#injection and etching | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perlelune · 6 months

Text

Glory And Gore | Feyd-Rautha

The trip to Giedi Prime you take with your mother should have been a mere diplomatic gesture. Instead, you find yourself prey to the inevitability of fate as it sinks its claws into your flesh.

Warnings: NON-CON, Deception, Parental Neglect, Cannibalism, Mutilation, Bene Gesserit Reader, Knives, Murder, Forced Marriage, Primal Kink

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“Mother-”

“Use it!”

The authority dripping from your mother’s voice has you shrinking in your chair. You lift your gaze. A shudder slithers through your frame. Your fingers squeeze around the armrests, gripping so tightly you can feel the iciness seeping into your veins.

You study your mother’s face.

An unsettling realization crashes over you.

You no longer are looking into your mother’s eyes…but at the Bene Gesserit. You steel your features and iron your resolve.

You swallow a deep, calming breath.

“Give me the blade,” you repeat, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. The exact count has evaporated amidst your heated nerves long ago. Your mother is unyielding today, pushing you further than she ever has before. While her purpose eludes you, the urgency etched in her manner from the moment she tore you from bed that day doesn’t. Today, your mother will not settle for surrender. She demands results.

Results for all the years she spent drilling the Bene Gesserit ways into you.

There is no hint of being swayed in your mother, her handle on the dagger unwavering. No twitching. No slackening of her grip. Your spirits dim.

“Again,” she barks.

Pearls of sweat gather on your brow as you strain your mind once more. The humming courses through your blood, the echo of power swelling in your mind. Fiery tendrils trickle through the veil of hesitation and nervousness.

You grasp at the threads, the fleeting wisps of control, pulling on them with all your might. Still, they slip through your fingers like sand. Frustration flares inside you with every attempt.

You persevere, enduring through the agony bleeding inside your mind. Through the liquid fire sweeping through your veins.

You meet your mother’s harsh stare.

“Give…me…the blade…” you articulate, injecting every bit of hazy conviction glowing inside you.

For a while, you and your mother hold each other’s gaze. A battle of wills. An ephemeral, pathetic one that ends as it always does…with your mother snickering at your failure.

She shoots up from the chair, exasperation evident in the drawn-out sigh she unleashes.

“No willpower. Just fear,” she says, pacing across the room.

“Apologies, mother,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame.

The Voice. The damned Voice. In eighteen years, you have never mastered it.

She approaches you, kneeling in front of your chair.

“Child, you must never fear, because fear…”

“...Is death,” you finish. The Bene Gesserit words are woven into the very fabric of your mind, for you have uttered them so many times since childhood.

She places her forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks.

The combination of your two voices echoes in the room.

“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…”

As you recite the familiar prayer, a wave of serenity swaddles you in its calming tide.

Your eyes flutter open.

Your mother’s fingers wrap around yours.

“Reverend Mother will see you tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“You are of age. It is time.”

“Time for what?”

A shadow flits across her eyes.

“For the Gom Jabbar.”

“Gom…Jabbar.” A crease appears on your forehead. “What is it?”

A tense smile spreads on her face, her grip on your hand growing tighter.

“You will learn soon enough,” she says.

Rest eludes you that night, your mother’s words weighing too heavy on your mind for it to float away in peaceful slumber. Tormented by nightmares, you toss and turn between your sheets.

A beast chasing you, its claws sharp and long…Like knives. Darkness creeping on your every step. Fire shooting through your veins.

The world in flames, while you burn alongside it.

You awake drenched in your own sweat.

Hugging your knees, you lean against the headboard. You stare ahead. Moonlight drizzles through your carved window, casting shapes of silvery light against your walls. The same granite walls you have known since childhood. Usually so familiar, comforting. Today the sight of them reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your thoughts churn, the storm of doubt and gloom within you grazing its peak.

Per custom, you are a disappointment to both your mother and the Sisterhood. The Voice. The Weirding Way. No matter which skill your mother and the myriad of Bene Gesserit teachers you had over the years attempted to drill into you…you failed to master every single one.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part. You wish you knew why. Why your voice always cracks. Why your hand always falters. Your mother has never given hope to lure a steel-mindedness out of you that was simply…never there. No part of you wishes to bend others to your whim or cause harm. You don’t crave control or power. Only serenity and peace.

The next day springs forth in a haste, the blinding light of the sun arriving too quickly for your comfort. There is a deliberate languid nature to your motions as you get dressed, fussing with your hair and dress. A pointless attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Gom Jabbar. You mulled the words over and over in your non-sleep. Mighty oppressor or mighty enemy. The translations from Chaksobar to Galach are plentiful. While you don’t know what awaits you on the other side of the door, from your mother’s pinched expression the day before…unpleasantness is guaranteed.

You trudge inside the dark room, a chill shooting through your spine at the sight of the still figure of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sitting in the middle. Her pale, weathered features, wrinkled and creased like ancient parchment, stand out amidst the unsettling gloominess ahead. Even behind the black veil, the older woman radiates an aura of ancient, mystic power, her presence both fascinating and intimidating.

No word unfurls from her tongue at first, her keen, bird-like eyes assessing you. Despite the urge to cower, you hold your chin high and stiffen your spine.

“Your Reverence,” you greet, bowing so low your nose almost grazes the tiled floor.

“Come closer, child.”

Your feet move on their own before you even register the command. Shock pulses though you as you approach the Reverend Mother. The Voice…She used the Voice on you. No Bene Gesserit ever did that before. None would even dare. Not on a Count’s daughter.

You land in front of her, stunned and shivering.

She collects a viridian metal fox from beneath her robes, its eerie light glowing ominously in the darkness. Your heart stutters as you note the chasm inside the box, a lightless void reflecting nothing but complete blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she orders.

Her tone is bereft of the thrall of the Voice now. Willing compliance... you realize this is what she wishes from you. You stare at the pitch blackness inside of the box, the sight alone stirring your unease. Hesitation limns your fingertips.

“I…”

The Reverend Mother’s firm voice booms across the air like thunder.

“Is this the respect you show to your elders?” she roars.

You flinch. Shameful heat lurks its way inside your cheeks. Mother would be embarrassed if she saw you now, denying the Reverend Mother herself, the Emperor’s Truthsayer.

You inhale a wide breath and place a tremulous hand inside the metal box. As the darkness engulfs your appendage, a cold wave creeps over it. The prick of a needle on your fingers follows closely. Sensations vanish from your hand, only an odd numbness remaining.

The old woman’s gaze sharpens. Her wrinkled hand shoots upward with a quickness that leaves you speechless, halting right beside your neck.

A glimpse of metal beckons you from the corner of your vision. Temptation to turn your head simmers within you but an instinct set deeply into your bones screeches at you not to move.

You yield to to the second hunch.

“I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar,” she informs. “The high-handed enemy.”

“Poisoned needle?” you absently wonder.

You catch the shadow of a smile through the black veil.

“Your mother did say you were a clever one.” She tilts her head slightly, reminding you of a vulture circling its prey, gauging the right moment to swoop down and sink its claws. “A soft heart with a sharp mind.” Dread coils around your heart. “The test is simple, girl. Your hand must remain in the box. Keep it in the box, you live. Withdraw it, you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

Tingles begin to spread.

Your breath snags, needles starting to dig across the back of your hand. But unlike before, the sensation lingers this time. Growing and growing. Uncomfortable at first, then unbearable. Then, it turns blatantly hellish. Fire licks your flesh, the flames causing your entire body to break out in sweat and your breaths to come out labored and uneven.

Pain such as this cannot be of this world, you begin to think.

The kind that grows more vile and intense every second. You writhe, tears rushing to your eyes. Your free hand clutches your stomach, twisting the flesh in desperate need of an anchor amidst the unnatural agony. The room fogs around you, your quick, panicked breaths and the wild drumming of your heart filling your ears.

The longing for death comes and goes, the impulse to withdraw your hand teetering over a precipice. At least, death would bring release from the unfathomable pain.

Blessed freedom. You nearly surrender to that wayward instinct. Nearly.

In the end however, the acute, overwhelming awareness of the lethal needle less than an inch from your neck keeps your hand inside the box.

“An animal in pain would chew its own leg to escape a trap,” The Reverend mother says calmly, unfazed by your tears and sobs. “But a human would bide its time, suffer through the agony until he might remove the threat to his kind. This is a test of humanity. This is what us Bene Gesserit do. Set humans apart from animals.”

An eternity in the pits of hells seems to drag along before she gives you permission to withdraw your hand, her hand dropping from your neck.

“Enough,” she says.

You tear your hand out of the box with a trembling exhale, astonished when your gaze tumbles upon smooth, unharmed skin. You turn it upside down, flabbergasted. It looks the same. Yet the furnace within the box made the burning feel so real, so vividly, terrifyingly real, that you were convinced the flesh and bones were devoured by the flames. You expected a lump of bleeding, smoking flesh. In disbelief, you fold your fingers several times. You wince. Phantom pain still sits in your hand, your nerves alight with embers of ache.

Suppressing a fresh surge of tears, you lift your eyes to the Truthsayer.

“Your tolerance for pain is sufficient,” she states. “Congratulations, child. You are human enough to serve our purposes.” She hums in thought, a sliver of satisfaction seeping through her solemn inflection. “You may not be a complete waste of genetic material after all.”

“You almost failed the test, I hear.”

You shift in the bench opposite your mother, her imperious tone ripping the wound of your glaring incompetence open once more.

Your attention wanders above the closing gate of the starship. You commit the luxurious plains of your planet to memory. Your chest twinges with preemptive melancholy. From what you heard, Giedi Prime is a dry, depleted rock where trees are replaced by rows of factories and metal skyscrapers which only blot out the dusky skies even more. A nightmare from the sounds of it. Though your mother insisted you join her on the trip, arguing your presence is key to the success of the treaty.

So you swallowed your reluctance and agreed to come.

“I thought I would lose my hand,” you mumble, your fingers clenching. The awe over the flawless state of your limb hasn’t left you.

“Her Reverence would never maim a prospect,” your mother argues.

You nod, gaze colliding with hers.

“Just kill them if they fail to prove their humanity?”

You still recall the sharp, poison-dipped tip pointed at your neck. The oppressive weight of impending death nipping at your flesh.

The line between surrender and success had been thin. Too thin.

Your mother’s stern brow furrows.

“Pain is always a possibility…One you must embrace.”

“Why? Isn’t the Gom Jabbar a singular occurrence?”

Instead of answering you, your mother lifts a black, oblong chest from beside her. You noticed it before but forgot to inquire about its purpose.

The metal and dark accents of the object mimics the Harkonnen style. Your fingers sweep over the symbols engraved on the box.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Open it.”

You do as instructed. The inside of the chest reveals a set of knives, a long obsidian one and a short silvery one. The blades glimmer as you lift them, their sharp edges catching the artificial light of the cockpit.

“They were forged from the finest steel on Alderan,” your mother says. You give a puzzled stare. Your mother elaborates, “You must gift them to the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen upon arrival. For his coming of age.”

Right. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s birthday celebration. You were told there would be a grand spectacle in the arena, that he was a great warrior, revered and admired by his people…perhaps even more than his uncle the Baron Vladimir. Day after day before the trip, your mother has impressed upon you the importance of attendance, of embracing the Harkonnen customs as if born into them. Every single one, however uncanny, crude or brutal.

So, much as the concept of spilling blood for entertainment repulses you…you shelf your disgust for now. Personal feelings must capitulate to diplomacy.

Your critical eye sweeps over the knives. These must have cost a fortune. Sinister beauty and artful skill fused in ominous synergy inside a finely made instrument of death.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” you say. Your fingertip drags across the curved edge. A crease appears on your forehead. “But the edges…they could be sharper.” Your eyes light up. “I could finish before we land.”

You sift through one the heaps of precious stones and minerals lining the walls of the cockpit.

Victory floods your being as you find what you sought. A flat whetstone that shall serve your purpose well. You find a spot on the floor and begin your task. The knives shine brighter with every swift glide of your hand.

The frown on your face deepens.

“I hope the Baron’s nephew is pleased with our gift.”

You know next to nothing of him. Though you surmise if your families are to start trading with each other, getting along would be wiser.

Your mother smiles at you though it fails to reach her eyes.

“I have no doubt he will be very pleased with all the gifts you bring him, daughter.”

The frosty, pollution-heavy winds of the lifeless planet whip your face as you set foot outside the car. Your eyes roam over the large building housing the Harkonnen arena. The imposing structure casts an intimidating shadow against the nebulous, gray sky above it. Dormant volcanoes peek through the horizon in the distance, the only remnants of natural landscapes.

Hopelessness surges through you.

Despite having landed less than an hour ago, a fierce longing for Alderan’s endless green fields and snowy mountain peaks roars inside you. Every cell in your body screams to go back inside the ship and return home.

But you can’t. Such a display of rudeness would be a disaster for diplomatic relations. So you plaster on a smile and ignore the potent stench wafting around you.

You exert meticulous sovereignty over your expression when the Baron floats toward you and your mother. Nothing could have prepared you for this. The sight of the bald, massive man hovering towards you and your mother in his suspensor chair.

The floating figure of the baron stops in front of you and your mother. A circle of servants, clad in black clothing, follows behind him. You note their bowed heads, the way their eyes never rise high enough to look directly at you or your mother. A brand marks their necks, one you recognize as the sigil of House Harkonnen. You’re reminded how ubiquitous the slave trade is on Giedi Prime. Your mother mentioned it but the harsh reality of it didn’t strike you until now.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” Baron Vladimir greets. His gristly tone surprises you, eliciting a chill across your spine you swiftly suppress.

“My Lord,” your mother says, sinking into a graceful bow.

You mimic her. The baron leers at you.

“She is even more exquisite in person.”

You recoil, the glint in his calculating stare stirring your unease.

Your mother’s gaze sweeps across her surroundings.

“The na-Baron isn’t in attendance?”

“My dear nephew is preparing himself in the gladiator pit. There are rituals we Harkonnen observe upon one’s coming of age.” Your mother nods.

The baron smirks, his focus swinging to you. “Perhaps you could pay him a visit, little one?”

You clutch the small chest in your hands.

“I…”

“Go on,” your mother urges, shoving you forward.

You gasp, almost tripping in your shock. The baron’s commanding voice rises.

“Slave!”

One the cowering servants leaps from the circle.

“Yes, sire?” the boy mumbles.

“Escort the girl to my nephew at once.”

The servant approaches you. His gaze briefly lifts before finding the floor again. A pang of empathy twists in your chest as you note the fear etched in the servant’s eye. You find yourself wondering what these eyes have witnessed, what horrors lurk on the wretched rock.

“Follow me, my Lady,” he says.

As you’re led away from the welcoming party, you toss a glance at your mother above your shoulder. The message written in her eyes and stern expression is clear as lake water.

Do not cast a veil of shame upon our house. Remember your duty.

Sucking a deep breath, you turn away.

You and your retinue of two guards and an attending maid are taken to the bowels of the arena. A horrid stench clings to the walls as you trudge through the dim walls. It grows more potent the closer you get to the pit. Your chest heaves. The urge to empty the meager contents of your stomach in the sand tickles your dry throat. You quell your disdain with a shake of your head.

You are here to present your house in a positive light, help Father’s treaty with House Harkonnen be a success.

As you enter the room, you get your first look at Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Warmth finds your cheeks. He’s almost bare, his rippling, pale muscles on full display. Two servant girls paint broad, black strokes over his carved back. The dark color stands out against his alabaster skin. Not a stray hair covers him and you suppose he’s as smooth-skinned and hairless as the rest of his kind.

When his dark gaze settles on you, you take tremulous steps forward.

You open the chest and present the knives to him.

“This is a gift for you, Lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you say, your voice cracking at the end.

Silence hangs for what seems eons, Feyd-Rautha cocking his head as he gauges you. It takes every ounce of bravery inside you not to flinch. His presence alone has every hair on your body stand at attention.

There’s a cold intensity in his glare, a tautness on his slender features.

You feel as prey being assessed. The urge to run itches your flesh. Your mother’s quiet warning echoes in your head. Remember your duty. You dig your feet into the ground, willing your roaring pulse to steady.

You hear him speak for the first time. His voice is hoarse and deep. Like the scratching of a stone over a sharp object.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings? Lungs, a liver, perhaps?” he offers, smirking at three women sitting in a corner of the room. Their inky, whiteless orbs and ravenous grins send a chill through your spine.

His eyes fall on the knives inside the chest. His hand sweeps over the blades, an odd gesture almost reminiscent of a lover’s caress. He places the silver knife against his tongue, as if to taste the sharpness of the weapon. You shudder as you watch him, a foreboding feeling spreading across your flesh.

For a brief span of time, the well of your buried childhood memories tugs you to its depths. You recall a day when you were little. Your father took you hunting in the forests of Alderan. You chased a butterfly and got lost. You fell across a field. When you rose, you were nose to nose with a fierce predator. It stared at you a while, so still as its slanted, yellow gaze pinned you to your spot that you thought you were safe. You didn’t notice the calculated way it was prowling towards you, its maw opening slowly in anticipation of its next meal. The gift of tender, unsuspecting flesh. It’s not until your father speared the creature with his sword that you realized the jaws of death almost closed in on you. As it sprawled across the field, it unleashed an ear-piercing dying howl.

You were struck with shock that day.

A similar shock rocks you to your core when Feyd-Rautha slices the throat of one of the servant girls at his side and stabs the other repetitively. Time freezes as the lifeless bodies of the slave girls hit the sand with a loud thud.

Speckles of dark blood stain the bottom of your light tunic.

Your wide gaze lands on the other slave girl, tucked in a corner of the room. You watch her shrink in fear, the quaking in her hands so intense she nearly drops the tray she’s holding.

Horror fills you. She isn’t wondering if she’ll be next…but when.

Feyd-Rautha’s attention swings back to you. Dread coils around your heart.

“Hm, these are shockingly adequate,” he purrs appreciatively, grabbing the other knife from the chest.

It’s hard focusing on his words. Behind him, the three bald-headed women are swooping down on the poor servant girls’ corpses like vultures ripping a carcass to shreds. One of them pulls out a knife and slices the girl open from neck to gut. They bury their hands inside the girl’s body and grab fistfuls of her soft insides that they greedily shove into their mouths. Pieces of guts and dripping flesh jut from their pale lips, trickling down their chins and necks.

One of the women catches you staring and flashes you a blood-drenched, black grin.

You shudder. The maid at your side chokes on a sob, her hand flying across her mouth. Even your guards are appalled by the display, one of them averting his eyes.

A whispery croak slips through your lips.

“I s-sharpened them myself this morning,” you say, your fingers tightening around the chest.

A crooked smile unfurls on the na-Baron’s lips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, pet.”

His smile expands. “How rude of me,” he says, tossing a casual glance at the ghoulish spectacle behind him. The women are still gleefully feasting on the slain slave girls. “Would you like a bite as well?” His mirthful gaze flicks over your heaving chest. “Fresh heart, perhaps?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing a placid smile onto your face.

“I-I’m quite alright, my Lord. I already ate.” The chomping noises of the cannibalistic women rises, one of them tearing into the slave girl’s side with her sharp nails.

Sickness spreads through your being. You avert your gaze.

“I shall leave you to get ready for your entrance, my Lord,” you stammer as you give a quick bow.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my Lady,” Feyd-Rautha says, the amusement never leaving his face as you scurry out of the room.

A tremor still lingers in your hands as you join your mother in the golden box above the triangular arena. The moment you sit at her side, she questions you.

“So, what did you think of him?”

“Who?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

She sighs. “Feyd-Rautha.”

You press your lips. The crowd chants his name as he steps into the arena, clutching the blades you gifted him at his sides. He walks slowly, with purpose. Yet there’s a hint of tedium in his haughty gait. As if today was no different than any other day for him, and the taking of more lives were nothing more than a mere footnote in his long list of tasks for the evening.

Sadist. Psychopath. Deranged.

These are some of the few choice words that surge inside your mind in response to your mother’s inquiry.

You utter none of them.

“Why does it matter? Our stay on Giedi Prime will be short, will it not?”

You peer through the binoculars your mother hands you. There’s a gut-wrenching brutality to the na-Baron’s practiced motions.

You watch him cut down two Atreides gladiator-slaves with ease. It’s clear something has been done to the men, their wobbly, confused steps through the arena a painful scene to witness.

Your chest seizes every time his blade tears into the poor mens’ flesh. He snarls after a series of successful strikes, seeming more beast than human when he bares a row of black teeth.

A shiver ripples through your spine.

“You must keep an open mind,” your mother heeds.

The last gladiator-slave is different. You note it right away. There’s a lethal precision in his movements that was amiss in the other Atreides soldiers. Panic swarms the golden box. Baron Vladimir’s advisor begs him to cancel the fight.

“This one isn’t drugged,” he says, fear lacing his tone.

“This will spoil my nephew’s birthday,” the baron rumbles, dismissing the man with a withering glare. He remains disturbingly calm. “Show me who you are, dear nephew.”

You take a deep breath. The rest of the fight veers to an unusual route. Feyd-Rautha removes his body shield, welcoming the challenge the Atreides soldier offers with open arms.

A psychotic smile decorates his lips as he fights for his life. For the first time since the fight began, he comes alive in the arena.

The vicious trading of blow after blow has bile rising to your throat. Unable to stomach it any longer, you bolt to your feet and mumble a rushed apology to the Baron.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you say.

As you exit the golden box, the excited clamor of the crowd as they scream Feyd-Rautha’s name follows your hasty steps.

You sneak a glance through the high, blue doors. The sight inside the vast hall has your blood curdling. Debauchery the likes of which you have never witnessed unfolds before your eyes. A peculiar blend of orgy and slaughter occurs in the hall. You’re failing to comprehend what you’re seeing, relief coursing through you that you refused the Baron’s invitation.

Once more, you are stunned by the vast cultural differences between your people and the Harkonnens. Sickened, you step away from the doors. Twisted curiosity led you there, and blatant disgust will take you straight back to your room.

The dusky, barren walls of the Harkonnen keep are a stark contrast to the colorful tapestries that can be found all over Castle Alderan.

Homesickness tugs at your heart strings. This alien world is hostile, wretched. You long for the familiarity of your bed and the warm, soothing winds of your planet.

As you roam the hallways, a prickling across your nape has you whirl.

Your sight fills with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Your chest clenches. Your head whips around, a fresh urgency livening your steps.

“Should you not be celebrating your grand victory, my Lord?”

“Frivolous pleasures do little to sate me,” he says, easily keeping up with you. His gravelly baritone ripples across your spine. “This isn’t for me…It’s for them. And my uncle knows it.” His arm brushes yours. You bristle. Amusement bleeds in his tone. “Where are you running off to, pet?”

Pet. You tense at the belittling moniker, the one he forcefully bestowed upon you.

“To my chambers. The evening has exhausted me.”

“You left early.”

You cast a puzzled frown upon him.

“In the arena," he specifies.

Your fingers curl into fists. The unfairness of what you witnessed still staggers you. The Atreides soldiers weren’t given a chance. Pigs led to their inevitable slaughter. And Feyd-Rautha plucked joy from their misery, seeing every slave as a tool to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for blood.

“I have no stomach for violence, my Lord.”

A humming sound pours from his throat.

“Perhaps it was careless then.”

Confusion flutters through you.

“Careless?”

A wicked smile tilts his lips skyward.

“Of my uncle to hand me such a delicate flower…one whose petals are bruised so easily.”

You let out a hollow laugh, dread gripping your insides. Loathing the way his dark gaze slides over your frame, you set your eyes forward.

“You say such strange things, my lord.”

“Do I?” He adds casually, “After all, you were promised to me.”

Your heart falters, missing a beat. He must be drunk, you ponder, in a feeble attempt to placate yourself with reassurance.

“Perhaps you ought to sleep the evening off, my lord. I believe victory may have gotten to your head, warped your perception.”

His sinister chuckle bounces against the walls.

“A pet with a sharp tongue. How fortuitous.”

It’s the only warning you receive before he snatches your wrist and slams you into a nearby wall.

You gasp. He pins your wrists beside your head, trapping you between him and the wall. You squeal, eyes bulging at the abrupt impact. You can already feel bruises form beneath his steely grip.

You fight to get free but he doesn’t budge. Sadistic enjoyment contorts his features as he admires your fruitless struggle.

He leans close to you. Your pulse soars.

“What are you doing?”

His lids sag as he drinks you in.

“Well…sampling my other gift, of course,” he whispers, lust oozing in his voice.

His mouth crashes over yours. You go dizzy. The kiss is bruising, staggeringly possessive. A brutal, sloppy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. You give his lip a harsh bite but it only draws a cheerful laugh from Feyd-Rautha. The acrid tang of metal coats your tongue. He moans against your lips and starts exploring your curves.

As his hands pluck at your soft flesh, fear surges through you.

“Let me go,” you scream, trying to use the Voice. There’s a flicker in his eyes and you feel hope…but it swiftly vanishes. One of his hands fastens around your throat while the other charts a dangerous path under your tunic. His fingers crudely poke and prod the apex of your thighs.

Your panic swells.

“Unhand me this instant!” you shout, a trickle of power rushing in your words.

Feyd-Rautha shakes his head, your thrall only seeming to last a few seconds. Mirth shimmers in his inky orbs as he studies you.

“Are you trying to use Bene Gesserit tricks on me?” The hand around your throat tightens. You claw at his arms, your vision flickering as he taunts, “Why don’t you try again, little witch?” He sinks two fingers through your dry entrance. Tears swim in your eyes at the aching, sudden stretch. His cruel voice flows against your temple. “Perhaps I ought to slice your tongue and shove it down your throat for our wedding.”

The hammering of your heart grows deafening. You swallow your tears and look into his eyes. You gather a thin breath to speak.

“Back away…” you croak weakly, desperation flailing inside your chest.

He gives a slow blink. To your surprise, the hand around your throat slackens. His eyes narrow as he leans away from you, a dazed expression on his face. You don’t take time to bask in fleeting relief, racing to your mother’s room as soon as his hands aren’t on you anymore.

Once you reach your mother’s chambers, you fling yourself into her arms.

Her arms wrap around your shuddering frame. She caresses your hair, gently whispering, “Daughter, the hour is so late…Is something the matter?”

You release a shaky breath, sinking further into her embrace.

“May we return to the ship? Go back home?”

“Why?”

You cast a tearful gaze towards her.

“Haven’t we done our duty, mother? Is it not enough?”

A long weary breath flows from her lips. Her hands curl around yours. She takes a deep breath before speaking again.

Her face becomes stern, impenetrable.

“Apologies, sweet child. We cannot.”

You search her harsh gaze. A heavy silence settles between the two of you. You retreat, horror clogging your airways as unsaid words hang in the air.

“Mother…What have you done?” you mumble, a fresh wave of tears breaking past your lashes.

“You are to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in three days’ time,”she bluntly announces. Your jaw drops as you take another step back. “All the arrangements have already been made.”

Your voice trembles.

“And Father agreed?”

“It was his idea, approved by the Reverend Mother herself.”

The deepest pits of hell welcome your plummeting heart. You sink to the floor, the weight of your kin’s treachery growing too heavy to bear.

“And you did not speak against it?” you mutter, disbelief confining your breath.

Your mother falls to her knees, joining you on the floor.

She cradles your face. “It is your destiny. We are Bene Gesserit. We exist only to serve.”

“He is a monster.”

“I’m afraid it’s irrelevant.”

A sharp breath spills from your throat. Your head snaps up.

“Is this all I am to the Sisterhood?” You unleash a dry laugh. “A broodmare to be sold and used to further their plans? To you and father…”

Her mouth wobbles. “Our way is not to question, but to answer when duty calls.”

You bring a quivering hand to your throat. You can still feel his harsh fingers crushing your windpipe.

“Do you see what he has done to me?”

“Mother, please…”

A flash of regret appears on her face. It barely lasts a second before a mask of indifference drapes over her features again.

“You should rest,” she says, cupping your cheek. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

You take in your mother’s blank expression. The blatant lack of emotion despite her knowing what Feyd-Rautha did to you. You swallow a shivering sob. It might have hurt less if she struck you across the face. Or drove a dagger through your chest.

The room chills around you as you reach a sinister conclusion.

You are completely alone.

Packing your scarce belongings takes little time. You didn’t bring a lot with you on Giedi Prime. The trip was supposed to be short after all. A mere courtesy visit to honor your father and the Baron’s alliance. How naive you were.

In the end, you are just a pawn for the Bene Gesserit and your father to move around. You always knew marriage would come eventually. It is what you have been prepared for your whole life. But you harbored the faint hope that your future husband would be kind, or at least a decent man.

As you recall every instance of Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty, horror clutches your insides.

There isn’t a sliver of kindness in him. You venture he may even draw sick pleasure from others’ misery. The smile that touched his lips when you struggled against him still chills your veins.

It stuns you that someone like him, who seems more animal than man, even passed the Reverend Mother’s test, that he somehow withstood the pain, and maybe even embraced it.

Logic dictates that he must have however. Otherwise the Reverend Mother wouldn’t ratify the crossing of your two bloodlines.

The mere thought fills you with dread. He is dangerous. A monster who thinks, who plans, who schemes, who gathers joy from pain.

You come to a decision. You will not be Feyd-Rautha’s bride.

You must find your way back home. The sisterhood can find another sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. It will not be you.

You wait for the keep to be quiet, not a sound lingering in the cold, blue hallways. You conceal a few belongings beneath your cloak. Another set of clothes, a compass, some jewelry and other valuables you’re hoping to trade for safe passage on a starship. Doubts wander inside you.

Where will you go? What will you do? Will you survive the weather conditions and atmosphere of a completely different planet? You still remember your brief visit on Salusa Secundus for the Princess Irulan’s coronation day. How you couldn’t move without fire rushing to your lungs. How every single step felt like you were taking a hundred. You could die.

Still, the prospect scares you far less than what awaits you in the Keep.

Uncertainty lies in your future. But you do know one thing. You must run as far away as you can from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Getting past the guards is easy enough.

You use what you remember of your Bene Gesserit training to sneak outside the fortress.

Harko city welcomes you in all its dull, somber rotting glory. You cross past discarded piles of rubbish and large oily puddles as you race through dark alleyways. Everywhere your gaze rests, it’s assaulted by sheer decay and putrefaction. Unlike the clean, cold, pristine interior of the Keep, the city is crumbling.

The putrid stench rising from the streets almost causes you to turn back. In the end, you refrain, steadfast as you rush through the busy streets. Every second is precious. You could get caught, dragged back to the Keep.

The back of your neck prickles. Your pulse escalates. The presence of three men hovers at the edge of your sight. Pretending you didn’t notice them, you subtly hasten your strides.

They catch on quick, too quick.

One of them pounces on you. You keel over and collapse on the harsh, dirt-covered ground. You try to crawl away, fright engulfing your senses.

Another of the men grabs your ankle and yanks you towards them.

Leering smiles float above you in the dim light of the alley.

“Hm, we could fetch a good price for that one,” the last man says. “Such a pretty little thing with pretty, pretty hair…”

The man who caught you barks a derisive snicker.

“An outworlder. How exotic.”

The second one bends closer to sniff the air around you. Your throat constricts as you turn your head.

“Not just any outworlder,” he says, his head tilted in curiosity. “This one smells like royalty.”

Elated chuckles burst in the darkness.

“That royal bitch will make us rich.”

The man who smelled you licks his lips.

“But shouldn’t we sample the goods first?” Fear shoots through you. “Never had me a highborn gal before.”

“Me neither.”

“This is a once in a lifetime-”

The man chokes mid-sentence. Your mouth drops as a blade is driven through his neck from behind, practically beheading him. Blood rains over you. Wet spots drip onto your face and dress as each of the men is gutted by a swift, ruthless opponent. You watch one pull a knife. He doesn’t get to use it, unleashing a blood-curdling scream when his hand is sliced at the wrist. The fingers of his severed hand twitch as it hits the floor. He sinks to his knees, wailing while cradling his bleeding stump against his chest. He meets his end with a brutal smash of his head into the stone wall. Gray matter spills from his skull as his eyes roll back and he falls in a dark puddle lifelessly.

The last one tries to run but is dealt with in the same merciless fashion.

Your wide, horrified gaze sweeps over the massacre. The speckles of blood on your face are still warm with the heat of the dead men’s bodies.

A shaky breath spills from your throat.

Your head rises. You come face to face with Feyd-Rautha’s expressionless stare. He picks up your trembling frame from the ground and tosses you over his shoulder. He strolls over the men’s corpses as if they weren’t even there, huffing a deep sigh of annoyance.

“You should be glad I found you in time, pet,” he says.

He throws you inside a car. The door slams and you huddle in a corner. Feyd smirks at your shrinking form.

“Truly? Nothing to say after all that fuss?”

Tremulous words trickle through your lips.

“Just let me go home.”

He slants his head, the corners of his lips lifting slowly. “No.”

“You could say that you didn’t like the look of me,” you insist. “That I repulsed you.”

Feyd-Rautha snorts.

His hand shoots out, moving too fast for you to comprehend. He leans over you, fingers squeezing your throat. “Pet…you were mine before you even set foot on Giedi Prime.” His dark gaze drags over you. You get a glimpse of black teeth as he grins. “The only place you’re going tonight is my bed.”

Once the car reaches the Harkonnen keep, you’re roughly pulled from your seat. Your chest tightens as you note the severed heads of your guards and maid lined in a neat row near the gates. Their lifeless eyes are wide open, staring at nothing.

You stumble back, hands flying to your mouth.

Satisfaction twinkles in Feyd-Rautha’s dusky orbs.

“I had to kill these incompetent fools, of course. They let my precious bride slip away.”

You gawk at him in shock. Guilt presses inside you. If you hadn’t tried and failed to escape, those poor people might still be alive. Tears swell beneath your lashes.

The na-Baron exhales, gripping your arm and tugging you along when you refuse to move. He smiles. “Do not worry, pet. We will find you new servants. Better ones.”

You end up in a large room inside the Keep. A tub filled with water sits in the middle. Feyd-Rautha’s concubines flash black-teethed smiles at you as you crash into a heap on the floor.

“Get her ready for me,” he says.

“Yes, master,” the three women reply in concert.

Your eyes swing upward in alertness.

“Ready for what?”

His inflection is chillingly matter-of-fact.

“Well, our wedding ceremony, of course.” You unleash a whimper as his fingers twine in your hair, twisting your neck backwards. His feral gaze seems to peel the layers of your blood-soaked tunic. “Why wait a few days when I can have you as my birthday gift tonight?”

His hand coils around your jaw, forcing your head to pivot. Your gaze falls on a slave girl standing fearfully in a corner of the room. You’re struck with recognition. She was in the arena before his fight, tending to him along with two other girls. Two girls who are now dead. Courtesy of Feyd-Rautha. She glances at you before her eyes tumble to the smooth black tiles again.

“Do you see her?” he whispers, his chest brushing against your back.

Feyd-Rautha beckons the girl with two fingers. She staggers forward.

“Speak, slave,” he orders.

The girl opens her mouth. However, instead of uttering words, only distorted whimpers come out. Horror twists your insides as you realize something crucial is missing inside her mouth.

“W-What happened to her?” you ask, dreading to hear what you already suspect.

His dark chuckle resonates in your ear.

“She can’t talk anymore. Do you know why?” His lips graze your cheek, his raspy tone lowering. “Because I took her tongue.”

Your stomach sinks.

When you attempt to turn away, his grip on you becomes harsher. He forces you to keep your eyes on the girl.

“I want you to take a good look at her.” His hand spreads over your chest, right above your hammering heart. “Try any of your Bene Gesserit tricks on me again…and I will feed your tongue, and perhaps even other parts of you to my darlings here.” He snorts. “After all, I only need one part of you intact to make me an heir.”

“Do you understand, my love?” he inquires, his husky bass dripping mockery upon the last two words.

You swallow a large gulp of air. “I-I understand.”

He storms out of the room and you sink to the floor. His concubines dive upon you. They nudge you to the tub and remove the clothes off your quivering frame.

The blood, grease and dirt is scrubbed off your flesh. Scented oils are massaged into your skin and hair. A dress is wrapped around your body.

You numbly let it all happen, defeat sinking its hooks deep inside your soul.

The farce of a wedding ceremony flies by in a blur.

Baron Vladimir and your mother are both in attendance, the two wearing satisfaction on their faces, albeit in different manners. While the Baron is smug, your mother is attentive. Not a single emotion betrays her face and you feel thoroughly abandoned.

Before the ceremony, she mumbles in your ear that the Reverend Mother requested a girl-child. You know the process, have been taught how it’s done. But it’s a cruel reminder…that you are nothing more than a tool in the larger schemes of the Bene Gesserit.

And that perhaps, your entire life you have simply been your mother’s mission. Maybe she even feels relief to be delivered from her duty.

The thought overwhelms you with sadness.

You stand before Feyd-Rautha in a flowing white dress while he dons black from head to toe.

He astonishes you by uttering his vows with the utmost seriousness, swearing to protect and cherish you until death forces the two of you apart. Death...In that moment, you find yourself silently wishing for its swift, imminent arrival.

When the Harkonnen priest whirls to you, the words stick to your throat, refusing to unfurl from your tongue.

“Does the bride consent to the match?” the officiant repeats.

Shell-shocked, you shiver in your spot. Feyd-Rautha’s mouth quirks upward.

“Oh, she consents. She is simply too overwhelmed with happiness to speak,” he replies on your behalf, openly taunting you.

You grimace as he slices the inside of your palm with a dagger and brings it to its lips. Your blood coats his mouth and his tongue flicks out. He hums at the taste, a smile blooming on his face. He does the same to himself, digging even deeper in his alabaster flesh. You flinch as he presses his bloody palm against the bottom of your face.

The Harkonnen wedding ritual concludes with him planting a rough kiss on your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your mouth, pulling you against him.

When the ceremony ends, he hoists you in his arms and takes you to his bed.

As promised, he lays his claim on your body right away.

Your wedding dress is ripped open with a few precise slashes of his knife. Your insides coil, the fear of him driving the weapon through your soft flesh keeping you docile underneath him. You don’t say a word, your tongue shackled by his earlier threat. He takes a moment to drink you in, relishing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he drags the tip of his blade across your skin. He savors your fear like the sweetest offering, growing harder against your thigh as you tremble beneath him.

His black-toothed grin freezes the blood in your veins.

“My pretty little pet…all mine to play with, finally,” he rasps.

There’s no gentleness in the way he explores your body, scratching and nipping at your flesh as if to make sure no one dares doubt whom you belong to when you leave his chambers. Every plea for him to slow down is met with renewed ferocity. He tastes and fondles every inch of your quivering flesh. Your nipples pebble under his palms. Your core ignites below his tongue. Pleasure and pain mingle in sinful, twisted harmony.

Your back folds and your eyes roll back as a myriad of confounding sensations assaults your senses.

As he buries himself inside you to the hilt, he frees a satisfied grunt.

Pain clamors through you when he starts to move. Your walls catch fire at the aching, brutal stretch.

Holding your wrists above your head, he pours every ounce of lust and aggression inside you. You feel it in every stab inside your core.

His pale, muscular form pins you to the bed as he thrusts deeper inside you, reaching a tender spot that has you releasing an ear-splitting scream. You squirm over the soaked sheets as he takes you again and again, the mix of blood and arousal coating his length easing his blunt intrusion. Your helpless wails mingle with his feral moans.

Raspy words in the coarse Harkonnen tongue are heatedly whispered into your ear. You don’t understand any of them and it makes your terror grow.

You feel as if you will break, shatter at the seams beneath his rough, careless touch.

The agony seems to stretch into eternity.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips skate across your bruised cheek.

“Do not fret, pet. I shall aim not to break you just yet,” he teases, sinister promises lurking in his lewd inflection. “Not when our fun has just begun.”

A single wayward tear traces a slow path down your cheek.

He greedily licks it, purring at the taste of your misery.

You feel him strain against you as he nears his peak, his thrusts getting slower and deeper. He comes with a deep roar.

The na-Baron spills his seed inside you. Your eyes shut. Power flows inside your womb as you conjure the right outcome.

A girl they desired. A girl they shall have. As you writhe beneath Feyd-Rautha, forced to bear his rough, bruising touch, you wish your daughter fierce and strong.

Strong enough to pluck the stars from the heavens. Strong enough to unweave the tangled threads of time.

Strong enough to twist the arm of fate itself if she wills it.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #dark fic

1K notes · View notes

lola-writes · 3 months

Text

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’.

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service.

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use.

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips.

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach.

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder.

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return.

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read.

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug.

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement.

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued.

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped.

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought.

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled.

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom.

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously.

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely.

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it.

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit.

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work.

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68).

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips.

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features.

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment.

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts.

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

“The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips.

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly.

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height.

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck.

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine.

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.”

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him.

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish.

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky.

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach.

He had a very cute butt.

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips.

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday.

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair.

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous.

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went.

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper.

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside.

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets.

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out.

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up.

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me.

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back…

Dread coiled in my stomach.

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight.

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart.

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered.

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice.

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare.

And I was up for the challenge.

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious.

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further.

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked.

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig.

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

“Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame.

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal.

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut.

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected.

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words.

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered.

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers.

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth.

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

Tag list: @venmondiese @diespulcher @izfrogzy @fan-goddess @yyrzmomo @slytherincursebreaker @canpillowscry @mhmhey @meadowscollectivelight @jasminecosmic99 @funnyzgirl @rhaethoughts @rosaness @beautifulballads @ramielll @maplesauce43 @elmageber @gxuxhdjdu @randomstory56 @darylandbethfanforever9 @allthethingsel @kkdragongirl @saintlavie @haleyheart0197 @kind3sstuff @mooneeishorny @hikaerys @swagfancroissantpizza2 @thescooponsof @venmondiese @lovelybruises @sonolynn @pandoras-bussy @babymilkxd @diespulcher @aiyaiy @lovebambon @stapleyourfacebackon @banditlovespunks @gvmmie-bear @airadajascake @anyaisssleeping @liv-cole @hc-geralt-23 @elleinex0x0 @dovesandorchids @gothmuppet92o @meganryannnn @forreadsstuff @baddieduhh2 @sushiapril @mel0man1a @onemillionpeopleinone @hermoonfan @bitchwithlebrains @xxxkat3xxx @ultravxl @zesldl-blog @reeseelise @strangemaximoff @imaginecrushes @anyaskywalker21 @littybeech @achaoticeternal @im-perched-in-the-dark @stcrrjoon @wxnderingthoughts @starkwlord @rhxenyra-txrgxryen @rafanadalgeek888 @summerposie @hederahelix-mj @aegonswife @wwwrafecom @shadowolf993 @kalasyrtiaan @starwarsgirlsimmer1 @maybeijustwanttobeme @violetiss3lfish @ecstaticactus @magicalkidchaos-blog1 @fan-goddess @solairestar @shelby-leah @forbiddengrimoire @magnificentdelusionr @issshhh @luvsfics @rhaenyslay @beautifulmilkshakearbiter @thelastofkryze @slytherincursebreaker @thought--bubble @doll-joh4n @zackyvravageme @youngunicorn16 @jexify @odeioemail @canpillowscry @sinistersnakey49 @osferthswifey

Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

440 notes · View notes

moonwayne · 1 month

Text

Weak

logan x gn!reader

warnings: angst, cussing, mention of blood and injury, arguments, my rushed writing

Request: i love logan and i love angst!!I would like to read about an argument (one that is difficult to resolve or forgive) because I haven't seen much of that around here. That would be great! Thk 🫶 - @daugheroferuri

first time writing for Logan, let me know if you like it!

Logan had always struggled with his past. The reminders of trauma showing themselves in arbitrary moments and the constant battles he faced as part of the X-Men was no help. You had been with him for a handful of years now and as a fellow mutant you had stuck by his side for years, supporting him through countless fights. Your empathetic healing and manipulation abilities had come in handy whenever it came to persuading an enemy or alleviating a teammate’s pain. But this wasn’t without a cost. Every change of the mind or lapse in judgement you inflicted on to others no longer had an effect, but removing and forcing pain blockers took its toll on your body. Every use had left you exhausted, nearing a dangerous line of losing consciousness on multiple occasions. Needless to say, Logan was against you using your pain-relieving powers.

In recent days, the strain of the distance forced between you and him at his hand, had been damn near debilitating. As you sluggishly strolled into Charles’ office, you noticed him and Hank talking lowly in the corner. With a heavy sigh, you plopped yourself into a nearby chair, waiting as the two finally noticed your presence.

“Ah! Y/N! H-How’s your day?” Hank stuttered out, face burning with a embrassed blush, as if he’d been a child caught with something he shouldn’t have. You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously before turning to Charles, who matched Hank’s guilty expression and strained smile. You moved your eyes from one to the other a few times, before focusing on Hank and feeling around in his mind.

“Hey! Don’t d-“ He sputtered, cut off by your determined voice. “Hank.” You said, pleading with a tilt of your head. “I can practically see your guilt. You’re very bad at hiding things. Just tell me what you know.”

His face burned again, and he flicked his gaze towards the professor in apology before mumbling out a quiet “Well.. Logansortofdiscoveredanewthreatthatcouldendangerallofourlivesandcountlessinnocents. Heleftlastnight.“ He finished with a meek smile.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out, exasperated at the confession and the situation as a whole.

“Y/N, you must understand-“ Charles injected then. “No Charles! Don’t you see? I’m tired of understanding.” You rose your voice, digging your nails into your palm harshly. “He thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

You scoffed. “He only wishes to protect you.” Charles finished, having found his way over to you in the process, and wrapped a hand around yours comfortingly. “Logan does not know any better.” You rolled your eyes as you yanked your hand away from his harshly, standing up.

“I can’t do this any longer. I won’t. I am so tired of being pushed to the outside just because he simply ‘does not know better’, that’s some bullshit, Charles. And I know you know that.” You stated firmly, making your exit. “If I don’t return, I thank you for all you both have given me.” You spoke, hand grasping the door anxiously. “Truly.” Hank and Charles nodded, and watched your figure fade as you walked off.

+- -+

After searching and finding Logan’s plans in his room you concluded the threat would have been dealt with by the time you arrived to where he was in France. After a long flight and some more traveling later, you caught up to him. You strolled into the hotel and by turning up the charm, you convinced the poor receptionist to let you into where he was staying. It only took around an hour of you pacing the carpeted floor with a frown etched on your face for Logan to come storming in the room, his face already set in a hardened expression. “Y/N?” He questioned, taking in your form as you did his, noticing the healing bruises and bloody knuckles.

“What are you doing here?” He rushed over to you, hands on your shoulders as he began to push you towards the door.

“Logan, I’m here for you!” You said, planting your feet and staring up into his eyes. He shook his head in disagreement and began to push you out of the room again. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s too dangerous.”

“L-Logan. Stop pushing me.”

“Shouldn’t be here.. not safe..” He mumbled, gathering your bags and placing them in your hands. “Logan!” You yelled now, dropping the bags at your feet and making your way over to his cowering form.

“You should be at home.” He grunted. “I need to leave. The threat isn’t dealt with.” He said, turning to leave you alone once more.

"Logan, you can't keep doing this!" You exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "Every time you go on these missions alone, you leave me behind, unsure of your safety. You need support with you.”

Logan's jaw tightened. "I can handle it. I've been doing this long before we met. It's what I do."

"But we're supposed to be a team," you shot back, voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "How am I supposed to just be okay with you shutting me out, okay with you making me feel like I don't matter in your life?"

Logan's eyes softened for a moment, and you thought he might wrap you in his arms and speak to you his apologies, but that was only a thought. He stiffened up and turned away, his voice gruff. "This is not about you. It's about keeping you safe. I can't risk losing you." A crack in his voice was the only sign of emotion. You shook your head rapidly, frustration and sadness boiling over. "Logan don't you see? Every time you go out there alone, I feel a piece of you slip away. I can't do this, Logan. I can't keep living everyday unsure, waiting for the day you decide you simply do not need me anymore.” You spoke, voice trembling with every word. Logan's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words seeming to have had an effect. He sighed and turned towards you again, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and regret.

"I... I don't know how to do this any other way." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. You took a step closer and reached out for one of his bloody hands.

"Then we need to find a way together. Because I won’t continue letting you push me away. We need to stick together." You breathed, regaining some composure. “You know I’m capable of helping. I don’t understand why you don’t let me come with you.” He pulled his hand away from yours aggressively, that stony expression returning to his face.

“Y/N. Enough.” He said, “You’re not strong enough to join me on these missions.” You blinked rapidly, feeling the burning sensation of tears returning to your eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you’re weak, Y/N.”

“You don’t really mean that.” Your voice lowered.

“Right now, I do.” He gritted his teeth, baring that once charming smile into a grim line.

“You’re fucking pathetic, James. We’re supposed to be together, in everything.” Your sadness slowly morphed into a rising anger. Logan's eyes flashed with anger at your statement. "You don't get it, do you? I don't need a partner. I don’t need back up. I need you to stay safe. And out of my way. If that means you hating me, or you leaving me entirely then so be it.” He told you, jaw tightening. “I tried the domestic life once. You know what happened. I won’t do it again. I mean, just look wherre it fucking got me.” He flashed his claws, a pained frown spreading over his face.

“I don’t recognize you anymore, Wolverine.” You stated. “I didn’t fall in love with this version of you.”

He sighed and looked into your eyes, his mind’s pain and uncertainty filling the air around you so thick you could nearly feel it choking you.

“I am sorry, Y/N.” He lifted his bags off the floor and with a single glance into your eyes, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and riddled with doubt. You didn’t know if you could ever bridge the massive chasm between you.

+-+

sorry the ending was a bit rushed. hope you liked it <3

#angst #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan angst #wolverine angst #imagine #x-men imagine #x-men angst #x reader #ok bye ily #drink some fucking water

139 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 7 months

Note

Congratulations on the followers⭐️ I have a scenario I think you’ll absolutely smash! If possible can I have the prompt “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.” With Hunter and a F!reader.

Hunter is quite hard on reader but only because he’s protective but it comes across super badly and one night you had enough of his nagging and go to a bar for a drink but start getting a bit hassled by a drunk patron and hunter comes to help you out? BUT reader can fully handle herself bc bossbitch 😆 Would love it to be angsty, classic enemies to lovers and it may end with a little smooch?

Thank you if you do this and no worries if not ♥️

4000 Follower Prompt Celebration

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

prompt:

“I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

authors note: thank you for the request! Love this idea. Enjoy and sorry for the wait 🤍

warnings: enemies to lovers, drunk patron who can’t take no for an answer, canon typical violence, angsty, mild injury to reader, reader gets insulted, female reader, hunter is a bit of an arse at first, first kiss which is a little steamy, protective hunter. I

The aftermath of the latest mission left a sour taste lingering in your mouth, the tension between you and Hunter palpable in the crowded bar. Despite the success of the mission, Hunter couldn't resist injecting his bitter critique into the - what should be - celebratory atmosphere.

As the squad was basking in victory, clinking cups and allowing Omega to indulge in a very sugary concoction that almost had her bouncing off the walls, Hunter's biting words tainted the mood.

His critique of your tactics cut deep, branding you as reckless and a threat to safety, all delivered in front of the entire squad.

Flushed with embarrassment and fueled by anger, you hastily abandoned the bar, seeking refuge in another dimly lit establishment down the strip. Unbeknownst to you, the others exchanged scornful glances, Echo remarking, "She gets it from you, you know?" A subtle nod to your adoption of Hunter's techniques, albeit with less finesse.

Swallowing his pride, Hunter trailed after you with a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavy on his shoulders as he tried to find a way to make it up to you.

Meanwhile in the new bar, a sketchy run down looking thing with flickering strobe lights, you find yourself situated between two patrons in a world of their own.

As you waited for the service droid to serve you, a small shift from you caught the attention of the man on the left. A rugged looking man with a rather stale odor to match.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” His inquiry, laced with unwanted charm, sent a shiver down your spine as you maintained a polite smile, avoiding direct eye contact.

“In this dump? Not quite sure. But, just here for one drink,” you replied, hoping to discourage further conversation.

The man chuckled, a smug grin etching lines on his worn face, followed by a troubling cough that was hacked into a dirty rag that makes you squirm. “That so?” He asks after his coughing fit. “Mind if I get ya one?"

"I'll get it myself. Thanks for the offer," you replied, freezing him in his tracks.

"Heh, you think you're too good for me?" he retorted, his gaze piercing.

Sighing, you turned to face him, attempting to maintain composure amidst his growing aggression. "I didn't say anything like that. I'm here to buy my own drink and leave."

But as his tone escalated and his proximity grew, you reached your breaking point. Despite your attempts to politely decline, he persisted, his invasive advances refusing to relent, leaving you feeling increasingly uncomfortable and trapped.

Until you snapped.

Hunter found himself darting his head into every bar and club, your current whereabouts unknown. Frustration gnawed at him as he went to check your location only to see you had switched it off, thwarting his attempts to track you down.

However, a subtle whiff in the air caught his attention, and his stomach churned. The same sensation he developed whenever the smell hit him. He finds himself gulping a little as he instantly recognised the faint scent of the floral soap that only you used.

It left a lingering trace, teasing him that he was on the right track. A part of him wanted to clear the scent away; he had smelled it so often in the Marauder that it always sent his mind into a spiral of confusion and found it rather distracting.

His thoughts on your scent dissipated as the sound of loud banging reverberated down a stairway to a rundown bar. Hunter froze, his senses sharpening as he listened intently. The familiar sound of your voice had him bolting down the steps, instincts kicking in as he rushed to your aid. Or so he thought he had to.

Upon entering, Hunter's heart quickened its pace as he was greeted with the sight of you, hands raised in a defensive stance, facing off against a man whose laughter echoed brashly in your face. The tension in the air was thick as you snapped, “Keep your dirty, mucus breath away from me!”

The man, undeterred by your sharp words, retorted with a smirk, “That ain’t very ladylike of you, sweet cheeks. Calm down and have a drink with me.”

Your nostrils flared in anger, steam seemingly emanating from you as you glared daggers at him. “I said no,” you snarled, your voice dripping with venom. “And call me ‘sweet cheeks’ one more time, I’ll kick you between the legs so hard it won’t be the cough you’re choking on!”

As the confrontation intensified, Hunter's eyes widened in surprise and concern as he watched from a few feet away, momentarily frozen by the scene unfolding before him.

Then, his protective side kicks in, taking a step forward, the need to intervene pulsing through his veins. He speaks your name which causes you to freeze and glance over your shoulder to meet his penetrating gaze. Great.

Meanwhile, the man, sensing the shift in dynamics, glanced over your shoulder too and directed a question at Hunter. “Oi, bandana, does she belong to you?”

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you interrupted before Hunter could respond, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t belong to nobody, let’s get that right,” you hissed, your gaze locked in a fierce glare with the patron.

“You best listen to her,” Hunter piped up, stepping in between you and the man with a protective stance. “But,” he continued, turning to look at you, “I think me and you should get going.”

You stared at the clone, a wave of anger and confusion washing over you. What game was he playing? First, he mocked you, and now he was trying to act like Prince Charming? So, you shook your head adamantly. “I’ve still not had my drink.”

“I said I’ll buy you one,” the patron quipped.

“Will you shut up?” Both you and Hunter snapped at the same time, sharing a surprised glance at the oddity of the moment, but quickly brushing it off. You nudged past him and leaned back on the bartop, determined to get the attention of the service droid.

Hunter's sigh was loud as he stood beside you, gesturing for you to follow him, but you persisted with a shake of your head. You came for a drink, and you would leave with one.

Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, the patron approached you, reaching a hand towards you. But Hunter was already on the case, swatting the man's hand away with a swift motion. “Lay a finger on her and I’ll break all of yours. Leave.”

You stared at the back of Hunter’s head, your eyes wide in surprise at his tone and sudden threat. He was always a commanding presence, but never to this extent. It made you feel a strange mix of emotions, a tingling sensation spreading from your belly to the tips of your fingers.

The man glanced between you and Hunter, his expression a mixture of defiance and resignation, before taking a final swig of his drink. With a nod of his head, he seemed prepared to leave, but not without delivering a parting shot.

“Put her on a leash next time.”

Despite Hunter's heightened senses, he was not quick enough to respond as you pivoted on your heel and unleashed a hefty punch straight to the man’s nose. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his rear.

The man, stunned and ready to retaliate, found himself abruptly halted by a boot pressed firmly to his chest, courtesy of the tall Clone. With his hands raised in defense, he hesitated.

“Apologise to the lady,” Hunter demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Forget it, Hunter,” you muttered, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you shook out your hand. “I’m not going to ask someone or force someone to apologise to me.” There was a certain edge in your voice, a subtle reminder of Hunter's own failure to say sorry for his earlier words.

Unfortunately, the disruption had drawn the attention of the service droid (finally), and you and Hunter were promptly forced to leave.

As you were ushered out, you wasted no time in striding ahead, your steps heavy with frustration. The rhythmic tap of your boots echoed against the pavement, a stark contrast to the fading sounds of the bar behind you.

"Hey, wait up!" Hunter's voice called after you, but you were resolute in your determination not to stop. You didn't want him to see your tears, didn't want to show any vulnerability in front of him. Not after everything that had just happened. Not after that painful punch that felt like hitting a brick wall.

Ignoring his calls, you continued forward, your jaw clenched tightly to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. But your pace was abruptly halted as Hunter caught up to you, using his body as a barrier as he stopped directly in front of you.

"Come on, we need to talk. I need to—Are you crying?" Hunter's voice softened, concern evident in his tone as he noticed the telltale signs of tears glistening in your eyes.

"No!" you snapped back, a reflexive denial, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your true emotions.

Hunter sighed softly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he realised the depth of your distress. "Let’s get back to the ship. We can talk there," he suggested gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

A part of you wanted to stay stubborn, to refuse his offer and continue on your own path to perhaps another bar. But the night was growing darker, and the pain in your hand from the earlier punch was becoming increasingly unbearable. With a resigned nod, you reluctantly allowed Hunter to guide you back to the port.

Once inside the ship, the air felt heavier with tension as you stood in the cramped space, watching intently as Hunter meticulously sifted through the clutter of supplies and equipment scattered around. With a focused determination, he located a medkit.

When you insisted that you didn't need him to attend to your injury, considering it wasn't that serious, Hunter's expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern edge. "Yeah? Want to explain why there’s now blood on the ship floor?" The sharpness in his tone made your face flush with embarrassment as you glanced down, noticing the small tear in your skin that had resulted from the brief scuffle.

"Oh," you muttered awkwardly, feeling hot under Hunter's scrutiny.

“Sit here.” Without missing a beat, Hunter gestured for you to sit on a nearby crate, his demeanor firm yet oddly reassuring. As he patted the surface in front of him, you couldn't help but wonder about his motives. Was it your earlier words about his lack of apology that lingered in his mind, prompting this gesture of care? Or was there another reason behind his actions? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but deep down, a part of you couldn't deny the comfort of his presence in that moment.

“I don’t need coddling,” you mumbled half-heartedly, attempting to maintain a facade of independence despite the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Nevertheless, your feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying you towards Hunter as you settled yourself onto the crate in front of him.

"Oh, I know, you handled yourself well," Hunter chuckled softly, his hands moving deftly as he pulled out pads to dab at your skin, preparing to disinfect the area. “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

You grumbled in response, your eyes trained on his hands as they worked. "Ha, next joke please."

Hunter raised a brow at you, his expression serious for a moment. "I mean it," he insisted, his tone earnest.

You couldn't help but scoff, the bitterness of his previous criticism still fresh in your mind. "Yet I’m reckless and a danger to others?" you retorted, your voice tinged with sarcasm and frustration.

A heavy sigh escaped Hunter's lips, and he paused in his actions, looking you directly in the eye, though you were doing your hardest not to meet his gaze. "I want to say sorry for what I said. I… I should have said it to you alone. And differently."

You could hear the slight awkwardness in his tone, but it did come across as honest. Yet, you were still annoyed. “Yeah well, you completely embarrassed and upset me.”

He blinked, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as your voice took on a gentle tone tinged with sadness. “I know, and I am sorry. Truly. But, I only said it because…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes trained on the medkit again, as if searching for the answer within.

“Because?” You prompted him, giving his leg a small nudge with your foot.

“Because I care. I don’t want you taking risks like I do. Like what the others do.” Hunter's admission hung in the air, revealing a layer of concern and perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

There was a gravity to Hunter's words, a weight that seemed to hang in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you. It was as if his sudden sincerity reached out and tugged at the strings of your heart, tempting you to lean into the warmth of his presence. But you resisted, holding back the urge to act on the tumultuous feelings that were suddenly swirling inside you.

“You certainly have an odd way with words in that case,” you found yourself saying, your voice slightly breathless as you struggled to make sense of the complex emotions churning within you. Hunter seemed to notice the subtle change in your demeanor, his senses catching the telltale signs of your heightened heartbeat.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted quietly, his own voice apologetic. With gentle precision, he applied some bactaspray to your knuckles, his touch light yet reassuring. As he dabbed away the blood, you couldn't help but hiss in pain, the sting overlapping the odd flutter in your heart.

“My apologies,” Hunter murmured, his gaze meeting yours with sincerity.

Despite the slight discomfort, there was a flicker of amusement in your eyes as you watched him meticulously care for your hand. Never had you seen him so gentle and so indulged at the task at hand.

As you watched Hunter, the smirk gradually faded from your lips, replaced by a sense of awe as your eyes traced the finer details of his face. His strong jawline, the depth of his intoxicating eyes, and the tattoo that adorned his skin, its colors slightly faded but still complimenting his rugged appearance perfectly. His long locks, usually tucked back by his bandana, had fallen forward, framing his face in a way that emphasised his rugged charm.

You came to a sudden realisation of just how handsome he was. Of course, you had always known it on some level, but now it struck you with a new intensity that made your heart quicken and your cheeks flush with a sudden shyness.

“So, do you forgive me?” Hunter's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to reality and you found yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze.

“Sorry, what?” you blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks as you snapped out of your reverie, realizing you had been lost in awe-struck admiration of Hunter.

He chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he raised a brow at your dazed stare. “No, it’s me who is the one saying ‘sorry’ this time.” With a gentle touch, he guided your attention back to your injured hand, his movements careful and deliberate as he applied a dressing before neatly packing the medkit away. “But I’ll ask again, do you forgive me?”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of confusion, shyness, and bashfulness under his attentive gaze. “I suppose… just please don’t do it again.”

“You have my word,” he nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. When his gaze met yours, the swirling storm of your emotions came back, and your heart raced even faster than before when he extended his hand towards you.

You tried to play it off as a simple gesture to help you off the crate, but as you placed your good hand into his, there was a gentle squeeze in his touch before he effortlessly pulled you forward, almost causing you to stumble into his chest.

“Oh!- oh,” you stammered, quickly steadying yourself but growing increasingly aware of the proximity between you and the Sergeant.

His eyes remained locked on yours, his head tilting slightly to the side as he studied your reaction. “Everything alright?” he asked, his voice soft, the warmth of his hand still lingering on yours.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you nodded firmly, though the erratic thumping of your heart betrayed your composure, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Hunter could sense it, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Tell me,” his voice was hushed, his warm breath brushing against your features as he leaned in closer, “why is your heart beating so fast?”

You gulped, feeling his proximity overwhelming your senses as you searched his eyes for an answer, but all you found was a reflection of your own turmoil. The truth was written in the depths of your gaze, but your words failed you, and you found yourself stuttering over your thoughts, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if the weight of your unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air between you.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Hunter spoke aloud, his other hand moving to gently push a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I can’t help but wonder if you…” He trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words, but he couldn't ignore the palpable tension that crackled between you any longer, “if you have feelings for me.”

“Do you truly care about me?” you asked, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with a shyness as you found yourself yearning to inch just a tad closer to Hunter's body. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Sensing your feelings, Hunter gently pushed you back with his body, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as your legs hit the crate behind you. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t understand how much I care,” his voice rumbled low, the depth of his emotions evident in his tone. “I’ve never cared about anyone so much in my life.”

With just the two of you here, the atmosphere crackled with an electrifying tension, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as you teetered on the edge of something unspoken yet undeniable.

“Well,” you whispered, your injured hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his shirt as if seeking reassurance, “maybe I do too. Maybe I do have feelings for you.”

A sigh, almost a mix of a moan and relief, escaped Hunter's lips at your words. “Come here to me,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance between the pair of you, your lips meeting his in a somewhat long-awaited embrace. Hunter's arms enveloped you, one hand cradling your body with a firm yet gentle touch, while the other slid to the back of your head, holding you close with a tenderness that made your heart flutter as his fingers tangled in your hair.

Lifting you, you're placed on top of the crate once again, Hunter sandwiched between your legs as you both savor the quiet and serene moment. Your bitterness had vanished, replaced with the soft taste of his tongue dancing with yours. An alcoholic tang.

For a moment, all the tension, all the longing and arguing melted away as you molded into each other, lost in the sweetness of the kiss and the warmth of each other's embrace. “Hunter,” you whimper breathlessly.

You hoped the others wouldn’t come back for a while.

Masterlist

Prompt Masterlist

Taglist form (will remove you if you’re not interacting for a while 🤍)

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova a @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san n @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

#happy bad batch eve to my hunter girls (gn)#Hunter x reader #Hunter the bad batch #bad batch Hunter x reader #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #bad batch Hunter #star wars #tbb #clone wars

305 notes · View notes

bauhaus-bae · 1 month

Text

Pro!Hero y/n with Super Strength

User has massive strength levels that also strengthen the whole body making the user indestructible to materialistic things.

He was sitting in a metal chair unable to move as he was chained from head to toe. Pro Hero, Red Riot was taken hostage by some group of criminals begging for some attention and fame.

Why they were targeting him, he didn’t have a clue. He was among the top five hero’s but, why would they kidnap him of all people?

“Looks guys, why don’t you let me outa here and we can talk this out..” He was starting to get impatient and he really didn’t like being tied up like this. “Shut the hell up!” They tried using force but, the damage was minimized considering his quirk.

“Why don’t we try knocking him out?” They nodded to each other before one disappeared and came back with a syringe “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Did they really think that’d work? He could always just harden the place he tried to inject it in.

Just as they were about to inject the serum in him they heard a loud rumbling sound before the whole side of the building came crumbling down. Kirishima tried to hide his awe struck expression as his fiancé gleefully walked into the now destroyed building.

“Hiya boys!” You smile sinisterly, slowly etching closer to the villains “Got something for me?” Kirishima smirked as the group of men looked back and forth between you and each other.

“Listen to the ‘em guys, now untie me.”

Safe to say you both got home safely and they had to be taken to the hospital on stretchers after you untied your dear husband-to-be.

The end 😝

I imagine some scary ass person bustin through the walls looking deranged while red sex plays in the background

MASTERLIST

#bnha #mha #chat im cooked #mha x reader #mha x plus size reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #red riot #eijiro kirishima x chubby reader #mha x poc!reader #bnha quirks #mha x female reader #mha x male reader

88 notes · View notes

whoopsyeahokay · 22 days

Text

October Sun

summary: after you'd sent Xavier a text that told him not to meet you, you'd ventured to the school at dawn, alone, bouquet in hand as promised.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

🚨💀⚠️thank you for bearing with me, guys. this is entirely new material. PART 24/25/26 have been combined here to create a massive fluffing installment (6509 words 😮‍💨). i'd suggest rereading at least the latter half of PART 23 beforehand if you need a refresh of the point in time we're returning to. please pretend that the old parts never happened. erase them from your memories 🕰️👁️‍🗨️💤🌀

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.24

It was barely 6AM. You'd hardly slept after Dave had returned you to the house. He'd watched you climb the stairs to the second floor, ever the persistent warden, before you'd heard him slink down to the basement he and Aurora had converted into their private apartment. Besides the numerous big reveals that had unfolded last night—Ajay's odd friendship with your sister, Simon's warped inverse of your ability, Maddie's soul penetrating the field of your cosmic artery, the soul-tie you and Wally somehow shared—besides all of that, something, a feeling of profound unrest, had kept you up. Had you staring at the green stars on Aiden's ceiling until your alarm began to chime.

Sharing a soul-tie with Wally should've been the thing that terrified you most amongst all that'd transpired. It was unheard of, curious, downright impossible in nature. Soul-ties were as fragile as they were strong and required both souls to be alive, together in the same lifetime in the world of the living, to exist. That Wally was extremely not alive should've made you question the validity of the connection you and he had. Especially given there was evidence of magical tampering on school grounds, a spiteful, bitter essence sickened into the ether that surrounded the campus.

And yet, that nor the symbol etched into the tree, that bastardized amalgamation of runic lines, hadn't been what you'd kept ruminating about from the moment you'd laid down until dawn. No, it'd been Dave. Something about how he'd come out of the trees, so steady and sure-footed; how his eyes had held your gaze as he'd marched toward you.

You pressed your fingers into your eyes and groaned. There was no use thinking about it further. Not now. You had a bouquet to put together and two friends to save. Dave's feline equilibrium had to wait. With a grunt you rolled out of Aiden's little-kid bed and shuffled into your room, not daring to check your appearance in the mirror. You could feel the bags under your eyes. Heavy and dark like someone had injected squid ink beneath the delicate skin.

Showering was a groggy, clumsy affair, appendages weak and a step behind your brain's transmissions. You did what you could to make yourself presentable, hoped to conceal the fatigue behind a cute outfit: A thin, loose, autumn-orange destination sweater tucked partially into a slim, black denim skirt with opaque black tights underneath. You applied makeup where you needed it to hide the sleep deprivation and called it at that, unable to muster the strength for much else. It was going to be a long, long, l o n g day.

But worth it, you reminded yourself firmly in a voice not unlike Wally's, because you were going to find a way to help Simon and once Simon was helped, you'd both find a way to get Maddie back on the right side of the veil.

A sweep of berry-tinted lipgloss and you dragged yourself outside into your Nanna's garden, brandishing a pair of pruning shears from the mud room you'd passed through on your way out. You clipped a variety of flowers and piled them on the bouquet paper you'd liberated from the stash Nanna (and now Aurora) kept at the house. Once accomplished, it was time to head out and you sighed in regret that you'd texted Xavier to sleep in, telling him you wanted to be alone that morning to center yourself before having to face your classmates after yesterday's ordeal.

It wasn't entirely false. It couldn't have been. You didn't lie to Xavier as a personal commandment. But it wasn't entirely the truth either and you felt queasy from it. Still, you sucked in a deep breath and forced yourself to move forward. Nanna was in the kitchen when you walked in with the bouquet, sitting at the table as she waited for the kettle to boil. You could smell the floral tea blend Nanna, Aurora, and Dave drank. Even dry the scent was potent, overwhelming the herb and warm spice aroma the kitchen usually held. You nearly gagged as you passed the open teapot, the concoction inside like a punch to the nose when you got too close.

"Good morning, Maypie." Nanna smiled warmly, patting the table in front of the seat beside her. The nickname irritated you, too close to the one you'd scolded Xavier for using yesterday, but it was Nanna and you couldn't find it in yourself to say something.

Instead, "Morning, Nanna," you greeted with a yawn, setting the bouquet on the counter as you traipsed toward the sink to fill a glass of water. "Can't sit. Gotta get to school."

Nanna hummed in acknowledgment and you could tell she was checking the time on the stove before she turned to face you in her chair. "Awfully early, isn't it?"

"So early," You agreed with a sob of disdain as you brought the glass to your lips for a sip of cold water. Your skin began to feel warm and wherever you rested your gaze seemed irrationally farther than where it should be. Shaking your head to dispel what you assumed was a lack of sleep, you took a deep drink from your glass.

Nanna tilted her head and raised a snowy brow at something near your elbow, "And who are those for?"

For a brief moment, you didn't grasp the question, casting about to understand. When your eyes landed on the bouquet beside the sink, you blinked slowly at it, lids like lead. The floral aroma itched your nostrils, traveled into your skull, a thick fog dampening your mental processing.

Sedate, you panned your head and stared properly at the bouquet, told Nanna, "It's for Maddie," confused as to why you'd believed you shouldn't. That desperate, nagging feeling you'd had earlier when thinking of last night—last night?—growled in warning in the back of your mind, but it was so far away you easily ignored it.

"Oh, how lovely," Nanna replied, standing to put her hands on your shoulders and rub your arms kindly, "I'm sure she'll appreciate the gesture when she comes home."

"Who will appreciate what gesture?" Ginny croaked from the doorway, slugging into the kitchen in a silk robe and thick, knitted socks up to her knees. You knew she wore them to keep in place the gauze she slathered in anti-aging creams and wore overnight. Grumpy and rumpled, she questioned, "Who're the flowers for?"

You huffed a laugh as you watched her pull out a chair and drop into the seat, seeming as ill-suited to the morning as you.

"They're for Maddie," Nanna explained and, immediately, Ginny straightened, her glazed eyes turning sharp as they landed on you.

"She's back?" She asked.

You shook your head, "No," and you were tired, so tired, and couldn't quite seem to formulate the words to explain why you were taking flowers to school for Maddie who hadn't actually returned from wherever she'd run off to in order to accept them.

"Is it a shrine thing?" Ginny asked.

A feeling of awareness clawed through the mist that had filled your head. You felt an insidious tickle in the back of your nose, gasped a breath, and then released a cathartic blast of a sneeze, expelling that horrible, heady floral scent.

You blinked several times as you recovered your wits, glancing at the bouquet and then between Nanna and Ginny, at last able to think clearly, "Something like that. We're just trying to stay positive. Principal Hartman said he'd pass along whatever we bring in to Maddie's mom." And there you were, feeling like yourself again, able to map out a plausible lie to keep Wally (and, by extension, Maddie-as-a-ghost) safe from whatever Ginny or your mother could do if they discovered you were conspiring with the school's dead.

Ginny returned to a slouch, propping her head on her fist, "That's nice of you." She looked halfway back to sleep when you gave her a kiss goodbye, patting your thigh limply and muttering a slurred farewell. As you shrugged into your leather jacket, you heard Ginny scoff at Nanna, barking, "Don't you bring that nasty stuff near me, I don't know how you drink it," and couldn't help but snort because, truly, not even a man dying of thirst would accept a cup of it.

"I'm taking mom's car." You announced, peeking back into the kitchen. Your mother was on what constituted for her as a work trip; taking money to perform a ceremony that had no bearing on the ghosts—if they hadn't already crossed over as many of them had—at all. The concept was as stupid as it was a scam and you were revolted that someone in your family, who you'd once respected, was capable of performing such a farce.

Fucking. Ghost weddings.

You pressed your lips in a line in an effort to control the disgusted expression you knew you'd make upon thinking about it. Without looking at you, Nanna and Ginny gave their assent and carried on bickering after wishing you a pleasant day.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

"So," Maddie said in a neutral tone which set Wally's teeth on edge, "How long have you guys really known each other?"

It was just him and her outside, lingering by the door waiting for you and Xavier to arrive. Wally leaned while Maddie sat on an empty bike rack adjacent to the entrance, looking out over the parking lot like watchmen on duty. The others were inside; Ajay had vowed to coax Mina down from the rafters while Charlie and Rhonda had simply wanted to observe how that interaction went after learning Ajay and Mina were entangled in their own version of a relationship. Strange and unconventional and, apparently, wholesome though Wally had no idea what that meant coming from Ajay.

"I was wondering when you were gonna ask me." Wally said, ducking his head sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck. He lifted his gaze to Maddie, "Not long. Since Field Day."

Maddie's brows raised, but she remained composed. After a few moments of silence, Maddie spoke again, a smile in her voice, "She talked about you a lot."

Wally swallowed, his heart fluttering at the information, unable to repress the feeling of giddiness that fizzled through him. Regardless, he tried to play it cool, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. She always said her 'ghost was so hot' and that she was 'saving herself for her ghost'." She paused, chewed her lip, and stared down at her lap as she thought about what to say next. "Looking back, I guess she thought she could hide in plain sight." And then, with a snort, "And it worked. None of us believed her for a second. It never even crossed my mind that it could be true until I got here."

Wally nudged her side in a friendly motion. "Was she right?" He snickered, teasing, "Am I hot?"

Maddie shoved his head down playfully with a laugh, "You're an idiot." Another comfortable beat. She hummed quietly before she revealed in a gentle tone, "You two are cute together. If it means anything."

"It does," Wally said and it was true. It was more reassuring than it should've been to have someone on the outside see what he saw. Cemented it somehow.

Another few minutes passed before a car pulled into the parking lot. Maddie jumped down from her perch, face screwed up in confusion, "Wasn't she bringing Xavier?"

Wally could see the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders slowly diminish as you parked and climbed out. Alone. He and Maddie made their way over to greet you, twin smiles of relief on their faces. Wally hadn't been keen to see that dickbag anytime soon. It was better for everyone that you'd decided to leave him behind.

"Hey guys," You said, eyes automatically finding Wally's, his heart beating that much harder in his chest. You seemed to read the unspoken question and informed, "I thought we'd get more accomplished if Xavier wasn't here."

Maddie nodded, "Smart," visibly grateful for your forethought.

Wally treaded around the front of the car you'd driven and scooped you up into a solid hold, one arm under your thighs while the other clamped at a diagonal on your back, his hand tangling in your hair. Looking at you closely, he could see the exhaustion beneath the surface and felt a pang of guilt for agreeing with everyone (including you) that you should come as early as permissible by school standards.

"Hey, baby," He uttered, pressed his forehead to yours with a lopsided, affectionate grin, and hinted greedily for a kiss that you supplied without complaint. He almost groaned as your lips yielded under his, the simple touch striking a match low in his belly. Fuck, he wanted you. Like, always. Was hardwired at this point to get aroused whenever you were within arm's length. It was driving him half insane that he couldn't climb into the back of the car with you, have you straddle his lap, and show you how affected he was by you.

"Rhonda's right," Maddie commented from the sidelines, referencing something Rhonda had said the previous night after you'd left with your brother-in-law. "You guys are gross."

You pulled away from Wally with a cackle, prompting him to place you back on your feet, and said, "Oh, like you and Zav aren't just as bad."

Twirling around and bending (very nicely) into the backseat of the car to collect your things, you didn't see the look that flashed across Maddie's face, one of hurt and betrayal and anger, but Wally did and it made him want to grab you by the shoulders, and shake you until you stopped thinking the world of Xavier Baxter. He wouldn't dare do that, of course, you were too precious, and he couldn't imagine doing anything to frighten you like that. On the contrary, he'd proudly do things to Xavier that would earn Wally a spot on a Most Wanted list if he'd still been alive.

He pushed those thoughts down when you straightened, lifting a lush, full bouquet into your arms which you handed over to Maddie in a way that signaled to Wally you and she were used to each other's mannerisms and motions. Again, you reached into the car, grabbed your backpack, and hoisted it out of the backseat. Wally noticed that it seemed to weigh more to you than normal and took it from you, slinging it over his shoulder with a broad grin.

"Such a gentleman," You teased, though Wally could see how much you enjoyed the gesture by the way you pinked up so sweetly. He slung his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side as you and he walked, stamping a kiss to your hair and openly breathing in the scent of musky vanilla and coconut.

"Wait." Maddie said, just as you and Wally were about to reach the door. You and he paused, turning to look at Maddie as she regarded the bouquet in her hands and then the backpack on Wally's shoulder, an intense cast to her features. "How..." She squinted at you, "Where are the originals?" Scanned back to the car, then you, then the bouquet.

"Originals?" You asked, completely lost, though Wally recognized what Maddie meant. It hadn't occurred to him how unfeasible it was that he still had the notes you'd given him stashed away in his private, just-for-him corner of the school; none of the resets between now and then had vanished them as resets were wont to do.

"Yeah, the originals." Maddie repeated.

Wally stepped in, taking over the explanation since Maddie appeared to struggle with how to phrase that every object they, as ghosts, picked up was just a clone of one that stayed anchored in the living world. He did his best to describe it, beckoning both you and Maddie to follow him so he could show you an example with a piece of chalk in an unlocked classroom. He lifted it, of course wielding the copy while the original remained in place, untouched, not even a sign that it'd been tampered with.

You cocked your head, lifting the original and handing it to Maddie who took it without issue. Experimenting, Maddie placed it back on the chalk ledge, left it there for multiple seconds, and then instructed Wally to, "Pick it up now."

Wally did.

As in he actually did. Picked up the original, no immense, herculean emphasis of energy required (and that very, very rarely worked, normally resulting in a brief flicker of an already on-its-way-out lightbulb). How had Wally not noticed before?

"Gnarly," Wally laughed, tossing the chalk in the air and catching it. "Do you think the living see it floating if I'm holding it?" He began to zoom it around like a toy airplane. "I wonder if it works the other way."

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"Like, things that we brought with us into the afterlife," Maddie clarified, "Do you think you could make them real on your side?"

You shrugged and admitted, "I didn't even know I could do this until you guys pointed it out." And then you sighed and rubbed your temples, "Another thing to add to the laundry list of stuff I have to look in to." You looked at Maddie, "I'd probably need someone who can't see you guys to confirm whether or not it works both ways."

Wally strode over to you, putting the chalk back down on the ledge as he went. He adjusted the weight of your backpack on his shoulder so he could cradle your face in both of his big palms. "One thing at a time, baby," He said, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Let's check off giving Mina the flowers and then go from there, okay?"

You slumped, thankful, and slanted into him so that your forehead was pressed to the center of his chest, "That sounds like a good plan."

Together, you, Wally, and Maddie strolled to the theater, passing Mr. South who welcomed you with a friendly wave and a short hello. His eyes seemed to migrate this way and that as he watched you walk by, Maddie close to your side, Wally a half-step behind and falling father back as he studied Mr. South. Vaguely, he heard the man mutter, "Mm, dahlias," but that was about as much fuss as he expressed. Nothing to indicate Mr. South saw a puppeted bouquet or levitating backpack drifting down the hall of their own volition.

Wally caught up to you and Maddie quickly, his hand finding the small of your back on instinct. Rhonda and Charlie were already outside the theater when you, Maddie, and Wally arrived, Charlie rising from where he'd been seated on the floor as Rhonda pushed herself off the wall, today's lollipop stuffed into her cheek.

"Well, Ajay got her down," She announced, rolling her eyes, "But she refuses to talk to us. She won't even answer Ajay if he asks because she knows the questions aren't his." Belligerent, Rhonda shook her head, "And I thought Janet was a diva."

Charley shook his head, "I'm sorry, but that," He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to stipulate Mina's behavior, "isn't anywhere near as bad as Janet was. At least Mina was polite when she told us where to go."

Rhonda conceded with a bob of her head, pursed lips, and raised brows. Upon noticing the flowers, she remarked, "Huh, you came through, strawberry pie," her tone impressed, "Next time you should bring lover boy a new wardrobe," a smirk at Wally and a coy look at you, "He looks pretty good in jeans."

Wally cleared his throat and squeezed you to him tightly, his gaze soft and imploring as he said, "Ignore her, you don't have to bring me anything," then to Rhonda, "She's not our personal gofer."

Rhonda raised her hands in surrender, glimpsing at Charley in amusement, "No need to blow your jets, superstar, it was just a suggestion."

Charley added, "And a joke," as he gave Rhonda a sardonic side-eye. "So, should we get this over with? See if our Split River Phantom has anything useful to share?"

You patted Wally's chest to signal for your backpack which he handed over with a pout, disliking the idea of you hauling it around when you were so tired.

"You guys go do that. I'm going to steal Ajay and see if we can figure out what these symbols mean." You looked at Maddie, "If you guys find anything, let me know."

"How?" Maddie wondered. It wasn't as if she still had a means of communication in the afterlife; the decoy phone had been with Xavier when she'd been thrown from her body, and, as far as Wally knew, her real phone was in pieces. Even if she did have a phone...would it have worked? Wally had heard Dawn brag about her 'socials', but she wasn't actually capturing or uploading selfies...was she?

Before he could fall too far down that rabbit hole, he felt your hand grasp his, fingers twined, skin smooth under his thumb. You grinned at Maddie, "That's the best part," you brought your and Wally's joined hands up, "If Ajay and I don't get back before you're done, just manipulate the connection. Wally and I—"

"Don't know if it'll work!" He interrupted, worried that you might've forgotten that all those times he'd felt your emotions like his own or found you in crowded spaces had happened before last night.

It seemed you had because you blinked those darling Bambi eyes up at him, visibly uncertain. Wally saw the instant you realized your mistake, could see the gears turning as you backtracked and reassembled your speech. It didn't take long, maybe a second or two, and then you picked up where you'd left off, saying, "—but it should make it so he can find me."

Rhonda twirled her lollipop, whistled in surprise, "Magic is in.sane."

"It's not magic," You stated mildly, "It's connectedness. I promise there is a difference." You listed into Wally's side, turned your head to hide a yawn, and then seemed to try to shake yourself awake.

In response, Wally, cupped the back of your head and kissed your hair, rubbing his hand up and down your arm while holding you closer. "You gonna be okay?" He asked, concerned that you might not be able to stay upright much longer.

"I'll be fine," You said, however, the assurance you'd meant to offer was dimmed by another yawn you couldn't suppress.

It was then that Ajay appeared. He held the door to the theater open for Charley, Rhonda, and Maddie who waved their see-you-laters to you. Wally released you in measured degrees, careful and considerate, so you wouldn't fall into the space he left behind.

"I'm coming to find you as soon as we get something, okay, baby?"

You nodded, a forced smile on your face that made Wally want to carry you home and tuck you into your bed. Innocently. Innocently. But he couldn't help himself, dipping in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss that still somehow made his breath catch and his heart pound and his belly coil tight with desire.

"Okay, we get it, you're hot for each other, can we go now?" Ajay's voice cut through the muggy atmosphere that now permeated between you and Wally, exasperation pitched shrill as a school bell.

Wally untangled himself from you, hated having to do it, but understood that it needed to be done in order for both you and him to focus on what was important. That was finding clues or proof that Mr. Anderson was involved in Maddie's circumstances and pointing the police away from Simon. Right. Wally was an independent, capable guy who could do what it took to help. He just didn't want to do it without you plastered to him in some way.

"That face is exactly why you two can't be around each other right now." Ajay stated flatly, all but shoving Wally aside and ushering you back down the hall.

With a chuckle, Wally called after you, "I'll see you later, baby!"

"If either of you say 'I'll miss you', I'm boycotting this relationship until I can cross over." Ajay declared, not allowing you to stop and respond.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier sat behind the wheel of his truck, nervous, jittery; inching toward full-blown paranoia after having stopped at your house to pick you up. He'd received your message earlier, the one that had gently told him to stay home and sleep in since you weren't going to crusade after evidence against Mr. Anderson until a more appropriate hour.

But he hadn't been able to get back to sleep, had instead sat in bed contemplating how fucked up everything would inevitably get. And he was scared. Your newfound friendship with Simon made Xavier's veins clog with cold, slimy fear. He had no idea if Maddie had read the message he'd accidentally sent her ("The coast is clear, I'm alone. Wanna see you, babe, so hurry up."). Had no idea if she'd told Simon about Xavier and Claire. Simon hadn't outright accused Xavier of cheating on Maddie—not to Xavier's face, anyway—but, if Simon did know, it was only a matter of time before it came up and Xavier lost you forever.

Fueled by anxiety and desperation, Xavier had dressed and left the house in a flurry, drove over and at the speed limit in frenzied intervals as he'd forgotten and remembered it by turns. He'd arrived at your place faster than ever before only to discover that, according to Abigail, you'd left about forty-five minutes earlier. Granted, you hadn't explicitly said you'd want to spend the morning by yourself at home, but Xavier couldn't shake the feeling that something was utterly and profoundly wrong.

Why go to the school alone? Why leave him out of it? An agitated growl ruptured from his throat as he smacked the steering wheel, tears springing to his eyes unbidden. He pulled in huge gulps of air to stop himself from tipping into a panicked breakdown, begged the universe or God or whatever was out there that he was overthinking it, that you weren't slipping away from him and everything was okay, it was all going to be okay.

Except it wasn't okay. He'd fucked up and fucked around and made you participate by sending texts about band practices that'd never been scheduled, lies about how you'd needed help around the house and Xavier was family so he'd been obligated to assist. Jesus Christ, what had he done? He couldn't breathe, a balloon in his chest that expanded the closer he got to the school. When he pulled in and saw your mother's car, he was already one foot into a mental crisis.

He parked beside your mother's car and sat for a moment, filtering through a litany of excuses and reasons and apologies to retch at your feet in libation. Xavier couldn't. lose. you. Not you. The only person left in his life who fucking mattered. Hurt and anger and grief and hopelessness funneled into him, a tornado of self-deprecation howling insults that ricocheted inside his skull, the torment building and building and—

"FUCK." He belted, smashing the steering wheel over and over again until his body collapsed forward and he heaved a thick, wet sob.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The other vertices in the barrier projected outward from symbols that varied slightly from the first you'd found. Two were etched in stone, one in a tree planted on the same alignment as the other, and the last had been burned so thoroughly into the dirt that you couldn't dig under it or dig it up.

"Can we call it magic now?" Ajay folded his arms and thinned his lips in a dour line as he watched you dog-dig at the dirt from a new angle. "Because this feels like magic."

You huffed and let yourself fall back on your bum, mopping the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of your sweater. "I mean, it's harnessed energy," you countered, still reluctant to call it something so fantastical when you had dirt caked under your fingernails and math class in twenty minutes. Those mundane, ultra-ordinary truths made it difficult to reconcile the existence of something Harry Potter fought a war with.

Ajay wasn't having it, "Girl, just say it. It's magic."

A squawky noise of denial later and you snapped a picture of the symbol on your phone, finally standing and returning to your backpack which you'd left at Ajay's feet. You dug out the notebook you'd used to scribble down the Futhark alphabet last night before tiptoeing back into Aiden's room and compared the symbol in the dirt to the runes on the page.

"It's like the others," You observed, "It has all the binding elements, except this one also has an extra line here..." You indicated, chewed your lip in thought, frustrated when nothing jumped out at you. Whoever had created these symbols and performed the ritual that accompanied them had either not known anything about the Futhark runes or they'd known too much. Which meant that you had no way of decoding the bastardized symbols by yourself. At least, not without major effort.

"An extra line?" Ajay echoed, "To make us extra trapped?"

You slanted him an unimpressed look, "No, Sassy McQueen...but also kind of yes."

Ajay flashed a victorious grin then crouched to look over your shoulder at your notebook. "Why would someone want to trap ghosts here?"

"Maybe they didn't." You considered as you brainstormed aloud, "Maybe they wanted to trap something and didn't realize the effect their spell—"

"Which is magic."

"—Nghyah," You declined and then continued, "The effect their spell would have on the different realms within the parcel they created."

"I know English isn't my first language, but I can tell that wouldn't make sense to anyone."

You rolled your eyes, clapping your notebook closed and filing it away in your backpack. "Think of the spell like a box. Whoever cast it brought that box down on this specific location, trapping everything in this location in it. But it only affects things outside of the physical world because it's not a physical box."

"...Have you ever seen the Witches of Eastwick?"

"Have you?"

You straightened, bowing your back to loosen the stiffness that had collected in your spine. Ajay took responsibility of your backpack and together you and he walked back toward the school.

After a short silence, Ajay spoke, "You know, Wally mentioned a cult that used to practice around here. He's really into that spooky-ooky, creepy shit." He emphasized with spirit fingers.

You stopped and stared after Ajay, eyes round and mouth ajar, "Wally? Golden retriever, football bro, Wally?"

Ajay turned to walk backward, smiling, "Oh yeah. He was into it before he died, too. A real savant of the deranged history of Split River." He pondered you for a moment and then muttered, "You know you two are allowed to talk when you're alone, right?"

Kissing your teeth, you resumed your stride, waving Ajay off, "In our defense, we haven't actually had a lot of time to be alone since we started talking."

Ajay snorted, but merrily settled his pace to match yours, his gait slower and longer, "He was alive during the rise of the Satanic Panic. If I'm remembering right, he told me about a cult called the Something-Something of Dagda."

"Very helpful."

"They were established before Milwaukee was founded and then faded out of history for awhile."

You sighed drearily, having heard similar tales through the family grapevine as well as your own special-interest research, "Let me guess, the Something-Something of Dagda made a comeback in the '20s when it was fashionable to be associated with the occult?"

Ajay nodded, "I think that's what Wally said. Apparently, they crawled back into the shadows, never to be heard from again, just after the Second World War."

"Typical," You chuckled, shaking your head, "You join a resurrectionist cult and then leave when—"

"How do you know it was resurrectionist?"

"I'm assuming." You confessed, "Dagda is a Celtic god whose staff can resurrect or kill whoever he clubs with it." When Ajay acknowledged your answer with a low oh, you expanded on your previous point, "I guess the members didn't like that their sons didn't all come home in one piece." To put it crudely. Unfortunately, that was the reality of many cults borne from the spiritualism boom in the 1920s. People either got bored or got bitter when their prophet couldn't stand and deliver in the face of a catastrophic global event.

You and Ajay entered the theater from the side door to avoid the students who began to flood the halls as the morning trundled toward the first bell. You found Maddie rising like the second coming out of the center of the stage, followed closely by Wally and then Rhonda, Charley, and lastly, Mina who turned and closed the trap door behind her.

"You find anything?" You inquired as Wally neared you, eagerness writ all over his features.

"Yeah!" Wally grinned, planting himself in front of you to band his arms around your waist, "You?"

"The symbols are definitely based on the Futhark alphabet and they're all designed to keep energies in." You said, snuggling into his front, happy to let him take your weight. He shifted you around so you and he could walk toward the stage, everyone gathered around a spot at the end of the center aisle. Rhonda and Charley sat on the edge of the stage, Ajay joined Mina who leaned beside Charley's legs, and Maddie stood with her back to the door, facing everyone.

As soon as you were within reach, she held out a piece of paper, informing you that, "It's a receipt for new band uniforms signed by Mr. Anderson." You scanned the paper, trying to absorb where it fit in the puzzle, but your brain was rapidly losing steam. Seeming to read your fatigue, Maddie interpreted it on your behalf, "I think he's been stealing money from Booster Club. He's got a whole operation under the stage to sew new patches onto old band uniforms."

All you could think to respond with was, "Holy shit."

"It doesn't prove he had anything to do with what happened to me," Maddie went on, "But I think it'll help Simon."

"Maddie this is awesome." You smiled encouragingly and shambled forward to hug her. With your arm still around her shoulders, you and she looked over the receipt again, particularly the cash amount at the bottom, "Is that how much you figure was in the closet?"

"I'd say it for sure is." She answered, her gaze turning a trepidatious sort of hopeful, "It's Friday, so there's a staff meeting tonight. If we give this to Simon, he can prove that Mr. Anderson is guilty of something and then we can try to figure out where my body is. Together."

"Together." You repeated with a grin because, God dammit, finally, you felt like progress was being made. While not the kind of progress you'd hoped for, it was something, and now that you knew Simon could see Maddie, you didn't have to swerve around landmines in conversation to hide your abilities; you could let him in instead.

It was one step closer to bringing Maddie home.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier hated himself more than he had before his breakdown, having succumbed to the siren call of his vape in the dissociative aftermath. He skulked into the school, shoulders up and hands stuffed in his pockets in an effort to make himself invisible. He wasn't going to his first class, wasn't entirely aware of where he was going, but he followed his feet nonetheless. Since the blissful first hit, his mind had quieted some, though his nerves were still ragged, eyes puffy and bloodshot, hair rumpled, a scab on his lip where he'd bitten it too hard to redirect the emotional pain he'd inflicted on himself.

He was distantly surprised to find himself standing in front of the theater when he eventually lifted his gaze from the ground. Without giving it too much thought, he reached out and opened the door, stepping into the shadowy space beyond. For a moment, a cotton-candy static fuzzed across his brain and made it hard to process whether or not what his eyes saw was real.

It couldn't be, could it?

At the end of the center aisle, you stood, body wilted from exhaustion. Around you were incoherent silhouettes that phased in and out of focus, nothing substantial to them, just distorted shadows that seemed out of place against the direction of what muted light filtered into the theater. What made his breath catch and the balloon in his chest swell bigger wasn't you, standing in the dark, or the uncanny shadows, it was—

"Maddie," He croaked, voice reedy and tight, "You came back."

The fuzziness in his head was instantly replaced by fear when his gaze slid to you, an expression on your face—wide eyes, parted lips, furrowed brows—that Xavier readily interpreted as betrayal. The darkness crowded against him, the rampage of wailing curses picked up within him again, screaming at him for how worthless and stupid and vile he was to do what he'd done.

"I-I'm so sorry," He choked out, pushing the words past the balloon that had expanded from his chest into his throat. Maddie's expression didn't change, something akin to alarm or hate or defeat or all three, he didn't know because his vision was beginning to cloud. "I'm so, so sorry." And then he stumbled sideways, falling into one of the empty seats, curling himself into a ball as if he could make himself disappear. Everything would be better, so much better, if he could just...stop being.

Xavier didn't realize he was crying until he felt your hands on him, pushing his arms away from his head, forcing him to kneel on the ground with you.

"Zav? What's happening? Are you okay? Zav!"

Your words sounded spoken through water and he couldn't get his head above the surface, couldn't breathe, couldn't answer, his body wracked violently with stinging sobs as he kept trying to apologize. He grappled at your back, pinned you against him, a buoy to keep him afloat as the waves crashed over him and threatened to pull him down into the cavernous abyss below.

"I'm sorry, please, don't leave me, I'm so sorry," He begged you, but couldn't hear himself, so he repeated them louder and louder until his throat scraped.

This is the moment, a facsimile of Maddie's voice told him, this is the moment you lose everyone.

And then another voice, unfamiliar, louder than Xavier's, louder than Maddie's, began to roar:

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-THREE

note: i am of the belief that Mr. South is spooky in his own right and doesn't need Reader to expose him to the supernatural. agree with me or not, his ominous words to Simon at the beginning of the season set me on a path that i can't ignore 🤭

i really hope you guys are okay with how i'm reworking this. i know i gave away a pretty major spoiler, and i regret that so much because i dearly want you all to enjoy this, but it had to be done. otherwise i was more than likely going to throw in the towel. rest assured, there is SO MUCH more to unfold.

ABOUT THE TAGLIST: y'all know, it ain't a thing around here anymore due to the overuse of ritual magic, some demon-summoning, and an unfortunate sacrifice that resulted in more technical issues than tumblr could handle 🔮🗡️ if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. we have fun here (•¯ ∀ ¯•)

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Sun

72 notes · View notes

nomercymaster11 · 9 months

Text

Harmony in the Icy Depths

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

A/N: Rated-18 The Polar Tang glided silently through the frigid depths, its metallic exterior navigating the icy waters with a grace that belied the vastness surrounding it. Submerged beneath the surface, the submarine sailed through the underwater expanse, the hum of its engines merging with the ambient sounds of the ocean. Inside the vessel, the atmosphere was cool and efficient, mirroring the routine of its dedicated crew as they executed their duties in the submerged world.

In the heart of the ship, you found yourself in the cozy confines of the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. The rich aroma mingled with the metallic tang of the ship's interior. Feeling a spontaneous urge to break the monotony of the day, you decided to share a cup of warmth with the enigmatic Trafalgar Law, the ship's stoic, and brilliant captain.

With a mug in hand, you made your way to Law's office, the door marked by a subtle sign that hinted at the medical sanctuary within. A firm knock prompted Law to invite you in with a curt,

"Come in."

As you entered, you found him engrossed in his medical notes and books, the seriousness of his demeanor contrasting with the casualness of the moment.

The aroma of the coffee wafted through the room, and Law, without looking up, inhaled deeply, appreciating the familiar fragrance. You carefully placed the steaming cup on his cluttered desk, the contrast of warmth against the cold steel creating a momentary haven.

"Thanks," Law acknowledged, his attention momentarily diverted from the sea of information in front of him.

Law sips the coffee, its warmth a comforting contrast to the cool efficiency of his medical office. He continues to scan his medical books, each page turned with a focused precision that matches the steady hum of the Polar Tang.

Choosing to linger, you settled on the couch beside his desk, the cushions offering a comfortable respite from the ship's unyielding exterior. As seconds stretched into minutes, your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the organized chaos of medical supplies and the neatly stacked books that defined Law's space.

Restlessness whispered in your ear, and you rose from the couch, deciding to explore the room further. Law remained immersed in his work; his focused energy palpable.

A mischievous idea sparked, and you approached him, quietly closing the distance.

With a gentle embrace from behind, you rested your chin on the crown of his head, the proximity inviting an intimacy that transcended the professional setting.

"Aren't you done yet?"

you asked, injecting a playful monotony into your voice, challenging the seriousness that usually enveloped him.

"Just a moment,"

Law replied, his eyes still scanning the medical tomes before him.

Undeterred, you shifted your head, cheeks brushing against his, relishing the warmth that radiated from him. The room seemed to close in, and the hum of the ship became a distant backdrop to the moment shared between you two.

Unable to resist the urge to tease, you maneuvered your head to the side, lips brushing against the back of his ear. A soft, seductive hum escaped your lips as you traced a trail of kisses along the nape of his neck, each touch a delicate distraction from the weight of responsibilities that hung in the air.

The atmosphere in Law's office shifted, the air thickening with an unexpected tension as your playful teasing took a more intimate turn. Law, usually composed and focused, found himself yielding to the magnetic pull of the moment.

As you continued to lavish kisses on his left cheek, you sensed Law's surrender. His book closed with a deliberate thud, and he willingly reciprocated when you cupped his face, locking lips in a passionate kiss. Your tongue pressed forward, igniting a symphony of shivers that reverberated through Law's body.

Breaking away, Law rotated his chair to face you, confusion etching his features.

"What's gotten into you?"

he inquired; his intense gaze fixed on you.

You answered with a seductive peck on his lips, your eyes locking onto his as you bit your lower lip.

"I just missed you,"

you confessed, the words laden with desire.

Without waiting for a response, you pulled him up from his chair, guiding him to the couch. With a bold move, you positioned yourself on his lap, the subtle shift in dynamics palpable. Law, known for his stoicism, allowed himself to be led, his legs between yours.

As you settled into Law's lap, the atmosphere in the room intensified. The ambient hum of the submarine's engines melded with the rhythmic beats of two hearts caught in the dance of passion.

Law's hands, strong and determined, explored the curves of your body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He responded to the boldness with a hunger of his own, hands gripping your hips firmly. The sensation was heightened by the rhythmic movement of the submarine, adding an unpredictable element to the unfolding encounter.

The tension in the room simmered as you initiated a slow, lingering kiss, setting the pace for what lay ahead. Law, usually in control, allowed you to guide the dance of passion unfolding between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a delicate embrace.

As the heat between you intensified, clothing became an afterthought. Your nimble fingers worked on the buttons of Law's shirt, revealing the inked canvas of his tattooed body. The discarded clothing found a haphazard spot on the side, a testament to the urgency of the moment.

In a reciprocal act, Law mirrored your actions, skillfully unbuttoning your shirt with a precision that hinted at a hidden layer of vulnerability. The both of you are now half-naked. Your index finger did wonders to Law's body as you traced the tattoo etched onto his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his skin beneath your touch. His muscles tensed and relaxed in response, a silent testament to the electric connection that coursed between you.

As you explored the inked canvas of his torso, Law's right hand found its way to your breast, the warmth emanating from the delicate touch of his palm to your now hypersensitive skin, send shivers down your spine. You momentarily stopped, rested your arms on his shoulders and arched backward as he leaned forward to suckle your other breast. He filled his mouth with them while his thumb and index finger skillfully pinched your nipple, creating a delicate interplay of pleasure.

His large hand traced patterns on your back, a silent plea for control, but you resisted, determined to maintain your hold on the moment.

Your lips continued their exploration, a symphony of kisses that left a trail of heat in their wake. You focused on the sensitive spots of his right ear, savoring the subtle vibrations that echoed through him. His goatee chin brushed against your nose as you descended to kiss his neck, a canvas of warmth that invited further exploration.

With each passing moment, the atmosphere intensified. Straddling Law, you could feel the telltale tightness of his pants, the bulge pressing between your legs, a silent invitation that sparked a fiery desire within you. Your hand, guided by an insatiable curiosity, stroked him, eliciting a primal response that mirrored the increasing tempo of your heart.

As desire unfurled, Law surrendered to the mounting pleasure. With practiced ease, he unbuckled his belt, and you eagerly assisted in pulling his pants off, the urgency of the moment evident in the discarded clothing. You knelt in front of him, the cool steel floor of Law's office beneath your knees serving as an unconventional cushion. His legs, once firmly planted in a professional stance, now spread open, an invitation that carried both vulnerability and desire.

As you looked up at Law, his eyes bore into yours, an intense gaze that mirrored the depth of the ocean you sailed through. Your hands explored the expanse of Law's thighs, the skin beneath your touch revealing the underlying tension, a palpable contrast to the smooth steel of the ship. The texture of Law's skin beneath your touch became a sensory journey. You traced the contours of his thighs, fingertips exploring the hidden landscape beneath.

Liberating him, you held him firmly in your hands, a sense of excitement and pride coursing through you as you witnessed his response. His head leaned backward, a low moan escaping his lips as your skin met his member.

"Oh damn, girl...!"

Law's voice, a husky mixture of surprise and pleasure, hung in the air.

The atmosphere in Law's office was charged with a potent mix of desire and anticipation as both of you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of the moment. Your hands and mouth worked in harmony, exploring him with an intensity that left no room for restraint.

Law, unable to contain himself any longer, gathered your hair with one hand, his intense gaze fixed on you. The connection between you deepened as your eyes locked, the unspoken language of desire flowing between you. Closing your eyes, you continue to savored him. The movement of your hand become swifter to keep pace with the fever pulsing within him and at the same time licking the tip of his member each time it passed within reach of your tongue.

With a primal urgency, Law pulled you back up, a momentary pause before the next wave of pleasure. His hands had gripped the elastic belt of your delicate lingerie and stretched them to slip them down. Licking his fingers, he slid them between your legs, sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

"You're ready for me,"

His whispered words added fuel to the already blazing fire of desire.

Moans escaped your lips as he continued to tease and arouse you. He continued to build the intensity, each touch pushing you to the edge. His fingers stroking your folds back and forth and rubbing your sensitive core. You closed your eyes to better feel the movements of his warm, incisive fingers in you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you eased yourself onto him. Your hands gliding over his broad, tattooed chest as you straddled him, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

The slow descent onto him elicited a moan, the depth and fullness of the connection overwhelming your senses. Every thrust surprised you with his size, a delightful shock that added to the ecstasy of the moment.

As you rode him, moans of pleasure escaped your lips, blending with the rhythmic movement of your hips and Law's encouraging motions beneath you. The friction between your bodies built a fire that threatened to consume both of you. Your desperation fueled the primal dance, your movements becoming more urgent, more intense.

Law's hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding and encouraging you to move faster, to go deeper. The symphony of pleasure echoed in the room, the heightened sensations pushing you both to the brink.

"Law! I'm so close...!"

you exclaimed, the words a breathless confession of the impending climax.

With a final, deep thrust, waves of pleasure washed over you. A cry of ecstasy escaped your lips as your body convulsed with the force of the climax. Law releases a loud sigh followed by your name, also surrendering to the full embrace of the orgasm.

Collapsing beside Law, you lay on his shoulder, the aftermath of pleasure leaving you breathless and satisfied. The room, once filled with tension, now held the serene aftermath of an intimate storm, the echoes of shared ecstasy lingering in the air.

Law, lying beside you, took a moment to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ship, and a sated expression graced his usually composed features. You turned towards him, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you took in the aftermath of your shared passion.

"How was it?"

you asked, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and self-assured satisfaction. Law, still catching his breath, managed a smirk as he looked at you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, a silent acknowledgment of the intensity you both had just experienced.

Law's voice, deep and resonant, broke the post-ecstasy silence.

"Better than expected,"

he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You chuckled, appreciating the dry humor that occasionally surfaced in his usually serious demeanor.

Lying side by side, you basked in the warmth of the shared connection, the air thick with a mix of satisfaction and contentment. The hum of the ship became a soothing background melody, and the world outside seemed distant and inconsequential in the cocoon you had created.

Law, always a man of few words, reached over to brush a strand of hair from your face. The silence spoke volumes, echoing the unspoken understanding between you two, weaving a harmony in the submarine. As the ship sailed in the icy depths, it carried with it the cadence of this shared secret, a melody echoing through the frigid waters of understanding and desire adding an intricate layer to the captain and crew's connection.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #law one piece #law x you #one shot collection #law x reader #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar d law x reader #reader insert smut #heart pirates

303 notes · View notes

urfavoritewriter · 8 months

Text

Death Row’s Last Meal

Commission for an anonymous user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me and letting me post it!

Content: M/M, Oral Vore, Chewing, Teasing, Cruel Pred, Graphic Digestion, G/T, Macro/Micro, Unwilling Prey

Bang bang bang!

The incessant knocking on Kyle's door reverberated through his apartment, each thud intensifying the curiosity and irritation etched across his face. As he approached the peephole, he saw two individuals in suits, their expressions serious, the weight of an unusual task etched on their features. He reluctantly opened the door, skepticism emanating from his eyes.

"Kyle?" the first agent asked, holding up an official-looking device for verification.

"Yeah, that's me. What's this about?" Kyle grumbled, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of the situation.

The second agent sighed, a weariness in his voice. "Kyle, this isn't easy for us either." They gave each other a slight look, "Look, we're here because of Dawson's last meal request. He asked specifically for you."

A moment of awkward silence went by, Kyle not fully comprehending. "By law, we need to shrink you and take you to him."

Kyle's eyes widened, and he leaned back, hoping this was some absurd prank. "Hold on, you're telling me I'm on the menu for some death row guy? Are you being for real?"

Both agents exchanged glances, a shared acknowledgment of the surreal nature of their mission. The first agent spoke, "Dead serious, Kyle. Dawson's last meal is, well, you."

Kyle laughed nervously, searching for any sign that this was a prank, but the agents' stony expressions persisted. "This has to be a fucking joke, right? You two bought these outfits to fuck with people?"

The second agent shook his head, showing official badges that certified their government affiliation. "We wish it were a joke, Kyle. This is the law, and... Well, it's happening whether you want it or not."

In a desperate attempt to shut out the surreal intrusion, Kyle slammed the door shut, pouring all his strength into resisting the inevitable. But the agents, with a calculated and practiced force, countered, pushing back against the door, and it swung back open, knocking Kyle off balance. He stumbled and fell to the ground, swearing vehemently.

"Get the fuck off me, assholes!" Kyle shouted as they ambushed him, "I still have my rights!"

The first agent, unfazed by Kyle's protests, retorted, "You have the right to be someone's last meal, buddy. Now quit resisting, or it's gonna get real ugly for you."

In the midst of the struggle, the second agent grabbed a syringe from his pocket. "Hold still, Kyle. This will be a lot easier for everyone if you just cooperate."

"Like hell, I will!" Kyle yelled, desperately trying to break free. He managed to shout for help, hoping someone in the hallway would intervene, but his cries seemed to vanish into the empty corridor.

The first agent rolled his eyes. "Come on, man, we're just doing our job. This will happen one way or another."

The second agent, seizing the moment, injected the shrinking liquid into Kyle's forearm. The effects were almost immediate. Kyle's body began to shrink rapidly, his clothes sagging around him as he tumbled to the ground.

"Fuck... you," Kyle managed to stammer before beginning to shrink rapidly.

As the shrinking process took hold, Kyle felt an odd sensation throughout his body. It started as a tingling in his extremities, a strange vibration that gradually enveloped him. His surroundings shifted; the once-familiar dimensions of his apartment now transformed into a vast and towering landscape.

The agents loomed above him, their figures expanding to colossal proportions. Every detail of their faces, their clothing, became magnified as if he were viewing them through an ever-zooming lens. The ambient sounds around him intensified, a cacophony of footsteps in the hallway now resembling distant thunder.

Kyle's clothes, initially snug, began to loosen and slide off his diminishing form. The fabric sagged like oversized drapes, eventually abandoning his shrinking frame altogether. Soon, he found himself entirely exposed, his nakedness accentuating the vulnerability of his reduced size.

The room, once comfortable and familiar, now assumed an alien quality. The furniture, once easily reachable, became insurmountable obstacles. The texture of the carpet transformed into a vast expanse, the fibers now strands that were difficult to navigate.

The agent, his colossal hand blotting out the surroundings, swiftly closed in on Kyle. The once-mighty punches that Kyle could deliver were now feeble, like the flailing of a helpless insect. With a deft motion, the agent scooped him up, his grasp securing around Kyle's diminished form.

Struggling within the confines of the agent's grip, Kyle found himself powerless against the giant force that now controlled his fate. The agent, nonchalant and almost indifferent to Kyle's tiny struggles, deposited him into a clear, sealed zip-bag.

Through the transparent barrier, Kyle could see the agent's face, looming large and expressionless. The casual yet authoritative tone persisted as the agent remarked, "Be grateful he didn't ask for you to be cooked." The implication of such a statement hung in the air, emphasizing the grim reality of his situation, as he zipped it shut.

Hours later, the legal rigmarole finally concluded, Kyle found himself delivered to the designated death row inmate. The muscular, toned man wore the standard orange inmate clothing, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. His dirty blonde hair and slight facial hair added a rugged edge to his appearance. The chiseled jaw and the smirk that played on his lips gave him a cruel demeanor.

As the zipped bag containing Kyle was handed over, the death row inmate's demeanor remained unapologetically harsh. "’Bout fuckin' time you got here. Was gettin' real hungry," he declared with a casual yet menacing tone. The implication was clear – Kyle was not just a shrunken man; he was a meal, a dehumanized object to be consumed and cruelly teased, his whole life turned upside-down in an instant based on the whims of a criminal, as law had it.

Dawson unzipped the bag, revealing the shrunken Kyle. The inmate's large, calloused hand grabbed him, his grip firm and unyielding. There was no gentleness in his touch, only a cruel sense of control.

He held Kyle up, eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Look at you, all fuckin' tiny. Little shit. You thought you were special, didn't ya?" Dawson's words dripped with cruel teasing, as if reveling in the degradation of his prey. "Well, you're just a meal for me, and let me tell ya, it's gonna fuckin' suck."

Dawson's laughter echoed, a harsh sound that matched the cruel amusement in his eyes. He brought Kyle closer to his face, his breath hot and heavy. "You're gonna feel every bit of pain as I chew on you, and then, buddy, the real fun starts when you slide down my throat. Most painful fuckin' digestion you can imagine."

The casual tone of his threats, peppered with obscenities, heightened the brutality of the situation. There was no mercy in Dawson's words, only a brutal honesty about the agony that awaited Kyle.

Kyle squirmed desperately in Dawson's grasp, his small form doing little against the inmate's powerful hold. "Please, man, you can't do this! I'm a fucking person, not your damn snack!" he pleaded, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

Dawson only laughed, a harsh sound that echoed in the small space between them. "Oh, you're a person, alright. A person 'bout to become my next meal. A person ‘bout to be dead.” Dawson gave Kyle a clear view of his abs, before speaking again. “See that, little fucker? That’s where you’re goin’. And that’s where you’re fuckin’ dyin’.”

Kyle, in protest, physically struggled against the giant man's brutal grasp. Dawson chuckled at Kyle's feeble squirms. "Aw, ain't you a little fighter?" He squeezed his tiny captive tighter, relishing the feeling of the struggles against his palm. "Guess it don't matter how much you fight, you're endin' up in my gut anyway."

He lifted Kyle closer to his face, opening his mouth wide. "Take a good fuckin' whiff, 'cause you're gonna be smellin' a lot more of it soon." Dawson huffed in Kyle's face, his breath hot and tainted with the scent of the impending doom that awaited him. He smirked at Kyle's discomfort, finding perverse pleasure in the psychological torment.

"Fuck, that stinks!" Kyle said, the smell being more suffocating due to his small lung size. "You can't do this, you're violating my rights as an upstanding citizen."

"The law ain't gonna save your tiny ass, being a law-abiding citizen was what got you here in the first place." Dawson taunted. "You're just another meal for me, a criminal eatin' up a supposed 'civil' citizen. Life's a bitch, ain't it?" The casual cruelty in Dawson's tone only intensified the despair of the situation, his words a relentless reminder of the power he held over Kyle's fate.

Dawson's tongue snaked around Kyle, pulling him into the hot, cavernous expanse of his mouth. The taste was overwhelming, a mixture of saliva and the remnants of Dawson's last meal, probably from yesterday. The smell, a pungent blend of mouth odor and saliva, hung heavily in the air.

As Dawson sucked on Kyle, his tongue pressed against him, the firm grip restricting any chance of escape. The saliva clung to Kyle's naked form, making his struggles more futile with each passing second. Dawson reveled in the feeling of his tiny captive squirming, the vibrations of his movements causing him immense pleasure.

Then came the chewing. Dawson didn't hold back; he bit down with force, causing sharp pain to radiate through Kyle's diminutive body. The pressure was enough to bruise, to inflict injury, but not to end him. Each chew bit down harder, causing evident bruising on his body.

"Fuck!" Kyle's pained expletive escaped through the chaotic mess of Dawson's chewing, his teeth pressing down on him from top and bottom, coated with saliva and unrelenting in their biting.

Dawson grinned, feeling the distress coursing through Kyle. "Ain't it somethin', bein' chewed up alive? You're just a lil' appetizer before the real show in my gut." The malice in his tone amplified the horror, making each chew a brutal punctuation mark in the merciless consumption of Kyle.

Dawson continued his nonchalant demeanor as Kyle slid down his throat, the struggling form creating an evident bulge in the muscular curve of Dawson's neck. The descent was a hot, tight journey into the core of the beast, the casual cruelty persisting even as the tiny man entered the churning depths of Dawson's stomach.

The sensation of Kyle arriving in the stomach was marked by a distinct, guttural sound.

"BuUuRp!"

Escaped from Dawson's lips, a casual belch that coincided with the finality of Kyle's journey. The stomach walls embraced Kyle, the heat and pressure intensifying as he settled into the acidic pool. Dawson, seemingly unfazed, leaned back, savoring the moment as he patted his now-filled belly.

"Agreed to let 'em keep me alive until you're digested. Don't think you're gonna have a quick end, Kyle."

Dawson, smirking with a cruel glint in his eye, decided to make it more personal. He placed a flat hand against his abdominal muscles, his abs bulging out slightly due to the tiny's presence. "Now, little man, let's have some fuckin' fun."

With a sudden flex of his abdominal muscles, Dawson tightened his stomach around Kyle. The pressure was immense, a crushing force that left Kyle gasping for breath. Dawson's abs, chiseled and defined, clenched with power. The cruel twist of a smile adorned Dawson's face as he relished in Kyle's agony.

Kyle, caught in the throes of the stomach squeeze, couldn't help but swear through gritted teeth. "Fuck you, you sadistic asshole!"

Dawson's laughter filled the air as he continued to tighten his stomach around Kyle. "Squeezin' the life outta ya with my abs, and you're weak as fuck, can't do shit about it from in there."

As Dawson flexed and squeezed, Kyle's body contorted with the pressure. It was an excruciating experience, made worse by the casual cruelty of Dawson's actions. Each flex of those powerful abs seemed to mock Kyle's pain, turning the entire ordeal into a sadistic game for Dawson's amusement. The air was filled with Kyle's pained cries and the giant's taunts.

After excruciating minutes, Dawson let his stomach muscles relax and his abs bulged out slightly again. Kyle felt the squeeze subside, but his body was sore from how crushing it was. His body was now soaked entirely with acid, his skin beginning to tingle, and only now is he comprehending how much pain he's going to be in for the rest of his life.

As the hours unfolded, Dawson's stomach initiated its relentless assault on Kyle's diminutive form. The digestive acids wasted no time, greedily working through the soft flesh and bones of the tiny man. Kyle, now thoroughly bathed in the corrosive juices, experienced an agonizing digestion.

Dawson, nonchalant as ever, let out a casual chuckle, his tone laced with a cruel amusement. "Must be real cozy in there, huh? Feeling the burn?" He patted his own belly, relishing the discomfort he knew Kyle must be enduring.

The graphic scene inside Dawson's stomach unfolded with a visceral intensity. The acids burnt the outer layer of his skin, the pain unbearable as it seeped into his flesh and muscles, his body bleeding.

"Bet you're wishing you were back in your cozy apartment right about now, huh? Guess what, my body's your home sweet home now."

The relentless acids worked through muscle and sinew, reducing Kyle to a slushy mixture within the confines of Dawson's stomach. Kyle, despite his gradually-broken body, tried to fight back. Dawson, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle, couldn't help but offer another biting remark. "You're really giving my abs a workout in there, buddy. Never had a meal fight back so much."

Indifferent to the struggles within, waited for the next few hours to unfold, knowing that the graphic digestion had only just begun.

The corrosive acids, now thoroughly acquainted with Kyle's form, continued their brutal assault. The digestive enzymes, having broken down the outer layers, were now penetrating deeper into the soft tissues, liquefying them with a gruesome efficiency.

Kyle's screams, now reduced to muffled cries, echoed within the fleshy chamber. His body, once whole, was succumbing to the merciless digestive process as he couldn't bear to speak anymore, only cry. The acidic fluid turned a disturbing shade of reddish-green as more of Kyle's blood bled out of him and into it.

"You must look a fuckin' mess in there." Dawson said, rubbing his hand over the small bulge of his stomach.

The graphic scenes unfolded in gruesome detail. The acid, now reaching the deeper recesses of Kyle's anatomy, worked through organs and tissues. The distinct scent of the digestion, a putrid amalgamation of bodily fluids, hung in the air within Dawson's gut.

Kyle's life was being snuffed out brutally in Dawson's gut, the final gasps of his existence silenced by the relentless tide of digestive brutality.

Dawson, indifferent to the life he had just extinguished, burped nonchalantly. The taste of Kyle's blood lingered in his mouth. "Fuck," Dawson huffed, "You're weak as shit."

Dawson lifted his orange inmate shirt, showcasing his toned abs. "Got fuckin' destroyed." He gave it a pat.

"Best last fuckin' meal and last fuckin' thing I do with my life." He said, very content with his choice of a last meal.

#male pred #male vore #digestion #male prey #fatal #painful digestion #graphic digestion #Chewing #cruel pred #unwilling prey #g/t #macro/micro

315 notes · View notes

moonselune · 3 months

Note

May I request something with bg3 ladies and their female tav, who is usually encouraging and friendly, became a little down one day? It's more subtle but you can clearly notice how gloomy tav is and with a rather blank face, they have a habit of kinda isolating themselves from others whenever this happens (going to a lake and sit and hopefully relax) maybe tav walks by one of them and instead of an upbeat smile and greeting, tav just says a quiet "good morning." I hope this isn't too much! I would love it in any way ♡😚

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was used to seeing you with a bright smile and a cheerful disposition that could light up even the darkest corners of Avernus. Your optimism and friendliness were part of what made her fall for you in the first place. So, when she noticed you walking by with a blank expression and a quiet, almost whispered "good morning," her heart immediately sank.

"Hey there, sunshine," Karlach called out, trying to inject some of her usual enthusiasm into her voice. "What's going on?"

You just nodded slightly and kept walking, your shoulders slumped. This was not like you at all, and Karlach couldn't just let it go. She decided to follow you at a distance, her concern growing with each step.

She found you sitting by the lake, staring out at the water with a distant look in your eyes. The peacefulness of the scene contrasted sharply with the turmoil you felt inside. Karlach approached slowly, making sure not to startle you.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked softly, sitting down beside you without waiting for an answer. She could see the sadness etched on your face, the way your hands fidgeted nervously, the way your face rested in a natural frown.

"I'm sorry, Karlach," you murmured, not looking at her. "I just... needed some time alone."

Karlach reached out and gently took your hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Hey, it's okay. We all have our bad days. You don't have to apologize for feeling down."

You sighed, leaning into her touch. "It's just... everything feels overwhelming today. I don't know why."

Karlach wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. "You don't have to know why. Sometimes things just get to us, and that's okay. I'm here for you, no matter what."

You leaned your head against her shoulder, finding comfort in her presence. "Thank you, Karlach. It means a lot."

Karlach pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Anytime, love. We'll get through this together."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara was accustomed to seeing you bright and full of life, always ready with a kind word or a supportive gesture. So, when she noticed your subdued demeanor and the way you quietly muttered "good morning" as you walked past her, she knew something was wrong.

"Wait," Minthara called out, her voice firm but not unkind. "What troubles you today?"

You paused, but didn't turn around. "It's nothing, Minthara. I'm just... having a rough day."

Minthara's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched you walk away. She was not one to let things slide easily, especially when it came to you. With a determined stride, she followed you to the lake, where she found you sitting alone, staring into the distance.

Minthara approached silently, her presence strong yet comforting. She stood beside you for a moment, arms crossed, before speaking. "You are not one to be easily daunted, my love. What weighs so heavily on your mind?"

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and exhaustion. "...I just needed some time to think. Everything feels so overwhelming today. Just all of it is too much."

Minthara's expression softened, a tenderness in her gaze that was only reserved for you. She knelt beside you, her hand gently resting on your arm. "Even the strongest among us have moments of weakness. It does not make you any less."

You sighed, feeling a tear escape and run down your cheek. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You are never a burden," Minthara said firmly, lifting your chin so you met her eyes, she used her free hand to wipe the tear from your cheek. "You are my strength and my heart. We face these trials together."

You managed a small smile, touched by her words. "Thank you, Minthara. I just... I needed to hear that."

Minthara pulled you into an embrace, her arms encircling you protectively. "And you shall hear it as often as you need. I am here for you, always."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The morning air was crisp, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves as the camp stirred to life. It was routine, you being the first to greet everyone with a bright smile and encouraging words for the day, your energy infectious and uplifting even to the grumpiest of the lot. But today was different. As you walked by Lae'zel, your expression was blank, your shoulders slightly hunched.

"Good morning," you said quietly, barely meeting her eyes before continuing on your way towards the lake.

Lae'zel's sharp eyes immediately noticed the change. Your usual vibrancy was replaced with a dullness that unsettled her. She watched you for a moment, frowning in concern before deciding to follow you.

She found you sitting by the lake, staring out at the water with a faraway look. The usual sparkle in your eyes was absent, replaced by a quiet, lingering sadness. Lae'zel approached you cautiously, her usual commanding presence softened by her worry.

"Y/N," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "What troubles you? Are you sick? Is ceremorphosis upon you- "

"Oh, Lae'zel. It's nothing, really," you tried to brush it off, but your voice lacked conviction and then you panicked, "And it is definitely not ceremorphosis."

Lae'zel nodded and sat down beside you, her intense gaze never leaving your face. "You are not yourself today. Do not dismiss your feelings, it is bad for battle. Speak to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down. "I just… I feel overwhelmed sometimes. Everything feels like it's too much, and I don't know how to handle it."

Lae'zel nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It is natural to feel this way. You bear much responsibility and face many challenges. But you do not have to face them alone."

Her words were a comfort, a reminder that you had someone by your side who understood strength and vulnerability. You leaned against her, finding solace in her presence.

"Thank you, Lae'zel," you said softly. "I just needed to hear that."

She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, her grip firm yet comforting. "I am here for you, always. We will face whatever comes together."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden hue over the camp. Normally, you were the one to greet everyone with a cheerful smile, your positive energy a constant source of support for your companions. But today, as you walked past Shadowheart, your head was down, and your usual bright demeanor was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning," you murmured quietly, barely glancing in her direction before heading towards the lake. Shadowheart's keen eyes caught the change immediately and was quick to pursue you, though at a distance.

She found you sitting alone by the lake, your gaze lost in the rippling water. The vibrant spirit that usually shone in your eyes was replaced by a distant, melancholic stare. It hurt Shadowheart to see you like this. She approached quietly, her presence gentle and unobtrusive.

"Y/N, love," she said softly, sitting down beside you. "You seem troubled. What's on your mind?"

"Oh, Shadowheart. It's nothing, really," You looked up at her, slowly as you tried to dismiss her, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Shadowheart reached out, taking your hand in hers. "Don't hide your feelings from me, please. I can see that something is bothering you. Talk to me."

You sighed, your emotions overwhelming you, "I just… I feel too much sometimes. Everything just feels like it's too much, and-and I don't know how to handle it."

Shadowheart's eyes softened. "It's okay to feel that way. You're always so strong for everyone else, but it's important to take care of yourself too."

Her words were a comfort, a loving reminder that you didn't have to carry the burden alone. You squeezed her hand, finding solace in her touch.

"Thank you, Shadowheart," you said softly. "I just needed to hear that."

She smiled gently, her thumb brushing soothing circles on your hand. "I'm here for you, always, my love. We can face anything together."

The two of you sat in peaceful silence, the gentle sounds of nature providing a calming backdrop as you began to feel a sense of peace return to you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

120 notes · View notes

horeformilfs · 10 months

Text

Little Crow

Mother Miranda X Fem! Reader

TW: Near Death, Experimentation, Panic Attack, Nightmare, Manipulation

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

The biting cold of winter gnawed at Y/n's consciousness as she lay on the brink of death. A veil of darkness enveloped her, and the frigid wind whispered it's icy lullaby. In the stillness of the night, Mother Miranda discovered Y/n, a fragile soul on the edge of oblivion. The woman, shrouded in mystery, cradled the unconscious figure and spirited her away to the eerie confines of her hidden laboratory.

When Y/n awoke, the sterile scent of antiseptic assaulted her senses. Confusion etched across her face as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Mother Miranda loomed over her, a haunting silhouette against the backdrop of medical equipment and arcane symbols. The ethereal figure explained how she had saved Y/n from the clutches of death.

With a furrowed brow, Y/n questioned the circumstances surrounding her rescue, seeking answers in the eyes of Mother Miranda. "Where am I? What happened?" she inquired, her voice a fragile echo in the sterile air.

The cryptic woman revealed the truth, stripping away the illusion of benevolence. "You were on the brink of demise. I saved you. You are in my domain now," Miranda declared with a dispassionate certainty that sent shivers down Y/n's spine.

A chill settled in Y/n's heart as she asked when she would be able to leave. The response was cold and unyielding. "Never," Miranda stated, her voice echoing through the sterile room.

Confused and indignant, Y/n protested, "Why? I didn't ask for your help, and I certainly didn't agree to be your prisoner!"

A smirk played upon Miranda's lips as she revealed her true intentions. "You are mine now. A subject for my experiments. Your destiny is entwined with mine," she asserted, her words a haunting melody that reverberated through the room.

Y/n recoiled, defiance in her eyes. "I am not some property for you to claim! You can't just take me and do as you please!"

Miranda's smirk deepened, and her eyes gleamed with an unsettling confidence. "That's where you're wrong, my dear. In this domain, you are nothing but mine to control and use. Welcome to your new reality."

Days melded into a nightmarish blur as Miranda's relentless experiments continued to unfold upon Y/n. The sterile walls of the laboratory bore witness to the suffering etched across Y/n's face. In a desperate attempt to grasp the reasons behind her torment, Y/n mustered the strength to question Miranda.

"Why me?" Y/n's voice trembled, a plea for answers in the midst of agony.

Miranda responded with cryptic prose that offered no solace. "The tapestry of fate is woven with threads of sacrifice. You are but a pawn in a grand design," she murmured, her gaze fixated on the swirling concoctions in her hands.

A cold shiver ran down Y/n's spine as Miranda injected her with a sedative, the world fading into a hazy dreamscape. As Y/n fought the impending pull of unconsciousness, she struggled to voice her questions, each attempt drowned in the intoxicating numbness.

The next awakening brought little respite. Y/n found herself lying on the sterile bed once more, Miranda meticulously recording notes from the latest experiment. Desperation clawed at Y/n's chest as she summoned the strength to speak once more.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Y/n's words wavered, the echo of her plea lingering in the sterile air.

Miranda glanced at her with an indifferent gaze before resuming her work, the answer elusive as ever. Y/n, tired of the ceaseless torment, reached the precipice of despair. In a voice laced with weariness, she begged, "If I can't leave, if there's no escape from this nightmare, just end it. Kill me and free me from this agony."

A chilling silence enveloped the room as Miranda paused, her expression unreadable. The weight of Y/n's plea lingered, the room suffused with an unsettling tension, as if the very air held its breath, awaiting a response from the mistress of this macabre domain.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open once more, the stark reality of her captivity settling like a heavy shroud. In a desperate attempt to break free from this nightmare, she pleaded with Miranda once again, her voice tinged with both desperation and frustration.

"Please, Miranda, let me go. I beg you. I can't take this any longer," Y/n implored, her eyes searching for a hint of mercy in Miranda's gaze.

But Miranda, unmoved by the plea, shook her head. "You are destined for something greater, my dear. I won't let you go," she declared with an air of finality.

Confusion and fear gripped Y/n as she questioned, "Destined for what? Why won't you just tell me the truth?"

Miranda, ever cryptic, revealed her grand design. "You will be the fifth lord of the village, ruling over your own domain. The cadou will be implanted within you, granting you unimaginable power," she explained, a twisted sense of pride in her proclamation.

Y/n recoiled at the revelation, a surge of defiance rising within her. "I won't be part of your twisted plans! I won't let you turn me into some monster!" she protested, her voice laced with determination.

Miranda's gaze remained unyielding. "As long as you don't succumb to the lycan transformation, you shall rule over your domain with power and influence," she stated, as if sealing Y/n's fate with the utterance of those words.

Despite Y/n's fervent resistance, Miranda stood firm, her decision unwavering. "The procedure will take place tomorrow evening. The other lords will bear witness to your ascension," Miranda declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The weight of impending doom settled upon Y/n's shoulders, the realization that escape was futile. The once-vivid hope for freedom now flickered, threatened by the encroaching darkness of Miranda's ambitions. Tomorrow would unveil a twisted destiny, and Y/n could only brace herself for the unknown horrors that awaited

The night of the ominous procedure descended, casting a shadow over Y/n's fragile hope. Miranda led her to a dimly lit chamber, where the other lords awaited—Alcina Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Karl Heisenberg, and Salvatore Moreau. Their presence intensified the air of dread that hung over the room.

Alcina, statuesque and commanding, fixated her gaze on Y/n, a predatory glint in her eyes. Before the procedure began, she approached with an air of casual flirtation, causing Miranda's envious ire to flare.

"Well, well, Miranda, you've found quite the interesting specimen," Alcina purred, her gaze lingering on Y/n. "Quite a pity to subject such beauty to your experiments."

Miranda, barely containing her jealousy, shot Alcina a warning glance before dragging Y/n toward the cold, metallic operating table. The restraints clamped around Y/n's limbs, rendering her immobile as Miranda prepared for the procedure.

In a hushed tone, Miranda informed Y/n, "I won't sedate you. The pain will be excruciating, you may pass out if it becomes too much. Do try to endure it."

Terror etched across Y/n's face as she pleaded, "Please, Miranda, don't do this! I beg you!"

Ignoring her pleas, Miranda proceeded with the surgery. Y/n's back lay exposed as Miranda carefully opened it, revealing the vulnerability of her spine. The cadou, an otherworldly entity, awaited its integration.

As the cadou attached itself to Y/n's spinal cord, an indescribable pain erupted through her body. Each invasive touch sent waves of agony coursing through her, and the room spun in a disorienting blur. Y/n's cries of anguish filled the chamber, the torment escalating with each passing moment.

Alcina observed with detached interest, a smirk playing on her lips. "Fascinating, isn't it?" she remarked, her tone betraying a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Y/n, on the brink of unconsciousness, gasped for breath between tortured sobs. "Please, make it stop!" she begged, her plea lost in the sea of agony.

The room echoed with the unsettling sounds of the unholy procedure, and as Y/n succumbed to the unbearable pain, the darkness claimed her consciousness, leaving her at the mercy of Miranda's experiments.

As the procedure unfolded, Y/n's body underwent a miraculous transformation. The wound on her back healed before their eyes, revealing the regenerative capabilities bestowed upon her by the cadou. Satisfied with the apparent success, Miranda covered Y/n with a blanket and gently laid her on her back, allowing her to rest while she conferred with the other lords.

As Miranda engaged in conversation with the remaining lords, Alcina couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was amiss. Her sharp instincts led her back to Y/n's side. The sight of her serene form beneath the blanket belied the turmoil within.

A few minutes passed, and Alcina's suspicion deepened. She leaned in to examine Y/n more closely, her hand gently brushing against Y/n's forehead. Alarmed, she realized that Y/n was burning up with a fever.

"Something's not right," Alcina muttered to herself, her concern deepening as Y/n began to stir.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused and delirious. In a weak voice, she mumbled, "Am I dying?"

Alcina, kneeling beside her, brushed the hair from Y/n's face with a soft touch. "No, my dear. You're going to be okay," she reassured, trying to offer comfort amidst the uncertainty.

The three other lords had departed, leaving Alcina alone with the ailing Y/n. Concern etched across her elegant features, Alcina made her way to Mother Miranda to share her discovery.

"There's something wrong with your experiment. The girl has a fever, and she seems... weakened," Alcina stated, her gaze unwavering.

Miranda, initially dismissive, turned her attention to Alcina. "It's merely a side effect. The transformation is taxing on the body. She will recover," she asserted, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

Alcina, not entirely convinced, kept a watchful eye on Y/n, determined to uncover the mystery shrouding the girl's newfound existence in the village of shadows.

An hour passed, and Alcina vigilantly watched over the delirious Y/n as Miranda continued her cleanup and note-taking from the procedure. The room, once filled with the unsettling sounds of experimentation, now echoed with an uneasy silence.

Y/n stirred once more, her eyes clouded with confusion and her words a desperate murmur. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." she repeated, the weight of remorse heavy in her delirium.

Alcina, attempting to make sense of the apologies, leaned in to question Y/n. "Sorry for what, my dear? What troubles you?" she inquired, her concern etched across her regal features.

Before Y/n could respond, a sudden and violent seizure gripped her, her eyes rolling back, and her body convulsing. Alcina reacted swiftly, rushing to Mother Miranda to alert her to the dire situation.

Initially skeptical, Miranda tried to dismiss Alcina's concerns, but as the severity became evident, her cold exterior cracked. Panic flashed in Miranda's eyes as she rushed to Y/n's side, abandoning her usual composure. "What is happening?" Miranda demanded, urgency replacing her usual stoicism.

Alcina, maintaining her calm, swiftly procured a sedative and a needle, handing them to Miranda. "She's having a seizure. We need to sedate her," Alcina asserted, her eyes locked on Y/n's convulsing form.

Miranda, finally acknowledging the gravity of the situation, nodded and carefully dosed the sedative before injecting it into Y/n's arm. The seizure subsided, leaving Y/n disoriented, her gaze searching for something to anchor her faltering consciousness.

Miranda, an uncharacteristic gentleness in her touch, carded her hand through Y/n's hair, trying to comfort the distressed soul. "It's alright. You're going to be okay," Miranda murmured, her usual air of authority replaced by genuine concern.

Y/n, still caught in the throes of delirium, continued to murmur apologies, her voice fading as the sedative took effect. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." she whispered before succumbing to the soothing embrace of unconsciousness, leaving Miranda and Alcina to grapple with the uncertainties of her tortured existence.

Y/n lay in peaceful slumber in a quiet room, the traces of the recent ordeal evident on her exhausted form. Meanwhile, Miranda and Alcina retreated to a dimly lit corner to discuss the unsettling events that had unfolded.

Alcina, her piercing gaze fixed on Miranda, couldn't resist probing the woman about her unexpected display of gentleness. "I never took you for a caretaker, Miranda. What is it about this girl that softened your resolve?" Alcina's tone held a curious edge, her eyes searching for the cracks in Miranda's composed facade.

Miranda, initially dismissive, tried to deflect the question. "It's merely practical. She's a valuable asset, and her well-being is crucial for the success of my experiments."

Alcina, undeterred, continued to press. "Practicality, Miranda? I've seen you deal with subjects before, but I've never seen you show such concern. What's different this time?"

Miranda's gaze drifted towards the sleeping Y/n, a subtle smile gracing her features. Alcina, noticing the uncharacteristic expression, couldn't help but smirk knowingly. "Ah, Miranda, it seems you've developed a soft spot for the girl. How intriguing."

Rolling her eyes, Miranda attempted to maintain her stoic composure. "Don't be absurd, Alcina. I have no sentimental attachments."

But Alcina persisted, her smirk widening. "Oh, spare me. I can see it in your eyes. There's more to this than practicality. Admit it, Miranda, there are feelings involved."

Miranda's stern facade wavered, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. She glanced back at Y/n, still peacefully asleep, and finally conceded, "Fine, there might be... something. But it's irrelevant. She's a means to an end."

Alcina, satisfied with her victory, chuckled softly. "Love can be a powerful force, Miranda. Don't underestimate its influence, especially in these peculiar circumstances."

Miranda shot Alcina a warning glare, but a hint of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. As they continued to observe the slumbering Y/n, the room held an air of unspoken complexity, leaving the emotions between them shrouded in the village's lingering shadows.

Days passed, and Y/n's recovery unfolded slowly. The room, once filled with the tense atmosphere of experiments, now echoed with the soft sounds of her mending breaths. Miranda and Alcina, though each harboring their own thoughts, found themselves drawn back to the side of the convalescent.

Y/n, still in the embrace of healing dreams, remained oblivious to the silent conversations that transpired between Miranda and Alcina. The air hung thick in the room, as both women navigated the uncharted waters of emotions they were reluctant to acknowledge.

Miranda, ever the stoic figure, observed Y/n with a mix of clinical interest and an unfamiliar tenderness. Alcina, however, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease the usually unyielding Mother Miranda. "I must say, Miranda, you're becoming quite the caregiver. Who would have thought?"

Miranda shot Alcina a withering glance. "This changes nothing. She's still a tool, a means to an end," she asserted, though the conviction in her voice wavered.

Alcina, undeterred, circled the topic like a predator circling its prey. "And yet, you smile when you look at her. I never thought I'd see the day when Mother Miranda, the cold and calculating, would show such vulnerability."

Miranda's gaze flickered towards Y/n, who stirred in her sleep. The small smile that graced Miranda's lips went unnoticed by her, but not by the persistent Alcina.

"I wonder, Miranda, are you starting to care for her in a way that goes beyond your experiments?" Alcina's voice held a teasing lilt, testing the boundaries of Miranda's carefully guarded emotions.

Miranda sighed, her defenses momentarily crumbling. "Feelings have no place in my work. This is merely an unexpected complication."

Alcina, satisfied with her playful interrogation, leaned against the wall. "Time will tell, Miranda. Sometimes the unexpected can lead to the most intriguing developments."

As the room returned to its hushed stillness, the unresolved tension lingered in the air. Miranda, with a final glance at the resting Y/n, left the room, her thoughts trailing in her wake. The delicate dance of emotions within the village of shadows continued, shrouded in mysteries that even the formidable Mother Miranda couldn't fully unravel.

Y/n awakened in an unfamiliar bedroom, the soft glow of an early dawn filtering through the curtains. The room felt both foreign and oddly comforting. Wrapping a blanket around herself, she ventured further into the unfamiliar space. The mirror above the dresser caught her eye, and as she glanced into it, a shiver ran down her spine. Staring back at her were piercing yellow eyes, a stark contrast to the familiar gaze she once knew.

A sense of disquiet settled in her chest as Y/n made her way through the house. The walls adorned with paintings told tales of a history she couldn't quite grasp. As she ascended a staircase, she found herself drawn to the dim light seeping through a partially open door. Pushing the door open, Y/n discovered a room bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. Books lined shelves, creating a haven for knowledge. It was a library, a vast collection of forgotten stories and untold secrets.

As Y/n continued to explore the depths of the library, she stumbled upon an unexpected sight. There, on a cozy couch, sat Mother Miranda, appearing surprisingly domestic. The ambient light revealed the striking features that had been concealed by the formidable facade—piercing blue eyes, defined cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and long, flowing blonde hair. Y/n found herself momentarily captivated by the unexpected beauty of the woman.

Lost in her observations, Y/n failed to notice Miranda rising from the couch and silently approaching. The sudden presence startled her, and Y/n turned to find Miranda standing before her. With a teasing smirk, Miranda directed Y/n's face up by her chin, forcing her to meet those intense blue eyes.

"Well, little crow, did you enjoy the view?" Miranda's voice dripped with amusement as her fingers traced lightly along Y/n's jawline and down her neck. Y/n's breath hitched, the unexpected intimacy causing a blush to creep across her cheeks.

Miranda, reveling in the effect, continued to tease. "You seem quite taken by the beauty that's been right in front of you all along. Did you think I was only capable of cruelty?"

Y/n stammered, attempting to regain composure. "I... I just didn't expect to see you like this."

Miranda chuckled, the sultry sound echoing in the library. "Expectations can be deceiving, little crow. There's more to me than meets the eye."

The teasing continued as Miranda leaned in, her lips grazing Y/n's ear. "You know, little crow, you're quite enchanting when you're flustered. It's a sight to behold."

Y/n, now thoroughly flustered, turned away, attempting to hide her embarrassment. Miranda's sultry chuckle filled the air, and she whispered something that made Y/n's blush deepen.

"Such a delicate little thing, aren't you? Easily rattled." Miranda's voice was a sultry purr as she continued to playfully torment Y/n. "But there's a certain allure in vulnerability, don't you think?"

As the teasing dance between them unfolded, the library became a stage for the interplay of emotions, leaving Y/n caught in the intricate web that Mother Miranda seemed to delight in weaving.

Y/n, still slightly flustered from Miranda's teasing, attempted to regain her composure. Clearing her throat, she decided to address the pressing matter at hand. "Mother Miranda, can you please explain what happened during the experiment? I need to understand."

Miranda, with an air of mystery, simply responded, "All in good time, little crow. Right now, you should focus on resting." Her tone left no room for negotiation, and Y/n, unaware of her own fatigue, reluctantly agreed to heed Miranda's advice.

Guiding Y/n back to the room she had awakened in, Miranda spoke softly, "You'll find everything you need in here. Rest well. I'm just across the hall if you require anything."

As Miranda bid her goodnight, Y/n couldn't shake the sense of vulnerability that lingered between them. A step forward from Miranda closed the distance, and Y/n instinctively took a step back, her back meeting the door. A question caught in her throat, silenced by the unexpected proximity.

With a tenderness that contradicted her usual demeanor, Miranda placed a gentle kiss on the corner of Y/n's mouth. "Goodnight, my dear," she murmured before retreating to her own room, leaving Y/n standing there, stunned and breathless.

The closing of Miranda's door jolted Y/n back to reality, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The woman's unexpected gesture left Y/n grappling with a newfound awareness, a whisper of desire lingering in the air of the village of shadows. As Y/n settled into the room, the mysteries surrounding her and Mother Miranda only deepened, leaving her with more questions than answers as she succumbed to the beckoning embrace of sleep.

Miranda, having concluded her work in the lab, was making her way back to her room when she heard a faint murmur emanating from Y/n's room. A subtle hesitation gripped her, but an inexplicable concern propelled her forward. Something compelled Miranda to check on the younger woman.

Upon entering Y/n's room, the sight that greeted Miranda was disconcerting. Y/n thrashed in her sleep, as if caught in the clutches of an unseen adversary. Miranda, suppressing her usual stoicism, approached the bedside with a mix of curiosity and worry.

She leaned in, her voice a gentle murmur, "Y/n, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Y/n jolted awake, eyes wide and frantic, scanning the room. When her gaze finally settled on Miranda, relief and fear mingled in her expression. Her body trembled violently, and it was evident that the nightmare had left its mark.

Miranda reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Y/n's shoulder. "It's over now. You're safe," she murmured, attempting to ground the distressed woman.

However, as Miranda spoke, Y/n's eyes seemed to lose focus, the distant look of derealization clouding her gaze. She shook uncontrollably, caught in the aftermath of the vivid dream that still haunted her subconscious.

"Y/n, can you hear me?" Miranda tried to connect with her, concern etched on her features. Y/n's distant gaze met hers, but the glazed-over look persisted, as if she were trapped in the remnants of a fading nightmare.

As Y/n struggled in the grip of derealization, her trembling hand reached out blindly, seeking something tangible to anchor her in reality. Miranda, attuned to the vulnerability of the moment, gently intercepted Y/n's searching hand, clasping it in her own.

With a tenderness that belied her usual demeanor, Miranda held Y/n's hand securely, occasionally squeezing it as if to reassure her. "Come back to me, little crow," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody cutting through the disorienting haze.

Miranda continued to speak softly, coaxing Y/n back to the present moment. "You're safe. Focus on my voice, on the touch of my hand. Breathe, my dear. In and out. In and out."

Y/n, still caught in the aftermath of the nightmare, slowly started to respond to Miranda's gentle guidance. Her vacant gaze began to regain focus, and Miranda maintained a steady presence, offering a lifeline to the shaken woman.

As Y/n gradually returned to the present, the tremors persisted, and Miranda adapted her approach. She guided Y/n to hold a piece of ice, the sudden cold a sensory shock that could help ground her. "Feel the cold, little crow. Focus on the sensation. It's real. You're here."

Miranda continued to talk Y/n through the grounding process, her voice a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. "You're strong, my dear. You've faced nightmares before, and you'll conquer them again. Breathe with me. In and out. In and out."

Miranda, her concern evident, gently asked Y/n, "What happened, my dear?" Y/n, still recovering from the nightmare-induced haze, responded in a detached manner, "Nightmare. Don't wanna talk."

Miranda nodded understandingly, respecting Y/n's need for silence. "That's okay, my dear. Take your time," she reassured, her voice a soft whisper.

Sensing Y/n's need for grounding, Miranda delicately broached the topic of physical comfort. "Is it okay if I offer a bit more comfort, perhaps some physical contact?" she asked, her gaze steady.

Y/n, still shaken but willing to accept solace, nodded in agreement. "Yes, please," she replied, her voice a fragile whisper.

Miranda, with a tenderness that defied her usual demeanor, wiped the lingering tears from Y/n's cheeks. She then cupped Y/n's face, her touch gentle yet firm, providing a stabilizing anchor for the distressed woman. Y/n, seeking solace, leaned into Miranda's touch, finding a momentary refuge in the connection.

As the warmth of Miranda's hand enveloped her, Y/n felt a fleeting sense of security. Miranda, respecting the delicate balance, continued to caress Y/n's cheek, offering a silent reassurance through the language of touch.

In the quiet aftermath, Miranda broached another option. "Would you like to stay here, or would you feel more comfortable in my room?" she inquired, her concern unwavering.

Y/n, craving the presence of the person who had become an unexpected source of comfort, hesitated before answering, "I want to go to your room."

Miranda nodded, accepting Y/n's choice without judgment. "Very well, my dear. Let's go," she said, guiding Y/n toward her room, the shadows of the village concealing the complexities of their connection, woven through shared nightmares and moments of vulnerability.

Miranda guided Y/n to her room, a space that held the echo of enigmatic secrets. As they entered, Miranda ensured Y/n was comfortably settled in bed. The room, bathed in a soft glow from a small lamp, retained an air of serenity.

Miranda excused herself briefly to get ready for bed. Before leaving, Y/n, with a quiet vulnerability, whispered, "Please don't leave." Miranda, stroking Y/n's hair soothingly, assured her, "I'll be right back. Just getting ready."

True to her word, Miranda returned after a brief moment, finding Y/n still awaiting her presence. She dimmed the bright overhead light, leaving only the gentle illumination of the lamp on her side of the bed. The room now held a subtle warmth, a sanctuary against the shadows that lingered beyond.

Miranda slipped into bed, opening her arms in an unspoken invitation. "I'm here, only if you're comfortable," she whispered, her voice a soft reassurance.

Y/n, grateful for the offered comfort, responded by snuggling close to Miranda, wrapping an arm around her waist. She rested her face in the crook of Miranda's neck, finding solace in the reassuring scent that enveloped her – spicy, warm, and infused with the subtle allure of amber.

In the quiet intimacy of Miranda's room, Y/n found herself grappling with the intricacies of her emotions. She hesitated for a moment before expressing her inner turmoil. "I don't understand this," she admitted quietly.

Miranda, lying beside her, propped herself up on an elbow, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What do you mean?" she inquired, the dim light of the room casting a gentle glow on their faces.

Y/n sighed, her gaze fixed on an indistinct point in the room. "I should be mad at you for what you did, for everything, but I can't seem to be," she confessed, a hint of confusion in her voice.

Miranda, understanding the weight of Y/n's words, reached over and gently covered them both with the comforter. With a tenderness that belied her usual stoicism, she traced random patterns on Y/n's back while her thumb caressed the younger woman's cheek. "Emotions are complex, my dear. Sometimes, it takes time to unravel them, to understand the why and the how," she offered, her voice a soothing murmur.

Y/n, comforted by Miranda's touch, hummed softly in response. They lingered in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the unspoken understanding between them weaving a delicate tapestry.

Breaking the quietude, Y/n finally spoke, "Thank you, Mother Miranda."

Miranda, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and curiosity, gently corrected, "You can call me Miranda, dear." She quirked an eyebrow, prompting Y/n to explain her gratitude.

Y/n hesitated for a moment before answering, "Thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome, my dear," Miranda responded, her gaze softening as she continued to trace patterns on Y/n's back. "You were worth saving, and the reason goes beyond what I had initially thought those weeks ago."

Y/n, looking at Miranda with a mix of curiosity and confusion, questioned, "What do you mean? What's the reason?"

Miranda, her expression momentarily contemplative, sighed softly. "It's a complex matter, emotions. I find myself quite taken with you, more so than I had anticipated. The reasons, the nuances, they extend beyond the boundaries I had set for myself."

Y/n's brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Taken with me? But why? After everything that happened..."

Miranda, still tracing comforting patterns on Y/n's back, met her gaze.

"Emotions don't always adhere to logic, my dear. There's something about you that intrigues me, something that defies the usual calculations of my mind."

Y/n, grappling with the unexpected revelation, asked, "What do you mean by 'taken with me'? What are these feelings?"

Miranda, her usual enigmatic facade momentarily replaced by a hint of vulnerability, admitted, "I'm not entirely sure. It's a puzzle even I haven't fully deciphered. But there's a connection, a fascination that goes beyond the confines of my usual pursuits."

Y/n, despite the confusion, felt a sense of warmth in Miranda's admission. "Taken with me?" she repeated, a small smile playing on her lips. "I never thought I'd hear Mother Miranda say something like that."

Miranda chuckled softly. "Nor did I, my dear. But here we are, entangled in the complexities of emotions that neither of us fully understands."

Y/n, feeling a surge of confidence, sat up in bed, facing Miranda. The older woman's gaze fell on Y/n's now yellow eyes, and she couldn't help but comment, "Quite the vibrant change in eye color, my dear."

Y/n, embarrassed, buried her face in her hands. Miranda, true to her nature, seized the opportunity to tease. "Oh, come now. Don't hide those captivating eyes. They suit you, little crow."

After enduring enough of Miranda's teasing, Y/n playfully exclaimed, "Enough, Miranda. Seriously, stop."

Miranda, ever the provocateur, quirked an eyebrow and smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction she was provoking. But before she could respond, Y/n decided to take matters into her own hands—quite literally.

In a surprising move, Y/n shut Miranda up by leaning in and capturing her lips in a kiss. Miranda, initially caught off guard, quickly reciprocated, the tension between them shifting into an unexpected yet charged intimacy.

When they finally pulled apart, Miranda looked at Y/n with a mix of surprise and intrigue. The room was enveloped in a comfortable silence for a few moments, both women seemingly stunned by the sudden turn of events.

Miranda, not one to let a moment pass, pulled Y/n closer until she was straddling her lap. Y/n gasped at the sudden closeness, locking eyes with Miranda. The older woman smirked, reveling in the effect she had on the younger one.

As Y/n began to question Miranda, she was promptly cut off mid-sentence. Miranda, with a devilish glint in her eyes, decided actions spoke louder than words.

Their lips met again in a fervent kiss, the air thick with a newfound tension. Y/n, lacing her fingers through Miranda's hair, surrendered to the unexpected yet irresistible pull of desire, the village of shadows bearing witness to the unfolding of a connection that transcended the boundaries of reason and expectation.

In the months that followed, Y/n had embraced her role as the fifth lord with a fierce determination, earning a reputation for being cold, calculating, and intimidating. The powers granted by the Cadou had transformed her into a formidable force—rapid regeneration, the ability to shapeshift into a crow, mental manipulation, superhuman strength, speed, biological immortality, and unwavering durability. These powers mirrored those of Mother Miranda, forging a dynamic partnership that became the talk of the village.

The relationship between Y/n and Miranda had evolved into a public affair, sparking fear among the villagers. Disobeying any of the lords now meant facing not only the wrath of the individual lord but also the combined might of Mother Miranda and Y/n. The village quivered under the weight of their influence, and the dynamic duo maintained order with an iron grip.

Despite the fear they instilled, Mother Miranda and Y/n worked tirelessly with the other lords to resurrect Miranda's long-lost daughter. The process was intricate and delicate, requiring the combined powers and knowledge of the lords. Y/n, serving as a steadfast support by Miranda's side, became an integral part of the resurrection plan.

The relationship between Mother Miranda and Y/n deepened as they navigated the complexities of their roles, both in the village and in their personal lives. The shared goal of reuniting Miranda with her daughter forged a connection that surpassed the surface-level fears and rumors. Together, they faced the challenges posed by their powers, their duties, and the intricate web of emotions that bound them in the village of shadows.

#mother miranda x y/n #resident evil mother miranda #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #alcina dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #salvatore moreau #donna beneviento #resident evil village

224 notes · View notes

cypressure · 10 months

Text

Ritual (2021), soap ground etching on paper, edition of 5+2AP+SP

An etching mythicizing and romanticizing my weekly hormone injections. Made for the Strike While the Ink Is Hot! Vol. 3 zine by But Whole Press.

You can buy a print in this edition on my gumroad store!

#printmaking #for sale #etching #figures

196 notes · View notes

itsnotbird · 7 days

Text

Orphic ~ File 2

Yonderly (adj.); mentally or emotionally distant; absent-minded

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warning: Talks of past trauma, needles, Tony Stark being an ass

Find part 1 here

Dr. Bruce Banner hadn’t left your side in hours.

He ran as many tests as possible, and the results laid out on the table so he could discuss it with Tony. Confirmed that you were an enhanced individual, they could only make a scientific guess that you had some kind of psychokinesis, or the ability to manipulate energy, given the fact that Sam and Bucky were still having fantom jolts.

One thing that was left undetermined, was the reason why you weren’t waking up.

“She’s perfectly healthy, well, a little malnourished but nothing medically significant that is preventing her from coming out of the coma.” Banner says as he rubs his eyes and puts his glasses back on.

Tony watches your heart rate, your oxygen levels, then walks over to the screen where the 3D scan of your brain is actively showing an almost hibernating state. He shakes his head, trying to understand.

“There’s nothing we can do to just wake her up? Inject her with something?” He asks, making the doctor shake his head.

“We don’t know how her powers are going to react to it…” His tone suddenly trails off, then he looks around the area to make sure that the super soldier who flat out said ‘no poking or prodding’ wasn’t around. Then when the coast was clear, he presents his idea. “We could test her platelets, it’s a small procedure I can do quick. It might give us more answers and I could use them as separate test subjects.”

It peeks Tony’s interests, he looks back over to you.

“I wish we could just be in her mind, see what the real problem is. It feels…wrong, treating her like an alien.” He says with a hint of protectiveness. Normally, before he had his daughter, he would have jumped at the chance at using someone spectacular for science.

Now, he can only frown and say no.

Though, another idea comes to him.

“We need to see inside her mind, we can’t but we have someone who can do that.” He says, then calls out for FRIDAY’s attention. “Tell the little witch her services are needed.”

Bucky sits with his arms folded in the common area. Steve sits in the chair opposite of the couch, they’ve been having short conversations for about an hour, though Steve is getting rather tired of his best friend’s unamused attitude.

“So…you kidnapped a girl.” Steve says, breaking the silence.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I didn’t kidnap her, you can’t kidnap an adult…I just abducted her.”

“Yeah, that’s not better, Buck.” Steve chuckles.

The tap of boots walks past the two men, making them turn and watch Wanda hurriedly make her way to the MedBay. Immediately after she passes, Steve and Bucky share a look.

That had to mean something.

“You think they’re going to force her awake?” Steve asks, face etched with concern and question.

Bucky purses his lips. “They’d be smart to not force her to do anything, I think she might blow the whole building up.”

It’s in the next coming minutes that they are laughing and finally feeling like their old selves then they hear the commotion. Taking off in a run, they both rush to the medical bay.

Tony thought it was going to be smooth. Wanda used her wiggly woo powers (as he calls them) and searched your mind.

“She’s simply asleep…like she’s almost comatose. I think she’s strained herself and her powers are regulating her.” She said, shifting her red strands of power to affect your brain differently. “I can wake her up.”

“Yes! Wake her up.” Tony eagerly states, then moves him and Bruce back a few feet. He’s been doing this super power thing long enough to know that it isn’t always a smooth sail.

Then it happened so fast.

Your heart rate spiked, you stirred slightly. Then, your eyes opened, they were a soft shade of steel blue, almost grey. Your vision clears and your senses came back to you. The ceiling above you didn’t look right, as you looked around, the scene wasn’t familiar.

Your legs and arms were bound.

You struggle, then look to the woman that comes into your vision.

“Hello.” She says softly.

You panic.

More unfamiliar faces come into frame, telling you to calm down and breathe as you thrash in the bed.

Tony watches in concern as you grunt, and when you do speak, a series of red flags raise in his mind.

“Где я?” You shout, trying to flex your hands but they are still covered with Sam’s anti-shock mitt solution. You pant heavily, the blood pressure monitor starts to beep rapidly.

“Okay, this isn’t ideal.” Tony says, watching in horror as Wanda tries to calm you.

They don’t expect for you to break free from the restraints.

“Кто ты?” You look around, shouting.

“Not good!” Bruce agrees, watching as you rip the mitts off your hands.

A surge of blue power gathers at your fingertips, ready to defend yourself. Your head on a swivel, you jump from the bed and try to figure out an escape route while the three strangers in the room all shout for you to stay calm. The woman, red hair, unsure expression, she steps towards you.

“Не подходи ко мне!” You cry, seizing your hand forward, admitting a blue light. She barely has time to defend herself before she’s shoved into the nearest wall, knocking countless things over as she goes.

That’s the noise that sends the two super soldiers running.

Bruce quickly dives for a sedative, throwing it to Tony who comes up behind you and jabs the needle into your neck. A scream tears from your throat, you stumble over your feet.

“Tony? What the hell is wrong with you!” Steve shouts as he comes in to see the mess.

Bucky immediately rushes forward and pulls the needle from your neck, trying to steady you as you fall into a drowsy state.

“She isn’t a happy camper when she wakes up.” Tony states, then points to Wanda who stands from the ground and rubs her head. “Look what she did.”

“I’m fine, Tony.” She says, coming back over to where Bucky catches you as you pass out again.

“How long was she awake?” He asks, placing you back on the bed.

“Oh a solid two seconds before she started screaming in Russian.” Tony exaggerates.

“What?” Bucky fumes. “So you tranqed her?”

Bruce comes to make sure you were okay.

“Oh I’m sorry, you just wanted her to kill us all?” Tony shouts.

“Tony, she woke up in a strange place, she’s like a scared puppy.” Steve says before making sure Wanda wasn’t injured.

“We’re calling S.H.E.I.L.D, and I’m telling them that the man the government just pardoned, brought a threat home.” Tony grits, then looks to Doctor Banner. “Let’s wake her up and put her in the empty discussion room, she’ll be fine in there until Fury comes.”

It really isn’t up for discussion. Though he protests, Bucky still does what is asked of him and helps lock you in the empty room. He doesn’t stick around though like the others do, not interested in watching as you wake up and proceed to have yet another panicked melt down.

“Buck.” Steve calls out as Bucky turns from the two way mirror and leaves the room. Sam joins the group in that moment, pausing as Bucky walks off.

“She’s your responsibility now, congratulations.” Bucky dryly says, proceeding to leave the compound all together.

- - - -

You don’t know how long you freak out, but eventually you give up hope and sink into the shadows of the half lit room, keeping to the corner like a scared animal.

Your mind races, not sure where you were or how you ended here. The last thing you remembered was the fight for your life, then a feeling of utter exhaustion as you trudged down an unfamiliar street. Then the next thing you knew, everyone was shouting at you like the words you were saying were sinful.

Your clothes were dirty and wrinkled, you shivered, alone.

Just as you begin to fall asleep, you hear the click of the door open. You curl further into yourself as a tall man enters the room. He gazes into the dark corner. “It looks like you made Tony Stark scared, good job.” He chuckles.

He stops in the middle of the room and folds his hands together. “Why don’t you come on out, I won’t hurt you.”

Slowly, you rise to your feet. Carefully, you come into the light.

“So you do speak English?” He questions, making you nod and not say anything.

“I’m Nick Fury, can you tell me who you are?”

You want to speak, but the fear of being reprimanded is too strong. So you just stare blankly.

He nods. “Alright, how about this.” His hand reaches into his pocket and you jump back, knowing what he could possibly have. But he raises his hands at your reaction. “Hey, it’s nothing to harm you.” He promises, then slowly goes to pull a bar of chocolate out.

“See? Snickers. It’s my favorite. Do you like chocolate?” He asks.

A ghost of a smile appears on your cracked lips. You weren’t allowed to have treats, they were only rewarded when you completed a task successfully.

“I’ll give this to you if you tell me something about yourself. How old are you?”

Your eyes squint, trying to form the answer to that question. Slowly, you answer. “Twenty four…”

No one slaps you for answering in English, so that’s a good sign.

Fury nods in approval, then holds the candy bar out.

Slowly, you approach. Your shaky hand grasps it and pulls it to your chest. Then with a victorious grin, you open it up and take a bite.

It feels good in your mouth, feels warm in your stomach that aches for substance.

“Can you tell me your name?” He asks one more time.

“505.” You answer, occupied by the candy.

Fury’s eyebrows draw together. “Your real name. What’s your real name?”

You shrug. “Don’t remember.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Your head snaps to him, eyes wide.

You go silent again.

Though, you don’t fight any of it. You willingly walk with Fury, you leave the compound with no fight. Tony lets out a sigh once you were gone.

“Well, crisis averted.” He says.

“I really don’t think she was a spy.” Steve says, silently criticizing the man for how stuck up he’s being.

And after everyone goes back to their living quarters, Steve calls Bucky.

Bucky watches the phone ring, stares at it until the screen goes black.

And that’s how things are left.

File 3

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barns x reader #bucky x reader #the avengers #marvel #steve rogers #captain america #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier #fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you

43 notes · View notes

loz-3 · 25 days

Text

An Unwilling Operative - Part Three

Pairing: Loki x female reader Word Count: 2,937 Warnings: strong language, forced confinement, violence, forced sedation

Tags in the comments!

Part Two

“Ooh, big scary Mr. Eyepatch… am I supposed to be frightened?”

It was over two hours into a rather rigorous interrogation session and honestly, you were getting bored with the questions: 'Why did you do it?', 'How long have you been with Hydra?', 'What did you hope to accomplish?'. You grinned up at the very angry Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He exuded his name perfectly, "Last chance, Y/N. Tell me why?"

"No. And fuck you."

Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving the door open. If you weren't chained to the desk by your ankles and wrists, you would attempt to make a run for it. You rattled at the bonds anyways, ducking under the tabletop to pull at the floor mount. As you struggled, a pair a boots came into view, stopping in front of you. You jerked your head up, smacking it off the underside of the table, "Fuck!" A hand extended towards you, offering assistance but you shrugged away from it, sitting upright on your own.

Loki's face was etched with worry and something more, but you spoke first, "Ahh… it's you. What the fuck do you want?" You scratched at the bump still visible on your neck.

"Y/N… wait, what is that?" He rounded the table, hands restrained your head, turning it to the side for a better look. You thrashed, trying to free yourself from his grip but he was much stronger. Looking up at the camera above you, he made a motion and a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist quickly entered. They took a swab of the old injection site, as well as a picture for reference before leaving. Loki released you and stepped away from your gnashing teeth.

"Well, fuck you too then!" You strained towards him, fingernails digging into your palms, "I didn't ask for this!" A single tear ran down your face, a crack in your aggressive façade.

"Did not ask for what?" He hesitantly stepped forward, daring to come within range of your limited reach.

You shook your head, more tears followed the first, "I just want to be myself again…"

He closed the distance and took your face between his hands, "We will fix you." His eyes were level with yours, watching the panic reflecting out shift back to pure hate. Too slowly, he let go and pulled back, catching your forehead as you slammed it into his nose.

"I don't need to be fixed." The blood on your face was his. You tasted a droplet as it dribbled down your cheek, "It's no wonder those ice giants didn't want you, you're too soft." He had strode to the door, pinching his nose to stem the bleed. He didn't answer you, only listened as you continued to spew hateful words. When you finally ended your tirade, his posture was defeated, the hope in his expression hardened to dull grey stone. Stepping out, he hit the button that sealed the door behind him.

Nick Fury was waiting. "Good catch on her neck, she'd been injected with something. Brain scan's next." Loki nodded, dried blood decorated his face and hand from your violent headbutt. Fury continued, "She seemed to come out of it briefly before…that happened. Might be a 'Dr. Zola'-type of situation."

Loki nodded again, turning away from the Director. He swallowed hard, forcing the rising bile in his stomach back down. This wasn't you, not by a long shot, but nothing you had thrown at him was untrue.

Several days pass. The S.H.I.E.L.D. science team have been working around the clock to de-program you. After their last attempt, they had been able to pull your true self up through the anger and aggression. From the testing and research, they determined that your mind corruption was not as extreme as the winter soldier program, so hopefully you could recover quickly. You asked after Loki, of course, as you could vividly remember all the terrible things you had done to him. He had not been seen much around the compound since you nearly broke his nose.

"Could someone get him a message for me? Please?" You pleaded with your handler, "I know he won't want to speak to me but… I have to apologize." They had initially refused, but finally had opted to send out the request. Not that you expected him to come, so it was quite the shock when the familiar sound of his footfalls drifted into your room.

He stood straight, arms crossed across his chest, eyes cold. He didn't speak, just waited, half turned towards the door. "Loki…" his name slipped past your lips, causing a shudder to run down his spine, "I.. I'm so sorry." His jaw stiffened, chin slightly rocking back, his lips were locked in a thin line. "If I could take back everything I said…and did to you…" A sob broke through as you continued to speak, "…please, whatever I have to do…I'll do it, as long as it takes…I…"

"No." His answer was short, the sharp edges of each letter bit into your heart. "There is no forgiveness here." His expression was impassive as he turned his back on you and left the room.

Your tears ran freely down your face as the realization set in. You had lost him, utterly and completely. You laid back on the flat cot, rolling into the fetal position and whispered to the empty space, "…I love you."

Time passed, memories faded. You'd been back at work for a few months now, diligently keeping your head down. They had moved you into the agent quarters as it was best for you and S.H.I.E.L.D. if you were unable to be re-triggered. As no data had been breached during your little defection, there were no legal consequences. and you have been making good progress in therapy, having been promised that you would soon be permitted to leave the compound and gain a bit of freedom back. Not back-to-your-apartment freedom, but some independence at least.

Staff at the compound, even many main team members, were very happy you were back to mostly normal. Try as you might, you just couldn't shake the sorrow that had taken root in your chest. You understood, of course, why things were like they were. While the mind control was behind the major personality change, it was still you. You had said all those things to him, you had drove him away, you had destroyed that blossoming relationship. Initially you wanted to be angry with him for throwing your apology aside, but you couldn't. So you carried on, pushing everything down the best you could, but it had been getting more and more difficult to face a reality without him in it. He didn't even pick up his own tech anymore, instead opting to send the interoffice courier.

"Hello? You ok in there?" A sharp knock on the grate over your window caught your attention. The black widow's face peered around the bars, "It's after six, shouldn't you be closed?"

"Oh.. yeah, sorry, Nat." You gave your head a shake, clearing the cobwebs, and shot her a pathetic attempt at a smile. She frowned as you shuttered the tech room and stepped out into the hallway.

Her hands were on her hips, "What's wrong?" Ever since you had taken up residence in the compound, she had become the closest friend you had. True, you weren't a spy or a super hero, but you were kind and she liked not having to deal with the meatheads on the team all the time. There was also no hiding anything from her.

You tried again to smile, almost resorting to using your fingers to force your lips to upturn, but the tears slid free from the effort. "It's nothing…really.. I'm just tired." Turning in place, you gave her a little wave and headed off towards the elevator, punching in the floor for your living space. She followed silently, making sure you'd made it inside your room before spinning away and storming off.

The doors of the lounge slammed open as Nat entered, causing everyone inside to look up. Glaring around and not finding who she needed, she huffed a single name, "Loki." Five hands swiftly pointed to the balcony, where she could now see the Asgardian brothers. Loki was sitting in the corner chair, head in his hands and looking miserable, while Thor was sprawled across the love seat with his feet overhanging at one end. With a sigh, she approached the glass door slowly, pausing to listen a moment.

"I do not understand why you cannot speak with her…"

"Speak with her regarding what, exactly?"

"Tell her how you feel!"

"It is better she heals with a clean break…"

"Brother, she…"

"Do not speak of her to me again."

As Nat watched, Loki's head sunk deeper into his palms. She raised a hand to knock, but decided to slide the door instead. She stepped out, closing it behind her. Both Asgardian's looked up at her, Thor in relief. "Lady Widow, PLEASE help me!"

"That's what I plan on doing." Thor shifted on the couch, patting the tight spot he had created for Nat to join them. She shook her head at him, smirking down at the cushion. "You're an idiot, Loki."

His eyes narrowed, "And pray tell, how am I the idiot when my brother is sat right here?"

"…Hey!"

Nat carried on, "Get off your ass and go see her." Loki shook his head, his eyes trailed down to the floor. Nat rolled hers, "Not a request…Look, she's just as miserable as you are. It doesn't take much to see you need her too."

He ran his hands through his dark curls, head still hanging low, "She would not want me. I was…harsh… at our last meeting."

Scowling, she pulled her phone from a pocket, tapping in a series of numbers to pull up the camera feed from the tech room. After a moment of scrolling, she found the image she wanted. It was of you, seconds before closing up today: eyes void of life, dark circles lingered across your cheekbones, hair bundled in a rat's nest of a bun. She held the device under Loki's face, "Look at her."

His eyes flicked to the screen, finally taking in your image. He swiftly stood, free hand balling into a fist, "…stop being a coward.." he muttered to himself. Turning to Nat, he handed back her phone, thanking her for 'making him to see'.

"Anytime. залупа…"

"I can understand Russian."

She snickered, "I know. Now go!" With a little shove, he went.

The door of your compound apartment clicked closed. You didn't bother to turn the lock. Nor did you turn on the light, choosing instead to shuffle through the dim to the bathroom. Flicking on the switch for the fluorescent vanity bulb, you gazed at your reflection. Maybe a rinse would perk you up a bit. Your hair was in dire need of help.

One short, very hot shower later and you were clean, skin pink from the torrent of nearly scalding water. At least the water pressure here was better than the place you had outside the compound. A quick dry and you found yourself on the little couch in your main area, hair wound in damp braids. With the television off, the room was still dark aside from the slight glow emanating from the open bathroom.

A quiet knock sounded from outside. You glanced up, unsure where the noise had come from. Surely it wasn't your door, there was no-one who would need or want anything from you. The knock came again, a little louder. Confusion knitted your brow as you shifted, getting up off the couch and approaching the door. You scanned the peep hole but only being able to see a dark fabric clouding the light. You grabbed the handle and pulled the door inwards, stopping when you saw who stood in the doorway, "Oh."

You couldn't look at his face, but you stepped back and opened the door to allow him entrance. He took the opportunity and stepped inside, eyes intently seeking your downcast ones. The door closed silently behind him.

"It is good to see you." Loki's hands twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you.

You gave him the same pitiful smile you had given Nat, "… I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am…" You couldn't even speak his name.

"No…Y/N, it is me who should be apologetic. I have been too cowardly to admit that I forgave you once it was discovered you were not yourself…" You brought up your face, mustering everything within you to look at him. There were tears in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides. "Please…let us start anew. I cannot fathom another day without your smile."

"..but.."

He shook his head, "Hush, we will not speak of that time again." He slowly, gently stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in shock. Your surprise didn't last long, however, and you swiftly returned the embrace.

It doesn't take long for your friendship to pick up where it had left off, several months prior. Since you were living in the compound now, it was much easier to see him after working hours. "As soon as you have your freedom from this building, we will go and celebrate." Loki promised, as he leaned against the countertop in the cafeteria, "I am sure you are weary of this.. slop."

"It's not so bad, at least I don't have to cook it myself." You giggled, then sighed as you grabbed the last sandwich off the rack. It was fairly flat, as if it had been squished under a heavy object, "But either way, we'll know this afternoon. What did you have in mind?"

He brought up a finger and waggled it at you, "Ah ah, that is not for you to know yet."

You rolled your eyes at him with a grin, nudging him aside so you could grab a drink from the cooler. The hand holding the tray brushed against his, "Oh.." You moved to pull away from the contact, but he caught your forearm in his hand, keeping you in place.

Leaning in, he whispered into your ear, causing you to shiver slightly, "Later…" He released your arm, pushing off the counter.

"Later? Wha…" He pressed a finger to his lips in a silent shush, then turned and strode from the room. Thank the gods there was no-one else in the cafeteria at the time, you didn't want to explain the sudden flush of colour on your face nor the goosebumps that rose along your skin.

Your afternoon came and went, as did your therapy session. The results were good: you were still to call the compound home, but you were permitted to leave the premises at will. The clock on the wall finally ticked to six, so you slid the window closed and locked up for the night. Upon stepping outside your office, you noticed a bag had been hung on the outer doorknob. "What the heck is this?" you wondered aloud as you lifted it off the door and peered inside. There was a bundle at the bottom, wrapped in tissue paper, and a card on top. You could immediately read Nat's scrawling script.

I heard about your liberation! Congrats! Wear this Front lobby, eight o'clock Don't be late ♡ Nat

You chortled, stuffing the note back inside the bag. 'I'll open this upstairs.' you thought, not wanting to make a mess of her lovely wrapping. Once in your room, you carefully unwrapped the package in the bag. It was a mid-length dress made of fine silk. You gasped as you held it to the light. Every movement reflected the rich colour, mimicking moonlight across a calm pond. You smirked. Leave it to Nat to pick something in his colours: the verdant green was a perfect match to Loki's shade.

An hour later, you were dressed and ready to go. Surprisingly, you weren't nervous. Before the incident, the butterflies in your stomach would have been at full flight by now, but they didn't seem to be home. You chalked it up to a lingering side affect. With one last glance in the mirror, you headed down to the entrance to the building. The area was mostly empty, aside from the night watchman, who seemed very uninterested in your approach and a lone figure standing close to the doors facing outwards. You drifted over to him and ran your fingertips across his back as you circled around, "Hi.."

"Hi" He spun, his smirk turning to a wide grin at the sight of you in green, "My my, what desolate cupboard did you find this in?" His eyes twinkled with amusement.

You returned his grin, "I got it from Nat, so it could be from anywhere… Grandma's closet, NYC trash bin, Russian gulag.."

"No-one in a gulag could look this ravishing." He reached out, hands set on your hips, and pulled you tight. You weren't used to being this close, but he'd get no complaints from you on the matter. Heat blossomed in your chest, granting you the confidence to link your hands behind his neck as you pulled him down to meet your lips.

When you drew apart, you were both breathless. "We're not going out, are we?"

"Mm.. no."

Notes: I ran short of time to write the spicy bits, so there will be a part four after the weekend, I promise!

залупа - dickhead

Part Four

#loki #fanfic #loki fanfic #loki x f!reader #loki x reader #loki imagine #fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki smut #loki angst

45 notes · View notes