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venture4treasure · 25 days

Text

“And if you leave me. Rest assured, it would kill me.”

Words: 1881

Premise: Yandere!Venture kills someone and you catch them. You respond in an atypical way.

Warnings: Minor character death, Blood, Unhealthy relationship, Irresponsible use of prescription medication, Mental breakdown, Obsession

“Venture~”, your voice sing-songs from outside your shared home.

Venture freezes at the sound of your voice, you weren’t supposed to be back home tonight. They glance at the blood drying on the floor, mind racing on how to keep you from seeing it.

You’re too quick to open the door, ecstatic about getting out of work early despite your scheduled overnight shift. The sight in front of you makes you freeze. Your kitchen floor has splatters of blood and streaks from where you can only assume a corpse was dragged. Your mind immediately jumps to the worst and you tighten your grip around the handle of the door.

“Venture?” You call out hesitantly, “if this is a joke, it’s sick and I mean that in a bad way”, you add when there’s no answer.

After several beats of silence, you pull out your phone, prepare to leave and call the police. Your attempt is interrupted when the door is forcefully torn from your grip and slammed shut behind you. You feel yourself shoved against the door. You shut your eyes and duck your head from the impact. Your hands are pinned above you and your phone is pulled away.

You anticipate something, anything to happen to you, but when nothing happens. You hesitantly open your eyes and look up. And you don’t know what feels worse, opening your door to a crime scene or seeing who the perpetrator is.

“Sloan…” you manage to choke out.

So many questions race in your mind – why did you, who did you… But the desperation and fright in their eyes sobers you. In your forced rationality, you observe that their hand is warm on your wrists, their grip means no harm.

“I-”

You cut them off by pushing them away, they stumble a couple of steps back, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Don’t say anything. We’re cleaning this up. Right now. Go get some hydrogen peroxide and gloves. And change into something you can throw away,” you force the words out, “do not say anything that makes me any more complicit”.

Venture is stunned at your reaction. They’re slow to follow your instructions, prompting you to ask more, “no bleach, that’ll only make things messier. We’ll refloor all of this tomorrow anyway. Do you have animal blood?”

They shake their head, and you shoo them off to get what you told them to as you step around the kitchen to assess what needs to be done. You’re careful to avoid making the mess worse by tracking any more blood around. The mess is bad, it is a lot of blood, and it makes you think someone must've bled out. Part of you wonders if any of it is Venture’s, you hope not. You shake yourself, you don’t want to dwell on the thoughts of why it’s so bad. Your only task at hand is to clean it up, you remind yourself.

After double-checking you won’t trail any mess around the house, you take your own advice and go to get changed into some clothes you won’t miss. You also force yourself to take two extra pills for your anxiety – double your prescription – to keep yourself grounded.

You meet Venture in the kitchen again and help set up several trash bags. You instruct them to help you soak up the bulk of the blood in towels and throw it away. When it’s done, you show them how to clean up the rest of the blood and explain to them how hydrogen peroxide will destroy the traceable genetic material. You try to explain everything you can if only to fill the silence and to keep your mind busy. When the reality sets in a little more, you feel sick talking – you were quite literally talking about how to get away with murder. You put on a playlist to help with the silence instead.

Venture doesn’t say anything when you talk. And definitely doesn’t say anything when you stop. They’ve never seen you act like this, they never would have thought this would be a possible outcome. They’re scared anything they say will make you react poorly, so they choose to maintain the current equilibrium you’ve set.

Eventually, when everything looks clean and normal you finally give the okay to take a break.

“You should shower and sleep,” you say, going through the motions of brewing some instant coffee. You wanted the caffeine and you probably weren’t going to sleep anyway.

“I promise I’m not planning to do anything while you sleep. But you’re going to help me with moving flooring tomorrow and you’re going to need the rest,” you insist, tapping your hand on their shoulder.

Your contact makes them startle. They want to hold you and tell you how much they love you. They want to explain how this was for you. They were only doing what was best for you. They wanted to tell you how they knew you’d never see it that way and that’s why you were never meant to see them do this. But instead, they swallow the bitter reality and do as you say. If you were willing to help them this much, then they should keep their complaints to themselves.

You note that Venture is resting on the couch in the living room, and for a moment it does cross your mind that if you wanted to call for help, now would be the time. Any other time, Venture easily overpowers you. But it’s also the first time calling the authorities has crossed your mind since you came home. The idea makes you nervous and you turn your phone face down on the counter as if to reject the possibility of doing that. You finish your coffee and start another pot of water before heading up to shower and change.

You spend the rest of the night until morning, re-scrubbing the floor and cleaning anything you can. You know that you don’t have to at this point, you’re fairly confident you got everything done the first time around, but you needed to do something to stave off the looming anxiety. Your body aches from being on the floor and cleaning so much, but you just take an ibuprofen and ignore it.

Venture, thankfully, wakes by themselves and saves you the mental distress of figuring out how to approach them. They follow you around for a bit like a lost puppy and it makes it really hard for you to not embrace them – but you know if you do, you’ll break and you can’t afford that.

The drive to and back from the store is relatively uneventful. You explained the plan, and Venture did as told. The whole time you could feel them look at you for some reaction, but you ignored it.

The two of you spent the rest of the day tearing up the floor and replacing it. It was mostly Venture and you helped where you could, you didn’t have the strength to match theirs on a good day, much less when you’ve pulled an all-nighter and barely eaten anything.

The project is done by late afternoon. You were hoping to finish by noon, but at least it’s over now – and you probably didn’t contribute too much anyway.

You take a long shower and pick something comfortable to wear. When you are done, you call out for Venture to do the same. Who, like everything else you’ve said these past two days, follows.

You collapse on the couch, and the give of the cushions is a relief your aching body needs. The thought of taking some more ibuprofen crosses your mind, but the idea that you’d have to get up deters you greatly.

Venture eventually finishes their shower and slowly creeps into the living room as if to not scare you. They settle on the carpeted floor some distance in front of you. They’re looking at you the whole time, there’s a desperate desire in their eyes. Both of you can feel how fragile the atmosphere is. If you had any energy left to spare, you’d notice how uncomfortable it was that your constantly chattering partner had been silent for almost a whole day, not a single joke shared. Instead, you take note of how their usually fluffy hair is soaking wet, and barely dry.

To your body’s protest, you force yourself off the couch to close the distance. You pull your towel off your shoulders and drape it over Venture’s head. You use it to dry their hair, gently patting their hair and running your hand through clumps you’re afraid will tangle. Venture lets you do this, all but melting into your touch. Their breaths are slow and relaxed for the first time since you got home. You take more time and care than needed to dry their hair, but the action just felt so domestic and right. And you couldn’t let the feeling go.

When you’re done, you take your time folding the towel neatly, taking care to not maintain eye contact with Venture. They stare at you with a sadness that you know would break your heart if you acknowledged it.

“Let me explain-”

“Sloan,” they flinch at their real name being used and the sternness of your voice, “I have done so much for you, please do not repay me by saddling me with information that makes me any more guilty than I already am”.

Your head is still dipped in a way where you won’t meet their eyes, you wring your hands together anxiously, unsure what to say.

Venture saves you from the silence, “okay,” they pause, “do you want anything? Tea or food… dessert?” And darkly, they consider their options of drugging you and getting you away from here. Maybe to some place where they could do everything best for you.

You shake your head.

“Do you hate me?” Venture’s voice cracks at the end, they’re not ready for the possibility of being rejected.

“No- never,” you exclaim in shock, looking up at them for the first time, “I trust your judgment. I trust you. Because I love you”. You confess, stomping down the part of your brain that tries to add ‘a little too much’.

Venture lets out a breath they were holding and almost collapses in relief. Thank god. You still love them. It’s okay, everything is fine as long as you are theirs.

“Do you need some space,” Venture tentatively offers, they don’t really want to leave, but they want to do something right by you.

“No,” you choke out, “no, please don’t leave”.

You reach out to wrap your arms around their neck and pull yourself against them, they hesitantly return the embrace, holding you tighter when you don't react negatively to their touch.

“I think my meds are wearing off,” you’re breathing hard, “it’s all too much to think about. And everything hurts”.

Venture comfortingly traces shapes on your back, letting you cry into their neck as sobs wrack your form and you dig your nails into their back to anchor yourself.

“Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t leave me alone,” you beg.

Venture leans their head against you and pulls you into their lap to hold you closer.

“I’ll never leave you, mi vida”.

Author’s Note: I saw some yandere Venture art and fics here. It inspired me to write about Venture killing someone because of their significant other – be it out of jealousy, possessiveness, or defense.

This probably doesn’t fall under the typical yandere type stories, but I still consider it yandere because I think in the end, Venture doesn’t regret killing for you, they regret getting caught by you.

For it’s worth, Venture probably orders you your favourite takeout and drink when you start to wake up so you can have something nice to eat since you haven’t eaten in over a day.

I don’t think I’ll mention this always, but it should be obvious that both the reader and Venture here are not sound of mind.

Quote is from Oleander by Mother Mother. Oleander is a toxic plant, it is sometimes used to symbolize desire, destiny, everlasting love, and caution.

#venture fics #venture x reader #venture x you #venture overwatch #overwatch venture #venture #sloan cameron #sloane cameron #overwatch x reader #overwatch fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #vaguely based on a tweet i saw a while back #not the greatest writer #i was never taught how to write in the second person (head in hands)#not beta read because i cannot bring myself to ask anyone without being embarrassed #despite finishing it out in a day #the art doesn’t match the story well because i got distracted

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ssigmas · 1 year

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desideratum

When the Imperial Proclamation came asking for more volunteers to serve aboard the Galactrius, you jumped at the chance to restart your life. You hoped that being in the orbit of the Emperor would inspire you to greatness in the way that your backwater planet had never allowed. You just didn't expect to fall in love with him

emperor sigma/afab! reader, 4k, 18+ [ch1] || [next] tags: bootlicking, boot worship, dubcon shoutout to @themaydecemberist who mentioned his boots & gave me this idea. this was supposed to be a short fic abt him stepping on reader but it got out of hand

also on ao3

The Infinite Galactrius. The seat and the flagship of the Empire. It boasted the greatest firepower out of any artillery, planetside or otherwise, and had the means to function as its own self-sustained metropolis. You had seen photos and recreations of it and had marveled at its construction, and yet had no idea what it contained within. No one on your planet did, much less your hometown. You imagined it as grandiose as its reputation. In your eye, the walls glittered and shone like diamonds. Mosaics depicting His Excellence’s rise to power dotted the landscape. Shrines dedicated to him would be around every corner. The ship would sing with his praises.

You were, understandably, very excited to step off the transport shuttle with the hundred or so others that you arrived with, each who had answered the Proclamation. The Empire had asked for citizens to serve on the Galactrius for a period of two years, after which further servitude could be considered. There had been fine print and additional terms, of course, but you didn’t pay attention to those. As soon as you had seen it, you’d sent in an application to join.

Most people on your planet never left. Most people in your hometown never left. And, for someone like you, with little skills or prospects, there was hardly ever a chance to change your life. The Proclamation was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to manipulate the cards you’d been dealt.

As the connecting bay opened, you stepped off the shuttle and into the Galactrius, your head held high — only to falter.

The room, though enormous in its own right, was little more than a gray box. The walls were completely unadorned save for the occasional banner with the Infinite Empire's insignia emboldened on its front. The lights were sparse and dim, making it hard to discern details. And even though the room was filled with people, bustling this way and that, it felt unbelievably empty. Lonely. It was as if the vastness of space had crept in through the cracks, permeating the very foundation of the ship. You shivered.

"Hey!" Someone shoved into your back, sending you careening forward. It was a miracle you didn't fall. "Don't just stand there and gawk. Get a move on!"

You stumbled into that foreboding loneliness and fell into line. Members of the Infinite Army were at points in the lines, scanners at the ready. When it was your turn, you dutifully held out your wrist. The scanner beeped softly as it registered your ID.

She stared at your screen and heaved out a sigh. "Another one, huh?" she said, more to herself than you. "All right, you'll be moving toward the back." She jerked her head in the direction she meant, and you frowned. It was far from the rest of the crowd, and there were only a handful of people seated there.

"Uh, what am I..."

"Just sit and wait," she said. Then, as if to make it obvious she was finished with you, called out, "next!"

With a frown, you stepped from the crowd of people and moved toward the indicated area. It was alienating to walk by your lonesome, and you couldn't help but to feel as if there were eyes upon you.

The area was actually a small seating area. A man about your age was being led away as you approached, so you took his seat. The two others in the area were in a heated discussion.

"...s'what I'm saying!" A woman with short, auburn hair leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "They could at least let us know what's up."

"What's this about?" you asked.

"Why we're separate from the others. Where they're takin' us," she said.

"I think they're using us for ritual sacrifices," chimed in the man sitting next to her. His temples were graying, and he had a mischievous kindness in his smile that belied his age. "Leading us like lambs to the slaughter."

"Ugh," the woman groaned. "Enough. If they wanted flesh for the sake of flesh, there's easier ways of going about it."

"What do you think they're doing, then?"

"I don't give a damn s'long as I get paid that pension they promised."

"Is...that why you came?" you chanced. "Just for money?"

"Look. My dumbass son went and got himself into a heap of gamblin' debt 'n his life is all sorts of fucked. I saw the proclamation one day and thought, well hell. Two years on the Galactrius would pay off that debt and then some." She shook her head. "I just hope that boy don't go off and get himself killed while I'm gone."

The man whistled. "I didn't take you for the noble type."

Her eyes narrowed. "What, and I s'pose you are?"

"Quite the opposite, to tell you the truth. I'm here out of my own selfish desires."

You both waited. When he didn't elaborate, the woman next to you groaned. "Are you goin' to tell us, or what?"

"Well..." He leaned forward conspiratorially, dropping his voice. "There's a rumor about the Emperor and his inner circle, you know. Those that hang around him for a long enough time seem to change. Develop abilities of their own. Can you imagine what it would be like to have even a quarter of his power?"

"That's stupid," she bluntly stated. "First, it's just a rumor. Secondly, how in the hell d'ya think it'll happen? That Emperor Tightwad is gonna take a sudden liking to you?" She brought her hand to her mouth in a facsimile of raising a cigarette, and, when she realized what she'd done, balled her hand into a fist. "You have a better chance of winnin' the lottery."

"No, no, you have a point, which is why that isn't my plan at all. See, I'm of the opinion that there's actually some sort of device that grants him his abilities. Something he wears, perhaps, or a chamber he has to sit in for a certain period. Whatever it is, I'm convinced it's on this ship, and once I find it I'll use it to give myself power."

Silence.

You both stared at him as his words digested. Then, "That's a load of horseshit."

"Right," you agreed. "Everyone knows his powers are a gift from the universe and not man-made."

It was their turn to stare at you. The man's eyes softened in such a way that clearly said oh, you poor thing.

"That," he said, "is nothing more than a fairy tale. Come now, you're old enough to know better."

You shrunk into yourself. You knew the story was far fetched, yes, but the Emperor had ruled for centuries upon centuries. Was it so outlandish to think that he truly was chosen by the universe?

"How's your plan work if we're just sacrifices?" the woman cut in, saving you from having to speak any more.

"Oh, well." He scratched at his nose. "I'll be sure to ask His Royal Infinity if there is such a device just before he ritually eats me. Sound good?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. Have you considered that he's gotta eat 'n spit you back out to infuse you with his powers..."

You couldn't understand these two. Their total disregard for the Emperor and their impudent attitude toward him stunned you. Back in your hometown, such language would never be tolerated, much less spoken in the first place. Their reasons for boarding the Galactrius were so self-serving, too. Here, your loyalty to the Empire seemed out of place.

"Is there an ID numbered 334667300 here?" An Imperial worker interrupted the chatter, holopad balanced in her arm. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The upper half of her face was hidden behind a visor, leaving everything below the nose exposed. Her face was soft, not so stern as you'd noticed in the other workers.

"That's me," you said as you stood.

"Oi!" shouted the woman beside you. "I've been waitin' here forever! Five or so blokes have gone before me. When's it gonna be my turn, huh?"

The worker gave a weary smile. "We appreciate your patience. We're getting to everyone as quick as we can."

"Pah." She slumped back in her chair and nodded her head toward you. "Good luck, kid."

The man caught your eye. He mimed zipping his mouth, then with the same raised hand he waved goodbye.

"If you'll follow me," the worker said. She led you away from your newfound conversation partners and out through an inconspicuous door that seamlessly hid in the walls. It opened into a narrow hallway barely the width of two people walking side-by-side. Unlike the waiting hub, the corridor was completely devoid of people. Your footfalls echoed on the metal walkway, the only noise besides the low, persistent hum of the ship. The service lights that lined the floor provided the only source of illumination. The earlier discussion of 'lambs to the slaughter' popped into your head, and your stomach twisted in knots. The whole thing was starting to feel very dismal.

"Um," you started, quickening your pace so that you no longer trailed behind her, but beside. "Can I ask where you're taking me? Was there an issue with my application?"

"There's nothing to worry about," she said, which wasn't exactly comforting. "It isn't unusual that we get a handful of people every now and then that hope to serve on the Galactrius, but don't quite fit the vision we had in mind. In cases like these, His Infinite Excellence graciously allows for an audience with him. You'll be given the chance to advocate for yourself in the chance that you're more than your application would suggest."

Your head spun. "Wait, sorry — what? The Emperor? Now?" Your twisted stomach pulled itself into your throat, like you were about to speak in front of a large crowd. You had dreamt about meeting the Emperor, of course; he was the savior of your planet, the ruler of the nebula. You owed your very existence to him. You wanted to meet him. You wanted to speak to him, to tell him how much your planet adored him, but it was a want for it to have already happened. The idea of having to struggle through a conversation with him — face-to-face, all your ineptitude laid bare before him — nauseated you. What could you say? He was the Emperor of the Infinite Nebula, First Son of the Universe, the Lord of Unstoppable Might. He was like a god, and you were — well. You.

The walls passed in a blur. Distantly, you noted that you were progressing into a more populated part of the ship, away from that awful hallway, but it all only vaguely registered. You gnawed on your lip. How should you greet the Emperor? Should you ask him about his day? Should you bow? Shake his hand? You hadn't prepared — you would've worn something nicer — should have, idiot, should have considered —

"Are you all right?"

The worker pulled you back to the present, out of your thoughts. She had stopped before an entryway and was waiting patiently, holopad tucked under her arm.

You looked to her, then to the doorway. It seemed to you like a gaping maw, the darkness beyond as thick and foreboding as fog. "Is there any way to postpone this?" you asked, voice small.

Her posture softened. Straight, intimidating lines turned sloped, rounded. "I'm afraid not," she said. "The Emperor runs a tight schedule. I can defer your spot, of course, but I would have to get you booked for the next immediate transport off of —"

"No, no." You shook your head for emphasis. The last thing you wanted was to squander this opportunity, no matter how much it made your stomach turn. "That won't be necessary. I hope."

"You'll be fine," she said, patient as a saint. "Think of it like...like a job interview."

"Right. Sure." You neglected to mention that you'd never had a successful interview, not even once, and instead motioned to the entryway. "He's...just through here, then?"

"Straight ahead," she affirmed. "You can't miss it, or get lost. Trust me." And then, in an action so strange and foreign to you, she put her palm on your shoulder and squeezed. "Good luck."

Warmth shuddered through you. Your throat tightened. "Thanks."

You stared resolutely ahead, and stepped into the impenetrable darkness.

It took your eyes a moment to focus on what was ahead of you. The room was not actually any less bright than the rest of the ship, but it was so massive compared to the hallway before that the light on the floor struggled to reach the ceiling. It yawned upward to unfathomable heights, and in the far distance, a couple of pillars stood shrouded in darkness, reaching upward like stalagmites. It struck you that this was the kind of architecture you had expected. Grand in scale. Fitting for a man who held the force of the universe in his palms.

More lights flickered into existence as you walked, appearing like little fireflies in the summer heat.. They chased away the shadows, bit by bit, and uncovered the carpet trail that you stood upon. It was Imperial red, bisecting the room clean in half. Your eyes followed the length of it up, up, up —

In all your gawking, you'd missed it. Missed him.

The Emperor.

His throne sat dead-center in the middle of the room. He perched upon it, leg crossed over his knee, cheek resting on his knuckled fist. He gazed at you from his one eye, brilliant purple half-lidded in boredom. Behind his throne, the light shone in an irregular circle, throwing heavy shadows on his face.

You fell to your knees. What else could you do? He was the Emperor, the Lord of Sky and Stars, the Immovable King. His presence overwhelmed you to the point of weakness. Reverence made you mute. For a brief moment you thought back to those two from before, casually demeaning and blaspheming his name. They'd sooner cut their tongues out than repeat their imprudence, you thought, if they spent but a minute in his orbit.

"Well?" he prompted. His voice cut through the silence, all-commanding, all-dominating. "Have you nothing to say to your Emperor?"

You flinched and struggled to find your words. "S-sir," you began, then backpedaled. "I mean, my lord —, Your Excellence —"

"Why have you come?" he interrupted, clearly displeased with your stumbling. "Or are you unable to answer even that?"

You ducked your head. You were not fit to meet his eye. "I want — I wish to serve your Empire."

"My Empire is as vast and infinite as the stars. There are plenty of ways to make yourself useful to me. Thus I return to my original question: why have you come?"

You gnawed at the inside of your cheek. Was he testing you? Was there a right response?

Did he want the whole truth?

You amended your answer. "I wish to serve directly. Under you."

"Oh? Interesting, given your application record."

You looked up at him through your lashes. The Emperor stood from his throne and walked — no, floated, you realized with awe — toward you. His feet stopped before your bowed figure, his boots bobbing in and out of your line of sight.

"Have you military experience, perhaps? Fought in a battle?"

"No, Your Excellence."

"Have you trained in weaponry? Martial arts?"

Shame crept up your cheeks. You shrunk into yourself. "No, Your Excellence."

"What about the sciences, hm? Have you studied a field of physics, astronomy, engineering? Biochemical studies? Have you trained to be a doctor?"

"...No, Your Excellence."

He scoffed. "Useless."

That final verdict seemed to echo in the darkened room, and hot tears rushed to your eyes. "Your Excellence," you tried, but failed to find anything to say but worthless entreaties.

"You're just like all the other pathetic ilk that have crawled their way to my throne. I have no need for you on my ship," he proclaimed. "You think you're fit to serve me? Your Emperor?" Contempt seeped into his voice, as dark and gritty as soot. "You're hardly fit to clean my boots."

Your lip trembled in the face of your failure. Your failures. All of them throughout your life, stacked so tall they loomed over you like a shadow. You were tired of coming up short, of amounting to nothing. The Galactrius was your last chance to be something. To be anything. Desperately, you tried to think of some way to prove your merit, to show that you had some kernel of worth deep within you.

His words reverberated in your head. If you were only good for cleaning his boots, then so be it. You'd be the best damn boot-cleaner in the galaxy, and he'd have no choice but to keep you near, if just for that.

With no bucket or water at hand, you did the only thing possible. With the utmost reverence, you placed a kiss to the toe of your Emperor's boot, and without any more preamble, slid the flat of your tongue across the top.

The Emperor made no noise, neither of assent nor disgust, and you took it as permission. Gently, fingertips light, you cupped the back of his ankle to keep his foot in place as you lapped at his shoe. It was made out of some flexible, hard material, and it was akin to licking a spoon or knife. It tasted only vaguely metallic, and you were grateful that his means of transport was flotation rather than walking. No dust or dirt collected on your tongue as you covered the boot in your spit.

Your knees started to ache the longer you knelt in that position. The decorative carpet had no plush give, no cushioning to protect from the hard tile underneath. Pain leeched from the ground and into your joints. Only your single-minded dedication kept you from attempting to relieve it.

You turned your head as you reached the edges of his boot. Dangerous, inch-long spikes protruded from the material. As you laved a curious tongue around one, you learned they were dull. Not sharp enough to cut you, but a kick with enough force would impale them into skin, something you hoped to never witness or experience.

Without warning, the Emperor placed his boot at your chest and pushed. It wasn't meant to injure, but there was force and intention behind it. A command.

You unfolded your knees from underneath you and resisted the urge to stretch them out as you laid yourself down on your back. Bewildered, you stared up at him from your new position; at this angle, the shadows from his coat seemed to obscure everything else, and far, far above shone his purple iris, gaze trained on you.

He raised his foot over your face. Your spit shone on its surface in the dim lighting. "Did you hear me say 'stop'?"

You swallowed. "No, Your Excellence." Palms flat to the floor, you lapped at the sole of his boot, cleaning up the imaginary dirt and grime.

You had never felt more small. There was little preventing him from squashing you like an ant in this position, and for one panicked moment you thought he actually might. He pointed the toe of his boot and dragged it from the tip of your nose to your chin, the pressure purposeful. You tilted your head back, heart butterfly-quick in your throat.

"Your records state that you are unmarried and childless," he murmured. His boot traveled lower, lower, down the fragile line of your throat, the vulnerable expanse of your chest. The spikes remained an ever-present worry as his foot found a resting place on your stomach. "Is this true?"

Any saliva left dried in your mouth. You tightened your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Y-yes, Your Excellence.

Lower and lower, his boot resumed its travel. Preservation kicked in, and you spread your legs wide to avoid the sting of his spikes. "Do you take care of your aging parents, perhaps? Is there anyone back home who relies on you?"

"No, Your Ex — ah!" You cut yourself off with a gasp as he ground the toe of his boot into the soft spot between your thighs, as if you were little more than the butt of a cigarette. Pleasure-pain jolted through you, and you brought your fist to your mouth.

"Hmm." He continued to toy with you, intermittently putting pressure on your clothed clit. You ached with the desire to trap his boot between your thighs and rut against it, but those spikes were a warning in and of itself. You caught a moan between your teeth, chewed it out on the flesh of a knuckle. Your hips bucked of their own accord even as embarrassment flooded your face at your own actions.

The twist of attention wasn't unwelcome, but it muddled your thoughts. What conceivable reason did the Emperor of the Infinite Nebula have to do this? Was it for your own benefit? His?

Did he merely like seeing you desperate, halfway to depravity?

"A devotion such as yours should be rewarded." As quick as it began, his foot disappeared from between your legs. "Perhaps you are not so useless after all."

Your thighs snapped shut. You resisted the urge to grind into nothing as the memory of pleasure receded, and you struggled to get to your knees again. "P-please, Your Excellence. I would like to stay — very much."

"For now, you may." He snapped, and inclined his head to a darkened corner. "You, there. Assign them to a room."

You scrambled backward as one of the pillars began walking. It turned out to be not a pillar at all, but a member of the Infinite Army clad in Imperial armor. They had seen everything, heard every desperate noise that passed your lips. Your face burned fire-hot at the realization.

Mortified, you got to your feet and stood on unsteady legs as they approached. The soldier stopped in front of the Emperor, saluted, and then turned to you as if to say, let's go.

You bowed as deep as you could manage and fought down your embarrassment. "Thank you, Your Excellence!"

He turned his back toward you, floating to his throne. "Begone. I have no more time for you today."

Humiliated beyond belief, you could only follow the armored figure in silence as they led you out from the throne room. The exit path was different from the entrance, and you figured it meant that you were headed deeper into the ship. Unfortunately, you were no more level headed than before; if anything, frustrated desire spun in your head, clouding your thoughts. You had more than survived your "interview" with His Excellence, but the encounter left you confused and wanting instead of triumphant. You had secured your spot on the ship, yes, but...

You worried the inside of your cheek. There was little you could do except wait and see what uses he had in mind for you.

The soldier brought you down a long, long hallway of identical-looking doors. They stopped before one, seemingly at random, and motioned to a sensor pad. "Scan your ID. The room will be registered as yours, and your baggage will be brought up promptly."

"Oh, okay." You held your wrist to the sensor by the door and it beeped cheerily. "Thank you."

The soldier nodded their head. Before you could even think to apologize for the throne room, they turned sharply on their heel and walked back the way they'd come, armor clinking together.

You sighed.

The door to your new room swished open. To your dismay, it was hardly any bigger than a closet. There was a bed tucked against two walls, and on the open side was a nightstand pressed against the other corner. To the foot of the bed was a wardrobe. The room was, in essence, two beds wide and a little more than two beds long. It was kind of abysmal, actually, but you couldn't complain. You were on the Galactrius. You were serving on the Galactrius.

You sat down on the bed, the mattress sinking beautifully under your weight. It was remarkably softer than you were accustomed to, and the sheets were pleasantly soft. You undid your shoes and kicked them underneath the bed before stretching out.

The day had tired you beyond belief. You were drenched in fatigue, both physically and mentally. As you snuggled into the pillow, you spared a thought for the future. You didn't hope for power, or wealth, or even necessarily fame, but you did imagine a future where you did something meaningful. Maybe you saved the Galactrius from fire. Or you spent your days researching microbes to help cure diseases. Or you helped save a planet, repaying the kindness the Empire had done for yours all that time ago.

Two years to prove your worth. Two years to become something.

Anything, you thought, just so that my life might not be a waste.

#.txt #sigma x reader #siebren de kuiper x reader #emperor sigma #overwatch #writing #huge shoutout to may for the idea but also for being my beta reader because augh #i finally just posted it after A MONTH OF WORKING ON IT #any more drafts and i might overthink the fic to death #i still disagree w the concept of galactic emperor sigma. but. its hot so i will reap the benefits #anyway stay tuned for more #(coming in a month. i guess. based on this chapter)

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