Flesh Of My Flesh

He was already standing to greet you.

It shouldn’t have caught you off guard – your arrival must have caused some ruckus outside of the chambers and with him being a man whose survival depended on hearing the danger as it was coming if not before that, there was no wonder he stood alert – but it did.

Much like it did surprise you that for all the portraits and dreams you had dreamed of him in a stranger’s bed, for all you had thought you remembered his features sharply after only having met him for barely a moment, you had forgotten with just how fine care and reverence the gods and angels had carved his face.

How sweetly they’d diluted the blue of his eyes with kindness and warmth, warmer than the flames from the hearth that played across his cheeks and jaw and in the golden halo of his hair.

How your heart raced upon a single meeting of your gaze and his. How much you felt yourself sinking into the colours and wonders of the sky caught inside his irises.

And how it felt like drowning – to cast your gaze low, to the floor, when the heavy door behind you closed shut, the sound snapping you from your reverie enough to act with the respect a man like Steven Rogers I., The Just, deserved.

You bent in your knees so low they almost touched the floor, keeping the position unwaveringly despite every step you heard him take, his voice a caress, like the soft touch of a summer breeze.

“My lady… please, rise. And be welcomed.”

You obeyed, a shudder rushing through your body when you lifted your gaze slowly, trailing the impressive lines of his body until it reached his face again.

Open. Welcoming indeed. A brief flicker of his eyes all over, one corner of his lips rising higher in his smile as if whatever he was seeing pleased him greatly – and sincerely. As if the trial you had so desperately hoped to pass when you had found yourself at your wit’s end, wishing to choose a dress in likes to the king’s wishes, was the most successful when you had not thought about it at all.

When you let your heart guide you and left all worries behind.

You wished you could do so completely; the light in the king’s irises made you desire so, almost as if coaxing you to forget what had brought you here.

But you could not. Not with your heart having leapt to your throat, fear and cautious anticipation battling for your breath.

Your felt heat rise to your cheeks as you bowed just a fraction once more, to show profound respect and gratitude.

“Your Majesty,” you said, only rising when light scorn creased his brows. “Apologies for my tardiness… and for missing the dinner, that was not my intention in the least. I meant no offence if you could believe it.”

“I do believe you, my lady,” he replied, his frown smoothening. “Yet I wish for you to understand there was no offence taken. I meant what I said – what I wrote. I am glad you found peace and rest here. Would you sit with me for a moment?”

You gulped, willing your lips to curl up in a smile; with barely any effort in the face of his kindness, however surprising still.

He waited for you to nod before he set off, slow, but easily gaining several steps on you as you stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room for the first time. The fireplace with a heavy wooden table and three cushioned chairs at it dominated the spacious room, even if barely; the bed, not unlike the one in your temporary dwellings only with heavier dark blue canopy, took up the most space and was nothing short of a masterpiece. One wall was entirely lined with bookcases, while the three remaining ones were each adorned with a painting you were sure had been painted by the hand of the king himself; a landscape with mountains, the ocean, the golden fields. Three large windows, two of them hidden by thick curtains, one left exposing the view of the starry night.

With how clear the skies looked, it must have been freezing outside; yet, you felt like the cold could never touch you here, the room basking in endless warmth a part of you whispered could not come from the hearth only. 

Your gaze trailed over the interior with an absent smile, soon drawn back to the man who truly was at its centre. At its heart.

“Please,” he beckoned to one of the chairs, pulling it out for you. “Would you like wine or cider? It is still warm.”

Blinking, you finally followed him, whispering your choice with a breath of a please and thank you. Watching him pour you a goblet as if it was meant to be the work of a king rather than a servant – rather than your work, since you had been brought to this castle to please him – was utterly bewildering. Dreamlike.

It was almost as if you only watched yourself too, mind outside of your body, as you sat down, the goblet set in front of you before he poured himself one as well, sitting next to you, chairs angled towards each other, dangerously close – and yet, to your heart’s yearnings, too afar.

You observed him in mute awe, thousands of questions and hundreds of vague answers circling your head, the absurd – and absurdly natural – circumstance not lost on you. The only thing truly at loss – and lost in his gaze – was you. His eyes hadn’t left you either; he watched you with intensity which would have been unbearably unnerving had it not been so pleasant at the same time.

“I do hope you found the entirety of your chambers to your satisfaction. I wish you found yourself comfortable here.”

You nodded minutely.

But you did not understand.

You did not understand how you had deserved his hospitality.

Neither you could as much as hope to comprehend why, despite feeling so out of place, you felt right at home and safe.

But much like you knew to pray and thank to any higher power there was for being it so, you knew to express your gratitude here, to the man whom, at this point, you owed everything.

For he owed everything you had.

Including yourself.

A rational part of realised how utterly terrifying that should make you; another part which you could feel residing deep within your chest did not find it terrifying in the slightest. For if there was one man who you needn’t to fear, it was him.

Your gaze, unable to bear the power of his, lowered to your lap where your fingers fiddled with the skirt of the lovely dress you had been gifted.

“I… words cannot express how grateful I am for all your generosity, Your Majesty. I admit I am… not quite certain how I deserved such, but I assure you it is my every intention to repay your kindness with all I am.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw his hand twitch; as if he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t.

“The gifts you have been given are given freely, without conditions, my lady.”

For you deserve everything, my sweetling, the soft breeze caressing your cheek seemed to whisper, an echo of the very voice that had just spoken. You deserve everything and I shall give you all that your heart desires.

You shook your head lightly, feeling the voice fill your ears sweetly, words of the kind you knew better than to believe:

The world, as different as this one seemed from the one you had known all your life, did not work in such ways.

For all the riches the man sitting across from you must have possessed, he could not afford such generosity to be true, to give so much away without conditions attached; for it would be too foolish. And to have gained such riches, to have been entrusted with them and to keep them, one could be no fool.

And yet – you would not look the gifted house in the mouth. You were not one who could afford to question.

“Your Majesty is too kind,” you whispered. “Even as I am certain I am far from the sole recipient of such kindness, I feel profoundly grateful. As… as no doubt the men who brought me here do,” you added, trailing off.

You were not sure why you’d even brought them up.

You had little reason to wish to think of Dimitri and Henry, for they had brought you nothing but misery, even as they were the sole reason why you were here, safe and warm and far away from the townspeople who had been secretly eyeing you for prize.

You had little reason to remind the king of them too; for they had angered him with the ways they had spoken at first.

To mention them was risking upsetting the man who was being nothing but pleasant and almost unbearably welcoming until that moment. And yet. Yet, something inside you had whispered you to tempt fate.

Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was fear of not having been done with the mercenaries just yet. Perhaps it was the inviting gentleness Steven had emanated, coaxing you to be all too honest and blunt even in subtlety of your claims.

The little breathy laugh erupting from the king’s chest was not an amused sound, not quite; it startled you enough to snap your gaze up, met with a storm in his irises, a glint like a flash of lightning born there.

“I am sure they do. But they more than earned the reward they received for their trouble… even as they shall not be joining the Royal Army.”

“Oh?” you chirped instinctively, unable to hide your surprise; and then quickly shook your head in a display of regret at failing to behave appropriately. Again. “My apologies, I did not--- I did not mean to pry-”

“It is quite alright, my lady,” he assured you, his features softening even as the stormy clouds remained in his eyes. “If you wish to know, ask.”

Ask me anything, my sweetling, his gaze whispered, his lips not moving an inch despite the heavy promise spoken in his voice echoing in your ears. I shall never lie to you.

You hesitated for barely three beats of your frantic heart, your question quiet.

“How so?”

He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on his thighs – and what an inconvenient moment for your gaze to flicker there and notice the powerful thickness of the muscle there – capturing your gaze with his without a chance to escape.

“Because, my lady, as much as you are a gift, you are not a thing to be dragged here under the threat of death, with your house burned to ashes so you’d have no home to return to.”

Your heart seized in your chest; your lips parted for a breath that caught in your throat instead.

Not because of the images he painted with his words, as painful as their shadow was, no; for the fact he knew.

“How— how did you-“

You knew the answer before either of you spoke a word, the realization creeping upon you much like the unamused smirk did to Steve’s lips.

‘Please, tell me more of the trouble you went through to deliver me a gift and about what you’d wish for…’

That was what he had asked.

‘Tell me more of the trouble you went through…’

He had not asked to reward them.

He had likely never intended to do so; every word he had chosen carefully to coax them into telling him everything. Telling him of every wrong they had done beyond binding your hands hard enough to bruise and treat you as a commodity rather than a human being.

Oh he was no fool at all indeed.

“Perhaps I too am guilty of being such, but I hear men are known be quite the simple creatures. Have them believe they speak of their heroics, and they can no longer tell the difference between bragging and a confession.”

I hope you can forgive me if I ever behave such too, my sweetling. Forgive me if my words have misled you at first.

You caught yourself before you could nod in reaction to the echo of his voice in your head, stunned.

And with startling clarity despite the sudden spin your mind set off to, you were certain in your very bones that you would forgive him anything. Let alone worrying you while tricking the men who hurt you into confessing every single one of their crimes against a knight’s code. A code of an honourable man.

A man like the one facing you now.

Your throat felt tighter than before, even as something in your ribcage cracked with soft understanding, the images of Steve in your head – that of a good, just man, a fierce warrior and yet a tender artist – blending together seamlessly once more.

“But then--- then their reward-“

“Was what the law commands as punishment for arson and laying a hand on a woman in the ways they have,” he said, voice tender despite the embers of anger smouldering under. “A brand burned to their arm to mark arsonists. A broken hand to remember not to use their strength to hurt an innocent ever again.”

A shudder ran down your spine, a thrill of justice executed; but for the first time in the king’s company, one of true fear too.

For for all the relief you felt for having him understand the situation perfectly, guilt bit into your conscience. The king was no fool indeed; and he seemed a man with a sense of justice etched into his very core. You could feel the righteous fury on your behalf simmering under his skin despite the air of quiet gentleness.

There was only one justice for men like that, as it should be: a universal one.

And you, too, had already committed crimes that would require the intervention of justice; you did not need to know the precise law of Starkerbürg to know such. You had taken what was not yours to take; stealing was a such an offence it had even been written into the Scripture.

And so, there was a punishment awaiting you. As it should.

It was the will of the Lord, of the old gods, and men alike.

Thou shalt not steal, spoke the Scripture, recited so many times in your home by your father’s slurred voice.

Honour thy father and thy mother.

You knew what your father had thought the punishment should be for breaking even one of the commandments.

What was the punishment for theft in these lands?

What would be the punishment for other wrongs you had done?

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you… nor to remind you of your sorrows-”

You shook our head as another shudder followed the first one, colder, guilt taking another bite off of your soul.

“It is--  it is not that, Your Majesty,” you offered quietly, a little white lie; but not quite, for your fear could truly not be blamed on him, only on yourself. “I merely judge that the word has not been wrong about you – your mind is quite brilliant and cunning indeed.”

Something flickered in his eye as he sat a bit straighter at the praise, shoulders relaxing, a reassuring smile playing on his lips.

“It would not be just to leave a crime as grave as this unpunished.”

I would never stand for you to suffer while the bastards who are to blame for your tears and bruises and cuts walk free, the enticing voice swore, Steve’s eyes boring into yours with fire burning as gently as fierce. As the fire, you supposed, should be burning in your veins by your lineage.

Yet the only burn you felt was shame seated deeply in your stomach, slowly crawling out.

Your smile in response – however grateful for Steve’s sentiment, true or imaginary – was tight, eyes turning glassy as you took a wavering breath and looked away, unable to bear it.

There he sat; a good man, honourable and generous and brave and cunning, believing in justice with all his heart.

You could not hold pretence in face of that. You could not find it in your soul to lie or keep a secret. Not from him. Even if your heart clenched in horrifying anticipation at the mere thought of confessing your sins.

“You are admirably fair, Your Majesty,” you husked, clearing your throat to raise your voice from but a whisper. He was worthy of as much. “As you are just… it feels even worse a crime not to say I do not deserve half the kindness I have been offered.”

Steve tilted his head to side a bit, observing you with curiosity, his face, gods bless, such a beautiful face, twisting into a slight frown.

“Why would that be so? You deserve to be treated with decency and respect and more. More so since you have done no wrong.”

His voice was so sincere in that belief that the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, the harsh truth scratchy on your tongue:

“I threatened my father with gutting him if he tried to touch me one more time.”

And I might would have done so had it come to it, raged the blood in your veins, a memory of your nails digging into his skin to protect yourself, a fiery sensation as brief as the words themselves, before dread of facing the rightful judgement replaced it with ice.

Judgement.

Disgust.

Loathing.

Punishment.

You did not dare to as much as glance up from where your fingers were gripping your skirts; not until you’d swear you heard Steve teeth clank together and grind, making you to look up anyway.

His jaw was set tight. Fingers dug into the armrests. His shoulders – wonderful broad shoulders, right arm twitching towards where you remembered he had kept the sword by his throne, now leaned against the table – squared and prepared for battle.

He was positively shaken by your inappropriate confession; but his conviction was not. If anything, it seemed to grow tenfold.

“If he had touched you once, it was one time too many,” he spat. “I fail to see how wishing to be safe could ever make you less worthy of the treatment you have received here.”

I would have personally ripped his hand clear off for such offence, committed on his own daughter no less. A mere threat, my sweetling, seems a kindness. I am proud of you and grateful you kept what I hold dear safe.

Your breath caught in your throat.

But it was the gentle ghost of a voice, dark with a promise, warm, that somehow urged you to continue, to share your own darkness so it may touch light; it was the unshakable ghost of the hand of your father on your shoulder, cold, that spurred you to try and defend and justify his drunken actions.

Honor thy father. Do not speak ill of him.

“He… he’d be too drunk to tell whether I was his daughter or a thief or… whether—whether I was my mother-”

The wood of the armrest cried under Steve’s grip, causing you to fall silent in an instant, palm flying to your mouth.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. Please… forgive me. Such talk is not for polite company,” you whispered swiftly, ignoring the sharp itch of tears in the base of your nose, the burn of shame in your cheeks. “…suppose should only serve to prove my point of not-”

“Yes, indeed. Proves my point perfectly.”

You met his gaze, not uttering a single word, hand slowly falling back into your lap.

For a quiet moment, you simply observed each other, each lost in your own thoughts.

You would not hope to image what his thoughts were beyond pity for what you had been through.

He, in turn, could not hope to imagine how deeply beyond overwhelmed by guilt you grew with every passing moment of the silence that had settled, interrupted only by your stumbling, frantic heart.

Sweet. Compassionate. Patient.

A flavour of silence you were not worth of tasting.

You closed your eyes as the fatal confession fell from your lips, unable to face the sincere warmth in his gaze, built up on the lie of you being but a victim, a good person through and through.

“… I stole a knife from your kitchens. When they brought me food, I--- I took it. And hid it… I—I hid it.”

Silence again.

Deeper than before; deep enough for you to drown in your own ragged heartbeat.

Darker too, in your sudden loneliness.

And yet all but such.

The air was cold and stiff and terribly still until it wasn’t.

A whisper of an instinct as ancient as this world, a whisper of what was to come just before it did, was the only thing that prevented you from nearly jumping out of your skin when you felt the touch.

A tender brush of a hand over yours, steadying the tremble by closing around it.

A stunningly, bafflingly gentle squeeze.

Endless warmth seeping through your skin to the very marrow of your bones, golden threads of a profound sense of right threading through your veins all the way to your heart.

The hot tears rolling down your cheeks from your tightly squeezed eyelids were as much shame and as sweet heaviness of relief.

You felt the absence of judgement whispering through your very soul, but you were sure it would coming. It had to.

It had to, for you had sinned, for you had taken what was not rightfully yours, abused kindness-

He might have steadied our hand, but your lower lip began to wobble.

“I am so sorry, there is no--- Your Highness—Your Majesty, no penance, but please-- please forgive me, I-“

I shall make it right, somehow- I--

“I heard.”

A shaky intake of breath caught in your lungs, eyes snapping open.

You were met with Steve, Steve Steve Steve watching you earnestly, the blue of his eyes brimming with emotion.

No anger. No judgement.

Not pity either, not quite.

Compassion.

And a profound understanding already assuring you that despite all logic, despite your confession, no punishment was coming for your crime.

I know of your shortcomings, my sweetling, his touch whispered, I do not blame you; I see you. Gods, do I see you.

He knew. He had known.

And still, he observed you without as much as minute change of expression, without malice or accusation.

Your face was damp with tears, but your throat felt dry, your voice but a scratchy sound.

“They--- they told you… And after all you have offered to me so generously and beyond, you knew I stole from you… and you--- you let me get away with it. So far.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” you choked out, the answer coming written all over his face, nonsensical and yet so right you had no reason to question it.

Because it’s you. Because you are mine.

Steve hummed a soft noncommittal sound. His free hand took your other hand, engulfing it in warmth.

“My mother used to say that one must always fight for what they believe in, for what they deem just – by sword, if necessary. And that yet, oftentimes, the greatest power one can wield is mercy and compassion.”

You shuddered.

You should already be whispering of gratitude. You should be falling to your knees. You should be swearing loyalty.

But you could not move, words growing heavier and heavier on your tongue you as he kept looking at you, hands cradled in his, eyes serious and so deeply kind, patiently waiting for you to process and fully understand what he was saying.

This is the time to exercise that compassion and mercy, my sweetling, and I shall do so.

You cleared your throat, only prepared to state the obvious.

“She... she sounds like a wise woman.”

Steve’s irises lit up with fondness and longing all too familiar; one of love lost, affection for the person who loved you despite your flaws and made you, fundamentally, into who you were.

“She was. Had she not fallen ill in the sick tents where she had been tending to the injured and ill, she would have died of the number of grey hairs I had given her.”

With the smallest of smile tempting your lips, you could not but recall Bucky’s words, all too similar, all too fond too. And you could not but notice how Steve’s voice, slow and reverent, translated perfectly into the affection the portrait of her you had seen had been painted with.

“I do not hold your actions against you. You do not deserve punishment for taking the knife,” he said, tender but firm. “You deserve to feel safe as that is the basic right of all. I stand by that and I shall continue to do so, all the more after what you have just told me. As much as I wish that my right hand, the best soldier and protector in the kingdom, stationed in front of the door to your chamber would make you feel so, I shall not deny you the comfort you are accustomed to.”

For all your confusion at what he meant by that and what by gods he was suggesting, for all the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, you could not look away; you could not look away from the depth of the blue you were drowning in, the golden threads weaving through your body by Steve’s touch, reaching out through your skin, interlaced into a quilt warmer than anything you had ever felt. Safer than any armour you imagined you could ever wear.

Words failed you.

But perhaps you did not need them just yet.

“I rose from nothing. My father died too young in a senseless war, my mother was a healer serving the Royal army. I was barely a soldier without any chance of ever climbing ranks, until I was fortunate enough to end up fighting side by side with the king… I used to sleep with a rusty knife under my rag of a shawl instead of a pillow too.”

Your breath hitched deeper in your lungs, the sensation of your very soul being seen raw but not entirely unpleasant. For most of the fear people ever felt of being seen stemmed from the fear of being judged if it happened so; and there was nothing but profound understanding staring back at you.

And perhaps your own understanding, however impossible after knowing the man sitting in front of you less than half a day and having spent but half an hour with him, was staring right back at him.

Steven Rogers I., The Just.

The king who believed in justice driven by morality and compassion and mercy rather than cruelty and rigidity inspiring fear. Inspiring loyalty instead.

“So I shall not have you punished and I shall not take your comforts from you. Only, should you accept it, I would rather gift you a dagger as that is a much more proper weapon than a butter knife.”

Your exhale was almost a huff of laughter, a wave of fresh tears flooding your face; for he could not mean that.

And yet; yet you had no doubt he did.

He would reward a theft by another gift. And somehow, at the same time, he was not foolish in the slightest, however incomprehensible his actions were.

The gods and angels must have not only carved his handsome face; they had built his soul and heart with the same tender love, extending their care through his late mother.

The sudden urge to fall to your knees – not to beg forgiveness as it did not seem he would give it if he felt there had been no crime, but to display your respect and gratitude – was halted by the smallest squeeze to your hands. As if he knew; and as if he warned you not to. For to him, there was no need for as much as a thank you.

Perhaps there was a little piece of fool in him; for there was no world where you would not give that at least. 

And yet; when you vision cleared, there was something glimmering in his own eyes, that brought a little smile to your still wobbly lips.

“As grateful as I am, your Majesty, for your mercy and such kind offering, I am afraid a knife is all I know how to use. A gift of a dagger would be rather wasted on my hand.”

His smile seemed almost proud; a brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your wrist, a warm shudder rushing up your arm, only turned his smile wider.

“Then we shall teach your hand to handle a dagger as well as needed. I can show you – or have Natasha or Bucky teach you. I have yet to meet a person more skilled with blades smaller than a sword than them… should you wish so.”

“…thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, no other words making sense, no words at all able to encompass the entirety of the storm of emotion and wonder raging in your mind and heart alike.

“It will be my pleasure, my lady, to ensure that whichever you choose will be done.”

For I shall fulfil your every wish, my love.

He squeezed your hands gently once more, hesitant as their warmth slowly withdrew, along with the golden tendrils of comfort and profound understanding threading around your heart.

Silence settled on the room once more, sweet and heavy; and too quiet for your mind, swirling with too many loud questions and conjectures, too quiet for your pounding heart and still burning eyes.

And you could not bear it; not for but a few rapid beats of your heart so strong in your tight ribcage you worried the muscle might break free off your chest. Not when he observed you with the steady bottomless kindness you had just understood he had a capacity for – but still made little sense.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I—I do not understand. I don’t--- for all you said, for the kindness I can see you have abundance of, I do not understand,” you husked, your voice betraying you, as the intrusive and profoundly evil echo of Henry’s voice whispered slimy answers to the questions you were yet to ask. “Why would you do such? What should I--- what is expected of me? What would you wish me to do in return? What-”

The king’s mouth barely opened when the assault of your questions ceased and you were already apologizing swiftly for it.

“I am sorry. My apologies, for— I should have not--- I-“

The hand to grasp yours returned in an instant; and it should not sooth you as much, for it made no sense, but it did. It did, for it allowed you to breathe again, to meet his gaze, to keep your heart steady. For the warmth and calm returned.

With a single touch.

How? Was that one of the blessings the gods had graced him with? Magic?

“I expect you to be honest with me, my lady,” he said simply, slowly. “I expect you to be honest with yourself. I expect you to do as it is in your power to find happiness in life and I hope you can accept my aid in doing so.”

Why? You wanted to ask, but he was not done, and his thumb drew a soothing circle over your wrist and you lost yourself in the tender gesture, tense shoulders falling, mirroring his own.

“And my hopes are that… perhaps, while staying true to yourself and without any duty you might think you’d have to repay me for that aid… that you might give me a chance.”

“A chance?” you echoed quietly.

“To prove myself a good man to you… worthy to be allowed to try and win over your heart.”

For that is all I wish for, my sweetling, my love, my queen, his voice whispered in your mind, his eyes most sincere despite the utter madness the words carried.

And yet the beat your heart skipped was not one of a startle nor a doubt, as much as your mind protested such reality. It was one of bliss.

He is a king, your mind argued.

He is mine, the heart hummed peacefully in return, and I am his.

The question fell from your lips nevertheless, breathless, but entirely justified.

“Why?”

Why me, the single word implied, even as with any lesser man, the question could also ask why bother proving anything and asking for a chance, when he could simply take.

With Steve, you already knew the answer to the latter, long before he could continue to prove to you as he apparently wished; for he was a good man.

The first shadow of uncertainty in the entirety of the evening passed over his face, hesitation clear as his hand twitched over yours just a bit, his gaze flickering to one of the documents on the edge of the table you had been politely ignoring for you had barely even noticed them, let alone thought to pay them any mind without a grave breach of a law, politeness and trust.

It was a single sheet of parchment, dark ink masterfully curled into letters just as beautiful as the letter you had received from His Majesty; while you could not read the words, for they were too afar and partly concealed by the natural curve of the parchment, you had no doubt the author of the words was holding your hand.

He took a wavering breath, drawing your gaze back to his, and his eyes turned the softest yet, even as his sudden determination shone through, his voice carrying an almost ceremonial note as he recited words that touched your very soul, the warm threads of gold travelling through your veins and bones, blooming inside your chest in an inevitable masterpiece.

“The first snow, like the last ashes, is settling down

A phoenix from them ashes rises, worthy of a crown.

A gentle soul, tireless spirit, bound by chain

Of exquisite beauty, heart restless, clothing plain.

A lonely soul soaked in gold’s already defied fate

Set aflame once it meets eye of its one true mate.

The glory of just rule is one of long-lost precious arts

The key to just world lies in two pure and content hearts.”

You listened with bated breath as the words rolled off Steve’s tongue with reverence; and with familiarity of something one had read and recited to themselves a thousand times before.

You had never heard those words spoken before in your life, you were certain; and yet you’d swear you could have recited them along with him, for you knew them. You would swear on your mother’s grave you knew them; a whisper as old as time itself in the back of your head, goosebumps rising on your skin at the touch of something, an entity that did deserve reverence indeed.

“That is beautiful…” you whispered, a ghost of a smile passing on Steve’s lips, soft. “Where does this come from?”

“A prophecy. Made by the Scalet Witch the day I was crowned the king.”

A prophecy I wrote down and learned by heart for I understood the fatal importance of it, the squeeze of his hand to yours murmured, the brush of his thumb over the back of your hand having your lips part. The importance of you, my sweetling.

A prophecy, your mind echoed, the likeliness of his wordless claim as absurd as the unlikeliness.

It would have been preposterous to believe a prophecy made by a figure as legendary as the Scarlet Witch could be speaking of you of all people.

But it would have been downright foolish to ignore the obvious. You would have to be nothing short of stubbornly blind to not see the reasons why Steve should believe it coming true with your arrival.

‘The first snow.’

‘Fire and ashes.’

‘Bound.’

‘Clothing plain.’

Clothing plain, rang in your mind with more familiarity than anything, your free hand instinctively curling in your skirts, the one dress you had put on and never changed from, almost mindlessly, driven by a force you did not quite understand; and yet you understood it quite well for it was a deep longing to see Steve as soon as possible.

‘Set aflame,’ a whisper sounded in your very soul, the fire your mother had always spoke of, the thing that was meant to keep crackling in your soul and was all but gently kindled by the threads of golden warmth seeping into you through Steve’s touch.

‘Soaked in gold.’

‘Defied fate.’

‘Just rule.’

As clear as these words were to speak of Steve Rogers I., The Just, it seemed as if they, of all things to be said of him, were not chosen by accident. You were feeling the consequences of all these qualities of his at the very moment; basking in the warmth of his touch, having found a relatable experience, having benefited from his merciful sense of justice.

And yes; one might argue other things mentioned were questionable at best and yet, you did not believe the Scarlet Witch said anything at all accidentally.

And neither did Steve.

Steve, who waited patiently for you to process what he had had years to come to terms to.

Had he been waiting, with every arrival of winter, for the prophecy to come true? Looking out of the window awaiting the first snow with longing for the one person, the one thing that seemed most unattainable and yet was the sweetest promise of the prophecy, foreseeing one true love, dooming all other love conquests as possibly futile in the process?

The tender crystals of blue in his irises – as he didn’t shift his gaze away from you, not once in your prolonged silence – were an answer enough.

“One true mate?” you questioned quietly. “…a soulmate?”

“That is my understanding, yes,” he said, not needing a second longer to think. “The one true love one only meets once in their lifetime… if they are fortunate.”

If I could ever be so fortunate, my sweetling, after all the blessings I have already received.

Earned, you wished to argue, fingers twitching, releasing the fabric of your skirts, gravitating towards the hand that held yours, fingertips brushing the skin of his knuckles, roughened by battle and scattered with scars that deserved nothing but a careful, soft touch.

The hitch of Steve’s breath a was tender music to your ears.

“…do you believe it? That…” Your voice faded out, unable, unwilling perhaps, to finish the exhilarating and yet fragile thought.

Not to believe that soulmates existed – you’d like to hope that they did, however they would come to be, written across the stars in your skies, the book of fate, a red string threading through people’s lives – no.

To believe, for some inexplicable reason, that the person for him could be you.

Reluctant to believe it despite fate having toyed with the pair of you more than he was yet to know.

He gulped and cleared his throat at your question, straightening in his seat.

“Yes. The Scarlet Witch has been with the court since I was a boy. She has not once been wrong.”

The Scarlet Witch, yes, you thought, unable to entirely swallow your disappointment at the sheer rationality of the answer while what was blooming inside you was all but.

Without doubt, however, his point was undebatable – for the Scarlet Witch was larger than life.

The mystical woman living everyone and nowhere, in the woods, in the streams, in the wind. No one knew of her true origin, only of her power.

An incredibly gifted prevoyant.

A god-like figure only few were fortunate enough to have seen for longer than a passing moment, let alone spoke to her.

Some believed her to be the daughter of the gods, others whispered she had made a horrible sacrifice of her own children to the gods in exchange for the gift of clairvoyance and other immeasurable powers. Some thought her but a charlatan with clever ways of speaking things; others called them fools for that for they swore that their grand grandfathers had seen her being the witch who would not burn at the stake several kingdoms over. And many had witnessed her to warn kingdoms of floods and fires and diseases killing the crops; many a warning which would be ignored by some and had them pay the highest price for they always came true. 

You had no doubt she could see things that were to come… for all you knew, she might even be the sister to Lady Fortuna herself or was able to read her scribbles.

She had not once been wrong indeed; and if she had been, no one dared to speak of it, out of fear and respect alike.

“And yes, my lady. Yes, I do,” Steve added softly, the answer to your true question.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts; or read in your face that legitimacy of a prophecy was not quite what mattered to you the most, even as it probably should have.

But how could it, if fate, Lady Fortuna, the gods, or whoever or whichever, had led a kind, generous, brilliant and undeniably handsome man into your path?

“Do you believe then that was it fate that brought me here?”

That brought me here to you?

A contemplative furrow appeared on Steve’s brow as his gaze fell lower, his hand shifting on your thigh to cradle your palm, thumb tracing your lifeline almost absently, a small smile playing in the corner of his lips when your other hand instinctively turned palm-up as well, an offering for him to place his free hand there.

Acceptance.

Of him. Of fate. Of whichever brought you here in his path.

Regardless of where that path would lead you.

He laid his hand into yours willingly, warmth seeping through even as it was your hand that cupped his, attempted to despite how large it was. It sent a shudder through your entire body, all but unpleasant, and the smile on his lips grew a fraction.

Does it matter whether it was fate, my sweetling, if you are here with me?

“I believe there is a higher power. The gods, the Lord, Fate, Fortuna – I do not know which. Perhaps all at once,” he mused, thumb still stroking your palm, as if he was trying to commit the sight and feeling to memory. “I… I believe in paths we are offered, perhaps in certain fates which are indeed inevitable… but I believe in free will too. We make choices. And those choices make us who we are and make us responsible for the consequences our actions have. To us or to others.”

His eyes snapped to yours with gravity and it was not difficult to guess what – and whom – he was thinking of; of men who treated others, who had treated you, wholly differently than he was now.

“Should the prophecy, and thus perhaps fate, speak of me meeting you – and I shall hope so and I believe so – then it is still my responsibility to treat you best to my ability and conscience. And I will,” he promised. “…And yes, it might mean then, that perhaps those men were always meant to bring you here, one way or another – but how they chose to try to earn my favour and how they mistreated you, that was their choice and it sent them on the path they walk now.”

The path they walked… in the dungeons, a brand burned on their skin, hands broken—

A tremor whispered along your spine, cold and strangely satisfied yet – and all the higher it reached, the more it made you shiver in reverence and respect in front of that higher power, perhaps fate or Fortuna indeed, who had threaded carefully to lead you here.

And yet, with a choice.

You thought of all the moments you had considered trying to escape but chose not to.

You thought of your choice, however subconscious and desperate, to grab a knife to your protection and giving into the strong urge to confess it to Steve, only to witness him being merciful.

You thought of your father’s choice to drink as much as he had those few fateful nights ago, getting into a brawl; a choice that had made you all the easier target for Henry and Dimitri.

You thought of the men’s decision to take you, to bring any woman to the king in the first place, by any means necessary, all but shy of violence and threats to your life and destroying what could have been left of it right in front of your eyes, such wicked actions, irreversible harm--

You drew in a sharp breath as the realisation landed on your chest heavily, the gravity of the thought this could all have been destiny lit anew.

“You have punished them for arson… and for laying a hand on me…” you whispered, and even as you were staring at your joined hands, you could feel Steve’s gaze on you.

Gaze thoughtful, sorrowful, and heavy with guilt.

You did not have the heart to finish your thought out loud. To voice the accusation, one you would have barely had the right to made, since what he had done was already more than you could ever ask for. To speak of it as of something to hold against him and blame him for.

You could not; for with humility which a deity as large as Fate deserved, you understood.

And so instead, you simply stated the facts.

“You did not punish them for taking me... For whether they were aware of such or not, they were but fulfilling their destiny. Guided by Fate…”

You dared to glance up, strangely certain of your assumptions, eyes falling on Steve’s face torn by guilt, anger and regret for having solved a dilemma the way he had.

“And as powerful as a hand of a king is, any wise man knows to respect the hand of Fate and that of the gods,” you added softly.

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his hand twitching in yours, thumb pressing against your palm.

“You are not wrong, my lady,” he admitted, hesitating but briefly before he continued. “But I also… I alone did not feel adequate to give punishment of a gravity fitting the crime since you were the one who has been done irreversible harm.”

Your lips parted, a violent shiver rushing through your very soul, a lick of a justified angry flame at your veins, a fire put out just as fast at the mere thought of holding someone’s fate – someone’s life, entirely possibly, the most precious entity – in your hand.

As empowering and all too terrifying as the thought was, it did not blind you. You were not unaware of the heat that settled in your stomach at the chivalrous and almost savage gesture of giving you the power to choose, instead of doing it himself; nor that you did not see, once again, how justice worked in Steve’s mind and how much you approved of it.

“And so if you choose their punishment and bestow me the power to do so, I will see to it that it is done,” he vowed, eyes boring into yours with intensity that made you see the very flame inside you mirror in his cerulean irises, before his gaze fell in what could only be shame. “But I am but a man too, my lady. Selfish in my ways like any other, despite priding in acting as just as I can. And I… I do struggle to—it is quite difficult for me decide a grave punishment for someone whose actions, however undisputably wicked and condemnable, I benefit from immensely… for you are here.”

And I am trying my damnest to be a good man, my love, for you the most… but I am not perfect. Far from it, whispered your mind in his voice, an apology, an atonement, a plea for forgiveness.

You observed the sorrow on Steve’s face, softened by his last words that made your heart sear, and you could not think of how wrong he was.

Not far from it in the slightest, was what you thought and almost as if he could hear it – or merely understood what the gentle squeeze to his hand meant – his features softened further, gaze lifting back to yours, the faintest hints of a smile in one corner of his lips.

“Can you forgive me for my shortcomings, my lady?”

You reciprocated the small smile, barely fazed anymore but no less grateful for his kindness and self-awareness.

“I cannot forgive for what I do not see as wrong, Steve. ----oh no, I mean-“

Faster than you could comprehend, faster than you could finish your apology for the too familial of an addressing that had no place in your mouth, for in your mind he might have had turned Steve long moments ago, but he remained His Majesty--- three tender fingers were laid over your lips, pressing lightly, sending delightfully dizzying tingle straight into your core, mind coming to a halt as all you could see and feel was him.

His eyes, tenderness incarnate, boring into yours.

His lips, plush and parted.

The touch of his fingers, roughened by hard work but all the more careful, no longer pressing but caressing your mouth, tracing its shape and feeling the stolen air.

His voice, echoing in your mind, resonating within your bones.

“Have never heard a sweeter sound, my sweetling… my lady.”

My love.

His gaze flickered to follow the touch of his fingers, so overwhelmingly warm you were sure you’d never feel a day of cold ever again, your heart racing miles a minute in sinful harmony of the pulse you could swear you could feel on Steve’s fingertips.

Your breath stuck deeper in your throat, a whisper of his name falling from your lips again, his gaze an inferno inviting you to say it over and over again; you only felt your chest finally expand with an inhale when his hand shifted, leaving your lips suddenly cold with but a sweet aftertaste, his knuckles caressing your cheek instead, the tenderness of the gesture filling your lungs with light and sweetness.

My sweetling, he’d said, the true sound of the echo you’d been hearing in your head like the headiest wine, making your head spin – letting you rise into heights you never wanted to leave.

But you did; his hand fell back into yours, a bliss nevertheless, however faint compared to the sensation still pulsing inside your veins and burning in your stomach.

You blinked, gathering your wits, a nearly lost cause given the hypnotizing smile on Steve’s lips.

My sweetling, my love-

“Where are your thoughts, my sweetling?”

Your cheeks burned at the addressing; burned with the urge to smile, gaze where your fingers laid interlaced still, a sight no less alluring with the protective hold Steve’s hands seemed to have on yours.

It took you a while to school your thoughts into coherence, the wild carousel of questions and answers and destiny and choices spinning still.

“Merely thinking about fate and choices… Perhaps Doctor Erskine was always meant to invent his great experiment… but you asking to the be one to undergo the risk brought you to the throne. A little bit of fate. A little bit of choice changing the courses of the lives of many,” you mused, raising your gaze to find Steve observing you, exasperated surprise blended with fondness all over his expression.

“Bucky has been talking.”

Indeed he had.

You smiled, remembering all too well he had clearly told you many things not only to paint Steve in the best possible light, being good a friend, but also to showcase his glee. Glee at Steve meeting someone at least half as stubborn as himself, ready to challenge him – and exasperate him too, to repay his for all the years he had been doing so to others with all the choices he was making in life.

Insane choices made for a greater good. Choices… made on carefully built paths and crossroads of fate itself, steered by the choices of others.

“Yes,” you admitted, seeing no point in denying so. “He also spoke of how--- how much pain it cost you… and how you might have not survived had it not been for the Doctor’s wife’s choice to run off with him from another kingdom and join his efforts.”

Steve’s eyebrow rose; no trace of anger, only surprise. You wondered briefly, if you had revealed too much, knowing more than Bucky could have told you; and whether Steve realized such or not. There was no telling whether the story of the woman – your grandmother – was known to many.

“Bucky truly has been talking… but yes. I believe that might be the case.”

“Her choice… or her fate. Fortune, really.”

‘Lady Fortuna is watching over you, my little love,’ your mother’s voice echoed in your ears for many a time that day, tempting you to believe. Believer her. Believe in fate. Believe in you. ‘The red thread of hers will lead you to your fate.’

Steve smiled warmly, nodding, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “Yes. Whichever it was, all there is to know is that I owe them both a great debt.”

For I have lived. For I have lived and have been given the chance guide the lives of many towards a better life.

For I have lived long enough to meet you.

None of those words were spoken and yet – you read them so clear in Steve’s irises they might as well have been.

And whichever choices had been made… you had no doubt they were the right ones, indeed, if they had, eventually, led you here.

Here, where despite all circumstance, everything felt right on such a fundamental level it must have been so.

“They certainly seem to have chosen well.”

Steve’s chest subtly puffed out at the praise, his chin inching higher, a spark of pride appearing in his irises; and it pleased you to have such effect on him, so simply as to speak—

And yet fright seized your mind at once, heart stumbling in your chest painfully, throat tight as it hit you that Steve, ever so slightly, turned into a vision of pride.

And pride… pride was a dangerous thing.

There was no doubt Steve deserved to feel so and had earned your every word of appreciation – to deny you thought so might as well be a crime.

But His Majesty the King was a wholly different entity than you.

For you, you were short of a virtue and exceptionality.

Under Steve’s gaze, with all his sweet words of soulmates and prophecies, with his touch pouring a sweet mist into your head and into your lungs expanding so wildly it affected your heart, it was all too easy – all too tempting – to be led astray. To believe it all to be true.

That you were exceptional.

Special enough to have been chosen by Lady Fortuna to be by his side.

Special enough to be mentioned in a prophecy made by one of the most powerful figures of the entire generation.

‘The women of our family have been blessed; there’s light blooming in our hearts, fire crackling in our souls,’ your mother used to say, the dreamer, the believer in great things, her light having been dimming every day as if to deny her words.

‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,’ your father used to say, your daily bread, the deadly sins, the ten commandments, the warnings not to be seduced by evil that not o rarely wore a pretty face, all gold and promises glinting. ‘Humility, obedience – such is the true way of a good life. The way of a good woman. Honour thy father and thy mother.’

“I am trying to make the best choices possible too,” Steve’s gentle murmur snapped you from your dark reverie.

“From what I have seen, you have done so…” you said, words leaving your lips absently as your mind roamed shadowy places, doubt beginning to sprout in your chest despite the sweet threads of gold still blooming around your heart. “Me, however… it is still difficult to believe, despite all evidence, should we call it such, that a fate so great has been bestowed on me of all people.”

‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall—'

Steve’s gaze was inquisitive as it roamed your face, a myriad of emotions suddenly hard to read playing across his features, until a shadow of well-masked sadness covered it, his hold on you growing rather slack.

“I believe it,” he whispered, earnestly so. “And you know already that I believe in fate, in higher power, as much as in choice… What I do not believe in, however, is forced affection.”

Your heart skipped a startled beat, confusion no doubt showing on your face for you were at loss as to why he would say such thing. Unless his displays of affection, so warm and perfect and the incarnation of a home yet to be tainted by grief of a loss, were so.

Forced.

Pretend.

The mere idea was a cold stab straight to your heart, beating vigorously in opposition of the possibility of such being true.

“Please know… Should you not find me worthy, should you find that you do not feel the same… I would never force you to stay, never forced you to charm affection where there is none,” he continued, realization dawning to you and stealing your breath even as your lips parted to disprove the terrible misinterpretation of your own words--- “I would never take back what I have given and never laid a hand on you or otherwise punish you. Should you wish to leave… I would not stop you. I could not… but least I would ask you if you’d accept a chest of precious gems to ensure you were well off.”

But do not, my sweetling. Please. I could not bear it.

My heart would break, half my soul leaving with you.

You blinked, the ache of the loss as if already pulsing inside your ribcage, knocking all air from your lungs.

But it was the last sentence, so nonsensical and so contradictory to the truth of life that has proved to you that you always had to earn the fortune’s favour and the gods’ and Lord’s benevolence – and kindness of strangers, kindness of men – that urged you to ask questions; rather than reassure Steve that leaving was the last thing on your mind. For your heart, your soul, your mind, however foolish to have already fallen for him, would not bear separating from him either.

The loss of the warmth of his touch alone poured potency into the ache in your chest. To leave him altogether would rip you apart.

And yet… how could what he had said ever make sense?

“How would I deserve so? After all you have-“

“For I would never wish you any harm,” he said, his grip on your hand firmer again, his gaze a sea of regret. “And yet, it has already been done.”

Many people have been done harm in the course of their life, you thought to argue, but the touch, the blissful touch returning stopped you at once; and offered clarity without words, Steve’s hold on your hand as strong as the cage of his gaze he trapped yours with.

But none of them are you, my sweetling – and none of them, none, suffered in my name.

And those who had done so, serving me or my kingdom, had done so willingly; and even those, if it were possible, were compensated.

He did not speak those words yet you did not have the faintest doubt that they were true.

For he was the king of the people, serving, like the rest of them.

For he was the king responsible for his people.

And you were one of his already, in one sense of the word or another. A gift to him; whether he had asked for it or not, whether it was fate or someone else’s choice.

In the dim lights of the hearth, you nearly moved your hand to shield your eyes from the strikingly clear sight of him offered, his very soul speaking to you in tongues ancient and never learnt; and yet perfectly comprehensible.

He was not wearing a crown now; not even the simple circlet of gold he had worn when holding the very court you had been dragged to and yet, the shadow of the crown sat on his head heavier and more apparent than a few hours ago. And it was not the precious metal of it that weighted on him; it was the very responsibility he had told you he believed came with being given a choice, grown hundredfold as it came with the power bestowed to him as the king.

And gods help you, you never wished for him to be weighted down, weary with pain or as much as worry – but looking at him now, he was the most beautiful you had yet seen him. A fundamentally, undeniably good man.

And despite that, somehow, he had read your reluctance to belief in being so blessed as something to have anything to do with him not being enough. As if being a soulmate to the embodiment of kindness and fierceness was a feat rather than the most generous gift you had never done anything to deserve and had been given nevertheless.

And perhaps accepting it made you proud.

Perhaps it made you a sinner.

But you would atone for your sins the only way that, seeing the man in front of you, felt right in every fibre of your being.

By loving him.

“I see,” you rasped, emotions thickening your voice as it constricted your throat. “Your kindness sees no bounds… but I believe you misunderstand me.”

He winced as if you slapped him; but the brave man he was, wishing to understand, he held your gaze.

And thankfully, your hands too, still.

You let a small smile curl your lips, causing his head to tilt minutely to the left, some of the previous shadow falling away.

“I do have trouble believing, still… but I do not wish to leave or this not to be true. Quite the opposite. I… I only fear--- there so little sense in all this, and I fear that if there were any chance we might be wrong after all… that in all the hopes and--- wishes of such to be true, that we are— that you are forcing yourself into something you do not… yet-- feel…” Your voice trailed off, weaker with every word while hope grew in Steve’s eyes, determination rising and fleshing out right in front of your eyes.

You suddenly recognized how your worry seemed so silly with all you were feeling and was mirrored in Steve’s face, how it made little sense indeed, but it made all sense, with how you could still feel the touch to your lips, still tingling, still humming in your blood-

Warm.

So warm as his hand left yours, palm cradling your cheek instead, crystal-like blue shining around dark pupils observing you like you were the night skies with the most wonderful and rarest of constellations known to men visible for the first time.

Your breath hitched as the golden warmth seeped into your skin anew, rushing through your veins like the most potent wine and cider combined, neither of which you had touched tonight, but the touch, gentleness and firmness aligned, lit you alive like one of the stars on the skies indeed; and so did Steve’s voice.

“My sweetling… there is no doubt in my mind, in my heart, in my body nor soul,” he whispered and you caught yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling into his palm, sinking into his tenderness and promise, for nothing had never felt like the touch of divine itself like this before. His eyes crinkled at the edges as you did so, a brilliant soft smile curling his lips. “Seeing you… having the privilege of touching you… it awoken something in me. We only have just met, I barely know your name, and yet I feel like a part of me, deep within me, my heart or my soul-“

“-has known me for a lifetime,” you finished the thought gingerly, finding yourself leaning in, gravitating closer to him, a force of nature you, at last, gave in to, the distance slowly erased.

Much like your doubts; and you were not bothered by either, not in the slightest.

Steve’s expression – and gods, he was nothing short of stunning, even up close, so close his exhale would almost tickle your lips, so so far – grew warmer.

“Yes. Is that…?”

You lowered your gaze, incidentally, glancing over his mouth, the curve of his broad shoulders in your peripheral, all exquisite things to observe.

“I… am not unaffected myself. I do not know how… or why.”

Yes, you do, my sweetling. Yes, you do.

You licked your lips. Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Though I suppose I do… or I believe so,” you added, reluctantly raising your gaze only to meet Steve’s, a soft inferno of emotion staring back at you.

“Should you wish, we could explore that path together… I certainly wish so, if I have not made myself clear yet.”  

You have, my love, you almost pushed past your lips, the last worry of yours the only obstacle.

That and the fact that Steve’s proximity was much like a spell you were quickly falling under, the sweet vertigo of a free fall making words lose all meaning.

“My only worry then is-“

“Isn’t it weary to worry as much, my sweetling? No need for it… I shall protect you from any further harm. From the gods themselves if I must…”

You sighed, weary indeed, where the weight of his crown seem to have but fade away when he held you.

And how tempting would be to believe him, to let your heart alone guide you, to set your fears and doubt free as if you were the one clutching at them and not the other way around.

“I am not of noble blood,” you husked, the issue seemingly so insignificant with the little distance between Steve’s lips and yours, his fingertips brushing your hair, his palm cradling your face oh so gingerly, his other mirroring the gesture, holding your face like the most precious gem with the fragility of a spring blossom- “Surely-- surely the laws-“

The instinctive flicker of your eyes to his mouth as he licked his lips was nothing short of devastating and delightful, the gentle thud on his forehead against yours almost comically tender compared to the violent pulse and rush of your blood past your ears and temples.

Your eyes slipped shut.

“I am the king… I am the law,” he spoke firmly, even if barely audible, sending a shudder down your spine, not at all cold. “I do discuss all important matters with my council, my trusted ones, the former queen, my friends… but if I wish to make you my queen, if you wish the same--- I shall see it done.”

My sweetling, my love, my queen-

All these wonderful unshakeable vows dissipated the last traces of hesitance and doubt like the very magic the Scarlet Witch possessed was at work, and tangled the words on your tongue.

“If it lightens your soul, my sweetling, Tony-- the late King, was not quite known for standing by the rules as old as his lineage either. I am the living proof of how much. I do not have the faintest care whether you are of nobility or not. I came from nothing. And I rule to my best conscience all the more for it, perhaps… if anything, a wife who understands such is the perfect partner… the perfect queen.”

My queen, sounded possessive and decisive and alluringly sweet and tempting in your ears, Steve’s breath tickling your lips, his warmth, his touch, the vision of him behind your closed eyelids an overwhelming assault on your senses tempting you to give up. To let go.

And you did.

The release of the air stuck in your lungs made you as light as a feather, as warm as the summer midday sun on your skin.

“Are you saying I am nothing, Your Majesty?” you whispered, an intimate tease more than anything.

And what a gorgeous reward you received, hearing his smile in his voice when he spoke again, feeling his fingers twitch on your face, tipping your head back a bit as if on pure instinct.

“Oh no, my sweetling, not at all…”

His lips a hair’s breadth from yours, he stole your breath and gave his in return, offering a torturously long time to withdrew as if you had the slightest intention of doing so--

“You… are everything.”

The small sound born in your throat at the sincerity in his voice was drowned in a sea of bliss.

In the light poured into your veins, sunshine and moonlight and stardust born in your bones and consuming your heart and soul alike.

In the heat spreading through every fibre of your being, from your fingertips to your core, beginning and ending where Steve’s lips pressed against yours with delight of the first kiss and deep familiarity of it having been done thousand times for a lifetime. 

In his kiss.

Your hands laid against his chest and shoulder, the most solid anchor in the storm of sensations, his lips warmth and softness incarnate; hesitant but sure, cupping your face still for his hesitance neither stemmed from lack of desire, only fear of rejection.

Your lips parted with a breath, heat thrumming though your body when Steve’s deepened the kiss, thighs clenching at the not unfamiliar but shockingly powerful pulse in your core, your fingers clutching on the fabric of his chemise.

The action must have not gone unnoticed, for he shifted, a silent rumble in his chest and he retreated, parting with pressing a small chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth and a sigh.   

Your ragged breathing meddled with his, forehead once more resting against yours, your grip on the fabric unrelenting; the idea of letting go painful despite it being the only logical thing to do.

Later then.

Never.

Steve caressed your hair, another kiss brushing your lips, drunk eagerly like the sweetest cider and the most delicious of wines.

You savoured the taste and let it sink into all your senses, refusing to open your eyes just yet.

“My sweetling, my queen…” Steve rasped, the rumbling noise bringing a tickling swoop into your stomach, “as belated as my questions seems… would you do me the honour of allowing me to court you?”

You huffed a surprised laugh, a quiet delightful sound that felt awfully foreign, an echo of a distant past, and yet so natural in his company. You opened your eyes at last, offered the gorgeous sight of him still savouring the moment, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, mouth kiss-swollen and red, and gently raked your fingers over his nape, his smile joining yours.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

When he met your gaze, sparkling with joy and the gentlest scold, only then you spoke what your heart had been whispering since the first time you had set your eyes on him, as reluctant as you had been to hear and listen:

“… yes, Steve.”

Another sweet kiss to your lips, before his hands slowly released your face, only to cradle your hand again and press one more kiss to your knuckles like the gentleman he was, a promise to court you and sweep your off your feet indeed.

“Thank you, my lady, for allowing me such honour… I feel I should escort you to your chambers, for the hour must be rather late…”

Before you could protest, for away was the furthest from where you wished to be at the moment-

– Forever, my love, for ever-

-he did so for you.

“Yet I cannot imagine parting from you for the night, not just yet… Would you sit with me for a moment, my sweetling?” he asked for the second time that evening, all respectful despite the profound plea you could not but hear, for it echoed your own, written all over his expression, all over his cheeks dusted with the faintest pink.

Your body sifted closer to him as he let your hand fall between you, never releasing it, and you pressed your free palm to his sternum, glancing up at him with an ever-present smile on your lips.

“It would be an awful shame to waste a drink, wouldn’t it? And a night so wonderful so far… I should wish to stay, my love.”

The endearment rolled off your lips with such ease – so nonsensically true and so right – that you could not find yourself regretting it, less so upon seeing Steve’s gaze light up like the starry frozen night outside, brilliant happiness shining brighter than the sun and the moon together.

“Indeed, my sweetling. Your wish is my pleasure to follow.”

And so after another passing moment of indulging in indecent proximity, you inched away far enough from each other to clear your minds at least a bit, yet not once not touching – a hand, a knee brushing the other, a kiss to your hand, a caress to his knuckles – and toasting to a new courtship.

And your heart – while racing, excited and perhaps a little scared of the future still, and with gentle fire crackling in your soul, with golden threads of affection interlacing with the red thread of fate in your veins – was content and blooming with pure love.

And never once taking your eyes off Steve, you could tell that you were not alone in feeling such.

One next to another, beating in hopeful harmony, sat two pure and content hearts, with a promise of a bright future ahead.

For both of you – and for the entire kingdom too.

S.R. masterlist

Hello esteemed readers 🥰 Thank you for reading all the way here, hopefully with a dreamy smile 😌 I am considering a fourth part where they would... consumate their marriage and union, but have nothing specific in mind, nor a solid plan... for now, their story on paper/screen ends here even as it is their beginning 🥰

Please, remember interaction is love and food for writer's thought, as well as greatly appreciated 💕

You stumbled across him on a hike. Not that you knew that. He just saw you, glowing in the golden sun. Bright smile, a crinkle by your eyes. A goddess hiking amongst the trees.

It was easy enough to hitch a ride on your shadow. Slink into the dark recesses of your car to follow you home. He barely had to think about it.

Because he knew. With one look. You’re his.

He keeps to his corner, the perfect vantage point. Moonlight shining through your window. Catching on the beads of sweat dotting your skin. You’re ethereal. Hand working furiously between your thighs. Sobs hitching in your throat. Hoping to reach that peak as your legs tense and shake.

And nothing.

You groan in frustration and smack at your blankets. A grumble rolls in your throat as you leave the room. Coming back a moment later, flopping onto your bed and rolling to your stomach with a huff.

He understands. Watching as you drift off to sleep. It must be so frustrating to be unable to sate that needy hunger in yourself. To crave that release and be so close—only for it to flit away from you each time.

He likes to think he has something to do with it. A flick of his fingers closes your drape, bathing your room in the darkness he needs. To move from his corner, to stand at his full height and let his form brush the ceiling. To loom and curl over your slumbering figure.

In the darkness, he can do as he pleases. Smooth his fingers over your sides and grasp at your hips. You squirm beneath him—oblivious to what he intends, but sure to enjoy it. You have, after all, for so many nights.

He bends, plies your body to his desires. Your thighs fall open for him. The cut of you glistening before his eyes. You’re so ready for him. Begging for him.

His head dips, tongue dancing between the petals of you for that decadent, addicting taste. You consume his senses. Your taste, your smell, the touch of you beneath his hand, the sound of your soft breathy whimpers in your sleep, and the sight of you bowing toward him. Like he’s sunlight. And you a delicate flower.

He drowns you with his attention, his love. Your breath hitching as he wrings an orgasm from you. And then another.

The edges of him constrict, his form solidifying more and more, knowing now is the moment and he must fill you. He slides his aching cock into you, and knows he’s home.

The sheath of you. If he could crawl inside and never return. Live in the warmth cradling his cock. He would. And he would be so good to you. Just as he is now.

He stills as you moan in your sleep. Eyelids fluttering, your wakening a threat. He coos soft syllables, a purr, lulling you back into the depths of your dreams.

You lean into his touch. He smiles, his heart fluttering. He knows, he knows. You don’t have to say it—you love him just as much as he loves you.

He rocks against you. Plucks at your pleasure and carries you toward that peak. The one you will only crash over with him.

Your walls flutter, sucking him deeper inside. He pants a pleased and incredulous laugh. Always fascinated by how well you take him, how much you need him.

And only he can see you like this. In the dark. Your juices coating his cock. The swell of your breasts. The tremble of your breath.

He leans down, pulling on your chin. Parting your lips enough to swipe his tongue into your waiting mouth. To taste the sounds you make and savor them.

A cry hitches in your throat and you squeeze him. Cumming in your sleep. Because of him. His smile widens, sharp teeth and glee.

He pumps himself further into you. Knocking against every nerve ending before spilling his seed. So deep you will feel him until tomorrow night.

When you will try once again to cure the scorching, lusty heat between your legs. And need him to help you.

Log Date 53491Willow5

Intact male candidate selected for addition to human habitat. Quarantine measures ready until subjects acclimate toward one another. Keeper approval for introduction acquired. Signed proposal on file.

The lights rise in that soft way that helps you awaken slowly. A faux dawn breaking through the artificial treetops and speckling shadows across the floor.

You rise from your mossy bedding and brush sleep from your eyes. A few steps through some thicker shrubbery brings you directly to the waterfall. Water splashes over your face in a cupped handful. You sigh and rub at your cheeks.

Breakfast will surely be awaiting you on your regular rock. And your stomach rumbles for it. You scratch as best as you can between your shoulder blades while you walk. A slow trudge to your place before the window.

And come up short. Breaking through the trees, you freeze and stare.

A rather gigantic box—massive, really—sits in the middle of your open space. Frosted panes obscuring any view inside.

Were you supposed to go in there? Your eyes flick around it to the window. Did someone buy you?

Your plate of food sits on your rock right beside it. Your eyes dart between the two. A lure? A trap? No one said you had to eat in the same spot every day. If you were quick, you might be able to snatch the plate, or at least something to nibble on.

Another curious glance to the curtain covered window and you start your cautious approach. One step at a time. The familiar cushion of ground beneath your feet keeps you steady. The box looms, intimidating and gargantuan. Enough for three people, four. You’d fit inside nicely, wouldn’t you? Humanely for transport.

Once or twice, your gaze shifts from your objective to the wall from which Virion enters. It remains unchanged.

Hand outstretched, you get to the plate and lift it by the rim. The box flashes, the pane closest to you turning transparent. You jump and your fingers slip.

Backing up quickly, the pane frosts over once again. Your heart rattles in your chest. Pounds through you, a stampede trampling on thought. It paralyzes you in place. You wait for far too long, convinced Virion or another will come and stuff you into the confines of the box. But nothing happens.

There was something, though. It itches in your mind, a recognition that you can’t pinpoint. It rankles and pokes at the insufferably inquisitive bone in your body.

One inch, then another and another before you stand beside the plate. Hands rigid at your sides, but trembling. The pane clears once again.

There, in the corner—a figure. You blink. The fabric of their suit clings to muscles. The length of them suggests a tall height to accompany their bulky frame. But they curl in on themselves, turned away from you. Any further examination obstructed.

“Hello?” you call, leaning on your toes a millimeter closer. Your voice rasps in your throat despite your effort to catch their attention.

They make no reply. No move. No twitch.

You step closer.

“Are you alright?”

Nothing.

You look around. Worry creeps up your throat, sour. Are they dead? What are they doing here? Again, your eyes find the stone facade where Virion enters your habitat. They must know what’s happening—why this box is here with someone inside.

Your feet carry you over to the doorway—or at least where you remember it being—before you can think. Hand raising, you knock softly. Fingers twist together as you let your gaze cast back toward the box. You shift and knock again, more insistent.

It remains closed. But a gentle prod nudges your mind. Your shoulders relax at the intrusion, arms falling to your sides.

He’s sedated. Not dead.

You flinch. Unused to Virion’s voice in your mind without their physical presence to trick you into thinking the communication normal. Your brow pinches, wondering why they’re not entering your enclosure. Their cooing clicks and soothing touch would calm you down in seconds.

Deep breath. You’re safe.

Your lungs fill, following the command. It blows out between your pursed lips. Your hand raises, touching the stone covering the door. Calm washes over you—but it settles unsteady in your chest.

Eyes searching, you stand a moment longer. Waiting—hoping, though you refuse to acknowledge it—that your keeper will appear and bundle you in their arms.

But they don’t.

The weight of disappointment hangs heavy. You do your best to ignore the sharp pang.

Instead, you return to the box. The side flashes transparent. The person—man, Virion said—hasn’t moved an inch. He remains in the corner, and you can just make out the rise and fall of his breath. In and out. A calm cadence.

You set yourself on your usual rock where you eat your meals and bundle your legs in front of you.

For the remainder of the day, you remain on that perch, watching the new human in your habitat. Waiting for them to stir. Waiting to introduce yourself. Waiting, maybe, for connection.

Next Part

Log Date 53487Willow5

Female subject stable. Routine developed for hygiene and sustenance. Body suit monitoring data reviewed and archived. Brief periods of data loss to be investigated.

The water cascades over your body. Trailing along your curves as you sigh and stand beneath the fall. It’s the best shower you’ve ever used. Always the perfect temperature and pressure. The floor slick with water, but not slippery. Small stones create a surface with enough grip to keep you firmly on your feet. More rocks jut from behind the fall for the spongy soap they provide. The smell fragrant but not overpowering.

And best of all, it’s tucked away from any prying eyes at the window. Like your bed, a little slice of privacy in this place. You revel in it, thank the heavens for the reprieve.

You will admit, there was a learning curve to your daily ablutions. Your first attempts at peeling off the body suit were a challenge. You’d managed. But it takes serious concentration, sweat, and tears.

For the blissful moments you lose yourself under the waterfall, it lays crumpled in a pile to the side, away from splatter and spray. And you remain grateful that slipping it on remains easier than taking it off.

With a rinse of your face, you let your thoughts circle the drain—though you’ve never checked to see if there really is one.

A soft nudge in your brain catches your notice. As you’ve noticed the sensation several times over the past several days. You wipe water away from your eyes and lean away from the fall. Like the brief introduction to your keeper speaking in your head. A strange sensation that almost feels like deja vu. You’ve tried to catch the feeling—to respond back, silently call them, but it’s just your thoughts. Nothing more.

You sigh and turn to let the water cascade over your back. Only to be met by a looming figure.

You jump and cover yourself as best you can. Heat fills your blood with adrenaline and embarrassment. You didn’t hear their approach.

They stand there, stare unrelenting but lidded as it drags over the planes of your flesh. The suit drapes over their hand, held out in offering. But they remain speechless, in all aspects. A tinge of bluish green speckling their cheeks.

“I’m showering!” you screech the obvious in hopes that it will dissuade them from continuing to ogle your form.

Your suit.

You shiver. Still unused to the intrusion in your mind, even though their voice is a melodious lure that leads you toward unwarranted thoughts.

“I’m getting clean,” you respond aloud, still unsure of how exactly to cross this bridge of communication. The intricacies of how it works and the proper etiquette lost to you.

But their nod is indication enough to confirm their understanding.

Wear your suit.

Your teeth clench. You shiver. They shake the fabric in your direction. A command without words. Your mind flashes to the man in the window. Naked, afraid—you don’t want to be like that.

A shuddering breath blows through your nose and you step away from the waterfall and the warmth it provides your bare figure.

Stepping right up to your keeper, you grab onto the fabric. Their fist tightens. A glint in their eye you cannot decipher as they keep their thoughts to themself.

Instead of saying anything outright, they sink to the floor. The body suit pools across the ground and spreads with their hands.

In, please.

You hesitate a moment, but oblige. A tentative hand on their shoulder to steady yourself. They freeze. Body rigid under your touch.

It’s a slow process, the way their hands skim up your sides. Pulling the material over your curves until it covers you entirely. Low murmurs escaping their lips in whispers. Their eyes blink in a slow sweep before they reach toward your neck. You steel yourself not to flinch away. With a gentle press, the material shimmers like it did when they examined your lower abdomen. Except this time, it all disappears. Revealing every inch of skin to their examination.

Like this.

“What’s the difference?” you ask, hiding the nervous pluck of your voice with a clearing of your throat.

This monitors your data. You’ve been impeding our research.

Your lips circle around a syllable—understanding mixed with even more confusion. “Why?”

Their eyes blink again. A gesture of their hand in the direction of the water.

Continue.

An aborted protest passes your lips, but you nod, trailing back to the waterfall with a glance over your shoulder.

“Do you, uh, have to watch?” you ask. Unsure of what answer you crave in the pits of your belly.

Research.

Your teeth clench and you give a stilted nod.

A tide of heat licks at your fingertips as you reach into the stream of water and let it cool you. A transparent shroud for your naked figure. It softens the edges of your vulnerability.

You let your eyes flutter shut, everything sinking into the background before reaching to the shelf and retrieving the soap. You lather the planes of your body, washing away the nerves that pluck uneasy at your alien’s proximity.

Their stare pierces you. Carving deep and thorough over every measure of your flesh.

As you soap your shoulders, you peek at them. Attentive does not begin to describe their gaze as they watch your hands skim your arms.

An unsettling, electric hunger flares in their eyes—surely for knowledge, to dissect your species for their research. That is all they want. You are positive. And yet, you shiver, nipples pebbling and a faint yearning clench deep in your core.

No. You turn your face under the water. Washing that thought away. You haven’t been touched in too long, you’re lonely, you need another human to scratch this itch stirring to life. You do not want them. It’s impossible.

Virion.

You pause, hands cupping your chest as you rinse suds away.

“What?”

My name. Virion.

“Virion,” you repeat aloud. The taste on your tongue foreign as you let your mouth curve over the sound of it.

They blink slowly. An unconscious step taken forward. You tense. Body locked in awareness of their size—of what they’ve done, could do. The promise of their touch stolen as they pause.

Your eyes dart to their fingertips. Reaching toward you, so close. Their hand flexes and closes in a fist. Then they turn and leave without another word.

A heavy breath billows past your lips. Hand swiping over your head and finding the nape of your neck. A moment taken to reset from your close encounter.

You finish your shower. But the rest of the day is lost in a daze. Mind occupied by thoughts of Virion. Their intensity and the ache it awakened in you.

Visitors watch as you pace back and forth in front of your window. Their eyes tracking your movement. The audience ignored and forgotten minutiae separated from you by more than glass.

Your dinner arrives with the usual clunk. You pick at it with your fingers, leaving the chalky bar that smells of almonds untouched—running on autopilot and so used to avoiding the allergen as thoughts consume more than you do.

Night falls and you lay on the soft spread of mossy bedding, eyes searching for the camouflaged ceiling. Your mind drifts to Virion. The aborted step forward. The near touch of their hand. The concentrated fervor in their eyes.

You fall into a fitful and unsatisfying slumber plagued by frustration and discomfort.

Next Part

Log Date 53482Willow5

Female subject falling into routine patterns. Curiosity developing for visitors. Spikes in anxiety and distress observed around keeper. If conditions do not improve, proposals for solutions to be considered.

You’ve taken to sitting in front of the glass. Legs crossed, blanket draped over your shoulders, staring. There’s so much to see. So many new faces and features. As if you’re not the animal trapped in a zoo.

And yet, your eyes glaze as you think back to that night—and shake it from your head just as quick.

A small one, you would guess a youngster, mirrors your position before the window. Their tentacle slithers up the pane. Their suckers writhe and pop on the glass. You squint and lean closer to inspect them. Each sucker edge serrated like a bread knife.

Their many eyes meet yours and they turn over their shoulder to talk to a companion of a different species. Snippets of excitement exchange in a conversation you can’t translate for yourself. The two of them turn back for one last look then leave.

Your eyes trail them off to the right, head pressing against the glass to see exactly where they all go. Just out of your line of sight. Where the line starts to the breeding facilities where all the other humans are kept—to buy their own.

You shudder and wrap the blanket tighter to your shoulders. Yet it doesn’t keep out the chill of knowing. The pieces so easy to click together in your brain. Why you’re here. Why you’re on display.

Your mind spirals down the path, wondering when it might be your turn. When your keepers might decide to give live shows. Letting your rapt audience observe your most intimate acts. Their faces peering and leering. More eyes than you can imagine focused entirely on you.

You gasp for breath and shake your head, pushing away from your spot and stumbling backwards. The images in your mind conjured from fear. They flood your veins with ice. A freeze from which you cannot warm. But you wrap yourself tighter to shield yourself as best you can.

The quiet hiss of the door signals its opening. Your stomach drops to your toes. Heartbeat spiking and galloping into a panic. Scrambling for an escape, you look to the rope ladder hanging to your side. The hammocks and bridges draped above.

The blanket drops to the floor. The ladder shakes in your grip. Your palms sweat. Heights were never your forte. And climbing wasn’t ever in your plans. But you just know they’re approaching behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle with awareness.

You make it up three rungs before hands settle on your waist. A quiet, strong pressure that eases you away from the rope and back to the solid ground. Your lips part on a shriek that catches in your throat before you can make a sound.

They release you and bend to scoop your discarded blanket from the floor. You freeze in their presence, unsure whether it’s better to remain compliant or run and hide. Mind scrambled. Overwhelmed by thoughts that drown out the crowd gathering by your window.

So you stay and let your eyes track their movements, watching as they shake your blanket out and brush it off. The fabric folds over their arm before their gaze finds you. Calm but lined with concern.

You hold their stare. Their eyelashes flutter, a slow blink. With a few soothing, foreign words and a sigh, your alien keeper shakes out the blanket once more and drapes it over your shoulders. They smooth their hands over your arm with an acute delicateness and reach for a treat from their pocket.

Tears speckle your eyes. A stain of apprehension tainting your view of their care and attention now. And it guts you. A sour, stinging pain that ratchets up your throat.

But, still, you accept their offering between your lips in hopes to silence the upset crawling through you.

Their hand withdraws only to cradle your cheek. Their other mirroring the gentle hold on your face. Your breath hiccups. And you can’t fight it. Even as every instinct flutters and screams to hiderunscream, you can’t. You just want to be here. For them to prove that you’re safe.

Their head dips down, syrupy golden eyes closing slowly. Air screams in your lungs, trapped as you hold it. Tracking their advance. Heat ignites in your belly and spreads through your veins. A nervous, rippling trepidation—and something more.

Why you expect a kiss from their approaching lips, you couldn’t say, but that’s not what happens. Their forehead lowers and nudges yours. A brief connection. An electric zip between you before they straighten and let their finger brush the tears away from your eyes.

Hello.

You blink. Flabbergasted as an unfamiliar voice echoes in your mind.

The only movement of their mouth a bend at the corners as their expression softens and tilts toward an affectionate smile.

Next Part

Log Date 53475Willow5

Subject has settled into enclosure, consumes sufficient nutrients, and recovers adequate energy during an 8 rem cycle. No distress or harmful outbursts observed in habitat. Introduction to keeper pending.

You stare at the plate. It always just appears right on the smooth top of the boulder. A soft clunk the only giveaway that it’s appeared.

Nails unconsciously itch at the mark encircling your right bicep. A new tattoo, skin deep, but glowing a faint blue. It doesn’t hurt, but still your fingers gravitate toward it as if maybe they might be able to figure out why it’s there—and when you got it. You never…

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you turn back to your meal.

Naming the food is difficult. Categorizing them near impossible. You’ve stuck with yummy green goo and purple fluffy stuff and squiggly black noodles—though you refuse to linger on the fact that the noodles don’t feel like noodles. You pick up the spoon-like utensil and scoot toward the edge.

Today, there’s brown mushy stuff in a pile next to what appear to be steamed or roasted flowers of some sort.

The first bite of brown mush is decidedly not what you were expecting. Sour and vegetal instead of savory. Not unpleasant exactly, except for the cognitive dissonance you experience with every bite. Still, you’ll take edible over starvation.

The flowers, on the other hand, are paradoxically delicious. Sweet and somehow creamy, sticky on your fingers yet almost powdery on your tongue. A taste so close to vanilla but with notes of something fruity. Delighted sounds bubble up your throat as you enjoy them until the last one slips past your lips.

Belly full, a calm lethargy spreads into your limbs. You recline on your bed-like perch, resting on the palms of your hands. A soft clunk catches your attention. The plate disappears, though you cannot catch the moment it does. A blink enough for the mess to clear.

You sigh and contemplate how you will pass the time. Running a hand down the side of your neck, you feel the high collar of the clothing in which you’d woken. The very same as the first day—a sleeveless bodysuit in a solid grey. It covers from your chest to your upper thighs. Light and breathable, never developing an odor despite your sweat. It clings to every curve of your body, but does not constrict. Comfortable enough and better than naked.

A hiss of air echoes from someways off and out of sight. A new sound. Curiosity piques. From what the noise emanates, you couldn’t say. There are no doors—at least none of which you’re aware.

You cast another glance at the bedside boulder. Your eyes narrow in thought before you turn and venture out. You push past the hanging vines, cautious in your steps. Your gaze swings from side to side, scanning for intrusion.

It doesn’t take long for you to find it. The tall doorway open a foot away from the covered glass, nestled into the rocky wall.

You approach. Fear builds up your throat like bile. Your teeth clench, holding it back. Heart pounds in your chest. Your eyes flick to the side, searching for some kind of weapon—even a stick would do—but find none.

A warbling, soft tone echoes from the open doorway. Like speech, there are indications of syllables, a pattern. You just can’t understand them.

And not a moment later, the doorway fills with a figure. Tall—too tall to be human, not that you expected them to be. Made even taller by the arcing horns that crest their head. Their lithe figure holds itself in a humanoid posture. Their hand raised in a gesture of placation, their three fingers bidding you calm.

You freeze. A deep instinct urges you to flee, but you can only stumble back a step or two and remain rooted to your spot. Stupefied by the sight before you, and still lanced by your unending desire to know more.

They speak again. Their tone calm and soothing. You’re lost as they try to communicate, but, despite your spiking fear, you don’t sense a threat. Hopeful thinking or not.

They move toward you, a non-threatening approach. As your feet rock back in retreat, they pause and lower themself to the floor. Legs long and angled like a dog’s fold—crisscrossing. Their hands rest open on them.

You watch the graceful motion. Their expression calm, collected. A placid mask even as their bright pupil-less eyes watch you.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Waiting for them to make their next move. But they remain seated and make coaxing noises in their alien language.

The first step forward surprises you. Your insatiable curiosity winning over rationality.

Their eyes track the advance. The plush pillow of their lips tilting in an almost smile. They reach toward their hip, a pocket, then hold out one of their hands. In their palm, a small foil-wrapped package.

You blink. That’s-that’s your favorite candy bar.

“How?” you swallow the rest of your question. Wary of the presented treat, yet caving into the craving for comfort.

You step closer. Trembling hand picking up the wrapped candy. Your fingers fumble it as you rip it open and shove it into your mouth. It melts on your tongue as tears fill your eyes. The taste overwhelming in its familiarity. The memories of your mother, your father, your siblings, your friends. All left behind.

They make a cooing sound. Their hand still hovering in expectation.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Savoring the flavor clinging to your tastebuds.

You place the wrapper in their palm. Examining their skin as you do. A greyish blue, smooth and hairless. Your eyes catch theirs. They blink, long and slow.

Their patience and unwavering calm sparks the slightest hint of confidence in you. Holding your breath another beat, you brace for attack. None comes. Hesitant fingers find contact with their palm. The texture smooth save for the wrinkles like those of your own.

Their finger twitches and you startle. Eyes snapping back to theirs.

They whisper something more—an encouragement with the way their fingers wiggle and their head tilts. Hair cascades over their shoulder, long and silvery. Your attention snags on it—how it glitters in the light.

They produce another candy bar. This one unwrapped and offered by their other hand. You reach for it, but they hold it firm in their grip. You look back to them and then the candy.

Your teeth worry over your lower lip, hesitating and contemplating.

Their eyes keep focus on your face. A blink of understanding before they readjust their hold. The offer of the candy shifting to their palm, where you can pluck it up to indulge.

It’s an invitation you can’t resist. Popping the candy into your mouth and letting it melt.

And then you turn back to them. Tracing the line of their torso with your eyes. The cut of their clothing similar to your own, clinging to their well-built form though it slits at the sides and pools beneath them and around their groin as they sit on the ground.

You lower yourself before them. Crossing your legs in a mirror of their pose. Letting your eyes catch every detail of them and awaiting what happens next. Almost eager to discover what more they could want.

They pause a moment. Letting you settle in the silence before leaning forward. Their hand connects, smoothing over your hair. Goosebumps pimple along your arms, a shiver sinking down your spine, but you keep still.

They chirp something in a happy cadence and pet your head again. Your brow pinches, but you allow the touch, lean into it just a little. Hope for another gentle moment fluttering quietly to life in your chest.

The glimmer of their hair catches your eyes again. You hesitate, glancing up to their face, drawn now in concentration. Slowly, you reach out and let your finger weave into the strands. Both soft and stiff, you comb your fingers through. Like a silky tinsel.

They blink in surprise, hand pausing mid-stroke. Their gaze drops to your curious hand. A noise like a laugh pushes past their lips and they reach to release your grasp. Placing your hand in your own lap before returning to you.

Their fingers drift down the sides of your head and cup your cheeks. They tilt your gaze up to meet theirs. Your breath hitches, staring into their honey golden eyes for a long, heavy moment.

With a flutter of their long lashes, they break it. Moving to tug gently at your earlobes with a chipper remark before their touch brushes lower.

They explore your throat, arms, waist, hips, belly. You shift. A pit forming in your stomach as they continue their exploration—their examination. Discomfort flames through your blood. It prickles at your nape. You try to still yourself, comply. Your hands clench into fists. Until the touch becomes too intimate to endure, and you push them away.

Next Part

Log Date 53472Willow5

Female sterilization procedure successful. Recovery quarantine observed. Notes to follow.

Your eyes itch. A crust in the corners as you startle. Blinking, you scan your surroundings. This is not your bedroom.

You push up. Beneath your palm, a loamy moss sticks to your skin and fills your nose with a pleasant earthy scent. Your brow pinches. The ground beneath you warm and plush, like bedding.

Draping vines weave in a canopy and frame you upon its surface. A short drop to the side leads to a grassy floor. You turn your feet over it and sit up. Within reach sits a boulder with a flat top. You rest a hand upon it. The stone smooth, solid, strangely warm.

You step down. Toes sink into silky soft blades of green. Buckling knees crouch your body low. Your fingers dance on the fibrous carpeting of grass—unlike any you’ve felt before, a scent wafting into your nose almost like green apple.

A swallow obstructs your throat. You blink away hasty panic. Your eyes sweep wide in an attempt to keep calm and assess your situation. Yet still your heart pounds in your chest. Standing straight, you have little choice but to explore more to find answers.

Past a curtain of hanging vines dancing with a gentle breeze, the expanse of nature extends before you, and you venture forward. Smooth rocks jut from soft dirt. You leave the trees behind you, but their boughs extend. Hanging ropes and hammocks drape from limb to limb, a crossing pattern of beige set against the vibrant green leaves. No sky to be seen between, and yet plenty of light. The tinkling fall of water echoes from somewhere hidden from sight. Curious temptation lures you toward it. But what catches your eye in the distance stretches across your path as far as you can see.

The glint of glass pristine and clear. You step before it and let your fingers touch the pane. With a press of your weight, there is no give. And obstructed sight beyond. A deep maroon curtain blocks any view, covering the window from without.

You swallow hard and turn away, intent on exploring every corner away from the glass and the questions it forms in the recesses of your brain.

How long it takes, you can’t say. You duck under branches and climb over boulders until you can go no further. A steep rock wall unfit for climbing to one side. It curves in a wide arc until you meet glass at each side.

In your reflection, it’s plain as day. You are trapped.

Next Part

A/N: I know this new series is something sorta different for me, and I’d love to hear if you enjoyed it. I’m hoping to start a schedule of posting the next entries every other Sunday. Thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was a known fact that the Yautja have cloaking abilities, a stealthy tactic they utilized well in combat. You were in awe to see it yourself, something that seems so impossible, possible.

You followed behind him as he made his way inside, the interior was spacious yet perfect for him. Though it was massive to you, this was one of the smaller ships, fitting for one or two hunters.

It was dim inside, comfortably so, red lights lining intricate designs on the walls and doors.

You sat your bag near where you entered, frowning at how mangled it looked. You’d fix it up one day, that little bag was all you had left.

Everything in the vessel was advanced and efficient, serving a distinct purpose.

You looked into what rooms were open, one seemed to be a trophy room. Countless skulls were displayed, features sharp and imposing. The giant head of a xenomorph- multiple of them hung proudly among the other monstrous skeletons.

Val’kar was a hunter, an exceptional one at that.

You wondered what it was he sought on this planet, if what he was doing so for is own gain or for his clan.

You quickly left the room, an eerie feeling settling over you the longer you lingered.

There was a room closer to the control panel, a firm looking bed coming out of the wall was all that occupied the space. A single pelt of soft fur covered the wide metal, no pillows or plethora of blankets.

A sort of canopy came over the area, blocking the low lights that illuminated the area above.

Your back hurt just looking at it.

You wandered some more and found a small room that seemed entirely empty at first. Then you saw a shower head at the very center on the ceiling, a dip going into the floor where the drain resided.

There were a few buttons on the wall, strange symbols covering them that made no apparent sense to you. It was tempting to press them, but you refrained, not wanted to be doused in water.

You were further pleased at your restraint when you saw that there were no towels. Nothing remotely near to dry off with.

You found your way back to the head of the ship, passing by the weapon filled armory he was reloading within- pausing to admire a shiny helmet among the area he would hang his armor.

It was shaped to vaguely resemble his head, it was just as menacing as he was, design threatening. The eyes were red like his, sinister to whatever prey was found in his hunt.

You forced yourself to continue forward, waiting patiently by his command center. You couldn’t help but admire the dark, ornate chair. Though it looked to be more of a throne than a chair.

It wasn’t long before you left the vessel, making sure to grab your bag on the way out.

You’d spent the next couple weeks scouting the forest for whatever he was searching for, some sort of trophy he wouldn’t elaborate on.

You wanted to go back to the comfort of the ship, the fur covered metal seeming far more comfortable than swatting off bugs and smelling like burning wood.

You hated it.

Every night he’d find a body of water, whether it was a river or lake you would have a chance to clean up. To wash the dirt and sweat from your tired body.

At least you had that much.

You’d changed the dressing on his leg a few more times, amazed at how quickly he was healing. He didn’t even need the gauze to protect it anymore, the torn skin having already formed thin scars where the cuts were.

He would observed you closely, sharply. Crimson eyes regarding you with bloodlust, a hunger that made you falter.

Your wrists had gotten better long before his leg, the glowing blood he lathered on them had the rope burn nearly gone by the next morning.

It seemed to have a systemic effect- healing your leg as well, the bruising from where that vine had squeezed you so tightly scattered and yellow- as opposed to the purplish blue that had started to develop.

Your days usually consisted of a lot of walking, sometimes he’d teach you about the flora and fauna, show you plants to not touch and fruits that were safe to eat.

He’d climb the trees sometimes, helping to pull you along when you’d struggle reaching a branch. Those times you would rest, safe enough on high ground to give your body a break.

He was always alert, even when you thought he was sleeping. You learned that the hard way when you tried to sneak a flower into a crevice at his belt.

You thought you got away with it until you looked up to find red eyes squinting at you in wordless accusation.

Yet he never removed the flower, only closed his eyes as you struggled to explain yourself. It seemed like an amusing idea at the time…

And it was a little goofy to see him walking around with a dainty flower in his belt. It didn’t fit the whole scary, grumpy… Val’kar thing he had going on.

You’d learned he spared you because you were unarmed, that honorable Yautja only pick a worthy fight. Though you doubted that was the only reason.

The way he looked at you, looked through you. It felt like so much more.

At first you feared it, but now you found yourself having a penchant for those moments. Letting him pull you close when you need to be stealthy, slotting you between his legs as he crouched to remain hidden.

You’d gotten better at avoiding danger, but couldn’t help but slip up every now and then. That’s how you got yourself in trouble yet again.

There was a single large egg you found out of place on the ground, and without Val’kar looming over you- you picked it up.

That proved to be a grave mistake, as soon after, a massive reptilian vulture squawked in fury. Val’kar was quick to grab your wrist and start running.

He scolded you as he dash between the trees, seeming to know your newfound enemies moves before they even happened.

The creature would leave to grab rocks, dropping them on exploding plants once it returned. He yanked you off to the side and tugged you into a tight fitting cave.

“Sorry,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath as you slotted yourself between him and the cave wall.

His skin was warm against yours, cold armor a stark comparison as he pressed against you. You clutched your hands at your chest, holding them awkwardly. You had to tilt your head to the side, the gear at his torso starting to dig into the top of your temple.

You were tempted to poke his belly, force him into giving you room to breathe.

You were about to say something when he pulled you up high into his arms, hands at your thighs as his weight held you firmly against the uneven cave wall.

Your knees grazed the rock behind him, you realized he really didn’t have anymore room to offer you.

Your stomach jolted, skin tingling under the sharp press of his fingertips against the fabric at your thighs. He continued to look toward the entrance, scanning the forest outside.

Your hands moved to rest against his armor, holding onto the deep ridges of the gear.

There were far too many times you found yourself held against him, especially considering your traumatic introduction. Though it all seemed like a distant memory now.

As days turned into weeks you’d begun to trust him.

He was like your… messed up guardian of sorts. An unstoppable force that ensured your safety despite everything.

It was a confounding dynamic you weren’t sure you’d ever understand.

You could feel him breathing against you, chest rising deeply. His scent encompassed you, clean and rich- an earthy, spicy smell.

You took a breath in as he invade your senses. You were convinced he did it on purpose, somehow made you feel this way.

You shifted uncomfortably, an attempt to escape the unwavering heat flourishing- spreading within your body, like a wildfire that couldn’t so simply be tamed.

You wiggled, it just wouldn’t stop.

“Ki'cte!” he hissed against your ear, hands tightening at the flesh of your legs.

“Stop moving,” he growled, a few harsh clicks following his words. You ceased all movement, what would’ve scared you before, now only fueled the fire.

Your belly fluttered, you tried to ignore it. Tried to think of the danger just outside of the cave, of the big beast who’d chased you into this position.

Yet you were flustered, brain frustratingly foggy at his proximity.

There was something truly wrong with you, you should be scared right now. Worried about a creature that was hunting you down at this very moment.

Val’kar tensed, mandibles flaring ever so slightly.

His attention once more turned to you, fierce red eyes meeting yours. His mandibles flared again.

“You enjoy this,” he recognized lowly, voice heavily accented as he trailed off in his native language, “I can smell it.”

You shook your head in denial, beyond mortified at his words- but you knew it was true, as horrific as the realization was.

“No, I… I don’t,” you opposed anyway, the dull throb between your legs saying otherwise.

He scoffed in response, clawed fingers digging poking holes in your pants as he experimentally moved your hips against his abdomen, rubbing you against the hard muscle.

You mewled at the sudden sensation, at the pleasure that spread at your core. Your hips twitched against him, it was miserable how much you ached.

“No?” he sneered, eyes dilated as he tilted his head.

You took in a shaky breath, turning your head in feigned disagreement, body betraying you as you tightened your legs around him.

The loud thud of a hefty rock dropping in front of the cave entrance frightened you out of your haze.

The vulture-esque creature had found you.

He growled what you assumed to be a curse, lowering you down to the ground and bending to your ear, mandibles grazing the side of your face.

“Next time,” he clicked lowly, a dark promise that left your head spinning.

He was gone before you could say anything, the reptilian bird screeching in the distance. You could hear him fighting it, thermal blades activating.

A part of you wanted to ask him, to give in and question your captor. But you refrained, fear lingering at the pit of your stomach, a constant reminder of what he’s capable of.

He paused in his tracks, clicking a few times with indecipherable words as though thinking aloud. You tried to pick the strange phrases apart, entirely clueless as to what they could mean.

Instead you eyed the round blades attached to his back.

You wondered how close you could get to grabbing them before he would notice, how long it would take him to turn around and snatch your wrist. Those red eyes would squint at you in warning, daring you to try.

You wanted to challenge him, to seem less meek and helpless. You remembered biting him, observing him a little too intently all while he did the same to you. The air had shifted then, thick with a strange tension you couldn’t quite explain.

You scrunched your nose, entirely disturbed, goosebumps rising along your skin in recollection.

At the same time you were scared, terrified of him. You knew what he was capable of, the carnage he brought to those soldiers. The friends you shared laughs with by the warmth of a campfire. No ointments or medications could save them now, their corpses left to be picked apart by the carnivores of this world.

You frowned, conflicted as your chest tightened, thoughts more tormenting than the male ahead of you.

You took a breath in, attempting to clear your mind. It was now you noticed a vine wrapped around your ankle, your head tilted in question- wait…

The beady eyed animal flashed in your head, its frail body caught within similar vines to those that seemed to curl around you further.

“H-hey! I think-“ your words were caught in a scream as the vines lifted you up into the air. The Yautja darted after you, yelling something you didn’t understand.

The root crept up your leg tightening its hold as another picked at your bag. You bent yourself up trying to pry your limb free, fingers breaking off little pieces of the branch.

Your efforts only seemed to worsen your current predicament, “Stop it!” you shrieked, feeling a strap of your backpack tear off from your shoulder.

You held the other strap as tightly as you could, trying to kick your leg free with a pitiful cry.

Your eyes found the Yautja running after you from below, all fear abandoned as you reached your free hand out to him in desperation. Seeking safety from the very thing that caused you so much distress.

A deep growl emanated from him, mandibles flaring as red irises locked onto your outstretched hand. He somehow moved faster, gaining on the creature that had you in its vice like grip.

A vine slithered at his back, trailing at his feet with malice, but he was too focused on you to take notice.

“Behind you!!” you warned, pointing at the snake like branch that was getting closer every second that passed. His head turned and he reached for the circular blades you’d been looking at only moments before.

He pressed something in the middle and the ends glowed a burning orange, with a swift throw the sharp weapon cut the vine in half, sizzling as it burned its way through the root.

The end of the branch opened to expose a mouth of sorts, making a screeching trill as it was severed. Those trills seemed to surround the two of you, coming from every which way.

You curled in on yourself when he threw one of those glowing blades your way, your body free falling down mere seconds later. You shrieked when he caught you, instead expecting the unforgiving impact of the ground.

The Yautja’s strong arms cradled you, warm as he clutched you tightly to the hard material at his chest. He quickly moved you over onto his right arm, forearm tucked under your legs as he held you close.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping him with all your might. You caught sight of what surrounded you, those vine-like branches were closing in on you. They moved like vipers, met with lethal slashes from the Yautja when they got too close.

He’d been successful in fighting them off thus far, but there were far too many coming from every which way, and you were only holding him back.

He snarled, the sound venomous as he hastened his pace further. Your eyes widened when you saw what he was headed for- a cliff. You could see through an opening the murky green water ahead, a waterfall crashing down on the other side of the flowing valley.

You squeezed your eyes shut, stomach lifting as he jumped. Gravity pulled the both of you down fast through the misty air, cold water meeting you as you crashed below the surface.

His arm never left your body, hand wrapped around your waist as he swam up, taking you with him. You helped the best you could, pushing up against the weight of the water.

Your nose burned as water filled it, not enough air within your lungs to blow out. You pinched your nostrils, the surface feeling so incredibly far away.

Cool air met your face and you gasped, taking greedy breaths in as you coughed. Your bag felt heavy in the water, a lump sunken within your grip.

“Are you okay?” you asked breathless, treading water as the Yautja deemed it safe to let you go. He grunted and swam toward the rocky shore, “Yes,” he huffed. You pushed against the water, sighing in relief when you felt rocks below your boots.

Everything felt heavy, clothes soaked as they clung uncomfortably to your frame. You grimaced and tried ringing out what you could, glancing over to your captor.

Water dripped down his drained body, head tilted back as he caught his breath. His muscled flexed as he wiped his eyes, flicking water droplets off his face. It was now you noticed the green luminescent blood slowly dripping down his left thigh.

It was an abnormal sight, the color an off putting contrast against his dark skin- disturbingly beautiful.

“You’re hurt,” you voiced weakly, having a momentary battle within yourself before you moved his way. Crimson eyes observed you as you looked him over, small hands cautiously tracing the scattered cuts along his arms.

They weren’t bad, faint… it seemed as though he was mostly unscathed.

“They will heal,” he rasped, chest still heaving from exertion.

Your brows knit together at the liquid green trickling slowly down his leg, “This… needs wrapped,” you said hesitantly. He leaned against a large rock, half sitting to look at the wound.

His mandibles were relaxed despite his obvious discomfort, eyes meeting yours after he investigated the injury himself.

It was deep, but not terribly so. Two lacerations at his thigh having the most depth, cutting under the gear that was supposed to protect the flesh of his leg. Smaller cuts surrounded the larger ones, a nasty show of just what those creatures could do.

The vines were agile, finding a way to harm even the most adept of predators.

Your hand shook as you palpated the skin at his thigh, feeling the textured flesh curiously. Warm alien blood oozed from the cut. The Yautja dipped his pointer and middle finger into the glowing liquid.

You froze when he smeared it on your wrists, the rope burn that encompassed them both. You were familiar with the healing properties of their blood to humans, a strange reaction scientists couldn’t fully explain.

His gaze was guarded, still sharp as you quietly thanked him.

You searched within the soaked cloth of your bag, threads torn and a strap missing. You were just happy you still had your supplies after the attack. Something of yours that had not been so easily taken.

Just when you were about to give up, you found a bandage wrapped in plastic- one that hadn’t yet been opened.

You rummaged around some more, finding little bandages to help hold the edges of the cuts together. You didn’t have any clean water to rinse the wound, so your cold plunge would have to do.

You applied a thin layer of ointment, the muscle beneath you- slightly tense as you worked quickly. You closed the wound edges the best you could, and bandaged his thigh, holding pressure as you wrapped it.

You were finally content when green stopped leaking through the elastic fabric. You looked up with a pleased smile, expression falling as you met his gaze.

He watched you with a piercing stare, eyes dark in a newfound understanding. There was ardor within the deep red of his irises, an all consuming hunger you did not want to face.

So you didn’t. Your heart picked up and you backed away, movements jerky as you yanked your bag along with you.

You gulped, regarding him warily. “What’s your name?” you asked after what felt like an eternity spent wondering.

He stood without a word, looming tall above you as he stretched out his leg, testing how well he could move the injured muscle. He hissed slightly in pain but otherwise seemed content with the result.

Red eyes glanced your way, sharp yet not as cold. “Val’kar,” he answered, voice deep and strong. You tested the name on your lips, unable to pronounce it as he had, throaty clicks missing in the second half.

You offered your own name, an unspoken olive branch you weren’t sure you wanted to give. But he saved you, put himself so willingly in harms way to ensure your survival.

It was beyond perplexing.

“We will settle here, my ship is near,” his voice rumbled out as he started building the base for a fire pit. In an attempt to make yourself useful you grabbed some dry sticks close by, placing them down beside him.

Val’kar moved with ease, placing the sticks particularly before lighting them up with a device he’d taken off his belt. His motions were fluid, as though he’d done this a million times before.

Your hands gravitated towards the heat, wet clothes making you shiver as the wind picked up. The sun would fall soon and the temperature would drop further.

You got spare clothes from your bag, laying them out among the rocks to dry. He said nothing as he began to take off his gear, resting it beside the large rock you’d bandaged him on moments ago.

You tried to look away, yet found yourself unable to tear your gaze from his moving form, the way his muscles tensed beneath dark gray skin, holding such overpowering strength. You let your eyes wonder down to his lean abdomen as he took off his belt, leaving him in nothing but his armored loincloth.

Wrong, this was wrong.

You closed your eyes and curled up beside the fire, focusing on the warmth that comforted your body. You felt like a traitor to your own kind.

Time passed quickly, sky growing dark as you sat alone. Val’kar had gone to capture you food, the thought leaving your mouth watering. You were starving and thirsty, your flask of boiling water still cooling.

You’d used the bathroom while he was hunting, feeling beyond relieved after your bladder was empty and you were all washed up. You felt a little more like yourself, thrilled that your clothes were nearly dry.

The fabric was thin and breeze strong enough to slowly wick away the moisture. You’d change tomorrow, not wanting to risk being caught half naked.

It felt like he’d been gone for an eternity, stars now beginning to dot the sky, glimmering in a way that reminded you of home.

A series of clicks alerted you before you saw him.

He emerged with some sort of meat, a few plum-colored fruits along with it. He offered you some of the raw muscle at first, withdrawing his hand when you grimaced. His mandibles flared ever so slightly, disapproval evident.

“What is this?” you questioned, eying the rich purple flesh. The thought of it being poison crossed your mind, but the idea fled as soon as it came.

Surely not.

“K'yatu, it is sweet,” he explained lowly, saying a few more words in his own language. A further explanation that he couldn’t quite put into human words.

You grabbed one with more effort than expected as it engulfed your palm, your tired arm aching as you pulled it to you.

“K’yatu,” you repeated to yourself, taking an exploratory bite. It was delicious, flavor and texture most similar to a peach. An abnormally large peach at that.

The fruit was soft beneath your teeth, nectar syrupy as it melted against your tongue. The middle was a honey yellow, little black seeds floating at the pit.

You ate two of them, leaving the third for Val’kar. Your stomach felt full, satisfied as you laid on your side.

He didn’t eat until you were finished, scarlet eyes menacing in the darkness of the night. Only now you didn’t feel as scared, more so treacherously safe as he sat guard.

Your heart fluttered when you saw your backpack, a strange hope building within your chest. You wouldn’t so easily be overtaken.

The Yautja was nowhere to be seen, clear of the raging river just in the distance and the lush forest that surrounded you entirely.

He couldn’t have left you alone, and even if he did- he wasn’t far. No, you were positive of that.

You had to try regardless. Not letting your opportunity go to waste, you scooted over to your bag and rummaged through what your binds would allow. Nothing, absolutely nothing. You should’ve known better.

He’d taken your knife, the one thing you could use to defend yourself. The rest of your bag was filled with bandages, first aid supplies, and medicine. Absolutely nothing of use to you against him.

Frustration bloomed within you.

He was silent in his approach, appearing from behind you without so much of a glance your way. You clenched your hands, willing your body to stay calm as fear crept up your tinging spine.

You studied his movements, watching his scarlet tipped dreads gather at his shoulders as he bent to pick up a dark metal chest piece.

Red seemed to highlight the sharp points across his body, deep and rich like the gray of his graphite skin.

You watched him put the armor on, arms lifting to accentuate two deep scars on the right of his chest, the healed lacerations running sideways to his waist.

You wondered what kind of creature could cause such a gruesome wound. A morbid feeling came over you as you thought of what he did to thing that so undoubtedly injured him.

His chest piece was layered, elegantly so- yet intimidating, strong and angular. Articulated in a way that would keep silent in a hunt, lethal to unsuspecting prey. His lean abdomen remained exposed, vulnerable.

What looked to be a serrated vertebrae strung down from the left side of his waist, the gear decorated with bones of monstrous enemies.

Trophies that you felt had significance, a feat only other Yautja would understand.

He looked up, adjusting the gauntlets that matched his armored chest. One swift motion had three incredibly sharp blades extending with a near silent swoosh. They glistened black in the sunlight, retracing back with one swift motion.

A threat? Most certainly.

Disdainful, red eyes stared into yours, finally acknowledging your existence. Though you wish he hadn’t. Your pulse picked up, breath hitching when he moved over to you, bending with a growl to throw you over his shoulder again.

You used all your might and kicked your tied legs up and into his gut. He stumbled back with a huff, grimace fading into something akin to intrigue. A vehement curiosity that you didn’t want to explore.

“Let me go,” you attempted to state with confidence, a strong voice. What came out instead resembled a broken plea.

Though your eyes held fervent determination, a wordless notion that was met with an unwavering gaze.

You blinked and your cheeks were being squeezed, jaw cradled in his palm as sharp fingers pinched at the soft flesh of your face. You tried to jerk your head away, at no avail.

His voice rumbled, low and venomous. “Such a fight for being so weak, pyode amedha.”

A flash of anger spread across your skin, all caution being thrown out the window.

Your head turned in instinct to grab a mouthful of the thumb pressed at your cheek. You caught his flesh between your teeth and bit down, hard.

He hissed yanking his hand back, red eyes snapping back to you with such an intensity you began to regret your little stunt, stomach sinking in a way that made you nauseous.

That same hand grabbed your throat, lifting you up and back until the dull sting of bark gnawed at your already sore back.

Sharp appendages hovered at the sides of your face ever so gently, it would only take a second for them to close and pierce your soft flesh. You wavered at the grip on your neck, legs dangling midair.

His grip was firm yet loose enough to keep your airways open, you were trapped but unharmed. Your heart thrummed against your chest, anger and fear molding into something you couldn’t quite place.

Before you could raise your legs to kick him, his right arm grabbed them in one, confining your weakened limbs at his side.

You let your head fall back against the tree in defeat, tied hands pressed against the alien material covering his chest. His words echoed in your head, keeping you.

“What do you want from me?” you asked as your eyes welled with tears. His eyes squinted slightly as though he was trying to figure that out himself. If he wanted you dead, you would’ve been in the same position as your friends by now.

Yet you remain alive and breathing, even after biting him.

“You stand no chance here,” he uttered lowly, the clicks between his words reverberating against you. It wasn’t an answer, but rather a statement. One that you couldn’t deny, without trained soldiers to fight off hostile flora and fauna, you were walking prey.

Your brows knit together in confusion, a tear escaping your eye, “So why help me..?” you questioned, voice unsteady.

The hand at your jugular tightened, claws slightly digging into your warm flesh. You gulped, wanting nothing more than to wiggle out of his grasp. But you were cornered, nowhere to go, no way out.

Deep crimson eyes looked into yours, as though he was looking straight through you, further searching for the barest part of your being. Any reason to truly explain just why he hadn’t ripped your skull from your body.

A sea of red bore into you, pulling you deeper within the bloody tides. The faintest flecks of gold scattered around his pupils, so sparse you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close to his face.

Two scars cut the right side of his face, from his temple to cheekbone, just barely missing his eye. It had to have been from the same creature that gnarled his chest.

You caught his gaze once more, realizing he’d seen you so intently observing his scar, the inhuman features of his face. You suddenly felt warm, too warm, curiosity having gotten the best of you.

Something in the air changed, thickening and suffocating. You didn’t like it.

He let you go without warning, reaching at his side to pull out a razor sharp blade, as dark as obsidian. Your eyes widened as he freed you from your binds.

Though your question still remained.

“Do not do anything stupid,” he grumbled in warning. His eyes regarded you sharply, as if daring you to slip up. You blinked and nodded, absentmindedly rubbing at your burning wrists.

You rolled your ankles, wincing at the ache that spread up to your knees.

The leather of your boots indented from how tightly he’d secured the rope. You massaged your joints through the boots, ankles not hurting nearly as much as your wrists.

It felt good to stretch, even through the pain. You used the tree behind you to steady yourself as you stood, legs a little wobbly but sturdy enough to hold your weight.

You found your way to your bag, eying the Yautja cautiously as you unzipped a section, grabbing a small tube of ointment. He paid no mind to you as he reached to place bone cutting discs at his back.

You took a shaky breath in, pulling your focus to yourself. The ointment soothed your abraded skin, flesh greedily soaking it in.

You’d inspect your ankles tonight, assuming you’d have a chance to settle. You weren’t so worried about them, your boots taking the brunt of the damage.

You put your ointment back in its designated pouch, slinging your bag around your shoulders.

You stood warily, wanting nothing more than to dart off and face the consequences of being caught. One more chance at escape.

Even if you did slip from his grasp, he was right. You wouldn’t last another day by yourself. You weren’t at all acclimated to the harsh environment they’d sent you to.

The thought was defeating.

You didn’t trust him, every cell in your body screaming danger as he stared at you, expression all too knowing. He would enjoy the hunt, he wanted you to run.

A chill ran down your spine, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Without a word he began walking, strides long and calculated as you hesitantly followed behind. You kept a distance, legs moving quickly just to keep up.

You wondered what his name was, what his purpose was on such an unfavorable planet. Were there more of them here?

You let yourself speculate answers, biting at the dry skin on your lips. You tensed as you caught sight of the dark red staining your gray shirt, once more reminded of the bloodbath you’d so willingly walked into.

Though he hadn’t directly stated it, he offered you his protection. A source of security in this unforgiving world. Why would he when he seemed so harsh, so cruel when his eyes met yours?

The animal was scrawny as it hung by its limbs, dangling from a towering tree. Its big beady eyes had met yours and it bared its sharp teeth, mouth wide, awaiting soft flesh to break into.

You’d spoke gently despite your slight unease, explaining that you meant no harm as you untangled the vines. It looked at you with what you could only recognize as disbelief that you would so willingly help it.

It was scurrying off before you could even register that its skinny limbs slipped from the vines. You tilted your head and pouted, only praying the poor little thing wouldn’t get caught again.

As you walked away, you didn’t notice the vine extending out to twist around your backpack, barely missing as you unknowingly had slipped just out of reach.

When you made it back, they were nowhere to be seen. The soldiers that had so insistently strung you along in case they needed medical assistance, left you.

Your stomach dropped and panic threatened to surface, but you pushed it down and pulled yourself together. They couldn’t have made it far.

And even if they had, someone would notice you’re gone and they’d come back for you, right?

So here you treaded, feet careful not to step on any unsuspecting danger and ears on alert, listening for any distant voices of your friends. It was uneasily quiet, only the slightest sounds of life echoing amongst the trees.

You went on for hours, the sky growing dark and lightening striking the sky. A gentle drizzle of rain pattered down on the forest floor. You looked up, savoring the feeling of cool rain after such a warm day.

You’d been trained yes, but it was rushed and you were confident you’d die out here alone. They’d warned you of this being a “death world” that everything would try to kill you guys.

You had no doubt in their claims, and only now cursed yourself for being so stupid that you would agree to come. It was a suicide mission, no matter how much they pushed the idea of scientific discovery.

Tears welled in your eyes, you wanted to go home.

A blood-curdling scream brought you out of your thoughts. You jerked, startled as a chill ran up your spine. The tone was familiar, someone you knew, but you couldn’t pinpoint who. They needed help.

You could hear faint gunshots, yelling and chaos as they were attacked.

The rain began to pick up as you ran toward where the sound came from, the water droplets growing with your fear. The loud rumble of thunder masking the sound of your feet hitting the muddied ground, muting your sharp breaths as adrenaline spread throughout your body.

The gunshots stopped, as quickly as they’d begun. The shouting seemed to dwindle, as though each voice was being silenced one by one.

Another scream, followed by a deep, malicious trill that send a wave of fear through you.

You smelled it before you saw them, metallic and thick. An unmistakable tinge of iron that made your nostrils burn. Then you saw it.

Through the clearing bloodied, mangled corpses of your once friends scattered the ground, guns held limply in their twisted arms. Heads bending at unnatural angles, some even ripped off their bodies- a long tissue covered spine trailing behind.

You felt sick, stomach churning as a lump formed in your throat.

Then you saw the perpetrator, a set of deep red eyes staring at you, mandibles flaring. A tall, menacing male. A Yautja. A species you had heard far too many horror stories of, all of which seemed gut wrenchingly true.

He was scarily large, skin different hues of charcoal- chest lighter than the dark shadows of his arms. Yours eyes shot up as his mandibles twitched, gaze still dead set on you.

You knew two things for certain, they were all dead and you were next.

Your feet had moved before you could even processed the thought of running, carrying you away as fast as they could under the false pretense that you really could elude his pursuit.

You zipped among the trees, running in confusing twists and turns in hopes of losing the Yautja, careful of your steps and the slick mud forming on the ground.

For a split second you thought you had escaped death-

Without warning your backpack was pulled up and off of you, forcing you to fall back onto the hard, wet ground with a gasp, the air leaving your lungs.

Your eyes widened in horror as the Yautja moved to pin you down with harsh clicks, sharp mandibles hovering just above you. On instinct you grabbed a large stick to your right side, swinging it up to hit the pointed crown of his head, hard.

The stick merely broke at impact, the effort futile against him.

Your eyes met his, crimson eyes squinting in fury, an unspoken challenge as he snarled at you. His clawed hands slammed your arms against the wet ground, weight holding you down with ease.

The blood from his previous slaughter staining your clothes, washing off of him and onto you with the rain.

You’d never felt so weak, so helpless as you tried to wiggle your legs free from the grip of his thighs. His fingers flexed around your forearm, the extremities appearing so small and frail within his grasp.

You were now the vulnerable creature wrapped within pulling vines, only there was nobody to save you. No kind soul to rip you free from your tethers.

A pitiful sound escaped your lips, a mix of terror and frustration at your capture. “Please!” you cried as you writhed beneath the Yautja.

He seemed to enjoy this, your fear and weak little body squirming in a pathetic attempt at freedom. He relished in it, eyes darkening when you nearly slipped your leg free from his.

He said something, ticks harsh and in warning, the words foreign though you understood the idea. Be still.

Your eyes fluttered in defeat as tears welled within them, lip quivering. There was nothing you could do, you were entirely at his mercy.

He moved like a viper, one hand now holding both of your wrists above your head, he paused and observed you with a scrutinizing gaze, red irises following every move you made.

He was testing you, seeing if you were done putting up your worthless fight.

You wondered why he didn’t just kill you, why he was toying with you in this sick little game of cat and mouse.

Tears rolled down the sides of your temples as you remained still, muscles softening beneath him as you forced yourself to relax in a desperate last-resort to stay alive.

His free hand moved along your sides, long clawed fingers scraping at your ribs and reaching behind to your back, trailing at your spine… down further and further-

You squeaked in horror, “Stop it!!” body once again thrashing under him.

His mandibles widened in annoyance and he continued his search, feeling at your pockets and anywhere you could hide a weapon.

Your wiggling slowed as you realized he was looking for firearms, maybe knives, none of which you had on you. Unlucky for you.

Your chest rose and fell with quick breaths, he checked your ankles next, suspicious when he found nothing along the sides of your boots.

Those daring eyes met yours again, curious of your purpose. You were weak, defenseless, and seemingly of no help to anybody.

You could feel his judgement scorching into you and scrunched your nose in defiance, eyes still watery as you fought to stay strong.

He seemed to come to a conclusion, red irises staring at you sharply. They squinted again and he reached to his side. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting an end that never came.

Instead, tightly bound rope twisted around your hands. Your brows furrowed in confusion, “W-what are you doing..?” you said softly, accusingly.

The Yautja moved to your ankles, restraining them so swiftly you wouldn’t have realized if it weren’t for the harsh burn of the rope against your ankles.

“Keeping you.” a gutteral voice grumbled from above, raspy and mixed with low clicks. You were at a loss for words, so shocked by him speaking your language you hardly processed the gravity of what he said.

Your eyes dilated at the prospect, throat tightening. He just massacred the only humans on this cursed planet with you, and now he’s going to keep you?

Before you could react he stood and slung you over his shoulder, bound arms trapped between your belly and his pointy shoulder. “Wait, n-no,” you’d started only to be cut off by a snarl that vibrated through his body.

Mean and absolute.

It was as though he was just upset about this as you. The audacity. You opened your mouth to protest, almost immediately shutting it and biting your tongue, not wanting to anger him further.

The fight within you dwindled as you stared at his back, thoughts running faster than you could keep up.

You rocked atop his shoulder with each step he took, unease gnawing at your insides as a foreboding feeling set over you.

Your adrenaline soon dwindled down, leaving you entirely exhausted. You were too tired to feel scared, for now at least. Body shivering as the cold rain continued to pelt down on you both.

The Yautja didn’t seem to mind though, his large and surprisingly soft hand holding your thighs against him, sharp nails a silent warning against your skin, yet keeping your increasingly limp body secure from falling.

“Sam–” Your voice breaks on his name, little more than a punched out breath as his hips snap against yours. His fingers tighten around your wrists, effortlessly holding them above your head with one hand while he braces his other beside your face. One of your legs is hooked over his shoulder, keeping you splayed open for him as he drives deeper, claiming every inch of you with each thrust.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice quiet and in that low register that never fails to roll through you. “I know. I’ve got you.” And he does. He always has you. The weight of him above you is grounding, a necessary presence as pleasure threatens to shatter you into a million pieces.

Your body trembles beneath his towering frame as sweat slicks your skin. The intensity of his hazel eyes pins you as thoroughly as his grip, pupils blown wide with desire. Your back arches slightly when he shifts his angle, a moan tearing from your throat that he catches with his mouth. His lips are hungry against yours, swallowing your sounds as if they’re precious, something to be savored. And to him, they probably are.

“Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl,” he breathes against your mouth. The slide of his cock is relentless, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you that chases every coherent thought from your mind. All you can do is gasp, the air in your lungs replaced by the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. “So good for me.”

The praise settles deep in your core, his words almost as devastating as the way he fills you completely. Your free leg wraps around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back and urging him impossibly closer.

“Sam, please,” you whimper, not entirely sure what you’re asking him for. But you beg for it regardless. His grip on your wrists tightens, a reassuring pressure as he looks down and watches you. His hair frames his face, framing his cheeks and jaw. The light above him casts a halo-like effect over him like he’s an angel whose only purpose is to undo you. He lets out a breathy laugh, the sweetest damn smile gracing his features.

“My greedy girl.” His thumb brushes across your lower lip before his mouth claims yours again, tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, unspoken promise.

His rhythm changes to something more deliberate as he shifts his weight, leaning down and supporting himself with his arm that’s still holding your wrists. His now-free hand slides along the outside of your thigh, the one around his waist, and you feel the way his fingers grip into you. Surely, you’ll find marks there tomorrow and treasure them for the fleeting souvenirs they are. He guides your leg higher until he’s practically got you bent in half and gasping beneath him as the new angle lets his cock press against that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck–” you whimper. The coil in your belly tightens with each passing second. Your vision blurs, overwhelmed by sensation as Sam’s massive body cages you in.

“Want to feel you come,” he murmurs. “Need to feel you fall apart around me.” You strain against his grip on your wrists, not to escape but to feel the delicious restraint. The reminder that he’s in control. His hand slides from your thigh to your pelvis, pressing his thumb between your bodies and finding your clit. 

“God– Sam–” Your voice breaks on a sob of pleasure, and he trails kisses across your cheek and over your jaw until he’s nipping at the column of your throat. You strain against his grip on your wrists, not looking for an escape but just to feel the delicious restraint. The reminder that he’s in control. And that you had handed it over to him willingly. His name is a prayer on your lips, and you find his eyes as he lifts his head. There’s something devastatingly tender beneath the hunger there, and you clench around him.

“Stay with me,” he commands. You’re not sure if you can. You’re pretty sure you’re floating freely, tethered only by his gaze and the overwhelming fullness where your bodies are joined. The universe narrows to this moment. You focus on his labored breaths mingling with yours. The slide of skin against skin. The mounting pressure that’s threatening to consume you both.

“I’m here,” you manage, voice raw. “Right here, Sam.” His grip on your wrists tightens for a fraction of a moment, and he presses a reverent kiss to your cheekbone as his pace falters, rhythm slowing.

He shifts suddenly, releasing your wrists and adjusting so that both of your legs are over his shoulders as he drives into you with renewed purpose, one large hand braced beside your head and the other still holding your hip. The change in angle sends new shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you. You cry out, free hands scrabbling at the sheets that have bunched up around you.

Your fingers eventually find purchase in his hair, tangling in the swear-damp strands as you pull him closer, needing his mouth on yours. He obliges, leaning down and kissing you like he’s desperate for every bit of contact with you he can find. The position punches the breath from your lungs, and between his lips against yours and the way he’s practically got you folded it half, it’s hard to get a full breath of air.

“Sam,” you gasp against him, and he can hear the breathless note in your voice. He backs off slightly, letting you catch your breath just a fraction easier. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Let go for me.”

The raw devotion in his eyes is enough to break something loose in you. Your release crashes through you, vision blurring slightly at the edges as your body tightens and convulses around him. You’re only vaguely aware that you’ve grabbed onto his forearm by your head, nails digging crescents into his skin as broken sounds tear from your lips. Sam growls your name like a benediction as he abandons any semblance of control and chases after his own release, his hips meeting yours in sharp, desperate thrusts.

“Fuck– you’re perfect,” he groans. His hips stutter a couple times before he’s kissing you again, groaning into your mouth as his entire body tenses and he spills himself inside you. You tremble beneath him, aftershocks rippling through you. You’re pretty sure you’d drift off into the ether if his weight above you weren’t anchoring you to the moment.

He carefully slides your legs off his shoulders before he settles his weight over you carefully. Somehow despite his large frame, he never crushes you even as he covers you completely. Like he’s protecting you from the outside world. His breaths come in ragged pants against your skin as he peppers soft kisses along your collarbone. “You okay?” 

“Perfect,” you breathe, tracing patterns across the damp skin of his shoulder. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

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