#his mind is as fleeting as his flames and that’s what makes catching or reasoning with him so hard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darthmaulification · 2 years

Note

hey!! just saw you are taking requests YAY🤍 i love how you write in general but specifically for maul so this will be about him🥴 i was thinking about maul getting insecure and jealous because of an interaction that the reader(f or gn i don’t mind) had with sb(i’ll let that to u heheh) so starting off with an angry maul, pretty angsty, and then all ✨smutty✨ naturally lmao, finishing off with reassurance and fluff bc i’m a sensitive bitch😗✌🏻. also, i imagine this with maul and reader not being in an established relationship but crushing on/having feelings for each other but if you choose to change that that’s fine hahah and yeah, that’s it!! hope you like the idea and if you’re not convinced feel free to ignore this, i’d love anything you write anyways😬🤍

A/N: lol apologies for the delay lolololol 🤪 life is... sehr interessant atm 💀

BUT! i finally finished this!! and am proud that i did!!! 😊💕

i hope this makes up for the wait, anon, i really do. thank you for your patience! 🥺🤲💞

(btdubs, i know the character i chose to be reader’s past flame kinda sorta really doesn’t work AT ALL in the context of canon, so let’s all agree to not read far into that lmao.)

hope you enjoy! kiitos! 💗

content: a mixed bag, afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used tho), jealous maul (because when is he not smh 🙄), pining, pre/new relationship, arguments and fighting, two idiots not knowing how to talk abt theys feels, making up, heart to heart chats y’know, and then fucking, making out, very very slight public embarrassment (like hardly any), marking/biting, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), cum

word count: 9,570

The Sundari Palace has never been this lively, and that you can say with certainty.

Packed like sardines in a tin, people of all species mingle in the throne room, all of them high ranking officials, diplomats, and a select few... underground higher-ups you recognize from Crimson Dawn meetings. It’s beyond rare that you’ve had such an opportunity to socialize, and it’s even rarer that today isn’t for any of Maul’s Mandalore related business nor his side hustle. In fact, today’s technically all about you.

The birthday celebrations haven’t commenced quite yet, but the amount of well-wishes and gifts you’ve received makes you wonder just how big a party was planned for you. The thought is somewhat peculiar, considering you’re only one of Maul’s advisors (not that he even utilizes your advice all that often).

Speaking of the crimson-skinned Zabrak, your eyes scan the noisy, crowded room until you catch sight of him at the opposite side. Maul is conversing with two towering Trandoshans, probably business partners of the illicit sort, his hands clasped behind his back. Though he usually opts to go completely shirtless (for whatever reason) tonight he wears inky black robes and a floor length, maroon velvet cloak.

The colors suit, shades of red and black that make him appear equal parts dangerous and charming. A dark prince, he looks like desire itself.

Deep inside you, something twinges, and you want to run over to him and tell Maul how gorgeous he is. You want him to know how badly you’ve ached for him, and how appreciative you are for him, and everything else good and holy in the galaxy... but you can’t.

He’s your employer— your Lord. It would be inappropriate at the least and insubordination at its worst for you to approach the Mand’alor in such a way.

Maul makes it hard though, seeing that he treats you as well as he does his brother, that you needn't ask for a thing. He gave you a room in the Palace, an awfully exorbitant pay for your rather miniscule data job, and has left you with more fleeting touches than you can count.

A brush of his hand on your back, words whispered close to your ear during Crimson Dawn debriefs, smoldering glances, his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear...

It's hard not to feel something for Maul when all he's ever done is a gift.

You wonder what you mean to him, because surely it's something more- you want it to be something more. But doubt always rears its head every time you catch a nameless fling stagger from his personal quarters late at night, looking disheveled, all while Maul looks on, immensely satisfied.

The twinge grows stronger, and you look away to force it back down into the deepest part of your heart. As you shuffle to the table where platters of food promise you some emotional relief, you work hard at squashing your feelings. It doesn’t work, not even when a passing waiter droid offers you a glass of champagne which you down in one gulp.

“Maker.” You grumble to yourself, picking up a strange-looking pink cube off a platter and bringing it to your lips. Before taking a bite, the distinct impression that you’re being watched starts to creep up on you, making it feel like you’re tingly all over. You lower the cube, and turn.

“By the Stars!” A voice from afar exclaims, a voice that makes your mind buzz with recognition. Your head turns in the direction from which it came, and when you see the tall figure approaching you, your jaw drops in shock. A very familiar Nautolan, one with the brightest, most wonderful smile plastered on his bright, wonderful face.

“Kit!” You cry, a grin blooming across your face as you open your arms (accidentally dropping the sweet) and run straight into his. He laughs— that same, beautiful laugh exactly how you remember!— and pulls you close. As you dig your face into his chest, you inhale deeply and almost weep, because he even smells the same— a curious mix of sea salt, pine, and something sharp, like mint. It’s all uniquely him.

“Starfish.” Kit sighs the pet name into your hair, and it almost has you shivering at the memories attached. You haven’t been called that name in years, not since Kit...

“I thought you perished on Coruscant.” You murmur into the soft satin shirt he’s wearing, hugging him tighter to stave off the ache of the thought. Kit stiffens slightly, pulling back so that you’re able to look up at him, and the grin on his face slips into a small, melancholic frown. A distant look overtakes his eyes, a stillness in their inky depths that is so unnatural to him.

“Yes, I... It was...” He goes quiet then shakes his head, long tendrils trembling as he forces himself back to the sunny disposition you remember. The switch ignites deep empathy and curiosity within you, but the pain in his eyes stops you from pressing any further. “A conversation for another time”, is the sentiment left unsaid.

“Well... it is so so wonderful to see you again, Kit.” You say softly, cupping his cheek with your hand, his chartreuse skin cool and semi-damp beneath your palm. It reminds you of a time before, distant memories that your mind had hidden under lock and key. In all honesty, after Coruscant, after... everything that happened, you had honestly tried your best to forget your past lover.

It wasn’t that you wanted to, but when the mind seeks self-preservation, and the soul seeks solace, yours acted no different.

“It’s wonderful to see you too.” Kit replies, his voice quiet and tentative, his pitch black eyes downcast, only briefly. When he looks up again, the beaming sunshine smile is back full force, and the haunted expression on his face has been drowned out by its light.

“How have you been? I had no idea that you’d gone to Mandalore— I always thought your dream destination was Canto Bight?” Kit teases, dodging your elbow when you try to land it into his side. You knew he knew your absolute displeasure at that deplorable city, especially with it’s treatment of children.

“Dirty liar! No, it is not!” You laugh, attempting to slap him lightly on the shoulder, but once again Kit dodges your half-hearted assault, chuckling himself. This time though, he grabs your hand, encasing your fingers with his. The tender touch honestly has the apples of your cheeks heating up, and you stare at his long, green fingers. They look the same, claws and all, but this time you do spot newer scars on his knuckles.

You want to kiss them better, as you had always done before, but this isn’t the past anymore.

“Kit...” You try not to sound overly exasperated, or disappointed, but the second his name passes your lips like that, Kit releases your hand, falling silent. His drop to his sides, then he shifts and clasps them behind his back. The mood immediately changes, the joviality dissipating to a dispirited awkwardness.

“I... apologize. We, um, we don’t—” Kit shakes his head in embarrassment, tendrils swaying, cheeks darkening slightly. Wanting to salvage the moment, you force a wide smile on your face and wave a hand nonchalantly. It’s hard, harder than you’d ever anticipated.

“Kit, believe me, it’s fine.” You insist, doing your best to keep your tone cheery, “What brings you to Mandalore?”

The pivot in subject is hardly subtle, but if Kit notices he doesn’t say, probably for his sake and yours. Though when the question processes, you’re intrigued to see Kit go a bit sheepish.

“Uhh... For business?” He glances everywhere but you, the terrible actor he is, and you raise an eyebrow. Crossing your arms over your chest, you take a step and Kit takes one back. It must look positively amusing, a human such as yourself making a towering Nautolan look small.

“Kit Fisto.” You warn, though there’s really no bite to it, but you are curious. Kit meets your gaze, all owlish and meek, and does that thing where his lip quivers when he wants to say something so badly, but is forcing himself not to. You’ve got him locked in the stare, and you know he wouldn’t be able to look away even if he tried. His mouth opens to speak.

“I’m—”

“Who is this?” Both you and Kit jump, heads simultaneously whipping to the side to see Maul standing at your sides. A glower is on his face, more so directed at Kit, and his hands are hidden behind him, underneath his ornate cloak. Jumping into action, and gathering yourself all the same, you clear your throat and gesture to Kit.

“O-Oh! My Lord, this is—” You get interrupted when Kit takes a step, somewhat jutting out in front of you.

“Kit Fisto, Lord Maul.” He says smoothly, putting on the voice he once used for Senators on Coruscant, all chivalry and semi-forced politeness. Interestingly enough, his tone also sounds a bit challenging, and you can’t imagine why. Your brow furrows, especially upon watching Maul’s eyes ignite at the provocation, his sneer deepening.

“Yes... Kit Fisto... I do think I know that name.” Maul hums, Kit’s name rolling off his tongue as slickly as honey but as bitter as poison. The antagonism isn’t something you miss, nor does Kit, given how the tall Nautolan seems to puff up, shoulders setting. He and Maul glare at one another, fiery gold clashing with inky black. Maul’s hands drop to his sides, and the tension swells.

You catch sight of silver glinting at his hip.

“Really? Have you both met before?” You ask before someone decides to take the next step, haphazardly placing yourself semi-between Maul and Kit. It’s then you notice Kit also has a hilt on his belt, his hand awfully close to it. The tension breaks somewhat, but it still simmers in the air. Kit turns his attention to you and goes to say something, but Maul beats him to it.

“A mutual friend, so to speak.” The Zabrak replies evenly, straightening his posture and lifting his chin, the epitome of dignified class. You nod, not really buying it, but the alternative of questioning might bring more problems than it’d solve. How Maul and Kit once knew each other gives you the impression that it wasn’t in good terms, based on the hostility between them. A mystery to solve for another time, you decide.

“Well!” Kit booms suddenly, clapping his hands together once, and causing you to jump. His sunny grin returns, as does the otherwise lighthearted and jovial Kit you’re used to, although it seems a tad strained. The green Nautolan turns to you, and his smile drops a bit as he takes your hands in his.

Maul glares daggers.

“I must be going, unfortunately.” Kit says quietly, and a twinge of sadness pricks at your heart, your lips dropping into a frown. You want to protest— He’s only just reappeared after all— but whatever matters that seemed to have brought your beloved Kit back to you will pull him away all the same.

“Must you?” You whisper, eyes glossy, and you search Kit’s face for any answer except the one you’re dreading to hear. He looks pained, and won’t meet your eye, his gaze cast down at his hands holding yours. He rubs small circles on your knuckles, only twice, then stops.

“I...” Kit trails off, glancing at you then to Maul, who sneers, then back to you, “Yes. I can’t stay in many places for long.”

You bite your lip, and the plead to make him stay, and nod nonetheless. Kit finally meets your eyes, and his eyes— above all else, in spite of everything— are kind.

“We’ll meet again, starfish, I’m sure of it.” And with that Kit brings your knuckles to his lips, where he places a soft kiss upon them, his touch cool like sea breeze. You smile, and Kit does too, like he did all those years ago when you had first parted ways— The small, sad one that holds so much hurt that Kit doesn’t want you to see, but what his innate optimism can’t hide.

History is doomed to repeat itself, you suppose as you watch your fingers slip from Kit’s hand, the loss all too familiar.

“Mand’alor.” Kit dips his head to Maul, and the two imperceptibly size one another up again as the Nautolan passes him. It takes a lot to pull your eyes away from Kit’s retreating form, but you do, because you have to, and drag your attention back to Maul.

“I see you and him are far more acquainted than I initially realized.” Maul snaps, turning his withering glare to you, catching you completely off guard. He pivots harshly on his heel, practically stomping his way towards a discreet balcony and shoulder-checking a guest on the way. You frown, the anger that rises in you driving you to follow.

Maul weaves through the swathes of people, and you do too, almost losing him a couple times with all the sharp turns he takes. Finally, after you’ve burst out from the middle of a group of Twi’lek dancers, you catch sight of Maul at the edge of the balcony, alone.

He’s shrouded with the night’s shadows, his dark robes and sweeping cloak making him appear phantomic. His back is to you, one of his hands on the balcony’s silver railing, the other behind his back in a fist. Even from a distance you can tell his shoulders are tense, hackles raised, and the anger rolls off of him in waves. Like a cobra coiled to strike— volatile.

“Maul—” You start as you approach, but the Zabrak slams his crimson and black hand on the railing, cutting you off with a hefty thunk. The loud noise makes you jump, and pause in your tracks, though only briefly. Stomping up to him and just as you get close, Maul whirls around, his cloak billowing in the sudden breeze. The blistering flames of his eyes catch your attention first, their raging fury, then does the pain laced in them.

“What is with you?” You confront, arms flying up in exasperation, then falling down to your sides in defeat. Gaze searching Maul’s face for any type of answer, you watch his lips part then close to a tight line. He frowns and his brow furrows, curling in his midnight tattoos tight.

“Nothing of your concern!” Maul snaps in reply, and he turns his head from you and you almost have it in you to laugh when you see his lower lip jutting out like a child’s. He’s pouting, your esteemed leader and Lord is pouting.

“Obviously, it is of my concern considering this how you act with me.” You snort, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. Honestly, the Zabrak could be the most stubborn person you know— as absolutely, utterly stubborn as a sleeping bantha.

This time, it’s his turn to scoff, and Maul shakes of his head as he turns away from you. He starts to head in some direction away from you, but you reach out and grab his bicep before he can storm off.

“Maul—!” He shakes off your grip, but you hastily grab at him again. Maul whips his head around, eyes blazing as he snarls, “What?”

For a second you recoil, eyes blowing wide, but you hastily regroup yourself. Hand still on his arm, you take a step towards him and gently rest your other hand on his closest to you. Your fingers drape over the fist his hand is clenched into, the black leather taut under your touch. Nearly imperceptibly, his hand is quivering— from rage or sorrow, you aren’t exactly sure.

“Please. What’s wrong?” You ask softly, taking a risk and stepping closer, trying to smother the apprehension building inside you at getting so... close to Maul. You definitely are invading his personal space, but he doesn’t move, nor does he say anything up it. In fact, you’re so close to him you can smell the cologne he uses— a heady scent that reminds you of the heat of flames, spice, and the tang of turmeric.

A long stretch of near-silence ensues, the background noise of the party only a handful yards away making the contemplative look on Maul’s face all the more potent. He sighs, low and almost silent through his nose, and his other hand rises to run down his face. When it passes, the look in his eyes has hardened, and the elegant stoicism has returned full force.

“Nothing.” He replies, his tone clipped and overly neutral in the way that he once told you, on an equally warm, equally starry night as this one, that he had been forcibly trained to use for when he obeyed the commands of his former Master. It reminds you of that night, when you both sat on a bench, and exchanged secrets and trust.

It was also the night Maul told you, “You have a kind heart”. He hasn’t told you that since.

“... Is it Kit Fisto?” You ask the obvious, knowing that the answer is Yes, but at the same time you don’t want to assume while simultaneously wanting Maul to say it himself. He dips his head and his eyelids fall heavy over his eyes, and it’s then you notice how they glow in the shadows.

Maul and you... your relationship is strange, to say the least. It’s no secret he favors you compared to many others— Gar, Almec, no other holds your status— and it’s no secret that both of you have noticed. You’ve tried to decode what it all means, every gentle touch and kind word that Maul has delivered to you, but there’s always something missing, something left unsaid or undone that unravels it all.

It’s a dance, a strange, confusing dance.

“It is.” And the confession passes his lips in a whisper, and you nod, pursing your lips. Inhaling shakily, and wanting to salvage whatever you may have had with Maul, you begin to explain,

“Kit and I were once a... thing, but that time has passed.” You start, and all the memories of Kit and yours stupid, reckless, young, amazing love make you equal parts happy and sad, “But we aren’t anymore. We agreed a long time ago that our futures didn’t align.”

Even after so many years, the words still choke you despite the break-up being mutual and amicable. Yes, you loved Kit once, and he loved you, but love also has the tendency to be fleeting, and while it was strong between you and Kit for a little while, it left when it was meant to... when it was safe to. Despite yourself and your better judgment, tears sting the backs of your eyeballs, and you blink rapidly to hold them at bay.

“But I still sense the ache in your heart. Why?” Maul asks, his golden stare meets yours, pointed and accusing. You can’t help but frown, and the sorrowful anger that starts to simmer in your chest makes your tears evaporate. Though it doesn’t even get close to boiling over, and instead hums beside your heart.

“It’s hard to admit when love dies, my Lord.” You reply, and you hope you didn’t spit it out as bitterly as you thought you may have, but the tone of your voice seems to be less than a concern for Maul. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem offended, nor does he seem angered, and instead the crimson Lord has the maturity to dip his head respectfully.

“I... understand. I should not have behaved myself as I did previously.” He finally admits after a long stretch of silence, glancing to the party he stormed out of and then to the dent his fist left on the durasteel railing. The admittance does actually soothe you somewhat, though your heart still bristles at your past relationship being scrutinized and judged.

"No, you shouldn't have. I should never feel the need to defend who I’ve loved, and why I loved them." You reply, arms crossed tight over your chest defensively. Maul frowns,

"I know, I was-" Maul pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs harshly, "I was just jealous."

He admits it through grit teeth, looking and sounding as though the confession brought him physical pain.

"Why?" You breathe, thinking of all those men, women, and everyone else in between that have, presumably, found themselves in Maul's bed before you. And now you feel jealous yourself, catching him with some arm candy time and time again has worn you down. Anger that had been simmering inside you begins to boil, making your face feel hot.

But guilt does too, because hadn’t you just had to justify your love life to him? Maul shouldn’t have to do the same with you. It’s a nasty mix of too many human emotions that broil inside you and eat at your heart. It feels vindictive.

"You are... important to me." Maul replies, and this time your anger doesn't evaporate the tears behind your eyes, because this time they fall past your lashes before you can stop them. Hastily wiping them away as they fall, you glare at Maul.

"In what way? In a business way? In a friend way? How, Maul?" With each frantic question your voice rises in octave, and the tears keep falling. It’s at this moment, tears streaking down your cheeks, that you realize you’ve never cried in front of Maul like this— let alone anyone. Shame forces you to turn around, fixing your blurry stare on the distant horizon.

Behind you, Maul says your name and it carries in the wind. In your mind, you watch it manifest on the cool night breeze and be carried far away from the Sundari Palace, floating by each skyscraper in its path before being plunged to the ground. After a few long seconds, Maul says your name again and this time something in his voice changes and this time you catch your name in your palms.

“I don’t know who I am to you, Maul.” You say softly, lifting your fingers to your cheeks and wiping away tears and streaks of mascara, “And it hurts because I want to be your—”

A very specific word rests on your tongue, but it’s a word that feels too powerful to say, too much. You swallow it, and instead say, “Because I want to be someone to you.”

“I...” Maul trails off, the begins again, “I am sorry. Truly.”

Footfalls approach you, but you don’t turn around— not even when the heat of Maul’s presence is directly behind you. He sighs, low through his nose, and whispers your name.

“My life holds nothing but danger.” Maul states, and you agree, but don’t when he adds, “If you were in it... There is too much risk. For you.”

“Aren’t I already in it?” You ask in reply, and you know he knows that whatever sense of preservation he has for you has already been compromised by the proximity you have to him. For nearly three years you’ve stood by his side, the excuse of potential enemies getting to him through you is null. Maul sighs again, and this time you can practically see him pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, but...” Maul trails off as you finally turn to face him, and you see his eyes dart to your dewy eyes and the tear streaks on your cheeks. Regret shadows his expression, and a part of you aches and wants to cup his cheek and caress that emotion away. The other part keeps your hands pressed to your sides, unmoving.

“But it would be unsafe for you if I held you any closer.” Maul says, a bitterly wistful tone in his voice, as if he’s cast out an unattainable wish on dandelion seeds thrown to the wind. Your feet draw you closer to him, only a few steps, but it feels like wading through clouds of smoke.

“What if I don’t care?” Your whisper seems to pull Maul to you, as if the question were a fishing line with a hook, reeling him in step by step until he stands before you. He looks down at you, cast in shadow but his face is lit by the lights from inside— A spotlight for two handsome honey eyes and thin lips pulled into a frown.

You can’t pry your eyes away from those lips— their crimson and black plush flesh beckon like red wine and blackberries. They grow nearer when you lean in, and Maul doesn’t pull away— No, he dips his chin, gets closer.

“You should.” Maul’s lips are perilously close to yours, and you so desperately want close that little distance. He breathes, and his exhale is warm on your face. You can’t look away from his gorgeous eyes, and he can’t do the same with you. It’s then you notice he has speckles of hazel in his irises, and that his pupils are ringed in red. Wildfire eyes.

“Mm... I can afford to live on the edge if it’s with you.” Barely following your murmur, Maul smashes his lips to yours, molding his working red and black mouth to your pliant one. He slips his tongue in the second you drop your jaw, and when you gasp, he swallows it. Eyelids fluttering, you brace a hand on his chest, grounding yourself, as Maul slithers a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you in.

Flush against his hot body, his lips and tongue furiously overtaking yours, Maul tastes like the roaring heat of flames and black cherries. The arm he has locked around you squeezes tighter, pulls you in deeper, and you wish that you could simply fall into him. Your knees shake, so Maul plants his feet beside yours and holds you up with all of his body. The low of your back presses against the railing behind you.

“My darling.” Maul murmurs above your lips when the kiss breaks naturally, leaving you both panting for air that you share. The air feels as though it tingles around you, a type of serendipity that warms you to the bone and leaves you feeling as though you’re floating. Maul’s glazed honey irises sparkle with tease that blooms on the lopsided grin that he cracks.

“You taste like starlight and all that is good.” He says, his hand coming to cup your jaw, fingertips brushing your hairline. A smile splits across your face, and you tilt your head into his touch, playfully kissing his thumb that rests near the corner of your lips. Maul watches, hawk-eyed, as you do.

“You taste like warmth and desire.” You purr in reply, purposefully not acknowledging how Maul’s one hand has splayed itself over your hip, how he has shifted closer, his core to yours. His grin turns more boyish, and he tilts his head appraisingly.

“Is that so?” He begins, dipping his face to your neck and placing kisses along your skin, “Would you like to know just how much desire I have for you?”

A shiver goes down your spine at both his words and how his lips stop just beneath your earlobe, where his tongue licks your skin. Trembling, you slide both of your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Maul kisses down to your collar and then bites the soft part. You let out a squeal that is much more high pitched than you anticipated, and much louder, so Maul hastily presses his mouth to yours.

His low chuckles reverberate in your mouth, stifling the gasping moans you were about to release. Your lips move in tandem, jaws working and teeth nearly gnashing together with the force of the kiss. Maul growls when your fingers curl, pulling at his cloak and robes. When you part, you can barely keep your eyes focused from all the dewy, lusty daze that’s taken you over.

“I’d want you to show me.” You reply, voice husky and teasing, and you grin into the heated kiss that Maul pulls you into. It’s as furious as the one before— desperate, needy— all slick-tongue and swapping spit. You swallow the low growls that Maul let's out, and in turn he devours you— your scent, your kiss swollen lips, each gasp that sounds almost like his name.

The kiss parts ways again, Maul and you catching your breaths, and the second Maul does he licks his lips and smirks.

"Shall we find someplace less open, or would you prefer I ravish you here?" The crimson Zabrak angles his crown of horns to the noisy party just inside, where the light that's cast from the open doors narrowly reaches you and Maul in the shadows. As much as the risk is exciting, your mind is more focused on Maul's bed, where you'd let him do anything and everything to you.

"Your room, please." You say breathily, heart pounding in your chest, accepting with a soft smile the tender kiss Maul sets on your cheek in reply. He straightens up and pulls away from you, setting his shoulders to fix his rustled cloak. You do the same, hastily wiping at your smudged makeup and tidying your skirts.

"Come, my love, let us have a very long night." Maul offers you his hand, and the second your fingers are entwined with his, he sets off. You laugh, needing to smother it once you pass the threshold back into the palace, and do your best to hide your excitement behind a neutral expression. It's more to prevent the gossips, but one glance Maul and yours way would tip off anyone. Especially since Maul keeps sending smoldering looks over his shoulder, squeezing your hand when he does.

It’ll have to be a problem for tomorrow— a fairly impactful problem— but for tomorrow nonetheless. You’re too caught up in the moment and Maul to care.

Your Zabrak Lord guides you through swathes of people, and once he gets to the hallway exit at the other end of the room, Maul offers Savage a nod. The towering yellow Zabrak, who had been standing near the doorway, lifts a brow, then offers a small smirk back. Honestly, you hadn't even known that Maul's brother had attended, considering Savage's immense dislike of large crowds.

“Have fun.” Is Savage’s wry deadpan before his attention is stolen by a gaggle of buzzed Twi’leks who suddenly found themselves latched to his arms. Maul glares in response, and is about to say something snide back, but Savage is all but dragged away by one of the Twi’leks on his arm, her glossy lips pulled into a laugh. Savage sends Maul and you a look that says “Please help”.

Maul turns, and ignores him. Before Maul pulls you out into the hall, you mouth “I’m so sorry” to Savage, just as a turquoise Twi’lek launches himself into Savage’s arms. The yellow Zabrak only stares.

Once in the hall, the relative quiet eats away at the buzz left from the crowd, your racing heartbeat evening itself out. The dim lighting is also a large contrast to inside the room, and the shadows douse you and Maul in muted darkness. Though before you can calm down too much and focus on catching your breath, Maul is all over you once again, his eyes glowing.

“Savage is going to be so mad at us tomorrow.” You say through giggles, letting Maul pull you into his body, in spite of all the eyes potentially watching. He gropes at your soft waist and hips, hands roaming and quick, kneading at your flesh and pulling soft gasps from you, You’re hardly able to keep walking, especially with how Maul has slid a sneaky gloved hand beneath your skirts, rough leather gliding up your thigh, pushing your dress up—

“Maul!” You reprimand, though there’s no bite to it, wriggling in his grasp so that he drops your skirt and gets his fingers away from the hem of your underwear. An Aqualish couple passes by the open doors, and you make very unfortunate eye contact with one of them just as Maul’s gloved hand returns to your hip. They chitter amongst themselves, and you send Maul a withering glare, face hot.

“My apologies.” Maul replies smoothly, absolutely not apologetic, and stealing a kiss as he does. You go to say something else, but Maul unexpectedly doesn’t pull away and inside dips his face to the junction of your neck and shoulder, kissing your skin as he walks you back against the wall. Your bare shoulders touch the cool metal and goosebumps pucker your skin, combined with Maul’s pleasantly hot mouth working a mark on your neck. Hands flying to his chest, you weakly push at him, attempting to pause his advances though he only looms over you further.

“To your room, please.” You whimper, back arching when Maul finishes off sucking at your neck with a small bite. His canines graze your aching skin as he pulls away, the touch having a pleasant sting to it. Maul parts, crimson and black lips brushing against yours as he does.

“My darling.” He repeats that same endearment from earlier, and as before it has you floating amongst clouds, a type of inner tranquility that makes your fingertips tingle and knees quiver. You press close to his warmth— all hard muscle and fine silken robes— hyperfixating on his hand that slides across the low of your back, locking you in place with his arm.

“I’ve never felt this way for someone before.” Maul’s voice barely reaches your ears, as lost in sensations as you are, but they do and you meet his golden eyes to see them filled with something vulnerable. Lifting a hand to caress his cheek, you smile— small, tender, there— and whisper in reply, “I’m so happy to be feeling this with you.”

Maul then grins, the fiery, wolfish one, and squeezes you tighter, then steals your breath away with another ravaged kiss. After a few moments of pure passion, he pulls away and your lips smack.

“I am going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk.” Maul growls, the vulgar words so unlike him, but fitting all the same. The blush beneath your skin spreads to your neck and shoulders, making you feel hot all over. The desire plunges in your core, and you stifle an anticipatory moan by biting your bottom lip.

“Let us retire for the night, hm?” Maul teases, quite aware of the effect he’s had on you— all dewy-eyed and flushed under your skin. You nod and hum in reply, craning your head and kissing the underside of Maul’s jaw, the black skin hot, leaving behind kisses with your wet lips. He growls in the back of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he groans. He begins walking, still tethered to you by hands and mouth.

“Oh, I think we’ll be doing anything but retiring.” You say back, stealing kisses between words, attempting to keep step with Maul at the same time. Somehow, the two of you manage to stumble to the hall where Maul’s room is, on one of the higher levels of the Sundari Palace. He has his arm tight around you, hand groping your ass, and lips locked with yours and somehow Maul manages to open the door.

He pushes you through the threshold, walking you back step by step until the back of your knees hits his bed. Maul wastes no time in hooking an arm under one of your thighs, bringing your knee up to his hip, all while leaning you back to rest on his silken black sheets. You sigh when your spine hits the bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight. Maul looms over you, his molten gaze appraising as he takes in your disheveled appearance; your hair tussled, lipstick smudged, dress loose at its ties and pushed up your thighs.

“My dear...” Maul purrs, and your breath hitches when his free hand raises, and the straps that hold your dress up go lax by some unseen actor. The Force pours over your body as it pulls at the ties, the bows coming undone, and rolling the top of your dress down past your collar bones. You arch your back just as the fabric stops, brushing your nipples and nearly revealing them.

“Maul, please.” You gasp, squirming before the crimson Zabrak lowers your leg and both his hands glide up your sides to cup your tits from below. His gloved thumbs roll circles on your nipples and the touch hardens them to stiff points, pulling airy breaths from your lips. Maul isn’t gentle with it, not tender, his hands are rough— hurried, almost desperate— and each roll of your nipple or squeeze of your tits promises his burning desire for you.

“Delectable, exquisite.” Maul groans, roughly tugging your dress past your boobs and rumpling it at your waist. He unintentionally breaks the zipper, the small rip catching your ear, but you have no mind to scold him— not as he leans in and sucks at your chest. You cry out as his mouth works a dark mark on your left breast, arching beneath him. Maul growls, climbs on the bed with one knee next to your body and switches to the right breast, nipping a trail on your skin.

He reaches your right nipple, taking it in between his black and red lips and grazing it with his teeth. Maul is rough, but the pleasure in you soars, not even the accidental graze of his sharp canines on your pert nipple phases you. The heat swirls in your belly, like a growing hurricane, and you rub your thighs together to try and relieve the throbbing of your pussy. Maul, even with his ministrations, notices and shifts to place his knee between your legs. Using his thigh and the Force, he pushes your thighs apart and you whine.

“Oh, no no no... none of that, my darling.” Maul tsks, glaring at you beneath heavy eyelids, his stare teasing. He climbs fully onto the bed, one knee keeping your legs spread, the other next to you, hovering above you like a crimson incubus would to the mortal he’s about to ravish. And, oh does Maul look ravishing— his dark cloak falling around his shoulders like a wine-dark wall of shadow, his chest heaving under his robes, and not to mention the swell of his erection pushing against the fabric of his pants.

“I need you, Maul.” You whisper, eyes darting lackadaisically from his fiery stare to the bulge in his trousers that throbs, tempting and mouth-watering. You want to see his swelled cock, want to feel him deep inside you to quell the aching of your core. He seems to hear that train of thought, or at least senses it, because he anchors himself horizontal above you with one hand, and with the other he unzips his fly, a smirk on his lips.

“In due time.” Maul replies, dipping his head to press wet kisses on your sternum, his hand a fist next to your shoulder. You sigh, reveling in his hot touch and the heat that radiates off him in waves, too deliciously pleasant to try and hurry his advances. Maul kisses down your torso, nipping at the pliant flesh of your belly, then to the softness of your hips. You squirm again, gasping, but Maul pays no heed and only bites at the junction of your hip and thigh, hard.

“Maul!” You yelp his name, the pinch of his teeth sharp enough to jolt you, but not too hard that it’s overly painful. He hums a laugh and licks your irritated skin, kissing it in apology before trailing down your thigh with his tongue. Your body trembles when he reaches the smooth curve of your inner thigh, nose pressed against the bulge of your sex. Maul tilts his head, the horn on his temple poking your leg, and inhales deep through his nose.

“Fuck, you smell nectarean.” Maul growls before licking his tongue in a long, languid stripe through your folds. You cry out, his mouth latching onto your labia, his tongue lapping at your wetness, pulling groans from his throat that vibrate your weeping pussy. Maul offhandedly shimmies his shoulder beneath your thigh, diving in deeper as he does. He tongues your wet, pulsing slit, toying with the sensitive opening.

“I’ve dreamt of this— Of you— for far too long.” He murmurs between frenzied, open-mouth sucks and kisses on your cunt— your mind almost too gone to cognize what he’s saying. But the words register, and as Maul lifts your other thigh over his shoulder, your calves straddling his back, you ask breathily, “How long?”

Maul looks up at you from, a very pensive look suddenly written across his face. Your heart pangs when he turns his head to press his nose against your inner thigh, where he sighs onto your skin.

“A coward’s eternity.” The self-deprecating jab is juxtaposed by the apologetic, soft kiss he leaves on your leg and the heat of his body so near yours. It’s then you realize that he has nothing to apologize for, and that you would’ve waited for all of time, just for him.

“I see no cowards here,” You begin, voice a low whisper before you allow a broad smile to blossom across your face, “But I do see a very handsome Zabrak lord between my legs.”

Maul grins, his teeth grazing your thigh’s skin, and he nips at your flesh. It causes you to jerk and giggle, doing so again when he continues to nip and bite, very lightly, at your inner thighs.

You continue, a laugh in your throat, “A Zabrak lord who is also unimaginably bull-headed, so that’s why he took so long—!”

Unexpectedly, Maul bites a bit harder and you yelp, knee twitching as Maul holds his teeth on your skin and sucks. The hickey he leaves is dark and near-pulsing on your skin, and while it’s sore, the pain doesn’t phase you. If anything, the slight sting and Maul’s hungry eyes do the exact opposite. Your lips curl into a seductive smirk.

“Show me how much you’ve wanted this.” And with that, you tilt your hips, pushing your wet cunt up, like your some wanton Loth cat in heat. Maul all but snarls with a type of ferocity that he usually levels at those dare cross him. But here, in his bed between your soft thighs, the challenge is seeing just how loud he can make you scream for him.

“Gladly.” He hisses, and then his mouth his back on your throbbing pussy with a fervor, his tongue swirling your clit. You arch your back with a low moan, choking on air when Maul latches his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks, his contented hums reaching your ears. His tongue dips, teases your slit, then licks through your folds, then repeats.

"Ma—aul!" You weep his name, hands fumbling until your fingers lace between his horns. He breathes a laugh when you pull his face closer to your dripping core, hastening his ministrations when you cry out again. Maul places one of his hands on your thigh to hold you open, for him, his delectable meal unmatched.

Your chest is heaving, the feel of Maul's lips and tongues nearly too much to bear over the tight coil building up in your belly. Maul angles his jaw and the sloppy, open mouth kisses, akin to a hound lapping up its meal, have your thighs quivering. You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you see stars, eyebrows furrowed, your pussy throbbing and throbbing...

"I'm gonna—" You pant, airy and high-pitched, "I'm gonna... cum!"

You wail, Maul's fingers squeezing your thigh muscle hard, and come like you've never had before. Even though your eyes are closed, it's like all you see is a blinding light, each of your senses gone into hyperdrive. Wetness gushes from your cunt and soaks Maul's working mouth. He growls again, grinding his raging boner to the mattress as your thighs squeeze around his head as you ride out your orgasm, hips bucking unconsciously.

It’s as the last of the stars behind your eyes fade do you realize Maul has taken to licking up every last drop of your release. Your legs are shaking, inner thighs and sex glossy and sticky, and Maul is in the midst of it all, purring with satisfaction. Weakly, you lift your head to gaze down at him, bleary-eyed, and he offers you a cheeky grin, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“I must say, my dear, you taste quite good.” He says, planting a kiss on your hot, still pulsing pussy lips, causing you to whimper. The Zabrak kisses your clit and you gasp, and he continues with utmost pride, “And I must say that I am quite proud of myself for attaining such a dessert.”

That pulls a laugh from your throat, one that Maul smothers after he’s kissed up your body and locked his lips with yours. It’s scandalous, the way that you taste the tang of yourself on his tongue, how you moan when you notice it. Maul hums into your mouth, a low rumble that you feel in his chest, where your hands fall to tug at his clothes.

“And why are you still wearing all your heavy robes hm?” You tease, kissing Maul’s chin, then the sharp edge of his jaw, all while you unclip one of the clasps of his cloak. He meets your stare and undoes the other, unceremoniously tossing the cloak to the floor. You watch with bated breath as he rises above you and slowly pulls off his robes, revealing his beautiful skin and muscle.

Maul’s bare chest is no stranger to you, but the rest of his torso is often covered by his wide belts. Now, you somewhat understand why— a jagged, gruesome scar travels from his right side to his navel, a line of swollen red flesh that mars his midnight tattoos. You’ve heard snippets of what happened to him from Savage, but looking at what the damage had caused, Maul’s injury is worse than anything you had ever imagined.

“Does it disgust you?” Maul asks quietly, and you jolt, embarrassment flooding you when you realize that you’ve been staring for much too long. There’s an emotion you can��t read on his face, one halfway between sadness and shame. Shaking your head, you hastily sit up so that you’re level with Maul, placing an apologetic kiss to his sternum.

“No! Never.” You insist, shuffling close, your hands gliding down to Maul’s tapered waist, then to his belly. He stiffens when your fingers reach the scar, and out of the corner of your eye you see his hand twitch, as if it was going to snatch your wrists and stop you. They don’t, and your palms come to rest on his scar, one of your pinky fingers brushing his belly button.

“Nothing about you disgusts me.” You say in earnest, leaning down and kissing the marred skin between your hands. Maul sucks in a sharp breath, and with your head so close to his body you can hear his hearts pound in his chest, powerful like two steady drums. You smile against his skin, taking this moment to kiss the scar again, then below it, then another below the last. Before long, you’ve followed the V point of his Adonis belt to just above his waistband.

“Minx.” He growls, grabbing you somewhat roughly by your chin and halting your advances. You pout, his swelled erection beneath his pants taunting you— so close, yet so far. Maul swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, humming.

“I want to suck you off, Maul.” You whimper, Maul’s hand gripping your jaw tighter, angling your head up. His eyes are pools of liquid magma, a fire so bright within that it almost hurts to look directly at them— like staring into the twin suns of Tatooine, but you can’t help but bask in their light. His black-tipped fingers are warm on your skin like coals.

“... How kind.” Maul purrs after a stretch of quiet, caressing your cheek, “But tonight I ravish you.”

An invisible force suddenly pulls you flat on your back and flush against the mattress, a yelp escaping you. It holds you firm and unmoving on the bed, an intangible aura trapping your wrists above your head. Maul licks his lips, smirking at how you quiver under the Force’s hold, all due to him.

“My darling,” He continues, leaning in and placing kisses to your heaving chest as he’d done before, “This is all for you— I am all for you.”

A whine passes your kiss-swollen lips when Maul sucks another dark mark onto your skin, all while he climbs atop you. As he does, Maul shimmies out from his pants until the black fabric falls to his knees— revealing his length in all its glory.

Of course he hadn’t worn underwear, instead opting for the more breathable— and wicked— alternative of forgoing them. Your body practically quakes with the anticipatory excitement that floods you when you see Maul’s cock. A perfect shaft, the length of it swollen and tattooed like the rest of him, uncut and rosy at it’s tip. A gift from his Zabrak biology, Maul’s erection has three visible ridges, each wider than the last until the base of it. Dribbles of precum slide down the slit in a way that makes you whimper.

“Maul.” You almost sob his name, moaning when you see his heavy balls between his legs, “Please.”

Maul groans at your needy, desperate plea— restraining himself from going all in and ending the session too quickly. One of his arms slithers beneath your waist while the other hand anchors itself next to your shoulder. In his grasp, your overheated body is nothing compared to his hotness, like the Zabrak before you is the physical embodiment of the sun.

“All for you.” Maul repeats through grit teeth and a low groan, his hips pressing closer, the tip of his cock hot and heavy at your weeping pussy. You cry out when he thrusts in— only the tip— your slit accommodating to his size. The stretch is neither painful nor too much— Maul is a perfect fit and there’s nothing that couldn’t pass your dripping entrance. You angle your hips, and his cock slips in past the first ridge and you moan at the exquisite stretch.

A bead of sweat at his brow from holding in for so long, Maul’s lips pull into a snarl and he takes your eagerness and lack of pain as a go ahead. In one thrust of his pelvis, he spears you on his cock and knocks the wind from your lungs. You scream, fully engrossed in how your walls flutter around his erection, especially at how each ridge practically caresses the most sensitive parts of you.

Maul roars himself, the throaty growl tapering out into a near-pitiful moan of your name, and then he pulls his hips back, and thrusts back in with a fervor. The wet squelch is heard even over your airy moans, and as Maul picks up speed, his concentration falters and your wrists are freed from their invisible shackles. As Maul’s face falls to the side of your neck, your hands grasp at his head.

Fingers wringing his horns, an overwhelming ecstasy overtaking you, a harmonic rhythm is reached— Maul’s hips smack against yours wetly, his cock splitting you open and you, pussy throbbing and clenching around his pistoning length. You tug at his horns, eyes lolled up, begging him silently Kiss me, Maul, kiss me.

You Zabrak acknowledges, and his lips find yours— sloppy, no sense of decorum— all until you’re breathing the air he exhales, and tasting what he tastes of. Bodies rocking in time, the coil in your belly returns quickly, growing tighter and tighter with each sin push and wicked pull of his cock in your core. He groans when you clench around him, squeezing his aching length like a vice and stoking the fire in his belly as well.

“Maul.” You manage to gasp his name between kisses, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes, “Maul!”

“Yours.” He pants to the skin of your cheek, his breath hot and damp, all before he croaks a groan as if its been ripped from his throat and his rhythm stutters. You squeak, toes curling, your peak quickly approaching as you drag one hand down to clasp tight over the back of his neck. The muscle and tendons are taut under your fingers.

It’s then that Maul brings his hand out from under you, fingers sliding over your sweaty, overheated skin, all to reach your pulsing, swollen clit. His thumb finds the bundle of nerves and rubs circles, and you scream his name— eyes flying wide, body jerking— and the heat in your belly soars. Maul smashes his lips to yours again in a searing kiss as he thrusts harder, faster, rolls your clit under his thumb as if his life depends on it.

The harmonic rhythm breaks into something erratic, frantic— wild like two beasts in the wilderness, or two frenzied people chasing their heart’s desires. His mouth breaks away from yours, his pelvis snaps against you, just as the spring inside you snaps, and you come with a silent scream that breaks into a hoarse squeal.

It’s a better orgasm than the first— a gush of wetness between your thighs and coating Maul’s cock, vision going black until the stars of midnight show, muscles tensing and shaking with the force of it—

“Ungh!” Maul chokes when your pussy clenches so tight around his dick that it actually stops his undulating hips and pushes him to orgasm, pulling his full balls up tight to his body. Still high in the clouds, you whimper when you feel Maul’s fire-hot cum shoot into you with a hard spurt, coating your inner sex in liquid gold. One, two, three more ropes of cum enter you, each brought by a hard snap of Maul’s hips to yours, until his testicles are drained and his pistoning hips slow to a shallow grind.

In the midst of your foggy mind, you have it in you to rub your hands up and down Maul’s tense back, gently massaging each muscle. The action grounds the both of you, the rhythmic glides and smoothness of your hands pulling you both back from your highs. As your orgasm fades and your vision refocuses, you meet Maul’s stare.

His eyes are dewy, as if he’s just woken up, but you can recognize that deep, pleasant satisfaction from anywhere. You smile, a big, dopey one as if you’ve taken too much spice, and Maul does the same— the wide one, dimples and all. Your hands stop to rest on the backs of his shoulders, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles on his slightly sweaty skin.

“Oh, my darling.” Maul’s voice is surprisingly gentle, warm, and he swoops in for another breathless kiss, “I am yours forever.”

This kiss is soft, gentle on your overworked and achy lips, but so tender in its nature you practically preen at the attention. Maul reaches up to brush strands of hair from your face, ones that stuck to your damp temples, and you kiss him in thanks. His cock, still nestled within you, twitches.

“I’m so happy with you, Maul. No words can describe it.” You murmur, head lolling to the side as the crimson Zabrak kisses the side of your neck, as well as each mark he left on your skin. He hums in reply, kissing beneath your earlobe as his chest begins to rumble with purrs.

“I feel the same.” Maul says, and he shifts his body, his cock dragging against your hypersensitive walls and causing you to gasp in pleasure. Your grip on his shoulder tighten, and Maul laughs low in his throat. His blistering gaze meets yours, suddenly looking very much as he had earlier.

“May we continue our... bonding experience?” He teases, rocking his body once just to gage how you react to his swelling erection. You gasp and throw your head back into the inky sheets below you, legs drawing up to your body until your thighs find a home on Maul’s waist.

He must have no refractory period, but the way his warm, hard body and the sinful way you feel his seed leak from you makes you buzz with energy. From your head to your toes, you desire Maul like no other. You lift your head off the mattress, and grin coquettishly.

“The night has just begun.” You say cockily, and before you can even take your next breath, Maul has smothered your lips with his. Muffled giggles, soft moans, and the shuffles of sheets and clothes fill the room— carrying out to the night sky through the open windows, on the breeze that the floor-length blinds shiver in— like two bodies tethered with one another.

Indeed, the night is very long.

And it is immensely hard to walk the next day.

#star wars #star wars darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul #darth maul x you #orion answers #anon ask #anon #request #kit fisto x reader #kit fisto

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kyuus4ku · 3 years

Note

ryley bae i have no idea if reqs are open or not so feel free to 100% ignore this 🙏

how about a scenario where akutagawa is sick and has a fever and reader takes care of him? him being vulnerable and hesitant but still trusts the reader to wipe his forehead or give him medicine…aku is sensitive to physical touch but lets the reader touch him…i absolutely adore how you capture vulnerability when you write about the characters <33

AGAIN, VERY SORRY IF REQS ARENT OPEN AHAJZJ ILY TAKE CARE 💕

𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀

akutagawa ryunosuke

genre: scenario ; fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2K

a/n: RAI MY BELOVED <3 tysm for ur support😞♥️ yk i've actually been meaning to write for aku for some time now, and your req made me so happy :") aku is a really hard character to write for, but i tried my best, and i really hope you like it😼 take care <3

The morning was bleak. It was gloomy... it was... blank.

Akutagawa didn't know how to describe it— the early hours of the day were usually saturated with tranquility and peace which made getting out of bed a little less overwhelming.

For Akutagawa, it was quite the opposite.

The way everything was so still and calm made him yearn for his soul to be vaporised into nothingness. The fleeting hours of the morning reminded him of how void of meaning the course of life truly was— life always moved forwards, it never rewinded for you to grab on and catch up.

But still, there was a paradoxical companion living across that melancholy, and that was rage.

He wanted to watch the world burn, and he didn't care if he was burned along with it. The unquenchable flame seated deep in his heart made him dream of the impossible: to bring the world to ruins because of how the world effectuated his own soul's self-destruction.

Maybe he just needed coffee.

He threw his legs over the edge of bed, but abstained from getting up because of the evident sharp twinges of pain rooted in his muscles. His throat felt sore, and his head was burdened with a dull, nagging ache.

The cold air enveloped him in discomfort, inducing him to wear a hoodie over his shirt. He sighed— he didn't like being physically impaired. With a low grumble of curses, he got up, a little too fast, and sat back down again.

He looked at the other side of the bed to find it empty. He wondered if you had gone to work without saying goodbye— he never really liked leaving you out of his sight unless he was sure you were safe.

He checked the time— it was 8:46am. Rubbing his eyes in fatigue, he buried his face in his hands and sighed. He had never overslept for work before, but for some reason, he was too tired to care.

It wasn't like him to be this careless, but still, he wished he had slept earlier last night— he was too caught up in his head, and the hours flew past as quick as the midnight thoughts infiltrated his peace of mind.

Though, he remembered the way the obscure sound of your steady breathing next to him calmed his restless mind a little, enabling him to squeeze in a few hours of sleep to sustain him.

Nevertheless, this wasn't like him at all, and a bitter sword of rue was about to crack open his skull if he weren't distracted by the sound of the bedroom door opening.

"Morning~" your quiet voice cooed from the doorway, making his vexatious mood dial down by a few degrees.

He didn't know what was embedded in your vocal cords— your voice was like honey. It was mild and sweet, and it never did anything to hurt him, even if the two of you were arguing— it never bit back in retaliation, and it never even increased in volume to inflict any form of harm on him.

He turned around and met your silhouette— he wished you'd stop stealing his shirts, but never said it, because he thought you looked pretty nice in them.

"Why aren't you at work?" he said in a hoarse voice, massaging his throat as it ached in inflammation.

"It's Sunday," you stated. At this, you walked over and knelt in front of him, lips curving into an endearing smile. You discerned the dark shadows underneath his eyes, and saw that his lips were a little dry.

"Uh oh~ somebody's sick," you teased casually, raising your hand toward his forehead.

"May I?" you asked before letting the back of your hand touch his temple. He didn't respond; instead, he reluctantly leaned forward so that his forehead made contact with your touch. This was quite different from what you were used to back when you two weren't that familiar with each other.

If you looked back at the times you tried to comfort him in the past— whether it was simply by interlacing your fingers into his, or pressing a soft kiss against the back of his hand— oftentimes, you could see that he fell apart at your touch.

His eyes would simultaneously gleam with panic and relief— it was like his heart exploded into a million fragments and then fixed itself back again all at the same time.

Love conveyed through a human's touch was simply unorthodox to the boy who was moulded by words of aspersions and acts of violence. He was more afraid of getting attached to a human being than death itself.

But to your contentment, he got over his fear. No, hold on, that wasn't the right word... perhaps it was the state of being inexperienced with something to the point of indispensable curiosity.

Deep down, he wanted to feel it— even if it ruined him.

Gradually, it became easier to get over the wall of hesitance, yet he never failed to shatter under the pressure of the thoughts which asked 'what if this was the last time I ever feel this way?'

That would ruin him for good.

Yet in your eyes, there was promise. They promised to watch over him and keep him safe, and also to show him parts of the soul he had never himself witnessed nor experienced.

Meaning to say: he trusted you because you gave him a reason to.

"You hungry? I could make some soup for you-" he crinkled up his nose and sneezed before you could finish your sentence. You couldn't help but giggle, leaning forward to take his face in your hands to kiss him on the forehead. Of course you couldn't tell if it was just the fever, but you felt his cheeks grow somewhat warmer under your touch as he refused to make eye-contact with you.

"I'm guessing it would be useless to tell you to stay in bed?" you asked sarcastically, receiving a curt nod in response.

"You can never sit still," you held the back of your neck and sighed dramatically, staring at him with eyes which implored him to compromise his principles and sleep in. He still refused.

Realising it was useless to fight a losing battle, you took his hand and led him out of the room into the kitchen, where he sat right at the dining table with his head buried in his arms.

"This was your fault," he whined in a low voice, "You took me to that fun fair yesterday. It wasn't fun— the crowd must've made me sick."

"I was just trying to get you interested in other activities," you reasoned, bracing yourself for his witty comeback.

"Life in itself is uninteresting," he uttered rigidly. Though time and time again, just like this precise moment, he couldn't help but wonder why you never got bored of him.

You could only chuckle in response as you bustled about the kitchen for ingredients, silently conjuring up a recipe in your mind for the soup you promised to make him. It wasn't long before you found yourself seated next to him with his meal ready. You poked his rib softly and found that he had fallen asleep at the table by accident.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled in a dopey tone.

"Eat first, then go back to sleep," you ordered. He grumbled incoherently and obeyed, sitting up straight to find the bowl of soup in front of him.

"Now I really regret taking you to the fun fair," you chortled as he stared at the soup in daze.

"Told you so," he muttered moodily, grabbing the spoon and stirring its contents. You noticed his hands shaking as he did, and dragged the bowl away from him, stealthily stealing the spoon, too. He stared at you in bewilderment as you carried a spoonful of soup to his mouth, at which he tilted his head back slightly to flounder out words which, if pieced together properly, sounded like 'What the hell are you doing?'

"Trying to feed you, idiot," you expressed tenderly. He squinted his eyes, and decided it was best not to argue with you. After contemplating life, death, and the like, he opened his mouth and tasted some.

"Is it good?" you asked promptly.

"Mmhm," he nodded, trying to get his head around what tasted like drops of heaven. He had just realised he was starving, and now that you had caught his full attention, he shifted his body toward you and crossed his legs on the chair.

"Have you eaten?" he broke the silence which temporarily deluged the atmosphere.

"No, I haven't. Once you get to bed, I will," you replied, rather quietly, because he had the tendency to get quite agitated with the way you failed to take care of yourself sometimes. It was too early for his lectures.

Instead of a verbal response of annoyance, he snatched the bowl of soup from your hands, and having regained his strength by a small degree, held up a serving to your mouth. You rolled your eyes and complied, yet it didn't stop there.

"Akutagawa, this is your food," you argued, but he ignored you. Then you thought of a better justification.

"You do know that I might get sick since we're sharing the same spoon, right?" you tilted your head, smirking charmingly as his face fell, a shadow of realisation tainting his already pale skin. He gave you back the bowl in defeat, and soon enough, he was done with his meal.

The two of you were in the bedroom after a while, and after bickering for about 7 solid minutes, he let you give him medicine, which made him a little too drowsy for him to throw himself into the unforgiving attitude of 'I-can't-believe-I-let-you-give-me-cough-syrup.'

You tucked him into bed and laid right next to him with your head propped up against your hand. His eyes fluttered in exhaustion, yet he tried to keep them open as long as you were there.

"Get some rest, Ryuu," you laced your fingers into his hair, planting a soft kiss against his cheekbone as he frowned in thought. He had something on his mind, and was too groggy to hold it back from escaping his tongue.

"Why do you do all this?" he asked, looking at you with eyes you had never before properly comprehended. They were usually blank— blasé to the intricate emotions of this life or rather, so deeply infused with what every other human endured to the point of resisting any temptation to actually feel in the first place.

This time, they sparkled in gratitude he never showed, but usually meant.

"Don't get sappy with me now," you whispered, grinning, "It'd be embarrassing to know that you're shameless with expressive affection when you're drunk with cough syrup."

"I don't understand a word you're saying," he murmured in reply, closing his eyes finally. A lighthearted laugh escaped your lips as you nestled up against his neck.

"You're gonna get sick, too," he put out.

"Take care of me when I am then," you replied simply, laying your hand on his chest and letting his scent engulf your being, your eyelids eventually losing its strength to stay open. You felt his hand wrap around you to bring you closer.

In a few days, you did end up getting sick just when he had fully recovered, and he took care of you as best he could.

Part of you wished more people saw what you saw when it came to him, but realised that his exclusive acts of care toward you were to be treasured, not shared, because you were the only person he trusted not to render his spirit into pieces and ultimately discard.

Though, if tearing him apart meant unveiling parts of him which he kept reserved and isolated from the rest of the world, you had done it, and he counted his lucky stars each day knowing that you stayed by his side to help him put himself back together.

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Note

hello writer!! i was wondering if you could do a fluff arranged marriage loki oneshot with the prompt “can we makeout now?”

thanks for considering!

Dating and Marriage

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Warnings: N/A, just fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: alright i hope this is okay and ended up well i love the arrange marriage AU and i thought i was gonna be better at putting this together but maybe its clunky or something idk i still like it so i hope you do as well!

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had taken you a while to get somewhere in your relationship with Loki.

When the two of you were informed you had already been promised to one another before either of your births, you weren’t too shocked. As both of you came from royal standings, arranged marriages were far too common for a variety of reasons. In your case, it was to cement a peace treaty.

Sure, at first, you and Loki were very annoyed with the decision, especially since neither of you was ever even given the chance to be in on the conversation but that annoyance wasn’t allowed for very long. You two were adults now and had to take on your royal responsibilities as such. That responsibility included following through on the outlined marriage.

Loki didn’t seem to harbor any malice towards you and you never held anything against him. But, still, it wasn’t like you two were in love. You were tolerating one another.

And for a while, that toleration was enough. As a couple, you were quite poised in public. Sometimes you thought maybe it was hard for others to believe it was an arranged marriage based on how much you seemed to accept each other’s company. It was okay at times, you felt like you had a friend. Being a royal in a whole new palace could be lonely. Loki at least would spare you some time to sit and chat.

But this unusual friendship you two had started after the wedding was growing into something else for you day by day. And as much as he probably wanted to deny it, you could see something shift within Loki. He’d look at you differently. Reach for your hand when out of the public eye. Even began inviting you to spend his leisure time with him.

There was no avoiding the fact you two were headed on a different course than originally planned in this arrangement and despite its prevalence, you two didn’t speak about it. But you were growing greatly tired of ignoring it.

"We should go on a date," you suddenly said one afternoon. You and Loki were sitting in the library. He was in his favorite chair, consumed with some fairytale while you were seated on the couch across from him, in the process of knitting…something. You didn’t know what — you had only taken up knitting because you had heard other princesses did it. Making scarves had become all the rage.

You could feel Loki eyeing you suspiciously as you tried working on another stitch.

Eventually, he placed his book to the side and spoke. "A date?" Loki echoed.

You shrugged, not taking your eyes off the yarn. "Yeah, a date. You know, just the two of us. We could go out or — or maybe make some dinner here. I’ve been having the kitchen servants teach me about cooking."

"I know what a date is," he sighed. "What I meant is, why should we go on a date? We’re already married."

You felt a bit defeated with that response. You set your yarn on your lap and looked at your husband. He was watching you quite intensely, waiting for your answer. You shivered under the icy stare.

"Y-You don’t want to—"

Loki cut you off abruptly. "I didn’t say that." He glanced down then back at you. "It’s just that… Dates are for wooing, yes? Why would I need that when I can already tell you’re taken with me."

Your heart dropped. You blinked at him, stunned. You hadn’t expected him to just…admit he knew what was working up in your mind. There was some pride in his eyes at your reaction but behind it, you could make out a hint of fascination.

You tried shaking off your pounding heart. You promptly picked back up the yarn, continuing your hopeless scarf, as you responded, "Have you never considered that maybe your wife still wants to be wooed despite the status of her interest."

"So you admit," he chuckled, "you have fallen for me."

You scoffed, "Don’t act all high and mighty. I’m well aware of how you look at me."

You heard Loki lean back in the chair as the leather of it creaked. You could feel his eyes roaming over you but you didn’t know in what capacity. Whatever was in his eyes now you were ignoring as you frantically tried to focus on knitting and not your love confession.

"Okay," he eventually said. "We’ll have a date."

It was impossible for you to hold back the smile forming on your lips.

***

After minimal deliberation, Loki agreed to let you cook for him. You had heard that the Midgardians used food as signs of love and were fascinated with trying to learn some dishes. You studied with the servants for days trying to perfect a meal. They were always a little uncertain about letting a princess in where servant frequented but once you explained this time you were cooking to please your husband, they giggled like schoolgirls, excited to help.

Once you felt prepared enough, you informed your husband of when you wanted the date. You may have had to do some rework of both your royal schedules but it was fine. Meetings are forever, love can be fleeting.

You were preparing the food when Loki hesitantly entered the kitchen. You had explained that you two would be eating at the kitchen table. It was just a little table where servants usually sat to eat meals or relax in between shifts.

Loki had originally protested this saying he was not of such low status. You assured him that there was no intimacy to be found at the grand dining hall. It was far too big and annoying for two people. He didn’t argue further, just mumbling that he’d be there at the time requested.

And, luckily, he followed through.

"Hi, honey," you smiled, watching the stew simmer above the flame.

Loki took his seat gently as if he was going to catch something from the table. "This is really what you wanted to do for our date?"

You nodded. "I’ve had so much fun learning this meal and doesn’t it smell great? I think it’s going to be nice. I ever have bread baking." You motioned towards the stone oven. Loki followed your gaze but didn’t look impressed yet.

"We could’ve very easily had someone make this for us," Loki pointed out. "We have that luxury, darling."

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your bubbling stew. You could feel your anger bubbling in the same fashion.

"That’s not the point, Loki," you said, the tone in the kitchen shifting as you spoke his name. You rarely ever did. He perked up as you continued, "The point is that I, your wife, like you and would like to express my adornment through a freshly cooked meal."

Loki fell silent with that, something that was so rare for him. You didn’t push any further, though, and instead killed the fire under the stew and presented your bread from the oven. You divided it out into individual portions then placed each on the table. Still with an annoyed, sour look, you sat across from your husband. He was watching the stew, you were watching him.

"It—It looks delicious," he said

"Thank you," you mumbled. You two dug in then, this date now turning out a bit more awkward than you had planned. Neither of you spoke for a while, instead filling the kitchen with the slurping of soup and chewing of bread.

Loki soon began looking between you and the food like he was working up the courage to say something which was absolutely ridiculous to you. Your husband was one of the most outspoken people in the realm.

Eventually, you just decided to look up at him, your eyes begging for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"This meal is lovely," Loki eventually said. "Th-Thank you for…doing all this."

You smiled, a faint blush creeping up on your cheeks. "You’re welcome."

Loki finished his stew then asked, "What else should we do on this date?"

Now you were really blushing. While taking your little cooking classes, you asked the servants what else goes on on dates. They seemed like lovely girls and you were curious. You had heard stories before of dancing and parties but you wanted something more intimate and you had never actually been on much of a date before. You spent time with boys in your youth and the night before your wedding you and Loki had talked for a little bit but nothing was ever of such fashion.

One servant had informed you, quite shyly, that she and her boyfriend always finished their dates by making out. You had gasped, amazed at her bluntness but then remembered these were servant girls. They lived far less controlled lives than you.

You were partially envious but then you realized, technically, you had a husband. A husband who was capable of making out with you even if such actions and beyond were typically reserved for very a calculated time — heir bearing, such intimacy only happened during the time when potential conception was at its peak.

"Well," you said, running your spoon through your bowl of stew, "one of the servants that helped me said her and her boyfriend end their dates with make-outs."

"Making out?" Loki repeated, brows raised in surprise. "But it’s not—"

"I know."

He looked away. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "You want to make out with me for fun."

You giggled at his shock. "Is that so unbelievable? I thought we already established I am into my husband."

"Yes, but you, well, neither of us, have never been so bold before."

"But it’s not such a bad thing," you shrugged, "to be so bold."

Loki hummed in agreement as he eyed you. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you definitely knew something between you two had shifted. It had already been shifting, sure, but your newly expressed desires opened the dam walls.

"Alright, dear, I think I can indulge you."

You smiled at his excitement which he was certainly trying to hide. But you maybe wanted to take a moment to maybe mess with him a bit. "Hmm," you glanced around at the dirty pots and pans, "after we clean up."

Loki’s jaw dropped. "What?"

"We can get on with our date once we clean up."

"You’re kidding me, right?" He pointedly asked. You shook your head. Loki huffed, "When did my wife become such a tease?"

You stood up, collecting your bowls and plates, bringing them to the counter. "I’ve always been like this, honey," you said. "Maybe you just have to get to know me a little bit more."

Loki began stalking towards you as you pretended to be fooling with the dirty dishes. "Well, darling," he said as his hands came upon your hips, "there’s something you must know about me and it’s that I don’t like to be kept waiting."

"I can maybe leave all this for later if you ask nicely."

He scoffed. "Are you asking me to beg?"

You shook your head. "I’m just asking you to ask nicely."

"Fine," he sighed. "Please, can we make out now?"

You sighed, leaning into his hard body. His arms moved to wrap around your waist now. "Yes, your majesty."

Loki chuckled lowly, dangerously, in your ear. "Thank you, princess."

He leaned his head around and within seconds, your lips were captured with his, getting more and more lost in one another as you two become a miss of kisses and touches.

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starlessea · 3 years

Text

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 2. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch

A/N Make sure you read the prologue and other chapters first! Things are starting to pick up - I hope you stick around for the ride.

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 5374

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury, Domestic abuse mentions

The evening was cool, and a breeze hung in the air.

The midday Georgia heat had all but melted away, leaving behind tepid winds that rustled leaves on the trees — and the canvas tents. They fluttered around you as you walked, like the beating of butterfly wings, or ripples atop the ocean.

It was peaceful. It felt safe.

All eyes were on you as you followed Daryl to the firepit, taking a seat on a low log beside him — but not too close.

The night was still too young to turn in yet, so the man had begrudgingly led you out of his tent when the silence became stifling. For some reason, conversation didn't come as naturally to the two of you as it once had.

There was tension there. You could feel it.

But you didn't have the slightest clue why. The last time you had seen Dixon, it was in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The two of you had laughed, and ran through the rain until your clothes were soaked through, and your skin was cold.

It was one of the best nights of your life.

Yet, here you were — sitting beside the man in stagnant silence as he kicked at coal embers with his boot, and pretended not to feel your stare seeping into the back of his head.

Across from you were the people you had briefly met earlier — the two officers by the names of Shane and Rick, or helicopter boy — the asian man named Glenn, and Carol who was sitting beside her husband. Their individual conversations were low, barely audible against the crackling fire, but one-by-one they seemed to filter off, until there was nothing but silence once again.

Shane stood up.

He stoked the fire a little with a branch, careful not to let the flames rise too high. "So, tell me," the man spoke, his voice wide and assertive,"how's a sweet young thing like yourself figure out how to fly a Sikorsky Hawk?"

His presence was big.

It made you shuffle in your seat as his eyes dragged down you, resting on your arm — which was bound by a sling. "Well, minus the landing part," he murmured below his breath.

You didn't like the way he smirked when he said that, like it had been amusing to him — funny to him that you'd almost died. Daryl let out a sound beside you, a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat that only you could hear. But you didn't bite to his words.

After all, men like that could only bark.

"I was in the military," you answered, meeting his eyes and not breaking the stare.

Your throat was still sore, but your words rang out clear, atop the thrum of the evening air, and flickering flames. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet — as though he was putting on some type of show.

"Air force, then?" he questioned, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation.

You caught the whites of Carol's eyes across from you, as they darted between the officer and yourself, and to her husband, then back to the other officer. She seemed as skittish as a person could possibly be — just watching, waiting, for something to happen.

You cleared your throat and forced a smile. "Training to be," you clarified.

For some reason, the exchange didn't feel like a conversation. The mood was too tense, too untrusting. It reminded you of the few minutes you'd spent alone with Dixon, back at his tent.

Something felt wrong.

Shane stalked around the firepit, his police boots crunching against the leafy bed, and kicking up dirt where he walked. He stopped directly in front of you, looming a shadow down onto you and Daryl — and making the other man scoff as he looked up.

"So not actually a pilot yet?" Shane smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile faltered, he was asking too many questions.

The other officer, Rick, took off his sheriff's hat and tracked his partner's movements with his eyes, as though anticipating something that hadn't happened yet. It made you feel a nervousness you were ashamed of.

You never did play well with men like Shane.

"And tell me this," he said, lowly, as he crouched down to your level, "why aren't you at Fort Benning?" He looked back over his shoulder, at Rick who was sitting stiff as a board, before cocking his head back to you."Or were you part of the group that showered Atlanta with napalm?"

The word hung heavy in the air — even though he had practically whispered it.

Your mind flickered back to the day it rained fire down upon the city, to the sounds of screams, and the charred remains you'd stumbled across on the occasions you wandered too close to the centre.

You shook your head immediately, feeling the pain shoot up your shoulder. "I had no part in that," you hissed — much more viciously than you anticipated.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you curled in on yourself. You didn't miss the way the man recoiled slightly from your face, and you'd even caught a fleeting glimpse of your reflection in the blacks of his irises.

You wore a look of pure disgust.

"I was discharged," you whispered, after taking a few moments to collect yourself. "Couple months before all this." You glanced to your right, to where the former mechanic was sitting — trying to pretend like he wasn't watching you. "Got sent to Georgia afterwards, which is where I met Daryl," you explained, noticing his eyes narrow at your words. "Briefly."

He looked away. He didn't seem to like that choice, either.

Shane stood back up, stretching out his knees, and then his neck. He rolled his head back in a circle, before glancing to and from you and Daryl with a smirk.

"Makes sense," he murmured, before turning on his heels to walk away, "dropouts tend to stick together, no?"

And for the second time today, Dixon went wild.

The tension finally snapped, like an elastic band having been stretched to its limit, and Daryl shot up to his feet, lunging for the man.

But you reached out for him at the same time, trying to grab his hand so that the night didn't end in the way you were almost certain it was going to end.

After all, you'd only seen Daryl go off once before — back in the old world — which had left an aftertaste of bloodstains over your bar, and maroon-tinted bruised knuckles that needed tending to well after your closing time.

But now he seemed even worse — more tightly wound than a coil beneath your boot, always ready to jump up and spring.

He was playing the part of a man far more angry than you had ever known him to be.

Although you still couldn't figure out why.

The ticking of the wall clock was stark against the silence. Joe's Bar had been cleared out more than an hour back, but the two of you remained — like ghosts haunting whiskey bottles and looming around the jukebox until it played a song you liked.

Dixon hissed as you tipped alcohol over his knuckles, watching as it seeped into the cuts and spread over his bruises like a clear film. They weren't that bad, really — only a purplish hue to them.

After all, you'd seen the other guy.

But you'd never seen Dixon get so riled up before. He'd always been a cocktail of shy glances and dumb wonder around you. That was until tonight at least, when a drunken customer slapped your ass at the bar, and the mechanic beat him bloody.

He'd probably seen how rattled it had made you, and how you looked ready to either snap or break.

"Ya don' have to do this," the man rasped, purposefully avoiding your eyes. "Save the vodka."

Your hand stilled over his knuckles, as you breathed in the strong, sharp scent which made your lungs burn. You laughed, pointing back over your shoulder at the shelves atop of shelves — stacked with an array of bottles, all different shapes and sizes.

"We've got plenty to spare, don't you worry," you hummed, before tipping more Smirnoff onto a cotton pad. "And you didn't have to do that, either," you chided, narrowing your eyes at a particular cut — which had already begun to crust over. "I could've handled him."

The mechanic scowled, glancing back over his shoulder to the place where it had all gone down — as though watching the scene play out once more in his mind.

He shook his head. "Ya could'a lost yer job."

"I'm used to that by now," you bit back, not once looking up from his bruise-splayed knuckles. "But Dixon," you cautioned, "don't go doing that again."

A car drove by outside, its headlights streaming in through the window and illuminating the dark husk of the bar — the pool tables that had been otherwise cloaked in shadows, and the expression of the man sitting opposite you, studying your every word.

"Joe might bar you next time," you whispered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.

But Dixon only laughed.

"Barred from a bar?" he scoffed, stretching out his fingers to inspect your work, "he ain't gonna do tha'."

The stool squeaked as the man stood up, dusting off his jeans and retrieving his jacket. It was long past midnight, and you knew you'd be catching a ride back with him as he sped down the streets, reminding you to hold on tighter.

"What makes you so sure?" you teased, untying your apron and leaving it at the end of the counter.

Daryl held the door open, and fished around in his pockets for something that jingled — pulling it out to show you.

It was a set of car keys, with a tacky coke-bottle charm hanging from them.

"Still got his truck sittin' in the shop," he smirked.

The scuffle between Shane and Daryl was interrupted before blows could even be exchanged. Rick grabbed a hold of his partner, whilst you pulled the former mechanic back down to his firepit seat, trading places with him until you were face-to-face with the other asshole — a few inches shorter but a whole lot more pissed.

Daryl tried to stand back up again, but you flashed those eyes at him — the ones that made him immediately second guess the action.

"Sit down," you seethed, punching out each word as you spoke them.

And surprisingly, Dixon did as you said.

You weren't angry at him, exactly, but you didn't want him fighting your battles for you anymore — especially not whilst he had a chip on his shoulder more noticeable than the sling on yours.

Then you turned back to Shane, looking up at him as he stood with his chest almost flush to you, completely ignoring Rick's pleas behind him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That comment wasn't off-handed — he made sure you could hear it.

"I don't like you," you said lowly, not backing down from the glare he shot your way.

You didn't want things to turn out like this. There was nothing more you hated than making a scene.

Well, there was one thing, you thought.

You couldn't fucking stand men who abused their power.

"Don't have to like me, princess," Shane retorted, reaching out a hand in your direction. "I'm just here to keep you alive."

You smacked his palm away — as though it were a fly buzzing much too close — before he could make contact with your skin. And you saw red.

Daryl would have punched a man for less, if you'd so much as given him the right look. But this time, you shot a warning glance at him, telling him to stay put.

"Don't fucking touch me," you whispered, but your words held more weight than if you'd screamed them — and Shane retracted his hand. "I can take care of myself."

Except, he made a point of letting his eyes drag over your injuries, lingering on the makeshift sling, before settling on your stomach — as though he could see your stitches underneath the material of Daryl's shirt.

"Clearly," he remarked, before turning on his heels once again.

Nobody stopped him this time — not even Rick — as he stalked around the fire, and into the night. You caught a glimpse of his metal dog tags as he did, glinting off the light of the flame and jumping around his neck with every step he took. You thought it was ironic for him to even wear them.

Or maybe not.

After all, he seemed the same as every other military man you'd encountered — a goddamn animal.

"Make sure you take care of your manic pixie dream bitch," he yelled, probably directed at Dixon. "Wouldn't want anymore helicopters fallin' from the damn sky."

And so Shane disappeared into his tent — into the shadows you couldn't quite make out — and Daryl stood up straight after, heading in the opposite direction. The remaining group was uneasy, tentative almost, as they watched your head whip back and forth between them and the mechanic as he left.

Dixon stalked away into the brush, despite the shouts and warnings not to stray too far from the campsite.

And you followed him.

With each step further from the flickering flames of the bonfires, it became harder to navigate the night. Your injuries had slowed you down, and you flinched every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled near your ear. You didn't even have a weapon anymore — since it had burnt up with the rest of your gear in the crash.

But it didn't take you long to track down Dixon. After all, his smoke trail gave him away.

He was sitting on a grassy bank, over facing the quarry waters. There was a full moon out, and you could now see it peering above the tops of the trees — ghostly white against the stark, black sky. And cigarette smoke swirled around it, leading back down to the shadowy figure on the ground, legs tucked up to his chest as he breathed deeply.

You approached, wincing as your shoulder caught on a low-hanging branch.

"Yer gonna bust ya stitches messin' 'round like tha'," Dixon spoke, not even turning around to confirm it was you. But still, he outstretched a hand, helping you sit down beside him.

The moonlight was beautiful. It drizzled over the treetops in the distance, and the spindly branches that reached up to the sky. It even reflected off Daryl's skin as you glanced at him in the corner of your eye — watching as the smoke poured out from his lips and settled in the air.

You tucked yourself into his side just a little, missing the heavy feeling of your jacket which smelt like him — and was almost just as warm. Part of you expected him to shrug you off, or make some remark in-keeping with how withdrawn he'd been throughout the day.

But, he didn't.

He let you sit beside him, as he blocked you from the breeze — as though you weren't the one person who would be used to it.

"Got a spare?" you asked, eyeing his packet of cigarettes.

Dixon hesitated for a second, before placing them down in the space between you. "Thought ya didn't smoke," he replied.

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't."

In truth, you'd only recently taken up the habit — smoking much too scarcely to even call it a habit, really. It had all started when you'd stumbled across a rundown convenience store, and looted a packet of cigarettes without thinking — just because they were the brand that Dixon smoked.

The first time you lit one, you'd cried. They smelt like him.

They'd smelt like your only friend, and reminded you of just how lonely the end of the world was. So, you started to smoke — only when you missed him — and you continued because, even though he was now sitting beside you, for some reason you still felt empty.

Neither of you said anything after that, but you could hear his thoughts — those questions he wanted to ask but didn't. After all, he'd voiced them once before, back before the world ended. Except, it was you who wasn't willing to answer.

"What'd ya do tha' got yer ass sent here?" Dixon asked, one day whilst you were hanging around at the auto-shop, watching him scrub down that Honda bike. "Y'know, locked away in rural Georgia."

You laughed at his words, taking a swig from the ice cold cola you'd skimmed from Dean's fridge.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I was training to be a helicopter pilot," you admitted into the air, answering that question truthfully for the first time.

But he'd already guessed — after the day you'd both had.

"Why didn't it work out?" Daryl mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke the words.

You watched as the smoke formed white clouds against the black night, before finally reaching for the packet yourself.

"Fear of heights," you told the man, letting out a breathy chuckle that blew out the lighter's flame.

It was a lie, but the truth was much more bleak.

Though, perhaps that was what nights like this were for. Out here, there was no one else to hear you speak your thoughts, or even see the two silhouettes sitting in the dark. Maybe you could even start trusting the man called Daryl Dixon, since he'd done nothing but pick you up and set you back onto your feet ever since you fell from the sky — and even some time before that.

"No matter how long I would fly for, I always had to land at some point," you explained, though it didn't really sound like much of an explanation. "But the people on the ground made me wish that I never had."

Daryl met your eyes, and in that moment you swore you saw a glimpse of that former mechanic — the one who was street smart but still clueless to people.

"That was until I met a man at a garage who promised to show me the world on his bike," you smiled, before letting the smoke trail from your lips, "but we ended up watching the stars instead."

Dixon didn't smile back.

And somehow, the smoke on your lips tasted more familiar — felt more like Daryl — than the man sitting beside you.

"Ya can take the tent tonight," he mumbled, snuffing his cigarette butt out on the grass.

You pulled a face, but he didn't retrieve it like he normally would — he probably thought there was nothing left in the world worth preserving anymore.

"And what about you?" you asked, making an expression he couldn't even see. "You should rest up before tomorrow."

But the man shook his head in the dark, pushing back on his knuckles to stand up — and offering you his hand once more.

"I ain't none of yer concern," he dismissed, whilst his palm was still warm in yours, "'m gonna sleep out under the stars."

The stars were bright overhead, with no light pollution, or mysterious blinking flickers that could have been mistaken for planes of satellites. But somehow, you didn't fully believe his story.

You laughed, but it wasn't the warm kind. It was the kind that felt foreign on your tongue, because it was a far cry from the fits of giggles the man normally had you in.

"Well, enjoy the view," you replied, shortly.

But you failed to notice the way Dixon watched you the entirety of the way back to camp — as though he already was.

Once Daryl had walked you there, and left you at the tent doorway, he did indeed roll out an old blanket over the grass, to lay back underneath the stars — just as promised.

He was far enough away that he didn't feel like you were right beside him, but still close enough to make out your silhouette against the lamp-lit canvas walls of his tent. That way, he didn't have to worry about walkers — but he didn't have to worry about you, either.

The night was quiet. The full, bright moon beamed down on him like a streetlight and the stars blinked in the sky like peering sets of eyes — staring back at him whilst he looked up. Daryl sighed, and crumpled his packet of cigarettes in his fist, crushing any left inside.

He needed to stop smoking them, because now they'd become tainted by you — and had become another thing that inescapably reminded him of you.

The lingering scent of them on his fingertips alone made him remember just how intoxicating you were. It made Daryl feel like he'd gotten a high from the scent of unbottled moonshine, or from that smile of pure starlight which could make a man go blind.

Though, he'd only had the pleasure of seeing it once today. The rest of the time you'd been pissed, confused, hurt.

He'd probably caused a lot of that — he wasn't that oblivious.

But you were the type who could break his heart without even knowing, and then offer to mend it like it had been someone else who'd done the damage.

He didn't understand how you could act so nonchalant, so blasé, as though you hadn't nearly died, and as though you hadn't just come back from the dead — where Daryl had thought you'd been this entire time.

He laughed, and it almost sounded as cold as the one you'd directed at him earlier.

Merle always called him naive, but Daryl often overcompensated for the fact with blind curses and bruised knuckles from butting heads those who suspected him of being as much.

But it had been the truth.

He was naive — especially when it came to you.

But, Daryl was also angry and hurt. And he didn't know how to fix that without bruising his knuckles — or his ego.

He bit his lip, wetting away the dryness with his tongue, whilst trying not to focus on how dry his throat felt, too. Then, Daryl rested his arm over his eyes.

He didn't feel like watching the stars anymore.

When you awoke, light had filtered into the tent through the mesh netting, speckling over your face like glittering gold as you blinked.

But when you awoke, the man was gone — leaving only another shirt behind in his place.

It almost made you cry, because of how familiar it felt. It smelled like Joe's Bar, of Marlboro cigarettes, of Georgia, and of home.

But you couldn't cry; you hadn't done since the day everything fell apart. So instead, you pulled on your big-girl shirt — the one belonging to the man twice the size of you — and grit your teeth as you threaded your bruised arm through the sleeve, and caught your stitches on the buttons.

You spent the whole morning trying not to notice the glaringly obvious absence in the camp — the men who'd left in search of Merle Dixon. But at the same time, you grimaced at the sight of the ones who hadn't left, the ones like Shane, and Carol's husband — who leered at the women as they washed his fucking underwear.

"Carol, why don't you ask Ed to come and help us," Andrea remarked, glancing towards the man resting languidly by his jeep, "make himself useful instead of just standing there smoking cigarettes."

Beside you, Jacqui laughed a high-pitched laugh, as she wrung out another damp t-shirt in her fists. You had only been formally introduced to her this morning, but her smile was infectious — and for a minute, it made you forget about the anxiety deep in the pits of your stomach.

Carol was quiet, but eventually chirped up once she mustered enough confidence.

"If I knew how to get him to do that, I would have done it years ago," she muttered, and shyly rolled her eyes.

Andrea boomed out a laugh, whilst the others chimed in at the appearance of Carol's unexpected humour. You tried not to let the chuckle wrack up your body, since every slight movement sent shockwaves to your injuries. But at this moment, you didn't really mind.

Carol had a pretty smile, and an even nicer laugh.

Except, her husband didn't seem to think so.

He stalked over with the same bravado Shane had mastered the night before — probably taking inspiration from the other man who wore boots three times his size. You could make out the sneer on his face before he even got within a few steps of you all. It was just that deep.

The man flicked his cigarette in your direction, and it barely missed the toe of your boot.

"What's so funny, hmm?" he jeered, but his tone was anything but light. You didn't have to hear them twice to recognise those words as a threat. "Gotta be somethin' if it's got you ladies so distracted."

Each of the women stayed silent as a grave — as though in some secret pact Ed was unaware of. He sauntered around, weaving in between Jacqui and Andrea, until the latter eventually snapped.

"Is it really any of your business?" she remarked, frustration clear in her voice. "After all, we're the ones doing your laundry."

She thrust the damp clothes she was holding at the man's chest, before letting them fall to the floor. The moment you heard them hit the ground, your hands were already shaking with adrenaline. You knew that look — the one Ed wore — and nothing good ever came from it.

He stepped up to Andrea, his pride damper than the shirt at his feet. "Know your place, little bitch," he hissed, shoving her back with his shoulder.

And chaos broke out.

Jacqui's screams sounded very much like her high-pitched laughs had done, and Lori called for Shane like a broken record that only knew a single name. You wanted to get everyone to calm down. You wanted to diffuse the situation like how you'd been trained to do.

But all you saw was red.

Carol interjected, lacing herself around her husband's arm as she begged for him to stop. "Ed, please don't-"

The man backhanded his wife, sending her to the ground with a single strike.

And that was your queue.

You rushed over, feeling your feet sink into the pebbles deeply with each step. You had a dozen stitches in your stomach, but you would rather pop every damn one open than let him get away with that.

"You dare lay your hands on her?" you roared, approaching the man — the monster — from behind as he loomed over Carol like a shadow of cowardice.

Ed reacted out of instinct, flailing his arm backwards and hitting you across the jaw with his elbow as you tried to pull him away. Immediately, your mouth pooled with the taste of copper, and you spit it out onto the pebbled stones beneath your feet.

You looked over at Andrea, who was dumbstruck as she watched blood drizzle from your lip, before you wiped it away by the sleeve of Daryl's shirt — with your one good arm.

"Get Carol out of here," you said, so quiet that it might as well have been a whisper.

You looked at the man, sizing him up as he stared you down.

"She isn't gonna want to see this."

The evening sunset was a vibrant salmon, tinged with deeper, darker hues the further you got from the sun. Those parts of the sky were the same maroon colour as your jaw — you'd caught glimpses of it in Andrea's compact mirror.

You'd spent the latter part of the day avoiding Shane's lectures, and the women who meant well but fussed over you far too much. So, you retreated back to Dixon's tent — icing the ripe bruise on your chin with a pack from Dale's RV cooler.

The scent of Marlboro cigarettes lingered around you — faint but still present in the fibers of the blankets beneath you, and in your shirt which was now bloodstained. You tried to ignore the pull of it, not wanting to smoke.

The tent puckered as someone fumbled with it, and soon the entrance flap was unzipped — revealing Carol, who timidly ducked inside.

"We meet again," you greeted her, thinking back to how she'd tended to your wounds in this very spot, not even a full day before. "I was going to apologise for beating your husband into the ground, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I'm sorry."

You grimaced as the words left your mouth. They sounded a lot more sharp than you'd intended.

But she still smiled warmly at you, a smile that you didn't think you deserved, and shook her head. The woman sat down on her knees opposite you, coaxing the ice-pack away from your skin for a second to inspect the damage.

"I don't blame you," she said, as gentle as her touch. She smelt like citrus, and summer days as her palm ghosted over your face. "I came to thank you, actually. For being the first to stand up for me."

Your gaze dropped down to where her sleeves had risen up, revealing the yellowish bruises dotted over her arms — in the shape of fingerprints.

"Well, someone had to," you noted, sadly.

She caught the way your eyes lingered, and quickly adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down to her wrists.

"Was it really that obvious?" she chuckled, nervously.

But you felt like she already knew the answer.

Her stance was practiced, even sitting down. She wasn't at all relaxed, hovering on her knees like a small rabbit, ready to dart to safety at a moment's notice. You felt like you were looking into a mirror — one that only reflected the past.

You nodded. "When you know the signs, it is," you admitted, sitting back against Dixon's pillow. "I had my suspicions before."

She hummed in return, acting much more casually around you than she had done a mere moment before. "What gave it away?" she asked — curious more than anything.

Light streamed in through the little plastic windows on the tent, falling in a stream between you — warm against your lap.

"Your hair, for one thing," you confessed, gesturing with your free hand. "You shave it yourself? To stop him grabbing it during fights?"

She remained silent at the accusation, but her eyes gave her entirely away.

You nodded. "They always tend to stoop that low."

And Carol bit her lip in response, not pointing out how you'd done the same with your braids — keeping them tight to your scalp, not even a strand out of place.

She excused herself then, making some remark about how she best ought to go check on her husband, before letting you catch a glimpse of the brave scowl which made its way onto her face as she said it. The sun hung high in the sky as she ducked back out, almost as bright as that full moon had been the night before.

"Hey, Carol," you said, loud enough for her to still hear it, "if he gives you trouble again, don't hesitate to come find me."

The woman nodded once more, and waved you off.

"Just you wait until my good arm heals," you called after her. "My right hook's even better than my left."

Then, you winked — watching as she debated letting out the laugh she had stifled — as you recalled the actual reason that got you hauled off to Georgia in the first place.

Dishonourable discharge, my ass.

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thornedrose44 · 3 years

Text

Prompt: “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.”

Read on AO3

"Goodnight, Kara." Lena said from across the room when she finally managed to catch Kara's eye.

It was the first time they had made eye contact since Kara had welcomed her inside at the start of the night. Kara startled at the sudden sight of Lena, waving farewell as she stepped quietly towards the door, but made no move to follow after her and when the door swung quietly shut behind her Lena knew things would never be the same.

It was Kara's birthday party (her Earth birthday party to those that happened to be in the know, which to Lena's un-surprise was a rather considerable group all things considered). Kara had invited her, further proof of the strength of their newly reaffirmed friendship. Lena had been grateful for the invite, appreciating it as the sign that they were back on the right track, and accepted it without hesitation.

She had then proceeded to spend hours upon hours thinking of the perfect gift for Kara, excitement and anticipation building in her stomach.

It would be her first proper night out in months after being thrown back into her role as CEO and dealing with all the negative press following Lex’s downfall and upcoming conviction. Her working hours had reached an excess that she had never achieved before. The blowback onto her in the form of hatred for the Luthors was even greater than last time as well, despite her crucial role in taking Lex down. She was still deemed guilty by association especially since she had been working closely with Lex for a long time before revelations about his villainy became apparent.

The news were critiquing her every move, slandering her every chance they got and rallying the masses to a fervour - she was now facing at least one assassination attempt every week.

Regardless of all that, Lena had one salvation, one light of hope that she clung onto. Her friendship with Kara. It was growing again. They were spending time together. Relearning one another or learning about each for the first time in Lena's case. The conversation was finally less stilted and the trust was back.

But there was still something missing, something stopping them from returning to exactly where they were before.

Lena, as the months ticked by, realised that they were no longer as physically close as they once were. Hugs were rare. Gentle touches of the hands were swiftly snatched back to prevent lingering. Even extended eye contact was fleeting.

Lena at first thought the problem was that she had hurt Kara so badly that the woman who sometimes communicated solely through physical affection no longer wanted to be touched by Lena. That broke something in Lena. That Kara, even though she was trying to be kind, friendly and forgiving to Lena, was not comfortable with any sort of physical contact between them, drove Lena into a drunken stupor of college-level proportions.

Once the alcohol was out of her system and she had suitably recovered from her hangover, Lena had allowed the scientist within her to take over.

No more assumptions.

She would gather evidence, make an hypothesis and work towards a solution.

If she wanted Kara back in her life properly - cuddles on the sofa and lengthy hugs a necessity of that - Lena would put the effort in.

So she observed… and what she observed was this…

Pink cheeks and bashful expressions whenever their gazes met.

A thick swallow and faltering breath whenever their hands brushed.

Deep sighs and fingers digging fleetingly into her back as if on the edge of pulling her closer whenever they embraced.

Dark eyes and teeth biting into a bottom lip whenever Lena stretched or moved her hair away from her neck.

Attraction, affection and interest .

Lena didn’t believe the results of her evidence; she re-ran the tests over and over again trying to work out if she had just interacted with Kara on an odd day, if she just happened to be thinking about something (someone) else at the same time but… it kept happening over and over again.

If it had been anyone else, Lena wouldn’t have doubted what she was seeing but… but.. This was Kara.

Kara, who she had been in love with since she had walked into her office with her cousin.

Kara, who had never picked up on or reacted to her flirts.

Kara, who had broken her heart with lies.

Kara, who meant so much to her.

Kara, who she had only just gotten back.

Was it worth the risk?

Fear had blinded her, of that she had no doubt, but was it keeping her safe from the hurtful truth of Kara not wanting to touch her anymore or from the potential happiness that Kara returned her feelings but was too sweet or shy to put herself in a position that would make Lena uncomfortable.

Lena decided to take a chance - just this once because even if she was wrong about Kara not feeling the same, she had to believe that Kara was incapable of being cruel to her if she misread it. They promised each other honesty and Lena intended to show it.

It was why she needed to buy the perfect present, something that hinted that Kara’s feelings (if Lena was right) were returned. And just a week before the party, she knew exactly what the perfect present would be.

She wrapped it personally (normally Jess would wrap any gifts she had to send out), wanting to go the extra mile. It wasn’t perfectly done, a bit messy in places and the sellotape was excessive but she had done it herself which she knew Kara would appreciate more than professional gift wrapping.

Lena, however, realised that she had made a mistake the second she arrived at Kara's.

Knew she had misread… everything …

Because Kara… Kara couldn't stand to be near her for longer than it took to say hello, accept the present and then disappear off.

Lena hadn’t expected to be with Kara for all of the party; it was Kara's party and loads of her friends were in attendance, all of whom wanted to spend it with Kara. Who wouldn't?

It's just… Lena…

Lena didn't have anyone else.

It was made abundantly clear to Lena within the first thirty seconds that she was not welcome. Alex gave her a gruff nod from across the room before turning her back to her - she still didn't trust her and Lena had prioritised winning Kara back over the last few months above everything else. Brainy and Nia smiled at her but they were deep in conversation with CatCo employees all of whom were practically snarling at Lena (clearly not Luthor fans). James was here as well and dear God did he give her such a blazing look of hatred Lena was surprised she didn't burst into flames under its ferocity. (They hadn’t dated in this rewritten universe, much to Lena’s pleasure, though his original dislike for her was clearly a mainstay of every universe).

So… Lena grabbed a drink and stood in the corner as Kara moved seamlessly between her various groups of friends and colleagues, never once sparing Lena even a glance. The majority of her movements were accompanied by William Dey, who repeatedly tried to sling an arm around Kara's shoulder - the only joy Lena got from the evening was watching Kara repeatedly squirm out from under his touch.

She held out for two hours, sipping three beers and glancing intermittently at her phone as she stayed in her corner, hoping that Kara would come over for just five minutes.

Five minutes with Kara wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Five mere minutes with Kara would have made the whole night worth it, made the glares and malevolent whispers sent her way worth it.

It was at the two hour mark that Lena accepted the truth.

Kara wasn't going to come over to talk to her.

Kara hadn't been pulling away from her due to a sudden realisation of feelings and attraction.

Kara hadn't expected her to accept the invite. Hadn't wanted her to accept.

Kara was ashamed of her, that was why she pulled away, why she didn't acknowledge her.

Lena couldn't really blame her but that didn't mean she had to stay and take it. So gathering what was left of her dignity, she shuffled towards the door, caught Kara's eye, waved and slipped outside… though, not before retrieving the present she had brought for Kara… it would have revealed far too much and Lena didn't need to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lena returned to her office for no other reason that she still had some good liquor stored there - Kara had encouraged her a couple of months ago to cut back on her drinking and she couldn’t deny the baby blue puppy dog eyes. She staggered into her office, chucking the present she had spent hours creating onto the sofa - she would buy Kara some random meaningless gift like a nice scarf or jumper tomorrow instead - and poured herself a full tumbler before flipping open her laptop and getting to work. She lost herself in designs and business plans as she made her way through the bottle.

She used to sit and brood when she drank but Sam had made her promise she wouldn’t do that anymore, hazel eyes filled with concern at where Lena’s mind wandered when unoccupied and fuelled by alcohol. Whilst Lena was in a pretty bleak space, she refused to hurt her last (and only) friend by breaking the one promise she had made to her.

It must have been two am when Lena heard a familiar thud from the balcony followed by a gentle knock that could only belong to one person.

“Kara, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lena called out, not bothering to lift her gaze away from her laptop screen - she wasn't sure whether the sight of Kara would evoke tears or fury and she wished to give Kara neither.

“Hey… I just wanted… I was…" Kara stammered out; Lena didn't need to see her to know that she was fidgeting with the edge of her cape as she tiptoed nervously closer. "You know… flying around and saw the light on and figured I would check in on you, see how you were doing…”

“I’m fine. Just working.” Lena replied brusquely taking a sip of her whiskey.

“And drinking…” Kara muttered, her tone more worried than disapproving but Lena took offense regardless.

“Yes. It’s a Saturday night, cut me some slack.” Lena snapped back, defiantly swallowing what was left in her glass before slamming it down onto her desk.

The loud clack as it connected with the surface was followed by a heavy, almost suffocating silence.

“You left early.” Kara whispered into the unnatural stillness, shattering the fraudulent focus Lena had on her computer screen with those three words. Kara didn't sound confused or upset, just painfully neutral as if to emotionally step back from the situation so that she could garner some emotional truth from the CEO instead.

Well, Lena was done with that, done with giving more of herself than Kara wanted so she took a deep, calming breath and allowed her painstakingly crafted mask to slip into place.

“I wasn’t the first to leave.” Lena pointed out calmly, finally turning to look at Kara, certain she could keep her voice and face blank. It was then that she saw how… small Kara looked, which was never a word Lena would have used to describe Kara in full Supergirl regalia in the entire time she had known her. Kara looked defeated and lost, a tremble to her lip and very being that she tried to hide behind a shy smile.

“Well… I didn’t get a chance to talk to you…” Kara replied, ducking her head meekly as she admitted. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Lena pursed her lips at that, “I was there for over two hours, Kara. You could have come over whenever you wanted. It wasn’t like I was occupied.”

“Yeah… what was that about?” Kara laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, trying far too hard to make her tone light as if even the idea of Lena being without company was an entirely absurd concept.

The high-pitch to Kara's laugh and the unfamiliar tension around her eyes revealed to Lena that Kara knew exactly why Lena had been standing all alone that evening.

“I’m a Luthor, Kara." Lena replied sharply, not interested in trying to smooth over the harsh truths like Kara was always so keen to do when it suited her. "No one wanted me there and they all made that very clear.”

“I wanted you there.” Kara replied so soft and earnest that Lena nearly believed her.

“I highly doubt that.” Lena scoffed derisively.

“I did.” Kara insisted, eyes desperate and pleading.

Lena merely shook her head, turning back to face her computer, “If you say so…”

“Lena, I-”

“Kara… I can’t…” Lena muttered, her voice cracking in the exact way she didn’t want it to. “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.” Lena requested, hating how it verged on begging.

“What?” Kara murmured in shock.

“I can’t just… pretend that I’m not hurt or upset.” Lena confessed, fingers curling into fists on her desk, eyes slamming shut to lock in the tears. “I just need… time to get over it and accept what we are. So until then… please just leave me alone.”

“I hurt you.” Kara repeated, her voice broken and raw .

“Kara, I didn’t…” Lena shook her head angrily, she didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to inflict herself on Kara who had tried so hard to be her friend. “It's your birthday, Kara.” Lena sighed sadly, “You get to spend it anyway you like with whomever you like.”

“I wanted to spend it with you.” Kara breathed, and Lena could hear the sharp inhales between each word that revealed that Kara was crying.

“Kara, you don’t need to…” Lena assured, with a wave of her hand, eyes focused on her lap, “let’s just leave it, okay?”

“No…” Kara gasped, and suddenly Lena felt a trembling hand connect with her own tightly curled fists, “wait… what did you mean ‘get over it’ and ‘accept what we are’?”

Lena sucked in a sharp breath at the question, biting down harshly on her bottom lip.

“Lena?” Kara pressed.

“Fuck it, fine.” Lena snapped, yanking her hands away from Kara’s infinitely soft touch and shoving herself out of her chair before storming away from Kara, desperate for space. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do-” Kara began, taking a tentative step after her.

“No, Kara.” Lena yelled, spinning back to face Kara, with a twisted snarl of total self-loathing. “Liked me.” Lena stressed, before throwing her hands up into the air as it all just boiled out of her, “God, I sound like a teenager. I thought you liked me. I thought you were touching me less because you were attracted to me. But then… I go to your party and you don’t… it was like you were ashamed of me, I sat in that fucking corner for two hours as everyone wished - out loud, I should say - that I would go. I sat in that fucking corner in the hope that you would speak to me for five minutes. For just five minutes. Because that… that would have made it all worth it. But you could barely look at me. And I realised you didn’t - don’t - like me… you’re ashamed of me, but you’re too kind to abandon me. Too noble and generous but even you have your limits. Of course, you didn’t want to spend your birthday talking to me. Of course you didn’t.”

Lena wanted to punch a wall, wanted to down the rest of her whiskey, wanted to do literally anything than be here in this moment watching the horror-struck expression on Kara’s face grow and grow with every word, watch Kara’s body tremble and shake with each harsh sweeping gesture.

“Lena, no… you…” Kara sobbed, striding towards her with fingers twitching at her sides, “you have got the complete wrong end of the stick. Actually, you’re right but also really wrong. And…” Kara swiped aggressively at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she approached Lena, stopping when the raven-haired woman flinched at their sudden closeness. “I screwed up but-”

“No. You don’t need to do this.” Lena cut in, holding a hand up to stop Kara, wanting Kara to know that her guilt was unnecessary and that she could finally be free of Lena.

“Lena, I’m so-”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Lena insisted, taking a deep breath to rein back in her swirl of her emotions. She could do this. She could let Kara go. “You were trying to be kind but you shouldn’t… god, if I make you that miserable, that uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have to force yourself to interact with me.”

“LENA!” Kara bellowed, stamping her foot to the ground and lifting her chin to reveal a determined expression.

Lena blinked in shock at the sudden volume and intensity; falling obediently quiet.

Kara placed her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, looked Lena straight in the eye with earnest, beseeching blue and declared, “I want to kiss you right now because that would be the big sweeping action that would prove to you that I mean what I’m about to say next but… you’ve been drinking… heavily from the looks of things.” Kara shot a displeased pout at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey as if it was all the bottle’s fault for Lena’s current state of inebriation and not the youngest Luthor’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. Kara turned back to face a stunned Lena, with a fond smile, “And I really want our first kiss to be one you remember and one you can fully consent to. So, you’re just going to have to believe me… please, please believe me when I say… I’m in love with you and I fucked up massively tonight. Really, really fucked up.”

“You never swear.” Lena murmured quietly, and it probably wasn’t what she should have been focusing on but her brain was currently stuck like a record scratch unable to fully comprehend what Kara had just told her; and the swear was just the cherry on top of an entire sundae of confusing and out-of-the-blue revelations.

“Which shows how much I believe that I fucked up.” Kara replied with a helpless shrug.

“But-”

“You were the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with.” Kara confessed, “Well, Alex at some point as well. But you mostly. Alex planned the party and I couldn’t…” Kara huffed out a frustrated breath and rolled her eyes, “she did this whole thing and I didn’t want to turn around and say I didn’t want it. That all I really wanted was a quiet night watching films with you because…” Kara sighed, “because then she’d know… To make it more bearable I invited you but there were so many other people, and I will be honest… I don’t even like half of them. Alex, just invited everyone I was friends on facebook with which is not a good barometer of friendship.”

Lena cleared her throat, none of it making sense, “Then why-”

“Did I ignore you?” Kara guessed with a painful wince.

“Yeah…” Lena muttered, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“Because… because I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that you hadn’t noticed how I felt about you.” Kara explained inching just that little bit closer towards Lena, attempting to bring them within touching distance of one another. “And I knew it was only a miracle that you hadn’t until now because…” Kara smiled a lopsided, rueful and self-deprecating smile, “Lena, I am not subtle. Not at all. And I knew… I knew if I interacted with you at the party… everyone else would be able to tell in an instant how I felt.”

Lena exhaled slow and deep, arms tightening their hold around herself, “And you didn’t want them knowing you liked me?”

“Love. Not like.” Kara corrected, patient yet firm, “Love. And no, I didn’t.”

Lena nodded once in understanding, letting out a hollow laugh, “I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I loved me either.”

“Lena… no… no… you…” Kara rushed to explain, finally stepping close enough to reach out and place her hands gently on Lena’s curled biceps. Lena couldn’t help how she instinctively shifted closer, wanting to increase contact with Kara after being denied it for so long. “I didn’t want anyone knowing before you.” Kara admitted.

And that… that snapped something back into place for Lena.

Made the doubts screaming inside her head quieten down just enough to think… maybe…

Because… it was being last that had broken them the first time. Being the only one not to know and now…

“I didn’t want Stacy, who used to cheat off me in exams in college to know how I felt about you before you did.” Kara said, thumbs moving back and forth against the bare skin of Lena’s arms causing a swathe of goosebumps to rise like a wave in the wake of Kara’s every touch. “They didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve…” Kara’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening as she studied Lena’s face, “I was trying to protect you from them. They said horrible things about you and you should know, the minute after you left, I kicked everyone who so much as looked at you funny out. It was just me, Nia, Brainy and Kelly left… Alex, as well, but we had a rather heated argument before she was allowed to stay.” Kara bowed her head in shame, “I should have kicked them all out immediately but-”

“Then they would have known.” Lena finished for her.

“I had this whole thing planned.” Kara breathed out, her hands gradually shifting away from Lena’s arms around to her back, surrounding Lena in a loose hold, Kara’s eyes flickering over Lena’s face and body rapidly searching for even the slightest sign that Lena was uncomfortable with their contact. “Once everyone left, I had set-up the roof with lights and cushions and… I was going to tell you how I felt. I just had to make it through the birthday party from hell and I was trying so hard to keep to the plan. To not spoil it. To keep it a secret so that it could just be ours but... I…” Kara’s eyes slid shut and she inhaled a shuddering breath filled with pain. “I hurt you. And there is nothing I can say to make you forgive me, but I do… I do love you so much. And I will never, ever be ashamed of you.” Kara blinked her eyes back open and leaned forward to place a kiss on Lena’s forehead. “I just wanted it to be ours and not theirs. I didn’t want to share. You’re the only thing in my life that… I didn’t want to share.”

“Open your present.” Lena demanded, stepping out of Kara’s loving embrace.

“Lena-” Kara whimpered, pained at the sudden loss of closeness.

“Open your present, Kara.” Lena repeated, jerking her chin towards the sofa where the roughly wrapped present lay.

“I… okay…” Kara replied, watching Lena closely as she tried to make sense of Lena’s clear request. Kara walked cautiously over to the couch, picking up the gift with gentle hands. “Did you wrap it yourself?” Kara asked, her entire expression brightening as she stared down at the crooked, over sellotaped wrapping.

Lena harrumphed at the question, pursing her lips.

“You did, didn’t you?” Kara teased.

“The present isn’t the piss poor wrapping.” Lena replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes that had the corners of Kara’s lips quirking even further upwards.

“Lena Luthor wrapped my present herself…", Kara whistled in awe, blue eyes twinkling with true delight for the first time that day, "what better gift is there?”

“Open it and you might find one.” Lena said, heart leaping into her throat as Kara’s deft fingers found a line of wrapping paper she could tuck them under.

The sound of paper ripping was deafening in the stillness; all Lena could do was watch and wait.

The paper fell away leaving behind a small black box, Kara shot Lena a hesitant look and it wasn’t until Lena nodded for her to continue that Kara clicked it open.

There was a pause.

A heavy, endless pause in which Lena couldn’t bring herself to even breathe.

“What is-” Kara began before cutting off immediately as she lifted up the beautiful bracelet made of nth metal and inscribed with ‘stronger together’ in Lena’s own cursive handwriting in both english and kryptonian.

The bracelet shined under the lights in Lena’s office, but in Lena’s opinion, Kara’s eyes shined impossibly brighter.

“You’re in love with me.” Kara whispered, seeing the present for everything Lena had hoped it would convey.

“Yes.” Lena confirmed because there was no hiding it now.

With trembling fingers Kara clasped the bracelet onto her wrist, long fingers tracing the words delicately inscribed with no small amount of wonder. Finally, she turned around and stared at Lena with so much sheer love that the youngest Luthor felt overwhelmed and like her heart might burst right out of her chest in its desire to be in Kara’s possession

Clearing her throat and clasping her hands behind her back, Lena gathered her courage and asked, “If I promise you I’ll remember it and that I am fully consenting… will you kiss me now?”

Kara was in front of her in the literal blink of the eye, hands reaching out to cup Lena’s cheeks as Lena’s hands moved to rest on Kara’s hips gently encouraging their bodies closer with a light tug.

“There is nothing I want more.” Kara assured with the widest grin that Lena had ever seen and couldn’t help but return.

Their first kiss could barely count as a kiss.

Their smiles were too wide to allow for it, but Lena wouldn’t change it even slightly. They pressed their smiles against one another, teeth knocking together and noses brushing.

It may not have been a successful kiss but it was tender and filled with so much joy that Lena wouldn’t describe it as anything less than perfect.

Their second kiss was an actual kiss, lips slotting together, tongues seeking each other out and teeth tugging whimpers and moans from one another in an endless cycle.

Their second kiss turned into a third, a fourth, a fifth.

They kissed until the sun rose.

Kissed until their lips ached and any remaining doubts Lena may have had were pushed back into the shadows by the light of Kara’s smile and blue eyes.

#supercorp #supercorp fic

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nctsworld · 4 years

Text

just let me adore you

✩ jaehyun x reader (ft. mark) | fluff | campfire au | 2.3k → summary: in which the sparks between you and jaehyun burn brighter than the fire in front of you. → warnings: fluff, flirting, swearing, kissing, wingman!mark whoo let’s get it → rating: teen+

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Laughter atop of wooden logs and wisps of smoke from the recently made fire fly towards the darkening sky on the beach. On the topic of fires, you and your friends are now reminiscing about when Haechan almost set his house on fire on more than one occasion.

Your face is stuffed in Mark’s shoulder, unable to control your fit of laughter. As you pull away to breathe, you see a familiar group of men walking closer. Your eyes widen in reaction to one in particular.

“You didn’t tell me Jaehyun was coming,” you spew behind the gritted teeth of your smile, leaning into Mark while having your gaze still locked on the group approaching.

“Whoops?” Mark shrugs nonchalantly. You punch the imp smile off of your best friend’s face. He mumbles an ow and rubs the tender spot.

“Could’ve at least given me a heads up, you little shit.”

“Maybe tonight you two will finally—hey, guys!”

His words are cut off as the group finally arrives at their destination, greeting everyone perched on the logs.

You may as well have flung yourself into the flames when Jaehyun flashes you a smile and maybe it’s all in your head, but you swear his eyes are fixated on only you.

Jaehyun and you were in an... odd spot.

You may have gone to the same university, but the campus was huge, and you only ever really saw each other during large mutual gatherings, like tonight, so it was hard to get to know each other when you were often encircled with your particular clique.

You two were mutuals on Facebook, but there wasn’t any concrete reason for you two to message each other out of the blue. However, you’d be lying if you said you never opened up the chat, stared at the blank conversation, and spent more time than you’d admit in thinking of a message to muster up.

Yet, during only the handful of times you’ve been around Jaehyun, you liked being around him. He was sweet, like how he gave you pointers during the get-together at the bowling alley, and Mark has only said good things about him, giving him the seal of a best friend's approval.

Sure, it was a little awkward at times. Small talk was the norm, but neither of you could deny that there was something itching under the surface between you two. Maybe some nurture and care was all that was needed to break the chemistry free.

Or maybe all that was needed was tonight.

Because the logs near you are already occupied, Jaehyun and the latecomers sit across from you. Jaehyun’s in your direct line of sight with only the fire coming between the two of you.

The night falls as the blaze burns stronger and higher, becoming the only illuminating presence on the beach. Although conversations are all about, everyone’s attention is on it. Flames dance, entangling with each other in freedom. Orange and yellow hues reflect off of every face surrounding the warmth. It’s uncommon to see unconstrained flares like this often, so the rarity adds to the addictive pull of them.

Everyone’s attention is on the fire, save for two people.

You prefer listening to others speak and don’t really say much unless elicited, so you spend a lot of your time appreciating the beauty of the things surrounding you—at the rolling ocean waves, up at the stars, or across the wavy haze at the figure before you.

And when you aren’t looking at Jaehyun, you’re unaware of how he’s appreciating the beauty in front of him too.

Back and forth, neither of you expect to lock eyes, but when it inevitably does, neither of you break away. On the contrary, Jaehyun offers a side smile, which showcases his dimple, and a modest wave.

Returning his gesture with a giggle and a weak wave back, you then pretend to listen to neighbouring dialogue for a moment.

Five seconds later, you can’t help it and steal a glimpse of him once more.

You’re surprised to find him beaming back.

Even though Mark’s preoccupied with telling the recent story of him winning another watermelon eating contest, he sees you smiling in his peripheral vision. His mouth still runs off, but he turns his head and sees that Jaehyun's the reason behind your smile. Although the eye flirting makes him mentally gag, he fully supports your pursuit if it makes you happy.

Catching on, your best friend stands up to “stretch his legs” and moves closer to the ones he’s talking to, continuing the anecdote while standing. Not even a minute passes, and it doesn’t take much for Jaehyun to make a break for the empty spot next to you.

Jaehyun doesn’t sit as close to you like Mark did, respecting your space, but is close enough to have you nervously plucking the fabric of your jeans.

It starts off with the normal small talk, asking how classes have been and what you’ve been up to lately. Immediately after, silence takes over.

Now that he’s in close proximity, looking at him feels like a sin. Nevertheless, you still commit the crime, stealing little glances at him throughout the bustling chatter and crisp crackling.

Feeling overwhelmed by the silence, you grasp onto more small talk, which unfortunately soon reduces to you just rambling. Throughout it all, Jaehyun doesn’t say anything. All he does is nod and listens intently, leaning closer to you with his forearms on his thighs to capture everything that you’re saying.

When you take a breather, he finally speaks up.

“Although I love to hear you talk,” his voice is low and gentle, sending a small shiver down your spine. “And by all means, you can keep talking, but don’t feel pressured to fill the silence.”

He pauses for a beat, and you peer over to view him lowering his head.

He’s rubbing one thumb over his other, and the friction only makes his palms sweat more. Tingles reach Jaehyun’s ears, and he ponders if you notice it under the dim glow.

“You don’t have to say anything at all; I always like just being around you, even if we aren’t talking.”

The cool air blows, calming you along with his words. A shy grin spreads across your face. Feeling more at ease, you shift towards him, closing the empty space between you on the log and letting your leg lean onto his. Jaehyun’s focus trails from your leg to your face, and he dives deeper into your perfection with another of his famous, sweet dimpled smiles.

Despite Jaehyun’s reassurance, you two slowly start to converse with less tension. Through the night, you get to know each other bit by bit, unravelling each other’s life stories, yet simultaneously writing a new chapter, intertwining the lines of your lives together.

Additionally, you begin to melt for Jaehyun’s jokes. This is a first, to hear him joking around like this, but you soon find yourself laughing into his shoulder like you did with Mark not long ago.

And Jaehyun adores how you click with his humour, but he adores your laugh even more.

Someone remembers that they brought snacks in their bag, and fast enough, marshmallows are being passed around. Jaehyun, along with a few others, hunt along the beach and come back with stray sticks for the sweet treats.

As you two roast marshmallows, you’re sitting in comfortable silence, exchanging glances every so often. Suddenly, he lays a hand on yours, pulling it back along with the stick.

“Careful,” he warns softly into your ear. “You don’t want a burnt marshmallow.”

Your breathing hitches, thinking about the only other time Jaehyun touched you.

It was during Johnny’s birthday dinner at a buffet restaurant. You were in the midst of devouring your food when your hair got in the way (out of all the days you forgot a hair tie, it had to be today). Failed attempts transpired at moving it; you blew, you shook your head, you rubbed the loose strands against your upper arm sleeve...

“May I?”

His delicate inquiry made you freeze. Jaehyun already finished his food and offered his clean hands to fix your dilemma. You were so dedicated to finishing your meal that you forgot that he was right next to you, probably thinking you were a hot mess.

Regardless, you nodded. You gulped as he daintily tucked the strands of your hair behind your ears. His touch was so brief, so simple. He barely ghosted over your skin, and the moment fleeted as fast as the way your hair ran through his fingertips.

So if his touch was so simple, why was your heart bursting at the seams?

Your heart thumps against your chest just the same now as it did then. Maybe even more, since you turn to face him and he’s so close, you feel his warm breath against your face. Your gaze slowly wanders to his lips. Subconsciously, he licks them, and you catch him staring at yours too. Your mind’s drawing blanks, while your body takes control. Both of you draw your bodies nearer and nearer until someone hollers—

“Dude, your marshmallow’s burnt!”

Both of you stop in your tracks and whip your heads towards the fire, realizing it’s Jaehyun’s marshmallow that the person is referring to. Hastily, he pulls it away, blows the flames off, and stares at the charred piece with a pout.

“Well, I guess you like burnt marshmallows though, huh?”

Jaehyun turns to you again, watching you chew your marshmallow with a smug expression. Shaking his head, he runs his tongue along his bottom teeth.

“Hey, for the record, I saved your marshmallow from being burnt.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure,” you hum, still chewing, then getting up. “I’ll go get us some more marshmallows. Maybe extra for you, in case you burn more.”

He clutches his chest in jest at your quip and watches the way you saunter over to the bag, his eyes full of hearts, yet regret courses his veins over how the moment was ruined.

It’s past 1 AM, and the combination of the summer air and ocean waves pack a bite that urges you to go home. You’re both standing near the fire, waving at others who are leaving, when you begin to say you your good-bye.

“I should also get going.” Your hands are in your pockets, feet kicking at the sand.

“Is Mark your ride home?” You nod in reply and open your mouth, ready to tell him how nice the night went with him.

“Can I…” he abruptly cuts in before inhaling sharply. “I was wondering if you’d let me drive you home?”

Your jaw drops at the suggestion, causing his expression to change instantly. “Unless you’d prefer Mark to, I totally understand.”

Obviously, you accept without hesitance, and run off to Mark to inform him of the change of plans. After hugging him and saying your good-byes, Mark whispers, “Don’t stay out too late.” Then, he gives you a wink before you run to your driver for the night, walking side by side with him back to his car.

Because it’s late and you’re both a little tired, the ride home is quiet, albeit for Jaehyun’s music playing in the background and when you begin to speak up to give directions on how to get to your place. Rolling up in front of your home, he turns the ignition off, but leaves the music still on.

“I had a great time with you tonight,” he says with a hand still on the steering wheel.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you nod, “Me too.”

Anticipation lingers in the air for a while prior to Jaehyun cutting it with a question you’ve been dying to hear.

“Are you free next weekend?”

You press your lips together, trying to hide a smile back.

“Only if you are.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, amused at your playfulness. He can definitely get used to this.

“I’ll message you when I get home and we can work out the details soon.”

“Sounds good,” you sway a bit in your seat whilst holding in your excitement. “Well, good night, Jaehyun.”

Your fingers are on the door handle, but you aren’t quite curling them around it.

“Good night,” he says your name in a hush and you look back at him. The two of you match eye contact and get lost in the gleam of each other’s starry eyes.

You’re unsure who made the first move, but it doesn’t matter because his kiss scorches you, melting you into putty. As you think you’re about to fall apart between blissful sighs, Jaehyun catches you with each caress, holding you together by your cheeks and the nape of your neck.

Breaking away for air, you lay your forehead against his, panting, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “I’ve been waiting to do that since I burned my marshmallow.”

No coherent thoughts are running through your mind, except your yearning for the man in front of you. All you want is him and his touch on your skin again, so you agree with his sentiment by diving in again without warning.

It takes much strength for you to finally depart from each other’s embrace for the night, but when you do, Jaehyun plants a kiss on the back of your hand and wishes you sweet dreams.

Exhausted and in disbelief over tonight’s events, you quickly change out of your clothes and tuck yourself into bed. Unfortunately, sleep is near impossible because your mind replays everything over and over.

Suddenly, your phone lights up, notifying you of a new message.

Little did you know you’d stay up messaging the man on the other end until the sun rose.

Next weekend really couldn’t come fast enough.

#jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #nctcreations #myfanfics #mywritings

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ncitygirls · 3 years

Text

pink - mark x gn reader

fluff, smut, cw: submissive!mark, 2k

The concept of colour is an intriguing one. Much like seeing, seeing itself is intriguing. Intriguing as well is the notion that seeing is believing when the blind trust so fiercely. They must trust the yellow of the sun resembles the middle of daisies, and runny yolk. They must trust the red of a ruby resembles that of flowing blood. They must trust that at any given time, the blue painting the skies can resemble that of bluebells, blueberries, and all blue things.

The concept of colour is not an admissible one. It is convoluted and complex. The pink of a rose, of a poked eye, of a healing wound, of a stained linen. They all contain a bounty of hues; some dimmer, paler, or truer than others. They all carry their own meaning, things we assign and ascribe to an item; be it clothing, furniture, text. The point to all this is, you do not think you will ever be able to truly explain how perfect the pink that colours Mark’s lips is. You try every morning you are fortunate to wake beside him - when you are first to wake that is. You peel open your eyes one by one, blinking away sleep and tears from the strobes scorching your corneas, falling victim to the allure of sunlight that lures you from your dreams, only to wake to another.

Pink. It is too simple a word to describe the creases in his lips that sit a couple shades darker, not enough to call magenta nor red. Every morning, you ache to run your fingers along the ridges, to rouse him from sleep, punish him like the rising sun did you. You never do. You lay there, watching as silent breaths cause the rise and fall of your lover’s chest, perturbed by the riddle that curses you every other morning.

How does one describe the indescribable?

It is your job no? To spread word of such wonder. A man who proves the existence of a higher power. A man whose face cannot be a product of the algorithms of colliding comets, nor of destiny. Hands of an omniscient being carved this face, moulded him into the wonder that you wake to every morning. That pink is not just pink. It is a perfect combination of the richest red and a waxen white. God needn’t have spent long, given his almightiness, but he did spend more time than on others. For that reason you think it selfish to waste this time, to roll out of bed and busy yourself with the trivial, menial tasks of readying for work. No, you must solve this riddle. You must find a way to proclaim what you have thought since the very first moment you laid eyes on Mark Lee.

“How are you real?”

One glance and he knew you hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. It is a regular action you do in regards to him; thanking God for the blessing that was Mark Lee’s creation. It occurs at all hours of the day, both verbal and non verbal, physical and non-physical alike. Whether it be the sudden airiness in your laughter, or twirling strands of his hair betwixt your fingers. Every time your eyes settle on his face, your senses heighten while your sense diminishes.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, tugging you from your angelic pose on his chest and pulling your lips to his. He offers you just a press, but should it be your last, it would still be enough. Mornings spent in his company always make for an easier start, one full of wistful goodbyes but wishful hellos. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” your lips fall to his toned pec, offering scattered pecks. “Did you?”

Mark hums groggily, head falling to his pillow, failing to follow your sudden flurry of kisses. He finds the energy to speak just as your lips closed around his hardened nipple, as you begin to suck ever so slightly. His hands find your hips, clinging onto your frame as you kiss a path down his chest, marking his skin on your descent. “It’s almost eight,” he regrets to inform you, wishing nothing more than to enjoy this extended dream. “Won’t you be late?”

You show no signs of stopping, journeying south at a most leisurely speed. He relinquishes his hold on you, instead finding purchase in the bed linens, his fingers clasping around the duck down feathers. When your lips suddenly leave him, Mark fears the worst, that his reminder had a delayed effect. That is reluctant warning, seemingly good deed is now working against him. He soon finds his concerns were in vain as your lips close around the clothed head of his cock, sucking long and hard on the darkened material. His hips rise toward your mouth, chasing the stimulation you offer up to the deity beneath you, the one you call Mark. The one you call yours.

Your fingers grip his waistband, slowly lowering the material to the tops of his calves. His hot length meets the cool air with a hiss, his jaw tightening as you offer a languid tug from his base to his tip. A strangled moan fills the air, coating either end of your name. As you slowly pump him within your closed fist, you admire how the morning light always caught the beautiful tone of his arms, the shadows casting over his chest. He is more firm beneath your palm, more concrete, more real. When he casts his gaze toward you finally, finding some room for restraint within your steady pace, he allows himself to admire the gentle knit of your brows, the smirk upturning your lips as his breathing changes when you tighten your fist. He gasps when your eyes fly back up to his, your fist stilled at the base of his abdomen, a silent question in your eyes, a small lick at your lips.

He nods, watching you lower your weight, resting on his tensed thighs. He is breathless, eyes stuck on the plumpness of your lips, your pink tongue sweeping over your bottom one, teeth catching the skin as you run your closed fist over his cock once more, gripping tighter as he mewls.

Words escape him as he offers up devout concentration to his breathing, praying he does not crumble under the warmth of your touch and sweetness in your eyes. His eyes squeeze shut when you thumb his slit, a hard shudder passing through his bones, his hips bucking in time with your closed fist. Mark whines beneath you, the patience he forces is admirable, his whitened knuckles gleam as they blend in with the cloud of sheets. And still you wait, feeling his skin burn as his precum gathers in your palm, squelching in the air.

“Minhyung,” you breathe suddenly, fearful you might shatter the moment. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,’ he chokes out in response. ‘I want you, please.’

You chortle at his sweet plea, capturing the skin of his thigh in a slow kiss as you pump him harder, puckering your lips along the skin at his base as his thrusts start to increase. “Slow down for me,” you whisper. Mark loves what you are doing, reducing him to the shell of himself as you lure his first orgasm of the day from him. He grips your hand then, ready to chase a release he knows you will not give him.

“Please,” he begs softly, skin a flaming pink, lined by the morning light and in a light dew.

Pressing a final, fleeting kiss to his tip he wishes to chase, you release him, drawing his brows together as you slow down before climbing off of his lap. He frowns as you kneel beside the bed before patting his shin, “come ‘ere.”

He bites his tongue, stuffing it in his cheek, “I know you’re teasing me.”

“No,” you laugh, “you’re just impatient,” you coo, watching as he follows your instruction anyway, shuffling to the edge of the bed. You tug his pants down to his ankles before you are hovering over his cock, admiring the gleam as the light reflects off his slick head. He sighs as you do, your breath cooling his angry tip, a twitch running through his cock as you just hover. He almost whines again when you pucker around his slit, the tip of your tongue passing over it ever so slightly.

His sweet moans fill the air, his breaths laboured as you tease him, lapping at his shaft as he toys with your hair, moving it aside so he can see you. He watches you take him, burying his lithe cock between the hot confines of your mouth before sucking around him, humming as he mewls beneath you. He assigns no time to keeping himself together, instead admiring how quickly you render him powerless. How you swirl your tongue around him, pump him as you suckle on his head, swallowing around him. He is completely at your mercy, his cum threatening to pour down your throat as you push on his abdomen, sending his back into the mattress. He huffs as he falls, sighing as his stolen release is remedied by your cool, slick coated finger prodding at his puckered hole.

His moans are unintelligible, garbled mumbles filling the air as you glide your finger into his ass, curling ever so slightly as you pump the digit. “I think I-,” he starts, unsure how, or just unable to finish.

“It’s okay, Mark,” you breathe on his cock, curling your finger harder with every suck you offer his leaking tip. “It’s okay, you can come.”

“Fuck- I’m-” his voice escapes him before he can help it, the mere thought of it forcing you to suck harder. His release tears through him like molten iron, encrusting his every nerve, setting him alight. His cum coats your throat as he bucks into your mouth, your name barely comprehensible as it pours from his lips. It is pleading, prayer like, something you repel. It was Mark who was God like. Mark who was heavenly.

He humps up into your mouth while grinding down on your finger, milking himself, using you, silently forbidding himself to succumb to the oversensitivity of his orgasm. He clings onto the nape of your neck, lodging his tip in the back of your throat while chasing the finger pressed beautifully to his prostate as his mind and body struggle to process the endless limits of his pleasure, though the two can agree it rests in your hands.

When he is somewhat present, Mark quickly recognises your figure lying by his side, your unsoiled hand massaging the expanse of his chest. He gazes up at you with fatigue in his eyes, and a sickly adoration. And something else he thinks he is ready to name.

“Y/N?” Mark calls, still a little breathless, failing to notice the way your eyes catch the time. “I think I-”

“Shit, it’s past nine! Mark, I have to go.”

You disappear down the hall, your presence made known only by a flurry of rushed sounds before you return in the peachy pink shirt you left behind last time. He can’t figure out how it looks better on you every time he sees it. Much like the pink of your lips when circling his cock or the more innocent pink lining your tired eyes. Even the pink hearts that fly around your head as he watches you rush around the room, glancing at him every so often, laughing to find him still watching you. Each time you do, he sees that nothing beats the colour of the red raw love he feels for you. Mark hopes to tell you this some other beautiful morning. For now, he smiles against your lips as you bids him farewell before letting him return to his slumber.

He dreams only of you.

#eeeeeeeeek nervous #took this off my old blog rip #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #nct mark lee #nct mark #mark lee fluff #mark smut #mark fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #ncitygirls

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Dynasty

➜ Words: 17.4k

➜ Genres: 50% Angst, 35% Smut, 15% Fluff, Historical!AU

➜ Summary: It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie the Treacherous (2015)

➜ Warnings: Brief depictions of reluctant sexual intercourse, dubious consent, emphasis on impregnation, sloppy seconds, creampies, pregnancy. Reader discretion is advised.

“Absolutely not!”

You stand at once, chair knocked back to the ground in a clatter, unable to believe what you were hearing. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps your ears hear wrongly. But by the way your older brother’s brows are drawn together, marring his usually good-natured features, you know you’re not mistaken. He had worn the same expression as the day of your parents' massacre. Your voice is shrill as you protest and cry, “I won’t! I can’t! T-This— this is ridiculous! How could you even….how could you even….” You are Seokjin’s younger sister — his blood, flesh, bones. Family. And you were about to be traded in like you were no one to him. A chess piece. A part of his bigger plan that you wanted nothing to do with. Jungkook looks at you with an impassive expression, one you cannot read, but you pay him no mind. Seokjin, however, looks to him and nods his head. They are silent in their communication, and then Jungkook takes his leave until there it is only your shadow and Seokjin’s that flickers against the wall with every movement of the dim candlelight. He begins with a soft voice. A soothing one as if you were a child. “There’s no choice, Y/N.” “There is always choice,” you emphasize as tears start to stream down your cheeks. “Do you really want to send me off to that...that disgusting monster? Do you really want me to be used? If you care about me as a younger sister, if you care about me at all, you wouldn’t be doing this.” His dark eyes meet yours. “The decision has been made, Y/N. You have been chosen. But this is the way we can make our parents happy. This is the only way for them to reach peace.” You sob, collapsing onto the ground. Seokjin does little to comfort you. He knows there’s nothing he can do after this betrayal. You hold your face in your hands, catching the tears that rack through your frame. It is silent except for the noises of your wails muffled through your sleeves. After minutes of devastation and grief that stutters out of you, your hands drop to look at him. And your voice swoops into a murmur, one that is private, kept between the two of you. You beg for his honesty from sibling to sibling, without duties or titles. “Is...is t-there no other way?” Your brother deflates, refusing to look at you. You notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, how he swallows hard to answer. “There must always be sacrifices made in times of a revolution and this is ours.” “No.” You shake your head. “This is mine.”

There is a knock at your door. “Go away, Seokjin,” you shout at him without regard for sibling hierarchy. In your anger, he has long lost the respect that goes along with the status of being your older brother. “I said I wasn’t hungry!” But in spite of your bitterness, the door opens anyhow. It’s Jungkook who has appeared in place of Seokjin, doe eyes and dark hair tied into a high ponytail by a black ribbon that matches his robbed attire and the scabbard by his side. “I saw the light in your room,” he says simply. You lift your eyes away from the book you were copying, the last task that you wanted to finish, and your gaze remains cold on the man. You detest Jungkook. He is Seokjin’s friend, not yours and not a childhood one. Your brother had met him shortly after arriving in this town years ago. But you do not know him well. You resent him merely because he represents every manner that Seokjin has changed in the ways you hate most. Before they met, Seokjin was still the brother you knew. Kind-hearted. Mischievous. Protective. There was no rebellion group, talk of treason, risk of harm. The Seokjin you knew would’ve never thrown you away like this. “Are you ready for tomorrow’s journey,” he asks. “There’s no reason not to be.” Jungkook is quiet and conniving. You know the only reason he has come out of his way to check on your well-being in the middle of the night is for his assumption that you are a flight risk. You suppose it might be natural to have those suspicions. Any girl in your position would run. But you quickly dissipate his worries if it means he’ll leave. “You don’t need to worry that I’m going to run. I wouldn’t do that to Jin.” He makes no changes in his expression. Always blank. Always emotionless. “The journey will be long. You should get some rest.” “I can take care of myself.” He remains silent for a moment. But you return to your work and when you look up again, he’s gone, having finally left you in your own misery. // When the first blush of dawn arrives, you get dressed in your best attire and gather the little belongings you have. They’re already waiting for you in front of the house, not allowing you a moment to yourself to relish in freedom any longer. There is a horse, a carriage, and four members of the group you don’t recognize along with Jungkook to journey with you. Seokjin waits there too, but you can’t look him in the eye. He knows you're upset, you can tell. Neither of you say much to each other, but you mutter a half-hearted farewell. You can hear the way the corner of his mouth gently quirks by the sound of his voice. “I’ll see you soon enough, Y/N.” You turn away, walking to your carriage where the horse is already neighing and becoming fussy. But then your steps slow. You hesitate getting in and Jungkook stares at you, waiting patiently, never once pushing you on. At once, you turn around. “Jin!” You call out to your brother and he turns around before stumbling. A giggle streams out of his chest after you’ve thrown yourself at him in an embrace as if you were still children. He hugs you back, arms around your body, frame overtaking yours, and he squeezes you tight. You shut your eyes to savour the fleeting moment. He leans down, murmuring, “I’m sorry.” But you shake your head, unable to utter a word for fear of crying again. “We should get a move on before it gets any later,” one of the members calls out and it’s your reminder of where you’re headed. You pull apart from Seokjin. He smiles tenderly and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. The carriage ride is shaky. Every bump and crack of the dirt road is felt by you ten folds, the wheels wobbling and the horse’s disregard makes it difficult for you to rest easy. But you don’t dare utter a complaint, not when you’re in the company of unfamiliar people. You do, however, pull back the curtain of the square window to look at the land and let in fresh air. Eventually, there’s a break called. The tiny carriage comes to a halt and Jungkook is the one who brushes open the large curtain. He catches you off guard, peering in with his large eyes that seemingly sparkle naturally. “We’re going to take a small rest.” “Okay.” He helps guide you out and you notice the other people are either on the ground resting their feet or by the stream, taking a drink of water. “Are you alright?” You nod. There’s a moment of serene quietness, the birds chirping around the trees, the rustling of leaves. Jungkook drinks from his leather pouch and then hands it to you to quench your thirst. You sip it, soothing your throat and gather the courage to utter his name— “Jungkook.” He turns to you. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?” “You’ll be introduced as one of the minister’s nieces. He’s been aligned with us for years. You’ll be inspected and bathed, and then there will be a ceremony and then….” “I’ll be bedded,” you complete his sentence for him. Jungkook remains silent. The Emperor is infertile. It’s a truth no one dares to utter, but it’s been fifteen years since he began his reign and he has yet to produce a child no matter how many consorts and concubines has entered the palace. The Empress has not bore a child either. And nine years ago, there was an official decree. Every three months since, a girl is selected and brought in. If she doesn’t get pregnant within the time frame, she is executed for failing to fulfill her duty, for treason. You are the next one. The one who has to preoccupy the Emperor to the best of your abilities. “You don’t need to worry,” Jungkook says, perhaps reading the expression on your face, but you slap his hand away when he reaches out. “Of course I’ll worry,” you spit at him in animosity. “I’m going to die.” The man’s brows draw tightly together, his lips lopsided. “It’ll be over before they can get to you.” You say nothing more, returning to the small carriage before you can start to sob like a child and further be humiliated. // Night falls and camp is set up with little hardships. By the afternoon of tomorrow, you would have already arrived at the palace, perhaps straight to the Emperor’s bed. The thought makes you nauseated, wanting to crawl out of your own skin and hide from your body. You know you’re being selfish. In the bigger picture, your desires don’t matter. If anything, you should be happy to give yourself up for the rebellion. For the common good. But you can’t. “Are you not going to eat?” one of the female guards asks you with a smile and you lift your eyes away from the blazing fire whose heat has pressed against your cheeks. You look around to the four members of the group that has been commissioned to protect you, their faces illuminated by the glow of the flames. You wonder what sacrifices they had made to be here, what led them here in the first place. “I-I can’t.” You stand up and all of their heads, including Jungkook’s, turn to you. “I’m sorry. I….I need a moment to myself.” You quicken your pace towards the forest, trying to escape their prying gazes, the burden that has been placed upon your shoulders. It’s hard to breathe. It’s as if the smog of the fire has bloomed inside of your lungs, constricting your chest, forming a thick lump in your throat. The darkness of the forest envelopes you and it’s almost comforting. That is until there’s a branch snapping behind you, and you quickly spin around. “I knew you weren’t okay.” “Go away, Jungkook.” He remains silent, but you can see the outline of him coming closer towards you. He is not dissuaded no matter how much you have pushed him away from you, no matter how rude you’ve been to him from the start. You’re not sure if he pities you or he— “Can I comfort you in place of Seokjin?” Jungkook requests in an earnest murmur, humble and cautious. “You wish he was here instead of me, don’t you?” You’re taken aback, brought to speechlessness. The two of you end up seated by the creek on a wooden log. The horizon is full of stars, allowing you to see enough to watch the water that rushes past in a calm hum, soothing your turmoil. “I’m afraid.” “Of what?” “I don’t know what to do. How to capture the Emperor’s attention. How to be...bedded.” “You need to be strong.” You rise to your feet at once, biting back angrily, “I’ve never even been touched by a man! How am I supposed to be strong?!” It’s easy for him to say. It always is to the outsider. He doesn’t know what this means to you. You’ll never be able to find a husband after this. The peaceful life you dreamt of will be gone. You will forever be stained as the Emperor’s previous consort, his whore or you will end up dead. You’re not sure which is worse. “How am I supposed to know what to do?” Your voice is shrill, desperate and full of pain as if you are asking Jungkook for an actual answer to your predicament. Jungkook stands and places his firm hand on your shoulder. “There,” he says after a moment when you’ve calmed down, “you’ve been touched by a man.” Irritation surges through you again at how lightly he’s taken your strife. “You know that’s not what I meant—” Then you’re suddenly spun to face him, a strong grip at your waist. Your words become muted through the soft press of Jungkook’s lips. Your whimper is muffled by his mouth. It’s chaste. Careful. He allows you room to breathe, to feel the velvet texture of his lips or to pull away if you so choose to. But you don’t move. Your eyes become half-lidded, gazing into his doe eyes that seem to be full of stars. Your hands come to grip his broad shoulder, his placed on the dips of your body so gently as if he were afraid to break you. And your heart swells dangerously inside your chest. After a moment of his mouth moving against yours in a sweet kiss, Jungkook pulls apart. Almost immediately, you tug him back to you again, not wanting the moment to end. You kiss him fervently and he lowly hums inside his chest, tongue peeking at the seam of your mouth, urging you to grant him access. It’s unsightly, the two of you unmarried and holding one another so intimately in the dark during this time of night. If anyone knew, it would be shameful. But it’s only you and Jungkook in this small space. Your lips part, allowing his hot tongue to lick into your mouth. And he angles his head, happily deepening the kiss. It makes you gasp for air, becoming breathless, but he doesn’t relent. Jungkook presses forward eagerly like he can’t help himself anymore. His hands come to feel up your body, the softness of your flesh through your clothing, the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts. Your arms loop around his neck, back arching into his firm body. You relish in the sound of soft smacking filling the forest, feeling your face heat as his scent surrounds you. And when you moan his name again in a desperate whine — “J-Jungkook.” — his lips start to trail down your jaw to your neck. He holds you as you lean into him. You pant, chest rising and falling, and you have half a mind to realize that your clothes have loosened. The man begins to suck a spot at the juncture of your neck by your exposed collarbone, claiming you possessively. Your entire body heats for him, your stomach fluttering. His name befalls your lips again in a whine and this time, it seems to snap him from his trance. Jungkook pulls away from you. Enough distance that if your arms stretched, it would barely be able to reach him. He wipes his sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “We...we should go back,” he says, winded. You merely nod, not uttering a single word. The two of you don’t need to speak to know that this can’t be continued further. It wouldn’t be good for either of you. But you’re still stunned as you follow him back to where the others are. Your eyes trace Jungkook’s backside and you nibble into your swollen lips. The taste of cinnamon lingers. // The capital is close — you can tell by the way travelers aren’t as sparse and the rich attire that adorns their body. Their expressions are bright and friendly, innocent from the fear of theft or strangers stealing their food. There are no hollowed eyes and cheeks peering at you blankly, no hands clasped together to silently beg for some grains to satisfy the shriveling stomachs. By afternoon, the carriage is brought to a halt again. “I’ll be going ahead first,” Jungkook announces as he sits on top of his horse. “It’ll seem less suspicious.” The other seem to take little issue, but before Jungkook rides off into the distance, his gaze lingers on you. The two of you stare at one another for a moment, one where you’re not sure if you should bid farewell to him or not, one where you wonder when the next time is going to be. But before you can utter a single syllable, he turns and whips the reins. The horse gallops off, hooves marked in the dirt. You stare at his backside diminishing before you’re called back into the carriage to carry on. You arrive no later. The palace is grander than anything you’ve ever witnessed, stretching across the horizon. The red roof and golden trim are vivid against the town even from the distance. Once the guards at the stone wall are briefly spoken to, the magnificent gates creak open and you’re brought into a different world, one protected from outside life. There are hundreds of servants with downcast heads and folded hands scattering across the vast courtyard, winding pavilion paths bordering each structure. Even from peering out the tiny window, your neck aches with how much you have to crane your neck to see it all. But you quickly snap out of your awe. This isn't paradise. It’s your prison. The gates close behind you, trapping you in its walls and after a minute, the carriage halts the final time. “Consort Y/N, from the Park family.” Your title is declared and the curtain is roughly pulled back. You brace yourself as you’re guided out and you come face to face with two men, both middle-aged, and two women, the younger one keeping her head down and her hands folded. Instantly, you lower your eyes with a polite smile and dip down. “It is a pleasure to be here. I am grateful to serve my duty.” You maintain a soft-spoken voice, barely above a timid whisper. It feels foreign to act this way, but not completely unfamiliar. Even if your title has been stripped away and your family name has been wiped, you still are of aristocratic blood. “Oh my! I haven’t seen you in so long!” One of the middle-aged men approaches you with half-moon eyes and a plump face. You’ve been spoken to enough that you know the minister’s name is Park Jimin and he’s supposed to be your uncle. “You’ve grown so much!” “You look as healthy as I remember, uncle.” You offer a brighter smile and he chuckles heartily. “Do I? I’m glad then. I think I’ve packed on a few pounds since your mother last saw me, but don’t tell her that or she may send me some more medication.” In the midst of the lighthearted conversation, you realize that you’re being scrutinized by the other man. His hair is as dark as his eyes, gruff around his mouth and chin but his features are sharp. He stands with his chin high, his spine straightened, his arms behind his back. His robes are a deep violet, silks luxurious and commanding attention. You’ve seen him before. Jung Hoseok. The man who has stood in your family’s courtyard with the same posture as each member was brought out and executed. You had witnessed it from the gaps of the weaved basket that you were hidden in until Seokjin covered your eyes with his small hands. It was fifteen years ago, when you were merely five. But you still remember the iron stench of blood well. The memory and his boring gaze makes you break into a sweat. It’s as if he’s tearing you apart limb by limb, trying to read your intentions and consider if you’re a threat. Fear drains blood from your face. And perhaps he notices because a moment later, he hums and smirks. “Let’s not waste all day here.” Hoseok turns away. “Minister Park, there are many matters to attend to. Your greetings can continue later.” “O-Of course.” Hoseok glances at the older woman standing beside him and she nods, addressing you, “Come with me.” “From now on, you are to serve the Emperor. I am going to assume that the Park family has taught you proper etiquette.” The head servant lady continues walking and you struggle to keep up with her and the servant. You don’t glance at the members who took you here as they retreat appropriately. From now on, you’re on your own. “If you step out of line, there is little anyone will be able to do for you. The Empress is difficult to please, but as long as you do what you’re told and say nothing more, then your time will be more pleasant.” You’re brought into a room with two more female servants and the door is quickly slid shut. “Strip.” “P-Pardon me?” The lady huffs in annoyance and steps forward. Her hands reach out and she begins to tug the ribbons of your clothes. You’re startled, immediately stumbling back out of her grasp. “I-I can do it.” “You should get used to it,” she says as you shed your outer and inner coat. “There’s no point in being embarrassed anymore.” Still, your fingers are slow to remove your clothing. After a moment, you’ve rid of your clothes, only keeping your modesty by the last thin white layer that hides your breasts and naked torso from plain view. It seems to be enough and the woman begins to inspect your skin. She rounds you, examining you from head to toe. Then she holds your arm, lifting them at every angle, making sure there are no wounds or rashes that could infect the Emperor. Her eyes, however, eventually fall to your neck. Right at the spot where you remember Jungkook kissed you hard enough to bruise and your face heats at the memory. “I was accidentally bitten by a bug yesterday on my way here,” you murmur to explain the subtle lilac stain. “I apologize for being so careless.” “Nothing that won’t fade then,” she states and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. But then the woman suddenly grabs a hold of your cheeks in one hand. She tilts your head to look up into her eyes and she studies your face carefully. She hums after a moment and lets you go. You blink at her. “Is there something wrong?” “You’re one of the prettier ones, that’s all.” The woman speaks softly as if it’s a shame — a shame that you’ve been brought here as the Emperor’s consort and that you couldn’t be wedded properly. You’re unable to dwell on her pity when the other girls take you by the arms and guide you to follow the woman when she walks off. The door slides open into an adjacent bedroom. “You’re going to be washed, cleaned, thoroughly. There’s not much time. You must be prepared for tonight.” Your feet stop, blood running cold. “Tonight?” The lady turns around, her gaze more sympathetic than before. “There’s no time to be wasted.” You’re taken roughly, bathed in milky water with flowers plucked from the royal garden and rigorously scrubbed by two other servant girls until your own skin feels raw. Your nails are trimmed, hair combed before being looped and braided into a half-updo, holding golden hairpins that you would’ve never dreamed of ever having. The robes that are slid on you are soft silks, a light blush pink that matches the peony flowers your mother once had in her own garden. And your lips are pressed with red pigment, eyes lined, cheeks dusted with a rosy shade. When they’re finished, you don’t recognize the person you see in the mirror. “The Emperor isn’t difficult to please, but one must know not to step out of line.” “I understand.” “All hail Empress Soojin!” There’s a clamour outside and the doors abruptly open. Instantly, the servants, including the head servant woman, sweep back and fold their hands together, bowing their heads. You also look to the ground, dipping down in the presence of the Empress. “You must be the new girl. Lift your head,” she says and you come to meet cat-eyes narrowed in on you. The Empress is dressed in crimson robes with golden swirls, her dark hair in an updo with pins and luxurious decorations. But she is not worthy of her title from her clothing alone. Her aura is intimidating, her expression unyielding to anyone in the room. She carries herself like she knows she was born of importance, that the mandate of Heaven resides on her shoulders. Empress Soojin looks at you with a scrutinizing eye that makes you fearful. But then she smiles. “What’s your name?” “Park Y/N, Your Majesty.” “What do your parents do?” “They are nobles. They have some land in the East. We grow wheat for Your Majesty.” The lies are easy, all part of a narrative that isn’t yours. Her smiles eases even more. “Do a good job.” “Yes.” Empress Soojin is kind — more than what you expected someone in her position to be. You would not know how to feel if you were meeting yet another girl your husband was trying to conceive with. But you’re not foolish enough to be put off guard. You know far better than to fall for her facade. At the end of the day, she is your enemy. She might poison you or kill you if she so chooses. And you know that your child will also be her child. If you do fall pregnant by some miracle, the baby would be taken away from you and given to her. To grow with her. To call her mother. But you don’t dwell on these thoughts or let it be known. Empress Soojin leaves once she’s satisfied with your appearance and a veil is put over you as the sun starts to dip over the horizon. The ceremony is about to begin, the jovial music already playing in the distance and muffled through the walls. “It’s time.” You’re led out of the room, lugging your heavy robes with you. But as you look up, your breath hitches in your throat. Doe eyes stare into yours past the translucent veil. Jungkook is dressed in navy robes with the royal emblem on it, his hair brought into a ponytail with a sheathed sword by his side. Something lodges into your throat. But you try not to let your eyes linger too long on him. After all, here he isn’t your brother’s friend or the companion on your journey. Jungkook is the Emperor’s guard. You are merely the Emperor’s new consort. “I’m here to escort you by the Emperor’s orders.” You don’t speak a word as you walk alongside him. Neither does he. But when no one’s watching, you steal a glance at Jungkook from the corner of your eye and find that he’s peeking at you too. The moment is too short. The throne room is grandiose, golden pillars spiraling upwards to hold the high ceilings. The room is full of ministers sitting by and eating, young girls dancing to the deafening beat of the drums and the melody of the flutes. But even from the distance, you can see the Emperor seated at the throne beside the Empress and Jung Hoseok who stands to his right. Your hand tightens into a fist until your nails have sunk into your palm. “All hail Consort Y/N!” You come to the bottom of the steps where Jungkook leaves you, resuming to the side of the stairs, and you lower yourself on your knees. “It is my honour to serve you, Your Majesty.” Your expression remains impassive, demure perhaps. But inside you, the rage ignites. Emperor Minseok who stood by and did nothing as the Kim Family, your family, was massacred. Left behind two children on accident to fend for themselves. Left the nation to soil as he was kept inside ravishing young girls and indulging in pleasures. He isn’t an Emperor. He does not have the Mandate of Heaven. He is a puppet. Emperor Minseok’s eyes light. He scrambles upwards and pushes Empress Soojin aside, making her wince. But he still moves past her to sprint down the stairs and comes to you like a child getting a new toy. Instantaneously, your veil is thrown off. The child-like man gasps in excitement. “You’re pretty!” Hoseok, the person you know well as the mastermind orchestrating the entire court and country, the king’s personal advisor, approaches with a smile. “I am glad you are satisfied with the new girl, Your Majesty. But you must show restraint.” The Emperor enthusiastically nods, but still takes your hand. He pulls you up the stairs and leads you to sit on the other side of him, something the Empress is visibly mortified at in spite of staying quiet. “Continue the celebration,” he announces and the music commences once more with the pleasant laughter of the ministers. Minister Park has a twinkle in his smile and slightly raises his cup towards you before taking a sip. Jungkook, on the other hand, faces forward with a blank expression as if he were a statue. “What’s your name?” Your eyes tear away from the doe-eyed man. “My name is Y/N. I am Park Minister’s niece, sire.” There’s no reason to hide your first given name. It’s not like they would know who you and Seokjin are. The ceremony and dancing continues, held as an excuse to welcome you and give fortune to tonight’s conception. In reality, it’s for those in the court to indulge themselves. The Emperor fawns over you the entire time, asking many questions and trying to get you to eat to which you force yourself to swallow down the food. You’re nauseated, especially with the times he touches you, when he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest, but you retain a shy disposition to not arouse suspicion of your true feelings. It ends much too soon. “His Majesty will be here shortly,” the servant informs you as you’re brought into the bedroom and before you can get in another word, the doors shut. They’re listening — you know they are. Maybe other girls have run before you, tried to flee while they still had the chance. But no matter how strong the urge is, your feet stay rooted into the ground. The bed is revolting to look at. The golden sheets that seem to reek of a luxury that you have never known and now imprison you. You feel sick, like you might throw up, but you hold it in. Your eyes shut tight, trying to regain control of your breath, trying to dispel away your worries. It will be quick. It will be over. It won’t change anything about who you are. You will survive. This is something you must do. The doors open with Emperor Minseok drunkenly stumbling inside after grabbing a hold of the door frame. He haphazardly slides it shuts and giggles once his gaze has set upon you. You swallow hard, moving back on instinct. He grins and bumbles forward. “You’re so pretty, huh?” He strips off his overcoat and you fall to the bed, silently seated and gripping the edge. “C’mon, you can say something. Won’t scare you away, kitty cat.” Emperor Minseok pushes you back and climbs over you with the carelessness of an eager but intoxicated man. He stinks of alcohol and you hold your breath, looking away. He snickers and then frantically pushes the many layers of your dress up as if he doesn’t want to waste any more time. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, but you comply, like a dead fish against the sheets. Your eyes shut tight and you think about what it means to make sacrifices... The Emperor tugs his drawers down in one swoop and aligns his cock against your folds. His hips at once jut forward without warning and your teeth grit, holding in your pained whimper as he enters into you. It burns, aching to the point where your eyes are stinging. He groans above you, withdraws, thrusts into you once and then he’s coming. As quick as five seconds. The Emperor groans, eyes shut tight, and then he collapses on top of you. It takes a moment, for you to gasp for air, to come back to your senses and then you’re shoving the sweaty man off of your body, freeing yourself of his heavy weight. Emperor Minseok snores, already worn himself out, and you curse at him silently while you pull the layers of your dress down. It’s tempting. You want to kill him — and it would be easy to do so. But it would mean your death, Seokjin’s everlasting grief over it and the likelihood that someone else will become Jung Hoseok’s puppet. So you gather your wits and slide off the bed until you’re seated on the floor. // In the middle of the night, there’s a shadow at the doorway and a soft murmur of your name. You grab a loose silk cover to wrap your body and open the door. The candle has long been blown out but you haven’t slept, stayed on the ground while the Emperor snorts in his slumber. You hadn’t expected to see anyone, not until morning at least, but it’s surprising to see Jungkook. Although you’re not sure if that surprise is pleasant or not. “What are you doing here?” you ask in a hushed tone, shutting the door behind you and wrapping your arms around your torso, away from the cold wind that brushes through. If anyone saw him here, it could ruin everything. You don’t know why someone like Jungkook would take that risk. “I know. I just…” The more you allow your eyes to adjust to the darkness, the better you are at being able to discern the furrow of his brows and the way it mars his expression. “How...how was it?” “How was it?” you spit at him. “What do you think?” There’s a held silence. Neither of you speak. But the moment anger surges through you, the upheaval follows. Against your will, sobs begin to break through your frame. As intense as the day Seokjin delivered the news that you would have to do this. And the memories burst through, catching up to you. It would have been fine if you were alone. If you could pretend that it wasn’t bad, that it meant nothing. But the earnestly spoken question from Jungkook has brought forth the truth that you had so desperately tried to push away. You cry, tears shedding down your face as you hold your face in your hands. You are oblivious to the way Jungkook’s fingers twitch, how his hands reach out, how he hesitates. But then he embraces you, pressing your face against his shoulder, his arms around your waist. You grab onto him, latching on as if he is the only thing that grounds you to this insanity. You muffle your sobs, trying to keep them quiet before you’re found. You wish this was Seokjin. But it’s Jungkook. “I had a younger sister,” he tells you suddenly, calming your hiccups as he cradles you against him. “Her name was Jieun. She was brought in, just like you. Five years ago. She was taken in by force. All because she caught the eye of the Emperor.” You pull away from him and he wipes a tear off your cheek, holding your face within his hands. You didn’t know. Frankly, you don’t know anything about Jungkook, but to hear him tell you, for him to openly share is something you don’t take lightly. “W-What happened to her?” “She was always weak and they mistook her sickness for pregnancy. When they found out she wasn’t, they hung her for supposedly losing the baby.” His whispers are quiet, but they carry a grief that you can barely understand. Jungkook’s eyes connect within yours. Finally, you begin to understand. Why he started this, why he’s come here. “I don’t want something like that to happen again. I’ll do everything in my power to keep it from happening to you.” You nod. He didn’t need to come see you tonight. But you’re thankful he did. // “All hail Empress Soojin!” The doors open with a parade of servants following the female who holds up her dress, entering through the doorway. You meet her halfway, head dipped and hands folded with a demure smile. Her eyes are narrowed in on you and you pay no mind when her servants begin to inspect the place, examining the bed sheets and any other evidence of last night’s affair. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” “How are you?” Her gaze sweeps across your body, lingering on your stomach. “It was fine.” The Empress lifts her hand and two more servants enter with a tray of food. They start to arrange the breakfast on the table. “You might be carrying a child, so it will be important to nourish yourself.” You look at the dishes with a sense of queasiness. The last thing you want is food — you don’t think you could contain it in your stomach if you tried. And there’s a fear in your mind that she’s going to take this opportunity to poison you. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did. So you dip your head. “If you may pardon me, Your Majesty, I am not feeling hungry.” “Don’t be foolish.” “I—” Your words are choked the moment your head is whipped to the side. Your cheek burns. The Empress’ hand print is embedded into your skin, her arm still raised in the air. Your eyes sting. Even in your worst moments, you’ve never been slapped. Not by Seokjin. Not even by your parents. “Her Majesty was kind enough to come here and offer you food but you dare deny her and talk back?” The servant beside her shakes her head in disapproval. “The Park Family has no manners.” Immediately, you fall to your knees. Your head meets the carpet, right by her feet but she doesn’t see the way your teeth grit. “I apologize for my disrespect.” Empress Soojin huffs in frustration and there’s a clamour as feet stomp out, making the room silent once more. It’s then that you lift yourself back onto your feet and pour the tonic she gave you into the plant. You spend the rest of your day in your room after taking a bath, staying out of anyone’s way as you were told to do. But after nightfall, there’s news of Emperor Minseok planning to come see you. So you suppose you must’ve done something right for him to willingly reach out to you. His body weight is heavy against you, your back molded against the bed. “You’re very pretty,” he says for the millionth time. You try to muster a smile, but keep your head tilted to stare at the wall, acting like you are much too shy. “Thank you.” The Emperor is easily worked up, the very antithesis of control. He enters you and you bare through it, getting used to the action. But Emperor Minseok finishes in a mere three pumps, gripping at your thighs with a groan. He rolls over to sleep and you shove down your skirt. If you could count the little fortune you have, you’re relieved he’s been too impatient to undress you properly. He’s neither kissed you nor laid a hand to the softest parts of your body. Not like Jungkook. // The palace is unfamiliar. It’s a vast space that stretches across the plane and numerous structures gives room for ministers and servants you will never know the name of. The only person you truly know in these walls is Jungkook. He’s the only person to confide in, but there is little opportunity to see him, even if you long to. But he comes to you, enough times to make you reassured that he is always there, following in your shadow. Though it’s never enough to fulfill your desires or relieve your yearning. “What is this?” You open the envelope he’s passed to you, pulling out the folded parchment. The two of you are hidden in an empty warehouse where supplies and weapons are kept in wooden crates. Grime lays in thick layers, cobwebs collected at the corners, but some specks of dust float in the air, seen by the sunbeams that pierce through the gaps of the planks covering the windows. Your eyes widen at the familiar writing of the letter and your eyes skim the page to see Seokjin’s signature at the bottom. The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks to see your wide grin. “H-How did you get it here?” “We have servants working for us and a communication line coming in and out of the palace. It’s the way we exchange news.” You nod, reading the letter and the kind words that are so much like Seokjin, encapsulating his personality with every ‘dear sister’. But the sentences are short and the content makes the blood drain from your face. There’s been delays of Seokjin getting into the palace. They need more time. More than three months. “There won’t be enough time.” Your hands drop, the letter put at your side. Your eyes lock with Jungkook’s, but he doesn’t seem surprised, as if he already knew. “I’m going to die.” He doesn’t flinch, expression solemn, unyielding to this devastating news. “I will help you.” “How?!” “We’ll give them what they want. You won’t be executed if you’re carrying a child.” “The Emperor is infertile—!” But Jungkook isn’t. And once the implications of his words sinks into you, you turn away to hide from his gaze, your voice shrill. “How could you….how could you even think of that? You’re as cruel as Jin. No one...no one has any regard for me whatsoever. It’s all about the country, the revolution.” In the midst of your hysteria, he calls you. “Y/N.” “You want to use me. You want to use my body,” you sob. “I don’t want you to die,” Jungkook emphasizes and grabs you, spinning you around to look at him again. His hand wraps around your wrist, doe eyes staring into yours. Your breath hitches and it goes silent. “If there’s anything I can do within my control to help you, I will. I don’t want to feel powerless.” Jungkook’s grasp on you tightens, as if he is afraid to let go. “Not anymore.” You recognize the pain in his eyes. It’s tangible. Earnest. On instinct, you lean in, pressing your lips against his to console his worries. It’s a soft kiss, one where Jungkook’s nose brushes against yours and his hands lift to cradle your face. You succumb to the itch of having him close to you, giving into your carnal desires and the lust that has lingered in you after the kisses you two shared in the darkness of the forest that one night. And Jungkook doesn’t hesitate either. He touches you, fingers gently tugging the ribbons of your attire to slip off the inner coat and many layers they’ve cloaked you in. It’s freeing to be out of the silks. You can finally breathe again, but not for long when Jungkook kisses you until you’re gasping for air and your breath is stained with his. You grasp at his own clothes, ridding them and his sword clanks to the ground. His mouth moves from your jaw to the juncture of your neck, traveling down your collarbone and the valley of your breasts. He sucks at your flesh, greedy to mark every inch of it. Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, you can tell through his touches. He doesn’t want to use your body. He wants you. “Jungkook.” The whine only spurs him on and you hold his head against you, fingers tangling to his hair. It’s silent, except for the sounds of him kissing against your skin. Heat rises on your face, warming your cheeks. You don’t know how Jungkook can stay so careful and controlled. He never once rushes, giving plenty of opportunities for you to push him away if you so choose to. But you don’t and he lays you on the soft hay collected in the corner of the warehouse. You shy away from his attention, your naked body laid in front of him. But then he strips from the rest of his clothes, not letting you be the only one bare. Immediately, Jungkook reaches down to kiss you again, mouth pressed against yours like he has become dependent on your taste. Jungkook readjusts you, getting you to sit on his lap facing him. “Is this okay?” You nod, gripping at his shoulders for leverage. His doe eyes lock into yours. “Tell me if it hurts.” “Okay.” Tears fog your vision. You’ve never been treated so gently before, not from a man or woman. While the circumstances are undesirable, bliss still blooms in your chest. Jungkook licks his thumb and lowers his hand to continue to warm your center. You keen against him with a moan as he plays with your bud, rubbing your clit in circles and watching your expression carefully. Your slick begins to leak to his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “J-Jungkook…” Your eyes are teary, nose reddened from the cold. Jungkook presses his forehead to yours, your breaths laboured together. His cock lays thick in his hand, slit weeping with precum and the two of you look down, watching him align it to your folds. His hips push up at the same time as you guide yourself down. Jungkook groans. The pair of you are finally connected. Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt. Far from it and the realization makes your cheeks hot to the touch. You’re snug around him, able to feel his head nudging against your cervix. “A-Are you okay?” he asks and you nod several times fervently. Instead of answering in words, you close the distance with another searing kiss. Soft smacking fills the room with his tongue licking into your mouth. Jungkook’s arms wrap around your waist, guiding you up and down your length while he meets you halfway. Your moans are muffled, his chest pressed against yours and you begin to sweat at your hairline. You break apart. “Jung—ko...ok.” “Hmm?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Harder,” you whisper so quietly that you can't hear yourself. He blinks at you, not understanding and you throw away your pride, knowing that there’s no reason to be ashamed when you’re with him. “H-Harder, please. I’m not fragile.” The corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile, “Okay.” Soon, indecent noises of pounding fills the room. You hug one another, keeping each other grounded with your bodies. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your whines stifled against his warm skin. Jungkook tries to catch his breath, a cold cloud emitting from his parted lips. It feels good. To have your warm and wet heat filled by Jungkook. To be stretched by him and feel him all the way to your throat. To have him so close to you. The pleasure is overwhelming. Your slick coats his length, dripping down and making it messy where his thighs hits against your behind. It feels like you’re scratching an itch as you ride him, your cunt being bruised against his force. Pleasure thrums through you, thoughts turned to slush, surrounded in his scent. Your eyes are hazy and you feel feverish. All that befalls from your lips are broken and pitched whines of Jungkook’s name. It gets sloppy and his strokes start to become short and frenzied in a staccato rhythm. “J-Jungkook!” He licks his thumb and rubs against your clit, making you sob out. Then, you come undone. You seize, squeezing around him. Light pierces through your eyelids and your toes curl. Pleasure overwhelms you until you’re spineless. At the same time, Jungkook pants heavily and his hips thrust upwards. A moment later, he’s cumming deep into your sopping cunt. His head is lodged right against the opening of your womb. Thick ropes painting your velvet walls. Hopefully to conceive. “—Soojin visited the consort the morning after the ceremony.” “Is that so?” There are voices from outside and your eyes widen, lips stealing a gasp. Immediately, Jungkook’s palm raises and cups your mouth. His brows furrow, eyes staying locked into yours and the both of you sit still, staying silent. You turn your heads and through the gaps of the wooden planks covering the window, you can see Hoseok and a minister brushing past. “She’s never shown favour to any of the consorts.” They stop, right where you and Jungkook are naked, merely separated by a brick wall. “Perhaps she sees something different from this girl than the others,” Hoseok hums. “Keep an eye on Empress Soojin and tell me if she does anything else out of the ordinary.” Jungkook’s cum leaks from your center, dripping down his length. “Yes.” They finally pass and Jungkook’s hand falls from your mouth, finally taking a sigh of relief. Jungkook removes himself from you but only after he pushes his milky fluid back into you with his brows furrowed in concentration. He tucks his cum past your used fold into your heat. Once satisfied, he gets up and puts back on his clothes. You’re still reeling, not sure what to say or if you can even look him in the eye anymore. Part of you feels used. You’ve been passed from one man to the next, always with a purpose, a greater reason that your own desires. But then— “Are you alright?” Jungkook is tender, helping you up and brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you get dressed again while you feel his cum drip down your thigh. It’s a reminder of the sins you have just committed together, something worthy of treason. But it’s something you find yourself not minding doing again. “I’m fine,” you murmur after you’re dressed again. Jungkook stares at you silently, his eyes unable to be torn away from you. Then he leans forward as if driven on by sheer instinct. Jungkook’s mouth presses against yours in a sweet kiss. It catches you off guard. And then he parts with downcast eyes. “I’m sorry for doing something unnecessary.” “It’s okay.” You meet his gaze. “I don’t...mind.” He nods and you turn before he can see your smile. Your hand press gently against your stomach as hope blossoms through you.

Time passes and maybe the Empress notices that you’ve been smiling more because she asks— “Are you feeling any differences?” — with a careful eye and something akin to anticipation. “Not yet,” you answer with your head dipped. “But I’m sure it may happen soon.” The Emperor has been seeing you two times a week. But you’ve been seeing Jungkook every other day. If the two of you are lucky, one of these days a baby will stick to your womb and neither of you will have to be worried about how doom is impending. You have a feeling though; it’s going to work. “Empress Soojin has personally ordered a tonic for you,” the head servant says as she enters with a tray and porcelain bowl filled with an amber liquid. “It will increase your fertility.” Your eyes flicker from her face to the bowl and the servant softens. “Don’t worry. She won’t harm you if there’s a chance you could be carrying her child.” You trust the woman and you ease your instincts, taking the tonic. And no later are you and Jungkook’s limbs tangled in the old warehouse again, away from prying eyes and ears. But it’s taking too long. There isn’t any news of Seokjin’s arrival, no movement from the rebellion group whatsoever and you can tell that Emperor Minseok is losing interest in you. As you’re passing by the pavilion, you take a brief pause. The servant behind you also stops, aware that you are watching the way Empress Minseok is drinking and laughing with other women, being served wine as he lies on giggling girls trying to catch his attention. You aren’t jealous, far from it. But you know nothing good will come out of his boredom with you, that it will only speed up your execution date if you are still without child. His favour would prove not only advantageous to you, but to Seokjin and Jungkook. You’re supposed to preoccupy him after all, keep him distracted. “All hail Consort Y/N.” The doors to the Emperor’s chambers open right as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon. Emperor Minseok is having drinks and some dishes while there are two concubines looped around his arms. “My beautiful consort!” He calls out to you with a grin, surprise evident on his features. You muster a smile and dip down. “May I speak to you privately, Your Majesty?” “Sure, sure.” He bats at the concubines, motioning at them to leave. They bow their heads and scatter out. Once alone, you lift your eyes to lock it into his. “Is there something wrong?” “I just…” Your smile becomes shy. “...wanted to see you.” Emperor Minseok bursts out laughing, hearty in his chest and grating to your ears. “You were lonely? Come sit.” He pats at tiny chicken thighs and you hold your breath, complying. You nearly slip off his leg, but his sticky hands are placed on your waist. His nose digs into your neck and you accidentally flinch. He notices, brows raising and you swiftly cover up your mistake with a smile. “It’s still...hard for me to have so much attention from you.” You fiddle with your fingers. “I’m not used to it.” The man grins. “But you still came here.” “Because I was lonely,” you confirm in a quiet whisper. “The palace is so grand, I don’t really know what to do…” “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, clearly not caring about the topic of conversation anymore with the way he stares at you. It’s almost as if he’s entranced by your features and his hand reaches down to slink up your leg. You abruptly stand and grab his collar, making him rise to his feet too. “The palace is beautiful, especially the gardens. But it’s lonely to go flower viewing by yourself.” Emperor Minseok cups your cheek. “Then I’ll come with you next time.” You turn away, out of his grasp. “I could never ask that of Your Majesty. I can’t be selfish and you are always so busy. Actually...I…” “What is it?” You duck your head, playing a bashful act. “I try to look at your painting to satisfy my loneliness.” Emperor Minseok chortles again and you spin around with a tiny pout. You step forward until he’s fallen onto his bed, amused at your boldness. “But it’s hard,” you say as you begin to climb on top of him. “There’s not many paintings of you.” You position yourself so he’s underneath you. You straddle his hips, a coy smile at your features. “For a grand palace like this, one would think there would be more.” “You’re right.” The Emperor is breathless, already excited after barely ten seconds. His greedy hands come up to grab your bottom, but you push him off so he doesn’t touch you. “My father once commissioned a painter,” you murmur as you slowly tug his trousers down. “He was quite immature and eccentric, but his skills are unrivaled with.” “W-What is his name?” His eyes watch you, pathetically salivating. You wonder if he’s going to cum in his pants already. “I...think his name was Kang Seokjin,” you lie, quirking your head to the side. You grab his tiny, red cock that looks like it’s about to burst and he groans. “Have you never heard of him? He’s quite infamous in the East.” “I-I’ve never.” You hum, tugging your many skirts up and his eyes pin to your exposed skin. “Well, he’s a free-spirit and rarely does paintings, even for people who pay for it. Gold doesn’t buy him. My father had to beg him for weeks and even then he was reluctant.” He scoffs. “He would never deny the Emperor.” “Of course.” You align him up to your pink folds. Yet, you linger, putting the crumbling man under you in great suspense. “But…” Emperor Minseok blinks at you, becoming impatient. “But?” “You never know till you try, right?” You drop down like the way Jungkook taught you to. You know better now how to satisfy a man, how to satisfy yourself, what kind of rhythm works best. But it only takes two swivels of your hips and one groan from him until he’s done and finishes. Emperor Minseok has tired himself out and succumbs to the seduction of sleep almost immediately with a smile on his face. You roll off of him as he starts to snore. You feel disgusted — skin grimy and crawling, the pit in your stomach growing with queasiness, revolted at what you had to do. But you know bathing and scrubbing your skin until it’s raw won’t be enough to satisfy you. It won’t be enough to cleanse yourself from him. So you leave the Emperor’s chambers as quickly as you came, abandoning the greasy man on the bed and shutting the doors behind you. In the dark, you hurry as fast as your feet can take you. You’re out of breath by the time you’ve twisted through the structures and pavilions. But relief comes in the form of a doe-eyed, dark-haired individual. The person you’ve been wanting to run to. The person you’ve been yearning for. “What are you doing here?” he scolds sharply, standing as you slide the doors behind you. The candlelight flickers, providing a dim glow on the profile of his face. “What if someone saw you?” “They didn’t and they won’t.” The bedroom Jungkook’s stationed in is tiny, a round table and two stools with a large opening for where his bed fits into the wall as if it were built in. But none of it matters to you. You don’t care that he has nothing but a sword and some folded clothes. All you care about is that he’s here. “And what if you were caught?” “Every time we do this, we risk getting caught.” You quiet his worries by closing the distance. You cradle his cheeks in your palm and kiss him frantically, sealing your mouth against his. Jungkook hums to the sweet taste of your lips, licking into your hot mouth, but then he pulls away. “Wait.” His hands secure around your shoulders and he searches your expression after noticing the way your eyes have become teary. “Is there something wrong?” You shake your head. “I just want you. Is...is that so bad?” The candle is blown out, flooding the room in a comfortable, intimate darkness. But close up, you can still see Jungkook with the faded moonlight coming through the paper walls. His back falls against the bed, but Jungkook doesn’t give you a long opportunity to climb and sit above him. He whirls you around until it’s your body that molds against the soft surface of his bed, preferring to take care of you than vice versa. And when he undresses you and sees the sopping mess between your legs, he understands what this is all about. Why you’re so desperate for his touch. “Let’s get rid of this,” he murmurs tenderly, not at once hesitating and you nod. Jungkook kisses you again, deep and earnestly until you’re panting against him and he’s swallowing your exhales. Then his mouth travels downwards, careful this time not to leave a bruising mark against your skin where others could see in spite of longing to mark you. The man’s tongue ends up wrapping around your soft breast, allowing the bud to pebble underneath the warm muscle. You keen into him with a sob, arms wrapped around his neck and he continues mercilessly. His lips travel down to your stomach and once your skin has gotten warm to the touch, your body writhing against the sheets stained with his scent, he positions you upwards. On his lap. Facing him. Jungkook brushes away the strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and he gently holds your chin, turning your head so your eyes can lock into his. “Look at me,” he pleads in a husky timbre. You nod and he positions himself at your dripping center, allowing you to drop down when you choose to. And when you do, the two of you groan while keeping your gazes connected. It feels like he’s filled a void that you didn’t know was there. He’s a snug fit around your velvet heat, stretching just enough that pleasure thrums through you. “J-Jungkook.” He makes a noise at the back of his throat, understanding what you’re feeling and he leans in for another kiss, his tongue wrapping around yours and drawing more sounds out of you. The two of you work with each other. Your hips swivel as he pounds upwards into you, pelvises rubbed against one another to clear away Emperor Minseok’s fluids. Jungkook works hard while you squeeze and the cum drips out of you in clumps. It sticks to your thighs and his thick length, drying unpleasantly, but soon it’s only your wetness that comes out from your center. Jungkook’s hands hold your body, touching you anywhere you guide him to. And you lean onto his sturdy frame, holding onto his built shoulders. Finally, you feel clean. You feel loved. You kiss him again and his thrusts stutter. It’s intimate, the sounds of gasping breaths and skin slapping on skin filling the darkness. Jungkook can tell you’re close and rubs against your clit mercilessly and you cry, quickening your own pace to chase after your pleasure. But before you can finish, he turns your head again. “Look at me, Y/N,” he says and you nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You cum while looking into Jungkook’s doe eyes, trying your best to keep them open. And as you squeeze around him, hugging against his cock, he cums. Deep into your heat, right at your cervix. Claiming you as his. Ropes of milky white spurting in then leaking down out of your folds. All while keeping his tender gaze trained on yours. You kiss Jungkook again, letting him soften within you, keeping him here just a moment longer. You love Jungkook. It’s a fact that you don’t want to face in light of the situation — one that you had tried to deny for the sake of your own sanity, but it’s all too true. You love him. And every time he holds you, it feels like you’re making love together. If only things were different, maybe you could’ve had a future together. Maybe you could’ve gotten Seokjin’s blessing and married Jungkook, started a family together and lived a humble life for the rest of your days. But that desperate and simple wish seems so far out of reach. Overwhelmed with emotion, you try to keep your tears at bay. Yet, they shed down your cheeks and in the intimate darkness, Jungkook holds you close to him.

It’s one afternoon while you’re walking in the gardens with the poor servant assigned to you following closely behind that you recognize a dark-haired, mischievous individual that you had missed. But you don’t call out to your brother, no matter how much you want to. You keep yourself poised, distant. “Oh, Consort Y/N. Glad to see you wandering,” the head eunuch, a man you’ve spoken to little, says with a smile. You keep your head lowered, a tiny smile that is all too genuine on your features. “Empress Soojin said it would be good for my health, so I have followed her instructions.” “Well yes. Indeed it is.” He grins and then seems to remember the taller, younger man beside him. The head eunuch steps aside and motions towards your older brother. “This is Kang Seokjin. He is a painter from the East that Emperor Minseok has commissioned. Seokjin, this is the Emperor’s most recent consort, Consort Y/N. But I believe you have met before.” “Only briefly.” You lift your eyes towards your sibling who smiles. “It is nice to see you again.” “Yes, nice to see you again.” Seokjin’s eyes speak more than his words do and the two of you look at one another for a long moment, exchanging meaningful expressions and taking in the differences that two months have done. “Well, I must head off now.” You break away the stare, keeping yourself unsuspicious. “It was pleasant to meet your acquaintance again.” You pass Seokjin, but the two of you look at one another from the corner of your eyes. He’s finally in the court and a sense of relief fills you. If a few more ministers agree to turn against the Emperor, everything will be complete. It’s Seokjin’s turn to act and now only time will tell.

In the middle of the night when the palace has gone asleep, you sneak from your quarters. The dirty warehouse has become your sanctuary with Jungkook, a place you’ve grown fond of because it holds your most precious memories. It was this place that you looked forward to the most. That kept you sane. That always promised that your favourite person was waiting inside. It’s tonight with the full moon out that you get to savour the moment. After the deed has been done, you’re slumped in Jungkook’s arms, naked with just his outer coat around your shoulders. You take his right hand, uncurling his fingers. Carefully, you trace letters against his warm palm. “Kim?” Jungkook questions after a moment of concentration. “Kim means gold,” you murmur and trace more letters against his skin. With your head leaning against his chest, you can hear his soothing heartbeat in your ear. “Seok means great. Jin means precious. Together, it means great gift or big treasure.” If things were different, you would’ve liked to be a scholar. Transcribing books all day long or writing your own, perhaps creating poetry about nature. As a child, you hated studying and preferred to play like Seokjin did. But it was now that you yearned for those simple times again. You know Jungkook’s name too and you trace each letter against his palm with your index finger carefully. “Jeon means rice. Jung spindle tree. Kook is country. Together, it means to have a beautiful country.” “Pillars of the nation,” he clarifies quietly. “Or at least that’s what I think my grandfather intended when he named me.” “They’re such great names. I hope….the name of our child will be meaningful too,” you hum drowsily while dreaming of the possibilities. “If it’s a boy, Minkook, the country of the people. If it’s a girl, Yujin, meaning full of stars…” The both of you know you won’t be able to name your child. Not if it’s born within these stone walls. Not when everyone believes it is the Emperor’s. The baby will be taken away from you the moment it’s out, raised while calling the Empress their mother and you would be a nobody. But then Jungkook dispels away your anguish, even if it’s just for a second. “They’re beautiful names.” The corner of your lips quirk and you blink sleepily. You tell him about your dream, a memory of the future you have conjured to comfort you, “They would be raised in a quiet home on top of a hill. Where we could see the sunset and sunrise every day. There would be grass where the children could play. A river nearby to wash the clothes too…” Jungkook’s arms tighten around you and you feel the press of his lips against your temple. “That would be perfect.” You hum again silently with a smile, falling asleep with Jungkook right beside you. And it’s all you know you can have. // Empress Soojin enters your chambers the moment you are doubled over in a copper bowl, the contents of last night’s dinner squeezed painfully from your stomach. The world is on an axis, your head dizzy since you had awoken. But when you realize she’s standing there and taking in your crumpled form, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and try to stand. “Your Majesty…” The Empress rushes over to steady you, her eyes wide and full of surprise. “You feel nauseous?” Your expression meets hers, your face drained of all blood. The silence speaks for itself. Empress Soojin immediately whirls around to her parade of servants, anticipation etched on her features. “Call the physician!” No sooner are you laid in the bed with the physician pressing two fingers on your wrist, quiet as he listens to your heartbeat. The Empress is crowding around, her hands gathered together but still trembling. Then the old man lifts his head with brightened eyes. “She has been with child for two months now. It’s extraordinarily healthy and strong.” Empress Soojin stumbles back. Her palm is pressed against her chest, her breath staggering out of her parted lips. And you lift yourself, your hand laid on your stomach that has yet to swell. It’s your child and Jungkook’s. “From now on, only consume cold foods and make sure it is properly cut or mashed,” he says as he wobbles to his feet. “Avoid shellfish and pineapple too. I will prescribe a herbal tonic that you can take daily.” “Thank you.” Empress Soojin is grinning and comes to your side to envelop you in a warm embrace that you aren’t used to. “Are you still feeling unwell? Are you hungry? It is important to nourish yourself for this baby.” When you shake your head, having no appetite, she nods and looks around. “This place is so rancid and dusty.” The Empress spits several servant’s names and they step forth with bowed heads. “Clean this room immediately! We will go on a walk in the meanwhile and get fresh air.” There is little you can do to deny the whims of the Empress who’s more alive than you’ve ever seen her before. So while your room is cleaned and redecorated with luxurious sheets and golden vases, you’re guided by her on a walk around the garden. The news spreads like wildfire, passing from servant to servant to official declarations. Within a few minutes, Emperor Minseok is bounding over. There’s a grin plastered on his sweaty face, the strands of his hair sticking together. He’s out of breath, still in horseback riding gear like he had gotten off a few seconds ago and you recognize Seokjin behind him in the same attire. “You’re expecting a child?!” Emperor Minseok exclaims loudly, startling you. He’s jumping and you muster a stiff smile, not sure what you should say. But he doesn’t give you an opportunity to. He immediately reaches out to your stomach with his greasy and soot filled hands. “Is it moving?” But he never lays a hand on you. Empress Soojin slaps his hand away and her brows furrow sternly. “The child is at a delicate stage. These are not trivial matters.” She pinches her nose. “And the horses’ stench that you’ve brought here is defeating the purpose of coming out here for fresh air.” “Of course, of course.” Emperor Minseok smiles, retracting his arm. Your eyes meet Seokjin’s and the corner of his mouth quirks warmly into a familiar smile. “Congratulations, Your Highness. May your child have great blessings as you do.” You bow your head, trying to not prolong your gaze and arouse suspicion. “Thank you.” “But…” Emperor Minseok’s eyes flicker between you and the Empress. “Does this mean I will get another concubine soon since I can’t play with Y/N anymore?” Immediately, Empress Soojin is distraught. Hurt comes across her features as if she’s been slapped and for once, you sympathize with her. She never answers, merely turning around. “We should get you back inside for some rest. It’s not good to be in the cold wind for too long.” You nod, glancing at your brother behind your shoulder and after a moment, you follow her. But as you’re making your way back, your path is intercepted by Jungkook on his way to the courtyard. He’s dressed in black robes that match his long hair tied back, holding a sheathed sword as always. Yet what’s different from before is the tenderness of his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t need to speak for you to understand. You’ve come to learn all the ways he communicates through silence. “I heard about the news,” he says and you slow to a complete stop. “Congratulations, Your Highness.” “Thank you.” You savour the moment, looking at him with a soft smile. To the Empress who turns around to see the delay, the exchange is simply between a guard and consort without connection. She doesn’t know that the meaningful gaze is shared between a mother and father to be, two secret lovers separated by circumstance. // There’s many good wishes and felicitations given to you. Even Minister Park, your supposed uncle, makes an extravagant gesture by personally delivering a basket of fresh fruits and vegetables that makes Empress Soojin command the servants to re-wash. But the person you least expect to receive praise and blessings from is Jung Hoseok. In spite of that, he is here in your room, having shown up suddenly. It’s a surprise and you struggle to get up from your bed. “Are you alright?” he asks, concerned. “You don’t really need to stand—” You muster a smile and manage to sit up. “It’s quite alright. I was always taught that the least I can do is greet a guest properly.” The thin, middle-aged man rubs the gray scruff on his chin and you can feel his sharp eyes that probe into you. The way he studies you carefully would cause sweat to bead along your forehead if not for how safe you feel. It’s not from Empress’ insinuated promise of protection or that you’re abstained from execution or knowing Jungkook would defend you at any cost either. Ever since you’ve found out that there was life budding within you, you’ve felt safe. You’re no longer alone. No matter where you go, you carry someone else with you. And now there’s never been a stronger reason for you to fight, to be strong and unafraid. “I heard the physician was called this morning,” Hoseok says. “It was just morning sickness.” The man hums, arms shifting to place behind his back. “Well, the Empress made quite an uproar.” “She often worries about me and the child,” you state plainly and it almost sounds like a threat, one Hoseok visibly acknowledges with a cocked brow. But you don’t dwell, clearing your throat and putting a pleasant expression on your face. “May I ask for what reason you’ve graced me with your presence?” “I just wanted to visit the future emperor.” Hoseok’s eyes linger on your stomach and his smile becomes wry. “It’s quite a miracle, isn’t it? It’s no secret that there has been….some difficulty for a child to be produced. And for it to last this long too. The physician said it was exceptionally strong.” Your smile stretches, but mirth never reaches your eyes. “The Mandate of Heaven grants miracles. It must be a divine wish and I am honoured to be the one fulfilling it.” “Yes.” He nods and then notes, “well, you’ve gotten close to the Emperor’s guard, haven’t you?” “I have no idea what you mean.” Hoseok eyes you and it goes silent. Then, you sit back down with the back of your hand pressed to your forehead. You gasp for breath and bat at yourself. “I’m beginning to feel faint. I think I need to lay down. It would be best if you were to leave, minister. God forbid...something happens to this child otherwise.” Hoseok scoffs, but turns to exit. Your fist clench, wrinkling the sheets underneath your hold. You’ll do whatever it takes to protect Jungkook’s child. // The fourth month milestone of your pregnancy is eventually reached without many qualms or complications. You’re less nauseous than you were before, but the queasiness has been replaced with hunger that often strikes in the middle of the night. You’re given teas and tonics, tested to make sure there is no poison — something Empress Soojin obsesses over and screams if there’s even a hair in the liquid which you’re still not sure if it’s worth laughing about or being scared of. Your breathing has become laboured too, even after short walks. But most importantly, you’ve begun to feel strange sensations. Flutters in your stomach that the physician says is the movement of the child and when they happen, you can’t help caressing the bump that’s not so tiny anymore. While things have been going smoothly, you’ve been put under strict monitoring for a whole month. You’re protected, out of harm’s way. The only people who visit you are the physician, the head servant, a few other servants, and Empress Soojin who constantly and excessively frets over you — her incubator to her supposed baby. Her kindness and concern is meant for the child, not for you and you’re fully aware. It’s not that it matters to you, but it’s something you keep in mind. You’ve heard the Emperor has found himself new concubines to preoccupy his time with too. Ever the same as he disregards matters of the nation to have innocent girls and conniving concubines lay underneath him. At least you’re untouchable to him now, out of reach and far away. But it comes at a price. You can’t see Seokjin. And you can’t see Jungkook either. Your only connection to him is the swelling of your stomach, a sizable bulge that you can rest your hands against. You miss Jungkook — so much that it hurts to think about. And it’s yearning for him constantly that makes you question your ears when you hear his voice whispering your name one night. But it isn’t your imagination. “J-Jungkook?” “Don’t get up,” he says, shadow laid against the paper walls of your room. Your eyes trace against the black outline, lump forming in your throat at how this is the closest you can get to him. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that in three days, it’s happening. The ministers and other government officials have agreed to turn against the Emperor and Jung Hoseok. They’re going to force him to abdicate.” He did it. Seokjin did it. The realization has tears flooding your vision. “I’ll come for you,” he promises. The tall shadow moves away, but you call out to him before he leaves— “Jungkook.” He stops at the soft enunciation of his name, a beck and call made with emotion. And your heart stutters, knowing that the day your yearning will cease is coming close. “The physician thinks it’s a boy. I do too.” He lingers. If you could see him, you’d find an affectionate smile stretching into his cheeks. Jungkook murmurs, “I hope Minkook will be as handsome as his father and as strong as his mother.” Tears stream down your face. The corner of your lip lifts as Jungkook’s shadow fades. // You count down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. They pass by tediously, but excitement swells in your chest as you consider that in three days time, you will have freedom. A life with Jungkook. Seokjin by your side. Your child in your arms, never to be taken away from you. It’s all you wished for since you stepped foot into the palace. But perhaps even before then. You might’ve never loved Jungkook the way you do now or yearned to hold your healthy baby close to you, yet it has always been clear that doing anything and being anywhere would’ve been better than here. Even with the careful treatment you receive, this isn’t what you want. So you wait. Patiently. For the promised day to arrive. But it’s the day before the expected overthrow that there’s chaos in the middle of the night. “Y/N!” You’re shaken away by Empress Soojin. Her sudden appearance shocks you out of your peaceful slumber and you’re left gasping for breath. But she’s frantic, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets. She’s still in her nightgown, hair in a disarray. The woman holds you by your shoulders, making you rise. “There’s something going on. I—I n-need to bring you to safety.” The Empress guides you upwards, shouldering your weight. Once you’re on your feet again, she grabs a silk overcoat and secures it around your shoulders. “Quickly. There’s no time to waste.” “Your Majesty.” You try to shake the sleepiness away, wondering if it was all a dream. “What’s going on?” One of your hands is held in hers while the other rests underneath your swollen stomach, supporting the heaviness of the baby. “There’s a carriage waiting for you.” There’s yelling from the distance, footsteps on the roof that make your head tilt. But you’re unable to discern what they’re saying, what’s occurring. All you know is that you’re about to be sent away. Without Seokjin — without Jungkook. “Wait.” You struggle to catch up to her pace, confusion inhibiting your movements. Yet she still pulls you along, past the structures and paths shrouded in darkness. “I can’t leave.” “It doesn’t matter,” Empress Soojin says, more serious than you’ve ever had the chance of witnessing. “You have to protect the baby at all costs.” She’s desperate to protect you, to protect your child. She came to you first when she could’ve run on her own and left you asleep. She chose to keep you from harm over her own well-being. Time and time again, Empress Soojin has made sure you were watched over. And the realization makes guilt well up your throat. Your steps slow and your arm tugs her back. “This baby,” you whisper, “it doesn’t belong to who you think it does.” But Empress Soojin’s hand tightens on yours and she turns around. Her brows are drawn together, the corners of her mouth tilted in a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t matter,” she spits in the midst of your shock and continues pulling you. “The child is supposed to be mine. It will be mine. It’s the only way I can be a mother.” Before you can get a single word out, she turns the corner and there are deafening shouts. A clamour of feet stomping against the wooden floorboards, the clinking of heavy armour following grunts— “Stop right there!” “Stand down!” Her voice is unwavering, strong as she pushes you behind her. “I am your Empress—!” But they are Hoseok’s guards. You recognize them from having followed the man around, from standing by during the ceremony and other celebrations you’ve been a spectator to. They have sworn their allegiance to him. Not to Emperor Minseok and most certainly not to Empress Soojin. But she doesn’t seem to understand she’s been caught, that she’s a mouse cornered by two felines. She is naive and continues to scream at them for their disobedience. You try to tug her away, to get her to run, yet her pride is much too strong and you’re yanked away. Sideways. The collar of your coat is taken by the bloodied knuckles of the guard. Stumbling. He clicks his tongue in annoyance at the ear-piercing Empress and in an effort to silence the ordeal, his weapon raises against you. His sword is high in the air, prepared to slash and end this nightmare. Except, his blade never hits you. Even when you shut your eyes, wrap your arms around your stomach to protect your child, hitch your breath, bracing yourself for the cut….. “NO!” Empress Soojin throws herself in front of you, her arms outstretched, allowing herself to take the blow as she is ripped from across her right shoulder to the left hip. She spits blood, warm crimson spewing out and splattering onto your cheeks. The world seems to come to a stop. Your breathing ceases. The guard’s eyes shake for having hacked the Empress herself. Yet she does not yield in spite of the wound that drips blood to the floor in droplets with a steady rhythm, that soaks into her white nightgown, marring the clean colour. She lurches forward, grabbing a torch attached to the wall and shouts, “Stay back!” Her yell is howled out from her throat, jarring to the ears, full of wrath and will. And she throws the torch, allowing searing flames to engulf the corridor. The guards stagger backwards with widened eyes and after a delayed moment, they retreat with profanities before the smoke can engulf their form. Empress Soojin collapses. You drop down to her as sobs wreck through your frame. As calculating and thoughtless as she has been, she has never once been insincere to you. She has never abandoned you. You cradle Soojin’s head into your lap, trying to wipe at her mouth with the sleeve of your silk overcoat. But she bats your arm away. Her hazy eyes remain connected with yours. “P-protect the child…..prom...ise me…” You nod, tears staining your cheeks forevermore. But you stand, finding leverage against the wall that was slowly being consumed by the sweltering fire and you run. As fast as your weak knees allow you to. You leave Soojin behind — laying on the floor — staring up at the ceiling. She dies before being taken by the fire bleeding through the palace. You run, unsure of where to go but away from the uproar of people, the bloodshed and clashing of swords, away from the blazing inferno, collapsing ceilings and smog that chases your shadow. And it’s when you begin to lose breath and come to a four-way path that you nearly collide with another body. A scream tears out of your chest until you find warm, familiar eyes. “Jin?!” Your brother’s hands secure around your shoulders and he lowers himself for your gazes to meet. “Are you alright?” His chest rises and falls, steadying his breathing as well and you notice the sword dangling by his side, unsuitable and much too lanky. Seokjin has always suited brushes and books more than weapons — something you wish you had told him sooner. “I—I’m fine, but Empress Soojin. I...I left her behind and she’s wounded. There’s fire….fire!” “Y/N,” Seokjin calls you calmly and sternly. “Are you okay?” You nod and he sighs, pulling away. “Then that’s all that matters.” “What’s going on, Jin?! I thought the abdication was going to be tomorrow.” “Some of the ministers changed their minds last minute. They decided they wanted to remain loyalists to the Emperor for fear of their families being punished. The revolt has been moved up.” “Revolt?! I thought….I thought they were just going to force him to abdicate!” You didn’t know that there would be such violence. That all of this was planned prior. It makes you queasy. “Sometimes sacrifice is needed,” Seokjin merely states. “But you don’t have to worry. We still have the majority of the ministers’ support. They would’ve still voted in favour of abdicating the Emperor from his throne.” Your brows are drawn tightly together and you shake your head. “What does that mean?” “It means we’re going to win.” Your older brother smiles, his eyes crinkling, a sense of elation evidently filling his features. But you wonder what the cost of the rebellion coming to fruition is. “I know you’re not carrying the Emperor's child. It’s Jungkook’s, isn’t it?” Seokjin searches your expression for any confirmation, but unlike how you thought he would be wary of your relationship with his close friend and the dangers that came along with it, he appears more relieved. “Jungkook told me,” he explains, “and I told him to come find you. Stay here, alright?” “What?” You grab a hold of your older brother before he can run off, before he can disappear with your worry for him being abandoned with you yet again. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to find Hoseok before he can run away. I’m going to give him what he deserves.” Every syllable is spoken with malice, a sharpness and anticipation flooded between each pause. But you hang onto Seokjin, refusing to let go. You gaze at your sibling, his eyes and hair that appear darker in this lack of lighting, the downturn of his mouth, his shoulders and frame that seem to have gotten thinner in the months you haven’t seen him. You’ve missed Jin so much. And at this moment, you don’t care that the fire is spreading through the palace. That there was smoke already spread at the ceiling. Bloodshed and pitched screams not far from where you stand. You turn deaf to those noises, to the crackling of the flames, the uprising’s cry. “Do you really need to do this? Isn’t this enough already?” “No. It’s not. I won’t be satisfied until I know that bastard hasn’t run away.” “Please, Seokjin,” you beg with your entire frame, fingers tightening on his sleeve until your knuckles have turned white. You do all that you can to reach him, begging him, pleading with him as his younger sister. “D-Don’t go. I miss you. We’re….we’re family. I only have you left and I...I don’t want you to go anymore. Stay with me, please. Please, please, that's all I ask.” You remember. Days under the sun where you would follow him. Days he would take dull sticks and poke you incessantly. Days he would piggyback you and tell you stories he made up off the top of his head. That day the two of you hid in the woven baskets and witnessed the massacre of your family until he covered your eyes with his small hands still dirty from picking flowers. “Don’t go.” But Seokjin’s has already made up his mind. All by himself. You can tell with the way his eyes become saddened, how he merely leans in to plant a kiss at your forehead, how he pulls out of your grasps. Seokjin runs off and you try to chase him as if you were still children playing games in the forest. But just like then, he’s faster than you are. “Seokjin!” He runs, disappearing into the darkness. “Jin!” And you’re left alone. Abandoned. Sobbing heart wrenchingly until your whole being aches. “Kim Seokjin!” You call out to him to no avail, watching the backside of your only brother fading away.

Seokjin hears you, loud and clear. But he doesn’t turn around. He twists around the corner, sword slashing anyone who comes in his way. After years of training, it’s no longer difficult to drive his blade into bodies and let their blood splatter on his hands. It’s rather easy when he consumes himself in his hatred and anger. Seokjin kills any guards still wearing the royal emblem or those who have sworn their allegiance to Jung Hoseok, and any ministers who have decided to stay as loyalists. He spares servants, letting them run past him as they cry, begging for mercy. And he persists, even when he has to lurch forward, the gash of his shoulder dripping of his blood and the nicks on his face sting painfully. He makes it to the grand throne room. The red carpet is rolled in front of him, golden candle lights providing piercing luminescence but making his own shadow darker. This is the place that once held extravagant celebrations to welcome the Emperor’s consorts that were disposed of months later, that held dancers and musicians for the entertainment of the ministers, that failed to save the nation from poverty and famine. And now, Seokjin finds Hoseok seated on the throne. The man is alone. Pouring his last cup of wine to drink. “Jung Hoseok!” Seokjin’s voice booms across the hall, his steps finding vigor as they close the distance. “You can’t run anymore!” “I know,” the middle-aged man says after he sips and smacks his lips, savouring the taste of wine. “I know I’ve lost. It must feel good to undermine my position, huh? I should’ve known better than to underestimate you, but those are things of the past. I can’t change them now.” His calmness exasperates Seokjin to his core. And Hoseok rises to his feet, brushing his robes behind him. His arms are placed behind his back as he walks down the steps of the throne, finally facing the younger man. But he isn’t surrendering, far from it when he takes the sword from the stand and points it at Jin. There’s shouting, an ear-splitting clash of metal against the crackle of the flames becoming louder as they seep through the back wall. Hoseok is stiff, age having slowed his movements. He isn’t as agile as Seokjin is, doesn’t have his fervour, but it’s clear to Jin that he’s not going without a fight. That he will never give up out of his own will. Hoseok would rather burn here. “You killed my family!” Seokjin spits when their blades crash against each other again, the older barely able to deflect. The corner of Hoseok’s mouth tugs. “I ended many families.” Seokjin never tells him about the Kim family, about how his father and mother were both executed when knelt on the dirty ground, how his uncles and aunts were brutalized before being murdered, that the servants’ sobs only stopped once their breathing ceases. Seokjin doesn’t tell, just because he has an inkling, a fear that Hoseok won’t even remember. So he lets his grief speak for itself— “You will pay for what you’ve done.” There’s a swing, another clatter. Hoseok stumbles back before lifting his sword again. There’s a chance. An opportunity. Seokjin could deflect, could move away swiftly without a blink to waste, but his eyes instead pinpoint to Hoseok’s open abdomen. A perfect spot and he seizes the moment. He drives the sword forward. Until he can hear the breath in the older man hitch, see the way his pupils tremble. Even when the cost is that Hoseok’s own blade digs into his shoulder and tears it down into his chest. Blood pours like rain on an April afternoon. It drips in a rhythmic beat, coating the empty throne room until the iron stench overwhelms the smoke of the burning, golden walls. Seokjin uses the remaining of his strength to step back, pulling the sword out of Hoseok. The blood-soaked blade crashes to the ground at the same time as Hoseok’s own body collapses. And Jin falls back a moment later. The pool of his blood is warm, the fire enveloping the room sweltering. He stares at the magnificently painted ceiling before shutting his eyes for the final time. The corners of Seokjin’s mouth tugs upwards into a smile. We’ve won, Y/N.

At the same time, you stumble.

The wind knocks out of your lungs as your knees buckle. You’re grabbed by one of Hoseok’s guards, pulled back until your arm feels like it’s being yanked out of its socket. You cry out as agony overwhelms you and the guard wheezes over the exhaust of the fire engulfing the palace and paints the wooden structures into bright scarlet. “She’s here!” he shouts while you struggle. But before you can be taken, dragged towards the center of the palace, there’s a low grunt from the guard. A short shout is made and he suddenly drops, revealing your saviour. Doe eyes and dark hair, his hands splattered in carmine and his brows knitted closely together. “J-Jungkook!” He embraces you in an instant, arms wrapping around your frame for the first time in ages. His nose digs into your hair, your face into his shoulder as you shake. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now,” he soothes you in a murmur that you desperately hang on to. But the intimate moment doesn’t last for long. Jungkook pulls away. “We have to go. There’s an open entrance in the back by the stables.” “Wait—wait, Jungkook! Jin. I couldn’t stop him. He—he went to find...he went to find Jung Hoseok and he went towards the fire. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my only brother. Please go look for him, please,” you beg him, hands tightening on his. “I can’t go without him.” “I know,” Jungkook tells you with lips lopsided. “But I need to make sure you’re safe first. I need to fulfill my promise to him. This is what he wanted, okay?” You nod, putting your trust in him and quicken your pace. The faster you go, the more time they’ll be for Jungkook to return and search for Jin before it’s too late. But as the two of you interlace your hands, running alongside one another, you’re stopped meters away from the circular opening of the wall. “Stop!” Emperor Minseok shouts pathetically. He’s obviously shaken, his hair in a disarray, his once magnificent robes dirtied and fluttering open. He is with two other guards wielding weapons, but without his clothes and servants, it is clear that he is undeserving of his title. He is not an Emperor. “Y-You can’t leave! That child is mine!” Minseok points to your stomach. “This isn’t your child!” you shout back at him and the man seemingly pales, eyes horrified as his mouth drops open. “It has never been.” “You….You!” There’s a clamour above the roar of the fire consuming the entire palace. The last of his guards were coming from the corridor and your hand squeezes Jungkook’s. If you die here, then so be it. But you will do so protecting your child until your very last breath. Yet, Jungkook has other plans and it doesn’t encompass your death. “Run,” he whispers sharply into your ear and you whirl around to look at him. “I’ll hold them off. Run and don’t look back.” “But—” “I love you.” Jungkook smiles. His doe eyes crinkle, shining in the flames bleeding to your feet. “I’ll see you again.” He pushes you forward and your feet move on instinct. You run with your arms wrapped around your swollen center, breaths stolen from your parted lips and your eyes shut tight. The guards swing their swords around, but their blades never touch you. There’s a clatter of metal, blades striking one another. Minseok reaches out to seize you, not letting you get away. But his fingertips merely skim the tips of your hair. You hear his grunt, a smothered sound coming from his mouth, the drop of a body. You run. Out through the entrance. Up the dirt incline until your feet begin to slip. Until the darkness has completely covered your form from sight. Until sheer exhaustion forces you to stop. Against Jungkook’s will, you turn around. You watch as the raging fire engulfs the palace, eating away at the structure that stretches across the horizon, as blazing as the sunlight at dawn itself. And you fall to your knees, sobbing for the people you love.

[Epilogue] The dynasty has fallen. New people have taken over old places and you wonder if it was all futile — if history will repeat itself once more — if Seokjin’s sacrifice has been made in vain. For his sake, you hope not. After the rebellion and riots on the streets by the common people, the loyalists of the old empire have been driven away from the country. But you know there’s few of them that are still after you because of your ties to the rebels. There are those on the uprising’s side that are seeking to kill you too. They believe that your child belongs to the deceased Emperor and many would rather be safe than sorry, not wanting to risk his bloodline being in existence at all. But one look at the babbling baby trying to stand in front of you and his striking doe eyes and dark hair, you know for certain that he is of Jungkook’s blood and bones. “Minkook, what are you doing?” You pick up your mischievous, chubby toddler to place on your hip. His grabby hands take your hair and his mouth circles, trying to sound out syllables and string them together. “M-Mum..mum..mama…” You smile, nuzzling into him. “Are you hungry?” Those who believe you, the ones closest to Seokjin, have chosen to protect you from the threats. After the birth, you were brought to a safe house far from the capital where no one knows your name or your child’s. It’s a modest home on top of a green hill, close to the riverbend and where you can see the sunrise and sunset. It’s peaceful and every morning and evening, you’re able to sit on the steps. Waiting. They told you about Seokjin. You heard that several of them saw his body before the entire palace went up into flames, but there’s been no news of Jungkook. No sighting of him. It’s been eleven months since that time. Six from when Minkook was born. You don’t know Jungkook’s whereabouts, don’t know if he can even find you with where you’re hidden now, how he will manage to get himself here. But you believe in his promise. You trust that you will see him again. “Goodnight, Min.” Your sleepy toddler is unable to keep his eyes open for any longer and succumbs to the seduction of sleep. You plant a tender kiss on the top of his round head and set down on the bed, still softly humming a lullaby that Seokjin had taught you so long ago — a way you keep his memory alive. Once Minkook is secure and safe, your footsteps pad quietly across the floor. You come outside, shutting the door behind you, sitting on the wooden steps. The last light of the sun is fading from the sky. The horizon is painted in murky shades of tangerine and rose, the clouds wispy and floating in shapes that you and your brother once tried to discern as children. Someday, your own children will lay in the grass staring at the sky because of his sacrifice and yours. But for now, you watch the sun fall. You watch as night takes over the evening, how another day has passed. But as you turn to head inside as the sky starts to be filled with stars, your breath hitches in your throat. You blink hard to ensure that it's not a dream. That the illusion has not imprinted into your mind after so much desperation and time. But the sight is all too real when you open your eyes again. Over the horizon at a distance and in the last dwindling light of the evening, there is a man with doe eyes and dark hair approaching. His gaze meets yours and a tender smile stretches into his cheeks. His features are tired as if he has been traveling for days, clothes ragged and ripped. But none of it matters. Jungkook comes closer and closer towards you. And you run, meeting him halfway as tears flood your vision. You leap forward and he laughs, arms catching you in a tight embrace. The two of you are finally reunited at last.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #I know this is pretty wild and different from my other stories #but it's a concept I've been meaning to write for a while #hope y'all can still find it entertaining :D #even if it's on the heavier side

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phantomwarrior12 · 3 years

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Evade (Ch.3)

Chapter 2 (Dire Need)

He's wide awake when she returns.

She’d left him a little before sunrise to go and collect some food and water. She couldn’t find much, just some fruits from an abandoned farm and a small rabbit she’d been able to catch and clean.

He’d been sound asleep when she left. Now, he’s staring up at her as she enters the cave, scrutinizing gaze drifting over her frame. And...he's still shirtless.

“You shouldn’t just disappear like that, Guardian.”

If it were any other situation, she'd tease him - prod him about fretting. But the last few days tell her that he has grounds to. She can hear the concern in his voice, but there's an unfamiliar twinge somewhere in there too. Fear? No. He's a Warlord, fear doesn't seem to be something he feels...or perhaps she's hoping that he simply doesn't possess it. It would mean she'd scared him, genuinely, by leaving.

That thought alone makes her stomach lurch.

She sets down the food, moving to his side and offers him the bottle of water she could find.

His head shifts, a subtle tilt downward and then back up as if looking from the outstretched bottle to her visor. There's an inhale, as if he's starting to say something but she cuts him off with a more insistent offer of the bottle and he finally takes it.

She pulls back, moving to grab the firewood she'd gathered earlier and begins to rebuild the fire that had died out as she was leaving this morning. They'll need to spend the day here, at the very least. He needs to regain some semblance of his strength. She can't carry him much further.

She rubs at her knee for a moment, the bruises from the day before aching in her crouched position. She doesn't turn when she hears the soft hiss of Lord Shaxx removing his helmet.

"Guardian."

There's something soft and warm about hearing his voice beyond the confines of his helmet. For a moment, they're in the Tower, curled up in bed. For a moment, she's cradled against his chest, his words reverberating through her while her head is tucked beneath his chin. For a moment, as fleeting as it is, she's safe.

But the flames catching and igniting before her, the smokey scent hitting her nose - it all grounds her and she turns her head slightly in his direction.

"You can...turn around. You know that, yes?" He sounds confused, she doesn't blame him.

She isn't sure she could explain it herself. Seeing the shadowed curves of his face beyond the moonlight, it...perhaps it would make things all the more real? Perhaps, she clings to this - this barrier between those nights in the Tower and hell they both reside in now.

To see his face now would be to lose the significance of those nights...or at least she thinks that's what it is. Whatever the reason, it's no doubt significant yet menial all at once. It could be as simple as she'd feel weird being one of the few who are permitted to see the Titan's face in its entirety. That list is a short one to be sure and she's not sure she's allowed to be on it.

His voice draws her from her thoughts and she straightens her back slightly from its hunched position.

"Did you hear me?"

She nods solemnly before turning back to the fire, occupying herself with stoking the tiny flames with a stick.

"So long as you know, " he says softly.

The silence that follows is uneasy. Nagging and anxious all at once. It's the kind of silence she dearly wishes he would break. But there is only the crackling of sparks and the sloshing of water as the bottle rises and fall from his lips to his lap.

Say something.

It dances through her mind like a broken record, two little words that feel like the only lifeline she has. His voice has always brought her comfort, without it, the world is deafeningly quiet and she hates it. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes drag on ever longer as she cooks up the rabbit she'd caught. All the while, the Warlord remains silent save for the occasional grunt of pain when he repositions his stiffened body.

What she doesn't expect is for him to stand. For him to shuffle to her side and sit down with no small amount of effort. She almost feels bad for not telling him to stay put against the wall, but movement, although small, will do him good. She starts to lift her head to look at him when she catches a glimpse of his jawline and realizes he didn't put his helmet back on.

Why was last night such an issue then? She could have just had him remove his helmet - unless she'd presumed wrong. Perhaps it was a non-issue for him. But then again, he made no initiative to suggest the removal of his helmet either.

Regardless, her head drops immediately, glimpsing his exposed torso once again before settling on the ground.

If he notices, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, tucking her against his side and utterly confusing the Hunter.

"We should be able to get another few miles in after we eat."

You need to rest. It's what she wants to tell him, but the words die on her tongue and she nods instead.

"Are you alright? Ghost tells me you fell from Ghaul's ship. Surely there are injuries?"

He's not wrong.

But how should she begin to describe the litany of bruises, cuts and likely a few torn ligaments scattered throughout her body. She's genuinely surprised she hadn't broken anything in the fall, and if she had, she had yet to notice. Her ribs ache but she blames that on the concrete she'd landed on. He's in worse shape, there is no question about that.

"Talk to me, Guardian," he prods gently.

If she could, she would have by now. Perhaps that's another thing to add to the list of injuries from the fall - no voice.

She takes his hand, squeezing it tightly. She can't manage words no matter how hard she tries and she fears how he may interpret that without knowing of the damage. For a moment, she sits indecisive. It must be done. She nudges him to ensure she has his attention before gesturing to her throat.

"...you can't speak?" He asks after a moment.

She 's surprised he surmised that so quickly and she nods her head in silent confirmation, keeping her eyes focused on their entwined hands. His fingers tighten around hers, offering a firm squeeze.

"I'm sorry," he says softly and she shrugs.

She hadn't spoken much to begin with, what's one more inconvenience in all of this?

"Guardian!"

She hears the steady rumble before Ghost even alerts her and she's on her feet. She grabs her rifle with her free hand, starting to move toward the mouth of the cave before she realizes the Warlord has yet to release her hand. She's startled when he tugs her back. It'd be comical if the situation weren't so dire. Her head snaps upward, suddenly face to face with him - or rather, face to helmet.

"I suppose that's one way to get you to look at me," he tries a smile and she glares from beyond her visor.

She supposes the reason for avoiding the sight of his face truly was menial after all.

She tries to jerk her hand free, the rumble growing louder in the distance. But his hold is firm and his features show no sign of letting up. She gestures to the mouth of the cave insistently and he shakes his head.

"Whatever it is, you're in no condition to face them."

"She may not have a choice. They're getting closer." Ghost supplies with an edge of panic.

She shakes her head, setting down the rifle and rest her hand over his and squeezes. It's the only reassurance she can offer in that moment, she doesn't have time for this - she needs to move now if she's going to keep them both alive.

"Guardian--" he whispers, his eyes betraying the concern he's feeling.

Her hand lifts, cupping his cheek gently and he seems to understand the weight of the situation. She is all that stands between their inevitable deaths and those Cabal. His fingers go slack around hers and she leans her head against his. Cool steel meets the warmth of his skin along his forehead before she pulls back abruptly and dashes to the mouth of the cave. She slides to a stop, poised in a crouched position, eyes scanning the treeline for danger.

Oh no--

A Cabal squadron. Couple Psions, a few Phalanx and her stomach drops. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be an issue. But she's low on ammo and grenades. She tosses a look over her shoulder at Lord Shaxx - he's replaced his helmet and has a machine gun propped against his thigh as he gazes back at her.

At least he won't be defenseless...shirtless and all. She muses, shifting her gaze back to the treeline. She takes a deep breath, signaling Shaxx the number of targets before slipping out of the cave. There was a vantage point she'd found this morning - she can use that, perhaps even handle all of this long range. They're headed straight for the cave, perhaps they've managed to track her or perhaps it's a coincidence. Either way, they need to act and then get the hell out of there.

As the squad moves closer, the Young Wolf climbs to the vantage point above the mouth of the cave. There are some branches overhanging it that she can use to her advantage if it comes to close combat, but this is a terrible idea.

She shifts into position, peering through the scope of her scout rifle. The marker drifts over each target.

The Phalanx are a problem. Their shields are often easy enough to work around, especially with a sword. But this time, she's stuck at long range. The target on their shields to deactivate them would be easy enough to hit, but can she disable all of them before the Psions zeroed in on her position? If she could rely on Shaxx - no. Not in his current state. She'll handle this. His involvement is last resort.

Her scope drifts to the smaller creatures. Psions pose their own threat - laser accurate bolts of energy that usually just impact her shields. But she has no shields; a blast from one of them will be enough to kill her. Not to mention the Phalanx moving into position to protect the Psions after she potentially handles one or two. And once they're covered, her job becomes significantly more complicated - especially if they get too close to the cave and see the Titan she's trying to hide.

Her head hangs as a defeated sigh slips out. She has two options - two ways of tempting fate and she hates the potential outcomes of both.

What she wouldn't give for a blade barrage right now.

Her eyes lift and settle on the patrol once more. She supposes its too much to hope they'll just ignore the stream of...smoke. That's how they found us. She silently curses her negligence and tightens her hold on her the rifle. This needs to be handled.

What she doesn't expect to hear is abrupt eruption of machine gun fire piercing the air. She lifts her head from her scope, looking down and spotting the Crucible Handler taking out one of the Phalanx with his weapon.

Dammit. She repositions quickly, peering through the scope and takes out two of the Psions as they power up their rifles for a shot. Another Phalanx extends his shield around the surviving squadron and she lines up the central trigger along the outside of the shield. The shot lands and the Phalanx stumbles, his shield faltering and Lord Shaxx takes the opportunity to open fire once more.

They're dead before they hit the ground.

The Young Wolf darts down from her cover, boots skidding against stone and soil, tucking and rolling when she trips in her rush and gets to her feet in one fluent motion. Shaxx leans against the cave wall, his free arm braced along his ribs as his gaze turns from their fallen adversaries to the Hunter barreling toward him.

She stops just short of him, rifle slung over her shoulder, head turning and darting as she searches the makeshift bandages for blood and the rest of him for any further damage. Her hands are poised in an uncertain half-raise; she's certain he can sense her panic.

You could've gotten yourself killed. What were you thinking! It tears through her mind with a silent rage, her hands finally coming to rest on his shoulders and she jostles him harshly. It'd be more effective if he didn't tower over her, but she's certain it emphasizes the very point she can't utter.

She isn't prepared for the soft chuckle that greets her ears.

"I'm alright, dearest," he says gently, the gun clattering as he leans it against the wall and touches her right arm. "I'm okay."

She stares up at him for a long moment, the flare of rage and panic ebbing beneath his touch. The term of endearment doesn't even register as she stares back at him. Her vice grip eases, her head drops against his chest, her frame visibly trembling as she fights for composure.

He could have died. This was her fault. He was in no condition to fight and she--

"Breathe," he says at last, fingers drifting to her helmet, hooking just beneath her chin and tilts her head back to meet his gaze. There's a certain playfulness in his tone as he speaks, leaning his helmet down against hers with a soft metallic clink. "You're always pleasantly viscous, Guardian. It's a delight."

She snorts, a small smile breaking along her features and she sags into him.

Disarmed again. Damn you.

"I'm afraid our breakfast burnt itself up while we were otherwise occupied." He teases, lightly skidding his helm against hers before pulling back to look at her.

She opens her eyes when he straightens up, looking from him to the flame-engulfed rabbit and her shoulders sag in annoyance. She elbows him in the side, forgetting for a moment he's injured until he tries to conceal his very visible flinch.

Her shoulders shake in a silent laugh as she pats his shoulder apologetically.

"I don't detect an ounce of regret from you," Lord Shaxx laughs, rubbing at the sore spot she'd left.

She feigns an innocent shrug and moves to step past him. His hand snaps out, catching hold of her bicep and gently maneuvers her against the wall. His other hand simultaneously removes his helmet and the reality of the situation hits her all at once.

The Young Wolf goes rigid, breath catching in her throat as she takes in his features in the sunlight. The shadows she's seen don't do him justice. She wants to trace every inch, memorize it. She wants to stare into those intense eyes for hours. She could get lost if she's not careful, she can't afford to - but he's so close. Even through her armor, she can feel the warmth radiating from him. Are you sure you lost your Light, Shaxx? Or are you always this--

The moment beside the fire flares in the back of her mind and she tentatively lifts her hand. Fingers ghost along a deep-ridged scar over his brow and his eyes flutter shut beneath her touch. She relaxes, a warmth creeping into her gaze beneath her helmet as she traces down over his cheek bone to cradle his jaw. Her heart soars as he inclines his head into her touch, turning just enough to press a kiss to the palm of her glove.

Shaxx--

His name dies on her lips and she can only stare up at the Titan who's managed to do time and time again what others could not: keep a Hunter in one place.

The instinct to kiss him hits her with no prior warning. Perhaps it's the adrenaline. Perhaps every emotion she's kept at bay has struck her at once after all this. Perhaps not. To hell with figuring it out right now. She starts to lift her own helmet with her free hand, noting the way his eyes dart to the movement just before--

"Guardian. I hate to break up...whatever this is," Ghost floats between the two Guardians, forcing them a few inches apart with a startled jolt, "But those Cabal will surely be missed. We need to get moving."

"Seconded." Shaxx's ghost supplies firmly.

Shaxx chuckles softly, his large hand taking hers from his jaw and she wants to voice her protests at the interruption until the Titan presses another kiss to her palm. "Our Ghosts are right. We need to move."

The fight drains as quickly as it arose as she stares up at him and nods. She gently slips her fingers from his and heads back into the cave to retrieve her cloak. She beckons him to follow. He needs to get dressed after all. Too much of a distraction, er...target. He'd be too much of a target. That's it. He'd lack any protection should they come across another patrol. She doesn't think they'll get lucky twice with with an ambush. The Warlord needs to be able to protect himself. That's all.

Not that he can't. The little display just prior proved her point moot but still, whatever lie she can tell herself to keep something resembling composure. She stoops to pick up her cloak, securing it in place and drapes the hood over her head. She goes to turn only for Shaxx to playfully tug it down over her eyes and she stumbles back half a step in surprise. She trips over his chestplate, losing her balance - and then she's steady. There's a warm appendage wound around her waist and something soft yet firm pressed against her armored chest that can only be the skin of his chest. He'd tugged her flush against him. She's sure it's an excuse to have her close as she jerks the hood back to look up at the Titan indignantly.

Of course, it doesn't do her any good. He can't see her face but the tilt of his head and the smug smile along his lips tells her he knows damn well what look he's earned and he's reveling in every second of it. She reaches up, lightly tapping his cheek scoldingly - the safest bet given how damaged the rest of him seems to be before swatting his arm away from her waist.

He retreats half a step with a soft chuckle, "You seem annoyed, Guardian."

I can't imagine why. She snorts, picking up his shirt and throws it at him as her only outward reaction to his words. He laughs again and she can't quite quell the smile.

Child. Joking at a time like this.

She reprimands him mentally, as if she hadn't just been two seconds from letting him...well, distract her anyway he liked. She shakes her head, the image dissipating as she picks up his chest plate and turns to face him.

Emerald eyes track over his torso, noting the dried crimson along blue fabric with disdain. He'll need a new undersuit after this.

"Are you going to help me with my armor or simply stare?" Lord Shaxx taunts, an edge of affection in his voice.

She's not staring...just observing. But she moves forward nonetheless. No more distractions. They have to go.

But there is a problem.

Lord Shaxx is over seven foot tall. Taking his armor off was easy enough seated, but upright? Hoisting heavy metal up while he stumbles into it? The brief battle had taken its toll. She can read the exhaustion settling back over him. He must have been all adrenaline up until now. There's more of a hobble to his shuffle and her smile falters, heavy chestplate dropping to the ground with a metallic clatter. She watches the first step of a stumble and she darts forward, bracing him.

It takes more strength than she'd like, doing all she can to keep him upright. Her head turns toward his Ghost and the Little Light begins a scan of the Warlord.

"Nothing serious...well, more so than it was before. But he's exhausted. If we weren't in a hurry--"

The Young Wolf nods, carefully guiding Lord Shaxx to one of the boulders and helps him sit. Once she's sure he won't tip over, she scampers back over to his armor and picks up the chestplate again. It's slow going, but she manages to get it back onto him and secure it. The pauldrons are easy enough but his head drops to her shoulder by the time she's lacing up the second gauntlet.

"You should...try and find some help. I'll only slow you down," he murmurs.

She holds his hand, squeezing it firmly in protest.

"Guardian--"

She steps a little closer, her other hand settling over his head, fingers threading into his hair and almost pressing him closer against her shoulder.

"Dearest," he whispers and this time - this time the term registers.

She looks down, fingers loosening ever so slightly. He can feel the shift, she knows he can because his head lifts. His eyes are curious, warm yet uncertain as he gazes up at her.

"What is it?"

How does she begin to explain? How can she explain with no voice?

You called me...dearest. She stares down at him, the words on the tip of her tongue but when her lips part to form the first word - silence.

It frustrates her. She's trapped in her own mind. There is no signal she can give him. No tilt of her head. No shift of her body. No way of writing what she wants so desperately to tell him.

Ask me something I can answer. Please. Her visor acts as a veil, concealing the desperation in her eyes. She - doesn't think of that. Too enraptured beneath his gaze. She pries her hand from his, though his vice grip is reluctant to surrender. He must think he's upset her with the way his frame almost wilts at the loss of her touch.

No. She works off her glove. Perhaps now isn't the most ideal time to tackle this, but she has to know. They've danced around one another for months - years even. They share a room. A bed for Traveler's sake. But they've never crossed that threshold. That carefully maintained line between...whatever the hell this is and a realm of emotions she's been terrified to address.

If this...emotion were one-sided, with their immortality, she'd lose him forever. But they're mortal now. Whether it's permanent or not - she won't be able to live with herself if something happens and he doesn't know what he means to her.

The second glove comes off with a harsh tug and the Warlord's expression is that of utter confusion, staring up into her visor as if it holds the answer he's searching for.

To hell with this.

She all but tears her helmet off, startling both Ghosts and Titan alike. Lord Shaxx takes in her features and she is motionless beneath his gaze. She cannot speak but she prays the fear and ache and desperation in her eyes are enough for him to understand.

Please.

The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity before he reaches for her. Leather-bound fingers curl around her wrist and tug her closer so that she's standing between his legs and gazing back at him with a whisper of hope etched into her features.

"Have I upset you?" He asks at last.

She shakes her head, lifting her free hand hesitantly. Fingertips ghost over the scar along his brow again, trailing down another marred ridge to his jawline.

Relief flares in his eyes and she can almost breathe until his next question.

"Was...I out of line?"

She's never heard him ask something so tentatively before. Never seen that sort of uncertainty in his eyes. He's...scared of her answer.

By all rights, a simple shake of her head could have sufficed but even that feels insufficient for the situation. They've played this game too long. Not even words would hold the correct weight. She doesn't even hesitate to cradle his cheek and tilt his head up. It's instinctual and impulsive but she doesn't care.

She kisses him.

He's startled at first. She can feel it in the way his form goes rigid, the way he almost jolts at the contact and damn near pulls away. Perhaps it was a mistake - but could she really have misread that--

His hand makes contact with the side of her neck. Large hands mold themselves to her and gently guide her onto his lap as he returns her kiss.

There's her answer.

At last.

But as all things are, the moment is short lived. Their Ghosts, after recovering from their little gawking exchange, have reminded them of the stakes by interrupting with a number of bumps against their shoulders.

"We need to get moving." Lord Shaxx rests his forehead against hers as they catch their breath.

She nods, eyes closed as the reality settles over her. She wants to ignore this. Wants to ignore the blatant tension of the situation if only for a moment while she sits in his lap. Her arms wrap around his neck and she hugs him. She nuzzles into the side of his neck and just...stays there for a few minutes.

Whatever those feelings, she doesn't have a word for them, he reciprocates them. He's holding onto her as if she is life itself and it's all the assurance she needs.

"I'm here," he whispers, gently rubbing her back, "I have you."

She presses into him silently, her eyes closed as she allows herself - if only for a moment - to get lost in his touch.

But then she's pulling away, sliding off his lap and picking up his helmet to hold it out to him.

He looks from the outstretched helmet to her features before nodding solemnly.

"It's time to go."

-----------------------

Chapter 4 (Two Sides)

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