#chancellor x reader

[assortedvillainvault]

Hello again! I’m the one who asked for the flirting headcanons. I was actually hoping Vulgrim would be one of them, so thank you! :D. If you don’t mind, could you maybe do the same for Draven or the Chancellor too?

Hello!! I'm so glad you liked them!! :D

And DO MINE EYES DECEIVE ME, ANOTHER CHANCELLOR SIMP???? Brethren, sibling mine, I gift this to you, stay strong for content of our fave is scarce but our simping shall see us through this desert:

Draven x Reader Flirting HC's:

This Man? This corpse right here? Gallant, suave, lonely as all hell and absolutely 100% working himself into a knot over the idea of courting you.

It's been so SO long since he was alive, he has no idea if the rituals in his day are still the done thing. How many sheep would you even be worth?? All of them, he's sure, but there's no blasted sheep in the Undying Lands and no great enemies for him to slay and no flowers and he's terrible at poetry and why did he think he would be able to do this-

Only to be obliterated by your smile the next time you see him. He goes to kiss your hand without even thinking about it, only to freeze when your fingers gently meet his exposed teeth and Oh Gods above is that a blush?? That's a blush, stopstaringstopstaringstopstaring

His men are high fiving and exchanging coin in the background, you have their full support and this is the most entertained they've been in years.

He's very much one to show off while training, he's lost count of how many times he's narrowly avoided being stabbed due to his head being on a swivel to make sure you're watching

You're going to have to initiate touch, Draven doesn't want to sully you with his hands or his flaking skin or his exposed innards - but oh lord once you do he's addicted. He can't get enough of your softness, your warmth, and his hands are large enough to circle half your damn ribcage so there's going to be a Lot of Holding and Touching in the future.

Protective arm around your shoulders, Protective arm around your shoulders-

He's also one for slow walks through the Undercroft. He knows all the shortcuts, all the areas looking out over the clouds as the vast mass of the Eternal Throne flies along. He can't help but find you the most captivating part of the view. And it's a great place to kiss

Chancellor x Reader Flirting HC's:

hfbdhf RIP your standards you have no idea how or why this is happening and neither does he.

It's...slow, for want of a better word.

He doesn't even seem to realise that a lot of his usual scathing commentary becomes backhanded compliments when you're part of the discussion. Even the Lord of Bones has caught on, which is mortifying since he's asleep most of the time and annoyed for the rest.

To be fair, you're the only one who attempts regular conversation with the guy (if out of nothing but sheer boredom at first), the sight of you returning day after day to his plinth above the training grounds catches him off guard each time.

He thought you'd be cowed away after the last tongue lashing, but you're back?? Again?? Well, quite a glutton for punishment, aren't we~?

He all but collapses after you whip a retort right back at him, and the game begins. He's grill you on everything: your appearance, your attitude, your home, your friends, your choice of words...

Your smile is catty and vindictive, your voice melodious as it is biting, the colour in your cheeks rising to meet him a dead giveaway and, and...

oh dear

Enter denial, stage left

Avoidance, dismissal, dicouragement. A flash of something heavy and uncomfortable at your expression as he excuses himself again and again, his usual tactic of unpleasantness haveing had little effect so far, he beats retreat even as the guards and that damned Blademaster snicker around him.

Eventually, you get the message, and stop coming to visit. Instead choosing to make conversation with Ostegoth at the other end of the courtyard.

He's never been so bored. He can't believe he's grown to miss your constant chatter. He's also never been so Boiling Mad, how Dare that goat steal your attention from him?!

Chance please I stg your lack of self awareness kills me

Demands for you to come to Urgent Meetings and Pressing Matters make a remarkable uptick. The fact he looks like he's floundering for something for you to do when you arrive is not lost on you.

The jig is up when the Lord of Bones says something derogatory about your presence and The Chancellor imediately contradicts him, the most heated you've ever seen him.

Silence in the throne room.

Chancellor's head catches up with his mouth and he mumbles platitudes and excuses, leaving to god knows where. The Lord rolls his head toward Draven, smirks, and extends one gaunt hand to the Blademaster.

Draven huffs and hands over a remarkable amount of coin, while you blink to process what the hell just happened.

A note is found under your door sometime later, in elegant cursive, asking for your time alone the next day.

Being courted doesn't sound Too Bad, you think...

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 25 - Friction.

Loss will affect you, whether you realise it or not. It can make you angry. It can make you bitter. Words are traded when wounds are prodded, and they'll come back to haunt you when it's most inconvenient.

There are billions of grains of ash blanketing the Gilded Arena, layer heaped upon layer of dead cells, deep enough for you to drown in, if the particles weren’t condensed so solidly, interlocking like sand on a beach to keep your weight distributed. To have accumulated this much, the place must be ancient, far older than humanity, far older than Earth even. So old that it might have existed for as long as the Universe has known the concept of death.

Thousands of grains – history in each and every one - hiss through the gaps between your spread fingers as you teeter forwards, hands rising from the ash to catch yourself on the colossal skull in front of you when you start sinking down to your knees.

It’s hard not to think about how you’re surrounded by the remnants of people right now, that you have been since you first entered the realm.

And now here’s another one, another death to add to an unending multitude.

One of your palms has landed on the lustreless crystal jammed inside Gnashor’s cranium, while the fingers of your other hand curl with an unexpected fervour into the edge of an empty eye socket, as dark as it is deep. So deep that you could fit your entire fist inside the cavity, though the prospect causes your stomach to fill with bile.

You know it’s utterly illogical to try and search for any traces of those vivid, green lights that had, mere seconds ago, been burning down at you with inscrutable intent.

For God’s sake, the skull has been completely severed. It lays a few feet from the top of Gnashor’s spine where the rest of its titanic body has fallen, already breaking apart at the joints and allowing the smallest of those borrowed bones to sink back into the ground, where they too will one day become ash.

“Gnashor?” you croak at the skull anyway, wincing when the name stings at your throat and reminds you of the aching lines that have been crushed intermittently into the skin around your neck.

Jesus, you’ll be feeling those for a while…

You don’t know exactly why you call its name. Perhaps it’s the uncertainty of how this realm operates that leaves you wondering if there’s a part of the creature that might yet live and hear you. How do you know the dead here truly die, after all? Does decapitation work the same as it would on any living thing when Gnashor had already borrowed most of its other bones from the skeletons around it?

Then again, perhaps you’re just feeling guilty, and saying the name aloud is all you can think to do in the moment.

Because you could have done something.

… Couldn’t you?

Because the Champion, for reasons you can’t yet begin to fathom, just saved your life.

Whatever the case, you suppose you get an answer to your unspoken question when Gnashor remains perfectly still and wholly silent, a husk in the ash. Dead as any other corpse scattered inside this wretched arena.

It’s…. sad.

You’re sad, and you can’t immediately pinpoint why.

Somewhere nearby, there's the muted thud of boots hitting the ground.

“You killed him,” comes your tepid voice, curling your hand into a fist over Gnashor’s crystal.

Silent footsteps trace around the skull and slip close to your side, a dark shadow falling across your face and blotting out some of the morning light.

“Well,” Death’s throaty timbre sounds too far away in your ears, as if he isn’t standing right next to you, looming like a spectre at its favourite haunt, “That was the goal of our being here.”

A ‘shink’ of metal draws your bloodshot eyes to the Horseman, and you observe bleakly whilst he throws his scythes back into their straps on each hip.

“… He didn’t attack me,” you draw out in a daze, your eyebrows crawling together as you stare at Death’s curving blades.

“Yes, I endeavoured to make sure that was the case,” he quips bluntly, bending down to slip a hand underneath your arm, “Regardless, it seemed very inclined to attack me.”

His callused fingers feel even colder than usual as his grip tightens and he hauls you up off your knees too quickly, too roughly. The sudden movement jars your dizzy head and betrays the Horseman’s agitation, not to mention his urgency.

If it weren’t for the hand still keeping your bicep trapped in its iron grip, your legs might buckle and send you toppling straight down onto your backside again.

Ash hisses into the indents left by your weight.

Death has his forefinger tucked beneath your chin before your brain has a chance to stop teetering.

“Mmf,” you grunt softly as he pushes your head up, giving him a good view of your neck. Squeezing your eyes shut to try and alleviate the headache building at the base of your skull, you start to speak even with the Horseman silently twisting your head from side to side. “I think it was because of your scythes,” you tell him, “Ostegoth warned me not to raise a weapon against Gnashor. A-and Karn’s sword is still up there, in the stands.”

Death doesn’t speak for several beats, and when he finally does – voice pitched so low you can feel it in your teeth – he growls, “When I get my hands on that wretched nothus-!” Hesitating, he flicks his eyes up to meet your gaze and gruffly amends, “Do not repeat that word.”

Frowning back up at him, you wrench your head from his fingertips and huff, “Are you even listening to me?”

His arm remains suspended in the air for a moment, poised as if to reach out and gather your chin in his palm once more, but then the Horseman’s eyes harden behind his mask and a muscle jumps in his jaw – what little you can see of it. With a dull thwack, he lets his hand flop back down to his side. The other, still wrapped around your bicep, gradually slides away and joins its twin on Death’s opposite flank.

“What?” he sighs out. His gaze has already returned to your throat.

It’s the impatience in his tone that strikes a nerve, and suddenly, it isn’t sad.

It’s funny.

‘How stupid,’ you think, ‘to assume I could have stopped Death from killing.’

Why, it’s so funny you want to rip your hair out and laugh until you stop breathing altogether.

But that would hurt too much.

So you don’t.

“I’m telling you; Gnashor didn’t want to fight,” you declare, raising a hand and jabbing your forefinger at the Horseman’s mask whilst the other digits carve crescent moons into your palms, “He didn’t attack until you pulled a weapon on him!”

It’s curt and accusatory, and it gets Death bristling.

“If you’re trying to make a point, then make it,” he sneers, eyes flashing like an amber warning sign, “Because if I hadn’t pulled a weapon on it, you might have been killed!”

“Gnashor didn’t have to die.”

There. That’s your point.

A crack in your vocal chords disrupts you on the final word, a break in your own aching throat as you squeeze it out. It hurts, you’re reminded quite unfairly.

Quieter this time, but still with fierce conviction, you glower up at the Horseman and bite out, “I don’t think he wanted to fight. But he probably didn’t think he had a choice.”

Death’s chest lurches with a ludicrous scoff. “Even if your theory holds any merit, what would you have had me do instead? Hm?” Throwing an arm up to indicate the arena as a whole, he barks, “We came here to collect its skull. Or did you forget that that’s the only way to get an audience with the Dead King?”

At that, your brows manage to beetle together into such a deep, solid line, you’d swear you could make them touch.

There have been many instances where you’ve let his condescending tone roll off your shoulders.

This isn’t one of them.

“No, I didn’t forget,” you snap, irritated by the way each word squeezes painfully past your gullet, like you’ve swallowed something too large, and it’s wedged itself in the middle of your neck.

There’s a tiny voice at the back of your head asking why you give so much of a damn about this that you’re willing to stand here and argue with Death while your temples throb excruciatingly with every heartbeat and the ghosts of powerful fingers are still curled around your neck.

Another part of you even suggests that your reasons are borderline shallow. That if Gnashor hadn’t pulled you out from underneath that falling pillar, you probably wouldn’t be making this much of a fuss. But whatever the case may be, the fact remains that the Champion had, in the span of a few seconds, gone from a mere obstacle to a sapient creature who recognised you weren’t a threat and made an active choice to save you.

It was easier when you thought Death was only putting down a feral, bloodthirsty beast.

Now, after what Gnashor did, you can’t pretend that’s still the case.

Worse still, it was a death that could have been avoided. Just like-

A flash of white beard, strands stained scarlet as the deluge of a storm cascades across the vale, a mighty chest growing quiet and still beneath your hands…

Exhaling sharply, you give your head a shake to dislodge Eideard’s wizened face from your mind’s eye. And although it feels like the ultimate disservice to banish his memory so brusquely, you can’t think of him now, not here, not when the body laying in the ash nearby is so nearly the same size as a maker’s.

Wetting your lips, you try to take a breath, in through the nose, out through a tight jaw. “I just mean, couldn’t we have… - Shit, I don’t know - found another way?”

Sometimes you feel as though you sound more and more like a child with values still drenched in idealism, trying to appeal to the most real, unavoidable truth of the Universe.

“And wasted even more time trying to find the Well of Souls?” the Horseman retorts, taking a single step away and cocking his head back, peering at you down the hollow ridge of his mask’s nose.

You can’t ignore the guilty twinge your guts give at his question. It rankles you, fuels the aggravation where pain is already fanning sparks into open flames. The urge to claw at your hair returns.

“If the Well’s as old as I think it is, it’s not going anywhere,” you argue tightly, “Why are you suddenly so concerned about wasting time?”

Unnoticed by you, Death’s hands spring into closed fists as he snaps his head down again to level you with a blistering glare that’s one part offence and three parts disbelief.

Have you forgotten why he wants to find the Well in the first place? Have you forgotten who’s name he’s trying to clear? Has your foolish and misguided compassion for an undead monster blinded you to the bigger picture?!

Or did Brumox knock some sense out of you after he dropped you into the Gilded arena?

Grinding his teeth, Death finds himself further taken aback by the unexpected squirm of disappointment that rears its head.

Its presence is unwelcome. ‘Because,’ he realises with a pang in his dried up guts, ‘it means her opinion - her verdict – matters.’

It matters to him, more than he realised it did. More than it should. He wouldn’t be disappointed if it didn’t.

The revelation is… foreboding, to say the least.

When did it start to matter?

“Maybe,” he bridles, defensive in the face of his own realisation, “I wouldn’t be so concerned about time if I hadn’t already lost so much of it watching somebody else’s back.”

He doesn’t notice that he’s drawn himself up, a towering, prickling spectre that looms over you, all burning eyes and bitter acid rising into his gorge.

He doesn’t notice…. until your expression bursts open as if his words had just struck you across the cheek.

Pinched brows spring apart, and your eyes widen exponentially, then blink. Your mouth falls open – whether to gasp or retaliate, Death doesn’t find out, because before he can even register that he’s just planted his boot right over an invisible line, the sudden slap of footsteps on ancient stone begins to echo through the arena, drawing his gaze from yours and turning it to the railings overhead.

A figure, tall and decaying and entirely too familiar, all but slams into the barrier at full speed, careening to a halt only when his hands catch the bars.

Wild green eyes blaze vividly from inside the darkness of the newcomer’s hood. Frantic, they dart across the pit as he leans over the railings, his shoulders heaving beneath a tattered cloak and the weight of several broken swords.

“Lady Y/n!” he pants raggedly, finding you within seconds and locking you in his sights.

Momentarily startled by his unexpected arrival, you do a double-take, letting your jaw fall open for a second before you manage to sputter out, “Draven?”

“Oh, oh thank God,” the undead rasps, his rigid hands going slack on the bars when he sees you looking back at him, “Thank God… Stay right there! I’m coming down!”

Then, as briskly as he’d arrived, he’s gone, shoving himself off the railings and whirling around, disappearing from view.

Brows raised, you return your focus to Death, only to find the Horseman is already staring back at you with an unreadable expression. Upon meeting his gaze, your eyebrows instantly snap into a scowl, and you grace him with a heated glare for another moment before turning sharply away from him, crossing your arms over your chest and hoping he hadn’t been looking too closely at the wetness teetering perilously close to the edge of your lashes.

It’s… never an easy thing to have an ugly truth ripped up from the grave you buried it in and held in front of your face, forcing you to look at it for the first time.

Several years ago, you ignored a warning light on your car for three months before the vehicle sputtered to a halt five miles from home. You knew the problem was there… it was just easier to pretend it wasn’t. Until you couldn’t… Until something else broke on the back of it.

You know you rely too heavily on his protection, even if – until now – the fact had remained largely unspoken. You know that if it weren’t for you, Death would be miles ahead of where he is. You know it, but it still hurts to hear it aloud from the Horseman’s mouth.

And it hurts because you believe it.

You believe him.

You care about what he thinks of you.

The sudden clanking of heavy chains snaps you from your ruminations, tearing your gaze from the Horseman and turning it to the side of the arena, where a narrow portcullis is built into the wall not far from where Gnashor had fallen.

Beyond the dark, iron bars, you spot the familiar Blademaster, furiously hauling at a winch with all his might.

His hood has drooped down to conceal much of his face, but you can still make out the sinewy strands of his jaw tightening and falling slack again as he grits his exposed teeth around arduous grunts of effort, raising the portcullis up off the ground.

He barely gets it halfway open before he evidently decides that he’s raised it far enough.

Jamming a lever into the winch to lock the chains in place, he ducks beneath the jutting spokes with a flourish of his cloak, shaking his hood back so he can peer underneath the lip of it as he strides towards you, his viridescent eyes riveted doggedly in your direction.

“There you are,” he gushes out, suggesting a breathlessness that shouldn’t be biologically possible.

“Draven-” you begin, only to have the wind knocked out of you when the undead reaches you and, without warning, throws his hands out to grasp you by the arms, anchoring you in place as his eyes scour you from head to toe – presumably hunting for injuries.

“I came to find you at my quarters,” he says stiffly, “When I saw you gone, I… I admit I feared the worst.”

A chilly presence brushes close to your back. You don’t have to look to know who’s standing there, couldn’t even if you wanted to. Draven is dominating your focus, drawing one of his bony hands up to catch your chin and tilt it back in much the same way Death had, inspecting the bruises around your neck.

A rough hiss slips between his bared teeth.

“… The merchant told me you were challenging Gnashor for an audience with the King,” he utters in a dangerous lilt, tearing his eyes off your throat to toss a glare at Death over the top of your head, “What were you thinking? Bringing her to the battle!?”

“I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than-,” you begin, only to choke on the words when an ice-cold hand snatches the back of your shirt and you’re unceremoniously ripped out of Draven’s grasp and flung backwards behind Death, who immediately surges forth to take the spot you’d just been standing in.

Staggering to an unsteady halt in the ash, you press your fingertips tenderly to your neck and aim a grumble at the back of his head, tugging your shirt back into its proper place. The damn thing is sure to wrinkle if he keeps that up.

Towering at least a foot over the incensed undead, he jabs a finger in Draven’s rotting face, shoulders all quivering and ruffled as he barks, “Perhaps, Blademaster, if you spent less time fretting over her, and more time focusing on your recruits, she wouldn’t be down here in the first place!”

“The Hell’re you on about?” Draven snarls back, irritably smacking Death’s hand away from his face, “What have my recruits to do with your follies?”

But you see it there, in his eyes – that tiny narrowing of the flaky lids, the way the pale lights flick to the left, as if something brief and sudden has just occurred to him.

As if he knows something…

“My follies!?” Death’s outrage comes through palpably, thickening the air with the necrotic stench of rot, “One of your men followed us here and saw fit to toss the girl straight over those bars-!” Flinging an arm out, he gestures wildly at the iron spokes ringing the arena overhead. “No doubt-” he continues, spitting vehemently, “- in the hopes that Gnashor would finish us both off! That-! is what your recruits have to do with my follies.”

Draven’s lips curl downwards at the admonishment, but when he peers around Death’s shoulder to catch your eye, the hard line of his jaw eases, and he grows rather urgent, brushing past the Horseman to reclaim his position in front of you once again.

“Fair Lady, I trust your word in all of this-“

“-But not my own?” Death barks incredulously from the rear.

Ignoring his indignation, Draven reaches down and scoops up your hand, clasping it firmly but ever so carefully between his enormous palms. Bewildered, you blink up into the shadows of his hood as he peers back down at you, the ridges of his brow furrowed to leave a crevice in the paper-thin flesh between his sunken eye sockets.

“Was it Brumox?” he whispers hoarsely, leaning closer to your face, “Was it he who laid his hands on you?”

“Brumox?” you echo, eyes narrowing. You never said his name.

Subconsciously, you give your hand a tug, feeling his grip tighten in response. “Draven… Did you know he’d do this?”

“No,” he declares so firmly that you jump, his voice like unwavering steel. Then, heaving a sigh, he lowers his gaze to your hands grasped between his own, and winces at the bone gleaming through tears in his flesh. “No…” he continues, a note quieter, “Believe me, If I had known what he was planning, I’d’ve…”

Gruffly clearing his throat, he finally lets you go, taking a step back and glaring hard at the ash around his boots. “Of all my recruits….” he begins to explain, “Brumox has been the most opposed to your being here, my lady.”

“You knew this,” Death spits, “And yet you allowed him to remain a threat to my-…! To her!?”

“I knew he had no love for the living,” Draven argues, twisting his head towards a shoulder and addressing the Horseman, “I knew his feathers were ruffled by her arrival in the Eternal Throne. I did not, however, think that even he could be capable of this treachery.”

Throwing an arm out in your direction, Death continues on his tirade. “And because of your oversight, she was almost killed - would have been, had I not saved her life.”

“Uh, Gnashor saved my life,” you interject petulantly, irked to be spoken about you as if you aren’t even here.

“Gnashor?” Draven’s skeletal face goes slack as he shoots several glances between you and the skull laying nearby. All it takes is one more look at the branded fingers sweeping around your neck before he presses his teeth together and lets a sigh slip between the miniscule gaps. “Ah, perhaps you can regale me with the story later,” he amends, “You need rest, and those bruises must be tended to.”

Before you can open your mouth to argue that you’ll be all right, that you’ve been through worse, Death cuts in. “And Brumox? What do you intend to do about him? Because believe you me, Blademaster, when I get my hands on –“

“-You leave Brumox to me,” Draven interrupts darkly, “His transgression was done by a man under my watch. I’ll be the one to deal with it.”

And with that said, the Blademaster moves to stand beside you and raises a long, sinewy arm, letting it hover mere millimetres from your back.

You know when you’re being steered, and you’re not averse to it here. Draven doesn’t push or pull or use his strength to move you where he wants you to go. He simply waits, content to let you take the first step.

Offering the undead a tired smile, you begin to trudge slowly towards the portcullis, wiping a hand down the length of your face and feeling coarse grains of ash scrape gently over your cheeks. Draven easily keeps in step with you, taking a single stride for every two of your own.

The pair of you breeze past Death, paying the Horseman no mind even as he twists to follow you with his eyes, glaring caustically at the arm Draven has snuck around the back of your shoulders.

Gnashing his teeth together hard, his jaw springs open again and he snaps testily after your retreating forms, “And I suppose I’m to lug this skull back by myself, am I?”

Your stride doesn’t even falter, though Draven’s hood turns slightly towards you, as if he’s prepared and ready to receive an instruction at the drop of a hat, so long as it comes from you.

Striking a sharp look over your shoulder, you lock eyes with the Horseman and primly retort, “You killed him, you carry him.”

You don’t give yourself time to see the expression shift underneath that pale, mask of bone. You’re too sore from the insecurity he’d just pried open with those cold, calloused fingers, laying it bare for you to acknowledge properly for the first time. So, you turn away without another word, leaning heavily against the undead at your side, weary enough to let yourself rely on his sturdiness to keep you moving forwards.

Draven, in his most private opinion, is only too pleased to be used as a makeshift crutch. The warmth of a flesh-and-blood woman under his arm seeps through his flaking skin and fills him with a vigour he hasn’t known since those bygone days, when he was a young man himself, alive and striking, with a lover on his arm and a burst of affection in his chest. He can almost remember it so clearly in the hollow cavity that used to house his heart. It’s intoxicating to be allowed to feel it again, and he finds his appreciation for your presence in the Dead Plains is beginning to grow tenfold.

He is, however, less than pleased to see the injuries you’ve sustained, and there’s a rage rapidly building in his long-decayed guts that insists upon finding retribution for the crimes committed against you here today.

What Brumox did was nothing less than an egregious betrayal. And Draven won’t abide by traitors under his command, even if it isn’t directly himself that they’ve betrayed.

There’s a sudden, phantom twinge in the middle of his back, between the notches of his spine that reminds him of his own fate. The face of a coward rises from the depths of his memory, and he has to clamp his jaw shut to conceal the growl that almost slips out.

It won’t do to frighten the object of his sudden yearning. Right now, there’s only one order of business, and that’s to return you to the relative safety of the Eternal Throne.

He distracts himself from thoughts of bloody, searing vengeance by braving the last few iotas of space between your skin and his, pressing his forearm across the breadth of your shoulder blades and trying not to shudder at the warmth spreading through his limb.

It’s like feeling the first touch of sunlight after an eternity spent embraced by a cold, dark grave...

----------

Ancient, wooden doors fly open with a resounding ‘wham’ that sends a jolt of momentary alarm through the undead milling about the Eternal Throne’s courtyard.

Dozens of heads whip towards the source of the sound – the courtyard’s main entrance – and every eye in the place grows wide upon spotting the Blademaster himself prowling out into the sunlight, an unfamiliar yet easily recognisable figure sheltered underneath the weight of one of his outstretched arms.

Draven ignores the stares. His eyes are on the hunt, flicking from left to right as he glares poisonously at each undead in search of one particular face.

His arm - the one without an array of rusted blades sprouting from his mouldering flesh – is loosely slung around your shoulders, keeping you close against his side, though he hopes not so close that you’re able to pick up on the faint stench of rot that perpetually clings to his remains.

He hasn’t said a word since he pulled you from the Gilded Arena and left Death in the proverbial dust, mindful that with his thoughts circling Brumox like a bird of prey, nothing that leaves his lips would be suited for a lady’s ears.

Not that you’re in any particular mood to converse either, too preoccupied by the very plausible worry of running into Brumox again. You’ve been chewing a fresh ulcer into the inside of your cheek for the last five minutes, fretting over how he’ll react when he sees you alive. Will he deny ever being in the Arena? It’s your word – and Death’s – against his. Are you about to find yourself caught up in the Dead Plain’s judicial system?

Is there a judicial system here?

The unanswered questions cause your stomach to roll miserably like a ball of lead has dropped down inside it, and you curl an arm across your abdomen, grimacing at nothing in particular as your other hand idly squeezes the grip of Karn’s sword.

It’s an unbelievable relief to have the weapon back in your grasp where it belongs. The scabbard, however, hadn’t fared so well. Its leather was snapped just in front the buckle when it was torn so unceremoniously from your hip, leaving you with no way to secure it around you anymore.

Your crestfallen expression was enough to send Draven scrambling to offer reassurance. “We got plenty of those back at the Barracks,” he’d told you as you took the broken leather in hand and gazed down at it with a quivering lip, “I’ll take you there myself after your business with the King’s in order.”

It was kind and thoughtful, and you told him as much, earning yourself several sputtered sentences and stilted chuckles in response. Still, you don’t know to explain to him, without sounding like a fool, that it just won’t be the same. This is Karn’s scabbard. It, and the sword he forged, are the only parts of the young maker that could follow you into this strange, new world, and to be without even one of them feels…

“Bastard’s not ‘ere,” Draven grumbles to himself, pulling your gaze off the toes of your boots as you shuffle along next to him. Casting him a sideways glance, you’re just in time to catch the wince that warps his expression before he spares you a sheepish look. “Er, Brumox isn’t here, I mean.”

There’s a tiny shift of the leaden weight in your guts.

“Oh, good,” you sigh, returning your eyes to the courtyard and sweeping them towards the stairs.

All at once, you perk up significantly when you see the large, woollen figure standing near the undercroft, a spiralling trail of soft, purple smoke drifting lazily from the pipe between his lips.

He’s in the midst of waving off a wiry undead and feeding several glinting coins into one of the pouches on his side when he glances up, his movements coming to an abrupt halt once he catches sight of you halfway across the courtyard.

Beside you, Draven has lifted his gaze to the rickety ramparts above, a snarl pulling the skin around his mouth even further from his crooked teeth. “Don’t worry,” he tells you in a low growl, “I’ll track ‘im down… He won’t get away with what he did…”

The decisive nature of his remark prompts you to put a voice to one of your fears. “… What if he doesn’t admit to it?”

“Oh, he’ll get a chance to say his piece,” Draven amends, albeit darkly, “But those bruises don’t lie. Gnashor ain’t the stranglin’ type. And I’ll bet the Horseman’d rather cut his own legs off than put a mark on you.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that your concern is knocked slightly askew, and you wonder what in the world had given him that impression. He barely knows Death.

“Whatever the outcome though,” he continues, hesitating for just a moment before he plucks up the courage to give your shoulders a consoling squeeze, “I don’t intend to let this happen again.”

Before you can ask him what exactly he’s planning to do to, Draven roves his head up once more and tosses his chin forwards, calling out across the courtyard. “Ostegoth, ‘ve got a favour to ask.”

The Capracus has already taken several steps towards your unlikely duo, meeting you both right in front of the staircase, ripping the pipe from his mouth. 

Concern, painfully genuine, has been etched deeply into the lines between his brows.

“Lamb,” he squeezes out, nostrils puffing quietly at the air. His strange, yellow eyes dart back and forth between the bruises on your neck and your solemn expression. “What happened to-?”

“-Gnashor,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “You were right.”

Blinking back visible bewilderment, he lifts one of his lengthy arms up to take you by the elbow, pulling you gently away from Draven, who lets you go with a soft pat to your back.

“Stay with the Old one,” the undead tells you, earning a harrumph from Ostegoth, but Draven has already tugged the lip of his cowl forwards to cover his eyes and turned on a heel, letting his cloak swish regally behind him as he stalks his way across the courtyard on a dead-set path towards the recruits still training diligently in their circle.

“Where are you going?” you call after him, straining through discomfort to raise your voice enough to be heard.

Without turning back, Draven raises an arm and jabs his thumb at you over his shoulder, loudly declaring, “To find the bastard who gave you those.”

You can only assume he means the bruises.

A large, spindly appendage lands on your shoulder and draws your attention back to Ostegoth, who is gazing down at you through wide, searching eyes. You don’t miss how they flick to your neck and back again.

“Oh,” he croaks hoarsely, “Gnashor… did he do…?”

“He didn’t hurt me,” you’re quick to reassure him, giving him a probing squint of your own, “He… actually, he saved me, Ostegoth.”

The Capracus’s hand slackens by a fraction, and his expression, once taut with concern, loses some of its rigidity. “You did not raise your sword against him….” he breathes, gazing down at you in astonishment.

Pressing your lips together, you hesitate for a moment, scuffing the toe of your boot against the ground.  “Well... I didn’t,” you stress at last, twisting to shoot a glance over your shoulder, directing Ostegoth’s gaze to the doors at the far end of the courtyard. “But…”

As if on cue, there’s an almighty ruckus as the doors are battered open, cracking off the stone foundations surrounding them.

From the darkness of the corridor, twin flashes of burning, golden fire precede the rest of the Horseman as he prowls into the pale light, his knees stooped to bear the awkward weight of Gnashor’s skull upon his back.

The whole courtyard seems to stop and hold its breath. Undead milling about the outskirts pause to stare, and even you find yourself freezing, goosebumps raising along your arms when you feel that luminous glare sweep over you.

 At your back, Ostegoth shifts, and his hand slides slowly from your arm. “Ah,” he utters, the relief gone from his voice, “I see.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately turn back to him, “I tried-“

But he merely raises a hand to stop you, his horned head bowed, understanding.

 “What’s done is done,” he says, ears flicking back, “To secure your audience with the Lord of Bones, a sacrifice must be made."

'Sacrifice?' you blink, silently wondering at the term.

"It is…” Trailing off, the merchant hums to himself, then heaves a sigh that causes his entire frame to sag, like all the wind has been taken from his sails. “He will be all right.”

You don’t know how anyone could be ‘all right’ after decapitation, but before you can try to gently broach the topic, the percolating chill that rolls of Death finally reaches you, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck.

A glance to your left reveals the Horseman in profile, paused at the foot of the wooden staircase that leads up to the upper balcony and the adjoining throne room. His mask has tilted towards you, an impassive stare catching yours and holding it for the breadth of a second.

You exhale softly.

While you're still sore about his comment in the Arena, it would be a lie to say that your frustration with him hasn’t already started to wane, leaving a kernel of guilt to lodge itself between your ribs. You open your mouth, prepared to extend the proverbial olive branch and offer a stilted and awkward apology for leaving him to carry Gnashor’s skull all the way here, but just then, he speaks, cutting you off.

“Will you be joining me now?”

And okay, perhaps that was deserved, but you let it roll of your shoulders. He’s said more hurtful things before, and if he was truly angry, you’d wager he wouldn’t be inviting you back to his side.

Perhaps you're not the only one with designs on making peace.

Bolstered by this revelation, you find it in you to offer him a sheepish grin and a nod. “Yeah,” you say, timidly adding, “If that’s okay.”

And Death, for as adept as he is at maintaining an air of emotional vacancy, allows himself a blink, the hard creases around his eyes smoothing over as his face relaxes beneath the mask.

“Of course,” he returns, appraising you as you give Ostegoth a murmured farewell.

Eyeing the Horseman through a narrow gaze, the Capracus waits until you’ve sidled away from him before he suddenly pipes up, “Shall I tell the Blademaster where you’ve gone?”

Death has already begun his ascent, but you hold back just long enough to knock two fingers off your forehead in a quick salute. “Please, and thanks, Ostegoth.”

He grumbles something as he waves you off, flapping a wrist at you until you turn and fall into step behind the Horseman, traipsing along in his shadow.

At the top of the stairs, the pair of guards posted outside the throne room promptly snap to attention, crossing their weapons over one another to bar any attempt at entry. Death, however, readily ignores them. They’re not his quarry. Not quite yet, anyway.

Instead, he makes a beeline for the Chancellor, who reels away from the balcony and squawks out in shock when he sees the two of you coming, his jaw is hanging so far from the roof of his mouth that it looks as if it might pop off and tumble to the ground at any second. The undead starts to sputter something, and you can’t help but take some childish glee in his floundering as you lean around the Horseman and catch a glimpse of those pale, green eyes bulging with unmitigated alarm.

Then, with all the collected poise of a diplomat but none of the gentility, Death hoists Gnashor’s skull over his shoulder and drops it discourteously to the ground.

It lands just in front of the Chancellor’s robes with a ‘crack’ that has you cringing sympathetically, and the undead stumbling back until his spine hits the railings behind him.

“Your Champion,” Death drawls, pleased to see him squirm, “As requested.”

The Chancellor’s mouth flaps open and closed before he eventually locks his jaw, gaze darting down to you, as if you might offer him an explanation more concise than Death abruptly dumping a skull at his feet.  

Instead, all he gets from you is a nonchalant shrug.

At that, his eyes fly back to Death, and he manages to squeeze out a tight, “Impossible!”

You wonder what he’d been expecting. And then you start to wonder how many people he’s sent to Gnashor who hadn’t returned. Enough to apparently warrant such shock.

Your lip curls disdainfully.

“I believe your King will see us now,” Death continues with a cock of his hips, draping one hand over his belt.

Once again, the Chancellor looks to you, apparently still hoping that you can talk some sense into the Horseman. Several terse seconds pass, one of which he even seems to spend noticing the marks around your neck, but whatever he thinks, he neglects to mention them at all.

At long last, his lip starts to twist into a nasty frown as he senses that he’s only delaying the inevitable.

You brace yourself, ready to for him to refuse you entry yet again or come up with some other bad excuse as to why you can’t see his Lord.

But then, to his credit…

“I… cannot deny you,” he realises softly, and gestures with a slow wave of his arm towards the guards at the door.

You and Death turn to them, and it’s almost comical to see how readily the two, hulking undead stand to attention and uncross their weapons. One of them reaches back and raps his knuckles soundly four times against the petrified wood, and with a shudder and a groan of their hinges, the doors start to swing inwards, letting a gust of stale air rush out through the gap and waft across your face.

"Watch your tongue around my Lord," the Chancellor hisses at the back of your heads, "You'll find he is not so forgiving as I..." 

Swallowing thickly, you take a single step forward, only to find a hand pulling you up short. Glancing at the pale appendage curled around your shoulder, you follow the arm up to Death’s mask, and his narrowed eyes floating in the dark sockets. He’s peering ahead, straight through the open doors and into the throne room.

You catch his drift without needing to hear a word.

He’ll be going first then.

“After you,” you concede, leaning onto your back foot and letting him move ahead.

Straightening his shoulders, the Horseman moves purposefully through the open doors whilst you follow along in his wake, whispering a quiet ‘thanks,’ to the undead who tips his helmet at you as you pass.

Just as you set your first foot inside, something dark and feathery shoots over your head without warning, zooming into the room ahead of you and Death.

“Dust!” you exclaim, startled yet pleased to see the crow, “Where the Hell have you been!?”

“He has a habit of turning up when the hard work is finished,” Death remarks coolly, watching with a bored expression as the bird flaps his way towards the tall throne at the far end of the room, perching daintily on top of it and cocking his head down to beadily eye the figure slouched in the seat below him.

“Aw, I missed him.”

“Speak for yourself.”

"Alright, hardman." 

Trailing over the threshold properly, Dust’s emergence is soon forgotten. You can’t keep your eyes from drinking in the sombre architecture all around you.

There are two more guards posted up inside the entrance, and another pair standing at the top of some stone steps on the other side of the room, both clasping their respective halberds as they glower you and the Horseman down.

The air is stale in here despite the high, curved ceilings and gaping holes in the walls that let daylight spill inside. It reeks of old stone, like the cold, sepulchral church you’d sought refuge in all those days ago… But beneath the must and stagnant dust, there’s another smell, something earthy like compost. It reminds you of Draven, though it’s far stronger in here than it is on him.

And then, as Death moves forwards and slows his pace, allowing you a glimpse of what’s ahead, you spot the likely source of the smell.

Instinct keeps you holding onto your words whilst you slip into place behind the Horseman, edging out to peek around him at the corpse slumped over in the throne ahead of you. A reverent breath slides past your lips as you take it in.

There’s no life inside it. Not even the bastardisation of life the rest of the undead you’ve met seem animated by. It... No... He sits as stiffly as a long-dead carcass in the throne, shadowed by the high backrest that’s been inlaid with skulls in a gruesome depiction of power. Even in his elevated position on the dais, he looks tall. Taller than Death, perhaps in the same league as Ostegoth, but nowhere near as soft and approachable.

You’re not expecting it at all when, all of a sudden, the cadaver moves.

A sharp yelp jumps out of you before you can catch it as a pair of blank, green eyes spring open, lighting up the sunken sockets of a drawn, skeletal face. Lips as dry as ash crackle and flake at their edges, turned down into a grimace, and without warning, the head jerks up with a visceral ‘snap.'

Raising a hand to cover your mouth, you realise with a dawning sense of horror that you’re watching rigor mortis in motion.

Ancient bones that probably haven’t moved for a long, long time start to wake up. They creak like tree limbs as he wrenches his shoulders back.

‘Snap!’

And tugs at the limbs draped over the arms of his throne.

‘Crack!’

Every little movement looks painful and stilted, and even the crown of bones perched on top of his skull seems too heavy as he pushes his body forwards in the seat, hands spasming into fists when his terrible gaze takes in his new visitors.

When he speaks however, you’re taken aback by the rich, if gravelly voice that thrums from his half-decomposed throat, hidden partially by thin strands of a wispy, white beard which has somehow managed to cling to what little scraps of leathery flesh still remain along his jawline.

“Horseman,” the Lord of Bones sneers, and you can’t help but stare at the puff of dust that flies out from between his crooked teeth, “You stink of the living….”

With an accusing glance down over his shoulder at you, Death lets out a soft little ‘hmph.’

Offended, you furrow your brows right back at him and mouth, ‘dick.’  

There’s no way you’ve made him smell like you…. If anything, you’re probably the one who smells like him.

Your little stare-down is cut short when there’s another crack of bones from the figurehead before you.

In a far more violent motion, the King surges forwards as far as his spine will allow, curls of fetid, green smoke rising from his shoulders like a miasma. Eyes ablaze, he locks the Horseman in his sights, peels blackened lips back over his teeth and snarls, “You are not welcome here.”

“Pity,” Death remarks, casual as can be, “I was starting to enjoy the atmosphere.”

The Lord of Bones sneers derisively, leaning back and sitting tall with another crack of his spine, leering down the length of his nasal ridge at Death. “Then you have not been here long.”

You’re growing bolder, inching further from the Horseman’s side to stare unabashedly up at the King on his throne.

He could have been human once, you marvel, old as the Earth’s core, a giant among men, now wizened and haggard but no less an imposing figure with his regalia made from bone and a face so sunken and cruel, it makes your palms sweat just to look at it.

But it’s as you find yourself taking that first step out into the open, mouth slightly ajar and eyes on stalks, the King finally takes note of your presence.

You know precisely when he meets your gaze because you’re suddenly frozen solid. A bolt of ice lances up your spine, anchoring you in place like a beetle pinned to a corkboard.

It occurs to you then, that accompanying Death in here might have been a terrible idea. Officially, you’ve met exactly three undead. One had welcomed you warmly into the realm. Another met you with scorn and derision. And the third had tried to kill you.

So, how will you be received here by the Lord of this realm?

You suppress a shudder, averting your gaze at once.

“So… the whispers were true,” the old undead finally rasps, breaking the suffocating hush that had drifted into the room.

You hear him lean forwards, flinching when sharp, splintered fingernails curl over the throne’s armrests and scrape audibly against the bone as they tighten their grip.

“One survived after all.”

[unsuperingyournatural]

struggle to focus

Din Djarin x Chancellor Reader x Bo-Katan Kryze

The room was filled with the low murmur of strategists and commanders, voices overlapping as they mapped out their plan of attack on the Imperial base. You, the newly appointed Chancellor of the New Republic, sat at the head of the table, your mind processing every piece of information presented to you. The galaxy was at war, and your position demanded your full attention.

Yet, as you shifted your focus from the tactical map in front of you to the faces around the table, it was hard to ignore the two people whose presence had become a constant in your thoughts.

Bo-Katan Kryze, standing beside you, her gaze sharp and commanding as she gave orders, her presence undeniable. The weight of leadership sat comfortably on her shoulders, and yet there was something about the way she carried herself that always made your heart skip—something softer beneath her warrior’s exterior. Her armor gleamed in the soft lighting of the war room, but it was the way she moved, with quiet grace and unshakable confidence, that caught your attention the most.

Din Djarin sat across the room, his helmet as impassive as always, but there was a warmth in his posture, something almost protective as he stood among the commanders. His stoic silence never made him any less present. You found yourself seeking his gaze every time he spoke, even when his words were few, his presence felt.

You focused back on the map, listening as Bo outlined the details of the upcoming mission. Your fingers gently traced over the star system displayed in front of you, an absent gesture that reflected your mind’s restless energy.

Bo’s voice was low, steady. "We hit them fast and hard. No room for error. We can’t afford to wait for reinforcements. If we strike now, we can take them by surprise."

You nodded, eyes flicking to her as she leaned over the table, pointing at strategic points on the map. Her sharp features, set in determination, made your chest tighten. A soft tension hummed in the air between you, a current you couldn’t quite name but could always feel. Your hand hovered near your datapad, unsure of whether to take notes or simply remain lost in the moment, caught between the duty you owed the galaxy and the pull of something far more personal.

As you listened to Bo’s plan unfold, her words faded to a distant murmur, your mind swirling with thoughts that had nothing to do with the mission at hand. You caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of your eye—her eyes gliding over the commanders as she spoke, and for a brief, fleeting second, her gaze met yours. It was quick, but the intensity there made your heart skip. A slight softening of her usual confidence flickered across her face, a glimmer of something unspoken between you two. And then, just as quickly, she shifted her attention back to the table, her expression resolute, as though nothing had happened. But you knew. You felt it.

The room’s energy shifted slightly, as if everyone felt the subtle change in the air.

You tried to force your thoughts back to the strategy at hand, but it was impossible. Every word Bo spoke only made your mind more clouded, more tangled. And just when you thought you could regain your composure, you felt it. The weight of Din’s gaze on you.

He hadn’t said a word in some time, but his attention was unmistakable. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was focused on you. His helmet was angled slightly in your direction, as if he were watching you more closely than you realized. It was almost like he was waiting for you to speak, his silence louder than any words he could offer. His presence was grounding, but in that moment, it left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. His unspoken gaze was a question—one you couldn't answer.

Your pulse quickened, and for a split second, you considered addressing him, but the meeting required your attention. You cleared your throat and stood, addressing the room with a calm you didn’t quite feel. "We move in within the next few hours. Keep comms open, and make sure our troops are ready. This mission’s a risk, but it’s one we have to take."

As you finished speaking, your eyes inadvertently met Din’s. His helmet was still angled toward you, his posture relaxed, but there was something in the way he stood, like he was waiting for you to catch him looking. You wondered if he had been watching you before, or if it was simply your own nerves that made it feel that way. Whatever the case, his gaze lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and you swore your heart skipped again, the room suddenly too hot, your breath too shallow.

It was hard to focus. The weight of their attention on you, even unspoken, was more than you could handle. It wasn’t just their physical presence—it was the chemistry between you all, subtle, unacknowledged, but undeniable.

Bo finished detailing her part of the plan, and the meeting drew to a close. You stood to leave, your mind whirling with everything you had to do, yet your thoughts kept circling back to the tension that simmered between you, Bo, and Din. Both of them had been there for you in ways you couldn’t easily explain. Both had shown unwavering loyalty, bravery, and a quiet affection that, despite all the layers of armor and distance they wore, made your heart ache with a longing you couldn’t quite understand.

You made your way toward the door, but as you passed Bo, she gave you another fleeting glance—this time, her eyes softer, almost questioning. It was brief, a momentary lapse in her armor. But it sent a shock through you, and for a second, you wondered if she felt the same pull you did.

Then, before you could think too much about it, Din’s voice cut through your thoughts. "Chancellor," he said, his tone as steady as ever, though you couldn’t help but sense an undercurrent in it, something you couldn’t place. "We’ll be ready. We’ll follow your lead."

You nodded, catching his gaze one last time, though you couldn’t read what was behind his helmet. "Thank you, both of you," you replied softly. "We’ll do this together."

And with that, you left the room, feeling more uncertain than ever about what you truly wanted, about what the future held—not just for the galaxy, but for you, Bo-Katan, and Din.

[rex-meshla]

An Unusual Assignment

Commander Fox x F!Reader

When Chancellor Palpatine summoned me personally, I braced myself for new security protocols or another high-risk briefing. Instead, his voice came smooth and calm, laced with something I couldn't quite place.

"An old friend of mine, a distinguished senator" he said, "has requested our finest to escort his daughter to a gala this evening. Naturally, I thought of you, Commander"

I nodded, masking my surprise. Escort duty was... not my usual field. But if the Chancellor had a personal stake in this, questioning it was not an option.

A short time later, I arrived at her residence, following a servant through the lavish hallways. When he stopped outside her quarters, he gestured politely. "She's just finishing up. You'll find her in here, sir"

Inside, I gave a soft knock before stepping in and found myself briefly taken aback. She stood with her back to me, hair pinned up, silhouetted in a dress that's open down the back, delicate fabric pooling at her waist. She looked over her shoulder and met my gaze in the mirror, a sly, knowing smile lifting her lips.

"Good, you're here. Can you help me zip up my dress, please?"

I swallowed, stepping forward, every nerve on high alert. "Of course, ma'am"

"Oh, please" she purred, that smile deepening. "Drop the formalities"

Her charisma was effortless, leaving me just a fraction out of step as I brought my hands to the zipper. I kept my movements measured, lifting it carefully until the fabric settled against her skin. "You're secure" I said, the words crisp, though my pulse hadn't fully steadied. She looked up at me, letting her gaze linger just long enough to blur the professional line between us.

At the gala, her confidence drew the eyes of nearly everyone we passed. I kept to her side, surveying the bustling room—elegant and loud, not my usual element, but I kept my posture strict and professional.

Sensing my restraint, she arched a brow. "Relax, Commander"

With an easy reach, she grabbed two glasses of champagne from a nearby tray, holding one out to me with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Ever been to a fundraiser gala before?"

"Uh, no. Can't say that I have" I admitted, clearing my throat, uncomfortable with the attention we were attracting.

"Well," she said, her voice dropping to a playful lilt as she clinked her glass to mine, "let's make your first one memorable, then"

The look she gave me was teasing, flirtatious, and wholly disarming. My instincts told me to stay alert, to hold my guard steady, but the challenge in her gaze was impossible to ignore. 

She led me deeper into the room, taking my arm as if we were longtime companions rather than mere acquaintances. The energy between us had shifted subtly, but unmistakably.

The gala room was filled with soft, glowing lights and a lilting melody that seemed to drift through the crowd. She led me further onto the dance floor, her hand slipping lightly through mine until we found a small, open space in the center. Then she turned to me, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief.

"Dance with me" she said, the words an invitation and a command. Her gaze was so intent, so certain, that it was impossible to ignore.

I hesitated, glancing around the room, feeling oddly out of place in the tuxedo I'd been instructed to wear. The tactical decisions I was used to making on duty didn't exactly apply here. "I'm not sure that's—"

"Oh, come on, Commander" she teased, her smile widening as she took a step closer, her voice dipping to a soft murmur. "You're not going to tell me that a big, brave soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic can't muster up the courage to dance with a lovely young lady, are you?"

Her words brought a rush of heat to my face, and something in her gaze left me feeling almost disarmed. I exhaled, giving her a slow nod, the hint of a smile creeping in despite myself.

Triumphant, she slid her hand into mine, gently guiding me into the rhythm of the music. My hand settled against her waist, feeling the soft warmth of her through the thin fabric of her dress. She seemed so at ease, and I found myself mimicking her calm, letting her draw me deeper into the dance. Her hand fit perfectly in mine, her fingers tracing a light, mesmerizing pattern against my skin.

"You're not half-bad" she murmured with a playful grin. "For a soldier, anyway"

A chuckle slipped out, unbidden. "I could say the same for you. Not what I'd expect from a senator's daughter"

She tilted her head, laughing softly, and with each step, she drifted a bit closer. Her other hand shifted to rest on my shoulder, her fingertips grazing the edge of my collar, leaving a faint warmth in their wake. Her perfume, subtle and sweet, seemed to wrap around me, making it hard to focus on anything beyond her presence, the gentle sway of her body against mine.

"Tell me, Commander..." Her voice was a low murmur, her lips just beside my ear. "Do you always follow orders this well?"

I swallowed, holding her just a fraction closer. The room, the crowd, everything outside the space between us faded into the background. "Only when the orders make sense"

She smiled at that, her fingers tightening just slightly around my shoulder, sending a thrill up my spine. The music wrapped around us, soft and inviting, and I could feel the pull of something deeper, something dangerously tempting in her gaze.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath warm as it ghosted over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Her fragrance, light and enticing, seemed to linger in the air between us, and I found myself leaning closer, feeling the warmth radiate from her in waves.

"And does this make sense?" she whispered, her voice soft and daring, before pressing her lips against mine.

My breath caught, her touch stirring something deep and unexpected. Her kiss was gentle but firm, a blend of confidence and challenge that I couldn't resist. I tightened my hand on her waist, feeling her respond as we leaned into each other, the world around us fading away.

As we broke apart, her eyes sparkled, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips as she held my gaze.

I took a breath, steadying myself, my mind already racing. Boy, was I in trouble.

_____________________________________________________________

You can find more here x

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Mommy Kink with Mon Mothma ~Kinktober 2023

Happy October 19th!!! It’s almost three week of Kinktober! 🤍🎃 The kink of the day is a Mommy Kink. This kink will be partnering with the marvelous Senator/Chancellor Mon Mothma. Hope you Enjoy!! 🖤🪐

Previous Day <—found here!

Kinktober 2023 <—Here!!

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18!!, smut, mommy kink, vibrator use, fingering, light humping, teasing, pet names, light overstimulation, light orgasm denial, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Mommy please… it hurts…” you whimpered desperately as the toy ruthlessly vibrated against your clit.

The woman chuckled lightly in amusement, and she shook her head.

“No, sweet girl… You can take it.” Mon cooed, insistent in her stance.

You whimpered and whined lightly in response.

“Yes mommy…” you breathily whimpered in defeat, continuing to let the toy absolutely ravish your folds.

You sat over the woman’s lap, you ass in the air, as the vibrator placed in your folds went ham on your aching sex. Your legs twitched as you hung on top of Mon’s legs. The woman caressed your ass with one hand, trying to soothe your shaking, as she worked at her desk.

You whimpered and whined throughout the whole process. But the woman was quick and stern to silence you.

“Shhhh, Mommy needs to work…” Mon reminded you, “And she cannot focus if her Baby is whimpering every other second.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Sorry mommy…” you whispered, your head going down in shame of disappointing the woman.

“Good… Be good for mommy for twenty more minutes, and then she’ll be finished with her work.” Mon hummed.

You nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm.

“Yes Mommy…!”

The twenty minutes seemed to be that of the longest twenty minutes of your life. You squirmed in pain as you desperately tried to stave off any possibility of your orgasm, as Mon had said that you weren’t allowed to cum. Finally, you breathed a sigh of relief, when you heard her putting away all of her papers.

The woman then picked you up and placed you in her lap. Her fingers went in your pants and past your knickers, slipping with ease into your throbbing cunt. Your eyes rolled back and your hips eagerly bucked into Mon’s lap. Your arms flew to her shoulders for support, as two of her digits curled inside you.

“Oh Mommy Yessssss…!!” You hissed in delight.

Mon chuckled at your response.

“You were good for Mommy…” she hummed, “So I thought you deserved a reward”

You nodded eagerly.

You couldn’t agree more…

~~~

Next Day <—Uniform Kink!!

Mon Mothma Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[dumpster-fire-deluxe]

Very important question: how does the "wearing your partner's clothes" work with Palpatine?

Does he have an undershirt that you can throw on in the morning or are you doomed to deal with his complicated Naboo robes?

Imagine he'd buy a simple garment which he doesn't actually wear but it's just so you have something of his to wear at the breakfast table.

Or he might actually enjoy watching you struggle & make you wrap yourself in a towel or bedsheet instead. And then make you do things with two hands so you can't hold the fabric up.

No, he wouldn't wear your clothes because they're not handwoven & expensive and he'd feel like a peasant. Yes, he's judging you.

[captainsophiestark]

Gray Jedi

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Star Wars

Day 23 Prompt: "No, you won't understand, ever."

Summary: Y/N left the Jedi Order over differences with their teachings and a love for Anakin Skywalker. Now, however, something is wrong with Anakin, and they might be the only one who can stop tradgedy from happening.

Word Count: 2,094

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I'd spent the majority of my life as a Jedi, so I'd heard plenty of Masters utter the phrase "I feel a disturbance in the Force" or some variation of it over the years. I'd even felt a few myself, once or twice. But nothing had ever felt like the looming cloud of dread that hung over me now.

I hadn't been a Jedi for more than a year now, which made the feeling all the stranger. I'd left over a few differences with the Council and their rules, opting to become a Gray Jedi by technicality and a non-Force-user by practice. So the feeling of dark premonition battering me awake from my peaceful sleep was even stranger.

Even having let my connection with the Force fade a bit, I knew enough to not ignore this sign. Especially because the face of my former best friend, Anakin Skywalker, featured in every single flash this vision was giving me.

Anakin had been one of the reasons I'd decided to leave in the first place. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd fallen in love with my best friend. And that kind of love was forbidden among the Jedi.

I'd put up with it for a while, for most of the Clone Wars. But finally, when it started to feel like Anakin might have returned my affections, it got to be too much for me. I couldn't have something with him and still be a Jedi. So I'd left.

Anakin had stayed, and I didn't blame him for it one bit. The Jedi were the only family he'd known since his mother, and the only family he had left since her death. I, probably stupidly, had never talked to him about my feelings. What reason would he have had to leave?

I'd been living a new, peaceful life as far away from the war and the Sith and the Jedi as I could get, and it had been going fairly well, all things considered. But now, something was clearly wrong.

I hadn't survived as long as I did in the war by completely ignoring my instincts. So, I grabbed my lightsaber and took off for the Temple, since that would be the best place to talk about my vision and to start finding Anakin.

When I got to the Temple, however, I found it almost deserted. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.

As I stood in the entryway of the place I'd once called home, I felt a harsh shove in the Force, like someone had physically put their hands on me and pushed. I stumbled, taking a few steps in the direction to keep from falling, then decided to keep going. I rested one hand on the hilt of my lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice as I raced through the halls.

To my surprise, the shoving brought me right to one of the most relaxing, comfortable spaces in the Temple. Even more surprising, I found this one full of what must've been every youngling in the Order.

They looked at me questioningly, and I looked back the same way. That violent shoving in the Force had stopped, so what exactly did it want from me? Why had it dragged me here years after I'd left all this behind?

A moment later, I got my answer. The gaze of the younglings shifted from me to a point behind me, and chills went down my spine. I heard a familiar voice say my name, but nothing about his presence in the Force felt familiar.

Slowly, I turned, leaving one had on my saber. With the younglings behind me, I came face to face with Anakin Skywalker, the only man I'd ever loved. And he looked terrible.

His shoulders were hunched, and he held his lightsaber in his hand like he was ready for combat. His hair was a mess, and through the Force, I could almost see a literal cluster of darkness surrounding him. But worst of all, his eyes were yellow. Glowing Sith yellow.

"Anakin..." I breathed, keeping my tone carefully calm like I was talking to a scared animal. "What are you doing?"

"The Jedi have to be destroyed, Y/N. They are corrupt, and working for the downfall of the Republic."

"Anakin, what-"

"They've been keeping things from me my entire life. They're plotting against the Senate. This is the only way to ensure peace."

"Anakin... I understand that you're feeling hurt and angry-"

"No, you won't understand, ever! This is the only way!"

Anakin ignited his lightsaber, pure emotion and anger lacing his tone as he seemed to grow to the point of towering over me and the younglings. I should 've been terrified. Instead, I was feeling some anger of my own.

"You think I don't understand what you're feeling?" I demanded, raising my voice to match Anakin's tone. "You think I don't understand the anger, the betrayal that comes from realizing the Jedi aren't always right? That the thing you grew up with, your family, is enforcing a code that is actively hurting you? Do I need to remind you, Anakin, that I left the Order? A year ago?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. Unlike you, I managed to develop somewhat healthy coping mechanisms and didn't listen to the Chancellor hissing in my ear, the snake."

"You're like the Jedi! You hate him! He's the only one who's been honest with me, who's helped me."

I sighed heavily and rested one hand on my hip. I could still feel the storm of emotions swirling around Anakin, but now I was determined to diffuse it.

"I don't hate the Chancellor Anakin, I just think he's a slimy politician. Ergo, not to be trusted. And usually not the honest type."

Anakin spluttered like he didn't know what to say, so I continued.

"Anakin, listen, I understand feeling angry and fed up with the Jedi. It's why I left! And I really don't mean this as an insult, but since you came to the Temple so late, they were especially terrible at accommodating you and helping you find healthy ways to deal with your emotions. But the Sith are absolutely not the answer either. Their path is an endless cycle of pain, anger, and hurt. You lash out, like you're doing now, in an attempt to stop the hurt. Then you feel more hate, for yourself and for the world rejecting you, as a result of what you did to try to stop the hurt in the first place. And other Sith, whoever it is that dragged you down this path, will manipulate, exploit, and abuse you through that pain to get you to do their bidding. I... I really don't want to see that happen to you, Anakin."

He took a long, long moment to respond, his eyes staring into the distance past me rather than focusing on any one thing. I just waited, trying to project all the warmth and love I'd ever felt for this man to him through the Force. Finally, he turned back to me.

"You don't know who the Sith is?"

"No. I stopped caring, to be totally honest with you, the day I left. I wanted to leave this life and everything that came with it behind."

"So why did you come back?"

I sighed, long and heavy. This was not a conversation I particularly wanted to have, especially not with a bunch of younglings listening in behind me, but it was that or let Anakin fall. The second option wasn't really an option, so that left me with the first.

"I got bodied awake by the Force in the middle of the night after spending a year ignoring it with a premonition that something bad was going to happen, and that I needed to come back here."

"And why did you listen?"

"Well... because you were in the vision, Anakin. I didn't get details, but I did get an overwhelming bad feeling, and I knew you were involved. So... I came back for you."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. There were so many bigger, more important things happening right now than my feelings for Anakin coming to light, but somehow that thought dominated my mind.

"You came back... for me?"

"Yeah, Ani. I mean... ugh, I can't believe I left the Order and now I'm still having to admit this, in the Temple no less." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, completely removing my hand from the hilt of my lightsaber. I had no desire to fight my way out of this one against Anakin. Then, I used every last ounce of willpower in my body to look the man I loved straight in the eye. "I love you, Anakin. I've loved you for a long, long time. A while ago, I thought maybe you might've felt the same way, but... that doesn't matter. The Jedi Code forbids that kind of love, that kind of loyalty and reliance on another person. But you, and the love for you filling my heart, have always made me happier and stronger than I was without it. I spent a long time trying to square that with the Jedi ideals, and I couldn't. So, for that and other reasons, I left.

"But Ani, for the record, it didn't and doesn't fit with the Sith teachings, either. The Sith have no room for love. Obsession, maybe, but not love. They thrive on hate and anger, and there's no lasting room for those emotions in a loving relationship. Or in a happy existence, for that matter."

"You... love me?"

"Very very much." I gave him the smallest smile, letting as much hope as I could muster shine through. Anakin blinked back at me, his grip on his lightsaber relaxing, and I thought I noticed that cloud of darkness shrinking quite a bit.

I took a deep breath, then held out my hand to Anakin. I'd already come this far, so why not.

"Anakin... come with me. Let's both get the hell out of here, leave the Sith and the Jedi behind. Let them fight their war with their Codes and their restrictions, their lack of love and their hate and their anger, and go make our own, happy lives together somewhere else. I can't pretend to have all the answers, but I've at least had some practice developing healthier strategies for dealing with big feelings than the Jedi ever gave me. Let's go figure out more together."

For a few long, heart-stopping moments, I thought Anakin would refuse. He'd raise his saber, let the darkness win, and end everything right here and now. Then, slowly, he retracted the blade on his lightsaber. The darkness had all but gone now, and the yellow had faded slightly from his eyes. Finally, he nodded and reached for me.

"I love you too. I have for a long time. After you left, I thought I'd never see you again."

I smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of my expression as much as possible as Anakin finally took my hand. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and I pulled him closer to me.

"Well, it's a good thing I came back then, isn't it?"

Anakin nodded, slowly at first and then much faster as he pulled me the rest of the way to him, wrapping me tight in his arms. I hugged him right back, a warm glow surrounding me and spreading through every part of my body. Who or whatever had shoved me here with the Force seemed to let out a sigh.

"C'mon, Anakin," I said, pulling back gently, just enough to smile at him. "Let's get out of here."

He nodded, a small smile finally working its way onto his own face, and I led him away from the younglings without looking back. I hated to think what might've happened if I hadn't been here, but it didn't matter. It hadn't happened, and now Anakin and I were finally getting a shot at some kind of happy ending.

A disturbance still echoed through the Force as we left the Temple and returned to my ship, but it wasn't the one that had sent me running here. Something strange and terrifying was happening in the galaxy, but now, it was happening without Anakin. Hopefully that would make a difference, and even if it didn't, at least I'd have him by my side for the rest of whatever was to come.

****************

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[hayleythesugarbowl]

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Puppet on a String Chp.10 (Fives x Reader)

Chapter 9. Chapter 11.

ARC trooper Fives

CW: Fives x Reader, Reader is a medical practitioner, angst, swearing, Death mention, Running from authorities, Mentions of dead characters, Inhibitor chip arc, Lying, Drugging, confusion, disorientation, Major character death, Palpetine being a bastard

Tag list (Thank you!): @notgonnaedit @amazonian-bae @spicydonut25 @bimboshaggy @tentakelspektakel

You sat next to Fives, head on his shoulder and eyes closed. His arm was wrapped around you, keeping you close. The ride to Coruscant was long enough to cause you to doze off. The hum of the ship relaxed you, giving a sense of calm over your body. Frankly the only reason you woke up was from the announcement through the transport ship. 

Attention. Please be advised we have arrived at Coruscant and will be touching down at our destination shortly.

“This’ll all be over soon…” you mumbled, sitting up. 

Your lover kept a loose hand at your waist, “Yea…” He nodded, “Can't wait to go back to the front and shoot clankers again.”

You laughed softly, “I’m sure I have patients who are going to be very upset with me when I get back.”

The next few minutes were filled with a comfortable silence. The ship hummed and whirred as it lowered through Coruscant’s atmosphere. It landed easily on the Grand Republic Medical Facility’s landing pad. After the aircraft settled, Shaak Ti turned back to speak with you both. 

“After you both speak to the Chancellor, you will come with me to the Jedi Temple.” She said, “And from there, you two can put all of this behind you.” 

You nodded, interlocking your fingers with Fives. Put all of this behind you…

It was nice, in theory. But Tup was dead. A friend was gone. Not to mention Dr.Mila, nurse Rino. and all the other healthcare workers that had been killed. 

The doors of the transport ship opened, revealing Mas Amedda, Vice Chair of the Senate. He gave a polite bow as Shaak Ti led you and Fives off the ship, “Greetings, Master Jedi,” His tone was friendly and welcoming, “The Chancellor had an emergency meeting and he will join us shortly. In the meantime, we can wait inside.” 

You remained silent, finding the lack of activity unsettling. Most likely patients have been moved to the lower floors, for security reasons. Still, the quiet of the GRMF set off red flags. 

This was never supposed to be a quiet hospital. 

You tried not to let it bother you as Mas Amedda walked with you into one of the doctors lounges. You were greeted by a droid holding two fresh cups of caf. One of which you grabbed immediately began to drink. Fives did as well, though he sipped much slower than you.

You were no soldier. You weren’t made for the long marches and fighting for days like the ARC trooper was. You needed all the caffeine possible before you inevitably crashed.

Your lover remained standing, even when you sat down and put your face in your hands. After a few moments to breathe, the lightheadedness hit you like a truck. You groaned, “fuck…” 

“Mesh’la?” Fives put a hand to your back, “Are you alright?” 

“I think…I think the exhaustion has gotten to me.” You took a shaky breath, looking up at your lover, “I���ll be alright…” There was a small sense of dread that settled in your stomach. You tried to push it down, but it only got worse. 

You managed to shoot to your feet when the doors opened, revealing Chancellor Palpetine. He had a small smile to greet you, and a part of your mind thought he looked like a friendly grandpa, “Master Shaak Ti, it is good to see you again. I trust you've kept this matter extremely confidential.”

The Jedi gave a polite bow to return the greeting before standing straight, “Of course, Chancellor.” 

“Ah good,” He nodded and approached you and Fives, “So this is the clone and doctor who have caused so much alarm?” The older gentleman offered his hand and you shook it first. 

It alarmed you that your fingers were tingling. You turned to look at Fives. His pupils had shrunk to pin points, and his eyes were bloodshot. His fingers were shaking, probably losing feeling, just like you. 

You glanced over to the droid that gave you the caf. You hadn’t noticed before but the droid brandished the symbol of Kamino. 

Nala Se.

“S-sir…” You tried to speak, but were cut off. 

“My, Doctor, you don’t look well.” Chancellor Palpetine put a steady hand on your shoulder, “Perhaps you should go, get some rest. Don’t worry, I’m sure this brave soldier here can explain everything.”

You swallowed, trying to speak again, “I think…we…she drugged us,” your mouth refused to cooperate fully, only coming out in a whisper. However, it seemed Fives understood you, as he whipped his head to look at you. 

He tried to second your statement, but his own voice came out slow and breathless, “No…No…she…drugged us.”

Horror and realization hit him all at once as well. Both of you seemed to be unable to speak over a gasp and the General seemed to have her attention taken by Vice Chair Amedda. 

“There, there, you two. Don't strain yourselves.” The older gentleman patted your shoulder, “Vice Chair Amedda, why don't you go with the Doctor to get checked out? I can stay here and speak with the trooper.” 

“That's a good idea, Chancellor.” the politician motioned and two guards approached. 

It seemed finally Shaak Ti noticed you two were unwell, “Doctor, Fives are the two of you…”

“Not to worry, Jedi Master,” the Chancellor waved her off, “I’m sure it’s just some exhaustion. After all these two have been through quite a trial.” He was reassuring and kind, “The Doctor can go rest, and we can speak to…ARC trooper Fives, was it?” 

“N-no, sir…please…” Your thoughts were jumbled. As if there was a disconnect between your mind and your body, “F-Fives…wait, Fives…” The confusion and disorientation only got worse. You looked back at your lover, eyes wide and afraid. He stared back, sharing your same look of anxiety. 

The door closed behind you, cutting you off from the ARC trooper. You weren’t even entirely sure when you had been dropped onto a patient's table. Time melted off into nothing by the time you had an IV in your arm. At some point, your blood was taken and analyzed, and the medical droid confirmed your suspicions. 

Drugged.

Nala Se must have slipped her droid onto the transport ship. It most likely snuck off the ship when you and Fives were distracted after landing.

You were about to speak to the politician next to you when a loud alarm began blaring through the medical facility. The guards watching the door tensed, rifles ready. You recognized the sound echoing through the entire building.

Code Grey. Lockdown. Code Grey. Lockdown.

“W-what…?” You tried to sit up, but Mas Amedda kept a hand on your shoulder.

“Now now, no need to worry,” He had a smirk despite the situation, “Everything is going to be over soon.” 

“No…Fives! Where is Fives!?” Maybe it was adrenaline, stress or the IV in your arm, but it felt like your mind snapped together again. Everything sounded like you had cotton in your ears, and your fingers still tingled, but your brain was processing information properly again, “Get off me!” You tried to shove the Vice Chair off of you. 

One of the guards held you down, and you tried to fight back, “Let me go!” You demanded, “Where is Fives!?”

The door opened, but you couldn’t see who walked in. It was only until Shaak Ti’s voice cut through the air that you calmed down, “Enough!”

The guard as well as Mas Amedda let go and you scrambled to sit up, “General Shaak Ti!” Your breath had escaped you in your struggle, “Nala Se…the droid. She drugged us!” You hurried to explain, “Fives…where is he?” 

“I wanted you to tell me, Doctor.” Her lavender eyes held no kindness or patience, “Fives tried to assassinate the Chancellor.” 

“W-what!?”

She stepped over to the window in your room, looking out over Coruscant, “I do not know exactly what happened, but Chancellor Palpetine was questioning him when he attacked. If the guards were not present, the Chancellor would be dead.”

“N-no…” You gasped, “No, Shaak Ti, Fives would never-”

“And then he ran.” She turned back to face you, cutting you off, “You know him best, where would he go?”

Immediately, there was distrust. 

What if you were wrong. What if it was Shaak Ti who had drugged the both of you? What if she was working with Nala Se? She had played you and Fives. Got your guard down and set you both up. 

“I don’t know,” you lied, “Maybe…Maybe my apartment?”

The Jedi looked to Mas Amedda. The Vice Chair of the Senate nodded once and left with the guards. You and the togruta woman were now alone. 

“What if he isn’t there?” She asked, turning back to stare outside, “Where else would he go?” 

Find a brother in the 501st. Rex most likely. Or Jesse. Even Kix or the field surgeon. If they were on leave, they’d be at 79’s. If not, lay low until they were.

“The military barracks?” You offered, lying again. If Fives was on the run, he'd stay away from heavily guarded areas to avoid getting caught. 

The Jedi took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “Thank you, Doctor.” She turned to leave, “Get some rest, I will need to speak to the council about this.”

“A-alright…” You murmured, watching as she left. Once she was gone and you were alone, your gaze roamed the patient room. Sterile white, standard for medical facilities. Empty countertops save for a sink, disinfectant soap and a hand towel. 

You were being watched by the medical droid. Only the medical droid. It hovered around you, continuing to watch your vitals.

You hadn’t seen your colleagues. Your fellow doctors or nurses. Did they even know you were here? Slowly and carefully you got up from the bed and peaked your head outside. The halls, dark and empty, were not those of the lower floors. 

No, you were still on the top floor. 

Alone. 

Without another second to waste, you stepped out fully to the top floor and found a fellow doctor's office. Your head was absolutely throbbing, but you pushed past it and swiped their holo. You felt bad stealing from a colleague but, there was a single goal in mind, one your clouded mind clung to. 

Fives…you needed to find Fives. Or a way to contact him. 

Your steps were hurried to the emergency stairwell and downward. You needed to leave. You needed to find your lover. By the time you got outside, your legs burned, but you continued onward. Hailing a hover-cab was easy enough, and you only let yourself breathe once you were seated inside. 

“Where to?” The driver, a rather gruff looking besalisk asked. 

“79’s. The clone bar.” You answered, trying to get your racing heart and severe anxiety under control.

“Yea Yea, I know what 79’s is.” He huffed, beginning the journey.

Your first stop, find someone in the 501st. You hoped against all odds that Fives’ brothers were there. If you were exceptionally lucky, they’d even be sober.

If the gods of the galaxy were gracious, you would find Rex.

Your lover trusted the Captain. With everything. Even knowledge of your relationship. 

But what would you say to Rex now? ‘The Republic you fight for put a tumor in your brain. Oh and it’s most likely a Separatist plot’? How would he even handle that?

You weren’t entirely sure how you were handling it. 

The ride was over much quicker than you anticipated. Once the hover-cab came to a stop outside the bustling bar, you opened the door and tossed a random amount of credits to the driver, “Keep the change!” you called back to him, rushing through the crowd of clones. 

You lightly pushed against the armored bodies that mingled around you. Your steps were careful but hurried, weaving between drunks, dancers and the like. Someone shoved you, and you nearly stumbled, hand bracing against the wall to stabilize yourself. 

The disorientation was suffocating. You lasted long enough keeping yourself together, but the drug in your system continued to ravage your senses. You couldn’t think much and your body refused to fully cooperate.

“Hey, you alright?” There were kind hands on you, helping you stand, “It’s pretty crowded in here-” his voice was patient, and friendly. His eyes were bright and warm. Instantly, you recognized him.

Kix!

Realization dawned on him at the same time as you. However, you didn’t give him time to talk, because you grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him to a fresher. It was empty of people, allowing you to speak. 

“Have you seen Fives!?” You questioned instantly, “Something happened and, and he’s missing.” 

“Slow down, Yea, I’ve seen him.” The medic looked spooked, “He was…well, he gave me coordinates and-”

“Where!?” 

The clone medic raised his holo and gave them to you, once you had them, he asked you quietly, “What is going on? They say Fives tried to assassinate the Chancellor, and he’s been infected with the virus that killed Tup.” 

“That’s not what happened!” You snapped, instantly defending your lover, “There’s…a tumor. A chip in every clone,” your explanation was rushed and broad, “Look, I-I have the data. I have scans. I just…I need to find Fives. Something is deeply wrong here.”

“You and him both sound crazy,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Seriously, what-.”

“We’ve been drugged. You can check my records at the GRMF.” You whispered once the door opened. A drunk clone stumbled inside but didn’t pay much mind to the two of you. 

The medic put his hands on your shoulders, “Look, if you’ve been drugged, I can take you to Doc and you can explain-”

“There’s no time!” you shoved him off and stepped back, “Just…just know this…” Your arms waved, motioning around you, “There’s something seriously wrong. With everything.” You didn’t wait for his reply because you turned and hurried from the fresher. 

You looked at the coordinates, double checking the numbers. They practically swam around your vision, making it hard to read, but you managed to give them to the next cab-driver you hailed down. 

“You…ok?” The green twi’lek looked back at you as you went inside her hover-taxi, “That's a rather…unpleasant part of town.”

“I’m good.” You responded, thought your voice was shaky. Quickly, you gave her the rest of your credits, “You never saw me, ok?”

She smirked and nodded, “Right, I got you.”

The driver most likely assumed you were a junky getting your next fix, or making some shady deals with crime lords. She could assume what she wanted, it didn’t matter. 

You needed Fives. 

Double checking the coordinates, you exited the hover-cab and stepped onto the platform. 

Hangar 18…It was on one of the lower levels of Coruscant. There were abandoned crates breaking away from rust, and a transport ship in complete disrepair. No one was around, so you stumbled your way inside. 

The door screeched as you shoved it open and called into the storage area, “Fives!” you walked deeper into the facility, calling his name again.

Immediately you were met with the panicked voice of your lover, “Mesh’la!” he ran out from behind a stack of broken, rusted boxes. Once the two of you saw each other, you ran to him. 

“Fives!” You cried, wrapping your arms around his armored chest, “the Chancellor…what happened?”

The ARC trooper pulled you back to cup your face in his trembling hands, “He told me. He told me everything. He’s the one who's doing this!” 

The…Chancellor?

Your eyes locked with his and your blood turned to ice in your veins. 

He was telling the truth. 

Somehow, it all made sense. In your drug-addled mind, everything fell into place.

Palpetine would have the reach to do everything. He’d have the power to kill all of your colleagues and pay a bounty hunter to kill you. He had the reach to hide his involvement afterward, and make himself seem innocent. He had his claws inside Kamino from the beginning. 

He put the chips inside the army. Chips that had orders to kill the Jedi. 

He drugged you and Fives. And to add insult to injury, he was the one who separated you and your lover, fracturing information and isolating you.

“What…do we do?” You asked, fear flooding your system. Your heart was racing. Despite everything, your body still refused your mental commands. 

That damn drug wouldn’t leave your system!

“I asked Rex to find me,” he answered, moving his hands to your shoulders, “and, and the General.…He can help. They both can.” it was clear the clone was still being affected as well. His words were jumbled, and he was unsteady on his feet.

You nodded, though the movement of your head made you feel dizzy, “o-ok…what can I do?” 

“Evidence.” The ARC trooper mumbled, “Get the evidence. You have the scans…right?” 

The original scans. 

You had them. On your tablet in your apartment. But chances are Palpetine had ordered someone to break in and destroy it. But Dr.Mila had them as well, on her work datapad. It might still be in her office…

Out of grief, no one had gone in it since she perished..it was a gamble, but you had to try.

“I do.” Your answer wasn’t the most confident. Knowing that the two of you discovered a plot to kill Jedi created by the fucking Chancellor had stripped you of your resolve. “I can…what do I do after I get them?” 

In any other circumstances, you’d be able to figure things out. But your thinking process was still sluggish.

“Give the scans to the Jedi.” Your lover answered you, “and…and the 501st. If Rex and the General don’t believe me, they can still get the evidence.”

Your response was cut off by the door screeching open again. The both of you fell silent, keeping hidden behind crates and boxes. There were voices coming from the direction of the entrance and you listened intently with Fives until the newcomers' words became more clear. 

“Fives?” the voice of General Skywalker echoed through the abandoned hangar, “Fives, we're here. Come on out. We just want to talk to you.” you could see the glow of the blue lightsaber over the tops of the crates you hid behind.

Your lover visibly relaxed. Relief melted into his gaze. Fives held your face and planted a sweet kiss on your lips. After he pulled away, he called out to the Jedi and Captain, “General Skywalker, thank you. Thank you for trusting me.” He leaned out from behind the crates, eyes roaming the storage facility, “Now, have you come without troops?”

“We have,” Skywalker confirmed. He and Rex were getting closer to your position. 

Fives began trembling, eyes becoming hard. He was clearly trying to work on instinct. The drug in his system was still clearly affecting him though, “Put down your weapons, then.” He spoke loudly, voice echoing around the dark building. 

“I don't think so, Fives.”

“Please, sir!” He begged, looking desperate, “Please, I'm unarmed.” His hands squeezed your shoulders, keeping you close. 

After a few moments, Captain Rex answered, “All right. I'm putting my pistols down.” You couldn’t see the clone from your position, but you assumed he just put his blaster on the nearest crate. 

“What are we here for, Fives?” Anakin asked now. He sounded concerned, yet focused. And possibly a tad impatient.

“We need your help,” The ARC trooper stated. 

“Whose ‘we’?” The General responded, “I thought you wanted us alone.”

Fives grabbed your hand and pulled you to a console. He typed rapidly with one hand, and then hit a large red button. The console activated a ray shield. The white sheet circled the Jedi and Captain, trapping them inside. 

“No!” Skywalker pounded a fist against the shield. 

“I just need you to listen to us.” The ARC trooper stepped out from behind the crates where you both hid out of view, “Please…” 

The General crossed his arms, “I'm not really sure we have any other choice.” behind him, Rex’s eyes were wide and full of worry. 

“I was framed because we know the truth... the truth about a plot, a massive deception.” You followed your lover as he stepped over to the two. He motioned with his arms wildly as he explained. To anyone else, most likely even Anakin and Rex, he looked like a mad man. 

“By whom?” The clone Captain stepped forward. 

“Well, there's a sinister plot in the works against the Jedi,” Fives responded, “w-we have proof of it. We can prove that everything that I know is true beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

General Skywalker didn’t seem convinced, “Show me the evidence!” he demanded, having enough of the situation. 

The ARC trooper gripped his head, “The evidence is in here. It's... it's in here.” He moved his hand, pointing to the surgical scar, “It's in all of us, every clone!”

“What is it!?”

“Organic chips built into our genetic code to make us do whatever someone wants, even kill the Jedi!” Your lover desperately tried to explain. He was trembling horribly, from stress and the drug. 

This time, you spoke, getting their attention, “I have…The scans!” You informed them, panicking now, “Dr.Mila..my colleagues, everyone who's dead also had them! This plot…they were killed to keep this plot hidden!” You wanted to be more clear. You desperately wished your mind and body would listen to you, but everything came out a jumbled, incoherent mess.

Anakin lowered his arms, eyes wide, “You know who's behind all of this?”

“The Chancellor!” You cried, “He told Fives! He’s orchestrated all of this!” 

Fives put a steadying hand on your shoulder. He nodded in confirmation, “He did. He told me! In the medical bay.”

The Jedi looked at the both of you, confusion very clear on his face, “The Chancellor!?” his tone melted to anger now, “You have gone too far, Fives. The Chancellor isn't capable of what you claim.”

Dread and despair filled your body. You were losing the two of them, “He is!” You tried to reason with Rex and Anakin, “Please! Just listen!”

There was movement out of the corner of your eye. A flash of red and white. Your brain was working as fast as it could to process the information. But once you did, fear slammed into you.

Coruscant Guard.

Fives saw them too. He whirled and grabbed you, shoving you back, “Run! Now! Get the evidence! The scans!” 

You stumbled back, eyes wide. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. But your lover was right, you had to get the scans. The proof of the inhibitor chips. “I love you!” you called before turning and running out of sight. You got behind a stack of rusty metal boxes, staying behind just to watch and make sure you weren’t followed.

Commander Fox came into view, followed by other armored clones. All of them had their weapons ready, “Stand down soldier!” 

The guard charges, blasters aimed, causing the ARC trooper to panic and raise his hands, “No! No! Stay back!” 

You couldn’t watch much more, turning and fully sprinting away. As you ran through the storage facility, you continued to hear the chaotic shouting. However, you had to ignore them, get to the door and get the datapad. 

“Stand down! Get on your knees!”

“Don't do it! Don't do it, soldier!”

As soon as you made it to the door, you could hear your love shout, “Get away from me!”

Then the sound of a blaster shot.

[plutotheplum]

Keep My Hand in Yours

emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 1!

summary: the emperor is intent on convincing you that you are worthy enough to be his empress.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, praise kink, throne sex, spanking

wc: 6.9k

a/n: part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the sweet comments, i cherish them all!! <3 umm... i do plan on adding some more parts to this series... so yeah, i hope you enjoy! :)

also on ao3!

“She is not with child.”

Zayne’s stern voice cuts through the chatter of his advisors, his fingers tapping against the arm of his throne irritatedly. The drone of voices silences, his advisors lowering their heads in respect.

You stand off to the side, playing with the sleeves of your robes nervously. Perhaps you’d been a little naive to think the advisors would have been accepting of your blossoming relationship with the Emperor. 

Word had spread throughout the palace, and most likely throughout the entire Empire about the new developments that had taken place overnight. The guards had heard you of course, their eyes averted and cheeks flushed pink when Zayne had held your hand and led you out of his chambers.

An unforeseen turn in events, and you had somehow excelled past the advisors’ expectations, garnering the Emperor’s affection for you. Whilst a small number of the Emperor’s advisors were pleased, the majority were not. Standing before them, you can see the disdain on their faces, the hatred that belies their thin smiles. Jealousy is above all however, for their own daughters were once placed forth as noble matches for the Emperor. 

You jolt out of your thoughts when an Imperial guard takes your arm, moving you to stand before the Emperor. Zayne looks down at you, and you can spy the slight softening of his eyes as he watches you bow to him.

“As I have said,” Zayne repeats, “she is not with child.”

“Forgive me, your majesty,” a voice speaks out from behind you, “how can she not be with child? We- we have heard of what occurred.”

Zayne motions for you to spin around, and you do as he wants. You now face his entire court, advisors gathered in hours of the early morning. It was the grand chancellor who spoke, a tall man, his face gaunt. You remember he had served Zayne’s father before he had passed.

“We are both not ready for children,” Zayne explains, “I had the palace physician brew a tea under my command.”

It was true. You had both spoken about the matter, and you simply could not handle carrying a child so soon. Zayne had agreed, snuck you out through the passages in the middle of the night, and had taken you to the palace physician. The brewing of such teas was not unheard of, but certainly not an accepted occurrence, although perhaps more commonly used among the nobility.

“I see…” the grand chancellor says slowly, his gaze fixating on you.

You want to shrink away, somehow hide behind the safety of the Emperor, but you cannot. Instead, you shift on the spot, averting your gaze to the floor as though you were not the very object of interest of this gathering.

“And you intend to continue this foolish endeavor?” 

Your head snaps up at the harsh words, gaze settling on the new voice that had spoken out. A lower ranking official judging by the coloring of his robes, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you.

“It appears you forget yourself,” the Emperor replies coolly. 

“Or perhaps you forget yourself, your majesty,” the official spits, stepping forward, “you would ruin the image of your rule to marry some… some lowly concubine?”

The murmurs of the other members of court are hard to ignore, hushed whispers breaking out at the official’s blatant show of disrespect towards the Emperor.

“And was it not this very court that decided to gather concubines without my knowledge?”

“For child bearing!” the official hisses, pointing his finger towards you accusingly, “not for marriage!”

You swallow harshly at the viciousness of his words, biting back the insults that threaten to spill out. Retaliation in such a meeting would only support the official’s cause. 

“She will be your Empress,” Zayne says calmly, “if you seek to insult my future wife yet again, I will have you removed immediately.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks when he affirms that you’ll be his wife. It may not be the best time, but the light flush covers your cheeks and you try to stop the pull of your lips, a smile threatening to spread across your face.

“If you think I- we will stand for such insolence, you are sorely mistaken, your majesty” the official snarls.

A bitter laugh echoes through the throne room. 

“Be grateful that I am not my father,” Zayne murmurs, “for he would have had your head. Remove your seal.”

The official sputters, looking around at the rest of the court members wildly. Most avoid his eyes, others unconsciously touching their own seals through the fabric of their robes.

You flinch when the official removes his Imperial seal angrily, tossing the little silver square at your feet.

“You have poisoned his mind,” he accuses heatedly, face reddened from his outburst, “and you should do well to remember your station.”

Irritation pricks at your skin, your teeth gritting together. You were well aware of your station, of your status and how you’re perceived. The incessant reminders aren’t doing well to calm your frayed nerves, brows pulling together as you glare at the official. 

“Bow to her.”

The rules of nobility have been set in place for longer than you could possibly know, and yet Zayne seems insistent on breaking them. It’s bold, even for him, to demand such a thing. You turn, shooting him a look, subtly shaking your head. There’s a hint of a smile on the Emperor’s face, as though enjoying this confrontation.

“I- I will do no such thing!” the official protests.

“You have already lost your seal and your position and you still will not do as I say?” Zayne murmurs, leaning forward in his throne.

You watch with wide eyes when the official does bow to you, the upper half of his body lowering. Another round of hushed whispers passes through the room, and you can feel the grand chancellor’s eyes boring into you. His authority was only second to the Emperor, the only man who held a real chance of changing Zayne’s mind.

“Good,” Zayne says, leaning back on his throne, “now leave us.”

The throne room clears out immediately, until you’re the only one remaining. You smile at him, stepping between his legs until you’re standing in front of him.

“I did not take you for a tyrant,” you tease, brushing his hair out of his face.

“And I did not know that protecting my future wife made me a tyrant,” Zayne muses, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He tugs you closer, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach, face burying itself in your robes. A soft sigh leaves you, fingers running through his loose hair, scratching at his scalp lightly.

“Tired?” you ask, arm wrapping around his neck.

The Emperor nods against your stomach, trying to press his face deeper. A laugh escapes you at his needy behavior, your hand managing to cup his jaw to bring him out of his hiding place. 

“The affairs of state have become bothersome,” Zayne says, peering up at you.

“Oh? You did not seem to mind before.”

“Playing coy?” Zayne smiles faintly, tugging you forward until you stumble and land on his lap.

“Hardly,” you whisper, pressing yourself closer as your hands curl into his robes.

The Emperor leans back on his throne, his hands kneading at your hips. You chase after him, eyes fluttering shut as you press your lips against his. Zayne lets out a low noise, drawing you closer, his hand sliding up your back as you kiss. The memory from last night is still fresh, the feeling of his hands on your body ingrained in your mind. 

“I cannot have enough of you,” he whispers, lips brushing over yours.

“You- you ought to rest,” you gasp, tilting your head to let him kiss down the length of your neck.

Zayne kisses your sternum, and back up your neck before he sighs and tucks his face into the crook of your neck. You hold him close, hand smoothing over his hair gently.

“I have made things difficult for you,” you say quietly.

He shakes his head, squeezing your waist reassuringly. 

“I have become complacent,” he murmurs, “simply letting others do as they please.”

You kiss his forehead when he lifts his head, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Exhaustion mars the Emperor’s face, his eyes looking sunken and dull. The sudden gathering of his court appears to have drained his energy.

“I shall have to gather them again,” Zayne says, “the trade agreements need attention.”

A smile settles on your face when he kisses your cheeks gently, his hands petting your sides. You move off of his lap, standing up with him reluctantly. Reaching out, you fix his hair and his robes that you had held onto earlier. 

“Finish, then retire to your chambers to rest,” you instruct, patting his chest.

Zayne laughs, his head dipping down to kiss you. You return the kiss eagerly, pulling apart with a few sweet, little pecks to his lips.

“You are already acting like a doting wife,” he whispers.

You flush when he says that, looking away. It’s still hard to get over the fact that Zayne, the Emperor, wants to marry you of all people. The thought of it all makes your palms sweaty, cheeks hot and heart race. There’s a whirlwind upon you, Zayne, tearing apart your preconceived notions of the Empire. 

“I want to dote on you.”

The words tumble from your lips, soft and vulnerable. You’ve never felt this way about a man, never had a man pay attention to you, never been touched by a man before him. It’s as though the Emperor’s expressions are always tender in the way he gazes at you. You’ve never known what it’s like to be in love, but if it’s like this, so startlingly soft and sickeningly sweet, you fear you may be lost in him forever. 

“I- I just meant-” you begin to correct yourself, fidgeting with your robes.

“I know what you meant,” Zayne says softly, his hands finding yours.

Your breath catches in your throat when he lifts your hands to his mouth, his thumbs running over your skin soothingly. Zayne keeps his eyes on you as he kisses across your knuckles, squeezing your hands gently after. 

“I said I take care of what’s mine,” he continues, drawing you close, “and you are mine now.”

You nod jerkily, shoving your face into his chest. The Emperor hums, stroking your hair slowly. Unfortunately, you don’t get to bask in his embrace for any longer, a guard announcing the arrival of a messenger.

“Rest,” you remind him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

Zayne nods, squeezing your waist before allowing you to draw away. 

-

The other girls crowd around you immediately when you enter your chambers, their expressions sly and knowing as they tug you towards the middle of the room, soft giggles filling the air.

“Well?” one of them asks, eyes wide with curiosity. 

“Well what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

A chorus of complaints breaks out.

“Stop being shy!”

“We tell you our stories!”

“You must tell us!”

One of the girls reaches for you, her arm hooking with yours. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers conspiratorially.

“Was the Emperor well-endowed?”

“Oh, stop it!”

- 

The grand chancellor has been lurking in the hallways.

You’d noticed the tall man when you had left to make some tea, but after a considerable amount of time, he was still there. The cold breeze outside should’ve been enough to deter him, but you’ve figured he must be intent on speaking to you.

To be frank, you aren’t in the mood for another confrontation just days later from the disastrous court meeting that had occurred. It’s why you hold your breath as you sneak out from your chambers, feet padding against the floor lightly as you try to slip past the grand chancellor’s turned back.

“Will you avoid me for much longer?” he calls out. 

You wince, halting in place. The grand chancellor cannot be avoided forever, you suppose.

“Come along,” he says, his fingers motioning for you to follow him.

You do as he says begrudgingly, following after the grand chancellor. To your surprise, he leads you into the gardens rather than a private room. Snow is yet to fall today, autumn soon drawing to a close in a few weeks. You wipe the fallen leaves that have landed on a nearby bench, sitting down after the grand chancellor does.

It’s suffocatingly awkward, your fingers playing with each other agitatedly as he simply sits next to you, looking out at the plants and trees that make up the gardens. You realize it would be a foolish idea to let your guard down around him. The grand chancellor hadn’t reprimanded Zayne during that meeting and yet you remember the way he had been staring at you. His intentions are hard to discern, his loyalties to the Emperor and the Emperor alone. 

“Much like his father, his majesty is stubborn,” the grand chancellor says, “I have had the pleasure of knowing both men since they were children.”

“I see,” you murmur, peeking a glance at him.

You don’t know why he’s telling you this, half-expecting the man to begin berating you for becoming so close to Zayne. 

“I shall be frank,” he sighs, turning to face you, “I did not expect the Emperor to become so… enamored by you.”

“I did not expect it either,” you grumble defensively.

“His majesty is an intelligent man. He knows of the consequences and yet seems intent on taking you to wed.”

“Consequences?” you echo.

“Political alliances are frail,” he explains, picking up a fallen leaf and examining it, “marriage is the easiest way to prevent a war between regions.”

“We have not been at war for years!” you protest, shaking your head.

“And we will not be for many more,” the grand chancellor assures you, “I am simply warning you of what may come when you are Empress.”

You don’t understand the politics of the Empire, have never been privy to such things. The grand chancellor only adds to the confusion and uncertainty that has been brewing inside your mind. 

“I thought you would dissuade him,” you say quietly.

“The boy deserves happiness,” the grand chancellor murmurs, standing up, “if he wishes to be with you, then I will allow it.” He peers down at you, his lips thinning. “Take caution, child. Envy drives men to madness. The nobility may hide behind their bloodlines, but a cesspool festers within.”

The grand chancellor hands you the withered leaf.

“Loyalties change as the seasons do.”

- 

A week later, the Emperor finds you in the gardens, sitting under a tree.

“You have not come to see me,” Zayne says, sitting down beside you.

“I did not want to trouble you,” you reply.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. The Emperor’s fingers are stained with ink, streaks of black covering his pale skin. Zayne’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“The grand chancellor is worried.”

“I surmised as much,” the Emperor sighs, his fingers playing with your robes.

You peer up at him, and Zayne leans down, dropping a kiss to your forehead. There’s a part of you that can’t help but feel you’re putting him in a position that he normally wouldn’t be in if he had simply chosen to marry someone of higher status.

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” you ask quietly, averting your gaze.

“Have I told you otherwise?” Zayne asks in return, his fingers gripping your chin to turn your head so that your eyes meet his again.

The tenderness in his eyes is overwhelming. You feel as though you’re drowning, swallowed up by his irises and his honest gaze. Things would’ve been far simpler if he were someone less important, but you can’t imagine Zayne being anything other than the Emperor, for it would be a disservice to the Empire.

You shift, standing up before settling your hands on his broad shoulders, straddling him as you climb up onto his lap. It’s improper to act so brazenly, but you’ve done far more improper things with him, acted far more brazenly in his presence. The Emperor grunts as you settle yourself on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“I am not fit to be your Empress,” you whisper.

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hand simply rubbing up and down your back soothingly. Your throat is tight and you can feel your lips trembling. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t help it when a sniffle escapes you.

“And you think I am fit to be Emperor?” he whispers, “I am only here because of my father and his father before him and so on.”

“But you are the Emperor,” you insist, voice quavering, “I could not possibly-”

“Forget about nonsensical titles,” Zayne murmurs, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs wipe away the hot tears that have begun to roll down your cheeks, “I meant every word I said that night.”

“B- but-” 

“But nothing,” the Emperor soothes, staring into your eyes intently, “I would sooner have no one than not have you.”

“You are the worst,” you say tearily, pushing at his chest weakly. 

“Ah, I am sure,” he says, a small smile spreading across his face.

The Emperor cradles your head, tilting it to his will as he kisses away the fresh tears that wet your cheeks. He doesn’t stop there, his lips dragging over your skin gently. The Emperor kisses your brows, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, every inch of your face that is bared to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

You kiss him gently and Zayne smooths his thumbs over your cheeks, deepening the kiss as he presses his lips against yours firmly. A soft whine leaves you, letting his tongue lick over the seam of your lips before he licks into your mouth, tongue delving deep. The Emperor kisses you as though trying to convince you of his words, as though to make you stay. 

“I want to show you something,” Zayne says, his forehead pressing against yours. You nod, moving to stand up. Zayne doesn’t let you, instead hauling you up into his arms and standing up. A surprised squeak bubbles out of you when you realize the Emperor is carrying you.

“Zayne!” you protest, “Zayne, people will see!”

Zayne only tightens his grip when you begin to squirm, brushing a kiss to your forehead to calm your ministrations.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, people do see. You try to shrink in his grasp, pressing yourself into his chest as the palace staff pause their duties to watch with wide eyes as the Emperor carries you out of the gardens. Some are unable to stop their jaws from slackening, others beginning to point and whisper amongst themselves.

The Emperor hardly bats an eye, his stride strong and purposeful as he carries you through the hallways and courtyards. It’s a statement in and of itself. 

You spy the smirk on an Imperial guard’s face when he opens up the doors to the throne room, your eyes narrowing when the man sends you a wink. The doors slam shut with a resounding thud, leaving only you and Zayne inside.

“Zayne- Zayne, no!” you hiss, hands scrabbling at his shoulders when you realize what he’s doing. 

Your legs kick out, trying to somehow climb up the Emperor’s tall frame. It’s futile against his strength, his hands manhandling you until he sets you down on his throne. If he doesn’t punish you for it, you fear the Heavens will. 

“Stay,” the Emperor says, pushing at your shoulders when you try to shoot up from where you’re sitting, “I command it.”

You sit in place rigidly, back straight. There are centuries of history that make up this throne, and you can’t help but feel that you are somehow dishonoring it all by sitting here. 

“What are you-” your brows furrowing when he suddenly begins to bend.

Fingers digging into the arms of the throne, you feel as though you might faint as you watch the Emperor bow to you before sinking to his knees. Zayne stares up at you expectantly, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“G- get up!” you whisper heatedly.

There’s no one here, but you can only imagine the severity of the consequences if someone were to stumble in here and find the Emperor on his knees for you.

“Command it,” he says, looking perfectly content in his current position.

“No one can command the Emperor!”

“I will not move unless you exert your authority,” Zayne says simply.

Your eye twitches at his insistence, at his own brazenness. 

“Say it,” he coaxes gently, “say it and I will stand.”

“I-” your breath catches in your throat awkwardly. You flush when Zayne nods his head encouragingly, your voice breathy when you begin to speak again. “I c-command you to stand.”

“Very good,” he murmurs, standing up and moving towards you.

Zayne smiles at you, his head dipping to crash his lips onto yours, his hands braced on the arms of his throne. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. The Emperor continues his onslaught of kisses, dragging his lips down your neck as his fingers pull free the knot holding your robes together.

“You think your station determines your worth,” Zayne whispers, his teeth scraping your shoulder, “but this- you are worth more to me than the finest jade.”

“Stop,” you whisper, eyes slipping shut, “you must stop speaking like that. It does awful things to my heart.”

He laughs softly, kissing between your breasts. You bite your lip as his mouth envelops your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple. His teeth catch on it, tugging playfully before letting it pop free as he switches breasts. You run your fingers through his long hair, head tipping back against the throne as your body convulses.

The Emperor holds you in place, letting his tongue lave over your areola, his half-lidded eyes peering up at you to catch your reactions. You give him a weak smile and Zayne moans around your breast, his hand squeezing at the fat of your other breast.

Your dazed eyes watch as he kisses down your body, kissing your hip then your navel. He sinks to his knees once again, and you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him, lost in the haze of lust and love. Zayne kisses the curls of hair on your mound, his hands gripping your calves to help guide your legs over his shoulders.

“I have missed this,” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds.

“As have I,” you sigh.

You moan when Zayne licks up a stripe over your cunt, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He rests his cheek against your thigh, watching intently as your aching hole clenches around nothing, watching as more slick drips from you.

“Stop staring,” you mumble, pushing at his head gently.

“I enjoy the sight,” he says in return.

Your thighs twitch when he pushes the hood of your clit up a little more, exposing the swollen bud. Zayne groans, kissing the inside of your thigh firmly before licking over your cunt again. A strangled gasp rips out of your throat, hands tightening in his hair as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Z- Zayne- ah- hah!” 

A soft whimper escapes when he kisses your clit, his fingers dimpling into the flesh of your thighs harshly. Zayne pulls you to the edge of the throne, his face burying deeper as he groans again, drinking down your slick. 

You squeal when he fucks his tongue into you, body shaking uncontrollably as you fist his hair tighter. He hisses against your cunt, renewing his efforts. You can feel his mouth opening wider, trying to consume you whole, licking and sucking desperately at every inch of velvety, sensitive flesh he can reach.

His nose rubs against your clit, and you’re seeing stars. The Emperor makes an obscene noise and you can feel his tongue moving inside of you, the feeling making your thighs clamp around his head. 

“Have- have you ever put your fingers inside of yourself?” he asks, raising his head.

You shake your head, watching as his fingers stroke over your clit lovingly, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your knee.

“May I?” the Emperor whispers, his finger prodding at your hole.

You give him a jerky nod, legs falling apart a little more for him. He smiles up at you, his finger sinking into you slowly. You whimper at the sensation, clenching around his finger. Zayne adds another soon after, and you’re panting desperately, hips bucking as he curls them inside of you. 

“The scroll said to do something like this,” he mutters under his breath.

“You- oh- you read a scroll?” you grit out.

“It was quite informative,” Zayne murmurs, beginning to move his fingers.

“Why must you be so- ah!” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence, your knuckles turning white as you grip the throne for stability as he latches his mouth back onto your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. The heat inside your stomach grows more intense with each flick of his tongue, his teeth scraping against your sensitive flesh for good measure.

Moans have begun to fill the air, and you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore, letting go completely. You guide his head to where you want him, toes curling against his back, crumpling his silk robes. Zayne’s mouth works with his fingers diligently, his fingers crooking up a little more to graze the spot where you need it most.

You peek down to see the pink flush on his cheeks and your back arches, his name leaving your mouth in a cry as you come on his fingers and his tongue. The Emperor moans as you writhe, his fingers moving in and out of you a couple more times before freeing them from your clenching walls.

Chest heaving, you pant, slumping back in the throne as he kisses across your puffy folds and sensitive cunt. Your thighs twitch a little when he peppers soft, little kisses against your clit and you can’t help but think the man has an obsession with its ability to bring you such pleasure.

The Emperor kisses up your body and you cup his jaw, kissing him sweetly.

“I fear this throne may be ruined,” you whisper against his lips.

He laughs, his nose nudging yours gently, “I recall promising to take you on it.”

“Before that,” you stand up on shaky legs, pushing at his chest until he sits back on his throne.

Adoration glimmers in his eyes, watching as your loose robes slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You stand bare before the Emperor, and you catch the slight spreading of his thighs to relieve the ache of his cock.

This time it’s you that’s sinking to your knees, pulling his robes free. The muscles of his abdomen clench when you run your fingers down his chest, his hand coming up to cover his flushed face.

“Why are you shy now?” you accuse, pouting up at him.

His thighs twitch when you curl your hand around his cock and you can feel the throb of his fat, hot length. 

“You do not have to-” he whispers when he sees your head dip.

“I want to,” you say stubbornly.

Zayne nods in acquiescence, moaning when you begin to drag your hand up and down his cock. It’s a little intimidating when you stare at it up close, but you swallow down your worries, leaning forward to kiss the tip experimentally.

His cock twitches in response, pre-cum beading at the tip. Your tongue darts out, licking up the little glob, feeling the taste of him spread across your tongue.

“Zayne,” you whisper, breath fanning over his cock, “Zayne, you must watch me.”

The Emperor groans at your lilting voice, his eyes opening the moment your mouth envelops him. His hips buck and you nearly seize up at the feeling of the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You mewl around him, breathing through your nose, tongue swirling before your head begins to bob up and down.

“Fuck,” Zayne hisses, his fingers spreading across your scalp, “my love, you are devious.”

You hum in response, pulling off of his cock in favor of giving more attention to the tip of it. You swirl your tongue, tongue flicking at the flared head and it’s enough to make Zayne whine, his thighs spreading wider for you. 

“Can you take it deeper?” he asks, his fingers trailing down the curve of your cheek.

“I shall try,” you murmur, mouth opening for him.

He hooks his thumb into the corner of his mouth, cupping your chin before his thumb spreads over the flat of your tongue. You smile, eyes flashing with mischievousness as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue flicking against the pad of it. 

Zayne shoots you a searing look and you watch as he grips the base of his cock. He drags the tip of his cock against your closed lips, entranced as he watches his pre-cum smears across your lips. His other hand presses at the back of your head and your mouth opens again, letting him guide his cock into your mouth.

“Just like that,” he whispers, “good girl.”

You can feel arousal shooting through you at the praise, slick pooling between your thighs yet again. The ache is so unbearable that you shove your hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit.

The Emperor pushes your head gently and you go willingly, slurping and sucking around his thick cock. Saliva drips from your mouth, coating his cock and his balls, strings of it landing on the edge of his throne. You rub at your clit faster, eyes fluttering as he brushes your loose hair away from your face.

“A- ah,” Zayne rasps, “hah- my love.”

The term of endearment is enough to have you taking it upon yourself to sink down his cock even more. The tufts of his black hair hit your nose for a moment, but you’re inexperienced and you’ve overestimated your own abilities. The feeling of his cock filling your throat is too much, and you choke, throat seizing, causing you to pull off with a hoarse cough as your eyes water.

Concern flits across Zayne’s face, his thumb swiping over your swollen lips. You give him a watery smile, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He sighs in relief when he sees you’re okay, leaning forward to place a tender kiss to your lips.

“So willful,” the Emperor murmurs.

He slides his hands under your armpits, picking you up and setting you down on his lap.

“I can do it again,” you mumble, gaze lowering to see his cock pressed between your bodies.

Zayne smiles, petting at your sides, “as much as I enjoyed the feeling, I cannot have my darling choking on my cock.”

“I was not choking,” you whine, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“If you insist,” Zayne soothes, “but when we are married, I will have many more opportunities to watch you swallow my cock.”

The Emperor’s constant promise of marriage has your heart lurching and you lean forward, crushing your lips against his. He grunts in surprise at your sudden action but returns the kiss just as eagerly, squeezing at your hips.

You whine into his mouth, his hair tickling your skin as he presses forward, his hips rolling up into yours. You can feel his hard cock between your thighs, the length dragging between your folds. 

Zayne groans at the sensation, his head falling back and you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, rolling your hips wantonly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

“Who are you?” he whispers, groping the fat of your ass.

“W- what?” you pull back, confusion spreading across your face.

The Emperor guides your hips to continue moving, your folds hugging his cock as you grind against it.

“Who are you?” Zayne asks again, “your title, what is it?”

Pleasure has made your mind hazy, and you can’t discern whether he’s playing a game of some sort with his questions, or whether he’s suffering from some sort of untimely amnesia.

“Your concubine,” you reply, “I thought-”

You jolt in his arms when he suddenly lands a heavy spank to your ass, his eyes narrowing when he hears your answer.

“Incorrect,” Zayne murmurs, his hand squeezing your ass in warning.

“I am your concubine- ah!”

Zayne shakes his hand, spanking you twice. You can feel the prickly heat spread across your skin, the pain searing. You glare up at him, and he smiles back, his hand smoothing over your reddened backside. 

“Who are you, my love?” he whispers, his nose nudging yours.

Oh. Oh. 

The Emperor’s insistence is a remarkable thing, you think. He may be even more stubborn than you are. Zayne’s fingers tapping against your cheek brings you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting his. 

“I- I am your Empress,” you say quietly.

“Precisely.”

Zayne slots his lips over yours and you mewl, your hips beginning to rock again, inner thighs wet with your slick and his pre-cum smeared over his abdomen. He kisses you over and over until you’re short of breath and your lips are swollen and slick with his spit.

“Will you take my cock, my love?” 

“Y- yes,” you say airily, lifting your hips as he grips the base of his cock, “please.”

Zayne squeezes your hip, watching as you bite your lip and sink down on his cock. His cock is just as girthy as you remember, filling up your needy hole perfectly. Your body falls forward at the feeling and Zayne kisses your cheek, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Always take my cock so well,” he praises.

Your hands plant themselves against his chest as your head tips back, taking what you want from him. Hips rising and falling, airy moans filling the air, you ride the Emperor. Zayne moans with you, his hands kneading at the flesh of your sides before drifting to take handfuls of your ass too.

“So good,” you slur, the force of your movements increasing, “feels so good, Zayne.”

“I know,” Zayne whispers, watching the bounce and sway of your breasts as you move atop him, “use me, my love.”

You do as he says, using him to drive yourself further to the edge of pleasure. The sounds filling the throne room are lewd, the clap of skin echoing throughout coupled with your shared noises.

Your thighs burn as you roll your hips, taking his cock deeper into the heat of your cunt, feeling it punch into the most sensitive spot inside of you. It’s too much, the mind-numbing sensations and your own body tiring with every movement.

You slump against him, hips slowing to a pitiful stop, his fat cock still stuffed inside of you. It twitches and you whimper, peering up at Zayne desperately.

“Husbands should take care of their wives,” you mumble, lips pressing against his.

“But we are not yet married,” he whispers teasingly. 

Zayne kisses you slowly, his hand sliding up your neck and stopping to cup your cheek. He molds you to his will, maneuvering your body as he sees fit, grabbing at every inch of flesh he can reach.

“But I am yours,” you say earnestly, “and I will be yours till the day I die.”

“You will, won’t you?” Zayne smiles, drawing you closer, “nothing makes me happier, my dear.”

You wail when he suddenly ruts up into you, balls slapping against your ass as he tightens his grip to bounce you up and down on his lap. Your hands lose their holds on his shoulders, scrabbling for stability until you find purchase on the top of his throne. 

The Emperor is fucking you on his throne. 

You try to feel some sense of mortification, but you can’t, the feeling of his cock erasing all sensible thoughts from your mind. Zayne slaps your ass and you squeak, body falling forward even more. Your breasts press into his face and you whine when he mouths at them, sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

The Emperor’s name leaves your mouth in a pleading chant and he answers your needs, pulling you down until your cunt is flush with the base of his cock, pussy swallowing up his length completely. Zayne slows to a grind, keeping his cock stuffed inside of you. 

You curl an arm around his neck, hugging him closer to your breasts and Zayne groans, his mouth opening wider to try and take in your entire breast. He stares up at you, the flush on his cheeks deepened and eyes so, so soft. 

Your lips slot over his as soon as his mouth detaches from your breast, your lips working against his slowly and sweetly, hips swaying back to meet the slow thrusts of his hips.

“You have ruined me,” you confess, cheek resting on his shoulder.

“Better it be me than some other man,” he whispers.

You agree with him on that. Zayne has given you far more than you could’ve possibly dreamed, the twist of fate bringing you something, or rather, someone to cherish.

“You are everything, Zayne.”

He groans at your bold words, his head falling back against his throne. You come undone in slow waves, body trembling as he comes with you, his cock kicking inside of you as hot cum spurts from the tip, filling you up. You can feel the thickness of it, cum spilling into you for a few moments longer as your hips slow to a stop.

You both breathe heavily, his chest moving under yours. A thin sheen of sweat covers your bodies, robes forgotten as they lie at the foot of the throne. 

A soft smile graces your lips as you move his hair out of his eyes, tilting his head to kiss his forehead.

“You spoil me,” Zayne mutters, nuzzling into your palm.

“I think it is the other way around,” you laugh breathlessly.

He sighs, slumping in his throne, his cock still inside of you. You can feel it softening, no longer plugging you full as cum begins to leak out from your pussy.

“I may need more tea,” you whisper.

Zayne huffs in amusement, his fingers collecting his viscous cum. He smears it across your pussy, his fingers catching onto your clit as he rubs his cum onto the little bud. He lifts his hand to your mouth and you accept eagerly, staring into his eyes as you suck his fingers clean of cum.

“Minx,” he mutters.

You giggle, kissing the pads of his fingers affectionately, shifting to sit on his thigh. Zayne smiles in return, his hands massaging your sore thighs. He kisses your cheek a few times, peppers a few kisses here and there over your shoulder.

“Feeling better?” Zayne asks, nuzzling your cheek.

“Much,” you whisper, smiling up at him, “but I fear I may not be able to walk.”

“Shall I carry you again?” the Emperor whispers.

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “I did not enjoy that.”

“Lying is punishable by death.”

“You are insufferable,” you whisper.

Zayne leans forward for another kiss, but you deny him, slipping off of his lap. He laughs when your thighs tremble, reaching out to catch you by the waist before your knees buckle.

He tugs you onto his lap, thwarting your escape as he kisses you again. You think you won’t be leaving this place anytime soon.

-

Zayne doesn’t think there’s anything more beautiful in this world than when you’re sleeping. 

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the sweet innocence of your face, your hair splayed against the pillows, the gods must favor him for they’ve sent him a vision.

He smiles as he watches you stir in your sleep, brushing away the hair that’s fallen onto your face. Zayne can’t resist leaning closer, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek, feeling your soft skin under his.

Zayne likes it when you smile, when you glare, the way you protest against his subtle teases. He’s never met someone as endearing as you, never bothered to take interest in another until you came along with that tray of tea clutched in your hands. He hasn’t told you about how his own heart flutters at the mere thought of you, and doesn’t think he will. He’d be better off showing you instead.

Above all, he remembers when you’d stumbled into his chambers, your flustered disposition as you’d apologized. He’d been lonely before you, trapped in a dull existence with others meandering through his life without purpose.

But you’ve changed things now. He feels free when he hears your laugh, the light in your eyes warming him from within. The world around him seems brighter, sparks of color appearing in places he had never seen before. 

You had painted the world for him.

[assortedvillainvault]

Going back through your archive and having a delightful time, tbh .. I don't know if you're in a Darksiders mood ATM, but I love your chancellor stuff and rarely see content for him-- could you do a couple headcannons where he tries to be a secret admirer for the reader? I don't know why I get the vibe he would really lean into it as a way to express his feelings honestly, but NEVER reveal it was him (on purpose at least) because it's shameful/unprofessional? Seriously, I think he would rather die 🤣

A Chancellor ask?!? Blessed be!!! We are brothers in blood now you understand, hope in the night, simps of exclusive bad taste. I'm not kidding when I say seeing this ask made my afternoon, I hope you like this because I had a blast writing it.

SecretAdmirer!Chancellor x Reader

Aaah Chancellor. The most tsundere of all the bastards in the undying lands.

And you, human liaison to the afterlife, stationed on the Eternal Throne as if destined to be a pain in the neck.

He’s stalking the corridors, scowling at the continued deterioration of the floor (while he’s adept at jumping the enormous gaps in the floorboards, he’ll die again before anyone has to see him do it), and rounds the corner to see you stood like a beautiful statue, back to him.

In your hand, is a letter.

His nonexistent heartbeat lurches in what little remains of his chest, and he fights back the alien urge to either vomit or smile. Instead, he steels himself and sneers.

“If you are going to stand around gormlessly, must you stand in the middle of the hall?”

You snap around to face him, he can just barely make out the hint of a blush slowly fading down your cheeks in the gloom as your expressions twists from surprise to disgust.

You exaggeratedly step back and bow him down the enormous hall, features smarmed in condescension. “So sorry Chancellor, please feel free to carry on your Very Urgent way.”

He scoffs, resolutely ignores how his remaining intestines curdle excitedly at the fact you’re speaking to him, and makes sure to glare down his missing nose at just the right angle to accentuate your startling height difference.

He doesn’t move on. Why would he? Your spats are the highlight of his eternal grinding days.

“Hmph. Why are you loitering about in the Undercroft?” His eyes narrow at the letter, noting with glee how close you’re holding it. “I wasn’t aware Earth had recovered enough to start sending their filth between realms?”

“Oh fuck off-” SUCH a shame you had dropped all pretence of civility within three months of your station here, but he can’t deny your animated responses are shamefully addicting. “- this isn’t from Earth. Someone left it under my door.”

“Oh? Truly we need to pick up the pace then, if some lout has nothing better to do than slip chickenscratch under every door in the throne-”

“Not every door!” you snap, and he bites his tongue in delight. “...Just mine,” you mumble and oh, that blush… His fingers itch with the need to feel that warmth creeping under the skin of your neck...

But he has more self control than the other brutes on this ship. “So emotional over a letter? How gauche.” He turns what’s left of his lips up over his teeth. “Only a joker or a fool would deign to court you.”

He turns and strides off without another word. Leaving you speechless.

He is absolutely not running, how dare you.

To see you admire his little notes fills his ribcage with fluttering moths. He can barely scrape his brain together for another excruciatingly dull day at court knowing you smile so softly at the curl of his own handwriting, that you likely had found and kept every note he’s dropped off so far.

But by death itself, if you ever figure out it’s him, he’ll throw himself into the leviathan’s jaws before he ever admits he thinks so ardently of the only living thing on this ship. You cannot know. EVER.

His fingers are itching again. He must write you another tonight.

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart. - Chapter 22 - Imagine_Darksiders - Darksiders (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

[throws this to the masses and retreats back into my bolthole]

[snugglybunny11]

knight!caitlyn x princess reader

pairing! knight!caitlyn x princess!reader

about! caitlyn kiramman, best knight of runeterra, was shipped of to Demacia to protect the kingdom’s princess - you.

cw! mentions of swords, that’s literally it

word count! 707

an: this one is particularly JUICY, already have pt.2 written🤭😚

caitlyn was raised from a young age to be the bed goddamn knight in Runeterra. it was a nonnegotiable. with their seemingly endless amounts of generational wealth, the Kiramman’s only got their daughter the finest, most experienced trainers, the highest quality swords money could buy, specially made training clothes. the money and the immeasurable hours caitlyn spent training paid off. caitlyn’s reputation seemed to precede herself, because when a letter arrived at the Kiramman Estate from the personal advisor of the King and Queen of Demacia, they were quick to oblige.

now here she was, on a ship designated to Demacia to protect their kingdom’s princess - you. why the king and queen specifically wanted her for the job, caitlyn would never know. from what she did know though - your life wasn’t in any immediate danger, you weren’t necessarily difficult or rebellious (at least from what she was told), so she really didn’t see the need for you to have a knight. alas, the choice wasn’t hers to make.

after several weeks of travel by sea, the ship arrived at the Demacian shores, the grand white sails billowing in the wind. the crew prepared for docking as caitlyn leaned against the mahogany railing, taking in the sight of the port town. her thoughts were as busy as the seaman behind her. she wasn’t told much before she left, so she had to fill in the gaps with her own inferences. what did you look like? what kind of dresses would you wear? what food did you like? anything and everything raced through her mind as the captain tapped her on the shoulderbald of her armor, breaking her trance.

“ms. kiramman? we’ve arrived in Demacia, prepare to disembark please.”

caitlyn took a deep breath, putting her thoughts on the back burner as she steeled herself for what’s to come. she stood in front of the grand, ornate gangway as it lowered, her posture rigid and at attention, her chin held high. her silver armor glinted under the afternoon sun, not a single cloud in sight. the dark blue enamel of her family crest inlaid into her chest plate also shined brightly in the sunlight - a reminder of the prestige just her last name held. with her sword sheathed in it’s scabbard, she began her descent down the gangway. as she reached the dock, caitlyn was greeted by a Demacian chancellor and her assistant. the chancellor, her face a testament to her years of service to the Royal family, greeted caitlyn first, extending a weathered hand for a handshake.

“good morrow, ms. kiramman, how do you do? i understand this is your first time to Demacia? allow me to welcome you. elowen valencrest, trusted chancellor of the Royal Family.”

caitlyn took the chancellor’s outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. she bowed her head respectfully as she spoke, “knight kiramman, ms. valencrest. ive been sent as a personal guard to the princess.”

“of course, of course ms. kiramman. the king and queen prepared transport straight to the castle. after you…”

the chancellor gestured to the refined, horse drawn carriage behind her, the door being held open by the coachman. with that, caitlyn stood up straight and bowed once more, just with her head before stepping into the carriage. elowen and her advisor followed soon after, sitting on the opposite side of caitlyn. during the ride, caitlyn kept looking out at the passing scenery of Demacia, from the cozy seaside town to the rolling hills of the interior. the hours passed by like minutes to caitlyn before the carriage came to a stop at the entrance of the sprawling botanical gardens surrounding the actual castle itself.

the coachman hopped off and scrambled to open the door to the carriage, “ahem, ms. valencrest, ms. kiramman, we’ve arrived.”

the walk through the gardens was rather… peaceful for caitlyn. she could hear the sounds of small birds chirping in the well kept trees, butterflies surrounding patches of vibrant flowers. it’s somewhat like a balm for her racing thoughts, but she can’t really afford to focus so much on the scenery. with every step she creeps closer and closer towards the stairs leading up to the large, intricately designed wooden doors of the castle.

[pinkaditty]

Pavlov's Ghoul Pt 2 (Leo Kurosagi x Reader x Sho Haizono; Tokyo Debunker)

we have someone 2 blame 4 the pavlov's ghoul series: 🐟 anon. they have officially established themselves as a regular and claimed an emoji. they have also given me a sinostra idea... perhaps... maybe... im still thinking abt it

a/n: we're back!!! amen!!!! i don't know how i managed 2 finish this but i did. god i hope y'all like this bc im a little proud of how i managed 2 get this one done!!! i hope i wrote leo in character enough bc that's the one main thing im scared i didn't do right...

quick disclaimer that i write these under the assumption the tokyo debunker boys are at least 18 years old. they appear to be present at a university considering there are professors and a chancellor. not to mention the boys drink, smoke, gamble, and refer to themselves as adults.

OH ALSO this did take a slight turn from the original idea, which was to have him want to spy on someone. i tweaked that idea just a little bit, i hope no one minds.

summary: leo gets fuckin choked the hell out with his own tie amen! in more thorough terms: leo is determined to get a rise out of you. you're determined to get him to shut the fuck up.

cw: choking, implied sexual encounters, multiple sexual innuendos, heavy petting, dry humping, and some odd behavior. MINORS DNI AS USUAL!!!

Psst! Part 1 is here in case you missed it!

Something about being an attention whore for your best friend’s girlfriend was pathetic. That, yet and still, didn’t stop Leo. He assumed you and Sho were dating, but he admittedly hadn’t had the nerve to ask Sho. He knew when you’d come over, though, and would use his stigma to listen to your moans, soft and breathy, through the walls. He'd clutch a pillow to his torso, curling into it as though he could hide his shame from himself. He'd listen intently to the hum of your voice, ordering Sho’s movements as though you were in charge; and to Sho’s immediate compliance without complaint. He was as obedient as a well-trained dog. 

It made Leo laugh sometimes, Sho’s obedience reminiscent of a loyal dog. A mocking smile would be buried into his pillow and quiet laughter would shake his body despite his throbbing erection pressing into the pillow’s other end. Despite his laughter, he knows he’s something of the same. The night he found out you and Sho were screwing still stands out clear in his head. The way your eyes flashed with displeasure at his presence, the way your posture stiffened like a stitch, the way your lips quirked downwards. Displeasure. Anger. Disgust. The way those emotions seemed to twist your face into something beautifully attractive to him. Honeyed rage and saccharine disgust were trickling forth from you, and in that moment, he found himself nothing more than a mere stray, lapping eagerly at the scraps of attention you were willing to give his starving heart. 

The sickeningly sweet voice you spoke to Sho in, he knew, would not get Leo off nearly as well as if you snarled out your words to him. If he were in Sho’s place… 

He quickly shakes his head to put an end to his reminiscent thoughts. He had things to do. 

You were supposed to be coming by Vagastrom today. Latest case had been like hell, but at least it was over. All he had to do was sign the report. That wouldn’t be a problem, so long as he got to try and pester you to death after his signage. Leo was lingering in the Vagastrom garage, occasionally pacing between the garage and the graffiti-layered couch in the entryway.

Leo checks the time on his phone for the fifth time. You were running a bit late. It was getting annoying. He sucks his teeth in annoyance, his mind already wandering to the possible explanations for your lateness. Perhaps another ghoul had captured your attention on the way there, and you were caught up in pointless conversation with them. Leo huffed and rolled his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms impatiently. What was so good about the other ghouls, anyway? Not that Leo would be all that interested, but he was sure he could give you a good time… And yet, you choose to spend your time with the better-natured ghouls. On one hand, he supposes he can’t blame a girl thrust into a new environment for being drawn to kindness, but on the other hand, you could at least not ignore his existence. Over a petty insult, at that. All he’d implied was that maybe Sho keeps you around because you’re good at giving head. Now, you giving him head is a regular occurrence, anyway. Leo just can’t see the problem. 

Leo has to suppress a small flare of rage at the thought of you sucking Sho off. As much as it grates him to admit it, hearing Sho’s moans along with yours pissed him off. He kicks at the floor of the Vagastrom garage, knocking a stray bolt into a pile of tools in the corner. His thoughts quickly wander, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. It should’ve been—!

Light footsteps make their way down the stairs of the dorm. Leo’s head snaps upwards to find your form descending the steps at a chipper pace. Immediately, his heart jumps into his throat, pounding at an irrationally fast pace. He clenches and unclenches his fists in his pockets, feeling his palms become sweaty. He shakes his head before his face can warm, suppressing any outward expression best he can. He makes eye contact with you reluctantly and nods to acknowledge your presence.

“Kurosagi.” Unfortunately for Leo, your voice is steady and neutral. No hints of displeasure, or anger, or even apathy. Just total neutrality. He clicks his teeth in annoyance and glances down at the paper you’re holding out to him. “Can you please sign this? Yours is the last signature I need.”

Leo hums, looking back at the stairs of the dorm, processing. “Before that, Little Miss Inspector…” he starts dismissively, keeping his gaze fixed on the stairs. “Did I just see you come from upstairs? Had you already been here?” His tone is clearly implying something, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He raises an eyebrow, lifting a hand to his chin in mock contemplativeness.

“Yeah.” He’s surprised, as you respond quicker and far more shamelessly than he’d expected. “I was just getting Sho’s signature.” The tone of your voice was oddly lighter, perhaps less neutral than before. Simultaneously, Leo’s gut boils with envy and his shit-eating grin spreads wider.

“I see. So…” He leans in closer to you, a mocking look in his eyes, his grin never leaving his face. “...How long did it take?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice and expression turn somewhat exasperated. Leo has to suppress an actual grin.

“How long did it take for you to clean up? All that cum off your face, I mean.” He gestures vaguely to your face, shifting the other hand to his hip as he smirks down at you.

Leo can’t help the giddiness that shoots through his body as white-hot anger seems to flash behind your gaze. Your brows knit together in anger and your face wrinkles into an offended, angered expression. Perfect, Leo thinks, staring at your expression. He happily soaks up all your attention, flicking his tongue out to run them over his lips, his piercing glinting in the light. He watches as your eyes follow the swift movement, returning his lips to a teasing smirk, lifting an eyebrow at you. 

His smirk morphs into a grin as you turn away, forcefully pushing the report into his chest. “Just sign the report, Kurosagi.” It’d be impossible not to pick up on the venom with which you said his name. It sends a thrill down his spine, and he shivers, biting his lips to stifle the crazed grin that threatened to spread across his face. 

He chuckles cheekily, looking down at you condescendingly. He has you right where he wants you. “How about this?” Leo starts, carefully plucking the report from your hand pressed to his chest. “I sign this,” he waves the report in his hands before tossing it to the side, leaving the papers to scatter across the floor, “when you answer my question.” Both his hands return to his hips, and he leans down, closer to your face, his face covered in a smug smirk and his eyes dancing with mirth. “So?” He starts, making sure to enunciate his words to bring attention to his tongue piercing, taunting you. “How long did it take?” He relaxes his gaze, staring down at you with hooded eyes. He takes a step towards you, to which you take a step back in turn. Leo only smiles and continues taking steps towards you, as you match his pace and take one step back for every one he takes forward. He watches as your gaze continues to emanate anger, exasperation, and disgust. His body feels rejuvenated, as though he’s fed on your negative attention. He sucks in his bottom lip and rolls it between his teeth, attempting to keep his teasing grin from growing into a genuine smile. 

“Come on~, don’t be a drag.” He finally stops walking, having backed you up to the graffiti-covered couch. He stood over you, smirking in response to your defiant expression. He leans forward towards you, veering towards your ear. His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks. “It did take you a while to get down here, ya know?” Leo giggles, light and breathy in your ear, before pulling back, facing you again. He grins wide. “Next time, save yourself the effort and just swallow. Promise it makes things easier~! You can even show him… Like this!” He brings his hand to his lips, positioning his fingers in a “V” shape, and sticking his tongue between them, his mouth wide open. To further mock you, he makes a “Bleh!” sound as he sticks his tongue between his fingers, his body shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Leo honestly wasn’t sure what he wanted out of going this far. Maybe you’d get so angry you’d snap or something. Maybe you’d slap him, or punch him, or kick him, or just yell at him. Whichever you chose, he found himself looking forward to the inevitable sting your retort would leave. 

“...Why do you care?” Your voice is soft, barely there, but Leo can pick up on the anger laced in every syllable. He pretends not to hear you, instead leaning towards you, stupid smirk plastered on his face. 

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that, Miss Inspector. You should speak up, like you do when you’re ordering Sho around.”

Leo is hardly surprised when you grab his tie and pull him closer to your face. If anything, he revels in it, knowing you’re angry. What surprises him is when you twist him around and push him down onto the Vagastrom couch, climbing over him and pinning him down with your knees on his thighs. You keep an iron grip on his tie, and he stares at your fist warily, lifting his hands in surrender. He scoffs when he realizes you’re not going any further, looking up at you.

“Hmph. You’re bold, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He grins cheekily at your frustrated glare. Leo was just excited to finally hold your attention, all of it. You weren’t looking anywhere else, you weren’t listening to anyone else, there was nobody around to interrupt. It was just you, free to entertain his whims and give him all your attention. 

He feels you shift on top of him, and stays still as you readjust. Raising an eyebrow, he looks up at you. “So what are you planning to do to me while you have me like this, hm?” He says teasingly as you place your knees on either side of his body. You plop yourself down on his stomach, to which he grunts. He’s about to call you heavy when he feels the warmth of your core seep through his shirt. He shivers, and upon realizing the implications of this, smirks.

“Hey, honor student. Answer me this.” He brings one hand down to your thigh, gently squeezing it before gently trailing his fingers towards your skirt. “Is this because you were just fucking Sho…”, he slips his hand under your skirt and presses his thumb into your clothed clit, “...or is this because I—ack!” 

You were holding the knot of his tie taut against his throat. He instinctively moved his hands to his neck, nails scraping at his tie. He repeatedly gasps for air, staring up at you with wide eyes, as though pleading with you to let him go. Despite himself, he felt his body flush with heat at your unforgiving gaze. Steadily, the shock of being at your mercy turned into the pleasure of being at your mercy. Leo felt a warm feeling spread through his body at the thought of becoming victim to your whims; wherein your latest wish was his newest command. His heart thudded in his chest and his face grew warmer, both from his blocked blood flow and from the embarrassing revelation that this was turning him on. His eyes slowly rolled back into his skull as he still gasped for air, holding the tie and trying to pull it away from his neck.

When you finally release him, he sputters and coughs, turning his head away from you. He holds the crook of his elbow to his face, coughing as his lungs finally fill up with air again. When he catches his breath, he turns to you, attempting to hide the way your satisfied gaze set his body aflame with a deep scowl. “W-What the fuck was that, huh?!” He practically spits the words at you, his brows knitting together as he stared at you with fabricated contempt. His eyes are wide with a heady mix of arousal and fury. He was furious at himself for finding arousal once again in your mistreatment of him, this time to go as far as finding pleasure when you choked him. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to condemn it. Even now, as he warily switched his gaze between your face and your grip on his tie, something in him eagerly awaited the moment you’d repeat the action.

“Well?” Leo snaps angrily, undeterred by your silence. His chest heaves, and his hands are positioned near his throat, prepared for you to do it again. He keeps his gaze on you, your challenging gaze sending shivers down his spine.

“You know Leo, I’ve noticed something.” You start talking, seemingly ignoring his question. He frowns, but keeps quiet, allowing you to continue. “Ghouls are far stronger than humans, right? You could’ve pushed me off of you at any time. Why do you let me continue to choke you?”

Leo goes pale for a moment, your words sinking in. You’re right, technically speaking. If he had chosen to throw you off, he could. His mind scrambles for an excuse, anything to throw you off his trail. He mock scoffs, sneering at you. “How could I even think about pushing you off when you’re fucking choking me?!” He gestures to his neck, the knot a fair distance from his throat, still held in your grasp. 

Before he can say anything more, you lean further into him, placing your hands on either side of his head to steady yourself. “Then push me off.” You stare at him, your expression impassive so as not to get a rise out of him. “Right now.” 

Leo freezes and makes no move to push you off of him. He gazes back at you, swallowing harshly, realizing he’s been trapped. He could push you off to save face, but he didn’t want to. Your gaze, your attention, was what he craved so viscerally. He didn’t want to risk it by ending this a moment sooner, even if he was getting choked. He couldn’t so much as tear his gaze from you, staring back up at you defiantly, still refusing to move. He swallows thickly again, feeling his skin crawl. Your gaze, while hypnotizing, was also beginning to make him uncomfortable. He knew you could see right through him. He knew he’d become an open book, simply from the choice of refusing to push you off of him. He clicks his teeth, partially out of annoyance and partially out of frustration, staring you down as you did to him. He really was trapped. 

“...I think this turns you on, Leo. Right?” Leo startles, a new surge of energy coursing through him. He desperately attempted to deny it, shaking his head and squirming, as though to free himself from you. 

“What the hell are you on about, Inspector? Huh?” He gets defensive, his eyes wide and reflecting your earlier anger. He chuckles, though it comes out bitter, rather than in the teasing tone he’d wanted it to. “It’d take a freak to get turned on by something like this.” He spits the words at you again, sucking his teeth when he finishes speaking. He continues to stare up at you defiantly.

He feels you shift yet again as you lean away from him and twist your torso around, looking behind you. He looks at you quizzically for a moment before he feels your hand press directly against his stiffening cock. He moans, surprised, clenching his thighs together. He hadn’t even realized how hard he’d been this entire time. “I guess you’re a freak, then.” Your words are an obvious taunt, and he can hear the teasing smile in your voice without even looking at you. When you remove your hand, he has to resist the urge to thrust upwards and catch at least one more bit of friction. He groans, shifting and squirming uncomfortably. A portion of his attention was now on his cock, twitching restlessly in his pants at full mast. How had he not noticed this before? His chest heaved, his whole body quivering as he tried to keep it together. His cock seemed to beg for any sort of contact or friction, even jumping when his pants shifted against his tip. 

Miraculously, despite the gasps and muffled, whiny moans sprouting from his throat, and his desperate squirming, he manages to bite back. “If I’m one, then you are too!” His gaze flicks to your skirt, covering the warm, sticky evidence of your arousal. He can feel it through his shirt, the offending heat melting into his own arousal. He takes note of surprise temporarily flickering across your face before returning to an annoyed expression. “What, thought I didn’t notice, huh?” He laughs, a cheeky grin returning to his face despite his arousal. “Come on~. Miss Inspector, I’m not an idiot,” he continues, watching your annoyance grow, feeling excitement flush through his body. “I can feel the heat of your pussy through my fucking shirt. Crazy that you’re this horny even after fucking Sho. Who knew the honor student was such a wh- Urgh!” His hands fly to his tie again, feeling your grip tighten it around his neck. It was looser than before, but still tight enough to restrict his airways. He groans, trying to ignore the arousal that pulses through him all at once. “F-Fuck…” He chokes out, feeling his face warm again thanks to the restricted blood flow. He is gasping for air, twisting and turning underneath you, all in false attempts to free himself from your grasp. 

“I don’t appreciate being talked to like that, you know.” He is barely able to process your voice, soft and stern, almost too quiet to hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes roll back into his skull, and he groans again, slightly arcing his back in response to the pleasure. He writhes under you, his cock pressing harder into his uniform pants. He looks up at you pleadingly, as though begging you to do something about his throbbing cock. 

He feels your hips move back, lifting yourself off of his stomach and lowering yourself onto his groin instead. Slowly, the pressure on his neck loosens, and he cries out, feeling sudden, warm friction against his cock. His hands reach for your thighs, squeezing them as you settle on his groin, panting heavily and staring intently at where your bodies almost connected. He whines, rolling his hips upwards once, steadying you with his hands. 

You smirk at him, and Leo realizes how needy he must look right now- pupils blown wide, lidded eyes, lips wet and wide open in heavy pants. Some part of him resigns to looking like this, the pleasure of being at your mercy nearly fully taking over. This was insane, and he knew it, but right now, your eyes were on him. You were giving him the attention he so desperately craved, and he didn’t care that he was the victim, or the loser, or the thrall. In his eyes, he’d won. You were speaking down to him in a condescending tone, forcing him to recognize his own hypocrisy, and best of all, you were angry with him. Leo could still spot some anger behind your eyes, anger at him and the taunting words he’d said and names he’d called you. Disregarding his pride for a mere moment, he had to admit, this was exhilarating. It was… perfect.

He snaps back to reality when you start to grind your hips downward, moving your hips back and forth along his length. He moans and grips your thighs, feeling his cock press painfully hard against the restrictive fabric of his pants. In his hazy stupor, he slides one hand closer to your skirt again, slipping his hand underneath and thumbing your clit like he did before. As he does, he peeks back up as you with a cheeky smile, or, at least, the best teasing smile he could muster while you rocked your hips against his, sending his senses into hyperdrive. He grins in satisfaction when you let out a breathy sigh, enjoying the sensation. 

He feels the tie tighten around his neck again, and watches eagerly as you push the knot closer to his throat. He tilts his head back, willingly accepting your whim, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Hrk!” The knot at last presses into his throat, and he grunts before gasping for air, a shiver running down his spine. He continues thumbing your clit as you resume the movement of your hips, rubbing your heat back and forth over his twitching length. He no longer struggles, but he does make quite a bit of noise. Grunts and groans and gasps are all muffled well by the tie around his neck. Eventually, he starts to feel lightheaded, the choking restricting his breathing and limiting the oxygen getting to his brain. His pace in thumbing your clit becomes sloppy, his panting becomes quicker, and he feels his cock stir urgently as you quicken your pace. He is hit with the overwhelming realization that he’s close. His moans get a little louder, feeling the inevitable release piling in his groin. He attempts to warn you, but he can’t seem to get the words out, his words too much for his blissed-out mind to process. Instead, his nails dig into your thigh, his thumb rubs sloppily against your clit, and his eyes roll back, his jaw going slack as his tongue lolls out of his mouth. He digs his heels into the couch, pushing his hips into yours as you continue your pace, his throbbing cock twitching excitedly under the friction of your warm heat. Sparks begin to pop behind his eyes, and he swears he’s so close, he’s nearly there…

When, suddenly, you stop your pace and release his tie, letting it loosen around his neck. He watches, stunned, as you rise from his lap, walking away from him. He’s barely waking up from his blissful haze, holding his throat as he carefully breathes, blinking repeatedly to keep his vision from swimming. His cock stood hard and lonely, twitching with dissatisfaction at a stolen release. His gaze snaps back to you, as you walk back towards the Vagastrom garage. It takes a few tries, but he summons his voice, scrambling to lift himself from the couch. “Hey!” He sits upright, staring at your retreating figure. When you don’t turn around, he hurriedly stands, holding his head in his hands as he reorients himself. “Hey!” He says it with a bit more urgency, and heads after you after shaking his head. “What the fuck was that, Little Miss Inspector?” He grabs your shoulder and forcefully turns you around, unsurprised to see a neutral expression on your face again. 

“What the fuck was what?”

He crosses his arms and stares at you with displeasure. “Come now, Miss Inspector. I’m the one to play coy. What the fuck was that?” 

He watches as you roll your eyes dismissively and turn away, continuing on your way. “A lapse in judgement.” 

Leo freezes. A lapse in judgement? No, he knows it was more than that. The satisfaction flaring in your eyes while on top of him told him so. He hurries after you, stomping on the ground before he catches up and pulls your sleeve, forcing you to face him again. His cool exterior is cracking, the desperation in his groin reawakening as he pulls you back. “Come on, Miss Inspector~.” He says the phrase a little whiny despite trying to hide his yearning with teasing. “...Don’t make me beg for it.”

His eyes bore into yours, his golden gaze flashing with an amalgam of desire, envy, desperation, and excitement. The words ‘Please give me more’ rested helplessly on the tip of his tongue, ready to betray his calm attitude if you turned away from him again. His face was an open book all over again, his true feelings visible in the way he gazed at you, in the way he chewed on his bottom lip, in the way he tightened his grip on your sleeve. 

He watches as the corner of your lips quirks upwards, as though satisfied all over again. You pass the unsigned report to him again, and Leo realizes you must’ve walked away to collect it. “How about this?” You turn to him, shit-eating grin spreading across your face. “If you sign this…” You tap the report tauntingly, and he stares back at you, realization dawning on him, “...I’ll drag you back to that couch and finish what I started.”

Leo almost balks. His own bargaining chip, used against him. He stares at the report in his hands, part of him wanting to refuse, and the other half wanting to sign it and drag you back to the couch himself. 

His gaze lifts to you, and he finds you gazing at him expectantly, as though you had him right where you wanted, and knew exactly what he wanted. A rueful smile plays across his face as he flips open the report, not bothering to glance at the details before reaching the signatures page. He glances up at you, and catches the tail end of a satisfied smirk, before it drops, returning to the same expectant look. He grips the edges of the report, staring back at you.

Fuck. He really hoped he had a pen on him.

a/n: wrote this in three separate sittings. not sure how, so don't ask. i really hope y'all enjoy this bc lowkey im a little scared i didn't write this well enough! but if you enjoyed, please do let me know yippee!!!

as always... i love likes, comments, and reblogs! please, fill up my notifications with how much you loved my work! i love 2 hear from you all! as i said in the last post, feel free 2 fill the fuck out of my inbox or comments or reblogs. idnc! i love seeing how much you all love my stuff.

okay and finally, the taglist:

@diluxama @animesimpwz26 @mastering-procrastinating @belphiesleftpinkytoe (tagged u jic, u didn't ask but i wanted 2 be sure)

@aayakashii (shamelessly tagging u bc i want u 2 see this and u commented. i wasn't sure but i did it anyway.)

thank you all 4 asking 2 be tagged, i hope you all enjoyed!

[petertingle-yipyip]

I WISH I HATED YOU - BELLAMY BLAKE

//is this probably a hot mess and ooc? yes. but it’s also self indulgent so just enjoy new content okay 🤷‍♀️//

Pairing: Bellamy x Reader

Word Count: 1,617

Summary: After being arrested for speaking out, you get a chance to tell Bellamy basically everything on your mind.

After Bellamy and Clarke got everyone out of Mount Weather, you had stayed close with him. You went on runs with him, trained with him, and even helped him through the guilt of pulling the lever. You talked him through losing Gina.

Or at least you had thought you helped with it all.

When you saw him walk through the gates with Pike’s firing squad, your heart sank. You had just let yourself believe you cared about him, maybe even loved him. You sat by and watched him with Gina because him being happy seemed to be more important to you. And yet, there he was, covered in blood from an army that was supposed to protect your people.

Pike was in the middle of his speech about doing what needed to be done when you met Bellamy’s eyes.

Something in that look compelled you to speak up. You knew he wasn’t asking it of you but you felt you had to.

“We execute our own now?” You shouted, part of you hoping your voice would be buried in the crowd. But judging by the new expression Bellamy wore, you were heard loud and clear.

“What kind of Chancellor doesn’t let his people speak up?” You continued and a small group cleared out around you and you felt an imaginary spotlight on you. “I remember learning there used to be a right to free speech in the States.”

“There’s a difference between speaking your opinion and pushing propaganda, Y/N.” Pike answered and you didn’t miss the condescension in his words.

“What do you call what you’re doing?”

“Y/N.” Bellamy warned.

You hadn’t noticed he had gotten to your side.

“No.” You said firmly. “Trikru has become our allies.”

“Your ‘allies’ abandoned you in that mountain! They left you to die!”

“You’re no better!” You shouted. “You’re willing to kill us if we don’t agree with you! You just threatened all of us!”

A hand gripped your arm.

“None of you are in any danger from your own people.” He said with a disbelieving laugh. You took an angry step forward but were pulled back by the hand at your arm that you hadn’t connected to a person yet. “I am going to keep all of you safe.”

“You’re a murderer.” You said confidently. “You’ve turned the people who went with you out there-“ You looked towards the gate and realized it was Bellamy who had your arm. You didn’t look away from him. “-into murderers.”

“Don’t do this.” Bellamy said quietly, desperately almost.

“If you’re gonna do this…” You nodded towards your restricted limb. “I have to do this.”

You turned back to face Pike.

“Lincoln risked his life to help us at Mount Weather. Indra has fought by our side. The Commander has gone out of her way to welcome us into her coalition, to offer protection from the clans that hate us! Now-“ You tried to gesture but Bellamy kept your arm down. “Dammit, Blake.” You grumbled. “Now every clan wants us dead!”

“All the more reason for us to fight back!” Pike yelled.

“We wouldn’t need to fight if you hadn’t-“

“Enough!” Pike interrupted and you heard a small eruption of mumbles from the crowd. It seemed to you like some opinions were shifting. “Take her away.”

Bellamy pulled you slightly and grabbed your other arm. He locked both wrists in cuffs behind your back and led you to the detainment. You kept your head up, saying nothing as Bellamy practically dragged you down several hallways.

There were no guards posted so Bellamy released your cuffs when you were within the alleged cell but didn’t leave. He stood in the doorway instead while you sat on the lone bench. The set of his jaw, heavy sigh that moved his shoulders, and cross of his arms told you all you needed.

“You want to say something.” You spoke plainly. Any edge in your voice from before had softened.

Everything in you softened around Bellamy, even if he didn’t seem too much like your Bellamy anymore. If he ever was yours to begin with.

“Just say it, Bellamy.” You sighed and rubbed your eyes. “I’m sure Pike doesn’t want you gone too long.”

“You think I’m doing the wrong thing.” He said lowly, as if he was still connecting the dots in his head. “You out me in this position today, Y/N. No one told you to start telling about treason and executions.”

“You and I both know that’s what he meant. Grounder or Arkadian, opposition goes down. Seemed pretty clear to me.”

“Pike wouldn’t kill his own people. What he’s willing to do, what I’m willing to do, is to protect our people.”

“By the way, I think Pike is wrong.” You corrected. “You… You’re lost right now. You’re trying to right what’s gone wrong but that won’t go away with more blood and bullets.”

“So we’re just supposed to let them continue to kill us?”

“It’s been months and it hasn’t been Trikru killing us if any have died… Azgeda hates us and that’s not gonna change but Trikru is Indra. It’s Lincoln. It’s Octa-“

“It is not Octavia.” He cut in firmly.

Your hands went in surrender and you didn’t push on that.

“Bellamy.” You stood and carefully moved closer to him. You made sure to keep your eyes on his and not on the Grounder blood splattered across his bulletproof. “I.. care about you, you know that. But what Pike’s doing, what you’ve done, has put all of us at risk. It’s an act of war. At the very least, tell me you understand that. If it was the other way around-”

“We’ve been at war since we got here. They picked us off, one by one, in the woods around the dropship. Remember that? Or how they put a spear through Jasper’s chest? Used Murphy to infect our camp? Stabbed Finn with a poisoned blade or, even better, when they executed Finn?”

“Yes, okay?” You abated quickly. “Yeah, you’re right. They’ve beat the shit out of us. But Finn also slaughtered a village with an automatic rifle. We blew up a bridge that led to however many deaths. We burnt an army a couple hundred strong to ash. But we’ve also made allies and had a chance at peace with the Commander.”

“The Commander that left us at Mount Weather, you mean? Who forced us to have to kill the purple who helped us? Who trusted me?”

“God, Bell, y’know what? I wish I hated you for what you’re doing. I- I wish it wasn’t true, what you were doing. I wish you treated me terribly and I wish I could treat you the same. Do you know how much easier it’d be if I could hate you? Especially after the massacre out there.”

“What?” His brows furrowed.

“But I don’t.” You shook your head. “Not yet. Jesus, maybe not ever. And that makes me feel so guilty. To want to hate you and to admit that I probably won’t. You could shoot me and I still would find a way to forgive you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We may have been fighting since we landed. I can admit that.” You continued ranting.

“Y/N, I-“

“No, you’re going to listen to me!”

He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and closed his mouth.

“That doesn’t mean we need to keep taking things further… You don’t have to like the Grounders, Bellamy. I don’t even think they’re all great, but the coalition was a chance at peace. It could finally end the war. You and me, we could…”

“You and me?” His eyes softened. “What do you…”

You laughed to yourself. “I thought it’d been obvious by now.” You shrugged. “Look, that’s not important right now. What is important is that you don’t go down a path you can’t come back from. I know you want to do what’s right and I know you want to protect us. I love you for that, but goddammit, I can’t lose you.“

“I’m trying to protect you.” He said, putting a hand on your cheek. “It’s always been about you… Well, you and Octavia.”

Despite yourself, you smiled and it brought a quick flash of a smile from him.

“You have such a good heart.” You said honestly, a much softer tone than just moments before. “Pike doesn’t get to take that from you if you don’t let him.”

“Y/N…” His hand moved and took hold of yours.

“You mean a lot to me. None of this has been easy on or for any of us. I know I’ve hardly slept a full night since we landed. And I know you think you have our best interests at heart, but I can promise you that Pike doesn’t have yours.”

“Do you?”

“I do… Since I met you.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay, I’ll…”

“Let me outta here?” You tried with an innocent smile.

He laughed slightly and raised his brows.

“Maybe we can continue this conversation in one of our rooms… With a little more privacy.”

“I’ll hear you.” He corrected and you pouted slightly. “You’re gonna have to stay here for the day but I’ll talk to Pike, have you out by dinner.”

“Okay.” You nodded and stepped back.

Bellamy’s hand hit your hip and pulled you back to him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say something for a while.” He said with a smirk.

“Really?” You returned the playful tone. “How long is a while?”

His head tilted back and forth as he pretended to think.

“Since we met on the Ark.”

[dumpster-fire-deluxe]

What would Palpatine eat/feed his s/o?

(Happy Valentine's day if you celebrate!)

I think it's important to know two things about Palpatine: he's both aristocratic and practical.

He grew up with a kitchen staff no doubt. He might know how to cook as a survival skill, but his default is being served. He might not eat banquet-worthy food every day, especially not after busy work days. But his quick lazy meal isn't instant ramen, but rather leftover pheasant from some upper class catering service he'd ordered prior.

All of the food is heavily regulated and if there is any sign of tampering or anti-Palpatine sentiment among the providers, an assassin would take care of it.

When it comes to his s/o, he'd make sure they are well-fed, if only from the practical need to keep them healthy. He might use food to reward good behavior or induce a Pavlov reaction. Did you listen well and obey? Here's some Naboo delicacy for instant dopamine. Over time your brain will start making dopamine at the anticipation of serving him, because it associates it with a reward.

In public, you can expect lavish meals befitting his status. He will not be seen feeding you peasant food. If you insist on getting a kebab, he'll visibly pay for it just so it's clear you're doing that out of choice and not because he's letting you be poor. He'd play with your hair while you eat it and steal a fry or two just so the media can fawn over how "normal and relatable" he is while not stepping outside of his class.

In private, he'll swoop in with food when you're hungry, so you subconsciously start associating him with nice feelings (and the absence of bad ones, like hunger). Again, the Pavlov reaction. He'll be happy seeing you enjoy the food, if only from a sense of dominance or possession: he's the one making you feel good, he's the reason you're taken care of, and he could take it away and let you be hungry. Between bathing in his status and exerting control over you, meal times are fun times.

Needless to say, during a romantic restaurant dinner, you can pick anything you like. The champagne gets added by default. You're probably in a secluded/VIP section, where you have privacy from the media. Palpatine would feed you bites from his fork, delighting in your obedience (again, it's a sense of control & possession).

With the champagne and Naboo wine and other liquors flowing freely, Palpatine might let himself get a little tipsy, or maybe it's just intoxication from all the good food. Anyway, imagine an arm wrapped around your shoulders as you're led out of the restaurant, a kiss on your head before you're helped into the transport. A hand or an arm resting on you all the way home.

Once you're home, with the lights still dimmed, a slow undressing starts. Sure, you've already had dessert, but there's always room for second dessert. Thus, his lips would taste your skin, cherishing it like any fine food he just ate. Sluggish and satisfied, you'd make it to the bedroom, for some slow, lazy sex, after which you both can do little more than let out content sighs.