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varpusvaras · 8 months ago

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Breha wanted to have a soulmate.

Her parents were soulmates. They both had a mark of the Hand of Skies, the constellation visible during the winters of Aldera, on their left shoulders. Her mother had originally had the right hand of the constellation, while her father had had the left hand, and the mark had completed itself for both of them after they had met each other for the first time. It had been an early match, and her parents had grown up together since they had been ten years old. For as long as Breha remembered, she had looked at their love and connection, and indulged herself in the warmth and familiarity they shared with each other, dreaming of having the same for herself.

Her parents hoped for her to have a soulmate, too.

"Being a Queen is an important task", her mother always said. "Sometimes, it can be very lonely, too. I have gotten over so many moments of doubt with your father on my side."

She didn't talk about the other reason to her, but Breha knew about it anyway. She knew enough other Royals, other Nobles, of people born into influental families all across the Galaxy.

She knew what happened to those who didn't have a soulmate.

A soulmate was a part of you. A soulmate was someone who no one would ever take away from you. A soulmate was someone who would stay at your side.

A soulmate meant protection.

Breha didn't fully believe that her parents would make her marry someone she did not truly want to, but the fear was still there, and it gnawed on her, stronger and stronger, with every passing year. Alderaan was an affluent world, after all. Old, rich, and located in the Core. Many would be vying for the hand of the future Queen, if it was free for the taking.

Her parents had both gotten their marks at nine years old. Most people on Alderaan got their marks before their tenth birthday.

Breha's twelfth birthday had come and gone, and her thirteenth was fastly approaching, and there was nothing.

She didn't dare to speak about her growing nervousness to her parents. It felt like she would be insulting them, by insinuating that she thought that they would force her into something she did not want. She couldn't just keep it all inside, either, as it continued to bother her more and more.

In the end, she went to her grandmother.

"Sometimes it just takes time", her grandmother said, stroking Breha's back as Breha sniffled against her collar. "Sometimes the Galaxy and the Force has to look at things a little deeper, and to take a lot of things to consideration, things that you and me, or no one else, for that matter, has no idea about. It has to look at so many options before making the decision, so that the decision is the right one."

It did make Breha feel a little better. Maybe she had hope. Maybe she or whoever it was, at the other side, was just a little difficult to match with. Breha didn't think of herself as particularly difficult or complex, but maybe the Force knew something tha she didn't.

So she kept her hopes up, and she waited.

--- ---

She got her mark a week before her birthday.

She had noticed it immediately after waking up, and she had jumped out of her bed and ran to her parents to show it, without even bothering to change out of her nightgown before going.

Not that they cared, as they were just as happy as Breha herself.

The mark was a small flower, on the inside of her left wrist, with seven rounded petals that turned to sharp points at the last second. Breha thought it looked a lot like a star, if one had been turned into a flower.

Her grandmother agreed when Breha showed the mark to her.

"It's a forest star", she told her, "they grow in very deep forests, where sunlight comes through the trees only in small dots, and all the colors are dark and the ground is always glistening with water."

She turned Breha's hand a little to see the mark better, as it was sitting off center, on the right side of Breha's forearm. She was quiet for a moment as she looked at it, clearly contemplating her next words.

"What is most notable of them", she said, finally, "is that they always grow in group of threes."

She ran her fingers over the mark once more, and then gave Breha's hand a little pat.

"It's a beautiful mark", she told Breha, smiling. "With a mark like that, you're going to have a wonderful soulmate, I already know it."

Breha believed her. She had been right about the mark. She would be right about her soulmate as well.

--- ---

Breha met Bail Prestor when she was just shy of seventeen, after she had finally gotten her feet properly back under herself. She noticed him immediately, and joined him and his father to a debate between few other noblemen of Alderaan, that had been invited to the Palace.

She took his side against one of them, and when Bail turned to look at her and smiled, a little unsure but genuine still, Breha felt like something had bloomed underneath her skin.

When she looked down, there was another flower on her arm, on the opposite side of her original one.

She lifted her eyes back to Bail, to see him looking at her now with surprise in his eyes and equal amount of surprise in the smile he still had on his face.

Breha smiled back at him, brightly, with joy and relief.

--- ---

"I will do my best", Bail promised her that night, "no matter what, I will be the soulmate you deserve."

Breha believed him.

"Thank you", she said. "I will do so as well, for you."

She was there for Bail just as much as Bail was for her, after all.

--- ---

"I must admit", Bail said one day, when they were walking through the gardens on a late afternoon. "I am still a little surprised about the mark."

"How so?" Breha asked. She had the feeling that Bail wasn't talking about being the soulmate of the Princess.

"My mother looked up the flower when I got my mark", he said. "She told me that they grow in threes. I expected you two have two flowers, or something similar, I think."

That was right. Breha glanced at their hands. They had both received each other's mark, so they had fullfilled the mark for each other, but the flowers sat apart from each other on their skins, leaving a gap between them.

A gap, just wide enough, that a third flower could fit in between, linking their flowers to each other.

"That would've made sense", Breha admitted. "My grandmother told me the same. We have fullfilled each other's marks, though. I think that is the most important thing."

"It is", Bail said. "It just makes me think..."

He looked down on their hands, and then up at the sky, right past the mountaintops.

"If there is someone out there, with a single flower on their hand", he murmured, reaching for Breha's hand as he spoke.

Breha laced their fingers together, and thought.

All marks had a meaning. A point of connection. Like her parents, with each one side of a whole constellation, two hands made of stars, always meant to be holding each other.

Wouldn't it mean something, too, for her and Bail to have flowers that always grew in threes?

Breha looked up at the sky as well, and she wondered.

--- ---

Years went by. Breha married Bail. She became the Queen.

There were two flowers on each of their arms, apart from each other, with just enough space for a third one in between them.

--- ---

Being a Queen was sometimes lonely work.

What her father had not told her, was that being a Senator was sometimes just as lonely.

During the longest days, Breha would look down on her hand, to the two flowers on her skin, her own and Bail's, and she would draw strength from seeing the proof of the connection she and Bail had, even when the void of space was in between them.

She knew Bail did the same, and Breha was happy that she had been able to give him that connection, that lasted over time and distance.

She looked at her mark for a long time, when the word of the war starting reached Alderaan.

--- ---

Bail was calling her in the middle of her Court.

Usually, when he had something to tell her during their work hours, Bail would send her a message and ask her to call him, or call Visaiya, if it was something more urgent. It wasn't like him to call her like this, without sending a word out first.

She looked up at her Ministers, and gave a signal.

"My deepest apologies", she said, standing up. "I am afraid that I have to take an incoming call right away from the Viceroy."

There were no objections. The war had forced them to raise their means of security on both Alderaan and Coruscant, especially since Bail had not confined himself to only inside the Senate and the House. Anything sudden regarding him was treated with utmost gravity.

She stepped outside the Courtroom into the foyer to answer.

"Are you alright?" She asked, instantly, when the call connected and Bail's image appeared. "What's going on?"

Bail didn't look injured or even angry or crestfallen or anything of the sort that she had kind of expected.

Instead, he looked almost flustered when he looked at her, his eyes wide open, like something entirely unexpected had happened.

"I am alright", Bail answered, and then drew in a deep breath. "Something has happened, and I needed to tell you about it right away."

Before Breha could ask more, Bail pulled up his sleeve, and turned his hand around to show her.

There, on the inside of his arm, right at his left wrist, were three flowers.

It was just like Breha had imagined it. The third flower, right in the middle of the other two, interlocked its petals precisely with the flowers on both sides of it, and so linked them all together, with no space left between them anymore.

Breha lifted her eyes to Bail, who was looking at her, like he was just waiting for her to say something.

Breha had just one thing to say to him.

"Who?" She asked.

"I don't know", Bail answered.

It was not what she had expected him to say at all.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I was just returning to my office", Bail said. "I had to wait a little since there had been some sort of incident, and the troopers needed a little more time to clear things up, and then I just felt it. And there it is, now."

Breha looked at the mark again.

Three flowers, right next to each other, interlocked.

There was a rule in giving and receiving another part of the mark, and fullfilling it.

There needed to be a point of connection in order for it to happen. It wouldn't happen simply for being in the same space with the other. There needed to be a moment of true attention, intentionally given and received, for the connection to happen.

That meant that Breha had more to ask.

"Who did you talk to?" She asked. "When it happened?"

She hadn't even needed to ask. Bail had already arrived back to the point himself.

"Oh", he said, then thought for a moment. "I think I need to have a word with the Commander of the Guard."

Breha knew from the moment Bail said those words, that many things were about to change irrevocably.

She looked Bail in the eyes, and she knew that he knew it too.

#this is a silly little two parter #I'm gearing up to writing the next chapter of more angst so I need to cleanse my palate a bit #anyway I thought about soulmate marks once and instead of just matching what if they completed each other #you give and you receive a part of the other person by fullfilling the mark for each other #and no soulmates don't need to be romantic but a soulmate is the person you can choose to trust the most #and I think that they def have political and societal implications as well #bc how do you argue with the mark given to someone by the universe itself #anyway Fox looking at his hand afterwards and going oh I'm in danger lmaooo #sw #tcw #my writing #Star Writing #Breha Organa #Bail Organa #Commander Fox #bail/breha/fox #Soulmate Marks AU

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imninahchan · 2 months ago

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𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐄       太陽. Ah, não tem problema se vocês se atrasarem um pouquinho, não é mesmo? [...] doll kink(?), finger sucking, corruption kink, dumbification, dirty talk, sexo sem menção à proteção, espelho. 𝓷. ּ ໑ ׅ

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𓇢𓆸 𝓞 queixo se apoia no seu ombro, os olhos castanhos encaram o seu reflexo no espelho largo do banheiro. Contempla. Aprecia a forma suave com que o bastão rubro suave do batom desliza pelos seus lábios. Quase suspira. E quando você devolve o olhar, nenhum dos dois consegue conter o sorriso.

Bobo, murmura, voltando a atenção à necessaire. Mexe entre os produtos, procura pela máscara de cílios. Enzo resvala o nariz no seu pescoço, instiga justamente a região posterior da orelha, onde sabe que vai conseguir te fazer arrepiar. Embora, você queira ignorá-lo e terminar de arrumar logo para saírem, o corpo se derrete sozinho, caindo nas mãos que resgatam firme a sua cintura.

“Tá tão bonita, nena”, a voz dele soa arrastada ao pé do seu ouvido. Te abraça por trás, prensa contra a pia de mármore. “Nem acredito que é minha...”

As palavras doces não falham em seu propósito: se rende aos encantos prontamente. Está recebendo beijos pelo ombro, lambidas discretas, e fecha os olhos, deixa o tubo da máscara de cílios escorregar por entre os dedos, dentro pia. Um desenrolar dessa forma já era de se esperar, seja sincera. Está sendo “observada” desde que escolheu o vestido que usaria essa noite. Tomaram banho juntos, e apesar do fato de que nada sórdido tenha acontecido, o desejo ainda estava presente.

Ele te viu perfumando a pele, arrumando os cabelos. Te auxiliou com as amarras e o fecho do vestido, a engatar o gancho dos sapatos. Fechou o cordão ao redor do seu pescoço, assistiu os anéis penetrando a extensão dos dedos; o par de brincos pequeninos, no lóbulo da orelha.

Gosta de testemunhar o jeito com que você se emboneca e, realmente, termina tão bonitinha quanto uma. As pálpebras tingidas, as bochechas saudáveis. É claro que o tesão o domina quando você sem roupa, mas quando está vestida... Não sabe explicar a razão pela qual o próprio âmago queima tanto. Existe algo na sua aparência ultra produzida que o acende e ascende. Mal espera para colocar as mãos em ti e ter o prazer de te desarrumar; o seu rostinho suado, o corpo fraquinho e a mente mais vazia que de uma bonequinha de verdade.

De novo, ele te observa pelo reflexo do espelho. Dessa vez, porém, sobe com a mão do seu colo até segurar o maxilar. O polegar suspende pelo seu queixo, acaba por ser bem aceito pelos seus lábios entreabertos. Sugado.

Enzo esvazia os pulmões, tenso.

“Não quero esperar a gente voltar”, te confessa o alto ponto da necessidade, “você quer?”

Você percorre a língua pelo dedo dele, não quebra o contato visual ao negar com um aceno. Sabia, princesa, ele sussurra.

“Uma pena que vai ter que ser rapidinho”, o escuta lamentando. É orientada a se debruçar sobre a pia, empinando o bumbum. O seu rostinho chega bem perto do espelho, a ponta do nariz praticamente relando no vidro. “Prefiro te comer com mais calma, mas fazer o quê...”, suspende a barra do seu vestido, puxa a calcinha.

Faz um carinho antes de entrar, brinca. O contato visual ainda se sustenta através do espelho, os sorrisos sendo trocados. Você ama quando ele te devora, adora ser amada. Quando ele está dentro, se entrega à sensação de fragilidade. O interior pulsa, baba. O corpo parece enfraquecido sob o domínio alheio, balança conforme as investidas te acertam. Se aproxima e afasta do próprio reflexo, como um balanço de parquinho.

Presenciar a cena te excita, não? É a junção do que é visualmente apelativo com a trilha sonora da colisão de pele com pele e os grunhidos dele. Não pensa mais onde estão, se vão deixar alguém esperando ou não. A mente limpinha lhe cai bem, realça as expressões de êxtase, permite que os gemidinhos mais manhosos escapem pelos lábios pintados. Num impulso, marca um beijo na superfície refletida, bem no ângulo em que encontra a boca do Vogrincic. Fofa, ainda abre um sorrisinho.

Enzo diminui o ritmo, usa as mãos para puxar a camisa. Está gesticulando negativamente, incrédulo, sorrindo de canto. “Ah, nena...”, resmunga, “Acho que não vou conseguir fazer tão rapidinho assim... Você não se incomoda se a gente se atrasar um pouquinho, não é boneca?”

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#imninahchan #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic smut #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic

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