#senate gown

[emdapaladima]

Some(not all) of Padmè's headdresses as featured in the limited edition of Dressing a Galaxy

[sw5w]

Honorable Representatives of the Republic...

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:27:47

[reasonsforhope]

"In short: Thailand's Senate has approved a bill legalising same sex marriage in the South-East Asian country.

It will afford same-sex couples practical benefits such as being able to have children through IVF and make emergency medical decisions for their spouse.

What's next? The first weddings may take place later this year, 120 days after the law is announced in the Royal Gazette.

Thailand has become the first nation in South-East Asia to legalise same sex marriage, with the country's Senate approving the landmark bill this afternoon.

The legislation was expected to pass after it cleared the country's House of Representatives in a near-unanimous vote in March.

Despite Thailand's bustling gay bars and prominent transgender community making it a mecca for LGBTQ+ tourists, until now local same-sex couples there have been unable to marry.

The law will take effect 120 days after its announcement in the Royal Gazette, so the first same sex weddings may take place later this year.

Couples who have been waiting years have hailed the move as a historic moment that will afford them rights only reserved for spouses.

A Lifechanging Law

Photos of Anticha and Worawan [including the article picture], dressed in floor-length white gowns and trailed by rainbow flags, getting married at Bangkok's first Pride Festival two years ago went viral, but they are still not legally married.

Now they will be able to change that, and Anticha Sangchai is elated.

"This will change my life and change many Thai people's lives, especially in the LGBT community," she said.

"It is a historical moment and I really want to join with my community to celebrate this moment.

"I want to send a message to the world that Thailand has changed. Even though there are still many issues, this is a big step for us." ...

There were an estimated 3.7 million LGBT people in Thailand in 2022, according to LGBT Capital, a private company which models economic data pertaining to the community around the world.

For the young couple from Bangkok, being able to marry also has very real practical implications.

If they want to have children through IVF, Ms Sangchai says they will need a marriage certificate first.

"I am quite concerned about the time because we are getting older every day, and the older you get the more difficult it is to have a healthy pregnancy," she said.

"So we've been really wanting this law to pass as soon as possible."

Cabaret performer Jena is excited Thailand's laws are finally catching up with the nation's image...

She too had worried about the practical implications of being unable to marry.

"For example, if myself or my partner had to go to hospital or there was an accident that needs consent for an emergency operation, without a marriage certificate we couldn't sign it," she said.

She now wants the government to move forward with a law to allow transgender people to amend their gender on official documents." ...

An Economic Boost?

Thailand has long been famous for LGBTQ tourism and there are now hopes this new law could allow the country to cash in on the aging members of the community.

Chaiwat Songsiriphan, who runs a health clinic for people in the LGBTQ community, said laws preventing same sex marriage were the last barrier holding the country back from becoming a gay retirement hub.

[Note: They do not just mean for rich westerners; Thailand as a gay retirement hub would probably appeal most to and definitely benefit LGBTQ people from throughout Asia.]

"Thailand has an LGBTQ-friendly environment since Thai culture is quite flexible," he said.

"One of my foreigner friends, a gay friend, told me that when he's in his country he has to pretend to be straight … but when he comes to Bangkok he said you can be as gay as you want.

"When we talk about retirement or a long-term stay for the rest of their lives, what people need is … food, good healthcare services, transportation, homes.

"I think Thailand has it all at a very affordable price."

He said it could help give the country a desperately needed economic boost.

"This will have a lot of benefits for Thailand's economy because when we talk about retirement it's people literally bringing all the money they have earned for the rest of their working lives to spend and invest here," he said.

He said he, like the rest of the community, was thrilled by the news.

"It's not about a privilege, it's just equality," he said.

"We are we also humans, so we should be able to marry the one we love.""

-via ABC Australia, June 18, 2024

[randomcanbian]

.

[milliesfishes]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 (𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽)𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓷𝓸𝔀 (𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭)

The domestic life had never been something Coriolanus had daydreamed about per se, but he'd known with the path he wanted it was nearly a given.

He'd known his choice in spouse would heavily influence the way this went. He'd aimed for someone pleasant, docile even.

You had been the best possible outcome. Though the marriage began as advantageous, he grew fond, and before he knew it, adoring.

Convinced you were sent by a higher power, he'd made sure to dress you in the best clothes, wrap you in the softest sheets, give you the best security money could buy. In addition, he gave what he had to you. His body was yours as well, and he made sure to remind you of the fact of it nearly every day.

His political pursuits only made him love you more, giving you an opportunity to shine in the spotlight. Sometimes he thought the public loved you more than he did, and he knew they loved you more than him. And he wouldn't have it any other way. You were a fine sight standing at his side at galas and dinners, photographing so well he wasn't convinced you weren't ethereal.

When you became pregnant, he rejoiced not just for the look of it, but for how miraculous you were. The sight of you carrying his child was a vision. And not that he cared as much, but it did wonders for his image to have a beautiful, glowing wife at his side, belly rounding with a baby.

Coriolanus marveled at the child after it was born, a son who was nothing short of a carbon copy of him. Motherhood suited you better than he could have dreamed, and the brightness you'd gained during your pregnancy made a home in you. He could hardly keep his hands off you, and he found you didn't want him to either.

The result of which was another bouncing baby boy, conceived less than a year after your first child was born. At this point, Coriolanus was in higher offices, and he had taken more time to be by your side, not wanting to miss a single second of anything.

Headlines far and wide praised the young, up-and-coming politician and his beautiful family, plastering the yearly portraits you commissioned across the front of magazines and newspapers. It was Panem's ideal, the four of you, and he used that image to propel him further and further up in politics, until he was up for the highest position in the country.

Presidency had been the end goal, of course, but he hadn't expected to reach it so soon. Once a boy with hardly a coin in his pocket, now a savvy, charming political powerhouse with a wife who was just the same.

The night he won his presidency, there were hours and hours of celebration, champagne and fireworks flowing freely. You hardly left his side, greeting dignitaries and senators, in a red gown he couldn't wait to unzip, dripping in diamonds he'd gifted you for the occasion. You looked every bit the perfect First Lady.

When the party had died down and he'd decided he wanted you all to himself, Coriolanus scooped you into his arms and whispered something to you that made you blush prettily. He started to kiss you once you were in the car and didn't stop all the way back to the mansion, up the stairs and into the bedroom. The children were long since put to bed, and he was excited to be alone with you.

"We did it," he whispered before he captured your lips yet again in a searing kiss. "You and me, darling. We'll run this country. We've got the world at our fingertips."

You traced his jaw delicately and slid your hand up to his hair, mussing his hair that'd stayed so perfect all night. "It's all you. You can do anything."

"Not without my wife," he murmured against your mouth. Coriolanus' hands grasped your hips, making you sigh and tug at his tie to loosen it. He ducked his head to your neck, lips trailing a tantalizing trail down to your collarbone. "My First Lady."

The way he said it made you shiver, and you pulled him by the shirt collar to the bed, pushing him down so you could sit on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. He grasped your waist, leaning back slightly as you kissed him slowly, almost teasingly.

Your lips parted for a moment, and he opened his eyes to watch you breathe, your smooth fingers unhooking his top shirt buttons. He nearly turned liquid when your hand lingered there, tracing his collarbone. The way your face was so serene, he knew you were thinking about something intently.

Then you smiled, taking his face in your hands, your eyes flickering between his. Leaning forward, you gave him the softest, wispiest kiss, and whispered, "I'm pregnant."

Coriolanus pulled back ever so slightly, searching your face. When he found you were serious, a grin split across your features, and he fell so his back hit the bed, rolling over so he was hovering over you. His lips touched every bit of your face he could reach, conscious of your delighted giggles. The night truly couldn't have gotten any better.

Fresh off celebration, he leapt straight into his presidential duties, finding himself more productive than he'd ever been before. Of course, he kept a close eye on you as well, sticking to his usual routine for your pregnancies. If he had a particularly long day, you'd come up to his study and crawl into his lap despite his protests that you needed to rest.

"Can't sleep without you," you'd murmur, knowing that would make him come to bed. He was nearly conscious of what you were doing, but he allowed it to happen, defenseless against your wide eyes and soft touches.

Pregnancy didn't stop you from your responsibilities as the First Lady, and he was in awe of it. You hosted regular dinners and parties as easy as breathing, attended charity events and actual charities, from soup kitchens to schools, animal shelters to women's homes. Coriolanus was amazed by you, how you truly cared to use your position to make things better

You discussed your experiences with him as well, casually mentioning things he may want to take a look at in terms of conditions and laws. He was touched by your goodness of heart, and even though as president he didn't have the final say in everything, you inspired change, encouraged him to truly make things better, not just maintain order.

As the months in the first year of his term progressed, Coriolanus had made the acquaintance of quite a few figures in the Capitol's tree of politics, making nice with them for the sake of diplomacy. They were all eager to cozy up to him, of course, and he kept it in mind as he chose who to be seen with.

There were three senators in particular, who had wives, and children the same ages as yours and Coriolanus' two boys. He cautiously allowed them to become closer. The men were amiable enough and their wives were...well, he wasn't fond of them but you, pure sunshine in physical form, had nothing but good things to say about them, and he thanked the stars for your sweet disposition.

You suggested he have them over for tea one day, saying it would be good for all of them. The boys could have a few more friends their age, you could entertain the other wives, and Coriolanus could talk business with the men. An all-around win, you'd called it.

Of course he'd agreed, your hold on him influencing his decision as usual. He wouldn't dream of fighting your sway, as it'd always produced wonderful results in the past. Coriolanus had long learned to trust you.

The day of you were stunning in a soft red dress that accentuated your rounding belly, and he made sure to tell you how beautiful you looked several times before everyone arrived.

Ever the gracious hostess, you greeted the other wives gracefully, settling on one side of the room with them and the children, allowing Coriolanus and the senators to have a modicum of privacy. As well as this, it made it so he didn't have to interact with the women with whom, he'd confessed to you secretly, he wanted as little to do with as possible. It was like you'd read his mind, and he made a mental note to thank you later.

It began smoothly. The senators were friendly, and their political proposals were fine ideas. He took note of the better ones, already plotting a joint strategy in his head. Whenever he glanced to the other side of the room, you were smiling, and the children were content.

About an hour in, however, he noticed you stand and exit swiftly out of the corner of his eye. That was unusual. He didn't pay it any real mind though, until it had been ten minutes and you still hadn't returned.

Coriolanus got to his feet and excused himself, making his way into the hallway and scanning the space for you. He heard sniffling around the corner, and when he went to investigate, he found you with a hand over your mouth, eyes closed as tears streamed down your cheeks.

His face fell, and he immediately took you into his arms, folding you into his chest and holding your head there the way he knew you liked. "Darling, what's the matter? What happened? Are you feeling alright?"

You let out a breathy sob, shaking your head. "Nothing, it's nothing. I'm just emotional. I'm always emotional."

A bold-faced lie. Coriolanus had heard stories of pregnant women crying at the drop of the hat, but you'd never been that way. Not with either of your sons and so far, not at all with this baby either, six months in.

"You can tell me," he decided on saying, smoothing your hair under his hand. "I don't care how little you think it is. I'll fix it no matter what."

"It's stupid," you breathed, your arms grasping around his middle.

"Easier to make better, then," he kissed the top of your head, trying ot coax you into confessing.

That softened your resolve, and you took in a breath. Maybe you could sense he wouldn't relent. Maybe you felt safe enough to tell him. Either way, or both, you started talking.

"The other wives..." you started, and he bit his tongue. His opinion was already low of them, and he had a feeling whatever they'd done would sink it to the depths. "They were making...comments. About how many babies we've had."

His brow furrowed. He hadn't even realized that was something to make 'comments' on. "What did they say?"

"Have you noticed none of them have more than one?" you looked up at him, your teary eyes piercing his. And he realized he'd never taken that into account, but it was true. "They impli- said that it was low class, district was the word one of them used, to do what we've done and have multiple children."

In shock, Coriolanus smoothed a hand over your rosy cheek, brushing another tear away. "That's ridiculous. How could the number of children we have determine our status?"

"Apparently because I'm married to the president, I'd be neglecting my responsibilities by portraying myself as a 'housewife'," you whispered, not meeting his eyes at that part. "It comes across as undignified." He was about to contradict you, when you said more. "And they were talking about my charity work, saying I do too much and I shouldn't be neglecting our boys-" your breath hitched on the word, and a fresh wave of tears ensued.

Coriolanus let you bury your face into his chest once more, not caring if you got makeup on his collar. This was more serious than something that could be rendered with dry-cleaning.

He was in disbelief that anyone would dare say such things to you, such things that were so blatantly untrue. And to your face, no less. He almost admired the boldness of it. The audacity of Capitol women truly knew no bounds. He knew jealousy when he saw it, having been an active devotee of it for much of his life. These women had put you in an impossible spot. You couldn't be a good enough mother, or a good enough First Lady in their eyes. His mind worked quickly, and he knew what he needed to do.

Lifting your chin, Coriolanus said, "Will you look at me, sweetheart?" You obliged, and his heart broke at the look in your eyes. He lifted his hands to cradle your face, the corners of his lips twitching when you leaned slightly into his palm.

"You are a wonderful mother," he emphasized. "Our boys adore you. And you do beautiful work for all your charities. Do you know how many remarks I get about how caring and selfless my wife is?" Your tears slowed down, and that encouraged him to continue. "You're perfect. Anyone who says otherwise doesn't know what they're talking about."

That made you smile, and he relished in how pretty you looked even after you'd been crying. Coriolanus kissed your hairline gently, and pulled you in for another hug, rubbing your back. "Why don't you go upstairs and rest for a bit? I'll join you in a moment."

"What about-?"

"I'll take care of it," he interjected firmly when you remembered everyone still sitting in the drawing room. Coriolanus leaned down and pressed a gentle peck to your mouth, enough to make you smile a little more. "Go on up."

You left him, and he watched you walk down the hallway to the stairs, looking so small in the vast, grand expanse.

Somewhat regrettably, the senator's proposals would have to be rejected. Although maybe there was a way to twist them, so they were just different enough from their specific wording to make them seem like his. Maybe they would protest, but it didn't matter. Their wives had disrespected you, the center of Coriolanus' world, and so they wouldn't reap any benefits. And besides, nobody would believe them.

Perhaps it was a little early in his presidency to have someone ejected from society, but he would certainly try. Anyone who dared question you, his sweet, kind, darling wife, would have hell to pay.

Coriolanus was the president of Panem. He could do as he pleased.

And he'd exhaust every last resource to keep you happy by his side.

[furious-blueberry0]

I really need to understand who, in the fucking seven hells, not only designed this thing and thought it looked good, but also thought that it would have been a gown good enough for the fucking Galactic Senate of the Republic.

It looks so cheap, the symbol of the order looks like one of the patches I have on my backpack, the completely white textureless dress is boring as fuck, the shape of the cloak is atrocious and the material of it looks like an old curtain my grandma had, that was chewed by our dog.

I really don’t get how a serie with 180 million managed to have such cheap quality for literally everything.

Like, where the fuck did those millions go, to the mafia?

Both The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones had a budget of 115 million!!!! Just look at the stunning dresses that they made for those movies:

LOOK AT THE DETAILS!! AT THE TEXTURES!!!! AT THE SHAPES!!!!!! LOOK AT THEM.

And now they wanna make me believe that that thing Vernestra is wearing is supposed to be a Senatorial gown???? They could have at least tried to make the style more Jedi-like but no, they needed too much creativity for that I guess...

[nahoney22]

Hello happy today.

I just read all of your Rex x reader smut oneshots and damn it was sooooooo good,

so I would like to ask if you want to write a Rex x fem!reader with some smutty smut😉 where reader wears a long silky dress and Rex is head over heels for her when she wears it. reader can be a jedi or Senator you decide .

Hope you want to do it and if you don't want to thats totally fine.

Thank you if you do and if you don't thanks for the other storys with rex, ima go read the other ones now.

Bye.

Nightcap*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Captain Rex X SenatorFemale!Reader

word count: 1.9k

prompts: none

When Anakin assigns Rex to a new task, he didn’t expect he would be looking after a Senator. He also didn’t expect to fall in love with you either.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language, senate female reader who is wearing a long silky dress (you decide the colour), flirting, Rex gets jealous, minor alcohol consumption, mutual pining, forbidden relationship, friends to lovers, cunnilingus, heavily implied sex.

Sorry for the wait @msblacklupin , enjoy 🩵🌊

Captain Rex stood at attention as his General, Anakin, briefed him on his new assignment: To personally protect the newly appointed Galactic Senator. Rex’s jaw tightened at the task at first. Babysitting a politician wasn’t exactly what he signed up for. However, orders were orders, and he would see it through—no matter how tedious.

But when Rex first met you, the senator in question, his thoughts shifted unexpectedly. You weren’t the stuffy, self-absorbed type he had expected. No, you were something entirely different—warm, kind, and genuinely interested in the people around you. And beautiful. Rex found it hard to ignore just how beautiful you were, though he kept such thoughts to himself.

It was actually starting to annoy him.

Even when his brothers, Jesse and Fives to be precise, nudged and teased him about what he thought of you, he remained tight-lipped, refusing to indulge their curiosity.

As the days turned into weeks, Rex began to appreciate more than just your looks. You were smart, compassionate, and refreshingly authentic. You listened to the clones’ stories, asked about their lives, and treated them with respect.

The moment he knew you were special was when he came with you during a Senate meeting. He stood quietly by your side, witnessing as you passionately defended the clones’ right to continue serving. Another senator had suggested phasing them out, referring to them as mere tools of war. But you weren’t having it.

“Tools?” you’d snapped, voice firm and unwavering. “These men are individuals with thoughts, feelings, and rights. If you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve to represent them—or anyone.”

His chest tightened with a swell of emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. You weren’t just defending clones; you were defending him. It was a level of care he wasn’t used to receiving, especially from someone in such power.

As the days passed, your bond with Rex deepened and it was safe to say the two of you were friends. But, he was also falling for you. Foolishly.

He didn’t realise it at first but when he found himself lingering a little longer during conversations, savouring the moments when you laughed or smiled, he knew he was in trouble.

At night, alone, he would tell himself it’s just a minor crush, something a lot of clones had on Jedi’s or Senator’s who respected them. But you were hard to ignore. Especially after the night of a Galactic Ball.

Assigned to escort you, and though he tried to remain focused on his duty, his breath caught in his throat when you stepped out in your gown. The floor-length, slinky dress shimmered like liquid silk, clinging to every curve. You were stunning in a way that nearly made him forget himself.

“You okay Cap?” You asked through the mirror as you slide your earrings in, noticing him watching you.

“Yes.” He clears his throat and also his gaze, “Never better Senator.”

As you made your rounds at the ball, engaging in tedious conversations with politicians and whoever else, Rex stood close by, vigilant. But beneath his stern exterior, he couldn’t help but feel the twinge of something more—a subtle possessiveness and jealousy when others gave you rather appreciative glances. He told himself it was just his job, but deep down, he knew it was something else entirely.

After hours of enduring the ball, you turned to Rex, your eyes pleading for an escape. “I’ve had enough of this,” you whispered. “Would you mind accompanying me back to my quarters? We could have a nightcap?”

Rex hesitated, torn between protocol and the unspoken pull you had on him. “I shouldn’t. I’m on duty.”

But your smile, soft and inviting, melted his resolve. “Just for a little while? I could use the company.”

You sink into the plush, teal couch in your quarters, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as the opulent surroundings offer a sharp contrast to the exhaustion etched in your posture. "Those grand balls can be a bit much for me," you murmur, kicking off your heels and letting them clatter to the floor.

Rex, ever observant, watches you with quiet appreciation. "They do seem... exhausting," he agrees. He strides over to the small bar, picking up a crystal decanter of Corellian whiskey. "Would you like a drink, Senator?"

You glance at him and nod gratefully. "Please. And pour one for yourself too, Captain. You've been on duty all evening; you deserve it."

He arches an eyebrow, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Rex pours two drinks, the amber liquid swirling in the glasses, before handing one to you. He takes a seat beside you, maintaining a respectful yet comfortable distance.

"You know," Rex begins, taking a sip and fixing you with his sharp gaze, "this life suits you. The grandeur, the politics, the elegance; it all fits you perfectly."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head as you take a sip. "It's ironic you say that. I come from very humble beginnings. My upbringing was far from grand or luxurious; my family scraped by, making ends meet wherever they could." Your gaze grows distant, lost in past memories. "Sometimes, I feel like I don't belong.”

Rex's brow furrows in concern, his focus entirely on you. "I never would have guessed," he says sincerely. "You carry yourself with such grace and strength. No one would ever suspect you came from anything less than this." He gestures to the elegant surroundings.

A small smile tugs at your lips, warmed by his compliment. "It's all just a facade, though. Half the time, I’m questioning if I’m doing the right thing. These politics, the decisions… There's always doubt, this fear that I'm not enough."

Your voice wavers slightly, and Rex instinctively shifts closer, closing some of the distance between you. His gaze is intense, his expression softening as he tries to reassure you. "You're more than enough," he says, his tone firm with conviction. "I've seen how you fight for what's right, how much you care about people—not just those in power, but everyone. That's rare, and it's exactly what this galaxy needs."

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, the world outside seems to fall away. The air between you thickens, charged with something more than just friendly concern. Reaching for your drinks at the same time, your hands brush as you both reach for the same glass. You laugh softly, trying to play it off. "Oops, my mistake."

But the brief touch sends a spark through you, one that's hard to ignore. Rex’s gaze lingers on you, his usual composure cracking slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Your dress has ridden up slightly as you crossed your legs, revealing more of your thigh. His eyes flick downward, betraying his deeper interest.

Flirting bubbles up naturally, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Captain, are you sure you're not getting distracted? I noticed the way you were watching me earlier, in the mirror while I was getting ready."

Rex flushes slightly but doesn't shy away. "You looked... incredible. It was hard not to watch." His voice grows more serious, almost reverent. "I admire you more than I can say. You're strong, intelligent, and beautiful. Desirable, even."

The word slips out before he can stop it, and you raise an eyebrow, amused. "Desirable, huh?" you echo, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Just how desirable do you think I am?"

Rex swallows, clearly conflicted, but the attraction between you both is undeniable. His resolve falters as you reach out, taking his hand and guiding it to the silky fabric of your dress. "Go on," you murmur, your tone a mix of challenge and invitation. "You can touch."

His hand rests on your waist, fingers splayed over the smooth fabric as he pulls you closer. The tension finally snaps, and suddenly, his lips are on yours, the kiss fierce and hungry. There’s a moment of hesitation as he pulls back, guilt flashing in his eyes. "I'm breaking so many protocols right now," he mutters, breathless.

You smile, cupping his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips. "So am I, Captain. But it’s worth it, don’t you think?"

That’s all the encouragement Rex needs. He leans back in, his mouth crashing onto yours with a desperation that’s been building for weeks. The kiss is intense, a mixture of longing and release, his hands roaming your body as yours eagerly strip away his uniform. Piece by piece, his armor falls away until he's left in just his blacks.

You giggle as you’re pulled onto his lap, your dress pooling around you. His lips move from your mouth down to your neck, trailing heated and precise kisses along your skin, each one sending shivers down your spine.

“Rex…” you breathe out, your voice filled with need as your fingers graze over his blond buzzed hair.

He groans your name in response, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as he moves lower. Before you can process what’s happening, he gently eases himself down onto the floor. His large hands part your legs, and with a smoldering look, he hooks his fingers under your dress, pushing it higher until it’s bunched around your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire as he kneels between your legs, the sight of you as he tucked your dampened panties to the side, exposed infront of him.

He lowers his head, his mouth descending onto your most sensitive spot. The sensation is electric—his tongue and lips working against your folds with a mix of precision and passion that makes your back arch. You moan his name, your fingers landing on the back of his head as you guide him all the while he devours you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. “Mmm, you taste wonderful.”

Rex holds nothing back, lost in the taste of you, the sound of your pleasure driving him to give more. He alternates between soft licks and firm pressure, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants you. The world around you blurs, the worries of your job fading as the only thing grounding you was the steady rhythm of his mouth and the overwhelming pleasure building inside you.

Your hips start to buck involuntarily, desperate for more as the tension coils tighter. “Rex, I’m so close,” you gasp out, your voice shaking as your body begins to tremble.

He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t think he would be able to.

Doubling down on his efforts as his brown eyes bore into yours, his tongue flicks in just the right way that sends you spiralling over the edge. Your climax crashes through you, your legs clamping around his head as you cry out in ecstasy. “F-Fuck!” You cry, body shaking.

Rex keeps going until he’s wrung every last tremor from you, only pulling back when you’re completely spent. He looks up at you, his lips slick, eyes dark with a mix of satisfaction and lingering desire. His hands gently stroke your thighs as you catch your breath, still trembling from the intensity.

When you finally regain your composure, you pull him up, capturing his mouth in a deep, languid kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “I want more,” you whisper against his mouth, your tone both needy and commanding.

Rex grins, his voice low and full of promise. “Then I’ll give you everything I’ve got, Senator.”

🌊 Masterlist is Pinned 🌊

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[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 35

A/N: The center photo is indicative of the reader's gown only. Not her appearance which isn't defined.

Part 35: Dance with the Devil

Series Masterlist

Words: 5.2k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, intimidation, dark seduction. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

"You are almost ready," Yelena said with a smile, just after the stylists left. "Now the jewelry."

You paused, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your gown was an exclusive creation by a top designer, a beautiful sleeveless, a-line creation in layers of tulle, sequins, and matte satin. Shades of pale blue and gold transformed you, enhanced by the ornate way your hair was done, the subtelty of your carefully applied makeup. Beneath you wore the most elegant little gold heels that were surprising comfortable despite their minimal style. The stockings were sheer, hugging your upper thighs just below the skimpy ice-blue panties you wore.

The mention of jewelry brought up an unhappy memory and you knew Yelena recalled it too when your gaze met hers. How your husband's ex-mistress smuggled her necklace in for you to wear on another special occasion had never been solved.Had it been Neal? Hansen? A reminder from the not-too-distant past that your enemies could reach you at any time. A reminder to be vigilant. 

"What jewelry?" you asked carefully.

Yelena smiled. "I picked it up myself," she told you, lifting a delicate strand of diamonds set in gold from a black velvet box on the bed. 

When she draped it around your throat, you smiled at the way it completed your look. There were matching earrings, diamond studs each with a teardrop diamond dangling and catching the light. The set was exquisite. 

"Harry Winston," your friend told you, admiring how they looked on you.

"Nice of them to loan these for the ball," you told her, grateful you got to wear them. 

Yelena reached for the golden mask on the bed, holding it to you. "No loan. Steve bought them."

What?

"These must have cost a fortune," you mused. They probably cost more than everything else you owned combined. "Glad you're going with us. I'd hate to get mugged for these."

Yelena grinned. "Security is going to be tight already with so many important people there. The mayor will be there. One of the state senators."

You scoffed. "Why am I going? I'm no one special."

"But you are," Yelena told you. 'The fact that everyone wants you has been a powerful motivator in this game of chess. Your husband is completely devoted to you. Barnes would love to get his hands on you."

"Barnes would ring my neck the first chance he got," you pointed out.

Yelena's expression was difficult to read. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hansen would for sure kill me," you said, putting your mask in place carefully. The soft mask of golden sequins fit over your eyes. 

Yelena's gaze dropped at the mention of the name and you were ashamed. You needed to work harder not to bring that up to her. And you needed a subject change. Fast.

"Who's going to be here with Nat tonight?" You weren't surprised Nat didn't want to go. She'd been through so much between the horrific end of her abusive marriage and all trauma of years being left to the sadistic nature of Banner. You wanted to make sure she was well looked after while you and Steve were gone.

"Clint is staying here of course," Yelena said quietly. "Dyson will be here too. He's arranged for extra security for the house tonight."

You nodded your approval. "What about Scott?"

"He's coming with us," Yelena explained. 

You smiled. Scott going had little to do with keeping you and Steve safe and everything to do with spending time with Yelena. You were pretty sure Yelena was aware of Scott's infatuation with her. Would she ever return his affections? You didn't know. Considering her tragic history, you weren't sure she could feel the same way towards him or anyone. But in the time you'd known Scott, you learned he was a good man who always had your back and never once questioned your authority. You trusted him with your life. You trusted him with Yelena too.

But would she ever give him - or anyone - a chance after all she'd been through?

You blew out an exhale, preparing yourself for the night ahead. "I guess we should let Steve know I'm ready."

"He knows," a deep voice caught you and Yelena both off guard. 

Your husband strolled into the bedroom and Yelena stepped back to allow him a clear path to you. He looked breathtakingly handsome in the classic black tuxedo he wore, tailored perfectly to fit his tall, broad-shouldered physique. His tawny hair was perfectly styled, diamond cufflinks winking in the light. His tie was shades of gold and blue to match your gown, a subtle touch but one you appreciated.

Steve moved to stand behind you in the mirror of your vanity, bending to fit his handsome face in the reflection with yours. 

"You look so beautiful," he said with something like reverence in his voice. "I can't wait to show you off."

"I'll be downstairs," Yelena said, making her way out to give you some privacy. "We worked very hard on her, boss. Don't mess her up."

Steve smiled at what he took as a playful warning, his large hands smoothing over your bare shoulders. Slowly, you removed the mask, placing it in your lap with your hands. His watchful gaze didn't miss the slight tremble of their movements.

"Everything is going to be fine," he explained. "I've been to this event before. All the rich, politic elite of Boston come out to dance and drink the night away and wallow in excess. It's probably Tony's favorite night of the year."

You could see it. And you were excited to go to the annual masquerade ball, as Steve's wife and not his trophy, and to enjoy a fabulous night on the town. You felt like Cinderella, going to the ball in the gown that truly looked as if magic had created it.

But you couldn't fight back an impending sense of dread. It had been so quiet in the weeks of your recovery and Steve's. Life went on. You were included in all the family's business meetings. The family business had recovered and was branching out, deals with three of the other four families made things even better. 

Not that you agreed with all of it. You weren't crazy about the loan sharking or protection deals the family made. The casinos and restaurants didn't bother you as much. And at least the family wasn't making any money off drugs or trafficking. Some of the stories about the business and how other families operated you heard now were just horrific. You made up your mind early that no matter what, you'd never allow the family to make money off the misfortunes of women and children. Never.

It had been very quiet where the Barnes family was concerned. Too quiet.

"I'll  be the envy of every man there tonight," he murmured, pressing a kiss into your neck. The soft brush of his beard made you shiver. A sensual smiled curved Steve's lips. "Are you ready?"

You nodded. You trusted your husband. You were going to do your best to have a wonderful night, just like he intended.

And still that little kernel of dread lingered.

You felt like you were in an old Hollywood movie to walk down the staircase on your husband's arm with the gown flowing softly with your movements. Honestly, you were grateful for Steve's help in keeping you balanced, relieved when you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Dyson, Yelena, Scott, Clint and Nat were a small crowd, watching in admiration as you approached. Nat's smile was all you needed to feel like a princess. Her lovely green eyes lit up as her gaze swept over you. 

"You look perfect," she exclaimed, carefully hugging you. "I knew that gown was the one."

Nat had been the one to find it when the two of you went out shopping for it. And you were all too happy to give her the credit. You knew very little about fashion. You would learn. Until you did, it was nice to have the advice of someone who already understood it.

As Nat stepped back, you forced yourself to smile. She still looked so small, so frail. She had yet to gain weight and regain her amazing figure. Your sister-in-law seemed fragile, even with the protection and love of the man she'd always wanted. Even with the full support and love of her brother. It worried you.

Dyson looked worried too, but as you did, he put on a quick smile. "You two had best get going. The line at dropoff takes forever."

"True enough," Steve said, nodding to Yelena and Scott.

You stopped to hug Dyson. "Keep her safe for me," you whispered.

"You know I will," he muttered.

Steve whisked you away to the sleek black limousine waiting in the driveway. Its glossy, jet-black exterior reflected the fading sunlight with a mirror-like finish. The long, streamlined body stretched gracefully, its tinted windows offering privacy and adding to its air of mystery. Scott climbed in behind the wheel and Yelena rode shotgun as Steve got you into the back seat, helping you keep your gown away from the doors. Once you were settled, you studied your husband. Something was missing.

"Did you bring a mask?" you asked him. 

Steve smiled, pulling a small black mass from inside his tuxedo coat. No sequins, just a matte black mask he could wear. But he wasn't interested in the mask as he fidgeted with it. He was too busy staring at you.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

You couldn't help the smile the question brought on. "Yes."

Steve looked pleased. "As time goes on and things settle down, we'll get out more. Do more things like this. You look like a princess tonight."

Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes at his heartfelt words. He meant them. He was taking you out to a society function, dressed you up like you were going to the fucking Oscars. A night out like nothing you'd ever experienced before. You'd been excited since he told you he got the tickets a few weeks ago.

"There are going to be a lot of people there, sweetheart," Steve explained quietly. "I'm sure Belova went over everything with you. But I need you to listen. You are going to be with me at all times. If you're not with me, you'll be with Belova and Lang. No wandering off to talk to people or sightsee. Okay?"

You nodded. Yelena had covered the plans thoroughly while she helped you get ready for the evening. 

"If I have to talk business for a moment, Belova will be with you. You have to go to the ladies' room, Belova will be with you," he continued. "Take it easy on the drinks. You're not used to alcohol and I need you vigilant tonight. We're going to have a wonderful time but..."

"I understand," you told him. "Besides, I don't want to miss any part of tonight because I'm drinking. It's my first masquerade ball. I'd like to enjoy every minute of it."

The smile Steve flashed you had your heart fluttering in your chest.

"There will be dancing, right?" you asked.

"Of course," he told you. 

"You'll dance with me?" Would Steve dance with you to a beautiful ballad or classic song?

Reaching over, he tipped up your chin with his fingers, his touch careful. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you when you smile at me like that. I love you."

"I love you, too." 

His lips were a teasing brush against your own but in seconds it deepened, filled with longing and need. 

The sharp wrap on the dark glass that separated the two of you in the back seat of the limo from Scott and Yelena up front scared you. Then the glass slid down just a couple of inches. 

"Later," Yelena admonished. "I worked too hard on her for this party, boss."

You froze thinking that was going to piss your husband off but he laughed. "Okay, sorry," he called back to her.

It made you happy. Ever since everything happened that day between your family and Barnes', your husband and your best friend got along a lot better. Steve was kinder to her, treated her with the same respect as he would any of the men in his employ. That being the case, Yelena felt comfortable enough to tease him about things like tonight. She worked hard on carefully picking her moments with him to tease. She did even better at being thoughtful when offering criticism or advice. The fact that they were getting along better just made your life easier.

"That's supposed to be privacy glass," he said, still grinning.

"Or she's just that good at her job." Honestly, she was.

"After the ball," Steve said once the privacy glass has slid back up, "I want you out of that dress. Especially if you want to keep it."

The sly warning had you grinning. "I would like to keep it. It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

"Noted," your husband said. "I'll do my best to contain myself until you get the gown to safety."

The heated looks he cut you the entire way into Boston made you wonder if he'd be able to. You couldn't wait to find out.

Once you reached the venue, you saw there was indeed an endless line of limos in the que leading up to the door. It moved surprisingly fast. Within ten minutes, Scott pulled up to the door and Yelena darted out to open the door for you. Before you could reach for her hand, Steve was there, helping you out of the back of the car with ease and ushering you up the carpeted stairs with Yelena behind you. The decorations and festive lighting dazzled you as you moved along on Steve's arm. The way the soft light reflected off the gown you wore made you feel like you were in a fairytale. 

Steve stopped and greeted more than a few gentlemen on the way into the venue. One man you recognized as a senator and the easy way the two men spoke had you curious. Did the senator know who Steve was? Were they old friends? For a moment, the two of them seemed to forget all going on around them. Just as quickly, the senator's gaze fell on you and the handsome older man smiled. 

"Is this your new bride?" the senator asked.

"She is," Steve replied, introducing you with obvious pride. You meant to shake the man's hand. He kissed the back of yours in an old fashioned gesture. You found him completely charming. 

"Have you been to the masquerade before?" the senator asked.

You shook your head. "This is my first one."

The man smiled. "I hope you enjoy tonight. If I get the chance, I'll introduce you to my wife. It's one of her favorite nights of the year."

"I'd like that," you told him. "It was nice to meet you."

Was it your imagination that Steve watched you with such wonder? Once his conversation with the senator ended, he led you further into the venue where the main ballroom was all prepared, looking like a view from a movie set. 

Clusters of elegant tables arranged in a wide horseshoe shape framed the dance floor, each adorned with lavish centerpieces sparkling beneath the soft glow of the majestic chandelier overhead. The chandelier's light cascaded down like a shimmering waterfall, casting a warm, golden hue over the room, making every surface gleam. A full bar stood ready, offering the finest drinks, while an orchestra played a symphony of enchanting melodies, weaving through the air like a spell. The room was a sea of Boston's political powerhouses, movie stars, and the wealthy elite, all dressed in exquisite gowns and tailored suits, their masks concealing only their identities—not their status. As you paused to take it all in, your husband's familiar warmth pressed against your back, grounding you in the moment as the dazzling scene unfolded before your eyes.

"What do you think?" Steve's whisper at your ear made you shiver.

"I love this," you told him with enthusiasm. "Thank you for bringing me tonight."

"You don't have to thank me." Your husband took your hand, looking like a tawny-haired prince in his tuxedo and black mask, and led you to the dance floor. Your surprise must have shown on your face because he laughed as he swept you into his arms at the edge of the dancing crowd and led you in an easy waltz.

Steve was a wonderful dancer much to your surprise. He led you with an easy grace that you delighted in and found easy to keep up with given your own love of dance. You knew you had to be staring at him but he kept you close, enjoying your surprise.

"When did you learn to dance like this?" you had to ask after he twirled you around gracefully. 

"It's not so hard," he said, his attention solely on you. "Not nearly as hard as your type of dancing."

Ballet was discipline but dancing a perfect waltz wasn't easy either. You were impressed. 

"Is this why you got us all dressed up?" you teased. "So you could show off your dancing skills?"

Steve chuckled. "Is there something wrong with wanting to have a magical night with your wife?"

You were delighted. But you knew it wasn't the only reason Steve brought you here. And now that you were involved in the family business, you weren't offended by the other reason the two of you were there.

Not long before he married you, Steve had acquired a prized property on the outskirts of Boston. He'd been so involved with marrying you and taking over the families he'd neglected it for a time. Now his attention was back on it, plans were being made to develop it. Together, you'd decided on an exclusive resort with fine dining, glitzy nightclubs, and a casino for the wealthy. It was a massive investment and to make it work, certain permits would need to be acquired. The senator and a few key businessmen there tonight could make or break the project that would expand your family's wealth. 

It was a very important night for Steve.

He'd be spending some time talking to these gentlemen tonight which is why Yelena and Scott were there, to keep you safe. You really didn't mind. You felt like Cinderella at the ball in the beautiful gown that flowed and captured the light with your movements as you danced with your husband among the wealthy citizens of the city. As the two of you moved through the dance, you caught a glimpse of Yelena, dressed in her dark suit and standing next to Scott, blending into the background. Your best friend's gaze never left you. Scott's never left her. You smiled, enjoying the beauty of the moment, dancing with your husband at your very first masquerade ball.

When the dance came to an end, it took you a moment to realize it. One of the musicians announced the band would take a short break and be back in just a few minutes. Steve's hand at your lower back urged you to turn. The senator making his way towards you with a lovely older lady at his side. 

The senator's wife was polished from head to toe. Her gown was bright pink layers of satin that matched her lipstick. Otherwise her white hair and face gave her a cold countenance, like she was an ice queen dressed for her best guess at spring. Her eyes were dark, small and mean as her gaze swept over you. The senator assured you that you and his wife would have plenty to talk about. As the woman stood there studying you with pursed lips, you decided talking to her probably wasn't the best idea.

Steve's gaze met yours and he nodded as he let the senator lead him away, leaving you with the judgy woman before you.

"This must be a special night for you," she said tartly.

Straightening your spine, you smiled. "Why is that?"

The woman's white brows rose slightly but a smile played about her lips. "You don't belong here."

"Excuse me?" You kept your smile in place.

"My father was a direct descendent from The Mayflower," she informed you. "We're practically royalty here. We built our fortune through hard work and our good name. You, on the other hand, come from poverty and crime. You father crawled out the shadows and robbed good people blind. That's why you have the money to play dress up and act like you belong here. We all know your husband fancies himself some sort of underworld prince. But he doesn't belong here either."

Oh, no, she didn't just put you and your husband down. Lifting your chin, you looked her in the eye.

"Your ancestors came over on a ship over four hundred years ago and nobody cares anymore," you told her. "You can pretend to be royalty, and tell yourself you made your money working hard and protecting your good name. But the sad truth is, your family made your money the same way mine did. In fact, your family probably paid mine to keep from getting your hands dirty or to protect your interests. And my husband is the king of Boston's underworld and so was my father before him. You may be someone in society right now, but your husband is currently anelected official. If you were smart, you'd spending a little more time being respectful."

Gracefully as you could manage, you turned your back to the rude woman and marched off. Yeah, maybe you hurt your husband's chances of getting the permits you needed for the project development once she talked to her husband. But you weren't about to put up with someone like that. 

You looked all around for Yelena. You were dying to tell her about the conversation you'd just had. But you weren't watching where you were going and you collided with someone hard.

And whoever he was, he caught you in his arms, sweeping you out onto the dance floor as another waltz began. He was as tall as your husband and the scent of his expensive cologne was familiar. You realized who held you a beat before he spoke, a low purr by your ear.

"Did you miss me, beautiful?"

Barnes.

Easing back, you glanced up at your uninvited dancing partner, wearing an aura of allure and danger with ease. Barnes' chiseled jawline was partially obscured by the intricately designed black mask he wore, adorned with silver accents catching the light. Those steely-blue eyes were shadowed but still piercing, glinting with a cold intensity as his gaze met yours.

His tuxedo was entirely black and tailored to perfection, hugging his muscular frame effortlessly. His attire seemed to absorb the light, creating a sense that he came from the shadows. Even his shirt was dark onyx, subtle embroidery only revealing itself when he moved. And he felt strong as he held you, solid and healed.

Stop staring at the man and answer.

"I haven't thought about you at all," you told him, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite hitting that note.

As much as you hated to admit it, Barnes was undeniably handsome. From the way his hair was slicked back with precision to the confident smirk curling his lips, the man was... magnetic. But there was a sinister edge beneath the polished surface. There always had been. Barnes' posture was too poised, his movements too calculated. Every inch of him whispered danger, a wolf in the presence of unsuspecting lambs.

Pulling you close to him, Barnes chuckled. "I don't believe that. I think you I live rent free in that beautiful head of yours."

"Maybe," you said, feeling his smile widen. "I do think about how I wished we'd used more poison."

Now he laughed, a deep rich sound. "I don't doubt that."

"What do you want?" You looked anywhere but at him. Still, you were so focused on the predator that held you, you weren't really seeing your surroundings. The music, the lights, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

"What do you think I want?" Barnes asked.

As Barnes swept you around the floor, your mind scrambled for a comeback. "Your hands around my throat," you said, going with honesty. "And me dead?"

Leaning in, he ran his nose gently up the column of your neck, making you shiver. "Oh, I did. I really did. And I could have made that happen."

You were dangerously close to having him think he had the upper hand here. "No, you couldn't."

Again, he chuckled. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" Releasing you only long enough to spin you in the dance, he pulled you back into him tightly. "You made peace with your husband. You're now involved in the family business. I would call Steve a pussy for even thinking about that if it were any other woman. But you're not just any woman. But you're special."

You missed a step in your alarm. How the hell did Barnes know you were in the all the family business meetings now? And that you and Steve had made peace? The questions triggered your anxiety, reminding you of the days early in your marriage when Neal had been Barnes' rat and you were always looking over your shoulder. Was someone else talking to Barnes?

"A long time ago, your mother seduced my father," Barnes whispered. "She tore my family apart. And when you came along and you weren't the poor disfigured little girl we were told you were, I assumed you were a little whore like your mother. You look almost exactly like her. Has anyone told you that?"

You didn't answer, trying hard to put a little space between the two of you. Where was Steve? It wouldn't be too conspicuous if he broke in on the dance. If Yelena or Scott came to save you, it could create a scene and unwanted attention. 

"I even thought maybe, horrible thought I know," Barnes went on, "that you might be my half-sister. But it didn't take me long to realize that wasn't true either. Besides, that devious little mind in there, hidden behind all that beauty? You didn't get that from your mother. Or my father."

"What's it to you?" you snapped at him, trying to pull off pissed even though you held anger and fear in equal measure. "I'm Steve's wife. He's your boss. You'd do well to remember that."

Barnes was unfazed. "You're Steve's wife. For now. But he can't handle you." Barnes leaned closer, his gaze locking with yours. "You should belong to someone stronger."

Now you really were getting pissed. "I don't need you or any man, including my husband, to tell me who I am and what I should be doing," you said.

"You may be right," he purred. "But it's that attitude, that fire. It got me thinking... I had the wrong idea about you from the beginning. Yeah, all the bitterness from the past clouded my judgment for a while. I wanted you dead and buried next to your loser husband." When you tried to pull free of him, he tightened his grip. His grin widened. "Now I realize you're exactly what I need."

"For what?" You didn't know how much of your glare he got from behind your mask.

"To finally take my rightful place," he said as if it were gospel. "The position occupied by your current husband."

Current husband? Who the fuck did he think he was?

"Our children will be kings and queens," Barnes went on. "That dynasty would rule Boston for decades."

"My children with Steve will rule Boston," you told him angrily. "And when we're done with you, no one will even remember the Barnes family."

"One day," he said with meaning, leaning closer, "you'll be mine."

Despite yourself, you shivered. Barnes caught it.

"You want me too," he whispered. "I'll make you admit it."

As the song neared its end, you were prepared to do whatever you had to do to get away from the bastard, the man who'd done so much damage to your family. As the last strains of the symphony ended, Barnes released you to bow. You did curtsy to him, then you straightened.

"I will never be yours." You meant it with every fibre of your being. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my husband."

Barnes' grin didn't fade. "Better find a way to keep him safe."

You spun on your heel, marching off the dance floor. You needed air, and a moment to calm down. You were blinking back tears, you were that angry. You felt someone on your heels as you made you way out of the main event room out ornate glass doors left open. It was chilly out there but you welcomed it, fighting back anger.

"Are you okay?" Yelena asked, her hand at your back as you gripped the railing and hung on. 

"No, I'm not... o-fucking-kay," you said, trying to regain your composure. "He came out of nowhere."

"He did," Yelena said. "He got to you so quickly after you talked to the senator's wife."

"Where's Steve?" you asked.

"Talking very intently to the senator," she replied. "It appears to be going well."

You had to wonder if that would still be true once the senator's wife caught a moment to tell her husband and your little "talk."

But you had bigger problems right now. Barnes.

"Barnes is all healed up," you told her. Looking beyond her, you saw Scott by the entranceway back into the ball. "And he's got big plans."

"He wants you," Yelena said it. "That much was obvious. It gives me some idea of his plans."

You nodded. "Don't say anything to Steve or Scott right now. I just want to find a glass of champagne to take the edge off and get through the rest of the ball."

With any luck, you could maybe enjoy one more magical dance with Steve before the evening ended.

You couldn't, however, complain. You wanted to be in on the family business and this was part of it. Barnes, unfortunately, was also part of it.  And he'd just announced his intentions to you and you realized now it was the pit that had been in your stomach the entire evening. 

Barnes would keep tearing your life apart until he was stopped. Somehow between his drastic plans and the animosity between you and your husband, you'd found your way to a happy marriage. A path to be queen in this world. And you'd be damned if you let Barnes threaten that future.

"You're going to tell Steve, right?" 

"I am." You didn't miss the concern in Yelena's voice. "I'm telling all of you. But not here."

Nodding her agreement, Yelena watched as you straightened, steeled yourself to return to the event. 

"Let's find you a glass of champagne, boss," she said with a wink.

Boss? Now that put the smile back on your face. 

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[reactorshaft]

Padme, the child queen, who wears her stoic face of diplomacy under a ten pound wig and headpiece, who poses pillar-straight under even heavier 50 pound elaborate gowns, who pleads to the Galactic Senate to help her planet. Her planet was blockaded, her cities invaded, her people captured and detained in camps. The queen Padme, whose pleas were democratically ignored due to the greed of corrupt senators allied with the Trade Federation that sought to seize her planet. Padme, the young queen, with her back straight and her face calm and unlined, had to bear their dismissal. Padme, who assisted in the defense of her planet with two Jedi and a boy they pulled from slavery. A boy who called her an angel and did not hesitate to risk his life to help save hers when thousands of galactic representatives so recently declared the lives of her and her planet not worth the risk or effort.

And years later when this boy cries over his mother, only just dead, and admits to slaughtering those who captured and imprisoned her, Padme thinks, “This is a man who will do anything for me, will slay my enemies, will be the anger I should not feel. He is worth the risk and effort.”

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

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

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

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

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

Word count: 7k

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

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s why I wanted to—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cassius…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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[emdapaladima]

Amidala's Wardrobe(TPM)

Outfit 6/11: Senate Gown

(with faux fur robe)

"This is the Queen's headdress for the Senate; this is probably the heaviest of the headdresses that she wears. This is sort of real gold, we made the pieces up and sent them off to be gold-plated. We felt with this one that the quality of using real gold would, it was worth the sort of effort, and the expense." -Trisha Biggar

[sw5w]

We Will Tell Her For You

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:26:35

[enviedear]

holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. No one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

He had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

He lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

You grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good." you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

[cantotallyeven]

The year is 2032 and the United States of America has recently elected its first Jewish President.. So the President-elect calls up his mother a few weeks after election's day;

"So ma, I assume you will be coming to my inauguration?"

"I don't think so. It's a ten hour drive, and your father isn't as young as he used to be, and my gout is acting up again."

"Don't worry about it Mom, I'll send Air Force One to pick you up and take you home. And a limousine will pick you up at your door."

"I don't know. Everybody will be so fancy I don't know what on Earth would wear."

"Oh mom," replies the new president, "don't worry about it. I'll make sure you have a wonderful gown by Christian Dior."

"Honey," Mom complains, "you know I can't eat those rich foods you and your friends like to eat"

The President-to-be responds, "Don't worry Mom. The entire affair is going to be handled by the best caterer in New York, kosher all the way. Mom, I want you to come."

So Mom agrees and so on January 21, 2033, the son is being sworn in as President of the United States of America. In the front row sits the new President's mother, who leans over to a Senator sitting next to her; "You see that man over there with his hand on the Bible, becoming President of the United States?"

The Senator whispers back, "Yes I do."

"His brother is a doctor."

[milliesfishes]

Hi, lovie! I’ve been so obsessed with your blog and the way you write Coryo 🤌 I was wondering if I could request like an arranged marriage trope with Coryo and reader where their in an arranged marriage and Coryo is kind of stoic and hasn’t shown any particular interest in his wife but at a gala someone tries to flirt with her and gets touchy with her and Coryo is like “get your hands off my wife” and it ends with Coryo confessing that he’s actually fallen for his wife :3 you don’t have to write it if seems too much! But keep up your good work 💕❤️

thank you bb!! <3

𝜗𝜚𐙚𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮𝜗𝜚 ࣪𐙚

Every day Coriolanus laid his eyes upon you was another day you were forced to count yourself as lucky.

Though you wore his ring on your finger, he was your ghost, barely occupying the corners of your life. You felt like a shadow in the halls of his mansion, a fixture no better than the paintings on the walls.

It was lonely there, stuck like a jewel in his crown, arm decor only useful for appearances. The worst part was almost that nothing was truly wrong. You were fed and dressed well, your cage gilded. It wasn't a house of horrors; it was a house of honors. You were perched at the highest position in the land, the queen to his king, the flower to his thorn.

So it made you feel all the more guilty when you had even a single thought of complaint.

The truth was, even though you were practically sold into marriage, you had hoped for a better outcome. In your childhood you'd dreamt of a tall, handsome man to sweep you off your feet and kiss you senseless. Instead you got a man who, while tall and handsome, barely bid you goodnight as he shut the door to his separate bedroom.

More hurtful then all the rest of it was how much you'd wanted to know him. You could see there was a truth of him underneath the shell he hid himself in. For months now you'd attempted to engage him in conversation as you sat with him at dinner, or passed him in the hallway. On good days you'd receive a response and a smile. On bad days a simple, "Pardon me, darling. Busy day."

Now as you were sitting at your vanity, supposedly getting ready for a gala, all you could see in your reflection was disappointment. The gown you wore was beautiful, your hair perfect. All in all, you would say you looked pretty. But what was the use if he didn't care?

All your life you'd been prepared to cater to a husband but Coriolanus didn't allow himself to be catered to. He was stoic and unmoving, a rock in the sea of the Capitol.

Your heels clicked on the marble floor as you headed downstairs, only half smiling when he obligatorily told you how beautiful you were. Of course he was perfect, in a red suit that matched your dress to a T. It was infuriating how perfect you looked together.

Before you could turn and head to the car, he stopped you, taking your wrist. Of course. You'd forgotten. He pulled a white rose from nowhere, snapping the stem and tucking it into your hair. The one fastened to his suit jacket was the same hue. Infuriating.

Entering the gala, you plastered on a bright smile, greeting all those who approached you with sweet words. It was a part you played, and you did it well, clinging to your husband's arm and pressing a dutiful kiss to his cheek, trying not to seem so eager to touch him. He smiled at the gesture and for a brief moment you could have sworn there was a flicker of something real in his gaze.

Separating, the two of you made your rounds individually, playing ambassador to all you met. It was your position as First Lady to make him look good. A woman's touch did wonders in politics.

It had hurt you the first few times this happened, as you were dismayed that he wanted to spend more of the party without you than with. Even now after you should have been used to it, your heart gave a little pang as he separated from you.

Finishing speaking with the wife of a senator, you took in a breath, going to find champagne. It was that hour of the night when Coriolanus would expect you back at his side, and you needed a drink before donning the mask again.

Before you could take a flute off a nearby waiter's tray, however, a man's arm grasped your elbow. You turned your head to see the husband of the woman with whom you'd just been conversing, a prominent senator who happened to work closer with Coriolanus than most.

Giving him a polite smile, you greeted him. "Good evening."

"You look ravishing tonight," he said in an inappropriate tone, not shy about looking your body fully up and down.

"Thank...you..." you said hesitantly, unsure if that had really even happened. When your brain caught up, you stood up straighter. "Excuse me."

"Come on, can'tcha have a little fun?" he slurred, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. "There's hardly anyone around."

It was true, the two of you were backed into a little corner and nobody seemed to be watching. You drew back form the senator, trying to pull your arm away. "I really must be going-"

"You bitch," he spat, wrenching you closer. "Askin' for it...in that tight dress...I could just..." his free hand reached around and he pinched your ass, making you gasp-

"Hands off my wife senator."

Both your heads turned to see Coriolanus standing there, arms folded, figure imposing. A wave of relief crashed over you, and you pulled yourself free, finally, heart racing. The moment played in your head over and over, and your chest heaved, your soul spiraling for comfort.

Without thinking, you ran to your husband, your only lifeline, arms coming around his middle, face buried into his shoulder. Expecting him to push you away, you were shocked when his arms slid around you, hand holding the back of your head. Your senses were muffled, and you felt a vibration in his chest as he spoke, numb to make out the words.

Before you knew it, you were swept away, coming to in the hallway outside the party. He held you to him until you started to draw back, but even then he kept his arms loosely twined around you.

In a low voice, he questioned, "Are you alright, darling?"

You breathed in softly, finally somewhat back to normal. "Yes."

"That...bastard," he bit, turning his head to look at the door. Sounds of the party slipped past the lightened crack and echoed in the hallway. "Who does he think he is, putting his hands on you like that?"

"I was scared," you murmured, instantly regretting it. You'd never shown even a modicum of emotion around him other than a picture of the contented wife.

Coriolanus surprised you once more, pulling you back into his arms and burying a kiss in your hair and your heart fluttered. "Of course you were, darling. I'm so sorry." He smoothed your hair, hand lingering there. "I'll keep a closer eye on you from now on. And he'll be taken care of, naturally."

You ignored the purposeful ambiguity of the last statement, instead focusing on the first. "You...care?"

He chuckled lightly, adjusting the rose in your hair. "Of course. You're my wife. Besides that, you're a sweetheart. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't care."

Now you were confused. "But..." you inhaled softly, the vulnerability of the situation seeming to open you up. "You never speak to me. Or acknowledge me except for..." you gestured vaguely to the party still roaring on inside.

Coriolanus' expression grew solemn. He nodded once. "I apologize for that."

You could only breathe a single word, chin tilted up to look at him. "Why?"

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. His icy blue eyes seemed to have melted into pools of ambiguity. You had nearly given up on understanding him, your expression growing somber, when something seemed to soften in him.

He inhaled and exhaled softly, seemingly studying your face. "I...the first time I met you. You remember, of course?"

Nodding, you waited for him to go on. Coriolanus thumbed your cheek softly. "You were...beautiful. And sweet. And charming and everything I had wanted in a partner. But..."

"But what?" you asked, unable to help the panic seeping into your voice.

There was a beat of silence. And then he breathed. "You were perfect. And I knew I wasn't."

The only sounds now were coming from the party. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. President Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the country, was scared he wasn't good enough for you?"

Slightly shaking your head, you whispered, "That's why you've kept your distance?"

"You...captivated me. From our first meeting," he said quietly, and you felt out of sorts watching him confess. Caressing your cheek, he asked, "Why else would I give you my roses to wear?"

Automatically your hand reached up to touch the pale flower, realization dawning over you. He hadn't been trying to be cruel. Not at all.

"I've done things that nobody should ever do," he said firmly, a stark contrast to the gentle way he touched your cheek. "But you...you sway the complete opposite direction from all of it. I told myself I would not let it ruin you."

"Coriolanus," you sighed softly, leaning back into him. Your arms found their way around him again. "Oh..." Looking up at him still nestled in his arms, you whispered, "I don't care about what you've done. All I ever wanted was to fall in love with you."

It was almost like he didn't believe it was real. There was a beat and then he was holding you tightly to him, a fierce but gentle determination in his touch. Your heart warmed and your mind eased. You were getting a real husband after all.

"My sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in and nudging his nose to yours. "You can have whatever you want, you know that?"

You reached up to kiss him in response, and he returned the favor, lips moving like they were starving, like they'd been yearning for a taste of you since creation. His kiss was possessive, and you didn't mind one bit.

The rose in your hair began to slip and he caught it, smoothing the stem back into your hair as he slotted his lips over yours.

Finally, he had swept you off your feet.

[costumeloverz71]

Padme Amidala (Natalie Portman) Purple senate gown.. Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge Of The Sith (2005). Costume by Trisha Biggar.