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pascaloverx · 2 days ago

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STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Please interact with this chapter.

The chapter will contain inappropriate language and explicit adult content. Minors should not interact.

four

FIVE (+18)

When you return to the palace of Emperors Geta and Caracalla, riding General Acacius’ horse, you find him waiting for you—as if, by fate or intent, he had anticipated your arrival. His gaze lingers on you, heavy with expectation, as though he has spent a lifetime waiting for this moment. Dismounting, you hold his stare, sensing the hesitation in him, the unspoken questions that hang between you.

"Whom shall I speak to now—General Acacius or Marcus Acacius?" you ask, standing tall, unwilling to betray any sign of the turmoil within you.

"Is there a difference between them?" Acacius replies as he steps forward, soothing his horse with practiced ease. You do not answer—not with words. Instead, you dare to close the distance between you, reaching out to touch his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw with your fingertips. At your touch, he closes his eyes, as if savoring the moment, as if it has been too long since he last felt such tenderness.

"General Acacius would stand before me now to speak of his wife, her son, and the inevitable consequences of what is to come," you murmur, your voice softer now, your fingers still resting against his skin. "Marcus Acacius, however, would stand before me to ask how we might mend what has been broken." His eyes open then, piercing and searching, locking onto yours.

His lips move toward yours, slow yet deliberate—but you turn away at the last moment, evading him. "Tell me what it is you want, Acacius," you demand, stepping back, retreating from him in more ways than one.

You stride quickly toward the chamber Emperor Geta has granted you, convinced that Acacius will let you escape. But you are mistaken. He follows. Through the halls, past the watchful eyes of guards and servants, he keeps his pursuit measured, careful not to attract undue attention. Yet his presence is inescapable, his intent unmistakable.

"You ask what I want, then flee from me," General Acacius murmurs near your ear as he catches up, his grip firm around your arm. He does not harm you, yet the strength in his hold sends a shiver through you. There is something dark in his gaze, something simmering beneath the surface—perhaps, in his anger, you might awaken his passion.

"Your cowardice surprises me. I always took you for a woman of courage," he taunts, pulling you closer, forcing you to face him. Without thinking, you strike him. Your hand lands hard across his face, the force of it splitting his lower lip. Blood beads at the corner of his mouth.

"I suggest you leave, General Acacius, lest I lose all restraint," you warn, your voice cold with fury at his insult. You tear yourself free and at last reach the sanctuary of your chamber. Surely, after everything, he will let you be. But he does not. Instead, he stands before you once more, his eyes ablaze with something raw, something relentless.

"Tell me—how do I mend this?" General Acacius asks, his gaze fixed upon you. You have no answer. You cannot even name what exists between you, let alone mend it. But your body speaks in ways your mind cannot. Fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, you pull him down to you, claiming his lips in a desperate, unrelenting kiss.

Your hands trail from his neck to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you pull—hard—forcing him to break the kiss with a sharp breath. A flicker of something dangerous flashes in his eyes, but before he can reclaim your lips, his hands glide down your back, rough palms pressing firmly against your skin through the fabric of your toga. Then, with a sudden, possessive grip, he squeezes your ass. A gasp escapes you at the sensation, his touch igniting something primal within you. In response, you push him back, guiding him toward the bed without breaking the kiss. When the backs of his knees meet the edge, you shove him down, watching as he falls onto the mattress, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained hunger.

Only then do you part from his lips. Slowly, deliberately, you begin to strip away your toga, the fabric slipping from your shoulders. Acacius does not simply watch—his hands follow, tracing the path of the cloth as he helps you shed it, his touch unhurried, reverent. As the last barrier between you falls away, you climb onto him, straddling his body with deliberate slowness, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers tighten against your skin. His hands hold your waist and move up, caressing your body. He feels his way down your body, passing through your belly and moving up until he touches your breasts. You let out a moan as you feel his hands gently squeezing your breasts. You slowly grind under Acacius' body, feeling his cock getting hard. He was still dressed but you could feel him getting more and more turned on by you, moaning muffledly as you grinded on top of him.

"General Acacius, your wife requests your presence at your residence," one of the guards announces near your chambers. You and Acacius exchange a glance, both waiting for something—he, perhaps, for permission to leave, and you, for a sign that he wishes to stay.

"I need to..." General Acacius begins, his voice almost drained of strength. Before he can finish, you seize him, capturing his lips in a kiss as if it were the last—a raw, bruising clash of mouths, your nails digging into his face, intent on leaving a mark. He might find it bothersome, but if he does, he does not show it. Instead, he bites your lip before pulling away, savoring the sting he leaves behind.

"If you must return to your wife, then you have no further need for a mistress," you say, shoving his face away before swiftly pulling your toga back over your body.

"Let this be the first and last time we indulge in such folly, General Acacius." There is nothing more to say to him. You turn on your heel and leave your own chambers with hurried steps, unwilling to linger in the remnants of his presence. Without thinking, you walk through the palace corridors, the weight of the night settling upon you.

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"Where has my companion been all this time?" You turn at the voice, already expecting it to be Emperor Geta. What surprises you, however, is the state he is in—visibly intoxicated, unsteady on his feet, his garments stained with wine.

"I was tending to an unresolved matter," you murmur, stepping toward him. He stands just outside his chambers, swaying slightly.

"And is there a matter more pressing than the amusement of your Emperor?" he slurs, his hand brushing against your shoulder as if he might need it for balance.

You meet his gaze, embers still smoldering within you from what Acacius had awakened. "Tell me, dear Emperor Geta, how may I entertain you?"

A slow smirk plays upon his lips as he toys with the fabric at your shoulder, his fingers trailing lazily along the edge of your toga. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Dance for me," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. He lifts his free hand—the one not clutching his wine cup—offering it to you. Without hesitation, you take it, and he leads you into his chambers.

He settles into a curule seat, watching you with lazy anticipation, waiting to be entertained. Slowly, you begin to move, each step deliberate, as though you were a serpent lulling its prey into a trance.

"Undress, healer," he commands, his voice thick with amusement as he watches you sway before him. You meet his gaze, feigning surprise at his demand, though in truth, the sooner you are bare, the sooner you might smother the fire burning within you. Holding his eyes, you begin to remove your garments, one piece at a time, casting them aside until nothing remains between you and his hungry stare.

Now fully exposed, you feel the weight of his gaze upon you—devouring, indulgent, as though he is savoring every inch of you before even laying a hand on your skin. You run your fingers over your breasts, just as gently as General Acacius did before. Still being watched by the watchful eyes of Emperor Geta, you pass one of your hands under your pussy, which by the way you touch it, is already wet.

"What would you have me do, my glorious Emperor?" you murmur, your fingers trailing over your own skin as you await his command. He gestures with his hand, beckoning you closer. "Crawl to me," he orders, his palm extended, as if expecting you to kiss it once you reach him.

With measured grace, you obey, moving toward him on hands and knees, your body ablaze with anticipation. Reaching him, you press a lingering kiss to his hand. His fingers trace your face, his thumb brushing over your lips, coaxing them to part. You look up at him, holding his gaze as you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly, teasing.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you rise onto his lap, his hands cradling your face. As you settle against him, aligning your body with his, he draws you in, capturing your lips with his own. The kiss is unhurried, deliberate—his tongue first teasing your lips, offering you the taste of wine, before deepening into something more consuming. His mouth claims yours, intense and languid all at once, until he moves lower, trailing kisses down your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth. Then, suddenly, his kisses cease. A moment passes before you realize—Emperor Geta has fallen asleep.

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You had to put Emperor Geta into his bed with some difficulty. Dressing yourself once more, with the fire in your body left unsatisfied, was driving you to madness. You tried to lie down in your own chamber, pleading with the gods to grant you peace, to lull you into slumber. But nothing could quiet your soul. Tormented, you realized there was only one man who could ease this torment.

With the urgency of a lion hunting its prey, you sought out Hanno—or Lucius. It hardly mattered which name he bore, so long as he could quench this unbearable thirst. When you arrived at the place you had visited only hours before, a guard informed you that he was in the secluded bathing area. You hurried toward him, barely containing the anxiety coursing through you. Would he set aside the sting of your earlier rejection? Would he forget, even for a moment, the ghost of the wife he had lost?

And then, as your gaze met his—the blue of his eyes illuminated by the reflection of the water—your heart pounded against your ribs. Your breath came uneven, lost in the anticipation of what was to come.

"Why have you returned?" Hanno asked the moment he saw you approach. He was bare, of course, and surely wondering what had brought you here to seek him out.

"I need your help," you admitted, feeling suddenly exposed despite the distance between you. You held his gaze, though he seemed to be trying to decipher your distress.

"Allow me a fleeting indulgence," you implored softly, averting your eyes in shame. "One that will mean nothing." He said nothing. His silence unsettled you further. You covered your face with your hands and raised your voice. "Forget it. I shouldn’t be here."

Then came a sound—the unmistakable shift of Hanno rising from the water. You didn’t dare look, but you felt his presence drawing nearer. "Do not say that," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. His voice echoed in the quiet chamber, where only the two of you remained. His wet hands closed over yours, gently pulling them from your face, leaving you with no choice but to see him—bare before you.

His wet body was erect in front of you. Showing you that his cock was slightly hard. The marks of physical fights on his defined body, making him look tougher. "Don't you want to touch me?" Hanno asks when he notices that you were analyzing his body in such detail. You turn your head to the side, contemplating the idea of giving up, but as an instinct, your hand goes towards his chest, caressing his wounds.

"I need you to keep in mind for this moment that by agreeing to do this with me, I will be the one taking you. I don't know if I could bear the idea of you thinking about your late wife," you whisper as if you are confiding a secret but in reality you are just being vulnerable.

"Believe me, healer, I know it is your hands touching me," he murmured, grasping them gently before pressing a kiss to each one. "I know it is your eyes upon me," he continued, his lips brushing over your closed eyelids. "I know it is your lips I desire," he whispered before claiming them in a swift, urgent kiss.

Though fleeting, it was the most ravenous kiss you had received in what felt like an eternity. His hunger consumed you, possessive, unyielding—stealing not only your breath but your very ability to think. His arms coiled around you, pulling you flush against him, leaving no space between your bodies. "And I know it is your body here, so close to mine," he breathed against your lips as he broke the kiss. With deft hands, Hanno began stripping you of your garments, undressing you with an ease that left no room for hesitation. Hanno's fingers begin to trail down your belly, stopping above your pussy. He makes a circular motion under your pussy, as if he wants to tease you. A moan escapes your lips as you feel his fingers enter your pussy without delay. As his fingers moved in and out of you, sometimes using his thumb to stimulate your clitoris, you rested your head on his shoulder, holding on to his arm as he thrust his fingers in you.

In a drawn-out moan you managed to say, "Hanno, please," as if you were begging him to take you, eat you, consume you; do every possible carnal desire with you. His whimpering takes effect as Hanno carries you to where he was previously bathing. As soon as your body and his come into contact with the water, he advances on your lips. He gets closer as he kisses you, holding your thighs to make it easier for you to open your legs so he can position himself. When Hanno's cock starts to enter your pussy, you let out a loud moan. It had been so long since you felt someone so intimate that it took a moment for you to get used to it.

"If you want we can stop," he whispers against your face. You don't answer anything, you just move your hands down to his ass and start holding it there, helping with the movements,as a way of showing that you want him and you definitely need to feel him inside you. He kisses your lips as he thrusts his cock into you more quickly than before. Each thrust increased the excitement you were feeling, as if you needed much more to be able to satisfy yourself.

Hanno's lips move from sucking your lips to sucking the skin on your neck and then to sucking your breasts as if he was thirsty for them. The sensation of his lips sucking one breast at a time was provocative. His thrusts into you only intensified as the sensations he was making you feel were making you shiver with pleasure. After taking his time sucking every visible part of you, Hanno returned to take your lips with his thirsty kiss. He even pulled your head a little, but specifically your hair to intensify the kiss, leaving you almost without reaction.

You dig your nails into his neck and back, moaning with each thrust as their pace increases.You help with the movements, using your hips to force more proximity between your pussy and his cock. When you feel a strong wave of pleasure coming, you throw yourself into Hanno's arms, biting his neck and gripping his shoulders tightly. It's an aggressive, intense feeling of pleasure that makes you almost scream as you feel that Hanno is close to feeling the same.

"Being in you, it's like being at peace," Hanno murmurs as he continues to cling to you. He gives one more thrust and then throws his head back slightly with a moan. He seems for a moment lost in his own pleasure while you are recovering. You grab him, pulling him into a kiss, soft and intense. "I want more," you murmur against Hanno's lips as soon as you break the kiss.

"I will do whatever you want to satisfy you, healer," he says still inside you. However, he pulls away, taking his cock out of you, making you gasp with the sensation. But it doesn't take long for him to turn you around, grabbing you from behind, running his hand over your ass. He doesn't wait long and manages to put his cock in you, taking you hard. You get lost in the sensation of him fucking you from behind, which is surprisingly tasty but a little painful. As he thrusts, you get used to the sensation, feeling his balls slapping against your ass as he thrusts his cock inside you.

His lips kissing your neck as he holds your hair back, pulling it as he thrusts his cock into you precisely and slowly. It's as if he wants to savor every thrust he gives you while with his hands he now massages your breasts. "I like feeling you inside me, Hanno," you murmur between thrusts. He kisses your back, while his hands guide your waist, helping with the movements. It doesn't take long before you feel Hanno melt inside you, with intensity. There is a pleasant pleasure in feeling it like this, still inside you. He kisses your neck and then helps you turn to face him.

"And I feel like I could die satisfied if I were inside you, healer," he murmurs, his hands wrapping around your neck as he pulls you into another kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, lost in the sensation of his strong arms holding your bare body against his. His lips claim yours with a lingering intensity, the kiss stretching on until he finally breaks away, trailing his mouth across your cheek and down your neck. The soft, teasing caress makes you smile—something tender amidst the fervor. Then, with commanding ease, he grips your waist, his touch deliberate as his fingers glide over the curve of your backside. You are still trembling with sensitivity, yet instinct tells you this bath with Hanno is far from over.

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loves-alibi · 3 days ago

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skyglow - prologue

pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: The 141 responds to a hostage call from an android. wordcount: 4.0k warnings: death, murder, murder of a child (the murder is not described), blood, vomit, injury, f!reader

series masterlist

November 04, 2177

Metropolitan Police are the first to the scene. Holotape has been set up around the townhouse, its projections flickering in the heavy rain.

"Are they already inside?" You ask.

Simon grunts, "No. The 'droid's waiting."

Simon lazily points to the front garden where— lo and behold —the family android is waiting, rain pouring down its still frame. The android is the one that called the police. It had reported a hostage situation. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You and Simon were finishing up a nearby call when the report came in. Now you'd just have to wait for the rest of the 141 to show up.

There's a knock on the passenger side window. Your head snaps over to see a cop, a few years older than you, chewing at his lip impatiently. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the tinted window rolls down to reveal Simon, inches from the poor guy's face. Who could blame him? Simon's not exactly the friendliest looking fellow. After working with him for three years and being his friend for just as long, it's still hard not to let your nerves get the best of you at the sight of his famous scowl.

"What?" Simon barks.

"'Droid's not lettin' us in," the cop says, voice raised to be heard over the constant pitter patter, "Says it 'as to consult with you first."

Simon nods and rolls the window back up. "Do we wait?"

You shake your head, "Let's talk to the android, get a head start."

Simon follows your lead. The crowd of cops part as they see you approaching, you'd like to think it's because they respect your position, but the way their eyes flicker above your head says otherwise. Through the thinning crowd you see the holotape, and before it an indignant-looking rookie. She stops you from crossing it with a hand on your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon tense, his hands flexing by his sides.

"Only authorized personnel past this point, ma'am," she says, a self-congratulatory grin on her face.

"Oi," Simon draws her attention. In his hand is his badge. "We are the authorized personnel."

The kid looks like she doesn't know whether to shit herself or geek out. Unfortunately, she decides on the latter. Follows you and Simon through the holotape, she says,"The 141, right? It is an honor to meet you. I-I'd love to do what you all do one day. Do you have any advice?"

Simon sends you a cheeky grin. Are you gonna do it or should I?

She continues, "I mean, unless there are openings now. If so, I'd love to put my name—"

"Listen," you interrupt, "Now isn't the time."

She stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to keep talking. The kid is determined, you'll give her that. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to realize that you're dismissing her, and she retreats, tail tucked firmly between her legs.

"Were you like that when you were a rookie?" Simon muses.

"God, I hope not."

The android greets you and Simon with a polite nod. As it turns to you, you pause. Half of its jaw hangs off of its hinges. Shot off, if you had to guess by the subtle melting of the plastic around the damage. Whoever is inside is armed, though not well. Any well-respected gun is a dual-chamber, one holding specialized ammunition for androids, and the other holding normal rounds. While the android-specific ammunition can kill humans, the far-cheaper ammunition for humans can only partially damage androids. The android must have been shot with normal rounds if it was damaged so little.

It's a household unit, that much you can tell by its plain uniform. It's one of the more popular models, male in appearance with a young, pleasant face and bright blue eyes to compliment its dark, perfectly combed hair. At least, its hair is normally perfect. Its synthetic style is currently reduced to a wet mop, not that the android minds.

"Good evening, officers," the android greets. "I presume you're the specialists I am meant to speak with."

"We are," you nod to the open door of the house, just a few feet away. "What's going on?"

"At approximately 1900, Mr. Sterling locked himself, his wife, and son in the furnace room, located in the basement of the house. He has stated his intent to harm."

"He's the one that shot you?"

The android nods, "He has a pistol, I could provide the make, model, and year manufactured if—"

"No need," you turn to Simon, "Go tell them he's got a kid in there." Simon nods and heads back to where the officers have crowded around the holotape. "Has he listed conditions?"

"I am unaware of any."

"Any reason why he'd do this? Drugs?"

"Mr. Sterling does not partake in prohibited substances."

"Nothing?"

"As I said—"

"No coke, alcohol, blink?"

Androids don't take offense. They can't. It's not within their programming to feel anything that isn't the cold indifference of their code. However, as the android before you cocks its head, you think you've finally cracked the code on how to piss one off. "As I said, Mr. Sterling doesn't partake in prohibited substances."

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder. You don't flinch. "Price and the others are delayed. Heavy traffic."

"Can't they fly?"

The android responds before Simon can. "London traffic regulations prohibits motor air travel if rain conditions surpass 3.8 millimeters per hour, and—" The android pauses, its head tilting as it calculates, "We are currently experiencing rain of 4.7 millimeters per hour."

"Thanks, genius." You sigh. "We have all we need from you. You're dismissed. Sergeant Garrick is going to download your data once he gets here."

The android nods. It knows what you actually mean– that it'll be checked for cracks. That's Kyle Garrick's specialty— programming. Every case, he checks the involved androids' coding for possible cracks. Ideally, he would be here checking the android before you and Simon head in. Though, as the android walks away, its face blanking as it enters idling mode, you fear that's not possible.

You turn back to Simon. He's a mess, hair matted to his face and water clumping his eyelashes together. You can't imagine you look much better. Over his shoulder, you see the expectant eyes of overeager officers.

"We can't wait for them." You pull your watch to your mouth and utter into it, "Price."

After a moment, the watch crackles and from it emits a deep voice, "Go for Price."

"It's a hostage situation. Sterling's armed and with his wife and son. No clear motive. Possibly a mental crisis. Permission to proceed?"

There's silence on the other line. Then: "With caution, lieutenant."

"Copy that." With a hand on the watch, you end the call.

The townhouse looks like any other. While it's unfamiliar to the average London resident living in the residential high-rises, work has granted you the privilege to glimpse into the past. Few residential districts of London were able to be preserved over the last century. While London's climate-adaptation efforts were hailed by the rest of the world, the city is a shadow of the images painted of it in history books. Only the buildings deemed most culturally significant were saved from rising sea levels, with the rest being built over and forgotten by the masses. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling must pull in some major cash to afford a home in a coveted intact neighborhood.

Inside is even more impressive. The Sterlings' home has a warmth to it you long to find in your own flat. Christ, you take a deep breath through your nose. The air even smells like freshly baked bread. You could get used to a place like this. Unfortunately, there's a job to do.

Sweeping the floor turns out to be useless. All that's found are signs of a loving home, albeit a neat home. The android already said that the Sterlings were in the basement. Still, something tells you to sweep this place closely.

"There's nothing," Simon says, as though he's reading your thoughts. He places a picture of the family back on the bookshelf across the far wall.

"I know," you say. "Doesn't feel right, though. I mean… Sterling just snaps?"

Simon shrugs, head tilting towards the basement door, closed and begging to be explored. "We could ask him ourselves."

You take one last, long look at the living space. It disturbs you, thinking about how quickly Sterling was throwing his life away. What had happened? You reach for the doorknob, eyes still scanning the room, when fingers dig into the flesh of your wrist.

Simon juts his chin to the doorknob, mere millimeters from your fingertips. "Look," he utters.

On the doorknob is a smudge of pink, recognizable in an instant to any Londoner. "Blink," you sigh. "The 'droid said Sterling was clean."

Simon lets go with a shrug. He runs his fingers through the powder. It's stark against his alabaster skin. "New development, maybe. Did it mention any possible stressors? Lay-offs? Affairs?"

You shake you head. "Doesn't matter. Now we have an unstable perp."

Blink perps are always the most difficult to work with, often disoriented and confused. While blink provides users a feeling of euphoria, it comes at the cost of temporary short-term memory loss. In high energy clubs, it's a godsend. Partiers love the euphoria and the temporary ability to not have to worry about life. Out of the club though, it's a headache for you. Blink perps are more stressed, which leads to instability, which leads to violence. If Sterling was using blink for the first time, there's not telling what he'll do.

Not much is visible in the basement, but you peek a strip of light poking out from under what looks like a door. You glance at Simon over your shoulder. He nods and follows you down the stairs, steps as light as possible. From behind, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, then the click of metal. You pull out your own gun.

Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. You reach for the doorknob, but before your fingers brush the cool metal, a harsh voice calls from the other side: "Don't bother! It's locked."

Simon is staring at you, head cocked to the side. You lift a finger up from your gun. I got this.

"Mr. Sterling, is everything alright? Your android is worried. It sent me to check up on you."

In the moment it takes for him to answer, a sniffle fills the air. A sense of relief washes over you. It seems he hasn't harmed his family just yet. Who knows for how long though.

"Can you unlock the door?"

More silence, then: "Why?"

"I want to help you," you smile, hoping that it makes you at least sound cheery. The truth is, your heart is beating faster than you'd like to admit. "I can't do that with the door closed."

Sterling goes quiet. You count the seconds. One… two… three… ten… twenty. Simon sighs, "We can't wait."

Your head snaps to Simon as you plaster a hand to his face. Simon looks confused for a moment, before his eyes also widen. As he stiffens, your hand remains pressed against his mouth, stubble ticking the sensitive skin of your palm. All you can do is pray that Sterling didn't hear Simon, or that if he did, he's too high to realize that he's outnumbered.

"You're not alone." Harsh. Accusatory. Aggressive. Well, shit. Your heart pounds in your chest. "You didn't say you weren't alone."

The door against your cheek thuds. Simon pulls your hand away. You jump back and cringe as behind the door, the sound of feet pacing across the floor becomes evident.

"Mr. Sterling," you keep your tone light, "I need you to stay calm."

"Calm? I'm calm! I'm very, very calm." The pacing picks up.

Simon leans into you. His breath fans across the skin of your neck, "What are we doing here?" He speaks softly, like he hadn't already compromised the safety of those hostages.

"Mr. Sterling, could— could I come in?" More silence. You place your gun in Simon's hand. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm unarmed. My partner's gonna stay out here. I just want to talk."

Blood rushes in your ears, making it near-impossible to hear through the door. Nothing. Though, you suppose that's better than the pacing. It means Sterling's thinking, which means he's not hurting anyone.

You count again. One… two… three… four…

"O-okay." Bingo. "But just you! And no gun!"

"Just me. And no gun," you repeat. "I'm right outside the door. Could you let me in?"

"Where's the other guy?"

You glance at Simon, just a few feet back and scowling like a petulant child. Unfortunately for him, you're just as stubborn and you outrank him. He has no choice but to retreat to the stairs at the far end of the room, but not before taking your gun off of your hands. You nod at Simon once more in reassurance. His finger twitches on the grip of your pistol, though he makes no move to stop you.

"He's at the other end of the room, Mr. Sterling."

Silence. Only the sounds of your breathing and the shuffle of Simon's clothes as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then—

They're tucked into the corner of the room— mother and son huddled as close as humanly possible. Their sniffles are clearer now that the door's open, now that you're inside.

Sterling is the perfect image of a loving husband and father. Well-dressed, unassuming, and spectacled. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him on the street. Except, behind his glasses are eyes as wild as a caged animal.

"Hi, there," you smile at him despite the gun pointed square at your chest. Even with your bulletproof vest, a shot this close would not be pretty.

"You're a cop," Sterling accuses, his tone sharp, more angry than afraid.

"I work with androids," a truth by omission. "Yours called us to make sure that you were okay."

Multiple sets of footsteps thud through the door. The rest of the 141, you assume, confirmed by the familiar sets of voices that follow.

"What the hell is that?"

Sterling jabs his gun in your direction. From the corner of the room, his wife whimpers, "Oh God."

A mistake. The gun goes from you to her. Your eyes follow the direction of his aim, and fuck. Mrs. Sterling is draping herself over her son, her body trembling as she stares down the barrel of her husband's gun. The sight makes you queasy, but you suppress the feeling. There's no time for that.

"Honey," she pleads, "Put the—"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Sterling takes a step in their direction. You follow frantically, and the gun bounces to you for a moment, but goes right back to Mrs. Sterling. "I need to—"

There's a commotion outside, louder voices. Price and Simon arguing. Their voices grow in volume until they're right against the door. Someone pounds on the door. Sterling glares at you.

"I thought your friend was gonna stay back," Sterling spits. "You lied."

You shake your head instinctively, "No, I never lied to—"

He lunges at you. Something hard slams against your temple, and the world goes black.

*****

Time is a fickle thing. Even more fickle when you've had consciousness ripped away from you. It feels like you've been laying on the ground for eons. Consciousness comes back to you in parts. First comes the recognition that you're alive— awake. Then the remembrance that you were knocked out. Finally your senses.

The shock of the cold floor is the first thing you notice. Then the painthat comes from being pistol whipped. Then the silence— that's what prompts your movement. It's tough. Your limbs don't want to listen to you, and when you try to push yourself up, your hands slip on something slick.

A deep voice curses, then softly calls your name. You pay no mind to it though, as you slowly manage to push yourself up to sitting. It takes a great deal of effort, and your head pounds the whole way up, but you manage. And—

"Oh shit." You mutter. The words tumble clumsily over your lazy tongue. Your sluggishness is as syrupy as the pool of blood that you sit in, coating your hands, your arms, torso, and— fuck —even the side of your face.

Someone calls your voice again. John Price, you dully realize as he appears in the corner of your vision.

"Whose…" you start, "Whose— oh."

It's funny how the body can process things before the mind. It's a primal instinct from the days where the two-legged beings we call humans were more beast than civil. They're helpful, necessary even. A child's cry. Fear of snakes. Fight-or-flight. Act first, then think. What that means for you, in this damp and cold basement, is that vomit, angrily acidic, bubbles up and out onto the floor before you can even process that there are not one, not two, but three motionless bodies before you, oozing blood into the very puddle which you are resting in.

Mr. Sterling— or what's left of him —is closest to you. His eyes are still open, glassy in the way that fresh corpses are, when you could easily mistake them for alive. There's no mistaking Sterling though, not with the bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

You quickly fix your eyes back on the floor. A mistake. It's not just blood anymore, but a sickening combination of blood and half-digested mush.

"I—uhm… gonna…" You gag. For an awful moment, it seems as though you're going to vomit again. "…outside." You gasp finally.

John says your name again, softer. He places his hands on your back, keeping you planted on the ground. The ground covered in blood. The blood of Mr. Sterling, and his wife and son who he—

John tilts your head with a soft hand on your chin. You're looking at him now. His face is soft, so soft. You never thought he could look so demure. It does little to ease the ache in your chest. "Come help," he says to someone you can't see. John stands you up and moves you to another set of hands.

Simon. You recognize him by touch alone, soft, but undercut by the natural brutishness that a man like him could never escape.

He leads you up the stairs and back into the main floor of the house where a baker's dozen cops are searching. They freeze at the sound of the door creaking open. They do little to conceal their shock. While you can't see yourself, you don't exactly blame them. The right half of your face itches where the Sterlings' blood has tried into a tacky sludge. The rest of your body isn't fairing much better, blood and bile cover more of you than not.

You stop at the top of the stairs, eyes moving lazily from one officer to the next. As your eyes leave each one, it's like a spell breaks, and they go right back to whatever work they were doing, or they at least pretendto. You envy their nonchalance as much as you hate it.

The rookie's there too, the last one whose eyes you lock, but unlike the others you hold her gaze. Her mouth hangs wide open, and the evidence bag in her hand is entirely forgotten as she stares at you like some sort of sideshow attraction.

"So," you say. Her eyes widen. "You still want my advice?"

Simon pulls you away before she could stutter out an answer. "Come on," he coos, "Let's get some air, yeah?"

The air in question is cold, wet, and altogether not very pleasing. Simon sits you on the front steps of the house, on the side so officers can mill in and out as they please. He lowers himself down next to you, gently putting an arm around your shoulders. The half-hug is nice. Simon traces gentle circles on your shoulder. The feel of his fingertips is muddled by the many layers you don to keep warm, though it still soothes. You could easily lose yourself, but the stench of blood keeps you grounded. Keeps your heart aching and the tears flowing.

A gentle ding, pulls you to focus. Instead, Simon shuffles next to you. "Commissioner," he grumbles, holding his watch to his mouth.

"Price says you can answer—"

"One moment, sir," Simon covers the watch and gives you an apologetic look. "I'll be inside. Get me if… you know."

Without Simon, there's nothing to ward away your thoughts— your memories of what just occurred. That damp basement. The family in the corner. Of waking up in a pool of blood— their blood, still coating your entire body, soaking your clothes and skin and bones.

You vomit again, on the well-trimmed but muddy lawn of the Sterlings.

Between heaves, the sound of squelching footsteps approaches. "Lieutenant," a monotonous voice says. Great. The last think you want to deal with is the 'droid. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," you spit.

"Are you certain? I can provide medications to relieve any nausea. Or perhaps a sedative for emotional distress."

Distress. You tilt your head up to look at the android. It's squatting in front of you, perfectly stable on the uneven ground. The android's face is just as calm and cool as it had been earlier. It must know what happened, everyone knows. But it's an android. It doesn't— can't be affected by grief in the same way. It simply compartmentalizes it. The android's brain— processor —just takes whatever horrors it sees and converts it to ones and zeroes, letting it sit and rot in its memory unit until the android inevitably ends up in the landfill or nicked by some Old London junker.

You can't say you don't envy it. What would it be like to not have to feel? To care?

"Go away," you say. The android doesn't move. "I said go away!"

You throw a punch at the android. A proper right hook to its impervious face. It feels nice, a rewarding thing to do because it forces the damn thing to acknowledge that something is wrong.

Then it feels bad, quite bad. Painful, actually, as your fist slams against the hard plastic casing of the android and the layers of metal mechanisms underneath. During their career, the 141 has often mocked the many poor suckers who believed themselves strong enough to go toe-to-toe with an android. They don't understand how the machines work, how they're built.

Something fractures in your hand. Something important, no doubt, but that's a problem for later, because what you need right now is to curl up on the Sterling's wet lawn and scream. The latter you actually do, releasing a cry so carnal it makes your head spin.

The android doesn't ask if you need any more assistance. It observes you silently for a moment, unable to understand your pain, oblivious to the curse it is to feel. Finally, as though it stored all the data it needs from your outburst, the android nods cordially. "If you need assistance, lieutenant, do not hesitate to ask."

Its white shoes sink into the muddy lawn with each step, but the android moves as though its just any normal London street. Each step stains the canvas material more and more. Watching, you wonder just how long it'll take for the stains to come out.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #skyglow tag

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psycheetamore · 2 days ago

Text

How Feyd-Rautha learned to love an idle embrace

Summary: After being forced into the employ of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his covert smuggling operations, you quickly rose through the ranks due to your exceptional skills and intelligence. Despite your initial resistance, you found yourself in his bed, providing warmth and companionship during the cold nights of Giedi Prime. However, Feyd-Rautha's manipulative nature led to a betrayal of your trust, causing a rift between you. You refuse to share his bed, causing him to fall into a spiral of sleep deprivation. How the fallout from his betrayal, your subsequent punishment of him, and the first tentative steps towards his redemption, cause him to cherish an idle embrace rather than to take more as you decide to grace him with moisture after drought.

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, manipulative Feyd, Feyd-smut, cockwarming ('idle embrace' - as this was the task given through the ask below), and a bit of a lovey dovey Feyd (little love bug - the theme of today's @dailydoseofaustinbutler, specially finished for Valentines day)

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: this one was tough, because how on earth would our dearest lord be placed in a position where he would be content with mere cockwarming? Where he does not demand, no take, more. Anyhow, here is my answer to this challenging request from anon.

+++

He slept naked. Feyd-Rautha always slept naked. It took a while for you to learn about the reason for this habit.

On Arrakis, the scorching heat made his choice understandable, offering a respite from the relentless sun. But here on Giedi Prime, where the nights could be bitterly cold, his insistence on sleeping unclothed seemed inexplicable. Yet, it was a habit that had grown before he came to the desert planet, and he continued this habit after leaving, a silent rebellion against the cold and a testament to his unyielding nature.

After a while, you figured out the na-Baron too would end up desiring warmth. His solution was to have it supplied by a woman. Women actually. His women. Over time this habit evolved into a need for a woman in his bed to be able to fall asleep. This need for warmth and companionship became a crutch for him, a way to find solace in the cold nights of Giedi Prime.

Although your initial tasks did not include providing such services to him, before long you too helped him catch sleep and replenish energy to take the new day ahead of him. Your role evolved, and you became more than just an employee; you became a source of comfort and warmth for him.

Yet, for nearly a month his bed had remained empty, save for his own presence. You had refused to share his bed for weeks. He had threatened he would not welcome another until you graced him with your physical presence. It had been a threat, truly, as you and his other subordinates soon realized. Being a man to keep his oaths, however burdensome, he slept alone. Naked, yet alone. Cold, still alone. Deficient - all alone. His stubbornness and pride prevented him from seeking warmth elsewhere, and he endured the cold nights alone.

Deficient, as his mind would not allow him to find the deep sleep he so desperately needed to function as ruler over Arrakis and heir to the throne of Giedi Prime. Every night he would only lose consciousness after spending hours turning in the bed, waking up at the slightest of sound or light to hit his chambers. His restless nights took a toll on his temperament and decision-making, making him increasingly irritable and agitated.

He had been pale, always. Yet, he seemed to turn even lighter. He was never one to carry much body fat, with resources now declining to unprecedented levels. His already gaunt frame became even more pronounced, his white skin taking on an almost translucent quality.

The question was when he would start to lay hands on you. Not if, but when. But you knew you would get warnings beforehand; you would not be the first to be slayed. You were confident in your position and your ability to read his moods and intentions. You knew he valued you too much to act rashly.

The background why you end up in this predicament, was a story by itself. The reason he kept you was not to be just another plaything. You were not a bedwarmer. That was not your prime task in any case. Even with his brother not being a contender for the throne, he knew his uncle was fickle. Feyd-Rautha needed to have a parachute should he need to jump from the ornithopter. He needed a backup plan, a safety net to ensure his survival and power in case his uncle turned against him.

And that is where you came in: you supplied him with that parachute. You created that parachute. You were in charge of his covert operations to hoard spice. A longstanding project you had set-up since he took control over Arrakis. As the hidden depots slowly filled with the spice he skimmed, his power grew, and thus his independence. Your expertise and strategic mind made you invaluable to him, and he relied on you to secure his future.

The young lord had handpicked you, a seasoned master in smuggling, to help him. An opportunity that you could have declined, if you would be willing to accept the alternative offered, being death. Some cronies had managed to escape, some were slaughtered and some joined him. You chose to live and to align yourself with the powerful Harkonnen, seeing an opportunity to secure your own future and safety.

You still remembered the day you received his offer. In the crack of dawn, you had been finalizing loading the illegally harvested spice into a space lighter. Every other week enough was collected to justify the costs of bribing the spacing guild into making part of their transport capacity available to you. It had been a dangerous task to set up these relationships, as the official stance of the spacing guild was that they would not enable smuggling. Unofficially it was possible, as everything is possible for the right amount. Tongues would say the policies in place were only there to drive up the price for covert operations of all natures. The spacing guild's hypocrisy was well-known, and you had navigated their corrupt system with skill and cunning.

These were stressful days, as loading needed to take place as quickly as possible. The stakes were high, with the ever-increasing price for spice on the black market. Even with the spacing guild looking the other way, there were still risks involved. You felt the pressure of your buyers. As you overlooked the last barrels being loaded into the belly of the spacecraft, hidden behind fake walls, blasts of noise came out of nowhere. The sudden commotion sent a jolt of adrenaline through you, and you instinctively knew that the Harkonnen had found you.

You tried to run away, but despite the commotion you noticed the Harkonnen had found you and your illegal trade. That was the moment you knew all of it was futile. Yet, surrender was not what you decided to do, as you managed to avoid several soldiers on your way to the exit of the vessel. Your instincts kicked in, and you fought with every ounce of your being to escape capture.

With only a few meters left to overcome, there was only one person standing between you and retaining your freedom. You knew you needed to get past this person, as your colleagues were being slaughtered behind you. The Harkonnen clearly decided not to take any prisoners today. The sight of your colleagues being slaughtered fuelled your desperation to escape.

As you tried to divert this person’s attention, you could not help but notice he did not look like the other soldiers. He was not wearing a mask, his armour did not cover his neck and he stood just a bit more observing than the men that were causing a blood bath. He was observing you, a smirk on his pouting mouth. His alien beauty has shortly distracted you. Precisely enough time to put you in an unsurpassable disadvantage. His unusual appearance and the intensity of his gaze caught you off guard, giving him the upper hand.

What you did not know at that moment was that this was the first time you saw the na-Baron himself. But it was not the first time he had seen you. Actually, his predatorial eyes had been observing you for quite a while, and had decided you were to join his cause. All of this, you did not know, as you tried to feel for your life, only to be captured by the young lord himself and dragged into his lair. His calculated and predatory nature had singled you out, and he had orchestrated this encounter to bring you into his fold.

“You may call yourself lucky” were the first words he spoke to you, “as I have an offer that will change your life.” His voice was almost as you had expected. What surprised you was the small streak of honey in it; you had expected him to sound raspy, as result of the bad conditions on Giedi Prime. His voice was smooth and commanding, with an underlying sweetness that underlined his ruthless nature.

You could not do anything else but hum. “I will allow you to continue your profession, in my employ.” These words had you startled. “You will live in the lap of luxury, as long as you do what I instruct you” his said promising. He did not to say what the other option was, as he had shown that to you before you left the spacecraft. Your former mates; all slaughtered. His offer was clear: serve him and live in luxury, or refuse and face death. The choice was not truly a choice at all.

There was no true choice, meaning there also was no need to confirm your acceptance. Not that he needed it. It turned out that you were not the only smuggler he had caught over the course of several weeks. However, you were the one that stood out most over the months since he took you in. Considering his extreme ambition and desire to be prepared, the traits you brought to the table allowed you to advance quickly within his organization. A syndicate not sanctioned by the Baron, the emperor or any other institute of power. A covert operation. Your skills and intelligence set you apart, and you quickly became key in his shadowy imperium.

Where you initially were subject to his every whim, you grew more confident in your position as time passed. The balance of power between you started to become more equal, although you would always be his subordinate. Reluctantly he was moved to consider your wishes and demands, if only because he had no other option. Your growing influence and importance made you indispensable to him, and he began to treat you with a grudging respect.

+++

So, when you decided you would no longer entertain him after he had betrayed your trust, he could not do nothing else than accept it. You could not be removed or ignored. Not on a short term. It would have grave financial and operational consequences, and potentially even jeopardize his entire position. Your defiance was a calculated risk, and you knew that he could not afford to lose you. Your power play was bold and dangerous, but ultimately successful.

As you continued your duties unwavering, he continued to encounter you. Every time he lay his eyes on your hidden curves, his nose picked up your scent, your arm brushed against his, he heard your voice, he felt the warmth radiating from your body, his longing increased. Memories on how his hands would roam, explore and uncover secret treasures you held. Every time his resolve was tested: his declaration not to be warmed by another, his understanding he should not impose himself on you. His desire for you grew with each encounter, and his self-imposed celibacy became a torment. His resolve was tested daily, and his frustration mounted.

His trusted soldier Ivan told him after another meeting: “sir, I believe I heard you moan in there as she left. I could see your hands clenching, knuckles turning whiter than they already are. You even licked your lips several times as she presented the new numbers. Why don't you just inform her she will be accepting you? You know she must be needy as well. It won't take long before she accepts you willingly. You will be doing her a pleasure. Truly.” Ivan's observations were astute, and he could see the toll your absence was taking on his lord. His suggestion, while crass, was an attempt to alleviate Feyd-Rautha's suffering.

Feyd-Rautha grabbed Ivan by the neck, pushed him against a wall and growled: “is this how you think of me, soldier? That I have no control over myself? Do you want to get yourself strangled by your master?” Ivan continued: “sir, you will be doing us a pleasure as well. You have been an absolute nightmare. If you don’t fuck her, just fuck one of your other pets. You have so many. Why do you have them if you don't use them?” The na-Baron threw Ivan to the ground and mounted him in a flash. Feyd-Rautha's anger was a testament to his internal struggle. His pride and self-control were at war with his desires, and Ivan's words had struck a nerve.

Ivan thought to himself that this escalated far too quickly. Typically, he would be able to taunt the Harkonnen like this, repercussions consisting of an insult or a blow. But he found Feyd-Rautha pressing a blade against his neck and threatening: “maybe you need to come to my bed tonight. I am sure that will be doing you a pleasure” he spat. As he saw his soldier on the ground, eyes engorged, mouth slightly opened, shaking, it forced him to recall why you had left him devoid of physical compassion several weeks ago. The sight of Ivan's fear brought Feyd-Rautha back to his senses, and he recalled the events that had led to your defiance. He betrayed you, and he knew he had to make amends.

+++

Typically, you and the other smugglers would be in Barony, working while being hidden deep in the wing of the royal palace where the na-Baron kept his pets. As far as his uncle concerned this was a place for debauchery, not for illegal operations. Every now and then you needed to leave. To align with other smugglers. To oversee the execution of your plans, whether it was related to transport, loading, storage or bribing the Spacing Guild. Nobody could know that a Harkonnen was involved with skimming the milk, so you used your former identity and network to get this part sorted out. For enough money, even the guild would turn a blind eye. Your dual role as a smuggler and the na-Baron's right-hand woman required careful navigation. You had to maintain your cover while ensuring the success of his covert operations.

One day, you were visiting one of the depots. Feyd-Rautha always ensured you were accompanied if you left his quarters. To ensure safety: yours, but especially his. You had soon learned the men walking with you had strict orders to kill you on the spot should you try to make a run for it. At the same time, they had also protected you a few times, from revenge by your former colleagues. As the na-Baron wanted to increase the strength of his plan B, he needed to be certain nobody else had a similar stash. It caused you to be an accomplice in his crackdown on smuggling from Arrakis. The few smugglers left grew bitter as you tore their lifeline. Some even came to believe you were the one that had set them up, that one day that everyting came falling down on Arrakis. Your role in the na-Baron's crackdown on smuggling had earned you enemies among your former colleagues. Their bitterness and desire for revenge made every excursion a dangerous endeavour.

Today, he joined you himself. Just the two of you. Inspecting the silos is what you had planned for the day. Large vessels containing his contraband spice. As you walked around, working your checklist, you noticed he had started to roam around. Entering some of the rooms you had passed without opening. You did not think too much about it, as you considered he would perhaps be keen to know whether the structure was still holding up in the harsh environment of Giedi Prime. It was a point of attention you had raised several times. So, you did not think too much about it, knowing you were alone there, he would never let any harm come unto you and you could fend for yourself.

His presence was both reassuring, yet also uncharacteristically unnerving. You knew he was there to protect you, but his wandering made you uneasy. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

As you continued to walk and inspect, you suddenly picked up only on your own footsteps. In the darkness of this desolate place, fear wrapped you instantly, as another pair of steps started to be heard faintly. You knew that these were not Feyd-Rautha's, as he would either choose to walk very loudly or unnoticeably. There was no middle ground with that man. The sudden realization that you were not alone sent a chill down your spine. You knew that Feyd-Rautha would not have allowed anyone else to accompany you, so the presence of another person could only mean danger.

As your hands found your dagger, the silence was broken: “I have been waiting for you. For so long. We will be having a long chat while I allow you to redeem yourself, bone by broken bone” a man said with a dark voice. You recognized that voice, but from where? You could hardly see in this dark place. As an extra pair of footsteps entered the hall, you knew you were outnumbered. You could scream for help, but that would only give your position away. Your best bet now was to retreat in the shadows and find your way out. The voice was familiar, but you couldn't place it. The darkness and the echo made it hard to pinpoint the speaker's location. You knew you had to act fast and silently to escape the trap.

As you scooted to the walls, you bumped into another person, a third person. And that was the moment you knew you were screwed. But you would not go down that easily, as you crouched down to slice that person's legs, which bought you just enough time to try to get out of your predicament.

“The bitch went there” the man who you had disabled screamed, guiding his companions into your direction. You knew the hall well enough that there was one exit, which was on the opposite side. You would need to get past them to escape. From what you could gather with the scarce light, there were at least 5 other men in the room. Your quick thinking and ruthless action gave you a brief advantage, but you knew the odds were very much against you. You had to use the element of surprise and your knowledge of the layout to your advantage.

“Come here, bitch! You have disgraced our fellowship by accepting employ of the Harkonnen. And now you need to pay for it in blood.”

Suddenly you recognized who spoke; it was one of your mates, who you had expected to have been slaughtered in the raid, but clearly now.

“You are a demon. How can you be alive?” you screamed.

“You are one to speak, you made a pact with the devil himself!” was the imminent reply. “You are outnumbered, so throw your knife and we will make it quick. If we need to come for you, we will make this hard” he threatened.

The realization that your former colleague was alive and seeking revenge sent a wave of anger and fear through you. You knew you had to fight with everything you had to survive.

“Over my dead body, fucker” you replied. “Do you think I am a dog?” you screamed, as you tried to map your exit. By now there were already 8 men in the room.

“We outnumber you. We have scared your lord away. This is your last chance” your former associate spoke.

“You have always been a coward. Having other people do your dirty jobs. You will be the last person to try to come here” you taunted.

A taunt that worked, as he launched himself at you. As in the past, he underestimated you, as you managed to work him to the ground as well. A trusty old dagger. It caused him to yell and instruct all his men to flood the room. Clearly, he had come with back-up. Your taunt was a calculated risk, and it paid off. You used his anger and underestimation of you to your advantage, taking him down and buying yourself more time. But you knew the real fight was just beginning.

It made you wonder about the na-Baron. Where was he? Was he overcome? Did he flee? Why did he not come with back-up? As there were too many people in the room to count, your bravery started to seep away from you. That was, until you heard men wailing, being cut down, one after the other. The crowd turned away from you and towards the slashing entity. And he cut all of them down.

There he was. Left with just your last opponent, bodies littering the floor. “Come here, and let's get this over with” one man said, “indeed” the other replied. Within half a minute Feyd-Rautha's blade entered his body for the last time as he sighed: “finally.” The sound of young lord's blade cutting through your enemies was a symphony of relief. You knew he had come for you, and his ruthless efficiency in dispatching your foes was both terrifying and reassuring.

Removing his blade from the dead man, he wiped it clean as he walked towards you: “I knew you would be able to handle at least one of them” he purred. “Two, even better.” You slapped him on the chest, fairly playful, but still to convey your discontentness. As he wrapped his arm around you, you recalled the word Feyd-Rautha had said while your assailant was pierced on his blade: “finally.”

In silence you walked out, passing all the corpses, to go back home. While flying back, you stayed silent as well. Seeing your former mates slaughtered like that still hurt, even though they tried to attack you. Your mixed emotions were a tangled web of relief, anger, and sadness. The sight of your former colleagues, dead at his hand, was a stark reminder of the brutal world you inhabited.

As he lifted you out from the ornithopter you looked down on him and saw a smirk on his plump lips. It suddenly clicked: “you fucking liar” as you slapped him in the face. “I should have known what you were up to. You fucking used me as bait.”

“Don’t be so silly. Like I would ever allow you to be harmed” he responded as he dropped you to the ground.

“Fucking bait. You should have told me. I could have prepared myself. Now I was at your fucking mercy” as you rushed to your room.

That night he sent his servant to pick you up. But you refused. His servant knew better than to lay hands on you, so went back without success.

Your anger and frustration boiled over, and you lashed out at him. You felt betrayed and used, and you needed space to process your emotions. Your refusal to share his bed was a clear message that you would not be manipulated or taken for granted.

The next day you met the na-Baron during the different meetings you had scheduled with him. And you gave him the cold shoulder. He deserved it. Just as he deserved sleeping in the cold.

You knew why he slept naked. It was his weird answer to feeling vulnerable at a more tender age. It was his way of taking ownership. It was no longer someone else undressing him. He was no longer afraid of being naked. He had agency. And nothing would take that away, not even the cold.

Your cold shoulder was a silent protest, a way to assert your own agency and independence. You knew that he valued you, and you used that knowledge to your advantage. Your defiance was a power play, a way to renegotiate the terms of your relationship.

+++

Over the weeks you saw him turn into an irritable man, as you continued to refuse his servants. You wanted to see how far you could push him. What he was willing to do to make amends. You knew you could not escape him forever. At the same time, you also knew that given your position he would not be forcing himself onto you. It became a question of stamina. Who would cave in earlier. Who would signal defeat.

The weeks passed also made you grow weary. You had grown accustomed to his attention, and lacking it did take its toll on you as well. But you would not budge. No matter what. Your defiance was a test of wills, a battle of stamina and resolve. You knew that you held a unique position of power, and you were determined to use it to your advantage.

You were playing a dangerous game, but you were committed to seeing it through.

+++

One night, something out of the ordinary took place. Usually Feyd-Rautha would send a servant and have them bring whatever snack he wanted. But this night, he went out himself. You could not recall whether you had ever seen him at your chamber.

“I am sleeping in your bed. You can join me, or sleep somewhere else” he declared and stepped into your room as if he owned the place.

He of course did, but he had never been here before. This has been your own private territory. Now invaded by this man. It brought balance to the genuflection of coming to your place.

His unexpected appearance in your chamber was a bold and calculated move. He was asserting his dominance, but also showing a willingness to meet you on your own territory. It was a complex power play, a mix of aggression and vulnerability.

He threw off all his clothing, dropping it next to your bed. Although you tried to prevent it, you couldn't help but glance at him. His perfect pale skin, the muscles moving under it, the shape of the buttocks changing as his legs moved up and down to remove his pants, his back transforming in size as he stripped himself from his robe. You were taken over by heat. You only wanted one thing. Only one thing. To jump on him and take that one thing you had deprived yourself from for so many weeks. Too many weeks to count, yet you knew the exact number of nights that you went without his attention.

His nakedness was a display of vulnerability and trust. He was putting himself at your mercy, both physically and emotionally. It was a powerful gesture, and it stirred something primal within you.

He ditched the blanket and allowed his tired body to fall on your bed. Shameless. Shameless in his position: on his back, as a star, in the middle of the bed. He did this deliberate. Forcing you to make a choice. Forcing you to look at him and desire him. He surely lived up to his manipulative reputation. And you could not be angry at him for it. While you were still contemplating what to do, flabbergasted after you closed the door, you soon heard a slight snore coming from his body.

His shamelessness was both infuriating and endearing. He was pushing your boundaries, but he was also showing you that he trusted you completely. You were torn between anger and admiration, frustration and desire.

Your room had not been equipped with a couch. And unlike him, you truly needed your rest as you could not roam around slaying people as a way to replenish. So, you too caved in and went to settle your bed. You did push him to the side, trying to get him to roll over from his starshaped presence into more of a croissant. But he was not having that. Too heavy to push and too stubborn to move. This made you crouch up, facing him with your back.

You fell asleep, only to wake up with the twitching hardness of his length pressed against your back. Again, you recalled the weeks of deprivation that you had put him through. The weeks that were equally challenging on you.

His presence was both comforting and arousing, and you found yourself torn between your desire for him and your determination to maintain your defiance.

You would not wake him. He would not have the pleasure of knowing the burden this punishment had on you. But you could also not help yourself. The feeling of him against you flooded your body with new warmth, energy and desire. The all-mighty na-Baron found sleep for the first time in weeks. His body needing to catch up, he had wrapped himself tightly around your frame. You would not be leaving him anytime soon. His arm wrapped around you, you tried to move and wiggle. His strong arms were pressed into you, yet he did not seem to wake up. His unconscious embrace was a testament to his need for you, both physically and emotionally. He was holding onto you as if you were his lifeline, his anchor in a stormy sea of uncertainty and desire.

That was the moment you came up with a devious plan. You decided to change the definition of the pleasures you were depriving him (and yourself) from. Make it a bit narrower. Rather than apply to all physical pleasures, you decided it should not count for anything that did not involve moving.

You silently chuckled as you softly drew your gown up, exposing yourself to him. You still felt him softly moving, nearly automatically finding the new path to the narrow room between your legs. Why he was still asleep astonished you. Especially with the heat and moisture that radiated from you. Your plan was a clever and calculated one, a way to satisfy your mutual desires without fully conceding to his demands. You were bending the rules, finding a loophole that allowed you to maintain your power while also indulging in the pleasure of his touch.

As you pushed him inside of you, you were afraid you would wake him. However much you longed him, however prepared your body made her, he always needed to open you. The tightness could also hurt him, and therefore draw him out of his sleep. But you managed, and he filled you up beautifully. A feeling you had missed so dearly. With all the effort in your frame you managed to refrain from moving, trying to keep him in his dreams. But your pussy didn't listen and clenched herself around him. Repeatedly. Clearly, she longed for his nectar.

A longing breath started to flow down through your hair, alongside the tiny ones in your neck. You could just imagine how much resolve was in that mind, knowing greedy eyes were staring down over your shoulder. The intensity was burning through you. Your body's involuntary reactions betrayed your attempts at stillness. You were aching with desire, and the feeling of him inside you was almost too much to bear. You were walking a fine line, trying to maintain control while also giving in to your primal urges.

You wavered. You needed him. As much as he needed you. He was your little love bug after all. You felt his lips reaching for your neck, and spoke with a soft yet stern voice: “Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You have not yet absolved your actions. Until then, you are at my mercy. You will not thrust unless I allow you to. And do not dare to come. Go back to sleep.” He growled, closed his eyes and twitched his cock as a sign of retaliation. It landed him a blow from your elbow into his ribs. But you did not evacuate him. He was allowed to stay in you, in your bed, in your room. Your words were a mix of command and capitulation. You were asserting your dominance, but also acknowledging your mutual need. You were setting the terms, but also giving him a glimpse of hope. It was a complex and delicate power dynamic, a dance between desire and control.

His punishment continued. Perhaps it hurt him more than before. But it would punish you at least equally. Your shared torment was a testament to your intertwined fates. You were both bound by desire and need, locked in a dance of power and submission. Your punishment was a double-edged sword, cutting deep into both of you. It was a test of endurance, a battle of wills, and a testament to your shared obsession. This would not be the last time you had a falling out, but for now, you had thought him to respect you.

+++

More of my one shots

Inspired by the world-building by @sandwormrp and @moonbeammist (who I seem to recall also wrote some smuggling pieces).

A little valentines gift for @kasey23 @soft-mama-reads @kasagia @youokaybucky @arianatheangel-girl and all the other members of the Feral Feyd Fanclub

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feral for feyd #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha x you #ddofab #valentines day

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orcasoul · 1 day ago

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The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter Summary: You begin to adjust to your new life in Rome, while becoming closer to Marcus.

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

Word Count: 7,001

Chapter 6 A Home From Home

For the hundredth time today, you are astounded. Every inch of the villas walls are painted and some are decorated with images of florals, animals and people. Tall, shiny pillars stand proud in a large hallway, lush orange curtains drape across wide arches, statues and vases of various sizes sit in niches along the walls, the ceilings display detailed recessed panels and boarders of patterns you couldn't have ever imagined. Sunlight streams in through a large rectangular opening in the ceiling and directly beneath it is a very shallow pool of water. White and gold rimmed tiles cover the floor and the smell of lavender and roses hang in the air. All of this for one man! It's unfathomable. The servants lead you down a spacious corridor lined with potted plants, stopping outside two large double doors.

"This is your bed chamber, My Lady," one of the girls says as she opens the doors for you. Blinking back your shock, you slowly enter, feeling somewhat unworthy to step foot into such opulence. This one room is three times the size of your hut back in your village. The same meticulous decor adorns the walls and ceiling, the largest and most luxurious looking bed - with an abundance of cushions, you might add - surrounded by semi transparent veils rests against the far wall. A large Oak wardrobe and a standing mirror are situated to the right of the bed, a soft Lectus is in the far right corner and a vanity table on the other side. To the left of the bed is a smaller doorway and between the door and bed, a curtained balcony leads outside. There must be some mistake. This can't be intended for you. You didn't realise you were clutching your bag so tightly to your chest until the other servant spoke. "I can take that if you wish," she said, holding out her hand.

"Thank you," you smiled shyly, passing it to her. She places it on the Lectus while the other girl opens the smaller door in your room. "This is your private room for bathing." Peeking around the door you see another room, (smaller but still bigger than your hut) with another Lectus, a large brazier and a large oval shaped basin built into the floor with the sides raised about a foot from ground level and steps surrounding it. Steam rises from the water, flower petals swirling on the surface. "All of this is for me?" you ask in disbelief. "It is, My Lady. The Generals' orders were clear. Would you like us to help you undress?" "Oh, um... no thank you," you say, maybe a bit too quickly, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Both girls are now looking at you like you've grown another head. Were they expecting to undress and bathe you?

Maybe that's another norm here? To be bathed by your servants. Does that mean Marcus allows them to bath him?? Surely not! They suddenly look like they don't know what to do with themselves, but there's no chance you're going to allow them to see you naked, even if it is the norm here. "I'd prefer to bathe alone, please," you insist and after a doubtful glance at each other, they nod and leave the room. Peeling off your clothes, you waste no time slipping into the hot water, making sure to keep your bandaged shoulder dry. An involuntary moan passes your lips as you lean back against the edge, the hot temperature and swirling oils caressing every muscle, releasing the tension of a weeks worth of travelling.

If this isn't heaven on earth, you don't know what is. The best you could have hoped for up until now was a bucket of cold water and a rag, and in the summer months, a visit to the river to fully bathe. After washing your hair and body with the sweet smelling soaps provided, you lay back down and close your eyes. You're not ready for this to end yet... A light tap on the door causes you to startle. "My Lady, dinner will be ready soon. We must prepare you." How long have you been in here?! It feels like you'd closed your eyes only five minutes ago but now you notice that the water has cooled slightly. Reaching for a towel folded on the steps, you quickly stand and wrap it around yourself. "I'm coming," you call out to them, squeezing the excess water from your hair. When you enter the bedroom, you see the servants waiting for you, one of the girls (the brunette) holding a long, flowing pale green gown.

"It's beautiful," you gush, tracing your fingers along the delicate fabric. "Please allow us to assist you," the other girl, (the blonde one) says. "It will be difficult to do this without help." Despite your initial embarrassment, you agree to let them dress you, after all, you wouldn't even know where to begin with these strange fashions and they seem to know what they are doing. Once dressed, the girls turn their attention to your hair, which is turning out to be the most time consuming. They work in silence, but said silence is beginning to make you feel uncomfortable, so you decide to fill it. "Could you tell me your names again?" you ask politely. So much was happening upon your arrival that you didn't think to ask them sooner. "I'm Cassia" the blonde answered. "I'm Flavia," the brunette followed after her. "Thank you both for your help," you smile at them in the mirrors' reflection "It's our pleasure, My Lady," Cassia responds promptly.

There's that term again: 'My Lady'. You don't understand why they just don't use your name. "Please, just call me Alia." Both girls stopped what they were doing to meet your gaze in the mirror, clearly caught off guard by your request. "It wouldn't be proper, My Lady-" "I'm not a Lady," you interject, quickly, but not unkindly. "I have no station or class here. I'm not even a citizen yet," you shrug your shoulders. "I would much prefer for you both to call me by my name." "But the General would not allow it," Flavia objected. A small smirk raised the corner of your mouth, your tone becoming slightly mischievous. "He doesn't have to know. Maybe we could compromise? You may refer to me as 'My Lady' in the Generals' presence, but when it's just us I would really appreciate it if you'd call me Alia." Both girls exchanged glances again, then Cassia spoke, "As you wish... Alia." The girls continue with their task and this time the silence is much less strained.

*****

After inspecting the care and attention paid to his villa in his absence, Marcus excused himself to his bed chamber, eager to bathe and rest before dinner. It's been almost six months since he'd been home, and although a part of him felt that this is wrong (that he should be with his troops), he couldn't deny the relief he also felt at his homecoming. This is his sanctuary, his escape from blood, brutality and death. Well, a physical escape, at least. The horrors of war, the lives he's taken will forever be ingrained on his soul, along with their blood on his hands. It's just a reality he'll always have to endure, but at least his body can rest, even if his mind can't. And right now, his mind is on you. He can't even begin to fathom how you must be feeling after today. Not only is this a huge culture shock for you, but you're now going to have a lot to learn, and you'll have to learn it fast if you're going to thrive here. But at least you won't be alone in this. He'll help any way he can.

Marcus steps out onto his balcony, the whitewashed stone illuminated by the moon. Looking at the moon now, he's reminded of that night he watched it from that filthy cage. He was certain he would die in Germania; certain he'd never get to stand on this very balcony and observe the moon's pearlessent sheen again. Yet, here he is, and it's all thanks to you. It all feels so long ago and so recent at the same time. He thinks about the changes since then; how you've both gone from distrusting one another, to tolerating one another, to... dare he say friends? A warmth spreads through his chest at the thought of calling you a friend and, regardless of how you view him, that's how he sees you now: as his friend. That simple truth makes him smile, both inside and out, and as your friend, he'll do his very best to make the transition as easy as possible for you, starting with your comfort. You'll no longer have to scrape by every day. By the gods, you'll never suffer another day in your life if he has anything to say about it. A knock on his door, draws him from his thoughts. "Come in," he calls out. Silas opens the door. "Dinner will be served, momentarily, Dominus." "Thank you, Silas. Please inform Alia." "Yes, Sir," Silas bows and leaves the room

*****

The Triclinium (living/dining room) is awash with the most delicious aromas that Marcus hasn't smelled in months. Two plates of venison, seasoned root vegetables and potatoes are set at both end of the table along with two smaller plates of figs, pomegranates and fruit tarts. Being home really does have it perks, he thinks to himself as he savours the rich bodied wine he sips from his goblet. Marcus stands by your chair, awaiting your arrival. Moments later the doors open and his hand stops mid air, the sip he was about to take well and truly forgotten, along with the rest of the room. Marcus' breath caught in his chest as you slowly entered, convinced for a moment that venus had suddenly graced him with her presence. A soft green gown with a low v neckline framed your delicate figure, along with a cream coloured Palla draped over one shoulder, secured at your waist with a floral designed belt.

Your hair, which up until now was mostly kept in a simple braid, partly hung in loose waves around your face and shoulders, while the back had been placed up in a loose bun with ribbons interwoven throughout. You look simply stunning! As you come to a stop in front of Marcus, he notices the shy smile you'd entered with shift into a look of uncertainty. That's when he realised that he'd just been standing stock still, staring unabashedly. Before he could attempt to hide his error, you spoke, voice tinged with hesitancy. "Is- is this too much?" you glance down at your clothing, pulling your shoulders into yourself, much like you did the very first time you'd both met. Seeing you shrink in on yourself again, twisted something deep inside marcus' gut. "No, not at all!" Marcus exclaimed, shaking his head. 'You look beau-" his mouth snapped shut as his brain realised what was about to slip past his lips.

Your eyes briefly met his before you lowered them, your cheeks flushing pink. "Um..." he cleared his throat, "it suits you," he finished. "Thank you," you smile softly. "Please, sit..." Marcus pulls out your chair, noticing a flicker of surprise cross your face before thanking him and taking a seat. Once Marcus is seated, a servant appears to fill your cup and refill his own. The feast before you has your stomach grumbling. Now that the shock and awe of todays events have settled, you realise just how hungry you are. "Did you manage to get some rest?" Marcus asked. "A bit," you reply. "And do you like your room?" You can't help but gush now, "Like it?! It's incredible, Marcus! But don't you think it's wasted on someone like me. I mean, I'm hardly deserving of so grand a gesture."

"You deserve it and more," Marcus says with a tone of finality. You can't say you agree but you're not about to argue with him in his own house, so you nod agreeably. "You must be quite hungry by now." Marcus turns your attention to your food. "I'm famished," you acknowledge with a slight chuckle. As you both begin to eat you can't stop the sigh that escapes you at the rich flavour of the meat and the freshness of the vegetables. It's been far too long since you'd had a truly decent and enjoyable meal, always having to make do with scraps and leftovers in your old life. This is just sublime. You didn't even notice your eyes had rolled closed in your head until a low chuckle caused them to snap open. "Good?" Marcus asked, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Mhmm..." you nod, vehemently, mouth still full. After finishing the main course you'd both moved onto dessert. Figs, pomegranates and fruit tart have now become your favourite foods, and you warn Marcus he might have to fight you for them in future, to which he joked, "I'm not going to fight you over fruits. I value my life too much." The lighthearted atmosphere in the room later shifted to a more serious air as Marcus surmised, "I imagine today has been somewhat... overwhelming for you." You huff. "That's an understatement." Marcus just watched you, silently waiting for you to continue. "This house..." you look around you, "this whole city, it's..." you struggle to find the words. "It feels unreal... like I'm in a dream. I didn't know people lived like this. I didn't know it was even possible. I can see now how Rome has been able to conquer so much of the world... No one stands a chance."

There's an ominous undertone in that last sentence. Marcus knows it's true. A power like Rome can never be contained. And while such power can bring great suffering, it can also bring stability and unity to an otherwise dark world. It's just regrettable that you can't have the good without the bad in those circumstances. "Well, you don't have to worry about anything anymore," Marcus offered. "You're safe here. While you're under my roof no one will mistreat you. You have my word." Marcus' soft features have now solidified into determination as he levels you with a 'do you hear me look'. Your chest filled with warmth at Marcus' concern for your wellbeing. No one has shown you such tenderness in years. It's nice but at the same time it unsettles you. The thought of putting your faith in another person is daunting and it goes against every ounce of self preservation you have. But you will try, you want to try. "Thank you," you smile, feeling the tingle of tears behind your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, hope.

*****

Later that night with the villa settled and the long and exhausting day drawing to a close, you take a much needed moment to just... breathe, to truly reflect on your new reality and the new, unmapped path ahead of you. Sitting at the foot of the bed, one hand runs over the silk texture of your sheets, while your other holds your fathers' knife, which you'd made sure to pack in your bag. You turn it slowly, eyes tracing the carvings along the hilt. Familiarity - even if it's this small - is what you need right now. Braziers bathe the room in a rich amber glow, while the distance buzz of Cicadas drift on the light breeze coming in through the open balcony door. You'd dreamt of this for weeks; to finally reach the sanctuary of Rome and try to find some semblance of peace. Every time you'd envisioned this moment it filled you with comfort.

So why, now that you're finally here, do you feel a crushing weight in the pit of your stomach, the hope you'd begun to feel only a couple of hours ago dimming like a cooling ember. And it only worsens when your thoughts drift to your parents, to Farro. You'd been so eager on leaving your old life behind that it hadn't occurred to you that you'd be leaving them behind aswell. You'll always carry them in your heart but knowing that you're so far away from the land you once shared with them cuts deep. You couldn't stay in the village, you know that, and they wouldn't have wanted you too, but that doesn't make this ache any easier to bare. It feels like you've abandoned them. Looking around the opulence of the room, it dawns on you that you don't belong here any more than you belonged with your tribe. It seems there's no place for you anywhere in this world. With such a heavy realisation, come your tears.

You reach beside you where the fur blanket Marcus gave you lays folded up. Maybe it was your subconscious compelling you to do so, you're not sure, but you wrap it around your body - despite the warmth of the mediterranean air. Just the fact it's from Marcus gives you a sense of comfort. Between the stress from the long journey and the mental and emotional storm swirling through you, you're suddenly exhausted, in every way you can be. Laying down (on the softest pillow imaginable) you pull the blanket up to your chin and close your eyes, drifting off into a deep and much earned sleep.

*****

You wake to a clinking sound in your room. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are as you blink away the daze of sleep. Turning your head in the direction of the sound you see Cassia placing a tray on your dresser. "Good day, My - um... Alia," she smiles, with a tip of her head. "You've missed breakfast and lunch. Dominus sent this platter of food for you." Still slightly groggy, you sit up, rubbing your eyes. "What time is it?" "A little after 2pm." Your heavy lids shoot up when you realise you've slept half the day away. "Oh, forgive me. I overslept," you say, sheepishly. "It's alright. Dominus wanted to let you rest after your journey. I trust you slept well?" You nod, "Yes, thank you." Cassia brought over the tray, consisting of bread, cheese and grapes and set it down on your lap. "I'll return in half an hour to help you dress. Dominus requests your presence in the Triclinium in an hours' time. He has arranged for a Medicus to attend you." Cassia bowed once more and left your room.

*****

"Lady Alia, Dominus," Cassia announced as she opened the doors to the Triclinium. Inwardly, you cringed at the title but a deal is a deal, you guess. "Thank you, Cassia," Marcus replied. "Please, come..." he extended his hand to beckon you. "This is Ennius. He's here to assess your shoulder." The short, kindly looking old man nods his head respectfully and you smile, somewhat shyly in return. "I'll leave you to it," Marcus said, then left the room. While the Medicus inspected the healing scar tissue, you kept your eyes locked on the furthest wall, unable to bring yourself to look at the consequences of your sins. This mark will forever be a reminder of the life you took. Since you hadn't regained full motion of your shoulder yet the Medicus instructed you to do morning and nightly exercises for the next few weeks. Thanking him for his help, you walk him to the door, surprised to see Marcus waiting patiently on a Lectus in the Atrium.

"All well?" Marcus asked, standing up. "Yes General, a picture of health." A quiet, relieved sigh left Marcus' lips. His own diagnosis was what he'd expected; three to four months of physiotherapy along with additional daily exercise to stop the muscle from seizing. And now with your clean bill of health, he can feel the worry he had for you draining away. "Thank you for attending us today." "Its my great honour, General," the Medicus replied respectfully, bowed and left. Marcus turned to you, his air of formality easing and a soft smile on his lips. "Are you well rested?" "Yes, thank you," you smile in return. "How did you find your first night here?" Marcus asked. How can you answer that without sounding ungrateful of Marcus' hospitality? You're glad to be here, but you hadn't expected to feel regret simultaneously. Leaving everything you knew behind isn't as easy as you'd anticipated.

With what felt like a forced smile, you answer, "It was a very comfortable night." "Good," Marcus' gaze softened even more, seemingly pleased with your answer. "Come, walk with me." Marcus held out his elbow, and you couldn't help but notice the width of his arms compared to your own. Something about the stark difference in size struck you, but surprisingly not in an intimidating way. Once, you were afraid of what he could do to you, but now you feel with certainty that he would never purposely hurt you. As you slip your arm through his, the warmth of his tanned skin and the firmness of his muscle has you momentarily entranced. Faint and more recent scars criss cross his forearm, and you wish you could know the story behind each one. "Where are we going?" you ask. "I'm giving you a tour of the villa. We didn't have time yesterday."

As Marcus led you through the spacious villa, explaining the names and purposes of each room, you once again marvelled at the beauty of the architecture, art and sculptures that make up this grand estate. But your favourite part of the tour was the Hortus (garden). Never had you seen such an array of colours! It seems every species of flower imaginable bloom here, some you recognised such as Lillies, Roses of varying shades of pink and red, Poppies and Crocus, but many you haven't before. You'd quickly learned the names as Marcus answered question after question, appearing entertained by your inquisitiveness. Iris, with the deepest hue of purple, Long stems of multicoloured Gladioli, Narcissus that looked like it had been kissed by the sun itself and your favourite; Myrtle. It's vibrant white, curved petals and tufts of white and yellow staymens reminded you of stars bursting to life.

The amalgamation of fragrances waft on the breeze, the air simply intoxicating. You continue strolling through the extensive garden, taking in the Ivy covered columns bordering it. Niches along the outer walls hold small statues and vases. Another fountain - smaller than the one in the courtyard - with dancing women carved into the marble, sits in the centre of the garden and low bushes in curved formations surround it and line the pathways. A few Cypress trees cast shadows over parts of the lawn and beautiful marble benches are dotted throughout. Birds warble from the trees, flitting from branch to branch and bees and dragonflies drift through the garden, indulging themselves on the flowers' sweet nectar. This entire garden is the very embodiment of life. If ever you have envisioned paradise, this is it.

"This place is... magnificent," you gushed as you and Marcus take a seat on one of the benches. "I wonder how you can ever bare to leave it?" Marcus gives a halfhearted smile. "It's not by choice. Unfortunately duty overrides choice." "Mmm..." you nod in understanding. "You're so fortunate, Marcus. I can only dream of one day having a home like this," you sigh, dreamily. "This is your home..." Marcus stated, sounding slightly confused. Your head snapped his way. "W-what?" Now you both share the same bewildered look, him regarding you like you've just said something absurd. "I- I don't understand," you stutter, "you brought me here to help me get a fresh start." "Yes...?" Marcus confirmed, one eyebrow raised in question. "I never expected you to take me into your home indefinitely. That would be such an imposition." Marcus' brows pinch together.

"Where did you think you were going to go?" "Well, I..." you rub the back of your neck, uncertainty creeping in. "I intend to look for employment somewhere and use the money to have my own home." Marcus' frown softened, looking at you like he was about to deliver very bad news. "I'm sorry, I should have been more clear with you," he began, hesitantly. "It was always the intention to give you a home here. When you asked about life in Rome and I mentioned employment, I didn't mean you would have to work. It's not common for a woman to work. Her father provides for her until she weds and then the responsibility becomes her husbands'." Your heart sinks in despair as the reality of you situation sets in. In just a short conversation all the plans you'd had for your future have been dashed.

"But I have neither! I have to work, Marcus!" The alarm in your voice caused Marcus to sigh and close his eyes. He'd thought it was obvious that this would be your new home. The fearful expression clouding your eyes made Marcus' heart constrict. "I'm sorry, Alia," he paused and looked you dead in the eyes. "It's very unlikely you'll ever be considered employable." "Why?!" Marcus shifted uncomfortably, hoping what he's about to say won't offend you. The last thing he wants is to hurt your feelings but you have to know where you stand. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but first of all you have no concept of life here, no skills to offer. Forgive me for asking but are you literate?" You sigh, defeatedly and shake your head. "That puts you at a huge disadvantage," Marcus adds. "Second, you're a foreigner and many employers would frown upon that." "So you're saying it's hopeless?"

The sight of your glistening eyes makes Marcus' heart ache for you, his entire being vibrating with the need to reach out and comfort you. It takes all of his willpower to stop himself. Marcus answers you with a sympathetic smile. "But there must be something I can do," you stress. "Marcus, I appreciate everything you've done for me but I can't stay here. This is your home and I refuse to be any more of a burden than I already am. You have no obligations to me other than the deal we made. There must be somewhere for someone like me, some kind of job I can do." Only two possibilities exist for someone of your station- or lack of it - and neither of them are an option as far as Marcus is concerned. He doesn't want to crush you any more tan he has but you're just not getting it. He shakes his head and exhales, "There are two options; one being the poorhouse..." Marcus' face turns grim, loathed to mention the the other, but he must. "The second is the pleasure house. And that's not happening."

Marcus can see the colour drain from your cheeks at the mere mention of that. "No, no that's not," you quickly agree. "So you see, you don't really have much of a choice." "But Marcus..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and leaning your elbows on your lap, "This isn't fair on you. You're not my father or husband, so why should you have to keep me? It's not right." "Alia..." you peer up at Marcus, looking defeated. "I'm not doing this out of obligation or pity. I'm doing it because I want to help you, because I care. And don't ever refer to yourself as a burden again." You release a humourless chuckle. "You should have ditched me on the way. I can't say I would have blamed you. Now you're stuck with me. Oh, I know..!" you perk up, "I could earn my place here. I could work in the kitchen or -" "No!" Marcus shook his head, emphatically. "Don't you think you've spent enough time in servitude?"

"I..." Whatever you were about to say dies on your tongue and Marcus can see the fight draining from you, replaced with a reluctant acceptance of your situation. He continues with sincerity, "Life has dealt you an unbelievably cruel hand, Alia. Please, allow me to show you kindness. Let me take care of you." After a moment of contemplative silence, you give Marcus a tired smile and nod. "I don't know what to say, Marcus, but... thank you." A warmth suddenly envelops the back of Marcus' hand, a soft brushing sensation across his knuckles. Looking down, he sees his much larger hand enclosed around yours on your lap and your other hand resting atop his. When did this happen? When did his hand find yours? And more importantly, how did he not even notice it happening? Clearing his throat, he gently slid his hand from yours, willing his quickening pulse to ease. Burying his discomfort, he says, "I don't want you to worry anymore, okay? Everything will be alright, I promise."

"I believe you," you whisper sadly, wiping a tear from under your eye. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go and lie down for a while. I feel a headache coming." Marcus rises with you as you stand. "Of course," he soothes. "I'll send Flavia for you when dinner is ready." "Thank you," you murmur before walking away. Marcus watches you as you walk back into the villa. He can't imagine how overwhelmed you must be right now and this is only the beginning. There's so much you'll have to learn, to adjust too, and it's clear to him now that it involves so much more than just life in Rome. It seems a lifetime of abuse and neglect has left you unable to fully accept basic human kindness. The injustice of the treatment placed upon you fills Marcus with a silent anger; the kind that buries it's roots deep into your soul, forever lurking just beneath the surface. If he could, he would leave for Germania this very minute and take great pleasure in burning your village and everyone who've wronged you to ashes.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation as he left the Curia Julia (senate house). The meeting with the Emperors and the senate has mentally drained him. These pompous men - Emperors included - speak so casually of war, yet have never faced the reality of the battlefield, never watched the life fade from the eyes of a brother in arms, never smelled the iron tang of so many wasted lives as it seeps into the ground, never heard the weeping of mothers and wives in the aftermath. All they see is a romanticized version of it. After briefing them on all that had happened under his watch and the plans going forward under the command of his Praetorian, and the expected time of his recovery, the subject then shifted to you. He'd explained how you were mistreated and how you'd helped him escape and the promise of citizenship he'd made you.

While a part of him felt it wasn't his place to reveal certain sensitive details, he knew that if he omitted anything now and it later came to light, it could damage your image and forever tarnish you and himself as deceitful, so he told them everything; that they accused your mother of witchcraft and by extension of her bloodline, you too, that they'd murdered your parents and enslaved you and that you'd killed your chief while you were both escaping. There were some raised eyebrows and critical judgements as he'd expected, but after taking it upon himself to vouch for you, a lot of their reservations appeared to have been put at ease and he was able to begin the necessary procedures for your paperwork. Now all he wants is to get back home and be as far away as possible from these two insufferable boys and the showboating of those politicians.

Arriving at the villa, Marcus gave his horse to the stable hand, and headed straight for the Hortus. In the few days since arriving, he'd noticed you particularly favoured the Hortus, spending as much time here as possible. He found you laying on your back in the grass, eyes closed, arm tucked under your head like a pillow and long wavy hair unfurled around you like it's your crowning glory. Coming to a stop right beside you, Marcus grinned, "Now, how did I know I'd find you here?" Using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight, you squinted up at him, a lazy smile on your face. "How could I not be here?" you shrug, playfully. "This place is... perfection." The last word left your lips in such a dreamy sigh that Marcus couldn't help but laugh. In all the weeks he's known you, he's never seen you so relaxed, so unguarded.

Knowing that he's able to give you such peace fills him with connectedness and a deep satisfaction. After everything you've endured, you deserve the very best that life can offer, that he can offer. "Come, lay beside me," you pat the ground next to you. Marcus just stared down at you, brow ticked up in question. "Uh... why?" he asked, somewhere in between intrigue and amusement. "Haven't you ever just laid in the sun, just for the sake of it?" Marcus shrugged, nonchalantly, "Not really." "Well, there's a first time for everything." You pat the ground again and the goofy grin you're giving him makes him powerless to resist. How can he say no to you when you're looking at him like that? With a slight huff, he lowers himself onto the grass. His leg no longer hurts but the muscle is still quite stiff. But of course the more he uses it, the more it will aid his recovery.

He's still sitting up when he feels you tap his arm. "Lay down...," you say in an almost singsong tone. With a playful roll of his eyes Marcus lays beside you, copying your pose of laying his head on his arm. "So... now what," he asks, lightheartedly. "Now, close your eyes, breathe slowly and just... feel." Marcus does as he's told, secretly enjoying playing along, even if it seems pointless. This is a new side of you; calm, untroubled and Marcus likes it. You continue in a gentle lilt, "Feel the heat of the sun on your face, listen to the birds and the wind, feel the grass beneath your fingers and just... let go of everything." Marcus complies and to his surprise he can feel the tension of the morning ebbing away, his body sinking further into repose. Damn it, this is good. He can't even remember the last time he felt this peaceful.

Instead of tormented screams - which he hears all too often, even off the battlefield - all he can hear now is the sweet chirp of birds and the plants swaying in the afternoon breeze. He won't admit it out loud but you're definitely onto something here. "Excuse me, Dominus?" Marcus hadn't realised he was half asleep until he heard Silas' voice. "What is it, Silas?" he asked, sitting up. "The Medicus has arrived." "Oh, of course. I shall be right there." Silas answered with a respectful nod and made his way back inside the villa. "I Completely forgot he was coming this afternoon," Marcus said. "It's your fault, he teased you, "distracting me with... this," he waved a hand at the world. You shrug, eyes still closed but face a little smug.

"Worth it though, am I right? I'll bet you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time." "You're not wrong there," Marcus chuckled. You prop up onto your elbows, your tone now sounding more serious. "Marcus, is something wrong? Why is the Medicus here?" Your brow scrunched and the worry in your voice struck a chord deep within Marcus, your concern for him making his fondness for you grow. "Everything's fine," he reassured, getting to his feet. "He's here to begin my exercise regime." Your face instantly softened in response. "Ah, good luck," you smiled. "If you need anything, I won't be too far away." "Okay," you sigh, resuming your position in the grass.

*****

Marcus was glad to get that first session over with. He'll definitely be feeling that tomorrow, if the burn in his hamstring is anything to go by. Pouring a cup of wine, he slowly lowered himself onto a Lectus in the Triclinium. Gods, he's starting to feel his age now. Before he had a chance to really relax, Flavia entered the room, carrying a letter. "Dominus, this letter arrived earlier." "Thank you," Marcus said, taking the letter. Flavia left the room. Looking at the seal, Marcus sighed. It's the Emperors' seal. He knew what this was without having to open it; an invitation, just like he receives this time every year, requesting - well, demanding - his attendance for the week long celebrations of Caracalla's birthday. Unrolling the parchment, Marcus' eyes quickly scanned the formal invite to the banquets and Gladitorial games that will be held in Caracalla's honour, the usual entertainment as he'd expected. But what he didn't expect was for the invite (or summons) to the banquets to extend to you.

A pit of unease formed in his stomach immediately. Why would you be invited to an elite gathering? It's not that he feels you're not worthy enough to be there, but he knows everyone will look down on you. A person of low station attending an upper class banquet is rare, so for a non citizen to obtain an invite from the Emperors' themselves is completely unheard of. What exactly are they playing at? Marcus crumples the letter into a ball, throwing it in frustration. A lot of people in Rome are still, no doubt, very curious about you, so if the Emperors think they can parade you around like some exotic curiosity or use you for their own amusement, they can think again. Marcus can feel his anger flaring, his instinct to protect you returning. You're about to walk into the lion's den and you don't even know it. He'll just have to keep a close eye on you at all times. As long as he's there, you'll be okay, he'll make sure of it. Now he just has to find a way to tell you while masking his growing concern.

*****

Dinner was a quiet affair tonight. Something seemed to be weighing on Marcus, despite his attempt to hide it. In the quiet moments between conversations his mind appeared to drift elsewhere. "You've been quiet tonight," you observe. "Is something bothering you?" Whatever was just consuming his thoughts had been cast aside as he came back to himself, offering you a reassuring smile. "No, nothing's bothering me, but I do need to discuss something with you." "Oh...?" You place your fork down to give Marcus your full attention. You can see a slight hesitancy behind his smile. "I have received an invitation from the Emperors in regards to Caracalla's birthday celebrations. It will be a week long celebration with banquets and games at the Colosseum." Your eyebrows raise and you can't help but laugh. "Who celebrates their birthday for an entire week?!" Marcus huffs a laugh, "Emperors, apparantly." You nod, not sure why he's telling you this or why it's an issue for him.

"Well, I hope you have a good time. You've been cooped up here with me for the past week. A change of scenery will do you good and you deserve some recreation." Marcus' smile faltered, ever so slightly but you'd noticed it. "The invite was for both of us," he said, cautiously. Now it's your smile that falters. "Both of us? But... why? Why would I be invited?" Marcus purses hips lips in thought. "I'm not sure. Anyone can attend the games but the banquets are always restricted to those of... higher stations." There was an air of discomfort to Marcus' voice as he said that, but you know he meant no offence. He's simply stating the truth. "Then I don't understand. Why would they or anyone want someone like... me there?" Marcus could feel himself prickling ever so slightly, hearing the way you speak of yourself so disparagingly. As far as he's concerned you have more worth than all of these fools put together, but he decided to bite his tongue on the matter... at least for now.

"I imagine that everyone still wants to meet the one who saved Romes' General," Marcus said casually, trying to make light of the situation. "It's not everyday Rome has a new hero, and a woman none the less." "But I don't know the first thing about how to behave in front of all these people," you fret, voice rising as you begin to worry about all the ways you could - and probably will - mess up. "What if I say the wrong thing or offend someone unintentionally? What if I embarrass you? What if-" "Alia," Marcus interrupted, his voice firm but gentle, "you need not worry about anything. I already told you I'm a patient teacher and I'll teach you everything you need to know beforehand. And I'll be with you the whole time." Shaking your head, you look down, wearily. "Marcus, I can't go. I don't belong there."

Marcus sighs, looking at you apologetically. "I'm afraid you have no choice. To refuse the invite would be a direct insult to the Emperors." You slowly lift you head up, dread gripping your stomach, but the way Marcus is looking at you now - a mixture of understanding and confidence - slowly soothes the worst of your anxieties. "Everything will be okay," he promised, "trust me." You force a smile his way and nod. Even though you are still apprehensive about this turn of events, you find yourself believing Marcus' words. He's strong and capable and if he says it'll be okay, it'll be okay.

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thenameswinterfics · 2 days ago

Text

BOUND BY FIRE

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader Settings: Season 1 Summary: As the child of Rhaenyra and born dragonless, you grow up enjoying the company of Sunfyre, whose bond is forged by your love and affection for Aegon. But when the duties of the crown tear you apart and the cries of a dragon echo in the night, it is up to you to mend the bond or let it break of its own accord. Word Count: 3345 Warnings: Fluff, angst, suggestive smut, Alicent is kind mention of canon typical incest, canon divergent, hopeful ending, no beta reading. A/N: This is another birthday present for my lovely @legitalicat . Happy birthday to you, lovely. Sorry if I only posted this now, but I hope you like it. This is my first time writing for Aegon, so sorry for the things you will read. I'm a bit rusty with the writing, so sorry even for this. Since I wrote and posted this in a rush, I could change some parts in the following days.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3 (COMING SOON)

A piercing wail broke the silence of the darkness and the sound of rattling chains echoed through the empty corridors. Muffled voices speaking an unfamiliar language could be heard in the distance, trying in vain to calm something in the pit.

But the terrifying growls told a different story.

Walking through the corridors of the Dragon's Pit was not an unfamiliar experience, for you had walked through these walls since you were a child, but this time it was a turbulent one. Each step brought a new wave of unease, and you felt an endless shiver run down your spine, releasing a breath you hadn't realised you were holding: the growls and snarls grew in intensity, and deep within you a heavy weight formed in your chest.

It was a sound you had come to know well, as well as the emotions that flowed with each. The creature's roar was a land of emotions that only members of the house of dragon could feel - joy, anger, sorrow, or a deep sense of unease. You knew with a heart-wrenching certainty that those cries belonged to your lover too, and his dragon was only amplifying them.

It had been a long time since your mother and the king's wife had been on good terms. Once inseparable childhood companions, their bond had withered over time, giving way to a frosty distance that neither could bridge. Your birth was another friction between them, as Rhaenyra walked through the corridors of the Red Keep and faced the humiliation and pain of labour while introducing you to Alicent, who demanded to see every child pushed out of her body since the birth of her firstborn.

But the animosity between them has not stopped you from forming a special bond with one of the queen's children: Aegon has been at your side since you took your first steps, and the rumours surrounding your birth did not stop him from seeing you as his most beloved niece, despite the rocky relationship he had with your brothers.

The genuine affection between you and Aegon did not go unnoticed by Rhaenyra, and a proposal of marriage came during a council to reunite a house divided by mistrust and old grudges: it was the princess's last request to the queen, a sincere attempt to heal the rift and restore the unity that once existed.

However, Alicent harboured other plans for her firstborn, and certain that one day his father's crown would rest on his head, she demanded that every daughter of the Lords of the Noble Houses attend the Red Keep in the hope of finding him a suitable match. "No bastard's blood will mingle with the dragon's one," she once whispered to an ill and dull Viserys in his chambers, discussing Rhaenyra's proposal.

The affection between you blossomed into the purest and most torturous love, sharing stealing kisses in hidden alcoves and intimacy in the darkness of the castle's secret places. In time, Aegon's temper grew restless, and you began to notice signs of distress in Sunfyre as well. And from the moment Aegon ignored you things turned worse, and the visits to his dragon became sporadic.

Standing in the centre of the pit, you lifted your eyes to the golden creature before you, its huge, heavy body struggling desperately to break the chains that bound it. You recognised the two muffled voices of the two Dragonkeepers trying to calm it, but no Valyrian word was enough, and the dragon protested to be released.

“We tried everything, but the dragon does not seem to quiet down, princess,” one of the dragonkeepers cried out, but you never met their gazes, “Prince Aegon’s presence is highly requested,” the second one urged, silently pleasing for you to summon Aegon and fetch him in the Dragon’s Pit.

"Leave him to me," you commanded with a twang in your voice, your gaze still focused on Sunfyre as you took a few steps forward. The faces of the dragonkeepers were filled with consternation as they saw you approach the dragon, no fear on your face.

"Princess, we cannot let you..." one began, his protest tinged with concern.

"Leave him to me, I said," you cut him with a cold reply, addressing yourself with an authority worthy of a queen, "I shall call him down and put an end to this once and for all."

You then turned your full attention to Sunfyre, who stood in all his glory and restlessness, chains adorning his long neck. Once those were removed, you were amazed to see how his behaviour changed, the beautiful golden dragon tentatively approaching you with a regal but uncertain gait. As Sunfyre approached, you couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to Aegon: both carried the weight of royal blood with quiet dignity, but neither could see the burden of expectation on their shoulders.

"Vēsperzys," you murmured in a warm and almost maternal voice - a stark contrast to the cold one you had used before - and you reached out tantalisingly for his muzzle, feeling the warmth of his scales under your palm, "lykirī," (Sunfyre, calm.)

The snarls began to falter, replaced by a faint rumble that surrendered to your touch. But once you lowered your guard down, Sunfyre jerked your hand nervously and his cries continued to echo through the pit. Determined to soothe him, you stepped close again and placed both of your hands on his snout, rubbing gently his golden scales.

“Nyke gīmigon ao sagon isse ōdres,” you spoke again softly in High Valyrian, your eyes searching for his, “se nyke gīmigon iksā mundagon syt Aegon. Yn iksan kesīr lēda ao, se kosti umazigho lyks hēnkirī,” you continued, soothing him with gentle movements of your hands. (I know you are in pain, and I know you are sad for Aegon. But I am here with you, and we can find peace together).

It was then that Sunfyre's eyes met yours, and for that moment you felt a deep connection - a profound bond that was mirrored by the deep love and affection you felt for Aegon. You grew up together with the golden beast, sneaking into the Dragon's Pit whenever you could to listen to the golden beast sing, and riding on its back when it was big enough to carry both of you. Although you did not have a dragon of your own - no dragon egg was brooded to be placed in your cradle - you forged such a strong bond you came to think of Sunfyre as your own.

You felt his body soothe under your touch, the dragon's mind no longer clouded by fear, and though he could still sense his rider's distress, your presence seemed enough to be a powerful balm. You heard his cries fade, replaced by a low, contented rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath your feet.

A faint laugh escaped your lips as the dragon lovingly rubbed its snout against you, and in the depths of the pit - the Dragonkeepers' thanks were a distant echo to you - you still ached for Aegon's absence at your side, but a glimmer of hope warmed your heart, along with Sunfyre's quiet chant.

Confined to his chambers, Aegon paced nervously, his fingers running through the platinum strands of his hair as an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. Rays of moonlight streamed into the room through the large windows, casting a soft light on his face, accentuating his redden lilac eyes and his tear-streaked cheeks.

He hated the conflict in his heart, forever torn between his sense of duty and the love he felt for you. As the king's male child, every lord looked to him to follow in his father's footsteps, to continue the line of peace and prosperity that Jaehaerys himself had set, and to keep the Targaryen glory at its peak. At least that was what his mother instilled in him.

“You are the King’s firstborn son, and what everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones is that one day you will be our king,” said Alicent one day in his chambers, anger in her voice as he declared he would never challenge his sister’s claim. What kind of brother would steal his sister’s birthright?, he always thought.

What kind of lover would do such a grave insult to the person they love?

And when his mother announced that a noblewoman would be chosen to join him on the throne, his world collapsed into a thousand pieces. He would have gladly endured a marriage to his sister, for Helen knew that the match was a matter of duty and would not have blinked at the sight of you two together. But to marry another woman would have been a disrespect to you and the love that had always bound you together.

It was not an easy decision to let you go, but the weight of the world pressed down on him in a way he could not escape. He could not look into your eyes or Sunfyre's with a light heart, shame nestled in his heart as he thought of what his family would force him to do and how he was not brave enough to face them, the mere thought of disappointing them was even more terrifying than dying in the dragonfire.

His stream of consciousness was interrupted by a gentle knock on his door. The prince was about to dismiss the presence outside, thinking it was a servant, when he heard the soft sound of your voice. And he froze.

"Please, uncle," you pleaded outside, the sadness in your voice coming straight to his ears like a sweet torture, "let me in for once.

Aegon refused to answer, pacing the room nervously, his hands trembling in his hair. He thought that by ignoring you, you would give up and leave him to drown in his misery, but you were Rhaenyra's daughter: her stubbornness was yours too.

"I am not mad with you for what the queen did at the council," you said, and suddenly you felt his footsteps stop, "I know you did not want any of this, and I know your heart has been torn ever since. But if it is no longer my company you seek, please," you felt the urge to swallow a lump in your throat, your voice faltering slightly, "do not make Sunfyre suffer this much. Allow me to ease your pain, as I always did.”

A heavy silence followed your last words, and as you thought your words had gone unheeded and turned to leave, you heard the heavy doors of his chambers crack slightly, and soon you were allowed to leave. It was when you stepped inside that you took a look at your lover, the moon rays helping you helped you to see him clearly: his eyes were puffy from the endless tears spilled, and his hair were disheveled as well as his clothes, his gold-embroidered green coat opened to show his messy linen shirt. It hurt you to see him like this, though in your eyes he was still the most beautiful Targaryen you had ever seen.

“Gaomagon ao pendagon issi hoskagon yno?” Aegon asked in High Valyrian, approaching you slowly and measuredly, his walk reminded you Sunfyre’s one, “Udligon nyke, mandianna. Gaomagon ao pendagon issi hoskagon yno?” (Do you think they are proud of me? Answer me, niece. Do you think they are happy with me?)

You lifted your gaze, locking your eyes in his as you took both of his hands in yours, squeezing them in a comforting way, “Iksan hoskagon hen ao. Eman va moriot issare,” you replied, showing him a warm smile as you tried to let him escape from his thoughts. But your lips soon pressed in a thin line as he shook his head, freeing his hands from your grasp and sitting on a chair, resting his wrists on the armrest. (I am proud of you. I have always been.)

Aegon looked at you, giving you a sad smile as he replied, “Īlen daor kimívagho nūmāzma ao, yn ñuha lentor,” (I was not talking about you, but my family).

“Iksi lentor,” you retorted, approaching him with gentleness, “ īlon stepagon keskydoso ānogar. Emi va moriot sytilībagon hēnkirī ” (We are family, we share the same blood. We have always belonged together.)

“This is not what the queen thinks,” Aegon replied back with weariness in his voice, standing up again and resuming his nervous walk, “Why else would she have forced me to meet every noble lady in this kingdom, making sure that I greeted them with frills and smiles? Why else would she have forced me in an uncomfortable position, forever torn by duty and personal desire?”

His words were full of anguish, and for a moment you felt the weight of his responsibilities on your shoulders too. It was not the crown that was scared of you; Jacaerys would sit on the Iron Throne after your mother, and even though the kingdom came to terms with the idea of a queen ruling, you don't think they would be too happy about a female heir again. It was the ambition the Hightowers put on him and their obsession for the throne, and the fear of losing him and Sunfyre forever that came roaring back strong in your heart.

“She once told me that the realm knows in their blood and bones I will be king. That if I do not surrender to my sister, my life would be forfeit,” Aegon continued with a trembling voice, his gaze never meeting yours.

"But how? How could I ever do this to the woman I love? How could I have the courage to look her in the eyes, sitting on a throne that is not mine and wearing a crown that has never belonged to me? And for what? For pleasing a man and a woman who never fucking cared about me?", the last words came out as an angry growl, so dangerous even the bravest of the dragons would lower its head. You watched as Aegon threw a jug of water on the ground, shattering it into thousands of pieces.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Aegon slowly walked over to it, sat down and played nervously with the ring on his finger, hiding his head under his shoulders. “I did not ask for this, sweet niece… never,” he broke the silence, his voice mingling with a few sobs escaping his lips, “I have done and endured what she had asked me for, hoping that mother and father would be proud of me. But it will never be enough for them. It will never be enough for everyone.”

You hesitated at this sight: you had seen him being distressed by his mother's demands, but never had you seen him so sad and defeated, so lost in a darkness he could not escape on his own.

You decided to step closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you kneeled down to him, “Look at me, please,” you demanded, delicately cupping his cheeks in your hands and raising it gently, forcing an eye contact. You smile at the sight of his eyes, reddened by tears but stunning and bright as two precious amethyst stones.

“You are enough for me, Aegon. You have always been,” your voice came to his ear as soft as honey, and for a second his sobs stopped. “You are worthy just as you are, and there will not be your mistakes or burdens to define you.’

Your kind words made his shaking body stop, as if they were a milky drink that made him feel better. After a while, he looked up at you. At that moment, you could feel strong emotions, but you did not say what they were. Memories of the past and a love that was strong but also broken came back to you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The past and present collided, tangled in the silence, and you both knew you had to deal with them. Then, with a hesitant breath, he reached for you – his fingertips brushing against your hand, as if he was trying to find a way out of his own troubled state. And with the only sound of the crackling wood to break the silence of the night, your faces came closer, your lips timidly brushing at first before crushing together in a desperate and hungry kiss, which tasted of salty tears and unspoken words.

In the moments that followed, the two of you lay together in bed, your clothes scattered on the floor as your bare bodies touched, exploring each other with an eagerness that had been suppressed for far too long, but at the same time with the calmness to savour it all again, for fear that this might be the most beautiful of dreams, or that one of you might simply disappear from the other's sight.

You let out a sharp breath and arched your backs as the two of you became one, your bodies moving in a gentle but steady rhythm, your hands and lips savouring every inch of each other until you both reached your peak. You did not care if Aegon’s seed would blossom in your womb and make you round with his child: if this would bind both of you forever through blood and duty, then you would welcome the consequences without hesitation.

You looked down at the canopy in front of you as you ran your fingers through Aegon's hair, his breath hot against your neck as his arms wrapped around your body as if afraid to let you go. The gentle rise and fall of his breath matched the rhythm of your own, and you closed your eyes, savouring the warmth of his body against yours, whispering words of love and promises to escape together until the slumber wrapped you like a warm blanket.

Hen lantoti ānogar

Va sȳndroti vāedroma

(Blood of two

Joined as one)

A cold shiver ran down your face, tingling your skin like a gentle caress, moving your hair in the wind like precious threads of silk, the jewels of your headdress swaying in a sweet melody. You stood still as Aegon approached, a shard of dragonglass in his hand, pressed against your lower lip as blood flowed through the cut. It was a sharp pain that struck you at first, but was eased by the cold wind that blew against your cut and the gentle brush of Aegon's fingerprint on your forehead, drawing a mark with your own blood.

Mēro perzot gīhoti

Elēdroma iārza sīr

Izulī ampā perzī

Prūmī lanti sēteksi

(Ghostly flame

And song of shadows

Two hearts as embers

Forged in fourteen fires)

When it was your turn, you mimicked his movements with smooth and precise movements. After that, the dragonglass sliced your skin again, a long cut on your palms, joined as one, like your own blood flowing in your veins. A ribbon wrapped around your hands, making them tight and united as blood flowed down your arms.

Hen jenȳ māzīlarion

Qēlossa ozūndesi

Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo

Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi

(A future promised in glass

The stars stand witness

The vow spoken through time

Of darkness and light)

Even when you drank from the same cup, you never stopped looking at each other, your eyes were filled with a pure love that endured every duty and every obstacle. It was a moment of triumph for both of you, two dragons who finally break their chains and soar freely into the endless sky, no longer bound by fate or fear. When the last word in High Valyrian was spoken, you both poured your lips in a sealing kiss, the roars of Sunfyre sealed the union as it crossed the sky and danced on the lover’s heads.

You had always dreamed of running away with Aegon from King's Landing, far from the viper's nest that had torn you apart, of marrying in secret in a remote part of Westeros where neither Rhaenyra's court nor Alicent's would ever be able to find you and bring you home.

But this time it was not a dream.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

#aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon fic #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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hiatuswhore · 1 day ago

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ωнιѕρєяѕ σƒ тнє тι∂є

♕ A/N: I wrote this a while ago and have just been tinkering with it. Thought I’d post it since it’s just sitting with the rest of my many unposted drafts of ideas. Still stuck in this writers rut.

♕ SUMMARY: When salt and sea met fire and blood, it gave history the likes of Laenor and Laena Velaryon. While history often glazes over them, never over her.

♕ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

♕ WARNING: None

previous — Masterlist — next

Your giggles are drowned out by Jacaerys' consistent calls of your name. Moving quickly you easily scaled the Red Keep walls, hardly paying attention to your footing.

“We have been instructed to desist in climbing about the keep. It is dangerous we shall fall,” Jacaerys stared up at you with pleading eyes as many of the passing nobles watched the two of them.

“It is dangerous. We shall fall,” Your voice squeaked as you took a seat on the edge letting your legs dangle off the edge. Your hair wildly blows back as you grin down at the Prince. “Will you forever swear obeisance to rules?”

“Lady Velayron, your father would likely be unhappy to know his daughter persists in participating in dangerous activities,” Ser Harwin called up to you with a growing smirk.

“If Lord Corlys cared so urgently as you claim then perhaps he’d be here to correct his daughters behavior,” You smirked down at the knight, cocking your head to the side.

“Get down, now,” Ser Laenor huffed, crossing his arms as you rolled your eyes. The three watched as you climbed down with ease, one wrong step and your life permanently altered or forfeit. “How many times have I told you to stop climbing about the keep.”

“We ride dragons and yet your concern is my climbing?” You asked, crossing your arms looking up at Laenor. Laenor ignored you, opting to remind your nephew it was almost time for training.

“And Rhaenyra is expecting you in the commons,” Laenor said, groaning, your shoulders slouch as Harwin said he was already headed in that direction.

“Of course you are,” You rolled your eyes as Harwin urged you through the keep. As you passed the training yard, you paused at the sight of the boys.

“I see Ser Cole is at it again,” You grumbled, crossing your arms. You could never make sense of the Dornish Knight. Not for the lack of trying, your blunt line of questioning earning the Knights cold vacant stares always typically reserved for your dark haired nephews. “Do you think he ever tires of being a grouch?”

Harwin chuckled lazily, you looked up at him narrowing your eyes. He certainly did not hear you, the way his eyes remained on the training yard. His lack of awareness leaves you time to climb quickly up the neighboring wall peering down at the private training.

You scoffed down at them, sticking your tongue out as Moody Aemond caught your gaze. The boy rolled his eyes, the minor reaction earning a snicker. As the boys practice their forward jabs with the blunted wooden swords, your eyes sparkle with wonder. You jab your own arm forward mimicking the movement. The Dornish Knights instruction cements in your brain as you practice as though you wield your own sword.

“Lady Velayron, get down here and on we go,” Ser Harwins baritone shatters your fantasy in seconds. You huffed your arms flailing with a dramatic drop of your shoulders.

“Why must I join the princess. We’ll just drink tea and maybe sew. It’s mind numbingly dull,” You complained, a snicker from below transitioning your dramatic whining into a fiery glare.

“We all must partake in the things that befit us my lady,” Aegon taunts.

“So shouldn’t you be scrubbing chamber pots?” You countered, collective chuckles from her nephews and Aemond fueling the fire.

“You little—!” Aegon angrily pointed up to be met with a sly smirk. Your eyebrow raised as you grin. Aegon’s tantrum swiftly cut by the Dornish Knight's stern tone.

“Lady Velaryon, how many times must you be told there is no place for you here in this session?” Ser Cole looked up at you, his gaze not as cold as it could be but not what you wanted.

“I’d make a better student than that bonehead,” You counter, earning another angry huff from Aegon.

“Since you believe yourself to be so knowledgeable, please regale us on the prince's shortcomings,” His patronizing tone was far more harsh than necessary.

“Lady Velaryon let’s go,” Ser Harwin called out.

“His posture is flat, grip on the handle too loose, and jab extension too far. One parry and shoulder jab forward he could be knocked off his feet by any stronger or faster opponent,” You cross your arms, your matter of fact, silencing the training yard. At that you continue, “he's a one note warrior swinging wildly leaving himself vulnerable to smaller attacks.”

Ser Cole's eyes narrowed, his gaze unreadable as a girl not even half his age challenged his word. A students performance reflects not only of their own talents or lack thereof but the talent of their teacher. One truth could not be denied, in his teachings you had been listening.

“This is a closed training session for the princes of the realm. Any further interruptions from you will result in discussions of disciplinary action. Are we clear, my lady?” You scoff. Rolling your eyes you climbed down silently, falling into step with Ser Harwin.

“My lady, you must focus,” Septa Marlow urged as you groan.

“Blah blah. The Conqueror came, took over. Failed to take Dorne. His son failed at being king, his scary son failed at diplomacy. Several Targaryens later. Now we are here,” You concluded your bored gaze locked with your Septa’s stern one.

Rhaenyra chuckled, entering the room with a grin, “my little lady perhaps you should write the history texts.”

“It’d be far more interesting than this,” You rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Your elbow atop the table as your fingers drum against your cheek. “I want to train with the sword but Ser Cole is rude and stupid. Any advice?”

Rhaenyra takes a seat dismissing Marlow, her hand atop her pregnant belly, “now what advice do you think I could have for such a thing?”

“Well girls usually aren’t heirs yet you are set to sit the throne,” Rhaenyra smiles warmly.

“Well for starters calling my brother a bone head who should be scrubbing chamber pots will not aid you in your conquest,” Rhaenyra reasons with amusement dancing in her eyes with a raised eyebrow.

“I only spoke the truth, what’s the harm in that!” You exclaim, earning another laugh. Your gaze falling absent, kicking your dangling feet beneath the table. Visibly not listening to a single word leaving Rhaenyra.

“When you become queen can you declare I have to be allowed into training sessions?” You ask, the princess chuckling.

“My best advice to you, if you wish to insert yourself into places you’re unwanted. You must know when to speak and when to hold your tongue.” Rhaenyra said ruffling your hair with a gentle smile.

You giggle softly, your gaze shifting to her pregnant belly, “I hope the babe is a girl.”

“Me as well, my girl. But if it’s a boy I’ll be just as happy,” Rhaenyra rubs her belly a tender glint in her eyes as you lean down to her belly. Your eyes narrow, speaking to her pregnant belly as though you can will the gender. “You better be a girl.”

“And if it’s a boy?” Rhaenyra chuckles softly. Your eyes narrow on her stomach as you grumble. “Mhm. Traitor.”

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bwat5-blog · 2 days ago

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Slapping Down Some Nonsense: Caitlyn & Ambessa Edition!

**Spoilers For Arcane**

Good morning my friends. As you may have seen I have especially strong feelings towards this bizarre erasure of Ambessa's role in the events of season two particularly in regards to the impact on Caitlyn Kiramman and her story. These people's argument is that those of us who factor in Ambessa and her manipulations into analysis of Caitlyn are essentially giving Caitlyn a pass.

Keeping that in mind, I was surfing the #Caitlyn Kiramman tag and came upon a re-blog of those ever so creative Arcane Critters giving their thoughts on this topic.

I am not tagging them. I am not screenshotting them. But I have not blocked them. So, if you see this and recognize your points and want to have a discussion, I'm game. But let it be known I am not calling you out specifically or dog piling you. Just your take.

States that Caitlyn defenders are "ignoring how Caitlyn was gassing Zaun before she had ever even spoken to Ambessa"

You are failing to mention that the only reason the strike team goes into Zaun is the memorial strike, which Ambessa causes. Before that, they were still going in with the whole invasion plan and all of the Enforcers. But it goes deeper than that. Before the memorial attack Caitlyn is still testifying that the murder of her mother and the other councilors was "the work of one deranged individual" and she protested that innocents would be hurt. But after the attack she grows considerably angrier. So not only would Caitlyn have not been there if it were not for Ambessa, but Ambessa's actions clearly and irrefutably contribute to Caitlyn's rage.

But um, it is also worth noting that Caitlyn's alternative (as you say "gassing zaun") is a less violent, more controlled and structured operation with unquestionably less bloodshed involved than what the council was going to do. So.... thanks Ambessa?

"She is a grown woman. She should know right from wrong, especially because she was supposed to be a good, moral person in season one"

Correct! All of those things are true. I mean she is fairly young: 23-24 years old per Arcane Wiki. And while of course she is an adult and not too young to be accountable for her mistakes, I think a little perspective given everything she goes through is important. She's in the age range of the average college student.

Also because she grew up in peace and privilege, she has no experience dealing with such violence and death before it all starts happening and her whole world changes. So while your statement isn't wrong it is extremely simplistic thinking. There is a universe of factors that influence her decision making.

Repeatedly almost killed by Jinx

Abducted by Jinx from her childhood bathroom nude

Almost killed by the leader of the organization she believes in while people who are supposed to be her peers stand and watch

Has to listen to Jinx try and convince Vi to kill her

Knocked out by Jinx after she spares Jinx at Vi's pleading

Jinx kills her mom and 2 other councilors, maims 2 others, and destroys the chamber

The memorial service is attacked and many are killed

The whole task force operation: Forgive me I don't know you so you may be aware, but violence leaves a mark on you no matter the reason you do it. I understand she went down there. I'm simply saying that even that would impact her mind.

Survives fight with Sevika trying to kill her.

She held her shot for Vi the first time, it cost her her mother. Vi swears she is ready to end it this time, then stops her again (even for a very good reason- Caitlyn isn't a good state of mind)

She is grieving, isolated, angry, and feeling betrayed, and a conniving war monger more than three decades her senior takes advantage.

Now we run down a little list of her supposed crimes:

"She should know not to use chemical warfare- a war crime- on innocent Zaunites": Good news, she didn't! She targeted the chem-barons and their soldiers in a manner confirmed to be "strategic to a pinpoint". Now of course anything that travels through the air can't be completely controlled but given that Vi is there, that Ekko was in Zaun and didn't step in, and that there is no evidence whatsoever of any innocent Zaunites being harmed I think we are solid. Also, there is no metric for a war crime in Arcane because ya know.... none of this is real. But! I have also put The Grey through its paces using real world standards and even if it were real it still wouldn't qualify. I'd be happy to share that with you if you are interested.

"She should not get to repeatedly hit Vi": So I suppose she technically did hit Vi more than once. Although it was only the first time there was any sort of issue. The second time she didn't know who Vi was- ya now the whole sneaking, obvious surprise, fact that Vi looks radically different and they haven't seen eachother in a bit thing. And the third time was literally their joint plan.

"She should know to get physical when she feels she is losing an argument": So again right on the money! Except.... this is sort of the most simplistic take on what happened possible, and ignores every aspect of her current mental and emotional state. It isn't that it makes it okay. But you are essentially standing in front of a raging forest fire and calling 911 because some embers caught a contained dumpster on fire. It isn't that you are necessarily wrong, but you mightttt wanna look around some more.

"She should know not sleep with TWO of her subordinates": Okay, well the first one is Vi. Who was with her before the Commander thing, and is literally her canon relationship that was planned and developed from the beginning of the story. And the other one was Maddie. A spy. Who was ordered to infiltrate Caitlyn's bed and take advantage of her. Under false pretenses. So..........

"She should know not to impose martial law on Zaunites": Ambessa convinces the elite to declare martial law before Caitlyn was named commander. But I agree Ambessa shouldn't have done that. Very rude indeed.

"She was not faultless because the writers told us- they never actually showed us- that Ambessa manipulated Caitlyn"

I agree! She was not faultless. Fortunately no one has ever actually said that as far as I have seen. But it's the complete misrepresentation of her faults I take issue with. Hence my time here today.

You allege the writers didn't show you how Ambessa manipulated Caitlyn. Yes they did. This isn't really debatable. Perhaps you did not understand it or comprehend it. Don't worry I'm here to help! This is just a rough summary. I have a few in-depth posts if you ever see this and want to discuss I can share them.

She comes to Piltover with clear purpose of starting a war to weaponize hex tech

She orchestrates the memorial attack to exacerbate the conflict

She calls Caitlyn up after stoking the assembled elite's fear and rage and promises her mother justice

She has her spy infiltrate Caitlyn's bed to keep an eye on her

She expertly keeps Caitlyn off balance both praising her strength and scolding her lack of trust in their interactions

It goes on of course. As I said it's really more in-depth than that.

Conclusion:

All in all I really cannot understand this sort of take at all. It isn't supported by the content in any way. My personal recommendation should you ever see this is a good thorough rewatch! Just ya know, don't leave the room for snacks every time Caitlyn comes on screen. You will be AMAZED what you missed the first time.

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #caitvi #jinx arcane #ambessa arcane

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anakinskwkler · 3 days ago

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The jewel and the blade

Summary: Anakins fear to be vulnerable with the princess leads to a distance in their friendship.

The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the princess’s chambers. The air was thick with the scent of fresh vanilla, and the gentle hum of the castle outside hinted that it was a calm day. The Princess lay still beneath her blue, silken sheets, her chest rising and falling in a serene slumber, oblivious to the world outside.

Standing near the doorway, Anakin skywalker, her royal knight, kept a watchful eye. His posture was rigid, his armor gleaming in the morning light, yet his expression was calm—an unwavering sentinel at the princess’s side. His thoughts, though, remained on his duty, not on the quiet stirrings of the day.

The door creaked open softly as the princess’s handmaidens entered, their whispers breaking the stillness. Their presence was a signal of the day’s start, and without a word, they moved to her bedside, ready to rouse her from sleep. Anakin's gaze flicked to them briefly, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes, before returning to his protective stance.

But as the handmaidens’ gentle hands stirred the princess awake, Anakin's eyes stayed on her figure before the door slowly shut. The quick eye contact they had made in that moment had sparked that bit of tension that was always bubbling when they were around eachother.

The princess slowly woke, the soft morning light streaming into her room. Her handmaidens quietly entered, moving to her side to help her prepare for the day.

She got dressed into a pale, lavender gown made from silk. The dress fit her figure well, it was quite flattering on her. Her handmaidens put half her hair into a bun while the rest fell over her shoulders. The Princess put a pair of elegant slippers and opened the door to her room, her eyes meeting anakins soft blue eyes.

Anakin stood at the door, waiting silently. His posture was straight, his expression calm, but there was something tense in the way he carried himself.

The princess looked up at him. “Good morning, Anakin.”

“Good morning, Princess,” he replied, his voice even. They began to walk down the hall to the stairs, on their way to the dining room.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You’ve seemed distant lately.”

Anakin hesitated, his eyes briefly shifting away. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

She studied him for a moment, sensing that something was troubling him more than he let on. “You don’t have to hide it from me, Anakin. If something’s wrong, you can talk about it.”

Anakin’s gaze flicked to hers, and for a second, he looked like he might say more. But instead, he shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s my duty to keep you safe. That’s all that matters.”

The princess didn’t press further, but she didn’t believe him. She could feel the unease in the air, and though she didn’t know what it meant, she knew something was coming.

Anakin would usually be open with the princess, he'd rarely talk this formal with her unless they were in the company of others so it was quite strange.

Hours later, The princess was making her way to the garden when she saw anakin already sitting on the bench facing the small fountain. He was sitting alone, just staring off into the distance in thought. Something was wrong with him but she had no clue what.

She watched him from afar for a few moments before slowly walking up behind him. He felt her presence and slightly straighten himself and focusing his eyes. She sat beside him, not saying a word.

"Anakin.." she spoke quietly.

"Yes milady?" He answered, not making eye contact.

"I told you to call me by my name." She urged once more like she did often.

"I know, I'm sorry..Y/n.." He said as he looked at her finally.

She looked back at him, his eyes had a tinge of sadness and longing. The blue eyes that were usually bright, and welcoming, were now dull, and lost.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked in a curious tone.

"Of course,"

"Whats going on is your mind?" She blurted out.

He wasn't very shocked, only slightly surprised at how she asked. His eyes looked away, back at the piece of grass he was fidgeting with. "I told you earlier, nothing. I'm fine"

"Anakin-" She started before he cut her off, "Y/n, i said I'm fine. Please drop it." He said in a firm voice.

He had only spoken like this to people who had been disrespectful or rude to her, but had never actually used it on her. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him, the expression on his face was one she hadn't seen, he looked lost.

Days went by and Anakin's attitude remained the same. The princess felt hopeless, watching the man she secretly loved look so deep in despair. The feeling to hold, and comfort him got stronger each day, making it hard not to ask what was troubling him.

The both of them found themselves in the library late that night, sitting across from each other while reading books. Little did anakin know, the princess had put her book down a while ago, now she was just staring, admiring him.

He felt her gaze on him and looked up, meeting her curious eyes. "Yes?" He asked with a soft chuckle. That was the first happy emotion he'd shown in a few days, it warmed her heart to hear. "Sorry.." she said, cheeks tinting with a pink shade.

"Everything alright?" He asked, "No.." she answered. "No? What's bothering you?" He said, placing him book down. "You. The way you've been so detached lately." She told him honestly.

He sat up straight at the confrontation, clearing his throat and becoming stand off-ish again. "I haven't been-"

"Yes you have, anakin!" She interrupted, "You've been talking to me like I'm my parents, you've been less talkative, you have no emotions other than sad, and you haven't been the Anakin i like to be around. She ranted.

He didn't speak for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "It was the anniversary." He said simply, she looked at him with a confused looked, "Two days ago was the anniversary of my mom's death."

Her heart sank. How could she have forgotten. "Anakin im s-" "Don't be. I'm fine." He said looking down. "Anakin, I'm sorry. I..I forgot. I'm sorry I've been pestering you, I just- i didn't understand why you didn't want to be around me." She told him, hoping he'd look at her.

It was silent. Awkward, and silent.

"That day...that day I did terrible things because I let my emotions take over me and i-" He took a breath, "I don't want to let them take over again." He continued.

"Is that why you've been so distant?" She asked softly, he nodded in response. "I was afraid. Afraid I might breakdown." He confessed.

"Anakin you could've-" "I can't be weak in front of you, y/n. I just can't." He said firmly, looking up at her for a moment before looking back down to hide his glassy eyes.

"Being weak around you means letting you in farther, any time that happens...I lose them." He stood up and started to walk towards the door. She stood after and rushed towards him, gently grabbing his first to stop him, "anakin, don't leave. Please.." he stopped for a moment, glancing at her over his shoulder before turning away again.

"Anakin please, talk to me...you can be vulnerable, it's normal." She told him with hope in her eyes. "Im not supposed to be weak-" "it's not weak, anakin!" She interrupted "Being vulnerable is a brave thing to do, meaning you're strong. So please...just open up." She pleaded, voice cracking like the crackle of the candles lighting the library.

"I have to go, Princess." He said firmly before pulling his arm away and walking to his chambers.

First post in a whileeee and I'm so sorry!!

Have had this brewing for a few days now

This is the first part of this story BTW!

I HATE the fact that i used y/n multiple times but also hated saying princess repeatedly so 🤷‍♀️

Also happy early valentines day!

@saradika for the dividers!

#anakin skywalker #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n #anakin x you #hayden christensen x reader #anakin skywalker drabble #sw prequels #star wars #princess #royal #knight #knight x princess #angst #fluff #part1

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rivendell-poet · 1 day ago

Note

Hi again!! Saw your valentines event thing and absolutely scurried to send something in!

Could I perhaps have Legolas with K, P, and S for the SFW alphabet? Thanks so much and I hope you have a good day/evening/night :)

Hi Raikan - thanks so much! I actually have a completed alphabet for him, but I still wanted to do something. So, please have some short scenarios relating to each letter instead!

GN!Reader | TWs : Small cut wound while cooking with a knife in the third scenario

❝𝐊 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬❞

You notice Legolas’ presence only a second before you feel his arms gently link around you. Just enough time to jump at the touch, but such a short amount of time you can’t deny his next words. “Did I manage to sneak up on you?”

“Maybe.” You still won’t fully concede, but smile as you hear him laugh. Now that you’re in his arms, he’s content to just keep you there for a second - no words or movement, simply each other's company. Gently, you feel a kiss being pressed to your neck before he manages to move himself slightly to be properly facing you.

“I missed you.”

Between his words and his puppy-dog eyes, you’re quick to realise why he’s facing you. “Do you want a kiss?”

“Please.”

❝𝐏 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞❞

Fingers tapping nervously on the desk, you glance up to see Legolas’ reaction. Reasonably, you know that not wanting to share chambers just yet won’t be a deal breaker - but some part of you is worried that it will be. “Are you… okay with it?”

“Okay with it?” He echoes quickly, but there’s no anger in his voice. Perhaps a confused inflection. “These are your boundaries, meleth nîn. If you are happy with them, I will follow them as well as I can. Why should you need to ask permission for your comfort?”

“I just-” Your laugh, trying to diffuse the tension, comes out slightly watery. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You have not. You will not.” Legolas smiles, “I’m not sure if you can.”

Coming slightly closer, one of his hands joins yours. “I will always wait as long as you need me too, if that is a few days or a few years. As long as I can see you, and that I know you love me, why should I need anything else?”

❝𝐒 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲❞

Cursing under your breath, you lay the knife and the food you had just been cutting down. The nick in your finger is small, but just big enough to be painful and begin to bleed everywhere. Looking around for the cloth, you’ve barely checked half the kitchen before you hear your husband rush into the room. “Are you okay, meleth nîn? I heard your voice.”

“I-” He’s so concerned it’s almost adorable, “Did you run here? And it’s just a small cut.”

“I came because I was worried you were hurt.” His eyes fall to the tiny wound, “And you are. What do you need?”

“Just a little bit of cloth, to get rid of the blood.” He finds it quicker than you do (in a place you’d sworn you looked in), but hands it to you so you can tend the wound yourself. “Thank you, Legolas.”

A/N : Hope these are to your liking, even if they're not exactly what you asked for!

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @wordbunch / @bespectacledhuman / @howling-medic / @paigemackenzie0206 / @northernwing / @awayaesworld / @permanently-nothere / @fern-reads / @chewgazellechew / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 / @raikan624 / @anchy-bananchy / @zeldastrife / @satans-bitch ✧ wish to be tagged?

#lotr x reader #lotr x you #legolas x reader #legolas x you #treat #legolas treat #lotr treat #valentine's treat

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jetii · 3 days ago

Text

The New Deal

Part Two

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Intimacy

Pairing: Thorn x Senator Vale Ishani (OC)

Words: 14,400/25,283

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, secret relationship, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, accidental love confessions, so much flirting and innuendo, dirty talk, smut, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), it is the expected level of freak for these two, part 2 even more so

Summary: It's been a month since Thorn and Vale have returned to Coruscant from her home planet of Atrisia, and so far they've managed to keep their budding relationship under wraps. But Thorn can't help but want more than a few stolen moments in the dark, and he's ready to prove to Vale that it's worth it.

A/N: I don't know what it is about writing these two that turns me into a monster, but I felt like a woman possessed. There was supposed to be plot here...somewhere...

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist | Thorn and Vale Masterlist

Thorn isn't sure how much longer he can keep getting away with this.

The truth is, he knows that he's in way over his head. That this isn't a good idea. That this can only end in heartbreak, and pain, and a whole host of other problems that he really doesn't want to deal with. And yet, the temptation is too great, and he can't bring himself to walk away.

So instead, he spends his days hiding his relationship, his nights sneaking out of the barracks to spend time with Vale, and his free time trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do.

It's not the most productive use of his time, and Thorn knows that his brothers are starting to notice. They've asked him more than once why he's been spending so much time away from the barracks, and he's given them the same answer: extra training. He can't help but feel guilty, especially when he knows that they're not buying it, but he's not sure how else to explain what he's doing.

The truth is, Thorn's not sure he understands what he's doing.

It's been a month since the two of them returned from Atrisia, and things have only gotten more complicated. They'd managed to keep things quiet on the cruiser, but once they were back on Coruscant, the rules had changed.

Vale has been busy, dealing with the fallout of the assassination attempt and the upcoming election season, and Thorn has been splitting his time between his regular duties and acting as Vale's personal guard. The latter isn't something he would normally do, but the Chancellor has insisted, and Vale hasn't protested.

The fact that he's now in the position to protect her is a huge weight off his shoulders. Thorn had spent most of his time on the cruiser worrying about her safety and wondering if the attempt on her life would be repeated. Knowing that she has him there, watching her back, has done a lot to ease his mind.

But even with the extra time together, things have still been complicated, and they've only managed to steal a handful of moments alone together.

Today is no different.

Vale has had no less than four meetings with the Chancellor this past week, and her schedule has been filled with a seemingly endless list of events and appearances. Thorn's days have been just as busy. With the Senate in session, he's been tasked with assisting with the security detail for several events and conferences, and his nights have been filled with patrols and security checks.

Today, he's been assigned a shift in the Senate Rotunda, and while his job is mostly standing around making sure no one was plotting a surprise assassination attempt, he doesn't mind. It's an easy assignment, and he likes the view.

Vale's platform is right in his line of sight, and it's the perfect vantage point for watching her. She looks regal standing there, her hands braced on the edge of the platform, her voice echoing through the chamber. Her robes are a dark, rich blue, and her hair is twisted up into an intricate bun, the light catching the golden threads woven throughout it.

Not that he's paying attention to any of that, of course. He's not supposed to be noticing those things.

No, Thorn is supposed to be watching the room. Which is exactly what he's doing. And if his gaze wanders back to Vale every few minutes, it's not for any reason other than keeping her safe. That's his job, and he's taking it seriously.

That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Thorn can't help but feel like he's been on a rollercoaster over the past few weeks. First, the tension, and the longing, and the frustration, and now, this. This strange, uncertain, and undefined thing that's developed between the two of them. He doesn't have a name for it, and he's not sure if he's ready to call it what he wants it to be.

He doesn't even know what he wants. Or at least, he doesn't know how to get it.

Because he knows what he wants. It's the same thing he's wanted since the day he first met her. He wants her. All of her. Not just her body, or her attention, or her time.

He wants all of her. Every last part of her.

And he's never wanted anything more.

The thing is, Thorn's never had trouble going after what he wants. If he wants something, he usually just goes for it. But with Vale, things are different. She's a senator, and the daughter of a wealthy, influential family, and she's been raised with all the privileges and opportunities that come with her birthright. She's got a whole galaxy of suitors to choose from, and Thorn's well aware that he doesn't exactly have a lot to offer.

He's a clone. An expendable soldier who was created for the sole purpose of dying for the Republic. He doesn't have any rights, or any possessions, and the only thing he has to his name is his service record. He's not a bad looking man, and his brothers have always told him he has a decent sense of humor, but when compared to the galaxy full of senators and nobles and celebrities who are throwing themselves at her, he's not exactly a prize.

And yet, here she is, standing right in front of him, her eyes locked with his, a soft smile on her lips.

It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.

Vale tilts her head, a silent question on her face, and Thorn inclines his head slightly, a subtle nod. She nods back, and then her gaze moves back to the Chancellor, and Thorn lets out a soft sigh.

It's going to be a long day.

The sound of the bell echoes through the chamber, signaling the end of the session, and Thorn straightens up, his hands falling to his belt. The senators and their aides file out, but Vale remains seated, her attention on the datapad in her hand.

Thorn glances around the chamber before he slowly makes his way toward her, his boots clicking against the polished floor. When he reaches her, he stops, waiting patiently. She doesn't look up, but Thorn knows she's aware of him. He can tell by the way her lips twitch and the way her breathing changes, just slightly.

He waits, letting the tension build, before he speaks.

"Senator."

"Commander," she replies. She taps a few more times on her datapad and finally glances over her shoulder at him, a smile playing on her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Thorn looks around the chamber again, tracking the movement of the other senators. Most have already left, but a few are lingering, talking in small groups or packing up their things.

It's not unusual for him to be near Vale during a meeting. In fact, it's his job. But the idea of being seen in such close proximity, especially when there's no danger present, makes his skin prickle.

He lowers his voice, leaning in to speak in her ear. "No reason. Just wanted to check in on you. See how you're doing."

Her smile widens, and Thorn's stomach flips.

"You're sweet," she whispers. Her gaze darts from person to person, and Thorn follows her lead, his eyes scanning the room, cataloging everyone's positions. They're relatively isolated, and while he knows the cameras are watching, there's no way anyone could overhear their conversation.

"I'm trying," he murmurs, and she lets out a soft laugh.

"You didn't have to come over here just to check up on me."

"Yes I did," he tells her. "I wanted to."

"Did you now?"

"Yes."

Vale hums, turning her head to look at him, her gaze drifting over his body. His skin warms, and his heart races. He loves it when she looks at him like that. Loves it when she lets him know what she's thinking, what she's feeling. It's the closest thing to an admission he'll get from her, and it's enough. For now.

She leans back in her chair, and he swallows, his gaze dropping to her lips. She's wearing red lipstick, a shade that's a near exact match for the red of his armor. He's not sure if she chose it on purpose or if it's a coincidence, but either way, it makes him feel possessive. Like she's wearing a part of hi, claiming him in a way.

"Commander," she says, her voice a soft purr. "Do you have something to say to me?"

"I do, Senator," he breathes. He takes a step forward, rounding her chair until he's standing before her, and he clenches his hands into fists behind his back. "I have a lot of things to say."

"Oh? Like what?"

He bends at the waist, a slight bow, and she raises a brow. "Things I shouldn't."

"Well, go on. I'm waiting," she urges, and he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. She's always like this, and he's never sure if he's more annoyed or turned on by it. Probably both.

He looks over his shoulder. The room is empty, save for a handful of aides and a couple of the maintenance staff. There's no one nearby, and the chance of anyone hearing them is minimal. Still, he keeps his voice low, just in case.

"I miss you," he says. The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of them, and the coy smile on her face momentarily falters. "And I can't stand being apart from you for another minute."

She blinks, and Thorn bites the inside of his cheek. They've had this conversation before, and each time, it's ended with one or both of them frustrated and angry and wanting more than they can have. Neither of them has brought up the future. Neither of them has said the word 'relationship'. And neither of them has dared to talk about what they are. What they could be.

It's a mess, and it's only getting messier.

"I miss you too, Commander," she whispers, and he watches as the mask slides back into place, the playful, teasing facade she wears around everyone else coming back full force. Her hand slides up his thigh, her palm pressing against the inside of his leg, and Thorn sucks in a breath, his hands flexing behind his back.

"But there's nothing we can do about it. Not right now, at least," she tells him, her nails scraping lightly against his armor.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his jaw clenching. "I'm serious, Vale.”

Her eyes widen, and her hand freezes. Thorn's not sure why he used her name, or where the sudden surge of bravery came from. But he knows that it's important, and he knows that he means it.

They've been using each other's titles since returning to Coruscant, a necessary precaution. But now, it feels wrong, almost like an insult. It's not who they are, and it's not who they are to each other. He's Thorn, and she's Vale, and the distance between them has gone too far, and for too long.

"I hate not being able to see you. I hate not being able to talk to you. It's driving me crazy. You're driving me crazy," he growls. He's not sure if he's more frustrated with her or himself, and the words pour out of him, fueled by a desperation he can't contain.

Her face softens, the teasing, coy expression replaced with a tender, understanding look. Her hand falls away, folding in her lap, and Thorn immediately misses the contact.

"I know. I'm sorry, Thorn," she murmurs. She looks around, her eyes sweeping over the chamber, and then her gaze meets his once more. Her shoulders slump, and Thorn realizes that she's just as conflicted and unsure as he is. "I'm not trying to push you away."

He shakes his head. He doesn't want an apology. He just wants to be with her. He knows it's a terrible idea, and he knows that they should end things, but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to walk away. And deep down, he knows that she doesn't want to, either.

"I know," he says. "But it doesn't change the fact that I miss you."

She gives him a rueful smile, and his heart twists in his chest.

"I miss you, too," she says softly. "And I wish we could see each other more. I hate having to sneak around. It's ridiculous."

He can't help but chuckle. It's not funny, not really, but it's true. It is ridiculous. And it's getting worse. Every time he sees her, it's harder and harder to walk away. And every time he has to leave, the pain of being separated is worse than the last.

"It is," he agrees. "It's the worst."

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. "The absolute worst."

Thorn sighs, the sound heavy. He looks down at his boots, trying to gather his thoughts.

"We'll figure something out," he says. "We have to."

"I hope so," she murmurs. "Because I'm not sure how much longer I can go without seeing you."

"Me, either," he admits with a sigh. "I'm going crazy, not being able to touch you."

He feels her gaze on him, and he risks a glance. He immediately regrets it when he sees the smirk on her face.

"Touch me, huh?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice. "Is that all you want to do?"

Thorn rolls his eyes. She's always like this, and he should be used to it by now. But every time she flirts with him, every time she teases him, it's like the first time. And he's helpless to resist.

"You're the worst," he mutters. "And no, it's not. I want to do a lot more than just touch you."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

He can't help but groan. He's tempted to tell her. To whisper all the dirty, filthy things he's been imagining, all the things he wants to do to her. But the thought of saying them out loud, of risking being overheard, is too much for him.

"Like nothing, because I'm on duty, and you're about to leave," he grumbles.

"Aw, that's no fun."

"That's what you get," he replies. He straightens and adjusts his stance, his gaze sweeping the chamber again. He doesn't have much time, and he's wasting it. He should be focusing on his job, not flirting with the senator. "I should get going. I have a briefing in an hour, and I need to get ready."

Vale nods, her teeth running over her lower lip. Thorn's eyes are immediately drawn to the motion, and he forces himself to look away, a soft groan escaping him.

"You're not making this any easier, Vale," he mumbles as he turns and starts to walk away, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He doesn't make it more than two steps before her voice stops him in his tracks.

"What are you doing tonight?” she asks, her voice so quiet he almost misses it. His head whips back to her, and he sees her watching him, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.

He's confused. Normally, she doesn't ask him things like this. Normally, she tells him what time she wants him to show up, and where she wants him to meet her. And normally, he doesn't protest, because he knows he'll show up, anyway.

"I...Nothing," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, even though his pulse is pounding.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can't reschedule," he clarifies quickly. He knows he's not fooling anyone. Especially not her.

"Well,” she starts, a slow, playful smile spreading across her face. "In that case, I’ll be hosting a small dinner party for some members of the Finance Committee tonight, and I could use the company for the night. And after. Interested?"

Thorn's eyebrows shoot up. This is the last thing he was expecting. But it's also the perfect opportunity. A few hours at a stuffy party as her guard, and the rest of the night together. It's the best they're going to get. But still, he can't help but tease her.

"Oh, really?" he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what kind of company are you looking for?"

"A strong, handsome man who can keep me safe," she replies. She pretends to examine her nails, and Thorn bites back a laugh. "I have a lot of enemies, you know."

"I'm aware, Senator," he replies dryly. "I've had a front row seat for most of them."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Details."

The laugh escapes from his lips, a short, sharp sound, and her eyes dart up, a grin spreading across her face.

"So you're just looking for someone to make sure no one tries to poison your wine again?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though the memory still sends a shiver down his spine.

Her aide had been the one to notice that one, and Thorn had to suffer a lecture from Fox on how the security at her events had better be airtight, or else. It had been a mess, and Thorn had made sure to double-check the food and drink at every single one of Vale's events after. And she complained about it. Endlessly.

"Well, that's part of the job," she says with a shrug. "But I'm also hoping you'll stay and keep me company after. If you're available, that is."

"I'll have to check my schedule," he teases, and Vale rolls her eyes. She rises to her feet, smoothing her robes, and her hands linger on her hips, the movement drawing Thorn's attention. He watches as her fingers trail over the fabric, skimming along the curve of her waist, and he can't tear his gaze away.

"Fine, I'll find someone else," she says, pretending to be offended. She reaches for her datapad, but Thorn snatches it away, holding it out of her reach. She pouts. "Rude."

"Senator, please. There's no need for such drastic measures," he tells her as he lowers the datapad, tapping the screen and opening the calendar. He pretends to scroll through her appointments, trying to keep his amusement from showing. “I'm sure I can work you in."

She gives him a sly look. "How accommodating."

"Only the best for you, Senator," he replies. He hands her the datapad, and Vale smirks.

"See that it is, Commander. I'll expect you at 18:00 tonight," she orders. Thorn snaps his heels together, and he gives her a quick salute.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she says, her eyes sparkling. She brushes past him, her hand trailing over his forearm. "I'll see you later, Commander."

"Count on it," he growls, and her lips quirk up into a mischievous grin.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says. She turns and walks away, and Thorn is helpless to do anything but watch her go, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

As soon as she's out of sight, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep up this charade. He doesn't know how much longer they'll have, or if there's any chance of this working out. But the fact that she's willing to try means everything. And for now, that's enough.

He'll take what he can get.

Vale’s apartment is the kind of luxury that can only be afforded by a high-ranking member of the Republic Senate.

It's located in one of the most exclusive districts on Coruscant, and it's easily one of the most luxurious buildings on the planet. The furniture is expensive, the walls covered in artwork that he can't begin to understand, and the view from the windows is nothing short of spectacular. It's a far cry from his barracks, and even further from Kamino.

The apartment is huge, easily bigger than his entire squad's quarters, and yet it feels empty. Like a showroom rather than a home. It's clean, and modern, and elegant, and completely devoid of any personality.

Vale’s aide Trina, a Rutian Twi’Lek who has been working with her since before her election, and who he’s pretty sure despises him, has been running around the apartment for the past half-hour, barking orders at servers and rearranging the decorations. He hasn't been paying attention, instead opting to stand in the corner out of the way and try not to feel completely overwhelmed.

He's nervous.

It's a new feeling, and not one he's used to. He’s been here once before, but that was only for a few minutes, and the situation was far more dire. The place had been swarming with police and members of the Guard, and Thorn had spent most of his time keeping everyone from trampling on evidence and making sure that Vale was okay. Now he's standing in the living room, and there's no imminent danger, and Vale's not bleeding out on the couch.

The night’s still young, though.

He's still wearing his armor, and he’s grateful for that. It hides his nerves, and he needs every bit of confidence he can get. Vale is still getting ready, and he's not sure what to do but stand around and wait. He's already gone over the security details for the party, and he's already double checked the guest list, and now he's just trying to occupy his time.

He's never felt so out of his element, and he doesn't like it.

“Can I help?” he asks as Trina moves past him.

She glances up, her brow furrowing. He's sure that she thinks he's an idiot, and maybe she's right. But the least he can do is try. He still feels a little guilty for Vale neglecting to tell her anything about his presence until he arrived, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.

Trina had walked into the living room and immediately dropped her datapa, a surprised, and slightly horrified, expression on her face when she saw him. Vale had quickly explained that she'd invited Thorn to be her bodyguard for the evening, and that he was staying. And from the look on Trina's face, that's not a common occurrence. Or maybe it is, and that's the problem. He's not sure.

Then Vale had disappeared into her bedroom, and Thorn had been left with her aide. And the caterers. And the servers. And the bartender. It's been an interesting evening, and it's not even started.

Trina looks him up and down. He shifts, and she lets out a huff.

"No thank you, Commander," she says stiffly.

“Are you sure? I can help with the decorations. Or moving things around.” He nods toward the dining room. “The table is crooked."

"The table is not crooked," she tells him firmly. She turns her head, and her eyes widen. "Oh, kriff."

Thorn grins. "I'll fix it."

She lets out a sigh, rolling her eyes, and Thorn walks past her, heading into the dining room. It's a massive room, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of the city. The table is long, easily large enough to fit a dozen people, and it's decorated with a centerpiece of flowers and candles. He aligns it properly, careful not to disturb the arrangement. When he's satisfied, he turns to Trina, who's watching him with a look of begrudging respect.

"Better?"

"Much," she says, shaking her head. She glances at the table and smiles. "Thank you, Commander."

He shrugs. "Anytime."

She studies him, and he has the sudden urge to squirm under her gaze. Her arms cross over her chest, her eyes squinting as if she can see through his helmet.

"So," she says, dragging out the word. "Why are you here?"

He blinks. That's a good question. One that he's been asking himself for the last month.

"To protect Senator Ishani," he answers, but it sounds wrong. He knows that's not why, not anymore, but he's not sure what else to say. And judging by the look on her face, she can tell.

"Protect her, huh?" she asks, raising a brow. "I thought that's what the rest of the Guard is for. Why did she need you specifically?"

"She doesn't," he says. "She wanted me here.".

"She did?" she asks, sounding surprised.

He nods. "Yes."

"Huh," she murmurs, her brow furrowing. Her arms fall, and she braces her hands on her hips, tilting her head. "Well, that's new."

"Is it?" he asks. He tries to ignore the flutter of excitement in his chest. If she's inviting him to these things, that means something, right? Even if he’s supposed to stand guard for the evening, it still means something. Right?

"Yeah," she says. "She doesn't usually have people over. Let alone ask a member of the Guard to be here. I'm pretty sure this is the first time."

"It is?"

"Yep," she says, popping the p. “She usually just sits and pretends to enjoy herself until she can go hide in her room."

Thorn feels a flash of concern. That doesn't sound like Vale. She seems to thrive off these kinds of things, the parties and the galas and the endless parade of social events. To hear her aide tell it, it's her own personal hell.

"I thought she liked this stuff."

"No, she hates it," she tells him. Her tone is casual, as if this is something everyone knows. "But she knows how to put on a show."

Thorn has no idea what to say. He's suddenly struck with the image of Vale, alone in her apartment, surrounded by strangers. Of her, putting on a show for them, for him. The thought makes his stomach churn.

He doesn't know Vale, not really. He knows what she likes, and he knows what she doesn't like, and he knows how to make her laugh. But other than that, he's still not entirely sure what's real and what's not. Is the woman who's throwing a dinner party for her colleagues and political allies the same one who's sneaking off to cantina on the lower levels, just to talk with him? Or is she the woman who's laughing at Senator Orn Free Taa's awful jokes, all the while planning his political demise? Or is she both, and neither, and everything in between?

He has no idea, and it bothers him more than he cares to admit.

"I don't get it," she says, tilting her head.

"Get what?"

"You," she tells him.

He feels a flicker of panic.

"What do you mean?" he asks carefully, his voice even, his posture relaxed.

"You're not the usual kind of person she brings to these things," she explains, waving her hand around the room. "Usually, it's some guy she meets at a club, or a Senator, or a businessman. But you're not any of those things."

"No, I'm not," he agrees. He has no idea where she's going with this, and the fact that she's talking about Vale's love life, or lack thereof, isn't helping. He tries not to think about it, tries not to let the jealousy creep up. But he can't help it. “I’m her guard. For the night, at least."

Trina pauses, and Thorn gets the distinct impression that she's trying not to laugh.

"Commander, I've worked for Senator Ishani for five years, and the only time I've seen her happy is when you're around," she tells him. She shakes her head. "Trust me, if she could bring you to every single dinner party and gala, she would."

His heart skips a beat, and his mind races, trying to process what she's telling him.

"Really?" he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

"Really," she confirms. She glances over her shoulder, and then she takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "I'm pretty sure that's why you're here, Commander. Not for your ability to fix tables."

"Oh," he says, letting out a weak laugh.

She smirks. "Besides, she's been happier lately. She hasn't smiled that much since she was elected."

Thorn shifts, his hand clenching and unclenching behind his back. He doesn't know what to say, or what he should say. Probably nothing, if he was smart. But he's not, not when it comes to Vale, and the way Trina's looking at him tells him that he's already in too deep.

"She deserves to be happy," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she does." She looks at him, and he swears he can see something akin to respect in her eyes. "So if you hurt her, I'll have you killed."

“I would never,” he replies emphatically, the words slipping out before he can think better of them. Trina raises an eyebrow, and Thorn quickly amends, "That is, I would never let anyone hurt her, if I could help it. I’m not—we’re not—this isn't—"

“Save it for someone dumb enough to believe you, Commander. We both know that's not true,” she interrupts with a wave of her hand, and Thorn snaps his mouth shut. He's not sure how this went from a polite conversation about furniture to him getting the shovel talk, but he has a sinking feeling that Trina knows exactly what's going on.

He’s about to protest further, but he's cut off by the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. He and Trina look at each other, and she rolls her eyes, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Karking idiots," she mutters. She shakes her head and strides out of the room, her heels clacking on the hardwood. “Hey!”

Thorn takes a deep breath, shaking out his hands, and tries to steady his nerves. His palms are sweaty, and his heart is racing. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous.

This is stupid. This is his job. He should be calm, cool, and collected. Instead, he's standing in the dining room trying not to lose his mind over a girl. A girl who's not even his.

He takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. In, out, in, out. He closes his eyes, counting down from ten. When he opens them again, he's calmer, and his mind is clearer. He can do this. A few hours of playing bodyguard, and he gets to spend the rest of the night with Vale. It's worth it.

"Senator!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

"Coming!"

The sound of footsteps draws Thorn's attention, and he looks up to see Vale descending the staircase.

And just like that, his nerves return.

She's dressed in a black silk gown, the fabric clinging to her curves, and his eyes roam over her body, taking in every inch. The dress is simple, but stunning, and the neckline is low enough to reveal a tantalizing amount of tanned skin. Her hair is pulled back, a few loose curls framing her face, and her lips are painted the same shade of red as earlier. He's certain now that she chose the color on purpose.

He can't help but stare. He's seen her in formal wear plenty of times, but each time, it takes his breath away. This is no exception. If anything, this is the best.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she mutters as she hurries down the stairs, blowing a hair out of her face. She's not looking where she's going, her eyes fixed on the datapad in her hand, and Thorn's hands itch to reach out and steady her.

"Watch your step," he says, and she waves him off.

"I got it, Commander," she says distractedly. "Thank you."

"Vale," he says sharply, making her head snap up. Her eyes widen, and Thorn's heart skips a beat. He's usually better about using her title, especially when they're in public. But seeing her like this, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, he can't help himself.

"Sorry, Thorn," she replies, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. She descends the final step into the living room, and her eyes dart to him. "Hi."

"Hi," he says, low and soft, and he can't hide the smile in his voice.

He looks her up and down, drinking her in, and he's hit with a wave of emotion that he's not expecting. It's more than lust, more than desire, and it's more than admiration. It's something deeper, something that's been building between them for weeks now. Something that he doesn't have a name for, something that's terrifying, and overwhelming, and intoxicating.

She stops a few feet away from him, a shy smile on her face. He can see she's not wearing her heels yet, and it's such a small thing, but it's the first time she's seemed anything other than completely put together. It's cute. And it makes his chest ache.

"So, what do you think?" she asks, gesturing to her dress. She turns, showing off the way the dress hugs her curves. It's an innocent enough gesture, but the way her hips sway and the way the fabric shifts has Thorn swallowing hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"You look great," he says honestly. It's not a strong enough word, but it's all he can think of.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, thank you, Commander," she says. If he looks close enough, and he is, he can see a blush staining her cheeks.

"That's a good color on you," he adds.

"Color?" she asks. She runs a hand over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle, and Thorn's eyes follow the motion. "It's black."

He steps closer, the distance between them shrinking. He's careful not to touch her, not to let his armor brush against her bare skin, and he keeps his hands clasped behind his back.

"I meant the lipstick," he murmurs. "I like it. It suits you."

Vale looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze heated. "You noticed."

"I did," he says. His eyes dart to her lips, and then back up. "Hard not to. It's the same color as my armor."

"Oh, is it?" she asks, feigning surprise. "How coincidental."

"Yeah, funny that," he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He braces his hand on the railing next to her, leaning down, his face inches from hers. "I wonder how that happened."

"Who knows?" she says, and her lips quirk up. She's not even trying to hide the smirk. "Maybe you can get a closer look later."

"Maybe," he rumbles, and she lets out a shuddering breath, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He can't help but grin.

"Commander, are you flirting with me?" she teases.

"Maybe," he drawls, his hand curling around the railing. He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but he knows he can't. Not yet. And especially not here. "But if I was, you wouldn't complain, would you?"

"No," she breathes.

He lets his hand trail down the banister, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her dress, and she shivers. Her skin is warm, and he can smell her perfume, the scent filling his nose. He's tempted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in, but he resists. Barely.

"Good," he growls, and Vale swallows hard, her eyes dark. He clears his throat, taking a step back and clasping his hands behind his back. "Are you ready?"

She blinks, a hint of disappointment in her gaze, and her mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. She seems to remember herself, her eyes darting around the room, and he can tell she's remembering their surroundings.

"I, um, I'm almost ready," she says, shaking her head. Her cheeks flush, and Thorn's tempted to tease her. He doesn't, but he wants to. "I just need to finish my hair, and grab my shoes, and, uh, yeah. Almost ready."

She looks flustered, and Thorn can't help but chuckle. It's cute.

"Alright, well, don't let me distract you," he tells her. She gives him a mock glare, her hand finding his chest, and she pushes him backwards. He grunts, stumbling, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Give me two minutes," she says, and her hand lingers, her fingertips trailing over his plastoid armor.

"I'll give you one," he replies. "You've already taken two hours."

"Oh, please, I'm worth the wait."

"Don't I know it," he mutters, and her eyes sparkle, a smirk on her face. He lets out a sigh. "Go, before you're late to your own party."

"Be right back," she says, flashing him a smile over her shoulder as she turns slowly. He reaches out and swats her ass, and she lets out a yelp, a surprised laugh escaping her. "Commander!"

"Go," he orders, pointing toward the staircase.

"Fine," she replies as she throws her hands in the air. Thorn watches her go, his gaze fixed on the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass. When she's out of sight, he leans back against the banister, a sigh escaping his lips.

This is going to be a long night.

The dinner party is, much like every event that Vale has attended in the past six months, a complete and utter disaster.

But unlike most of the others, Thorn is not entirely miserable.

He's had worse jobs, and this one is pretty easy. There are no threats, no imminent danger, and he's mostly just standing around, which means his brain is free to wander. And it's definitely wandered.

Vale has spent the majority of the night sitting at the far end of the table, making polite conversation and pretending to be interested in the political ramblings of her guests. She's good at it, the act, but Thorn can tell she's not really paying attention. He's not, either. Not with her sitting so close.

He's standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the room. Her guests had made a fuss when they arrived, insisting that it wasn't necessary, and he'd insisted just as firmly that it was. Vale hadn't said a word, simply nodding along. But Thorn had seen the way her lips twitched, and he had known that she was trying not to laugh as he went toe to toe with Senator Taa, who seemed convinced that the whole thing was an insult to his honor.

Now, he's just watching the people around him, doing his best to stay out of their way, his attention diverted between Vale and the servers coming in and out of the kitchen. He's keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't choke on a bite of food, or get poisoned, or any of the other things that could potentially kill her. But more importantly, he's also watching the way the light reflects off her tan skin, and the way her eyes sparkle, and the way her lips wrap around the stem of her wine glass.

And most importantly, he's counting down the minutes until the dinner is over and they can have some semblance of privacy.

Vale had warned him that these kinds of events would be long and tedious, but Thorn hadn't really believed her. She had given him a look when he'd told her as much, and she had promised him that it would be awful. She had been right.

It's been an hour, and his brain has officially started to melt. He's not even sure what they're talking about anymore. It's something about taxation rates, or maybe tariffs, or possibly the price of durasteel. Or maybe it's all three. Whatever it is, it's boring.

He can tell Vale is bored, too. Her posture is rigid, and her expression is tense. Every so often, she'll shift in her chair, her hand reaching for her wine glass, her lips wrapping around the rim, and he'll lose his train of thought. The movement is practiced, her movements slow and seductive, and he has no doubt that she's doing it on purpose.

She's a menace.

The senator sitting across from her, a man he can't remember the name of, is droning on about something, and Vale nods politely. Her gaze meets Thorn's, and her lips twitch, her eyes dancing with mischief. She licks her lips, and he sucks in a breath.

Karking hell.

Thorn shifts, his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm on his vambrace. Vale looks away, but not before her eyes roam over his body, and he's pretty sure that she's trying to kill him. He's not sure how much longer he can do this.

“Hey,” a voice whispers from the kitchen, and he turns his head slightly. Trina is standing in the doorway, gesturing for him. He glances back at Vale, but she's still absorbed in her conversation, and he moves toward the Twi'lek.

“Yeah?” he asks warily. She's been giving him weird looks all night, and he's not sure if she's plotting his murder or not. It's hard to tell with her.

She pulls him into the kitchen, and his stomach sinks. This is not a good sign.

She pushes him further into the room, and the staff members pause, looking up from their work. He's never been inside the kitchen before, and it's a lot nicer than he was expecting. It's huge, with counters and shelves lined with equipment that he's never seen before. A team of staff members are moving around the space, preparing and cooking the food, and the whole room smells amazing.

Trina leads him to a corner of the room, where the others can't hear, and his heart starts racing.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and urgent. He can't think of a single reason for him to be here. Unless Vale is hurt. Or worse.

"You're staring," she whispers, and his brow furrows.

"What?"

"You're staring," she repeats. "At Senator Ishani."

"I'm supposed to watch her," he replies, his voice thick. "It's my job."

"No, you're supposed to watch her _back_ ," she corrects, rolling her eyes. She steps around him and opens the fridge, rummaging through the contents. "Not her front."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. He can feel the blush rising on his cheeks, and his armor suddenly feels too tight. "I'm just doing my job."

She pulls a covered plate out of the fridge and places it on the counter. Her head tilts to the side, a skeptical look on her face, and she gives him a once-over, her eyes narrowing.

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying," he says, but his voice cracks.

"Yes, you are," she says. "And it's obvious."

"I'm not!" he exclaims, a little louder than he'd intended. He glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one else heard. "I'm not. I'm just doing my job, like the rest of the Guard."

“Are they as bad at lying as you are?” she asks dryly.

He frowns. She has a point. None of his brothers are particularly good liars, and Thorn has a bad habit of being too honest. It's one of the many reasons Fox doesn't trust him with any kind of covert missions, why he's the last choice for undercover work. But the idea that it's somehow obvious, that he can't hide his feelings, is disconcerting.

He tries to play it off, but his voice is strained when he says, "I'm not lying."

She gives him a pointed look, and he shifts uncomfortably, the silence stretching out between them. He looks at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but her, and the seconds drag on, the tension mounting. Finally, she sighs, and she lifts the lid off the plate, grabbing a fork and handing it to him.

"Here. Take this," she orders, pushing the plate towards him, and he takes it without thinking, the fork clutched tightly in his fist.

"Why?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

"Because Senator Ishani asked me to," she tells him, a note of amusement in her voice. She looks him up and down. "She said you hadn't eaten, and she didn't want you to starve."

"Really?" He can't hide the surprise in his voice. Vale had mentioned that the meal would be simple, a few appetizers and a few choice selections, but nothing substantial, and he'd been expecting to wait until later to eat. The idea that she's concerned enough to have him brought a plate is...unexpected, and oddly touching.

"Yeah," she replies. "She said that you needed to keep your strength up. I didn't ask why."

Thorn feels the blush creep up his neck, his cheeks heating, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, right," he mumbles, his mind immediately going to all the different reasons why Vale might want him to keep his strength up. Reasons that have nothing to do with his duties as a member of the Coruscant Guard, and everything to do with what they'll be doing later.

"Right," she echoes, and her voice is thick with amusement.

He's tempted to walk out of the room, to ignore the fact that she knows, and the fact that she's obviously amused by the whole thing. But his stomach growls, the noise echoing loudly in the quiet kitchen, and he's reminded of the fact that he hasn't eaten since before his shift ended, nearly six hours ago. He'd skipped the mess hall, instead heading straight to Vale's apartment, and he'd been too nervous to think about food.

"Well, I should, uh, I should probably eat, then," he mutters, looking down at the plate.

"You probably should," she says. She leans back against the counter, a small smirk on her lips.

He glances over at the other staff, who’re all making an effort to appear busy, before he pulls off his helmet and sets it on the counter. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and he runs a hand through the curls, brushing them out of his face.

Trina studies him, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Huh. You're cute," she says, and he snorts.

"Thanks," he says dryly as he looks down at the plate in his hands. The food is a selection of cold appetizers, the same ones that were served at the start of the evening, and his mouth waters at the sight.

He's not used to having so many options, not when most of his meals consist of ration packs and protein slurries. This is a luxury, and one he doesn't often get to indulge in. Vale has been trying to change that, bringing him food, and treats, and even a cake, once, and it's nice, but he doesn't always have the time, or the appetite, for them.

He spears a piece of what he thinks is fish and pops it into his mouth, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Kriff, that's good."

"I know," Trina says smugly. "My cousin owns the place."

"It's amazing," he says around a mouthful. "Thank you."

She gives him a wry grin. "Don't thank me. Thank her."

He nods, looking over her shoulder at Vale, who's still engaged in her conversation, a polite smile on her face. Her gaze finds his, and the smile turns genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and he can't help but smile back. He gives her a wave, and she looks away, ducking her head, a blush staining her cheeks.

"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Trina asks, drawing his attention, and he nearly chokes on his food.

"W-what?" he sputters. He reaches for a glass of water on the counter and downs it, trying to regain his composure.

"How long have you and the Senator been sleeping together?" she asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and he almost chokes again.

"We're not—we haven't—" he splutters, his face flushing. He wants to say that they're not sleeping together, but the words won't come out, and the look she's giving him tells him that she's not buying it, anyway. "We're not seeing each other. I mean, not officially. Not really. We're just, uh, we're friends. Sort of. I think. Maybe."

He takes another bite, hoping to keep himself from rambling. He chews slowly, his gaze fixed on his plate, and when he finally looks up, Trina is staring at him, a bemused expression on her face.

"Huh," she murmurs. She leans against the counter, her fingers drumming on the granite. "Interesting."

"What is?"

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head, and her lekku sway behind her back. "Just...you really like her, don't you?"

He looks back at Vale, who's laughing at something someone said, her nose wrinkling. His heart aches, and he knows that his feelings are written all over his face. There's no use denying it, not to Trina, not to himself.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice soft. "I really, really do."

"That's good. She needs someone," she replies, her tone surprisingly sincere.

Thorn turns, studying her face. There's a hint of sadness in her eyes, and he can't help but wonder what she's thinking. She looks worried, her brow creased and her mouth set in a frown, and Thorn gets the sense that there's more to her concern than just his and Vale's relationship.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly. “Is she okay?"

"No. I mean, yes. She's fine," she says quickly. She sighs, and her expression softens. "She's just...lonely. That's all."

"Lonely?"

"It's hard, being in her position," she says. She gestures around the kitchen. "All of this is hard. It's not fun. She has to put on a show, pretend to be someone she's not, just so people will like her. Just so they'll listen to her."

Thorn nods. He's seen it first-hand. He's seen the way she changes, the way she shifts, when she's speaking in the Senate, or at a conference, or at a dinner. She becomes something else, someone else, and it's not the person he knows. Or not the person he's starting to know. The one who laughs at his jokes, and steals his food, and smiles at him like he's the only thing that matters. The one he's falling in love with.

"She's been through a lot. More than most people," Trina continues. She glances back at Vale, who's now leaning forward, listening intently to a senator's rambling story. "And sometimes, it gets to her. She puts on a brave face, but it's hard."

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice hesitant. He's not sure if he's allowed to ask, or if he's allowed to pry, and he's not sure how much he wants to know. But the urge to find out is too strong, and the words spill out before he can stop them.

She gives him a look. "Commander, how long have you known her?"

"About a year, give or take a few months," he answers, his voice unsure. It feels longer, and he's not sure when it happened. When he went from not knowing her to needing her. To wanting her.

"And in that time, has she ever mentioned her family?" she asks, and his stomach twists.

"No," he admits.

"Her childhood? Her past? Anything?"

He shakes his head, feeling a twinge of guilt. The truth is, he knows next to nothing about Vale's life. Sure, he knows her favorite foods, and her favorite holofilms, and her favorite music. He knows that she likes her caf black, and he knows that her favorite color is blue, and he knows that her birthday is in two weeks. But he doesn't know where she grew up, or what her parents were like, or anything else.

He doesn't know her. Not really. And it's not for lack of asking.

He's tried, many times, to get her to open up, but she's always managed to dodge the questions, or change the subject, or give him some non-answer. It's frustrating, and if he's honest, it hurts. He's bared his soul to her, told her things that he's never told anyone else, and yet, she still keeps him at arm's length.

"Not really," he tells her, his voice heavy with regret. "No."

She nods, as if she was expecting his answer, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips.

"She doesn't have much left," she says softly. "Just me, and her job, and whatever this is."

She gestures between the two of them, and his throat tightens. Whatever this is.

"And you make her happy," she says, her voice firm, and her gaze flickers over his face. "So, don't screw it up."

He blinks, caught off-guard by the bluntness of her statement. "What?"

"Commander, I've known her for years, and I've never seen her smile as much as she has these last few weeks," she explains, a hint of warning in her tone. "So, whatever this is, whatever you're doing, just...don't screw it up."

"I wouldn't," he promises. He looks down at his plate, and his gaze flickers to Vale, who's laughing at something a senator said. "I would never."

"Good," she replies, nodding, and a faint smile crosses her lips. "Because, for what it's worth, I think you're good for her. And I think she's good for you. So just, be patient with her, alright? She'll come around. Just give her time."

"I will," he says. "For as long as she'll have me."

Trina lets out a laugh. "You've got it bad, don't you?"

“It’s hard not to,” he replies, unable to keep the defensiveness from his voice. He can't help it. Vale has a way of drawing him in, of making him want things he can't have. Of making him want her, and only her, and no one else. “When someone like her gives you their attention, it's hard not to fall in love with them."

Trina stares at him, and Thorn realizes, with a flash of horror, what he's just said.

"Uh, I mean," he stammers, his face flushing, and he takes a step back, bumping into the counter behind him. "I didn't—"

"Did you just say—"

"I said nothing," he interrupts quickly, his heart racing. He can feel the panic building, and his hands tremble as he reaches for his helmet, his mind scrambling for an excuse. For anything. "I didn't say anything."

"Right. Nothing," she replies, her expression a mixture of surprise and amusement, and Thorn wants nothing more than to melt into the floor and disappear. "My lips are sealed."

"Yeah, well, it was just a figure of speech, you know, uh, a phrase, so, yeah," he mutters, and he's sure that his face is beet red by now. The implications of what he's just said are hitting him, and he's starting to panic. He can't believe he let that slip. He's going to get himself killed, and his brothers will probably laugh at his funeral.

Thorn tugs his helmet back on, letting out a sigh. This was a terrible idea. The whole thing. From start to finish.

"Thanks for the food," he mumbles, and Trina smirks.

"Sure. Anytime," she replies, her eyes sparkling, and Thorn turns away, walking out of the kitchen as quickly as he can without drawing attention.

The guests have moved into the living room, and the conversation has switched from business to gossip. The group is seated on the couches and chairs, the servers moving through the room, taking drink orders. Vale is sitting on the couch surrounded by a handful of senators and business owners, all vying for her attention. They're talking over each other, their voices overlapping and filling the room, and she's staring into her near-empty glass of wine, a bored expression on her face. Thorn can't blame her. There's nothing worse than listening to politicians try to one-up each other.

Trina steps into the middle of the group, holding the bottle of wine high above her head. "More wine, anyone?"

"Yes!" a few voices call out.

"Excellent," she says, grinning.

She refills everyone's glasses, and Thorn moves to stand next to the couch, his hands clasped behind his back. He can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn't dare meet her gaze, and he focuses his attention on the wall behind her, keeping his face carefully blank. He's not sure what to say, or how to act, and he's still not over his slip-up in the kitchen.

He doesn't even know if he's in love with her. All he knows is that he can't stop thinking about her, and he's missed her when they're apart, and the idea of her dating anyone else makes him sick. He can't stop himself from wondering if she's okay, and what she's doing, and who she's with. And he can't imagine a life without her.

But he's not sure that's the same thing.

Trina passes Vale a glass of wine, and her fingers brush against her hand. The gesture is subtle, a practiced movement, and Thorn knows it's a signal. But the effect is instantaneous, and he watches as she straightens, her posture perfect, her head held high. Her face transforms, the polite smile becoming genuine, and her eyes light up, the sparkle returning to her gaze.

Thorn has never seen anything like it. It's like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly, she's not the bored politician anymore. She's someone else, someone brighter, and Thorn has the strangest urge to protect her, to shield her from the crowd and their prying eyes, and their greedy hands. To wrap her in his arms and keep her safe, from them, from herself, and from anything else that might threaten to harm her.

“Senator, a moment please," he says, leaning over the back of the couch, and Vale tilts her head back, her eyes meeting his.

"What is it, Commander?"

"Can we speak in private for a moment?" he asks, his voice low, and she frowns, a hint of concern flashing across her face. "It's urgent."

"Oh," she murmurs, her mouth forming a perfect O. She sits up straighter, her brows furrowing, and Thorn knows she's trying to decide if she should play along or not. He nods, just a slight tilt of his head, and her lips twitch.

"Oh, alright," she says. She stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, and flashes a smile at the group. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"By all means, Senator," one of the politicians, an older man with a long, narrow face, says. "Please, attend to your duties. We'll be here when you return."

"Thank you, Senator," she replies, a sweet smile on her face. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll try not to be too long."

Thorn takes a step back, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster, and Vale follows, a confused look on her face. He leads her to the balcony doors and opens them, holding them open for her before turning and shutting them firmly behind him. He doesn't want any distractions, and he doesn't want anyone interrupting them.

Vale moves away from him, leaning against the railing and looking out at the city, and Thorn lets out a breath. The night is warm, the air sticky and humid, and the noise from the city below drifts up towards them. It's surprisingly quiet, despite the sounds of traffic and chatter and music floating up to them, and for a moment, he just watches her.

He's still not entirely sure why he did it, why he interrupted her. He's not even sure what he wants to say. It's just a feeling, a nagging in the back of his mind, and a need to make sure she's okay.

"Everything alright?" she asks as she turns to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

Her expression is carefully neutral, a perfect mask, and he can't help but wonder how many times she's had to pretend, had to lie, had to put on a show, all for the sake of being seen. He wonders if anyone's ever noticed, if anyone's ever asked. Or if they've all just assumed she's fine, that everything is okay, because why wouldn't it be? She's Senator Ishani.

He pauses, his hand still on the door, and checks to make sure that no one is watching. As soon as he's satisfied that no one is paying any attention, he walks over to her and pulls off his helmet.

Her eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across her face. She doesn't try to hide her reaction, and it warms his heart.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft, and she lets out a sigh.

"Hi," she breathes.

He places his helmet on the table next to him and reaches for her hand. He tangles their fingers together, and her lips part, her cheeks turning pink. She looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze dark and heated, and he steps closer, crowding her against the railing.

"How's your night going?" he asks, his voice low, and her breath hitches.

"It's alright," she murmurs, her free hand settling on his chest plate.

"Yeah? Nothing interesting happening?"

"Nothing, really," she tells him, and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. "A lot of talking, a lot of wine. But it's a bit boring. How was the kitchen?"

"It was fine," he says, shrugging.

"Did you like the food? Trina's cousin is the head chef," she says, her voice light. She looks nervous, a slight tremor in her voice, and he squeezes her hand gently. "If there was anything you didn't like, you can let me know. I can talk to him, see if he can add something for next time."

"It was great," he assures her, his voice sincere, and a small smile crosses her face. "Really great. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that."

"It's the least I could do," she says, waving him off. "After all, I did drag you here against your will."

"You didn't drag me," he protests, his brow furrowing, and she arches an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. He lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of her palm. "I volunteered."

"Yeah, but not for this," she says, glancing back into the room through the sliver of a window in the door, where they can just make out the shapes of the guests inside. He can see the tension in her shoulders, the crease in her brow, and he runs his thumb along her knuckles. "I know how boring these things can be."

"You don't have to apologize, Vale," he tells her, and her eyes dart back to his. He reaches up with his free hand and caresses her cheek with his thumb, careful not to press hard enough to disturb her makeup. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, and her hand wraps around his wrist. He leans down, his nose brushing against hers. "And I meant it. You're worth the wait."

She swallows hard, a shuddering breath escaping her lips, and Thorn can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

"What did you need to tell me?" she whispers, her breath ghosting across his face, and he fights the urge to kiss her, to throw her over his shoulder and take her upstairs, to hell with the dinner party and the guests and whatever the fuck else is happening right now.

"I..." he starts, but the words die on his lips.

_I needed to make sure you're okay. I needed to see you. I needed to make sure they weren't giving you a hard time. I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I needed to hold your hand. I need you._

"Are you okay?” he asks instead.

She blinks, surprise flickering across her face, and her lips part.

"Yeah. Why?" she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Are you?"

He lets out a sigh. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"That doesn't sound convincing," she says. Her hand trails down his forearm and comes to rest on his waist, and he can feel the warmth of her palm through the plastoid. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just—" he starts, but he stops, not sure what to say. How can he tell her what Trina said without breaking her trust? How can he tell her how much he cares about her, without revealing too much? How can he make her see that he's right here, that he's not going anywhere, that he's not going to leave her?

He doesn't know.

"You just looked like you needed a break," he says, the lie slipping out before he can catch it. "That's all."

"I do need a break," she murmurs. She looks over his shoulder, at the door, and her lips twist. She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know why I agreed to host this thing."

"Because it'll look good," he replies. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and her eyes drift shut. He loves seeing her like this, unguarded and relaxed, and he wishes they were anywhere but here. "And because it'll help you get reelected."

She grimaces. "It's going to look like I'm trying to cozy up to the rich and powerful."

"Which you're not?" he teases.

"No, I am," she says, her nose wrinkling. She huffs and shakes her head. "It's a thin line, and I'm not always sure where it is. But sometimes, like tonight, it feels like I'm drowning in it."

He looks at her, the sadness in her eyes, the tiredness in her expression, and his stomach churns. He doesn't know much about the politics of the Senate, or the Republic, or even the Coruscant Guard, but he's learned that most people, even the good ones, are willing to compromise their values for their careers. But Vale isn't. And while it makes his job harder, and his life more complicated, it also makes him like her even more, if that's possible.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, his hand moving down her neck and settling on her shoulder. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into the tense muscles, and she lets out a soft groan.

“What are you sorry for?”

"That you have to do this. You deserve better," he says, his voice thick, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" she says, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm serious," he says, and she meets his gaze, her eyes searching his face. He runs his thumb along her collarbone, a gentle caress, and she shivers. "Vale, if you need to leave, just say the word."

"You mean, skip my own dinner party?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice.

"If that's what you want," he replies, his voice firm, and her lips twitch. "If it'll make you happy."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you," he says. The words come easily, falling from his lips like they've been waiting to be spoken. And maybe they have. He's not sure when he decided this, or when he knew, but he does. He knows.

Her eyes widen, surprise evident in her gaze, and her mouth drops open, a soft gasp escaping her. Thorn knows he's probably said too much, revealed too much, but he doesn't care. He's tired of hiding his feelings, of pretending he doesn't want her, doesn't need her, doesn't love her.

He's never been good at lying. Not to himself, and certainly not to others, and especially not to her.

She doesn't say anything, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant noise of the city, and the pounding of his heart. He can feel her staring at him, her gaze fixed on his face, and he holds his breath. Finally, she sighs and looks down.

"Well, that's not fair. Now I really want to leave," she says with a pout, and Thorn laughs, a weight lifting off his chest.

“Then let’s go. I’ll sneak you out,” he says, grinning. He leans down, his mouth inches from hers. "We'll have a whole night to ourselves."

"You can’t sneak me out of my own apartment," she protests, her eyes darting to his lips. "And I have a dinner party to host."

"Sure, I can. Come on. You've spent enough time with these people," he says. He glances back inside. The party is still in full swing, and no one seems to have noticed that they're gone. "You've made your rounds, and you've played host. And I know you'd rather be anywhere else right now. So let's go."

"And where would we go, Commander?" she asks. She reaches up and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arm wraps around her waist, and she smirks. "Back to your barracks? So you can show me your bed?"

"I would, yeah," he growls.

He pulls her flush against him, his grip tightening on her waist. She lets out a little gasp, and he presses his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent surrounds him, filling his nose, and his eyes flutter shut, his mouth watering at the thought of kissing her, touching her, tasting her.

"And what would you do to me there?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"What wouldn't I do?" he rasps. He presses a kiss to her pulse point, his lips trailing along her skin, and she tilts her head back, her body going lax in his arms. His teeth scrape against her collarbone, and she shudders, her nails digging into his scalp. "I'd show you how good I can be. How well I can take care of you."

She lets out a little whimper, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You would, huh?" she murmurs, her breath hitching as he trails his lips down across the tops of her breasts, his tongue dipping into the valley between them. "You think you can make me feel good?"

"I know I can," he replies, his voice confident. His hand slides down her body, coming to rest on her ass, and he squeezes, eliciting a surprised squeal from her. She lets out a giggle, and his lips twitch. “If you'll let me."

"You're not going to distract me with sex, Commander," she whispers. She runs her hands down his chest, her fingertips tracing over his armor, and she pats his breastplate. "I'm a professional."

"Me too. And I don't mix business with pleasure," he replies, smirking. He leans down and presses his lips to hers, a gentle, chaste kiss that makes her let out a small noise of frustration. "Unless my charge gives me permission, that is."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p'. He pulls back, looking down at her. "So are you going to let me have you, Senator?"

Her eyes lock onto his, and he feels his breath catch. Her expression is open and vulnerable, the dark pools of her irises glittering with want, and her lips part. For the first time since they met, she looks unsure, her usual confidence missing, and Thorn knows it's a big step. It's a risk, a dangerous one, and the choice is hers.

He can't take it for her, and he can't make it for her, and he would never force her to do something she's not ready for. All he can do is ask, and wait, and hope.

"Yes, Thorn. You can have me," she whispers.

His heart skips a beat.

She said his name.

_His_ name. Not his rank, or his designation, but his name. Like it's something precious, like it's something sacred, like it's something that's just hers. It's not the first time, but it feels different. More meaningful. More intimate, like a promise, a commitment.

It's everything.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse, and she nods, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she says. Her hand finds his and squeezes gently, her touch warm and reassuring. “But I can’t leave. Not yet. So if we could just..."

He nods, understanding immediately. "Want me to take care of you?"

"Would you?" she asks, her cheeks turning pink. "I wouldn't ask, but—"

"Hey," he interrupts, lifting her chin with his finger. Her gaze flits between his, and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry that he'll say no. But the last thing he wants to do is deny her. Not when she's been so good to him. "Of course, I will. Always. All you have to do is ask."

She smiles. It's a shy, tentative smile, and it's one he hasn't seen before. She's always confident, always sure of herself, but there's something different about this smile. It's not the smile of a senator, or a politician, or a socialite. It's the smile of a woman who's just as scared and nervous as he is.

"Okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. That would, um, that would be great. Thank you."

He nods, letting out a soft laugh, and his hands drop to her hips. He lifts her easily, turning and backing her up against the wall next to the door, and her breath hitches. His hands move down, his palms brushing against her thighs, and she lets out a quiet gasp.

"Thorn," she whispers.

"I got you, baby," he says, his voice low and soothing. He reaches for the hem of her dress and pushes it up, his fingertips grazing over her skin. He can feel her shiver, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Just relax."

He drops to his knees, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back and the ache in his joints, and he nudges her legs apart. She spreads them, letting him settle between them, and he looks up at her.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand sliding up her inner thigh. He has half a mind to remove his gloves, but the other half, the hornier half, is too impatient to bother. "Can you keep quiet for me?"

"Yes," she breathes, her head tilting back and her eyes fluttering shut. "Yes, sir."

The words send a jolt through him, and he presses his forehead against her thigh, a shuddering breath escaping him. She knows how much he likes that, how much it affects him, and she's not afraid to use it against him. And she knows that if he's not careful, he's going to end up making a mess of his blacks and be forced to spend the rest of the night uncomfortable and frustrated.

"Kriff, baby, you can't say things like that," he mutters, and she lets out a husky chuckle.

"Why not?"

He gives her a light swat on her thigh, and her laughter turns into a squeak.

"Because I can't concentrate," he grumbles, his voice thick, and he rubs the spot where he struck her, his thumb drawing small circles over the red mark that's already forming. He wants to kiss it, wants to lick and suck and bite, but now's not the time. He has other priorities.

Thorn grabs the waistband of her underwear, yanking them down and letting them pool around her ankles. He lifts one foot, then the other, helping her step out of them, and he tucks the black lace into the pouch on his belt. She looks at him, a hint of surprise in her expression, and he grins.

"Commander, are you—"

"Shh," he hushes her as he leans in, his breath hot on her thigh, his hands tugging her dress up and baring her pussy. She squirms, her hips bucking slightly, and he rests his hands on her thighs, holding her still. "Don't move."

"Don't shush me," she says, her voice strained. “I—“

Vale lets out a soft cry as he presses his lips to her, his tongue slipping between her folds. The fabric of her dress falls back over his shoulders as his hands slide up her legs, and he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her still. She tastes sweet and tangy, and a low growl escapes his throat as he buries his face in her cunt, his tongue darting out to lick and tease and taste her.

"Kriff, Thorn," she moans. He hums, and she shivers, her body going rigid. "Yes."

He pulls her closer, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her thighs, and he laps at her clit, slow, languid strokes that have her gasping for air. He can hear the muffled sounds of the dinner party through the doors, and he's reminded of where they are, of who she is, and how many people would disapprove of her being caught like this, with a member of the Coruscant Guard buried between her legs. It makes him feel powerful, in a way, and he can't help but smirk against her, a swell of pride rising in his chest.

"Fuck, you're good at that," she breathes, her fingers threading through his curls, and his eyes roll back in his head.

He loves doing this, and he especially loves doing it for her. He loves the way she squirms, the way she whines, and the way her hips jerk against his mouth. He loves how wet she gets, and how she moans his name, and how she pulls his hair.

But most of all, he loves that he's the only one who gets to see her like this. The only one who gets to hear her, the only one who gets to feel her, the only one who gets to taste her. The thought alone makes him harder, and he's half tempted to pull her down onto his lap and bury himself inside her.

But he's determined to do this for her, to bring her the pleasure she deserves, and nothing more. And as soon as the party is over, he's going to take her upstairs, and they're going to finish what they started.

He pulls away, his nose rubbing against her clit, and she groans, her thighs trembling.

"Oh, fuck," she whispers.

"Yeah? You like that?" he murmurs, nuzzling her. He glances up at her, and his breath catches. Her head is tilted back, her eyes shut, and her chest is heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress. Her mouth is hanging open, a moan falling from her lips, and his cock throbs, his balls aching. "You look so pretty like this, baby."

"Shut up," she pants, and he chuckles. Her hand rests on the back of his neck, urging him closer, and her hips rock forward, grinding against his face. "Keep going."

He obeys, his tongue returning to her clit. He alternates between soft, slow licks and hard, rough ones, and she lets out a choked gasp, her grip tightening in his hair.

"F-faster," she pleads, her voice shaking. "Please. Thorn."

"Whatever you want," he breathes, and he dives back in, his tongue circling her clit, the tip teasing and flicking and rubbing. Her legs begin to tremble, and she grinds against his face, her hand clutching the back of his neck. He’s forced to tighten his grip on her thighs, holding her in place, and a low moan escapes her.

"So good," she groans, and he pulls her closer, his mouth latched onto her clit. "You're so good."

He can't help but preen a little. He loves her praise, loves the way it makes him feel, the way it fills his chest with warmth. She doesn't give it easily, and he cherishes it, savoring the words like a fine wine.

She tugs at his hair, and a strangled moan rises in his throat. He's painfully hard now, his cock straining against his blacks, and he's grateful for the layer of plastoid covering his arousal. But the friction is torturous, and he rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the inside of his leg.

"Oh, shit," she breathes, and he realizes she can see him, can see his hand wrapped around her thigh, his hips jerking. She lets out a shaky laugh. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Fuck yeah, I am," he mumbles against her. His eyes flicker up to hers, and she bites her lip. "Are you?"

She nods, her eyes locked onto his, and he grins.

"Good," he whispers.

He sucks her clit between his lips, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud, and she whimpers, her back arching. He can feel her body stiffen, and her breathing grows ragged, her chest heaving. She's close, he can tell, and he redoubles his efforts, his tongue swirling and teasing and lapping at her, his nose bumping against her clit with every pass.

"I'm...I'm..." she chokes out, her words fading into a groan, and he can feel her shaking, her muscles tightening.

She comes with a shudder, her legs threatening to buckle, and Thorn holds her steady, his hands gripping her hips. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, and he keeps licking, his tongue dipping between her folds. He can feel her pulsing under his tongue, her pussy clenching around nothing, and he lets out a low moan, his cock throbbing.

He doesn't stop until she's stopped trembling, and he pulls away, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. He presses a gentle kiss to her clit, and she squeaks, a shiver running through her.

"There. That should hold you for a while," he says. He sits back on his heels, looking up at her.

Her chest is still heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress, and her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. Her head rolls back, and her eyes flutter open, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She looks gorgeous, thoroughly fucked and satisfied, and Thorn has never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

She lets out a breathless, shaky laugh, and Thorn can't help but join her.

"Good?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Mhm," she mumbles, and her hand moves from his neck to his head. She runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down as his lips press a trail of soft kisses along her thigh. "Really, really good."

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs.

"You're good," she says, a soft giggle escaping her. She's still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, and her eyes are glassy. "Too good."

"Nah," he says, his tone playful. He gives her hip a light squeeze and rises, his knees cracking as he straightens. He adjusts her dress, pulling it down and smoothing out the wrinkles. "I'm just trying to impress you."

"Consider me impressed," she replies, smirking.

She leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes close, a soft sigh escaping him. Her hands find his belt, and he watches her, his heart pounding.

"Let me—"

"No," he says, his voice firm. He grips her wrist, stopping her, and she blinks, her eyes wide. "You don't have to do that."

"But you're..." she starts, and he shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He releases her hand, and she looks down, her cheeks turning pink. "Hey. Look at me."

She lifts her gaze, meeting his, and he smiles.

"We're good, right?" he asks, his voice soft. He lifts his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

She nods. "Yeah. We're good."

"Okay. Then I'm okay. More than okay. Really," he assures her, and she swallows, a frown tugging at her lips. "Hey, none of that. None of that sadness. Or guilt. Or whatever that look is. Okay?"

"Okay," she says. Her lips curve into a smile, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I just feel bad."

"Well, don't," he tells her. He reaches down and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. "I don't. Trust me, baby. This is the highlight of my day."

She laughs, a bright, bubbly sound that makes his chest swell with pride. "Highlight, huh?"

"Yeah. Definitely," he says, grinning. "You look amazing, by the way. Really beautiful. Did I tell you that already?"

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. You're a flatterer."

"Nope. Just being honest," he says, his eyes drifting over her body. "Seriously. I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now."

“Stop,” she whines.

"Nah. It's true," he replies. He looks back at the door, where the muffled sounds of conversation can still be heard, and lets out a sigh. "As much as I want to stay here and keep you all to myself, I think you need to get back. Before they miss you."

"Right. Yeah," she says. She steps away, straightening her dress.

Thorn reaches up and fixes her hair, his hands moving deftly. It takes him a moment, but he manages to get it mostly back in place. She smooths out the front of her dress and adjusts her cleavage, and he lets out a small, appreciative hum. He picks up his helmet, turning it so she can see her reflection in the visor, and she wipes the smeared lipstick at the corner of her mouth before giving him a grateful smile.

"Okay. Ready?" he asks, and she gives a reluctant nod.

She steps towards the balcony doors, pausing and turning back to him. Her brow is furrowed, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.

"Um, Thorn?"

"Yeah, baby?"

“Can I have my underwear back?"

He smirks as he tugs his helmet back on. The taste and smell of her linger on his tongue, and he licks his lips, savoring the sweetness. He'll be breathing in her scent for the rest of the night, and the thought alone makes him giddy, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and deep. He pulls his blaster out, checking the charge, and gestures towards the balcony doors. "I want you thinking about what I'm going to do to you later."

Her eyes widen, and a blush creeps up her neck, turning her skin a pretty shade of pink. "And what's that, Commander?"

He holsters his blaster and looks at her. "Everything."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

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@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

#thorn x oc #commander thorn x oc #thorn x vale #oc:vale #clonexocweek2025 #clonexocweek #clonexocweek day 3 #part two will be posted this weekend!#it's almost all smut too #the WC is quite frankly embarrassing #do not perceive me #roy writes

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langtaler · 2 days ago

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I'd rather you didn't lecture me on the history of my own country. Do you really think you can compare these stupid racists with the Third Reich? Do you know how it feels to live in totalitarism? My god. You ain't seen nothing yet folks. My family is rich of stories what it is like to prepare for the total war. My family and relations lived through the Volkssturm. Ninety percent of my relations died before I even was born. They were killed, executed, they died as prisoners of war. Ten out of twelve uncles brushed away for the dreams of world domination of a few fat self righteous men.

Do you think this is systematic subjugation yet? There is much still to come.

You still have existing juristiction. You still have civil rights. You think you are at your last straw ? There are years to come when you will think back how liberal this country was under Trump.

Losing ALL your life savings in one single stroke. Everyone. Demonetisation of a TRILLION percent. Not finding any job in ten years. Everyone around. Civil war for a decade. And then you will be ready for totalitarism.

You'll run with a bucket because some beer driver's mare cashed it in after an accident. And the neighbours chop her into pieces and you need this piece of meat because it could be the first decent meal you had in weeks. But the Nazis find out and confiscate her and none of the hungry folk dares to beg for a bit. And you starve. And the Gauleiter and his sons are fat bastards. This is totalitarism.

Your stupid boy used the busfare for buying candy and flunks party indoctrination afternoon. And now the Gestapo knocks at your door and threatens you that they take you and your kid away if it happens again. He is twelve and a rascal. And his pranks threaten your life. This is totalitarism.

Your father bought tons of flour, lard and salami because he starved during the last war and nearly died. He hid it in a special chamber in the attic and now the whole country is on food stamps and you starve because Daddy does not dare to touch the stuff hidden in the attic. Neighbours would know when you have this extra meal and they'd snitch so easily because everyone is a coward and a snitch nowadays to earn some browny points and get this valuable party membership. Because it means some jobs and some pivilege and an extra meal per week. This is totalitarism.

The Nazis collect gold and valuables for the Volkssturm and you do not dare NOT to give your wedding ring because neighbours stand in line when the Brown Shirts come and collect and the people in the house know of the only thing you still have of your husband who died in the last war. And if you will not give this piece of gold for the greater good you will be a Volksfeind. An enemy of the people. And your go concentration camp. This is totalitarism.

They put away your best friend in school and your teachers forbid you to ask what happened to him because you are not allowed to ask these questions. But you are eight years old and you do not understand what is going on. And you keep asking. And Grandma is worried about your questions. She fears that Gestapo might question her agaion. And you still smell your buddy on your favourite toy forty years later and you borrowed him your coat and it is gone forever. And you draw pictures of him and hide them between your books. And you can only imagine that he died. Nobody cares. This is totalitarism.

You think this is your last straw? There is much to come. Go protect the people in need while you still can. Protest while you still can. Learn to demand your rights while you still can. Hide food while you still can. Bury gold in your back yard before they take it away for the greater good.

Do you think you will have the balls under totalitarism? You will not. Bravery and civil courage is a farce in totalitarism. You are a sheep under totalitarism. You think people are suffering? The worst is still to come.

Considering Trump's plans for Gaza (complete ethnic cleansing/genocide so as much of it as possible can be developed into a bunch of luxury resorts) and what he and his dom (Musk) are already doing to harm and kill poor folks all over the world, I wonder if the "Never Kamala" people still think it was more important to "punish" the Dems (who are relaxing in their mansions, because this is just a game to them) than to save the world from the orange shitgibbon.

I mean, given what they KNEW would happen under the orange shitgibbon, we can clearly see that Palestinian lives certainly never mattered to them. Nor do the lives of all the poor folks all over the world getting funding yanked from the programs that keep them alive. Nor do the lives of ethnic minorities in the US being rounded up by ICE. Nor do the lives of trans people or other queer folks.

They got their wish, I guess.

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supgoddo · 4 months ago

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Shitpost be upon ye ✨

#mogs #was keeping these in the chamber for a while now #shitposts #storybots #ask the storybots #storybot oc #storybots answer time #bang storybots #widget watchamacallit #beep storybots #bing storybots #milo marine mineral

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plushri-moved · 1 year ago

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As promised, my post on the lobby yesterday

Over 3000 showed up to lobby their member of Parliament and urge them to vote for the Scottish National Party's motion for an immediate ceasefire, to replace the current government motion for a stop of humanitarian aid.

The motion did not pass, in fact it did not even get voted on. Which is what the MPs came there to do.

"As the war in Gaza continues to cause death, destruction, and terror, with over 30,000 people reported dead so far, British MPs couldn't even decide how to decide what they think about it"

The thousands of people who waited outside Parliament were left in the wind and rain with no explanation, as security let very few of us in. I was there 3 hours and got nowhere near the front, people AT the front said they did not get in. The MPs knew we came to lobby. We have a right to lobby and speak to our MPs. We organised and showed up in our thousands, but Parliament didn't accomplish anything. What is the state of democracy in this country?

People of the UK, KEEP SHOWING UP FOR PALESTINE. Make the national demonstration on Saturday 9th March the biggest so far. Spread the word of it everywhere, encourage people you know to show up.

Our government is pathetic and spineless and they are panicking under our pressure. ONE HUNDRED (!) Labour MPs were planning to rebel against their leader and vote for immediate ceasefire. Do not let up.

#palestine #uk politics #british politics #free palestine #ceasefire now #non UK people keep fighting too I'm sure you know where to go for resources by now #it was so cold there were young and elderly there as well as who knows how many people with invisible disabilities (myself include)#and they fucking left us outside in the cold with no intention of letting us in while Parliament was empty!!!!#because the MPs had all walked out the chamber the public couldn't be loose in the building with them too #ridiculous #they should've let us in to near capacity and then let one person in for everyone who left #but the MPs had no intention of ever speaking to us so of course they wouldn't let us in #also they werent even going to vote on the thing we came to ask them to vote on wtf !!!!#an older woman around 2pm told me she had to leave because she'd been there since 8am and she didn't want to get sick #MPs must have confused parliament for a circus based on the way they were acting!#the public waiting in queue patiently while the people in power had a strop and took their ball home because they weren't winning #PATHETIC !!!!!!!!!!#fuck keir starmer #fuck rishi too but the debacle yesterday was keir starmers fault #little baby couldn't let his MPs rebel =[[[ noooo I don't want to loose #maybe have better policies and then they won't ???#I hope labour kicks him out #because how can he be their leader if 100 of them disagree with him!!!

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amplexadversary · 4 months ago

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Wow. I have gone from a disappointed indifference to actively hating [character].

#Disappointed indifference due to the character design being douchey on the designers part #seething hatred for the mandatory gameplay section with him that includes a mechanic that fucks with your muscle memory #by being identical to an earlier mechanic but using a different button #and by the fact that his stupid targeting mechanism keeps going off on environmental objects while I'm trying to move around #causing the damn move/attack idiotic skill duo to go on cooldown #did I mention this is yet another fake difficulty challenge with a timer?#ignore Morg #fan wank #don't bother with gatchas kids #Also the fucker's pet has the most annoying voice #Spinach jackass with younger brother kinds of taste in video game characters (derogatory)#You know this fucker just loves Charmy Bee and any game that lets you play as him.#You know this guy instapicks Diddy Kong in smash #The more annoying the character the more he sympathizes with them. 'Cause he's annoying.#I'm done shit talking now I just had something downright scathing in the chamber and it would be a pity to let that go to waste

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charlenefrl · 1 day ago

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Part 5: Grave

In which Philippos' smallest brother is cute and Philippos visits the usurper's grave.

Philippos is busy grooming his bay gelding when the child appears. Black curls like his own, the same eyes, of a blue as sad as a stormy evening. They are big, nervous and hopeful, and Philippos answers this cautious stare with a friendly smile.

“Menelaos!”

The child slips into the stable, staying clear of the horse to avoid dirtying his pretty clothes.

“You’ve grown,” Philippos tells him fondly. The boy was six when he last saw him; he’s still baby faced, with round cheeks and long, dark eyelashes.

“You’re gigantic,” Menelaos responds, nose up, right before an embrace that’s going to put horse hairs all over his pretty chiton. “I am happy you’re home.”

Philippos cannot pretend he agrees, so he pulls his half-brother a bit closer, ruffles his hair and accepts the moment. Life is utter crap, but it’s been utter crap for a long while now – better to focus on the small rays of light, the bits that turn the whole mess into a bearable ordeal. He’s with his horse, his big, beautiful, well-trained horse, breathing in all the good scents of hay, animal sweat and manure. The stable birds are singing close to the roof, grooms are chatting in a faraway corner.

Life is, for a long string of heartbeats, beautiful enough.

“I’m going to the necropolis,” Philippos says. “It’s not far, if you can come with me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see the usurper’s grave.”

Ptolemaios – the man who was too many things at once. His bastard half-brother, the killer of his brother, his stepfather, his legal tutor, the man who was supposed to kill him.

And now… one more thing. Or several things. Philippos’ victim, perhaps. The specter who haunts him, for sure.

Menealos gives his older brother a long look. He is grave beyond his years. Then he nods and declares he will have his pony readied for the ride. Philippos’ decision doesn’t agree with their guards, but they got no order to keep him confined to the palace – so soon, they are mounted and going down the road from the palace to the city, and then to the space below the walls were the silent tombs wait for the livings. The boys have no other relatives than Ptolemaios inhumed there: their clan rests in Aigai, the old capital; that Perdikkas had Ptolemaios hastily buried in this place is a testimony of the illegitimacy of his former regent.

That, and perhaps of something else.

Philippos asks, as the guards lead him to the tomb, how Ptolemaios of Aloros died. The men exchange uneasy glances before one of them tells him how it happened.

It started with the house slaves. The regent had been ill ever since his son, who was a hostage in Thebai with Philippos, died of a summer fever. At first the illness came and went; but one day the lad who took care of the regent’s chamber pot said there were maggots in there – the kind of maggots that grows on the corpses of dead animals. From there it was long and slow. After a while Ptolemaios also retched maggots, and was served by foreign slaves who didn’t know better, because those who knew did not want to catch his curse. Friends disappeared to their estates, others flocked to Perdikkas.

Then, one night, the king decided to have him executed for the murder of his predecessor, king Alexandros. The guards didn’t say so, but Philippos can read the truth in their eyes: Ptolemaios was already dead in the eyes of everyone living in the palace. Did Perdikkas kill him to look stronger? Hoping, perhaps, that claiming revenge for Alexandros may give him credibility as a king? Or did his hatred finally outweigh his fear of the man?

Riding beside them, Menealos is pale as milk. He knows all of this; like the others, he makes signs for luck, hoping to protect himself against what caused the demise of the regent.

“You can stay here, if you want,” Philippos offers after they dismount, close the beautiful grave of a hetaira and the wild roses growing around it.

The child nods. None of the guards follow; walking alone now, Philippos feels like all the sounds die around him. He would retch and run if he were a boy… but Philippos is a man, now, who had his boar, and so he must face this.

Eaten by maggots.

He stops right in front of the unmarked place where Perdikkas buried their half-brother. Grass is already growing there; by next year there will be nothing left to remember Ptolemaios. He has no son left after Philippos killed the child. It was a mistake, that’s what he told himself, when he couldn’t convince himself the boy had just died of a random fever. Two years after the deed, now, he can’t lie to himself anymore.

Eaten by maggots.

“I am not sorry you died,” Philippos whispers. “You were an awful man and for the sake of my mother alone I am happy that you are gone.”

Still.

“But when I asked Her for your sorrow and your death, I did not mean for your son to perish. And… I did not hope that you would really be eaten alive by maggots. I… I should have been more careful with my words. That wasn’t well done, I suppose.”

No, no, it wasn’t. And now Philippos almost feels them crawling on his skin, the worms. He, too, is devoured by them – he hated Ptolemaios for so long, with a black, blinding form of hate, that he is left almost hollow by his passing.

It is because he was too cruel. Eaten alive by worms, until even slaves will rather suffer the whip than serve you. Poison may be a woman’s weapon, it is still better than what Philippos unleashed on his tutor. The shame of it is suffocating whatever satisfaction, whatever relief may help him. I did this, he thinks, I asked Her to do this, and she did. People do not die this way.

No, that wasn’t well done. Not in a way that can free Philippos of his cursed family.

“I suppose you are angry that I did this to you,” he breathes. “I brought no offerings to appease your shade, Ptolemaios. You deserved everything you got, you must know that, surely you do? You never deserved anything except my hatred. Go, go and leave me alone, you have seen what I can do when angered, haven’t you?”

There is, of course, no answer but the stillness of the air.

And, when Philippos returns to his horse, the sound of flies haunting him.

Worms

The start of a new novella I'm working on, because work as been difficult lately, I'm too tired to focus properly on my main novel and Philippos wanted to be a dramatic 16yo playing with fire and too much wine. I don't know how fast I'll be writing this because I also have work to do for my publisher, so this piece and The teeth of the lamb will probably be there for fun when I don't feel like working on the big stuffs.

Summary: Philippos, prince of Makedonia, spent three years in Thebai wondering when the usurper, Ptolemaios of Aloros, would murder him for the throne. Now Ptolemaios is dead, killed by Philippos' elder brother Perdikkas, and the nightmare should be over.

Except it's not, and Philippos isn't the easy prey Perdikkas expected.

Part 1 under the cut!

"I hate your beard, and I think you should shave."

King Perdikkas' cheeks are soft, his expression is sour. At eighteen, he looks like the kind of lads Philippos, his younger brother, can break with a single hand in the palestra.

They are sitting in the king's office. The last time Philippos stood here, he was a child, utterly terrified by the man behind the huge desk. Ptolemaios of Aloros was a bastard half-brother, the killer of the king, the usurper who wed by force the new child-king's mother. He was eating lamb; the memory is etched so deep Philippos can recall every detail, no matter how meaningless.

Now, Perdikkas looks small. He doesn't have Ptolemaios' presence, the easy disdain that made the usurper look like even the gods' anger couldn't touch him. Perdikkas is just a boy behind a king's desk. A boy with a mousy face, shifty eyes and no smile for his younger brother, despite the three years Philippos spent as a hostage in foreign country.

"I hate your beard, and I think you should shave," Perdikkas says. "It really doesn't look good on you, like you are playing at being a man."

"I killed my first boar last month," Philippos informs him. "After we heard of Ptolemaios' death."

His tutor believed it was safe, then, to allow him this rite of manhood. If they hadn't waited, the usurper would have seen the young prince as too much of a threat, especially with Perdikkas growing older. So they had delayed, delayed, delayed. Do not provoke him until we are ready. He needs only to succeed once, if he means to murder you.

Maybe it would have been safer to keep delaying. The look on Perdikkas' face is clear enough: since Ptolemaios died, he either didn't go after his boar or failed his hunt. He's a king, and still not a man; he's a king, and his younger brother is already a man.

Philippos clears his throat, offers a smile. Ptolemaios was only a half-brother, much older than they are now, not even the son of a proper wife. Perdikkas is his full brother and their mother is still alive – surely, they can find a way to exist in the same country, can't they?

"I am glad to be back," Philippos says, understanding already that he's lying. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Perdikkas returns a smile of his own. It shows no teeth; his fingers drum nervously against the top of the desk; he catches himself and stills.

"You must be tired from your trip," the king decides. "Take some time to rest. Do you remember where your old room was? I assigned a few slaves to you. And some guards." Perdikkas' smile widens, oddly stiff. "It's a dangerous place, Pella. Too many people died here."

"Well, shall I be on my way, then?"

His brother and king allows him with a gesture; Philippos can feel his glare between his shoulders long after he leaves. The guards follow him as he heads toward the women’s quarters. Philippos knows the way: Perdikkas' office was their older brother's office before he was murdered, and their father's before that. Everything looked enormous when he was little. Now the palace just feels stifling and sad, as if a cloud of misery hung over the servants, and no one will spare him a glance.

He pushes away the homesickness for his house in Thebai. His mother, she'll be happy enough to get him back alive and well – she used to have a soft spot for him, because he was the runt of the litter. His older brothers always picked on him, and she liked to protect him… but in Thebai, Philippos could never trust her letters: who knows who opened them? If Ptolemaios of Aloros could murder a king and force marriage upon the lady Eurydike, he could take whatever her son sent to her. So Philippos kept all his secrets, all the pains and hopes a growing child would want to share with his parents.

No more. He is back now and she, she will not have forgotten their bond.

He finds her rooms much like he left them: smelling of lavender and beeswax, overlooking the women's garden, full of girls weaving, full of his mother's regal presence. She looks much smaller than the lady of his memories; her raven hair turned to salt during those three years.

"My boy!"

She sends her girls away with a gesture; then she is all over him, touching his face and kissing his cheeks. It's odd that Philippos must bow for her to reach him, for when he left, she could still hug him whole.

"You are so tall! Is that my son? How are you so grown up, at sixteen?"

"Pammenes fed me well," he replies, his hands on her shoulders. He needs to touch her, just to feel that this is real... that she is alive, that they both survived to see the usurper dead and buried. "And I've been working hard at the palestra. I've studied well – you'll be pleased with my handwriting now, and Epameinondas even managed to push some basic music skills in here," Philippos concludes, pointing at his head.

A childish spark ignites in his chest, an echo of the boy who wanted his mother to be proud and failed so often – Philippos wasn’t a good student, always lagging behind smart Perdikkas, with an atrocious lack of talent for music and a charmless face. But now, at least...

"What else," his mother asks, "has Epameinondas been teaching you?"

The spark dies out, snuffled by the coldness of her tone.

"Stuffs," Philippos answers vaguely. "Philosophy."

"And war?"

"Sometimes." He buries down the sudden urge to bite into his upper lip. Strange how the old habits lurk, now that he’s back; he reminds himself he’s a man now and straightens his back. Whatever wrong they did in Thebai, whatever wrong his mother is hinting at, it was an honest mistake. “I know Ptolemaios spread rumors about me. What did he tell you?”

Eurydike retreats; just a step, but enough to slip away. The autumn air suddenly feels cold against Philippos’ palms, where his skin was touching hers.

“Did they want you to become King of Makedonia?” she asks bluntly. “This is what he said about you. What his spies brought back. His and mine.”

“They did,” he admits. Lies will do no good there. “Because all of them, Epameinondas, Pammenes, Pelopidas, they believed Perdikkas stood no chance against Ptolemaios. When we heard he had murdered the usurper, we were…”

“Disappointed?”

“Stunned,” Philippos corrects. “They are good men, Mother. Do you think I wanted Ptolemaios to kill Perdikkas? He is my brother.”

“You never got along”, she breathes. “So it is easy to believe…”

“That I came back to overthrow him? With what? Two Theban slaves, a guard of honor of five hoplites and one exile? It’s absurd.”

She sighs, turns, retreats further to sit on a couch. There are new lines on her face and, for one fleeting moment, a look of utter exhaustion, almost a look of despair; and then she makes a gesture with her hands, something that may acknowledge the irrationality and the cruelty of their situation.

“Forgive me, my boy. We are afraid of our own shadows, in this sorry place.”

“And Perdikkas fears me.”

“Yes.” She closes her eyes, as if the mere sight of her last son were too much for her. “And I wish you didn’t look like this.”

“Because Perdikkas would fear me less if I were still an ugly child? He wants me to shave. Why? Because he can’t grow a beard? What should I do next? Cut my legs, right below the knee?”

She looks alarmed now. So much for his joke! Wasn’t it a good one?

Maybe Philippos should also shave his sense of humor.

“It is just a beard,” she whispers.

“Not, it’s not.” It’s Philippos’ fucking face. For the first time since his birth, he’s somewhat pleased by his appearance – and now he’s going to look stupid again, with his weak chin and thick eyebrows balanced by nothing, and he’ll have to stare at his pimples scars every morning, because Philippos isn’t going to let a slave get a blade that close to his throat, not if Perdikkas turned crazy while he was away. “But my beloved brother is my king, so I will obey and hope he comes back to his senses. I can help him, I will help him, if he lets me – yes, Epameinondas and his friends taught me how they wage war. Don’t you think this knowledge can be of use? There are so many changes I could…”

“Philippos,” Eurydike cuts him, using her most regal voice, the one that feels like the bite of a winter wind. “You will do no such things. No one wants to listen to you. Be quiet, find yourself harmless ways to entertain yourself... In time, when Perdikkas understands you are no threat… He will warm up to you.”

The curve of Eurydike’s shoulders betrays that she wishes things were different – but things are as they always were. Alexandros, the eldest, was the most beautiful of them, the heir, the one with the brightest future; Perdikkas was the smartest, quiet and collected, and the brain behind their cruel jokes.

Philippos was the royal piece of luggage that had enough worth to be sent away, time and time again, while being worthless enough that no one would truly care if he was never returned.

“I am happy that you are home,” she breathes. “Come and kiss me, my boy.”

I am not a boy anymore, he thinks, except he will have to be just that now, until he finds a way to convince Perdikkas he’s safe or until the gods cut his brother’s life thread. So Philippos kisses her, because she is still his mother and will always be his mother, even if, leaving her to search for his old room, he can’t help but think about the kind Theban woman who fed him honey cakes whenever the littlest thing scratched his heart.

#my stories #the teeth of the lamb #Philippos isn't cute #he's his own kind of awful

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