enough you were slowly dissolving into your climax, your whole body shaking and spasming from the intense pleasure you were gifted. You were so wet now, your cum seeping down your thighs onto Yoriichi. He shuffled himself up slightly and put you in a mating press. His cock was even deeper inside you, he started chasing his own release. His pace increased and soon it was ruthless and fast, abusing your cervix and every overstimulated spot deep inside you. You could feel his heavy balls slam into you with every powerful thrust. The man had the stamina of a god and went on in this unforgiving tempo for quite a while.

Gradually, his thrusts were getting sloppy and when he finally came, filling you up with his warm semen, he bottomed out deep inside you, his hips pushing you up toward the headrest of the bed and staying like this for a couple of seconds. He then pumped into you a few times, following the movement of his spasming abdomen muscles. When he stopped, he sank his head, still hovering over you supported on stretched-out straight arms. Sweat was running down his chest. He slowly rolled over on his back, taking you with him in an embrace that placed you laying down straight on top of him.

And that is when you noticed a presence in the room. You turned your head around towards the doorway and to your shock and surprise you saw your boyfriend stand there, leaning on the door frame with arms crossed and head tilted backwards in a brattish manner. His hair was out and cascading down his shoulder in black ringlets.

‘I hope I am not interrupting. Do you mind if I join in?’ He asked with a smirk. You instantly wondered how long he was there watching you and Yoriichi fucking.

‘Please do, unless y/n has some objections?’ Yoriichi said and tilted your head up to look at him. ‘Are you ok with this, y/n? ‘

‘I guess I don’t mind’ You did not really know what to say, your sex seemingly dictating your choices for you since last night.

‘Good, this will be fun.’ Muzan said and started to get undressed.

In the meantime, Yoriichi moved to his side and let you down on the soft mattress, so that you were on your side facing him. With an already erect dick bobbing in front of him, Muzan walked over to where you and Yoriichi were and crawled into bed to lie down behind you. He kissed and licked your neck, you could feel the metal of the piercing dragging on your soft skin, and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it gently, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. He then leaned into your ear and with a deep, soft whisper asked:

‘How did you like him, doll? Was he big enough for you?’

He kept on kissing your neck and dragging the pierced tongue along it and massaging your body with his hand while pressing his erect cock in your soft ass. Yoriichi at the very same time started kissing your mouth and rubbing your breasts.

You did not think it was at this stage possible to get more aroused, but you did. Your pussy was aching so badly now, all you wanted was for the men to give it to you. Rough, fast however they wished to fuck you. You wanted to feel full, the craving growing for every minute making your insides burn with need. The sensation of both these attractive men being so close to you, their hands touching every part of your body, was making you feral, totally wild with anticipation. Seeing and feeling the athletic, tall, and big Yoriichi, with his smooth and glossy skin and your exotic-looking, tattoo-covered and pierced boyfriend so close to your own body was a sensation that was driving you crazy. It was almost as you were a goddess worshipped at the altar of lust.

‘How do you think we should proceed?’ Muzan asked Yoriichi in a playful tone.

‘Hmm, where we are is good, no offense, but I am the bigger one here, so I think it is best if you go in the backway’ Yoriichi answered.

Muzan sighed and smirked. ‘Good point, do you happen to have lube around here?’ Yoriichi stretched an arm behind him to reach under the bed and pulled out a bottle of anal lube.

‘You dirty fuck, this looks like you have been having some fun’ Muzan noted as the bottle was only half full.’ Yoriichi did not answer to that but his smile said it all.

While Yoriichi was working on your pussy and breasts, Muzan poured a fair bit of lube on your opening and started to massage your puckering hole. Slowly and gently, the sensation was so different from anything you ever experience before, but so delicious at the same time. He slowly pushed in a finger and was circling it gently. A second finger came in and he was scissoring them inside you. Yoriichi was now lining himself up to enter you again. His hard tip rubbing between your folds as Muzan added another finger and was whispering sweet, honey-glazed words in your ears in order to get you relaxed.

‘Be a good kitten for me now, such a gorgeous little obedient doll, I will spread that tight little ass for you and you will beg me for more’

The sweetness in his voice was almost demeaning. He kept on pumping his fingers in you, but you just could not relax.

‘Baby, I can’t do it. Not today. Can we do something else?’

Muzan pulled out his fingers out of you and nodded at Yoriichi

‘Well, doll, in such case you will have to take that huge dick of his down your throat, because I want to be in one of your holes, no matter what.’

You shifted to all four and Yoriichi knelt in front of you offering you his cock. You started licking the leaking tip and pumping the shaft with your small hand, barely getting a proper grip. In the meantime, Muzan positioned himself behind you and all of a sudden slammed his dick into you. This propelled you forward and you almost speared yourself on Yoriichi’s cock, swallowing nearly the entire length. He groaned from the sensation and you gagged heavily. Once the two of you adjusted positions so that you could comfortably work on his dick, Muzan started moving his hips into you again. You worked with the rhythm he was setting as there was no use trying to stay still and resisting his movement from pushing you forward. Every time his hips slammed into you, you sank your mouth over Yoriichi’s cock and you continued like this for a good while.

Your mouth and throat were stretched almost to the brink of discomfort from the huge girth and length. The pleasure you felt from Muzan repeatedly hitting your g-spot was making you moan louder and louder and your moans were sending vibrations through Yoriichi’s dick making it twitch and grow.

‘I’m going to come soon’ he groaned.

He pulled out of you, gave his cock a few pumps and unloaded the content of his balls in your face, warm cum spraying into your open mouth and down your chin and throat. Neither you nor Muzan were far off from your orgasms either. It took a few more fast thrusts from him to make your knot burst and you reaching your release. And a few more thrusts later and Muzan was spraying his cum into your still fluttering walls. The amount of pleasure you experience this afternoon was overwhelming and you collapsed exhausted, but utterly satisfied on the mattress.

Yoriichi got up and came back with a few towels. He helped you clean up your face and handed a towel to Muzan who then cleaned you and yourself up. Yoriichi was the first one to go to the bathroom and have a shower and after him, it was Muzan’s turn. Once the two men were decent again, Yoriichi informed you that they would prepare lunch so that you would have some time to yourself to recover and relax. You spent half an hour in the bedroom and went out to them, still in a complete state of confusion.

‘Hi there. I hope you are hungry.’ Yoriichi said.

‘I seem to have cooked too much pasta, but hey, we need the energy’ he grinned broadly. ‘By the way, I think you owe your lovely girlfriend an explanation’ he said turning to Muzan.

‘Yes, you are right. It is about time to clarify the situation. Sorry to have confused you and sorry for the bit with Amber, I might have gone a bit too far there. You know when I got up to get the drinks at the party? I noticed that you were eyeing off Yoriichi for a while, and out of the blue, and boredom, I came up with a wicked little plan. Something to shake you up and make you more, adventurous. I really wanted to get you out of your shell. So, I texted him quickly what I had in mind and off we went. I am storyteller, after all.’

You turned to Yoriichi, slightly disappointed

‘So… you were not really attracted to me, hey? It was just a game?’

Yoriichi responded ‘Oh no, not at all. Muzan showed me picturess of you many times before and I must say I was envious of him being with someone so smart, kind, and attractive. So, when he suggested this, the idea went straight to my dick.’

Muzan now continued: ‘Amber, that girl, by the way, is a porn actress and married to a friend of mine. They own an adult movie production company together and I have known them both for a while. But back to the story. As I said, I wanted you to see that there is so much more to life than being a prude, that sex is one of the most indulgent pleasures gifted upon mankind and not immersing ourselves fully in that gift is, well, a sin in my eyes.'

'I do believe that deep emotional love, a connection of souls runs deeper than any physical connection ever can. We are all animals and sex is dirty and amazing at the same time, the ultimate tool to express love, yes, but love can exist without it if you know what I mean. I will love you forever, for all eternity. I believe we are soulmates and we are connected and will always be drawn to each other in every world we are born into. Even if we never have sex again, I want you to be mine and mine only. When you want kids and a house with a white picket fence or whatever dream you may have, we will do it, of course. But for now, while we still are young let us indulge in what this carnal world has to offer. I want you to lose all restraints, and fulfill all your desires. When I saw you looking at our glorious friend here, I knew that if that is what you are into, I will make sure you get what you desire.’

When Muzan finally went quiet, it was Yoriichi’s turn to speak and he suddenly went serious.

‘I have known Muzan for a long time, but our friendship blossomed after my wife died. He was there for me all the way through my lowest. And believe me, it was an epic low. She was pregnant with what was to be our first child when she died in a car crash. Some drunken asshole drove into her car on the highway. My beloved wife and I started the gym and later the martial arts dojo together. These were our passions and I will never love anyone like I loved her ever again. All I have left is the gym and dojo and they are like babies to me. I am no monk and need sex, a lot of it, but only for recreation.’

All the time Yoriichi was speaking, Muzan held his arm around your back, his embrace tightening when Yoriichi mentioned the tragic story of his marriage.

‘Well, enough of the seriousness. Let us eat’ Yoriichi interrupted himself now.

You could not help to notice, that he was not the best of cooks, the pasta was slightly overcooked and the sauce too salty, but it was a sweet gesture of him to cook for his friends and by the way you were starving after everything that was happening for the past twenty-four hours. The wine he served with lunch was on the other hand fantastic and after a couple of glasses, the warm, fuzzy feeling of slowly getting tipsy was putting you in a relaxed state.

Looking at the two amazing men, you now started to understand what your boyfriend was talking about and wanted for you all the way. The normal scenario would involve you having to choose one of them, there would be drama, heart-brake and the euphoria of new love would eventually dim by the negative effects of it all. Thanks to Muzan’s approach, however, you never needed to choose now. The love the two of you shared was just as he described, transcending space and time. But the basic, carnal desire you felt for Yoriichi was also real. Being able to have it all, and more… was indeed the best you could ever wish for. Assured in this new discovery, you closed your eyes and let yourself daydream now finally receptive to visualise desires without any more restraints…

Banners by @cafekitsune

Tagging: @doumadono @muzanbloodgalore @muzansfangs @horror4themasses @cursetopia2 @anarcho-satanism

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timelessarchitecture · 2 months ago

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ALBERTO KALACH - SABINO GALLERY

#ALBERTO KALACH #architecture #commercial #art #gallery #art gallery #concrete #brick #daylight #skylight #steel #steel structure #exposed structure

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 days ago

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The Director's Obsession - Phase 5

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Word Count: 9,460

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , -

A/N: The intimate moment is here!

Phase 5 : His Equal

The speeder glided beneath the towering lights of the Imperial Gala, slipping through the heart of Coruscant’s elite like a ghost in velvet. Outside, camera drones swarmed, flashing like artificial stars. The entrance was a spectacle of power and elegance—senators, admirals, aristocrats, and planetary governors moving like jeweled chess pieces across a grand marble board.

Inside the speeder, your hands rested tensely in your lap, fingers curled against the smooth fabric of your gown. It was the most exquisite thing you had ever worn. Deep obsidian blue, edged with silver threading that caught the light like fractured starlight. It hugged your form without apology, the bodice structured, the neckline sharp and modern. Your shoulders were bare, sculpted and elegant, exposed beneath the delicate sweep of the fabric that gathered at the spine and fell into a long, commanding train. It was more than a dress. It was a declaration. And Krennic had chosen it.

"We're late," you murmured, trying to keep the rising panic from tightening your throat.

Beside you, Director Krennic adjusted his cufflink with calm precision. His white uniform was immaculate, gleaming beneath the subtle interior lighting. Every detail was deliberate: the straight line of his collar, the subtle shine of his boots, the perfect alignment of his rank bar.

He did not look at you when he answered. "I made us late."

You turned toward him, brow furrowing. "You planned this."

At last, he met your eyes. That measured smile played at the corner of his mouth, refined and infuriating.

"Timing is everything," he said, voice silk and steel. "The last to arrive always own the room." His eyes swept over you, deliberate and slow. "And tonight, the room belongs to you."

Before you could reply, the door opened.

Krennic stepped out first, cape flaring with theatrical elegance as it caught the breeze. He turned, extending his hand to you with ceremonial calm. You took it, and the moment your heels touched the steps, a wall of flashes erupted. Camera drones burst into motion. Murmurs swept the grand plaza like a wave.

He guided you up the marble staircase, his arm linked with yours, posture impeccable. His steps were slow, deliberate, forcing every dignitary in the atrium to turn and look.

Inside, the Imperial elite turned like planets toward a gravity they couldn’t resist. Mon Mothma’s expression flickered. Senators whispered into gold-trimmed glasses. Officers stared too long.

"Is that Krennic?"

"Who’s the woman?"

"He never brings anyone."

"She’s the ISB’s propagandist?"

He leaned toward your ear, voice low and cool. "You hear them?"

"They’re all staring," you whispered back, breath shallow.

"Good," he said, barely moving his lips. "Let them. You are mine tonight. Let them see what perfection looks like when I make it."

His touch was refined. His tone was respectable. And yet, everything about him screamed claim. Not affection. Possession.

At the base of the grand staircase, two figures awaited: Governor Tarkin and Mas Amedda. Power incarnate.

Krennic bowed just enough to show protocol. "Governor. Chancellor. I’m honored by your presence."

Tarkin’s pale eyes narrowed as they settled on you. "You’ve brought… company. That’s unusual for you, Director."

Krennic didn’t flinch. His voice remained level, clear. "This is the architect of our public initiative. Her words have unified more systems than our fleets could reach. She is the reason the project finished ahead of schedule."

Mas Amedda turned his gaze to you, intrigued. "What makes your voice so persuasive, Agent?"

You met his eyes without faltering. "Because I’ve seen what chaos creates. Hope is fragile. Comfort is rare. What people crave is order. And order only exists when power is absolute."

Tarkin tilted his head, impressed. "A pragmatic view. I may have use for someone with your instincts."

Krennic’s smile was polite, but thin. "She’s not available."

You nearly sighed aloud. Even in public, his need to keep you close bordered on compulsive.

The orchestra swelled.

Krennic turned to you and extended his gloved hand. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in his, and together, you stepped onto the floor. The dance was measured, elegant, slow. His hand rested on your waist, the other curled around yours. Every spin placed you at the room’s center. You were no longer his shadow. You were his announcement.

When the music faded, he led you toward the refreshment table. His hand did not leave your back. It moved lower. You allowed it.

A server offered two crystal flutes of Corellian wine. Krennic took both and passed one to you.

"You use me like a trophy," you muttered.

"My most precious trophy," he replied, voice even.

"You enjoy this far too much."

"I did not bring you here for small talk. They need to see who stands beside me. You frighten them more than I ever could."

"You are impossible."

"And yet you are still here."

You sipped your wine, trying to ignore the heat rising under your skin.

He watched you, calculating and calm.

"Enjoy this while you can," he said suddenly.

You raised a brow. "Why?"

"You will be promoted soon. That means…" He tilted his head, feigning neutrality. "You’ll lose a friend. A valuable one."

Before you could answer, a senator waved him down from across the hall.

Krennic gave a slow, courteous nod, his tone dry. "I must return to being congratulated."

His hand brushed your back again, a subtle squeeze—deliberate, firm. Not romantic. Strategic.

"I will return shortly."

And then, just like that, the Director of Imperial Advanced Weapons strolled into the crowd, perfectly poised, leaving behind the storm he had so carefully sculpted.

You stood still, wine in hand, gown gleaming like star-forged silk, with every eye in the room still pinned to you.

Just as he intended.

You finally exhaled, letting your shoulders fall, the weight of the evening temporarily softened—until you saw him.

Marlon.

He moved through the sea of dignitaries like a ripple of shadow, his eyes locked on you with predatory precision. Your stomach clenched. You turned your head, hoping the flicker of recognition had gone unnoticed, but his voice sliced clean through the swell of music and conversation.

"You look breathtaking tonight," he said, low and deliberate, each word dipped in venomous charm.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the patience.

"Outside. Now."

The command left your mouth like a blade. You didn’t wait for a reply, already walking, weaving through the crowd toward the balcony. He followed. Of course he did.

You reached a shadowed alcove away from the eyes and ears of the Imperial elite. The city lights below flickered like a false constellation. You turned on him the moment you stopped.

"You shouldn’t be here."

"I came for you," he said, his voice still that same worn-out softness he had used when you first met. "You don’t belong with him. Look at yourself. He parades you like an ornament."

You crossed your arms. "Do not start. You knew what this was from the beginning."

"You’re smarter than this." He stepped closer, his tone shifting. "I can give you purpose. Real freedom. The Rebellion needs someone like you."

You scoffed. "And what? Become your tool instead of his? You were never honest with me, Marlon."

"I was honest about one thing," he said, his eyes narrowing. "I want you."

He reached for your arm. His fingers brushed your bare skin, trailing lower toward your waist.

You shoved him with force, but your heel caught on uneven stone. The stumble gave him just enough room to close the distance. He grabbed your wrist, desperation crackling in his voice.

"You’re only afraid because he owns you."

Your voice dropped, cold and unwavering.

"No. He doesn’t own me. He values me. He knows my worth."

There was a beat of silence, then a sharp crack. Marlon’s head snapped sideways as Krennic’s fist collided with his jaw.

Marlon staggered, clutching his face. Krennic stepped between you both, towering, composed, his white uniform pristine, his eyes aflame with cold fire. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

"Leave. While you are still breathing."

Marlon’s breath came heavy, teeth clenched, blood already on his lip. "This isn’t over."

Krennic didn’t even blink. His silence was louder than fury.

Marlon backed away, retreating into the shadows like a coward who had mistaken a diamond for glass.

Krennic stood still for a moment, restraining his breathing, then slowly turned to you. His hand found your waist, steadying you as your balance shifted.

"Enough excitement for one evening," he said quietly. "We’re leaving."

You nodded, but as you took a step, pain shot through your ankle.

"Orson," you gasped.

He halted immediately, eyes snapping to your face. In one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms as though you weighed nothing, cradling you like something irreplaceable.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, breath catching.

"You’re hurt," he said, his tone gentler than you’d ever heard. "I do not tolerate seeing you in pain."

His grip was firm, protective, like the world might dare try again and he would strike it down.

Inside the speeder, he didn’t let go. Not right away. Not until you had caught your breath.

"You should have told me about that parasite," he said at last.

"I didn’t want to give him power," you murmured.

His voice dropped, dark and razor-edged. "No one should breathe near you without my approval. Let that be the last time someone tries."

Outside, near the walls of the gala plaza, Jung and Heert stood smoking, watching the speeder.

Jung exhaled slowly. "That escalated."

Heert nodded. "I thought ISB was brutal. But that? That was personal."

Across the city, in a dim underground chamber, Marlon slammed his fist against a metal table, his lip split and still bleeding.

"You lost control," Luthen snapped, his face colder than ice.

"I almost had her," Marlon growled.

"Almost got her killed," Luthen corrected. "You’re done. You’ll return to your sector and stay there. She’s not yours. Not your mission. Not anymore."

Marlon’s fists trembled. "This isn’t over."

Luthen didn’t flinch. "For your sake, it better be."

*******

The speeder halted outside your flat, lights dimming as the vehicle powered down. You didn’t move. Not because of pain, but because you were afraid your legs would betray you. Your ankle throbbed. Your head spun. Your chest… still burned from the chaos of the gala.

Krennic didn’t ask permission. He reached for you again and lifted you as though it was his right, not a kindness. His arms, strong and sure, wrapped around your back and beneath your knees, holding you like you weighed nothing at all. You pressed your hands against his chest. It's useless, half-hearted resistance.

"You don’t have to carry me every time," you muttered.

He didn’t answer. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered on your lips just a second too long, told you he wanted to.

Inside, your door slid open with a hiss. Lights flicked on automatically. The space welcomed you with silence.

Krennic stepped in like he owned it.

He carried you past the threshold, ignoring the furniture until he found the softest part of your couch. He eased you down like something precious, his hands careful, precise. But his gaze… it never let go.

His cape slipped from his shoulders with practiced ease. He draped it across the back of the chair, and then… Stars help you. His gloves.

One by one, the leather peeled from his fingers. The sound made your breath hitch.

He dropped them to the table, loosened the top buttons of his uniform with one slow motion, and knelt in front of you. Your heels were still on, barely clinging after everything. His fingers reached for them.

"Wait…"

He silenced you with just a glance. No words. Just eyes full of unspoken things you weren’t ready to name.

He touched your foot.

You tensed.

He was gentle. The pressure light, careful, reverent. His thumbs pressed slowly along the arch, circling near the sore spot. You bit your lip. Not from pain. From the way it felt—like every inch of you mattered.

"I’m sorry we had to leave the party early," you said softly, trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his hands moving up your calf.

His head tilted. "I’m not."

"You’re not?"

He looked up at you with that smug smile.

"The point was to celebrate my work, and they did. My mission was to show you to them. And I’d say it was executed perfectly."

He continued to work his way up your leg, massaging lightly. His palms were warm against your skin, your dress pushed slightly higher with every touch.

"You’re too calm about all this," you whispered.

He met your gaze. "I got what I wanted."

You swallowed. "Director—"

"Orson."

The name slipped out of his mouth like a confession. Your breath caught.

"Call me Orson. You screamed my name before that," he said again, quieter this time. It was not a command. It was not a suggestion. It hovered somewhere between pride and vulnerability, a plea cloaked in control.

You blushed, the memory still fresh. The panic when he suddenly carried you. You had cried out for him, not as a director, not even as a superior. Just his name.

Orson.

You hadn't realized you'd done it. But he had.

Your cheeks flushed with warmth. You tried to glance away, but his gaze held you fast.

"Orson," you said quietly.

Something shifted in his eyes. They softened, but not weakly. It was the kind of softness that could shatter steel. A quiet intensity filled the space between you.

He slid closer. Your knees parted just slightly. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. He hovered.

His hand rested at your thigh now, his fingers splayed wide. He leaned in. Your faces were so close his breath warmed your lips. Your heart thundered, and your entire body ached—not from the pain this time—but from the tension so thick it smothered you.

You thought he was going to kiss you. You tilted forward just enough to meet him.

But he stopped.

Right there. Inches away. Close enough for your lips to crave his. Far enough to be cruel.

His smirk returned.

"There’s a lot I want to do to you," he murmured. "But not when your ankle is wrapped like a ration pack."

"You're a bastard," you breathed, face flushed, breath shaky.

"And yet you’re still sitting here," he replied, rising to his feet with maddening grace.

He grabbed his cape, his gloves, every layer of armor he had peeled off… and put it all back on.

You stared, stunned, lips still parted from the kiss that didn’t happen.

He reached the door.

"You should ice it," he said, motioning toward your leg. His tone was neutral, like none of what just happened meant anything.

You stood. Barely.

"You came into my home, touched me, undressed me with your eyes, and now you leave?"

He turned at the door, eyes roaming your figure slowly. "You think I didn’t undress you in my head the moment I saw you in that dress? I’ve been patient all night."

Your stomach flipped.

"And I will continue to be patient," he added, smoother now. "Because when it happens…"

You didn’t breathe.

"It won’t be interrupted. Or rushed. And you will beg for it."

He opened the door, then paused. "Rest well, Agent."

And then he was gone.

You stood in your living room alone, heart pounding, face flushed, knees weak. You pressed a hand to your chest.

Damn him.

He left you burning.

And you hated how badly you wanted him to come back.

*******

The ISB Headquarters greeted you with its usual cold efficiency. The moment you stepped through the security doors, you could feel the weight of every gaze on you. The whispers, the sideways glances—everyone watching, calculating, observing.

You kept your chin high, trying to ignore the prickling sensation running down your spine. Inside, you could hear the soft murmur of voices, the familiar hum of the ISB machinery that had once felt like home. But today, it felt different. Out of place. You were different.

Something about last night had shifted.

Your steps echoed as you walked deeper into the halls. You passed your colleagues who watched you a little too closely, some turning their heads quickly, others meeting your eyes with a mixture of curiosity and caution. It didn’t take long for you to notice that a few desks were empty.

Heert, always the one to linger at the periphery, caught your eye. You approached him and Jung, both men standing near a row of screens, seemingly distracted. Your heart sank.

"Where’s Dedra?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Heert glanced at Jung before looking back at you, clearly unsure whether to answer. His lips parted as if to say something but hesitated. The uncertainty was palpable. You were no longer just an agent to them, but a force of something else entirely.

Before he could respond, Paltargaz appeared from the shadows, his footsteps firm and purposeful. You stiffened instinctively. He was a man who carried weight in his voice. A man who made decisions that affected lives.

"Agent," he said, his tone more neutral than expected.

"Major," you responded with a nod.

"I heard someone tried to hurt you last night at the gala," he continued, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if he had been following the trail of rumors, and there was something more beneath the surface. Something simmering.

"It’s been taken care of," you replied flatly, refusing to give him more than necessary.

Paltargaz studied you for a moment. His sharp gaze flicked toward an empty chair near the far side of the room, and his lips pressed together in something like displeasure, though it was expertly hidden. "She’s still in interrogation," he said, voice firm, but there was an undercurrent of frustration just beneath the surface. It was clear that whatever had happened to Dedra, Paltargaz wasn’t happy about it. Or perhaps he wasn’t happy about her being so distracted.

The tension in the room rose slightly. You couldn’t help but turn to Heert and Jung, both of whom had looked down at their boots as if the answer lay hidden there. Heert shrugged, his usual calm demeanor momentarily breaking. Jung’s face remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with uncertainty.

You thought about Krennic’s words from earlier, about the Empire’s endless backstabbing and the high cost of ambition. Dedra had always been someone you could count on, but in the cold world of the ISB, allegiances were fleeting. Trust was fragile. In a way, the words Krennic had said about losing a friend felt like they were carved into your bones now.

There was a pang of something, maybe regret, maybe guilt. Or perhaps fear.

"You make the ISB proud," Paltargaz said, his voice cutting through your thoughts. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, they softened, just slightly, as if he recognized the weight you were carrying. "Don’t disappoint us, Agent. I’ve had enough searching for rats."

His words hung in the air. The layers of meaning behind them were impossible to ignore. Searching for rats, he’d said. The ISB was full of rats—traitors, spies, people with their own agendas. People like Dedra? Or people like you, the ones who were starting to see the cracks in the system? You weren’t sure anymore.

“There was a breach. Minor, but targeted. Some idiot tried to access restricted weapon development files. It was contained before anything spread, but it triggered a full protocol audit.”

Your stomach dropped slightly.

“And?”

“Every agent is required to secure their data. Effective immediately. Yours included.” He finally looked at you. “Some of us thought you’d already gone rogue.”

That earned a few glances from nearby officers.

“I’ve been off-world. Under direct orders,” you said steadily.

“I’m sure,” he replied with a clipped tone. “Agent Meero is currently in holding. Her clearance activity flagged anomalies.”

Paltargaz stepped closer. “You're back. Good. Then no excuses. Lock down your console. Triple encrypt everything. I don’t want to hear your name next.”

You nodded once. “Understood.”

He turned away without another word.

You made your way to your station, feeling the weight of every watchful eye. As your hands hovered above the console, you glanced toward Dedra’s empty chair. The tension curled in your chest like smoke.

Backstabbing. Promotions. Interrogations.

Krennic had warned you this would happen. And now the game had already begun.

When you were doing your job, red light flooded the corridors as warning sirens cut through the thick tension already gripping HQ. Officers jumped to their feet. A synthesized voice barked over the loudspeakers: “Security breach detected. Immediate lockdown initiated. All non-essential personnel evacuate the upper floors.”

Paltargaz’s voice followed seconds later. Sharp. Stern. Laced with authority. "All departments, evacuate to Level Four corridors. You know your protocols. Move."

Jung bolted from his console. Heert cursed under his breath, slamming his terminal shut as agents flooded the main hallways. The panic was restrained, but it was real. Everyone assumed it was related to the breach. No one questioned it. Not at first.

And that was the problem.

In the chaos, no one noticed the woman walking down the hall at a controlled pace, flanked by two men in ISB uniforms. The insignia matched. The badges cleared. She looked slightly dazed, maybe in pain. One man supported her arm, the other walked ahead.

Security let them pass.

The troopers were too focused on the potential cyber breach. Everyone believed the alarm was about data. No one imagined a physical extraction was underway. Not here. Not in the heart of Coruscant’s intelligence center.

You tried to speak, but the pressure in your veins made it hard to focus. You felt lightheaded, dizzy. Cold sweat clung to your neck.

The sharp sting at your side—barely noticed at first—had been a syringe.

You stumbled once, but they steadied you, smiling like allies. Your limbs started to fail you. Vision blurred. One of the men whispered something into your ear, something you couldn’t comprehend through the sound of the sirens and your pulse thudding louder than thought.

The last thing you saw before the world went dark was the glint of Marlon’s eyes.

His face hovered above yours, mockingly gentle.

"You should’ve chosen better."

Then there’s nothing.

Not the blaster-ready stormtroopers, not the agents rushing to secure the data vaults, not even Paltargaz himself. None of them realized that in the middle of this breach, something far more valuable than data had been stolen.

You were gone. And by the time they noticed, it would already be too late.

********

You woke slowly. Your head throbbed, your limbs felt heavy, and the low rumble beneath your body told you immediately that you were in a shuttle. Not Imperial. Smaller. Rougher. The scent of old fuel and recycled air scraped against your throat.

Your vision blurred at first, swimming behind a veil of pain, but as your eyes cleared, your stomach twisted.

Marlon sat in the pilot’s seat.

You bolted upright, chains on your wrists clinking harshly. "What the hell—"

He didn’t look back. His voice came over his shoulder, casual. Almost gentle.

"We’re going home."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Home?"

You leaned forward, struggling to push through the lingering fog in your mind. Then, you saw it. Through the viewport, a brown-orange planet loomed ahead.

No.

Your chest seized with sick recognition. You knew those jagged rock ridges, the burnt treelines, the barren plateaus carved by years of war and neglect. The very bones of the Outer Rim were etched in that world’s soil.

Cinderis.

"No," you whispered, horror creeping up your spine. "Turn it around."

Marlon didn’t even blink. "We’re landing."

"I said turn it around!" You lunged forward, but the cuffs dragged you back. Your voice cracked. "Why would you bring me back here?"

He finally turned to face you, the shadow of something long buried in his expression.

"Because I’m from here too."

The silence inside the cockpit roared louder than the engine. Your breath hitched.

"What?"

He didn’t answer. The shuttle jolted as it began its descent.

Dust clouds spiraled in the air as the landing gear struck dirt. You felt your heart racing, your body tense as he stood and moved toward you, unlocking your safety harness but not your cuffs. He offered no explanation as the ramp lowered.

The light outside was harsh and raw, exactly as you remembered. The smell of dry earth and metal filled your lungs. The air was colder than you expected, or maybe that was your memory chilling your blood.

You stepped down beside Marlon, flanked by two armed men in scrappy uniforms. They weren’t dressed like the polished Rebels you’d seen in intelligence briefings. These were local. Underground. Old loyalties. Old grudges.

And then you saw him.

A tall man stood in the center of the landing zone, arms open like a mockery of welcome.

"Welcome home," Joric Stone said with a thin, calculated smile.

The voice hit you like a blaster to the chest.

You froze, every muscle in your body locking.

Joric Stone

The man who ordered the execution of your parents. The man who turned your village into ash.

"Good job bringing her, son," he said, glancing at Marlon.

You turned slowly. "Son?"

Marlon didn’t meet your eyes.

Joric grinned wider. "What an honor to have the Emperor’s favorite propagandist here." He turned to the scattered Rebels around him. "And would you believe it? She’s from Cinderis. One of ours."

Murmurs spread like poison in the crowd. Eyes narrowed. Hands gripped blasters tighter. Their stares burned into your skin: judgment, suspicion, hatred.

You kept your spine straight, jaw tight. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.

"I am not one of yours," you said, voice low. Controlled.

Joric chuckled. "Come. Let’s give our guest a proper seat."

Inside the crumbling command building, you were shoved into a seat. Your wrists still bound. You faced a semi-circle of local leaders—elders, militants, opportunists wrapped in old resistance colors that hadn't meant anything in decades.

Joric paced like a man preparing a speech.

"To think," he mused aloud, "a girl from this dirt-ridden world would rise so far. ISB. Director Krennic’s right hand. Tell me, what do you dream of, now that you're rubbing elbows with the men who build the stars themselves?"

You looked him in the eye, no fear left to spare.

"You don’t know who I am, do you?"

Joric raised a brow. "Should I?"

You leaned forward, voice like ice.

"I’m the daughter of Kessa and Halin Verin. My father refused to give you the safehouse coordinates. So you killed them. And the others with them."

Something shifted in his face.

You pressed further. "You called it strategy. But we called it betrayal. You burned our homes. Took our food. Sacrificed children. That was your rebellion."

Joric scoffed. "Ah. Now I remember. Ingrates, all of you. We gave you shelter. We gave you a purpose."

"You gave us death."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Massacre is a strong word. Your people simply didn’t know how to defend themselves."

You stared, hollow and sharp. "Is that what you told yourself while my mother bled out in the street?"

The room went silent.

Joric’s expression darkened. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward and slapped you across the face. The blow rang through the small chamber like a gunshot.

"You should’ve died with them," he snarled.

You didn’t flinch. You bled from the lip, but your gaze held steady.

"That’s the problem with your cause," you whispered. "Rotten leaders pretending to fight for peace."

"Take her to the holding cell," he growled.

Marlon hesitated.

"Now, boy!"

He moved to your side. But as he pulled you to your feet, you turned your face toward him.

"I hope you’re proud," you murmured, voice trembling from pain, not fear.

And he couldn’t meet your eyes again.

Not this time.

*******

At ISB Headquarters, the mood shifted quickly. Whispers passed between agents. Your absence had gone unnoticed for the first few hours, but as the day wore on, it was impossible to ignore.

"Is she with Director Krennic?" Partagaz asked, voice sharp as ever.

"I don’t think so, sir. No transport requests, no dispatch notices, and no orders came through from Scarif or Coruscant High Command," Heert replied quickly.

"Maybe she's sick," one of the junior agents offered, almost too casually.

"What?" Partagaz narrowed his eyes.

"Last night, during the breach alarm, when we had to gather outside the command floor... I saw her. She looked pale and was leaning against another agent. He was helping her. I thought maybe she fainted or something."

Heert and Jung immediately exchanged a look. Partagaz’s face darkened.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Heert moved fast. "I’ll check the surveillance records."

Minutes later, the three of them stood in a control bay, observing holorecordings on glowing Imperial holopanels. Footage flickered. They saw you following evacuation protocols after the data breach. Then in another feed — you being led away discreetly, supported by someone in an ISB uniform.

"Wait," Partagaz narrowed his gaze. "Enhance that visual. That’s not one of ours."

"I’ve seen him before..." Jung said carefully.

Partagaz’s jaw tightened. "So have I. That boy from the fundraising gala. The one who made Director Krennic twitch with jealousy."

Heert leaned in a little closer. "Well, I guess it’s a good thing Director Krennic ruined her date."

Jung shot him a look, clearly not in the mood for jokes.

Partagaz cursed under his breath. "Stars help us... he's going to kill someone when he hears this."

He tapped the holocomm. The signal flickered once, twice, then sharpened into focus—Director Krennic appeared, surrounded by the clean lines and bright light of Scarif Command. His white cape shimmered faintly in the background, and his expression was cool, unreadable.

"Krennic," Partagaz began without ceremony, his voice clipped, "I need a moment of your time."

Krennic didn’t look up from whatever data he was reviewing. "Make it quick. I’m debriefing with the Scarif engineers before the Finance Guild arrives."

"It’s about your propagandist."

That made Krennic glance up, but only mildly. "What about her?"

Partagaz hesitated just slightly. Just enough to be noticed.

Krennic’s brow twitched. "Partagaz?"

"She’s… missing."

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Krennic stood straighter, his face hardening, but his voice stayed measured.

"Missing as in unaccounted for, or missing as in someone took her?"

Partagaz’s jaw flexed. "We have reason to believe she’s been taken. By rebels."

Krennic stared, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice dropped, dangerous and low.

"How long have you known?"

"She didn’t report in today. That alone isn’t irregular. But an agent saw her during last night’s security evacuation. Pale, disoriented, being helped by someone we now believe wasn’t one of ours."

Krennic's face shifted—just slightly—but enough to betray what Partagaz rarely saw from him.

Fear.

"And you’re just telling me this now?"

"We were verifying before—"

"You should’ve called the second she was late." Krennic’s voice cracked like glass under pressure. "You think I wouldn't notice her absence? You think I’d be too distracted by bureaucrats to care?"

Partagaz stood silent. Not out of guilt, but because there was nothing he could say to temper the storm brewing through the comm.

Krennic exhaled sharply, trying to reel it in. His voice dropped to a hiss. "Who."

"The man she was seen with at the fundraiser. We pulled footage. He's not on our personnel list."

Krennic didn’t even blink. "Marlon."

Partagaz nodded grimly.

There was a loud crash—off screen, something metallic hitting the floor. Krennic had thrown something. Then he paced out of frame briefly before returning, his composure beginning to fracture at the edges.

"I left Scarif for two days to deal with financiers and walk imbeciles through the Death Star's metrics. Two days. And this happens."

Partagaz straightened. "We’re already tracing his ship. We’ll have a location soon." Actually they have no lead. But he lied to ease Krennic anger.

Krennic’s eyes bored through him. "If you don’t find her, I will personally raze the entire ISBy department and bury it to the ground."

"We will find her," Partagaz said flatly. "You have my word."

The line cut. Silence remained.

He turned to Heert and Jung.

"You heard him. Lock every hyperspace corridor from here to the Outer Rim. Track every flight manifest and heat trail. I want Marlon before the sun sets. No excuses."

They nodded sharply and moved in unison.

********

Somewhere in the lower levels of Coruscant, buried beneath the glowing towers and chaos of the upper districts, Jung waited in the shadows of a narrow service corridor. The stale scent of coolant and metal clung to the air, mixing with the faint hum of power lines overhead. His eyes tracked every sound — footsteps, the hiss of hydraulics, distant traffic above — until finally, a figure stepped into view.

Luthen Rael approached with his usual calm, the folds of his dark cloak hiding his arms, but his stance betrayed tension. They were alone — or at least as alone as anyone could be in this city.

Jung stepped forward, his voice low but loaded with accusation. "Is this your plan? Kidnapping an Imperial agent?"

Luthen exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding that breath for hours. "No. That wasn’t supposed to happen." His voice dropped, almost regretful. "I should never have trusted Marlon. He’s reckless. Ambition clouded him. Whatever he’s doing now... he’s doing it alone."

"Then give me something," Jung demanded. "Anything about him. Location. Contact. Ship ID. Anything."

Luthen tilted his head slightly, studying Jung with piercing eyes. "Why do you care so much?"

Jung’s jaw tensed. "You don’t understand what you’ve done. Krennic will burn everything to find her. He’s finished his weapon. And now? Now he has motive."

Those words struck like a bolt to Luthen’s spine. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The faint twitch in his jaw, the flicker of fear behind his eyes, was enough.

"You know what that thing is capable of," Jung added, stepping closer. "And he’s already unleashed it once. Imagine what he’ll do when it’s personal."

For a long moment, the silence between them crackled with unspoken threats and truth. Finally, Luthen reached into his cloak and pulled a datachip. He held it out with reluctance.

"That’s all I have. Coordinates. A drop point from Marlon two days ago. He stopped responding after that."

Jung snatched the chip without hesitation, his fingers cold around it. He gave Luthen one last look, one that said, if this goes further south, none of us are safe.

"You better hope she’s still alive."

*******

The cell was small. The air stank of rusted metal and mildew, a cloying, rotted scent that clung to every breath. The walls were damp and bruised with age, and the faint trickle of water in some unseen corner made the silence worse. The dim light flickered overhead, casting shadows that danced too slowly. You sat on the cold floor, knees pulled close, the metal cuffs biting into your wrists. This wasn’t just a prison — it was a memory. And not one you wanted.

You had grown up in places like this. In corners of the galaxy forgotten by the Senate and ignored by the Empire. Back then, you had to sleep beneath broken roofs and dig through ration crates just to eat. The smell in this cell was the same as the caves you’d hidden in when the fighting got too close. And now here you were again, only this time with nothing but your title, your pain, and a past you’d tried so hard to erase.

Beside you, in the opposite cell, two stormtroopers sat chained together, their armor dirtied and scorched. Even they looked hollow. It was strange seeing them like this — once so imposing, now reduced to quiet breathing, just as trapped as you were.

The cell door groaned open. You didn’t look up.

"Miserable place, isn't it?" Marlon’s voice echoed off the walls, too familiar, too calm. He stepped forward carrying a tray, the weak scent of reheated rations doing nothing to improve the atmosphere.

You still didn’t meet his gaze.

"I brought food," he said simply. "Eat. You'll think clearer with something in your stomach."

You turned your head slightly, eyes sharp. "You think I’m going to change my mind because of scraps and kindness?"

Marlon crouched, placing the tray on the ground just out of your reach. "I think you're tired. I think you're remembering why you came from here. Why it hurts. I'm offering you a way out — a real one. Leave the Empire. Come back to what your parents believed in."

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking your head slowly.

"My soul was already torn to shreds the day my parents died in front of me," you said. "I had to hide. I had to crawl through ash and bone just to survive. There were days I envied worms — at least they could burrow deep underground and disappear. I couldn’t. I had to keep running. Keep breathing."

Marlon's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "And now you betray that sacrifice by siding with the very people who helped tear this planet apart?"

"If my parents were still alive and saw what I have become — they would understand," you replied coolly. "Because I no longer sleep under rubble. I no longer starve. I live with comfort. I live with control. I am not a hunted animal in a hole anymore."

Your words echoed through the cellblock. One of the prisoners nearby gave a loud cheer. Another clapped a chained hand against the wall in support. Even the stormtroopers grunted their amusement.

Marlon rose to his feet with a humorless scoff. "You're clever with words. No wonder the Emperor and Krennic keep you close." His voice sharpened. "I wonder if Krennic even realizes you're gone yet. If he does, I hope he's enjoying the chase — because he won’t find you."

You flinched before you could stop yourself. That flash of dread, sudden and heavy, slammed into your chest.

Marlon noticed. His gaze softened, almost pitying. "Clear your head. No one here wants to hurt you. You're too valuable for that."

Your voice came out low, bitter. “So. The first meeting. The date. It was all for a mission.”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, the words pressing into the space between you like a heavy fog. Finally, he admitted it. “It was. I took the assignment because you were from Cinderis. I thought you’d be easy to pull back. One of us.”

He looked at you then, and for the first time, there was no mask. No act. “But you weren’t. You were different. Smarter. Colder. It stopped being a mission after the second time we spoke. And that scared the hell out of me.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. The betrayal settled in your gut like a bruise that would never fade.

He turned and walked toward the door, pausing only briefly before the guard opened it for him. Then he was gone, leaving you in the silence that somehow felt colder than before.

You curled in on yourself, resting your back against the wall. Your thoughts drifted, too fast to stop. Mia’s laugh. The soft giggles of her daughters. The quiet joy of watching the little one hand you a drawing with pride. Your ridiculous director — smug, impossible, infuriating. The way his eyes burned when he looked at you. The unexpected gentleness in his voice that night after the gala. The way he carried you like you mattered. Like you were his.

And now?

Now you were in a place that reeked of ghosts, waiting to see who would find you first.

******

They made you walk again. This time, escorted by Marlon, his grip firm on your arm as he guided you through the base. The air outside the prison was just as stifling, though now filled with the murmurs and glances of rebel fighters as you passed. Your injured leg ached with every step, but you didn’t let them see it. You kept your spine straight, your face cold.

They brought you into a larger chamber. At the center stood Joric Stone, his presence as smug and arrogant as you remembered — the man whose orders had ended your parents' lives. His expression was all show, arms spread in mock welcome.

“She’s here,” Marlon announced.

Joric stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, voice low and controlled. “We need your skills, girl. The Empire’s propaganda has flooded too many systems. But we have you now. You’re going to turn the tide.”

You didn’t answer.

“Make a piece. Just one,” Joric said, tone too casual. “Stir up sympathy for our cause. Convince the people the Empire is a machine. Cold, cruel. Empty.”

You stared at him with open contempt. “I won’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, then smiled, slow and venomous. “Mia,” he said.

You blinked. The name hit like a slap.

“She’s from this planet too, right? Your friend? Married well. Living comfortably in Coruscant. Two lovely daughters.”

Your stomach twisted. “What did you say?”

“I know everything,” he said softly. “Where she lives. Where her children play. Who drives them to school. I have people near her. Watching. Waiting.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “Fine,” you hissed.

Joric turned to Marlon with a smirk. “Bring her a pen. Let her do the job.”

Marlon placed a sheet of flimsi and a pen in front of you. You didn’t move.

“I’m still cuffed,” you muttered.

Marlon hesitated, then unlocked the cuffs. “Try anything, and it won’t end well.”

Joric chuckled. “You’re an ISB agent, sure, but they don’t train you for real combat. Just enough to die dramatically.”

You stared at the pen for a heartbeat. Then you smiled. “That’s true.”

In one fluid motion, you grabbed the pen and drove it into Joric’s eye.

He screamed, stumbling backward in agony. “Arrgh!”

You lunged behind him, wrapping your arm around his throat, dragging him upright even as his blood slicked your arm. The room erupted into chaos, blasters raised, voices shouting.

“Drop it!” someone shouted.

You pressed the edge of the broken pen to Joric’s neck. “Do it, and he’ll never speak again,” you growled. “Put. Them. Down.”

Joric whimpered, clutching his eye, pain overcoming his pride. “Stand down. Stand down!”

Blasters lowered.

With her hostage trembling, you used him like a keycard. One room, then another — barked commands, stifled panic. No one dared challenge you, not with Joric bleeding and furious.

Finally, outside. You didn’t have a plan. You just needed to get away.

A parked glider bike waited by the supply platform. Sleek, half-powered, but fast enough. You shoved Joric away, climbed on, ignoring the white-hot stab of pain in your leg.

“Stop her!” Joric roared behind you.

Blaster fire rained across the tarmac as you gunned the accelerator and shot forward. Lights streaked past. Voices blurred. All you knew was the wind and the pain and the desperate need to get out.

The vehicle jerked as a blast clipped the side panel. You lost control. The world spun violently. You hit the dirt hard, tumbling through brush and bramble before slamming into the edge of the forest floor.

Your ears rang. Your ribs burned. You tried to crawl.

Footsteps followed.

Marlon emerged from the trees, face twisted with frustration. He raised the blaster in his hand but didn’t shoot.

“Why,” he said, breathless, “do you have to make everything so difficult?”

You forced yourself upright, swaying. “Because I don’t belong here.”

He laughed — not amused. Bitter. Unhinged. “So you’d rather be dragged around by a man in a white cape? That’s better than this?”

You didn’t flinch. “It’s not about him.”

“It is. You love him,” he spat. “I can see it.”

You said nothing.

“Damn it.” His voice cracked, the blaster trembling slightly in his grip. “You really do.”

Then he laughed again, the sound wild. Something about it made your chest tighten with unease. You took a step back, slowly, the dirt and leaves crunching underfoot.

Marlon stopped laughing. His hand steadied.

He raised the blaster.

You closed your eyes, accepting it. If this was your final moment, at least let it be quick.

And deep down, your only regret was not kissing Krennic that night.

Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the air.

Marlon’s scream tore through the clearing, raw and helpless.

You gasped, eyes snapping open just in time to see him stagger backward, his hand clutching his shoulder. Blood bloomed between his fingers. He tripped in the dirt, eyes wide with pain and disbelief.

The wind screamed louder now, a sudden gale rushing through the trees. Dust rose around you in a violent whirl. Above, cutting through the storm clouds like a blade, descended a black shuttle. Its landing thrusters roared as the ramp lowered with a hiss, swallowing the earth in shadow.

He emerged from the storm like a myth made real.

Orson Krennic.

White cape billowing, posture tall and unyielding, he moved down the ramp with measured steps. The fabric snapped in the wind behind him like a war banner. Death Troopers followed, their presence massive and silent, flanking him with the precision of judgment.

Krennic didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His eyes were locked on Marlon, gaze like a weapon in itself—burning, fixed, merciless. He didn’t so much walk as command the space around him. The wind seemed to part in his wake.

Marlon’s mouth worked soundlessly. He tried to move. A second shot rang out.

He screamed again, this time falling to one knee, his leg torn beneath him.

Still, Krennic did not rush. He advanced with slow, terrifying calm, the kind of deliberate pace that promised no escape. His boots struck the ground like the toll of a war drum.

His eyes flicked to you.

The bruises.

The cuts.

Your trembling form.

His expression barely changed, but his jaw tightened, his breath shifted—enough to show the storm inside him was far more dangerous than the one raging around you.

When he reached you, he did not speak.

He pulled you into his chest without hesitation, one gloved hand cradling your head, the other curling protectively around your back. The moment his arms wrapped around you, something in you collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, muffled against the fabric of his uniform.

"You came," you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He pressed his lips against your temple, his breath shallow and trembling with fury.

"Of course I came, darling. No one touches what I value. No one takes you from me."

Behind you, Marlon whimpered in agony.

Krennic turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He raised one hand. The gesture was subtle. Dismissive.

The third blast echoed like judgment.

And then, silence.

Marlon’s cries were gone. So was Marlon.

You didn’t turn to look. You didn’t need to.

"Is it done?" you whispered.

Krennic exhaled slowly, his breath a controlled release of fire. He nodded once.

"It’s done."

His hand found your cheek, brushing gently across the tender bruising. His touch, so soft now, trembled with everything he refused to say. The cold rage that had consumed him moments ago was buried beneath something deeper. He leaned close.

"Let’s go home."

He didn’t let you go, not once, as he led you back toward the waiting shuttle. The storm clouds above had not calmed, but their fury no longer reached you.

You were in his arms.

And nothing dared touch you again.

*******

You didn’t remember fainting.

One moment, you were wrapped in Krennic’s arms, the scent of his uniform clinging to you as your adrenaline finally gave out. The next, everything was light and noise.

You awoke slowly to a sterile hum, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging your nose. The lighting overhead was clinical and bright, too clean. Your body ached. Cold metal beneath you. Soft beeping echoed faintly from the monitor beside your bed.

You blinked, disoriented.

"You're stable," a voice said.

A physician stepped into your view. Imperial white. Calm. Detached. "Mild concussion. Lacerations. Deep tissue bruising. But nothing permanent. You're lucky."

Your throat was dry, your voice barely audible. "Where am I?"

The physician didn’t answer right away.

Then another voice filled the room, deeper, familiar, and somehow cutting straight to your core.

"The Death Star."

You turned, slowly, already knowing what you’d see.

Krennic stood in the doorway, cape draped behind him, gloves absent, though his posture was still rigid, still dignified, like nothing could rattle the empire forged in his mind.

“You’re safe now,” he said, but his eyes never quite softened. They scanned you like a checklist, finding every bruise, every mark, and filing them away with lethal precision.

He turned to one of the command officers waiting behind him. "Report."

"Sir, we’ve retrieved every Imperial asset from the rebel prison. All accounted for," the officer added. "Including the children."

"Good," Krennic said coldly. "That means only one piece remains."

The officer nodded and stepped aside.

He stepped forward to you, and without another word, he held out a hand.

“Come with me.”

You hesitated, weakly pushing yourself upright.

“I want you to see something,” he said.

And somehow, despite everything, you took his hand.

He led you silently through the sterile corridors of the Death Star, the vastness of the station unfolding around you like a throne carved into space. Stormtroopers stepped aside. Officers stood to attention. No one questioned your presence.

He brought you to an observation room overlooking one of the central detention decks. You immediately recognized the figure kneeling on the floor.

Joric Stone.

He looked different now. Small. Broken. His hands were bound behind his back, his body bruised and bloodied, one eye missing. He didn’t look like a rebel leader anymore.

“You didn’t kill him?” you asked quietly.

Krennic’s voice was low. “Not yet.”

He gestured to one of the guards.

“Bring him.”

The stormtroopers moved quickly. Joric didn’t resist, but he groaned in pain as they hauled him to his feet. You turned away, just slightly. Not out of sympathy. Out of memory.

Krennic led you to another chamber. A circular control room—one that overlooked the vast targeting array. On the central screen, the blue-green surface of Cinderis filled the projection. Cloud banks drifted lazily over its mountains. You knew those forests. You knew the smell of the dirt. The taste of hunger.

Joric was dragged in and forced to his knees before the viewport.

“You wanted her to suffer,” Krennic said, voice quiet. “Now you’ll see what that earns you.”

He moved behind Joric and crouched. Then, with one gloved hand, he gripped the back of the man’s bloodied head and forced his face upward.

"Look."

Joric flinched, trying to pull away, but Krennic tightened his hold.

"You made her bleed. You dragged her back to this place. And now you're going to watch it vanish."

"Don’t—" Joric wheezed, shaking.

Krennic ignored him completely. His eyes were on you.

“You deserve this,” he said. Not to Joric. To you.

Then, to the operator: “Target the rebel stronghold.”

Joric screamed.

"You can't! My soldiers!”

"Collateral," Krennic said simply. "The price of your rebellion."

The targeting system aligned. The weapon charged, humming with power that vibrated through your chest.

Joric sobbed now, his voice ragged. "Please… Please!"

Krennic leaned closer to him. His voice was almost gentle.

“Do you want to know why I brought you here?”

Joric whimpered.

Krennic’s voice dropped, cold as vacuum.

“Because I want this to be the last thing burned into that skull of yours.”

Then he nodded once towards the operator.

“Fire!"

The chamber went silent as light erupted across the screen. A single beam lanced from the weapon array. Blinding. Absolute.

Cinderis bloomed into a sun.

Joric screamed, convulsed, and fell limp in the guards’ grip.

You watched, unmoving. You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak. The world that had hurt you your entire life was now a smear of smoke in orbit.

Krennic finally released Joric’s head, and the man slumped to the floor in a heap of whimpers and failure.

“Dispose of him,” Krennic said, his voice devoid of weight.

Then he turned to you. The storm in him settled. Not gone. But quiet.

"Are you satisfied?"

You didn’t answer right away.

But a part of you—one you had buried long ago in the forests of Cinderis—whispered yes.

And you followed him to another room to avoid the chaos. There’s only both of you at the moment.

You turned to him, lips parting with disbelief. "Why did you show me this?"

Krennic didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were trained on the fading light from the projection, watching the data clear from the screen as if brushing off ash. He didn’t look at you when he finally spoke. "Because I wanted you to see what justice looks like."

You stared at him, heart hammering against your ribs.

He turned then, slowly, the edges of his voice softer now, but no less steady. "That place... It stole everything from you. It buried your family. It made you believe there was no power that could ever protect you."

He stepped closer, his eyes locking with yours, unflinching. "I wanted you to know that I can." The breath caught in your throat. "I didn’t do this for protocol," he continued, voice quieter now, but deeper. “I did this for you. Because you deserve to see it gone. Not hidden. Not buried. Gone.”

Your vision blurred, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t. "And Joric?" you asked, your voice low.

Krennic’s lips twitched faintly. No smile. Just grim truth. "He watched his empire burn. Just like you watched yours. The difference is, you built something greater out of the rubble."

You exhaled shakily, your body trembling from more than injury. You looked out at the screen again, at the now-empty sky.

No more lies. No more ghosts. No more Cinderis.

Krennic stepped closer and, without asking, placed his gloved hand over yours. "You asked me once if I saw you as my equal," he said. "This is my answer."

‘My Equal.’

The words echoed between you, low and deliberate, landing like a final strike on everything that once held you apart. The room was quiet now. The only sound was the low hum of the Death Star’s power systems in the walls and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

You stared at him.

No smirk. No smugness. No layers of manipulation. Just Orson. Exhausted. Unflinching. And for once, not trying to win. Just telling the truth.

You hadn’t come looking for this. You hadn’t thought your moment of justice would look like this, feel like this. But in the aftermath of everything of blood, ruin, betrayal, and survival. It made terrifying, perfect sense.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t graceful.

You stepped forward and kissed him.

A startled breath left him through his nose, like you’d struck him again. Not with a weapon this time, but with something more dangerous. You felt it the moment his mind caught up to his body, when surprise turned into something hungry, something scorching.

And then, he kissed you back with controlled force, one gloved hand sliding behind your neck, the other bracing against the glass wall beside you. You rose onto your toes, pulling him closer, as if the world around you didn’t matter, and for the first time in so long, it didn’t.

He tasted like heat and metal and thunder. And you wanted more.

When he finally pulled away, just barely, his breath was ragged, his eyes unreadable but burning. He looked at you like a man seeing something sacred. And for once, you didn’t feel like a pawn. Or a weapon. Or a piece of strategy.

"You kissed me," he said quietly, like he needed to hear himself say it to believe it.

You nodded, heart racing. "Yes."

His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "It’s about time."

You stared at each other for another beat. The kind of beat that changes everything.

And for once, it was not about power. Not about politics. Not even about revenge.

It was just the two of you. Finally standing in the same place. At the same time. No more waiting.

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