#Slow moving Senate

[govtshutdown]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2024/03/20/government-shutdown-mike-johnson/

We may be looking at a weekend shutdown purely because they ran out of time.

[pandora15]

friendly reminder that yes I still want an animated series set between tpm and aotc focused on the jedi, I just think it would be really fun and there's a lot to explore

[thebearer]

nothing in the world belongs to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: still new in your relationship, you show up to the bear for dinner unexpectedly, surprising carmen and the others.

based off this prompt from the other day :)

contains: fluff lol. really, it's just fluff. established-ish relationship (the others don't know). carmen being a little nervous and possessive but mainly cute <3 language.

“Alright, listen up,” Richie stood next to Sydney, flicking through the piles of tickets that were ringing through by the second. It was normal now, an expected task in their routine. “We need to walk the focaccia to table seven, please.” 

“Yes, Chef!” A chorus of nearly robotic voices rose from the sizzling hiss of the lamb searing in Carmen’s pan, lifting the spatula to tip the meat over, before giving it back to the chef on the line. 

“And for table nine, we’ve got a shellfish allergy, alright? So let’s triple check the cross contamination on that. T, can you handle that one?” Richie moved from his leather bound book of notes back to the ticket. 

“Yes, Chef!” Tina chimed, pulling a freshly washed pan, filling it with the veal stock. 

“Table nine, is that- that’s the senator?” Carmen turned to Richie, tasting the roux bubbling on Victoria’s station, giving her a curt nod of approval. 

“No, that’s table eleven.” Richie hummed, looking back at his notebook. “Nine, is… a birthday. Booked online.” Carmen had already begun to drone him out, mind racing with a million other things as Richie listed the guests name. Until he got to one. 

The name Carmen was sure he was hallucinating. The name no one knew- How would they know? How could they possibly know your name? 

You and Carmen had been seeing each other for a little while. A few weeks that were slowly turning into months. A casual thing that was slowly turning more serious. Dates and meetups are becoming more frequent. You’d even invited him over to your place a few times, he’d spent the night last week. 

Still, Carmen hadn’t managed to tell anyone. Selfishly, he liked that you were all his for now. Privacy was not guaranteed in the Berzatto house, in Carmen’s life still. He knew they meant well, they always did- he knew it wasn’t purposeful, the intrusion that almost always led to a demise. Carmen wasn’t ready for it, not yet, he still wanted you all to himself. 

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice pulled him out of his panicked trance. “Chef, are you- are you good?” Her voice lilted with that familiar suspicious quip, the one always accompanied with her lifted brows. 

“What?” Carmen blinked, hands buzzing, heart thumping. He could see the window, Richie’s frame blocking most of it. “Sorry, yeah- yeah, I’m good, Chef.” 

Sydney watched him carefully, a slow nod before she continued calling out orders. Carmen could feel Richie’s eyes on him, narrowed with curiosity. Carmen tried to be nonchalant, crossing the kitchen back towards Tina, his eyes cutting carefully, looking out the window. 

There you were. 

Sitting pretty at the middle table, surrounded by friends, some Carmen recognized from your Instagram. He’d actually logged in to the app, looked you up after the first date, consumed every photo of yours in the dark of his room. Cheeks burning with excited heat, stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt since junior high. 

“Alright, walk five salads to nine.” Sydney called out. “Where’s our runners? God, Richie, can you run-” 

“-I got it.” Carmen called, the urgency in his tone making Tina jump behind him. Carmen took the tray before Gary could, his hands shaking as he lifted it. 

“Cousin, I can get it.” Richie frowned. 

“No, I-I got it.” Carmen nodded, swallowing down his fluttering nerves. His eyes cut to your table through the window, heart skipping when he saw you. “I got it. I’ll be- I’ll just be a second.” 

“I don’t- I can’t even handle that one right now.” Sydney sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Chefs. Let’s get back on track.” She announced, shaking her head. Richie frowned, pulling out his phone. 

Sugar’s cell buzzed against the hostess stand, excusing herself to check it. 

From: Richie 

‘Look at table nine.’ 

Sugar huffed. 

To: Richie 

‘Why? Is there something wrong?’ 

She stepped back, casually turning to scan the room, eyes landing on the table. A small group of girls, younger, and amongst them- Carmen? 

To: Richie 

‘Is something wrong with the food? Do I need to comp it?’ 

From: Richie 

‘No. Cousin wanted to go out there.’ 

Sugar frowned, angling her body behind the large plant near the front as casually as she could. She watched through the leaves as Carmen passed out the salads, each girl grinning widely, but their eyes always cut to one on the end. 

Carmen saved your salad for last, hoping the lowlights of the restaurant would hide his boyish blush, setting the bowl in front of you carefully. “Hey,” 

“Hi,” You smiled sheepishly, looking to meet his gaze. “Everything looks so good.” 

“Yeah? Thanks.” Carmen nodded. “I-I didn’t know you were comin’ tonight.” 

“I’m sorry.” You cringed softly, embarrassed heat flooding through your veins. You knew better, knew you shouldn’t have done this- showed up at his restaurant unannounced. 

“I, uh, it’s my friend’s birthday.” You nodded towards Alicia at the end of the table. “And I was telling them about that pasta you made me, and they really wanted to come try it.” Your nerves bubbled, rambling in nervous peals that seemed to pour out before you could stop them.  

“Yeah, no, that’s really nice. Thank you.” Carmen nodded, giving a half smile to your friends, hoping they didn’t see the way he wiped his clammy hands on his apron. “Why didn’t- Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me you were comin’ in.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You muttered softly. “I honestly didn’t think you’d even see us here, I swear. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything-” 

“-You’re not bothering me.” Carmen’s voice dropped to a coo, accompanied with a soft smile that had your head spinning. “Never a bother, but, uh, next time? Bother me, ok? Wanna make sure you get the best seat in the house.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your friends excited giggles only intensifying the rushing heat blanketing over your body. Carmen’s own cheeks heated, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. 

“Alright?” Carmen added, and in a complete act of shocking boldness, his hand squeezed your shoulder affectionately. A small gesture on the outside, but for Carmen, it was huge. 

“Alright.” You grinned, leaning into his touch, your hands sliding over his. 

“How’s everything so far?” Carmen turned to the table, nodding at the excited gushes of compliments, not missing the way your friends cut their eyes to you with animated glee. 

“Just let me know if you need anything, ok?” Carmen turned to you.

“I will.” You nodded, starry eyed with love sick affection. 

“Good. I’ll see you before you leave, alright?” Carmen muttered, ducking down towards you. His lips brushed over your cheek, your perfume clouding his senses. “You’re not botherin’ me. ‘M glad you’re here.” 

Your cheek pressed to his, a gentle, affectionate rub before Carmen parted. Both of your features painted with shy delight. 

Carmen could feel everyone’s eyes, through flickering gazes and lifted brows. Sydney’s gaze lingering over him skeptically, still counting tickets. Fak’s wide grin from the corner, loading trays to take out. 

“Hey, uh, Marcus.” Carmen ignored Richie’s raised brows, a teasing, questioning remark on the tip of his tongue. 

“Yes, Chef?” Marcus muttered, looking up from the cannolis he was garnishing. 

“Table nine has a birthday. I was thinkin’ maybe the chocolate ganache, punch it with the little circle to make it look like a cake. Add a candle?” Carmen muttered, hand rubbing across his face. 

“Yeah, Chef, I can do that.” Marcus nodded. 

“Thank you.” Carmen nodded. “And Chef? Let me know when it’s ready before you walk it.” 

Marcus frowned. “No, it’s not- I just wanna walk it, ok?” Carmen shook his head. 

“Alright.” Marcus nodded slowly. “Heard, Chef.” 

Richie smirked, leaning against the stainless steel table. “So,” Richie hummed. “There a complaint or somethin’? Need me to go talk to ‘em-” 

“-No,” Carmen snapped, the possessiveness in his tone startling the both of them. “Sorry, it’s- No, I-I don’t need you to do that, Chef. Everything’s good.” 

Richie nodded slowly, passing the dishes to Gary with a nod. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” 

“No, Chef.” Carmen clipped, an edge to his tone that was teetering on annoyed. “But, uh, there’s not gonna be a check on table nine.” 

“What?” Richie frowned. “Did you mess somethin’ up? Seriously, Cousin, if something's wrong it’s my job to know-” 

“-No, it’s not-.” Carmen huffed, eyes pinching closed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Look, that’s… The girl on the end? I-I’ve been kinda seein’ her, ya know?” He muttered. 

Richie gawked, blinking in disbelief. “No shit.” He grinned. “No shit? You-You’re serious?” He turned to look out the window. 

“Don’t fuckin’ look.” Carmen hissed. “Look, it-it’s not a big deal, alright? Just don’t-don’t say anything o-or do anything.” 

Richie swallowed back a teasing remark, a reactive reaction from years of being with Mikey. How the two of them used to tease Carmen endlessly, until they were fighting on the front lawn, Mikey howling with laughter while Carmen was red faced with mortified anger. 

This time, Richie held back. He wasn’t sure why, call it divine intervention, a gut feeling maybe, but it felt different this time. 

“Alright.” Richie nodded slowly. “No ticket for nine. Heard.” 

Carmen’s foot tapped anxiously. “I mean, right? Th-That’s what I should do right?” Carmen looked over his shoulder out the window. “That would be shitty to give her a check? Be a complete jagoff move to charge her?” 

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed lightly. “Jagoff of the fuckin’ year. Makin’ your girl pay to come to your place.” 

Carmen’s heart swelled at the term- your girl. His girl. You were his girl. 

“Walk four Pappardelle to nine. Walk one Pappardelle vegetarian style to nine.” Sydney called. 

Carmen dipped the spoon in the glaze, garnishing the plate before sliding it towards Sydney. “So, you gonna take these out?” He muttered. 

“No,” Carmen huffed. “Gonna wait until the cake.” 

“Yeah, good idea, Cousin.” Richie nodded with a proud smile. “That when you’re gonna tell them no check tonight?” 

“No,” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t- It would feel weird comin’ from me.” He looked up at Richie. “I was gonna let you do it.” 

“Yeah, I can handle that.” Richie smirked. “And I won’t say anything, Cousin.” He stopped Carmen before he could say it. “I got you, Cousin. I won’t fuck it up, alright?” 

Carmen nodded slowly, a strangled thank you on the tip of his tongue. The door swung open behind Richie, and for a second, Carmen caught a glimpse of you. Smiling and laughing, leaned in over the table, no doubt giggling with your friends about him. Carmen’s heart squeezed, but this time, without fear. No, there was no dooming fear that you were mocking him, making fun of him. This time, he felt the content rush of adrenaline filled love. A change in his routine, yes. Unexpected, sure, but he was glad for it. Glad that you were there- here, with him.

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[izzystizzys]

The war doesn’t end with a bang, strictly speaking. It doesn’t even end with a political forum, or peace talks, or a slow, wheezing death of the Banking Clan’s pockets running dry, even though all of those are valid possibilities. Some more than others, Cody has to admit.

No, the war ends with an article in the Galaxy’s least reputable news source, Coruscant Rotational. Splashed on the front page for all to see is Cody’s little brother, next to the Chancellor.

CLONE MEWS CHANCELLOR TO DEATH IN MOGGING MOVE FOR THE AGES - LOOKSMAXXING TAKEN TOO FAR?

“What”, says Obi-Wan, eye twitching, fingers massaging over the bridge of his nose at double their usual speed, a real sign of an impending nervous breakdown if Cody’s ever seen one, “the kriff does that even mean?!”

Rex shrugs helplessly with one shoulder, other arm raised aimlessly. “No idea, General. I only understand about half those words. Maybe we’re all having a collective stroke? Maybe Fox is having a stroke? Whatever he’s doing with his jaw in that picture can’t be healthy.”

“Well, not for the late Chancellor, anyways”, says Cody flatly, in the long-suffering tone of one who’s seen too much Jedi banthashit in too little time. He screws his eyes tightly shut, scrubbing the backs of his knuckles in hard enough to see galaxies explode. Nope, still the same words on that datapad.

“It can’t be true”, says Skywalker, who’d gone white as a shitty military-issue sheet and has been steadily pacing the room ever since the equivalent of a sonic bomb hit the room. “I mean - think about it, this could just as well be a Separatist ploy, it would play right into their hands, and Coruscant Rotational isn’t exactly the most reputable source -“

“True enough”, says Obi-Wan, thoughtfully. “They do like getting their facts mixed up. In fact, I’ve seen about six articles just this month proclaiming our dear friend Senator Amidala’s super secret pregnancy. They even falsified hospital records, can you imagine?!”

Somehow, Skywalker loses another shade of colour, gulping soundlessly, and resumes his pacing more frenetically than before. Weird guy, that.

It’s Rex who breaks the awkward stillness of the room, perking up suddenly. “Oh, I know! Why don’t we call in Commander Tano?! She’s about the right age to understand some of this dribble, right?”

“I was going to suggest calling Corrie HQ, but sure, let’s ask the teenage soldier from the space monk order who spends all her spare time hunting your legion for sport”, says Cody, dryly. Rex deflates, and Thorn’s tinny voice sounds through Cody’s comm before he can make his reply. “Marshall Commander, I assume this is about the News.” Ominous capitalisation, ooooh, mouths Rex, and receives the nearest datapad Cody can reach to the face for his troubles with a squawk. The fact that he can read that sentence off his lips means their legions have spent far too much time together, and also that Cody’s grown soft in his old age.

“Good to hear you too, Thorn, and yes, we do have some questions concerning why the kriff my vod’ika is accused of murdering the chancellor through what I can only assume is some secret Sith magic?!”

“Oh, you mean when he defeated the actual Sith on the Senate through the power of his superior mog and made the kriffer explode in a thousand wrinkly pieces? You’re welcome, by the way”, says Thorn, instead of literally anything sane.

“Commander”, begs Cody’s General, with something glistening that might actually be tears in his eyes. “Commander, please. I do not understand any of those words. I am begging you to put me out of my misery.”

PALPATINE??? SITH?????!!!, screams Skywalker in battlesign, somehow spelling out each individual question and exclamation mark.

“It’s a game we’ve started playing in the Guard, sir, to pass time on patrol”, says Thorn, sheepishly, cowed by nearly driving the High General Kenobi to tears. “We’d do stupid faces we found the holonet, and, uh - well Fox is so high on black-market morphine most of the time cause we don’t get bacta that he sleepwalks on assignment sometimes, and, uh, he started making them at the Chancellor during a holocall meeting with Count Dooku and then the Chancellor tried to electrocute him again but accidentally blew himself up-“

“Breathe, Commander”, says Obi-Wan, and then - “That is SO much information I don’t know what to do with, Force preserve me. Why is Commander Fox on black-market morphine, or sleepwalking, or making faces at-“

“He signs reports in his sleep too, sometimes”, Thorn interrupts the General. “It’s actually kind of impressive if, y’know, it didn’t make Stabby bust another capillary in pure rage.”

“Who’s Stabby?”, asks Obi-Wan, confused.

“Meeting with Count Dooku?!”, bursts out Skywalker.

“Congratulations on Amidala’s pregnancy, General Skywalker”, says Thorn, like a man who wants to see the world burn.

[awkward-tension-art]

Medical Marvel

I’ve had this idea for a series floating in my head for a while, so…consider this a potential preview? Possibly? if anyone wants a more original series?

Clones: Rex, Fives, Echo, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair

Cw: Before order 66, Mostly fluff, some talk of corporate corruption, Padme is a good friend, a single mention of smut for Crosshair, Minors DNI

Not proofread I die like a MAN

Your lover had just returned to Coruscant from a mission in the outer ridges. He came to your science lab to visit you at work when one of your colleagues directed him to your office. Before he entered, he happened to overhear your conversation with Senator Amidala. 

“Athakam?” 

“No, too corporate.” You spoke to Padme through your holocom, “Also they’re still neutral.”

“Kirgalis?” Padme offered another medical company name. 

“No, they’ll raise the price 400 times more than it takes to manufacture.” You responded sounding frustrated. 

“You can’t keep turning down every company,” The senator had a slight laugh to her words, “You have to find someone to help you with this research. If it goes through and the medicine is successful, do you know how wonderful that would be?”

Medicine? Your clone lover didn’t know you were working on a type of medicine. You were performing research on clone health, but he had no idea the main goal was medicine.

“I know Padme…” It sounded like you had your face in your hands, “I just…I want to make it affordable for the clones. Medicine that can slow their aging to a normal rate, that should be affordable. Especially after everything the clones sacrifice for the Republic.”

“You’ll probably have many clones from different battalions confess their love for you because of this. You know that right?” Padme teased you.

“And all I want is the love of one specific clone,” You spoke about him so sweetly, “I hope he returns from the outer rims soon. I’ll surprise him with the research. Tell him how this medicine works. How he can live a normal life for a normal length of time.”

“Will you tell him how you named it after him?”

“Soon.” You sighed, “I need to get back to work, Padme. Thank you for letting me brainstorm.”

Rex

Will fall in love all over again

He's going to try and pretend he didn't hear the conversation, but clones can't lie for shit so you know something is up

That's when he will admit he overheard the conversation

"Mesh'la...What I heard...is it real?"

When you confirm it for him, he's going to pull you into a very deep and very passionate kiss

Normally he's more professional of course, but right now, he's so overcome with emotion

A medicine that gives him and his brothers a chance at a normal life after the war?

It's the greatest gift anyone could ever give him

He knows realistically that there is still an entire process of getting the medicine approved, talking with medical companies, manufacturing and a lot of moving parts that he has no idea goes into medical research

He's going to support you in every way possible, all while falling more and more in love with you

Fives

May genuinely open the door and want to marry you then and there

You, the love of his life, have researched and found a way to make medicine to slow a clones aging to a normal rate?

and you want it affordable for all of his brothers?

Fives is going to worship the ground where you walk

As soon as that door is open his lips are ON you

He doesn't even pretend like he doesn't know, he'll be admitting it between kisses

"Mesh'la...Cyare...I love you...I love you so much!"

He's not going to care if your fellow scientists see him damn near making out with you

He may be a bit optimistic on the whole...making medicine process. He'll think it'll be an easy process so you'll have to remind him that patience is important

Even if it takes a couple years, he's so proud and so happy

Echo (Clone Force 99)

More reserved in his happiness and his affection

He'll knock on the door, and pretend he didn't hear anything

He doesn't want to ruin the surprise! He knows you'll share with him everything when your more confident it'll work out

He is WELL AWARE what scientific advancement without reigns can do, so he's actually very relieved that your vetting your potential manufacturers

However, he is beyond happy that your so focused on helping the clones

Echo actually does well pretending to be surprised when you finally tell him about your research and the medicine your making

this man will actually die when you also tell him you've named your research after him

He'll be so honored, and just kiss you all over your face

Also great at keeping the research secret if you can't go public with it yet

Hunter

Like Echo, he hides the fact that he overheard

He doesn't act an differently, I'd say

He knows you want to surprise him, so he's going to wait, and pretend like you caught him off guard when you tell him everything

But you bet your ass he's fulling in love with you about this

He's damn near hypnotized by your compassion for clones

Plus? the idea of living a much longer life with you? the both of you being together to grow old at the same time?

His heart is RACING at the idea

However, unlike the others, I think Hunter knows to a degree that there is some level of danger to you once you go public with your research and medicine

Kamino doesn't like it when someone gives agency to their 'property'

Someone managed to find a way to override clones sped-up aging? Yea, Kamino may not be happy about that.

So...Hunter may actually become somewhat more protective once you tell him

Wrecker

He's going to ask what you were talking about, won't hide the fact that he heard

He's curious! he might not entirely 'get' the science of it, but he gets the gist of whats going on.

You researched and found a way to slow clones aging so they can live a normal life span? Yea he understands!

and he's so SO happy!

Ecstatic completely

Will go to the rest of his brothers and tell them the amazing news!

He's proud! and so in love!

Because of you, he and the rest of his brothers now have the choice to live their lives however they wish at the end of the war

They can have families, learn a trade, become something other than soldiers

and so can he! with you! you gave him more time with you!

Tech

You think he doesn't know what you've been researching?

He most likely already had a vague idea, even if you tried to hide it

While he is absolutely so proud and so happy, he's going to step in and help you now

He'll do some research on potential manufacturers, vet medical companies and find ways to make this medicine affordable for all clones

Tech is going to be very interested in the creation process

How did you begin this research? what components have you used? Where did you get the idea for such a protocol?

He'll listen to you talk about your research for hours

It doesn't even matter its for the clones! He's just so insanely proud and in love with you over such an achievement

The fact that this medicine can allow him to live a long life with you? someone who he adores? Thats a plus

Crosshair (Warning, there is slight smut)

He's not going to dance around the topic. He'll just tell you straight up that he heard the entire call

That doesn't mean he isn't happy! he is!

But now he needs to actually think about the future. what he wants besides being a soldier.

I mean, your research and medicine is giving him and his brothers an incredible chance at normal lives after the war!

It's going to hit him that 'yes, I can have a life that doesn't revolve around the battlefield' and that honestly scares him

But, despite that, he's going to grab your hand and keep you in your office so he could...show you how happy he is that you've done such an incredible thing

He knows you've worked hard, and to find out its for him and his brothers? it makes his heart flutter

and knowing you've named your research after him as well? Will fluster him

But, like Hunter, he knows that by being so selfless, you're a target for greedy companies that want your research

He knows how cutthroat competition for profits among corporations can be

Crosshair might actually step away from Clone Force 99 in order to act as a bodyguard for you

at least until he knows that you'll be safe. He loves you too much to be careless with your safety

[jetii]

Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Thorn x Senator!Reader / Thorn x fem!Reader

Words: 8,675 / 34,682

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! enemies to lovers kinda, forced proximity, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, so much arguing and flirting and banter, there's some spice in this part, smut in part 3

Summary: You're the most infuriating charge Commander Thorn has ever had the misfortune to babysit, and yet, you're also the one he finds himself falling for.

A/N: This is a three parter now oops! The slow burn was just too good.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The next day is much of the same. Thorn stands guard outside your door, ignoring the looks that the troopers give him, and you spend most of the morning holed up in your room. The tension between the two of you is palpable, and it seems like everyone in the compound is aware of it. The guards whisper amongst themselves, casting furtive glances at Thorn, and even the staff seems uneasy.

The only one who doesn't seem affected by the situation is you. You attend meetings, chat with your advisors, and even have lunch with the Governor. Your behavior is nothing short of perfect, and Thorn finds it incredibly irritating. You're treating the incident like a minor inconvenience, and it's driving him mad. He can't stop thinking about the danger, and how close you had come to death.

The afternoon is no different, and Thorn spends his time pacing back and forth in the hallway while you attend yet another meeting. He's restless, and the silence is deafening. He's tired of standing guard, and he's tired of being ignored. He wants to talk to you, to yell at you, to make you see reason. But every time he tries, you brush him off or dismiss him.

Finally, after hours of waiting, you return to your room, and Thorn follows you inside. You don't even acknowledge his presence, and he has to stop himself from snapping.

"Senator," he says, his tone sharp.

You ignore him, moving over to your desk and sorting through the stack of datapads piled there. He lets out a huff of irritation and walks over to you, planting a hand on the desk and leaning in.

"Senator, we need to talk."

"No, we don't," you reply, your eyes scanning the screen.

"Yes, we do," he insists.

You glance up at him, arching a brow. "Is this going to be about the same thing we've been arguing about for the past three days?"

Thorn scowls. "Yes."

You shake your head and look back at the datapad. "There's nothing more to discuss, Commander. You've made your opinion very clear."

"Senator, please."

You sigh and put the datapad down, rubbing your forehead. "What do you want me to say, Commander? You're upset, and I understand that. But there's nothing more I can do. This is the way things are."

Thorn grits his teeth, his hand curling into a fist. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, but you can accept it," you say, your tone softening.

"I can't," he replies, his voice low.

"Commander—"

"Senator, I can't," he interrupts, his eyes locking on yours. "I can't accept that someone tried to kill you. I can't accept that I almost lost you. And I can't accept that there's nothing I can do about it."

Your eyes widen slightly, and you take a step back, your gaze flicking away from him. He sees your shoulders slump, and your expression softens. You're quiet for a moment, and then you look back at him, your eyes searching his.

"Why?"

Thorn hesitates, not sure how to answer. He doesn't want to lie, but he can't tell you the truth. If he does, he'll never be able to stop. He'll say too much, and he'll lose you forever.

"Because," he says, swallowing thickly, "you're important. To the Republic, and to the Chancellor. And I'm sworn to protect you. No matter what."

You study him for a moment, and he's worried that you're going to see through him. That you're going to see the truth, the feelings he's been trying so hard to suppress.

But instead, you nod, giving him a small smile. It’s not the smile he wants, not the one that makes his heart skip a beat, but it's enough.

"Thank you, Commander. Your dedication is admirable."

Thorn nods, forcing himself to return your smile. He doesn't feel dedicated. He feels like a liar, and a fraud. He's not doing this for the Republic, or for the Chancellor, or the Jedi or anyone else. He's doing it for you. Because he cares about you. Because he wants you to be safe. But he knows that's not what you want to hear, and it’s not something he can admit.

"I'm sorry," you say after a moment. "I know this is hard for you. But it's not something I can change."

You turn away from him, moving towards the window, and Thorn's eyes follow you. You stare out at the city below, your hands clasped behind your back, and Thorn watches as your expression changes.

“Senator—“

“I have a party to attend this evening,” you say, cutting him off, and he blinks, surprised by the sudden change in topic. You glance at him, and then you look away, your eyes drifting back to the window.

"A party?"

"Yes. It's an annual event, and I'm expected to attend," you explain, your voice distant. "The Governor has invited me personally."

"I wasn't aware," he says, his voice tight. "When were you planning to inform me?"

You shrug. "I'm informing you now."

"You can't go."

You turn, arching a brow. "Do I need permission?"

"No, but—"

"I'm going," you interrupt. There's a smile on your face, but it's cold, and Thorn realizes that he's losing his grip. You're slipping through his fingers, and he can't seem to stop it.

"Senator, please."

"I'm not discussing this, Commander," you say, your voice growing sharper. "It's my decision."

Thorn stares at you, his mind racing, and you hold his gaze. He wants to argue with you, but he knows it's futile. You've made up your mind, and there's no changing it. He's not going to get anywhere by continuing to fight with you.

"Fine," he says, his tone clipped. "I'll escort you."

"No need," you reply, and Thorn narrows his eyes.

"Yes, there is," he insists. "You're not going anywhere without me. Especially after what happened."

You sigh and shake your head. "It's a fundraiser. There will be hundreds of people there, as well as local authorities and security. It's hardly the place for an assassin."

"That's exactly why they'll go after you there," Thorn says, and you give him a look that he pointedly ignores. "If they know you're going to be there, then they'll see it as an opportunity. And they're right."

"Commander—"

"I'm not leaving your side," he interrupts, his voice rising. "Not now, not ever. And that's final."

Your eyes flash with anger, and Thorn has to suppress a grin. He may not have won the argument, but he's at least gotten your attention. You're glaring at him, your hands on your hips, and he can see the frustration written all over your face. It's a small victory, but it's something.

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes. "But only if you promise to behave."

"I'll be the perfect gentleman."

"You better be," you murmur. Your voice is low, and there's a hint of danger in your eyes. Thorn suppresses the urge to shiver.

"I always am," he says softly, and you chuckle. You give him a smile, a real one, and he knows that he's forgiven. For now, at least.

"We'll see about that," you say, and then you turn back to your desk, picking up one of the datapads and typing something into it. Thorn watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He's still mad, and he still thinks you're making a huge mistake, but he can't stay angry at you. Not when you look so beautiful, and not when you smile at him like that.

He wonders if you know what you do to him. If you have any idea how much he wants you.

He has a feeling that you do.

You glance at him, and Thorn clears his throat, forcing himself to look away.

"Relax, Commander," you tease. "It'll be fun."

"Fun," he echoes, the word tasting sour on his tongue. 

"Yes," you say with a bright smile. "Fun. You should try it sometime."

"I'll leave that to you," he replies, and you let out a soft laugh. You walk past him, moving towards the room that holds your clothes, and Thorn turns, following you.

"You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself," you tell him as you reach the closet. You push open the door, stepping inside, and Thorn lingers in the doorway, watching as you begin rummaging through the racks of gowns and outfits.

"I'm not here to have fun," he says, his eyes sweeping over the room. He's not sure why you need so many clothes. What he’s seen you wear when you’re not in the spotlight is a far cry from the extravagant dresses that hang in the closet. He can't even imagine a use for most of them.

"Maybe not," you say, pausing and looking over your shoulder at him. "But it might help you loosen up a bit."

Thorn raises a brow. "Loosen up?"

"Yes," you say as you turn around to face him. "You're so tense all the time. It can't be good for you."

He shrugs, and leans against the doorframe. "Being tense is part of the job. Besides, I don't think it's a good idea to be... loose around you."

You tilt your head, a smile playing on your lips. "Oh? And why is that, Commander?"

He's tempted to tell you. To tell you everything. To admit that he can't stop thinking about you, that he wants you, that he dreams about touching you and tasting you. But he doesn't. He can't. So, instead, he shakes his head, giving you a tight smile.

"Because," he says simply. "You're trouble."

You laugh, turning back to the racks. "And what makes you think that?"

"I've seen the way you work," he says, his gaze following your movements. "You're a master manipulator. You're always one step ahead, and you know exactly what you're doing."

"What can I say?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. "I'm a politician. It's my job to manipulate people."

"You're more than that," he argues, and you pause, glancing at him.

"Is that a compliment, Commander?"

"Maybe."

You grin, and then you reach up, pulling a gown from the rack and holding it up to yourself. You turn, and the blue fabric swishes around your feet. “What do you think?”

Thorn frowns. "I'm not a fashion expert, Senator.”

"You don't have to be," you say with a laugh. “You gave me such a wonderful recommendation the other day, after all. I was hoping you'd offer some more advice."

Thorn feels his cheeks heat, and he glances away, a soft chuckle rising in his throat. He'd forgotten about the dress, and he's not sure what possessed him to suggest it. You did look beautiful in it, and the memory of you wearing it, the way the fabric had hugged your body, the way you had touched him as you bandaged the cut on his face, is enough to send his heart racing.

"I'll stick to my day job, thank you," he says, his voice barely audible. He clears his throat. “You’ve never cared for my opinion before, anyway."

"Perhaps I'm starting to value it," you say softly, and he turns his head, meeting your gaze. You stare at him for a moment, and then you look away, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Careful, Senator," he murmurs. "I might get used to it."

"I certainly hope so," you reply as you hang up the dress and resume your search. You reach for another, this one a deep red color. "How about this one?"

"It's nice," he says, and you scoff.

"Nice? That's the best you can do, Commander?"

He shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Be honest," you say, giving him a sly grin. "Which one would you rather see me in?"

He swallows, his gaze dropping. "Senator—"

"Come on," you coax, and Thorn feels his cheeks burn. He takes a deep breath and looks up, meeting your eyes. They're twinkling with mischief, and he feels his resolve crumble.

"You're going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

You laugh as you hang the dress back up. "You know me so well."

He shakes his head, letting out a soft chuckle, and he steps into the room. You're a terrible influence on him, and he can't believe he's actually enjoying himself. He walks over to you, standing next to you as you continue searching the racks.

"How many of these do you have?"

"A few," you admit. "Most of them were gifts. I didn’t always have you to turn them down for me, you know."

Thorn nods, reaching up and pulling out a silver gown. He holds it up, studying it, and you tilt your head.

"I'd look like a chrome plated speeder."

A bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop it. "A very expensive one."

You snort, and Thorn feels a grin tugging at his lips. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this. How much he'd missed teasing and laughing with you. The past few days have been stressful, and the tension between the two of you has been unbearable. It's a relief to be back on friendly terms, even if the thought of you attending a party where an assassination attempt is a likely outcome still has his stomach tied in knots.

You turn, leaning against the rack, and Thorn sets the dress back, his gaze roaming over the others.

"Any suggestions, Commander?" you ask, and he gives a small shrug.

"I'm a little out of my depth here."

"Maybe so," you say, your eyes trailing over his face. "But you've got good taste."

Thorn's eyes narrow, and he studies the dresses again, searching for something that will please you. He knows he's being silly. It doesn't matter what you wear. But for some reason, he can't stand the thought of disappointing you.

Finally, his eyes land on a dark green gown. It's simple, elegant, and he can't help but think of how good you'll look in it. It's not too flashy, but it's flattering, and he can imagine the way the fabric will hug your curves.

"That one," he says, his voice rough. He nods his head toward the dress, and you move beside him, tilting your head.

"Hmm," you hum, reaching out and pulling the hanger from the rack. You hold the dress up to yourself, studying it, and then you nod. "I agree."

Thorn tries to hide his surprise. "You do?"

"Of course," you say, flashing him a smile. "You really do have excellent taste, Commander."

He smiles, pleased with himself, and then he catches himself and clears his throat. "Thank you."

"Now," you say, moving towards him. "Why don't you let me get ready, and then we can go have some fun?"

"Yes, Senator," he says, and you brush past him, exiting the closet and disappearing into the bathroom. The door closes behind you, and Thorn lets out a breath, closing his eyes. He feels giddy, like a cadet with a crush, and he has to take a moment to compose himself.

He can't believe he just did that. He can't believe you made him do that. It's bad enough that he's constantly fantasizing about you, but now he's actively encouraging it. What's worse, he's actually enjoying it.

He's helping you pick out dresses, for kriff's sake. That's something a lover does, and Thorn isn't your lover. He's not even sure if you're friends, let alone anything more. He should be ashamed of himself. He should be disciplined. He should be doing a million other things besides standing here, imagining what you'll look like in the dress he picked out.

The minutes drag by, and Thorn tries to keep himself busy. He checks the time, he cleans his armor, and he makes sure that his weapons are in working order. He pours over the layout of the party venue, noting possible entry points and escape routes. He does everything he can to distract himself, but it doesn't help. He can't stop wondering what you're doing, and how long it will take, and if the dress will look as good on you as he hopes it will.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door to the bathroom opens, and you step out. The green gown fits perfectly, and Thorn's breath catches in his throat. You're gorgeous, and he can't look away.

You're smiling at him, a playful look in your eyes, and you turn, showing off the backless design. There’s a clasp at the top, and he wonders how hard it would be to undo it. It doesn't seem too difficult, and he's almost certain that he could get it undone with one hand.

"Well?" you ask, looking over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

Thorn stares at you, speechless, and then he finds his voice. "It's... good," he says, and you chuckle, shaking your head.

"Just good?" you tease, and he smiles.

"It's better than good," he says, his voice soft.

You turn, facing him, and you raise a brow. "How about 'incredible' or 'amazing' or 'breathtaking'?"

Thorn lets out a low laugh. "You're fishing for compliments, Senator."

"Perhaps," you say, smiling at him. “‘Gorgeous’ would work, too.”

He tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over your form. "I don't think there are enough words in the galaxy to describe how good you look."

Your eyes widen, and you blink, clearly taken aback. Thorn feels a swell of pride at the way your cheeks flush. He's never been one for flattery, but he can't deny the rush of satisfaction he gets from seeing your reaction.

"You're such a charmer, Commander," you say, a shy smile on your lips as you move closer to him. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," he says, and you laugh, a sound that makes his heart skip a beat. He stares at you, his pulse racing, and the two of you are silent for a moment, just taking each other in.

You're close now, and Thorn can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. His gaze drops to your lips, and his fingers twitch, itching to touch you. But he doesn't. He's already gone too far, and if he lets himself go any further, there will be no coming back.

"Well, keep it up," you say, breaking the silence, and Thorn meets your eyes. "I could get used to this."

"Don't," he says lightly. "I don't want to ruin my reputation."

You grin, and then you turn, moving towards the door. Thorn watches you go, his eyes lingering on your exposed back, and he shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He's a dead man.

The fundraiser is held in a large banquet hall, and Thorn finds himself surrounded by an endless sea of people. The large room is decorated in lavish splendor, and guests are mingling amongst themselves, chatting and laughing. A small orchestra plays in the corner, and waiters carry trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, circulating through the crowd. Everyone is dressed to impress, and the energy is light and carefree.

You, on the other hand, are not.

Thorn can tell that you're frustrated. Your jaw is clenched, and your shoulders are tense, and he's sure that it's his fault. He doesn't care, though. All that matters is keeping you safe, and if that means pissing you off, then he's fine with that. He'll take your anger over your death any day.

He hasn’t left your side since you arrived, and he's been following you around like a shadow. You've done your best to ignore him, talking and laughing with the guests, and while Thorn doesn't mind, he knows that the rest of the attendees are not as forgiving. They're wary of him, and he can't blame them. He's a big, armored man in a room full of politicians, and he's making no effort to blend in.

You've tried to ditch him, but he's managed to stay one step ahead of you, anticipating your moves. He's not about to let you out of his sight, and he's not about to let you wander off. You're not getting away from him that easily.

As the evening wears on, it's clear that you're growing increasingly irritated, but Thorn is enjoying himself. Or as much as he can be. For once, he's not the one who's on the back foot, and he's reveling in the way you're struggling to maintain your composure. You're usually so calm and collected, but now you're frustrated and annoyed, and he's finding it extremely entertaining.

"Would you relax?” you hiss, glancing up at him. You're both standing in a corner, near the buffet table, and Thorn is doing his best to keep an eye on the crowd.

"No," he replies, his gaze sweeping the room.

"You're making people nervous," you explain, and he can't help but smirk. His helmet tilts down to look at your face, and his amusement only grows when he sees the frown on your lips.

"Am I?"

"Yes," you say, rolling your eyes.

"I'm just doing my job," he says innocently.

"It's not your job to make everyone uncomfortable," you retort, and Thorn shrugs.

"Sorry," he says, not feeling the least bit sorry. "It's a side effect."

"Don't give me that," you snap. "I'm not an idiot. You're enjoying this."

He's not going to lie. He is. It's amusing, watching you try and maintain your composure, and the fact that he's the cause is even better. You're not used to not getting your way, and it's refreshing. Besides, it's nice to have the upper hand for once. He plans to take full advantage of it.

"You're being paranoid, Senator," he says, and you scoff, turning your attention back to the room. Someone catches your eye across the room, and you give a brilliant smile and gentle wave. They wave back, and you turn away, returning your attention to Thorn.

“I’m not the one who’s paranoid," you mutter. There’s a smile on your face, but Thorn can hear the annoyance in your voice. "This is a party, Commander. Not a battlefield."

He snorts. "With you around, they might as well be the same thing."

You glare at him, and he smirks. 

"We’re going to be here for a while. Mingle."

"I'm not going anywhere.”

"I have a lot of important people to talk to, and you can’t hover over my shoulder the entire time," you say, a challenge in your tone.

He lifts his chin. "Watch me."

You glare at him, and he shrugs, not bothering to hide his amusement. You're angry, and frustrated, and he can't help but revel in it. He's been dealing with your shit for weeks, and he's not going to let you off the hook so easily.

"Wouldn't you rather be enjoying yourself, instead of standing here, staring at me?" you ask, trying a different tactic.

He scoffs. "Hardly."

"Commander," you say, your voice dropping low. You give him a heated look, and he swallows hard, his stomach twisting. "Please."

It's the first time you've asked nicely, and the sound of your voice saying the word is enough to make him pause. You're pleading with him, and while he knows it's only a tactic, a way to get him to bend to your will, he can't help but think about how much he'd like to hear you say that word again. In a different context. With less clothing.

He shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind. "Nice try," he says, his voice rough. "But no."

You let out a frustrated noise, and Thorn snorts a laugh that hisses through the vocoder. He can see the wheels turning in your head, and he waits, curious to see what else you'll try.

"Fine," you say after a moment. "But don't blame me when this starts getting boring."

“Don’t worry, I find politics fascinating. I would love nothing more than to watch the next two hours pass in a blur of bureaucracy and nonsense,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, it is my favorite part of this job."

You glare at him, and he gives you a smug look, even though you can't see it. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, leaning closer.

"Go on," he challenges. "Entertain me."

You narrow your eyes, and then you let out a breath, smoothing down the front of your gown. The gown he picked out for you. Thorn follows the motion of your hands, watching as they trail down your body, and he swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

"You're impossible," you grumble.

"Only when I'm right," he replies, and you roll your eyes.

"If you're so insistent on watching, you should find a better spot. I can't imagine that standing right behind me is the most exciting view," you say, and Thorn tilts his head.

"I like the view just fine," he murmurs. The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it, and he curses himself, hoping that his voice didn't sound too suggestive. But when the anger in your eyes shifts into something far more wicked, he knows that his hope is in vain.

"Why, thank you, Commander. It's always nice to get compliments from a handsome man," you say sweetly, a teasing smile on your lips. You lean in closer, your hand resting lightly on his arm. You look him up and down, your gaze sweeping over his form, and Thorn feels a flush rising in his cheeks. "I like the view, too."

Thorn stares at you, his brain short-circuiting, and he tries not to react. But his body betrays him, and he can feel the heat in his face spreading to his ears and neck. He's having a hard time remembering why he's supposed to be annoyed with you, or why he can't take you against the nearest wall. The dress he chose is doing him no favors, either.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Save the flattery, Senator. It's not going to work."

You pout, but there's a glimmer of mischief in your eyes. "Oh? And what if I meant it?"

His heart skips a beat, and his gaze drops to your lips. You're standing so close, and all he wants to do is pull you against him, to taste the wine on your tongue and feel the warmth of your body.

"Then we'd both be in trouble," he says softly, and you grin.

"Would that be so bad?"

Yes. No. Yes.

Kriff.

He doesn't know anymore. His brain is filled with static, and he can't think clearly. The only thing that seems real is you, and the way your gaze is fixed on him, the way your fingers are tracing idle patterns on his arm.

"Senator," he grumbles, and your eyes crinkle at the edges. You give him a smile that's far too innocent for the way you're looking at him.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Whatever this is," he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

You raise a brow, tilting your head as your hand falls away. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're doing something," he growls, and you give him a coy smile.

"And what am I doing, exactly?"

"You're..."

Thorn trails off, not sure how to answer. He's not sure how to describe what's happening, but it's definitely not innocent. It's not the first time you've teased him, or tested his resolve, or even made a flirtatious comment toward him, but it's the first time you've done so with such...intent.

There's a heat in your eyes that's undeniable, and Thorn can't tell if it's genuine, or if it's just a tactic to get him to leave you alone. You're a master manipulator, after all, and you've been known to use your charm and beauty to get what you want. He wouldn't put it past you to use the same tactics on him.

You're dangerous, he thinks, tearing his eyes away from you and looking out at the crowd. You're dangerous, and he's walking a fine line. He needs to get a grip, and fast, or he's going to lose his mind.

"You're playing a game," he finally says, his voice hoarse. He refuses to look at you, but he can practically feel the way your smile widens.

"I am a politician," you tease, and Thorn's jaw clenches. "We all play games."

"And what’s the objective?" he asks, his gaze shifting back to you. You meet his eyes, your own filled with something he can't quite name. Something warm and inviting and enticing.

You lift a shoulder, the movement slow and graceful. "Isn't it obvious, Commander?"

Thorn swallows, his pulse racing. He wants to ask you, to push you for an answer, but he can't bring himself to do it. He's not sure if he's ready for what you'll say, or what it will mean. For him. For both of you.

"No," he finally admits, and you smile, a genuine one this time. There's something soft in your eyes, something warm and affectionate, and Thorn feels a rush of warmth in his chest.

"I guess you'll have to figure it out," you say, and then you turn away from him. 

Your eyes land on a figure in the crowd, and Thorn can tell that you've found a new target. Your shoulders square, and a look of determination crosses your face, a bright smile on your lips.

You're back in politician mode, and the sudden change in demeanor is startling. You move through the crowd, weaving effortlessly through the guests, and Thorn follows, trailing a step behind. You greet everyone warmly, and they respond in kind, all smiles and laughter.

It's amazing, watching you work. You're charming and charismatic, and you seem to know exactly what to say to get the reaction you want. People flock to you, eager to please, and you encourage them, making them feel special. It's a show, but it's also an art, and Thorn can't help but be impressed.

He can't deny that there's something magnetic about you, and the more he watches, the more he's drawn to you. It's hard to believe that just moments ago, you were flirting with him, teasing him, making him want you. Now, you're all business, and it's clear that your goal is to win over the room.

It doesn't take long before you're surrounded by a group of politicians, all vying for your attention. They're chatting, discussing the latest news and gossip, and Thorn hangs back, watching silently. You seem to be enjoying yourself, and you're clearly in your element, but there's a tension in your shoulders that gives away the facade.

You're good, but he's better. He's been studying you, learning your tells, and now that he knows what to look for, it's easy to see through the mask. He can see the strain, the fatigue, and the subtle signs of boredom. You're putting on a show, and while everyone else is buying it, Thorn can see right through it.

You're smiling, but it's forced, and the look in your eyes is sharp and calculating. You're not as relaxed as you appear, and Thorn knows that the night has worn on you more than you're letting on. You glance in his direction, and when your eyes meet, he swears he sees something akin to relief cross your features. You blink, and the look is gone, but Thorn can't shake the feeling that something has changed between the two of you.

He watches as you continue to talk with the group, and a sense of protectiveness wells up inside him. He's not sure what's going on, or why you're putting on such a show, but he's not going to let anything happen to you. Not on his watch.

After several more minutes, the group starts to disperse, and Thorn moves forward, taking up his usual position beside you. You glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of something in your eyes before you look away, a smile still on your lips. He wonders if you're as relieved to have him nearby as he is.

"Are we done here?" he asks, his voice low.

"Almost," you reply, and he lets out a soft huff.

"What are you planning?"

You look at him, a smirk on your face. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He rolls his eyes, and then he leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not getting away from me that easily."

Your eyes widen, and you swallow hard, and Thorn feels a wave of satisfaction. He's got you now, and he's not letting go.

You stare at him, a mixture of emotions flashing across your face, and then you give him a coy smile, lifting your chin.

"We'll see about that," you hum. "I can be very resourceful."

"Not tonight," he growls.

You narrow your eyes, and then you turn, walking towards another group of people.

Thorn follows, and the two of you fall into an uneasy rhythm. You make your way through the crowd, talking and laughing with the other attendees, and Thorn trails along behind, a silent, ever-present shadow. You're charming, and charismatic, and while Thorn is impressed by your skill, he's also irritated.

You keep glancing at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and each time you do, his stomach twists and his blood heats. You're doing it on purpose, and it's working. You're pushing his buttons, and it's taking all his willpower to resist the temptation.

It's a dangerous game, but Thorn finds himself enjoying it. It's stupid, and he knows it, but he can't help but feel a little bit special.

You're the most powerful, beautiful woman in the room, and you're giving him attention. You're teasing him, and flirting with him, and driving him crazy, and the fact that you're the only one who can make him feel this way is both thrilling and terrifying.

It's wrong. You're his charge, and he's supposed to be protecting you, not fantasizing about all the things he wants to do with you. But he can't help it. Every time you look at him, or touch him, or say his name, it's like a switch is flipped inside him. His body reacts, and his mind goes blank, and he finds himself wanting more.

It's addicting, and he's not sure he can ever go back to the way things were before. The idea of it is painful, and he doesn't want to think about it.

So he doesn't.

Instead, he focuses on the present, and on the way you make him feel. He tries to ignore the guilt, and the shame, and the embarrassment, and he allows himself to get lost in the moment. You're the most captivating woman in the room, and you're choosing him, of all people, and he's not about to question it.

There's a small voice in the back of his mind, warning him that this is a bad idea, that it's wrong, and dangerous, and it's only going to end in heartbreak and pain. But he ignores it, and instead, he lets himself get swept up in the fantasy.

He imagines what it would be like, to kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you. He thinks about what it would feel like, to have your body pressed against his, to have you writhing underneath him, to have you begging for more.

And, more than anything, he thinks about what it would be like to call you his. To be able to hold your hand, and kiss you whenever he wanted, and wake up next to you every morning. To be the man who makes you laugh, and cry, and scream.

It's a nice dream, and Thorn lets himself live in it for a while. It's the only thing that keeps him from going insane, and it's the only thing that helps him forget about the reality of his situation. It's a fantasy, and it's never going to come true, but he's not going to deny himself the pleasure of imagining it.

The party ends without incident, with Thorn escorting you out. He can't help but notice the way your eyes linger on him, and the way you smile when he takes your hand, helping you into the speeder. It's the same as it always is, and yet, everything feels different. There's an energy between the two of you, and it's palpable. Thorn can feel it, and he's sure that you can, too.

The ride back to the compound is quiet, and Thorn finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from you. You're sitting across from him, your gaze fixed out the window, and your hands resting in your lap. He's not sure if you're thinking about him, or about the party, or about the attack, but whatever it is, it has a smile playing on your lips, and Thorn finds himself mirroring it.

He can't stop staring at you. He knows it's not appropriate, and he knows that you're not going to reciprocate, but he can't bring himself to care. You're gorgeous, and he's captivated. And, judging by the way you keep glancing at him, you know it, and you don't seem to mind.

The speeder arrives at the compound, and Thorn exits first, holding out a hand to help you. You smile, taking his hand and allowing him to guide you out of the vehicle. He holds onto your hand, his thumb rubbing small circles into the soft skin, and you look up at him, the corners of your lips quirking up.

"Thank you, Commander," you say, your voice low.

Thorn nods, not trusting himself to speak. He doesn't know what he would say, anyway. His thoughts are all jumbled, and he's having a hard time focusing on anything other than the way your hand feels in his.

You release his hand, and Thorn lets out a soft sigh. He doesn't want to let go, and he's tempted to reach out and grab your hand again, but he resists the urge.

You start to walk towards the entrance, and Thorn follows, keeping pace with you. Burst and Knock greet the two of you, and then step aside, allowing you to enter.

Thorn trails behind you, his eyes glued to your form, and the sway of your hips. He can't stop thinking about what it would feel like, to bury himself inside you, to make you scream his name, and the images are so vivid, and so powerful, that he nearly trips over his own feet.

He manages to stay upright, but just barely. Burst lets out a snicker, and Knock turns his helmet skyward, shaking his head. Thorn feels his face burn, and he grumbles something under his breath, hurrying after you. He doesn't bother saying goodnight, and you don't bother acknowledging him. The door closes in his face, and he's left standing in the hallway, wondering what the hell just happened.

It's the first time in a long while that he doesn't sleep outside your door, and as he lays in his bed, his thoughts are full of you.

Thorn escorts you around the city over the next few days, sticking close by your side, and the tension between the two of you is palpable. You're not talking about the party, and neither is he, but there's no denying that something has shifted between the two of you. There's an awareness, and a heat, and a longing that can't be ignored.

You're flirting with him, openly and shamelessly, and Thorn can't help but flirt back. He's always been a bit of a smartass, and you seem to enjoy it, so he's not going to hold back.

The two of you are sitting in the speeder, heading towards the parliament building, and you're chatting away, regaling him with a story from the previous day. It's something silly and inconsequential, but Thorn is hanging on your every word. He loves listening to you talk, and he loves the way your face lights up when you're excited.

"You should have seen him," you laugh. "I've never seen a Devaronian turn that shade of red before."

Thorn chuckles, his eyes crinkling. "I can imagine."

"He was practically steaming," you say, shaking your head. "I thought he was going to burst into flames."

"It's not his fault," he says, and you give him a curious look. "You have that effect on people."

You raise a brow. "Oh, do I?"

"You know you do," he says, and you smirk, a playful gleam in your eyes.

"Maybe," you tease. "But I like hearing you say it."

Thorn tilts his head, his mouth quirking up at the corners. "Is that right?"

"It is," you hum. You lean forward, a smile playing on your lips, and he can't help but lean in as well, his elbows bracing on his knees. He's drawn to you like a magnet, and he doesn't bother resisting the pull.

He can't believe how brazen you're being, but he's not complaining. Whatever happened between the two of you at the party has emboldened you, and Thorn is more than happy to indulge you. While a part of him is screaming that this is a terrible idea, a larger, louder part is cheering him on. He's enjoying this, and he doesn't want it to stop.

"Are you flirting with me, Senator?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

You laugh, and then you sit back, a grin on your face. "That depends, Commander," you say, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Is it working?"

Thorn chuckles, leaning back as well. "Keep trying."

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and a thrill runs through him. He can't believe he's actually flirting with you, but it feels so good, and it's been so long since anyone has shown him this kind of attention. And while it feels like he's walking on thin ice, he can't seem to stop himself. You look at him like he's the only man in the world, and he wants more. He wants all of it.

You stare at him for a moment, and then you laugh again, shaking your head. The sound is soft and sweet, and Thorn feels his stomach flutter. You're smiling at him, and he smiles back, and the tension in the air shifts into something less charged, and more warm and comfortable.

The speeder pulls up in front of the parliament building, and the driver announces your arrival. Thorn steps out first, offering you his hand, and you take it. Your fingers curl around his gloved ones, and you hold on tight, letting him guide you out of the vehicle. 

As the two of you make your way inside, your hand finds its usual spot on his arm, and Thorn finds himself leaning into the touch. The gesture is familiar and comforting, and it makes his heart beat a little faster. He's always liked physical contact, and while his brothers aren't as tactile, you certainly are. And he likes the way it makes him feel. Safe and cared for. Wanted.

You enter the main chamber, and the debate begins. You take your usual spot, and Thorn stands nearby, watching as your planet's politicians argue back and forth. They're talking about security, and the latest reports of violence, and Thorn can't help but scoff. These people are supposed to be in charge, and yet they're arguing like children.

He glances at you, and you catch his eye, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He leans toward you, and you shift closer, tilting your head in his direction.

"They're a bunch of idiots, aren't they?" he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You smirk, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "They're not all idiots," you murmur, and Thorn raises a brow, amused. "Just most of them."

Thorn lets out a huff of laughter, and you bite your lip, trying to suppress a grin. He can't believe how comfortable you are with him now, compared to the beginning of the month. It's a stark contrast, and Thorn can't help but think about how nice it would be, to always have this version of you. The version who teases him, and makes him laugh, and gives him sly, knowing looks.

The session drags on, and Thorn tries not to fall asleep. He's bored out of his mind, and the politicians are going back and forth, tossing around ideas and arguments that don't make any sense. One of them proposes a new security measure, and another shoots it down, and the third brings up an old regulation that was scrapped years ago. It's a mess, and he doesn't understand why anyone would ever want to be a part of it.

He lets out a sigh, and you glance at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. He gives you a helpless look, and you smirk, a playful look on your face.

"Something to share?" you whisper, and Thorn lets out a huff.

"These debates are a waste of time," he grumbles.

"Maybe," you hum. "But they're necessary. This is how we get things done."

"You're smarter than them," he says, and you shrug.

"So are you," you reply, and Thorn feels a rush of warmth in his chest. He's not used to people seeing him for anything other than his size, or his strength, or his ability to fight. "What do you suggest?"

He's taken aback, and he hesitates, not sure what to say. He's not used to being asked his opinion, and he's certainly not used to his suggestions being considered. But you're looking at him with genuine curiosity, and he knows that you're not patronizing him.

"Security sweeps," he says, and you raise a brow, urging him to continue. "Increase the number of patrols, and add more checkpoints. We noticed a spike in crime along the western district a couple weeks ago, so that's where they need to focus their attention."

"What else?"

"More cameras," he says. "They're helpful, and the footage can be reviewed by officers. If something seems off, or if a particular person is spotted multiple times, then they can investigate."

You nod, a thoughtful expression on your face. "Interesting. What else?"

He tells you about some of the other ideas he's had, and you listen, a look of concentration on your face. You whisper back and forth, the conversation continuing in low, hushed tones, and Thorn feels a surge of pride. He's not sure why you're interested in his opinion, but he's happy to share it. And when you stand and clear your throat, raising your hand to interrupt the current speaker, he can't help but grin.

"Yes, Senator?" the Speaker says, his eyes wide. The room falls silent, and all eyes are on you.

"We have a suggestion," you say, gesturing toward Thorn. "A better use of our resources."

"We?" the Speaker repeats, confusion in his voice. He glances at Thorn, and then back at you.

"Commander Thorn has been assisting me with my safety, and he's been paying close attention to the reports and crime statistics," you say, a note of pride in your voice. "He's one of the best the Coruscant Guard has to offer, and he has some valuable insight that would be in your best interest to hear."

The Speaker stares at you, and then he turns to Thorn, a skeptical look on his face. Thorn straightens, his chest puffing out a little. He can feel the eyes of the other politicians on him, and he tries not to let it get to him. You're vouching for him, and he's not about to let you down.

"Very well," the Speaker says, a dismissive tone in his voice. "What are your suggestions, Commander?"

Thorn lays out his plan, his voice strong and confident. He explains the security measures he's proposed, and the reasoning behind them. He highlights the areas that have seen the most criminal activity, the places that would benefit the most from additional surveillance, and he points out the flaws in the current system.

The Speaker listens, and the other politicians murmur amongst themselves, their faces thoughtful. When Thorn finishes, the Speaker nods, a slight smile on his face.

"Thank you, Commander," he says. "We'll take your suggestions into consideration."

Thorn inclines his head, and then he steps back, resuming his place behind your chair. You look at him over your shoulder, a smile on your face, and a hint of pride in your eyes, and Thorn can't help but feel a swell of affection.

It's a small thing, but it means the world to him.

Later that evening, as he's escorting you back to the compound, you tell him about a new idea you've come up with. He listens as you discuss the logistics, and he offers suggestions and feedback, and you bounce ideas off each other, testing out different scenarios and outcomes. It's refreshing, having someone to talk to who isn't his brothers, who actually cares about what he has to say. He likes feeling useful, and he likes feeling respected. And, most of all, he likes the fact that it's coming from you.

You're not the person he thought you were, and Thorn finds himself feeling a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the time he's spent with you. It's been difficult, at times maddening, but it's also been one of the best experiences of his life. You've pushed him, and challenged him, and forced him to grow, and he can't help but admire you for it.

It's a strange thing, feeling this way about someone. It's overwhelming and confusing, but there's also a sense of clarity and comfort that comes with it. Thorn isn't sure what to make of it. All he knows is that he doesn't want it to end.

But the truth is, he doesn't have a choice.

The realization that hits him hard as he escorts you back to your quarters. He hadn't been keeping track of the days, not anymore, but he knows that his time is running out. 

Your time on your home planet is coming to an end, and soon they’ll all be back on the cruiser. Then, Thorn won't have the luxury of being so close to you. He'll be expected to return to his regular duties, and you'll go back to your normal life, and the thought of it is nearly enough to make him sick.

He doesn't want things to change, and he doesn't want to lose the budding connection the two of you have. But, more than anything, he wants to be able to tell you how he feels. He wants to be able to tell you that he's falling for you, and that he wants to be with you, and that he'd do anything for you.

He just doesn't know how.

And the truth is, he's not even sure if he's brave enough to try.

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[alesiaaa]

Tapestry of understanding

Geta is pissed off a whole day because of rumours, which results in hurt feelings and confessions of fears.

Warnings : none! It’s half fluff half angst-ish?..

First thing I post cause I forgot abt this blog haha!

1.2k words as it is kind of a drabble..

Today was a hard day.

For the senate, for you, and most importantly, for Geta.

There had been rumours that Geta and Caracalla was having trouble ruling the empire, that they weren’t capable of getting along. It was true, yes, but that didn’t have to reach the public eye. They had enough people around them to make sure nothing was going wrong.

Even if he knew everything was going good, Geta still stressed all day long. Every since that meeting with the senate, he had been on edge all day and whenever he got the chance to, he spoke words of admiration for Claudius, a former Emperor, or..his great-great grandfather.

Though, in the evening, when only you and him dined, as Caracalla didn't even bother showing up, Geta shouted at you. You had accidentally approached a more sensitive topic, and , as he was already pissed off by the events of the day, he shouted at you to keep your mouth shut, or he’d shut it himself. His words cut deeply, as he’d never spoken to you so roughly before. It wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t know that the words were genuine, but , as you saw the raw rage in his eyes, you know he meant every word.

As the two of you soon enough retreated to your bedchambers, his ramble started as soon as the two of you entered the hall, completely disregarding your feeling and seemingly forgetting about his actions from before.

The sound of his footsteps were loud against the cold marble floor of your chambers, as Geta walked from one side to another, rambling about the former Emperor that he admired. “ Claudius knew, he understood , everything! “ he exclaimed, as he continued on his pacing, while you simply listened. It isn’t like you were supposed to say anything, he was almost talking to himself.

Geta, with his body covered and marks and scars from long and dangerous battles, was most known by his strength, his rationality in battle. The people of Rome considered him a warrior, while he, seemingly, at least tonight, wanted to be known by the wise words he didn’t have. It wasn’t like he wasn’t wise, he just..didn’t express it properly, or at all.

He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face you, sat on your bed, looking at him with an odd expression. “ Why can’t I understand as he does? Why can’t I understand the- the fragility of Rome?..” he spoke, eyes fixed on you.

“ Geta..." you exhaled, letting out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. “ What is up with you tonight? Why tonight out of all days, are you not tired of everything today?”

Your words only resulted in a scoff, as she walked closer to the bed, till he was right in front of you. “ I am tired, but..” his breathing was slow, as he just stood there for a moment, thinking about his next words. “..there is this fear in me, solaris, and I mustn’t rest until I am at peace.” His expression was so..raw, so full of emotion, that you thought that was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him before.

“ W-What?” You questioned quietly, your face filled with confusion that he seemed to mistake as judgement, which immediately made him shut down once more. He shook his head, sitting down aside you. “ It is nothing, rosa, forget I ever said anything.” His voice was a bit shakier than usual, yet still steady enough to not make you believe he shed tears.

His body inched closer to yours, before, he slowly laid on his back, his head resting on your lap. The moonlight made it possible for you to see the wetness in his eyes, as he looked up at you softly, his hands resting on his chest. “ My love..what bothers you so badly? I beg you, speak to me, because when you are not at peace, I am not as well.” You said quietly, your hands moving to cradle his face, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Your acts of kindness and understanding only made tears escape his eyes, as he shut them swiftly , hoping you hadn’t noticed. Deep down, the way he’s acted to you the whole day also pained and stressed him. He felt as if he wasn’t deserving one bit of the kindness and love you were showing him.

“ I fear that centuries in the future, only thing that will be remembered of me is the battles I’ve fought, and not the man I am.” He spoke , exhaling as if a rock was taken off his heart, his voice seeming almost weak, hurt. It broke your heart to see him this way.

Despite his usual rough demeanor, when the two of you were alone, he softened each and every time. Every night, when you’d find yourselves laid on your bed , alone in the quiet of your bedchambers, he’d always tell you stories, from when he was a child, or, about how it was in the different zones he fought in, or just simply about his day. Perhaps, when praying before bed, he’d slip a few extra prayers for you as well, without ever realising it.

Your marriage had a rough start, but after so much time, the two of you grew to love and appreciate each other as if you had been married for decades, when you’ve been married for barely a year.

“ I- you don’t have to compare yourself to others, my dear,” you soothed, your fingers running slowly through his ginger hair , playing and tugging at the strands. “, I know you, and I know that you are truly a good man. And they know too, they understand. You aren’t the only Emperor to be known by strength, are you? I don’t believe it is wrong to be known as a strong man. Only jealous and incompetent people would consider you anything else but a capable Emperor.” Though your words didn’t seem to affect him much, he simply hummed with a small nod, opening his eyes to look at you.

A sigh escaped his lips, as his hands went to hold yours, pulling them on his chest. “ Dulcisa, will you forgive me? I acted so, so foolish today. It was wrong of me to take out my anger on you, my angel. You’re not at fault.” his words were reassuring, but it still hurt to know that he still meant those words.

Still, you didn’t complain, you didn’t respond negatively, you simply hummed, kissing his forehead once again, a gesture he took as a silent ‘I forgive you.’ He swiftly turned, so he’d be laid on his stomach, before he crawled over you, making you lay on the bed as well. Though his scope wasn’t to try any sexual act, and you knew that. He was tired of speaking, so just pushing you down to sleep was far easier.

His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his head leaned on your arm. It wasn’t the usually position you went to sleep in, it was uncomfortable and irritating, but you didn’t say a thing and shut your eyes, breathing steadying as the two of you, soon enough, fell into a deep sleep.

[motherofdogs1010]

A Jedi in Arrakis V (Paul Atreides x Reader)

While on the run from Empire troops, Jedi padawan Y/N comes to find out that hyper-driving in a compromised craft can have some major setbacks when she discovers not only is on a new planet but a whole new galaxy as well...

Warnings: jedi!reader, angst, mentions of death, somewhat-canon Dune PT. 1 & 2, Paul is somewhat canon, talks of questioning the Force and teachings, spoilers for Dune Part I and II, eventual marriage

A/N: If anyone knows of where I can words in Chakobsa (Fremen language) to use in the story, that would be helpful! I also used a quote from Queen Charlotte!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

The harsh winds of Arrakis rocked the tent that they had taken shelter in, BB had gone into hibernation and Y/N felt lucky that BB had a solar option that left him basically fully functional at all times. Lady Jessica had taken to being silent, but Y/N could feel the troubled thoughts rolling off of the woman as Paul stared off into nothing with Dr. Yueh's note.

The discarded bag that they had found laid in front of their feet

"Paul", she softly said, he looked at her as she grasped his hand. "We should look through the bag, see if there's anything useful in there."

"She's right", Lady Jessica finally said, "we need all the supplies we need."

Paul grabbed the bag after putting the note down and going through the contents, a thumper was found and she frowned at it because what was it for?

"No stillsuits", Paul said, "the one thing we actually need."

"Stillsuits?" she asked.

"The Fremen use it to survive here on Arrakis, it cycles the water through sweat and other sources."

Y/N frowned as she saw a small bag on the ground and picked it up, "what is this?"

"Let me see", Paul said and she placed it gently in his palm.

He unraveled it and there, resting in the confines of it was a signet ring; Y/N was reminded of the rings she had seen Senators of planets wear that signified their planet and even rank.

She heard Lady Jessica let out a soft cry before hiding her face in her knees and Paul tightly grip the ring, and then she knew what the ring was: it was Duke Leto's ring.

Sorrow filled her heart as she grasped Paul's hand before she heard him suck in a deep breath, she reached over to his body and grasped him. A hand coming into Paul's curls as she tried to comfort her through gently rubbing his scalp as she saw BB wake up, let out a series of sad beeps before rolling over to Lady Jessica to comfort her.

Time passed with the winds howling even louder as she rubbed her eyes harshly, the sensation of her vision blurring feel odd as she felt her body feel sensations she never felt before. Perhaps it was the heat of Arrakis as she moved her sweaty hair from her neck as Paul commented, "Spice is stronger out here, your body may feel odd since it's never had the effects."

Rubbing her eyes a bit harder, she blinked as she heard, "Y/N..."

Who said that?

It must be the Spice tricking her mind as she sucked in a deep breath, but she could feel the Spice more in the lungs as she breathed and tried to meditate against the effects. Anxiety seemed to fill her body as she tried to swallow it down.

In conclusion, Spice was something she was not a fan off...

He was the only one awake, a hand resting on his love's head as he ran his fingers through her thick hair in an attempt to clear his mind. His mother was curled near the droid, seemingly finding comfort in the little robot as Paul thought back to what has happened.

His House was betrayed... his father dead...

He could feel his body feel different as he felt the sensation of another vision coming about. It must be the Spice honing in his vision as he felt his heart began to slow, the sweat on his body begin to cool...

"Paul..."

The dunes of Arrakis surrounded them as Y/N wore a long, muslin gown as she sat atop of a dune; her eyes blue and bright as her hair blew around her.

"Paul..." she softly whispered.

Her face serene as she reached a hand out to him before she looked down below her as Paul saw, and heard the cries of war. Suddenly, he could see it all: Fremen warrior bursting out from the sand and striking down the enemy before his vision focused on one particular Fremen warror, who brutally and effectively was striking down the enemy before pausing as they struck down another.

Their visor went up and he saw himself...

Y/N could feel something was wrong as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes to find Paul, once again, staring off into something with a look of horror on his face. BB had begun letting out a series of fearful beeps as he moved around, trying to alert one of them before closing in on himself.

Sitting up quickly, she reached her hands and grasped his face, "Paul, what's wrong?"

Tears began to fall down his cheeks as he blinked.

"Paul", she said, worried.

"Holy war spreading across the universe", he whispered, "like an unquenchable fire. That's future, it's coming."

Fear was all over his face, "Paul, it's okay. I'm here, you don't have to be afraid."

It was then she could hear Lady Jessica arise from her slumber, maybe she too could see what Paul was seeing?

"Paul, I see what you see", Lady Jessica said, "tell me, what do you fear?"

Y/N looked back over at Lady Jessica, who also had tears once again down her cheeks.

"It's coming, I see a holy war spreading", Paul said, beginning to tightly grasp her hands, "across the universe like unquenchable fire. A warrior religion that waves the Atreides banner in my father's name..."

"Paul", Lady Jessica repeated.

Y/N felt how tight Paul was holding on her hands before he dropped himself into her lap, burying his head into her stomach as he gripped her waist in terror.

"Fanatical legions worshipping at the shrine of my father's skull. A war in my name! Everyone's shouting my name!"

Y/N could hear the fear in Paul's voice as he sobbed into her stomach and she rested her hands over him, feeling the fear radiating off of him.

Lady Jessica moved to try and comfort Paul, but he immediately snapped his head up and with the Voice shouted, "Get away from me!"

Lady Jessica moved back as Paul shouted, "you did this to me! You Bene Gesserit made me a freak! I don't even know who I am!"

"Stop it, Paul!", Y/N hissed. "She's your mother."

Silence befell the tent.

"Listen to me, Paul, I will stand with you between the heavens and Arrakis, I will tell you who you are, what you see", she whispered to Paul as he stared at her.

He fell back into her lap, burying himself back into her frame.

The decision to leave the tent came eventually, finding them once again in the dunes of Arrakis when a orinithoper (a word Paul had told her was what the insect shaped aircraft was) flew over them before landing a few feet away.

"It's Duncan", Paul said, hope in his voice.

BB let out a series of beeps as he rolled beside them. Y/N could feel the weight of her lightsaber hanging around her hip as she saw Duncan Idaho running towards them, embracing Paul and Lady Jessica with a nod of acknowledgment towards her and BB.

"I'm so sorry, your father..." Duncan began before falling to his knees and grasping Paul's hand. "My lord Duke."

Soon enough, they were in the orinithoper and off they went. Time passed on in the craft, a blue-eyed woman named Dr. Kynes giving them a small vial each to drink as BB hibernated for the time being as Duncan informed them of how the Harkonnens hit all the populated regions on the planet with Sardaukar.

"Who are the Harkonnens?" she asked. "And Sardaukar?"

"The Harkonnens are who used to control Arrakis and the Spice trade", Paul softly said. "They are a ruthless House that has feuded with ours for eons. And the Sardaukar are the ones we saw before... they are the Emperor's warriors."

"You were betrayed by your Emperor?" she asked, baffled. "Was he not the one who gave you this planet? Why then?"

"That remains to be seen."

It was a hidden testing station that they were taken to with the last remaining Atreides warriors. A dust storm was on its way from what Dr. Kynes informed them as they walked within, she felt Paul grasp her hand as Dr. Kynes some Fremen men to grab them stillsuits to put on.

They had been taken to a circular shaped room where Paul asked Dr. Kynes of bearing witness to the betrayal that House Atreides has faced.

"Are you alright?" Y/N whispered to Lady Jessica, who nodded.

The woman looked pale and nauseous, "I have not told Paul yet that..."

"Oh", Y/N said with wide eyes.

Lady Jessica was with child.

BB let a series of happy beeps and spun in a circle, a small smile on Lady Jessica's face as she watched.

"Thank you, BB", she said as the droid gave her a thumbs up.

"You and Paul are close", Lady Jessica commented, "he will need you."

Before she responded back, the Fremen men were pack with three packs of stillsuits for them as Paul says, "suppose I went to the Emperor and made a play towards the Great Houses? I tell them what has happened and then what?"

"Chaos", Lady Jessica said, "across the Imperium."

Y/N moved towards Paul, BB right beside her.

"So, what do you propose I do?" Paul asked.

"The Emperor has no sons, only daughters", Dr. Kynes offered, "you could-"

Y/N felt her heart clench at the beginning of mention just as Paul firmly said, "no. I will find another alternative. Perhaps make a play to the throne."

Paul grasped her hand, winding their fingers together.

Dr. Kynes let out a dry laugh, "you're a lost boy hiding in a hole in the ground. The Emperor feared the Atreides, that is why we are here."

Dr. Kynes looked at her and raised a brow, "and what of you? Outsider from another world."

"Jedi do not believe in revenge", she answered, "it corrupts the soul, it leaves you open to the Sith."

"But you will watch him seek it out?"

A conflicting question, wasn't it? Watch a man she's come to care for seek revenge on the people who murdered his father, destroyed his House. Everything she was taught to be against...

"Yes." An answer that went against everything she was taught to believe.

Paul's hand squeezed hers in a comforting manner.

It was then that a odd silence filled the place and the sound of Duncan's footsteps against the sand was heard and she felt a hard wave in the Force that surrounded Arrakis.

"They've found us, haven't they?" she said outloud.

And once again, chaos erupted...

TAGLIST

@cloudlst @khlaeesihavilliard @colors-for-the-world-please @senhoritaapple @dark1paradise @chalametabingbong @aoi-targaryen @star-maker-rain-dancer @nj452896

[forever--darling]

senator amidala

summary: while obi-wan lectures anakin over & over it seems, you find yourself unable to do anything but look more into your vision, & the story behind the stars. just when you feel as if you are getting some answers, forces shift at the addition of a new mission as well as someone from anakin's past.

pairings: anakin skywalker x jedi!reader

word count: 8.1k

warnings/notes: mention of war, of death, mention of clone wars, mention of reader's past life, swearing, soulmate au, teasingaotc!anakin, anakin skywalker x padmé amidala, angst, jealousy, the beginning of a long unforeseen slow burn

series masterlist | 04

“Are you going to say anything or just sit there looking at me like that?” Anakin asked, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall of the training room, unable to look away from the glowered look that had overtaken his Master’s face. “Master?”

Obi-Wan sat in a rolling chair, his legs stiffly stuck to the floor and a certain knot forming between his eyebrows, that frown of his peeking through his beard. He didn’t even move or react when Anakin huffed out annoyingly, glancing towards the door and the closed blinds. Obi-Wan found him to be acting like a child then as he refused to have patience, refused to sit there in silence, but almost needed to in every way defy even the sole look that was being sent his way. 

Anakin raised his hands in the air, irritated by the impending silence; it not going to make a difference one way or another when his Master finally decided to open his mouth and scold him. It would be just as scornful either way, and the young Chosen One didn’t have it in himself to do anything else but keep talking, “It’s not like—” 

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan snapped lifting his pointer finger in the young Jedi’s direction, “Don’t you try and lie to me right now.” 

“I’m not. Nothing happened, and nothing was going to happen.” 

“Huh, so you’re just telling me you were laying on her for what?” Obi-Wan replied back, the sarcasm thick, so parent-like despite Anakin being an adult. “Of course, you don’t think of me as that stupid, Anakin.” 

“I don’t, Master,” Anakin agreed, sighing slightly as he pushed off from the wall to approach his Master, “It’s just I did nothing to go against the code. I need you to know that, and I won’t.”

“How can I trust you?” Obi-Wan deflated, the statement alone causing Anakin to shift in fear, waning at the very thing he never thought he would hear, “I can’t look at the two of you together the same anymore. I’m aware you have a connection, one that is deemed stronger than I realized, but how can you assure me one hundred percent that it’s nothing more?”

“Nothing more…” Anakin’s words trailed off, the accusation something he hadn’t let cross his mind longer than it should. He couldn’t. He knew that. “It’s not. I can assure you.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, his elbows finding a place along his knees, that frown lessening as he took in the wide-eyed expression on Anakin’s face. The younger Jedi’s brows rose then, the words once again slipping to provide as much comfort to his Master as he could, “She hasn’t been sleeping, Master. It’s been this way for a few months now. I can’t help but know when something is bothering her. Neither of us understands it, but I can’t ignore it. I wanted to show her the younglings’ training room, that is all. Something to get her mind off of everything.” 

“The trials, included?” Obi-Wan asked, recalling his conversation with you that day prior after having seen you and Anakin together. 

“The trials?” Anakin’s brows furrowed for a moment, “Right, yes, the trials. She talked to you about them.” 

“Yes, and I don’t think it’s a good idea. She won’t be ready. It would be nearly impossible.” 

“Right, I suppose that’s true.” 

There was a lull, a sudden shift in conversation towards you, what had been keeping you up for months, for all this time, but did either of them really know? Anakin felt as if your connection was stronger, and he was able to indulge in your feelings no matter when and where he was, even going as far as to be able to hear some of your thoughts, the way they scavenged for peace. He felt as if a piece of you had been broken off and given to him, and yet he couldn’t help but feel like there was more going on in that pretty head of yours. As if there was more to the dark circles under your eyes and the steady glances you sent his way throughout the day. 

There was more, and yet he couldn't in any way try and explain it to Obi-Wan. Especially when no one, even your Master, wouldn’t be able to understand these strange feelings that plagued the both of you. It was different from mere senses or being a Jedi. He couldn’t, not without it sounding wrong, not without proving his Master right.

“And what about me?” Anakin found himself unable to ask. 

“What about you?” 

“The trials,” he corrected, having not talked about it with his Master in almost half a year, “I feel as if I’m ready.” 

“Oh, my young apprentice, there is still much to learn in the upcoming months. More than you realize,” Obi-Wan smiled comfortingly, suddenly charmed slightly by the young Jedi’s ambitions. 

“You don’t think I am ready, Master?” Anakin found a knot forming in his chest, one from frustration, for the second time in a matter of minutes. Obi-Wan had already professed to not just trusting Anakin with you, but what about the trials? What about his respectability as a Jedi?

“It’s not that, my Padawan. It’s that you are still very unpredictable. You have far less experience than most Padawans do when they compete in the trials. I have no doubt you can get there but in due time. Where there is less experience, you must make up with wisdom and caution.”

Anakin was angry and disappointed but, at most, worried. Had he been too crass, too big of himself to assume he would be in the trials that year? He thought not. He thought he had proved himself time and time again to Obi-Wan, especially when it came to you. He had protected you, ensured your comfort, and became someone, anyone you could at least have. He had done what any Jedi should when caring for someone on a mission.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan mumbled out sadly after a few lingering seconds, his eyes cast over at the Chosen One at the position he was put in, “What shall you have me do about this? The two of you?”

He had reverted the conversation away from the trials and back to the situation at hand. 

“I wasn’t aware anything had to be done, Master.”

“I don’t want to but I can’t help but fear the consequences in the future if I do nothing.”

“Trust me, Master. There is nothing going on between me and her. You have my word,” Anakin replied, his eyes refusing to blink or look away from Obi-Wan, afraid of what he would do. Afraid that somehow you would be separated, or things would change. “I’m only trying to protect her.”

Another lull between them, a second where Anakin couldn’t do anything else but wait, analyzing his Master’s expressions. It was then Obi-Wan nodded, shoulders relaxing back within his seat, unwilling to really do anything else but accept what he was being told. The force favored the two of you together, Obi-Wan could feel that. Felt it not long after you were brought to the temple. You both were strong, wise, and sometimes oblivious, but you were better when together than apart. You challenged Anakin, kept the Chosen One in line, and were a companion more than anything else. Obi-Wan had no inclination to truly do more than warn the young Jedi. 

“Alright then,” Obi-Wan said, backing down under the intense blue haze that was Anakin’s eyes. But he stopped him as the Padawan turned to leave, “Anakin?” 

“Yes, Master?”

“Go find Y/N and bring her here, please. I want her present when we meet with the Senator.” 

“The Senator?” he asked, brows furrowing as he stood frozen near the door, seeming unaware of the meeting himself. 

“Yes, Senator Amidala will be here later this afternoon to meet with us. I want her there, got it?” 

Anakin’s eyes widened, mouth parting softly unable to even answer his Master’s question. He was suddenly stuck, unable to get much further than the name that was uttered so professionally. Anakin felt his pulse speed up, and his stomach clenched in nerves. 

Senator Amidala. 

He had never thought the day would finally come. After ten years, it finally had. 

“Padmé? She will be here in the city?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why? What does she require of us?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

Obi-Wan sighed, able to hear the breathiness in the young man’s voice, his attention shifted entirely to the one he had never seemed to forget, “I am not sure, my apprentice, but we shall see. Alright, so go on.” 

“Are you an angel?”

“What?”

“An angel. I’ve heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They live on the moons of lego, I think. They’re the most beautiful creatures in the universe.”

The air was stiff, the smell of the old archives enough to have you biting down on your lower lip. The basement of the public archives building was dusty and cold, cold for the amount of worn leather that sat in between the shelves. The shelves decorated with everything that hadn’t been recoded into holograms or online files. Your robes were loose around your frame, and you found yourself pulling them tight around your chest as the attendant led you through the maze of shelves. 

He stops in a far corner and goes down a hall between two shelves; it is so slim you wouldn’t be able to walk with two people side by side. Near the middle of the shelf, he pointed up towards the upper two halves, “This is all that we have. These two top shelves should have everything you’re looking for.” 

You nodded, eyes already scraping over the aging binds, reading the heathered titles with ease, heart in your throat. 

 Stars of L’âme

They were what led you to be sitting in a small corner of the public archives, at a desk hidden behind a few towering shelves, the desktop covered with a small stack of books, some thicker and older than you realized. It had been almost an hour, an hour of you flipping through pages, all while the words from your grandmother echoed within your head. 

“Two lost souls. That is something to remember most of all. This act is never random. This choice by the greater powers of our worlds. It is never a mere act of happening but by some sort of fate itself.”

“This sounds crazy,” you thought out loud as you read the descriptions of the particle examinations of the two stars as well as the whole ten pages that hypothesize how they were created outside of the stellar nurseries.

Flipping through another book next to it, you opened it to a random page to find a drawing peering back at you. One where it showed the stars as they were now, unaligned, one favoring the left and the other right. A second drawing mirrored the one next to it, but this one found the stars to almost be stacked upon one another, aligned to create two shining orbs. A small passage was found under the picture, and you realized as you read that this book took on a more mythical viewpoint of the stars. 

One that sounded like a fable unable to fully be true and yet you found yourself leaning into every single word. 

“The Stars of L’âme, having outlived centuries of people, have left the rest of us in mere darkness over the two stars regarding the possibilities and ideal scientific creations; more so how they only coalign every one hundred years. Whose its makers we can’t know, but one can be noted without reason or the ability to ignore — the physics and angling. As it is said and stated, only when the two souls it mirrors finally find one another, their hearts aligning is when the stars are found to finally shift. The previous separation of the stars follows the physical and emotional separation of the two souls prior to understanding the truth. Once both of the intended souls have passed onto the next life, the stars scatter again awaiting for their next love story within the following century.”

It sounded impossible, you couldn’t fathom the logistics as you chewed on your bottom lip, sure to leave it torn and bleeding. The rest of the world seemed to blur along the edges, the confines of reality shifting as you wished, almost pleading for your grandmother to appear — to deny this allegation altogether, to fully set all of your worries to rest. What about the stars did she want to tell you?

It all sounded like a fate that was sure to catch up with you. 

Sighing, you pushed the book away, inhaling to ease the sudden anxiety that had formed, while you pulled another one from the stack. Skimming through the table of contents, you felt your fingers fumble over the names that were presented on the page. Immediately flipping to it, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, unable to ignore the picture printed within it of a couple, the last who claimed to have been the heirs of the Stars of L’âme. They seemed normal, full of admiration as they stared at one another. 

Their birth years, you hummed in interest. It was exactly a hundred years before your own. 

Your fingers traced over the young woman’s face, it seeming not much older than you were now. She was beautiful and, more than anything, beautifully in love. Peering down at the page, you took them in but felt your stomach fall slightly as you noticed it.  

A set of matching scars along their forearms, just as long and thick, matching in every way from the pale coloring to the way it extended from their wrist to halfway across their forearms. Your brows raised in interest, beginning to read the passages that followed, throat tightened at the mere possibilities of what that could have meant. 

You had only gotten halfway through the first page, which hadn’t revealed any new information or anything about the scars when you felt two hands take hold of your chair behind you. You jumped slightly at the feeling of their thumbs pressed along your shoulder blades and their looming form along your back. 

“Hey.” The voice startled you, but you relaxed instantly at the familiarity paired with the softness of it. 

Glancing up, you met those blue eyes of his, staring down at yours with piqued interest, that smirk of his forming as he took in how he had scared you. You must not have felt him approaching, both surprised by it and not knowing that when your mind was so occupied in anything else, you didn’t hear or feel anything that was close to you. 

You smacked his hand slightly, heart rising and falling in surprise, “What are you doing?” 

“Me?” he laughed, eyes flickering over the stacks of books spread along the desk, “What are you doing?”

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you began to close the books around you, ignoring his question altogether, “Nothing I just—” 

“Please, I could feel you deep in your thoughts from three miles away,” Anakin chuckled, leaning even more over your shoulder, his brows furrowing as he tried to catch sight of what you were reading about, his eyes finding the black and white picture of the couple staring back at him, “What has you thinking so fucking hard?” 

“Anakin,” you warned, trying to close the book before he could take it but his hand smacked against the page of the book enough that it echoed in the small corner of the archives. His brows furrowed slightly down at you while his other hand firmly took a hold of your wrist to stop you from trying to take it. 

“The Stars of L’âme,” he read outline, the foreign word a struggle upon his tongue, but he understood enough to peer back over you and your slumped frame, a sheepish look appearing across your face. “Y/N…” 

Feeling his impending stare and the sudden speed of your pulse, you were ripping your hand out of his and taking the book from him. Closing it loudly, you shoved it to the other side of the desk with all the rest, some you hadn’t even gotten to yet. 

“It’s nothing okay,” you urged but he could see right through you. It was the easiest thing. 

“Right, nothing. It’s not like, it has you sneaking off here in the middle of the day. It’s about your vision, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning down further, his arm hanging off your shoulder, the small touch feeling like too much at that moment. 

“We don’t know if it was vision,” you argued, but at the sudden curl of his lips, it was clear he didn’t believe it to be anything other than that. 

“Well, you could have told me, you know. I could’ve helped,” he offered carefully, with no sarcasm or teasing tone in sight. It had your heart softening, your embarrassment fading enough that you were sure your resolve would follow. 

You were scared, though. Scared of what you would find out. Scared that this strange connection with him had something to do with this. You were just scared, period. 

“No, you couldn’t have,” you replied, the tone and your words stinging him slightly evident in the slight cringe that appeared on his face. 

He ignored it. “Well, did you find anything?”

“No, not anything useful.”

Before he could say anything else, his eyes just searching yours, you found yourself picking at your nails, a sense of nervousness forming. “What are you doing here?” 

“Obi-Wan sent me to find you,” he said, not missing a single beat. 

You straightened up, “What?” 

“It’s fine,” he noticed the panic right away, enough that his hand slipped to your shoulder with ease, his torso somehow pressed along your back enough that you relaxed, “We just have to get back. Senator Amidala will be arriving soon.” 

“A Senator?” 

Even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the sudden pause that appeared as Anakin said her name. Like he had to prepare how to exactly say it. The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, and it caused your stomach to twist slightly, a sick feeling appearing at the implications of what that could mean. Not quite understanding it. 

“Yeah, she has requested a meeting with us for some reason. Master just wants us back to prepare for her arrival.” 

You wanted to ask more, deter from this task at hand, and put your attention back into the books, but you knew you couldn’t. Not then. Not with him there. Not when you both possibly had been assigned to something by the council. It was the only reason that came to mind that you were meeting with this Senator. It filled you with dread, a sudden uneasiness forming at the responsibility that could possibly linger. 

There was nothing else to do though but nod and stand from the small desk. With one stack of books in your hands and the other in Anakin’s you returned them to the attendant, thanking him, before following Anakin out of the public archives. His eyes followed yours for a brief moment before he lead you further into the city towards the temple. 

His attention drifted, you felt it first. In your chest, the way that string between you seemed to wane slightly while he stared forward, voice silent. A furrowed expression played along his features, one that had you mesmerized, able to feel the weight of his deep thoughts but without the implications of them. Still a few blocks from the temple, you couldn’t help but ask. 

“What is it?” 

Your voice, almost like a solace, pulled his eyes to you, a mere hum emitting from his pink lips.

“I can see your brain turning over there. Can practically feel it suffocating me as well, so what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, the same words you had said to him before in the pubic archives hitting you hard. 

“Ani…” 

“I’m just wondering why they require us, is all? What the council wants from us?” he explained, but you couldn’t believe him. 

Not when a sudden thickness seemed to appear in your chest from the mere effect on him upon even mentioning the Senator’s name. A devastation that seemed to only weigh heavier on you the longer you sat in silence, it only being confirmed as you stood in the elevator of Senator Amidala’s building, leading you, Anakin, and Master Kenobi up to her penthouse. 

Her name was one you had heard of; it was hard not to when you previously had a life involved within government, often needing to interact with the Senate, yet you couldn’t place her face with the name. You hadn’t met, that you were sure of, and yet the sudden thought of doing so left you afraid. Afraid as silence loomed with Anakin’s foot tapping unsteadily and his breath uneasy. 

You turned to look at him as he began to brush his hands along his robes, smoothing out any wrinkles. Obi-Wan noticed it, too, and met your stare with a certain smile you couldn’t place. As if he knew something you didn’t or rather found amusement from the Padawan’s actions. 

“You seem a little on edge,” Obi-Wan said then, gaining Anakin’s nervous attention. 

“Not at all,” Anakin denied, his eyes somehow flickering to yours, able to feel you staring at him. 

“I haven’t felt you this tense since we fell into that nest of Gundarks.” 

“You fell into that nightmare, Master, and I rescued you, remember?” He was smug about it, but only slightly. 

“Oh, yes.”

You found yourself subtly bumping your arm with Anakin's, while Master didn’t react as you imagined he would. Instead, a deep-setted laugh appeared one that caused Anakin to start laughing as well, even as his blue eyes flickered over to your form, still leaning close to him. 

Shaking his head at his Master, Obi-Wan set his sights back on the Padawan, barely even acknowledging your close presence. “You’re sweating. Relax. Take a deep breath.”

Obi-Wan watched the subtle interaction that occurred then. The way your face furrowed in confusion, almost a slight worry pulling your lips into a fine line, and a hesitancy on Anakin’s part. His head tilted slightly in your direction, and you found his blue orbs looking at you from the corner of his eye before replying. 

“I haven’t seen her in ten years, Master,” he admitted, exhaling slowly, his nerves so palpable then. 

A small smile appeared on Obi-Wan’s face, and you couldn’t come to understand it, the slight amusement that appeared over Anakin’s nervousness. You couldn’t, not as your own reaction was barely hideable. You turned to face the elevator doors in front of you, feeling suddenly inclined to take a step away from Anakin, enough that your arm was no longer brushing his. 

A thought that you couldn’t ignore even when the three of you stepped off the elevator to greet a Junior Representative who went by Jar Jar. The tall lanky creature bypassed your attention rather quickly as you couldn’t help but keep sending glances over to Anakin. 

Worst of all, you didn’t even know why you cared so much. What about this Senator could have you so uncomfortable? Threatened over what? Your time with Anakin. 

What good would it do anymore? 

Surely Master Obi-Wan would do something to come between the two of you to ensure his spot on the council stays and, in his mind, keep the two of you from violating the code.

Your feet dragged slightly across the floor, even as Jar Jar led you away from the elevator into another room of the penthouse, revealing a few figures standing off by the windows. You inhaled slowly to find one of them turn, and a smile appeared across her face. She had to have been the Senator, and it brought a certain nervous twitch in your fingers. 

She was young. Young and beautiful and elegant. Everything that a representative was supposed to be. Everything that a queen was supposed to be; in her long dress, decorated in glitter and the finest materials with her hair pulled back out of her face, drawing attention to her soft features. Hiding slightly behind Anakin, body turned away from him, you watched as Obi-Wan bowed to greet her. “Pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

“It’s been far too long, Master Kenobi,” she greeted back, her voice mature, sounding professional, and as if it was going to hold Anakin’s attention forever. It seemed he had gotten hers, too, as she looked over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, a curious smile forming at the sight before her, “Ani?” 

The mere shortened version of his name curling from her tongue so effortlessly brought another wave of shock through you, one that stung far worse than you realized. Even as it sounded so casual, so perfect, that he had to step forward a shy smile of his own forming unable to keep his eyes from taking her in. 

“My goodness you’ve grown.”

“So have you. Grown more beautiful, I mean,” he admitted, it slipping enough to have everyone’s eyes on him, “Well, for a Senator, I mean.”

He chuckled awkwardly, trying to rid the surprised look of awe that appeared on his face. She smiled back one bashful as they both noted the way Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder to you in slight understanding. One you hadn’t known for sure until then. That, in fact, this Senator, Senator Amidala, knew Anakin, and he very much knew her. 

“Huh Ani, you’ll always be that little boy I knew in Tatooine.” 

His expression faltered; you saw it in the way his shoulders dropped, his smile faltering at her subtly shutting down his advances. Quickly, a mere blip as she then noticed you, too, lingering back behind the taller man, fingers folded together. She looked at the robes, the tight-fitting navy ones that appeared somehow pretty on you, and the way your hair was pulled tightly out of your face, revealing a complexion that seemed so clear. 

Her dark brow arched in curiosity, finding you already looking at her, “I’m afraid we haven’t ever met.” 

Sighing, you stepped forward, already able to feel both expectant looks from the two of me in front of you. Obi-Wan, taking hold of your forearm, gently brought you closer, enough that you were standing in between him and Anakin, suddenly feeling trapped and under the watchful gaze of the Senator. 

Her eyes glanced from Anakin to you, the way his attention suddenly seemed to be on your profile, trying to take in everything about your expression. 

“This is my second Padawan—” 

“Second?” Padmé chuckled in surprise, “You have two now? I wasn’t sure if that was even allowed.” 

“There are exceptions. The Council granted me this one ask.” 

Her smile widened then, eyes never leaving yours as she spoke, “Lucky Ani. I’m sure the extra challenge benefits him.”

It was then she stepped closer, offering an outstretched hand to you. With a second of hesitation, you met her advance, slipping your own hand in hers for her to shake. 

“Senator Padmé Amidala.” 

You nodded, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” 

At the sound of your name, it seeming so long since it was even pronounced out loud together, her hand stopped, the shaking ceasing while a curious look now filling her eyes, one of recognition slightly. “Y/L/N?” 

“Yes?” 

“Hm, that’s a familiar name, one I feel is common. Have we, by chance, met before?” she observed, eyes glancing to the two men on the other side of you. Anakin’s hands tightened, a furrow appearing between his brows as he looked between her and you. His jaw ticked as he met the Senator’s gaze. 

It was then, the Padawan stepped forward, blocking you slightly from her and her questions. His body broke your hand from hers, and you couldn’t help but questionably share a look with your Master as Anakin interrupted, “We should sit down, my lady. Talk about why we’re really here.”

You looked expectantly from Anakin over to Obi-Wan to find another wave of confusion pass over his features. But no one dared to say anything against the Chosen One and entered the living room. Sitting across from the Senator, you somehow once again were sat between the two men. They both leaned in, attention put fully on Padmé, and though you should have been doing the same, a discomfort had formed in your chest. So much so that your mind seemed to drift elsewhere, to the Padawan sat next to you more so. 

Why had he not told you he had known Senator Amidala? What could have been within their past that he hadn’t or wished not to? There was something he wasn’t telling you clearly by the way Obi-Wan had been alluding to his nerves in the elevator. Even when you had asked him earlier, before arriving, what had been on his mind, he had brushed you off. Something he hadn’t done in months, not since before you two had come to terms with what it meant being Padawans alongside one another. Even as you could feel the gentleness of his pulse quickening while his eyes doted on her, he still tried to hide it from you. 

“I don’t need more security. I need answers. I want to know who is trying to kill me.”

“We’re here to protect you, Senator,” Obi-Wan assured, “Not to start an investigation.”

You found yourself lulling away, not able to pay attention until Anakin spoke up from beside you with such a conviction that it had you staring at him, jaw tense. “We will find out who is trying to kill you, Padmé. I promise you.” 

You felt Obi-Wan peering past you at Anakin, taken aback himself but the sudden response that was pulled so freely from the young man without even a simple thought. “We will not exceed our mandate, my young Padawan learner.” 

Anakin ignored the looks the both of you were giving him, instead finding much of his focus back on the beautiful Senator, “I meant it in the interest of protecting her, Master. Of course.” 

“We will not go through this exercise again, Anakin,” Obi-Wan scolded; it was enough to have both you and the Senator following the small squealing match between the two men, “And you will pay attention to my lead.” 

“Why? Why else do you think we were assigned to her if not to find the killer. Protection is a job for local security, not Jedi. It’s overkill, Master. Investigation is implied in our mandate,” he challenged, and you couldn’t stop yourself then but to reach over and pinch his arm through his robes. He stiffened under your sudden touch, a frown appearing across his lips as he hissed, “Ow. What?” 

You sent him a warning look, brows furrowed slightly as you sensed the frustrations and slight embarrassment at the reality of Anakin defying Obi-Wan in front of others, especially Senator Amidala. He was trying to be prideful, show off his wisdom and bravery in turn to holding her attention. 

“We will do exactly as the council has instructed,” Obi-Wan stated. 

Anakin looked away from you at the sight of your soft glare to find the eyes of your Master. Silence filled the room then, a waiting game of who would back down first.

“And you will learn your place young one.”

There was another pause, a moment where Anakin’s lip folded into itself into a small pout, his head bowing slightly under the intense gaze of Obi-Wan. Your Master took a second to exhale, letting the frustrations fade as he turned back to face the Senator, her eyes still glancing between the two men.

“Perhaps with merely your presence, the mystery surrounding this threat will be revealed,” she said, breaking the tensions slightly, but you found yourself stiffening at the sight of her soft gaze meeting Anakin’s sunken form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire.”

The Senator stood with her Representatives following, as well as Obi-Wan, who bowed in a sign of respect. You felt frozen, though, feet glued to the ground even as Anakin had stood too. You felt your Master’s eyes on you then, a gentle glare settling along the side of your face, but you could only stare forward, up at the Senator, stomach clenched, a dread looming over your head. One that had begun as soon as Anakin had even said her name in the public archives. Senator Amidala. 

Knowing how disrespectful you were being, you stood, hands folded gently behind your back. She took you in once more, a curious glint forming, and before you had even realized, she was smiling softly, “Actually, before I do. Y/N, is it? May I speak with you for a minute? I believe I owe you the honor of becoming more acquainted.” 

The air had been sucked from your lungs. That’s what you believed as you stood with your mouth becoming dryer by the second as all eyes in the room found you, your frame taller than the Senator and yet seeming suddenly afraid. It wasn’t that you were afraid of her, or her status. You were supposed to be the next queen of Bakura, there was no one who could intimidate you by their power alone. No, the truth was you were afraid of her because of Anakin, because of how he had blatantly felt about her, always had it seemed. 

Obi-Wan was staring at you expectantly, and you knew that you couldn’t deny the Senator of this request, especially considering you were as much her protector as the rest of them. But you were hesitant, it only deepening as you felt a warm palm suddenly pressed along your lower back. Even though your thick robes, the touch was so much, almost making your skin vibrate at its sudden appearance. 

Glancing up at Anakin, his towering frame too became way too much, his blue eyes set on yours suddenly, almost like it had been the first time since you both had entered the room with the Senator. He was hesitant to let you go, something you didn’t understand then because how could you?

Offering him a gentle nod, you smiled towards the Senator, who had silently been watching the interaction, curious, it seemed, by the intentions behind Anakin’s lingering touch. You wouldn’t grant her any more time to think about it as you gestured towards the door for her to lead the way. She seemed pleased, and as you followed her out of the sitting room, you could feel the Chosen One’s intense gaze stained across your back the whole entire walk out of the room. 

“He’s protective,” she said then, as soon as you had rounded the corner into a nearby hall, away from everyone else. 

Her observation had you almost tripping over your feet, as well as over the possibility that she had only asked to speak to you to talk about Anakin. It made your blood settle, an inkling of nerves appearing in your chest of how this all would go.

Something in you told you, it would all fall apart. Maybe not now, or tomorrow, but eventually and you would be the one left crumbled away in the dust. 

You tried to smile, but you found it more so resembled a cringe, “Yes, he is. Though at times he doesn’t need to be.” 

She hummed then as if it was something she could relate to and understand completely. “He only means well. Has been told his whole life of those he must protect, of his responsibilities presented from the prophecy.” 

“Yes, but I must say it can be too much. It feels as if he is undermining me in front of you Senator, but I guess he can’t quite help it.” 

Her dark brow arched then, interest piquing as your admission slipped. Noticing the way she waited, waited for you to explain, you felt your face fall, cheeks heating up at what you had done. It was something you knew Anakin wished people didn’t know about. Who you were before you arrived at the temple and became a Padawan in training. He worried about what could happen if people knew, knew that the princess of Bakura was alive. Yet, you couldn’t help but reveal it all to her, the woman who held his attention so easily just from her presence alone. She wouldn’t ever have to speak, and you knew Anakin wouldn’t care — just to stare at her all day would be a privilege in his eyes. 

“Y/L/N,” she said it as almost a mere whisper, as if she was trying to place it, the familiarity, the essence behind the name. A name that once filled you with so much power. “I know it from somewhere. I know I do. I suppose there is a reason, isn’t there? Why did Anakin stop me from asking before? Why he is so protective?”

“Senator, you have to understand, I wasn’t always a Jedi. I only became Master Kenobi’s Padawan some time ago,” you exhaled then, knowing there was no way around it, not if she would be there everyday intervening in every interaction, in every sole moment you once had with him to yourself, “My father sent Obi-Wan and Anakin to me under dire circumstances.” 

“Y/L/N,” she repeated it slowly, almost afraid to say it out loud, but as she heard it, the sound of it coming from her own tongue, her eyes widened in realization. “Your father, Y/F/N  Y/L/N, the king of Bakura.” 

“You understand then? Why. He is protective, Senator, but merely out of obligation." You, unable to stop yourself from letting the truth spill over and over, said it so casually as if to put more distance between you and Anakin, an explanation for his affection.

“I can see why you would see it that way, but you have to know for Ani, it is never out of obligation,” she explained softly, her expression unreadable as she spoke of him, “Though it’s been years since we parted, I know that he doesn’t take the weight of it on thoughtlessly. He is very passionate; he doesn’t act unless it is in accordance with his heart. And for what it’s worth, I offer my deepest condolences, your highness.” 

You sighed, only able to offer a sad smile, chest clenching at the title, one you only heard now when Anakin wished to tease you, sure to bring a smile to your face. It sounded so wrong then coming from her, far too formal for a person you only shared a resemblance to. You weren’t her anymore, the princess, the future queen. You felt as if it was a life you hadn’t even lived. 

“A princess turned Jedi,” she chuckled, somehow it never once sounded cruel. It couldn’t, you knew that, even with Anakin swooning over the sight of her, the sudden twang that appeared within your chest, nothing she ever did could be done out of cruelty. “That’s a very powerful thing. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me, you haven’t accepted that yet.”

You couldn’t accept anything she was saying to you, your mind drifting rather to the loud feelings one room away, the way they were hurt like a puppy that had just been kicked — somehow losing all respectability because of one woman. 

“Well, I will leave you,” she offered then, noting the frown across your face, “I shall retire for the night, but just know, I am glad Master Kenobi and Ani were able to promise your protection as well as they will mine.”

With one last smile, one just as radiant as all the rest, you watched her retreat further into the hall towards the elevator. As soon as her presence was gone, you exhaled, no relief felt at the sudden challenge that this mission had brought. It seemed it all would be different then, even down to the pull you felt in your chest when it came to Anakin Skywalker. 

Perhaps Obi-Wan had been right. 

Perhaps the stars were right, too, about something you couldn’t quite explain for any other reason. 

Yet you knew it couldn’t be, not even if you were to outlive the pain that surely would succumb to you if it were true. 

Evident enough, as you stepped back into the room, Obi-Wan’s frame retreated with one of the Senator’s security and Anakin still where you had left him, in the middle of the room, that worried expression still present on his face. You approached slowly, his back turned to you, leaving nothing but the small ponytail and the swallowing robes to be remembered in your mind for that moment. An urgency was evident in his frame, something you could feel and sense even before you had heard his voice, even before you had heard what he said. 

The very thing you hadn’t expected or wished to ever hear again. 

 “I’ve thought about her every day since we’ve parted, and she’s forgotten me completely.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. You felt confined to that one spot, even as the bustle continued around you. As people filtered in and out of the room, you couldn’t fucking move. You thought you would’ve been fine. Come nightfall, come the time when the lights within the large penthouse were dimmed, nothing but a few lamps allowing the city to really glow and the stars to be vibrant. Yet as you sat there, knees hugged closely to your chest, it still felt different, suddenly everything did. In a matter of one day, the mere act of staring up at the sky could no longer provide comfort. Especially as a certain dullness seemed to ignite within your chest that hadn’t been there before. 

“Master has gone to check the perimeter. The corridors are clear, too. How are things up here?” 

His voice was too much for you, somehow pulling you from the depths of your mind. You didn’t look away from the window. You wouldn’t, not even as his footsteps echoed along the floor, his frame so close then and towering over you. He was warm and always had been far too inviting for you. It was annoying. 

“Hey,” he spoke again, but you found yourself still unwilling to turn to speak, to give in. He huffed then in frustration, your silence something he never liked to hear. “Y/N?” 

You couldn’t take it, not if it were true. It had been one hundred years since the stars had last aligned, chosen a couple to use, to live through. Anakin was too much, too enticing, too beautiful, too powerful. He had control over you, the way you felt, what you thought about. It was dangerous. 

“It’s fine for you to do this in the temple. Ignore me, but here? We’re on a mission, on orders by the council itself. To ensure Padmé’s protection, you can’t do this. Not here,” he scolded, his tone suddenly hardening.

It seemed he had become short with you enough that you hadn’t even noticed the gentle flick of his wrist, but you felt it as soon as it happened. The unseen force of your face being turned towards him, harsher than you thought it would be. Forced to look at him, you glared, hating the way he used the force on you. His blue eyes stared down at you, tracing the etchings of your expression, the way it was anything but soft. His hand hung at his side, fingers outstretched, but they relaxed upon realizing how you felt, able to match it with the sudden pull in his chest. 

“She is fine,” you finally said, the words cold upon your tongue. 

His jaw tensed, “You’re upset with me.”

“I’m not,” you rebutted, “I just wish you wouldn’t handle me like that.” 

“What do you mean?” He said, jaw loosening slightly to let a smile appear; it was small, almost appearing like a smirk. His annoyance faded to be replaced by something else, and you couldn’t deny that his playfulness only made you angrier. 

“Stop it. Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” he chuckled amusingly. 

You stood then, feeling the confines start to bend, melting at the will that was his pretty eyes and bashful smile. Your frustrations were no match for Anakin Skywalker, especially when he looked at you like that. 

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you professed, reaching out to shove him back lightly, but his hands took hold of both your wrists, stopping the movement short. Suddenly, you felt trapped; the warmth of his fingertips on your skin was the only thing you could focus on. 

“Why?” he asked, a single brow raising with interest, “What did I do?” 

You shoved it all down then; the need to lean into his touch, to relax under his gaze, all of it, though it seemed the stars were in favor of such an action. Unless was this how it had always felt for everyone? This act of feeling completely under someone else’s control, as if the weight of the heart could defy any other human emotion. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Senator Amidala?” You ripped your hands free from his. 

“Really?” he asked, almost surprised that out of everything, it could be that, “That’s what you're upset about? That I hadn’t told you about Padmé?”

“Yes, you acted as if she were just any other Senator. That this mission isn’t any different.” 

“It’s not,” he replied, quicker than you thought he would. 

“Anakin, don’t do that. Don’t lie,” you sighed, shoulders deflating, all of your confidence leaving you, as well as the warmth that seemed to once appear in your chest at being able to sense what he felt, “You are quite fond of her.” 

That teasing on his end was gone then, his expression rigid, breath uneven under your eyes. He glanced around the room quickly, frustration forming again, one that appeared so much like it had earlier when he was arguing with Obi-Wan. Except this time, it was being directed towards you. “And so what if I am? What, you’re going to go and tell Master about this?” 

You shook your head, trying to hold it all together, trying to be so strong to block him out at that moment, to keep him from being able to feel just how much it had hurt you. You couldn’t even lie to yourself about it; it had pained you to hear the simple admission. “I don’t have to tell him anything, Anakin. It is quite obvious how you feel.” 

“Which is what?” he demanded from you, voice low but cold, “You and I both know the truth that is our fate. Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden, so even if I did feel whatever it is that I do, nothing could ever happen.” 

That furrow in his brow had reappeared as he scowled down at you. Suddenly, so much anger was apparent. You could feel it — in the way goosebumps arose on your skin, and your pulse seemed to match his. The way it had sped up. The vein in the side of his neck was erect as he glared once again, no longer just angry about the Senator’s wishes to not engage in his advances but the rules that had confined his life.

“But then there’s compassion,” you whispered, the words almost coming out as a mumble. 

His face twitched at your words, almost as if it could soothe and fix everything. The anger melted away, and you were met with the innocence that still filled his blue eyes. “Compassion?” 

“It’s essential to a Jedi’s life. Compassion, which could be defined as unconditional love. In some ways, some might say, we are encouraged to love.”

[notjustjavierpena]

This is happening right now, just so you know. We may be ignoring General Marcus Acacius canon lore but it’s only to give you arranged marriage and loss of virginity 😔🎀

Click read more for a snippet below:

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you.

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said.

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius.

[saintmuses]

❝𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮, 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨❞

Pairing:

Jackson Rippner x Reader

Summary:

She had thought about calling him pathetic, but something shifted inside of her mind, and the word dissolved from her tongue. A little butterfly effect that changed their ending.

Warning(s): SMUT. Slightly dub-con at first. Teeth markings. Praise kink. Fingering. P in V. Enemies to lovers. Slight possessive!Jackson. Minors, dni! Note: this was inspired by the scene where Jackson held Lisa against the wall before throwing her down the stairs. Plus I have a thing for Jackson’s biting kink 🌝.

Word Count: 1.8k

Jackson was behind her, too close, and he pressed her up against the wall in the hallway with both of his hands, both on the wall. Her face turned to the side against the white painted wall, and she could feel his chest rising and falling against her back.

"I don’t want you to touch me." Y/N hissed, exhaling against the cool wall.

She had hoped she would wake up from her nightmares when the sweet person she had met in the line turned into a blackmailing psychotic man who only crossed paths with her for an assignment that she knew he’d failed.

It was real.

"I'm afraid, sweetheart, I don't believe you," he murmured, his voice steady and calm before running his nose along her hair, and she felt an involuntary shiver roll up her spine at the deep tone in his voice.

"Why can’t you leave me alone since I did what you forced me to do?" she questioned vehemently with a little lie slipping through her lips since she had called Cynthia to get Senator Keefe out prior arriving to her house.

Glaring down the hallway as she felt him exhaling a soft chuckle into her hair. He then moved her hair to the side, nuzzling at the curve of her neck.

"Because it is my job to ensure the mission is completed, then I can leave you alone. The question is should I really leave you alone?" He asked huskily as he reached around to her front, and she could feel his fingers gripping her abdomen. She couldn't do anything but to let him guide her back into his body.

She attempted to pull away from him, pressing her fingers against her wall.

Without thinking of any consequences, she leaned forward enough to raise her lips to expose her teeth, and his sleeve were pushed back along with the blazer as he had laid it against the wall when she sunk her teeth into his forearm that was resting against the wall.

He made a noise almost like a grunt, and she could feel him exhaling harshly against the back of her neck. "You like to play dirty, don't you?" He chuckled; the sound rumbled in his chest which vibrated on her skin. "My girl," he said affectionately. "Don't you realize I fight dirty too." He hissed; a hint of dark promise crept into his voice.

She dug her teeth into his arm a little more, tightening her jaw when his hand slowly grazed her skin between her thighs. She was wearing black skirt which granted him easy access, but he had other ideas, he reached down with his unoccupied hand as it grazed the curve of her ass and gripped the elastic fabric around her waist to draw the material away from her body. She gasped when she felt the article of clothing sliding down her legs, leaving her in panties.

"So, you don’t want me?" Slowly, very gently, his hand rose further up into the juncture of her thighs and began to stroke her folds through the thin fabric that had her tightening her jaw even more. "Fucking you with my fingers?" A ragged sound made its way to her ear as he exhaled roughly. "Christ, Y/N. I could never get enough of you."

She felt like she could agree, nearly echoing the sentiment. Her knees shook when his fingers stroke over her skin, igniting a slow burning warmth that washed over her, and she leaned further into the wall.

She swallowed hard, biting down on his arm a little more firmly even as he stroked her, his fingers insistent against her folds, and she tasted slight rustic blood touching her tongue. She realized she had split his skin, and she felt somewhat smug because he inflicted the same to her before when he bashed his head against hers to knock her out in the airplane.

It was only fair.

She could feel a slight rumble against her back as he chuckled, "my girl." He appraised her.

His touch slipped in the panties, to finger further between her folds, finding moisture and spreading it almost lazily. He was breathing deeply in her ear, and she swore she could feel his heart hammering against her back. She was breathing heavily, too, her nostrils flaring as her mouth clamped tightly around the muscle of his arm.

Something between them had changed, which had him pressing her harder into the wall, and his hand wasn't gentle anymore, but she didn't care. Her body craved his touch, craved the heat and the coiling tightness in her belly, the way her knees were shaking and every nerve ending in her body seemed to shut down when his fingers flickered over her clit making her back arched into his chest.

She gasped, releasing the muscle of his arm to see the imprints of her teeth on his skin, reddening slightly. His arm disappeared from her vision, and she jumped slightly when she felt his fingers gripping the sides of her hips. 

She then flinched when she felt a sting around her thighs and hips, realizing he had ripped the fabric off her body.

He then pulled her hips backwards, allowing her to feel his hardened cock in the confines of his dress pants, and she shivered in anticipation.

She could hear the metal grating against metal, and she realized he was undoing his zipper. She shivered as her breathing came into tiny huffs of air to slow down her heart. 

He then shifted, moving her legs apart slightly with his. She felt his thick cock nudging between her thighs, and she could feel him breathing heavily at the sensation her increasingly wetness provided.

"Jackson," she whispered, not at all sure whether she was telling him to stop or begging to continue.

"Say my name again, Y/N." He growled against her neck; a low moan of his name torn from her lungs as the pleasure rippled throughout her body when he thrusted into her.

"Good girl," he said softly before pulling back slightly, his voice slithered across her skin, close to her ear. Something inside her quivered, though she tried to ignore the sensation.

She gasped against the wood when he thrusted back into her gently. His thick cock stretching her that she knew she wouldn't be able to find anyone to compare to.

She pushed her head into the plaster slightly when he shifted his angle, and she could feel his cock brushing against the cervix that had her gasping more in pleasure and a twinge with pain.

He then pushed her off of his cock, and she immediately protested due to the loss of being filled. 

He turned her around and lifted her up by her waist before carrying her over to the bedroom nearby. Luckily, it was a bedroom assigned for guests.

He dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, making the bed springs squeaking slightly. He removed his blazer, throwing it somewhere in the room before unbuttoning his dress shirt. Once that ended up on the floor as well, he reached behind his head to grab the fabric of his shirt to pull it off, and he allowed his dress pants to fall to the floor before kicking them to the side after removing his shoes. She looked at him, analyzing his body before he got on top of her, his knees were on both sides of her hips, and he leaned back on her thighs.

He reached for the hem of her dress shirt, pulling upward to reveal her white laced bra cupping her breasts, and he sat on her thighs once again after she was free from the confines of her shirt. He then slid his palms up her bare sides of her abdomen before reaching for her bra.

She released a shaky breath as she arched into his touch as he pushed her bra up and over her breasts, his hands cupped her breasts, gripping them in a possessive grasp. "Mine." He rasped before leaning down to capture a nipple in his mouth.

Arching her back after feeling his tongue swirling around her nipple, and she inhaled sharply when he sucked the skin into his mouth long enough to form a discolored spot. The torture was delicious, slow but deliberate when he continued to mark her skin with discolored spots.

A trace of a smirk hovered at the corners of his lips as he moved away from her thighs to the side of her leg after withdrawing his mouth from the swell of her breasts.

He pushed her legs upward until it was enough for him to nestle between her thighs, draping her thighs on top of his as he sat back on his knees. She gasped lightly when his fingers tangled in her strands, gripping it slightly with curled fingers, tilting her head forward by his urge, putting her elbows on the mattress, then she moved slightly, and she could see his cock pulsing slightly. 

She felt the heat of tendrils curling at the base of her spine, curling all around her as she bit down on her lips when he gripped the base of his cock with a curl of his fist. 

She could see him staring at her with a heavy amount of lust in his depths. "You're so beautiful," he shuddered before moving forward.

She inhaled sharply when he pushed his cock against her clit, the feeling burned her from the inside out. Before she could exhale, the air caught in her throat when he leaned down to smash his lips on hers with intensified raw passion. His grip in her hair tightened when he thrusted forward, and she released a loud gasp that edged on a moan when she felt him filling her up in every way.

Her neck arched when he pulled her head back after releasing her lips as he trailed his lips down to her jaw, revealing her neck to his hungry gaze. "God, I'm never going to let you go." He groaned slightly as her walls clenched around his thick cock. She shuddered when he withdrew from her momentarily before shoving his cock back into her with a brutal strength.

No one was able to make her feel like this. 

So hot, and dangerous. 

She cried out in pleasure and pain when she felt his teeth making its way in the spot of her neck, and she gripped his back with her fingers, digging in slightly when he tightened his jaw as he thrusted back into her.

His thrusts were so powerful that she knew she'd be sore for days and nights. 

She slid her fingers down his slightly damp skin of his spine, slowing down as she reached for his ass to pull him deeper into her.

She could not get enough. 

"Why me?" She gasped when he withdrew from her neck, she could see a little speck of blood -her blood- brimming around his lips before he leaned down to kiss her.

He exhaled into her mouth, sharing air with her as he slammed his hips into her. 

"Because you're mine."

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Fallen Order request is Aura for @nebulousdaughterofchaos

“No more, Padawan.”

Moving slow, breathing with care, Cal stands and meets his master’s gaze. “I’m okay,” he says, hoping he won’t throw up as he speaks. “I can carry on.”

He’s trembling and he doesn’t know why, cold despite the summer heat, dripping with sweat. Emotions buzz around his head, a cloud of flies eager to choke him. None of them belong to him, and yet they stick around and upset/enrage/amuse/scare him anyway.

“No.” Master Tapal crouches down despite the muddy ground. “You have witnessed enough of the past. We know what happened here. You need not endure more.”

He can! He must. “Master, I – ”

“No, Cal. Enough.”

Shoulders slumping, Cal clenches his jaw to hold in the tears. So that’s it. He’s not good enough. He’s letting everyone down – Master Tapal, the clones, the people who once lived in this cratered city. If he can’t find out where the Separatists took the planet’s rulers, what use is he at all? He’s a Jedi; it is his duty to carry on. All around, the smouldering wreckage sings to him, a howling chorus desperate for release.

He’s the only one who can hear it, see it, do anything about it. If that means watching people dying, so be it. They’re… they’re one with the Force now, right? That’s how it works? It’s okay. He can do this.

Except his eyes aren’t behaving like they should. They’re a little blurry, and he thinks maybe there’s a speck of dust stuck in one of them. It fizzes and pops, a silent lightning storm for one. A thick, cresting wave of nausea washes over him and taking a slow, deep breath does little to stop it.

Master Tapal looks at him, concerned. “You are unwell,” he says.

Cal’s hands curl into fists. “I’m fine!” He turns, ready to march away, only he can’t see. He can’t see out of one eye, and that’s messing everything up, because he’s crashed into a shattered wall and –

Master Tapal’s hand wraps gently around his shoulder. “No, Cal. You are in pain. A migraine. You have worked hard today, honoured the people who lived here. We will return to base, and you will get some rest.”

Rest? Cal shakes his head (bad idea). He doesn’t need to rest; he needs to help. “I’m okay, Master.” He holds himself tall (which is tiny, compared to Master Tapal). “I am a Jedi. I can find the right echo.”

The Force squiggles and squirms around his master. Cal waits for the inevitable.

“Alright,” Master Tapal says instead. “Focus. Try to find an echo of that carries a sense of duty. A ruler may feel fear, yes, but they will also carry the weight of their people.”

“Like you do for all the clones?” Cal asks, fingers pressed to his temples.

“Just so,” Master Tapal says.

“Okay.” Cal stares down the street, even though he can only see one side of it.

“Your eyes can deceive you,” Master Tapal reminds him.

Maybe that’s why one of them is so fuzzy right now – it’s lying to him. Never mind. He closes them, does his best to ignore the whirling lightning coiling in the darkness. He needs to let the Force guide him to the right echo, the echo of a leader, one that will carry fear but push it away with their sense of duty. The Force takes him out of his own pain and leads him on, over rubble until there, on the ground, a discarded datapad. Meeting notes. He crouches down, touches it.

The droids lead the whole assembly out of their chambers. “Where are you taking us?” she demands.

“That information is not relevant,” the large B1 intones.

“It is very relevant to me and the other senators,” she says. “What good is keeping it secret? There is no one for us to tell.”

“Your logic is sound,” the droid says. “We are taking you to our processing plant on the northern continent. We will wait there until a ship arrives to transport you to your next destination.”

Cal launches out of the memory. Hands grip him, and he’s glad, because his eyes are lying worse than ever with their swirling, flashing lights. “Master! I know where they are! The northern continent. They have a processing plant there. I – ” Pain stabs into his skull. He catches his forehead in his hands. “We should hurry.”

“I will, I promise,” Master Tapal says. “But you are going back to the outpost where you will see a medic for this migraine. Failure to do so will lead to disciplinary action, am I clear?”

Sighing, because maybe he is a tiny bit relieved he won’t have to go any further, Cal nods. His head hurts so much even his hair is tender. “Yes, Master.”

“Good,” Master Tapal leads him away. “You have done well, Padawan. Very well.”

It’s hours later when Master Tapal returns from the northern continent, the planetary leadership with him. Cal’s head hurts a lot less now (Leafy gave him the good meds), and he’s happy to see the echo paid off.

And people used to tell him psychometry made him a bad, useless Jedi.

Master Tapal rests a hand on his shoulder. “You have done well, Cal.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Anne Applebaum :: @anneapplebaum

This was the moment that mattered. Trump's political movement relies on total impunity for liars, and mostly gets it. The lies bind them together, cement their feeling of power.

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 1, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 02, 2024

More than 45,000 U.S. dock workers went on strike today for the first time since 1977, nearly 50 years ago. The International Longshoremen's Association union, which represents 45,000 port workers, is negotiating with the United States Maritime Alliance (USMX) employer group over a new contract. The strike will shut down 36 ports from Maine to Texas, affecting about half the country’s shipping. Analysts from J.P. Morgan estimate that the strike could cost the U.S. economy about $5 billion a day. The strikers have said they will continue to unload military cargo.

Dockworkers want a 77% increase in pay over six years and better benefits, while USMX has said it has offered to increase wages by nearly 50%, triple employer contributions to retirement plans, and improve health care options. In the Washington Post, economics columnist Heather Long pointed out that the big issue at stake is the automation that threatens union jobs.

Although the strike threatens to slow the economy depending on how long it lasts, President Joe Biden has refused requests to force the strikers back to work, reiterating his support for collective bargaining. He noted that ocean carriers have made record profits since the pandemic—sometimes in excess of 800% over prepandemic levels—and that executive compensation and shareholder profits have reflected those profits. “It’s only fair that workers, who put themselves at risk during the pandemic to keep ports open, see a meaningful increase in their wages as well,” Biden said in a statement.  

In the presidential contest, the Trump-Vance campaign is trying to preserve its false narrative. In Wisconsin today, Trump accused Vice President Harris of murder—although he appeared to get confused about the victim—and claimed that she has a phone app on which the heads of cartels can get information about where to drop undocumented immigrants. He also said that Kim Jong Un of North Korea is trying to kill him.

When asked if he should have been tougher on Iran after it launched ballistic missiles in 2020 on U.S. forces in Iraq, leaving more than 100 U.S. soldiers injured, Trump rejected the idea that soldiers with traumatic brain injuries were actually hurt. He said “they had a headache” and said he thought the attack “was a very nice thing because they didn’t want us to retaliate.”

Trump also backed out of a scheduled interview with 60 Minutes that correspondent Scott Pelley was slated to conduct on Thursday. 60 Minutes noted that for more than 50 years, the show has invited both campaigns to appear on the broadcast before the election and this year, both campaigns agreed to an interview. Trump’s spokesperson complained that 60 Minutes “insisted on doing live fact checking, which is unprecedented.” Vice President Kamala Harris will participate in her interview as planned. 

The campaign’s resistance to independent fact checking of their false narrative came up in tonight’s vice presidential debate on CBS between Minnesota governor Tim Walz, Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris’s running mate, and Ohio senator J.D. Vance, running mate for Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump. CBS Evening News anchor Norah O'Donnell and Face the Nation moderator and chief foreign affairs correspondent Margaret Brennan moderated the debate.

Walz’s goal in the debate was to do no harm to Vice President Harris’s campaign, and he achieved that. Vance’s goal was harder: to give people a reason to vote for Donald Trump. It is doubtful he moved any needles there. 

The moments that did stand out in the debate put a spotlight on Vance’s tenuous relationship with the truth. When Vance lied again about the migrants in Springfield, Ohio, who are in the United States legally, Brennan added: "Just to clarify for our viewers, Springfield, Ohio, does have a large number of Haitian migrants who have legal status."

Vance responded: "The rules were that you guys weren't going to fact-check.”

There were two other big moments of the evening, both based in lies. First, Vance claimed that Trump, who tried repeatedly to repeal or weaken the Affordable Care Act, “saved” it. Then, Walz asked Vance directly if Trump lost the 2020 presidential election. Vance refused to answer, saying he is “focused on the future,” and warned that “the threat of censorship” is the real problem in the U.S. 

Walz said: “That’s a damning non-answer.” 

Former chair of the Republican Party Michael Steele said after the debate: “I don't care where you are on policy…. If you cannot in 2024 answer that question, you are unfit for office.”

It was significant that Vance tried to avoid saying either that Trump won in 2020—a litmus test for MAGA Republicans—or that he lost, a reflection of reality. While this debate probably didn’t move a lot of voters for the 2024 election, what it did do was make Vance look like a far more viable candidate than his running mate. Waffling on the Big Lie seemed designed to preserve his candidacy for future elections.

It seems likely that the message behind Vance’s smooth performance wasn’t lost on Trump. As the debate was going on, Trump posted: “The GREAT Pete Rose just died. He was one of the most magnificent baseball players ever to play the game. He paid the price! Major League Baseball should have allowed him into the Hall of Fame many years ago. Do it now, before his funeral!” 

Former Cincinnati Reds baseball player Rose died yesterday at 83. 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[lostintransist]

Liaison | 3 - Costco Is Not For The Weak

Check out the part 1 or part 2.

Wandering into the kitchen on a break, you let your thoughts drift back to the second week on the job. You couldn’t work on your own yet and Kate had to be off-site for a meeting, leaving you with nothing to do. She had left you a book of names and faces to memorize but that tedious task did not appeal. That day Gaz tapped you to go to Costco with him and Harold, the receptionist.

“Come on,” he cajoled, “We need someone who can lift heavy things.”

Gaz’s easy manners and quick smile helped you feel at ease, and you liked Harold. He reminded you of what you expected it to be like having a grandpa.

“Fine, but I will be buying things I need for the office too.”

Gaz leveraged himself up using the desk. He had said when he picked you up from the airport that he had taken some shrapnel to the thigh and Doc wouldn’t clear him until PT said he could run on it.

“What kind of things would you need for the office?” He offers you a hand up.

You decline with a shake of your head and uncurl yourself from the office chair.

“Well, a better office chair for one. But I will be taking a lot of phone calls and I need something to do while those are going on so I figured I could make cookies, breads, and the like. The kneading dough will be a good way to avoid yelling at senators.”

Gaz let out a bark of laughter, “Good luck with that.”

Harold drove them to Costco, navigating the streets like a veteran. He chatted away about his garden, the growing conditions, and the soil’s acidity. Soaking in his voice’s warm timbre, you learn more about plants than you did before the drive started. You and Harold both flash a membership card, much to his delight. You spend the remainder of the trip pointing out the differences from a US Costco as Harold and even Gaz had many questions.

Harold, upon hearing of your penchant for baking, bought a full set of bowls, spoons, and baking trays.

“My late wife loved to bake,” Harold stares down sadly at the bread tin in his hand. “She’s been gone seven years and it still feels like she will walk through the front door with a smile and an apology for being late.”

“How long were you married, Harold?” Gaz asks as he rearranges the cart for the third time.

“Forty-two years with my Sharron, I don’t know that ninety years would have been enough.” The longing in his voice moved you to tears.

Gaz, aghast and concerned loudly points out the fact you are crying.

“Why are you crying?”

“Oh just leave me alone Gaz, it’s the Costco prices getting to me. Costco is not for the weak.” You fan your eyes, attempting to dry out the tears. “Harold, what is your favorite thing your wife would bake?”

“Peach pie, dear are you sure you are okay?” He pulls you into a side hug.

“I’ll be okay. Something about how much you love your wife just caught me in a tender spot is all.” A watery laugh and a sniffle seem to reassure both men. You take the handkerchief that Harold offers and wipe at your nose. “I’ll return this once it is clean. Now we have a lot left to buy so let’s go.”

The trip took several hours between the slow walking speed of Gaz and Harold and the excessive list Harold had. The cabinets and fridge were kept full as many members of the team would roll in hungry off jobs and would often sleep in some of the side offices set up for that reason. You hadn’t seen any of them yet but were told they were locked from the inside and indicated if they were in use.

“We all work such wonky schedules that sometimes a nap is needed to get through the paperwork,” Gaz groused.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.”

The side eye Gaz sent you said you would be using it, and often. He turned out to be right.

Checkout went smoothly, if a bit long. When the total rang up on the screen the comma caused you to wince. Harold swiped the company credit card without a hint of concern. With how much money the company made on a single man job you shouldn’t have worried.

The drive back to the office had been a tight fit. Once the boot of the car had been filled Harold instructed you in his best grandpa voice to get buckled in and he would load things in for you to hold. He did the same to Gaz.

“That’s it, Harold, you can’t wait so long between trips,” he let out a heavy oof as a box of protein drinks is set on his lap.

“Mr. Gaz I am an old man and unless you can convince Mr. Shepard to let me have the items delivered I must wait until someone can come with me,” Harold chides him gently.

You let out a small snort. Gaz flicks your ear while Harold is making another run to the cart at the back of the car.

“I will bite you,” you snarl at him.

You and Gaz had clicked into a sibling relationship so quickly it could be called concerning. It probably came from how he would sit and bother you as you were trying to work between his physical therapy appointments. He had broken three pens, a stapler, and a staple puller. The last one still didn’t make sense to you. How does one break such a simple tool? One of the extra purchases included a collection of small baskets that you would fill with fidgets for Gaz and others to play with.

Harold shut the doors and returned the cart. When he settled into the driver’s seat you caught sight of the time.

“I can help get as much in as I can, but I have a meeting with Kate in about forty-five minutes. Anything you can’t put away before you leave I can handle after my meeting. Anything that is for me if you wouldn’t mind leaving it on the counter. I can clear out a cabinet for my baking supplies.”

“I can do that for you dear, Gaz and I can handle moving everything in, we have a flat trolley for trips like this,” Harold replied.

Part 2 | AO3 (Up to chapter 27 as of this post)

Masterlist

[kanansdume]

I feel like we can move away from Leia's main flaw being "anger" and the constant comparisons to Anakin. We can get DEEPER into Leia.

Leia's main flaws to me are that she can sometimes get a little imperious to the point of being condescending, she's fairly slow to trust people (some of which can obviously be explained by her Force sensitivity these days), and that she lets her identity get so wrapped up in the Rebellion that denies parts of herself to the point of maybe causing harm to others she doesn't even realize she's hurting with her distance.

She's someone who's had to learn how to hide beneath a mask for most of her life, masks of different kinds, sometimes the haughty condescension of royalty, sometimes the submissiveness of a loyal Senator, sometimes the grounded determination of the heir to the Father of the Rebellion. She probably relatively rarely gets to be entirely herself because it's just not always safe to do so, there's always something else to be done, someone else who needs her.

She's inherited Bail Organa's righteous passion that guides her every step, a passion to help the people of the galaxy with every atom in her body, and a knowledge that she is not more important than the cause she serves.

She is not, truly, all that similar to her sperm donor aside from some truly skin deep aspects of her. And we can dig deeper into Leia Organa than just "she's angry" now, I think. She's earned it.