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lincolndjarin · 1 year

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Best Kept Secret

chapter one : honeymoon (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 6.7k

summary : you've been married off to a far away prince, turns out, he isn't your prince charming. however he did gift you a bodyguard as a wedding present.

warnings, etc. : arranged marriage, language

Absurd.

That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” That’s what they had told you when they adorned you with the gaudy sapphire jewelry. “He’s going to love this.” That’s what they had told you as they pinned your hair into uncomfortable curls, braiding in unfamiliar flowers. They were horrendous, far too large and the smell of them nauseated you, or maybe that was just the nerves, who knows. If you were fortunate enough maybe you would discover a surprise allergy to the flowers and your throat would close and your face would turn blue. You wondered if the prince would like that.

Blue had once been a comforting color but not this blue. This blue was intense, harsh, hard to stare at for too long. Nothing like the blue that made you think of home. On the rare days where the snow stopped falling briefly and the sky was clear, Hoth was beautiful. The blue back home was quiet. The color of the sky seemed to swallow the snow and everything became one soft mix of periwinkle. This is not that. This is loud and garish.

The two girls who had been dressing you took a step back and smiled at you waiting for approval as you took in the sight of yourself in the floor length mirror. The dress itself was beautiful, if accompanied by tasteful accessories you might have actually found yourself almost nice to look at. A simple off the shoulder satin gown. On anyone else you were sure it would be absolutely stunning but it was so hot here, nobody had told you it would be this hot. The dress felt as though it was sticking to your skin, you hated the way it made you feel like you were trapped in some sort of fabric prison. But even with the thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of you it was the rest of the ensemble that made you look like you were supposed to be attending some sort of costume party, and not your own wedding. To say that the amount of accessories was excessive would be an understatement. Bracelets, bangles, arm bands, several tacky necklaces, even an anklet you couldn’t even see under the gown. All of the sapphires were so bright they seemed to glow, if you swayed your arms fast enough it almost mimicked the sight of hyperspace. The two ladies-in-waiting who had been assigned to you started to give each other nervous looks as you purse your lips silently taking in the ridiculous blue eyeshadow that adorned your otherwise unmade up face. The young Togruta girl speaks up first.

“Is everything to your liking ma’am?”

No. You look like you should be working in a pleasure house, not marrying a prince.

But the anxiety in her voice is enough to soften your gaze as you speak what might be the first words to leave your mouth since you landed on Naboo. It seemed like everyone was comfortable speaking for you and you knew none of them cared what you had to say so why bother.

“You two have done a wonderful job… thank you.” You turned around to face them, giving them the warmest smile you could muster considering the circumstances. The relief on their faces as you spoke gave you more comfort than you’d had in days. “I am truly grateful to have such wonderful staff, thank you for making me feel so at home. I’m sorry I didn’t catch your names earlier?”

“I am Elaine and this is Lysa.” The Togruta girl is the one who speaks up again, pointing to herself and then to the human girl. They both smiled as they turned you back towards the mirror and began to do last minute touch ups. You all stood in silence once more until Lysa spoke.

“You look so lovely, he is going to adore you.” She spoke softly, almost as if it was meant more for her own comfort than it was for yours as she straightened a flower in your hair.

He. That was how they referred to him. Nobody spoke of him other than to tell you how lucky you were, and how grateful you should be for this opportunity. No one described him to you in the slightest. No one even said his name, you were pretty sure it started with a “K.” Your betrothed was nothing more than a stranger. And as you stared at yourself in the mirror once more that was what you saw. A stranger. You didn’t recognize the woman in your reflection. She was not the young princess from Hoth, she was simply an item to entertain this “he.” Dolled up to be more appealing for a man she had never even met, adorned in his favorite color to make her more attractive to a man she had already decided she did not care for.

“What is he like?” You cocked your head slightly as you deliberately observed the girls facial expressions for a reaction, you immediately regretted that decision because of the glance they gave each other. It was enough to make you not want to know the answer so you quickly stammer out another question. “What does he look like?” The Togruta girl clears her throat, you make a mental note that out of the two girls she seems to be the voice.

“He is very handsome, my lady.” She straightens out your dress one last time and they both take a step back and observe you. “He dresses very well. Just like most of the royal family he has very defined features, striking blue eyes.”

“Oh yes my lady, he is very well known for his beautiful blue eyes.” The human girl smiles at you as she speaks nervously standing behind her partner now. A small part of you started to pray that his favorite color was not blue simply because that was the color of his eyes. They both seem to be struggling to come up with any other defining features of your intended which doesn’t exactly put you at ease.

“He is also blonde.” Elaine chimes in with a reassuring smile as you watch your reflection frown.

You had always had a preference for brunettes.

✩

He could be worse.

That was what you had to keep reminding yourself as you sat now in the large dining hall, it seemed like everyone was laughing and chatting it up except for you. The seat to your left reserved for your husband was empty, you could see him in the crowd toasting with a group of men you assumed were cousins or brothers purely based on the physical similarities. Honestly you wouldn’t be able to tell your husband apart from the rest of them if he wasn’t wearing that horrendous electric blue suit. Your table at the back of the room, facing the rest of the hall, was empty. Save for you and Leodall.

After your husband had so graciously run off after the ceremony to chat it up with his friends or whatever it was that was apparently much more important than you, you were walked to the reception by an orange Twi’lek who introduced himself as your personal servant, Leodall, Leo for short. No one seemed to even glance at you as they began to take to the dance floor. Of course your loving husband didn’t ask you to dance, why would he when he seemed to be taking the hand of a rather pretty red headed girl and wrapping his arms around her waist, laughing as they began to sway to the music. Prince Kodo Harand. That was his name, at least that is what the priest had said during the ceremony. He had given you a rather cocky “hello” once you had walked down the aisle, and he had kissed you with far more tongue than you would have liked, and now you sat alone. Princess Harand. Lucky you. And of course your family wasn’t here to keep you company, you don’t even think they were invited, why would they be? This wedding had nothing to do with you, it had everything to do with finding someone of royal descent to marry the prince of Naboo in exchange for trade deals. You wondered if there had ever been someone who felt as lonely as you did right now, at their own wedding.

“Leo?” You turned to where he was standing directly behind you. He was also staring at the prince with a rather annoyed look on his face.

“Yes my lady?” He turned his gaze to you. He was far too serious for someone who only seemed to be a few years older than you were.

“I am getting rather tired, I should like to retire to my chambers.”

You also should like to not watch my husband dance with some of the most gorgeous girls you’ve ever seen. Seems like he has found a rather attractive brunette now to keep him company on the dance floor. Leo looks to the prince and then back to you.

“It is rather early my lady… perhaps you could stay just a bit longer? It is after all your wedding.”

“Is it?” You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at him, gesturing to the empty chairs surrounding you. Before he could object you stood and began marching towards the exit.

“My lady! Perhaps you might enjoy some refreshments! And perhaps you might reconsider your early departure!” Even in the gown you were more agile than him as you weaved through the crowds, waving off muttered “congratulations.” Once through the large doors of the great hall you felt as though you could finally breathe. The halls out here were dark, a few guards seemed to be passing around a flask but they immediately straightened up as they saw you, you pretended not to see them, hoping they might resume they’re drinking. After all, someone should have fun at your wedding. You lifted your skirt slightly and tried to remember where your room was as Leo finally caught up to you.

“Was it right or left…?” You stare down the nearly identical hallways as you hear two sets of footsteps approaching you.

“Wife! Where are you off to? I have a wedding present for you!” How fortunate that you married someone with such a distinct, nasally voice so you can plaster on a faux smile before you face him. You turned to see a disgruntled Leo following behind Kodo. Great. Your clearly drunk husband has a present for you on your wedding night. You have to physically resist rolling your eyes as he takes your hand and begins dragging you towards your chambers, Leo stumbling to keep up with you.

“Are you sure this cannot wait until tomorrow dear husband?” It’s unlikely he’ll want to put this off but there’s no shame in trying.

“No no no… trust me you are going to love this…”

Well he certainly is confident in his abilities.

He stumbles through the many confusing halls of the castle until arriving at your door, stopping just outside. He opens the door just a crack and peers inside before shutting it again, putting his hands on your shoulders, a big dopey grin on his face as he drunkenly slurs.

“I must be getting back to the party my dear wife but your present is inside, I left you a little note on your vanity.” He leans forward and gives you a sloppy kiss, you do your best not to recoil.

“I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand?” You managed to pull him off you long enough to speak. But he’s already walking away.

“Do not fret, wife, you will love it. I will see you at dinner in a few days!” He yells over his shoulder before rushing back down to the party. You turn to stare at Leo who is just as shocked as you are as you can’t help but double over in laughter.

“Is he serious?” You’re laughing so hard you’re practically crying, Leo doesn’t seem to find the situation as funny as you do. You wipe a tear from your lash line as you straighten up. “If our marriage is anything like today has been I suppose it shall not be all that bad.” You manage to say through your laughter. He doesn’t speak, he simply opens the doors to your chambers for you, placing his hand on your back to usher you inside.

“I suppose I should not have expected any less of our prince.” Leo mutters as he closes the door behind the two of you he begins lighting the lamps around the dark room. “Shall I summon your ladies-in-waiting to help you undress my lady?” You open your mouth to answer but you’re stopped dead in your tracks as you stare at the suit of armor in the center of the room. The mannequin it appears to be resting on is rather tall. You can’t help but stare at the way the lamp light flickers against the Beskar. A Mandalorian statue? What an odd gift. You instinctively walk towards it as you mumble.

“That won’t be necessary… it is late, do not wake them, I can do it myself.” Leo looks as if he is about to protest but the note on the vanity catches his eye, he holds it between two fingers and begins to read it to himself as you stand directly in front of the armor now, your fingers raised to trace one of the gauntlets. “It certainly is a beautiful set of armor… I just don’t understand what exactly he wants me to do with it.” You run your hands across the chestplate, admiring the fine craftsmanship before you turn to face Leo, a concerned look on your face.

This better not be a weird sex thing.

“He doesn’t expect me to wear it, does he? Is this some sort of weird fetish of his?” You find yourself looking back to the armor nervously. “It’s far too large for me… I think I would look rather foolish, like a child wearing her mothers clothing...” You bring a hand up to the helmet, a small shiver running down your spine as you stare into the lifeless visor.

“Princess… perhaps you should wait a moment.” Leo stares at the note for a moment more before his mouth opens slightly to speak again as he gives you a warning look. But it is too late, you lift the helmet a fraction of an inch and let out a startled shriek as the armor shifts to grab both of your arms in one large hand, pulling your hand back down.

“Don’t.”

The voice that comes from the modulator is low, it is gentle with you but is by no means joking as he releases his grip on your arm you stumble backwards.

“Maker! You scared me half to death.” You bring your hand up to your chest as Leo rushes to your side to stabilize you, you stare at the Mandalorian in surprise for a moment before your gaze turns angry and you poke a finger into his chest. “What is your problem! Why didn’t you say something!?” He only shrugs in response.

“I was instructed not to speak to you until you read the note.”

Bastard.

Leo leans forward to whisper to you.

“It should appear that the prince has hired the Mandalorian to be your personal bodyguard, my lady.” Leo’s voice shakes as he stares up at the intimidating silhouette of the armored man but you are not so easily swayed, clearing your throat as you speak.

“You are dismissed Leo.” Your eyes never leave the steel visor.

“My lady, are you sure it is wise-”

“If my husband deems him fit to protect me then he is fit to protect me. Unless of course you are questioning the prince’s judgment?” You turn to glare at the Twi’lek who is now nervously tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. He does nothing but stare back at you for what feels like minutes until he finally sighs and makes a beeline for the door.

“As you wish, my lady. Ring for me if you require anything.” He closes the door and you turn back to the Mandalorian, who unsurprisingly hasn’t moved an inch, other than the way his helmet seems to shake ever so slightly but you ignore it as you walk over to your vanity, crumpling up the note and tossing it in the bin before starting to remove your jewelry, setting the ugly pieces onto the table.

“So what exactly is your job?” You don’t give him the courtesy of facing him, not after he scared you like that.

“It was all written in the note.”

It’s annoying how unbothered he sounds. You take off the last piece of jewelry, lifting your skirt and raising your leg to rest your foot on the ottoman to unclasp the anklet, you swear you see his helmet tilt in your direction in the mirror, but when you turn to face him he is in the same position, staring at the wall.

“I don’t care about the note. I want to hear it from you.” You fetch yourself a nightgown as you step behind the screen next to the vanity, carefully slipping out of the dress, out of sight of the Mandalorian.

“My job is to make sure you are not harmed.” He speaks so quietly you’re surprised the modulator even picks up his voice. Once dressed you step out from behind the screen and take a seat at the vanities mirror, wearing a gray silk nightgown. It’s fancier than what you’d usually wear but it doesn’t seem like they bothered to unpack any of your clothes you brought from home. You silently pray that they didn’t throw them away.

“So you just… follow me around?” You can feel the frown forming as you begin to carefully remove the now wilting flowers from your hair.

“Yes.”

Not much of a talker this guy.

“Actually I’m good.” Your voice is snippy and you know you’re being a bit blunt but you’ve had a rough day. Finally, he deliberately moves, his head turning to watch as you undo the pin curls, your hair falling down in waves as you do.

“Excuse me?” Finally, some sign of emotion. Even if it is a twinge of anger.

“Can you not hear through the helmet? I’m good. I’ve already got an ensemble of people trailing me. I don’t need another.” You rifle through the drawers until you find a rag to wipe the makeup from your eyes before turning around to stare at him. “You’re dismissed.”

“You don’t have the authority to dismiss me.” His voice is tense, if you could see his face you were sure he’d be scowling. It’s good to know he is capable of emotion. Even better to know it isn’t difficult to rile him up.

“I don’t know if you know this but I just married the eldest son of the king and queen. That makes me the future queen, I’m pretty sure I have the authority to do whatever I please.” You hadn’t said those words aloud until now, you hadn’t even thought them. It lifted a weight off your shoulders, somehow it made things a bit easier, to know that despite this entire situation you found yourself in that at the very least you found yourself in a position of power.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I have direct orders from the eldest son of the king and queen to not let you out of my site from the moment you leave this room until you return to it.” He mocks your tone exactly as he crosses his arms.

Shit. He’s got you there. Did Kodo have to pick this man to guard you?

“Well… I’m in this room now. So I don’t require your presence. You may go.” You wish you could come up with something more witty but you're tired, you just want to be alone, to have a single moment to try and process what a whirlwind these last few days have been. You swear you hear an annoyed huff come through his modulator.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice is sharp and he speaks with a finality that makes you want to argue further.

But he doesn’t give you time to respond. He simply leaves. Once he is gone you rush to the door to lock it and begin to dim all the lamps in the room. In the pale light you stare at the comically large bed and your stomach drops. For the first time since arriving on Naboo you feel cold. The idea of spending your wedding night in such a big bed alone makes you feel sick. Were the ceilings of this room always so high? You find yourself opening the closet. It’s the size of your room back home, it’s perfect. All of the fabric of the unfamiliar clothes that were now yours made it quiet, and soft, and warm. You grabbed a lamp from one of the many small tables around the room, (who needs this many tables?) and bring it to the closet, closing the door behind you as you rummage through the many drawers until you find one full of blankets and pillows, making yourself a nest before settling down in it. It was just as comfortable as your bed back home and you wrapped yourself around one of the larger pillows.

You wanted to cry.

You should be crying but you're not. You’re just staring at the flickering lamp. There were a million things you could think about to make yourself cry but at this point it wasn’t even worth it. You’re tired, and there will be plenty of time for crying later, after all this was your life now. So instead you closed your eyes and pretended you weren’t here at all, that you were back home, and you weren’t completely alone, your many siblings were just down the hall in their respective rooms. But they aren’t, they’re back on Hoth. You’re on Naboo. They are all still together.

And you are alone.

✩

He won’t leave you alone.

It’s been ten days since the wedding but it feels like ten months. And the Mandalorian will not leave you alone. You have only seen your husband twice since the wedding, short dinners the night of every fifth cycle, last night he had told you that he saw no need to produce an heir until his father died.

How romantic.

But as much as you yearn for companionship you cannot help but be grateful that he has not ever joined you in bed. He doesn’t repulse you by any means but he just seems… indifferent. Like he couldn't care less for you, which is fine considering you aren’t exactly infatuated with him. But you’re lonely nonetheless. Conversations with your husband are one sided, once you realize he doesn’t care for anything that comes out of your mouth your dinners become much less awkward, he would ramble on about anything he found interesting for an hour and then leave. You heard a servant in passing whisper something about him going to a brothel after your second dinner. You wanted to be more upset about that but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. As long as it kept him out of your chambers.

Elaine and Lysa are sweet but they are clearly intimidated by you, or at the very least they are afraid of upsetting you. So you’ve found that it’s best to just not talk to them at all unless it is to praise them or thank them. They show up like clockwork every morning to dress you and in the evening to undress you. You’re starting to feel like a doll. But they do not comment on the makeshift bed in the closet so you decide they are your favorites. Leo on the other hand has made it quite clear he doesn’t approve of your sleeping situation, you don’t bother trying to explain yourself because you know he won’t care, so now you let him watch you get under the covers of your ornate bed every night before you retreat to the closet. He can be a bit uptight and he’s terrible at conversation but the best thing about Leo is that he doesn’t hover. You honestly don’t know where he runs off to but he’s always there when you need him and he doesn’t overstay his welcome.

Speaking of overstaying his welcome, you can see the Mandalorian over the top of the book you are currently pretending to read.

He has become your least favorite person in your new life. He is ranked even lower than Kodo. You were currently dedicating your life to exploring every inch of the castle and mapping it out, you had taken to carrying around a small journal and noting locations you liked and places to avoid. This might be an enjoyable challenge if it weren’t for the walking hunk of metal that seemed to always be standing just out of arm's reach from you. It’s infuriating the way he always stands in your peripherals, you are always aware of his presence even when you are doing everything in your power to ignore him.

Neither of you had spoken much since your first meeting. He had been rude, why would you speak to him? (Of course you had been rude as well but that's besides the point.) He waits outside your door every morning, and he is there when you return at night. Two days ago you had daydreamed about escaping out the window to avoid him, but considering your chambers were on the fourth floor you decided against it.

A few days ago was when you had reached your boiling point. He had to sleep eventually, that was what you had told yourself as you opened the door to your chambers at 3 a.m. Under all that metal he was still just a person. (Or at least you were pretty sure he was.) So you donned a robe and a glowrod as you slipped into the hall. For the first time he wasn’t standing there. You just had to find your way to the library, you wanted a few books and you didn’t want to feel his steel gaze judging your every choice, you wanted something cheesy and romantic, something you could read in the closet when you couldn’t sleep. (Which was most nights.) Everytime he followed you into the library you found yourself too nervous to read so now was your chance. Surprisingly it only took you a few minutes to find it. Creeping inside you managed to find five books, clutching them in your arms you stepped back out in the hall and as you closed the library doors as quietly and quickly as you could you turned around and slammed into metal, stumbling backwards and landing on your ass, your books going everywhere.

“Gods…” You groaned in pain as the back of your head knocked against the door, your eyes adjusted to the darkness as the glowrod illuminated a familiar pair of boots. “You are just- the nerve of you- I can’t even begin to-” Your mind stuttered through a million different insults but eventually you just gave up, huffing angrily as you picked up the light, he reached down to help you up and you shoved his gloved hands away. Leaving the books, you storm off, back towards what you hope is the direction of your room. He didn’t speak as he followed silently behind you, the only indication that he was still there was the reflection of the dim light against Beskar. You looked down two hallways trying fruitlessly to remember which way to go.

“Left.”

Maker, he didn’t even sound tired. If looks could kill the glare you gave him as you turned left would have him six feet under. As you finally see the doors to your chamber you sigh in relief, just wanting to forget about this silly attempt to have a moment of normalcy.

“I knew that.” Is all you can manage to mutter, still fuming to the point that you know you can’t form witty insults as you open your chamber doors.

“Sure you did.”

As you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find yourself in the dark corridor alone. Oh you hate him. This is why he is your least favorite.

You don’t know much about Mandalorians, your mother had always said they were dangerous but that was all that was ever said about the topic. He doesn’t seem all that threatening. Sure he’s tall, and his shoulders were ludicrously broad, and he wore impenetrable armor but you’ve been sitting here staring at him for two hours now and honestly you were pretty sure at this point that you could beat him in a fight.

Okay you might be starting to lose it.

You haven’t had a real conversation with anyone since your wedding night, it’s not your fault if you’re starting to feel a little scatterbrained. Maybe you could push him out a window. That armor certainly wouldn’t save him from a fall. That might be too risky, with your luck you’ll end up going out the window with him. As you begin to ponder if Beskar is fireproof a familiar modulated voice breaks the silence causing you to drop your book in shock.

“Don’t.”

In your fantasies of knocking a candle over onto his cape you hadn’t realized his helmet was facing you now.

“You really seem to love that word.” You cock an eyebrow at him. “You also seem to love scaring unsuspecting girls.” You mumble.

“I heard that.”

Stupid helmet with its stupid abilities. You really need to start keeping a list of what that thing is capable of. Maybe the helmet is what makes his stupid voice so deep.

“Of course you did.” You lean back in your chair as you look him up and down. “What exactly is it that you don’t want me doing?”

“Don’t act like you can outsmart me.”

Wiseass.

“I wasn’t doing that, I don’t know if you can see through that visor of yours but I was reading.” You scoff at him as you cross your arms.You hear him hum softly through the modulator as he walks in your direction, standing between you and the book on the floor.

“What were you reading?”

Dank Farrik.

You’re pretty sure you can see his shit-eating grin through the Beskar.

“I’m not even going to humor the accusation you’re getting at.” For a split second you swear you catch the start of a laugh before his modulator cuts it off. Soundproof, you can add that to the list. He leans up against a bookshelf as he stares down at you now.

“Maybe it was another romance novel?” Maker, he's the worst. You fight back the pink that threatens to tint your face as you play dumb.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.” You wondered if you could have him beheaded. Do they do public executions on Naboo?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about..” Is all you can manage to spit out as you reach to a nearby shelf and grab the first book your fingers touch, it looks to be some sort of architecture guide. Better than nothing. “Leave me be, I’m trying to read.” You open the book quickly and as your eyes glance across the pages, much to your dismay, you don’t recognize the language it’s in, he doesn’t need to know that though.

“You left some books out a few nights ago.”

You try to hide the way your breath hitches. There’s no way he went back for them. Unless he did. Why would he do that though there would be no reason. Why is your heart racing like you’re on trial? Why can’t you stop the pink that tinges the tips of your ears?

“I read a lot of books, you can’t possibly expect me to remember every one.” You turn a page and continue scanning your eyes across the unfamiliar text.

“The Smitten Paladin… My Barbarian Love… Interstellar Bride… The Tongues of-”

“SHUT UP.” You slam the book shut and you can’t fight the rose tint that fills your face now.

“As you wish, princess.”

Oh you were definitely gonna kill him now. How hard would it be to get your hands on a vibroblade…? You didn’t speak now, you couldn’t even look at him. There’s no way he had seen those that night when you dropped them, the bastard went back for them. If you could find out where is quarters were maybe you could smother him in his sleep. You assumed he would resume his mockery of you but he never did, he just stared for several minutes as you returned to your book, doing your best to pretend that you knew what it was about until he finally broke the silence.

“So how were you thinking of doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Outsmarting me. Or escaping me, or killing me? Whichever one it was you were plotting.”

You wonder if he was sweating under all those layers as you allowed yourself the first indulgence of really taking him in. He wears heavy black fabric under all of his armor. You wore light and flowy dresses and you always felt like it was too hot. You also can’t stop yourself from wondering if he purposefully makes his voice lower, he must scream into a pillow or something to make it that raspy. You didn’t like how warm it suddenly got in here. This stupid planet and its stupid heat.

“Well I can’t just tell you my top secret plans, what will you give me in exchange?” You hated the way his helmet tilted to the side to mimic you.

“How about a walk through the gardens?”

“We have gardens?” Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief, just when you thought you were starting to map this place out… He nods and you ponder it for a moment before holding your hand out for a handshake. “Deal.” He takes your hand in his and gives you one firm shake but you hold him there and stare at his hand. “Your gloves are stupid, why are the fingers yellow?” He groans as he pulls away.

As he pulls his hand back you catch a glimpse of his bare wrist. You hadn’t really thought about what he might look like under the armor up until now. You’re sort of surprised by how tan his skin is. As you stare for what is definitely too long he clears his throat and you find yourself face to face with his visor.

Shit, shit shit.

“Sorry, I got distracted by how stupid your gloves are.”

“Keep talking like that and I won’t take you to the gardens at all.”

“That’s fine, now that I know they exist I’ll just find them on my own.” You stand up, making your way towards the library exit.

“You do realize I follow you everywhere right?”

“You’re very observative aren’t you?” You scoff.

“You won’t find them on your own. You’ve lived here two weeks and you still can’t find your room without help from Leo.”

“This is why you’re my least favorite.”

“What?” He doesn’t even pretend to sound hurt, his voice is filled with genuine curiosity and for a fleeting moment you want to give in because for the first time in weeks you aren’t thinking about how alone you are in a castle surrounded by people. Because for the first time since you arrived on this planet you were having a real conversation, and even though you hated him he was the first person who seemed like he actually cared about what you had to say, and not just because you were royalty and it was his job.

“Do you want to hear about my secret plans or not?” You decide to change the subject and watch as for the first time, he walks next to you, not behind you, as he nods.

“I’d love to know how you plan on getting away from a trained bounty hunter.”

Bounty hunter. You’ll have to ask him about that later if he allows you to keep talking to him. A small part of you hopes that he will.

“I thought I might start by pushing you off of something high up.” You grin at him. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and it wasn’t for the benefit of others.

“Wouldn’t work.”

“Oh come on, your armor isn’t gonna save you from a fall from one of the castle towers-” He pulls back his cape to reveal a jetpack and you shut up. “Okay new plan, I throw your pack off the roof first.” He nods.

“You would never be able to get it off me but sure. Next plan.” Maker, you hate how smug he is. You want to slap the stupid smile you have to assume he is currently donning off of his face.

“Well I really only had two plans, plan number two was to light your cape on fire.”

“Fire’s not gonna kill me, that's just gonna make me angry.”

“Well in that situation I wouldn't be trying to kill you, the fire would be a distraction as I make my escape.”

“There is not a single situation in this world in which you are capable of hiding from me.”

Why does he have to say it so huskily? Why does it suddenly feel so hot in this stupid castle? You decide he deliberately makes his voice sound deeper to make himself more intimidating.

You open your mouth to protest but you remember the bounty hunter thing and decide to save yourself from any more embarrassment. He stops walking and you stare at the familiar doors to your chambers.

“Hey! You promised me gardens!” He opens the door for you before taking a step back.

“It’s too late for gardens. We’ll go tomorrow.” You want to argue, you want to do anything to keep talking to him, even if you loathe him and his terrible attitude. But you don’t want to ruin this, and a part of you likes the prospect of more conversation tomorrow.

“Promise?” You hate how eager you sound.

“Promise.”

You begin to step inside your chambers but he puts a hand on your shoulder. It makes you let out a small gasp as you turn to face him.

“Before you go I have to tell you something, princess.” The voice that comes from the modulator is hushed, he leans in as if he is going to tell you a secret and your eyes get wide, you can see your reflection in his helmet, your face is going pink again.

“W-what…?” It’s embarrassing the way you stutter but he’s so close now that you can’t help it, if he got any closer your breath would fog up the Beskar. You had no idea what he was about to say but for some reason your heart was beating out of your chest. God what is wrong with you today? The heat must be messing with your head.

“It was in Galactic Basic.”

Well now he just wasn’t making any sense. Maybe the heat was messing with his head too.

“I don’t care for riddles.”

“Your book, earlier, the one about architecture. The one that you couldn’t understand.” He takes a step back and you furrow your brows, how the hell did he know you didn’t understand it, but more importantly, obviously you spoke Galactic Basic.

“I didn’t realize you were capable of telling jokes.”

“You were holding it upside down.” His hand drops from your shoulder and he takes a step back, waiting for a response but any snarky comeback dies on your tongue as your face burns up, realizing he’s right. Is he leaning forward in anticipation?

Scumbag.

“Good night, Mando.” As you start to close the door you can hear him chuckling.

“Good night, princess.”

Jackass. You hope that he’s ugly under the helmet.

You also hope he’s brunette.

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joannasteez · 9 months

Text

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited.

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it.

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win.

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel.

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision.

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away.

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself.

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits.

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card.

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak.

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles.

"end it", roman calls, walking away.

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need.

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly.

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering.

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he.

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality.

and he's just sitting there...

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient.

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win.

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything.

"i didn't do anything wrong".

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers.

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too".

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution".

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time".

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth".

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino".

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers.

but still... that damn mouth of yours.

"you tried remember", mirthless but not.

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go.

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls.

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise.

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room".

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss.

"i can escort myself".

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips.

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you.

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?"

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy.

"just call it reassurance".

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid".

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please".

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business.

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?"

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen".

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security".

"noted".

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?"

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes.

"you either are or you aren't. no in between".

"that means you'll stay put then?"

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet".

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win.

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical.

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will.

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda.

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod.

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often.

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time.

"because the boss said so".

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets.

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take.

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip.

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done.

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite.

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser.

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud.

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts.

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses.

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand.

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door.

its house keeping.

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways.

"tell your boss i send my regards".

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real.

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs.

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him.

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them.

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift.

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste.

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you?

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again.

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness.

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here".

"no need to choose when everything is the best".

"that doesn't sound self important at all".

"doesn't make it any less true".

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you.

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him.

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it"

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways".

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business".

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know".

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego.

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever".

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me".

you press again. "why?"

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth".

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you.

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime.

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting.

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second.

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting.

a trivial orbit of faces and voices.

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no".

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me".

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again".

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it.

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please".

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away.

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine.

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?"

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?".

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to". the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips.

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak". even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts.

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him.

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too".

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here".

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following".

"maybe".

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced.

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing".

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then".

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity".

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either.

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?"

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care".

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips.

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you.

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything".

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me".

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here?

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?"

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration.

" 'm not tryin to offend you".

"but here i am. offended".

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you".

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything.

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die".

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood.

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now.

"i have a sweet tooth".

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night.

"i hope so for your sake".

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal.

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places".

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course.

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care".

"control is an acquired taste".

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?"

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours".

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?"

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel".

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman".

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot".

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back.

"you barely know me".

"i could know you, if you let me".

"what's in it for you?"

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex.

"your company".

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind.

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference.

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing.

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you.

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been.

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait".

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am".

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such.

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it.

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork.

"what is it?"

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder.

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more.

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end.

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste.

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?".

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens".

"i aim to please".

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him.

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger.

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger.

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings".

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you.

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace.

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself".

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient.

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it.

"it doesn't disappoint".

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now.

"24".

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed.

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles.

"new york".

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger.

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you".

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple".

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand.

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name.

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?"

"why would there be?"

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious".

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon.

the moment still seems too good to be true for you.

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?"

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even.

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart".

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed.

with roman, you were in for something interesting.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x female reader #sugar daddy vibes to be very honest with you #joannasteez

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arthistoryanimalia · 1 year

Text

René Lalique was born #OTD (6 April 1860 - 1 May 1945). Since it's also still #BatAppreciationWeek, here are a few of Lalique's many bats!

1. bat anklet c.1898-9; gold, enamel, antique & rose diamond, opal 2. bat ring c.1899; silver, enamel, moonstone, gold both Musée des Arts décoratifs

Both these pieces were commissioned as gifts for American writer Natalie Clifford Barney (1876-1972), who was openly lesbian; bats were a Fin de siècle symbol of homosexuality. But they were also popular Art Nouveau motifs thanks to Japonisme. Here is another example:

3. Ring c.1901, gold, blue enamel, sapphire

And another, this one paired with another popular Art Nouveau animal:

4. "Butterflies and Bats" pocketwatch, c. 1899-1900; gold, enamel, moonstone.Via Christie's (sold in 2002 for US$207,500)

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luckbealincoln · 1 year

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter one : honeymoon

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 6.7k

summary : you've been married off to a far away prince, turns out, he isn't your prince charming. however he did gift you a bodyguard as a wedding present.

warnings, etc. : arranged marriage, language

Absurd.

“Is everything to your liking ma’am?”

No. You look like you should be working in a pleasure house, not marrying a prince.

“You look so lovely, he is going to adore you.” She spoke softly, almost as if it was meant more for her own comfort than it was for yours as she straightened a flower in your hair.

“He is also blonde.” Elaine chimes in with a reassuring smile as you watch your reflection frown.

You had always had a preference for brunettes. ✩

He could be worse.

“Leo?” You turned to where he was standing directly behind you. He was also staring at the prince with a rather annoyed look on his face.

“Yes my lady?” He turned his gaze to you. He was far too serious for someone who only seemed to be a few years older than you were.

“I am getting rather tired, I should like to retire to my chambers.”

“It is rather early my lady… perhaps you could stay just a bit longer? It is after all your wedding.”

“Is it?” You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at him, gesturing to the empty chairs surrounding you. Before he could object you stood and began marching towards the exit.

“Was it right or left…?” You stare down the nearly identical hallways as you hear two sets of footsteps approaching you.

“Are you sure this cannot wait until tomorrow dear husband?” It’s unlikely he’ll want to put this off but there’s no shame in trying.

“No no no… trust me you are going to love this…”

Well he certainly is confident in his abilities.

“I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand?” You managed to pull him off you long enough to speak. But he’s already walking away.

This better not be a weird sex thing.

“Don’t.”

The voice that comes from the modulator is low, it is gentle with you but is by no means joking as he releases his grip on your arm you stumble backwards.

“I was instructed not to speak to you until you read the note.”

Bastard.

Leo leans forward to whisper to you.

“You are dismissed Leo.” Your eyes never leave the steel visor.

“My lady, are you sure it is wise-”

“So what exactly is your job?” You don’t give him the courtesy of facing him, not after he scared you like that.

“It was all written in the note.”

“So you just… follow me around?” You can feel the frown forming as you begin to carefully remove the now wilting flowers from your hair.

“Yes.”

Not much of a talker this guy.

“Excuse me?” Finally, some sign of emotion. Even if it is a twinge of anger.

Shit. He’s got you there. Did Kodo have to pick this man to guard you?

“I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice is sharp and he speaks with a finality that makes you want to argue further.

You wanted to cry.

And you are alone. ✩