#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.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[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.

.

.

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Emperor’s Gaze

Pairing: Emperor Geta x reader

Warnings : Fluff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I couldn’t get Geta out of my mind so… here we are 🤭🤭

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist Part 2

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The palace was a labyrinth of marble corridors and gilded chambers, each corner a testament to Rome’s wealth and power. For those who served its rulers, it was also a maze of rules, where a single misstep could lead to ruin. You had learned this early, keeping your head low and your presence quieter still.

Your role as a maid was one of humble necessity—sweeping the floors, polishing silver, ensuring the tapestries hung just so. Others gossiped about the palace’s intrigues, but you avoided such folly. It was better not to know.

Tonight, however, was different. The air was heavy with expectation. The emperor himself, Geta, had returned from a victorious campaign, and the palace was alive with revelry. You had hoped to avoid the feast entirely, yet a last-minute order sent you to the grand hall with a pitcher of wine in hand.

The moment you stepped inside, the scale of the event hit you like a wave. Braziers cast a golden glow over the sprawling chamber, their flames reflected in polished bronze shields mounted on the walls. Senators and noblemen lounged on silk-draped couches, while musicians played softly in the background. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine hung thick in the air.

At the far end of the hall, seated atop a raised platform, was the man himself. Emperor Geta.

He looked every bit the ruler of an empire. His dark crimson robes, edged in gold, flowed around him like a mantle of fire. The laurels on his head gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, but it was his presence that truly dominated the room. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the hall with a mix of boredom and subtle amusement, his dark eyes flickering over each guest as if weighing their worth.

You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the floor as you approached the head of the table, clutching the pitcher so tightly your knuckles turned white. The clamor of conversation around you seemed deafening, yet you moved unnoticed—just as you preferred.

Until you didn’t.

As you leaned forward to refill the emperor’s goblet, your trembling hands betrayed you. The lip of the pitcher brushed his fingers, and before you could pull back, he spoke.

“Stop.”

The single word was quiet, yet it silenced the room. A hush fell over the feast as all eyes turned toward the emperor—and you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the pitcher still in hand. Slowly, hesitantly, you straightened.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a request.

For a moment, you debated disobedience. Maybe if you bowed deeply enough, he’d let you slip away unnoticed. But something in his tone—firm yet curious—compelled you to obey. You lifted your gaze, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

When your eyes met his, the world seemed to shrink.

His face was sharp, regal, yet there was a warmth in his deep brown eyes that you hadn’t expected. He studied you in silence, his gaze moving over your face with the precision of a man who missed nothing. Your breath hitched, your pulse racing under the weight of his scrutiny.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “Y/N, my lord.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, the syllables slow and deliberate, as though savoring them. His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How long have you served in my palace?”

“Two years, my lord.”

His head tilted slightly, as if considering your answer. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. You felt the stares of the assembled nobles boring into you, some curious, others envious.

“Two years,” he mused, almost to himself. “And yet, I’ve never noticed you before.”

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and confusion. Was that an insult? A compliment? You didn’t dare ask.

Geta’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, then he leaned back in his chair, dismissing you with a slight wave of his hand. “You may go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Bowing deeply, you retreated as quickly as decorum allowed, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty pitcher. The whispers began before you even reached the doors.

Back in the safety of the servants’ quarters, you pressed your back against the cool stone wall, your heart still racing. What had just happened? Why had the emperor singled you out in such a public way?

Unbeknownst to you, Geta’s thoughts lingered on the timid maid with the downcast eyes and steady voice. In a hall filled with Rome’s finest, it was you who had caught his attention.

And he wasn’t the type to let such curiosity go unanswered.

——

The next few days passed in a haze of unease. Though you tried to immerse yourself in your duties, the memory of the emperor’s gaze lingered, as vivid as if it had happened moments ago. Whispers of that night followed you through the palace—servants and guards speculating about why the emperor had spoken to you, of all people.

You did your best to ignore them. You were a maid, nothing more. Whatever had sparked his interest that night would surely fade.

Or so you thought.

It began subtly at first. A guard would appear in the kitchens as you worked, delivering a cryptic message: “The emperor has requested his chambers be attended to by Y/N.” The head housekeeper, though confused by the unusual request, complied without question. After all, one did not defy the emperor’s wishes.

And so, for three mornings in a row, you found yourself alone in his private quarters. The rooms were grand, draped in rich fabrics and adorned with treasures from across the empire. Yet they felt oddly… personal. A small desk near the window held stacks of parchment, the ink-stained quills hinting at late-night writings. A sword, its hilt worn with use, rested casually against the wall.

The first two mornings passed without incident. You worked quickly, cleaning and tidying without lingering, half expecting the emperor to appear at any moment. But he didn’t.

Until the third morning.

You had just finished smoothing the folds of his bed’s silk coverlet when you heard the door open behind you. Your breath caught, and you turned slowly, clutching the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

There he was, dressed in a simple tunic, his firey hair slightly tousled as though he’d only just risen. Without the laurels and formal attire, he looked younger, almost approachable. Almost.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice warm yet carrying the weight of command.

“My lord,” you replied, bowing deeply. Your hands twisted the hem of your apron nervously as you straightened, unsure of what to do or say.

He stepped further into the room, his gaze locked on you as if he were trying to solve a riddle. “Tell me, do you always avoid looking at me, or is it just since the feast?”

The question startled you. You glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away again. “I…I did not wish to presume, my lord.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he crossed the room to stand before you. “Presume what? That I’m a man who enjoys being ignored?”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Was he teasing you? Testing you?

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something quieter, more genuine. “In a palace filled with people clamoring for my attention, you shy away from it. Why?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because attention in this palace is… dangerous, my lord.”

He tilted his head, considering your answer. “Wise,” he murmured. “But perhaps unwarranted.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, surprised by his response. His expression was unreadable, but there was no trace of mockery in his tone.

“Dangerous or not,” he continued, “I find myself drawn to you. And I’ve never been one to ignore my instincts.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. The room felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of his words.

“Tell me,” he said, stepping closer, “what do you think of me?”

Your heart leapt into your throat. What was he asking? Why was he asking? You couldn’t afford to offend him, yet honesty seemed just as perilous.

“I think…” you began cautiously, your eyes darting to the floor, “that you are a great emperor, my lord. Respected. Feared.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught you off guard. “Feared,” he repeated, shaking his head. “And are you afraid of me, Y/N?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Geta reached out then, his hand brushing your chin. Gently, he tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, unexpected.

“You don’t need to fear me,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “Not when I intend to protect you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your mind spinning. Protect you? From what? From whom? You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the two of you suspended in the quiet intimacy of that moment.

Then a knock at the door shattered the silence.

Geta’s hand dropped, his expression hardening as he turned toward the door. “Enter.”

A servant appeared, bowing low. “My lord, the council awaits your presence.”

Geta nodded, his composure returning as swiftly as it had slipped. He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering. “We will speak again, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the room, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and anticipation.

——

The following days passed in a strange blur. You carried out your duties with the same diligence as always, yet your mind was consumed by the emperor’s words: *You don’t need to fear me. Not when I intend to protect you.*

What had he meant by that? Protect you from what? And why had he chosen you, out of all the people in the palace, to share such a promise?

The whispers among the staff had only grown louder. They noticed, of course—the way the emperor’s gaze lingered on you when he passed through the halls, the way he seemed to seek you out in moments when no one else dared approach. You tried to ignore it, but the weight of their eyes was impossible to escape.

It was on a quiet afternoon, as you scrubbed the marble floors of the palace’s western wing, that your solitude was once again interrupted. The sound of boots echoed down the corridor, drawing closer with each passing moment. You didn’t look up, assuming it was a guard or another servant on an errand.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name, spoken in that familiar voice, sent a shiver down your spine. You froze, your hands stilling against the wet cloth. Slowly, you turned to see him standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed simply again, his tunic and cloak free of the heavy embellishments he wore in public.

“My lord,” you said, bowing your head quickly, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest.

He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble. “Is this how you spend your afternoons? Scrubbing floors?”

You dared a small smile, though you kept your eyes lowered. “It’s honest work, my lord.”

His expression softened. “Honest, perhaps. But a waste of your talents, I think.”

You blinked, startled. “My… talents?”

He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to your level. “Do you know what intrigues me about you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, your breath caught somewhere between confusion and anticipation.

“You see things others don’t,” he said, his voice low. “You understand the dangers of this palace, the way power twists and turns. But you also carry yourself with grace—humility. It’s rare.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Was he testing you again? Trying to unsettle you? Yet there was no trace of malice in his tone, only sincerity.

“I don’t belong in your world, my lord,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t. And perhaps that’s why I find you so… refreshing.”

His words hung between you, their weight heavy with unspoken meaning. You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, your heart racing in a way you couldn’t control.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, standing and offering his hand.

Your eyes widened. “My lord, I—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve spent enough time scrubbing these floors. Humor me for a while.”

Hesitating only a moment, you placed your hand in his. His grip was steady, warm, and surprisingly gentle as he helped you to your feet. He led you through the palace, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.

The halls grew quieter the further you went, until you found yourself in a secluded garden, hidden away behind towering marble walls. The air was cool, the scent of blooming jasmine filling your lungs. A small fountain trickled in the center, its soft gurgle the only sound.

“This is my favorite place,” he said, releasing your hand and turning to face you. “Away from the politics, the noise. No one comes here without my permission.”

You looked around, awed by the serene beauty of the space. It was unlike anything you’d seen in the palace—a haven untouched by the chaos of court.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the fountain.

“Because I want you to understand something,” he said, stepping closer. “In this palace, you’re right—attention can be dangerous. But it can also be a shield.”

You frowned, confused. “A shield?”

“Yes.” His eyes locked onto yours, their intensity stealing your breath. “As long as my attention is on you, no one else will dare harm you. They won’t dare use you to get to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words. Was this his way of protecting you? Claiming you as his, if only to keep the vultures at bay?

“But why me?” you asked, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. “I’m just a maid. Why would you risk your reputation for someone like me?”

His lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. “Because you’re the first person in years to see me as a man, not just an emperor.”

The weight of his confession left you speechless. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You don’t have to answer now,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur. “But when the time comes, I want you to trust me. Will you try?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. His smile grew, a flicker of warmth crossing his otherwise guarded expression.

“Good,” he said, stepping back. “Now, come. There’s more to this garden I want to show you.”

And as you followed him deeper into the hidden sanctuary, you couldn’t help but feel that, for the first time, the world might not be such a dangerous place after all.

Next

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[tashibum]

Hiya! Just read your Geta fic To Own But Not To Share and it's just ahhh!!! The plot so strong and filthy and your writing just so good I started wondering if you considered continuing this story. Another part maybe with Geta summoning her to his chambers, Caracalla intruding and mocking them, but Geta knows how to show him that she's all his in front of his brother... Just an idea though 🫣

It’s not exactly what you asked for because for some reason, I immediately imagined them in a dining room. But here’s a little side piece to the main series.

(Food play, anal play(no penetration), exhibitionism, begging) 2.3k words

—-

Variety Is The Spice Of Life

Slaves knew everything that happened in the palace. They were treated like furniture, so the emperors paid them no mind when they spoke or acted vulgarly. They knew of the men Caracalla invited into his chambers, and the jugs of oil he requested. They knew he favoured both sexes and indulged in private orgies without inviting his brother. They heard Geta cry whenever his brother lashed out at him. They stood there with glasses filled with wine as the twin emperors got their cocks sucked by concubines the senates sent over to try to get in their good graces.

So when Geta ordered all of the slaves to leave the dining room, they knew he wanted to fuck you with no one watching.

He made you sit in his lap as you fed each other food that was prepared and left out for the emperors to graze on all day. It started with grapes, then slices of melon, then blackberries. Geta bit into it, and rubbed the remaining fruit all over your neck. He then licked up the dark liquid from your skin, making you laugh at the contact.

“I want to do that,” you requested and bit into a berry. You rubbed it over his ear lobe and his jawline. The emperor liked being held, so when you held onto his arms as you sucked on his earlobe, then his chin, he let out a pathetic moan.

When the grand door to the room opened, you both immediately stopped and turned to look at the intrusion. Geta was prepared to sanction whichever slave ignored his request for privacy, and his annoyance did not fade when his brother walked through the door with his pet monkey on his shoulder.

“What are you doing in here?” Geta asked, not hiding his frustration.

“Dundus is hungry,” he replied innocently.

The monkey hopped of his shoulder and walked towards the dried meats spread out on platters.

Geta shook his head and continued to kiss down your neck. It was different than before though as he now pulled your loose dress down and exposed one of your breasts. While his kisses continued, Geta glanced over at his brother to make sure that he was watching, and he was. His gaze was transfixed on your nipple. He knew his older brother had a thing for breasts, so he pressed on the underneath of your boob to make it jiggle.

Caracalla knew what his brother was doing, and tried not to give him any satisfaction.

“Her breasts are tiny. Hardly worth shaking them about,” he insulted.

Geta knew he was lying because his brother continued to stare at you. He tugged at your clothing and you knew he wanted to take it off. So you moved your hips off him to pull the dress off over your head. You sat back down on Emperor Geta’s lap completely naked and let your hands rest at your sides so he had total access to you.

He held the underneath of your breasts in his hands, as though inspecting the weight.

“I don’t know brother. They seem plentiful to me,” claimed Geta before placing one of your nipples in his mouth. His actions were slow, like he was giving your nipple a sensual kiss.

“You love getting them sucked, don’t you dear?” He teased.

You nodded and looked down a him. He gave you a devilish smile, informing you that he was putting on a show for his brother.

Caracalla walked towards you and knelt down next to Geta’s chair so he was eye-level with your free nipple.

“I fear you may be right, brother. They do seem………plentiful,” he gushed, staring at the nipple not in his brother’s mouth. He raised his hand to touch your breast, but Geta moved his hand to hold it, not letting his brother touch you.

“She is mine, brother! Do not forget,” he warned.

You ran your fingers through Geta’s hair, stopping when you reached his golden laurels. You tugged them out and threw them on the table behind you, so you could scratch his scalp without anything in the way.

When Geta thought he had tortured his brother with your breasts enough, he picked you up and laid you on the edge of the table. He knelt on the floor and spread your legs by your knees. The wetness that grew when licking and kissing the emperor was now on display to the brothers.

“My body is a vessel. Pray to Venus, and her actions will be done through me,” Geta claimed, staring at your sex.

You felt uncomfortable praying in front of others, especially praying about sex. But you could not question the emperor. He was mighty and chosen by the gods to be their living counterpart on Earth.

“Dear Venus, may you guide the emperor,” you began, not knowing what to say.

Geta leant forwards and gave a wet kiss to your mound. Then worked lower to lap at your core.

“Guide the emperor to my clitoris. May his tongue swirl around it.”

Geta smiled against you, loving the power he had over you. He focused on your clit, kissing it and sucking it.

“Thank you, Venus. He -uhhh- he just entered a finger inside me. Thank you for knowing what I need.”

Geta caught your eye and held the contact as he manoeuvred a second finger inside you.

“Yes Venus!” You moaned out. “Assist Geta in angling his fingers inside me. The way you always do.”

Caracalla’s heart thumped hard in his chest. He wanted you desperately, yet his brother was selfish and did not allow it. He knew he would be much more generous. If he was with a woman as spectacular as you, he would want to share you with Geta, that’s how much he cared about his brother.

You looked over at Caracalla and spotted a very clear tent in his tunic. Geta saw you break his eye contact to look at him, so hummed on your clit to get your attention, the vibrations made your focus go back onto him.

“Venus, I’m so close to orgasm. Please, don’t let Geta stop. He must continue as he is for my climax,” you cried out.

His fingers went faster in you, and soon your body twitched on the table as you fell apart from Geta’s touch. Your thighs shut around Geta’s head and your gaze fell back on his brother. Caracalla now touched his thigh as he watched you convulse.

Geta removed his toga and let it fall on the stone floor. He spat down onto his dick and gave it a few strokes before lining up with your entrance. He pushed it in slightly, then leaned both of his arms to either side of your head. His head was now directly above yours.

“Look at me,” he instructed. You nodded and he pushed the rest of himself inside you. The sudden fullness made you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to lay on your body. Geta nodded against your neck, knowing how the pleasure felt.

“It’s incredible. The way your body is so tight, yet lets me in so easily,” Geta amazed. He wanted to brag in front of his brother, knowing he would never feel you.

Caracalla approached yours and Geta’s entwined bodies. He carefully placed his hand in between your hips and slid it down to your pussy lips. Geta slowed his movements and stopped leaning his weight on you to see what his brother was doing. His fingers spread your labia apart.

“You are neglecting her clit. She is a magnificent woman. She deserves all the pleasure we can give her,” stated Caracalla. He knew that the chances of penetrating you were slim, but he could suck on you.

“She is still sensitive from the orgasm I gave her,” he refuted.

Caracalla shook his head and walked away to the side of the room, not believing how self-centred his brother was being. Pleasure was meant to be shared, yet Geta would rather you lay there bored than let his brother pleasure you.

“She grips me so well,” boasted Geta, continuing his thrusts again. You wrapped your legs around his torso to keep him close to you. You wished he spoke to you and not his brother, but he seemed more intent in sparking jealousy in his brother than passion in you.

You reached up and stroked his cheek, “I need more of you.”

“Of course, my dear. I feel the same,” he agreed.

Geta pulled out of you and turned you around so you leant over the large dining table. You stretched out your arms over the table and he slapped his cock against your hole. You couldn’t distract yourself from Caracalla’s presence. Geta may be used to having sex in front of others, but you were not. You looked at him as Geta pushed his way inside you again, biting your lip as you were stretched apart. It made Caracalla’s breath catch in his throat. He could leave the room, but he wanted to see you. He wanted his brother to finally grant him permission to fuck you.

You felt Geta lean down behind you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Just like that. You’re always so good. Such a good girl,” he praised, quiet enough for your ears only.

His cock felt magnificent, as though Venus really did use him as a vessel. When he made you feel this good, you wanted to do anything he asked of you. If he wanted to make his brother jealous, you would help him.

“He is hitting all my spots,” you moaned, still looking at the smaller brother.

Caracalla had begun to stroke himself underneath his tunic, using his pre-cum to ease the glide of his fist. Geta’s hands moved your hips to move your body as he thrust at a steady pace. You noticed that Caracalla’s fist now match the same pace as his brother’s hips.

Geta suddenly pulled completely out of you and walked around the edge of the table. Caracalla thought this was finally his moment. His brother had left you, leaving you to finally be railed by him. He was already hard, all he had to do was sink inside you. He started to walk towards you, but Geta quickly returned to his spot behind you before his brother could get near your exposed body. He had picked up a strawberry and bit off a small piece at the tip of it. You thought he would rub it along your spine, so were very shocked when it came into contact with your puckered hole.

“Oh brother, look at this!” Geta exclaimed, calling his brother over.

Caracalla moved to stand next to Geta, and watched on in awe as he rubbed the fruit all over your asshole. This was the ultimate tease for Caracalla. Geta knew how much his brother adored anal. He didn’t care if it was a man or woman’s hole, he would claim it as his.

The shorter brother gasped as your hole tensed up, the sensation of liquid running down your hole feeling very foreign to you.

“Oh brother, please. Do you require me to beg, because I will,” he cried. Caracalla fell to his knees next to his brother’s feet. “I must have her, brother. I must!”

Geta enjoyed watching his brother beg. They shared everything throughout their life. He took beatings from their father in his brother’s place, so he knew he deserved to keep you all to himself.

“Just my tongue. That’s all I’ll use. Just one damn lick!” He pled.

Everyone remained in silence for a few tense moments before Geta’s low voice broke it, “No.”

He then pressed his cock into you again and resumed what he had paused. He grabbed your hair and forced your back to arch.

“Venus wants me to shoot my seed all over your hole,” declared Geta.

You nodded back at him, encouraging him to chase his release, knowing the faster he went, the more intense it would feel. “Please, Emperor.”

You moaned and squealed as he pummelled into you. The strange noises caught Dundus’ attention and he made his way over to you on the table. You swatted the monkey away, hoping it would go back to the meat it was eating prior. Caracalla willed his monkey to stay near to put off his brother, but his pet betrayed him for slices of roast chicken.

“Gods,” Caracalla whimpered as he spilled his cum onto the grey, cold floor after only a minute of jacking off.

Geta followed soon after. He pulled out of you and stroked a few times before letting his cum fall onto your asshole. When he was done, he stood back to look at the mess he had made. He approved at the state he had left you in and went to the table to pick up a goblet of red wine. He was rather exhausted now, and needed to be replenished. You remained where you were bent over the table, catching your own breath.

“Can I clean her up?” Caracalla asked softly. You staying still like that, it was like you were begging him to touch you. His brother had finally finished, and left you wet and ready for him.

Geta walked towards his brother and threw his wine over his face.

“Filthy ape!” He yelled out in frustration. You were his! How many different ways did Geta need to tell his brother this?

Geta gave you your dress and pulled his own toga on again. When you were dressed, he took your hand to lead you out of the room.

“Get a slave to clean all this up,” requested Geta to Caracalla, referring to all the wine and cum left in puddles on the floor.

@babene-e @justasmallbean @1950schick @your-nightmaredoll

[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

[honeyfarts666]

A Party Most Vile

Lucius Verus x OFC

Mutual non-con, slavery, public sex, aftercare, shame

Read it on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Summary:

Lucius is brought to a villa to be the entertainment for a party. But it will be a different kind of performance than what he's used to.

Excerpt:

The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room.

@perplecta

Roman women were almost as perverse as Roman men. Sometimes more, depending on the situation. This, Lucius quickly discovered, was on such situation. Macrinus brought him to the villa of some Senator. The Senator was nowhere to be found, but his wife was hosting a lavish party. The entertaining room was a large hall. All the guests sat on cushions in a circle around a raised platform in the center. The guests were exclusively women, all noble patricians donned in the finest linens, with their curls pinned up in elaborate styles. When Lucius was brought into the entertaining room, several of them squealed in delight like little girls. The women laughed and whispered amongst each other, constantly turning back to Lucius to steal another glance.

As the hostess approached them, Marcinus slapped Lucius’s shoulder and said, “Give them a good show!”

Before Lucius could respond, the hostess was in front of them. “My, Macrinus! Your specimens never disappoint, but I can already tell this one is special.” She was a middle-aged woman. Her chestnut hair was strewn with a few streaks of gray. Smile lines fanned out from the edges of her eyes. She would have been lovely if she didn’t try to conceal her age with so much make-up.

“He is,” Macrinus agreed. “Try to bring him back in one piece!” Macrinus and the hostess laughed.

Lucius was deeply confused. What was his purpose here? He could see no other man for him to fight. And even so, he was certain the women gathered were not here to see a gladiator battle. As he wondered, the hostess wrapped her hand around his bicep and squeezed. She ran her hand up his shoulder and down his chest, savoring the feel of his lithe body. Lucius was caught off guard. Had he been brought here to fuck this woman? He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice Macrinus leave the hall.

The hostess took his hand and said, “Come,” before leading him into the center of the circle. The other women quieted when it became clear the show was about to start. His chest was already bare, but the hostess let her hands wander down to his waistline and untied the knot that held his britches in place. Without any fanfare, the hostess let his britches fall around his ankles. Silently, Lucius kicked them away. At the sight of his bare body, another gasp leapt from the gathered women. “Go on,” the hostess encouraged him, “Let them see you. Give them a little spin.”

Numbly, Lucius spun in a slow circle. The last time he had been naked in front of a woman, it had been his wife the night before she died. He had only lain with two other women before her, and he had no desire to know any other. But it seemed that he wouldn’t have a choice. These ravenous women were demanding sex, and there would be no escape for him. In the back of his mind, he worried that he might not be able to get hard in front of so many eyes. But more than the audience, he felt no desire whatsoever for the aging woman before him. The sheer fact that she would organize such an event repulsed him.

But the hostess made no move to undress. Instead, she clapped her hands twice. Instantly, a slave girl walked forward into the center of the circle. The hostess took the girl’s hand and brought her to stand in front of Lucius with her back to the platform. The girl was a pretty, young thing; she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her long, black hair was loose about her shoulders. Timidly, she stole a glance at Lucius and their eyes met for a single moment before she quickly glanced away again. Her eyes betrayed how frightened she was. But she stood firm despite her fears. She didn’t shake or tremble once. Not even as the hostess pulled off her robe and exposed her body to the entire room. A blush colored her cheeks and she shut her eyes as the noble women whispered remarks on her body. Lucius was certain the other women must be jealous. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She had no need for the thick make-up or gaudy jewelry that caked the noble women. Her breasts were small but perky. Her rosey nipples peaked through her long hair. Her skin was a gentle, olive tone and it looked so soft. Unbidden, Lucius felt his cock stirring. Shame poured through him upon the realization. How could he feel desire at a time like this? He was no better than the demented women that watched them.

The hostess picked up a small jar in one hand and then took Lucius’s cock in the other. Lucius exhaled sharply through his nose and repressed a gasp. He had been so wrapped up on the slave girl that he had lost focus. The hostess poured oil from the jar over his cock and gave him a few steady pumps with her hand. Lucius gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to give away how good it felt. Even still, his cock quickly became erect and he felt lust coursing through him. He couldn’t deny it. Even if his mind knew better, his body wanted a good fuck. It had been so long. As the hostess gave him one final pump, she leaned next to his ear and whispered, “Show us how a savage takes a woman.” As she pulled away from him, Lucius couldn’t help but turn to her and meet her eye. She gave him a devilish smile and nodded before she backed away and took a seat among the women.

Lucius instantly understood her meaning. They wanted to watch him rape the girl. He tried to think of a way out of the situation. But his mind was blank. He was stuck and the only way out was forward. The girl glanced up at him again in frightened anticipation. He didn’t want to hurt her. A sweet girl like her should be fucked gently on a soft bed. Not on a hard platform in front of an audience. But she was stuck just as much as he was. It would be better for both of them if he got this over with as quickly as possible. He set his jaw and took a step forward, eliminating the space between them. The girl gave him a pleading look of uncertainty and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do this while looking into her soft, doe eyes. With a deep breath, he put his hands on her hips and forced her to turn abruptly. She let out a soft gasp but didn’t fight him, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he would be able to stomach forcing himself on a girl who was kicking and screaming.

She was perfectly submissive to him as he bent her over the platform. She quickly scrambled to pull her knees onto the wooden beams. She put her ass in the air, spreading her legs just enough to grand him access. The action reassured him that she wasn’t a virgin. She must have been fucked before if she knew how to position herself. He hoped it hadn’t been another party like this one. As much as Lucius would have liked to spend a few minutes sinking his teeth into the flesh of her ass and getting her nice and wet for him, he knew that wasn’t the reason they were there. He waisted no time and lined his cock up to her entrance. She flinched when she felt his length slide along her lower lips. He pushed in, but the oil made his cock slip out and slide up to tease her bud. The girl let out a low moan and unconsciously ground her hips on his length. He readjusted. He held the girl’s hip with one hand and his cock with the other as he pushed into her. She was tight. She was so fucking tight. And warm and wet and perfect. She let out a beautiful, little cry as he pressed his entire length into her.

Lucius tried to block out the noise of the women whispering around them. He tried to not let his eyes focus on them. He pretended they weren’t there. That was easier than accepting the reality of his situation. He chose to lose himself in the feeling of the girl. Her softness, her hot cunt gripping him like they really were lovers. His first few thrusts were slow and gentle. Opening her up so he wouldn’t damage her. But he couldn’t ignore the hostess’s request. They wanted to see savagery. And he also couldn’t ignore how much he wanted her. Desire burned in his chest and threatened to burst. She felt like she had been formed by the gods just for him. He picked up his pace, holding her with a hand on each of her hips. She bowed her head and arched her back, taking him so well. She released beautiful, little mewls of pleasure each time he thrust into her.

If the party guests wanted to see savagery, then he would give it to them. He grabbed the girl’s hair in his fist and pulled. The girl gave a startled cry and many of the guests gasped in delight. Lucius pounded into her relentlessly. Her over-arched back gave him easy access to the depths of her cunt and she tightened even more. He strained not to finish right then and there. She was practically begging for his seed with how tight she was. Then, she let out the most perfect moan he had ever heard. Somehow, he drove into her faster, pounding his cock into her tiny, little hole. His balls slapping her bud with each thrust. He knew he was about to come at any moment. And then, the girl let out a sharp cry and her walls clenched around him. She trembled and quaked, fighting the pleasure even as it overtook her. He thought she had been tight before, but he didn’t know the half of it. He could barely move his cock at all. He was stuck inside her as she came, pulsing and gushing her sweet wetness all over his cock.

And with that, he couldn’t fight his release anymore. He tumbled after her, thrusting his cock in as deep as he could go. He wanted to feel all of her and he wanted her to feel all of him. His cock twitched again and again, letting out ropes of his hot seed deep within her ripe cunt. With a desperate moan, he felt her body relax. Her grip around him softened and he could move again. He thrust in and out lazily as the final drops of his spend left his body. He released his grip on the girl’s hair and she slumped forward.

The gathering of women burst into applause. Lucius was sharply thrust back into reality. He glanced around the room, and the lustful, smiling faces nearly made him sick. He saw the hostess stand and bow to the applause, as if she had anything to do with it. He turned back to the girl. The girl that he was still inside of. She had one cheek pressed against the wood of the platform and the other was turned up where he could see her. Her eyes were closed, but a single tear trailed down her cheek. The horror of what he’d done settled over him. Slowly and gently as he could, he pulled out of her. The girl whimpered but kept her eyes closed. He put what he hoped was a comforting hand on the small of her back and rubbed slow circles into her skin.

“Ladies,” the hostess announced, “Hanno, the savage of Numidia!” Even more applause fills the air. Lucius could barely hear it. He could barely feel anything. He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. Then, he heard the hostess saying, “Clear the room for the next pair!” He understood then that he was supposed to leave. He turned to walk toward the door, his only thought was to bring an end to this nightmare. Then, he heard a thud behind him and many of the women laughed cruelly. He turned over his shoulder and saw the girl sprawled on the ground. Her legs had given out under her and she lay helpless on the floor. The laughter of the women enraged him and his heart ached for the girl.

He turned and walked back to her. He knelt down and lifted the girl into his arms. She was a small thing and was hardly any burden for him to carry. She cringed slightly when he first put his hands on her, but she quickly melted into his embrace. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face there. He walked from the hall as quickly as he could. Leaving that vile party behind. No one stopped him as he walked through the door. Nor when he turned down another hall and then another. He didn’t know where he was going, but he only knew that he needed to get away. Far away.

Eventually, he entered an empty room. It was a small, storage room and there was only a little light that managed to filter in from down the hall. Lucius sat down in the corner, feeling more protected there. The girl was shaking in his arms. She trembled and then her tears started flowing. She sobbed against him and all he could do was hold her. He stroked her shoulders and hair, praying that she found his touch comforting. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had.

He buried his face into her hair, feeling the soft strands and smelling the lavender water she had bathed in. And then, he felt himself shaking in time with her sobs. He cried too. He felt hot tears drip down his face and land in her hair. She must have felt his tears, for she nuzzled her cheek against his neck and sighed. It was a sad, little noise. But there was affection in it too. They didn’t need to speak. She understood that he hadn’t wanted this either.

Lucius wasn’t sure how long they sat there. At least an hour. Maybe longer. At some point they had stopped crying, but neither had felt compelled to move. Despite what had happened, it was the only intimacy Lucius had known since coming to Rome and he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He wasn’t ready to sever the fragile connection they had formed. It felt wrong. Suddenly, a servant came into the room to get something. When the servant saw them, he gasped. Lucius picked up a small jar and threw it at the servant’s head. The man ducked and the jar smashed on the wall behind him. “Get out!” Lucius bellowed and the servant scrambled out of the room.

The girl let out a whimper and nuzzled against him again. Lucius knew that it was only a matter of time before one of their masters were summoned. He held the girl as tight as he could, stroking his hand over her exposed back. Trying to give her comfort. Knowing that their time together would be over soon. “What’s your name?” he whispered to her.

The girl shifted and looked up at him. Her eyes were still frightened, but she had calmed down. “Naevia,” she replied quietly.

He said her name to commit it to memory, “Naevia.” Then, after a moment, he replied, “I am Lucius.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, “Lucius.”

They settled into silence again. Naevia rested her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. They did nothing but listen to each other breath.

Less than ten minutes passed before Macrinus entered the room. He walked in cautiously. Lucius glared up at him and held Naevia even tighter. “Hanno,” Macrinus said slowly, “Let the girl go and get up.”

Lucius tore his eyes away from Macrinus and glared at a crate in front of him instead. If it had been Naevia’s mistress who came to get them, he would have bent more quickly. He didn’t want her to be punished. But Macrinus could see that it was all him. It was his defiance alone.

“Hanno,” Macrinus warned. But still, Lucius kept his eyes fixed on the crate, intent on ignoring his master to his own detriment.

“Lucius!” Macrinus said firmly. That got his attention. Lucius’s eyes snapped to Macrinus’s. He had no idea that his master knew his true identity. He saw the sick gleam of victory in Macrinus’s eye. “Get up and put the girl down,” his master ordered.

Lucius’s breath came heavily through his nose. He knew if he resisted any longer, there would be serious consequences. And if Macrinus knew who he was, he could inflict untold damage. Slowly, he gathered Naevia into his arms and straightened his stiff legs. Once he was standing, he let Naevia’s legs down to the ground but kept one arm wrapped around her back. For her part, she didn’t seem to want to leave him either. She clung to him and pressed her naked body into his. Macrinus lowered his brow and gave Lucius a look that let him know he was still not obeying. He released the arm around Naevia and she whined at his loss.

Macrinus nodded to someone standing just outside the door. Two slave women entered and pulled Naevia away from him. Naevia cried, but she allowed herself to be pulled away. She glanced at Lucius one last time as she was escorted through the door.

Lucius and Macrinus were left alone. Macrinus gave Lucius a baffled looked and asked, “What was that?” Lucius couldn’t respond. All he could do was breath. If he did anything else, he was afraid he would snap. “You performed well enough,” Macrinus continued, “And then, you run away with the slave girl?” Macrinus waited for a response but Lucius didn’t give him one. “What has gotten in to you?” Macrinus demanded.

Lucius swallowed hard and said, “You know my name?”

Macrinus gave him a sickly smile and replied, “Yes, I’ve known who you are for some time. It was fairly obvious after your mother came to visit you.”

Lucius gave him a curt nod. He should have known a visit from the former emperor’s daughter wouldn’t go unnoticed. It was foolish to hope his identity could stay a secret. He had never felt more exposed in his whole life and it had nothing to do with his nakedness. He was completely under Macrinus’s thumb.

“Clearly,” Macrinus continued, “This experience hasn’t been good for you. So, we’ll keep you in the Colosseum from now on, alright?”

Lucius nodded in response. That, at least, was some small relief.

-

A guard put Lucius in irons and shoved him into the carriage that had brought him to the villa. Macrinus watched with one eye as he said his farewells to the hostess. As an afterthought, he turned back to her and asked, “The girl Hanno bedded?”

The hostess hummed in response, “What about her?”

Macrinus grinned and said, “I’d like to buy her.”

You know, I never really noticed Paul Mescal before this movie but now I am lowkey obsessed! What can I say? I love a man covered in blood! Anyway, I just really wanted to write a fic for Lucius that incorporated all the trauma he must have been feeling. But also something that is pornography because I am a sinner lol

AN:

HELLOOO!

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter VI

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 15k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

i never really realize my fics are being perceived so please imagine the actual waterfall i was when i learned someone liked dulcissima enough to draw a scene from it. please check out nine's beautiful piece over here ♡

Chapter VI

He enjoyed watching the fights in the colosseum as a young man. After his first time on the battlefield, led by Maximus, the enjoyment stopped. Then, Commodus fell. And the games started representing everything Acacius was learning to spite. The aimless spilling of blood. The commands given by the twin emperors that have no purpose other than their entertainment, than building their selfish legacy.

But he has to attend. Has to sit and watch gladiators kill each other when he can still so vividly remember the way Maximus fell to his knees in the same spot.

And her face. He remembers Lucilla's face clear as if it was yesterday, tears streaking down her cheeks as she tried to hold her sobs in her throat, her hand clutched tightly around the small one of her son. Acacius led them out of the Colosseum and to supposed safety, straight to the house that he had spent hours in front of, guarding the Commander and his family with his life. He was there when Lucilla scrambled to gather Lucius’s things, gave the boy his own horse to travel on.

He even knelt down and spoke to the boy when his mother couldn’t, still too shaken.

“You must be strong. To survive is your duty now. It is time to retreat and return another day.”

The thought makes Lucilla's face swim in front of his eyes again. Her tears and sobs, for so many nights after she sent her son away and on so many nights still. He never returned. Every time Acacius traveled to the south, he hoped to find him somewhere, to be able to bring him back. But the boy vanished.

His cloak gently moves around him as he steps off the carriage, waving his driver away. Acacius turns to his right, ascending the steps that lead directly to the cubiculum, to the most honored seats in the Colosseum. He makes polite conversation with the other guests, kisses the hands of Geta and Caracalla with his face set like stone when they arrive under applause from the crowd. Then, he steps towards the very side of the box-shaped area, taking his seat. His eyes flicker to his left, taking in the lowest of the benches that run all around the arena. The podium, the area reserved for senators and priests–and vestals.

His gaze finds you immediately. Perched on the lowest of the stone benches, hands folded in your lap as you take in your surroundings.

Acacius' eyes briefly fly back to the Emperors in front of him, to Macrinus off to the other side of the cubiculum. None of them seem to be paying him any attention. So he allows himself to turn his head again.

This time, he finds you staring up at him. There is an uncertainty in your gaze, one so delicate that he wishes he could climb the decorated stone wall separating the areas and wipe any trace of insecurity off your face.

It is not the only imagination his mind surrects that includes your face.

He sends a quick nod your way before shifting in his seat, adjusting the linen below his white and gold armour. The crowd beginning to cheer as the first gladiator steps into the arena is, for once, a welcome distraction.

His attention keeps wandering, though. He allows himself small glances every so often, pretending to look at the crowd or the sky when the only thing he truly wants to look at is you.

There are many women dressed much less modestly, even during winter. Whores, trying to find their way into a rich man's bed, to stay warm and comfortable. He cannot deny they are nice to look at and yet–there is something different about the way your white stola falls around your body, never quite allowing him to discover your shape below it. Maybe it is precisely that mystery that entrances him. You are forbidden. To him, to any man of Rome. Even an Emperor couldn't have you.

Acacius claps with the rest of the crowd as one of the gladiators is brought to the ground, Geta barely giving enough time for the people to yell their judgement as he raises his hand into the air and shows his lowered thumb to the arena.

“No mercy!” His voice rings out, his body shaking with anticipation as he watches the scene below unfold.

The General turns his head just enough to glance over at you and sees your hands folded in your lap again, though this time more pressing. You seem unbothered by a few senators to your left jumping to their feet to get a better look, instead bowing your head ever so slightly to whisper words under your breath. Words that, Acacius realizes quietly, must be a prayer.

He has a sudden urge to envelope you in his cloak, to lead you away from all this violence and blood. You are too pure for it. Too good. Even if you met in another lifetime, he would be too harsh for your gentleness. Anyone would be.

“Acacius, please, join us for the meal,” Macrinus slaps his back gently, giving him his signature wide smile as they descend the stairs after the games. “The Emperors would be delighted to have you, discuss your next assignment–”

“War should never be discussed where too much wine is served,” Acacius gives a firm and polite smile.

“Oh, nonsense! Allow me–Caracalla!” He turns, attempting to wave the younger of the Emperors over to them. Acacius takes a sharp breath, wishing he could just step into the mingling crowd and disappear in it.

“I was planning to–” He begins, still racking his brain for an excuse worthy of turning down an invitation to dine with the twins and a dozen other politicians he does not care for. He doesn't expect the excuse to magically appear at his side. But it does.

“I asked General Acacius to escort me home.”

You stand politely next to Macrinus, who slowly turns, his gaze briefly flickering over you. The headdress immediately lets him understand he is talking to one of the highest priestesses of Rome, a woman whose safety is most essential to all. A kind smile decorates your face, though it is not quite the same one you gave Acacius in the gardens mere days ago. “My guard fell ill and I do not wish to walk the dark streets by myself.”

“I see–” The man's eyes fly between you and the General for a few moments that feel thick with tension and Acacius shifts slightly.

“I will see her home safely and retire to my quarters after. But please, give the Emperors my best once again. I will ask for them to receive me in the morning to discuss the plans.”

“Very well.” Macrinus gives another beaming smile, adjusting the cloth draped over his arm and begins to walk away. Acacius sees your form caving in slightly as you watch him turn a corner, a small breath leaving your throat.

“My lady,” he nods toward the open door leading onto the street. You blink in confusion, wide eyes focused on him.

“What?”

“You asked to be escorted home. I will gladly oblige,” he muses quietly. “Or are there more plans you failed to communicate to me?”

You shake your head and he can see the insecurity in your face. “I did not mean to keep you from–I thought you may not want–”

Acacius can't help but smile and nod. “Like I said. Quite observant. I did not wish to go. I thank you for providing me with an acceptable reason not to.”

“You will have to walk me back to the House of the Vestals though–”

“I do not mind it,” Acacius hums quietly as he begins to walk with you. It is as close as he will get to allowing himself to admit that the thought of walking you home, walking you to the shops, walking you through the gardens, is one that fills him with a deep satisfaction.

The large crowds are streaming into other directions, only few heading toward the Forum,  but Acacius still remains vigilant of the people around you, a few of them whispering when they spot the Vestal among them. It is not unlike their reaction to him and he suddenly longs to ask you if this is what you meant when you told him that you do not mind the veil but the Separation.

A life so far away from the people of Rome, serving Vesta in a temple in the middle of the city, tending to the hearth of the Roman Empire–and yet, always doing it alone.

He watches as the carriage carrying the Emperors, and no doubt Macrinus and other guests, rolls past in the distance. Instead of following them down the main road, he leads you down Via Sacra until you reach the Arc towering above you. You make to pass through it when Acacius shakes his head. “Allow me.”

You follow quietly as he makes a left, leading both of you onto a much smaller and more narrow street that climbs up the beginnings of Palatine Hill.

“Where are we going?” You adjust your stola, wrapping it tightly around yourself against the cold.

“Just a small detour. I promise I will have you home in no time, priestess.”

***

You can’t remember this road. Your service rarely leads you to varying places. It is always the same. The temple. The house. The spring. The potter. Occasionally, visits to shops or houses of Senators.

But you have not forgotten the garden. Walking with Acacius has been on repeat in your mind since he invited you through his gate. Even in the arena, you felt your gaze drawn to him. And the empty seat beside him. You understand why Lucilla does not enjoy being in the Colosseum, why she is such a rare guest to the Cubiculum. And yet, seeing the General attending the games by himself sent some sort of feeling through your body.

The road has turned into what more resembles a path, the sides lined by stone walls and greenery, no doubt belonging to the houses of even more very important people that are allowed to reside on Palatine Hill.

And then, the path suddenly opens up.

A small clearing among the trees and fields, a garden tucked away at the eastern edge of the hill. You wonder if these are hidden all over the city, how you have never noticed them before. And above all, how Acacius knows all of them.

The sun is setting behind you, shining over the trees to bathe the buildings in front of you into a soft, orange light, the colosseum towering in the middle like the flame in Vestas temple.

“This is beautiful,” you whisper, stepping toward the edge and immediately, you feel the shadow of Acacius’s hands around your waist. Ready to catch you. To keep you from falling.

“Careful now,” he hums quietly and you take a step back, surprising him enough that he doesn't draw back in time. His hands land on your hips and you can feel his muscles tense, standing still. Allowing you to move away if you wish to. You don't.

“You seemed to enjoy being high up,” he mutters under his breath, his hands squeezing ever so gently.

“I do,” you whisper back, your eyes leaving his and instead falling onto his slightly parted lips. Somehow, he is all around you. The city below you disappears, with all its columns and people and rules. There is only the last greeting of the sun reflecting in his hair, gold framing his face like he is made of colors on a canvas. “I like it a lot.”

You reach for his armor, resting your hand against the rich chestplate, your fingertips smoothing over the wings of the griffins that decorate it. The body of a lion, the wings of an eagle. Your touch is so delicate as if it is his skin you are touching and you feel your knees quiver at the mere thought that your hand is inches from his chest below.

A short tremble flashes through his body and you think you can feel his restraint, the battle he is fighting with himself. Because you are a soldier in the same war. Until his face softens as in defeat, like he is waving his white flag and surrendering to an invisible enemy.

When he bows down, his hands still on your waist, you are already waiting. You feel yourself overcome with emotion, realizing that you have been waiting for him longer than you’ve known him. And when you feel his lips touch yours, every last thought is driven from your mind. His beard scratches your cheek but his lips are soft, so soft. You press yourself into him, wanting to be impossibly close. If you could crawl inside his armour, you are certain you would.

“General–” You pant when you break apart just enough to breathe. He shakes his head, his gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“Acacius,” he corrects quietly.

“Acacius–” you begin but he barely lets you speak his name before he kisses you again, more eagerly now, one hand leaving your waist to cup your face instead. You let out a noise that you have never heard from your own lips, attempting to lean into the kiss and his palm at the same time. You cannot fathom how anyone can choose the colosseum to get their blood rushing when they could just kiss instead. None of the games you have seen can match the way your heart jumps at Acacius’s touch.

He allows a few more seconds before he pulls back, a gentle smile on his lips. His thumb carefully strokes your cheek, sending a comfortable warmth through your body.

“Are you alright?” He whispers, his brown eyes filled with worry and kindness. “I did not–force myself on you?”

The idea is so absurd you almost laugh. “No.” You swallow a bit as you feel yourself sobering up, though his body still pressed against yours is not allowing you to do so fully. "No one can know.”

“No. No one can know,” Acacius mumbles back. You know you should be terrified. Your vows forbid even the most innocent touches. A Vestal is not let go for breaking her vows. She is sent before the gods. None ever come back.

But there is a silent understanding between you. One that, you quietly realize, goes back much further than tonight, maybe even further than the walk in his garden. And still, a nagging feeling in your chest makes your voice tremble as you speak. “Your wife cannot know.”

Acacius pauses at that and for a brief moment, you think you have offended him, called him out on something he does not like to admit. Then, he smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I will not tell her. But she would not mind it.” At your startled expression, he continues. “Lucilla and I go back many years. We were lovers once. We aren’t anymore.”

“But she is your wife-” You press out, because you don't know what else to say at this revelation that, even with your supposed great skill of reading people, you did not see coming.

“She is. Because I wish for her to be safe.” Acacius sighs, his gaze briefly flying over to the Colosseum that is now shrouded in darkness. “I conquer cities. I do not wish to do the same to women.”

You look down at your hand still splayed across Acacius’s chestplate and suddenly feel tears gathering in your eyes. Because you're happy and confused and you wish that you'd been made a wife rather than a vestal, that you could lay with Acacius at night rather than laying alone.

“Please don’t cry.” Acacius nudges your chin softly, making you look up at him. “Dulcissima.”

The name falls so easily from his lips. Dulcissima. The sweetest. You smile sadly. And you feel a plan stirring inside of you.

“Bona Dea is not far away now,” you say quietly. “Men will be in their houses and women will be–”

“Celebrating.” Acacius finishes for you. “What are you saying?”

“Meet me,” you practically plead and you almost feel like you're at the temple, falling to your knees and praying. “Meet me on Bona Dea. Next to Mars.”

He nods and you pull him in again, trembling as you steal another kiss. You feel his arms wrap around you, holding you close. You can hear the people on the streets below, vendors shouting and dogs barking. None of them seem to matter the way they did mere minutes ago.

You stay intertwined for as long as you dare as darkness falls. Your head rests against his chest when eventually, you feel Acacius pressing a kiss into your hair. He stills for a moment, taking a deep breath, allowing your scent to fill his nostrils. Then, he steps back.

“Let me walk you home, Dulcissima.”

notes: thank you for reading. this is the first time we've seen what acacius thinks of all this, do y'all like the switch or would you prefer the vestals perspective? see you soon!

[visionsofyouandme]

I. that original lifeline

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: A celebration, a visit, the marketplace- it's all your beginning of something new.

𝚠/𝚌: 5.6k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: Slow burn. Sexual tension. Food & alcohol consumption. Love at first sight-type meeting. Exposition. Age gap (or no age gap- you decide!). Marcus is That Guy™️. Terrible use of ancient Latin (and Swahili? bear with me). Symbolic dreams.

𝙰/𝙽: Well, well, well... Who's really surprised here? Marcus has a chokehold on me, like he does on most people. Starting a series is always daunting, and I'm kind of writing it with a vague outline of what will happen. Probably going to open up asks to get some inspiration and advice! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this lil series that I've been dying to share.

Read here on AO3!

Walking through the courtyard of the massive celebration, Marcus felt out of place. 

Having just come back from a recent campaign, he always had a hard time adjusting to life off the battlefront. That was where he belonged- among men, sword in hand, blood on his skin, rage coursing through his veins. To be here, welcomed with smiles instead of grimaces, drinks flowing instead of blood, and the scent of incense instead of death in the air was all… strange. Familiar yet foreign. 

Dreams had plagued him for nights on the battlefield, filled with cries of the grieving and moans of agony. Fires burning, the stench of death seemed to be all around him. No matter how far he wandered, he would be stuck in a never ending field of death. If it was what Pluto had condemned him in sleep, he feared what awaited him in the afterlife. 

But, there had been a shift in his dreams. Instead of wandering aimlessly among the dead, he followed a figure- slim, ethereal, and leading him to peace. He never saw her face, but he knew she held the key to a life finally calm and filled with tranquility. But every time he reached out for her, and she began to turn, he awoke with a racing heart and sweat collecting on his brow.

Now, he saw friends- really, acquaintances- and greeted them with smiles, handshakes, nods of acknowledgement as he passed. They showered him with jovial tones, congratulations of a campaign well-won. If only they knew the looks of terror the opposition had on their faces as Marcus slayed them on the battlefield, surrounded by strong and capable men. Some of the opposition weren’t even men- some of them were young boys with weak holds on swords. Boys who should have been growing up, and not fighting the rich man’s battles. 

But, Marcus could not think of that now. He was here to celebrate not himself, but another acquaintance who had just accelerated to a seat in the Senate. Marcus was no politician, but he was invited as one of the highest ranking generals in Rome. 

All he could see were the boys’ eyes, wide as their life seeped from their bodies, crimson all around them. A goblet of wine was thrust into his hands, and he saw himself in the deep red liquid, and the poor boys’ corpses who littered the ground at his feet. 

A voice called to him, and he lifted his head with a forced smile as he walked over to the group of men in luxurious and colorful togas. They welcomed him, some patting him on the back, with more compliments thrown his way. He would just nod and wave his hand. Simple, dismissive. 

“And Caecilius, here, he is just recently wed! And to a lovely little thing, too.” one of them said, patting an older, shorter, sparsely-silver haired man on the shoulder. He looked so frail that Marcus could have breathed too harshly and knocked him over. But, the man nodded, smiling with joy.

“She truly is a vision. Would make even Venus jealous with her beauty.” Caecilius said, and raised an arm in greeting as his eyes moved over Marcus’ shoulder. When he turned, he was completely taken aback. 

Surely this was not Caecilius’ new bride?

You walked- no, floated- with such grace that Marcus could not tear his gaze away. You looked young. Far too young to be married to an old and decrepit man such as the Roman council member. But, you smiled, moving past Marcus to come to Caecilius’ side, taking his arm. 

“How are you, my dove? Hopefully not partaking in too much drink?” Caecilius laughed, and you produced a fresh goblet of wine in your hand. 

“As fine as this night is. And of course not, I would not make a fool of myself in such a public place.” you said, and Marcus could only watch in awe… and jealousy. You were an excellent vision of beauty- hair done in the latest fashionable style, neck and wrists adorned in gold, even threaded through your hair. The curve of your lips, the angle of your eyes, the tone of your skin all drew him in like a ship sailing towards its beacon. Like a sailor chases the stars at night, like a poet upholds its muse. 

“... General Acacius has just returned, himself. And to come back to such a celebration!” one of the men said, his name jarring him back to reality. He didn’t realize he had been staring, but saw you looking expectantly back at him. He cleared his throat, nodded and took a sip of wine. 

“Yes. Another successful win for Rome and her people!” Caecilius said, raising his goblet. It was then that Marcus noticed he was swaying on his feet, really only standing upright because of your hold on him. 

“Your city and people thank you, General Acacius.” you said for the first time, directed at him. And your voice? Gods, your voice could rival the sweetest chorus of the city, and the way you said his name had him weak in the knees. He would have fallen to them and bent to your every whim had your… Had your husband not been standing next to you.

The jarring fact that you were taken ripped through him like a knife to a piece of cloth. You were already spoken for, and this hurt him immensely. 

While you held his gaze for a moment, you then said something to Caecilius that he could not hear and pulled away, walking through the crowd. His eyes followed you, though the conversation the men had continued on in rancorous laughter. He finally swiveled, his brown eyes casting back to the men before him, but his mind reaching for you. Reaching as if to call you back into his sights so he could admire your beauty again. 

It was later in the evening when the sun had set that he had found you again. You stood on the balcony of the second story, alone, leaning against the bannister as your face turned towards the sun. It cast you in a beautiful golden glow, and he felt like he was imposing upon a piece of living art. 

But, selfishly, he wanted to hear your voice again. To hold your gaze, your attention. 

Before he could breathe a word, you turned your head to him, and smiled.

“General Acacius. We meet yet again.” you said, and he walked towards the bannister to stand next to you, offering a soft smile.

“And so we do. Where is your spouse?” he questioned, and the smile faded on your face, turning to face the sun again. Your grimace was disguised as a squint to look towards the orange and pink skies, and he wished for nothing more than to see your smile again. 

“I am sure he is wining and dining with the finest of Rome. I am surprised you are not joining him.” you said, a tightness to your tone that he did not like. 

“I would much rather take a step back, look out rather than in. The sunset is beautiful, dare I say the best part of the day, save the dawn that beckons a new beginning.” Marcus said, and stood closer to you, his body facing the rays of sun that were beginning to fade under the horizon. He glanced at you in his periphery, and you continued to look out. He continued to stand, content with the sound of the party continuing behind you both as the sun made its way steadily down.

“Are you really as fearsome as they say?” You finally said, and he looked at you to see you were looking down now, fiddling with your gold cuffs. He watched you with a gentle expression. Your hands, so soft and lithe, he knew they had never held a day’s worth of work in their life. Innocent, untouched. 

Oh, how it ached to know you were already spoken for. 

“What do you think?” he said, and your gaze moved to meet his own. You studied him, tilting your head to the side as your eyes swept him up and down.

“I think you are just a man. Capable of good as well as bad. That is what is expected of all good leaders, yes?” You questioned, and he felt something stir within him. His deep brown eyes never strayed from yours, not even to the sunset he was praising just moments ago.

“I am whatever you make of me, My Lady.” Marcus said quietly, and you looked at him, a hint of surprise crossing your face. Your hands continued their work on your cuffs, spinning them this way and that. A nervous habit, he observed. He could only wonder why you were acting so, if you thought of him as nothing but a simple man.

“You should mind yourself, people will talk.” You say, and he frowned deeply, but knew what you insinuated. How could anyone speak of your conversation, when it was nothing but innocent? You were not entirely unchaperoned, the laughter and chatter of the party were only feet behind you. Anyone could come out and see you two, and there would be nothing to hide. 

But, Marcus wanted something to hide. He could barely contain his gaze as he looked at you, coming across as both lustful and adoring. He could only wonder which way you took it, but he felt both so deeply in his bones that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He could reach out and touch you now, move his arm just so to brush against yours, intertwine his little finger with yours. 

How had you bewitched him so?

“Go. Be with your kind, in celebration and laughter.” you said, nodding back to the threshold that held the party within. Marcus’ eyes never left you, though, and his feet did not move to carry him elsewhere. 

“What is your name?” he questioned, his voice more steady than he anticipated. Your gaze slowly moved up to meet his, and you breathed your name so lightly that it could have been the wind. He repeated it, feeling sweeter than honey rolling off of his tongue. 

“I would like to know how to properly address such a decoris femina (beautiful woman).” This drew a small smile on your face, and you looked away shyly with a minute shake of your head.

“You flatter me, General-”

“Marcus.” he countered, and slowly but swiftly took your hand in his, raising it to his lips. Your knuckles, tender and delicate, brushed across his lips, the small bit of his facial hair tickling your skin. “I implore you, call me Marcus.”

“But, it is improper. You are a General, the General Acacius. I should address you as such.” You said quietly, the soft rise and fall of your chest under your stola causing Marcus an internal battle between watching that or your mesmerizing eyes. He was just a man, after all- like you said.

“If I order you to call me Marcus, will you deny me?” he questioned, and you stiffened at first, then melted as he lowered your hand to rest within his on the bannister. He tilted his head forward, eyebrows raised in question. You resigned yourself to shake your head, and he felt something like pride swell in his chest.

“May I call upon you again?” he questioned, and your eyebrows knit together, eyes shifting to the doorway. You shook your head slightly, though he could still see the shuddering rise and fall of your chest.

“I do not think that is wise-”

“I will see your husband, then. And you will be there, yes?” he questioned, his tone so light and hopeful that it made his stomach twist with fear. What if you denied him? What if you refused to see him after tonight? 

Your eyes finally moved to his own, and he gave your hand the gentlest squeeze of encouragement. 

“I will be having wine and food midday tomorrow. Whether or not my husband is there, is up to chance.” you said, and he smiled a bit wider than he could help. He nodded, his eyes alight with excitement, but he countered it with a neutral expression.

“Right. I suppose I will have to call to see if he is available.” he said, and you smiled lightly, knowingly. Nodding, you pulled your hand from his grasp and clasped your hands in front of you. 

“And so you shall. I- we would be so happy to have the General as our guest. Under any given circumstances.” you said, and he chuckled, looking back at the horizon that was now dark, turning light blue and black to signal the night had come. He felt your hand on his arm, his head swiveling so fast he thought it might come off.

“I will be looking forward to your visit, Marcus.” you said quietly, like it was a secret between the two of you, your hand dropping. His eyes flitted between yours, and he smiled. Yes, it was like a secret. One he was intent on keeping close to the chest for as long as he could help it. 

Days later, you hadn’t found yourself worrying about Marcus’ coming to your home until the sun was high in the sky. Caecilius had left for a “meeting” with other senators, which you took as a sign he was going out to drink, be merry, and indulge in debauchery. You didn’t mind, so long as he was away from you and gave you a bit of peace. 

You had your servants place the table for one, knowing it would seem suspicious if you set one up for another. You were beginning to think he wasn’t coming, and sat at the table in the garden. Just as you had picked up a grape, your houseguard announced General Acacius’ presence. You stiffened, and slowly put down the fruit and rose, turning to see him approach in a red toga with gold trim. You offered a smile, and his eyes shone with the sun and a hint of something else.

“General Acacius. To what do I owe the pleasure of your coming here?” you questioned, but knew full well his reasoning. He smiled knowingly, and looked around,

“I was inquiring if your husband was here.” he said, and you shook your head,

“Regretfully, he is not. Out on senate business. However, may I entertain you for a bit? Food has just been laid out.” you said, gesturing next to you. He looked down at it thoughtfully, and then nodded. You asked for another place to be made for Marcus, and he settled into the seat across from you. Picking up the grape you had discarded, you had bit into it and pure sweetness flooded your tastebuds. Dismissing your servants, you looked to Marcus, who was already gazing at you.

“You look well, My Lady.” he said, his voice soft, and you smiled, taking another piece of fruit.

“As do you, General. I hope you enjoyed the celebration of your victories, and that you enjoyed the company of many.” you replied, and he picked up a piece of pomegranate, looking down at it. You watched him, the way his large, calloused, strong hand held the delicate fruit with such tender care. You selfishly and fleetingly thought of what those same hands would feel like wrapped around your body.

“I particularly enjoyed the company of one. That is all I remember from it.” he said, his words making your heart flutter. You smiled and took a sip of wine, eyes casting to the bountiful food place between the two of you.

“However I did not meet you before, it is a mystery. I did not know Caecilius had a new wife until your introduction.” he said, and the bitter reality settled in and you did your best to contain your disdain. You shrugged, 

“Caecilius and I share a similar background- widowed, others looking for a decent union. My father pressed it, and Caecilius was more than willing to accept.” you said, trying to state the facts but your face became hard, lips pressed together. To mask it, you took a sip of wine, but Marcus could see right through it.

“Widowed?” he questioned, and you nodded, sitting a bit straighter with a sigh.

“My former spouse was an officer of the Roman army. Septimus Juventus. Did you know him?” you questioned, and your eyes moved to Marcus, who looked deep in thought, looking over at the fountain.

“I do not think I had the pleasure of meeting him.” he said, and you noted a stiffness to his tone. You did not press, but Marcus turned his head back and grabbed a piece of bread. Even that was small in comparison to his hands. Tearing a piece off, he dipped it in the mixture of oil and herbs, taking a bite.

“He was… a soldier. Proud, assertive… thought he would be the next great leader of the Roman Army.” you mused, and shook your head. Marcus was quiet, patient, listening. His brown eyes were receptive, understanding. “He was killed in a battle overseas. They burned his body in a funeral rite, and I heard about his death via messenger boy. Next thing I know, I am to be wed to Caecilius.” you recounted.

“Did you love him?” Marcus questioned, and your gaze never strayed from him. You lifted your chin slightly, like you had encountered a bad smell, and your smile was sour.

“As much as any good wife could love their husband through an arranged marriage.” you said, tone clipped and you shook your head minutely, eyes roaming the garden and let out a breathy laugh. “Please, do carry on from my lamentations. I cannot bore my honored guest.” 

Marcus smiled weakly, and shook his head, “You could never bore me, My Lady. I wish to know about you, your past and present and future.” 

This took you by surprise. No one, especially not a man, had ever spoken to you in such a gentle and concerned way. His gaze was genuine, eyebrows knit together in a way that offered worry, but also comfort. You looked down, and busied yourself with another grape.

“I am not my past. The present is here. And my future has already been decided.” you said, with a curt nod, and Marcus shook his head.

“The future is up to the Fates. They spin the web of life and pull us back and forth. Nothing is ever set in stone.” he said, and his words offered you comfort. Maybe one day you would be free from this prison that all of the men in your life had encased you in.

“Well, then. If I may be truthful, the present is much more bearable with you in it.” you said casually, but Marcus stilled in his seat, eyes moving up and down your figure. You acted like you did not see, and picked up a piece of bread and meat. When you finally had the courage to raise your eyes, you saw him looking down at a piece of fruit and smiling gently, shaking his head.

“Do I amuse you?” you questioned, cocking an eyebrow. He took a bite, taking time to chew and to look back at the sprawling gardens of your villa. 

“Your straightforwardness is admirable. Are you this direct all the time?”

“Why? Are you going to cut out my tongue for it?”

Marcus smiled, and shook his head with a chuckle.

“No, no. I quite like it. Not many people speak so freely of themselves in Rome. Much less women.” he said, and you nodded, your shoulder offering an apathetic shrug.

“I have nothing to lose, except my life. And even that is treated as a piece to be bargained off like cattle.” you said. You really did feel you had nothing to lose. You had no family to care for, no one to love and protect and to truly provide for. Your soul was just a lost ship in the night, bobbing in the waves, listless.

Marcus gave you the slightest beacon of light. Hope and light.

But, could you trust it? Or was it leading you straight to the rocks?

“You are anything but. You are a figment of beauty, of grace. Smart as a whip, a tongue quicker than a viper.” he said, and you laughed out loud.

“You flatter me yet again, General Acacius. You best be careful, sir, or I will find your affections to be real and true.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he questioned, his voice quiet that only you could hear it from across the table. There was a longing in his eyes, a plea of want, and you smiled sadly.

“In a world like this, one cannot afford such luxuries such as true affection. Not if they want to maintain appearances and status.” you said with a resigned look, and Marcus frowned deeply.

“Do you care about that? Appearances and status?”

“No. Not for me, but for you.” you sighed, and took your glass in hand, swirling the liquid thoughtfully. “You are the Roman General, people love you and look up to you for guidance and strength. If they find something to have tainted your image, you may lose all of that, and more.”

“I do not think I could value those things over love.” he said quietly, and you swallowed dryly. “Valor? Glory? The thrill of a victory? They mean nothing in life when you have no one to love at the end of day’s light.” 

Was this his way of saying-? No. It couldn’t be. You were young, but not young enough to believe in such foolishness. You shook yourself internally of the spell the General was seeming to put over you.

“You speak like a poet, General.” 

“Marcus.” he finally reminded you, and you smiled lightly. “But I am not a poet. Just an honest man with intentions that are clear and true.” 

“And what would those intentions entail?”

He smiled, and chuckled deeply. “The more I see you, the clearer they will become,” he explained, and you felt that small glimmer of hope light within you. You couldn’t help the soft smile that graced your face, and nodded.

“I will be counting on that, then. Seeing where you lead with your intentions.” you said. He nodded, and raised his glass,

“To the future, and all that it holds. May the Gods treat us kindly, and the Fates weave their web in good fortune.” he said, and you nodded in agreement, raising your own glass.

“To the future.”

A few days had passed. You still held on to the conversations with Marcus close to the chest, confiding in your close friend from the African colonies, Jaheim. He was the only one who understood your struggles, having faced some of his own overcoming oppression and fighting for Roman citizenship. He was also the only one who you could truly confide in, every else too untrustworthy and suspicious. You didn’t want any handmaidens or servants going to Caecilius and revealing your meeting with Marcus.

Walking through the market in the heart of Rome, you looked over fruits in the vendor stands, placing a few in your basket and paying the seller with fine gold coins, Jaheim at your side. 

“So, the General has taken a liking to a Briton. Who’d have thought you would have that luxury?” Jaheim laughed, and you shook your head, a frown on your face.

“He doesn't know I am not fully Roman. He may turn away should he find that out. People frown upon “half-breeds.” It is a miracle father pushed for my marriages and were successful in them,” you said sourly, and Jaheim shrugged.

“You make a very convincing Roman lady. No one would think you’re a savage by blood.” he chuckled, and you cast him a hard look, but rolled your eyes.

“Fooled you once, too.” 

“Ah, but I could see right through you. However, I am more observant than most men of Rome. They see women as nothing but objects- to use or to admire or both. Where I am from, women are warriors. Fighters. Strong, unwavering. You remind me of them.” Jaheim said, and you smiled sadly.

“I wish that were true. I feel like I am not strong, having been tossed around from man to man. I am no better than a common whore.” you said, and Jaheim stopped you with a hand on your arm, his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“Rafiki yangu (my friend), do you think I am also lesser because of my past? That is what they want you to believe. We rise above what they think, what they assume. We are stronger than what they think. Who we are resides here,” he said, putting his hand on his heart, giving you a light smile. “Kitakuwa sawa (it will be alright). We must persevere. What else is there to do?” 

“Where would I be without you?” you breathed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have given me more wisdom in the short time that i’ve known you than any tutor I have ever had.” 

“Well, they do not have my worldly experiences, nor the insight of different perspectives on life. Or my stunningly good looks and mesmerizing charm.” he said with a smug expression. You laughed, shaking your head as you weaved in and out of the people. 

“I wish I had your confidence. And your good looks.” You stopped at a vendor and looked over the silver and gold jewelry, Jahiem began to converse with an acquaintance that had approached, leaving you to your devices. You picked up a particularly beautiful gold necklace with an engraving of a goddess. 

“Good choice! Juno- Queen of the heavens, fertility, and wife of the most powerful of the gods. I always say the first one you choose is a way of that god or goddess reaching out to you. Perhaps she has something in store for your future.” The saleswoman said, and you glanced at her, knowing she was just trying to push a sale, but your stomach fluttered a bit with anticipation. You began to put it back until a voice came up beside you,

“She will have it. Name your price.” 

Your head whipped to see Marcus standing next to you, and you tried to hide the surprised look on your face. He cast you a soft smile and handed the woman over far too many coins than the necklace was worth. She bowed and thanked him with a twinkle in her eye, and you smiled and took the necklace in your hand. Marcus gestured for you to walk, and your eyes cast up and down his form in a purple toga with silver linings on the edges, signaling his high status. You smiled lightly,

“General Acacius. What a surprise.” You said, genuinely happy to see him but kept it down. He looked so handsome in the sunlight, the silver in his robes reflecting his own silver in his hair. 

“I came to the market for entertainment and food. Looks like I found a little more than that.” He said, and you bit your lower lip to keep the smile that threatened to spread on your face. “You seem to have had a bountiful haul. But surely, it is getting heavy.” He noted, and you shook your head, 

“No. It’s bearable, really-“

“Allow me.” He said, taking the basket without further argument, and your eyes narrowed at him but didn’t dare try to retrieve it from him. To do so would draw eyes, and you did not want to invite more speculation to yourself. 

A voice called your name, and you turned back in relief to see Jahiem come up to your side.

“I was just telling Athos about the new bathhouse. He invited me to-“ but he stopped abruptly when he saw Marcus standing there, holding your basket. He seemed to wrack his mind for the identity of the man standing next to you, so tall and stoic. He looked at him with a hardened face, and Jahiem could only guess it could be one person.

“General Acacius… It is an honor.” He greeted with a bow, the sly look on his face as he glanced at you. You felt your face flush, thankful for the heat to mask it. You smiled at Jahiem, and gave his arm a firm squeeze.

“The honor is mine. Your name? You are a friend of the Lady’s?” Marcus questioned, his brown eyes questioning as he looked between you and the man with rich brown skin and sparkling blue eyes like the ocean.

“Jahiem Ventus,” he introduced, and bowed gently. “The Lady and I have a closeness, all good-natured and amiable of course.” He said, and Marcus nodded, his eyes moving back to you.

“Perhaps I could steal her away? Walk the rest of the marketplace with her?” Marcus questioned, and you opened your mouth to speak but Jahiem smiled wide,

“Of course, General. I was just about to steal away myself with a friend. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving her unchaperoned.” Jahiem said, and you glowered at him. 

“I believe I am capable of taking care of myself on my own, my friend.” You said icily, and he looked at her with a nod, but a bit of shame in his face. 

“My apologies. But I will see you at the games, yes?” He said, leaning to give you a kiss on the cheek. You forced a smile and returned the sentiment,

“Of course. Be on your best behavior, now.” You said, patting his shoulder gently and he chuckled, giving you a wink. 

“Only the Gods can judge that. Good day.” He said to you, then Marcus and bowed respectfully before departing. Marcus chuckled, and shifted the basket in his hand.

“Your friend is amusing. You do not seem pleased that he released you to me.”

“Yet another man speaking for me does not please me, General. I exercise what little free will I have. I shall walk with whom I please.” You said, and Marcus looked at you with furrowed brows.

“You do not wish to be accompanied?” He questioned, and you looked at him, seeing that pitiful look on his face. You sighed, and shook your head with a small smile.

“Hard to deny you when you look at me like that.” You said, and turned to keep walking. You glanced down at the necklace and Marcus turned in step beside you.

“Look at you like what?” He questioned teasingly, and you grinned down at your hand before looking up.

“Do not make me say it, General. It could be a dangerous observation.” You said, and stepped past a salesperson boasting the best leather sandals, entirely too close to you for comfort. You felt Marcus shift closer to you, as if to stave the man off if he came any closer and you clasped the necklace tight in your hand.

“Here, My Lady. Allow me.” He said, and handed off the basket to you in exchange for the necklace. You paused, and he swiftly put it around your neck, clasping it and letting it sit over your collarbones. His fingertips rested on the top of your spine for just a beat, and your heart flew into your throat. You cleared your throat, and looked at him when he came back around. He regarded you with a smile,

“As radiant as ever.” He complimented, and you looked at him with a soft expression. You looked away as you both neared the end of the marketplace, and felt your chest deflate at the thought of having to part with him.

“You mentioned the games, are you going to be present for them? In the Colosseum?” Marcus questioned, and you nodded.

“Yes. Caecilius insisted we join a few other senators and their wives for the spectacle. I could do without the gore and bloodbath, but I suppose I must keep up appearances.” You sighed, and Marcus nodded thoughtfully. You could see the gears turning in his mind as he looked off into the distance.

“Perhaps you will also find your way there?” You questioned casually, and you could sense the faintest smile from Marcus. He shrugged halfheartedly,

“Perhaps.” He said vaguely, and you smiled small yourself. Marcus’ hand brushed yours at your side, and it took everything in you to keep from taking his smallest finger within your own in the sea of people in the marketplace. 

That night, Marcus dreamed.

The same sounds of anguish and cries of pain echoed around him, his feet crunching under the gravel of the battlefield. The smoke and dirt wafted around, but he saw the figure ahead of him, leading him through it all. While the field was cloaked in darkness, he saw sun threatening to break on the horizon, where he followed the figure. Whoever this was, she would bring him to peace and serenity. Was it the goddess Minerva, with all of her wisdom and finally bringing him out of war? Or maybe Eos, the goddess who brought the new dawn, signaling the end of darkness?

But, he stopped as the sun finally broke the horizon, and the figure turned to him.

You looked at him, a small smile on your face, and extended your hand out for him. 

Reaching out, he knew you would lead him to salvation.

Comment, like, reblog, anything is appreciated! Divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[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, used a quote from Queen Charlotte!

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

Series Masterlist

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."

[mae-lou-ron]

Give Me the Twilight

Summary: Overworked and overtired, Commander Fox is just trying to make it through the rest of his shift, but with a budding migraine, it’s easier said than done. Lucky for him, you’ve got some ideas in mind about how to soothe him.

Pairing: Marshal Commander Fox x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fox suffering from a migraine, descriptions of migraine symptoms and triggers, sensory overload, Fox has teefies, teasing, senator reader is in a revealing dress and Fox can’t handle it. SFW with references to later non-descript sexual activity. Fluff (kissing, head massage, mando'a nicknames).

Word Count: 2,200

A/N: @ghostymarni marni, marni… what the heck are we going to do about all the delicious things you’ve been creating lately. DUH, MAE, YOU SAY? WE WRITE ABOUT IT, OF COURSE. But seriously, these pieces you did have been rolling around in my brain since you posted them, and I had a migraine yesterday, so like any normal person with clone brain rot, instead of resting, I projected it onto your sharp-toofed Fox and dumped 2,000+ words about it into my word processor. Beware: I wanted to riddle this thing with as much Fox Fanon™ as I could think of, so that's what I did. Fox girlies, I humbly present my offering to you.

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Marshal Commander Fox was thankful for three very specific things at this particular moment in time: the environmental filters on his helmet, the fresh batch of caf from the mess, and last but certainly not least—returning to his office to discover you were there, waiting for him.

"Well hello, ad’ika..." His warm, modulated voice rumbled through the room as he stepped over the threshold. "...are you lost?"

You turned your head, keeping your back to him. "What makes you say that, Commander?" you cooed. "Maybe this is exactly where I want to be..."

A silence descended upon the room, broken only by the quiet trill of the door locking and a soft clunk of his mug on the desk. His footsteps drew closer, slow and deliberate, bringing the lingering roasted scent that mingled with his presence. It was then you noticed he still hadn't removed his helmet despite the dimmed lighting—it looked like Fox was suffering from another migraine.

But before you could turn around, you felt the familiar weight of his armor pressed against your back, followed by the telltale hiss of a pressure seal. He set his helmet on the table in front of you before resting his gloved hands on its edge, one on each side of your waist. He sighed deeply as he caged you with his large frame, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck and shoulder; the darkness and pressure over his eyes relieved some of the throbbing behind them.

"I take it your evening concluded early, senator?" he said while running his nose along your bare shoulder, savoring the gentle scent of your skin. He had noticed that you recently stopped wearing perfume around him—another thing he greatly appreciated, especially right now when his head was already pounding enough without the added barrage to his sense of smell. "And tell me how is it you got in here without being seen?" he said with mock scolding.

"Mmm," you hummed, feeling his thick curls brush your shoulder. "I have my ways too, Commander... and you should know by now that I can be quite resourceful when I want something." You smiled, gently running your fingertips over his vambraces before covering his hands with yours. "Or someone..." Your sultry tone caused him to chuckle softly as he moved somehow even closer. "But the gala was actually quite short since the Chancellor never made his appearance..." Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed up the side of your neck. "And I was hoping to see you there..." you added, swallowing thickly.

"I was called away... the Chancellor..." he sighed, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "...you know what, it's not important," he said, his hands toying with the very silky and very red fabric that spilled out over your hips. "Did you wear this for me?" he rumbled.

To his delight, the dress was completely backless, save for a delicate silver chain that ran from the collar down to where the silky fabric draped over the curve of your backside, stopping dangerously above your hips. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like the chain was the only thing keeping the fabric on your body. His gloves were then discarded onto the table along with his helmet. You shivered as his fingertips slid under the chain, sweeping down along your exposed spine.

"Perhaps," you smirked as his hands alternated toying with the fabric and your soft skin. "It is one of my favorite colors, after all." A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth moved the base of your neck.

"Ah, so you were hoping to tease me, mesh'la... is that it?" he said darkly, spinning you around to face him. The long skirt of the garment gracefully swished and flared out at the abrupt movement.

"Well," you planted your hands on his shoulders, leaning close into his ear. "I was wearing something over it... but seeing me like this? Well, that's just for you..." you said huskily, making him groan deeply as his fingertips dug into the soft swell of your hips.

"Oh, mesh'la," his voice melted into an even deeper timbre. He loved when you did this. Whether it was wearing a nod to his colors, or the delicate fennec fox pin you often put in your hair for assembly. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the tiny tooka cat figure you'd playfully pushed into his hand that time you "ran into each other" at the night market a couple of months ago. What you probably didn't know was how he'd kept that precious trinket in his belt ever since, carrying a tiny piece of you with him wherever he went.

He held you against him as he rested his forehead to your temple. The scent of you, combined with the way the smooth fabric hugged your curves so perfectly, was somehow simultaneously soothing his nerves and driving him wild despite the other growing desire to lie down and close his eyes.

Suddenly, the courtyard lights began its ridiculous nightly display, flooding through the window with their bright, swirling patterns. Fox recoiled with a pained groan, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes as the capillaries in his head exploded from a lingering ache into searing agony. Without hesitation, you went to the wall panel and activated the blast shield, plunging the room into a gentle darkness broken only by the soft glow of floor lighting.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly as he continued to rub his eyes. "Fox?" you implored, reaching for him. But before you could touch him, he gently snatched your wrist and brought it to his face, nuzzling into it before he planted a warm kiss on your palm, gazing intently into you with those impossibly deep golden eyes. He leaned in, dragging his teeth over the soft pulse point on your wrist.

"Yes…better now that you're here..." he said in a strained voice against your skin. You sighed and gently wrapped your fingertips around his jaw, caressing the stubble on his scarred cheek. He leaned into you, and your fingers moved into his hair, displacing some of his salt and pepper locks.

"Come here..." you murmured before you started gently massaging his scalp, earning you a deep groan from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning into you.

His eyes fluttered closed as you massaged the back of his head down to his neck, giving you the perfect moment to press feather-light kisses to each of his eyelids, silently worshiping your hardworking Commander. Your fingers traced down his jaw and neck as you whispered, "Come home with me... let me take care of you."

He started to speak, but you cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. You let them work you to the bone, you deserve to be looked aft—" Your words were silenced as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, drawing you into a gentle kiss.

"Hush now, cyar'ika," he chuckled gently against your lips. Fox's ochre eyes met yours with playful sternness, glinting in the dim light. "I was only about to ask if you still have those bacta patches..." he added with a soft peck.

"I do," you cooed, tracing the scar that ran along his jaw. "And some painkillers, and that tea you like, it'll help you relax." His lips quirked up in a small, grateful smile as you traced more soothing circles into his hairline.

"Being with you relaxes me..." he nuzzled into your cheek as you grinned, feeling his dark eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone. Your soothing touch combined with your gentle presence worked wonders, already melting away much of the lingering tension from Fox's arduous day.

"I should check if it's clear before it gets too late," he said, reluctantly pulling away to retrieve his helmet and gloves. After donning both, he opened the door and scanned the darkened corridor.

"Most practical, as usual, Commander," you stiffened your posture, playfully mocking your own senatorial facade as he returned to you, the door whooshing shut behind him.

"Well, we can't have anyone catching you sneaking out of my office at this hour," he murmured with a smirk in his tone, his gloved fingers trailing down your arm. "Especially not dressed like this..." he tilted his head and looked at you longingly from behind his visor with a soft sigh, disappointed that you'd worn that kriffing dress for him and he was in no state to be doing anything about it.

You were now very good at reading him with his helmet on. For so long it, was the only way you'd seen him. The first time you saw his face, you couldn't stop staring at him. You were instantly taken with how beautiful he was. You chuckled and squeezed his hand gently before reaching for the more modest, yet still opulently traditional overcoat you had adorned earlier.

"I'll still have the dress tomorrow, you know," you grinned, flashing him a good view of your leg as you walked towards the door. He took note of the deep slit in your dress that stopped at your mid-thigh—all Fox could think about in that moment was you guiding his hand to wander under and touch...

"Fox?"

"Here's what we're going to do, mesh'la..." he said urgently, fingers adjusting the collar of your coat. "I'm taking you home, then you're going to put some bacta patches on my head and make some tea and whatever else— and then I'm going to take my time worshiping every inch of you in that dress until you're begging me to take it off you." His voice was low and gravelly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers traced up the edge of the slit.

"But first things first..." He pulled his hand away, making you grumble. He chuckled softly at your soured expression as he chivalrously offered you the crook of his elbow, now mocking his own stoic soldier facade. "Senator..."

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his gentle sense of humor, taking his arm with an equally dramatic flourish. "Why thank you, Commander. How very gallant of you to escort a lady home at this late hour."

As you left his office and strode through the empty corridors, you couldn't help but notice how he drew you closer to him before slipping out of the building and into the ever-bustling Coruscant evening.

You looked quite the pair as you walked arm in arm through the streets, with your dress billowing elegantly behind you and Fox in his polished guard armor, painted with those deep red stripes. Fox again found himself thankful for his helmet—not just for shielding him from Coruscant’s bright neon lights and roaring ambience, but for allowing him to steal glances at you without or anyone else noticing the lovesick expression on his face. He couldn't help it.

To any passerby, you appeared just as any other senator and Corrie would moving through the city late at night. But the way you walked beside him—proud and unabashed to be on his arm— it made his chest tighten with that feeling he was beginning to frequently associate with you. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine being your proper escort for the evening, accompanying you to the gala and back home like a normal couple. But those thoughts quickly faded as his mind focused on what he truly cherished— being safely tucked away from prying eyes for another precious night with you. And better still were the times when those precious nights stretched into even more precious mornings.