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yestrday · 5 months

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: ̗̀➛ ALL OR NOTHING. yan! aventurine / gn! reader

it's a nice feeling to finally be on the winning side, feigning fairness when all the winning cards are in his hand. but it's not like you can fault him for cheating. after all, you who has nothing chose to challenge him, the one who will gain everything.

( overarching theme of sl4very, anim4l cruelty, anim4l death, bl00d, graphic description of violence, hinted obsessive behavior, im unoriginal and stole kafkas spirit whisper for reader ) + 7.5k words

"It's just a bet," he suggests, as if this gamble won't cost you your everything. "Juuust a bet. Exactly what are you so scared of?"

He sits laid back in his plush velvet chair, twirling a cocktail as he enjoys the finest luxuries in life. He is clad head to toe in the finest clothing, dressed like a peacock waiting to impress. You, on the other hand, feel more like the peahen— dreadfully drab in your rags and no choice but to watch as the peacock flaunts his feathers. You are knelt on the ground, but your eyes show no submission.

"I'm not crazy, gambler," you bite. "I know the IPC. They are full of shit. And you, Aventurine." Your eyes set on him with hatred. "You're the smelliest of the lot."

Aventurine, the gem of lies and luck, sighs dramatically. "Pup, you know I don't like it when you're so vulgar, y'know? I'm giving you a chance at freedom, so you ought to at least treat me at least a little bit nicer. I'm not the one who shackled you, so I don't understand what the aggression is all about."

"You're the reason why I'm here in the first place!"

"No, Jade was." He presses a finger to your lip and you'd bite it if it weren't for the annoying bind you were under. "Jade came across you and thought you and your talent would make for a nice gift. You were a gift and I'm just the receiver. So don't go barking up the wrong tree, pup."

"So." He leans back into his couch and shoots you a sly grin. "Up for round one?"

You are lost.

The meaning of Paths and their symbolisms are lost on you. You don't care for Aeons— no one on your home planet was. You were busy diving in dumpsters for a scrape of food, tricking your 'friends' into sacrificing themselves for you, and killing whatever was left of your humanity just to make it to another day. You walk on no Path but yours.

You don't even know which way you're going. So you are lost.

You think Aventurine is lost too.

He has every detail of his facade practiced. His gait is relaxed enough to not be intimidating, but not sloppy enough to be called out as bad posture. He talks in a smooth voice that eases fools and makes enemies wary, his smile is charming to sway the opponent into another gamble, his hair is fixed to frame his pretty face, and he chooses words that cannot be turned into loopholes. He is Aventurine. But he is not himself.

He does not care for the Preservation, but he rejects the Elation. He is on his own Path too, but he knows the destination he must reach— his 'End'. In that way, he is different from you, because you know not your journey or your ending. Still, he is just as lost as you.

But he makes a darn good show of not seeming that way. Right now, you watch as he throws the dice on the table, and the whole table watches with bated breath as they turn. A six and one— he lost the bet to the other's six and five. They cackle gleefully as they collect their earnings from Aventurine. They have chips upon chips on their side of the table while Aventurine's winnings are cut in half.

"I think I'll call it a day, pretty boy," the gambler cackles, greedily eyeing his earnings and possibly dreaming about the cash he's made tonight. "Even a gambler knows when to call quits, right?"

Aventurine pouts. "Aww, so soon? C'mon, the night's only begun! Who knows, play another round and you might just end up with more money than you have right now~"

The man laughs again, obviously not fooled by his pity act. "Boy, I'm not as addicted as you are. I know when to stop instead of letting you bleed me out dry." But Aventurine isn't fazed; rather, he snaps his fingers and you lower your head as you step to his side.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? [Y. Name], be a dear and persuade this gentleman into another round with me."

A glow of your eyes. Then you fix the man with an eerie gaze as you say, bright and clear, "Hey, you: Play another round with my master."

As if in a daze, the man's eyes cloud over and sit right back. Another round later Aventurine wins all his losses back and more, leaving the other gambler's side naked and bare of chips. The man is barely out of his stupor when he realizes what just happened— that he's fallen for a trick and now he's ended up with no money to even cover his lodgings— but you and Aventurine have sauntered out of the casino doors by the time he's begun cussing you out.

"Ha! That was fun." Aventurine shrugs off his jacket now that you're in the car and raises an empty champagne glass to you. "You're a good partner, [Y. Name]. Honestly, that Spirit Whisper of yours is such a nice trick. Just like that Stellaron Hunter, right?"

"... Kafka?"

"Yes, her. Enigmatic woman, isn't she? A bit ironic how those with such a powerful ability ended up as slaves. Her as Destiny's, and you as... mine." He gives your collar a little tug and you growl in warning, but you inch closer to him anyway. "So. Gambling. You up for that round?"

You scoff and grin at him with all teeth and no mirth. "You really think that a Cornerstone would bet on their slave's freedom?" Aventurine's own grin grows wider. "C'mon. Even Pteruges-V has better lies than you."

"Ah, right, your homeworld. No wonder you're so brazen all the time, even to your superiors. I forget that fear is a foreign concept to you people. Still," he raises your chin with a finger. "If you're so fearless, why not bet on a gamble? It's not like you're scared."

"There may be fools from my planet that you can trick with that taunt, peacock, but I'm not one of them. I'm fearless, not stupid. And with the way you're so eager to involve me in this bet, I'm beginning to suspect that you need this more than I do." You push him away. "So, no, master, I won't indulge you. I'll bide my time and look for an escape. Just like I've always had."

"And what?" He looks at you from behind his sunglasses. "Will you kill me to gain that freedom?"

You flash him a sharp grin, now amused. "Of course you'd think that, master."

The smile on his face is wiped clean. You really are a brazen thing, you.

Jade has always mentioned how soft Aventurine is on you. A dog of your attitude should merit a little more disciplinary action and even the good Doctor has told him this once or twice after seeing your arrogance despite the collar around your neck. "Your dog bites more than it deserves," Ratio scoffed while you made an action of biting him behind Aventurine. He frowned in displeasure. "You ought to make it learn a lesson or two."

"Now, now, doctor," Aventurine had laughed. "Not everyone shares the same sadistic tendencies as you." An image of you collared and shaking on your knees flashes through his mind, and he finds himself gulping. Ratio looks at him like he doesn't believe him.

It's not like he hasn't thought of it, of chaining you to the wall and starving you so that you learn that your attitude has its consequences. You shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you, not when he's been so good to you. But that... that was exactly the line of thought his old master had. That wicked man who put a brand on him and sullied his hands with his wretched man... he couldn't risk turning into a monster like... that.

Aventurine is weak. Unable to let go of past sentiments and memories, he makes it up with his grand display of bravado and high-stakes gambles. He gambles even as he spoils you, laughing at your audacity and even rewarding you for it sometimes, not knowing whether you'll leave him or if you'll stay with him. It is a gamble indeed, but you were worth every risk.

"What do you think of me, [Y. Name]?" The cityscape beyond the window is glowing with Pier Point's nightlife, and his suite provides him a good view of the world beneath him. He glances back at you, stirring his coffee for him. "Your dear master Aventurine. What do you think of me?"

"Annoying, stupid, a fool, an addict, and pathetic." You don't hesitate to badmouth your master. "You lie too well, you think that luck of yours will never run out, and you try to be someone that you can't."

"And who is that someone?"

Your eyes flash. "Someone strong. Someone confident. Someone who isn't afraid to admit his weaknesses and hope that things get better."

"I didn't peg you for an optimist, dear pet."

"Hmph. That's not optimism. I may not know what exactly fear is, but I know that what is holding you back isn't it. You do not fear things, gambler. You stake it all and bet on something so intangible as luck. That can't be fear."

"Then what is it?"

The stare you give him sets his heart off, looking straight into his eyes and giving a grin so devilish and knowing like that facade of his never mattered in the first place.

"You're a coward. A plain, old coward. Nothing more, nothing less."

That conversation had always popped up in his head in the most inconvenient of moments, especially when he was about to get some sleep. His heart beat faster every time he recalled that knowing gaze of yours, invading where he didn't want the world to see and baring his soul right before your very eyes. His facade doesn't work on you.

He could care less. You were the one person he didn't want it to work on, though he'd never admit that out loud.

This meeting with the other Ten Cornerstones could not interest him any less, and it seemed to be that way for the others too. Jade is saying something on behalf of Diamond, again, and everyone is busy doing their own thing. Only Topaz seems to be the one paying at least some attention, and even then she gets distracted by Numby from time to time. Aventurine glances at the clock.

He wonders how his pup is faring while he's away. Ecstatic, perhaps.

"— All evidence leads to an underground network that is scattered among numerous planets, though thankfully all of them are within the same galaxy. I'll be forwarding an email to you all with a detailed report on each of these. Just know that most of us will be likely deported to these countries to break up the—" In the middle of Jade's tiresome monologue, the security alarms start to blare and two officers slam through the doors with looks of urgency. One of them scans the room until his eyes land on Aventurine, and they quickly approach him.

"Sir!" They say, desperate and alarmed. "Your do— I mean, slave! They've– They've escaped!"

Surprise streaks across the faces of the Ten Cornerstones, even Aventurine's. He collects himself when he catches Jade's knowing smile and chuckles to himself.

"Well, I guess this is the master's consequence for not disciplining their pet."

Did he really think you were fucking stupid? Taking on a bet for your freedom... what a bunch of bullshit. He can proclaim about how much he loves a fair gamble, but you know that's only reserved for the people around the table. You are his slave, the one he demeaningly calls 'pet'— you don't have the chance to make your own dealings.

"Halt! In the name of Qlipoth, you better stop while we're giving you a chance." These IPC henchmen were slowpokes, the lot of them. You weave in and between salary workers, crashing trolleys full of wares and coffees and hopping between levels just to shake them off their tracks. By golly, they might be incompetent but Aeons damned they were nothing but persistent.

"Ha, the Devil Hunters were more annoying than them," you mutter to yourself, skidding around the corner only to come face-to-face with two IPC henchmen. They raise their polearms to strike, but with a chilling grin stretched across your face, you say: "Hey, you: Jump."

You don't look back to see whether they made the seven-floor drop.

This reminds you of the nights you spent back in Pteruges-V: making fools out of the prissy rich, jumping across buildings to shake of the Hunters, and using whatever you had to make things go your way. Not everyone had Spirit Whisper, but those who had made good use of it and you sure as hell wouldn't miss a single chance to use it.

Your mind runs with plans as you continue to run away. Maybe you'll find a nice ship to stow away on, hopefully, one that leads to a nice planet that isn't so stuffy and rigid. Maybe like Homberto-σ, out of sight from the IPC and where everyone minded their own business.

For what felt like forever trying to shake your followers off, you finally came to a stop when you realized that only the sound of your footsteps could be heard in this labyrinth of hallways and corridors. Finally having shaken them off, you sigh as you climb up the stairs to the rooftop. 'Just jump down and sneak off to the nearest hiding place you can find.' You tug at your collar and scowl. 'When I escape, not even this collar will matter anymore. Not when I'm somewhere they won't reach me.'

You've escaped so many life-or-death situations before. Escaping slavery is no different.

"Slave [Y.Name], subordinate of Cornerstone Aventurine, you are surrounded!" A voice blares through a megaphone the moment you step onto the roof deck. You hiss as multiple glaring lights settle on you, shielding your face from them and the helicopters' onslaught of wind. "Surrender now before we are forced to take extreme measures."

Through the gaps of your fingers, you can barely make out the men in black pointing their guns at your head, the red hot of the laser making you a point-blank target. You click your tongue. Those bastards tricked you into thinking you were safe. Fuck. You couldn't even be mad. This was all on you.

"Oh, little pup. I guess I really should have listened to them when they told me to discipline you." Aventurine's seedy voice sighs behind you, smirking as he nonchalantly strides up to you. "Did you really have to do all this instead of taking the bet? Do you really hate the thought of playing with me, hm?"

"Fuck off."

"No can do, little one, you know how much I'm obsessed with you, right?" He chuckles, catching your chin between his thumb and index and forcing you to look into his eyes. Those Sigonian eyes are covered by the cloudy purple of his glasses, but even you can tell just how much he's enjoying this mess you've put yourself in. "You know I don't have a need for your skill. I could easily persuade anyone without trying, but I still let you stick around. Pup, I can't just back away from you when you know how much I want you."

You smile darkly. "That's cuz you're a sicko who likes tugging on the chain instead of being in it."

Those pretty eyes of his darken for a moment, embittered by the snarky comment at his past, before his hands trail down to your collar, hooking it with a finger and pulling on it. "Dear, while I usually have the patience for your tirades, I'd rather not do it today. You've humiliated me enough in front of the entire Corporation. So—" Pulling once again on your collar, he starts to lead you to the door. "— Let us depart without much hassle, okay?"

Humiliation sears your nerves like a hot metal, a warning growl eliciting from your mouth as he continues to tug you away from the rooftop. Close, you were so fucking close. Here you are breathing in the fresh night wind, a jump away from freedom, but then these IPC idiots all had you fooled. You don't care how many bullets will embed themselves into your skin, all you just needed to do was get away from this grip Aventurine has on you.

You grab the wrist pulling on you, yanking him towards you. His eyes widen before narrowing again, as if not believing that you still had the energy to fight like you don't have red laser points on your forehead. "[Y. Na—"

"Hey, you: S—"

You couldn't even get another syllable out. Your collar beats a few pulses before it starts squeezing your neck, crushing your windpipes and forcing you down on your knees as you choke on your blood. It sears hot around your neck and you collapse writhing on the ground as you sob and gurgle on your screams and congealed blood.

'WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY ME—' You can only curse and scream inside your head as you painfully thrash on the cement. '— A BILLION BASTARDS IN THE WORLD AND IT HAD TO BE FUCKING ME.'

Darkness is pushing in on you and the pain is making it too hard to go on, but you've always been a fighter. Even if you think that your squirming is pathetic and futile to the onlookers, you continue to tug and pull on the collar like you have a chance. Your ears are ringing and your eyes are too fucking blurry to see with, but the fight doesn't die down.

Aventurine places a soft palm on your hair. Even through the tears stinging your eyes, you can barely make out the faint expression on his face. Damned fucking bastard, damned Signonian, hypocrite and the fucking devil—!

He even has the audacity to look sad for you, as the light slips away from your eyes.

The first round is simple. Play a round of poker with him.

Aventurine hums delightedly as he shuffles the cards with clean and practised movements, looking right at home at the dealer's table he has sitting in his suite. You blankly look at the cards, not even an inch of a reaction from your side. He chuckles as he deals your cards.

"C'mon, look alive, dear." It's almost like he genuinely wants you to cheer up. "Look, I even poured out alcohol for you. It's not everyday that you get to taste Pier Point's most exquisite wine!"

You continue to stare blankly. You haven't given up yet, of course not, but... you can barely bring yourself to move.

When Aventurine is done dealing all the cards, he leans back on his chair and studies his opponent, just like he always has in the past. If you were acting normally, this would have been an easy win. After all, you always wore your heart on your sleeve and abhorred being told to control your emotions. You acted the way you felt— you curse when you anger, you boast when you're feeling smug, and you press your lips together and blush as he praises you for another job well done.

But now. Well. Bandaids cover the seared marks on your neck as well as your head after you've slammed it against the pavement during your delirious fit on the rooftop. Your arms are littered with purples and blues, the aftermath of a disciplinary session that went on throughout the night. Despite the abuse that Aventurine has (rightfully, in his mind) dealt to you, he had made sure to tend to you afterwards.

Settling your head on his lap, combing through the strands as he placed an icepack on your bruises. He hummed you an old children's rhyme from his home planet as you lay limp across the couch. You could barely move, mind unable to process the pain and despair of having an inch of freedom being ripped away from you. He had wiped away the tear that would fall from your eyes.

You couldn't feel comforted at all.

"This will be the first round out of four. Today, we'll make this a bit simple. Five quick rounds of Indian poker. If you're confident that your card is higher than mine, you can bet as much as you like. Not confident? Fold, and that won't count as a round. Loser has the lower card." He raises his glasses to his hair and smiles at you. "Understood?"

"Understood," you grunt. "I'm not a fuckin' idiot."

Aventurine only smirks. It irritates you, but you don't have much fire in you to snap at him.

The room is silent save for the clinking of chips against each other. The two of you cast a chip to the middle of the table. You raise your card to your forehead.

You cast two more chips. Aventurine casts three. You stare at the printed picture on his card and throw in another chip. He throws in another five. You frown.

"Fold."

"Ah~ You should've been more confident in yourself!" Aventurine chuckles as he begins to shuffle the deck to deal another round. You scowl at the Ace of Clubs in your hand, mocking you at your relinquished defeat. "Is a little intimidation all that's needed to make you submit? You weren't this docile before."

"Shut the fuck up and let's play again." He decides to stifle his laugh for the sake of your nerves.

"Raise." Your win, six of hearts to three of spades.

"Raise." Your win, queen of spades to jack of hearts.

"Fold." Could've been Aventurine's, ace of spades to king of spades.

"Raise." Aventurine's win, eight of clubs to six of hearts.

"Fold." Could've been yours, queen of hearts to 10 of clubs.

"Raise." Aventurine's win, nine of clubs to seven of spades.

Aventurine's practiced hands thumb through the cards as he begins to rearrange them again. His glass wine is almost empty, while yours is untouched. The man knows that you don't drink, so why would he...?

"Last round before one of us wins," Aventurine's voice lilts as he throws you your card. "How about we make it exciting? No one is allowed to fold this round." You frown at him but don't say anything. You cast another chip to the table, and he follows suit.

He has a 10 of spades pressed to his forehead, and your fingers dig deep into your skin.

'Oh please, there's other cards higher than a 10.' You remind yourself, but you gulp down your dry throat as your vision zeroes into his card. 'Jack, Queen, King, Ace. Anything. Please.' Aventurine notices your hurried breathing and smiles knowingly. You gulp whatever cowardice is rising in your throat and throw another chip.

"Raise." Fuck it. If this is the last round, then let's just ball.

He cocks his head, finding the motion unnecessary in this last round. But he sighs with a smile and plays along, casting his chips into the fray, "Then I'll raise too."

"This is the last round," you say, more so to remind yourself.

"Yep." He leans forward on the table and the fluorescent lights cast a shadow over those alluring eyes. "Nervous?"

'How could you say that? How could you taunt me like that? When you were just like me?'

You strengthen your resolve and glare up at him, the fire lighting back up in those blank eyes. "I hope you go to hell."

You throw your card to the middle, with the rest of the chips.

Jack of Clubs.

Aventurine cocks his head at you, smiling as usual.

"Congratulations, pet."

One would expect that Pier Point was the peak embodiment of wealth and luxury, being the base of the Interastral Peace Corporation. But the brightly something shone the darker its shadows.

Aventurine just so happened to like those shadows, even shrugging off those fancy clothes of his just so that he could find solace in those sleazy bars and play rounds of poker with dead-eyed salarymen and recently fired hopefuls.

The surroundings didn't fare any better. Amongst the dying neon lights, Pier Point's worst neighborhoods featured a just as nasty environment. Drunkards lying beside dumpsters with shattered beer bottles around them, cats hissing at each other in a fight for survival, and abandoned children peeking at them around the corner as they lay in wait for an opening.

Aventurine has shedded his elaborate peacock coat in favor of a simple white button-down and slacks. Despite the simplicity, he still looked out of place amongst the rags, though it made people think of him as a fearless idiot rather than run away at the sight of the IPC's elite.

"Mmm, that robin is indeed very plump," the blonde idiot remarks out of nowhere. "Quite out of place for this kind of area."

You pay him very little attention, mindlessly kicking the broken half of a bottle with your heel. It bumps into a smelly bastard who shoots you an irritated look, but quickly cowers when you return it tenfold. "Maybe it's been feeding on the leftovers of you prissy IPC folk," you spat, taking a look at the fat robin for yourself.

He takes no notice of the slight towards his kind and instead cocks his head at the cat slinking around the corner. "Well. Its health has attracted a rather unwelcome predator." He turns to you, with a mischievous smile. "How about we make this round two? Who will die first, the cat or the robin?"

Seriously? You were betting your freedom on something as stupid as this? You consider the cat— snarling, insipid thing, balding and thin as a stick— then the robin, tweeting fearfully at its perch on the graffitied wall. "Am betting on the cat. Could eat the fat thing while you go on another gamble."

He laughs, sliding on his shades as he walks into the seedy bar. "Then I have no choice but to bet on the poor robin. Let's have some fun before we see the results of our bet."

The cat is lying on the ground, heaving its last few breaths. Its yellow eyes are barely peeking out from its eyelids, probably delirious and starving in its last moments. You poke it slightly with your foot.

It meows pitifully. You instantly feel bad.

It might just be the ugliest thing you've laid your eyes on, but even the ugliest creatures deserve some sort of companionship in their last moments. It hisses weakly when you draw your hand close, but it can't do anything but relent as you stroke its hairless head. It purrs a bit, ragged and breathy, but the heaving of its ribbed chest slows as it relaxes.

"Don't do that," you murmur. "Just... just be quiet. It's okay."

The quiet steps of leather shoes stop beside you, and Aventurine watches on in silence as you comfort the dying thing. His gaze moves from the cat to the robin, still perched on top of the wall with his fat little chest and beady eyes. It hasn't moved from its position at all, just... staring and staring.

"So—"

"I know," you murmur, focus still on the poor thing. "I know, okay?"

The fat robin chirps again, tittering with its mocking chirp, before it flies away into the sky.

Your cat closes its eyes shut, and its skinny chest finally slows to a stop.

Aventurine stays with you for a while as you find a nice spot of earth to bury it.

No matter how much you want to believe your preconceived image of the blonde gambler— irresponsible, materialistic, money-wasting— you can't just make up lies about him in your head when all of his missions end on a win for him. Right now, he's heading for another mission in a galaxy far away again. And like always, he's dragged you along whether you like it or not.

"Come on, you like sightseeing other planets!" He laughs on the space warp going there. "Makes your blood pumping, scouting out the possible planets you can run away to."

"If I can run away," you grumble, not wanting to acknowledge him as you stare out the window and into the starry expanse of galaxies and space. This sight has always unnerved you— a reminder of how small and insignificant you are. How small and insignificant this collar hand on your life.

"It's not like you to be such a downer," he huffs. He pats the empty seat beside him. "Come, come. Drink with me. Ah, but no alcohol though. Don't want you trying to bite my entourage as soon as we get off." He's referring to the time that you had two sips of the lightest alcohol the ship had in stock before you absolutely wasted and decided that running away to the next planet was a good idea.

You grunt but sit on the floor next to his feet. He doesn't dare to correct you but only regards you with amusement before handing you a glass of sparkling water. You've always had this weird insistence of maintaining your master-slave status quo, despite abhorring your status as a slave. You followed his commands to the tee no matter how dangerous but refused to budge whenever he insisted on treating you like an equal.

"Don't get me wrong," you had snapped at him angrily one time. "As long as I'm in this stupid collar, I am not your fucking equal. So don't go around treatin' me like one, got it?!"

"You got the briefing, right? I'll be dismantling an underground operation on our next planet, so I'll be making good use of your Spirit Whisper." You sip your drink and make no reaction. "I'm sure you have no complaints about that, right?"

"Like I have a fuckin' choice."

He laughs into his cocktail. "Right. How could I forget?" Your eyes narrow into slits when he threads his thin fingers through your hair, but you don't make any move to remove them. "Unfortunately, this isn't an operation that I can just charm and gamble my way through, so you'll be doing a lot of heavy lifting. But so long as I have you, my dearest pet, I'm sure we'll be done before we know it."

You fight the urge to give into his tender touch, massaging your scalp as he combs your strands, though your eyelids are drooping now. He chuckles fondly when you rest your chin on the sofa, right next to his thigh. Adorable, how easily you succumb to the smallest of physical affection.

"Just take a nap," he hums. "We'll be there before you know it."

Aventurine's lavish outfit is a stark contrast against the nitty and gritty environment of the gambling den the two of you are staking out right now. Some of the men leer at him when he passes by, their faces painted by sweat and malice, and the promiscuous women bat their eyes at him with painted-on sweet smiles. No one bats an eye at the collared servant trailing behind him.

You try not to wince as you accidentally make eye contact with another slave, them kneeling on the ground with only rags to cover them and you have the luxury to look away as you grip the sleeves of your ironed button-down. You decide to just fix your eyes on Aventurine's back for the rest of the journey.

The next room you enter— less room to be honest, and more... coliseum-y— features a fighting ring where the crowd cheers on two dogs circling each other under the fluorescent spotlights. The other one, bigger and scarred, is baring his teeth while bearing a deep red gash across his body. The smaller one is shivering but giving the same energy back, snarling in intimidation while also sporting a noticeable limp. Despite the darkness of the room, you don't miss the way Aventurine's face contorts into disgust as he looks at the fight and surveys the crowd of spectators.

"Disgusting," he murmurs. You don't say anything back, though you doubt he could hear you amidst all this cheering. You used to bet on dogs too, back in the day. It was quick and easy money, and you had better things to worry about than the fate of some mutt.

While you're focused on the pathetic dog show in front of you, he steps to your side and nudges you with his elbow. "Willing to bet?" He asks, eyes focused on the show. "As our third round."

"From the look on your face, I thought you hated this kind of thing."

"I do, but I'm not putting money in the pot like the rest of them. This is strictly between you and me with no money involved." He turns his gaze to you. "So, what about it?"

You study the dogs. They've been circling each other for a while now, and the crowd's been growing more and more agitated by the lack of fighting. You think of the dogs you've bet on before, how the smaller ones had just an equal chance of success at winning as the bigger ones. Unconsciously, you tug at your collar. It matches perfectly with the stupid dogs down below.

"Bet," you huff. "I'm taking the smaller one."

You don't know why. It'd make sense to just bet on the bigger and badder, but maybe it's that ferocity in his eyes even if it's overshadowed by the growling menace that has you feeling for it. It's stupid, you know, betting your freedom on a hunch and emotions. But...

If it could have a chance at winning... then why can't you?

...

... Are you destined to die, just like it?

... Are you destined to die as a slave for another IPC slave?

... Will your death be just as morbid and pathetic as the mongrel, his innards spilling onto the pavement while the winner is pulled away by the collar, with no prize but another day of freedom?

This is round three out of four. You've only won one so far.

The very next round could kill you. Could completely sign away your freedom.

Shit shit shit shit shit. Why'd you have to go feeling sorry for the stupid shit? Why'd you have to empathize with its futile fight? Why'd you have to go see yourself in it? Now you could very much share its fate, dying pathetically serving for people who never cared about you in the first place.

Shit shit shit shit shit. The pressure of the bet has always been at the back of your mind, niggling at your brain. But now you can feel its heavy weight squeezing around your heart, in perfect rhythm with the phantom choking of your collar. If you don't win the next, you could very much—

Something light touches your shoulder and you lurch back like you had been stricken there. It disgusts and scares you, sending both repulsion and fear through your body like maggots wriggling into your system.

With a faltering outstretched palm, Aventurine's eyes widen behind his glasses. He sees something on your face, enough to make him bite down whatever cocky shit he has to say, and turns his back towards you.

"Let's go," he says, just barely audible above the crowd. "We still have a mission to complete.

"This is some silly joke of yours, isn't it?" Aventurine maintains his cool facade, but even then there is disgust in his tone as he speaks to Jade. "Giving a slave to another... you must think this is hilarious."

"Amusing, maybe, but this little one is too precious to let loose in the wild." Jade strokes your head, and while you curse in warning, you don't move to attack. "A user of Spirit Whisper, a rarity even among those in Pteruges-V. Don't you think it'd be better if they served the Amber Lord rather than going back to their pretty crimes?"

"Then give them to someone else." Aventurine turns his back on you and Jade. "Since when did I need help closing a deal?"

"Well, I just thought that you were lonely."

"And you think gifting me a slave of all things would help me?"

"Oh, just give them a chance. I'm sure you'll like this one. Look." Jade raises your chin with a finger, lifting your bruised face to the light. You shoot her a glare, plotting murder in your head, but you don't try to fight back. You might have tried once, probably, and learned your lesson. "Don't you love the fire in their eyes, even after being collared and brutally beaten?"

It is sick. It is sick how Jade can just easily muse about your past abuse to his face. To him. It is sick how the IPC thinks that Aventurine would even be happy about this... gift, let alone accept it.

"I appreciate the... thought." Jade smiles at the barely held back distaste in his voice. "But I'd really rather not."

"Oh, I see..." Jade hums, tilting her head to scrutinize you. "But no one else will accept you since you're too feisty for their liking. So I guess..."

"We'll just have to kill you."

Your face pales. Aventurine has never been quick to turn around.

"Fine. I'll accept," he says with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. "I'll accept your gift, so just..." He sighs, massaging his temples and waving Jade off. "Go away and let us be."

"Is this some sort of savior complex you have going on?" Despite being a slave, you haven't really learned how to hold that spiteful tongue of yours. Half of the fault lies with Aventurine, seeing how he's never bothered to scold you for it. He looks away from the reports in his hand and smiles at you.

"Oh, whatever do you mean, my dear pup?" Your bitter scowl is pushed down even further at his sweet tone and you scoff.

"I mean," you say, gesturing all around you. "You never scold me, you give me good food, you do all these nice things for me. You don't beat and lash at me like others do. Are you feeling sorry? As one slave to another?"

"Personally, I've never heard of a slave complain about treating this well."

"It's weird." You frown. "It's weird and creepy. All these niceties yet I can tell that you don't even mean half of 'em. Your heart isn't in it. You're just doing it for the sake of being nice. So I don't get it." You cross your arms and lean on the couch, deep in thought. "If you don't even mean it, why even bother?"

Aventurine hums, studying your silent and pondering figure before returning to his papers. You don't follow up your complaints with anything else, and the two of you are left to stew in the silence.

... Why even bother indeed?

"Last round and you only have one win, pup." His sickly sweet voice croons, tapping his perfect nails on the table as he watches your expression. "Are you excited?"

Normally you'd bite back, but today you thickly swallow. The looming sense of doom continues to hammer into the back of your skull, spiking your nerves with every beat and shaking your senses. You can barely feel your fingers. You can barely feel except for the fear coiling around your heart.

"... Yes." You can't even barely say a syllable.

Through the rushing blood of your ears, you can barely make out the sound of your master rummaging through something. Something metallic clicks into place and he slides it to the center of the table. You will yourself to look up—

A shiny revolver lies on the table.

A surprised cry elicits from your mouth and you jolt back. The sight of a weapon is enough to startle your poor nerves now and even more so the expectant look glinting in Aventurine's eyes. He smirks and leans forward.

"How about I make an offer you can't refuse?" Not that you were in a position to do so. "Since this is the fourth round, how about we go all in?"

"Russian Roulette. Whoever wins stays alive—"

—And the other lays dead in a puddle of their own blood.

It goes unsaid, but the moment you locked eyes with Aventurine, it was clear that the both of you were thinking of the same thing. You could ponder upon why the Aventurine would stake his own life over something so trivial as your freedom, but you aren't thinking anymore. All you want is your freedom. All you want is to get away.

You don't think further as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the gun and press it to your temple. You pull the trigger. Only a clean click follows, the chamber changing cases. You slide the gun over to him.

He calmly picks it up and slots it to his temple too. "Why are you so desperate to get away from me, pup?" He cocks his head. "I would give you everything you ask for, should you just ask. I treat you with care and as a friend. Is being with me so bad you'd put your life on the line for your freedom?"

He pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He slides it over to you.

"Even if you go back to your old life, what would be the point? You'll go back to stealing whatever you can off nobles, treating your fellow street rats like fools and pawns before dashing off to your next victim. Would that give you happiness? Fulfillment? Is that the life you prefer instead of being next to me?"

"Sh... Shut up." You sound drained, but he presses on.

"You can have it all, in the price of a collar. Does it not sound good enough to you?"

'Why... Why of all people is he...'

"Do you really hate being owned by me?"

"Why are you..." You choke on your words, grip around the handle trembling. "Why are you saying those things?"

Aventurine has never seen you cry. Not once. Not even when he had to punish you for running away. You could be weak and beaten, but you never willingly cried. But now...

He raises a hand to cover his smile.

"I thought... I thought you of all people would understand." Tears drop to your lap and your hand lowers the gun from your temple. "The pain, the humiliation of being a slave, of being owned. It doesn't matter how nice you are to me. I just want to be free. Shouldn't that be enough?"

Silence overtakes the room as Aventurine takes in the unfamiliar sight before him. Here you were, his greatest treasure, the most vulnerable than you ever were. Sobbing and weeping with a gun in hand, the pressure of the bet finally getting to you.

He moves. "... So this is it? For your pride?"

You wince, looking at him in betrayal. "You... I thought you of all people would at least understand..." You stay silent, the words forming on your tongue but too afraid to sound them out. Then your expression twists into anger, then resolute determination, before you wipe away your tears and glare at him like you always did. "I was wrong. You're scum. Just like the rest of 'em."

The moment the head of the gun points at his head, the collar clamps down and chokes you till your throat cracks and bleeds. The current of electricity crackling your nerves is just as painful and torturous as last time, but you grit your bloodied teeth and press the gun further.

Aventurine looks dazed, staring up into your bloodied face. If you weren't in such agonizing pain you would have laughed at how stupid he looks.

"[Y. Name]..."

"I hope you go to hell," you hiss through the bloody pain. "And I hope that when I get there, I'll never have to fucking see you again."

You pull the trigger to that beautiful face of his, but nothing happens once again. Fuck. It falls to the ground as the pain overwhelms you and you finally stagger. It lays among the specks of blood on the carpet, along with its empty... case...

Your eyes flick to Aventurine, still caught off guard and staring at you with wide eyes. Hesitantly, he reaches out to your convulsing body and cradles your head. "[Y. Name]..." He says, still sounding dazed. "Why would you..."

"Fuckin'... coward..." You grit out. "I was right... from the very start..."

Aventurine watches as you succumb to the pain and collapse in his arms. Despite being unconscious, the collar continues to shock and choke you, and more and more blood spouts from the side of your mouth and into the carpet. He tries to wipe it, despite it continuing like a fountain, before giving up and stroking your hair as the pain continues to intrude on you in your sleep.

"I know," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your eyelid. "You know it as well as me." He presses a kiss onto the other.

"You were never a bet I was willing to wager."

#yandere honkai star rail #yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #yandere x reader #yester.writes

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ramp-it-up · 3 months

Text

ii Most Wanted Part 10: 'Til The Day I Die (1)

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: How you and Sy overcome long distance. And what about your friends?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, ANGST, FLUFF. Distance, horny, filthy Sy on video, electronic sex, masturbation, voice/dirty talk kink, glasses kink, size kink, Angst, Sex in committed relationship. Oral sex, female receiving, making love, raw p in v, fluffy Sy, future plans, your friends are menaces, and of course, so is Sy.

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the 10th installment of II Most Wanted. These characters won't quit, so this series will be extended, but not for much longer. Results from the wedding dress poll will be revealed in the next part. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

———

Don’t open this in public.

You were intrigued when you got the notification, but you did as you were told, and put your phone back into your purse, catching up with your friends but with anticipation for when you got home.

It was just the second day back in your town, and you were out to dinner with co-workers who wanted to catch up on your new development. You’d just started to fill them in on you and Sy’s story when you got his message.

—--

The day before…

All morning, Sy thought of you and the picture you’d sent. He had to concentrate to work, and therefore was a bit of an asshole to the guys all day. He couldn’t wait to talk to you again. When you answered his call that evening, he’d been struck dumb.

“Sy? Are you there? Can you see me… can you hear me? Shit, this must be a bad connection.”

Sy seemed frozen, his mouth gaping open.

“I’ll have to call you b–”

“Wait, Buttercup, don’t hang up. I’m here.”

You smiled at him and settled back on your pillows.

“Good, You looked like you were frozen.”

“I was, kinda. I’m at a loss for words, Buttercup.”

You adjusted the glasses that Sy had never seen you in and patted your hair. You must have looked tired after a long day. You laughed nervously.

“You want to reconsider? You finally see me in my natural state. In bed, my hair up, in comfy clothes and glasses. Tired as hell. This is me. Sure this is what you want?”

You chucked your chin up as if you were ready to take a blow.

Sy recognized your anxiety and shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, Buttercup…”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You bit your lip as you prepared for the worst. After all that happened this weekend, Sy was about to drop you like a hot potato.

“I need to ask you a question.”

“Sure, Sy.”

“Will you marry me? You are the most gorgeous thing on the planet. Good lord…”

You stared at him in disbelief, then laughed, wishing he were there so that you could punch him.

“You are a menace, Syverson, I swear.”

You sighed and brought the phone closer to your face.

“Of course I will marry you. I am marrying you. Can’t take it back now. I will hunt you down.”

Sy grinned at you, reveling in the fact that you actually wanted him too.

You grinned back at him.

“And you don’t have to butter me up. I’ll show you my boobs.”

“Mmmmmm. I’m not trying to butter you up, Buttercup. You are the cutest little thing in those glasses. Giving me all kinda thoughts. Can’t wait to see you like that in person and hold you again. But in the meantime, I’ll take you up on that offer….”

The next morning, even after having fun sexy time on the phone, Sy woke up with a boner and the memory of an extremely hot dream involving you naked on the kitchen table in those glasses.

And to make it worse, you had sent him a picture of you in those same glasses and his Army T-shirt the next morning. Sy was very hot and bothered.

Just in a slightly better mood.

—--

It was after 11 pm once you settled into bed and got your phone out.

You opened your text thread to see a graphic up close video of Sy’s cock, slick and leaking as he gripped it hard, fisting it brutally, his thumb swiping over the tip when he reached the top.

You clutched your pearls, but stared at the screen and opened the video, licking your lips and wishing that you were with him.

“Got me down bad, Buttercup. So fucking horny for you. And that picture. That. Fucking. Picture. Have so much cum for you I don’t know what to do with it.”

Your hand was on your neck and you dragged it down under Sy’s shirt to grip one of your nipples, squirming in your bed at the thought of the cock that was held before you. You couldn’t believe that Sy had recorded this. But you weren’t mad.

Not at all, although you felt faint and swore you had a fever. Your body was hot and your throat was parched and your eyes were glued to the screen

“Oh my god, Sy…”

You spoke to the image as if it were him and immediately put your hand down your underwear.

“Are you wet for me? If I walked through your bedroom door right now, would I find you playing in your panties?”

You heard him panting and then pausing what he was doing to squeeze the base of his cock.

“Fuck! I can’t stop what’s coming, Buttercup.”

Sy grabbed his balls up with his two smallest fingers as the rest of them squeezed his shaft tighter.

“Why can’t I stop? That picture. That’s why. Y’look so fucking cute and godamn sexy in those glasses and my shirt.“

You gasped. You thought the picture was rather innocent. You were fully covered up. And you never imagined that your glasses would be a sex aid.

“Well ain’t that a peach,” you said out loud and giggled at your use of a Sy-ism.

“The shirt is so big on you that it slips off your neck and I can see your collarbone and the hickey I put there the other day. The size of the shirt reminds me how tiny you are and how, how f-fucking tight your little pussy is… ugh.”

He sounded so desperate, and him handling himself was so erotic. Your clit was hard now and you were as desperate as your fiancé was on the video.

“I was hard all fucking day, Buttercup. But I didn’t touch myself until now. It was like I was punishing myself. But then I thought about punishing you…”

You stilled, heart almost beating out of your chest. Did he just say…?

“Yeah I said it, Buttercup.”

Sy panned the camera to his face and it looked fearsome. It made your heart thrill and you gush wetness over your fingers as you started again to rub your clit in tight, tight circles.

“I thought about spanking that beautiful ass of yours until it’s hot to the touch, then fucking you. Hard.”

You swore you saw his blue eyes actually flash through the screen.

“ …just until you are ready to cum. Then stopping. Making you wait, like I have to, to feel you again…”

You whimpered.

“...making you get on your knees and feeding you my cock until both of us are dripping wet and can’t handle it anymore. FUCK! Can’t stop thinkin’ of that mouth of yours, fucking your throat until tears run down your face and then letting go all over you, and getting those glasses filthy with my cum.”

“Fuuuuckkk! Sy!”

Your fingers were touching yourself, but Sy’s words were getting you there.

“Christ, Buttercup! You drive me crazy woman.”

You could tell that he was speaking through clenched teeth and was trying not to cum even though the camera was focused again on his cock. Pre cum almost continually squirted out of his tip, and his entire shaft looked glazed, like a donut. You licked your lips at the thought.

“Is your clit pounding all pretty like it does for me? Hm? After all that, I wanna eat you out, damn, I just want to taste you again, to wrap my lips around that pretty little clit and drink from that fountain, Buttercup.”

Your back arched as you remembered the burn of Sy’s beard between your legs. Your vision whited out as you came. You wanted him there with you.

“Bet you came right then. Nothing like the real thing, huh?”

Sy chuckled as he read your mind.

“Send me another picture like that and don’t be surprised if I turn up at your doorstep the next day. Don’t say anything, just take this cock in whatever hole I choose to put it in….”

Sy continued to speak until you witnessed his precious white cum spurt forcefully out of his cock, the sight making you touch your sensitive pussy again, this time moaning his name for your empty house.

Your mind was scrambled by the time he had wound down said a sweet and tame, “Goodnight Buttercup. Sleep tight. I love you. Talk to you soon.”

Sy had ruined you. You had to return the favor.

You looked at the clock and noticed that it was almost 2 am in Texas, so you didn’t call him like you wanted to.

Instead, you opened your own camera to record a special wake up call for Sy.

And that was how you kept your sexual connection sizzling across 1500 miles.

—-

Even though you had a fiancé, you couldn’t neglect the rest of your life, or the friends who had been constant in your life for 20 years. You looked forward to your weekly zoom with Carla and Tiffany.

Normally.

At the moment, you were being lambasted by your besties three states over.

“So… you come home for a reunion and we see you, what? A total of about 4 hours over the course of about 80?”

You tried to explain, but Carla interrupted.

“You right, Tiff! So what’s up Buttercup! You ditched your friends for some d– GIRL WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ON YOUR FINGER!!??!??”

Your two best friends in the world start screaming.

“Is that the ring? THEEE Ring?”

Tiffany was up and gesticulating in her living room, her two teenagers looking at her like she was crazy since she had her earbuds in.

“Yes-”

Your explanation is interrupted by Carla again.

“Oh no you didn’t. Because you didn’t tell us about it. That better be a, ‘the pussy was so good I gotta give you some jewelry ring, and not the ring you gushed over in high school when you started writing “Mrs Jacob Syverson” all over your little notebooks. Not that important ass ring that probably means a very important ass thing that we have no idea about. Right?”

Now she was quiet as Carla and Tiffany waited for you to reply. You smile sheepishly and shrug.

“Wanna come to Vegas in a month?”

Tiffany threw up both her hands and screamed while Carla hung up.

But by the end of the night, they were both back on the call and on the same page as you. They listened as you explained how you came to realize that you didn’t want to waste anymore time because of what other people did and thought.

You told them how much you loved Sy and how much you wanted this. They couldn’t deny that you were right. They ended the call as your best allies who just needed to have a tiny talk with Sy.

—-

“I can’t believe that they went over to your house and threatened you.”

Sy only looked a little scared. You had to laugh.

“It was more terrifying than war, Buttercup. Those women are scary. We coulda used them in country.”

Then Sy was chuckling.

“They calmed down when I explained how much I love you, and how I would make sure that nothing or no one ever hurts you again. Even me.”

Damn. You really loved this man. You smiled at him.

“Well, I’m glad that you escaped unharmed. You might want to check Betty before you start it in the morning, though.”

“No worries. I set up a time for them to help me… for them to help me get something for the wedding. Everything is cool.”

You raised an eyebrow at your phone. He grinned.

“You’re so godamn cute, Buttercup.”

“What are you up to, Jake Syverson?”

“Just getting ready for the most important day in our lives.”

Sy smirked at you as you gave him a side eye.

“The question at hand, though,” He wiggled his eyebrows and held up his dominant hand then lowered it, and you could clearly tell what he was doing. “Is what are you wearing, Buttercup?”

You were successfully distracted.

—--

The first two weeks apart from Sy went by pretty quickly. You were very busy: You had to turn in paperwork, find a property management company, order moving supplies, search for a house cleaner and stager, and shop for wedding dresses with Carla and Tiffany virtually critiquing every choice.

You finally settled on the perfect choice for a Vegas wedding dress in July that was to your taste and that would drive Sy crazy. But you were exhausted. You didn’t have time to second guess yourself.

You texted Sy all day long and facetimed every evening. It wasn’t just phone sex; you talked about your plans for the future, your five year plans, and how you wanted your marriage to work.

“I want us to have a family meeting every quarter, even if it is just for the day, and check on the status of our marriage. Want us to adjust everything as needed, finances, individual and couple goals, and evaluate where we are with one another. And make changes if we need to.”

You didn’t know why you were surprised, but you were. You just didn’t expect Sy to come at you this way.

He laughed at the look on your face.

“I know that you think I’m the emotional one, and that you are the analytical one. But I don’t want us to take each other for granted. This is too important, Buttercup. This will be for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled and responded with your heart.

“Forever and ever, amen.”

—

The last week before the 4th crawled by.

You were amped up, which gave you excess energy to get packed up. You tried not to bother him too much, because he was trying to tie a bow on some projects so that he could have time off for the wedding and honeymoon.

It just didn’t seem real.

Finally, Sy was getting on the road to come to you. You were nervous for the two days that it took for Sy to drive out to your place, talking to him much of the way to keep him company as you finished packing up the few things you wanted to put in the back of the Bronco.

You couldn’t sleep the night of the first day when you knew that he was sleeping just 10 hours away from you. The next morning, Sy confessed much the same.

Your car was picked up by the shipping company, and the storage container was delivered and set on the front lawn in the driveway the morning he was to arrive and you were at your living room window watching when you heard Betty Bronco turn the corner around 6 pm.

When you saw her down the road, you couldn’t help but take off on foot down the road to meet him, causing Sy to honk and stop the truck in the middle of the road to get out and snatch you up.

“Buttercup!”

He picked you up, twirled you around and lifted you over his head as you laughed and your soon-to-be ex neighbors looked at the scene curiously from their lawns, or their porches, or from between the slats on their blinds. Neither one of you cared about the scene you’d created.

You began kissing him before he let you down and slid down his body before he pushed you back away from him to look at you. Your curls were up in a puff and you had your glasses on and Sy laughed down at you, clad in one of his flannels and denim short shorts.

“Didn’t know that you stole that shirt too, Buttercup. You are so fine. And all mine. Soon to be Mrs. Syverson.”

He kissed you again, and before things got too heated, you pulled away and pushed him back toward Betty.

“Let’s get out of the road and into the house, Sy.”

He winked at you.

“Good idea, Buttercup.”

You practically skipped to your door as Sy parked by the curb and got his bag out of the back of Betty. You held the door open but as soon as Sy stepped foot inside, he slammed it shut and you against it.

“Hello, little lady.”

“Hullo Sy. I missed you.”

“No question I missed you too. But in less than 72 hours, we will be saying ‘I do.’”

Sy looked at you hungrily.

“Yes, Sir. You ready for that?

“Fuckin’ A.”

And Sy kissed you. Tentatively at first, rubbing his lips against yours, his beard tickling your cheeks, You put your hand up to rub your fingertips in it while he traced your lips with his tongue. You moaned, and thats when his tongue darted in to meet yours, re-exploring your mouth and causing yours to venture out and re-explore his.

Sy grabbed your hips and lifted you up so that your heads were level with each other and causing your legs to wrap around his waist. His hands explored under his shirt as yours went around his neck. And when you finally stopped kissing, you leaned your forehead against his, a little overwhelmed by the emotion.

“Sy…”

You whimpered it, your need emerging, but Sy let you down, letting your body slither against his as you gained your feet again.

“I know, baby. But show me around a little bit before we… show me around. Need to see how you are and how you are doing.”

You nodded and looked down at his shoes, which were huge next to yours. Why did that get you wet?

“Take those off.”

You did it first, showing him where to put them, and as he did as he was told, you backed up and admired your man. When he looked back up at you, he winked.

“Well, this is it. It’s not as big as your–”

“Our.”

“...house, but it’s been good to me.”

You showed him around the small dwelling, and he admired the craftsman bones of the house.

“Looks like you got most of everything packed up.”

You smiled wide at him.

“Had a burst of energy lately.”

“Hmmm. You were supposed to wait for me, Buttercup,” Sy said, turning his big body in the small, filled-with-boxes space.

“What are we gonna do for the next two days?”

You suddenly felt shy. He really made you feel like a kid again.

“Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll order some food. Maybe take a nap? You must be tired from the drive…”

Sy looked at you with an intensity that shook you to your core.

“I’ll take you up on that shower. Need to wash the road off. And go ahead and order the food if you want. Your favorite place. I am mighty hungry.” Sy’s eyes swept up and down your form and you stuttered.

“Oh-okay. L-let me show you the bathroom.”

Sy followed you and you felt his eyes on you as you got him set up.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

Sy chuckled.

“Thanks, Buttercup. Won’t be long."

You were shook as you ordered Thai food and tried to make space at your small table among the boxes. You felt like it was 20 years ago, yet again.

In a few minutes, Sy came out of your master suite, clad in grey sleep pants. You tried not to stare, but hell, he was yours. You dragged your eyes up his thick, muscular form to his handsome face.

“Food’s here.”

You gulped as he held his hand out.

“Great. It’ll reheat, right? Cause right now what I need is to hold my future wife.”

You melted into him as he practically carried you back into your bedroom and laid you both down on the king sized bed that took up most of the room. You relaxed into his arms suddenly safe again. You thought about how he hadn’t immediately wanted to fuck. He’d asked about you and how you were doing. He was so pure.

“What are you thinking, Buttercup?

Sy whispered and brushed a knuckle over your cheek.

“Just thinking about what a good man you are,” you whispered.

“You are so good to me. Even when I was giving you hell about what happened 20 years ago…”

Sy chuckled.

“Never stop giving me hell, Buttercup. What I need is a woman who can keep me on my toes.”

You turned toward Sy and kissed him, causing a groan when you threw your thigh over his hips.

“There are a few things that I need to give you,Right here in your bed.”

“Our bed,” you replied as you arched your back and his lips ventured down the side of your neck.

His hands skimmed the side of your breasts, squeezing them gently through his shirt.

“I like the sound of that, Buttercup.”

Sy smiled into your neck, his voice was muffled since his lips were busy on your collarbone, making new marks, and his hands were busy unbuttoning and unwrapping you from his shirt. His eyes went wide as he leaned back and looked at your naked torso, then locked in on your eyes again.

“Missed you so damn much.”

“Me, too, Sy.”

Sy descended again to place his lips to your skin, covering your breasts with soft kisses, despite the pebbling, hardening flesh over your sensitive peaks. When he drew those into his mouth was when you arched into his hand, which had unbuttoned your shorts and delved inside to cup your moist mound.

“Damn, I can’t wait for you to be mine, fully. To carry my name…”

“I am yours, Sy. Til the day I die…”

Sy muttered a soft curse, squeezing his eyes shut, and he chewed his bottom lip, concentrating, as his fingers strummed you to the edge. He gradually increased the pace, as you widened your legs and held onto his shoulder. You rotated your hips, wining on his hand until he swore again and rubbed his thumb over your clit. Your orgasm ripped through you, intense and earth-shattering, causing you to throw your head back and scream.

“Holy fuck, you are so beautiful when you come. Give it to me.”

He leaned down and suckled at your nipple while your pulses slowed, then he scooted lower, dragging your shorts off and parting your thighs and propping them on his shoulders. He stared at it for a minute, while you brushed his now longer curls out of his eyes. He smiled at you and then your pussy.

“She’s so beautiful.”

You giggled, but it was cut short as his lips made contact. You felt the groan he emitted through your soul, and you had to bite your lip at the first brush of his tongue on the super sensitive skin that was still recovering from your orgasm. The first lick of your slick center had you clenching your hands into the sheets.

“Oh God.”

He lapped at you, kissing and exploring with his tongue. He took his time, seeming to be in no hurry. When his tongue circled your throbbing bundle of nerves, you flew apart in his hands again, but he didn’t let up. He kept lapping and slid a finger into you causing you to roll your hips and your legs to open wider.

Sy parted your folds to put another finger inside you, curled both of them, stroking over those bundles of nerves inside you as he pumped in and out as he suckled your clit. Your third orgasm rolled through you, on the heels of the one before it.

He drew himself back up your body, naked now, having shed his pants as you were coming down, pausing to nip at your hips and his favorite parts of you, then to suck at both breasts. When he made it to your lips, he whispered against them.

“That’s going to be a daily thing.”

“You could do that to me any time you want, Sy. Please, fuck me now. Please? Pleaseeeee?”

He shifted between your thighs and teased your slit with his leaking cock as his jaw clenched. You begging was his kryptonite.

“I had the idea to wait until we got married. But… I just… can’t….”

You moaned and he closed his eyes as he slowly entered you inch by inch, stretching you out again for him. His jaw remained clenched, and yours was gaped open in a gasp until he was fully seated inside you. Sy leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“So tight. So good for me, Buttercup…Suchhhh a good girl for me, baby…”

You keened at his praise as he started moving, making love to you sweetly, kissing you, holding you tenderly, and looking into your eyes. The connection was everything.

“You’re mine. And I am yours.”

“I know.”

The tense knot in your belly began to unfurl, and you held onto him tight as the orgasm took over you.

“Love you so much, Buttercup.”

With just a few more strokes, Sy found his release.

—-

You eventually got up from bed and ate. Then you talked for the rest of the night.

You and Sy caught up you loaded the shipping container, leaving the big furniture for the movers. You were in your little domestic bubble until you heard pounding on your door on the morning of the 4th of July, the day before you and Sy were going to drive to Vegas for the wedding.

Sy got up from bed and opened the door, as you peered around the corner from your bedroom.

He looked through the peephole and rolled his eyes before he opened the door. He let Carla and Tiffany push him aside as they entered your house.

“Move aside, Syverson. We’re here to take our bestie for some girl time and a bachelorette party to remember before she signs her life away.”

You stared at Sy, then at them as they continued.

“Pack your bags, Buttercup, we’re going to Vegas!”

——

Please if you liked it!

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tremendum · 4 months

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary: "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings: blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way. Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away.

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality.

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear.

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class.

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him."

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood.

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there.

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another.

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours.

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred.

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours.

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha.

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you."

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please."

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar.

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him.

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you.

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me.

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have.

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up.

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench."

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit.

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently.

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home.

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain."

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses.

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am."

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions.

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them.

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?"

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished?

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-"

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful."

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary."

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head.

This is, for some reason, sobering.

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so."

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall.

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile.

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth.

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings - cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries.

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals.

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it.

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too.

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway.

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others.

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste.

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members.

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse.

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though."

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on.

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut.

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream.

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged.

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck.

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core.

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged.

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine.

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight.

Every part of your life, he can control - except one.

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else.

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone.

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep.

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you.

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read.

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished.

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it.

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight.

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him.

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer.

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments.

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself.

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny.

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response.

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you.

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl.

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks.

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron."

He does.

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you.

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up.

You feel it very presently when it happens.

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin.

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain.

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed.

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though?

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip.

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke.

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself.

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams.

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him.

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum.

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you?

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him.

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling.

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything."

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts.

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings.

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow?

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this.

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium."

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds.

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes.

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own.

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it.

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you.

It's certainly not what you expect.

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them.

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further.

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

"Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness.

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow.

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color.

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that.

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes.

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after.

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self.

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like?

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams.

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance.

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers.

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain.

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it.

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this.

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you.

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again.

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room.

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative.

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows.

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained.

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath.

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire?

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move.

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes.

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move.

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy.

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning."

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it.

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud.

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds.

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement.

Whatever you want.

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay."

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame.

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously.

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he?

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away.

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time.

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you.

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul.

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart.

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything.

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you.

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw.

What are we doing?

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud?

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip.

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms.

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning.

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips.

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide.

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous.

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else.

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead.

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking.

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble.

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger.

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there."

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes.

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

#paul atreides x reader smut #paul atreides smut #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul x reader #dune smut #dune fanfiction

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yuesya · 4 months

Text

Aventurine tilts the wineglass in his hands. A careless, indolent gesture. Light catches onto the glass rim at this angle, bright and sharp.

Rapid footsteps sound outside the doorway, indicative of a brisk run. Then it ceases, followed by a perfunctory knock, and then the door swings open–

“My sincerest apologies for the wait, sir.” The man who enters the room is well-dressed, with oiled hair slicked back neatly upon his head. There’s a deeply fake smile stretched wide over his lips –or at least, the joy within the expression is feigned, but the greed is real. “It is a great honor to receive a guest such as yourself to our humble establishment.”

Aventurine answers with his own friendly smile. One that is equally fake as the one that he’s presented with, although less overtly so.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says, lifting the wineglass raised between his fingers just slightly so. He does not rise from his seat to greet the other man.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine.” The man’s smile twitches, but he visibly reins himself in and refrains from expressing any sign of discontent at the treatment. “If any of the arrangements or other services during your wait are lacking to your tastes, I must deeply apologize again. We were not expecting to receive such distinguished personnel from the IPC.”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Aventurine responds casually.

The man licks his lips. “… If I may ask, honored guest… what is it among the wares of this lowly auction house that has caught the IPC’s attention?”

Impatient, and greedy. Hmm.

In that case…

“Ah, that.” Aventurine pauses, noting the unconscious manner in which the man’s fingers rub together, the unblinking attention that hangs on to his every word. “It seems that I must disappoint you, then. Aventurine is not present on behalf of the IPC.”

The man’s expression falls swiftly, his disappointment a dark storm. “That, that’s…”

Aventurine ignores the stuttering.

“I’m merely here to kill some time,” he laughs, “Don’t think too much about it. Unless, do you really think that you’re in possession of something that the IPC would be interested in? I’m not averse to assessing the product and perhaps making a deal, if that’s really the case.”

Red colors the man’s face, but to his credit, he does not lose his composure. “… Surely you jest, sir. If we knowingly possessed something of that value, then we would’ve left this planet for greener pastures a long time ago.”

“Oh? So I suppose your auction house holds nothing of interest, then?” Aventurine arches an eyebrow.

The man grits his teeth. “… Nothing that would be of any worth to the IPC, perhaps. But you seem like a man who is appreciative of the finer things in life, and… and, our auction house is renowned in these parts for luxury items. I am quite certain that there will be something in our catalogue that will suit your tastes!”

Ha.

A small-time auction house like this… if someone like one of the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC were in attendance to one of their auctions, it would be a massive boost to their reputation, and open many doors for him. Hence the man’s initial delight in Aventurine’s arrival. His hope plummeted upon hearing that the IPC was uninvolved, however. And now that Aventurine himself made it clear that he was only here on a whim, and fast losing interest…

The auction owner was desperate to entice him into staying.

For a small planet like this, there was quite a broad range of selections that the man was presenting before him. Exotic delicacies, uncanny knickknacks, rare materials…

“–a-and we have new additions to the choice of personal servants, as well!” Sweat beads upon the man’s brow at Aventurine’s continued disinterest. “There’s an albino Foxian, very sweet and obedient, although she’s quite young. I-if young children aren’t to your liking, then there are also other options! We have a lovely young lady with very pretty eyes, almost like gemstones–”

There it is.

… The entire reason why Aventurine is even bothered to be in a place like this at all.

“Pretty eyes?” Aventure stretches and yawns exaggeratedly, finally cutting off the man’s tirade. “Even prettier than mine?”

The man freezes. Triumph blatantly flashes across his expression, before he swiftly ducks his head.

“A slightly different kind of beauty, if I might offer my humble opinion,” he says. “She’s a recent acquisition, from one of the war-ravaged worlds –a lucky find; our suppliers there usually bring in malnourished children, but that’s been growing steadily more difficult, ever since that singer from The Family traveled there in person and started interfering.”

Frustration. The man sucks in a deep breath.

“But this time, they found a lovely little bird,” he continues smugly. “One with silvery hair, and gorgeous blue eyes that gleam like jewels when they catch the light just right.”

“Like jewels, you say?”

“Quite so.” The man lifts his gaze to carefully study his reactions. Aventurine’s smile does not waver under the unsubtle scrutiny. “Ordinarily, the goods of our auction are not to be displayed before the auction begins, but… for an honored guest such as yourself, exceptions can definitely be made.”

‘Goods,’ he says. Slavery.

Aventurine remembers the pain of the brand being burned into his neck, of the days when he’d been bought and as considered nothing but merchandise–

The Avgins of Sigonia are dead.

… Aventurine knows this.

And yet, there is still a part of him that cannot help but… pay attention to trivial, useless things, even when the chance of any survivors aside from himself is bleak.

An auction selling a young, pretty girl with beautiful eyes, found from one of the neighboring planets beside Sigonia-IV?

Even if it’s a long shot, Aventurine still…

…

“Since she’s such a new acquisition, there hasn’t been time to train her properly yet. But, fear not! I am sure that she will–”

The man breaks off with a startled yelp as the entire building suddenly shakes.

Briefly, there is silence.

And then–

The screaming starts.

Pain. Terror.

Aventurine ignores the panicked, incoherent blubbering next to him, and promptly rises to his feet.

#writing #zenith of stars au #halovian au #time skip between this and the last halovian snippet haha #shiki isn't a tiny little kid anymore #you can catch all the implications in this snippet but if i ever get around to writing a part 2 to this #things will probably be clearer #we might see robin too?#anyways

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wixxid · 6 months

Text

IVORY · PART I

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,176

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: An arrangement is forged between two apposing houses to save your world the cost of war.

Fear is the mind killer.

It snakes inside of you, twisting and strangling until bitter death. It’s an escapable pit of darkness. A place where light fears to tread and all life suffers. You feel it now, the deep ripple of dread as it slows your precious breath.

The laces of your corset are drawn tight, narrowing your passages even further. Your humble servants dress you in silence; their faces veiled in sheer fabric. They don’t dare speak on this occasion. It's ritualistic. The way they prepare you in lavish fabric and accessories the color of gold and deep crimson.

It marks your arrival.

A fiery sun, rising upon a dark and desolate planet; far from the one to which you were born. There is no green on Giedi Prime. There are no vast oceans or scraping mountains. Their world is shrouded in black and white, a monochromatic wasteland.

Metallic toxins ruin this world, while great machines plow the surface; devouring its resources like a hungry beast. You’ve not stepped foot on this sphere, and already you can feel the shift. It's quick to form a haze over your mind.

This is no place for you.

This isn’t the future you envisioned, but rather the one to which has been so cruelly dictated. It’s a strategic alignment that only the Bene Gesserit would dare to conjure. The task has been assigned, and now you must survive. Failure is unthinkable - unacceptable.

There is only the union.

A pact to save your world the cost of war.

Walking the grand gangway of the starship, your father lead at the head of the envoy; a steady hand rested on his sword. Gurney stood guard on your fathers’ side, whilst your servants trailed at yours. The rest of your family – your lady mother and older brother – had remained on Caladan.

It isn’t custom to have them in your company. It’s the father’s duty to relinquish the daughter, as an act of traditional and good faith; but this is merely a transaction. This is a trade of life for peace, and as much as you despise the fact, your opinion has no meaning in the era of entitled men.

Maintaining your line of vision, you try not to allow your gaze to wander too far from the site of your own kin. This place is foreign and cold, and it wreaks of violence. The instant you detected the small huddled committee of Harkonnen officials, all waiting for your arrival, you shivered in realization of your pitiful reality.

“We welcome you to Geidi Prime, Duke Leto.”

A particularly lanky man stood eerily emotionless as he received your house; dressed head to toe in black layers. It’s a stark contrast to his otherwise hairless and pale skin. It didn’t take long at all for you ascertain the being’s true nature. You could sense it. A twisted mentat who serves logic to his master.

“Where is he?” questioned your father, voice absent all formality and kindness. “Why is the Barron not here to greet us?”

“He awaits your arrival in the hall,” gestured the mentat. The way ahead is lined with armored Harkonnen soldiers; far from a warming embrace. “This way, if you will.”

The skeptical glance Gurney gave your father only serves to unease you more than you’d prefer. You know that look. You know the two men hold little to no trust for these people. They’re all savages. A race of violent individuals who’ve somehow thrived in their own wickedness.

Several lifetimes ago, the two of your bloodlines crossed, but it’s hard to image their sinister race could ever be related to the likes of your own. In truth, the Harkonnen’s are the most alien of all the great houses; with their balding heads and pale flesh.

The archives can only tell you their past, but what you see all around is the present. It’s terrifying and with each step you take, you wonder how someone like you could possibly exist in their world. The back of your throat tightens, yet you shift to stand taller as you proceed to walk the grand hallway.

Pride keeps your strong, for now.

Despite the palace’s mega structure, you feel imprisoned within its steel walls; soon to be shackled by a vow. The mentat before you signaled two of the soldiers, bidding them to open the large doors of the hall. The smell of iron and soot wafted into your lungs; tainting them with every breath.

The room itself is expansive and minimalistic; eerily empty despite those occupying its space. The thick stream of light illuminated the foreboding figure which sat on the heightened, cushioned throne. You can hardly believe the sheer mass of the Barron, and yet it’s no kept secret.

“Duke,” spoke the deep voice of the Barron. The hulking man gestured outwardly with his hand, in what one could only presume to be a greeting of sorts. “Here you are – at last."

“We expected to be greeted on arrival,” replied father; clearly unimpressed with our reception to the planet. “We’ve travelled light years – and yet here you sit.”

“And there you stand, Cousin. Do we not greet each other now?”

The tension is palpable, and the seconds of silence feel more so like eternity. The duke’s bitterness hardly went unnoticed, and whilst others would try to correct themselves in fear of their lives, your father remains headstrong. The man's a pure representative of your family’s values, but he forgets.

This is their planet.

These are their rules.

It’s best you learn fast now, lest you shatter. If your family could offer no comfort here within your new life, then that leaves only yourself left to care. As the daughter of a duke and offspring to the sisterhood, your mind and body is its own protection.

The Bene Gesserit have governed you since you were a babe. They’ve showed you things few ever witness. They’ve taught you their ways, and now they’re to be the pillars of both the survival and success of this alliance. You are your only strength and weakness.

Observing the room, there’s only those of your own envoy and the close confidants of the Barron. Particularly, it’s hard to mistake the broad and brooding man standing to the left of his glutenous uncle. Rabban appears stiff, if not livid as he glares distantly at your father.

Wide fists clench noticeably at his sides, displaying his obvious displeasure of the situation. Rabban can be described as simple minded, but a brute. He uses sheer force to conquer, and for that reason, he’ll gain nothing of any real value. Power is more than strength.

“Come,” spoke the Barron. “I want to see her.”

“Where is he?”

It drew you to realize your father’s pointed absence of the man in question. You’ve only ever known your suiter by name and reputation. Feyd-Rautha. Ambitious and psychotic. You wouldn’t know his face to pick it from the rest.

“Is it your nephew’s intention to insult my daughter, or was he simply not made aware of our arrival?”

The Barron gave a low groan, his tongue tisking against his grey teeth whilst he leant into his throne. A clear sign of impatience. This is the Barron's most inner dominion and so far, your father has only defied his every will and word without hesitation.

Stepping forward, you moved with steady purpose upon your intention to diffuse the rising hostility. Gurney is the first to stop you with an outstretched hand, only for your father to intervene. Despite his reluctance, the duke knows this is an alliance even he can’t afford to break.

Amusement shone in the Barron's eyes upon your willing approach. Ascending the slabbed staircase, you watch as the silk donned man rose eerily from his seat. The mechanical and unnatural elevation of his large body caused you to stop.

“There you are,” he grinned as he hovered closer. “Bold, just like your father.”

The Barron's thick limbs reached out, slowly lifting the veil that sheltered your face. In all these years of residing within each other’s existence, the two of you had never met until now. Gazing up at him, you saw his pale and wrinkled face morph from intrigue to impassive.

He gave a low hum, “And so we meet.”

The way his eyes roam over your face and body feels more analytical, rather than that of a perverse nature. You aren’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or curious. The room turns silent, and everyone waits with bated breath for what the Barron will do next.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he announced. Hovering away from you, he slowly sat himself back onto the cushioned seat of his throne. “No matter the sort, beauty is a rare site to be had on Geidi Prime. It certainly doesn’t last for long.”

“She's to be unharmed,” interjected your father. The protectiveness in his voice is further stated with the underlying hiss of a threat. “As soon as she’s with child, she’s to be escorted back to Caladan.”

“Nonsense!” boomed the Barron. “If your daughter is to marry my nephew, then she’s to remain on Geidi Prime.”

“If?”

Turning, you faced your father to see his angered expression. Despite the intimidating and strange aura of this planet, the site of your father is still apposing. Standing in full uniform, you know with time and familiarity that the duke won’t accept or backdown.

“My nephew can be stubborn. Youth is so often irrational.” Shifting in his seat, the Barron sighed whilst narrowing his gaze. “As suited as she may be, your daughter isn’t the only hand of worth within House Major.”

“I see,” scoffed your father. “Then you’d willingly allow yourself to break law and dishonor the name Harkonnen? The Benne Gess –.”

“Witches and spies!” cursed the Barron. “I’ll not have them dictate the future of my house!”

“And I’ll not have you shame mine! Feyd-Rautha will take my daughters hand in marriage, as agreed. House Atreides holds not only political power, but the largest arsenal in the whole of the empire,” he boasted with intent. “There is no other of worth.”

Immediately, your gaze lowered with his proclamation. It's difficult to hear your father defend your house, whilst also acting to secure a marriage neither of you desire; but he does it for the people. It's his responsibility and your duty, but even still, you can't help but feel betrayed.

“Then you have my word. Let our houses be united once more," smirked the Barron. The mentat was summoned forward, “Piter will escort your daughter to her chambers. I won’t bore her with the concerns of politics."

As quickly as you arrived within the Barron's presence, you were now dismissed from the huge hall. Daughters aren’t privy to such discussions, but you know to what it will most likely pertain. You know there’s terms and conditions to matches as important as this one.

Lowering your veil once again, you headed down the steps to the awaiting mentat; who’s now no longer nameless. Piter walked steadily in lead, and whilst you couldn’t interact with your father in this moment, the two of you locked eyes in passing.

Despite the tragedy of your new circumstance, he'll always have your best interest at heart. At the very least, he’ll fight for your comfort and safety within the confines of your new home. He’d never travel the galaxy, let alone leave you behind if he didn’t think you would be safe.

“This way.”

Piter turned the corner, and soon you felt as if you were being burrowing into the bowls of the abyss. There's no windows this far into the heart of the palace. You’re cut off from all aspects of nature, and all that’s left is a labyrinth of metal and synthetic light; producing a warm yet sterile glow.

“This one’s for you,” he spoke monotonously as we stopped outside of a doorway. “You’ll be called upon later in the evening.”

Piter went to leave before you decided to speak, “Where is he?”

The man showed reluctance before turning to face you. Clasping his hands, those dull eyes stared into you as he asked, “Whom do you refer?”

“What are you, if not calculative?”

The mentat's face shifted at your taunt. Stepping forward, he appeared serious. “The two of you have yet to meet, but certainly enough you will.” Piter waved a hand over the doorway consol. “Embrace what peaceful moments remain.”

A quick turn, and you stood watching as the mentat traversed back down the lengthy corridor. Piter’s words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It's a warning. Perhaps even a threat. You've heard too much to think it's not.

Despite the sheer vastness of space, it’s whispers which travel the fastest. Feyd-Rautha is a name that’s passed by your ears on more than one occasion. Stories or truth. You’ve heard the court recount his cunningness and brutality.

You've heard him in your dreams.

It bleeds you with fear, and fear is the mind killer.

#fanfic #female oc #dune #dune part two #dune 2024 #story #feyd #feyd rautha #feyd x female oc #house harkonnen #feyd-rautha x female oc #feyd x you #Atreides!Female OC

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distortionbobble · 1 year

Text

Royal Flowers Chapter 10

pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. none this chapter, use of the word jizz in the star wars content (needs a warning because i hated typing it out so much)

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“Naboo is left with little choice,” you say. The microphone makes your voice echo around the walls of the Senate, distorting it like you distort the truth. You know that the Separatists have influence and strongholds all over the Senate, but you hope that they’ll assume that you still have to act in your capacity as the Queen. Besides, Naboo’s official standpoint is with the Republic, as represented by Senator Amidala. Padme’s in the audience now, nodding quietly as you deliver your speech. “We cannot defeat the Separatists. I strongly encourage the Senate to act, as what is being done is simply not enough. My people are dying and without the leadership of the Republic, Naboo is all but fallen.”

There’s a certain grief to your words, the kind that accompanies only the fear of the truth. You don’t want Naboo to fall. You don’t want to see fire and death and blood take over your planet, but there’s so little standing in the way of it.

Chancellor Palpatine stands in the center of the Senate, looking exhausted from your remarks as the next planetary system begins their appeal. There’s too much loss to help. It’s chaos, the galaxy is chaos, but you don’t realize you’ve spoken that into the amplifier until everyone turns to look at you. “The galaxy is in chaos. How is the Senate going to fix this?” You shout. “You have neither the resources nor the organization to protect your own citizens!”

Your words spark an uproar across the Senate floor, a din of noise spreading as arguing and shouting break out. The Chancellor waves his hands frantically as his aides look on in equal panic. One of them, however, isn’t as subtle at hiding his glee. Perhaps he’s Darth Sidious? He was the Aide for Chancellor Valorum as well, wasn’t he? He must be linked to the Separatists in some way.

“Silence!” Chancellor Palpatine’s voice echoes around the stadium and finally, quiet settles on the Senators. “That’s quite enough from all of you. I dismiss today’s meeting, and I expect that when the Senate gathers tomorrow, all of you—” and at this, he rather pointedly glares at you, “will have learned some decorum.” He waves his hand in quick dismissal, and then Senators all file out, quietly grumbling at the admonition that you all received.

“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” Padme sighs from next to you. You walk with some distance between yourselves, because it can’t be clear that you do truly hold affection for your dear cousin. “The banquet tonight is in your honor, and you’ve probably caught the eye of some very powerful Senators now.” She stops abruptly as you nod absentmindedly, your thoughts somewhere else. “Oh, no. You didn’t forget about the banquet, did you?” She asks, panic lacing her tone. There’s decorum to be followed, down to the dress that you wear. You need to send the right message— something grand, something that you’ve worn before. You need to represent the finery of Naboo’s former glory, and the fact that it’s now lost. But Padme doesn’t need to worry. You’ve already packed it.

“Well, what about Anakin’s outfit?” She asks at your nonchalance. That makes you pause. To be honest, you hadn’t really thought that he was coming. You had left from the palace so frantically that the only thing you could conceptualize was yourself, as selfish as it sounded.

“Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Padme reassures you, placing her hand on the small of your back as you move through the hallways. “I’ll take him to the Royal dressmaker. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all, you just focus on getting yourself ready.”

There’s a small part of you that wants to object. Part of you remembers the way that Anakin looked at Padme and wants to protect him from all that hurt that might come from seeing her again. Part of you doesn’t want him to look at her like that ever again. And it’s ridiculous, and you want to squash it; but you can’t act on it.

You swallow it down instead, and nod. You just have to trust Anakin’s growth and hope that he’ll be okay around her.

~~~

“You haven’t told her, have you?” Padme says, breaking the silence as the dressmaker wraps the measuring tape around Anakin’s torso.

“Haven’t told her what?” Anakin responds, a coldness evident in his tone. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just so hard being around Padme, and he can’t help but take it out on her. All the dreams of having children together, being married and living together without the scrutiny of the Jedi Council. The peace and security that he now has with you was only a dream back then. But he can’t forget the way he’d fret over her, and those dreams that plagued him. They haven’t left him; instead, now they’re focused on you. All those terrible visions, all those ones about you dying, just like how he’d see Padme die—

“Dressmaker,” She calls softly, dismissing him with an elegant nod. Anakin’s arms drop as the dressmaker leaves the room before he turns to her with irritation.

“Told her about what? The fact that I snapped, killed all those Sand People when my mother died? All those that stood by and watched as my mother died, tortured to the point of being barely able to recognize me?” Anakin’s mouth tastes bitter. He regrets it now, of course he does. After he watched you go through all that you did with Reyna, he hates himself. Fears that he’s a monster, deep down. There’s something that has grown inside him, like a bad seed, rooting out his compassion and replacing it with that endless fury. He’s afraid of himself. And when he looks into Padme’s eyes, he sees that too. She’s afraid of him because she knows what he did. But you? You’re blissfully unaware, and that look in your eyes is still trusting and unafraid. He can’t bear the thought of you holding that same resentment and fear that Padme holds for him. He wants to bury it; bury it deep, deep down, so that you can’t ever see it. No, he wants to protect you from himself. It’s what any good friend would do, right?

Padme sighs. “I know you think the worst of me, Anakin, but I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. I didn’t have a choice, you know this— I couldn’t let you keep going down the path you were going down.”

“And what path is that?” Anakin shouts. “You think I’d turn to the Dark Side? When I’m the one meant to bring balance to it?”

“You know damn well you weren’t far from falling to the Dark Side when you did that. I left to protect you, Anakin,” Padme urges, standing up from her chair as she engages Anakin in her argument.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me, and I damn well didn’t need it!” Anakin responds furiously.

“We all need someone to protect us,” Padme responds, equally furious in her response as she nears Anakin. And as he looks down at her face, he almost wants to cry— when did it all go so wrong?

Padme notices almost immediately, pulling his chest to her and holding him as tears begin to well up in his eyes. He won’t cry, he won’t cry, but dammit, he missed Padme. But even as he’s in her embrace, he’s thinking of you. There’s no electricity between him and Padme now; she holds him like she would a friend. He derives no comfort from her touch, and right now, all he can think is how nice it would be to be in your arms instead.

“We would have been great friends,” Anakin says, a lone tear slipping past his lower lashes, carving out its path on his face.

“In another life,” Padme responds, her voice muffled as she holds him for just a heartbeat longer. When she pulls back from him, it’s so clear to see that there’s no longing there, just a faded sweetness. She cares about him. It strikes him that he’s so lucky to have people who care, people who want the best for him.

“I love you,” Anakin says. The words don’t sound right— he’s said them before, he knows how it feels, but this… this feels garbled. Like his vocal cords refuse to cooperate, like they refuse to cave in to his request. They came out wrong, and Padme notices.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Padme asks quietly, taking his flesh hand in her own, then squeezing it lightly. Their former love, turned to a friendship, now feels obvious. It still leaves a feeling in his gut, like there was a dagger that just got pulled out. And all he wants to do now is collapse into your arms.

“Is the dressmaker done?” Anakin asks, swiftly changing topics as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. Padme smiles, the bittersweetness of their interaction clear on her face.

And once again, Anakin feels like the villain.

~~~

It took you nearly double the time it usually takes for you to get ready. You don’t have your handmaidens, after all, nor do you have Anakin. You wonder if he’s okay after seeing Padme. You hope he is. It’s been long enough since they were split for it to make sense that he could see her without losing his calm. You’ve done your makeup, done your hair, each careful movement of your hand and brush creating a masterpiece of presentation. The Senate ball has a purpose, and you’ll maximize your presence there tonight. But Maker, you feel so distracted. You just want Anakin here, to assuage your fears, talk you through the night, because you are scared. You need to show the Separatists that you will allow their plan to go through but also collect enough support to protect your own people, and do all of it without being detected.

You’re just struggling to do the last button when there’s a knock on the door. A courtesy knock, because the door swings open almost immediately after it.

“Hey,” Anakin grumbles. His suit is a near-identical match of yours; the colors, the fraying edges, the tailor did it all to a tee. It’s a masterpiece. But you’re so busy admiring the detailing of his outfit that you don’t notice the obvious distress that Anakin’s in. He sits down on the bed with a sigh, looking up at you with that pitiful look that makes you want to hold him in your arms and kiss the crown of his head. A ridiculous thought, you know, but you just want to comfort him. To hold him, to protect him.

And you shouldn’t feel that way.

“Was it too much to see Padme?” You ask, almost anxiously. You don’t want him to still be pining over Padme. Maybe it’s selfishness. Maybe it’s because you want him to feel for you what he felt for her. You want him to care about you, to love you, because you’re lost without him. And maybe, just maybe, it’s because you feel that way about him.

“No,” He sighs, placing his metal hand on his face. He’s tense, and you just can’t pinpoint why.

“Is it the dreams again?” You ask quietly, to which Anakin nods. He hasn’t been sleeping well for almost a week. He wakes up so often, waking you up too in his terror. When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll grab your wrist, allowing his fingers to linger on your pulse point as he reassures himself that you’re alive. You’re not sure why he’s so worried. You are just a mission, after all. But you have to admit, it’s nice to have someone care about you like this. Padme, of course, cares and loves you; she’s practically your sister, she almost has to. But she’s so busy and when you started getting more involved with spying, she began to treat every conversation like it was the last one she’d have with you.

It wasn’t her fault. You don’t blame her. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that Anakin still hopes that you’ll live. It makes part of you think it’s possible, even if logic says otherwise.

“Are you ready for the ball?” You ask instead, slipping a silver pin into your meticulously-arranged hair. Anakin nods again, and you make note of his quietness today. You suspect, in part, that it’s because he saw Padme. Maybe he’s still really not over her. The thought of it makes your hand stray to your wedding bracelet, the threaded chain that sits comfortably on your wrist. You think of the way your parents honored their love with a bracelet just like this; to them, it meant something. It meant love, and trust, and you wonder how they’d react to the fact that the one whose chain matches your own is in love with someone else.

You don’t understand why you can’t stop thinking about it. Why can't you stop thinking about what it would be like for him to love you? Why do you want it so bad? Your finger slips under the chain and you want to tug it, you want to pull it until it snaps against your skin.

“You missed a button,” Anakin says, his voice gruff. He stands and comes near you, allowing the pads of his fingers to skim down the column of your neck, your spine, before he reaches the top button of your dress. Your eyes close almost involuntarily, desperately trying to focus your racing mind on just the feel of him, even as it seeks out more. It’s hard to breathe. Your heart is racing, heat gathering at the base of your neck where he’d touched you. You can hear his quiet breathing, feel the movement of his fingers as he buttons the last part of your dress.

You can tell that it’s done from the secureness of your dress, but he lingers behind you still, shadowlike. His hands don’t move from where they rest on your back, and you want to freeze him, freeze right now, and calm your racing heart. It pulses in you violently, spreading the warmth of his touch all over your body until even your fingers feel electrified. Does he know the impact that he has on you?

But then he steps back, and you’re able to regain your sanity. He probably was struggling to make it stay, something like that. He wouldn’t just be close to you for the sake of being close to you— it’s Anakin, you still remember all that he told you when you first began this mission. And what you’d said to him. He provided you companionship, which was more than what you had asked for, so why does your greedy heart seek out more still? Are you truly that selfish?

“Well, I think it’s time we go,” you say quietly, your hand straying again to the metal chain. It brings you comfort. You don’t want to think about the eventuality of having to break it off. Anakin searches your face, lips parting softly like he wants to say something but not a sound comes out. Instead, he forces them into a smile, offering his arm for you to hold.

“You look beautiful tonight, milady,” He murmurs as you step into the hallway, heading towards the ball.

“You look nice as well, Anakin. Naboo suits you,” You say, feeling shy at Anakin’s compliment. Beautiful. You look beautiful tonight.

“It does,” He says, looking at you with something hidden in his eyes. It makes your breath hitch in your throat, and for a second, you see Anakin’s gaze dip to your lips. The look is so brief you think you might have imagined it, but maker, now you’re looking at his lips. They look soft and warm, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat the longer you look at him.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand places itself on his neck, brushing away a stray piece of hair and lingering there as you stammer to explain yourself. “Sorry,” You apologize. You just wanted an excuse to touch him, you know that.

You can hear the banquet, or ball, whatever it is, from outside as you cross the Senate’s grass lawns. You’re nervous—hopefully you won’t have to deal with the fallout of what you said during the Senate meeting today. Your foolishness makes you swallow hard. Anakin takes note of your nerves and squeezes your hand wordlessly to reassure you. He’s so damn good at reading you, it scares you.

By the time you can get inside, the party’s in full swing; the normally reserved group of Senators all a few drinks in, laughing boisterously and moving clumsily to the jizz music that plays. It’s an overwhelming scene, and you find yourself clinging tighter to Anakin. You don’t have the capacity to deal with this right now, but you’ve got no choice. The group of Senators that you need to talk to catch your eye, and you squeeze Anakin’s arm, raising yourself slightly to be able to kiss his cheek. It’s all for show, of course. That’s what you’re telling yourself.

“I’ll be over there,” You say, leaving him to fend for himself.

Hopefully he’ll be okay.

~~~

“I see the wife left you all alone, huh?” A Senator comes up to Anakin, clapping his back as he watches you disappear into the crowd. He wants nothing more than to be next to you right now. Anakin Skywalker does not like big crowds.

“Yep,” He says shortly, clenching his metal hand into a fist as he tries to regulate himself. It’s too loud, too hot, and worst of all, you’re somewhere else.

“Senator Jubbs, of Tattooine,” The man introduces himself, grabbing Anakin’s hand and shaking it with his sweaty hands. Disdain makes his lip curl but he stops himself, smooths out his expression. He’s not just Anakin, he’s Anakin Lars, husband to the Queen of Naboo. He needs to play it nice.

“Tattooine, huh?” He asks dryly, subtly reaching to wipe his palms free of the stranger’s sweat. Disgusting. “Not a fan of Tattooine. Sand just doesn’t work for me.”

“Nonsense,” Jubbs splutters, waving over a waiter to get him a drink. “You’ve got to loosen up, my boy, have a drink,” He notes, taking a rather large swig of his own drink. The drink that the waiter hands to Anakin looks jewel-like, and the glass alone looks like it would have been enough money to free his mother and himself. He downs it quickly, hoping to swallow down his anger before it becomes too evident. “So why is it that you don’t like Tattooine? Are you perhaps from our glorious planet?”

Anakin bites back a scoff. “No, just had the pleasure of visiting,” he says. Sarcasm drips off his tone, and the Senator squints at his thinly-veiled insult.

“You listen here, boy,” The Senator hisses, stepping closer to Anakin aggressively. Anakin’s good enough at reading body language to know that this is only going to mean trouble. “You’ve got a lot of arrogance for someone who looks like they can’t satisfy their own wife. You haven’t even got two hands, for Maker’s sake. One is metal! You might as well be a droid. She’d be better off with someone like myself,” he says, puffing his chest up.

That gets to Anakin. His face twitches in disgust and anger, his blood boiling as he looks at the Senator. Jubbs is leering at you now, and the audacity of him to talk about his wife like that makes him furious.

“You’re nothing,” He says to Jubbs, seething. He maintains his voice at a quiet level— no one around him should hear what he says, but he needs to say it anyway. “And when you’re dead, not even the flies will mourn you, you waste of—”

“My love,” you say from behind him. You sound like an angel, your touch cool to his skin as you place your hand delicately on his shoulder, bringing him down to your face to kiss him softly, sweetly. He doesn’t even care that it’s fake, sweeping you into his embrace and shielding you from Jubbs as he kisses you, frustrated. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, and he can feel his hunger for you slipping out as he kisses you, trying to get more of you than he’s allowed. You move your lips back in kind, your lipstick smudging on his own lips as they meet.

Anakin feels territorial. Possessive. He wants to get rid of everyone here, he wants to keep kissing you, he can’t get enough of you. He only lets you go when you place your hand on his chest, pushing him away slightly to talk to the Senator.

“Could you get me a drink, my love?” you say sweetly, using your thumb to wipe the traces of lipstick from the corners of his mouth. Anakin almost pouts at the thought of having to leave your side, but the look in your eyes makes it clear that there’s no room for arguing. After sneaking one last possessive kiss in and glaring at Jubbs, he leaves to get a drink from the tables set up at the edge of the ballroom.

How dare he talk about my wife like that? I should snap his neck off. I should slice his head clean off. I want to drive my fist through his face, I want to—

“Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine calls, snapping him away from his violent thoughts. The old man smiles knowingly at the expression on Anakin’s face, coming to stand next to him. “Jubbs has never been the most tactful,” He sighs. “Fortunately, it seems like your wife knows how to handle him.”

“I wish she didn’t have to handle him,” Anakin grumbles, pouring himself a glass of water as his fingers dance anxiously.

“You seem on edge tonight, my friend. Come, why don’t we get a bit of fresh air?” Sheev asks kindly, placing a hand on Anakin’s spine to guide him away. When he turns to look back at you, Sheev laughs. “Love is a blinding drug. She’ll be fine, Anakin.”

The night air blankets him in its cool, allowing him to sneak in a few deep breaths as he tries to wash away both the hunger he feels for you and the anger he still holds for Jubbs. He doesn’t know what came over him, kissing you like that— like he wanted to devour you. It scared him.

“Now, tell me, Anakin. What is it that’s on your mind?” Sheev asks, looking up to the stars as Anakin sips his water to calm himself down.

“I keep having these awful visions. Visions where I lose her in a hundred different ways, and I’d do anything to stop them from coming true,” He says, frustrated and scared. He speaks no lies. The thought of losing you is driving him to insanity; he can’t sleep in fear of the visions of you dying.

“Have you heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?” Chancellor Palpatine asks him slyly. “A man so powerful he could stop death itself from reaching his loved ones, just by manipulating the midichlorians. A power that he taught his apprentice before he killed him in his sleep.”

“Such a power exists?” Anakin asks, his heart thumping loudly. He could keep you alive. He could keep you safe. You’d be able to stay alive, no matter what.

“Yes,” Palpatine sighs, turning to look at Anakin as if to say go on, ask me more.

“Where- where could I learn this power?” he asks, his hands clammy as he looks at his friend.

“Not from a Jedi,” Palpatine responds. “If that’s what you were thinking of.”

“Then I am alone, with no one to help me,” Anakin murmurs hopelessly.

“My dear boy, alone? I’m right here,” Palpatine says with a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Palpatine says, smoothing a wrinkle out of his robes. “Before his passing, my master… he taught me much about the Force. Yes, even the Dark Side of it.”

“How did I know nothing of this?” Anakin asked in his disbelief.

“I had to hide it, you see. You were still a pawn to the Jedi Council, but now, I see that you know the truth. Those power-hoarding Jedis don’t want peace; they want total control, and they had you under their thumb,” Palpatine coaxes. Anakin’s heart drops to his stomach. Sheev Palpatine, a man who he’d looked up to for guidance, for friendship, for as long as he could remember, was a Sith Lord? He forces a nod, trying desperately to mask his discomfort.

“Will you help me save her?” Anakin asks. The fate of the universe is far from his mind. The only thought in his head is the sight of you in the mornings, before you wake up; the thought of your hand against his, the slight brush of your hand against his, the feel of your lips when he kissed you just now.

And then he hears your voice in his head. You’d told him that you weren’t more important than the work you do. You bring clarity to him as the Dark SIde began to sink its claws into him, and he could think rationally now. Calmly.

“You’ll have to swear your fealty to me,” Sheev Palpatine says.

“I do,” Anakin says, lowering his head. He hopes the Force can forgive him. He knows the midichlorians will hold him to it, to some extent; by doing this, there’s no return. He can’t go back to being a Jedi. He won’t have crossed to the Dark Side but instead will walk in the middle. He will become the balance that he swore to bring to the universe. A sick, unsettled feeling makes itself known in the pit of his stomach. Not only is he going against everything he knew, everything he had grown up believing, but he’s also losing you. Anakin wonders, for a second, what he’ll be left with at the end of it all.

“Then henceforth, you will be known as Darth Vader, apprentice to Darth Sidious,” Palpatine says.

Fuck.

#distortionbobble's fics #anakin skywalker x reader #reader insert #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars #my writing #royal flowers #anakin skywalker series #star wars series #star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x f!reader #anakin x you #x reader star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

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rosiesthehat · 2 months

Text

how much sand can a hand hold?

_ Chapter 2, "Sand"

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Tags: fluff!!,

Summary: Lady Jessica needs to be held. You're the one to do it.

Author’s Note: I just feel so deeply for this woman, I can barely handle it. This is also on my AO3!

The entirety of Castle Caladan could fit into the massive frigate you’re brought on board of, early in the morning before the sun has even risen on your home planet.

You’ve handed off all of your worldly possessions to whichever guard is to be trusted with them, so with nothing in hand, all you hold are images of sandworms and Harkonnen soldiers as you step onto the massive ship.

There’s a lump in your throat, an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never flown before, not even on one of the small No-Ships that the Atreides family so often employed. Your feet have never left the ground of Caladan, and you’ve the nerves to prove it.

You may not be prepared for a journey to Arrakis in the slightest, but least you look the part.

Jessica had kept her promise, as much as you begged her not to, you’ve been supplied with all of the lightweight cottons and shimmering chiffons that you could ever dream of. She’s kept you as her stylistic twin, as she’s always said you look prettier in her clothes than she does. You hate to disagree with your lady, but she has never been so wrong.

Stepping onto the Atreides’ utilitarian frigate, there’s an eerie silence. All of the royal guard have been strapped into their seats, with only a few remaining for you to fill, along with the royal family. You truly believe that this is the scariest day of your life, and you have yet to encounter the army-swallowing worms that inhabit your new home.

You follow behind your royal family obediently, hands lifting Lady Jessica’s long train, so it never dares to touch the ground. The duke takes a seat in the foremost row of the ship, his doting son and ever compliant concubine seating themselves beside him. You quickly take the seat next to your lady, hoping you can pass it off as need to keep an eye on the beautiful dress she’s only just received. You wouldn’t dare to let it get dirty.

The moment that you sit, strapping yourself into the many buckles of the ship’s seat, your leg begins to bounce entirely on its own accord. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your mind at bay when the large door of the frigate finally closes, preparing to lift you from the ground. You grip the organza between your fingers so tightly that you fear that it may rip. That’s certainly not the only thing you fear, but it’s better to focus on your lady’s dress than the fact that you’ve now left the only home you’ve ever known.

Your body is working overdrive, heart racing, eyes fighting back tears, eardrums so full of noise that they’ve started to muffle every minute noise within the ship. And it works, except for one voice. Your lady’s.

She’s laid a hand over top of your own, putting enough pressure to calm their frantic squeezing.

“You must not fear.” She whispers from behind a sheer curtain of fabric, and when you turn to face her, all you see is yellow over yellow, jewels sparkling under the harsh white lights of the ship. “Fear is the mind killer.” You’ve heard the Litany so many times in your life, when Jessica has been verbally abused by the duke or during the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam’s many visits. You’ve heard it enough times to have the entire passage memorized by heart, and yet, it does nothing to soothe your nerves. They are just words, and words do not remove the fact that you will likely never see Caladan again.

Jessica must have noticed that the duke and his son are in bustling conversation, and none of the men on this ship would ever pay mind to the two veiled women that sit amongst them, so she pushes herself even closer to you, giving your hand another firm squeeze.

“I know you are frightened, my love. Hold my hand. It will be over soon.” She whispers only to you, only focused on your feeling, on calming your mind and holding your hand. The way that her voice lightly cracks tells you that she is awfully scared too, and you quickly upturn your hand so that you are interlocking fingers. You swallow the bump in your throat, praying that your time spent on this freight ship will be minimal, and you will be on Arrakis soon enough.

“I’ve heard that Arrakis is beautiful right as the sun sets.” You whisper to her, trying to rattle off whatever information you’ve learned from the many filmbooks that you’d sped through in the days prior to your journey to the desert planet. “The videos were gorgeous. Orange and red and pink... Nothing like anything we’ve ever seen on Caladan.”

“Then we shall watch the sky tonight. Together.” She responds quietly, hand lifting up to tuck a loose curl that had fallen from your intricate braids. A house’s first arrival on its newly claimed planet was truly one of the most important events in a young maid’s life, so you had begged Jessica to help you make your hair as decorative as possible, even if it were to be covered by a veil soon thereafter.

“I would like that very much.” You smile shyly to her, giving her hand a squeeze, a pain shocking through you when you come into contact with the ring that she’d worn all while you’ve known her. Though the duke would never be able to set down his pride and marry the woman that he forces to be subservient to him for the rest of his life, he had caged her with this ring, staking his eternal claim over her.

The ship had started to rattle, loudly booming out of nowhere. It causes you a great deal of strife, shutting your eyes tight to try and find some happier image, but no such image comes.

“It’s only the Heighliner. The larger ship that will carry us to Arrakis. Don’t worry, darling.” It pained you to think that a ship greater in size than your current frigate was even possible. This Heighliner would have to be larger than all of Caladan itself to be able to contain several ships in its hull, and the thought only made you more uneasy.

You try and shake your fear, try to hold on to your lady’s soft grasp, try to find your center. Jessica had taught you the Bene Gesserit calming breath, and as many times as it had worked, it had failed twice as many. You were simply cursed to be eternally hurt, with no remedy but your lady’s kisses, a cure-all that was never readily available to you.

You forced your mind to conjure ideas of your new home. You tried to distract yourself with thoughts of decorations, mentally scanning through your few suitcases to take a list of everything you’ve brought. All of the woven wall-hangings and small paintings that you had accumulated over a few weekends spent perusing Caladan’s markets with Jessica, the small statues of creatures from other lands, the one stuffed toy that you held at night when the thunder crashed too violently. You hoped to bring even a small bit of Caladan with you, and though you were sure that Arrakis would never truly feel like home, you could try to make it at least a little more comfortable for your stay.

Your heart calmer now, your eyes finally fluttered back open, returned to Jessica. Her own eyes closed, body slightly bent forward, and the hand that’s not holding yours is pressed against her temple. Prana-bindu. You’ve rarely seen her do it; there isn’t much that stresses the fair lady so much that she must control each muscle and organ of her body in this manner. You feel a tinge of worry shock through your heart, knowing that if Jessica is fearful enough to practice such a technique, then she must feel completely awful. You have always been entirely empathetic, but only towards your lady. When she has ever hurt, you have taken on twice the amount of pain.

You would do truly whatever it took to make her feel better. It ripped your heart in half that there was nothing you could do for her now.

♱

It’s a light the likes of which you’ve never experienced.

Even the brightest sunrises on Caladan were never true sunrises. They were always hidden behind clouds or mist, a grey-green hue covering the shimmering sun. You had started to lose faith that there even was a sun on your home planet, that maybe it was just a giant, fluorescent glowglobe put in the sky by someone that wished for eternal night.

No, you had never seen this kind of light. But something was telling you that your awe of the colors would be short-lived, and you’d soon grow tired of the total-orange of Arrakis.

Eyes squinting, pupils contracting to save yourself the pain, you look out at hundreds—thousands— of humans standing in the sand. Those to the right wave the Atreides flag, that garish green and black that appears to you only as a blur of color. Those to your left stand still, and as your eyes adjust to the light, you find that they’re only eyes. Eyes and mountains of fabric, robes flapping in the wind, eyes staring straight at your direction. They don’t seem pleased, though they don’t seem particularly angry either. Simply content. As if they have an obligation to be here. Much as you do.

“Shields!” It’s a voice you don’t recognize, don’t care about. A voice of a random lieutenant, who is clearly more important than you, for he is standing much further forward in the freighter than you are.

And then it dawns on you— everyone on this ship dons a shield. Except for you. You and Jessica. The only two women on board, the only two people deemed disposable enough that a stray bullet may hit you on this newly claimed planet and not much strife would come of it. You’re sure it has to do with the duke’s ego, that he feels himself strong enough to protect his lady if a riot were to break out as you step onto Arrakis. At least he would look noble as Jessica sighed her dying breath.

You suddenly feel even more unsafe than you had while hurtling through space.

You feel truly scared, especially as you watch as Jessica is one of the first bodies to step off the ship onto the sand.

Your fear is quickly overtaken by anger when a large, gloved hand grabs onto Jessica’s, squeezing it tightly, though it lets go, moves with the quick stride of the duke before the heads of the household step off of the ship. You feel furious, watching Leto’s confident stride towards the dunes, leaving his concubine to step off the ship alone. How can he even call himself a man and not offer a hand to a terrified woman stepping onto a new planet for the first time— especially while wearing the platformed shoes and tight dress that Jessica has chosen? It was surely no way to treat a lady.

You quickened your own pace, stepping onto the sand hastily and extending an arm to Jessica, scanning her face just as she had once taught you to. Though it was covered by veil, you could still see the worry carved into her forehead, the shine lost from her eyes. It would be cruel to say that she appeared lifeless, but her demeanor now was one of a statue. The Prana-bindu technique had worked.

You continued to follow the house silently, assisting your lady with her dress against the whipping wind of the dessert, eyes frantically searching the crowd with a newfound fervor. The knowledge that you were completely on your own in the middle of the dessert, hordes of people who had spent the last few decades under Harkonnen rule staring you down, had your body on high alert. You were prime targets for a projectile, and any number of these Fremen could be concealing a weapon beneath their robe.

Your awareness so high, you were the first to notice the yelling in the crowd. Trough filmbooks you had only picked up a few words in Chakobsa; zahra, meaning flower, malak, an angel, and habun for love.

Clearly, you were only focused on words you could use on Jessica.

The words flung at you by the crowd were entirely unknown to you, though you noted a sense of reverence in them. If you followed the pointed fingers of the crowd, you would see the led towards Paul. Perhaps they saw in him what the Bene Gesserit did not.

♱

“My men have swept the city twice over, and each wing of the residency more times than I can count.” You were barely listening as the old Mentat spoke, your mind too occupied by the architecture of the grand space you’ve just entered. The Arrakeen Governor’s Palace is probably twice the size of Castle Caladan, with ceilings higher than, you’d bet, even a suspensor system could reach. The windows are just as tall, shining that beautiful orange hue across the rock-cut walls, across Lady Jessica’s freckled face.

You have to force your mouth closed, as you’re sure it had been hanging open since you first stepped foot in the palace.

“You’ll find that the duke and his heir have each chosen rooms in the western wing of the residency, close to many of the council’s strategy and training rooms. The past ladies of the house have taken their stay in the east wing. It’s further from the entrance of the house, and many of the rooms are conjoined for maids to move as they need.” Hawat spoke calmly, though he carried an air about him as if he were desperate to get out of this conversation, to go and talk with the rest of the Atreides guard instead of the two women that would soon be forgotten all together in their own wing of the house.

“Thank you, Thufir.” Jessica said, voice more monotone than usual. It seemed that some of the life had returned to her cheeks, yet clearly, she was still trying to keep herself as far from emotion as possible.

As Hawat walked off, you quickly made your way to your lady’s side, grasping her cold hand in your own. How the slender fingers still managed to be freezing on a planet so warm, you weren’t sure. She had probably forced her heart to stop pumping as much, leaving her extremities with less-than-optimal blood flow.

“It’s beautiful.” You smile up at her, and her eyes only flash over yours for a second before they once again stare into nothingness, as though she’s looking down a long hallway in which only a Harkonnen army stands at the end of.

You begin walking, nearly dragging your frozen companion down the long, silent corridor, until you’re out of sight of any other human in the building.

“My lady.” You hum, flipping up her veil, unclasping some of the jewels that weighed heavy against her face. “You can let go now. We are safe.” You give her a smile of weak encouragement, though your upturned eyebrows betray the fact that you are just as scared as she is. You both know that your words aren’t true, that you’ll never truly be safe on Arrakis. You both feel the tense air around you, but it’s better to focus on each other than it is the potential jihad looming over your heads.

Jessica softens a bit under your gentle grasp, her stiff control over her own muscles beginning to weaken. Her eyes regain their glimmer and her head droops to lean into your fingers, which have slid down to lightly rub at the back of her neck.

“This planet…” She begins, leaning forward until her forehead connects to your own. Her breath tickles against your nose, her hands finding their favorite resting place on your hips. Her voice dies out, as though she’s unable to articulate the multitudes of feelings in her heart towards the planet on which you stand. She must be impossibly tired, and it shows around her eyes, but she still holds herself strong against the test of her fatigue.

“My lady, we should find a room. You ought to lady down for a while.” You purr, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. You’ve found yourself suddenly cautious of the moisture of all things—from the wetness of your lips to the water-plump flesh of Jessica’s cheek— you’re acutely aware of it now.

It’s safe to say that your worried nature about all things is not going to do well on a planet on which you need to worry about your minute-to-minute survival.

Jessica begrudgingly pulls her head away from your own, looping her arm through your elbow, leaning most of her weight against your shoulder. You lead her down the hallway, the taps of your shoes echoing all around you as you peek into each door. You find a few empty closets, restrooms, and a large room that you assume was once used for an indoor sport of some kind, but your main concern is finding a bed for Jessica. You can feel exhaustion radiating off of her, and you’re not quite sure that she’ll remain awake much longer. You soon find a room, the one that must have belonged to the past lady of the house, for its grand ballroom style and large canopy-covered bed seemed only befitting of the lady of a Great House.

Leading Jessica to sit atop the bed, unsure who had left it covered in satin sheets but quite happy for their presence, you begin stripping her of layers of translucent fabric, creating a small pile on the floor of her yellow veils and jewels. You swiftly remove her shoes and add them to the pile, not caring much for the wellbeing of the clothing when the wellbeing of your lady is at hand.

“Please, try and rest.” You hum, laying Jessica back against the soft pillows of the bed, pleased enough with the air circulation within the palace to lay a blanket over her lap. You press a kiss against the woman’s forehead, and it’s not too long before she’s asleep.

As your lady slumbers, you decide to make a quick check of the room and all of its doors. The closets are bare, and you are quite thrilled to fill them with Jessica’s gowns; you know she has enough to fill every closet you passed on your way down the corridor. You open the largest door on the far side of the bedroom, swinging its heaviness to open upon a wrapping balcony.

A gasp escapes your lips as you step onto the orange stone, looking out across the tan buildings and colorful fabric tents of the city. The sun sits low enough in the sky that you can just make out the dual moons, better the one that, if you remember correctly, the Fremen call Krellin, the Hand of God. If you squint hard enough, you are able to make out the claw-marked pattern on its side.

You stand in the wind of Arrakis, eyes closed against the sand particles that lightly nip at your face. You kick off your own shoes, leaning against the banister of the patio, fingertips running over the soft rock there. Though it will never compare to the rain of Caladan, the quiet of this balcony may someday bring you a similar peacefulness.

♱

You’ve lost track of time, standing with your bare feet against grainy rock, ears listening intently to the village commotion less than a mile from you in one of the more heavily populated streets of Arrakeen. You’ve nearly met your meditative state when a pair of arms wraps around you, a nose nuzzled into the braids at the nape of your neck.

“You slept well?” You muse, hands trailing down your body to wrap over the frail ones that rest at your stomach. You notice they’ve regained their warmth, are no longer icicles attached to your lady’s palms.

“Yes. Thank you.” She whispers softly against the shell of your ear before pressing a kiss there, then a few to your jaw. She is back to herself, with that soft voice and wandering hands, though she still grapples against the tiredness.

“I’m pleased.” You return, pulling her arms even tighter around you as you open your eyes, playing with one of the many bracelets around her wrist. “This room must have belonged to the Countess Richese. It seems it’s not been used in many years; it has a feminine touch that I very much doubt came from Baron Harkonnen.” You giggle lightly, dropping your head to hide your eyes from the now setting sun. You’re sure it’s been dangerous for you to spend this much time out in the sun’s heat, but after so long in a state hidden from the sun entirely, you figure your body will much welcome it.

“It’s also connected to that room.” You point to your left, down to the end of the balcony where lies another entrance door. You smile at the thought of being a mere knock’s distance from your lady, that you may even spend most nights in her bed instead of your own.

“Well then, I do believe it’s perfect.” She purrs against your skin, arms squeezing hard enough against you that you fear she might strangle you if she adds any more pressure. As was Jessica’s way; she always clung to you as if her life truly depended on it, as if someone were trying to tug you away. The strength behind her grasp was always welcomed by you, even when you felt she was going to take the air from your lungs.

Though, Lady Jessica was capable of taking the air from your lungs with only a look. You’ve grown quiet used to lack of breath in her presence.

You are simply entranced by the peach color of the sky around you, the bustling street only becoming louder as the sun tucks itself beneath the horizon. It made perfect sense that Arrakis would be a planet of primarily nocturnal individuals; you could feel the air drop ten degrees when the sun disappeared entirely.

“Don’t you fear someone may see us?” You question, the thought of being caught curled up in your lady’s arms completely enticing, yet when you truly weigh the consequences, it creates a small knot in the pit of your stomach.

“Let them.” Jessica says in her oh-so very serious tone, without an ounce of humor, so you know she’s serious. Her voice vibrates against your skin as she presses her nose to the crook of your neck.

You blush, eyebrows peaking in shock when a small run of lights against the bottom of the balcony suddenly illuminates, seemingly in tune with the sun’s cycle. It seems that every aspect of this land works in tandem with its ruling sun, something that you’ll soon do as well.

You lean back, letting Jessica carry most of your weight, but more careful than normal because of the fatigued state you know she’s in. You play with her fingers, staring up at the moon, trying your hardest to remember the filmbook narrated by a Liet... something… you couldn’t remember the name, but you knew them as the planetologist. Really you had only spent so many hours retaining this information so that you could impress Jessica with all of your knowledge.

Here's hoping you can remember your fun facts when they’re actually necessary.

“I do hate the thing.” You hum into the warm air, fingers toying at the ring looped around Jessica’s finger. You’re a bit shocked that you’ve made the statement, that you’ve aired one of the many grievances you hold against the duke. You do hope it’s not an overstep.

“What’s that, my love?” Jessica lifts her head from its spot against your shoulder, and you can feel her large green eyes boring into you. Though you won’t turn your head to meet the gaze, you can feel its intensity.

“Oh… it’s nothing, my lady.” You hope your false disinterest in the subject is fooling her, your eyes stuck to the large hand in the moon, admiring how it casts its great glow.

You should be smart enough to never wish foolishness from your lady.

Jessica plants a kiss to your cheek. “I think we’re well past honorifics.” She says, and you can feel her smile against your flesh. “What is it that you so hate, rouhii?”

You have to take a moment, several moments, for your mind to catch up. Not only has the woman you so dearly loved practically just announced that she cares for you enough to forgo the years of formality built up in your relationship, but she’s also spoken in a language that makes your knees go weak. You’ve now leaned into her entirely, but Jessica’s arms are strong enough that she’s holding you up. She won’t let you go anywhere, not until she’s learned of whatever little secret you’re hiding from her.

“I…” You mutter, eyes shutting for a moment for you to find your footing in the conversation again. Your fingers twitch against her jewelry, and you remember what it was that you were talking about. “Your ring.” You finally manage, standing up a bit when you feel your knees aren’t about to give way at any possible second. “I despise it, really.” You know you’re being bold, but you know that’s what Jessica wants. She’s kept in the dark about so many things, that it must be a breath of fresh air for her to hear someone’s true feelings without having to put in the work to hear them.

“Why is that? It’s a gorgeous color, don’t you think?” There’s a satirical tone to her voice as she picks up her hand, fake admiring the ring in the light cast by moons.

“I’ve always disliked green.” Your cheeks are blushed as you turn around in the woman’s arms, looking into her eyes, the green-blue that meets you making you immediately retract your statement. “It’s just that… I hate what it means. That the duke possesses you, yet he will never give you a true ring. I just… You deserve more.” You’re rambling, and you know it, and you lose your ability to maintain eye contact with the woman, so you drop your head.

There’s a smirk on her lips now, but it’s only there to conceal a more genuine expression. It’s hiding the fact that she wants to cry, that she does agree with you, that she wants to rid herself of the duke altogether.

“You think you should be the one that possesses me, then?” She hums, her voice still sly, but now with a tinge of the seriousness that you know to be so purely Jessica.

“No, my lady. Of course not. That’s not at all what I—” You’re cut off when Jessica pulls the ring off her finger and tosses it over the balcony as if it’s no more than a stray leaf that had landed in her hair. Your mouth hangs open, quite shocked that she would take your words so seriously, that she would discard something simply because you conveyed a disliking of it. It’s Jessica’s thin fingers that cup your jaw and force your mouth closed.

“I’ve hated it since the moment that man forced it on my finger.” She hums against your lips before planting a kiss to them, pressing you against the balcony’s railing. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The declaration makes your heart begin drumming a million beats a second, a sudden wave of desperate love for the woman crushes against you. You kiss your lady back feverishly, hands bunching up the remaining fabric at the small of her back, tugging her so that her chest is flush with your own.

“I am yours.” You whisper back in the millisecond you have to breathe between heavy kisses, back arching into the strong, yet so very delicate grasp of your Jessica.

Her tongue swipes against your lower lip, pressing for entrance, which you greedily accept, and you wonder how the Fremen in the deep desert would feel about your current exchange of moisture. The thought doesn’t last long, though, as Jessica’s tongue presently dances with your own, and she’s pressing against you so hard that you’re nearly bent backwards over the railing.

It’s just as her thigh slips eagerly between your own, that there’s a shuffling behind you, a knock on the door. You gasp against her lips before pulling away, licking at the saliva that’s accumulated on your swollen lower lip. You sense Jessica swallowing hard, flushed face whipping towards the door of the bedroom. When no one enters, she turns back to face you.

“Go.” She demands, and her voice is pitched so that there’s a hint of the voice in it, like she’s been caught so off guard that her forcefulness slips out. You immediately obey, and whether it’s on your own volition or if Jessica has truly forced you to, you can’t tell. You race towards the door to enter your own bedroom, praying you haven’t slammed the door behind you too hard.

When your bated breathing has calmed as best as it can, you sit with your ear to the wall shared with Jessica’s room, listening in with hopes of hearing the intruder on the other side. Much to your distaste, you immediately pick the voice out as belonging to the duke.

“Why have you chosen a room so far from my own?” The muffled voice more commands than asks. “You’re lucky you’ve yet to unpack. You’ll select another.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” You can hear the frantic nature of her voice, there’s a light shake that betrays her, but the tone conveys enough of the lady’s confidence that you believe the duke will argue this no further.

Your ears are straining as best as they can, but you’re unable to make out the rest of their conversation. Duke Leto always had a way of lowering his voice when he spoke to Jessica, so that none may hear the distrust that filled each of them when they spoke.

Giving up on your panicked listening, you decide to turn to face the width of your new room. It’s much bigger than the room you’d inhabited on Caladan, if you could even call the thing a room. Your bed was much bigger too. Though you weren’t sure you would be spending much time in it.

It would certainly make do.

You find yourself quite lucky to have your own vanity for the first time in your entire life, and a twinge shoots through your heart when you pull out the wicker chair and sit in front of the mirror. Your cheeks are deeply blushed like it were the middle of winter, lips puffy and small red marks along your jaw from Jessica’s nipping kisses. You never want them to leave. They were a sign of who you belonged to, and you’d have them permanently tattooed to your skin, if the idea didn’t sound so painful. You’ll simply have to have Jessica re-mark you each night, you suppose.

Though it pains you to remove the intricate work your lady had done so thoughtfully this morning, since you still haven’t been brought your bags to change out of your arrival attire, the only thing you can do now is begin to unpin your hair, which is sure to come undone in a mess of curls that you’ll need to tame.

In a while you’ll go to check on your lady, you’re sure you’ll need to mend her spirits and make her a meal with whatever Arrakeen spices you can find in a kitchen, and it pains you to know that she currently stands in a hushed argument with the head of the house, but all you can do now is run your fingers through your hair, thinking about that little green ring that sits in the bottom of a bush in the garden below you.

#𓏲🎀ꜝֶָ֢ annie's fics ⋆⸜ ‧₊˚#lady jessica/reader #lady jessica/you #lady jessica #dune #dune fanfic #dune movie #rebecca ferguson #wlw fanfic #fanfic #lesbian x reader #x reader fanfic #wlw fluff #fluff fanfic

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vibratingskull · 1 year

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Fake dating part 2

Part 1

Tag list

I took @al-astakbar‘s idea and run with it.

Resume : Alone on an strange planet with a little chiss girl you walk desesperatly trying to reach coordinates given by a beacon. Here you are saved by Grand Admiral Thrawn’s crew and he proposes you an incongruous solution to your problem...

You silently follow the Grand Admiral through the numerous corridors of his ship, it’s enough for you to lose your way you worry. There are so many paths and doors, it hurts your brain. You do your best to follow his long strides on the cold metal floor without shoes. You cross paths with some officers, they all stop on their track to salute their superior and then you feel their curious gaze on you, wondering who you might be and why you’re here, you quickly avert their gaze and lower your head in their presence, careful not to anger anyone. Apparently they are not used to seeing their Grand Admiral followed by someone with a slave collar, that thought is somewhat reassuring. You look at the back of the head of the man holding your life in his hands, detailing his height and imposing measurements. The tight fabric of his uniform does not hide his muscles and Makers know you want nothing to do with them. Those are his assets to kill… You shudder at this thought.

“Here we are.” He softly announces.

He engages himself in a corridor with a large bay window giving on to an operation room, and on the table is…

“Moarorou!” You shout, pressing yourself against the window.

“She is in good hands.” He simply says “I trust them to save her.”

Asleep and perfused, the little girl seems at peace while the droids operate her. You wish you could hold her hand.

“I want to be with her.” You ask, turning towards him.

“Out of the question, it is a sterilized room.” He flat out refuses, “You will see her once they are done.”

You lower your gaze and turn back to the little girl. Poor sweetheart… You feel a burning gaze on you and you don’t dare meet it.

“We should head towards the second room, you need treatment too.”

You do? You’re so used to being beaten and bruised by now… But it is true, you have scars all over your arms and legs and a burnt wound on your flank.

You obediently follow him to a room where a droid greets you and guides you to an infirmary bed. As the Grand Admiral leaves to give you some intimacy, it proceeds to do a complete check up, from weighing you to blood test and mandatory vaccines after dressing your wounds. You mechanically obey the machine, too used to receiving orders, it would have asked you to shake hands like a dog you would have without asking any questions, this is how deep it is ingrained in you…

“Here.” says Grand Admiral Thrawn right behind you.

You jump out of your skin. When did he come back?

He hands you a pair of boots exactly your size. You take them, unsure. You didn’t have the right to own shoes as a slave, you forgot how it feels. You pass them on after thanking him. It feels like a second skin. Strangely you feel more confident with them. You thank him again.

“Do not mention it, I cannot have anyone walking bare feet in my ISD. Now, do not move.” He slides behind you and you feel him manipulating your shock collar.

He must check your number to verify their registers. You refrain from sighing, an imperial remains an imperial, whatever happens.

You hear a click.

And your collar falls on your lap. You look at it, dumbfounded.

“Sir?”

You thought he would have waited for your response and sold you back on the black market if you refused his offer…

“You thought I would not get rid of it?” he asks, seeing your confused expression.

“Well… no, not before I gave you my answer at least…” you explain.

“You brought me back a valuable person. Consider it the payment of my debt to you.”

You massage your throat, touching it for the first time in years.

“You… you have the right to free someone?” you ask with a small voice.

“I am a Grand Admiral, little is forbidden to me.”

You accept his answer as a fact and don’t press the matter. You mask it but hope is flourishing in your stomach, after so many years… finally!

Karyn Faro enters the infirmary, saluting the Grand Admiral.

“Sir! You asked for me.” She asks in a strong and clear voice.

“Yes, I want you to guide our guest to her new quarters, I will go back to the bridge.” He orders

She nods and signifies to follow her and quicker than that. You hop on your feet and follow her in another maze of corridors, but you start to recognize the patterns, you’re less lost this time.

“There it is.” She opens a large door with a card that she hands you “Do not loose it.”

You enter the room, or rather the suite and stop, turning back to her.

“Are you sure this is the good room?” You wonder.

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

Well it's… Big. You’re standing in a small living room with sofa and kitchenette, giving on a large bedroom and a privatized bathroom. You’re more used to the cell shared with several other slaves.

“No, it’s… it’s perfect. Thank you.” You bow to her.

She simply nods and goes back to her duty.

You walk into the living room, timidly, afraid to take too much space, to make too much noise, even though you’re alone. You find a remote on a table and press the buttons, curious. A part of the wall opens for a TV screen to appear, you press another one and music starts. Another one pushes a bar off the wall. Okay that’s too much. You tidy, close back the walls and cut the music, put the remote where you found it, like you never touch it and go see the bedroom. It is a large room with a double bed, a wardrobe, a big mirror and a bay window giving on space. The wardrobe is full you notice, with a safe hidden as a drawer. The bathroom is white and clean, with a bath and clean towels, you touch them, they are soft and fluffy. everything for maintaining basic hygiene is here. You can’t resist the urge to brush your teeth when you see the new toothbrush waiting for you. It feels so good and fresh! What a delicious sensation!

Returning to the bedroom you notice a datapad on the bedside table. You take it and turn it on. You’re curious of that Grand Admiral Thrawn. You search the holonet about him, finding different biographies and videos of him at different ceremonies. An article of the Universal Encyclopedy informs you of his greatest victories and gives you a resume of his life, or at least his life since he appeared in the Empire. What you suspected was right, him and Moarorou aren’t from the Empire, but are from the Unknown Region. He accepted to answer interviews of journalists of the regime but consistently refused to answer anything about his life previous to the Empire. So you got an incomplete portrayal of the man.

You don’t know much about military things, but his record seems impressive, victory after victory, promotion after promotion, from one medal to the other he seems to supplant any adversaries. Except on the political field. It appears each and everyone of his victories came with a political scandal.

But he manages to get out of it everytime.

You reopen your eyes when you hear knocks on the door. You must have drifted to sleep without realizing it. You open the door to Faro, awaiting for you.

“The Grand Admiral awaits you for dinner.” She indicates with her strong voice.

You must have slept more than first anticipated, dinner already?

You nods hurriedly and close the door behind you. She looks at you up and down, clearly judging you but says nothing.

“This way, please.”

You walk in silence behind her but curiosity devours you.

“Is it in your prerogatives to take care of priso… of guests?” you dare ask.

“No.” That is all she answers.

“Oh… Then why you-”

“He orders and I obey, simple as that.” And like that, the conversation ends.

You don’t dare raise your voice anymore, and she’s not one to do small talk.

You reach a door with stormtroopers guarding it, she gives one of her cylinders-thing and they step to the side.

“Here.” She says, and left you here, alone with the guards.

The door open and you enter a large suite, rich with decors. The Grand Admiral is standing, hand clasped behind his back, observing something.

You don’t say a word, to not disturb him, fidgeting your fingers.

“Come closer.” He simply says, without even turning towards you.

You approach. He seems enthralled by some vase on a stand.

“What do you see?” he inquires

What? Is he asking you your opinion on how he decorates his chambers?

“A vase.” you answer neutrality.

Never give your opinion.

“And?”

You approach again, observing it more intently. It’s a terracotta of three complimentary colors, surely a wine carafe. It has fine details and some speck of gold sprinkled in the clay.

“Huh… Looks like a hutt jug.” You notice.

He slowly nod.

“Indeed. Can you see anything else?”

“That’s the kind of jug we find in their northern worlds, the south would have used metal. But outside of that…” You shrug, unknowingly.

“That is well.” He murmures. “Dinner is ready.” and he heads to the dressed table.

He pulls a chair and gallantly invites you to take it, as you approach he looks you up and down.

"You did not change clothes ?" He asks, puzzled.

You could ? You do not touch what your masters don't need.

"I thought the order was to come immediately." You explain

"You could have taken the time to put on more comfortable clothes than this hospital pajamas. I would not have held it against you, you are my guest."

Yes, you heard that.

You sit down and he pushes your chair forward, like he would have done to a high Lady. The table smells deliciously good, making your mouth water with different types of salads and vegetables, a main course with fuming meat, rice and lentils and a bottle of wine. He opens it and serves you first, then himself.

"Because I brought you someone important ?" You ask as he sits down.

"Yes."

"And if I did not ?"

"What do you mean ?" He inquires, cutting his meat.

"If you only found me, a slave alone in the forest, would I still be your guest ?"

He looks into your eyes with a stern expression

"Does it matter ?"

"Yes." You try to control the shivers in your voice "It matters to me."

He doesn't respond, letting silence take place.

"No. Probably not."

You sigh internally. You knew it. Under his gallant behavior and nice dispositions, he remains an Imperial. A slave trader.

"Those hypotheses do not matter." He says camly, taking a bite of his dish "The fact is you came together, and you took care of her. I cannot let this good deed go unreward-"

Your stomach growls suddenly, a deep hollow sound. Deeply embarrassing. You flush immediately.

"Why do you not eat ? Is it not to your taste ?"

"No !" You hurriedly says "I just… Waited for your permission to eat" You confess

He raises an eyebrow.

"This is an order you had to obey ?"

You nod.

"Those times are behind you." He designates the table filled to the brim, encouraging you.

You slowly serve yourself, a little of each, not too much and start eating delicately using table manners you've seen your masters use.

He looks at you intently, like he would observe an animal behind bars.

Your stomach growls again but you don't press yourself.

"There is nobody to impress here, eat as you please." He says casually.

You look at him to see if he's serious.

Then you dive on the meat, with your hands you bite into it hungrily, tearing it apart, getting back from years of malnutrition.

Maker this is so good ! It has been years since you had meat. You gulp it down feverishly, licking the sauce off your fingers, growling with satisfaction.

He looks at you, caressing his chin.

You stop.

"Too much ?" You ask embarrassed, sauce dripping from your chin

"Everything is well." He shakes his head. "Like I said, those times are behind you. Let's focus on the future."

You listen, munching down your meat with lentils.

"About this offer I made, you might want to know what it entails."

You nod, mouth full.

"You would hold the role of the wife of a Grand Admiral, it comes with some… Obligations. You will need to escort me to galas, ceremonies, spending time with high ranked rich people and pretend you are from the same world. Adopt their codes and customs, abide by their rules. Everywhere you will go you will represent me and all I stand for, your failures will be mine. We will make you a proper high standing lady and need to get your education right as Moarorou's, we will train her and care for her like true parents. There will be a lot of stress and pressure."

"Until we sent her back ?"

"Indeed." He nods

"And after ?"

"After you will be free, you could live your life as you want."

"And if I refuse ?"

"Then we will disembark you from the ship on a nearby planet with some money and your new life will start that day."

You slowly nod, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

"And Moarorou ?"

"She will need to remain hidden on the Chimaera, alone in a cabin with only droids or complete strangers she can't communicate with to care for her. It would be an oppressive and uncaring environment for a child her age. If you accept, she will get to have two parental figures and a proper education you would take part into, you could use my apartment on Coruscant and offer her, and yourself a better lifestyle."

"For a time…"

"For a time" He concedes

"Why not simply send her to Coruscant ?"

"I cannot send her alone in this black vipers nest."

"Why? You speak of her so highly, is she some kind of Royalty in your world ?"

He smiles enigmatically

"She is so much more valuable than Royalty."

It doesn't advance you. He rises from his seat.

"Sleep, and tell me your answer tomorrow. The choice is yours."

You follow him to the door, hiding a burp behind your hand. You eat too much.

"You said I could see her!" if he thought you would forget that…

"Once she wakes up from the operation, you will be free to see her."

He politely escorts you back to your room. You don’t say a thing but you you’re tremendously disappointed, you hoped to Moarorou right after dinner.

“Is there something wrong?” He suddenly asks, stopping in his track.

“No… No.” you lie.

You castigate yourself. ‘Hide what you think, hide what you feel. Do not let them see.’

He shrugs and continues.

"I wish you good night." He greets you and disappears.

You spend the night tossing and turning in those fresh clean sheets. Questions assault your mind, and memory of the crash alike.

What to do ? What to do ?

Remaining with him could give you protection against your masters, but remaining with an Imperial ?

Could you do it? Close your eyes on all the atrocities he will commit ?

But you can't leave Moarorou alone with him. She trusts you. You can't abandon her…

You sigh.

In the morning you pass on decent attire. You wince, there are only dresses. You take the most concealing one and walk directly to the Grand Admiral's office. It seems like he's at work for several hours already.

You inhale deeply, gathering your courage.

"I accept"

@thrawnspetgoose

#thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo

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boundinparchment · 1 month

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Vertigo Eyes - I

Armed with only a new-found sense of purpose, Sunday makes a trip to the Belobog History and Culture Museum after the Express receives a request for consideration. History is so often writ with blood that should never have been spilled and the mistakes of those who think they know best. And Sybilla is running out of time. Sunday/Original Female Character; slow burn, liberties taken with world building and lore, eventual smut. Posted on AO3 here. This fic is one of my sponsored WIPs for @/ficsforgaza. Please consider donating to a vetted fundraiser to sponsor this or another fic on my list.

Hotel Goethe was quiet at this hour despite the bustling traffic outside. Although it was nothing in comparison to the Reverie, he found the dark wood and high windows to be charming and homey. The staff were attentive but mindful and despite the blue sky and high sun, an attendant always saw to it that no one left without their coat. A holdover from the Stellaron days, undoubtedly.

He’d been prepared, of course. He dressed as he always did, with meticulous care and consideration. Some things would never change and Sunday took solace in fixing the sash pinned at his chest and smoothing his lapels. How anyone could simply present themselves to the rest of the world while their clothes were wrinkled and their eyes were laden with sleep was beyond him. How would anyone take another seriously if they appeared to have rolled out of bed?

The notion of arriving to the museum only to give this contact the first impression that the Crew was not detail-oriented and dedicated did nothing to settle the tightness in his chest. Belobog and Jarilo-VI were only just finding their feet again under the leadership of Lady Bronya Rand and with the assistance of the Astral Express. Sunday was acutely aware of the gravity that circled such circumstances and liked to think that, for once, his preference for procedure and order won out.

This meeting was his first time representing the Express on his own. Ms. Himeko and Mr. Yang must have seen something in this particular request, else they would have sent the younger members. The trio always uncovered something through their wanderings or re-connecting with old friends. He wasn’t quite suited to it, not yet at any rate, and he still had much to learn.

The air was cold, refreshingly so compared to Penacony; the Hours that offered activities such as skiing or snow-tubing were still nothing more than the impression of the environments and relied on pre-existing notions to make the visitors feel as if they were chilled. Sunday tucked his wings in closer beneath the scarf around his neck, strategically placed to both hide his wings and keep him warm. It was humbling to feel the stone beneath his boots and see the bustle of the morning. Employees on their way to work, the remnants of checkpoints without Silvermane Guards.

Penacony practically shook with energy while Belobog offered a steadfast hum. From the way the Trailblazer spoke of the planet, it was almost provincial in some areas, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Recovery was apparent, prosperity close at hand, all without the IPC’s interference.

A sentiment he shared with Lady Bronya. It could have been Penacony’s Path, too. Perhaps it still would be.

The halovian closed his eyes to escape the rush of people and cars around him and listened as he stood on the curb. Even now, his mind yearned for Ena’s frequency, the presence of others, the way the notes used to dance alongside Xipe’s tune in a subtle resonance that no one ever noticed. In much the same way that there were those who never picked up on a harmony or a melody in a song, plenty of individuals might never have known the difference between Ena and Xipe.

The crowd around him stirred and someone jostled him from behind. He barely had time to think before he felt himself falling forward---

Wind rushed around him as a blanket of stars gave way to a bright, new dawn cresting over the horizon. He felt no warmth from the vibrant star painting the sky with a pink so soft, it might as well have been fine-spun cotton sugar.

Brother...the dream is over.

Once, her embraces were comforting, a counterbalance to re-center himself. Before his halo grew too heavy. He could only feel echoes of it now, an itching at the back of his skull that crawled down his spine. His body remembered what his heart was unable to bear.

Darkness grew ever closer and drew him deeper into its embrace. What was the point of it all? Living only meant unending sorrow, constant cycles of existence that never promised anything more than the same exact suffering as the day before. People came to Penacony to dream, to have a taste of a fleeting moment that made all the pain worth it.

It was better that way, was it not? To be supported, promised a better life, entrusted to another to provide?

Sunday’s heart pounded in his chest, a raucous Charmony Dove protesting in its cage, as he felt a force on his jacket yank him backwards just as a car whizzed past, horn blaring. He blinked, breathing heavily, observing his surroundings as he tried to steady himself, pushing away the thoughts about torn seams or wrinkles when the hand on his jacket relented. Before he could identify the owner, the crowd moved properly and he was once again lost in a sea of people.

An arm brushed his and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of ashen brown hair and a cable-knit scarf, soft ochre against a long beige coat. As if sensing him, the stranger’s head turned just enough to flick up hazel eyes and offer a ghost of a smile, before blending into the crowd again.

They succeeded, for as soon as Sunday blinked, he was unable to spot them.

Maybe the stranger was a dream. An invention of his mind to protect himself and he’d truly caught himself all along.

We all must wake up at some point. If we are asleep, too lost in our dreams, we miss what it means to live, were the words that accompanied an invitation and a way forward.

Those words etched themselves in his mind and came alive every daybreak. It didn’t matter whether there was a sun to be seen. They greeted him the way Ena had. Like clockwork, his body was attuned to the start of the new day and another beginning in which he would swallow the guilt and pretend it ever properly settled in his stomach.

Perhaps today, it might sit in his chest, heavy and leaden. Or it would crawl up his spine, claw at his mind, and leave him a little light-headed.

Regardless, he was certain they would now be accompanied by a face without a name, and he was so tired of being haunted.

#sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday honkai star rail #sunday/female character #sunday/original female character #ficsforgaza #fics for gaza #honkai star rail #hsr fanfiction #hsr original character

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jpitha · 2 years

Text

Awakenings

It's been said that every human comes out of hibernation differently. Some wake up as if they just had the best night's sleep of their lives, stretching and yawning and coming to consciousness gently, slowly. Others wake as if they were coming to after a night of partying; roughly, all at once, with a booming headache and fuzzy memories of the night before.

Alia woke screaming.

She sat up screaming, panicked, not knowing where she was. Her screams echoed in the cavernous room. The lights were dim around her, but she could see that the room was massive and empty. There were row after row after row of beds just like the one she was on, all made with cleaning linens waiting for people who weren't there.

Next to her was a data pad and a cup of coffee in a white mug on a little saucer.

The mug and saucer rattled gently with the rumbling vibration that Alia noticed only now. She turned and saw the pad had a message that read: "Read me please, Alia"

Taking a sip the coffee - it was hot, sweet and black, just the way she preferred it - She opened the pad. A message read:

Alia,

I'm sorry to wake you like this. Something has come up. After you finish your coffee and get dressed, please take the cart to the command deck, I'll explain more when you get there.

Best, Greylock

The ship woke her early and is asking for her to come up to the command deck? Something must be wrong. As she swung off the bed, she saw the clothes neatly folded next to the little electric cart. Quickly getting dressed, she grabbed the coffee and pad, and got into the cart. As she sat down it gently started off, preprogramed with its destination. As she rode, she looked around.

The Mt. Greylock was a colony ship. Fifty thousand souls, all in deep, long term hibernation were aboard all (hopefully) still asleep, awaiting for them to arrive at their new planet to begin the hard, rewarding process of setting up a new home for Humanity. This isn't the first time we've done this. Humanity has sent out at least a dozen colony ships, all throughout the Local Group to extend our reach and make sure humanity can grow and thrive.

The little cart came to a gentle stop in front of the door of the command deck. Alia got out and walked through the door.

The command deck was also empty and dark except for the command chair in the middle, which had a single spotlight on it.

Her chair.

She was the human commander of the Mt. Greylock. Together with the AI that was the ship, getting everyone to their new planet and starting a new colony was their responsibility.

Alia sat in the cold chair and said out loud "Okay Greylock. I'm here, I've had my coffee. What is it? You've woken me up during braking if the rumbling and rattling is any indication. Something must be wrong."

"Well, you see.." Greylock had a smooth alto voice and she had chosen female pronouns. AIs don't really have gender, but some choose to present with either masc or femme traits. "You see, I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Alia was incredulous

"We've received a message"

"From Earth? That's not that unusual. Maybe they have some updates for the colony package for us."

"Er, no. Not from Earth" Greylock said quietly.

Alia's blood ran cold. "From...another colony?" she asked, carefully.

"Sort of?" Greylock was audibly stressed. "Look. Why don't you just play it, I put it on your pad. That might help."

On her pad, a video came up. It was a human male and...something else.

Next to the human was a...a being, about a meter and a half tall, with large expressive eyes, reddish brown fur all over it's body, ears on the top of its head and maybe a tale in the background of the image? It was hard to tell. A sapient species?? But, humanity was alone in the galaxy. Humans have spent thousands of years alone, searching the whole time and never found anyone else.

She pressed the play button.

"Uh, Hello! My name is James Tennigan, and this is..." He gestured.

The sapient next to James spoke accented but very understandable Colonic, the language most humans off Earth spoke. "My name is Fellmeli Unmenniam and we represent the joint Human/K'laxi colony Zen'm'gan's Reach. We see that you have begun braking towards us. Two Starjumpers that were in-system and the Starbase are in agreement that you are most likely a Human colony ship coming to a stop here."

James nodded and continued "Yes, and we wanted to give you a few facts before you came in-system. One: Zen'm'gan's Reach is about 400 years old and has been a joint Human/K'laxi colony for 100 of those years. After we developed wormhole generators and the K'laxi showed us the Warp Gate system.."

Alia paused the video. "The what and the what?" she said

"I don't know either" Greylock said. "It sounds like humans developed some kind of wormhole generator and these K'laxi showed us an existing system of travel between systems. Sounds like we were missing out on a lot."

Alia restarted the video. "We merged with the existing K'laxi colony on this world a while ago. We can welcome all of you with open arms, but you won't be coming to a raw planet, ready to be shaped into a colony of your own making."

Fellmeli went on "And Two...We need your help. You, specifically, Alia Maplebrook, Co Captain of the Mt Greylock. We'll send another message when you're closer, but we wanted to get this message beamed as soon as possible to give the Mt Greylock time to wake you and prepare."

The message ended.

Alia looked up at the ceiling, then looked out into the empty command deck.

"Fuck Me." was all she said.

Update! Part two is here!

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #awakenings #long reads #writing #sci fi writing

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gingerlurk · 8 months

Text

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 15: Lovers Break

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: All things must break.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, ANGST, I'm sorry, flashback, Reader's f'd up backstory is in play, implied trauma, bad relatives, canon characters present.

A/N: I'm so nervous about posting this chapter. Pretty sure I lost readers when it first went up on AO3. But I promise there's a happy ending in store, it's just going to hurt for a little bit. Thank you for reading, you're so great.

After a particularly long session of exploring each other’s bodies and pleasures, you sleep deep for an age, swimming in dreams of him. Voice and hands and tender kisses everywhere. Eventually though, you break the surface and blink awake, stretching a hand out to Din’s side of the bed. Your fingers caress the cold covers.

It’s not uncommon for him to rise before you wake; he’s the restless type. Still, right now, it unsettles you.

With the will of worlds, you get up to dress and stumble some minutes later into the bright cockpit while rubbing at crusty eyes. The first thing you clock is an unfamiliar nav path on the instruments.

Something about it makes your stomach churn.

Stepping up behind Din seated in his pilot chair, you snake your arms around his chest and lean over a pauldron-clad shoulder. He reaches a hand up to link gloved fingers with your own. His fully armoured state of dress just adds to the hot and unhappy roiling in your gut.

You’re going somewhere. Somewhere important.

‘Hey,’ you say, clearing your throat some.

‘Hey,’ he responds. He tugs on your arm to get some purchase and turns in his chair to face you, settling his knees on either side of yours. ‘Good sleep?’

‘Oh yeah,’ you reply, hands now resting on his chest. ‘I think my brain shut off entirely after you… did that thing you did…’

He chuckles, coaxes you into his lap so you sit side-on and he can loop his arms around your waist. One of your own goes across his shoulders, the other fingers at his chest plate, toys at the edge of his bandolier. He presses the forehead of his helm into your cheek, murmurs, ‘Mm, well when you have trouble sleeping, I now know what to do.’

You huff a light laugh. ‘You’d do that on request, would you?’ you say, meaning it in jest.

But he goes quiet. He raises a hand and runs it through your hair, draws circles behind your ear. For a long moment, he holds you so tender you could cry. ‘I think you know by now that I would do anything you ask, cyar’ika,’ he whispers.

You shiver, feel a pulse of pleasure over your whole body. But that now familiar sharp pang again, gods always so intrusive, makes you straighten up and hasten to change the tone.

‘We’re going somewhere?’ you say, gesturing at the control panel now behind him. Din’s head tilts up and leans back a little to look square at you.

He holds your gaze for another long beat, studying. You do your best to look passive, curious. He just keeps staring.

Now anxious, you prompt, ‘A job?’

A reverie of some kind lifts, he gives the merest shrug as he twists you both around to the front of the ship. He holds you against him with one arm and reaches for the navigation pane with another.

‘No, not a job,’ he murmurs. ‘I have received a summons to my Covert.’

You frown. ‘To go back to Mandalore?’ you ask.

He shakes his head.

‘No,’ he says again, any playfulness that was between you now gone. ‘They’re here.’ He points to a planet in a system you don’t really know.

Still uneasy in this terrain, traversing this subject that is essentially Din himself, you puzzle over how to ask for more.

‘What, uh…’ you trail off immediately.

He doesn’t make you flounder about though. ‘After the battle for Mandalore and the defeat of Moff Gideon,’ he intones, ‘we Mandalorians began a journey to become united as a people.’

You nod along, having had this recent history lesson already.

‘Many settled on the home world, to rebuild. But we are still built to travel the stars. And now, Bo-Katan has ordered my Covert to patrol this system,’ he says, pointing. He tilts his helm back up to you, an air of fate in his movements. ‘There are rumours of a new imperial threat emerging, and we have to be ready.’

‘Imperial?’ you ask, dumbly. You’re managing to stay still where he holds onto your side, but it’s a stormy sea inside you, heart and guts thrashing and slamming against your will to calm.

‘Yes, or remnants. Alliances of warlords and former military leaders,’ he says, a hand circling on your hip as the other continues to move over the panels, bringing up data and field scores. ‘I do not know how serious it is. Or how far off these imps are from action. But… I must go.’

You don’t know what to say to all this. There’s nothing you really can say. He’s not asking your opinion, not raising it as a question. It’s decided. He’s going. You’re trying to process that internally, take it all on faith. Not lay any particular meaning over this. But you’re terrified. You make a sharp inhale just as he moves the hand on your leg up to your arm, stroking there in comfort. You realise you’ve come to be holding the fabric of his cloak in a white-knuckled fist.

You let go, move to stand. ‘How long until…?’ You trail off again, but your brain gives uninvited options to end the sentence. Until you go? Until you leave? Until this is all over?

Raw hope and fear chase one another across your racing thoughts. You hope he takes you with him. You fear what it means. And you don’t know which one makes the most sense. Which one you are truly feeling. Either way, you cannot get your thundering heart to slow down or your skin to stop prickling.

He doesn’t pause.

‘I was hoping we would go as soon as you were ready,’ he says.

We. Hoping. You were ready.

A hot-cold shockwave cascades over you, shooting pins and needles through your hands and feet. The feeling lands hard – terror-laced panic. The realisation floods in. Something like this. You wouldn’t just be a visitor or a guest this time. You can sense it. The feeling of having sunk too deep into a circumstance you would have no control over. The feeling of being bound, pulled in and held tight. Being crushed under a weight of purpose that was not your own.

The feelings that rear up ugly and intrusive every time you sense Din trying to talk, about you and he, about us. That cause you to dodge, and evade, and distract.

Din speaks up over the rushing in your ears. ‘I know it is complicated, cyar’ika. I know that,’ he murmurs, posture held as if he were in close proximity with a wild animal. ‘But… it will be okay.’

Instead of replying, you edge around him and toward the door, mutter about changing into something more appropriate. He lets you go.

You fuss and fidget over it. Over what to wear. Like it was consequential. Like it mattered. Casting through your meagre wardrobe, you hold one top to yourself, then another. It sends you back to deeply disliked memories of seeking just the right look for whatever Estate function you were to be subjected to in any given moment.

Eventually, you settle yourself on a wraparound vest with a high, stiff collar. The fact that it hides the love marks and bruises Din has given you is just a bonus. It’s not about being ashamed. You’re just comfortable in this. And okay, sure, presenting a more innocent side to Din’s Covert feels important for some reason. This is for him.

This is what you tell yourself as you tuff up the collar and turn to stride back to the cockpit to ready for the jump.

The two of you are silent through the journey. When you returned to the cockpit you’d just taken your seat, and he hadn’t turned back to you. It stays quiet as you descend to a parched and wind-pruned landscape, pockmarked with cavernous openings.

You spy a small, sparse settlement or two dotted among the undulations.

Din knows exactly where he’s going and picks a clear, flat opening in the terrain. Harsh, alien light floods into your safe little cockpit, heralding your landing. The Crest settled, he stands and turns to you, towering over where you reluctantly unbuckle your harness. His imposing presence is something you haven’t felt this acutely for a while, all hard edges and brute force.

Get a grip, you try to tell yourself. It’s Din.

He reaches a hand for you and you take it to stand.

‘It’s a bit of a walk,’ he breaks the silence. ‘Is that okay?’

You just nod, follow. Almost in a trance you follow – match his footfalls out of the cockpit, the hold, across the rocky ground away from the Crest. Every step feels like an approach to annihilation. Your anxiety in overdrive, bile rising and heart pounding. An unnamed dread eating you inside out.

Focusing on his steady, clinking gait is usually so calming to you, so you tune into that. It helps for a little, but then a wide yawning cave comes into view and those sure, even steps carry on straight into the dark. You have no choice but to follow, moving closer as Din flicks his headtorch on.

A winding path opens up into a well-established encampment. Warm light cast over your face and Din’s beskar as you emerge into the space.

The unbearable tension slips away for one second as you hear a pitched ‘Weh!’ and Grogu somersaults over a gathered party into your arms.

‘Baby, hi!’ you say, smiling wide. ‘What are you doing here?’ He grunts and burbles, lets you give him one squeeze before reaching for Din, who takes him from you with trembling hands. You hadn’t noticed he was shaking.

That’s when you take in the rest of the room. Several Mandalorians are gathered around what you understand to be a typical armourer’s forge.

The Armourer is in fact there, in deep conversation with a slightly shorter woman standing next to her. At Grogu’s exclamations, they turn and your jaw goes slack as you recognise the other helmet.

Why would Bo-Katan Kryze be here?

You do the only thing you can do, you turn to the Mandalorian at your side. ‘Din, what’s--?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says immediately, not returning your gaze. He lowers the child to the floor and straightens to approach the two imposing figures, stops in front of them and raises a deferent arm to cross his chest. Grogu follows at his heels but you stay riveted to the spot.

‘I was summoned,’ Din says. ‘But apologies, Lady Kryze, I did not know you would be here as well.’

Bo-Katan gives you each a nod. ‘I came to return Grogu,’ she says. You almost relax for the barest moment, but she continues. ‘And to bear witness.’

‘What--?’ you and Din say in unison but you’re interrupted by the Armourer moving suddenly. Her sure footsteps echo in the space, hushing all present.

She strides around to stand in the space between you and Din, looks from him to you, back again. Addressing Din, she says, ‘You remain together.’

‘Yes,’ Din’s reply is instant.

‘Do you continue to couple?’ she asks and your mouth falls open, eyes wide. What the--?

‘Yes,’ Din once again replies without hesitating.

You’re gobsmacked. Indignant. Why would he just out and say that? To everyone here?

‘I see,’ she says, she looks back at you. The unmoving façade of her helmet gives you the feeling of being a piece of dirty iron that she somehow must shape into a good and useful thing. The Armourer continues to speak, but you know she’s not talking to you.

‘Have you removed your helmet in front of her?’

‘… No.’

‘Has she removed your helmet?’

‘No.’

The Armourer tilts her helm, then turns back to Din, taking several steps toward him. He squares up to her. And even though they’re standing right there talking about you, it’s like you’re not in the room. What the hell is happening here?

She sears Din with her appraisal. ‘But you have removed your helmet in her presence,’ she says, not a question. ‘Haven’t you.’

Din pulls back a little. The air in the room fizzes with layers of tension and you know you’re parsing only the very surface of it all. The Armourer strides back to the forge and picks up a terrifying looking hammer. Bo-Katan has steadily edged around the two Mandalorians facing off and come to stand just by you.

A long, tense pause before Din finally speaks again.

‘Yes,’ he murmurs, rushes on. ‘But she has not seen my face. The Creed says—’

‘I am aware what the Creed says. You twist the truth, Din Djarin,’ the Armourer replies, with a menace in her words that unnerves you. She holds the hammer in a distinctly combative stance. ‘You twist the Creed.’

But Din seems calm.

‘I do not believe I do,’ he says, broad shoulders square again.

The Armourer starts, stance affronted. Another penetrating gaze sweeps over the still and watchful Din. She seems to read something specific in his words. ‘What do you speak of?’

‘I have been reading the texts of the Creed from its original source…’ Din says into the vast space. ‘And more than a dozen different translations.’ He unhooks a datapad from his belt and holds it out to her.

He continues, ‘You told me not long ago that you were uncertain what Mandalore’s new age meant for us, for the Creed, what it means now to follow the Way. You said you were seeking answers for the good of our people.’

She looks at the device warily. ‘Where did you get these texts?’ she asks.

‘The old library, in the royal city – I… when we were last on Mandalore,’ he says, gestures to the woman beside you. ‘Bo-Katan told me of it, suggested I go there to seek the literature. I filled this datapad,’ he holds it out to her. ‘It… may illuminate answers for you, as it did for me.’

The Armourer puts down her hammer and takes the glistening tablet. She curls it against her chest, considering him hard. You don’t know how he is withstanding all this scrutiny.

‘I shall study these,’ she decrees. ‘Be on your guard Din Djarin.’

Din nods, starts to turn back to you as if dismissed – thank gods – but the Armourer is not done.

‘Our business here is not yet concluded,’ her voice booms in the space and rings in your ears. Din stops, turns back. ‘It may be that you have revealed hidden truths about our Creed here, spurred by your connection to this individual,’ she raises her helm to indicate at you. ‘But you know one thing remains absolute.’

A taut bowstring stretches across the expanse of the cavern making up this Covert’s inner sanctum. Every figure in the space stands tall and readied. The air simmers so hot you wonder why you haven’t burnt up on the spot.

‘She is not Mandalorian,’ the Armourer says. ‘She does not walk in your world. And until she does, we must consider her an outsider. This will not do as we prepare for conflict, for war.’

Something passes between her and Din.

‘It is time,’ she states.

‘Now?’ he asks. You can’t read his tone. His voice is only just above a whisper, gravelly and soaked in emotions. You’re just not sure which ones. He glances at you. ‘I thought we would have more time.’

‘Now is not a time for uncertainty, or waiting, Din Djarin,’ she intones. He just nods, acquiesces. ‘We must be sure.’

He shoots you one long, yearning look before turning back to her.

‘Very well.’

You can barely breathe over the panic constricting your chest. You once again turn to the Mandalorian next to you and utter a broken, ‘What--?’

Bo-Katan pulls off her helmet and looks hard at you.

You swallow, force yourself to ask, ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you can be with Din. The Armourer is allowing you to take the vow, live the way of the Mandalorian, and be one with him,’ she says, in a tone that suggests you might be happy with this explanation.

You don’t have time to process any of that before the Armourer’s voice rings out loud and firm.

‘Din Djarin, will you pledge to be made one, when you are together, when you are apart. Will you share all, and raise warriors?’

The words hang in the air before drifting down over the vast expanse now yawning wide between you and him.

‘Yes,’ Din states. Says nothing more.

The Armourer’s helm swivels to where you’re stood shaking like a leaf. She simply says, ‘Will you?’

‘Din?’ you say. ‘I don’t understand.’ He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t move. The Armourer, however, levels you with a look. You will the deepest breath you can; it’s not much.

‘Din,’ you try again. ‘Can we… talk?’

Bo-Katan, at your side, whispers, ‘That isn’t how this works. The question has been asked. It must be answered.’

You ignore her.

‘Please,’ you can’t keep the begging out of your voice now. ‘Can… we just go somewhere and talk, Din?’

He still doesn’t turn. It’s like he’s frozen in time, on a precipice.

A memory rears up white hot in your mind’s eye. The shapes and shadows of the Crest’s cabin swim into view, the two of you are entwined and bare.

‘It wasn’t the first time he tried it you know,’ you’re saying.

‘Who tried what, love?’

‘My Uncle, tried to get me married off.’

Din had asked once how you had come to be at that prisoner of war camp where you’d first met. Far away from home. You’d evaded the question. Not now. Not yet. I’ll tell you someday.

But you’re sprawled out and so content and relaxed right now. Din has his head resting on your stomach, where he’d laid it after dragging a series of delicious climaxes out of you. Neither of you have moved save for hands reaching. His own hold your sides and tug you close. Yours burrow into soft curls and stroke wherever’s in reach. Somehow, like this, feeling his hair and breath tickle your skin, eyes covered and mind sated, it’s not too painful to cast back through those old memories.

‘It was just after everything… everything with Torre,’ you say, barely a whisper. ‘He’d said to me, Now child, I am not angry with you. In fact, sweet kin, I am thrilled you have deemed yourself an eligible candidate to be made one within a union. I am merely disappointed you nominated such a worthless companion as a simple house spy.’

You’re putting on his old affectations, trying to mock rather than shrink.

‘He said, Cherished flower, if you have deemed yourself so ready, I have a much, much more worthwhile co-mingling with which to engage your attentions.’

While you talk, Din slowly lifts himself and moves up, until he can loop an arm under your head and wrap the other around you, pull you in close. He leans over you a little. Like he’s trying to shield you from a thing that happened countless years ago.

You just nuzzle into that perfect space between his neck and shoulder. Breathe deep, try to picture the curves and lines of the face hovering above you. You’d traced fingers over it so many times, over aquiline nose, thick brows, plush lower lip. Kissed his closed eyes. You should be able to tell what he looks like by now. But it’s a monochrome sketch. Not satisfying.

‘What did you do about it?’ he asks, pulling you back to your tale.

You smile at the framing of the question. To him, the way he sees you, you wouldn’t have stood for it. Would have fought. Would have killed the fucknut suitor where they stood. Whoever they were.

It feels so delicious that Din sees you that way.

‘I fucked it up,’ you admit. ‘Couldn’t keep up the proper good graces long enough for the general’s son to be even a little charmed by me.’

You feel Din smirk against your hair. ‘I doubt that, mesh’la. I’ve seen you in that world, like royalty.’

You hum at the comment, choosing to take it as the compliment intended.

‘Actually, I got incredibly drunk. I passed out over the entremets,’ you say, enjoying his huff of laughter.

After that disastrous dinner was the first time you’d run. You’d come close to a thing you feared and dreaded, a binding of your will to another. Found that, in the face of it, you’d rather lose everything but your own sense of self. So you ran, thinking you’d slipped away unnoticed in the dead of night, too young then to understand how futile it was. The illusion of your independence had been shattered when you’d returned sometime later, greeted by your Uncle with a simple, ‘Do you have it out of your system yet, dear flower?’

He’d tried again. And again. Each time, you blew it to hell, packed up and tore off. It was almost a reflex. And each time you’d slouched back, he’d carried onto the next match. You thought his patience was infinite. Naïve as you were.

But the final straw was a horrendous dinner at which you’d said some insanely inappropriate things about the political party your suitor was a member of and significant donor to. To be fair, you only spoke up after he – ignoring you for the entirety of the event – explained to your Uncle how a wife was a fine instrument to foment an advantageous social standing.

That was when your Uncle had told you to go, and to not dare come back until you would ‘accept your place and station in this Family’.

You give Din an abridged version of the story. Leaving out the part where you’d cried, begged, said you’d already given up your lover for the Family. You didn’t want to go. The scene – your exile – had played out in the same room he’d announced the more recent deal he’d made with you. The one he’d given you no choice in. And your family had stood and watched it happen both times, exactly the same.

You give him the short version and say you left under orders to come back only when you were ready.

‘You outlasted him there,’ Din murmurs. ‘He had to engage me to find you.’

Your turn to smirk, though sadly.

‘I did some outrageous things while away from that place,’ you say. ‘I think, subconsciously I was trying to get his attention, from all over the damn galaxy. “Come and get me, Uncle, I dare you.” Shocked me to hell and back when he actually did. But… well, it was naïve of me to assume it wasn’t just another proposition into unwanted wedlock.’

A long, quiet stretch.

‘For me, marriage has always been a tool,’ you whisper into the air between you. ‘Either a means of control, or a weapon. Both. I’ve never seen a happy union.’

He just strokes your hair, and says nothing.

The walls of the cavern reform around you, pulling you from the memory. Nobody has moved an inch. Din still stands facing the Armourer by her forge. Grogu’s by his side, looking uneasy. Bo-Katan is at your shoulder, giving you a tap on the elbow, a subtle ‘you still in there?’

One more try. Ignoring the indignant rustles of armour and weapons from the rest of the present company, you stride forward and stand to face Din head on. You just need to get him to leave this place and talk. You’re ready to talk now.

But, when you look up into the face of the helmet you know so damn well, your insides run ice cold.

For the first time since meeting, you truly cannot get a single read on him. Not his thoughts, or emotions, or intentions. An expressionless mask simply stares back at you. He is the blank wall you’d accused him of being some time ago.

You feel unmoored. Tilting into a depth you can’t fathom. Stripped of volition.

Only one thought penetrates the blind panic surging along with the bile and the tremors. One word.

No.

It’s when the harsh outside light hits your face, blinding you after the darkness within, that you realise you had turned on your heel and run from the room. Run from them. Sprinted from that terrifying proposition.

From Din.

You turn back to the opening of the cave, no one follows.

Your feet continue to carry you. There’s nowhere for you to go but away. It’s what you do. It’s all you ever do. Blow it to hell and run.

Run away.

When the frigid paralysis had eased and the reality of the past few minutes started to set into his bones, Din sensed some part of himself had left his body along with you.

It had all happened so fast. He’d frozen, disconnected. Watched himself stand stock still as you tried to talk to him, felt paralysed as you looked up at him with terror and tears in your eyes. Felt himself shatter as you flew from the room.

Bo-Katan had tried to order him to go after you, implored him. But he was outside of himself, senses blurred and sunken. The only decision he was capable of was to return to his ship.

But the Crest sits quiet and morose.

The hull is sealed, and Din knows you aren’t inside.

Grogu, however, babbles a string of hopeful sounds from beside him. Din just stares up at his lonely craft, before stalking toward it.

‘Forget it, kid. She’s not here.’

‘Beh?’ begs the baby.

‘I said she’s gone!’ he rounds on the child, who gives a cry of shock.

Din exhales. ‘She is gone, Grogu.’ He looks at his ship again, its emptiness yawning wide. ‘She’s just gone.’

Prev | Next

I made myself so sad writing this that I had to skip ahead to work on the fluffy, happy ending. Which WILL happen, once these two figure their shit out.

Hope you stick with me, thanks so much for reading.

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandaloria/reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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limeade-l3sbian · 4 months

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Idk how to explain this n you can shit on me if you want but

I just wanna exist as a woman why do I have to be Dworkin 2.0 because I was born as female. It's not fukcing fair how come the men who are the worst perpetrators of misogyny don't receive the same treatment and scrutiny.

I have to unlearn stuff and analyze how I dress and how I talk and how I behave and all that shit because oh my god I could be influencing young girls to repeat that stuff. Like I'm not even allowed to be an individual. If I fuck up in a science class "you're making us look bad" men can carry on with their bs behavior and no one gives a shit not even feminists are that harsh with them. If there was a way out of womanhood I'd take it I didn't ask to be a woman I didn't ask for misogyny to exist why is it on me to get rid of it you go and get rid of the cage ill just try to make mine comfortable and I don't mind I wanna travel I wanna work I wanna do things why do I have to dedicate my life to female liberation bc I Was born a woman.

I'm not going to shit on you because that is 100% valid thing to feel. Your anger is warranted. WHY is your life being spoken about like it's political? How COULDN'T you be mad about that? And you have expressed in one valid, heartfelt post why so many women seek any means to opt out of it. Why it is more important to them to pass completely while others could go either way.

I think your feelings are a generally avoided part of feminism. The anger that it must even exist. That from birth, you are being gauged on a predetermined list of things that you should and should not do. I cannot condone black pill feminists, but I am not ignorant as to how they got to that point.

You don't have to dedicate your life to anything you don't want to. No one has a say in how you spend your temporary years on this planet. If you want to shut everything out and live, then do that. But I think you know too much now. And the unfortunate part of misogyny is that it is omnipresent. It will exist in spaces you never thought possible and you will hear it so casually that you'll feel like you're going crazy.

I am not going to attack you for deciding to just make your cage comfortable. But I don't think it will be as easy as you think it is to forget that you are in a cage. And for that, I'm sorry.

#ask

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queenariesofnarnia · 2 years

Text

affectionate

gif not mine! credit goes to @sergeantbandana

Crosshair x F!Reader

Crosshair goes back with the batch because my heart can’t take the separation.

WC:2,660

Another day, another mission for Cid. The intel that the batch received was about a former princess who is being held hostage after the empire took over her planet. Of course, they were wandering why Cid would have them rescue her and not retrieving something of value.

“Why exactly do you have us rescuing a princess Cid?” Hunter asked after they were given all the information they need for the mission.

“She’s a good kid, came here a while back when her ship was having problems” Cid answers before going back to her desk. ‘Her planet isn’t safe anymore so you will bring her here” she continued.

“Bring her here?” Tech questions, the look on his face confused. Why would someone bring a princess to this dingy planet?

“Yes goggles. Here, she trusts me and I will get her somewhere safely. Now go” Cid dismisses the batch as they all head out Cid’s office and out the bar. Everyone had a different reaction about this mission. Crosshair thought this was a stupid mission, why would they need to rescue a princess. He’s prepared for the worse regardless of Cid saying she’s a good person. Once aboard the Marauder Tech punched in the coordinates to the planet the princess is on.

“Do you think she’ll be nice?” Omega asked breaking the silence.

“She’ll probably be a spoiled” Crosshair drawled. Omega looked disappointed in that answer.

“She could be nice” Wrecker chimes in.

“Only thing that matters right now is that we rescue her and get back without drawing too much attention” Hunter says putting an end to the conversation.

“How about you get rid of the armor and you can kiss me as much as you want handsome” you tell him dragging him into your room locking your door before the others come home.

~time skip~

“According to the building plans, the dungeons are on the lower levels and she’s the only prisoner according to the records.” Tech says. Each of them were given a job, Omega was to stay on the ship with Tech who is going to guide them through the coms. Crosshair is location on an abandoned tower as a lookout. Wrecker, Echo, and Hunter are going into the compound to rescue the princess.

“Take the lift that is on your left once you get down the hall” Tech’s voice comes through the coms. The three get into the lift and take it down to the lower levels luckily without it stopping on another floor. They split up to check each of the cells, Hunter being found the princess first signaling the others.

“Please don’t hurt me” a soft voice came from the dark corner of the cell.

“We have no intention of doing so ma’am” Echo informs you, using a soft voice. ‘Wrecker get this door’ he says before backing away. Wrecker easily rips the cell door off the hinges setting it to the side.

“We’re here to rescue you. Cid sent us” Hunter tells the princess slowly approaching her. Your eyes lit up at the mention of Cid’s name.

“Then you must be good enough if she sent you for me. I’m surprised anyone was sent for me” you say honestly. Hunter offered her a hand; which you gladly accepted it getting off the cold floor. Being dressed in a night dress, sheer robe, and barefoot must have been awful due to the cold cell. Each of them introduced themselves and in return she smiled softly giving you’re your name in return. They began making their way back through the compound. They had to take an alternate route through the kitchens and you grabbed a frying pan for protection. The guys looked at you curiously.

“I promise it’s sufficient” you say followed by a laugh. Wrecker chuckled along with you, while Echo and Hunter shook their heads.

“You have incoming visitors” Tech warned them through the coms. “You’re going to have to make a quick right to avoid them” he instructs. Hunter gently guides the princess to make the turn since she has no idea. As Tech guides them through the building, it was inevitable for them to not run into trouble and when they did the princess took out a couple troopers with the frying pan. It was a sight that would make them laugh later. Wrecker asked her for permission to pick her up, so she doesn’t cut her feet on the ground outside. She nods and he gently tosses her over his shoulder. She watched how they fought together in amazement; she hasn’t seen fighting like this since during the Clone Wars. Once they made it back to the Marauder, Wrecker placed her down gently.

“Tech get us out of here” Hunter ordered after the door of the ship closed. Holding the frying pan close to her chest she looked around shyly seeing new faces.

“Hi I’m Omega! What’s your name?” Omega runs up to the princess excitedly. This caused her to relax visibly. You gave Omega your name and Omega grabbed your hand to pull her into a seat.

“This is Tech and Crosshair” she said pointing to her brothers. The princess gave a polite wave.

“I just want to say thank you for rescuing me. Is there anything I can do to repay you? I know Cid is paying you but probably not all it is worth.” You said quickly. Five voices chimed back saying it wasn’t a problem.

“I don’t understand why we had to go through the trouble of rescuing you” Crosshair says looking down at the princess before walking away. She wondered what she could’ve done wrong within the minutes she has been on board. But stopped worrying when Omega grabbed her hand dragging her to her bunk asking her a million questions on what it is like to be a princess.

Dropping out of hyperspace and landing on Ord Mantell could not come quick enough. The princess was given a blanket to cover yourself due to the cold and your attire. Walking into Cid’s bar you felt safe walking to the back to greet Cid.

“Good to see you doll” Cid says getting up from her desk, letting the princess giver her a hug. Though Cid didn’t like affection she allowed it with you. “Let me send someone to get you some suitable clothes you take a seat.” Cid gave you a light push towards the couch. Cid left the office closing the door before heading out to the bar, she had the twi’lek bartender head to the clothing store a few buildings down giving her orders on what to bring back and have the keeper put it on her tab.

“Thanks for rescuing her boys. Here’s your cut”. Cid says tossing them their share.

“Is she going to be alright?” Wrecker asked. Cid nodded after letting out a deep sigh.

“She’ll be fine. Kid would you mind going back there to keep her company?” Cid asked Omega who excitedly agree before going to the back. “I’m going to let her have the last room above the place. I know you are all squatting there but I would like to keep an eye on her before letting her back out in the galaxy.” She says to them going behind the bar to serve drinks.

“So first we rescue her and now she has to stay with us?” Crosshair asked with distaste evident in his voice.

“Listen grumpy, it’s my place so accept it or sleep on your ship. I don’t care.” She answers him before turning to her customers. The batch sat in a booth together with the drinks they got from the bartender before she left to do what Cid asked.

“Why are you being more of an ass than normal Cross?” Hunter asked taking a sip of his drink.

“Why do we have to babysit her?” he sneered back.

“She was not an issue on the way here and I highly doubt that she will be one while she is staying with us Crosshair” Tech says without looking up from his data pad.

“She was nothing but polite to us and you act like your head is up a bantha’s ass” Echo chimed in.

“Plus she’s pretty” Wrecker adds. Crosshair just rolled his eyes at his brothers. He was quick to judge you, but he doesn’t care. He thinks you’re going to be a hinderance while staying with them.

The twi’lek rushes back with a bag in her hand heading to the back of the bar. You thanked her giving her a kind smile that she returns. Omega grabbed your hand trying to pull you off the couch.

“Cid says you’re staying upstairs with us in the last free room. I’ll take you up so you can use the fresher. I’ll stay by so you don’t get lonely.” She tells you dragging you out the office and out the bar. Ignoring her brothers calling her name. She guided you to the fresher and brought you towels. The door to the apartment slammed shut causing you to flinch at the sound. “ It’s probably Hunter. Let me tell him why I left so quickly, and you can have some time to yourself. I’ll be waiting on the couch.” She informs you and you thank her and smile.

“Omega why did you leave and not say anything?” Hunter asked with a little bit of anger in his tone.

“Cid instructed me to take care of her. That’s all I’m doing. Sorry for leaving.” She answers him smiling at him so he won’t be mad. Hunter’s anger leaves as she explains her reasoning, telling her to not let it happen again. She nodded and went down the hall to her room. As she scrolled through her data pad you finished your shower and dressed in the clothes the twi’lek bar maid grabbed for you. The sleep shorts and giant sweater felt lovely compared to what you were arrested in. You climbed in the bed curling up in the middle of it going to sleep quickly. Omega came to check on you quietly seeing you sleep she closed your door heading back to her room. Until her brothers came in loudly from the bar. Groaning she got out her bed going into the living area with her hands on her hips. With Hunter behind her.

“She’s asleep so do me a favor and keep it quiet” he orders his brothers using his sergeant voice. Each member of the batch went to their own rooms and fell asleep for the night. Once the sun began to peek through your curtains you were wide awake. You did you’re a quick morning routine and threw some socks on your feet. Heading into the kitchen, you checked what there was to cook and you ended up making them a full breakfast meal with caf and juice ready for them as well. Loud footsteps came into the kitchen which you instantly knew it was Wrecker joining you.

“You made food?” Wrecker asks excitedly. You could only smile at his excitement nodding. That was enough for the gentle giant to scoop you in a hug. You put your arms around his shoulder giving him a squeeze. They each came into the kitchen one by one after Wrecker. Each one said thank you except for Crosshair who just looked at you and made his plate before sitting down. You made yourself a plate and tried to leave the kitchen. Hunter stops you.

“You made this meal and deserve to eat with us” he says scooting over to make space between himself and Omega.

“This is better than rations. Thank you ma’am” Echo says after swallowing his food. You just gave him a small smile as a thanks. You haven’t been super talkative so many things you did were through gestures. Once the meal was done everyone went their own way for the day. You cleaned the kitchen before heading to the room for some time to relax.

This cycle went on, you made the batch meals while they weren’t on any missions each of them except Crosshair would accept the hugs you gave them as they returned. Your kind spirit gave them hope in the dark times the galaxy was facing. Omega was now curled up into your side as you read her a book about pirates. You enjoyed spending time with her, it made you feel welcomed and important. Sometimes you decided to offer Tech some help with repairing the ship, he was shocked that you offered to help and even more so when you were doing a great job. You helped each member in different ways, however Cross still avoided you. It hurt your feelings but never understood why it bothered you so much. Until one day he was fed up and decided to approach you with his problem.

It was after a mission they returned, you greet them with hugs and placing a kiss on their cheeks. You were affectionate with these guys, and they allowed it. Each of them thought it was adorable, what made Crosshair snap is when Hunter’s hand lingered too long for his liking on your hip, and he kissed you on the cheek. It didn’t stop there though, each of this brothers gave you some sort of kiss. Echo kissed your other cheek, Tech kissed you on the forehead, and Wrecker kissed the top of your head. Crosshair decided enough is enough, he grabbed your wrist gently and dragged you out the bar and upstairs to the apartment.

“What’s the matter Crosshair?” you asked him curiously voice full of innocence.

“Why are you the way you are?” he asked with a displeased look on his face.

“What do you mean? Did I do something to offend you?” You asked him head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Why are you so kriffing affectionate towards them?” he asked his voice full of irritation.

“I’m sorry, I was not aware it is a problem. They seem to be okay with it, does it offend you? I’ll stop.” You began to ramble more apologies about if your affectionate ways began to make him uncomfortable. He lifted your chin for you to look at him. Your rambling came to a halt when your eyes met his.

“Cyar’ika you being affectionate doesn’t bother me. It bothers me that you aren’t that way with me.” He tells you releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Your body froze at the term of endearment he said Mando ‘a. Crosshair has always avoided you and you didn’t want to push his boundaries by being affectionate with him like you were with the rest of the squad.

“You don’t seem to like me much Cross. I didn’t want to push your boundaries by giving you hugs” you admit softly.

“So you showed it by buying and making me little gifts?” he asks with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I wanted to make sure you were included somehow. So, I thought gift giving without being too affectionate could show you that I care.” You tell him your eyes flicking between his eyes and lips. You haven’t been this close to someone in quite some time, and it was making you nervous.

“Well if you don’t mind cyar’ika show me you care through that affection you share with my brothers” he demands. You throw your arms around his neck pulling him into you for a long overdue hug. He pulls away first leaning into kiss you softly. You pull away hiding your face in his chest. He chuckles kissing you on top of your head. “If you’re going to do this every time I kiss you I can’t wait to do it more.” He pulls you as close as he can given he’s still in his armor. You pull away from his embrace grabbing his hand, starting to drag him down the hall.

#crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb #tech #hunter #wrecker #echo #omega #star wars the bad batch #star wars fic

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