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proxima-writes · 10 months

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i can see you (miguel o'hara's version)

pairing: professor/mentor!miguel o’hara x graduate assistant!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4.5k

summary:

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man.

But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

author's note:

my first (but probably not my last) miguel o'hara fic based on taylor swift's song "i can see you" from speak now tv. if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or commenting and letting me know your thoughts!

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - no powers, age gap (undefined), presence of power dynamics (teacher/student), author took scientific liberties (forgive her, its been 10 years since bio II lab), pineapple on pizza, potentially bad spanish translations, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), miguel picking reader up, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, pet names, praise kink, competency kink, dirty talk. let me know if i've missed anything!

Translations you may need:

Universidad Estatal de Nueva York - State University of New York

Sí - Yes

Dios mío - My god

El Origen de la Genética Mutante - The Origen of Mutant Genetics

Mierda - Shit

Te lo prometo - I promise you

Lo juro por Dios - I swear to god

Arañita - little spider

Cállate - be quiet

Mirame - look at me

te sientes tan bien - you feel so good

Perfecto - perfect

________

You’re sitting in the front row, in the seat you’ve claimed as your spot, watching Dr. O’Hara pace in front of the projector screen that displays today’s lesson notes.

“And what is the hallmark of this mutant gene that demonstrates its incompatibility for transmutation?” He asks the silent room of undergraduates that have found themselves on the roster for his Mutation Genomics III course at Universidad Estatal de Nueva York.

A few hands go up around the room and Dr. O’Hara points to a student in the back who says, “Uh, it’s got a spiked protein arrangement that can’t be modified?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Dr. O’Hara asks. There’s a sprinkle of laughter in the room and a smirk tilts his lips briefly.

“An answer,” the student says more confidently. Dr. O’Hara nods.

“Correct, but that’s not the whole picture,” he says. His eyes catch yours and he gestures for you to join him. Your eyes go wide as you stand and walk to his side at the front of the class. “I’m sure some of you that actually use your available resources to pass my class recognize my teaching assistant. And if you don’t, I recommend visiting her office hours during this section because this is her area of research.”

Your cheeks feel warm as everyone’s attention falls to you. Dr. O’Hara hands you the data pad and steps back, giving you an encouraging nod. You tap the screen, bringing the diagram up on the holo projector and making it larger.

“You’re correct that the spiked protein arrangement can’t be modified, but there’s something more limiting in this particular model. If you look at it from this angle—,” you spin the DNA diagram, “you’ll see something else hindering the modification process. What do you see?”

Hands go up. Dr. O’Hara points to another student who says, “There’s a gap jump. The spike protein would continue to travel across the gap jump and avoid any inserts.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the potential alternative?”

“Fill the gap. Target the spike protein in your modification cycle,” Dr. O’Hara finishes. “That’s all for today. Your exam next Wednesday will include this presentation, so don’t act surprised when you see the questions.”

A few students stop to speak with Dr. O’Hara as you gather your bag from your desk. His low voice calls your name, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine as you step up to his desk.

“You’re running a sequence right now, sí?” He asks, shuffling a stack of papers into order.

“Yes, it should finish around seven tonight. Sorry, I know that it's late for a Friday,” you reply. He waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll see you in the lab.” His brown eyes flick to yours and your stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat, same as it always does when he looks at you.

Dr. Miguel O’Hara makes you nervous. Not only because he’s one of the most notable researchers in the field of mutant genomics, but also because he’s so handsome he leaves you breathless. He’s tall, towering over most men you’ve met, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that are always covered by a suit and tie in the classroom or a lab coat in the research lab. His tan skin is complemented by dark hair and brown eyes that make you lose your train of thought when you stare into them for too long.

Which…is exactly what you’re doing now.

You clear your throat, stepping back from his desk. Had you been leaning closer? Christ, you hope not. You give him a brief smile before responding, “Yeah, see you tonight. Thank you, Dr. O’Hara!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Miguel?” He calls after you.

“Maybe when I’ve cracked the sequence!”

________

Miguel watches your hips sway in the jeans you wore to class today, the denim hugging your curves so well he has to bite back a groan. The door to the lecture hall slams shut behind you and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in frustration.

You drive him crazy. Every class period you’re sitting in the front row, watching him as you tap your pen to your lips or leaning over your desk just enough to give him a glimpse down your blouse or dress. Or you’re in the lab, delicately handling samples and extractions with a level of competency beyond your years, your lip caught between your teeth as you analyze a sequencing output.

He looks forward to and dreads your impending graduation in equal measure, being free from the constant temptation but losing the greatest researcher he’s met in years.

Miguel finishes gathering his belongings as the door opens and the next lecturer comes in, nodding at him in greeting. As he steps out into the warm Nueva York air, he has a weird sense that something big is coming.

He just doesn’t know what.

________

Miguel is waiting for you outside of his double locked research lab that evening, suit jacket hung over his arm and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Your brain nearly short circuits at the sight, conjuring up images of those arms wrapped around your—

No, you think. He’s your mentor. Your handsome, intelligent, and very serious mentor.

He looks up as you approach, corners of his lips tilting the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, you can’t be sure, but he presses his palm to the biometric lock and the heavy metal doors slide open. He steps inside ahead of you, putting his face in the frame of the security camera. A red laser scans his face and a light above the second locked door goes from red to green, the click of the lock disengaging echoing in the anteroom.

You follow him through the door and into his research lab. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the chrome equipment and pristine bench surfaces. A machine whirs, running the sequence analysis you’ve been waiting on.

“LYLA, what’s the status?” Dr. O’Hara says as he sets his belongings on the desk in the corner.

“Sequence will complete on schedule. Also, your specimen delivery is available in the ultra low freezer,” Dr. O’Hara’s AI assistant, LYLA, announces, feminine voice carrying through the room.

“I have a surprise for you,” Dr. O’Hara says, tugging on his lab coat as he walks towards the ultra low freezer.

“A surprise?” You ask, setting your stuff down at the assistant’s work space.

There’s the beep of a passcode being entered and the heavy freezer door being opened and shut. He’s holding a tray of cryovials, the contents varying in color. He sets the tray on a bench top near your desk and pulls one out, holding it up to the light.

“Isolated arachnoid mutagen,” he says. Your mouth drops open in shock. You rush forward, pressing in close to stare up at the vial with him.

“You’re kidding,” you whisper. He hands the vial to you, fingers brushing yours. You hold it between your thumb and index finger to inspect the suspension, red in color with tiny flecks of black. “Dr. O’Hara, this is insane. How did you even get this?”

“A guy owed me a favor,” he says. You glance up at his face and you’re suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. One deep breath and your chest would probably graze his, and did you just imagine his eyes dropping to your lips?

“That’s one hell of a favor,” you murmur, stepping back. “You want me to work on the extraction?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You say that like I’m not your research assistant. You can tell me to do anything.” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes go wide and you cough. “I mean, you know, lab related. Research stuff. Yeah. I’ll get started on this. LYLA? Power up the centrifuge and thermocycler, please.”

“Centrifuge is online. Thermocycler will reach optimal processing temperature in t-minus five minutes,” LYLA replies.

You set up all the necessary supplies and prepare the sample for the thermocycler, going through the motions that are now part of your muscle memory - extract, vortex, centrifuge, extract, wash, set in ice. You set your tray of samples into the thermocycler and remove your gloves to hit the start button.

________

Miguel watches you run the PCR test, fixated on the confidence with which you complete each step and your words from earlier continue to echo in his head.

“You can tell me to do anything.”

Dios mío, he thinks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will away the possibilities that anything could entail.

“Sequence results are available. Would you like to review now?” LYLA asks.

“Display,” Miguel says. You spin on your stool to view the hologram of the spliced DNA you prepared. He notices an issue immediately.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stepping up to the control screen and spinning the model. “There’s a deletion.”

“You knew there was a risk of that.”

You zoom in on the model DNA strand, a broken gap shown in the mutation. “I know there was a risk, but it should have worked.”

Miguel crosses his arms and watches as you bring up the transillumination image of the DNA you had attempted to merge with a human sample. “You wanted it to work. Science is finite. There is no room for should.”

You glance at him. You look like you’re about to say something when the thermocycler beeps and he’s left to wonder what you would have said as you busy yourself with removing your tray of DNA samples. He leans against the bench as you assemble the agarose gel for electrophoresis.

“Tell me, why do you think there was a deletion?” He asks.

“The mutagen was incompatible with the human strand,” you murmur, adding dye to your vials. “Just the same as it has been the last dozen times.”

You’ve loaded the wells of the gel with your sample and set it in the tank, closing the lid and turning on the power supply. Miguel takes the remaining tray of arachnid samples to the freezer while your procedure runs. He understands your frustration, he’s run his fair share of failed experiments after all.

After about an hour, the hum of the electrical current from the electrophoresis tank shuts off. Miguel, who had been reviewing a journal submission for El Origen de la Genética Mutante, joins you at the bench as you remove your gel and set it on the UV transilluminator.

“LYLA, scan and project,” you ask the AI assistant. Miguel stands behind you, looking at the DNA bands you’ve generated. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s so close he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, something citrusy that reminds him of summer.

You jump suddenly, back colliding with his chest. His hands come up to grip your waist, steadying you as you turn to face him, face lit up in the brightest grin.

“Miguel, look. This arachnid mutagen. It’s a potential match for insertion!” You say excitedly. “It has the same length as the deletion seen with the scorpion mutagen.”

“LYLA, show the current projection against the scorpion scan,” he says. The two images appear side by side and it’s clear that the band of arachnid mutagen fits definitively in a space that appears void in the scorpion samples. “Mierda.”

“You see it, right?” You ask. It’s then that Miguel realizes he’s still got his hands on your waist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching as your eyes go the slightest bit darker at the pressure.

“I can see it,” he murmurs. He wants so desperately to lean in closer, to back your body up until you’re pressed between the wall and his body, nowhere to go as his lips explore yours.

But he doesn’t. He drops his hands and puts much needed space between your bodies. He clears his throat.

“Prepare a combined sample,” Miguel says. You blink, checking your watch.

“It’s almost nine. Running a new combined sample would mean we’re here until close to midnight.”

“I’m familiar with how time passes, sí.”

“Are you sure you want—“

Miguel sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re on the verge of one of the greatest scientific discoveries in the last decade. Do you think I give a shit about having to stay late? What kind of mentor would I be if I told you, ‘Oh just wait until Monday to change the scientific world’?”

“One with a work-life balance, probably,” you reply with a giggle. Miguel raises his eyebrows at you. “Okay, okay, combined sample. I’m on it.”

As you rush around the lab, it hits him that you called him Miguel. Not Dr. O’Hara. He’s not sure what that means but he’s certain he wants to hear his name from your lips again.

_______

Dr. O’Hara orders food while your new combined sequence runs, begrudgingly agreeing to a half pineapple and half sausage pizza to split. You’re sitting outside of the lab in the empty hallway, pizza box between you as you eat the slices over grease stained napkins.

“What are your plans for after graduation?” Dr. O’Hara asks. You shrug.

“Probably get my doctorate. No one takes you seriously in this field without one.”

He frowns. “You’re on the cusp of a major breakthrough, one that could change our understanding of genetic modifications and mutants as we know it.”

“Yeah, and it’s coming from your lab. You’ll get listed as the first author, that’s how this goes.” You pick at your pizza crust, tearing the bread into tiny pieces that you sweep back into the box.

“I won’t let that happen. If this works, you’ll be the first name on that paper,” Dr. O’Hara says vehemently. “Te lo prometo.”

You smile, caught in his gaze for a brief moment before an alarm rings from his watch. LYLA announces, “Sequencing complete.”

Dr. O’Hara stands, holding a hand out to you. You grasp his broad palm and he pulls you up with ease, the force of it making you stumble slightly. You press a hand to his chest to steady yourself, marveling at how solid he feels beneath your palm.

“Sorry. Slipped,” you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a crease between his brow and storms in his eyes. His watch beeps again and he releases your hand to silence it, the spell broken between you.

He unlocks the lab doors and you join him at the holoprojector, taking a deep breath. Dr. O’Hara brings up the sequence analysis, the hologram coming to life in the space between you. Your eyes scan the model, checking for gaps, deletions, frayed nucleotides, anything that could mean your procedure didn’t work.

You turn the projection this way and that, looking at it from every angle. You scan the result output reading, eyes jumping to the green SEQUENCING SUCCESSFUL text at the bottom.

You turn to face Dr. O’Hara, eyes wide with surprise. “It worked.”

“It did,” he replies.

“It worked,” you say again. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your grin so wide it hurts your cheeks as you rush forward shouting, “It worked!”

Dr. O’Hara’s arms open to catch you, wrapping around your waist as he lifts you from the ground and spins you. He’s smiling, a rare sight for such a serious man, and it makes your heart pound in your chest as you stare up into his face.

“Dr. O’Hara?” You ask as he sets you down, his arms still wrapped tight around your back. “What—“

His lips collide with yours, stealing your breath from your lungs and your words from your brain as you melt against his broad body. The kiss is anything but gentle, with Miguel acting like a man starved as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

“Dr. O’Hara—“

“Lo juro por Dios, if you call me that one more time,” he growls, lips trailing down your neck with wet kisses, “Miguel. Say it.”

“M-Miguel,” you whimper. He smiles against your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, making you gasp.

“That’s right,” he says, lifting his head. His brown eyes have gone dark and he’s smirking as his hands find the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting across the skin of your abdomen and dipping beneath the waist of your jeans. “Tell me what you want, arañita.”

Rather than trust your voice, you bring your own hands to his shirt collar, working at the buttons of his dress shirt as he opens the fly of your pants. He slips his hand lower just as you reach the last button of his shirt, revealing the tight white t-shirt that outlines his impressive chest.

His fingers rub you over your panties and you feel your knees buckle at the delicious friction. Miguel chuckles, removing his hand to grip the backs of your thighs and lift you against him, your legs wrapping around his trim waist and your hands holding onto his shoulders. He sets you down by his desk, reaching around you to sweep the surface clean, pens and paper falling to the floor.

“In a rush are we?” You say with a laugh. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cállate.” He kneels before you, lifting each foot to remove your shoes before turning you to face the desk with his hands on your hips. He grasps the waist of your jeans and shimmies the material down over your hips. When they’re pooled around your ankles, his warm palms grip each ass cheek roughly, spreading you open. “This pussy is even prettier than I imagined,” he groans.

“You think about my pussy a lot, Dr. O’Hara?” You ask innocently. A palm lands a smack to your ass cheek, heat blooming across your skin as you gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, baby, I know you’ve thought about this just as much. You think I can’t see it. Trust me, I can see you watching me in class with those pretty little lips wrapped around your pen, wishing it was something else. Isn’t that right?”

You gasp as he runs his thick fingers through your soaked folds, reaching forward only enough to graze your clit without giving it the attention you desperately want. He leans himself over you, his chest pressed to your back and his lips grazing your ear as he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, the confession earning you that delicious friction, his fingers drawing messy circles around the sensitive nub. He withdraws too soon for your liking, a whine falling from your lips that he shushes, his warm breath on your pussy. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, surprised to find him on his knees.

As you watch, he spreads your cheeks once more before leaning in, licking from your clit to your entrance with a rough groan. Your head drops down, hitting the surface of the desk with a thump as he eats you out like a man who’s found water in a desert. The sounds echoing in the lab are downright indecent, deep groans of appreciation against your cunt and desperate whines from your lips.

“Miguel,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still as his tongue drives you closer to the cliff’s edge of release. “Miguel, I’m gonna cum!”

The man only grips your hips harder, fingers digging deep as he holds you still and doubles his efforts. The thread you’re hanging on by snaps, sending you falling into ecstasy as your muscles go tight and your breath leaves you in a shout of his name as you unravel.

He pulls away only long enough to stand and turn you to face him, lifting you so that you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread by his body. He wastes no time slipping two thick fingers inside of your still fluttering cunt, his grin sharp as he sets a pace that has you trying to wiggle away to escape the overstimulation.

“Ah, Miguel!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs. His free hand shoves one thigh wide, pressing it to the desk. “What–”

“Cum for me again, I need to see your face this time,” he demands. He curls his fingers, pressing against your front wall with each drag of his hand from your body.

“I can’t!”

“What was it you said to me earlier? I can tell you to do anything?” He curls his fingers harder, focusing his efforts on a spot that has you squirming, desperate to get away and to cum in equal measure. “I’m telling you to cum again, arañita, so be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, the tightness in your abdomen unraveling as you clench around his fingers. His movements slow as you try to catch your breath until he’s withdrawing, leaving you feeling disparagingly empty.

“Mirame,” Miguel says. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows and watching as he unbuckles his belt. “You made a mess, baby.”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you notice the wet stains on the front of his gray slacks. The feeling is short lived, however, as Miguel unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs along with his boxers, kicking them to the side as he reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off. You’re blown away by how stunning he is, broad shoulders and chest that lead to sculpted abs and a defined adonis belt that draws your eyes to his thick and intimidatingly long cock.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit,” you tell him nervously.

“Why don’t we test that hypothesis?” He asks, taking himself in hand. You blink at him.

“Did…did you just make a joke?” Laughter bubbles up your chest until it’s spilling into the room, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Miguel takes himself in hand, notching the broad head of his length to your dripping entrance and sliding inside the barest amount, just the tip, but it has your laughter morphing into gasps.

“Mierda,” he murmurs, gaze fixed where your bodies connect. “So fucking tight, arañita.”

You feel like he’s splitting you apart, the stretch deep and all consuming as he fits himself inside of you, drawing back after each inch and slowly thrusting back in and giving you more of his cock in the process.

“You’re so close,” he tells you. “You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good, Miguel,” you answer honestly. “I’m so full.”

“Fucking right you are,” he growls. His hands shove your blouse up, bunching the fabric under your armpits to expose your breasts. He tugs the cups of your bra down before leaning forward, the last bit of his length slipping inside of you as his lips wrap around a pert nipple and his hand gropes the opposite breast.

Your back arches at all the sensation - the fullness and stretch of him inside of you, the warmth of his mouth and the pinch of his fingers. He moves his mouth to your other breast and looks up at you through dark lashes with darker eyes as he licks the taut peak while holding your gaze.

His hips draw back, the drag of each inch from your body exquisite torture until he slams into you, the force of it sliding you up the desk. You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders and your fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents as you cling to him.

Miguel stands, his arms looping beneath your thighs so that the backs of your knees rest across his forearms, spreading you open as he picks up his pace. He looks down at your body like it’s his greatest discovery.

“Fuck, fuck, te sientes tan bien,” he growls.

“Miguel,” you moan, “please, please, please!”

“What are you begging for, arañita? Tell me.”

“Wanna cum, please, Miguel,” you beg. He drops your legs, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, urging you to sit up. You keep one hand planted on the desk behind you, the other diving into his thick, dark hair, pulling at the strands.

He drags his strong nose along your jaw as he murmurs, “Greedy girl, but I’ll give you what you need. Won’t I?”

“Uh huh,” you moan in response. His other hand settles at the base of your throat and his eyes hold a question that has your pussy clenching around him in anticipation.

His palm creeps up, strong fingers wrapping around your delicate throat, squeezing the sides the slightest bit. Your eyes roll back at the pressure.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands, “look at me while I make you cum again with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You gasp for air as he pounds into you, your release sparkling at the edges of your vision. It explodes like a supernova across your nerves, your muscles tightening around him and making him moan, a deep rumble that you echo as his movements grow erratic.

He slams deep inside of you, cock pulsing and filling you with warmth as he groans your name, head dropped to your shoulder. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the sweat on your skin cools and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was—“

“Perfecto,” he finishes, lifting his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one that has your heart pounding even harder than the lust filled ones from earlier. “It’s late. Let’s get this cleaned up and get you home. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. He scowls at you as you continue to say, “No, seriously, you don’t need to go out of your way—“

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Miguel asks. He holds your face in his hands as he says, “Get dressed. I’m driving you home.”

He steps back, the absence of him making you feel empty as you carefully stand from the desk on shaky legs. He hands you your jeans and you look around in confusion.

“Have you seen my underwear?” You ask.

“Hm? No, I don’t see them,” he hums, buttoning his slacks. The stain from earlier has blessedly faded.

You shrug, pulling your jeans on and fixing your blouse. Miguel cleans up the stuff he’d knocked from the desk, putting it all back in haphazard piles and grabbing his bag. He holds his hand out to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. He must sense the hesitation you’re feeling when you don’t immediately grab his hand because he steps close, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “No one will see us. It’ll be our secret.”

You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Just this once?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, arañita.”

The most fantastic fanart by narutoss.ramen on insta that fits the vibe of professor! miguel:

#miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv fic #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #alternate universe #no use of y/n

2K notes · View notes

ilguna · 5 months

Note

Can I get 6 and 23 from list 2 with Finnick please?

☼ sunburst (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gun use, blood mention, ehh gore.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 6. "I know, it hurts. I'm so sorry, but we have to get this out." AND 23. "You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer."

When you were recruited to be a part of the mission to storm the Capitol, you were under the impression that you’d actually be in some danger. You spent weeks training in District Thirteen, thinking that you were going to be running for your life every waking moment. It was supposed to be more like being inside of an arena, than a walk on the bad side of District Four.

Both of which you can handle, for the record.

What you can’t handle is the boredom that comes with being a member of the Star Squad. While you were told you’d be at the front lines with the rest of the rebels, the reality is that you’re stuck days behind them. President Coin is too afraid of putting their precious Mockingjay into danger.

It’s an interesting concept, considering that Katniss has expressed no issue in the past surrounding the idea of putting her life on the line. The first time she did this was when she wanted to get sent to District Eight, an active battlezone, to see the citizens there. The next time was District Two, where a gun was held to her head, and she still proceeded to give a speech, and got shot for it.

You suppose that’s the exact problem, though. She can be a magnet for trouble, whether she intends to be or not. In that case, you’re not sure why they didn’t tell you that you’d be stuck here with a mixed group, beforehand. You might’ve changed your mind and found a different way to help the rebellion.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried to have patience, because you have. It’s been severely run thin by the propo team—a camera crew from the Capitol, their only job being to film videos to slice together to show the districts. Their incessant need to get a shot of absolutely everything that’s going on has got you beyond irritated.

They’re so demanding with it, and all it is is a bunch of bullshit. They want you to walk down the street the right way, looking fierce and in the middle of battle. When in reality, there’s no one for a several mile radius, and all the threats are being given away by the Holo. A device that was made to tell you where the traps, the pods, are.

If you could, you’d tell them that you’re done participating, but you really have no choice. You’ve been seen in so many of their other videos, that it’ll make the districts and the Capitol question why you’re not in the rest. Either they’ll think that you died, or that you’ve decided the rebellion isn’t worth fighting for.

Which isn’t true in the slightest. You just think that it’s morally wrong to be back here, pretending like you’re fighting, when the faceless rebels at the front lines are the ones almost getting killed everyday. You want to be up there, with them.

The rebels ahead don’t set off all the pods, though. They leave the mild ones behind, marking them as such, assuming that the group behind them will take it out when they pass. That group happens to be you.

Sometimes, Boggs, the squad leader, will see a pod on the Holo, so he’ll ask for volunteers to set it off, naturally. You don’t even know what the point of raising your hand is, anymore. He won’t call on you, or Finnick, or Katniss. He keeps his attention on the District Thirteen trained soldiers to do the important tasks.

Despite the fact that you had, once again, spent weeks training to be able to do something like that.

What will happen is that Katniss will pretend to set off the pod with an arrow at a distance, to keep her from getting hurt by accident. While a soldier off to the side will trigger it. This makes the rest of you all duck for cover, afraid of whatever the pod has to offer. And when it’s all said and done, and you’re ready to move on, the next step is to reenact your reactions to defending yourself from whatever threat came out of the pod.

It’s been four days of this, and it’s driving you crazy. You’ll spend a few hours pretending to fight, and then return to camp for the rest of the night, safely out of harm's way. It’s taking everything in you not to ask Boggs to leave to go back to the Nut, where the rest of the rebel soldiers are. Maybe there, you can get reassigned.

The problem would be convincing Finnick to go with you, because he doesn’t mind being in the Star Squad. He thinks it’s great, because that means you’re not in any immediate danger. After what they did to Peeta, the last thing he wants is for the Capitol to potentially get their hands on you, or for you to die.

Neither of which you plan on letting happen.

The only way you’ll be able to get him to leave is if you do it without bringing it up to him first. Cut out the whole conversation on how he’d prefer if you went with Coin’s plan, instead of making your own. He has a way with words, and he knows this. That’s why your resolve can crumble in the matter of fifteen minutes, all because he’s the one reasoning with you.

That’s what you’ll do tonight then; you’ll go talk to Boggs.

The Holo begins to beep loudly, warning your squad that you’re coming close to a pod. Boggs slows his pace, opening it up to take a look. When he comes to a full stop, so do you.

A sigh escapes you, Finnick glances over, watching as you turn around to take a few steps away. This is the fourth pod that you’ve come across today, meaning that Boggs will probably call it a day after this. Even though you’ve covered more distance today than you have the past three.

“The Holo says it’s going to be a swarm of muttation gnats.” Boggs says, “Who wants to hit it?”

You turn to face the squad, watching as almost every hand flies up, with the exception of you, Finnick and Katniss. Even Gale, Katniss’s best friend from Twelve, has his hand raised. You think he’s been tasked once, which is the hope he’s probably holding on to.

Regardless, Boggs motions at one of the Leeg twins. “Leeg, I want you. The rest of you, go find someone to stand in the meantime.”

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Predictable.”

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick grabs the underside of your arm, pulling you with him to the other side of the street.

The pod is disguised as an electrical box on the side of an orange shop. If it weren’t for the Holo, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing of it, but that’s the whole point. The pods are hidden in plain sight, meant for your eyes to glance over them, so that they can kill you later on.

The best the Capitol can do is gnats?

“Okay, Katniss, we’ll focus on pulling the arrow back, and holding it.” Cressida begins, she’s the one that has the specific propo visions. If this doesn’t go according to her plan, she’ll rework it and have Katniss do it over again until it’s right.

“Just a regular arrow?” Katniss asks, reaching back to grab one.

“No, we’ll have Leeg set off the pod, and then you’ll use an explosive arrow to kill the gnats.” Cressida says, looking at Boggs. He gives her an approving nod.

“What happens when that shot isn’t good enough and we have to start over?” You mutter, Finnick bumps your shoulder.

“I know you’re unhappy, but can we please not make enemies out of the people that could save our lives?” Finnick asks.

You look at Finnick, “I’m not making promises I won’t keep.”

You watch as Cressida gives Katniss directions on where to stand and how to hold her bow. This gives the cameramen, Castor and Pollux, enough time to find their angles, because realistically, there won’t be an opportunity for reshoots. With one of them on Katniss, and the other on the pod, Cressida gives Boggs the go ahead.

“On the count of three, Leeg.” Boggs tells her. Finnick adjusts his footing, prepared to duck if necessary. You don’t move from where you stand, staring dead at the pod. “One, two, three!”

Leeg shoots at the pod, piercing the metal that encases the gnats, leaving bullet holes. The sound of metal on metal screeches through the quiet street, as the door swings open, releasing what’s inside.

A startled scream comes from you as piercing pains hit you all across your body, throwing you back onto the ground. The back of your head slams against the cement of the sidewalk, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, as the world begins to spin.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s voice wavers.

The punctured points in your body begin to deepen, as the shrapnel from the box begins to burrow in your skin. You grunt, writhing, eyes opening suddenly to see it for yourself.

It’s not shrapnel, they’re metal darts, and they've got claws that are digging into your skin.

“No!” Someone cries.

“We need the medic team!” Jackson barks, her voice is clear. “We’ve got two down, Boggs!”

“Copy.” He says.

From what you can tell, you got a brunt of the hit, a consequence of not taking cover like you were instructed to. There’s over a dozen of these, stuck in your body, going deeper as the seconds tick on.

“Get them out.” Your voice is rough, as you reach to grab one. “Get them out of me!”

“(Y/n), honey—” Finnick seizes your hand, keeping you from doing it. “Stop, leave them.”

“They’re in me!” You cry, “They’re going to kill me.”

“We can’t take them out. We learned this, remember? They’re stinting the blood, we have to wait for—”

“No, she’s right.” Katniss is standing at your feet. “Look at them.”

You don’t want to, not when they all move at once, ripping your skin open further. You can see the brief stream of blood in the air, before it’s gone, covered by the dart. It’s not large enough to block the chunk of skin it’s pulled from your body, though, because the blood begins to pool, quickly.

“Shit.” Finnick says.

There’s a girl crying, when you lift your head to see, you find that it’s the other Leeg sister, on her knees, next to the first one. The one that had shot at the pod, now has a dart sticking out of the side of her head. It’s already found her brain.

She’s dead.

You begin to breathe heavier when you realize that this will be your fate, too, if they don’t start to pull them out. Which must be the same conclusion that Finnick comes to, because he rolls back his sleeves, hands hovering over one of them.

You grab the heel of his shoe, knowing that you’ll need something to hold on to. He gives you a look, and you nod quickly, urging him to do it. The second that his hand is around the dart, it begins to wiggle. To keep it from going further, he yanks.

You scream, throwing your head back, body tense, as the entire world goes white. It clings on, refusing to be pulled off in just one attempt.

“Stop!” You tell them, “Stop!”

“Katniss, I need help.” Finnick says.

She drops her bow without question to get to her knees to help him. You watch through blurred tears as she holds the dart while he pries the claws apart. It’s like a thousand needles jabbing into your skin repeatedly, refusing to leave the area alone.

And then they get it free, and the first tear slides down your cheek.

The metal clinks on the ground from Katniss dropping it.

You can’t help the sob that breaks through your lips. This is just the beginning isn’t it?

“Hold on, honey.” He tells you.

“I don’t—”

He begins to pull at this dart, more aggressive than he was the first time. Unprepared, you cry through gritted teeth, squeezing his shoe. He manages to unhook it faster this time, but that means little to you.

Him and Katniss go back and forth, pulling them out of the areas they think will hurt the least. There’s a few times where their hands slip, which causes an indescribable pain.

The pool of blood beneath you is growing. You can feel the puddle reach your fingers on your free hand, coating your skin in red.

“There’s only two left, (Y/n).” Finnick smooths your hair back. “These will hurt the most.”

“Just wait.” You tell him, grabbing onto the bunched sleeve.

“We can’t stop, or it’ll keep digging in.” He tells you. “Breathe, okay?”

“Finnick.” You warn, bracing yourself when he secures his hand around the metal dart, beginning to pull.

The feeling of your guts being yanked from your body, makes the dark spots at the corners of your vision come around quickly. For a moment, you’re gone, drifting off into the peaceful voice, until Finnick’s lifting your head up with one hand.

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.” Finnick tells you

“I can’t.” You sniff. “I want to be done.”

“One more.” He tells you, lowering your head back to the ground.

“No.” Your lips tremble.

He grabs the dart, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please! Please, please, please! It hurts!”

“I know, it hurts.” Finnick says, he doesn’t sound very happy that he has to do this to you. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we have to get this out.”

This one has decided to hold on, taking twice as long as it normally does. For a second, it almost slips out of their hands, when Finnick’s able to pry the claws open.

A faint sense of relief floods through you, but it’s gone when your body begins to tingle. “Finnick.” You whisper. With a shaky hand, you dip your fingers into one of the many wounds that will end up being scars. The exposed raw flesh against your fingers makes you nauseous.

It subsides slightly when you pull your hand out, and find an orange substance mixed with the blood.

Poison.

“No.” Finnick says, looking at Boggs, presumably. “How far out are the medics?”

“They’ll be here any minute.” He says, coming over to see better.

“They need to have an antidote ready.” Finnick’s voice echoes, bouncing back and forth in your head, as he splits into two people, then four…

Your eyes flutter shut.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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crosshairlovebot · 18 days

Text

you good? / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: crosshair returns to you on shore leave to find you unwell, so he takes care of you.

word count: 2,521

needed to write a crosshair version of the hunter one i did. i love him so much i can't even talk about it properly. hope this brings comfort to anyone who's reading and sick. you deserve a gentle crosshair looking after you.

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

Crosshair had intended to use his unexpected shore leave to surprise you. To knock on your door and see you light up at the sight of him. That feeling always made him warm inside, to see you happy that he was standing in front of you. He relished in the feel of your arms being thrown around his shoulders and wrapping him tightly. He could live inside your arms if the galaxy let him. His chest would expand with contentment when you would gush about how happy you were to see him, knowing that happiness was not only in response to no longer being alone in your cold, quiet Coruscanti apartment, but also the knowledge that he was okay, and safe, and alive in a war that only seemed to become more endless as the fighting went on.

Crosshair would let you fuss over him, give him real food, let him have a warm shower before you would both fall into bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms – feeling like he had never left. It was easy to pretend he was just a man when he was alone with you. To get lost in the normalcy of sharing a home. You’d both play pretend for as long as you could before the inevitable end of his all too brief shore leave would sneak up on you both, and he would be shipped out again, for who knew how long with only infrequent comms for both your comforts.

He had been looking forward to the familiar routine of his shore leave, to seeing your entire body lift once you opened the door to him, but those hopes were dashed when he knocked on the door and you opened it, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak, sniffly and half-closed eyes.

“Crosshair,” you croaked, excitement clear in your voice before you began coughing into your blanket. “You’re home.”

“Ca’tra,” Crosshair breathed as he took in the sight of you, concern immediately spiking inside him. “You’re sick.”

“It’s nothing,” you brushed off, sniffling and stepping aside so Crosshair could enter the apartment. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“It’s not nothing,” Crosshair scolded as he watched you press the close button on the door and shuffle into your tiny living room without even hugging him like you usually do.

You had made a bed on the couch, full of pillows and other blankets. The holo was on and playing some movie he didn’t recognise. You sat down, making a sound that made it sound like walking and standing had been a big effort for you. He shrugged off his pack and placed it by the door before he moved to crouch in front of you, hands on your knees.

“How long?” he asked, looking at you.

You tried breathing in, but your nose was blocked. “Was feeling a little off yesterday but woke up today feeling much worse.”

Crosshair stood up and he watched your neck crane up to follow his gaze. He placed one hand under your chin and the back of the other against your forehead. You were warm, but not feverish. With the coughing and sneezing, it must just be a bad cold. He knew you didn’t take much time to relax, usually opting to keep busy to distract yourself from his absence. He guessed it was all catching up with you, the exhaustion manifesting itself into sickness.

“Have you been to a med droid?” Crosshair smoothed a hand over your hair in a gesture so soft, that on a regular day, he would’ve watched you close your eyes and smile in response. Instead, you barely reacted before pulling away gently.

You were more unwell than you were letting on.

“Too expensive. Too much effort,” you coughed before letting yourself fall on your side, head hitting one of the many pillows as you groaned.

Crosshair watched you, crease in his brow. He sat down on the caf table, elbows on his knees. “Tell me what hurts.”

You huffed and curled yourself into a ball. “Throat. Head. I’m so tired.”

Crosshair looked at an empty plate on the floor next to the couch. “Have you eaten?”

You breathed through your mouth, rubbing your nose. “Small things. Crackers. Bread. Low effort stuff.”

Crosshair let out a breath. He hated seeing you like this. He’d never been sick, since clones had been engineered to be immune to nearly all diseases, but to not feel like yourself didn’t seem like something he would enjoy.

Crosshair pulled a blanket out from the many under your legs, and you frowned at him as you watched him drape it over you wordlessly. He pulled it up to your chin, the way he liked as a cadet before he bent over to tuck you in.

It wasn’t even a decision for him to take care of you during his brief shore leave, more like something he was willing to do simply because he loved you.

When you loved someone, you tried to do anything you could to make their life easier, to release them of their burdens and carry them yourself.

Crosshair would shoulder all your burdens unasked, no matter what they were. The act of caring for you wasn’t and would never be something you had to ask for. He was glad he was here, that way he knew you would be well taken care of under his watchful eyes.

Though he had become better at articulating his love for you with words, the best way for him to show how much he loved you was still with actions.

“What’re you doing?” you croaked, brows furrowed at him as he pushed the blanket around the edges of your body.

“What does it look like?” he replied tersely as he adjusted the pile of pillows you were reclining on, making sure they were supporting your head properly.

“Cross, you don’t have to take care of me,” you told him.

Crosshair only scoffed in response as he took in the rest of the living room.

It was messier than you usually kept it, with several plates and empty cups littering the floor and the caf table he sat on as well as small piles of discarded face napkins.

He started gathering up the dishes before walking them over to the sink. He hated mess, and he knew you did too, so the fact that you hadn’t at least taken the used dishes to the sink told him how sick you really were. He started rinsing them before he placed them in the small bench-top dishwasher he’d helped you pick out a few shore leaves ago.

“Cross,” you said from the couch, having made yourself sit up and ruin his perfect tuck-in job.

He couldn’t be annoyed at you, no matter how hard he tried.

Crosshair ignored you as he made his way back to the couch to gather up all the face napkins and put them in the trash. You said his name again, this time falling into a coughing fit as your breath caught in your sore throat. He grabbed a clean cup from the cupboard and filled it with some water. He came back over to you and sat on the coffee table, holding the cup out.

“Drink,” he ordered softly.

You gave him a look like you weren’t happy with him. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when he was here. It was his job to look out for the people he loved.

You wordlessly took the cup, and the bottom of it immediately went on your knee, like you lacked the strength to bring it to your lips. Crosshair sighed. You needed some proper food in you. He took the cup from you as he shuffled closer then placed his empty hand behind your head.

“Head back,” he told you. You did what you were told, and he helped you take a few sips of water. After, he ran his thumb across your lip to catch a stray drop. His hand stayed for a moment so his thumb could caress your cheek. He wished he could take this away from you.

“Cross, I’m okay,” you tried to tell him.

“No, you’re not,” he said, placing the cup next to him. “Lie down. Rest.”

“I’m not good at resting,” you grumbled.

“Too bad.”

You groaned and the strain on your throat only made you fall into another coughing fit. Crosshair gave you another sip of water before he tucked you in again, tighter this time so you wouldn’t get up.

Once he was satisfied you weren’t going to move again, he told you he’d be right back before quickly going to your bedroom. He stripped out of his armour and blacks before taking the speediest shower of his life and dressing in the spare clothes he kept here.

Now in loose pants and a threadbare short-sleeved top that smelt faintly like you, Crosshair padded barefoot into the living room again. He was relieved to see you in the same position as before, eyes closed. He watched you from the doorway for a moment and looked at how small you looked on that couch. He didn’t like the thought that if he hadn’t come home when he did, you would be suffering through this by yourself, without him to care for you.

He tried to move quietly, but your eyes cracked open once you heard him enter the room, a small smile on your lips. Crosshair returned it and came and sat back down on the caf table, facing you.

“You good?” he asked, placing the backs of his bare fingers on your cheek. You pulled a hand out from under the blanket and grabbed his, moving the backs of his fingers to your lips, kissing them gently. He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest at the simple gesture of intimacy. It’d been a long time since he felt your lips on his skin.

“Better, now that you’re here,” you told him honestly, your voice scratchy.

Crosshair smiled. He liked being here as much as you liked having him here.

“You’re all warm from the shower,” you smiled, pressing your face against his hand, holding his arm close to you.

“Been a while since I had a decent one.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. You chuckled and kissed his palm. He let you cradle his hand and arm, and he would’ve let you hold onto it forever, but he wanted to make sure you were taken care of before he wrapped himself around you.

“Hungry?” he asked. He frowned when you shook your head, nose rubbing against his wrist. “You should eat something. Even if it’s small.”

He sighed when you wrinkled your nose at the thought. He went through what he remembered from the Kaminoan training module on nat-born illnesses. “Have you taken anything?”

You nodded. “I took something a couple of hours ago when I woke up.”

“Did you eat then?”

You nodded again. He would have to be satisfied with that. Maybe he could get you to eat something when you were due to make more medication, but for now, he just wanted to let you rest. He’d try again later.

He searched your face, his mouth pressed in a line. He wished he could do something more for you, it frustrated him to not be able to fix this easily; that he had to wait it out with you. He was patient when it came to sniping, he could lie in the same position for hours before taking a shot with no difficulty. But he was not so patient when you were in pain or unwell. He felt himself scowl. It was the restless and useless feeling he hated. Crosshair never liked feeling useless.

“I feel bad,” you told him in a small voice.

Crosshair’s spine straightened in alarm. “What can I do?”

“No, I mean, I feel bad about this,” you gestured to yourself lying on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, poorly.

“You?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”

He was just silently commiserating about how bad he felt that he couldn’t absorb your pain and experience it just so you wouldn’t have to. Why would you feel bad?

“It’s your time off,” you told him, your hold on his arm tightening. “You barely get any and now it’s ruined because I’m sick.”

Crosshair let out a breath. Is that what you thought? That your being unwell was an inconvenience to him?

He shook his head. “It’s not ruined.”

“We can’t even do anything fun. I’ve been wanting to take you to this new diner that opened a few levels up. I haven’t even been there because I wanted us to go together.”

Crosshair smiled at the thought. “There will be other times, ca'tra.”

You let out a frustrated breath. Crosshair crouched down and smoothed your hair back off your face with his free hand, and you watched him with those eyes of yours that rivalled even the most beautiful of stars. Crosshair leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with slanted brows, like he was the single most amazing thing you’d ever seen, and that made his chest tight with the kind of feeling he’d only ever read about.

Never in the entire galaxy did he think he would ever be loved the way you love him.

You yawned as Crosshair stroked your cheek softly, tenderly. “You should sleep.”

You tugged on the hand you still had gently. “Lay down with me?”

Crosshair stood up and shut the holo off before lifting up the edge of your blanket. You wordlessly shuffled over and when there was enough room, he lay down next to you. His feet dangled off the edge, his frame too long for the piece of furniture.

You wriggled around trying to find a comfortable position in the narrow space of the couch, before you finally settled to lying half on top of him, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his torso, and leg hooked around his hip.

Crosshair grunted as he adjusted his position, he predicted he would not be moving from this spot for some time. He didn’t care. He’d let you lie on him until you were back to normal, and even then.

He let out a breath as he draped the blanket over you both, tucking it around your frames. You relaxed on top of him, and there was something so comforting about having your body right next to him like this. He rubbed a hand gently up and down your back as you sighed, the breath all broken with your sore throat.

“Thanks, Cross,” you whispered. Crosshair smiled and kissed the top of your head. He didn’t need to be thanked. He’d do anything for you.

“Love you,” you murmured as your breathing became deep and even as you fell asleep. Crosshair tightened his hold on you as your heartbeat pressed into his. He loved you more.

banner art by @vimse thank you reading! i love writing soft crosshair so much :') it's literally my mission to fill the crosshair/reader tag with soft crosshair fics

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727

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thedarlingdearestdead · 7 months

Text

Piloting:

Summary: You are an innocent padawan just trying to get some flying experience. Anakin gets quite close and personal... P2 here!

Warnings: None, kissing.

Word count: 1,470

The control room was buzzing with energy, the action hadn’t begun yet, in fact you had barely entered deep space. That didn’t stop the round chamber being filled with voices, nervous and excited all at once. It was a diplomatic mission but with some high profile guests. And one very high profile, up and coming Jedi. Anakin Skywalker was in charge of escorting the ships path to Alderaan. It was a new starship, one of the first of its kind in the entire galaxy. It was kind of a big deal. You supposed that was why it got such an infamous man as its a protector.

Your own master had remained of Courasant, giving you this mission was a part of your pilots training. You were one of many people charged with flying the large ship, all sitting before a large globe-like window at the front of the vessel. It was beautiful.

Not that you were getting much of a look outside. Indeed, the information which was being processed on your holo in front of you was almost too much for you, flying down the page at a million miles per second, you could barely look up. Trying to type, do calculations and stay updated on the latest feed all at once, you barely recognised the change in atmosphere.

But then, a sudden silence fell over the room. You finally looked up from your holo to see what had caused it, and that's when you saw him. Just at your flank, an intimidating figure in black, messy curly hair, bright blue eyes. He had an eager grin on his face as he looked around the large cockpit.

Anakin walked down the stairs in the centre to talk to the captain, his voice was quiet but animated, though his posture was reserved- most likely aware that he was being watched by the rest of the room.

Your eyes flicker down to your work as he continues his conversation, trying not to get distracted from your task. It was already bad enough being on battlefields with him, surrounded by smoke and chaos. Here in a relatively quiet, well lit, stunning new room in the middle of outer space, you could feel his presence becoming an issue.

He claps the captain on the back congenially and walks back up the rows of seated crew, surveying various screen and rapturously taking in the information. Anakin loved flying, stories of his landings were popular gossip among the other cadets that you often trained with.

You were sucked back into your work, tapping almost habitually now on your keyboard and zoning out, focused completely on the numbers in front of you. That’s when you feel a shadow on your left. General Skywalker had made his way to your section of the long desk and was scanning your holo even as you worked. He leaned in closer. Then closer still. You jolted as one of his hands went to the back of your chair, the metal one, and the other lay on your desk. He was practically crouching over the surface, overcrowding your space entirely.

You couldn’t breathe. And you couldn't deny the thrill that ran down your spine at his proximity.

"Is everything running smoothly, L/N“ His voice was low, curious and amused, he could clearly sense the effect he was having on you.

You swallowed hard, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. "Yes, sir," you managed to reply, hoping your voice didn't betray the flutter in your stomach.

Anakin chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Relax, pilot. We're not in the middle of a battle. There's no need to be so tense."

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. But it was difficult with Anakin so close, his scent enveloping you - a mixture of metal and leather and something distinctly, dangerously, male.

You tried to ignore the proximity, but the warmth of his body radiating behind you was making it difficult to concentrate. Anakin's breath tickled the shell of your ear as he leaned even closer to look at your screen. His metal hand grazed your shoulder as he pointed at something on the display, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that the trajectory for the hyperdrive jump?" he asked, his voice confident and clear in the echoing hangar.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus on the screen. It was hard to keep your composure with Anakin so close. You could smell the spicy cologne he wore, and it was intoxicating.

"Good work," Anakin praised, nodding at you and looking you in your stunned eyes.

But it passed so suddenly and he was looking out on the entire crew now, “Good work all of you. Looks like it’ll be smooth sailing from here.”

The tension in your body dissipated as Anakin walked away, but you couldn't shake the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. You tried to push the sensation out of your mind and focus on your work, but it was no use. The rest of the journey felt endless, your mind constantly wandering to the magnetic presence of Anakin Skywalker.

When the ship finally arrived at Alderaan, you couldn't help but feel relieved that the journey was over. You quickly gathered your things and made your way out of the cockpit, eager to finally get some fresh air, recuperate your composure and energy for the flight back in a couple of days. You were staying on planet for the weekend before being due back at the Temple. But as you stepped out of the ship, you were met with a surprising sight.

Anakin was waiting there, leaning against the side of the ship, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. You felt your cheeks flush as you tried to keep calm. Your grip tightened on your bag and you nodded at him in greeting, silently praying that he would let you leave.

But Anakin didn't falter, instead he pushed himself off the ship and walked towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him as he approached, his imposing figure towering over you. He stopped just inches away from you, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something.

"You did well on the flight," he said, his voice low and husky. "I was impressed. Your master speaks very highly of you"

Your heart skipped a beat at his compliment, but you tried to remain passive. "Thank you, sir," you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“It’s an amazing opportunity working on big ships like this one, and for her maiden voyage…” His voice is fond as he looks back at the ship behind you two. “Though I couldn’t help feel you were slightly distracted at one point.”

“Sir?”

He comes in closer to you, bending down, mouth right next to your ear. ”Did my presence make you nervous?"

You swallowed hard, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “You have a way of... commanding attention.”

Anakin straightened up slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I can't help it," he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to get so close.”

“I really was checking the engine stats”

“And after?”

“Well… Then I suppose I was checking on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of heat flood through your body.

Anakin's expression grew more serious as he leaned in once again, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek. "I can't deny that I'm drawn to you, L/N. There's something about you that I can't resist," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as a million thoughts raced through your mind. You couldn't believe that the legendary Anakin Skywalker was showing interest in you, a padawan.

Before you could even process what was happening, Anakin's lips were on yours, kissing you hard and possessively. You moaned into the kiss, your body responding instinctively to his touch. His metal hand slid down your back, pulling you closer to him as he continued to kiss you with a hunger that took your breath away.

For a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the sensation of his lips on yours. But then you pulled back, gasping for air.

"I couldn't help myself," he whispered, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

You pulled back further, your hands still clutching your bag. "We can't, not here. Not now," you blurted.

”I know," he replied softly, taking a step back. “We have all weekend though.” He picks up your bag which you had dropped in the moment of passion and carries it towards the doors in an obvious sign for you to follow. Gobsmacked, you do.

#anakin x reader #clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fandom #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #star wars #tcw #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #darth vader #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #general skywalker

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beskarandblasters · 6 months

Text

Me and My Husband

Chapter Two: Drunk Walk Home

Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: Your friend, Lumya, sets you up on a blind date that goes terribly. When you excuse yourself for some fresh air outside you run into Mando.

Word count: 3k

Chapter warnings: rotations = days, Reader does not know Din's name yet, your date is an asshole, drinking, fingering, semi public sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, small squabble between Din and your date, use of Mando’a words/phrases (translations included after)

You

It’s been seven rotations since your encounter with the Mandalorian at the Star-Lux. And you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, of course. During your employment at the inn you’ve met so many interesting characters, travelers from all over the galaxy. But you’ve never met a Mandalorian and he’s been the most intriguing person you’ve met so far. And he wasn’t even a guest.

The way he snatched that bounty up in no time was impressive. Surely there had to have been some sort of scuffle; an unfair fight for the bounty of course considering not only how strong Mando is but also considering his armor and plethora of weapons he has. He’s a walking force to reckoned with… who’s also a bad flirt. His flirting was poor, downright pitiful, but there was also something endearing about it. There’s something sort of sweet about an intimidating Mandalorian who’s also bad with women.

Nevertheless, that’s been the only excitement in your life as of late and it was only for a fleeting moment. Work has been sort of slow lately. The tourist season on Naboo is wrapping up and a lot of the interesting guests at the inn have left. You’ve never left Naboo and listening to the guest’s stories has been your way of “traveling”, living vicariously through the stories they tell.

When you’re not working you’re usually at the library, reading books or downloading information on your holo pad about far off places that don’t even seem real. One day, you tell yourself, you’re going to have enough credits saved up to take a commercial flight to one of the planets you’ve read about, most likely Coruscant since the activities there are endless. But you’ve also had your sights set on Aldhani, but that planet is off the beaten path and really no commercial ships go there. You wouldn’t mind checking out Corellia, Morlana One, Ferrix, or even Glavis Ringworld, a ring shaped space station orbiting a star. The list goes on and on. Basically, you would go anywhere if it meant leaving Naboo for once.

Today is another part of your monotonous routine; waking up, eating breakfast, getting ready and heading to the library, reading about places you’ll never go and feeling sick about it, head to the inn and go to work, go home and go to bed, and repeat. You’re leaving the library and heading to the inn when you bump into your friend, Lumya. A pit forms in your stomach.

“Hey! Don’t forget you’re meeting Davin for drinks tonight!” she says cheerfully.

“How could I forget,” you say with gritted teeth.

“Don’t get too excited,” she responds, rolling her eyes, “Come on! You’ll like this guy. I’m sure of it. When have I ever been wrong?”

“Uhh, with all of the other guys you’ve tried to set me up with.”

“Shh, forget about that. This guy is the one, I’m telling you.”

“Whatever,” you laugh, “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” you finish, waving goodbye before leaving to go to work.

“Can’t wait!” she laughs, walking the opposite direction.

It’s true, her track record with setting up on dates has not been the best to put it kindly. This is the fifth blind date she’s sent you on and you’d rather do literally anything else. She better be right; this guy better be somewhat appealing because you’re getting off of work early for this stupid date.

Work is… work. It’s been a slow night. You’re glad to be getting out early but you wish it was for a better reason. A date is better than being stuck at a boring shift you suppose.

You change out of your work clothes in one of the inn’s refreshers, out of the clothes Mando last saw you in. This specific uniform is one of your favorites in your rotation; a dress with a revealing, square neckline that he most definitely checked you out in. You don’t blame him.

You put on another dress, this one being a bit more modest; long sleeves, deep blue, and stopping at your mid thigh. You put your work uniform in your locker and head out, leaving the inn just as Maree, your relief for tonight arrives, You mouth a “thank you” to her as you pass by. It’s starting to get dark out and the streetlamps of Naboo are just about to be lit. It’s a beautiful place and part of you feels guilty for wanting to leave it so bad. But you know there’s more out there for you.

You’re meeting this guy at Triton’s Tavern, closer to the center of Theed. That means it’ll be more expensive. Why did you let him pick the location again? Whatever, maybe he’ll pay. You arrive at Triton’s and wait outside for him. Kriff, what was his name again? …Oh, right. It’s Davin.

“Hey there,” a voice calls from behind you, followed by a hand on your shoulder. You jump in surprise and the voice chuckles. You turn around and you’re met with a face you don’t recognize. It’s gotta be Davin. But what kind of person lays a hand on someone they’ve never met before? Oh great, this is gonna go swimmingly.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Davin and you must be Lumya’s friend.”

“That’s me,” you say, voice stiff and irritated.

“Shall we head inside?”

“Sure,” the uneasiness evident in your voice. Gotta turn it off if you want this date to work out.

You head inside and make your way over to a booth in the back corner of the tavern. He orders your first round of drinks; revnog, and asks you all sorts of probing questions about you.

“So, Lumya tells me you work at the Star-Lux.”

“I do.”

“Isn’t that place kinda… seedy?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know… run down, some unsavory characters hanging around there.”

“What do you mean by “unsavory characters”?” you ask, head tilting to the side.

“You know… like prostitutes, drug lords, petty criminals.”

I mean Mando did apprehend a criminal there but that’s besides the point.

“First of all, none of that is true. And second of all, what if it was? Are you trying to tell me I’m a bad person because of that?”

“No! No! That’s not it at all. I’ve just heard the reputation and I thought I’d ask you.”

You sigh and lean back against the back of the booth.

“Can you get us another round? I’m just going to go to the refresher,” you say, sliding out of the booth and not even waiting for a response.

You lean over the sink in the refresher, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to psych yourself up for this disaster of a date. Davin’s not… horrible looking, by any means. But from the brief conversation you just had with him, you’re not interested, not in the slightest. The only solution you can think of is to drink your way through it.

You head back into the tavern and take your place in the booth. The second round of drinks has arrived and you waste no time downing yours. You let him do all the talking, having no interest in getting to know him.

“So do you plan on working forever?”

“…Define forever.”

“Like when you get married and have kids.”

“Who said I wanted to get married and have kids?”

“Well, do you?”

“I mean I’d like to get married but I don’t think I want kids.”

“So what do you want to do with your life?”

“I’d like to travel,” you say, reading your elbow on the table and your head in your hand.

“That’s not realistic.”

“What do you mean “it’s not realistic”?” you ask, head tilting to the side again.

“I mean based on what you make at the inn I doubt you make enough to travel.”

“Well what do you do? Since you’re suddenly the expert on what is realistic and what’s not.”

“I’m a professor at Naboo University.”

“Oh really?” you snort.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Didn’t think education was a… prosperous field,” you reply, choosing your words carefully.

“It is, actually,” he says, folding his arms, “And if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the refresher as well.”

“Yeah I’m actually just gonna get a bit of fresh air outside for a moment. Kinda hot in here…” you say, once again getting up and not waiting for a response.

The sun has completely set now, the sky an inky black and the streetlamps lit with an amber glow. Pacing up and down along the street you think of a million reasons to get yourself out of this. This is by far the worst date you’ve been on. You can’t even think of any redeeming qualities for this guy. And what’s pathetic is you wish Mando was here right now. At least he tried to flirt with you regardless of how bad it was… if you could even call that flirting.

You turn to pace the opposite direction and right before your eyes is none other than… Mando? This is weird. You can’t be hallucinating, revnog doesn’t do that to you.

Yes, it’s really him. He calls out your name confusedly and you make your way over to him, both of you stopping in front of an alley.

“Hey,” you smile at him, closing the gap between you two and placing your hand on his beskar breastplate. You swear you can hear him gulp when you do that.

“Here for another bounty? Or did you come all the way here just to see me?” you flirt, glancing up into the T-shaped visor.

Din

You can’t know the truth. He made the several rotations long journey just to try and find you. He stopped at the Star-Lux earlier in the evening but you were already gone. So he resigned to aimlessly wandering the streets in hopes of looking for you. And to his delight here you are, pacing in the street.

You palm the growing bulge in his flight suit and he has to fight the urge to let out a strained kriff.

“I want you, Mando,” you say, your eyes glancing up at him, pleading with him.

He’s having a whole moral dilemma in his head. The rational, logical part of his mind is screaming no at him, yelling at him to stop, reminding him he has a wife at home. But the pleasure driven part of his mind is egging him on, telling him to do it, convincing him he deserves this. Ultimately he decides that you came onto him, therefore it’s not his fault.

He practically drags you into the alley, pinning you up against the wall. His gloved hand palms your thigh, trailing up against your entrance. You part your legs for him, letting him gain better access to your cunt. Din’s going crazy right now, imagining how wet you must be. He curses his gloves for being a barrier between his hands and your warm, soft, wet sex. It’s so hard to restrain himself but he must.

You have to be soaked, though, judging by the way a finger just effortlessly slid inside you. He watches your face, watches the way you close your eyes and your lashes fan out on your face, watches the way your mouth falls into a soft O as his fingers play with you. Half of your face is cloaked in the darkness of the alley but the other half is lit up from the streetlamp at the edge of the alley, basking the one half in a warm glow and lighting up one eye. He tries to memorize this moment exactly as it is; your pretty face, your soft moans, and his guilt not being present for once. All under the nighttime skies of Naboo.

He slides another finger inside you, curling them upwards against your walls; against your g-spot. Your moans grow louder so he brings his helmet beside your ear, both of your chests pressed up against each other, and says “Shh, mesh’la. Someone will hear.”

You don’t know what that word means but he knows you’re too far gone in pleasure to ask. He rubs his thumb around your clit and he knows you’re already at the edge, judging by how hard you have to try to stifle your moans.

You cum around his fingers, and he can sort of feel it through his cursed gloves, feeling the way your walls flutter around him. He needs you around his cock now. Back when he masturbated to the mental image of you at his house on Nevarro he never actually thought he'd get the chance to have you. And now here you are, looking up at him with eyes pleading for more, more of him, and everything he fantasized about is in reach. His cock strains against his flight suit begging to be released.

“You want more?”

“Please, Mando. I need it.”

Kriff, you don’t know what you do to him. He’d love to tease you; to make you beg, but he’s far too desperate and horny to try that now. Another time, he supposes, if he gets lucky.

He pulls his hand from you and takes his cock out of his flight suit and you look down at it. He suddenly feels self conscious about not only the size but also the fact that it’s uncut. Circumcision isn’t a practice in Mandalorian culture and sometimes with other women in the past they turned their nose up at the sight. But you look at it in astonishment (or so he hopes), eyes widened and mouth into a soft O again.

He strokes his cock with the same hand that fingered you, spreading your wetness all over it. You turn around and bend over for him, pulling up the skirt of your dress and exposing your ass. He’s gonna lose it now.

He thrusts into you slowly, resisting the urge to do it in one clean motion. He finally gets to feel for himself how soft, warm and wet you are, fighting the impulse to cum already. If there is a heaven, he has found it, here in an alley on Naboo with you wrapped around his cock. His hands hook onto your hips as he begins to thrust in and out of you, feeling the way your plush ass collides with his groin. Your walls grip his cock as he buries it deeper and deeper inside you, expanding your walls as far as they can go. You can’t hold back your moans now, it feels too good. The alley is filled with your moans, your ass colliding with his groin and his own grunts. He feels your cunt grow tighter around him, you’re going to cum soon. And he needs to feel it.

“Gonna cum, mesh’la (beautiful)?”

“I’m so close, Mando. Please,” you moan, voice choked up.

He can’t see your face but he’s almost certain you’re on the verge of tears.

“Give it to me,” he commands.

And you do, hard. Your walls contract and release erratically before falling into a rhythmic pattern. He fucks you through your release, prolonging it even further. Your orgasm pulls his own from him before he knows it. And now his cock is painting your insides in ropes of his cum. This right here is heaven. If he had suspicions before this just confirmed it.

But the bliss is cut short but a voice shouting, “Hey! What are you doing?! You were on a date with me!”

You

You stand upright and pull your dress back down, opening your mouth to yell back. Davin is angry to say the least, angrily storming towards you with a deranged look in his eye. But Mando beats you to it, putting his cock away and wasting no time, charging at him with his blaster drawn.

Mando puts him in a headlock, holding the blaster against his head.

“Leave her alone or you’ll have to deal with me, got it?” Mando says sternly.

“But-” Davin starts. But Mando cuts him off, tightening the grip around his head.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Fine. She’s all yours, I don’t care. Just let me go!”

He slowly releases the headlock and Davin stands upright. Mando keeps his blaster drawn and aimed at Davin who takes one last look at you and runs away.

That was… hot, the way he effortlessly restrained Davin, the way he protected you. Between the endorphins released during sex and now this, you’re infatuated with him.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he says softly.

“Don’t be sorry. I should be thanking you.”

“Can I walk you home?”

You nod and walk side by side with him, leading the way back to your place.

“Were you on a date when I found you?” he asks after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “My friend set me up with him and it just… wasn’t going well.”

“I could tell,” he chuckles. “Oh and sorry about you know… coming inside you.”

“Don’t worry! I have an implant. And thanks for helping me out back there.”

“Of course. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me as long as I’m with you.”

He doesn’t say anything and you wonder if that was too far, so you change the topic.

“Did you come here for a bounty?”

“…Yeah.”

“Where did you have to go?”

“I had to…” he trails off. You wait for his response but he just quietly says, “I came here to see you.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” His voice is small, like he’s embarrassed.

“That’s sweet, Mando,” you say, stopping in front of your building on the outskirts of town.

You look at him, silver beskar illuminated under the moonlight. Your stomach twists into knots when you look at him. This night could not have ended better.

“Thank you again.”

“Of course. Until next time,” he says, turning and walking towards the fields, cape billowing in the wind.

You hope there will be a next time. You have to learn more about him, that’s for sure.

Chapter Three

Graphic by @nostalxgic

Banners + divider by @saradika

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #pedro pascal character fanfiction #mamh #married!din djarin #married!din djarin x reader

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avoxrising · 5 months

Text

The Feral One • Ch 22

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

A short but important chapter tonight!

Content Warnings - None

You jolt awake as the truck comes to a stop. It seems to be evening, meaning the hovercraft ride and drive took the whole day.

Peeta is let out of his truck first. You can’t see where they are taking him but he’s muttering things to himself and looks scared. A soldier opens your door and you are instructed to follow.

Getting out, you finally see who you and Peeta are joining. Gathered around Boggs are Katniss, Finnick, and a few other soldiers from District 13. They are sending you into battle.

Boggs and the others seem shocked by the two new arrivals and Boggs quickly cuffs Peeta, explaining to him that it’s just a precaution until he can get the situation figured out. You hold out your hands to him but he shakes his head. He wasn’t going to cuff you.

Boggs returns to the group and explains that Coin wants you and Peeta in the propos. Finnick explains to you both that your squad isn’t on the front lines, they’re just there to film propos and look cool. Boggs then explains the holo and pods and how we still need to be careful.

Finally, the group grows tense as they debate who will take watch and when. Your head hurts too much to listen so you make your way over to the wall and sit down.

“Are you feeling alright?” Finnick asks you, noticing your sluggish movements.

“Headache,” you mutter.

“How about you get some rest,” Finnick suggests, handing over his sleeping bag to you. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

You wake up screaming an hour later, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Hey hey it’s ok,” Finnick states as he tries to calm you down. One of the soldiers makes a comment about how the screaming may reveal our location but he is quickly shut up by a glare from Finnick.

“Bad dream?” he asks you.

“Tick tock,” you mutter. “The clock… it… I need to talk to Peeta now.”

Finnick worriedly nods and goes to get Peeta. He comes back and is prepared to stay for your conversation but the look you give him tells him it’s a private convo so he leaves.

“Peeta?” you ask the boy, and maybe your only companion in this situation. “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” he responds. “What was your dream about?”

“Clocks,” you say, making Peeta freeze.

“They need to send you back to 13 now,” he states. “It’s not safe for you here. We need to go back!”

Peeta’s outburst garners the attention of the group, causing Boggs and Finnick to rush over.

“She can’t be here,” Peeta tells them. “All her progress is going away the longer she’s here. We can’t stop it. It’s too late. We need to get her out before it gets worse.”

“I can have a medic come check her out but unless it’s a medical emergency I’m afraid she can’t be evacuated,” Boggs states. “Soldier Y/L/N are you feeling alright?”

“Headache,” you mumble.

“If it gets worse I’ll call in medical,” Boggs states. “Until then I’m ordering you to rest. Soldier Odair, I’ll take you out of the rotation tonight so you can monitor her.”

Dinner comes and you are starving. You eat all of your food and some of Finnick’s too. The headache is still there but you’re starting to manage.

After dinner you curl up next to Finnick in your own sleeping bag. You won’t let him touch you but you’ve instructed him to sedate you if you start screaming again. Sleep comes too easily for you.

Tick tock

A poisonous fog crawls back into your mind as your head screams in pain. Your arms are on fire as the sound intensifies.

Tick tock!

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #thg finnick #finnick #finnick fluff #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #mockingjay #the feral one

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inbabylontheywept · 10 months

Text

"I think we underestimated the human population by eight or nine orders of magnitude."

The war room was reeling. The human population had been estimated in the mere hundred billion range. They should barely have had enough of an economy to field two light cruisers, least of all the goddamn armada that was ravaging the inner worlds. After the alpha strike, the human flotilla should’ve been completely crippled. Instead the number of ships they were fielding kept growing.

Tan-Hauser was the first target struck by a human attack, and they reported seventeen craft before they lost comms. Attican was hit just three days after that, but their reports already showed numbers above ninety. Any doubts that the fleet was growing were eliminated when Outpost Batan reported 1,217 FTL pings two days before the loss of Kira.

The number reported was so big it was written off as a sensor malfunction. Twenty-five billion souls lost, all because nobody in the war room could face reality.

They were going to face it now. The Kirarian in front of them was the primary sensor engineer for the Batan outpost, a specialist with more expertise in analyzing space lanes than warships. He’d been up for at least the last two days, poring over the sensor data, and only now was ready to begin to share his findings.

From the pain in his multifaceted eyes, it was clear he was still reeling from the loss of his homeworld.

Seeing that he had the room’s attention, he began to speak. The translation units each member of the war council had implanted experienced a moment of lag as they struggled to convert the almost musical tonal humming of the Kirarian tongue to more common galactic speech.

"The simplest data that can be analyzed from an FTL ping is the distance that the ship traveled before dropping to sublight. The contracted space in front of the craft traps small particles, even light itself for a short period, compressing its wavelength and then releasing it when the field disengages."

The war room nodded along. The explanation was mildly technical, but anyone that had traveled on an FTL shuttle before knew the hazards of exiting FTL directly in front of your home destination. Blasting your home station with a wave of alpha, beta, and ultraviolet rays was hardly a warm welcome.

The engineer continued.

“The… issue with this is that we’re used to the majority of the ping being in the UV spectrum. We aren’t entirely sure what the spectrum of the signals we got from the ships were because Batan station can only detect up into the low gamma range, but that’s still what the majority of the human’s FTL pings were detected in. That’s at least ten billion times the frequency that we’re used to. Since the frequency of the burst can be roughly modeled by multiplying the mean radiation per unit distance by the length of the path, that implies one of two things: That the human ships are either traveling through areas with ten billion times the standard background flux, or that they are traveling extragalactic distances.”

The engineer paused for a few seconds at that statement. The pain of loss still shone in his gemstone eyes, but something more immediate was beginning to take center stage: Fear.

“Because the craft is essentially throwing… well, normally it would be the next three or four days worth of cosmic background radiation at you. In our case it’s more like several decades. But because it’s just giving you an advance on your normal cosmic background radiation, you can track the void in the next several days' worth of background noise to determine the ship's approach vector. The 1,217 crafts that arrived weren’t coming from the same spot. There were actually hundreds of converging vectors, but more importantly…”

He trailed off, a small 3D model of the local space appearing in the center of the holo table. A spiked ball of vectors protruded from the galactic disk, each piercing cleanly through his former homeworld.

His voice cracked a little, the hum turning into a hiss. The translator tech paused a moment too, struggling to convey the subtle emotional cues into the message.

“They’re all coming off the galactic disk. That doesn’t just mean that we’re surrounded, that doesn’t just mean that we’re outnumbered… It means that each attack that we’ve seen up to this point is from an entirely separate group. What we’ve been mistaking for fleets, I believe, are simply the beginning trickles of their exploratory forces. Each of the sites that they’ve targeted hasn’t been of significant strategic importance; they’ve just been sites with unusually strong output signals. I think they’re just using our transmission stations as makeshift beacons for their FTL jumps." He took a deep breath to steady himself before providing his final thought. "I think we underestimated the size of the human population by eight or nine orders of magnitude.”

There was a heavy silence in the war room as that last sentence was processed. The engineer was already out the door before he heard the panic begin to set in.

Part of him felt a little guilty. It would’ve probably been kinder for them to go out not knowing what was about to hit them. Still, it wasn’t often you could force people with this much power to realize that they’d just lost everything.

There was a bitter satisfaction in that.

#hfy #humanity fuck yeah #humans are space orcs #science fiction #we are the swarm #scifi #writing #writblr #we are the cosmic horror #The goal was to imply that we have colonized hundreds of other galaxies

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bluginkgo · 1 month

Text

Episode 7 Teaser is out and it gave me too many crack theories

Well, after finally getting my head wrapped around the entire teaser- which took literal hours to process how amazing it all looked- I think I finally found the ability to put it into words.

Spoilers, duh and uh lots of words, so sorry

This'll be somewhat frame by frame crack down as well as crack theories that came to me while spending time looking at the red images too long that gave me a headache - anyways

As many have mentioned this before, V's corpse is gone, and only a sentinel's tail remains on the ground to the right. Although I wish to believe that V made it out alive, that hope is quickly dwindling. Although there is a small possibility that V somehow won the fight (perhaps with outside help such as J) and dragged herself away (based off of the splatter on the ground) I more so think that she turned into an eldritch V. That or perhaps has been mauled by the sentinels, and the body was dragged off. Although, I can not wait for Liam to prove me wrong about this theory (I hope he proves me wrong, cause I miss V ;w;)

The ground looking hall seems to be where the gang will enter right after exiting the elevator. Alongside this, it seems that the moment with N is also here (based on the background). Now, as for the look that N gives. It goes from worried and slightly scared to harsh concern (in my opinion, feel free to take that thought and yeet it as far as you wish ^_^). Something made him worry in a way that also slightly flared his anger. Two theories:

He saw something ahead of them, and this is the more likely possibility, because that tunnel gives way to the cave that N seems to have been dragged into from the teaser from November.

2. Uzi might have said something that made him more concerned. There is a figure that moves behind N, but it is very hard to see as to who it is- my guess it's Tessa, making Uzi the only candidate to possibly to walk in front of them.

Then we get to see this hole.

Possibility (also a bit wacky and highly unlikely): The entity will finally be revealed, that is, the center of the absolute solver. Something I noticed with the design of the absolute solver is that we get to see its limbs, but never the main body. It is always hiding somewhere, be it in the ceiling or the walls. Of course, there are also the eldritch forms we saw of Cyn, but in my opinion, it feels more like another limb. Now, with J's huge form, I'm a little more inclined to believe that's what it looks like as the main body. Holo spooky snake crab like.

Not to be dramatic, but... Core collapse, which made me chuckle. Because despite all hell breaking loose in these last couple episodes, Murder Drones still manages to sneak in tiny jokes like this. Oh, and I can't forget the dog too! XD

Something I still cannot grasp my head around is what is going on with the environment around the cathedral?? It's raining, but it's in a cave- ok can be sorta explained that it acts like a stalactite... but then what is going on with the vortex around the building? My current theory: uhhh... robo-satan, that is all.

A lot of scenes with humans and in a clear view (i.e. not like a video tape). This might suggest a flashback as many have already mentioned it. However, who, how, and why is there a flashback? Well, there is one crack theory I came up with. This is what Uzi is seeing. She is an absolute solver host, and it has been seen on multiple occasions that absolute solver has a hivemind, so it can easily show its hosts whatever memories its previous hosts had.

These next scenes I believe to be in the progression as shown.

@/haastera (don't want to bother them with a tag) also pointed this out, that these scenes may be back to back, based off of the lamp that is off to Uzi's left. However, what the heck would cause Uzi to snap like she did in ep4?

Uzi saw something in the tape that made her upset, the possibility of N killing Nori. Cons in that theory: N killed Nori post core collapse, and there would not be any evidence of it.

The tape had something that was similar to zombie drones tape that was marked "Don't show this to drones, they will not like it." Something in the tape may have forced boot the solver string in Uzi, and she was powerless to stop it. Cons: @bloodywolfwings mentioned to me that the reflection in Uzi's visor seems to be a door instead of a screen. So there's also the 50% chance that these two scenes are not even related.

MA'AM YOU PUT THAT SWORD AWAY, UZI HAS IT BAD ENOUGH MA'AM- in all seriousness, this is a 50/50 shot once again. Maybe Tessa is attempting to get rid of Uzi while N is gone. The opposite end of that is Tessa is attempting to help Uzi, perhaps an enemy that Uzi did not sense behind her.

These two scenes are related, I believe- the claw is hard to see behind the cross, but it is there, and not to mention that Dr. Chambers is wearing a camera on his head. However, there's more to it after I stared at it for a while. The absolute solver claw appears to be burning and glitching, this is only seen with DDs and solver drones when they are exposed to the sun. Perhaps the humans were slowly getting better at controlling the absolute solver, with some sort of power equivalent to the sun. But in the end, their efforts were useless, seeing as Nori still destroyed everything there.

We have seen these two scenes already, so not much to dissect here. Just NUzi being NUzi :3 while all hell breaks loose

This scene had me so confused at first.

I could not figure out what was going on with the cars. Cars are outside, our gang is in a cathedral, what happened- That's it. This is outside. And as many have already mentioned this, there are drones in the background so far identified as Lizzy and perhaps Thad. (I say perhaps Thad because my dumb brain won't let go of the idea that the drone on the left is Khan. Look, my brain said 'I think I see a mustache' and now I can't unsee it.) Either way, this is outside and the gravity has decided to take a break (as RedMage put it in the nuzi discord server). It seems that the gang will do something, or something drastic will happen (perhaps a second core collapse) that will cause the gravity of copper-9 to become unstable. So maybe the episode will end with the possibility that copper-9 is about to collapse like Earth did, as the gang tries to stop that event from happening.

Ahem, allow me a second of: FERAL N FERAL N FERAL N FERAL N- ok, I'm done for now. As many have pointed out, this may be the moment that N killed Nori, and Uzi might have to relive through that experience as the absolute solver shows Uzi everything that has happened up until now. His smile is not the one we've seen up until now when he's in his murder drone mode, but more of a smirk. Another theory I came up with is that when Uzi becomes possessed by the absolute solver, perhaps by default, N does too. Uzi is now N's admin, and if the admin is corrupted, there is nothing to keep N's solver string in his ai from fully corrupting him. However, there's a hole here.

The X on the visor generally means that there is a string in the drone's core is faulty and not functioning. This is because when the solver string attempts to take possession of the DDs, the admin program switches it to false and gives the faulty os string sign on the visors. That has to mean the admin program is still up and running, which pushes the theory of this scene being a flashback of N killing Nori, more likely.

Uzi's eye has burst, it seems, just like Yeva's. So now the question is, why does it do that? Doll also covered her eye, perhaps to conceal the damage that is already there. Theory: this happens because the solver inside of the drones is constantly attempting to get out of the host. It has been seen that it does destroy the bodies from ep5. And it seems that the red goop is what Uzi's attempting to hold back on her eye. It might be oil, but what makes me believe otherwise is the fact that it doesn't look liquid-like enough. Granted, that scene is literally 1 second, so the movement that may be there is really hard to grasp.

Doll HAS MADE A RETURN! And she's fighting someone with knives is what it seems like. Thoughts on who it might be? Literally, anyone in the gang, there is not much to go off of here. But to dissect it further, it could be like this:

Uzi- because she teamed up with Tessa and a DD, and it seems like Doll and the gang have separate goals, which upsets Doll and causes the fight.

N- another DD that had caused a lot of pain and suffering for WD when they first arrived to copper-9. So why not get rid of him as well while she's at it.

Tessa- the main character that seems to be very suspicious about every action. We know very little about her, and even more so what happened to her post gala massacre. Perhaps Tessa discloses the idea of killing every drone that is on the list of the drones experimented on. This will include Yeva and, therefore, Doll.

Now as for THIS.

That is a drone, for certain, now as to who it is, is really hard to guess. There is clearly a helmet on the drone, so it kinda narrows it down. Routes:

This is part of a flashback:

Nori or Yeva- one of the stronger solver drones that needed a better way of controlling/containing them. Backed up by the balconies/cat walks that are on the corners of the screen.

Some other poor drones- An even crazier idea of mine would be that the people were, in fact, worshipping the absolute solver. This is what happens to the heretics. Either that, or this was some sick way of worshipping the solver.

This is real-life time: Doll is the number 1 candidate, how she got to be like this, though... there are some possibilities.

Doll's solver form is taking control/form.

Uzi and Doll had a fight (consciously or not, solver might have forced a fight), with this being the outcome.

It's late for me. The amount of crack theories that have been bouncing around in my head is unreal. More than half of them are probably most likely wrong. Once again, take all of my theories and yeet them into the stratosphere if you wish ^_^ These will be mostly here just to come back to and see how wrong I was about everything.

#murder drones #murder drones n #murder drones uzi #murder drones v #murder drones j #murder drones doll #murder drones nori #murder drones yeva #murder drones theory #bluginkgo's rambles/theories #murder drones ep 7 #murder drones absolute solver

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skywlker-sluvtt · 7 months

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𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓

𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏 + 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒙/𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈

kinktober masterlist

anakin x fem!reader warnings: dirty talk, phone sex, mommy kink (only a lil), masturbation (m&f), not rlly edited sorry baes word count: 750

You’d been away on a mission for almost a month now. Anakin was frustrated that he wasn’t involved in the mission. Only because that meant he was separated from you for longer, he could care less about the siege right now. All he wanted was you. Needed was you. Alone in his quarters, he’d give almost anything to just hear your voice it would help to just tip him over the edge. Finally cum after a month. But he was stuck here with a throbbing hard-on until you answered his desperate messages.

Anakin: Hey baby Anakin: How’s the mission? Anakin: Please call me Anakin: I need you Anakin: I’m begging you babe it’s horrible Anakin: One image attached

That one image had you running to your private quarters on the ship you were currently aboard. Opening it you were pleased to see how desperate he was. The tip of his cock was almost purple, he looked even bigger than usual. His hard-on pressed against the silky fabric of your pillow. You were never one for a holo-dick-pic before Anakin, he somehow made it look so good.

Instead of responding you called, he’d like that much more. His image flashed in front of you and you grinned. “It’s only been a month sweetheart” You teased admiring his shirtless frame. His curls were mussed all over his head, he always looked sexy when he got messy. “Only a month? Are you crazy? Baby I haven’t cummed in a month” He explained. “Poor thing” You cooed teasingly. Just from your voice, he was already rutting against the pillow. “Take your top off” He said watching you intently. “You have 15 minutes” You smirked removing your complicated layers of robes. “I’ll only need five” Anakin replied making you laugh

As soon as he caught sight of your tits he was moaning even louder. “T-Talk to me” He groaned watching you slide your hands slowly down your thighs inviting him to watch. “You’re such a needy boy Anakin, it’s pathetic” You smiled watching him roll his hips into the pillow. “I miss your touch, I’m needy for you every day” He gasped out. He looked so desperate, fucking against his pillow like a holo-porn star. His durasteel hand clutching the bed. Slipping your hand downward you began to play your clit for him.

“Baby you look so fuckin good, just wish your mouth was on my cock” He sighed. You admired him tirelessly humping your pillow, small whimpers begging for release. The sight had you slipping two fingers into your cunt. “Does my pillow feel good, love? Is it fulfilling your fucked up needs?” You teased. “Uh-huh, I-I hope someone walks in and sees you all sp-spread out for me” He whispers. “Aw, that's so cute you wanna cum thinking about me getting caught?” “Yes, fuck yes” Anakin replied. He was focusing on his tip, rubbing it softly into the material as if it was you.

You moaned quietly working your fingers quicker. “Maybe I’ll have someone come in and fuck me in your place?” You grinned. “No! N-No you’re mine” He growled, you knew it turned him on more his movements became tighter and more focused. “Look at you getting all worked up. Bet that pretty cum is leaking all over my pillow. All wet and needy for my pussy” The more you spoke, the quicker your fingers got. The wet noises of your soaked pussy echoed through the room getting Anakin even more hot and bothered.

He let out a throaty groan watching you tweak your nipple and moan. “Mommy” He gasped. “I wanna eat you out so bad, you-look so wet” He groaned trying to keep his composure. Your pussy gyrated at his words. His thrusts were wild and quite attractive to watch. Anakin's mouth hung open as he gasped for you. “Good boy, cum for me” You smirked nearing orgasm yourself. Your fingers worked desperately as you watched your husband use your pillow for his own pleasure.

With a few more thrusts he came loudly, coating his stomach and pillows in cum. “M-Mommy-baby” He whimpered watching you come undone. Your legs trembled violently as you came for him. His whines were too good to ignore as he overstimulated himself. You were both left in pathetic pants and whines staring at each other through the call. “Thank you” He mumbled you were about to reply before someone was banging at your door. It’d been more than 15 minutes.

taglist: @vadersslut @glazelilis @ikoshime @t9tesgf @emersxn99 @nomercyforthewarrior @mssbridgerton @scooby-the-soviet-soldier @TinyGremlin @toastnpretzels @obsessedrebel @simonessollarsystem @alixwriter @forcemeanakin @aerangi @iloveranch125 @burningfieldof-clover @Autumndriverz @anisbaby @leftcollectiongardener @naturalnicasstuff @seistars @tesstess-tessa @sythethecarrot @ainocilla

lmk if any didn't work

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x you #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin fanfiction #star wars smut

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jarrows · 2 months

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In the recently liberated city of Nabat, troopers Waxer and Boil share a meal with a local girl, Numa – just prior to the 212th’s redeployment to the Jixuan desert.

3/?

#waxer and boil #numa #idk how to tag them really lol #star wars #the clone wars #holos from the front #just finishing up a truly ancient drawing here #tw motion sickness

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tiredassmage · 2 years

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Tyr is a disaster, half of his friends are disasters, his boyfriend’s a disaster, this Alliance has been founded by disasters and also he had Vector. Until he didn’t, but it’s okay, they’re back, things are better.

AKA I’ve barely played XIV in two weeks because I was busy sacrificing my soul to Tyr sO

Tyr + some of my favorite of his disaster companions + Vector. Vector is perfect and has done absolutely nothing wrong. They’re perhaps the sanest one and the only one Tyr actually trusted full-stop before the galaxy went to shit.

And Lana somehow has basically brought them all back together because what could possibly go wrong, right???

#swtor #dot plays the star war #tyr x theron my two utterly bisexual disasters #who will flirt on holo in front of the entire alliance #theron's too easy to make blush okay what else is tyr supposed to do #i love them a lot okay just #this is what i have to offer you for the time i've been quiet this is it #a bi disaster with an identity crisis and his disasterous besties new and old trying to save the galaxy from itself #who woulda thunk it #kaliyo and him would still threaten to sell each other for a corn chip #swtor kotfe #kotfe #if almost disfunctional found family friendships aren't star war then idk what is

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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 months

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nobody is coming to save you

Din Djarin x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 14 - blood-stained tiles | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 1.4k

summary: You get caught by a Mandalorian bounty hunter after fleeing your marriage.

-- am I really a Din fic writer if I don't do a "reader is a bounty" story?

warnings: ambiguous/open ending (I may return to this one...), reader attempts to negotiate for her life, discussions of pregnancy/abortion/menstrual cycles (reader had an abortion, it's discussed without detail, do NOT come at me with discourse I will not engage anyway), mentions of blood, allusions to abuse

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Nobody is coming to save you. Get up.”

The words fell flat through the distortion of his helmet. Was it pity? Amusement? Disgust? He wasn’t wrong, though. The crowd that had suffocated the market lane moments before had mostly cleared in the wake of the Mandalorian.

He stalks over to where you’re still sprawled on the ground. It didn’t seem urgent to get up, to make it easier for him. With a huge gloved hand digging into your bicep, he pulls.

You go limp. You’re not going to help him, and you’re fairly confident he doesn’t have authorization to kill or seriously harm you.

You’re vindicated when he holsters the pistol, not that it’s a pleasant victory. He cuffs your wrists in front of your stomach and then simply hoists you over his shoulder.

“Where’s the cargo?” he asks.

This close, you can almost hear the grit of his real voice beneath the electronics.

You mean to ignore him, but his question is a thread that needs pulling. “What cargo?”

“He said you stole something from him.”

His words churn your stomach like rancid Bantha. That worm. “Well, you’ve got it,” you say bluntly.

He doesn’t question it, and you assume he’s clocked the ostentatious jewelry as the target. Trev always did like you shiny, whether with gemstones or tears.

He’s probably a little rougher with you than he should be, given that you’re not running anymore. But he’s a bit kriffed over the whole situation. He only took the bounty because the price was so high — but not being allowed to carbon freeze the bounty was almost not worth it.

But the client wanted his pretty little wife back without the side effects, and he was willing to compensate for it. He had said she could be restrained or gagged as needed. Had said Din would probably want to since the “bitch never shut up.”

It wasn’t his job to give a shit, so he didn’t. He did figure the client’s name would come across a puck sooner rather than later, though. Whatever he was peddling to afford this had the man under severe paranoia.

He drops you to your feet at the bottom of the ladder and nudges you with the barrel of the pistol. “Climb up and wait. Don’t touch anything.”

He expects an argument, given that you both know the blaster is mostly a farce. He’d be willing to take a cut on the fee if you tried anything, though. A bolt to the foot wouldn’t kill you.

But you don’t. You climb in silence, with him close enough behind that your bodies overlap. You’re acutely aware of his helmet’s proximity to your ass, and he’s acutely aware that it’s been too long since he paid a visit to a brothel.

He doesn’t manhandle you once he crests the platform to the cockpit; just jabs a finger in the direction of the seat to the left of the pilot’s chair. It sits slightly behind, the viewport partially obscured. He separates the cuffs and magnetizes them to the arms of the chair.

The engines rumble to life once he’s seated, switches flicked, and buttons pressed in the wake of his deft fingers. He doesn’t speak a word to you.

When Karga answers the comm, he interrupts the man’s pleasantries to get right to the point. “I’m confirming the status of the bounty as requested. She’s alive and in custody.”

“Excellent, excellent; I knew you’d make quick work of it, Mando,” Karga says, clapping his hands together. The holo flickers. “The client has requested that you avoid hyperspace travel upon your return.”

“What?” Din snaps.

“There’s extra compensation in it for you, of course.”

“That’ll take eight standard days,” Din gripes.

“Your expenses will be covered, as well. Food, fuel, any lodging.”

“Fine,” Din says and closes the line. He sits in silence for a moment, sifting through the new information, before he stands abruptly and turns to you.

“You’re pregnant,” he says bluntly.

You dither about how to respond. In the end, you don’t. He can’t be trusted. So you purse your lips and look away.

No one needs to know that the first thing you did when you got far enough away was fork over one of your bracelets for a termination at a no-questions-asked clinic. They had been kind, if not overworked and undersupplied.

“That’s what you stole, isn’t it? His baby?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t back down from his gaze, either. His baby. The phrasing sets off so many warning bells it’s like a ship-wide alert.

Din’s first instinct is anger. It’s too close to his own gaping wound, too close to where Grogu lives with Luke Skywalker, a man who hadn’t even given Din his name before taking his kid. And yeah, he’s supposed to feel like he did the right thing, but his son is gone, and it doesn’t feel like the right thing. Not at all.

He looks at you and wonders how you could be so cruel.

It doesn’t last, though. He’s seen enough to know the way this story usually goes. So, instead, he looks you over and sighs. “I’ll see what we can do for other accommodations,” he says, a loose hand gesturing to the cuffs.

“Thank you,” you say, though you don’t feel very thankful at all. But you know a little politeness to your captor goes a long way. You know that like you know how to breathe.

It works until it doesn’t. On the fourth day, you wake up at the inn he had agreed to for the night and smell iron, and you know the ruse is up. You try to sneak to the fresher but quickly realize it doesn’t matter. You have nothing to hold back the blood, anyway.

You sit in your soiled panties on the cold metal tile and resign yourself to free bleed until he inevitably wakes and finds you.

You don’t wait long.

“We’re not far from a clinic,” he says cautiously, from where he leans against the doorframe.

“Don’t need one,” you mumble, looking anywhere but him. It’s bad enough that you couldn’t come up with an explanation—knowing you’ve bled through enough that he can see it is on another level.

“You don’t know that,” he says with what you think he thinks is compassion. “There might still be something they can do.”

The truth flickers across your face for only a moment, but it’s long enough for him to catch on.

“It’s your cycle,” he says, flat and loyal to his thoughts.

You nod. No use lying now.

“Were you ever pregnant?”

“Yes.” Your voice is clipped, your face pulled sharp.

“How long since?”

“Two weeks after I got away. Six before you found me.”

Two months. You had made it two terrifying months on your own. And now, thanks to this monster, you were being dragged right back.

Trev had to have spent a fortune on this bounty. You feel feverish at the thought, a cold sweat creeping across your spine. And when he finds out you’re not pregnant…

Wait.

“You know, you won’t get your money,” you blurt, hardening your eyes as you stare him down, shoulders squared.

“I will. Whatever happened to you isn’t my problem.”

“No, you won’t,” you say, taking a breath before jumping in front of the proverbial blaster. “Not after you were so rough when you captured me, and I lost the baby.”

His head snaps to you. “What did you say?”

“When you found me. You tackled me, knocked me to the ground, and attacked me. The trauma was too much, and—“

And he has you pinned up against the wall where you sit, a hand around your neck. “You really think this is a smart idea?”

“Go ahead,” you hiss through his grip. “Leave marks.”

He lets go immediately, seething. His gloves creak as his fists tighten around nothing.

“What if we can work something out?”

“I don’t negotiate with quarry. What’s stopping me from putting you in the freezer now?”

“My jewelry,” you say in a rush. His threat isn’t idle; you can feel its wrath as if his hand never left your throat. “It has to be worth at least as much as he offered. Tell him there was a complication, send him the ring, and you can have the rest.”

He doesn’t respond; just storms off. You, of course, stay put.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #tw abortion

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rain-in-the-clouds · 2 months

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To Your Desire.

Paul Atradies x Feyd Rautha Harkonnen

Princess Bride AU

Word count: 11,218

M/M pairing

Warnings: NSFW, graphic depictions of sexual acts.

Part One

Paul stared out past the balcony where he sat in the lavish castle where he currently resides. Though for him it was a gilded cage. The rolling forests that wash into meadows and sprawling grasslands. It was beautiful, bright lush greens and colors the young Atradies only seen in holo-logs. But the beauty that laid before him was a melencholes sight; something he’d grown to hate, a reminder of his unchanging fate.

He missed his homeworld of Calidan. The never ending ocean that graced every horizon, and the cold air that blew over every bit of land. But mostly he missed his old life, the one that died with his love years ago.

(flashback)

Paul grew up on Calidan, a world blessed with seas. He came from a grand house, his family line long and proud. At one time he cared about his familial history, took pride in his social standing. But in truth it was mostly a front, he loved his family, the caring and loving parents he was so grateful for; but he felt isolated then too. Only finding solace in books, fictions told by guardsmen, and the teasing torment of a servant.

The servant wasn’t from Calidan, discarded or sold, Paul never knew which, by the Harkonnens when Paul was just a child. The servant, at the time, was also a child. Not two years older than Paul. His name was Feyd, but Paul refused to call him by name.

Always finding him in the middle of his work. In the beginning he would stand back and away from him, spying on him from a distance. Feyd intrigued Paul from the start, he was stoic and serious and wholly different from everyone else around them. He had near black eyes, eyes that bore into your very soul. His skin a perfect alabaster that glowed in the light. He had no hair, and never grew any, but it never worked against him in his looks. Paul would find himself staring at Feyd whenever he was around, even if he didn't understand why.

The longer Feyd was there, and more evident that he wasn’t going anywhere; Paul became more brave. They were about 16 when Paul finally walked right up to Feyd.

At first nothing was said, Paul put on a mask of disinterest, as if he was simply inspecting the servant; despite the fact Feyd had been with them for years at that point.

Feyd paid no mind to the aristocratic boy before him. Though acutely aware of his presence and proximity. But Feyd also knew it was all for show. Though Paul thought he was sneaky about watching Feyd, he really wasn’t. But he also assumed Paul wouldn’t get the courage to actually face him. Despite keeping focus on his task, he was enjoying the moment nonetheless.

“Is there something you require, my young lord?” Feyd asked, formal as he was taught, but he didn’t meet Paul’s gaze; keeping his low, all the while continuing his work.

It threw Paul off, not planing for words to be exchanged, the mask began to crack. His cheeks began to flush a light pink, but he breathed through it while taking a step back. Shaking his head, “N-…” Paul began but stopped abruptly. Catching sight of the small, barely there smirk on Feyd’s lips. Quickly he caught on. Paul frowned, realizing too late his expression, Feyd eyeing him from the side; the smirk he wore got a little bigger. Paul made his face as natural as possible, doing his best to fane composure. “I’d like my horse prepped for an afternoon ride, servant.” Paul spoke smugly, trying to egg on Feyd. But something else happened instead.

Feyd stopped his work, stood straight up before Paul, towering over the Atradies some. It took Paul by surprise. What shocked him more was Feyd’s eyes meeting his own, a black well pulling him in; an endless abyss Paul wanted to fall in for an eternity. “To your desire.” Feyd bowed his head, but never braking eye contact, not until he had to leave to fulfill Paul’s request.

Paul was left speechless, standing in the garden alone, watching Feyd disappear around the house towards the stables. He knew his face was flushed, however he didn’t care, he wanted Feyd to look at him like that again. But with his life and what was expected of him, Paul found it hard to stay moments with Feyd. All of which were him ordering Feyd to do some task, at first something expected of him to request, but as it went on the tasks became small and meaningless. All Paul wanted was to be under Feyd’s gaze, to hear his voice speak only to him.

Paul’s 20th birthday was creeping closer, he had already met with several possible suters, and he dreaded the affair every time. After each forced meeting, he’d find the right moment to slip away from his entourage, off to find Feyd, wherever he may be in the moment. The first few times Paul met him simply to be near him, an unspoken arrangement, seeking odd comfort from the others' presence. It helped Paul at first, but when the meetings grew in number, he began conversing, openly, with Feyd.

One day, after a long an argous meeting with a lady from an outer world, he didn’t care to remember. Dashing away from his auntourage and his father’s top advisor. Near running through the manor, uncaring of the trouble he’d be in if caught, but luckily he was alone everywhere he went. He didn’t actually start looking for Feyd until he’d long last his breath, about falling into a corridor lined with giant windows.

The windows looked out at the flourishing garden, deep dark greens, thick trees and bushes; just beyond was the deep blue ocean, seemingly stretching out forever. Paul leaned against the thick glass, practically sliding down the cool surface. It didn’t take him long to regain his breath, his many activities and training keeping him fit. He’d gotten quite far from where the meeting parlor was, reaching the far end of the manor in a matter of minutes. When he calmed he began to look for Feyd.

First he checked the garden, mid afternoon on a stormy day, he’d usually find the alabaster man outdoors. However, with everything happening at the manor, the romers of a move, the plannings to marry off Paul; it was chaotic. So Paul moved through the garden to the back of the manor until he was in front of an old, slightly rotted wooden door that led to the under workings of the manor.

There was no real floor down there, a mix of rounded pebbles and mud. However the servants over the years had refined the area, turning the once useless access and room into a bustling underbelly. Specifically to the kitchen. There was a large hearth, it was used to bake and cook in grouse amounts. The other half of the room would become like a second kitchen. Due to the hectic goings on, he’d hoped to find Feyd there. But he only found Milla, a sweet and caring lady, who’d worked and live with his family for as long as he could remember. She was standing in front of the hearth, switching out bred pots. Her daughter, Briar, an equally sweet, and flirtatious girl, was at a large table quickly rolling and pounding dough.

“Hello Paul.” Milla called, happy as ever. Paul smiled, despite his disappointment. “What are you doing?” She asked, her voice thin and full of maternal concern.

Paul shook his head. “Nothing really. Just had to get away from everything.” It was a half truth, knowing she probably wouldn't ask further. And he was right, she nodded simply and went back to work. However Briar waved him over. Paul glanced at Milla before moving towards her daughter. Paul stood on the opposite side of the table from Briar.

In a quiet voice she spoke, “Feyd’s down at the docks. Charged with watching the guests’ ships with the night guards.” Briar explained, her whispered voice filled with a wild tone of gossip. Paul smiled, not verbally responding, but nodding his head. With that he headed to the docks, just outside their estate.

~~~

As Briar said, Feyd was stationed at a ship, large and intimidating, something that didn’t need guarding. But it gave Feyd a moment of calm and relaxation. He enjoyed days like this, cold, gloomy, and wet. The ocean was a roaring monster beyond, dark and powerful. The crashing sounds of the waves were music to his ears. He was in the midst of doing routine checks on a crate of goods when Paul found him.

At first Fayed did as he always done and paid no mind to the young Atradies as he strode up. But he did notice the disheveled look about him. His once neatly done dark curly hair now out of order, the evidence of his hands being dragged through the locks. He was wearing one of his more regal attires. An Egyptian blue coat, lined with a silver threading, embroidered with a pattern like blades laid side by side. His pants were simple and black, matching his shoes, but all of it together made him shine. In Feyd’s eyes, he was brighter than his home world's black sun.

Paul saw what Feyd was doing before he was near him, he decided to pace about a bit around Feyd. Nervous energy needing to escape. Feyd wanted to ask, but he was never the one to speak first between them. Paul finally stopped a few minutes later, finding perch on an already checked crate. He was slumped and weary.

“Are we all something to be pawned or sold off?” Paul’s voice was quiet, but full of venom. Feyd didn’t respond immediately, uncertain if Paul was wanting to talk, or be heard. When Paul didn’t go on, Feyd assumed the former.

“From my perspective? Yes. Doesn’t matter the status.” Feyd spoke grimly, but matter-of-factly. His voice was a low gravel, almost like a rasp. He didn’t look at Paul as he spoke, some part of him worried about being caught, despite nothing happening. Paul was thankful to have Feyd to talk to, to confide in.

“Will it ever change?” He asked, whatever hope he had fading fast. The whole ritual of it all slowly began to crush his spirit, knowing at some point, he won't have a choice. “I don’t want any of this. I want to stay here.” His words were crushing, and the way he spoke tore Feyd apart. The young Atradies expression was more than sad, it was heartbreaking to behold.

Feyd wasn’t sure what to say, believing he didn’t have the wisdom to comfort the young nobel. But he knew what he would have wanted to hear. “Then don’t go. Stay.” Feyd kept his voice low, trying to be soothing and comforting, it worked in some way. But it was how he look at Paul, his black eyes made darker by the looming clouds, somehow high lifting his begging expression. His brow that is usually always furrowed and pulled down, was soft and lifted. His otherworldly alabaster skin appearing as a gray color during the stormy weather. He was beautiful in every way to Paul. His pleading gaze made Paul’s heart beat strong and heavy in his chest.

It took Paul’s breath away, not expecting such a thoughtful and emotion filled response from Feyd. Believing the Harkanon was only humoring his pestering company, only hoping he’d see the young noble as a companion. “Maybe one day I can change things.” Paul spoke, with the smallest amount of hope in his voice. His eyes half lidded, almost distracted by the sight of Feyd. If not hope, then some kind of longing.

That was their first real conversation, however short, Paul smiling softly at Feyd before quickly leaving, knowing he would be expected soon. But both knew neither wanted to parted, a silent promise formed to meet again sooner than later.

~~~

The next few weeks went on like that, after each meeting with potential brides he’d rush off to find Feyd. The conversations were mostly one sided if they happened at all. Both still unsure of how to move about their budding relationship; but when they did speak it always sparked something within Paul, a deeper want for a freedom he didn’t know he lacked. Feyd would lull any worry Paul presented him, but always in few words. It was then that Paul realized more about himself and his feelings the longer and more they talked. As well, he missed the words Feyd would only say to him, unaware what they meant and why it was so important to him.

Paul held onto these thoughts and feelings awhile longer, wanting to understand them better, but also out of a fear it would push Feyd away. After some weeks had past, and the seasons coming to the end, Paul was able to find respite away from the socialites in the cold winter in the manor. Ignoring the fast approach of his 18th birthday and all the hell that will bring.

It was the first of many frozen nights that bled into day. The beach frozen and snow covered, all of the land blanketed in pearly snow. Paul spent most of the morning in his room, lounging in front of a large window, simply enjoying the days beginning. It wouldn’t be till just before noon when Paul finally left his quarters to explore the manor he’d memorized when he was still a chilled, knowing all too well that his Father would be off all day with other dignitaries and his Mother would be off with the other Bene Geserit. A group of religious zealots he’d grown to hate, especially when he discovered it was their order that plotted his future. Whenever they had a meeting in the manor, or even to cart his mother away for some unknown rite; whatever the reason for their presence, he’d find every way to not be around. Once it was a losing choice, and in the end he decided pretending to court a possible bride was better and less nerve wracking.

But he didn’t have to worry about any of that today, he was free to do what he wanted. And he knew exactly what he wanted, or more who he wanted; but finding the elusive Harkonnen was a trial in itself.

At the same time, Paul wasn’t in any rush. Winters promised short days and long nights, something most everyone hated, he found refuge in. Everyone busing themselves ignoring the change in season, Paul was able to do as he pleased around the manor and on the grounds. He was becoming lost in thought, joyously planing the days to come, when he realized he’d made it to the main hall of the manor.

It’s a grand hall, ment for grand balls and large, usually royal, meetings. It was beautiful, dark blue stone, silver accents, bronze peaking through, making everything stand out even more. The magnitude of the hall and of his home, always had him curious how the servants cleaned it all. He believed it just couldn’t be done. And in some capacity he was right, like any ordinary home, it appeared to be perfectly clean, but truly wasn’t. Paul had these thoughts and more like it as he made his way through his home, quickly coming to the main kitchen, which, unlike the rest of the house, was alive, bright and warm.

Milla and the other kitchen staff were busy at work, Paul thought it best to not interrupt them; so he sneakalie grabbed a small rag, some cuts of bread, cheese and grapes; tying all in the rag before rushing out of the kitchen.

From there Paul went to the basement kitchen, Feyd was not there either. Through the cellar-like hall, out to the back garden.

It was a bright wash of snow, so bright Paul had to wait and allow his eyes to adjust. Holding his hand over his eyes, while they were practically squeezed shut. He stopped moving, only after almost falling on his face. Stumbling some, digging his boots into the thick snow and soaking them through. He didn’t mind though, the chill that was running up his body was easily ignored when he was being blinded.

When he finally thought his eyes had adjusted, he opened them slowly, his hand still shading him from the light; and for a moment he really couldn’t see anything. The stables were some distance away, and blurred by the bright white, but the more Paul focused, the more he could make out. However he, without thought, began to move forward, not expecting someone to rapidly come into view.

Paul walked smack dab into someone. At first he didn’t see who he’d run into, still partially blinded by the brightness, nearly falling backwards in the snow. But he was grabbed before he was even close to the ground. It shocked him, a thin breathy gasp escaping him. A sound he didn’t think he could make. What was a bigger shock was who he’d run into and who caught him.

Feyd was standing above him, an arm slinged around Paul’s waist, while his other hand was holding him by the arm. It was a sweet moment, but not a pretty one. If there was an onlooker, it would be a sight of one young man half doubled over the other, like they were frozen in the middle of the fall. But for Paul, it sent a feeling through him he’d never felt before, but something he would completely expect from the Harkonnen.

“Young Lord.” Feyd greeted, a smug smirk painted on his lips. He swiftly lifted Paul back into a standing position, letting him go and stepping away, all in one smooth motion. Paul barely had a second to process everything. But when his eyes finally took in Feyd, his breath was taken away.

In the blinding light of the snow, Feyd glowed. His eyes were more striking than ever, dark pools sucking him in again. If it wasn’t for his dark clothes, simple work pants, thick shirt and coat, he would be totally hidden in this weather. However the thought had Paul picturing Feyd without clothes, another thing he wasn’t expecting to happen that day. It made a furious blush spread over his face, but he played it off as the cold making his skin red. Whether Feyd believed it or not remains to be seen. When Paul continued to not speak, Feyd furrowed his brow at him in confusion.

“Is everything alright?” Feyd asked, genuine concern, but also very confused. He’d seen Paul flustered before, half the time he being the one to cause it, but this was something new to him as well. They’d never been that close before, Feyd had never touched Paul before, never even gotten close to it. But it just happened, and had left him in his own state of shock. But Paul, for whatever reason, always seemed to ground him in some unexplainable way.

Paul shook his head. “No-“ He shook his head again, “I-I mean yes. I’m fine.” Paul stuttered out, caught up in his flurry of emotions. Paul took a steadying breath, running a shivering hand through his hair, he held out the rag that was slowly getting soaked. “I was going to have lunch….” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say or how to explain that he was looking for Feyd. Feyd cocked a brow, narrowing his eyes at Paul.

Feyd made a show of looking around, “Out here?” He questioned, knowing by now that Paul enjoyed the banter, welcomed it. “Seems…Odd.” Feyd didn’t hide his sarcasm or enjoyment of this situation.

Paul smiled softly, mostly to himself fully ignoring his blush, as well as the burn he began to feel on his skin. “Sort of.” Paul sheepishly explained. “Why are you out here?” He asked then, realizing Feyd was the only servant outside.

Feyd gestured towards the stables, “Tending to the animals. I was about to head in myself.” Feyd then gestured towards the manor, leaving an unspoken question in the cold air. Paul nodded simply.

“Mind if I join?” He then asked, his smile growing, though still somewhat flustered, his blush was fading and confidence growing. Feyd smiled softly in return, gesturing for Paul to lead, he stayed a step behind him as they made their way into the cellar.

Both were well aware of the layout of the manor, and knew their way around, easily able to weave through the long halls. Paul didn’t directly ask, but gestured for Feyd to follow him after they entered through the kitchen, having been ignored by the other staff. They were on the second floor, almost to his room when they stopped. Standing in a large hall, staring out large windows. The cold outside seemed so far from where they stood, it made Paul reach out to touch the freezing glass. He pulled his hands back quickly, hissing at the hot burn of the cold.

Feyd leaned forward some, inspecting Paul’s hand, but he was alright, yet it made Feyd worry. His expression was soft, but his eyes were hard and piercing. When Paul caught sight of Feyd’s eyes, he let out the smallest of gasps. Having to blink fast and breath slow to get his composure back. It worked but now the two had been standing there silently for so long, he began to feel self conscious about what he wanted.

Yet Feyd didn’t seem unperturbed, if anything he was content and peaceful, a stark difference from Paul’s rigid feelings and jumbled thoughts. But whatever Paul wanted ,he would have to strike soon.

Feyd turned to the young man, a very small smile on his lips. “If that is everything, I should leave.” Feyd bowed slightly before Paul, before standing straight again, and turning on his heel.

To Paul it happened all so fast, Feyd had his back to Paul and was moving to descend the stairs, but Paul stopped him suddenly. It happened in a blur, but Paul had lurched forward, near violently, throwing himself towards Feyd. With a free hand he grabbed onto Feyd’s arm, pulling him back slightly.

“Wait.” Paul was breathing deeply, his grip on Feyd’s arm waxing and waning in pressure. Feyd met the young Atradies eyes, his own expression a mix of shocked confusion. But Paul’s eyes were soft and pleading; it sent an emotional stab into Feyd. A second after their eyes met Paul dropped his hand from Feyd and all too quickly took a step back from the Harkonnen. The look Paul wore made Feyd’s chest burn; his eyes were still soft, but there were quickly becoming glassy, his brows pulled together in a worrying scowl. Paul’s lips were parted, as if he was going to speak, but the words getting caught in his throat at the last second.

Feyd knitted his brows together at the young noble. “What’s wrong?” Feyd was serious, his voice low and gravely, the tone of concerne clear for any to hear. Feyd wanted to step forward and enclose Paul in a comforting embrace, but like always he stopped himself, the only evidence of his thoughts were the slight twitch in his hands and fingers. The need too great that even the smallest movement would expel the want. But in this moment it was the hardest it had ever been.

Paul shook his head earnestly, his hands balling around the knot of the rag, nearly white knuckling the small cloth. Feyd tilted his head, still not understanding what Paul wanted. Paul screwed his eyes shut, not able to look at Feyd, the fear of rejection so strong, it was all he could do to hold onto the little confidence he’d gained. “Eat with me.” His voice was small, almost inaudible, but their closeness allowed Feyd to hear him fairly clearly. Though it wasn’t a question, it was an invitation, however poorly executed. When Feyd didn’t immediately answer, Paul added, “In my room.” Some part of him hoped the promise of privacy would entice Feyd to join.

Feyd didn’t hide his pleasant surprise, his eyes going wide and mouth slightly agape. He blinked a few times to get the information to process in his mind. His usual quick wit was silenced by this. Feyd nodded first in the affirmative, his small smile having grown wide and full of what’s normally unseen happiness. Before leaving just the smallest amount closer to Paul, his eyes trained on Paul’s own, something passionate buried in the blackness. “To your desire.”

Paul tried and failed to hide the smile those words brought to his lips, but that and the pink blush still speared across his face. Paul nodded once, gesturing with his hand for Feyd to follow again. The Harkonnen followed, but instead of being a step behind, Feyd strode right next to Paul as the two made their way to the young Atradies’ room.

In Paul’s room, he’d set up the night before, a small floor table and sitting mats in front of the fireplace. He’d set it up as part of a sort of ritual he did for the first real night of winter; but now it would seem to match his current intentions. He’d had his main windows curtains drawn, allowing the afternoon light in, setting his room in a soft white glow.

When they entered, Feyd moved towards the center of the room while Paul closed his door, making sure no one would interrupt. Paul half ushered Feyd to the fireplace; starting to set wood in the fireplace, when Feyd stopped him.

“Let me do that.” Feyd’s hand ghosted over Paul’s back, but never truly touching him; it still sent shivers down Paul’s spine.

Paul handed the lot and prod to Feyd, making sure his fingers brushed across Feyd’s hand. Nodding, showing acceptance in the assistance the Harkonnen offered.

Feyd made quick work of getting a fire going, fairly large, enough to heat Paul’s room. Paul had sat at the floor table, long discarding his boots, in place for more comfortable house shoes. Paul realized while Feyd was starting the fire, that he’d done something similar and was now barefoot. It had a melancholy feeling building in Paul. Before Feyd was done, Paul had opened the balled up rag, and speared the small assortment of food out. The small display had a smile creeping back on Feyd’s lips.

Feyd sat across from Paul, the silence between them growing and becoming more tense. Feyd wasn’t sitting facing Paul, but the fire, passively watching it crack and burn. However he was very aware of Paul.

Hating the feeling that was trying to settle between them, Paul produced a dark, decently sized bottle of mead and two glasses. Pouring Feyd and himself a glass, while also placing food in front of both of them. Feyd faced Paul at the sight that was unfolding before him.

“Where did you get that?” Feyd asked, truly stunned, never expecting something so adolescent from Paul.

Paul smiled half smugly, holding the bottle out for Feyd to take. “I swiped it from the kitchen a few weeks ago after one of the meetings with a suter. Haven’t really drank much of it though.” Paul explained, a little sheepish. Feyd smiled back, big and charming.

“Surprised you didn’t do it sooner, with how much you don’t like the betrothal thing.” Feyd admitted, letting his own negative feelings slip into his words. The situation grated on both of them; each dealing with it in their own way together. Though they had yet to actually speak about the situation and their feelings, it was a shared silent agreement in some way.

“Didn’t have the chance, really.” Paul drank some from his glass, enjoying the cool sweet taste. Feyd let out a chuckle at that. The thought of Paul sneaking around the kitchen was very amusing.

The afternoon changed to night, the two happily enjoying their time together, but the feeling, or more knowledge, that the end was coming soon. The food was long gone, and the mead was about spent, it not being a full bottle to begin with. But neither were intoxicated, if anything just a pleasant warmth engulfing them. As time passed the twos conversations had come to a pleasant close, the silence they now sit in comfortable and calming.

It grew close to dinner time, Paul knowing he’d hear the bell ring at any moment, Feyd knew too, but different. He had to make his way down to the kitchen before Paul was at the dining room.

Feyd stood then, quietly and smoothly. “I should go before the bell.” He said, a bit solem. Paul nodded once, his expression matching the feeling of disappointment. Feyd made his way to the door, stopping to grab his shoes, when Paul stopped him again.

“I want you to come back after.” If not for the fact Paul had been wanting to ask all day, he wouldn’t recognize his own voice.

Feyd was again stunned, the sweet, small smile responding before he could. He wanted to do as Paul asked, but it seemed an impossible request. He didn’t have to say anything though, Paul understood and already had a solution.

With a light grip, Paul pulled on Feyd’s arm, gesturing towards an overly large painting, the only thing that did not match the youth Atradies room. It was of a grand castle overlooking a roaring ocean, all in bright colors. Feyd was puzzled but didn’t say anything.

“Later, when everyone’s asleep, you can come in this way.” Paul explained, a hand gliding over the textured canvas while the other ran along the ornately carved frame, feeling for something unseen. When Paul found what he was feeling for, he made a small sound of success, followed by the sound of a click and thunk. With a small push the painting swung outward, leading to a dark tall passageway.

Feyd was left speechless. His eyes darting around the painting to the concealed hallway, before landing finally on Paul standing next to him.

“I’ll explain later.” Paul said simply. He stepped through the threshold, pulling out a small orb-like device that floated above them, giving them light, but very dim. “Step in, and put your shoes on.” Paul waved a hand, almost frantically gesturing for the Harkonnen to follow.

Feyd quickly stepped through, sliding his shoes on in the process. Paul didn’t wait for Feyd to be ready, pushing the door closed until he heard a deep thunk of the latch catching. Paul stepped back in front, leading Feyd through the tight dark hidden hallway.

A bit always from Paul’s room, Paul pressed a finger to his lips, silently shushing both of them. He pointed to the wall to their left and mouthed, “Parent’s room.”

Feyd’s eyes went wide again, the sheer foolishness the two were partaking in was testing his mischievous nature. His eyes scanned the wall as if he could see through it, as if he could see the Duke and his wife readying for dinner. But what the two young men could see was light that seeped through the old wood, orange and dim, the only way Paul knew they were in there and to be as quiet as possible. Feyd nodded, though unnecessary, before they continued onward.

Paul led Feyd through the winding secret passage, down two sets of thin steep stairs, until they reached the ground floor. Feyd took note of the time it took to get from Paul’s room to the ground, it was far less time then the main way; somehow the construction allowed for it. It had him curious how many and how interconnected the secret passages were. But what surprised him the most was how trusting Paul was of him. In a way he wasn’t expecting, Feyd felt honored to have Paul’s trust.

At the ground floor they were met with three doors; one that was directly in front of them, one just next to it, but it sat diagonally from everything else and was smaller than the others. The third door was to their left, the two ‘odd’ doors looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years.

Paul grabbed the orb that floated just above them, turned it off and passed it to Feyd, “You’ll need that.” His voice just above a whisper, impossible for anyone but Feyd to hear. Feyd pocketed the orb, not questioning Paul’s advice, however, Feyd had a sharp memory, and the best vision out of anyone in the estate. But Paul cared, and that was more important than his own pride in his skills.

The door that Paul had obviously been using for a long time, was seemingly not fully latched shut, for Paul was able to gently pull it open, just enough to peek out. But not seconds after Paul hastfully shut the door and latched it closed, all to Feyd’s surprise.

Paul took a large step back, almost bumping into Feyd, but he’d shadowed Paul’s movements. Feyd looked down to Paul, silently asking what was wrong.

Paul paused for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he turned to Feyd and again whispered, “Can’t go that way.” Despite the anxiety that was cereal on Paul’s expression, even in the dark, there was humor in Paul’s voice. The ever surprising young noble moved for the diagonal door, fumbling a moment, looking for the latch in the dark. Feyd smirked to himself as he pulled the orb out again and shorn the dim light down on them again. Paul stood straight, looking to Feyd, who still wore a sly smirk, giving his own smile in return to the Harkonnen; a silent thank you.

Quickly, Paul opened the odd door, it led to a short narrow staircase into another hallway. When through the threshold, Feyd moved a bit closer to Paul and whispered,

“Where did that lead?” His gravelly voice and hushed words had the hairs on the back of Paul’s neck stand on end. The young Atradies breath quickened slightly as Feyd’s words fanned over the back of his neck.

Paul swelled thickly, “One of the linen closets. Someone was in there.” He explained, his mouth feeling dry and hands damp. “This’ll take us to the library.” Paul explained as they continued on.

It wasn’t long before they were at what was a door, but looked like a dead end. There was no lock, knob or latch; Paul had to push, hard, on the heavy door till it began to swing open. As one would picture, the door was hidden by a bookcase, large and heavy, swinging outwards. But both Paul and Feyd slowed the door to a stop before any sound could be made. Paul showed Feyd how the door closed, not able to avoid the thunk of the door sealing again. But the library was empty, thankfully.

Paul about ran to the main doors, unsure they wouldn’t open until they were ready. “Tonight, go to the third linen closet on the ground floor, at the very back the wall slides open. That’ll take you back to my room.” Paul explained, a bit rushed and still in a hushed voice. He was grabbing the non locking door handles as if his life depended on it. Feyd looked at him with compassion, but concern, causing Paul to quirk a brow.

“Are you sure about this?” Feyd asked, his voice full of concern. But his eyes held something deep and loving. Paul felt like he was both floating, and being crushed while under the Harkonnen’s gaze.

Paul’s eyes softened, his lips pulling into a smile, a look of longing clear. “Yes. Yes I am.” He said finally and firmly. Not wavering from what he’s asked. Feyd went to speak but Paul stopped him. “Come here.” Paul then said, his voice hushed, sensuality dripping from the breathy way he spoke.

Feyd cocked a brow, glancing between them, they were already standing about a foot apart. It’s when his eyes met Paul’s that he understood. Feyd took the single step closer to Paul, now nearly standing chest to chest. Feyd did nothing else, just stood close.

Paul took a calming breath, his hands falling to his sides, and for a long moment he only stared at Feyd’s chest. When he raised his gaze, a hand followed, resting on the Harkonnen’s chest. Paul stared deeply into Feyd’s eyes, getting lost in his black pools. Slowly, Paul slid his head up Feyd’s chest, stopping at the crook of his shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the back of Feyd’s neck.

Feyd met him halfway, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Paul’s waist; when Paul showed no sign of pulling away, Feyd closed the gap. His hand coming to Paul’s cheek, tilting his head slightly, to finally connect their lips in a long awaited passionate kiss.

Paul’s eyes fluttered shut the instant their lips touched, he’d snaked his arms around Feyd’s neck, standing on the balls of his feet, everything to deepen the kiss.

Feyd pulled him as close as he could, their bodies flush, his hand ran up Paul’s back until his fingers were tangled in Paul’s dark curly hair. Their lips melded together perfectly, the kiss was slow but deep, each fully feeling the other; memorizing the moment as if it were their last.

They only broke the kiss to take deep heaving breaths. They kept their faces close together, their foreheads touching. A tender moment both waited so long for, and were displeased it had to end so soon. They stayed like that a moment longer, stretching time for as long as possible. Feyd placed several kisses around Paul’s face, his lips, cheeks, forehead. Trailing light kisses along his jaw. Paul relished in it, mesmerized by the simple shows of affection.

When finally they pulled away from each other, however they were still locked in an embrace. Paul looked into Feyd’s black eyes, now certain what he sees in them is the same emotions he feels.

“You’ll come tonight?” Paul asked, somewhat sheepish, despite the passionate kiss, Paul was still unsure of Feyd’s decision.

Feyd smiled at Paul, sweet and mischievous, his eyes soft and trained on Paul. He leaned forward and whispered against Paul’s lips, “To your desire.” He spoke in a deep voice, sending more sparks though Paul before planting one final kiss to the young noble’s lips.

“The painting will be unlocked. I’ll be waiting.” Paul proclaimed just before Feyd disappeared behind the library doors. The two having agreed to leave separately, Feyd first.

Not long after, the dinner bell began to ring. Paul intentionally took his time making his way to the dinning hall, though after the fact it seemed wholly unnecessary.

Dinner went by quickly, the conversation between Paul and his parents was enjoyable, but as normal as ever. Paul was holding in an overflowing well of anxious excitement. He felt like he was on the verge of imploding at any moment. But no such moment came. He stayed composed the rest of the evening. Though he also spent a long time in the library after dinner, fanning the want to read and study; when in reality he wanted to be sure the door was closed, and no one knew he’d moved through the secret passages. To the best of Paul’s knowledge, no one had used the passages in decades; he being the only one to use them, and only at night. When it was an appropriate time too, Paul made his way to his room. He stopped to bid his parents good night, a display he put on; ensuring the rest of the night would go on without interruption.

Paul felt restless as he waited up for Feyd. The second he got into his room, he locked the door, unlocked the hidden door and sat in a reading chair he kept by a window. But that didn’t last long.

Paul frantically, however needlessly, cleaned his room, all but forgetting that Feyd had already seen it earlier. In the process of cleaning he also remade his bed. Stripping the bed of all his sheets and blankets, anything he’d already slept in, and tossed it down the laundry shute. He replaced those with, what he thought, were his nicest bedding set. Dark red silks, and a thick silken black comforter, with matching pillowcases. Happy with his work, Paul tried again to simply sit and wait, but the longer he sat, the more disheveled he felt.

Attempting to be quick, Paul stripped his clothes off and jumped into the shower. He enjoyed the hot water that soothed his muscles, but he didn’t waste any time. Paul quickly dried his hair, not carrying that it was still damp. He threw on his undergarments and a simple shirt, but nothing else.

With no ideas left to help him pass the time, Paul started another fire. This time he set up the floor mats to be next to each other and the floor table in front. Paul’d replaced the bottle of mead with a new one, and snuck in a small arrangement of fruits. Similar to before, he speared the food out and poured two glasses. By then it was starting to get late into the night.

Paul wasn’t sure when, but at some point he’d fallen asleep in front of the fire. When he awoke, the flames were still burning and lighting the room; and Paul wasn’t alone. Paul woke up in Feyd’s arms, his back pressed against Feyd’s chest, a strong arm draped over Paul’s waist.

When Paul began to stir, Feyd propped himself up on his elbow, and slid his other arm back until his hand was resting on Paul’s hip. He waited before moving again, his eyes locked on Paul’s dreamy expression.

Paul blinked a few times, forcing the sleep away. After taking in everything, he rolled over until he and Feyd were chest to chest. The Harkonnen smiling down at the Atradies.

Paul had a thousand things he wanted to say, but instead he pulled Feyd into another kiss, showing all his emotions in one action. Wrapping his arms around the toned young man, nearly causing Feyd to fall onto him. But Feyd gladly returned the kiss, engulfing Paul in his embrace.

Feyd pulled back first, smiling down at Paul. “That’s one way to wake up.” He spoke with humor, a light laugh leaving him. It didn’t take much for Paul to join in.

“I’ve been so excited to see you again.” Paul couldn’t help but comment, “It felt like an eternity.” The young noble sighed while snuggling against Feyd.

“I know. I worked to keep my mind busy.” Feyd let out a deep laugh, a thought coming to mind. “When I found you asleep, I figured you’d worked yourself into a frenzy.” Paul couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. Paul opened his mouth to speak, but Feyd stopped him by planting his lips against Paul’s. Taking the opportunity to explore Paul’s mouth with his tongue.

Paul was surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. However he did not expect a deep moan, that Feyd gladly muffled with his passionate kiss. Feyd pawed at Paul, dragging his hand up and down Paul’s side, gripping his hip and squeezing his ass. Every little touch sent a burning fire through Paul, Feyd’s ministrations had Paul letting out small moans, all of which Feyd devoured.

Paul pulled away next, practically gasping for breath. His face was flushed, lips red and swollen, his chest heaved with each breath. “Bed.” He spoke between pants, lazily gesturing towards his bed.

Feyd gave Paul that mischievous smirk, “To your desire.” Feyd’s voice dripped with subduction, he spoke low, the gravel of his voice sent a chill down Paul’s spine. Feyd wasted no time, sitting up, one knee on the other ground, in a half lunge position. In one smooth motion, Feyd stopped Paul up bridal style and began towards the bed.

Paul couldn’t help the airy laugh that left him as Feyd carried him the short distance from the fireplace to his large bed. Large enough to easily fit the two of them. Feyd gingerly laid Paul down on his still freshly made bed, openly noting the red and black satin bedding.

“Are you trying to court me, Paul Atradies?” Feyd asked teasingly. Climbing into the large bed, half beside Paul and half hovering over him. That devious smile never leaving his lips.

Paul blushed furiously, his whole body going hot in an instant. Paul tried to put on his best sultry expression, his eyes half lidded and lips pouty. “Maybe.” He said first, fluttering his lashes at the young man above him. “Maybe I want Feyd Rauthra Harkonnen to bed me.” Paul made his voice low, trying to match Feyd’s sensuality. Despite Paul’s lack of confidence, it worked and more on Feyd.

The Harkonnen nearly pounced at Paul. Climbing on top of Paul, settling between Paul’s legs. In the process, Feyd had stripped his shirt off. Paul watched in aroused awe, his eyes dragging over Feyd’s toned body, taking in and committing every detail to memory. Absentmindedly reaching out and tracing the outline of his muscles. Lingering only for a moment before gliding to a different area. Feyd did not move, allowing Paul to do as he wished with him.

When Paul’s eyes found Feyd once more, he nearly shuttered. The look Feyd was giving him was that of a caged animal. Just as Paul was gawking at Feyd, so was the Harkonnen. A hunger in his black eyes Paul never knew was possible. Feyd slowly lowered himself until their foreheads were touching.

In a low voice and affectionate tone Feyd asked, “Are you sure about this?” His eyes were ablaze with passion, his words oozed concern, and his touch hot and full of long awaited contact. Paul openly shuttered, his skin becoming decorated with goosebumps, a thin gasp escaping him in the same instant.

Paul dragged his hands up Feyd’s chest, resting at his shoulders. In a breathy voice he spoke, “Feyd, I’ve waited and I’ve wanted. Yes. Please. I want this.” With each word breathed, Paul held Feyd a little tighter, ensuring he won’t go, that Paul won't lose him.

Not another word was spoken. Feyd connected their lips again, slow and sweet. The fire within him held back, wanting to take his time and prolong the night for as long as possible. Paul did not protest. If anything he dissolved into Feyd’s touch, in a fumbled, sloppy motion, Paul stripped his own shirt off, allowing full access of his body to the Harkonnen. Feyd swiped his tongue across Paul’s lip, asking for entrance.

Paul obliged, parting his lips, using the small moment of separation to gasp for breath before Feyd plunged into Paul’s mouth again. A grone, deep, like a growl, came from Feyd then. Paul moaned in response, his body responding on its own. It was becoming difficult for the two to ignore their growing arousal.

Paul had been hard from the moment they got to the bed, now it was almost painful. Feyd was becoming farl, he slipped his tongue from Paul’s mouth to nip and bite at the young noble’s lip. Paul reacted in kind, moaning, loudly, bucking his hips up into Feyd’s. The friction had both groaning and moaning; rutting against each other.

Paul broke the kiss, squeezing at Feyd’s shoulders. “Feyd.” Paul’s voice was quiet and horse, pleading with the Harkonnen.

The sound of his name coming from Paul’s lips sent him spinning. Feyd nipped and sucked at the skin of Paul’s jaw and neck; littering his flawless skin with love marks, all different shades of purple. Paul was gripping onto Feyd like he was the only thing keeping him from floating away as Feyd began to kiss and nip down Paul’s chest; while all Paul could do was buck up into Feyd, a litany of moans coming from the young Atradies.

Feyd was enjoying every reaction he was enlisting from Paul. The sight of Paul under him, writhing under his touch, it was all so intoxicating for the Harkonnen. Paul was starting to dig his nails into Feyd’s skin, unknowingly urging Feyd on. Feyd let out a deep guttural growl, grabbing Paul’s wrist and pinning them above the young noble’s head.

“You’re going to be the end of me Paul.” Feyd spoke between heaving breaths, his words coming out like a low growl against Paul’s skin. In his wake, Feyd left a trail of small bite marks down Paul’s chest, stopping at his hips, just above his underwear. Feyd met Paul’s eyes, staring deeply into them, wordlessly asking for permission.

Paul’s lips quivered, his eyes peering back at Feyd. In a move Feyd wasn’t expecting; Paul slipped his wrists from Feyd’s grasp, hooked his hands under Feyd’s arms and in the blink of an eye the young Atradies had flipped them over. Now Paul was, more or less, straddling Feyd.

Feyd looked up at Paul in awe, his hands sliding up and down Paul’s thighs, finding their perch on Paul’s hips; holding him in place. Feyd ran his gaze over Paul’s body, following the rise and fall of his chest, seeing his muscles twitch and clench, every little reaction, Feyd saw them.

Paul sheepishly smiled down to Feyd, his eyes were still half lidded, his parted lips turned up in a coy smile. Paul leaned down and placed his lips to Feyd’s. A gentle and soft kiss, starkly different from all before. It was a declaration, a promise. Paul pulled back just enough to smile at Feyd, before he began kissing down the Harkonnen’s neck. Leaving small marks in his wake, Feyd’s neck and jaw were quickly peppered in purple love bites. When Paul found the small spot at the crook of Feyd’s neck that had the Harkonnen a growling, bucking mess. Paul couldn’t help but smile, proud of his work.

Paul sat up just enough, trying to inch his way lower, however, Feyd had a different idea. Similar to Paul, Feyd moved fast, his hands gripping Paul’s hips, Paul reacted without thought, his legs squeezing around Feyd’s hips. In a quick motion, Feyd rolled the two of them over so he was back on top. Paul loosened his hold around Feyd just enough, but never actually dropping his legs.

“Feyd.” Paul breathed his name out in a breathy gasp. He’d begun grinding his ass against Feyd, begging for any kind of release. Feyd’s grip on Paul’s hips tightened, enough that he will have bruises there for the next coming days.

Feyd met Paul’s eyes, the hunger in their gazes was all consuming. The Harkonnen nodded once, his hands slipped from Paul’s hips, down his legs, unhooking them from Feyd’s own hips. Paul pouted at the lack of contact, his expression had Feyd smirking down at him, the young Atradies turned his gaze away, a flush of embarrassment washing over him then. Feyd leaned close to Paul’s ear,

”I’ll go slow.” Feyd’s lips ghosted over Paul’s already sensitive skin. The shutter that came from Paul had their bodies pressing together; Feyd rejoiced with every reaction he was illiceting.

Paul had snaked his arms under Feyd’s, wrapping embracing Feyd. He pressed his face into the crook of Feyd’s neck, inhaling deeply. He nodded curtly, rubbing his face against Feyd.

Feyd brought his hand up to Paul’s head, combing his fingers through Paul’s curls, a gentle and affectionate gesture. Paul leaned into his touch, following the movements of Feyd’s hand. Feyd guided Paul’s head to rest against the pillows, Feyd was being as gentle as he could possibly be; treating Paul as if he was the rarest gemstone in the whole of the universe.

Feyd rose slowly, propping himself up by his knees, his feather light touch traced Paul’s hands that rested on his shoulders, also guiding them down to the bed; Paul’s hands now resting beside his head. The Atradies looked a picture of seductive radiance below Feyd.

Feyd softly slipped his hands down Paul’s chest, his skin prickling behind Feyd’s long fingers. Paul’s breath quickened the closer Feyd got to Paul’s undergarments. Feyd moved past them however, sweeping over Paul’s legs and unhooking them from his hips. He was moving torturously slow, enjoying all the time they had; however, even his own patience was starting to wane.

Paul was gripping the satin sheets below, his body aching and clenching, all but screaming out for Feyd. Who had moved on to finally stripping Paul, and himself, of their undergarments.

The shock of cool air against hot skin had both letting lose a round of grones. Feyd dipped back down, just below Paul’s sternum, giving light kisses down his stomach, again stopping at his hips. Feyd nipped at Paul’s soft skin, leaving a deep purple mark on the small area between Paul’s hip and groin. Paul was a moaning mess the whole time.

“Please Feyd.” He begged, having to hold himself back from bucking up. But it also helped that Feyd was holding Paul down by the hips.

Feyd chuckled, hearty and bright. “To your desire.” Feyd declared boldly, his eyes alight with something joyous, and ravenous.

Feyd dropped his head again, starting at Paul’s inner thigh, leaving feather light kisses and spark-filled bites, leading up to Paul’s hard, throbbing member. Paul had his gaze locked on Feyd, anticipation over taking him. Feyd gave a few tentative swipes of his tongue up Paul’s erect member. The simple action caused Paul to roar out a littny of moans; sounding almost like music, created by love and eroticism. Feyd held back a growl, the sounds urging him on. Before Paul could quiet, Feyd popped Paul’s member into his mouth.

Circling his tongue around the tip before taking Paul fully into his mouth. Feyd slowly retracted before sucking him back in. Paul could barely keep himself quiet, having to, almost painfully, clap a hand over his mouth to silent his near screams and moans.

Never before had Paul felt such pleasure, never been touched in such a way, never felt such affection. He was over the moon and beyond. But Feyd was still devious, hastfully ending his pleasuring ministrations as quickly as he began them. Paul whined out, loudly, despite his hand muffaling his uncontrolled sounds.

Feyd met Paul’s wanting gaze, propping himself back up, “Oh my Lord, how common of you.” Feyd laughed heartily, “To pout so openly.” Feyd crawled up to Paul, stopping just at his neck. Again kissing and nipping at the skin of his collarbone. He continued up until his lips were connected to Paul’s. However, when he pulled back and saw the tears that pricked at Paul’s eyes, he was instantly sent into a frenzy. ”Paul- I-“ Feyd kissed the tears away, swiping his thumbs down Paul’s reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry.” It came out a whisper, words seldom said.

Paul shook his head, though still between Feyd’s hands, his eyes were still glassy and lips swollen. “No, Feyd.-” Paul stuttered, his voice horse. He pushed up as much as he could, giving Feyd the softest kiss. “I’m okay. I am.” Paul nodded then, leaning against Feyd’s gentle touch. Paul’s eyes were full of earnest understanding, the smile he gave to Feyd one of sweet longing.

Feyd brought Paul into another kiss, this time deeper, that burning passion rising again. Feyd nodded too, “Okay.” His voice so quiet, it vanished with the light moving air.

Feyd held himself up on one hand, pausing a moment to think about how he wanted to proceed. His eyes dancing over Paul’s flush and sweat covered body. So focused on his thoughts, he didn’t notice Paul’s expression turning into one of puzzlement. However the Atradies figured out quickly what was taking up Feyd’s thoughts.

With his legs still on either side of Feyd, Paul leveraged himself up, squirming some, trying to reach for his nightstand drawer. However, it was a near fruitless effort, as he and Feyd were in the middle of his large bed. Feyd had snapped out of his thoughts the moment Paul started to move, but he was enjoying the sight of Paul half struggling. Though he easily saw what Paul was reaching for.

Feyd followed Paul’s attention, quickly leaning over to the nightstand and rooting through the small drawer. With little effort he found what Paul was trying to get. The Harkonnen’s evident success brought a new wave of embarrassment washing over Paul. Feyd didn’t have to guess what it was; a small, half full, bottle.

Paul hid his eyes, not truly able to hide any other part of himself, downcasting his gaze, all but closing them entirely. Paul made himself small under Feyd, his chest and shoulders curled in some, his legs holding on a little tighter. Doing all this, feeling all this, all while Feyd was inspecting the bottle, plotting his next set of actions; when he finally noticed Paul.

Feyd leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to Paul’s cheek, his fingers gliding down Paul’s blushed cheek. “Are you ready?” He asked in a low voice, sweet and caring. With that same hand, he tilted Paul’s head up, forcing their gazes to connect. In the young nobles eyes were a flurry of emotions; excitement, joy, worry. So many feelings happening at once, it sucked the air out of both of them. Feyd brushed his lips against Paul’s, with his eyes open and looking deeply into Paul’s. “I love you, Paul.” Feyd’s voice was so quiet, the sound of their thundering heartbeats nearly overshowded it. But Paul heard clearly.

Paul’s eyes went wide, he knew his own feelings, and knew for how long he’d been harboring them, but he never thought, only hoped, that Feyd would return them. “I love you, Feyd.” Paul spoke louder, a declaration. Wrapping his arms around Feyd’s neck and pulling him down on top of himself in an embrace. A fit of laughter following after.

They connect again in a kiss, deep and passionate, their tongues locked in an erotic dance, while their hands explore each other's bodies. Feyd snaked his hand between them, slipping it around Paul’s member and stroking him heartily. Paul fell into another round of moans, each ripping from his throat; whereas Feyd was grinding himself against Paul’s thigh. Both yearning for release.

Feyd never stopped plumbing at Paul, but also never allowing him release, moving lingered, almost tourtorsly so. With his free hand, Feyd popped the bottle and slicked up his fingers with the lubricant; slowly and carefully working his fingers inside of Paul. At this point, Paul was more than a mess, moans slipped from him like a beautiful opera; Feyd’s ministrations had him a sweaty puddle.

Little by little. Feyd slipped three fingers into Paul, pumping in and out of him while also continuously stroking his erection. Feyd intentionally starving himself of touch, enjoying the moment and sight before him. His own erection painfully throbbing.

Paul gripped onto Feyd’s strong, flexed arms, “Feyd, I- p-please.” Paul could barely form words, let alone able to convey his wants. His eyes again glassy and half open, his lips now dry and chapped, but still puffy. The young noble looked the picture of perfection to Feyd.

Feyd nodded simply, gingerly removing his fingers, earning the deepest groan from Paul thus far. Feyd brought Paul close for a kiss, the softest, most gentle he’d offered the entire night; it took Paul by surprise.

Feyd adjusted his positions, scooting just a bit back to allow for himself to better align with Paul’s entrance.

Feyd had himself propped up on one elbow, staying close to Paul, while he began to slowly press the tip of his member into Paul. Feyd was met with a shutter from Paul. The noble’s hands gripping tightly at Feyd’s shoulders, leaving deep crescent shaped indents in his pale skin. Feyd tried to stifle a growl, but every sensation had him near roaring. In his excitement, Feyd pushed a bit more of himself inside Paul.

Paul clenched, hard, around Feyd; earning another animalistic sound from the Harkonnen.

“Paul.” Feyd’s voice was strained and low, the gravel that’s ever present exacerbated. It riled Paul up in a way he would never expect. “Paul- I-” Feyd spoke in huffs, having to fight every urge to not hammer into Paul.

Paul took steadying breaths, trying to relax his body, to some degree it worked. Paul felt as if his skin was on fire, his body igniting with a passion he could only find in Feyd. Paul couldn’t really speak, his voice so strained, so he vigorously nodded his head, kissing Feyd with the same amount of vigor. Through action, Paul conveyed his wants, and Feyd obliged.

Feyd broke the kiss to lock eyes with Paul, watching, almost dutifully, as he fully sheathed himself inside Paul. The noble’s mouth fell open, and eyes rolling back, his head thrusted into the pillow; a silent moan leaving Paul’s body any way it could.

Feyd began slow, pulling out some, before, just as slowly thrusting back in. Their mouths connected without them thinking about it. Though starting slowly, soon they were moving at a bruising pace. Feyd had fast repositioned himself, up on his knees, his hands gripped at Paul’s hips. Paul had his head buried into the bed, his hands balled into painful fists in the sheets.

Paul shifted his legs to drape over Feyd’s shoulders, while his own head and shoulders buried deeper into the bed. Feyd used the new angle and leverage to pound into Paul that much harder.

Feyd’s speed picked up after that. With his teeth gritted, he began to thrust into Paul harder. The sounds of skin and muscle clapping together filled the room, Paul’s moans having gone horse and broken.

Feyd’s thrusts and rhythm were quickly becoming erratic, his grip on Paul becoming harder. “P-Paul.” Feyd croaked out, his own voice starting to go. “I’m-” Feyd tried to give warning, though needless; Paul knew, his whole body ready and wanting. Despite his own erection going without attention, he was close as well.

“Feyd- I.” Paul tried, it hurt to speak, the angle he was at doing nothing to help.

Hearing Paul’s cracked voice breath out his name was Feyd’s undoing. He dug his nails into Paul’s skin, colliding their hips together; though Feyd was on shaky knees and quickly becoming fumbled and erratic. Feyd slammed into Paul, hard, a few times, releasing into Paul.

The new sensation that ran through Paul had him, almost painfully, arching his back, pushing against Feyd; all while shooting his load onto his own stomach, a shrill moan escaping him in that same instant. It was beyond euphoric.

Everything stilled then, as if frozen in time. The two felt like they were flying, adrift in the stars. When the crash happened, it was slow. Feyd pulled out of Paul before collapsing beside him, however, their legs were still tangled together.

The moment Feyd let go of Paul, he fell to the bed limp. The two a mess of sweat, pants and tangled limbs. They lay together, a bit sticky, holding onto one another.

Paul nuzzled into Feyd, his face pressed against the other s chest. Feyd held the Atradies close.

“You okay?” Feyd asked, combing his fingers through Paul’s curls. His other hand traced patterns on Paul’s arm.

Paul nodded, his face rubbing against Feyd’s pale skin. “I’m okay. Better even.” Paul answered, meeting Feyd’s gaze. Their eyes were filled with a deep love and passion. They shared a short sweet kiss before a big yawn left Paul.

“It’s late. You should sleep.” Feyd declared, going to remove himself from the bed, but was hastfully stopped by Paul. Grabbing his arm and pulling him back down.

“Don’t leave.” It came out as begging, but Paul was begging.

Feyd smiled, a small nod given, “Okay.”

Feyd pulled the comforter over the two of them, the lights going dim as they settled in. Though it was late, they still had a long night together.

Many nights were spent like this between the two. For three years they were able to be together, their time spent was blissful. A love as grand as theirs had not been seen in the universe in a millennia. But like all great happiness and love, comes great sorrow and hatred.

Paul and Feyd were able to keep the idea of regal marriage at bay, Paul switching his efforts into ascending Dukedom through other means. The plan they’d spent months on was simple; Feyd leaves Calidan to claim his right as Baron, and the two would marry. Forever changing the course of history; but things didn’t go to plan.

During the begging of their relationship, both knew the secret of them would not last without help. Paul turned to one of his closest friends; Duncan. Duncan was the one to help them in tight spots, see to them having some privacy, all around being the support system the two needed.

Before Paul’s 23rd birthday the two decided it was time for Feyd to leave for Gedi Prime.

The night before Feyd would leave, “How will I know?” Paul asked, worried, near frantic.

Feyd brought Paul into a deep kiss, holding him close. “You’ll know. I’ll be on your doorstep.” Feyd wore a smile, but his gaze was soft, something concerning in them.

“I’ll be waiting.” Paul spoke in a hushed voice, a few tears slipping from his eyes. “I’m going to miss you.” Paul laid his head against Feyd’s chest, listening to his heart beat.

Feyd hummed, nodding in agreement. “I’m going to miss you.” Feyd whispered to Paul, kissing his cheek in the process. Paul held him tighter. Feyd brought his hand to Paul’s chin and tilted his head up to meet Feyd’s gaze. “No matter how far apart we are, we will always have the stars.”

Paul nodded, more tears falling, the two melting into each other's arms, committing everything to memory, as it would be the last they would share for a long time.

The next day, Duncan was to take him during a diplomatic mission to Kaitan. However, before they could leave for Gedi Prime, they were attacked by the Harkonnens.

When Duncan arrived back at Calidan with the news, it crushed Paul. For months he would not eat and barely slept. All alone, even then only Duncan knew and only he was able to comfort Paul, what little he could.

Three more years passed. Paul becoming a husk of himself, doing mundane things to keep his mind at ease, though most days a fruitless effort. Until one day, when his mother came storming into his room. Proudly announcing Paul’s betrothal. Something that about made him instantly cry, it took everything in him to stay composed in front of his mother.

Before he knew it, he was shipped off to Kaitan. Fast living in the Emperor’s palace, betrothed to the princess.

#fanfiction #fanfic #dune #dune part 2 #paul atreides x feyd rautha #paul atreides #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #princess bride #romance #fantasy #alternate universe #smut #feyd rautha smut #Paul Atredies smut

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 1 month

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Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

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