#richard b riddick x oc

[gggoldfinch]

Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or reader)

(disclaimer: photo found on pinterest ^ )

A/N: I’ve been gripped by the most manic and inexplicable riddick brainrot ever and needed to get this out of my system or I’d deadass explode ‼️I usually don't write oneshots like this so it was a nice breath of fresh air actually. Hopefully now this sexy bald bitch will leave my poor brain alone so I can do something else other than binge watching vin diesel movies

warnings: original female character (descriptions vague enough to be reader insert), possibly a little ooc, very brief discussion of SA (in a non-threatening manner), minor violence & injury, explicit language, forced proximity, only one bed, explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, light choking, biting, pet names. MINORS DNI

word count: 12,114

{AO3 Link}

summary: A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

***

There's a ship that's been sitting idle in the upper-east Storage B-Port for weeks now; Riddick knows this. He also knows he hasn't been this incapacitated in a while. It's a hard thing to admit to himself, but he can feel the exhaustion creeping in. He hasn't slept in over 72 hours, and has been fighting and running for most of that time. He's out of his element— stuck in the heart of a congested city-planet rather than out in the wilderness of some uninhabited backwater planet. He's bleeding from somewhere— his side, maybe. His nose is broken, too, and there must be some sort of nerve damage too, because he can't scent who's coming after him anymore. He lost his goggles somewhere during this most recent scuffle, too, so all the neon signs are like miniature suns searing his retinas.

There's an idle ship gathering dust in Storage B-Port. He recalls it looking like a good model, some custom parts. It'll be easy to hijack. It'll be easy to leave this planet and his merc pursuers in the dust.

———————————————————————

Everyone has their own way of surviving in this nightmare of a universe. Some kill, some are killed. That's just something each and every person has to come to terms with while they draw breath. While not exactly thriving, this one particular individual has found their own way to survive. Some may call her a mercenary, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong— but she prefers to call herself a mere gun for hire. It's easy to make a living when you have a thick head and nothing to lose, going from one job to another with little in the way of possessions and even less in the way of social relationships. She goes where the proverbial wind takes her, planet-hopping and working odd jobs. Sometimes the jobs entail hunting dangerous quarry, but more often than not she's hired for non-violent jobs running security for personnel protection or transport. Honestly, the only jobs she turns down outright are those having anything remotely to do with the Necromongers. Sure it isn't ideal, but it's better than living in the slums of the over-crowded metroplanet where she'd grown up.

It's a risky job, no doubt, made no less difficult by her deliberate choice to fly solo. Solo is safe. Solo, she don't have to worry about crewmates stealing or betraying her, or worse, taking advantage of her. Barely an adult when she'd begun her life hopping between merc crews, she'd learned early that being on her own is better, safer. No— she keeps to herself with nothing but the ship's computer system for company. And, when the occasion rises where she does have to venture out into civilization again—to find a job or stock up on supplies—she takes heavy precautions.

Strong from years of fighting and labor, her body can shoulder the burdensome weight of armor; broad shoulders and sturdy bones make her intimidating and capable. Years worth of mismatched armor plates make up her regular uniform, both metal alloys and plastic prints. Some pieces were taken off fallen quarry—or former crewmates—some purchased responsibly. Each plate has a little story she can recall, fondly or not. When worn all together, her form is virtually unrecognizable, and more importantly, masculine. The crown mantle is her helmet: sturdy, sleek, black, with a visor capable of internal screen display. The vocal distorter programmed into it deepens her voice to a disguised pitch. The suit of armor isn't entirely comfortable, but it's a requirement for her safety.

"Hatchet!"

She swivels her helmeted head, looking in the direction from which she hears her codename. She hadn't been calling herself anything when she'd assumed this masculine persona. Her various employers just began calling her a shortened version of her ship's name—the Hatchetknife—and it just ended up sticking within the merc circle she floats in. No one knows her true identity, as far as she's aware. If they do, no problems have arisen from it yet.

A man approaches her, stocky and shorter than her. He's been her employer for the past several weeks, paying her to be a glorified bodyguard for his uppity son, on probation for yatta yatta yatta. She'd tuned out the rest once she'd heard the price of the paycheck. 350 thousand units just to  babysit an alcoholic man-child for a month while he's on probation. She couldn't pass it up.

Her employer holds out a datapad, the blue screen alight with money transfer information. She's about to receive her payment and get the fuck off this stuffed metroplanet. Maybe she can finally replace some of the older parts on the Hatchetknife with this payment.

"Don't be a stranger, now," the man says amicably once the digital paperwork has been filled. She receives a notification ping on the screen of her visor, indicating the payment has gone through successfully.  

She inclines her concealed head, thanks him for the business, and turns tail to leg it back to the ship. The thing has been docked in storage for nearly a full month cycle now— long enough for the ticket expense to be a bit of a blow to her newly acquired units. It doesn't matter; this planet will be long behind her in only a matter of a few short hours. She's been idle, been on this polluted and overpopulated planet for too long.

And she'll be damned if a little blood on the exterior hatchpad of her ship is going to deter her from getting out of dodge in a timely manner. It's a handprint, maybe a couple, smeared all along the white panelling of the cargo bay door's control console. The cargo bay door is locked up tight though, so she's not particularly worried that any ne'er-do-wells have tried breaking into her sturdy old ship. It's a good model, she tells herself. It has a security system that would alert her of suspicious activity through the link between her helmet and the ship's mainframe. Sure, someone clearly tried to get in, but there's no sign the bay door had been opened recently.

She pays her exorbitantly priced docking ticket and opens the bay door herself. She remains completely oblivious to the other trail of blood, smeared up the side of the ship and leading to the secondary hatch. She doesn't notice the cut wires either, spraying pathetic little sparks instead of warning signals to her security system. To be fair, she doesn't notice much of anything—doesn't even remove her armor or helmet—in her haste to take off. She just charges through the cargo bay, vaults the ladder to the upper deck, and wedges herself behind the control console.

It feels like home, being behind the console. More of a home than she's ever really had, at least. She exhales against the interior of her helmet. Her reflection gleams in the bare windshield, the sleek black glass and metal of her high-tech helmet staring back. Gloved fingers press buttons and flip switches, igniting holoscreens and a rainbow of lights. Meters and regulators all seem to be in check despite the ship's extended idleness, and the hyperdrive kickstarts with a comforting purr. She has to take the ship up and out of the atmosphere before kicking it into warp speed, lest the planet's nasty police force pick a fight with her. Fog and flames lick the nose of the Hatchetknife as it accelerates upward, breaking through the upper atmosphere at a smooth 15 kilometers per second, and an even 75 degree angle. Only then does she crank the hyperdrive and watch as the countless stars warp around the nose of the ship.

She plots an aimless course, avoiding setting a firm destination until she can get her hands on another potential job lead. Upon throwing it into autopilot, the ship's automated computer system welcomes her back on board. Hatchet, it calls her. Not even her own ship uses her true name anymore.

Her boots are heavy as they tramp out of the cockpit. Reinforced steel and acid-resistant soles, these boots are. They're her favorites. They make a robust thump thump as she walks into the narrow hallway of the Hatchetknife. Here resides her bunk, and across from that is the kitchenette and table where she eats and works and sometimes sleeps. It's barely wide enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She's used to close-quarters; it's almost comforting, like a womb. The hatch and ladder down to the cargo bay gapes at the end of the hall, and this is what she beelines for once acclimating herself with the interior of her ship again. Her bunk looks awfully inviting, but first on the agenda is to shuck off all the armor.

Boots bracketed on either side of the ladder and gloved hands holding tight to the side-rails, she slides down until landing on the grate panels of the cargo bay floor. This area is vastly larger than her living quarters— it has to be, in the event she has to transport sizable goods or heavy machinery. A armory case for her weapons and uniform sits bolted against the side wall, its grate doors barely revealing the contents. She opens the thing up, removing the machine gun strapped to her back to place it on its rightful hooks.

She hooks her thumbs under the seal of her helmet and disables the suctioned airlock. Just as she's preparing to lift the burdensome thing from her head, something collides with her right side, knocking her clean off her feet. It takes only a few frantic moments to realize it's a human being— a male attacker. Her deactivated helmet collides with the metal flooring at an odd angle, instantly disabling the visor's screen as a result of some internal damage. The force of the tackle and impact against the floor has the breath drawn from her lungs in a violent, rattling wheeze. The muscles over her ribs convulse and tighten, sending a shock of panic and pain and adrenaline through her system. With little time to think, no weapon handy, and no opportunity to scan the stranger, she starts thrashing. Amidst the scuffle and blow to her head, she can't quite see clearly, only able to make out a blur of squirting blood. The blood isn't her own— she's sure she would feel it if she'd been shanked in any of her armor's vulnerable spots.

She thrusts a gauntleted arm upwards in the direction she thinks the intruder's head is. Her metal-sheathed wrist collides with something and the oppressive weight above her slumps over to the side.

Hatchet scrambles up to her knees and tears the nearest gun from off the rack. She spins, points the weapon at the stranger's head, and... doesn't shoot.

Sprawled on the cold metal floor is a man. A large man. Bald-headed and covered in blood she knows she hadn't drawn from him herself. It's old blood, old wounds— maybe hours, maybe days. Despite the vaguely stunned look about him from being hit in the head, he wears a wry little smile upon his full mouth, lips and nose bloody from what looks like a previous beating. His eyes glint in a peculiar fashion, almost like feline eyeshine, silvery and shifting.

He holds his hands out by his head placatingly, palms facing upward. Then, he grins. "Okay, okay. You got me." His voice is deep and smooth like rolling thunder. It's almost startlingly in its intensity.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing on my ship!? What do you want?" she barks into the voice modulator, keeping the hardy submachine gun trained on him.

"Got a pretty nice ship here, don't you think?" he rumbles out.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles at that, although the action looks like it pains him. The blood, she realizes, is oozing from a substantial stab wound on his left flank, just below the contour of his shapely pectoral muscle. She swallows thickly, choking down the apprehensive lump in her throat. Still a little off-kilter from the blow to her helmet, she shakily rises to her feet, steady finger not leaving the trigger once. The man clenches his silvery eyes shut, sucking in a substantial breath only to groan it all out again. One broad, tan hand shifts to press against the wound on his side, the other remaining innocently idle.  

Without prompting, Hatchet's line of sight raises to the secondary hatch within the cargo hold. There it is: a smear of blood and sparking wires. That's where he'd gotten in. Must be a determined fella—let alone smart—to have hacked the ship's security system to override the locking mechanism and find which wires would send out a warning signal before they even had the chance to. She looks back to him, curiously tilting her head to the side in observation of him.

"What the fuck do you think is supposed to happen now?" she grits out. The voice modulator gives it an extra bit of bite.

The man laughs, blood staining his straight teeth. "I dunno. Thought you might hand over your ship."

"Hand over my— Do you have a fucking head injury?"

He laughs again and she kicks his calf roughly.

"What about this is funny? Please, illuminate it for me. Because all I see some fucking stowaway who has a gun to his head and a nasty stab in his side. You're not getting my ship, pal. You'll be lucky if I let you see tomorrow."

"Bad timing," he murmurs, voice thick with strain and sardonic amusement. His expression slackens, the crease between his thin brows flattening out gradually.

"What?"

She kicks his leg again; he's unresponsive. Unconscious, actually, judging by the sudden lack of tension in his face and limbs. She drops the gun-wielding hand to her side and lets out a high-pitched wail of frustration.

She's not a cold blooded murderer. Sure, she's had to take a life or two throughout her days, but then again, who hasn't in this line of work. Those times were different— kill or be killed. This is... this is an injured, apparently unarmed guy on her cargo bay floor. Yes, he'd broken in, but maybe he has a valid excuse. She's had to break into places to survive before, it's really not that unusual. And despite all the shit she's been through, deep down Hatchet has a bleeding heart. She'd be pressed to admit it, of course. The sight of the stranger, wounded and unconscious, male as he may be, pulls at her tender and guarded heartstrings.

Fucking hell. She can only hope that someday in the future, if she's ever in time of need, that some stranger will treat her with kindness.

The man is heavy. Not deceptively so, as his height and build imply a great amount of mass, but hell if she's not winded by the time she drags him over to the cargo lift. The small elevator is usually for objects and not people, but it's the only way she can get his dead-weight ass to the upper level where the only cot and good light source are. She hasn't taken her armor off, and at this point she doesn't think she's going to. Certainly not with a strange man aboard, unconscious or not.

Upon both arriving at the upper level, it takes a great amount of effort to haul the man over to the bunk. The space is barely big enough to comfortably hold Hatchet, and she's nowhere near the size of this beast of a man. The cot creaks as she lowers him onto it, his boots scraping the wall as she crams him into the broom closet sized space. Flicking on the overhead light, it illuminates him with white fluorescence. It's only then does she realize he's not entirely unconscious; somewhere in there, he's aware enough to wince at the light coming on. She squints at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the situation. He doesn't show any other sign of cognizance besides for that averse reaction to the bright light beating down on his eyelids. When she decides it had only been some sort of odd reflex, she goes to retrieve the medical supplies from an aptly labeled storage cabinet.

Modesty be damned, she has to remove his shirt. It's barely holding itself together, anyway, and she has replacements to dress him in after she's patched him up. She feels hot under all her armor and layers, nervous as she stares down at the stranger's bare chest. Christ, he's build like a tank. It's intimidating, actually, once she chokes down the insidious feeling of attraction that prickles her skin and bubbles in her abdomen. Anyway—  upon closer inspection, the wound on his side is largely superficial. The extensive bruising along his ribs, however, indicates some unknown level of internal damage. It may only be deep-tissue bruising, or his ribs could be broken. She can't be too sure either way, and makes sure to properly bandage up his torso regardless, though only after disinfecting and stitching up the gash.

His nose is broken, that much is obvious. However, it looks as though it's already been set, so all she has to do is clean the blood, disinfect the small cut on the bridge, and properly bandage it. He has a nice face, apart from the bandaged nose. She can't really describe his features. Harsh, but soft at the same time. She huffs against the interior of the helmet at the thought, crossing her arms and leaning back.

She has stationed herself at the table across from the bunk, cautiously watching over the stranger through the deactivated visor of her mask. Hot and stuffy and heavy as the armor may be, she won't risk taking it off just yet. She doesn't quite have a plan yet as to how this is going to unfold. She'd chosen to spare his life, yes, but that isn't to say she won't protect herself to the nth degree if the need arises going forward. She doesn't want him out of her sight—especially considering her unprofessional lack of manacles—which means she can't program a route into the ship right now. The task would've been made simple if he hadn't gone and broken the screen display mechanism in her helmet. She can't even scan him in this state, to gather his identity or vitals status. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd grown on the visor display until now, having worn the damn thing for weeks straight at this point.

It takes a couple of hours by her count for the stranger to rouse again. He's disoriented at first, but soon grows aware of her shielded gaze burning into him from the other side of the narrow living area. He shifts in the cot, turning onto his wounded side to better assess the situation. He doesn't seem threatened—or particularly threatening—at the moment.

"Rise and shine," Hatchet speaks into the voice modulator.

She kicks a boot up onto the edge of the cot from where she sits barely three feet away. She tells herself it's a show of dominance, to plant her boot right beside the stranger's head, but in reality she probably just looks stupid. The man just looks at her with those silvery eyes, squinting under the bright overhead light. She doesn't shut it off.

"Now here's the deal—"

"How many people you got on this ship?" He cuts her off, tone both aloof and detached despite the situation. He breaks into an odd little grin, then twists his head to scent the pillow. "You hiding a lady somewhere? Fella like you sure wouldn't smell this sweet."

Hatchet's face crumples under the cover of secrecy. She has to school her perturbed reaction for the sake of her anonymity. What the hell kind of guy is she dealing with here, exactly? Not only must she refrain from showing any physical reaction, she shouldn't verbally address it, either.

"Now here's the deal," she repeats. "I spared you once— even did you the favor of patching you up. But, it's not gonna happen again if you try something funny."

The man tucks his chin to his chest to look down at the bandaged wounds, holding a curious hand to his side. She can't quite interpret his expression perfectly, but she thinks he seems vaguely impressed by her medical treatment of him.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest inhabited planet and dump your freeloading ass off at the first dock I come across. You aren't going to resist or complain. I'm doing you this favor— clearly you were on the run from someone dangerous, and I got you out of dodge. I don't expect payment, but I'd be mighty grateful if you didn't do anything violent or stupid." Hatchet kicks the bunk when his eyes slip shut again. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

He does appear to fall unconscious again, but she can't be totally sure he isn't just fucking with her. Irritated, she sucks her teeth and curses him out, kicking off the bunk to stomp off into the cockpit. Forget keeping him in sight, he can suffocate for all she cares. There's a shotgun under the control console, anyway.

She seals the cockpit door shut behind her. Only then does she feel safe to remove her helmet. Once again she's greeted by her reflection in the windshield, though this time it's her own face that stares back. It's a tired and sweaty face, with hair matted flat to the scalp from the tight interior of the helmet. She needs a nice long shower—that much is obvious—but now isn't the time. Finally breathing fresh, unfiltered air again, she gulps it down greedily and deposits herself in the pilot's seat. The autopilot had taken itself out of hyperdrive some time ago, and now the Hatchetknife careens at a steady pace through open space. The stars are magnificent, as always. The endless, unfathomable sight almost makes her forget her burdensome stowaway.

Hatchet pulls coordinates for the nearest inhabited planet. She expands the view on the holoscreen projected across the console. The information, illuminated in a fluorescent blue, scrawls across the screen just fast enough for her to barely be able to read it in time. Her eagerness to be rid of the stowaway slowly melts into a nauseating apprehension. Apparently, according to the data, the nearest planet for several lightyears just happens to be crawling with Necromongers. Fucking Necromongers. If there's anything Hatchet hates, it's violent religious cults that double as armies. She avoids well-paying jobs on the off-chance that those psychos might catch a whiff of her— she's sure as hell not landing her ship in a hive of those wasps.

"Fucking shit!" She kicks the console.

There goes the plan to drop this motherfucker off. It'll take days at the very least to make it to the next viable planet. She tosses her head back and groans loud, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until they come away leaving splotches in her vision. Venting her frustration, she kicks her heel against the console twice more.

———————————————————————

If Hatchet learns anything during her time in close proximity with the man, it's that, 1. he's a shockingly fast healer; 2. he doesn't like bright lights; and 3. he's quite sharp-witted despite the meathead look about him. In the few days that follow the unexpected detour, she avoids him as best she can in such cramped quarters. They only interact on the occasions when she checks up on his wounds or gives him MRE meals throughout the day—  always outfitted in her armor, of course. He only takes power-naps, never a full sleep, and reacts tensely to loud and sudden noises. He's smug and facetious when he speaks, and brooding when he doesn't. He's like a storm in every aspect of the description: thunderous voice, eyes like lightning, and a stormy personality to match. Despite Hatchet's aloofness, the man has found a way to wheedle himself under her skin. Once he was stable enough to stand on his own, nothing could stop him from getting up and wandering around the ship, hiding in the shadowed areas like a predator stalking its prey, much to Hatchet's chagrin. He makes little quips and witty comments in that deep voice when she's least prepared for them, and he stares at her with those glimmering eyes like he can see right through her disguise. Sometimes, she worries he does. He's like a fucking ghost the way he soundlessly moves around the small ship. That's more unnerving than his appearance, she thinks.

It's all getting rather frustrating. At first she'd been pissed that a man had the audacity to impose himself upon her time, energy, and ship. Now, she can't help but feel a strange tug of loneliness when they aren't in the same room. It's upsetting how the mind perceives human connection. She doesn't even know his name, yet the thought of being on her own again seems... well, lonely.

It does help that he's easy on the eyes, too. She finds herself locked away in the cockpit more and more frequently, brooding long and hard over the increasingly frequent thoughts of how fucking fine the man is. That soft yet masculine face, those thick arms and sturdy torso. The deep, intense tenor of his voice alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. And those eerie, glowing eyes, which watch her every movement like a hawk. Oh, for fucksake...

Hell, in all honesty she might as well be swimming in her armor with the way she sweats when he stands close and talks real smooth. She's afraid she's making it a little too obvious, actually. That carefully crafted persona is slipping through her fingers and all because she's a little hot under the collar about this stowaway she'd sworn to dump like a box of rocks come first chance. It came to a point approximately three simulated days into their time together when she couldn't stand the sight of him shirtless anymore; she ended up handing over one of her spare XL tanks, which still managed to look small on his burly frame. There's a sort of undeniable animal magnetism about him which is almost a little distressing in its intensity. What a fickle thing her trust in others is— and how tragically simple it was for her to get comfortable with the situation.

She doesn't insist on taking her bunk back from the healing man. While he rests his battered body on the cot, she kicks back at the well-worn table every night cycle, sprawled across the bench seat with a flimsy pillow beneath her helmeted head. This way she can keep the stowaway within her line of sight. Once his intimidating nature is overlooked, he is surprisingly amicable and seems rather appreciative of all her efforts. He hasn't tried to attack her, or otherwise threaten her person, which she takes as a sign he'd heard and accepted her deal before passing out on that very first day. In fact, he only ever deliberately menaces her when standing over her shoulder, or appearing out of nowhere. Or when he belligerently thumps his fist over wall panels to deactivate overhead lights he finds irksome.

Hatchet, though she herself is nameless to an extent, finds his lack of proffered identity a little frazzling. Though she's come to accept his presence as a whole, it would make her a lot more comfortable if she had a name and background to put to the face. Which brings her to the locked cockpit, wherein she works tediously to repair the screen and scanning mechanism in her helmet. With her tongue poked out from between her lips and one boot up on the console, she takes the helm apart and repairs it with a notable proficiency, then puts it all back together again. The screen automatically powers on when she activates the airlock seal, illuminating her field of view with digital notifications and vital statuses.

She catches him unaware, aiming her visor at him for long enough to scan his facial features and biometrics. Identification data scrawls across the screen before her eyes, her blood pressure spikes. Under the guise of piloting the ship, she locks herself in the cockpit again and feverishly scrolls through mugshots and bounty reward data.

Holy shit. She's been harboring the infamous convict Richard B. Riddick.

Her jaw clenches, muscle twitching against the interior padding of the helmet as she absorbs the newfound information. She should've known. She should have known. Those eyes— she'd heard the merc legends about those eyes.

But fuck... for a guy who'd spent half his life in the slam, he's certainly been affable within these restrictive quarters, mingling with a complete stranger, no less. It's hard to reconcile what she reads on the screen with the man she's been interacting with for the past few artificial cycles. She yanks the helmet from over her head, roughly scrubbing her palms over her face.

When she returns from the cockpit, nerves gathered to the extent they can be, she finds the man halfway through shaving his tan scalp. She stands at the mouth of the living area, the girth of her armor nearly taking up the entire doorframe. Richard B. Riddick, her reserved and shockingly mannered stowaway, sits at the metal table with a compact mirror and razor— a feeble weapon which she now knows could be used against her in all sorts of ways if she were to get on his bad side. Does he even have a good side to be on? She hopes he does, and hopes she's on it. Largely without thinking, one of her hands flutters up to her touch throat as images of it being brutally slit flicker through her mind.

She sits down across from him, folding her hands on the tabletop. He doesn't pause his grooming, doesn't even glance up. His eyeshine remains trained on the little mirror as he meticulously scrapes the stubble from his head with help from what looks like motor gel, no doubt nicked from the cargo bay below. Hatchet purses her mouth into a nervous line beneath the safety of her helm. She can't help but silently observe the flex of his muscles as he moves, every innocuous gesture striking a flustered chord within her. She swallows against the tightness constricting her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She hopes the modulator eliminates the shakiness she feels in her voice.

Logically, she has nothing to be afraid of. Unless this guy is prone to switching demeanor on a dime—which she has no reason to believe he does, based on what she's seen so far—why wouldn't this passive companionship continue? If anything, Hatchet is more afraid of how he will react to knowing she knows his identity now. Either he's been assuming she has known this entire time and just doesn't care, or knows she's been blissfully ignorant and has taken advantage of the anonymity.

He finally spares a glance at her across the table. His jaw visibly twitches, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He returns to shaving his head.

"Better. Thanks." He sniffs, sounding indifferent.

"You... uh. Want anything to eat?"

"Naw."

Hatchet exhales, both relieved and oddly disappointed. The storage compartment for the MREs is right beside him, meaning she would've had to stand right over him to retrieve anything.

"You got any goggles laying around?" His deep voice brings her out of her mind. "Been looking but..." he sucks his teeth.

Her brows raise confoundedly. "Goggles?"

"Yeah, you know. Goggles."

Fuck, he must think she's an idiot. She fumbles for words. "Uh. I'm not sure, probably not. I usually just wear the helmet when I need to shield my eyes. Why do you need them?"

He snaps the compact mirror shut and sets down the razor, using the bloody tank he's arrived in to wipe the remaining gel from his scalp. It looks like he'd shaved his beard recently, too, if the dark shadow on his jaw has anything to say about it. Setting the tank down, no more than a scrap rag at this point, he inhales deeply and briefly sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip. Hatchet bites her cheek hard enough for it to hurt, deliberately keeping her gaze from his mouth.

"I wouldn't need them if you didn't keep turning on all the lights," he replies. A hint of dry amusement hides within his flat tone.

"I wouldn't have to turn on the lights if you didn't hide in the shadows all the time," she retaliates. Riddick chuckles like deep, rolling thunder. Hatchet's pulse jumps; fear, arousal. "I'll keep it in mind not to turn them all on. I know your eyes are sensitive to light," she continues.

He suddenly pins her with a suspicious, scrupulous glare. She realizes her mistake and backtracks, sweating bullets beneath her armor.

"I mean, you squint a lot. And you make your way around in the dark better than in the light. I shouldn't have assumed." She's babbling. She can't keep a lid on it.

If he suspects what she knows, he doesn't let on. He cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering as they trace the contours of her hefty armor. His gaze stops on her visor, right where her eyes should be. Somehow, she feels like they're making direct eye contact.

A questioning smile graces his handsome face. "Do you ever take that damn helmet off? Or do you live in the thing."

Hatchet's face falls beneath the shield of the visor. Her pulse thumps in her throat; a part of her thinks he can sense it. Her demeanor becomes prickly, unchecked. "Why do you care? You're a stowaway on my ship— what is it your business how I eat, sleep, shit—"

"Fuck?" He raises a thin brow, tickled by his own addendum. Meanwhile, Hatchet flushes a fiery shade of red beneath the helm in question. Then, he huffs a short little laugh— more a harsh exhale than anything. "I have to say, your little getup had me convinced at first. But, I know you ain't a man."

Hatchet's heart skips a beat. She disguises her anxiety with derision. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest, sweetheart." A white canine glints when he flashes that oddly charming smile.

That combination—a quaint pet name and that devastating smile—has her feeling lightheaded and confined within her suit. Her hands slip from the tabletop to clench into fists in her lap. He appears upsettingly smug about his little revelation.

"How'd you figure it out?"

His nostrils flare; he takes a deep breath. "Thought I smelled a woman my first night in the bunk. My nose was all fucked up, but... eventually I figured out that sweet smell was coming from you and not some phantom scent hanging around. I give you credit, you had me going for a little while."

Her brow twinges. What a strange man.

She's faced with an internal conflict. She could deny the accusation, but something tells her that won't work in the slightest. She could keep the helmet  and armor on until they part ways, but really what's the point, seeing as he already knows she's a woman; he looks strong enough to pry the armor right off her body anyway. The most logical choice she can make is to take the discovery in stride and go back to living comfortably, with the addition of a slightly threatening guest who does one-armed push-ups in the hallway and lurks around dark corners. The jig is up. He's just that good. Her choice is practically made up for her.

Hatchet's hands raise, slow and tentative, and she maintains what feels a lot like eye contact with Riddick. Her gloved thumbs hook up under the seal, disabling the airlock and visor screen. Air hisses out from the seam at her throat, loosening the helmet's grip on her head. Somewhat dubiously, she lifts the burdensome metal and glass dome from over her head. It comes to rest in her lap as she shakes out her sweat-dampened hair and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

They look at each other's faces for the first time, unencumbered. The visor distorts perception a tiny bit, so it's almost like seeing him for the first time. A permeable scent of sweat and metal lingers between the both of them, despite both having showered recently in the ship's minuscule wash room. She can also smell the motor gel he'd used to shave his head (so strange— must be a leftover trick from the slam, she thinks). The woman is overcome with a bout of anxiety and shyness upon revealing her true face, and flushes under his heavy gaze. She resists the submissive urge to tuck her chin to her chest and avert real eye contact.

"Well... I guess you know who I am, now." She clears her throat; she hasn't heard her unfiltered voice in ages. Her jig may be up— but she still has something of a trump card on him, too. Sure, he might kill her for it, but this entire conversation is toeing the line of life-threatening risk to begin with. She musters courage to utter her next words; "Just like... how I know who you are now, Richard B. Riddick. Thought I wouldn't do a facial recognition scan?"

Hatchet squares her shoulders and raises her chin by a fraction, feigning confidence. He can probably smell her fear. The man inclines his head, brows raised as a chuckle rolls in like a storm. He almost looks impressed with her mediocre detective work.

He smiles that wolfish smile, showing teeth and smile lines. "So, you think you know who I am now, huh? You afraid of the big bad monster now?"

One corner of Hatchet's mouth quirks downward. "Should I be?"

"If you're smart you would be." He levels her stare with that inhuman eyeshine.

"I only fear true monsters. Men who kill for pleasure and nothing more. I read the files on you. You don't kill unarmed women— children. You don't rape them."

It isn't phrased as a question, but he replies regardless; "Naw."

It's actually kind of relieving that he looks a bit offended by the idea. "Then you aren't a true monster. You do what you have to to survive. We all do out here. I can't fault you for killing people trying to kill you. I won't fault you for anything you had to do in the slam."

There's more she would like to say—to tell him he'd been dealt a really shitty hand—but that feels too intrusive for the context of their relationship. She doesn't want to risk angering him by coming off as pitying.

Riddick narrows his naturally suspicious gaze at the woman. He doesn't touch her previous soapbox comment. "So... that mean you're gonna try to turn me in for a payday?"

"Fucking— Jesus, dude," she guffaws incredulously. "Why the fuck would I turn you in after I did so much to save your ass? You're worth more dead than alive, you know. If I wanted to, I could've."

The big man shrugs. "Who knows. Every other merc would."

"Well I'm not every other merc, am I?" She leans back, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

"Naw, definitely not."

If she'd been any less observant, she may have missed the glimmer of flirtation in his tone and demeanor— in his eyeshine. Stifling heat rises like a kettle boiling, tinting her face a noticeable hue. She can only hope she looks disheveled and sweaty enough for it to pass as an exacerbated flush. Abruptly, she stands from the table, wringing her hands in an uncontrollable combination of nerves and bashfulness. The helmet is dumped onto the tabletop, rolling towards the seated man.

"I'll uh—" Her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I'll look for those goggles for you."

"Good talk," he calls after her as she hastily turns on her heel.

She pauses her stride, mind running a mile a minute to find a way to gain some sort of traction and authority amidst this interaction. She shifts halfway to turn back and face him.

"Hm. Yes, good talk... Richard."

His uproarious laughter follows her down into the cargo bay where she quickly disappears.

———————————————————————

Riddick is both a complicated human and a very simple man. On one hand, a selfish part of him wants nothing more than to take control of this cramped little vessel and fly it fuck-knows where. It's clear to him that this ship and its pilot are a package deal, which brings him to a sort of moral crossroads. On the other hand, this woman—this merc—has been undeservingly kind to him, more so than anyone he can remember. She has a point, too. He'd been dangerously incapacitated for a short while, in which time she could have easily gone and ghosted him or handed him over to some other scummy mercs. But she hadn't. This lone woman, mistrustful enough of others to go so far as to masquerade as a man, had saved his hide and given him shelter and transport, all out of the kindness of her heart. She isn't threatening or outwardly malicious; he doesn't know how the hell she's survived this long out here. Perhaps her assumed persona has gotten her this far after all, amongst the masses less perceptive than himself.

Fuck. Merc or not, he can't just ghost her now.

And besides— he's a man, and she's a woman. Simple as that.

Even suited up to the jaw in armor and reeking of sweat, her newly revealed face stirs something all-too familiar within him. Hell, her scent alone is enough to get him off. Riddick doesn't even have to know what the rest of her looks like to know he wants to fuck her. And she doesn't seem all too averse to the idea of him, either, based on the subtle changes observable in her posture and scent. His senses are too keen to miss the physical and vocal cues she tries so hard to hide with that modulator and beneath the suit of armor. He knows hot and bothered when he sees it; and it's a fucking ego-boost.

After their little conversation, she'd grown more comfortable— if that's the appropriate word for the scenario. He'd revealed her identity and she responded by completely forgoing the suit of armor. Not that he's curious or anything, but he finds himself asking more about her. She shares that she is called "Hatchet," which he thinks is a little entertaining given her rather docile nature. He also learns that she's been in the mercenary business since her early teenage years, which almost always spells trouble for young women— hence why she'd taken up the persona of a more masculine, faceless merc, rather than be perceived as lesser-than by her professional peers. She's funny too, he pleasantly discovers, when not restrained by that helmet.

He's surprised when she comes up to him a few cycles following their conversation. She's dressed in a tank like his (which he realizes is hers) and a mechanic's jumpsuit, the top of which rests tied around her supple hips. He eyes up her body with a brashness that usually intimidates even the most battle hardened of men. She doesn't even flinch— she grows shy, instead. He stands by his previous statement in which he'd wanted to fuck her without knowing what her body looked like, but he's certainly not complaining now in getting to see her without the bully armor to conceal her curves and soft shape. Even the light musculature of her arms and width of her shoulders is hot.

She holds something as she approaches from the cargo bay ladder, and he quickly deduces it is non-threatening. She sidles up to the table where he has been parking himself at more frequently lately. She wears a sweet expression halfway between anticipatory and nervous— not much different than usual.

"Hey, dollface," Riddick greets.

He cocks his head to the side as he looks up at her, observing her through the purplish hue of his shine-job eyes. He quickly discovered that playfully teasing the young woman almost always earns a flurry of entertaining responses; namely flustered yammering and a red flush which trails all the way down to her full breasts. The pet names come easily, oddly enough. She blushes as expected and leans a hip against the table edge. While toying with the object in her hands, she glances between it and him.

"I uh. I found a pair of goggles, since you'd been asking."

She holds her flat palm out towards him, displaying a set of simple black welding goggles. They're essentially like the pairs he usually sports: midsized circular lenses, held in place by a thick plastic compound. Riddick takes the proffered eyewear and tests the weight in his own palm. The strap is a fabric material rather than a continuation of the flexible plastic, but still appears sturdy. He pulls them over his head, lowering the lenses over his eyes. They block out the Iight sufficiently, subduing the vibrant hue of his altered vision.

He scans the woman through the shades, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real peach."

Hatchet releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sure. No problem... Richard."

She doesn't use fluffy little names on him like he's begun doing for her. When she does refer to him, she only calls him by his first name. Which, given the fact virtually no one else does, feels like a more powerful naming. It's humanization in its rawest form. She shifts to sit down across from him. Neither of them can ignore the way their ankles tangle together beneath the table, hefty boots knocking into one another. Riddick watches her throat bob as she swallows. He raises the goggles and leaves them perched on his knit brow.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "Here's the deal— I'll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you don't, you know, kill me in my sleep and steal my ride or something. I think that's only fair since I didn't do the same to you when you were incapacitated. Also, I guess it goes without saying that I'm not gonna tell anyone about this encounter or your whereabouts. If you don't trust my good will, just think how negatively it would affect my life if it got out among the wrong crowd that I've been in cahoots with an escaped convict."

Riddick barks out an abrupt laugh. "In cahoots, huh?"

Hatchet blanches, her jaw opening and shutting several times before she gathers her words. "W-Well, I'm willingly harboring a fugitive, aren't I? I haven't booted you out the airlock yet— so yes, we're in cahoots."

The man's laughter tapers into a light chuckle. He perches his chin on his fist in a way that makes Hatchet tense with bashfulness. A muscle in his thick forearm flexes, drawing her curious eye. Lately, she's been daydreaming about those strapping arms. She's been catching herself daydreaming about the rest of him, as well.

Her eyes dart back to his silvery ones, clearing her throat. "Well, what do you think of my deal?"

Riddick tilts his head, unable to resist smiling. "Sounds good."

The woman blinks at him, big doe eyes wide as she picks apart his reaction. "Ah... uh. Okay, cool." She drums the tabletop with both hands, fidgeting under his heavy stare.

She pushes to her feet suddenly, and Riddick launches up after her. Instantly he crowds her in the tight space, his large frame taking up a majority of her vision. She startles, automatically pressing her hands flat to his built chest. This draws a rumbling chuckle from him as he gazes down at the flustered woman.

Hatchet's heart rate quickens, the muscle thumping wildly in her chest. That pulse begins its mortifying throb between her thighs, too— a desperate, hot desire which boils up without her expressed permission. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling, but it's certainly indicative of her poor self-control given the situation. She has no clue if this dangerous convict is about to crush her head like a clump of dirt, or if he's going to make a move on her. Those are the only two explanations for his startling proximity to her.

Nervously, her eyes raise to meet his. She finds his head bowed towards her.

"Uh."

"Why don't you ever sleep in your bunk?" he asks, derailing her frazzled train of thought. "Don't you need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

"O-Oh? Where are you supposed to go if I take back my bunk?"

He hums and sways his shaven head. "We can share."

Brain unable to catch up with what he's offering, she defaults to thinking in a blunt, literal sense. "W-We can't both fit. It's too narrow."

He steps forward and she steps back, only to realize he's effectively backed her against a wall. One of his beefy arms rises, forearm and fist resting on the wall beside her head. He leans further into her space, smiling as he takes a deep breath of her scent. Fuzzy butterflies explode in her abdomen; she goes weak in the knees.

"Oh really? 'Cuz I got a few positions in mind that we can fit into," he purrs. Hatchet lets out a surprised little noise and he ducks closer. "Aw, don't get all shy on me now, babygirl."

"I'm— I—" she stammers.

Her eyes flick between his own and his lips. That now-familiar eyeshine glimmers with heated desire as he carefully observes her. He leans in real slow— torturously slow. The tip of his nose brushes against hers and she shudders. Riddick's breath is hot as is fans across her face. She finds herself panting heavy through parted lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his steady one. Her chin ducks low, shyly averting his advance to where he has to chase her lips.

His full lips are shockingly soft when they do finally graze hers— his mouth gentle and curious at first while he tentatively pecks her. The few kisses he lavishes upon her lips are short and teasing, serving only to rile her up further. The heartbeat at her core prompts her thighs to clench; the action doesn't go unnoticed. One of his broad hands clamps over her upper arm, effectively pinning her in place against the wall. The shared kiss grows more frenetic with each passing second. His other hand slides rather possessively up the length of her back, coming to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. He uses it as leverage to tilt her head back— a move which earns a quiet gasp and unintentional whimper through her parted lips. With a small self-satisfied grin, Riddick takes the invitation to claim her open mouth, exploring teeth and tongue with his own.  

Hatchet can barely catch her breath— especially not when Riddick slips his tongue past her lips. The pulse between her thighs grows increasingly unbearable and she squirms desperately in his tight hold. That hand holding her arm in a vise grip shifts instead to press against her shoulder blade, pinning her to his broad chest. Her own hands find the courage to come up, fingers taking liberty to slip beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. His tanned skin is warm and pulled taut over an ample amount of muscle. Her hands are cold—they always are while in space—which results in a string of tangible shivers as she drags her fingers up his sides. The thin fabric of the grey tank bunches up around her wrists as her hands continue their exploration upward. Her right hand is careful to avoid irritating the stitched wound over his left-side ribs. Instead it glides to his smooth chest, squeezing a generous handful of his pec.

He chuckles into her mouth and she swallows the deep noise with fervor. Without warning, he crouches and drops his large hands to her ass, hoisting her up with ease. Her legs clamp around his waist on instinct, canting her hips to shamelessly grind her throbbing core against his hard stomach. Her hands continue to grope his muscled chest and arms, appreciative of his powerful physique. All the while, mouths slot together in feverish kisses.

Riddick pivots on his heel and effortlessly pitches forward at the waist, dropping the woman clinging to him down onto the cot. There's little give to the canvas fabric bunk, but it's certainly more comfortable than a metal tabletop. Not that Riddick particularly cares; he's already swimming in visions of bending her over the table, anyway. Only when he deposits her on the bunk and crouches over her does Hatchet release him from her clinging grasp. Her hands barely leave his chest long enough to yank the tank up over his head, relying on his aptitude to fully rid himself of the thing while she continues her impromptu anatomy lesson. While she latches her mouth onto the pulse point of his throat, he plucks the goggles from his brow and flings them aside. They clatter down somewhere unimportant.

Wordlessly, there lingers between them a mutual agreement that this is consensual. This is needed. This has been building up for a while now.

Riddick's broad hands engulf Hatchet's soft waist, squeezing her affectionately. His fingers push upward, skirting along the hem of her own shirt. She parts her mouth from his neck only long enough to allow him to tug the garment up over her head, hastily followed by the discarding of her sports bra, too. His palms are rough with calluses against her sensitive flesh, and unrelenting when they come up to squeeze her bared breasts. The topless woman licks up the column of his throat to just below his right ear, tasting sweat and skin as she suckles the sweet spot. Her fingers dig into his biceps, keeping him in place as she straddles him. She smiles against his hot skin when he groans. His weathered hands explore her torso, sliding from her chest to her back, then down to grasp her waist tightly.

"Fuck, come on," Riddick grunts into her hair. His hands slip lower to her ass, yanking impatiently at the fabric of her jumpsuit bottoms. "Pants."

It takes no effort for him to lift and flip her onto her back again, taking pride in the surprised expression she wears. Her limbs and eyelids feel heavy as she undoes the tied sleeves around her hips, helping him shuffle off her slate grey jumpsuit. She doesn't even realize he's also slipped off her underwear until she feels the cool air of the ship against her bare core. Fuck, all her constant worrying over her appearance, and in the moment she isn't even concerned. She just needs to feel good with him.

Despite this minor revelation, Hatchet briefly feels a tad in over her head as the burly man holds her down by the hips and leans over her. He eclipses the dim overhead light, his eyes shining magnificently. Those nocturnal eyes are growing on her at a frightening rate.

"Richard," she whispers. One hand reaches up to touch his face, petting his cheek before skating over the stubbly crown of his head. "Fuck, Rich."

He drops his head and growls against her hot, bare skin. The sound rumbles beneath her palm where it presses over his heart. That's a new one— Rich. He's never been called that before. He doesn’t dislike it, mainly because it comes from her.

Riddick leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest. His fingers press into her supple flesh of her hips hard enough for it to dimple under the force. He continues downward, laving his hot tongue over her pebbled nipples, teasing his teeth against her delicate skin. With her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, she remains ignorant to the garland of lovebites he leaves across her skin, decorating her chest with the constellations of the open universe. His lips follow the line of fine hair down the middle of her stomach, until finally stopping just above the curly thatch at her mons. He shifts his attention, choosing to nip at the skin of her inner thighs. He kneels on the floor and roughly yanks her to the end of the cot for better leverage, earning a surprised yelp from the woman. In the same moment, he tucks his thumbs around the underside of her knees and hoists her legs over his broad shoulders. Her ankles automatically lock overtop his shoulder blades.

Hatchet shudders with delicious anticipation. Her big eyes shoot open and head cranes, meeting his silver gaze from where he has positioned himself between her thick thighs. Without much civility or warning, the man stuffs his shaven head into the tight crevice of her thighs. She is suddenly relieved that he'd taken the bandage off his nose almost immediately after gathering his bearings all those days ago, because now he puts the prominent feature to good use against her swollen clit.

A wanton moan claws out from Hatchet's throat as she throws her head back against the rigid cot. Riddick's breath is hot against her cunt, tongue skilled as he works it into her most sensitive area. Two fingers pry her labia apart to get at a more effective angle. Her hands dart to clamp down on either side of his head, her nails digging crescents into his nude scalp. Panting and squirming, she uses her iron grip on his head to grind up against his big nose. He groans low against her core, the vibrations on his tongue adding to her pleasure. Her thighs squeeze against his flushed ears, and for a moment the thought she may suffocate him flashes through her mind. That worry is ejected out into space when his tanned hands come around to grip her where her thighs meet her hips, dragging her even more securely against him.

Her eyes roll back, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms as Riddick brings her increasingly closer to her peak. His nose is replaced by a skillful thumb, rubbing firm circles around her clit. He continues lapping at her cunt, groaning and taking intermittent gasps for air. Just as she feels that hot coil tightening in her lower abdomen, sees white light flickering beneath her lids, he does the unthinkable. He pulls away. Hatchet whines at the sudden neglect and desperately claws at his head in an attempt for him to continue, leaving red stripes on his stubbly scalp.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he asks lowly, smugness dripping from his tongue. That isn't the only thing dripping from his tongue; his nose, mouth, and chin are coated in her arousal.

Hatchet laughs breathlessly. "Fuck off."

She welcomes him with open arms when he crawls up over her again, accepting his lips as he presses down to kiss her. She can taste her own wetness on his mouth, but is largely distracted by his hips slotting between hers and grinding down.

He pulls back for a moment, leveling her with an entertained but mildly miffed eyebrow raise. "You got protection?"

Hatchet has to take a moment to catch her breath in order to answer. "Don't worry, I got that fancy implant. Unless you're riddled with some horrible penitentiary disease?" She smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playfulness.

Her hands cup his face when he returns a dazzling smile. "Me? Who do you take me for? A convict?"

She curls against him when he ducks his face to the crook of her neck, warm and blushing as they both laugh. Unabashed, laughing together. It feels bizarrely intimate, and so completely foreign to the both of them. When the brief chuckles taper off and the weight of the scenario sinks back in, Hatchet wriggles her hips against his, attempting to stimulate some friction. The rough fabric of his cargo pants sparks a little something, but nothing spectacular. Catching on to her renewed desperation, Riddick presses weight against her hips, teasing her with his clothed erection. She mewls softly, grinding up against him.

A calloused hand slides up the length of her body to her neck, first two fingers and thumb pressing lightly against either pulse-point. He squeezes just hard enough for her to squirm with an intoxicating faintness, but light enough for it not to harm her. She swallows hard, feeling the pressure of his palm against her larynx. It would be child's play for him to fully wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. This flirtation with death is not only exhilarating, but it's something she'd never considered as enjoyable before now.

She's too busy with panting against the hand around her throat to realize he'd slipped his other one down towards the apex of her thighs. That is, not until there comes a delicious and unexpected pressure against her swollen clit. She jolts from the sudden stimulation. The moan that slips unbidden from her lips is loud and breathy, and she arches up into his devilish touch. His thumb rubs concentrated circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the middle finger sliding lower to tease her slit. Meanwhile, he drops his head to press against her temple, lips leaving sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Riddick groans, rutting against her soft thigh. He drags his lips against her cheek, bottom teeth scraping her skin. A tingly shudder ripples through her body.

"You want it, babygirl?" he growls in her ear. "Tell me you want it."

Hatchet whines when his thick finger breaches her entrance, sliding in easily with the wetness of her arousal. Her toes curl and back arches when that searching finger strokes that hidden sweet spot, her entire body overcome with a delicious shudder.

"Fuck," she pants, "Please. I want it."

The hand at her throat inches upward to clasp her jaw, angling her head for him to effectively whisper in her ear. "Want what, sweetheart? Use your words."

Another finger is stuffed into her pussy; she pants and squeezes around them. An embarrassed flush heats her chest and face at being made to speak her desire aloud. In some little act of defiance, she merely continues huffing and rutting against his hand. Punishment for her disobedience comes swift however, arriving in the form of the ceased stimulation. Riddick sucks his teeth and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"So stubborn," he tsks.

Fuck— that rich, buttery voice sends a desperate throb straight to her neglected clit. She sobs out a pathetic whine, making a futile attempt to force his hand to continue its work.

"Please. Okay, okay. Please, please. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, please, Richard," she begs, voice coming out ragged.

He brings his lips to the corner of her mouth and smiles into the kiss he places there. "Good girl," he purrs.

Hatchet squirms under him, clit pulsing with an immediate flush of blood at the praise. "Say that again," she pants, sliding her hand over the back of his thick neck. "Please, please, Rich. Say that again. I'm— Hah."

She can feel the fond chuckle under her palm as it rumbles in his chest. He wrestles with the button and zipper of his cargo pants while keeping himself aloft with one arm. "My girl. Good girl."

Each kiss steals her breath away, dizzying her with butterflies and anticipation. It takes a hurried moment of effort, but Riddick manages to shuck his trousers and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. Perched on his knees between the woman's spread thighs, he greedily admires the sight of her laid out before him. There's something particularly special about this woman. She's managed to weasel her way into his frigid heart, and he can't find it in himself to complain. She's sweet, and kind, and sure fucking hot. She too watches him greedily as muscles flex in his arms. He plants his hands on her bent knees, dragging them down the length of her soft thighs. Fingers sink into the fat of her hips, dragging her closer.

One glance at his proud erection is enough to draw a flustered whimper from Hatchet's lips; his dick is thick, befitting of the rest of him. She thrusts an arm up over her face, if only to hide the embarrassed blush which splotches her skin. The big man lowers himself over her once more and gently pushes her arm away, murmuring about her shyness. The weight of his cock resting on her belly makes her squirm, which he seems to enjoy greatly, much to her impatient desperation. He slots his plush lips with hers while his left hand slips around her right thigh, encouraging it up. Her knee brushes the bruised wound over his ribs, but he doesn't seem to care all that much as he pins the long limb tightly against him.

In the space between them, he fists his dick and pumps once, twice. He holds Hatchet's lidded gaze with those intense eyes of his, drinking in the dazed sight of her. He drags the cockhead through the wetness of her arousal, teasing her swollen clit before aligning himself properly. His throaty groan mingles with her gasped noises as he slowly presses into her, sheathing himself within her hot cunt. It's a snug fit, lax as she may be. He bottoms out painfully slow, taking his sweet time in stuffing her full of himself. That hand returns to her throat and gently squeezes while he holds himself aloft with the other arm.

Hatchet sucks her teeth against the slight sting of his size. The discomfort quickly fades into a satisfyingly tense pressure once Riddick gets a steady rhythm going. With her leg hiked up over his side, he continually pulls out almost all the way before plunging back into her, driving her down into the stiff cot with each powerful thrust. She shudders with each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls— with every gentle squeeze of his broad hand around her throat.

"Fuck, babygirl. You feel good," he grunts out. "Such a good girl for me. Real pretty." Riddick groans through clenched teeth when her cunt spasms particularly hard around him. His words are like a match to her gasoline.

The hand at her throat shifts away in an attempt to touch as much of her skin as possible— caressing her breast, tangling in her hair, touching her lips, squeezing her waist and hip. It's almost like a compulsion to feel every part of her warm body, to get lost in her skin and pretty noises. Hatchet's hands perform their own exploration; she can't get enough of wrapping her fingers around his biceps and broad shoulders, her breath panting hard against his collarbones as she clings to him. The middle two fingers of his wandering hand come down on her clit again, sparking electric spasms throughout her writhing body. Those fingers rub circles against her sensitive bud, and every so often slip lower to stroke around the spot where they join together.

An especially rough drag and thrust has the tip of cock kissing that sweet spot within her. She cries out and he repeats the motion with an exact precision. He continues hammering into her at that perfect angle, grunting and shuddering with each of her clenches and moans. Light blooms beneath Hatchet's eyelids, that hot pressure coiling up in her belly once more. The combination of internal and external stimulation is enough for her to see stars and arch into the man like her life depends on it.

Nearly animalistic in his frenzy, Riddick can't control himself when his teeth sink into the woman's shoulder. It feels right.

Hatchet cries out at the sharp feeling of his bite, shock mixing with odd delight. He doesn't use enough force to break the skin, but his teeth leave a sting nonetheless. In retaliation, her nails sink into his muscular back and drag downward to his sides, leaving crisscrossing stripes across his tan skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she may have torn one of his stitches, but he doesn't make any indication of it bothering him. That delicious tension deep in her belly increases almost unbearably; she bucks up into his fingers on her clit, grinding against the hilt of his cock stuffed in her. His mouth latches onto the slope of her neck and bites again, licking the minimal damage each time he retracts his pearly teeth.

Her orgasm comes suddenly, like fireworks. She spasms around him as she comes, back arching up against his hard front as she cries out. Riddick continues pounding into her— continues rubbing her clit through her shuddering orgasm. The sounds of their sex seem awfully loud in the quiet confines of her small ship.

"There we go. Good girl," he murmurs into her throat.

He pushes up on his supporting arm, putting a bit of space between himself and the spent woman. She twitches and pants beneath him, cunt contracting around his continued thrusts. Her nails haven't yet retracted from his sides, clinging as though grasping for purchase. Riddick sits upright with her legs slung around his hips. One hand wipes over his head to clear away beads of sweat, before both come down to clutch her hips.

"Fuck... Where do you want it, sweetheart?" He punctuates with a harsh snap of his hips, plunging deep into her.

Hatchet's wrists demurely cross above her head. Her breaths come in short, exhausted puffs as she wriggles against him. Overstimulation is beginning to fray at her edges, but the feeling of being so full of him overrides the discomfort. She can barely think straight enough to give him a proper response— fucked thoroughly out of her mind.

"Richard—" She groans low in her throat. He's practically rearranging her guts. Tears prick at her eyes. "Fuck. Inside. Please, just— ugh, inside."

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Sounds good to me, baby." She doesn't have to open her eyes to know the smug, cocky, sexy bastard is grinning. "Nngh, fuck."

Riddick's head tilts back, shuddering violently. He groans loud and holds her steady with his fingers dug into her hips. She feels his hot release spill into her, coating her insides as he ceases his relentless pounding. She's overly sensitive from the intensity of her own orgasm, so his sudden stillness comes as a relief for her tender parts. His chest heaves, fingers twitching.

After an extended moment of basking in the bliss of his finish, Riddick slumps forward. While he's careful not to crush the woman, he does rest a bit of his weight atop her. Sweat-slicked skin meets sweat-slicked skin as they recover together, lounging in the afterglow. He remains partially sheathed within her, allowing a minimal amount of his seed to trickle out around his length.

Amidst tenderly petting Riddick's back, Hatchet nearly gets lost to the grips of sleep. That is, at least until his rumbling voice stirs her again.

"I think you needed that." He noses her throat, inhaling deeply. She cants her hips without thinking, then grunts softly at the feeling of him still buried within her.

"Oh?" she chuckles quietly, "Is that right?"

She smoothes her palm over the back of his head, then traces her fingertips up and down his neck and shoulders. He hums against her clammy, flushed skin. Sentimentally isn't even remotely his forte, but this intimacy feels surprisingly good. Odd and unfamiliar, but pleasant. He feels safe to relax in her hold, resting a little bit more of his weight against her capable form.

"Yep. You're a little uptight."

Briefly pressing his lips to the bite-shaped bruises on her shoulder, he lifts his head. She cracks an eye open to peer at him, then sighs wistfully. He really does have a beautiful face. She caresses his cheek.

"And hey, would you look at that. We fit." He grins wide and smug and raises a brow, referring back to the conversation which started this whole affair.

Hatchet drops her head to the cot and closes her eyes again, laughing heartily. "Fuck you, Richard."

#second time ever writing smut and I think it melted my brain #this is way too long to read on tumblr just go to ao3 lmao #pitch black 2000 #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #richard b riddick x oc #richard b riddick x reader #goldfinch writes

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Looks Clear

This is part 8 of Snow In The Dark. I hope you like it :)

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow along with the others decied the best way to make it off the planet alive.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice @amarokofficial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane @pinkcrystal44 @goblingirlsarah @shelbyteller @classyunknownlover

Part 1 Part 7

Knowing that light hurts the beasts trying to hurt us, everyone quickly takes inventory of everything that makes light.

Despite how bad it looked or not caring how it looked I stuck close to Riddick. He kept me alive more than once today.

Plus I felt calmer around him. More myself. More in control. Something about being next to a man you knew could handle anything that got thrown at him.

So I stood next to him as I stood around the burning cutting torch trying to figure out a plan.

“So we got one cutting torch, we got two hand lights. There’s gotta be something we can rip out of the crash ship.”

“Spirts.” Paris says leaning forward to fan himself.

I was humid and stuffy in this room but it was better than being eaten alive.

“Anything over 45 proof burns rather well.”

“Mmm molotovs my favorite.” I say earning a snort from Jack.

I wink at her and smile. 

“Look, it's better than nothing.” Johns says, glaring at me.

“It was a joke.” I say, lifting my hands up.

I don’t even react as I feel the warm body heat behind me. Johns eyes bouncing to the figure behind me told me who it was.

I don’t know what I did to have the killer of the group be my bodyguard but I would take it. 

“How many bottles you got?” Carolyn asks, getting us in order once again.

“I don’t know, maybe ten.”

“Okay.” She says, nodding and looking over at Johns.

“Johns you got some flares.”

“So, maybe we got enough light.” She says, nodding.

“Enough for fucking what?” Johns asks.

“How thick are you? Do you wanna tell him or should I?” I ask, looking at Johns then Carolyn.

She holds her hand up as to tell me to shut up or she has this.

“We stick to the plan. We get the four cells back to the skiff, we’re off this rock.” 

“Look I hate to ruin a beautiful theory with an ugly fact.” Paris says standing up.

“But that sand cat is solar. It won't run at night.” He says walking over to Carolyn.

“So we carry the cells. We drag them whatever it takes.”

“You mean tonight with all those things out there?” Jack asks, holding onto her legs rocking back and forth. She was scared but doing a great job of holding it in.

I move to sit next to her wrapping my arms around her.

“It’s better to go now then wait them out. We don’t know how long the eclipse is going to last.” I say gently rubbing her back.

“Alright, how long can this thing last?” Johns asks, making me bite my tongue from starting something with him. That wouldn’t help us survive.

“A few hours? A day tops?” He says, very matter of fact.

I clench my jaw ready to shut up but decide against it.

“Didn’t we have this conversation a few hours ago? These people wouldn’t have left everything they own or the ship for that matter if they only had to deal with these things for a few hours or a day tops.” I say spitting the last word.

“I had the impression from the model the two planets were moving as one and there would be a lasting darkness.” Imam says looking at Johns.

“Thank you.” I say, holding my hand out towards Imam.

“Maybe you can only understand men.” I say earning a glare but he doesn't respond to me.

“Mmm.. These suns gotta come up sometime. And if these creatures are phonic about light then we just sit tight and we let the sun come up.” He says, meeting my gaze, the look on his face like he figured it out.

“Okay, where is the water we are going to drink? Or food or oh yeah we’ll probably freeze because deserts get cold at night time and a few days without sun will most likely kill us. If the lack of water and food doesn't. That’s if I put up with you that long.” I say, clenching my jaw.

“Why you little-.” Johns says starting to stand up. 

“Okay enough.” Carolyn says stepping in the middle of the room blocking our line of sight from each other.

“I’m sure somebody else said the same thing, locked inside that coring room.” 

“We need to think about everybody now. Especially the kid.” He says pointing at all of us.

“How scared is this poor boy gonna be out there in the dark.”

“Oh don’t you bring him into this.” I say, clenching my jaw and standing up. 

 “Yeah, don't use him like that.” Carolyn says.

“Like what?” Johns asks, looking disgusted.

“As a smoke screen.” Carolyn says at the same time I speak.

“As a shield.” 

“You deal with your own fear.”

“Yeah it’s okay to be scared Johns.”

“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth for two seconds and let me come up with a plan that dosn’t involve mass suicide.”

“You came up with one. It's sitting here waiting for the lights to go out so those things can eat us.” I say, the sounds of the creatures outside whaling making me take a breath.

Them clearly hearing us.

Breathing the breath out slowly I move to sit back next to Jack, wrapping my arm around her.

“I’m waiting.” Carolyn says, making me smirk.

I may have to change my mind about her after all.

“How much you weigh Johns?”

“What’s it matter Carolyn?” 

“How much?” She snaps back.

“Around seventy nine kilos.”

“Because you’re seventy nine kilos of gutless white meat.”

“And that’s why you can’t think of a better plan and you want to use Jack as an excuse.” I say joining in.

“Is that fucking right?” He says jumping up, snatching his gun out as he does. 

I don’t flinch.

I watch Riddick stand up stepping in front of him, blocking him from getting to any of us.

“Where are you going?” Johns asks, pressing the barrel of the gun into RIddick’s chin.

I have to stop myself from standing up. The anger I have towards Johns is starting to get to its boiling point. I wanted to hurt him but that would help any of us get out of this.

“This solves nothing.” Imam says, as if he was reading my thoughts.

I watch Riddick smirk, him lifting his goggles and looking over at Johns as the sound of tapping fills the air.

My eyes dropped to the sound seeing a homemade blade right on John’s crotch.

“Okay.” Johns says taking a step and sitting back down.

I couldn’t tell if he was smirking or giving him a fake smile. The look on Johns face creeping me out either way.

My head snaps to the right when Carolyn moves to crouch next to me and Jack.

“They’re afraid of our light. That means we don’t have to be so afraid of them.” She says calmly. Her eyes lifted up to meet mine.

I smile at her then down at Jack.

“You know I will make sure you are safe.” I say, rubbing her back. Jack nods, looking nervous but less scared.

“And you are sure you can get us there? Even in the dark?” Iman asks, looking over at us.

“No I can’t.” She says standing up.

“But he can.” She says looking over at Riddick.

I look up at him, his goggles still off him turning to look over his shoulder at her, the light hitting his face just right to show the silver shine in his eyes.

“That’s the smartest thing you said all day.” I say looking up at her.

She nods and bends down picking up the torch.

“Come on, I have an idea.”

Carolyn leads us back to the entrance of the ship. She uses the torch to shine under the ship in case there are any creatures hiding.

Sticking close together everyone starts to head out following her.

I’m stopped when a large hand grabs my wrist. Looking up over my shoulder I meet the face of Riddick.

Us being swallowed by darkness as the others leave out ahead of us.

“You know not everyone is gonna make it out of here.” He says, his low rubbing voice settling around me. It almost reminds me of the way a cat purrs. Something animal about it.

“Then let's make sure you, me, and Jack are on the list of the ones that do.”

“Is that all you care about?” He asks, sounding like a loaded question which I was trying not to read into.

“Honestly? Yes.”

He smirks, letting go of my wrist and heading towards the door. I stay close to him. The group of us stayed quiet as we walked outside up to the other side of the crashed ship.

“Riddick.” Carolyn whispers it is too risky for us to keep moving forward.

Riddick slides past me, his hand brushing my lower back as he does. I’m shocked by the shiver it shoots up my spine.

He walks to the front of the group, slipping his goggles up to look inside.

“Looks clear.” He calls back.

Johns pushes past me practically shoving me over as he sneaks up next to Riddick, gun in hand. Him having a light on the end of it.

I have to bite my lip to keep from snatching it out of his hand and beating him with it. Thoughts of stabbing him in his sleep enter my mind.

As soon as Johns light shines into the ship a monster comes jumping out towards them screeching.

Riddick drops to the ground, out of the way while Johns jumps to the right landing on his back.

The creature flies over our head away from the light. All of us ducking down. Jack’s grip on my hand tightening.

“You said"clear "." Johns says looking up at Riddick him slightly down a slope.

“I said it looks clear.” Riddick says back, making me smile at the sass.

“Well what’s it look like now?” He asks.

Riddick raises his head taking a quick glance before turning to look back shrugging.

“Looks clear.” He says, making me snort a giggle.

Everyone turned to look at me in a shocked horror.

“I’m sorry that wasn’t meant to be funny, I know.” I say, as Riddick and Johns get up.

Johns casually walked into the ship, everyone following behind. Jack rushed ahead to stay close to Carolyn’s light.

Riddick doesn't move until I reach his side.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh. I think the exhaustion is finally catching up to me.” I say, feeling heat rise up my cheeks.

Riddick doesn't answer him, lifting a hand to grab my chin. I don’t speak as he moves my head to the left and the right, most likely looking at the bruises there.

Taking a shaky breath I let it out as his touch fell from my face, my skin almost burning from where he touched it.

“I thought I smelt blood.” He says, I almost feel like more to himself than me. But he didn’t seem like the type to talk to himself.

“Is my lip bleeding?” I question reaching up to touch my lip.

“Must have been something else.” He says, turning towards the ship, the clicking sound of the creatures starting to grow louder.

“We need to leave.” He says.

I nod following him into the ship.

#chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #riddick fanfiction #pitch black riddick #riddick x reader #riddick x you #riddick x oc #riddick fanfic #riddick fic #riddick imagine #snow in the dark #pitch black fanfic #pitch black fic #riddick

[writing-is-my-drugs-2point0]

The Convicts Captain Ch.6

Snippet Of Chapter

With every word she spoke, a single question continued to itch at Riddick’s mind. One that surprisingly she hadn’t answered for him yet. Admittedly he hadn’t asked, but she was an open book and would tell him most things he wondered about on her own. So he had kept it to himself, figuring that (like most things) he wouldn’t need to wonder about it for too long. However, the question centered on a topic she never seemed to touch on. So out the question came.

“Don’t you have parents?” He asked, putting a forkful of soggy gravy-covered hash browns into his mouth. He watched her closely, studying her reaction. She seemed startled by the question. Her eyes had widened before a more solemn look took its place. The smile she wore faltered as she reached for her water.

“We did, they went missing.” She fiddled with the cup in her hands as she spoke. “I heard the ship they were on had crashed, and that some people had survived it but-” She placed the cup on the table again. “We haven’t heard from them in years.” Her head tilted and her face scrunched up as she thought. “The. . .the Hunter Gratzner was what it was called or something similar.” Riddick momentarily stiffened at the mention of that name. Though no matter how momentary, it was enough for Itiri to notice. Curiosity burned behind her grey eyes as she studied him. “Have you. . .have you heard anything about it?” Her tone was lacking a certain spark, the one he usually heard from her. 

Word Count:

3, 628

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618359/chapters/85866610#workskin

#richard b riddick #riddick #theconvict'scaptain #ao3 link #pitch black #riddick fanfic #riddick x oc

[writingismydrugs]

The Convict’s Captain

Fandom: 

Riddick Series (Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick, Riddick) 

Summary: 

Itiri Ciana captain of her own ship, and employee of the Seiun Intergalactic Shipping Company, packs up her ship and travels to one of the universe's toughest slams. Bulgladon Correctional Facility, a prison located on a mostly water planet. Thanks to a company discount full crates are switched out for empty ones. Or in this case, not so empty ones.

Master List:

The Convicts Captain MasterList (post on side blog Writing-is-my-drugs-2point0

AO3 Link: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618359/chapters/64903204

#fanfiction #riddick #Riddick x oc #richard b. riddick #pitch black #chronicles of riddick #story edit #sci-fi #ao3 #archive of our own

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

My Liability, My Deadweight

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick

Collection/Series: My Liability, My Deadweight

Pairing: Richard B Riddick x Female Fat + Glasses Wearing Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T (Swearing, Riddick is Riddick, violence)

Warnings: Swearing, violence towards deadly alien creatures, violence from deadly alien creatures towards the reader

Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a holiday resort planet, relaxing by glistening waters and forgetting your troubles. Not traipsing through a deadly jungle on an uncharted planet with a just as deadly companion who seems torn between helping you and hating you.

Notes: So I guess this is going to be similar to Western AU Din in that i’ll probably write some stuff in the same sort of world/vein as this. I’m just interested in the idea of Riddick with a reader who is the opposite of a survivalist, who isn’t fit or strong, who is scared. The idea of Furyans having mates or soulmates that they don’t really get to choose and the idea of Riddick having to come to terms with the idea that the person he wants to protect so bad needs his protection more than most is interesting to me.

This is probably such a niche thing to write, not only because the fandom is tiny, but also because people tend to write Riddick fanfic where the reader or OC is extremely capable, but I wanted to write it. So self-indulgent fic coming up.

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Kratos is a horror show of a planet. It’s the sort of planet you’d never thought you’d end up on, the sort of planet that you saw on horror vids and read about in the tales of survivors of tragedy. You weren’t supposed to be on it. You were just on a short trip, just supposed to go to a stupid holiday planet, at the insistence of your boss that you needed a break from your desk, that you worked too hard. You were a city slicker, an urban citizen, not an outdoorsman or an adventurer, certainly not the sort of person who’d come to a planet like this. But, your pilot had needed to make a stop, said there was a problem with the fuel cells that he needed to check out. So you’d made a pit stop on a barely charted planet. Nothing good ever happens on a barely charted planet. 

Covered in dense, muggy jungle, the planet would have been beautiful had it not been trying to kill you and your, for want of a better word, companion at every turn. It was covered in vibrant green forest, tropical plants, exotic and brightly coloured flowers (many of which, it turns out, were deadly themselves). There were brightly coloured bird-like creatures and primitive mammals that scurried through the trees and across the ground. It would have been beautiful, except for the limp in your walk from the burning claw marks deep in your thick thigh, except for the blood that followed in your wake, the dead bodies of the crew you’d left behind, and the yellow eyes that seemed to follow the two of you under the dark canopy.

After a stupid decision by your group to go out into the jungle to try and find a settlement of some sort, just because it had seemed like (as if there was any real reason to leave), you’d been picked off one by one. You could only describe the beasts as fucked up panthers. Two tails with stingers at the end, sharp spindly spines along their backs, an elongated neck, venomous fangs and sharp teeth and claws. They were hard to spot, silent in the underbrush and decidedly and most definitely deadly. The only reason you were still even alive was because of Riddick, because for some unknown reason the man, the murderer, had decided to stick close to you, like glue. You weren’t complaining.

At the time of boarding the ship for your trip it had seemed horrifying, to know that you were travelling on the same transport as Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, known murder, predator. He was the sort of man your parents whispered about, the sort of man that you never wanted to meet. He was someone from your worst nightmare. Now he is your saving grace and surprisingly not what you had expected of a notorious big bad. While he meets many of your expectations, crude at times, harsh, and physically intimidating, he defies them too. He is at times oddly gentle with you and, the mere fact he cares about someone’s survival other than his own, is in itself a surprise. A fortunate one for you. 

“Are we nearly back to the ship?” You ask because your leg is killing you, because you so desperately just want to get off this planet even if it means being stuck in a confined space with a convicted murderer. You hate this planet, you hate the constant feeling of fear and of uselessness. You hate the truth of it all, that you are weak, vulnerable, prey not the predator. It has you realising your many weaknesses, many vulnerabilities, many failings. 

“Shhh…” Riddick raises his hand out in front of you, a universal sign to stop, while the other comes to his lips in a shushing motion. If he were a dog, his ears might very well have pricked up at the slightest sound. 

To you nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no unusual sounds or movement in the brush. You couldn’t see anything out of place. Just as you begin to notice the silence, the lack of sound, that is the moment everything goes terribly wrong.

“Riddic-” You were cut off by your own scream. 

Things happen so fast that you don’t really have time to process them. One minute you are standing behind Riddick attempting to get his attention, the next a dark shape crashes into you and you’re on the jungle floor a heavy weight pressing on your chest and stopping your breathing. Your hands reach up instinctively, pushing against the creature in an effort to keep sharp gnashing teeth from your face, but you’re not strong and you’re not a fighter and you can feel your arms beginning to collapse already. Can hear yourself screaming for Riddick even as part of you thinks he’ll leave you there, abandon you to be eaten alive. There is a deep fear that this is it, this is the end. That it shall be painful, terrifying, lonely, and unfamiliar. 

Claws scratch at your arms, blood runs over your skin in rivulets as you scrabble in the dirt. Then as suddenly as the weight came it was gone, hefted off of you with an angry roar and the sound of a knife hitting flesh over and over again. You don’t look, can’t bring yourself to look, just lie there and breathe, in and out. You don’t want to see him do what he’s good at, don’t want to see alien blood, a dying creature, the parts of him that are less than gentle. So you stare up at the canopy and catch your breath, feeling the blood flow down your arms, the bruises that ache over your stomach, hips and legs. Feel the relief flow through you, combat the shock, as you realise you are not dead, you are alive, and he did not leave you to die. 

You’re rather numb in truth until you hear him muttering above you, “goddamn liability, deadweight…”, it shouldn’t upset you because it’s true. But it does, it upsets and angers you because you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want any of this and you didn’t ask him to hang around, didn’t ask him to help you. You had no say in this. This was not your idea of a holiday, your idea of fun, or your fault. 

It forces you to your feet, forces you, despite the blood dripping from your wounds, to stand and face him, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the fear. You find yourself planting your feet even as you sway unsteadily, standing with hands on your wide hips and a scowl aimed at a man that could kill you easily. For the first time you’re too angry to overthink your actions towards the man. For a moment you stop thinking and start acting. 

“If i’m such a goddamn liability, then just leave me here! I didn’t ask for you to stay, Riddick! I didn’t ask for your help! If it’s such a fucking chore to have me along, if i’m really dead weight then leave me! Go!” You didn’t normally scream at anyone, it wasn’t your personality type. You were quiet, shy, retiring. A wallflower. You didn’t scream. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t do any of that. Anger wasn’t your natural response to anything. Fear was. But after being hunted down, time and time again by giant alien cats with venomous fangs and an uncanny ability to hide on a jungle planet, all while being called a liability, a dead weight by the one person you had to rely on, well, you were finally at your wits end. You were in pain, you were upset, frustrated and ready to just go home. 

You didn’t understand it. Why Riddick even bothered with you, practically a stranger. You knew you were a liability, that’s why it hurt so much when he said it. You were soft, emotionally and physically. You were a slow runner, a poor fighter, had terrible eyesight that required glasses, you weren’t light on your feet or graceful and you certainly didn’t know much about survival. You were overweight, unfit and unsure on your feet. You were prone to panic and tears, you were easily emotionally and physically unbalanced. Until this trip from hell you’d been content in the inner rim, working a normal job, a safe life. Your day to day had been comfortable, safe. Easy. You weren’t cut out for this, for danger and potential death and had Riddick, this known criminal, one of the most sought after murderers in the verse, not decided to stick by your side you’d have died at least ten times already. It didn’t make any sense and your frustration at yourself, the situation and at him had tears pooling in your eyes. You didn’t ask for any of this.

“I can’t.” He’s so impassive, so calm, that it pisses you off more. It pisses you off how hard it is to read him, how he hides his eyes behind black goggles that stop you understanding him. How he hides all emotion from you so easily. How is he okay with this? How is he so calm when everything around the two of you wants to kill you, when he could have left this goddamn planet already if you weren’t slowing him down at every turn? How could he stand there above the body of some hell spawn creature and just stare at you like that, like everything was just fine, just normal? Like he wasn’t covered in it’s blood. Like you weren’t dripping in your own. Like you hadn’t almost died. Again. 

“I..I don’t get it…? What do you mean you can’t? You could walk the fuck away right now. I can’t stop you! No one else is here to stop you! If you want to leave, leave! No one’s holding you back, Riddick! No one is going to stop you! I can’t bloody well can’t! Look at me!” You sound hysterical even to your own ears but you can’t help it. You are so scared, so confused, so frustrated, so panicked by all that’s happened, all that could happen. You gesture down to yourself, to the bloody coating you, the way you protectively hold yourself off of your hurt leg, the sheer stature different between the two of you. All the things that make it very abundantly clear that if he chose to simply walk away you couldn’t stop him. 

“Listen, princess, it’s not that fucking simple!” The snap is almost relieving, that he’s not as cold, not as impassive as you thought. That he could break too. That he could be angry, that he could be upset, that this wasn’t just normal. Even as his steps closer cause your back to hunch, cause you to second guess your antagonist behaviour. 

“I don’t understand!” 

With a growl he’s crowding you against a tree, thick arms caging you in. He’s imposing, large, a head taller than you and the action has him taking over every one of your senses. He never touches you in anger and while the display is intimidating, it oddly enough doesn’t scare you. It almost feels secure. Perhaps because not once has he done anything to suggest to you that he would hurt you, every move he’s made has been to keep you safe. Every time he’s touched you has been to pull you from danger or bring you back to your feet. Despite his harsh appearance, his foul language and the deadliness that he displays at every turn, he has never once given you cause to fear him. To fear how he would treat you. 

“You’re my mate, got it?! I don’t get to choose, I don’t get a choice! I can’t leave you! I just fucking can’t, so you’re a fucking liability and dead weight, but you’re my dead weight, got it? I ain’t fucking leaving you, we either both get off this motherfucking planet or we both get eaten by these fucks, princess. There’s no inbetween, understand?” Silver eyes flash at you as he tears the goggles from his eyes,  his brow furrows and the muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders bunch and move with every piece of tension that bursts through him. You are distinctly and sharply reminded that Riddick is a predator in every sense of the word, while you are prey. You are on two separate ends of the spectrum. 

“Mate…?” Your eyes flit across the landscape behind his head, trying to process all those words and all their meanings. You don’t understand, you don’t understand any of it. But, those words soothe you in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t going to leave you. For whatever reason, for whatever this is, whatever he means, he isn’t going to leave you.  You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. He’s not leaving, even if you’re a liability, a deadweight. Even when things get bad, he’s not leaving. He is, at this point, your only chance at getting home, getting away from him, of surviving. The panic in you begins to soothe, calm and settle. 

“We don’t have time for this.” You’re startled by the sudden display of affection as the man cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead into your own, “Just trust me.”

“I do, Riddick, I trust you” It’s hard to explain, the trust you feel for him, the safety as you let him lead you once more through the jungle. You are bleeding, in pain and still ever so aware of the dangers around you, but you have an implicit belief that with Riddick you are as safe as you can be. That if there was ever a person to carry you through this it would be him. 

You might still be confused, might not understand what he means by you being his mate or by his obligation towards you, but you know that he isn't leaving you for dead and that is enough right now. That is more than enough.

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

                                                   All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat  @gabile18 @beccaboo929​  @trasheater

#riddick x reader #richard b riddick x reader #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #plus size reader #my liability my deadweight #fat reader #readerinsert #reader insert

[gggoldfinch]

Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or could be x reader)

Word Count: 12,114

A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

#I can't believe I actually wrote this in three days flat. that's what I call insanity #literally no one asked for this and probably no one will read it either but I needed to write it for myself ya know #pitch black 2000 #chronicles of riddick #riddick #richard b riddick #richard b riddick x oc #richard b riddick x reader #goldfinch writes

[writingkeepsmewhole]

 It ain’t me you gotta worry about

This is part 6 of Snow In The Dark. Been a while I know but hope you like anyway.

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow gets saved by an unexpeacted friend.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language. Mentions of abuse.

Part 1 Part 5

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice @amarokofficial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane

As soon as we reach the ship I can’t help but notice the shadow moving on the ground. Looking up I see large spirals coming over the horizon. Iman’s boys take off running into the ship for Carolyn.

“Crap.” I say looking at it knowing the eclipse was starting. 

 It doesn't take long for everyone to decide that we have to get off the planet as soon as possible. Sharon getting the doom buggie up and running it definitely going to help us get the rest of the power cells back to the ship. They were heavy and would take hours to carry from the crash site. Hours we didn't have. The buggie was solar powered.

I hadn't seen Riddick or Johns since my "chat" with Johns. Something I was happy and nervous about.

Happy because the more I was away from Johns the better and nervous because I didn't know how Riddick would react.

I knew I was nothing to him, just something to pass the time with or entertain himself for the time being but something told me he wouldn't be pleased with my new found bruises.

Just a gut feeling that he would be upset.

We all climbed into the sand cat quickly, a twisted thought that we all wouldn’t fit if the people who had died were still alive.

“Where’s Riddick?” Jack yells, making me look at her.

She was right, him and Johns was still MIA.

“Leave him.” Paris says, shocking me. Making me wonder if he would say that about any of the rest of us.

“He wouldn’t wait for us.” He says just as Riddick jumps from the roof of a nearby building. Him landing right behind Paris.

“I thought we lost you.” Paris says nervous, making me roll my eyes. 

I can’t stop the small smile as he quickly sits down. It’s wiped from my face when Riddick tilts his head towards me.

I knew what he saw. We all did, it was kinda hard to miss. He moves closer to me, standing next to where I am sitting.

“Johns!” Sharon yells, and starts to drive forward slowly.

I kinda hoped she would leave him, but he quickly comes out of the building. Him starting to climb on the buggie. Riddick surprised me by helping him up.

Him holding him on the edge for a second. I realize in that moment that he knows. Riddick knows what happened to me. Or rather who did this to me.

It wasn’t even an hour ago when he threatened to kill Johns for busting my lip. Now I had his literal finger prints on my jaw. I didn’t know what would happen but I knew this wasn’t going to end well. 

Riddick only held him there for a moment, staring at him but it felt much longer. My stomach twisting in knots watching the interaction between them.

Riddick helps him on the sand cat then turns around.

He settles himself next to me. Glancing up at him he looked angry. Everything on him was tense. As if he was daring anyone to look at him wrong.

We rode quickly towards the crash site. The impending eclipse is right behind us.

Jack looks over at Riddick, pulling her found broken goggles over her eyes.

I didn't even get a chance to smile at how cute she was being. Riddick pointed behind her to the very large bone hanging ready to knock off anyone who was standing up.

Jack quickly ducks down out of the way. I don't bother moving, already sitting down so I wasn't expecting when Riddick's large hand was placed on my back pushing me down as he squatted out of the way.

I realized I wasn't out of the way like I thought the bone was only a few inches from the top of my head.

We all sit back up only under the ribcage of the animal for a minute.

I checked on Jack with my eyes, she was fine. My next thought is Riddick.

When did I start caring about him I'll never know. 

He glances down at me then looks straight ahead once again.

We reach the crash ship quickly, all of us climbing off, except Sharon, and the kids.

I rush into the crash ship seeing where I can help.

I stop seeing Riddick and John's packing power cells. Riddick packing two at a time. Despite them weighing almost eighty pounds.

I was definitely impressed. Hearing Jack call for me I quickly rush back out just to watch a plant rise from the sky. I block out the sun as everything around us goes black.

Darkness settles around us along with the silence. At first that’s all there is silence, dead silence. 

Then I hear it. A chirping that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Looking in the distance I watch a black cloud rise, the noise growing louder. 

The creatures twisting around each other. It almost reminds me of a dance.

“Beautiful.” Riddick says, his voice closer to me then what I expected.

I look over my shoulder seeing the winging beast take to the sky. The sound of them settling around us, it makes me feel on edge.

“Get back to the ship.” Carolyn says, then yells, her along with the others rushing towards the ship as the monsters start rushing towards us. It felt like they would swoop down and snatch me up any moment.

Adrenaline shoots through me, rushing up my neck, waking my mind up. Telling my body to move. Now. My legs move on their own. The survival instinct makes my limbs pump faster.

I turn ready to sprint to the door, seeing Jack ahead of me I know she is fine. Not looking back, I focused on running. Getting to the ship. Living.

When I feel something hard slam into my back I fall forward, smacking into the ground. The air in my lungs gets knocked out of me.

A heavy weight is laying on me. The hot breath of another person fanning over my ear. Fingers wrapped around the back of my neck.

“Don’t move.” His deep voice says, the sound resonating deep in my stomach.

I feel the rush of air as the swarm of creatures fly over us. Missing us by inches and flying back into the sky.

It’s quiet for just a moment. Just long enough to make you want to stand up. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Riddick’s large frame keeps me in place. I had no intention of moving. The itch in the back of my mind telling me it wasn’t safe yet.

I hear Jack yell at Shazza to stay down. Riddick flips off me to land on his back next to me as another woosh of wings fly over us.

Laying flat on my stomach, my face looking to the left. I watch him lay perfectly still. Like death wasn’t inches from us.

I take a deep breath through my nose, the smell of Riddick mixed with earth fills my nose. Claiming me.

The sound of Shazza’s screams reach us. The creatures fighting over her torn in half body flying off.

Riddck stands up, reminding me of a cat the way he moves. Him looking to both his left and his right before dusting his hands off and offering me one.

The gesture snaps me out of my daze. Pushing myself up to my knees I take his broad hand and let him pull me up with ease.

He drops my hand as soon as I'm standing and starts walking towards the crashed ship like he knew I would follow him.

I do follow him, kinda shocked he just saved my life. I thought he was the monster on the ship.

“Please, I really think we should go inside.” Paris says pulling Jack with him.

He must have held her from going to Shazza. I feel a bitter coil of jealousy in my stomach realizing she didn’t scream for me once.

“Come on, let's go.” He says, just as me and Riddick reach the ship. Carolyn looked in shock and like she was going to puke.

The hairs on my neck bristle up hearing another round of screeching. The three of us turned to look in the distance. 

I take a breath hearing more rocks crumble, telling me more creatures are coming.

“What is it RIddick?” Carolyn asks, as Riddick takes his goggles off.

“What is it now?”

“Like I said it ain’t me you gotta worry about.” He says, as another flock of monsters rush towards us.

#pitch black fanfic #pitch black fic #pitch black #riddick #chronicles of riddick #riddick x reader #riddick fanfiction #richard b riddick #pitch black riddick #riddick x you #riddick x oc #riddick imagine #snow in the dark

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Shadows

This is part 7 of Snow In The Dark. I hope you like it :)

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow hides in the crashed ship with the rest of the others, only to learn that its not as safe as it seems.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language. Mentions of death.

Part 1 Part 6

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice @amarokofficial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane @pinkcrystal44

The inside of the crashed ship was pitch black. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Hearing a few clanks, a light floods the small space as they turn on a torch.

“She should have stayed down.” Jack says looking up at me is sad from seeing Sharon die. 

“If she only would have stayed down she would be okay. Like you.” She says, wrapping her arms around me in the middle burying her head in my chest.

“Shh, I know. I’m so sorry.” I say rubbing her back. Thinking of Riddick knowing if it wasn’t for him I would be dead. Very dead.

I don’t know what made him save me but I wasn’t going to question it. In fact I was wishing I knew a way to repay him.

“You remember the boneyard?” Johns asks, making me look at the man I was just thinking about.

I swore I could see a smirk settle on his face. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking the same thing as me.

“This just might be the thing that killed everything else on this planet.”

“What are we gonna do now?” Jack asks, looking up at me.

“We are gonna stick together like we always do.” I say smiling at her.

“Is this the only light we have? Is this everything?” Paris asks.

“There's a cutting torch on the floor here somewhere.”

“Quite, please, everyone.” Iman says, him placing his ear on the door.

Jack moved away from me to do the same.

The wailing of the creatures outside being heard in the distance. I take a breath, feeling my heart drop knowing we are slowly getting surrounded.

“Why do they do that? Make that sound?” Jack asks.

“It’s how they see. With sound reflecting back. Letting them know where we are.” I answer everyone turning to me.

I jump along with everyone else when rattling sounds from behind me make me spin around to face the noise. Everyone is shining their lights trying to see what is going on.

“Could be a breach in the hull. I don’t know.” Carylon says softly.

“Oh great.” I mutter not wanting to think about how many of those things are in here with us.

“Come on, Johns. You got the big gauge.”

“I’d rather piss glass.” Johns says, making me snort.

“Of course you would.” I say, earning a glare from him.

“Why don’t you go fucking check?” He says, challenging me.

“I’m not staying here anymore.” Paris says before I can answer.

“Where are you going?” Johns asks spinning around to go after him.

“Hey! Hey!.” Johns says, the others stopping him from opening the door.

I ignore them easing closer to Riddick, him looking down at me, his eyes shining. He didn’t have to say anything. It was clear he didn’t want me to check out if there were any monsters in here with us.

I step closer to him, my stomach flipping as I do. Like standing on a tall ledge getting ready to jump. Pure adrenaline was pumping through me when I stood next to him.

He jerks his head for me to follow him, us getting closer to the group.

“Hurry!” Iman yells, him opening up a small closet for us to get into.

Riddick, herding me into it before slipping into it himself, the others rushing in as well.

“Now we are trapped in a much smaller space. I hate this” Paris says, making me roll my eyes.

‘At least we are not out there with it.’ I wonder how these people were going to survive.

My head snaps to Iman yelling at the creature outside stabbing through the door with its claw. Almost hitting his head.

‘Oh great it’s smart.’ I think, as Riddick leans down, lighting the cutting torch off Paris lighter makes him jump and look up at him.

I move closer to Riddick as he starts cutting a hole through the wall. Johns firing shots off at the door we just came through.

“Does it not realize these things like noise?” I ask, Riddick lifting his mouth in a smirk.

I smile glad he got my joke. 

He passes the torch to me as he kicks the newly made door open. A circle hole letting us out of the room and into a bigger part of the ship.

I crawl through it following him, Carylon and the others behind us. I pass her the torch, to help the others get through.

Jack latching onto me once more. I smile at her wrapping my arms around her to hold her close. Her eyes bounce around the room as the others start barricading the hole.

“Where is Riddick?” Johns asks, looking around.

Letting go of Jack I turn around to see Riddick has disappeared.

“I said," Where is Riddick?” Johns says again, making me realize he was talking to me.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a tracker on him.” 

“Go find him.” He says, gesturing  towards the dark ship.

I roll my eyes not wanting to cause an argument with Johns. It would be quieter if I just did as he asked. I didn’t want the creatures to find us again.

“Stay with the group. I’ll be right back.” I say to Jack.

I move to start easing into the darkness. Taking slow cautious steps. Feeling like we were in the cargo bay of the ship I moved past boxes and nets.

The more I walked the darker it got since I was getting away from the group's light source. Moving farther and farther away until I couldn’t hear or see them anymore.

I was submerged in complete darkness when I felt the feeling of being watched. Swallowing, I slow down, trying to listen harder. To see if I could hear anything around me.

I take a deep breath, when I feel arms wrap around me. A large hand covering my lips as I was pulled into a firm chest.

The growing familiar smell of Riddick invading my senses. I don’t know how I could relax and have my body heat up at the same time.

He doesn't say anything. Only uses his hand on my mouth to make me look up.

Looking up to see the movement of something. I blink a few times shocked when my vision clears enough to see the silhouette of a creature eating something.

I let him pull me back into the shadows. Into an even darker space if that was possible. Hidden for the beast. Or at least hidden enough that it cared about its meal more than us.

His hand falls from my face to my waist as he eases around me. Moving to stand in front of me. His large frame blocked me from view.

If I didn’t know any better I would say he was protecting me. But he wouldn’t do that? Would he?

Despite the question in my mind I reach up and grab the back of his tank top. Telling myself it was in case he took off I would know to follow. To run to safety but I would be lying if I didn’t find something comforting about touching him in some way.

I’ve definitely lost my mind it seems.

We stay like that for a moment or two waiting for an opening to slip away I’m guessing until one of Imen’s boys comes around the corner.

I feel my stomach drop knowing this is only going to end badly.

He lets out a gasp when the flesh of whatever the monster was eating falls in front of him. The creature makes a sound, turning to face us, clearly earring the boy.

“Extremely..bad..timing.” Riddick says slowly, easing out just enough for the boy to see him.

I knew I was blanked in darkness and Riddick’s body but It didn’t stop my heart from picking up. My gut telling me this was about to go south.

“Just don’t run.” Riddick says, sounding like he was barely moving his mouth. 

“Riddick?” Carylon says, hearing his voice.

“Don’t. Stop. Burning.” He answers her, him standing perfectly still.

I matched him, realizing he figured out something about these things. They could only see you when you moved.

Hearing the crate behind us move and creak as a creature climbs onto it I ease closer to Riddick. Pressing myself into him, not wanting to be close enough for that thing to sneak up and grab me.

Both of us look up watching the creature's claws grow. Riddick’s large hand reaches back finding my hip, him easing us sideways into the shadows once more. His hand doesn't leave my body once we are locked in place again.

I watch the claw snap out at the boy making him jump and take off running. The creature flying after him. Another creature killed him, and the two began to fight.

I gasp when Riddick grabs my shirt pulling me after him as he starts to run, letting go as soon as he knows I'm right on his heels.

We book it towards the group, the light in the distance. Hearing us coming the group turns, shining their lights at us, at Riddick. I hear him yell and watch as he falls over holding his face, but it’s not in time enough for me to trip and fall on him. Making him grunt. The creature flying over us right towards the others.

It screeches flying off as Johns starts shooting at it.

“I’m sorry.” I say, moving to get off him. Riddick pushes himself up standing next to me.

Everyone screams as the monster falls from the ceiling, all of them huddling around it. I stay back not wanting to be anywhere near the thing.

“Is it alive?” Carylon whispers.

“I hope so.” I answered her, the sound of sizzling filling the air.

“It’s like the light is scalding it.” Paris says as the flashlight moves over its dead body.

“It hurts them. The light hurts them.” She says.

Hearing more noises Iman calls for his child.

I looked at the floor knowing the kid was not going to answer.

“We’ll burn a candle for him later.” Johns says, making me want to throw something at him.

“Come on, let's get out of here.” He says turning to head back to kick open the next door way.

#chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #riddick fanfiction #pitch black riddick #pitch black fanfic #pitch black fic #pitch black #riddick imagine #riddick x reader #riddick fanfic #riddick fic #riddick x you #riddick x oc #shadows #snow in the dark

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Confusion

This is part 4 of Snow In The Dark. Been a while I know but hope you like anyway.

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow is trying to understand her pull towards Riddick.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language I think that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice

Part 1 Part 3

The memory of how I met Jack faded from my mind when a bottle fell from Paris’ bag. He quickly turns to retrieve it but not before Riddick reaches it first. 

They stand up at the same time. Paris looks like he is about to puke and Riddick looks more threatening till Paris introduces himself.

“Paris P. Ogilvie.” He says nervously.

“Antiques dealer, entrepreneur” He says, sticking his hand out.

I watch Riddick take it with a smile growing on his face.

“Richard B. Riddick. Escaped Convict. Murderer” He says casually making me have to bite my lip to hold back a laugh.

I knew it wasn’t meant to be funny but it was from how relaxed he said it.

RIddick opened the bottle and lifted it to his mouth. Paris quickly told him that it was very expensive.

“But by all means help yourself.” He says, as Riddick downs what’s left of it.

I have to bite my cheek when I watch him hand the empty bottle back to Paris.

“Oh umm thank you.” He says, nodding his head and quickly scurrying away.

I shake my head and start my own walk behind him. Riddick behind me.

When we got to the small town they found everyone delighted including myself when we found a ship.

I didn’t bother trying to investigate further, not having much knowledge when it came to that stuff. Instead I walked around with Jack letting her expoller the different houses.

I walk around seeing all the different stuff placed around. I pick up a picture on the table in the living room seeing an average family photo inside of it.

I wrinkle my brow wondering why this was left. Looking around the house even more I realize that everything was left. If you took away the layer of thick dust everywhere it looked as if the owners still lived here. Like they would be home any minute. 

I was leaning against the wall as she played with a toy lizard. She suddenly stopped and turned around with a pair of clippers in her hand.

“Can I cut my hair?” She asks, hope filling her eyes.

“Why do you want to cut your hair?”

“Well ya know.. It’s hot here.” She shrugs, making me chuckle.

“Sure, kid. Sense, it's hot.” I say knowing good and well why she was doing it but might as well let her get it out of her system. 

She grins and rips off her hat and moves to a mettle mirror on the wall.

“I’m gonna go see if I can help the others. Come find me when you're done?”

“Yeah okay.” She says, nodding her head but not really listening to me.

Rolling my eyes I leave the house stepping into the blistering sun. I settle for walking back towards the ship but stop when I see Riddick walking by himself.

I knew I should have gone towards the others, faintly hearing some of them yelling about finding water. Maybe I even should have gone back inside and helped Jack with her hair but instead I found myself following him.

He was a bit ahead of me and so I had plenty of places to hide if he looked behind him. I don’t know what possessed me to follow him but I wanted to see what he was doing. He was meant to be such a big bad guy but I haven’t seen him do anything to earn him that title yet.

I don’t follow him for long before I lose him. Turning a corner and he is suddenly gone. I look around the different containers used as houses but find nothing.

I turn to head back towards the way I came but stop when Riddick drops down in front of me, making me jump.

He pushes me up against the wall of the house behind me. It's hot on my skin. Him leaning into my personal space, getting his face very close to mine.

“Are you following me, Snow?” He asks, my name rolling off his tongue in a way I didn’t know could sound that attractive.

“Yes.” I say.

I watch him lift an eyebrow as if he didn’t expect me to tell the truth.

“Why?” He asks standing back up but still keeping me pressed into the house. His hands were on either side of my head so I was blocked between him and the wall behind me.

“I don’t know.” I say once again being honest.

“You seem to fascinate me for some reason.” I say, taking a breath.

My heart is starting to pick up. It wasn’t from fear. No it was a feeling I recognized but I didn’t understand how I could be getting turned on just by standing here.

“Hmm.” He growls out. That sound makes the feeling in me grow. I closed my eyes, blushing at how my body was reacting. I couldn't help but wish he would lean closer but instead he pulled away from me.

“Come on. I would rather have you in my sights.” He says turning to walk off.

Despite having free will and knowing I shouldn’t follow him I do exactly that. Walking behind him  trying to understand what has gotten into me.

Since I met him I was drawn to him. Something deep inside me pulled towards him. I don’t know what it was. Attraction? Possible. He was attractive. Desare? That was a possibility as well. I clearly wanted him. The thoughts I have had about him in just the past few hours of knowing him proved that. But there was something else. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Something that scared me if I thought about it long enough. Something inside me that told me I belonged with… to him. 

I push those thoughts down as I follow him towards a large building. It is the largest one of them all.

When he stops to pick something off the ground I stop. Him doing it again only a few feet closer to the building picking up something else.

“What is it?” I ask walking closer to him.

With him still knelt down, he holds up a pair of broken glasses.

“That’s weird.” I say, as he stands up.

“The houses are the same too. Their stuff is just forgotten and left behind.” I say, him turning to look over his shoulder at me.

He lets out another humed growl but doesn't say anything. I’m starting to realize he wasn't much for talking.

He takes a few steps forward checking the doors. They seem to be locked. I faint giggling can be heard from the other side.

“They chained them closed.” I say, more to myself than anyone. Despite that Riddick still nods slowly.

Reaching up to grab the tarp hanging off the building he lifts it up to reading Coring Room, over the door. 

I didn’t get a chance to say anything, a whistle filling my ears. Both me and Riddick snap our heads in the direction, finding Johns standing there with his hands on his hips.

“You're missing the party.” He says looking at us.

“Come on boy.” He says patting his leg then walking off like Riddick was a dog that would follow.

I look up at him expecting a reaction but he only pulls the tarp all the way off revealing Jack on the roof ready to pounce down on us.

Her gasping at being caught.

Riddick looks up at her as if he expected her to be there.

“You’re missing the party. Come on.” He says mocking John's southern accent.

He turns to walk back towards where the other survivors are.

“Come on Jack.” I say, looking up at her.

“I almost had you two.” She whines jumping down to the ground.

“How did he know I was there?”

“I think he was just pulling the tarp off kiddo.” I say not wanting to hurt her pride.

But i didn’ believe that. Riddick seemed to know things before the rest of us even thought about it being a possibility.

Me and Jack walked into one of the other buildings just to hear the tail end of Imam’s prayer.

I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I saw the glasses of water sitting on the table. Walking up to grab one, I feel eyes on me.

I didn't get to see who they belonged to when I noticed everyone was looking in my direction. I quickly realize everyone is looking at Jack.

“What?” She asks, looking around.

“It’s the winner of the look-alike contest.” Paris says poking his thumb towards Jack.

With her now shaved head and roughly made goggles it was easy to tell who she was trying to look at.

I ignore his comment and smile behind the cup placed to my lips. I thought it was cute and understandable.

I was honestly glad I wasn’t the only one who had a fascination with Riddick.

“Who were these people, anyway? Miners?” Paris askes.

“I don’t know. Looks like geologists.” Sharon says holding up a crystal of some kind.

“You know an advanced team ,moves from rock to rock.”

“Nice of them to leave so much stuff here.” Carolyn says looking about as worried about everything that we all felt.

“Why did they leave their ship?” She asks looking at Johns, him glaring at her.

“It's not a ship. It's a skiff and it's disposable really.” Johns says looking nervous.

“It's more like an emergency life raft, right?”

“Yeah they probably had a big drop ship take them off planet.” Sharon says, looking hopeful, I start to say something but am cut off.   

“These people didn't leave. Come on.” Riddick says his deep voice making my insides rattle.

“Whoever got Zeke got them. They're all dead.” He says throwing the rag he was using on the ground. Then putting his goggles back on.

“You don't really think they left with their clothes on hooks...-...Photos on the shelves.”

“Maybe they had weight limits. You don’t know” Sharon says.

“I know you don't prep your emergency ship unless there's an fucking emergency.” He says grinning at her.

“He's fuckin' right.” Jack says 

“Watch your mouth.” Johns says, making me glare at him.

I didn’t get a chance to teathen him before Carolyn started talking.

As if the man read my thoughts I suddenly felt a large presence behind me. I swallow and glance over my shoulder. Riddick standing a few feet from me. But close enough to make my heart pound.

“Has anyone checked the coring room?” Riddick says, making me realize I missed a question.

With that said everyone heads out to go look for the missing boy. Me and Ridick being the last ones out I’m stopped when he grabs my wrist and spins me around.

I let out a gasp when he presses me into the wall holding my wrists so my arms are pinned down by my sides.

“What are you doing?” I ask looking up at him.

His face expressionless but he wouldn’t be pening me to the wall if he wasn’t thinking of something.

He doesn't say anything, only leans closer to me.

“Do I stink or something?”

I shiver when a low growl leaves his throat. He pulled away from me just as quickly as he grabbed me and left towards the direction of the group.

I take a breath collection myself before I follow them. Wanting to know what was up with Riddick.

#Snow in the dark #pitch black fanfic #pitch black fic #richard b riddick #chronicles of riddick #riddick fanfic #riddick x reader #riddick x you #riddick x oc #riddick #pitch black #confusion

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Show Me Your Eyes.

This is part 2 of Snow In The Dark

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary:Snow get’s locked up with Riddick.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language I think that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P

Part 1

When Johns wanted to go farther away from the ship I decided that was when me and Jack should head back.

Jack whined a bit but she still listened following back towards the crashed ship. Just both freezing when the distant pops filled our ears.

“What was that?” She asks looking up at me.

“Gun shots.” I say picking up my pace.

When we reached the ship we found out there was another survivor. The only problem was Zeek thought he was Riddick, him putting a few bullets in the man's back.

“So you just shot him? Just like that?” I ask, looking down at the deadmans body.

Most people would have been grossed out or bothered by it but when you're raised like I was, seeing a corpse is just another tuesday.

“Johns told me to.” Zeek says as if that explained everything away.

“Who made him the boss?”

“Look there is no point in worrying about it now. The man is dead, bury him with the rest and worry about getting us off this planet.” Paris says, him cleaning his glasses.

“I am gonna worry about it. What if Johns tells him to shoot me or Jack? I wanna know if he is just going to listen.”

“He told Zeek to shoot Riddick because he’s a killer.” Sharon says stepping into my bubble.

“Yeah and now so is Zeek funny how that works. Come on Jack lets go.” I say moving away from them.

I step down onto the sand and walk away from them.

“Why are you so mad about Zeek killing that guy?” Jack asks, walking next to me.

Us not really headed in any direction just away from them.

“It’s not that he killed the guy. We both know I got blood on my hands. It's just I don’t like the fact when Johns said jump Zeek said how high.”

“Johns was the one that busted your lip right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only thing.” I say thinking about my encounter with Riddick.

Sure he was intense but I didn’t feel scared of him.

“What’s the other thing?”

“Doesn't matter. We should find something to help with no point in just wasting our energy.” I say smiling down at her.

“Okay, do you care if I go help Sharon?”

“Sure kid. Just stay within yelling distance.”

“You got it.” She says smiling and jogging back towards the ship.

Not sure what I could do to help the others I decided I should help myself instead. Scooping my long dark hair up I braid it away from my face and secure it in place with the band wrapped around my wrist.

I was dressed in only black tank top jeans and boots so there wasn’t much I could do for my clothes. 

Heading towards the ship I walked through it seeing if I could find anything as a weapon. I wasn’t the best fighter, but I wasn’t going to let Johns smack me around.

I didn’t get a chance to find anything, the sound of screaming filling my ears. I don’t think as I push myself in the direction of the sound.

I slide to a stop seeing Sharon, Johns and Carolyn surrounding Riddick. Johns jerked his goggles off making Riddick yell in pain like he got hit in the face.

The sound made my fists clench. Anger running through me.

“Hey what are you doing?” I ask quickly moving next to them.

“He killed Zeek, I know it! Just kill him, kill him right now!” Sharon screams trying to jump at him.

Johns uses the butt of his gun slamming it into Riddick’s face, making him go limp.

“Stop it!” I say moving in between Johns and Riddick.

“You're protecting him? He killed Zeek!” Sharon screams at me trying to kick me.

I move out of the way, Johns grabbing my arm.

“Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not!” I say jerking my arm from his touch.

“I’m getting tired of you lying to me.” He says grabbing me and throwing me to the ground.

“I can’t trust you anymore.” He says yanking my arms back, cuffing me.

“Let go of me!” I yell trying to fight him.

I look up at the others wondering if they really are going to let him do this to me. I get my answer when Sharon’s foot makes contact with my face, everything going dark.

I wake up to my head throbbing, a biting pain in my wrists. Groaning I sit up realizing I’m in the bottom of the ship.

My wrists chained to the floor.

“Must have down something pretty bad to have them lock you up with me.” Riddick says his deep voice makes me shiver.

Looking up I realize he is sitting on a metal box with both of his arms stretched out to each side, he was chained up as well.

“Yeah apparently protesting your abuse was a crime.” I say leaning my head on the wall next to me.

I was only a few feet from him just far enough away we couldn’t touch. I lift an eyebrow as that thought goes through my head. Like I wanted to touch him.

“You call that abuse, you ain't seen anything.”

“Well watching you get hit in the face with a gun wasn’t very pleasant to me.” I say looking up at him.

I watch the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Careful they might think you like me or something.”

I shrug knowing he can’t see it. He’s eyes were closed. Remembering the sound he made before tells me he didn’t like the light.

“You don’t like the light do you?” I ask, wanting to make conversation.

I found I liked the low rubble of his voice. 

“Most people learn to adjust to the dark I was born in it.”

I snort making his head turn towards me.

“Well by that logic I guess I’m built for the cold.”

“Snow.” He says, or more like growls.

“You were born in the snow.”

“That’s what they tell me. Found me between my dead mother's thighs covered in her blood, my cord still attached.”

“Lifes a bitch huh?”

“Tell me about it.” I say closing my eyes.

My head was pounding from either the hit to the face or the lack of food and water. I open them and look up at Riddick.

My chest level with his knee making a weird sensation stur in my gut at practically sitting at his feet.

I blush hearing and watching Riddick take a deep breath through his nose as if he was smelling the air, smelling me.

Wanting him to stop doing that I use my foot to bump his boot with my own making his eyes open. I gasp when his gaze finds me.

His eyes silver, them shining like an animal. They meet mine, reflecting from the light coming from overhead. Them making my stomach flip from, deep part of my brain telling me that I was looking at something wild and unknown. Despite that I couldn’t look away. 

“So that’s what Johns meant.” I say realizing he wasn’t human.

No human had eyes like that.

He cocks his head as if asking a question.

“He made you out to be something other than human. Guess he was telling the truth, about that at least.”

Chuckling he closes his eyes and leans back laying on the wall behind him.

“Well he’s bound to slip up and get at least one thing right.”

“So what are you?” I ask, not getting an answer.

“You tell me.”

“How would I know?”

“Because you smell just like me, only sweeter.” He says the last word coming out deeper then all the rest.

It makes a heat pool in my stomach. Him smirking as if he can smell that as well. I bite my lip and cross my legs not knowing what to say to that information.

“I’ll ask you again, are you scared of me?”

“No, more like intrigued.” I say honestly.

“Good.” He says silence falling around us.

We both sat there neither one of us talking but something told me Riddick wasn’t one for idle chit chat.

I look over him from head to toe thinking about what he said. What did he mean I smelt like him? Did that mean I was like him? Whatever he was. I couldn't lie. I didn’t know what I was. No one did, I was raised in the streets learning to survive on my own.

I wasn’t taken in and treated. No doctor visits to tell me what I was. I might not have been human, but then again what was human?

I look him over once again, the image of straddling his lap filling my mind. I shake my head and turn to look at the floor.

‘What the heck is wrong with you?’ I ask myself surprised by how my own body had a pull towards this man.

This convent, murderer. He wasn’t like a normal man. Anyone could tell that just by looking at him. It wasn’t his features it was more the way he moved. How he carried himself. He knew just how bad he was. He wasn’t cocky about it. He just knew. That made you know as well.

I chew my lip wondering what I would do. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to apparently straddle his lap and have him use me how he pleased but I couldn’t do that.

I had too many things to worry about. How to get off this planet being number one.

Hearing footsteps made me look towards the sound. Fry walked closer to us.

“So where's the body?” She asks, grabbing a beam next to her.

“Well hello to you too.” I mumble looking at her.

She glares at me then looks back at Riddick but he doesn't give an answer.

“Well do you want to tell me about the sounds?” She asks, sounding annoyed.

I look over at Riddick having no idea what she was talking about but it was clear that she wasn’t getting an answer to that either.

“Look, you told Johns you heard something.”

I drop my head on the wall behind me not stopping the smirk that comes to my face at him giving her the silent treatment.

“That's fine...You don't want to talk to me, that's your choice. But, just so you...there's a debate right now as to whether we should just leave you here to die.” She says looking from him to me.

“As for you, Johns said you are free to go.” She says, throwing me a key to my cuffs as if she was scared to get any closer.

I guess she was because of Riddick.

Turning away from us she turns to walk away as I start to uncuff myself.

“You mean the whispers?” Riddick asks, his deep voice chilling the humid air.

“What whispers?” She asks, coming back to join us.

“The ones telling me to go for the sweet spot just to the left of the spine…. Fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta.” He says making my stomach flip for some reason.

I kinda scared myself realizing that someone talking about killing another human was turning me on.

‘What is wrong with you?’ I think, biting my lip.

“It's a metallic taste, human blood. Copperish. If you cut it with peppermint schnapps, that goes away-.”

“Do you want to shock me with the truth now?” Fry asks, cutting him off.

I look at Riddick, my mind racing at what he just said but I don’t get time to process it.

“All you people are so scared of me.” He says once again making me wonder why I’m not.

“Most days, I take that as a compliment. But it ain't me you got to worry about now.”

“Show me your eyes Riddick.” Fry says changing the subject.

I turn and look at her cocking an eyebrow.

“You’d have to come a lot closer for that.” Riddick says a smirk on his face.

I watch as she takes a step forward, gulping.

“Closer.” He says.

I’m shocked to watch her do as he says as if she can’t realize he’s playing with her. Like a cat toys with a mouse before they eat it.

I barely react when Riddick stands up quickly making Fry jump and quickly move away from him.

Even from my spot on the floor I can see the shine of his eyes. The silver glow I saw before. It makes me want to stare at them for hours.

“How in the hell do I get eyes like that?” Jack’s voice asks, making my head snap in her direction.

“You gotta kill a few people.” Riddick says looking at her.

“Kay I can do it.” She says so matter of factly I roll my eyes.

She didn’t know what it was like to kill anyone. It's a lot harder then what people thought.

“Then you gotta get sent to a slam where they tell you you’ll never see daylight again.” He says looking back at Fry.

“Then you dig up a doctor, who you pay twenty menthol cools to do a surgical shine job on your eyeballs.”

“So you can see who’s sneaking up on you in the dark.” Jack says grinning.

“Exactly.” Riddick practically growls out at him grinning at her.

“Leave!” Fry says, making me clench my jaw and stand up.

I wasn’t about to let anyone talk to her like that. Like she was just someone to boss around.

Her eyes jump from me to Riddick then back to Jack.

“Leave, please.” She says this time more softly.

“Go ahead Jack.” I say softly when my sister’s eyes land on me.

Sighing she starts climbing back up the ladder, leaving us alone.

“Cute kid.” Riddick says smiling at me, it makes my stomach flip once again.

“Thanks.” I say not knowing what to say back, too confused by my body's reaction to this man to think straight.

“Did I kill a few people?” Riddick says sitting back down.

“Sure. But did I kill Zeek? No.”

“Then where's the body? We already looked in the hole?”

“Look deeper.” He says hiding a smirk but not before I caught it. Or maybe I just imagined it.

“Whatever.” Fry says starting to walk away, her stopping and looking back at me.

“Come on Johns wants to talk to you.”

Clenching my jaw I sigh and start to follow her. I’m stopped by Riddick placing his boot covered foot on my calf.

I look back at him over my shoulder, then glowing eyes once again meeting mine. The knot in my stomach, tightening.

“Do me a favor.”

“What? Break you out?” I ask since I still had the key Fry gave me.

“No, Johns will do that. It’s something else.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“Stay above ground.” He says his voice sending chills through me as he lets me go.

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