#this technically is a me thing ofc. but with the ask coming - from my pov - out of the blue & with no context to me. yea I let my demons wi | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ladamedusoif · 2 years ago

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Visiting - Chapter 7: Forget Who We Are

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: As the semester winds to a close, and Lydia and Ben prepare to go their separate ways for the holidays, it's time to face facts about what happened at Thanksgiving - and indulge in some holiday cheer.

Word Count: 11.4k (it's worth it)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+) - for real.

Content (chapter specific): Smut; Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia turns 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; fingering; oral sex (F and M receiving); praise kink; tongue-in-cheek size kink; discussions of sexual health and explicit consent; Ben and Lyd are consent masters; safe but technically unprotected PiV sex (talk about it first, people); creampie; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; references to the holidays; did I mention the smut?; tiny bit of angst for good measure; smutty mcsmutterson.

A/N: The title of this chapter is taken from Father John Misty's song "Real Love Baby", which - to quote @julesonrecord - has become one of the songs for this pair of idiots as they come to terms with what they feel about each other. I listened to this a lot while drafting and writing this chapter.

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I'd also recommend the classic "Fall at Your Feet" by Crowded House as a song with an appropriate vibe for this chapter. (God, I love this song so much.)

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("Who knows where that might lead?" jeez alright Neil Finn hit me in the feels, why don't you?)

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul (I mean that!)

And I'm extra pleased to be posting this important chapter this week, given that OG SNL Ben, the character that got into my head and made me think "imagine that man as a college professor of literature", is technically now Emmy-nominated.

They're idiots, the love might be requited, but they still have a long way to go, trust me.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3 (got delayed this week because of The Attack!)

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for loving Bendie as much as I do, and for being patient sounding boards as I work out how to tell this vital part of their story.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

“So you’re in at what time tomorrow?”

“It’s not tomorrow, mom, it’s the day after tomorrow. Actually, it might be the day after the day after tomorrow with the time difference? Let me check, I’ll confirm later.”

You’re discussing the final arrangements for your flight home for the holidays with your mother by phone, while simultaneously checking over your end-of-semester to-do list.

There’s always a certain giddiness in the air - tempered with panic, as everyone tries to get as much work as possible wrapped up - as the first semester winds to a close for the winter holidays and the student body starts to thin out, and Barrow is no exception. All that’s left on the calendar are two events, happening tomorrow: the Founders’ Luncheon, a formal event considered a vital part of the college’s fundraising activity; and - much more importantly, from a faculty staff perspective - the informal annual staff holiday party, held in the evening.

You zone out a little as your mother starts telling you how busy she is with the preparations for the holidays. Looking through the glass panel in your door, you see a familiar figure standing further down the hallway, glasses dangling from his mouth as he opens his office door while juggling a stack of books.

A little smile creeps across your face, but there’s an ache in your chest: yearning tempered with uncertainty. You haven’t actually seen Ben in person since Thanksgiving. He’d been away at a big comparative literature conference in the south, and by the time he’d got back you were leaving for New York, where you were speaking at a week-long conference on eighteenth-century art.

You’d been in touch, though. While you were both away, you kept up the constant back-and-forth of messages that you’d grown used to over the last couple of months, a steady stream of jokes and gifs and selfies and commentary on everything: from the books you were reading to the shows you were watching, to the most mundane, everyday experiences.

Well, almost everything. In all of those exchanges, neither of you had ever brought up Thanksgiving, or the accidental, sort-of “kiss” that had haunted your dreams and fantasies over the last couple of weeks.

Ben turns just as he’s about to go into his office. He smiles, raises a hand, and gives you a little wave

“Hey there, stranger.”

He’s there at your door, a mug of coffee in each hand, as usual, and a soft, if nervous, smile on his face.

“Hey stranger, yourself.” You take your coffee gratefully and sit back in your desk chair. “Why does it feel like I haven’t seen you in forever?”

Ben shrugs and leans against the doorframe. “Conferences, travel - and I guess it feels longer because we’ve seen each other pretty much every workday, right?” He takes a substantial sip from his mug, and looks at you. “I can’t stay, I’ve got a supervision meeting, but, um, how have you been? How was the conference?”

You throw your head back and flail your hands excitedly. “Oh my god, it was amazing! Full disclosure - I might have skipped the occasional session because I was in New fucking York. But it was so worth it. And the paper seemed to go well, so - all good. How was yours?”

He exhales and shakes his head, rolling his eyes for comic effect. “The paper was a rushed job, I was basically in a hotel in Louisiana for four days, my daily treat was a trip to the CVS across the road, as you know - but yeah, the discussions were good, the work was interesting…” He raises an eyebrow and smiles mischievously. “Still - clearly I should have become an art historian purely for the conference locations.”

Neither of you seems willing - or able - to bring up the elephant in the room. Perhaps you just didn’t need to talk about it. You’d both seemed surprised by the “kiss”. You both seemed to understand it as unintentional. Maybe further discussion was unnecessary.

You reach into your desk drawer to retrieve a pack of luridly-frosted holiday cookies. “Hey, take a couple of these for that meeting. You need the extra sugar and artificial ingredients to get you to the end of the semester.”

Ben’s face lights up. He walks over to the desk and takes two of the cookies, holding them in his big palm carefully. “Damn right I do.” He looks down at you, and you feel the smile spreading across your face at the sight of those eyes at close quarters.

You take a deep breath. “Ben, I -”

A knock at your office door, still ajar. To your surprise, it’s David.

“Hi Lyd, hi Ben - I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Not at all,” Ben reassures him. “I was just leaving.” He turns back to face you before he leaves the office. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyddie, at the luncheon?”

You nod. “And the holiday party. For god’s sake, don’t forget about the party or Susan might kill you.”

He grins, pats David on the shoulder, and wanders down the hall to his office. David closes your office door and sits in the chair in front of your desk.

You extend the pack of cookies towards him. “Help yourself and try not to think about the amount of edible glitter involved. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

David gingerly picks up a cookie shaped like a snowman. “I’ve been up with Evan this week, and realised I wouldn’t see you before you go home,” he explains, nibbling a little of his cookie. “I wanted to call by and wish you safe travels and happy holidays.”

Before you can start to return the sentiment he puts up a hand, gently.

“There is something else. Lydia, can I say something to you? Between us. It will never leave this room.”

You shift in your chair. “Sure, of course - oh shit. Is… is Evan okay?”

David smiles and nods, reassuring you. “He’s fine. It’s not about Evan, actually. It’s about you.”

You feel your eyebrows shoot upwards.

“Well, really… it’s about you. And Ben.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck.

You get a sudden, strong memory of David in the cab on the night of your birthday drinks, looking at you intently as Evan confirmed that Ben was single, contrary to Amy’s rumour mongering.

What did he know?

“Oh, okay. Okay.”

“I don’t know how else to put this, Lyd, but I think that man - I think Ben has feelings for you. Strong feelings.”

You feel your face heat and your mouth start to dry up. There might even be tears pricking your eyes. You try as best you can to control your breathing.

“David, no. I don’t think so. He’s never done anything to suggest otherwise, and he’s had the chance, so -”

David tilts his head to one side, his eyes kind and serious.

“Lydia, I’m a theatre scholar. I study bodies and expressions for a living. I know what’s real, and I know what’s performed. And I’ve seen you two together enough, and heard each of you talk about the other enough times, to know that he has real feelings for you.” He looks at you intently. “And… to be fairly certain that you have feelings for Ben, too.”

The pricking sensation has turned to real tears, rolling heavy and slow down your cheeks.

“Please, please don’t tell Evan.”

David crosses to your side of the desk and wraps an arm around you. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.” He hugs you as you protest that Ben just wants to be your friend, that he couldn’t possibly want someone like you, and then pulls away, looking at you face on.

“All that might be true. Maybe. But…just see. See what happens if you let the light in, just a little. You might be surprised.”

Before you leave work that evening, you pop into the main faculty office, a small, festively-wrapped parcel in your hands. Susan barely notices you pass, wrapped up in counting glasses and bottles of wine for the party the next day.

You scan the rows of cubbyholes, each one labelled in alphabetical order for a staff member, until you find it:

B.E. Morales

You place the little parcel on top of a couple of academic publisher catalogues, addressed to Ben.

A couple of rows above his, you notice something in your own mailbox: a gift box with a Post-It on top.

Another explanatory Post-It, you think, placing the box in a tote bag.

A very small Christmas gift, if you have room in your suitcase. - B.

You bring it home and place it carefully in your hand luggage.

Your invite to the Founders’ Luncheon had arrived just before Thanksgiving: a small, gold-edged cream-coloured card with the event details printed on it in elegant black lettering.

“Does everyone attend this?” you’d asked Susan, studying the invite carefully.

She shook her head. “A select few. We usually nominate the visiting professor to attend, though - so be prepared to smile and gladhand anyone who looks like they might be willing to donate to support the diversity and inclusion project. Or maybe even a new wing for the library, if you’re extra convincing.”

You hummed thoughtfully, wondering what you could dredge up from your wardrobe that would be formal enough for the luncheon and still be appropriately festive for the party later the same day.

“You’ll have at least one familiar face there, though,” Susan added, stacking a pile of freshly-copied course materials. “Ben’s been asked to deliver the address that kicks off proceedings - trying to get philanthropic support for the diversity stuff he’s been working on. He’s nervous as all hell about it - you can imagine - but I think he’ll be pleased to know he has you there for moral support.”

In the end, you’d plumped for a crimson vintage-style swing dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a cross-over neckline: demure enough to wear to the lunch and look like a Serious Intellectual, but ready to be dressed up with some well-chosen holiday accessories for the party later.

Though Ani insisted it was nothing fancy, everyone seemed extremely excited for the holiday shindig: a gathering of colleagues in one of the bigger teaching rooms in the building, fuelled by eggnog, wine, and party food. You had already heard in detail about Evan’s carefully-curated playlists. It seemed like the perfect way to blow off a little steam after a busy semester.

The party was due to start about 5pm, but first there was a formal lunch to contend with. All morning, you’d been silently repeating ‘elevator pitches’ about your work, the importance of the progress already made in diversity and inclusion, and the resources the college needed to continue it. Visitor or not, you were ready to do your best with the wealthy donors who might write a fat cheque - and get a tax break in return.

You’re running over the list of talking points in your head as you meander down the corridor on your way to your office, about an hour before the luncheon is due to begin.

“Motherfucker!”

The loud swearing stops you in your tracks. His door is ajar. You knock lightly.

“Come in.” Ben turns, sounding frustrated, but brightens and visibly relaxes when he realises it’s you.

“Oh, hi Lyd! Sorry, I’m just…” He stops and runs his eyes over you from top to toe. “Wow, you look…great.”

You can feel your face burning, and try to deflect from his words. “So do you. I mean… you’re all fancy.”

He’s dressed more formally than you’ve ever seen before. A white button-down shirt, slim navy dress pants, black lace-up Oxfords. The collar of his shirt is turned up, and he’s holding the source of his irritation: a dark green tie.

Oh, fuck me. He looks so good.

He exhales sadly. “I can do this without a mirror - usually. But it’s like I can’t remember how to do it today, and I think I’m losing it.”

“Might also be because you’re thinking about the speech, no?”

He sighs and looks a little sheepish. “You know me too well, Lyddie.”

You feel heat spread at the nape of your neck. Pull yourself together.

“Can I help at all? With the tie? I could act as your mirror, or help to get it right…”

His eyes light up and he drapes the tie around his neck again. “Oh, please? I need to run through the address one more time and I’m already late. Here: it’s probably quicker if you just do it for me at this stage.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Your instinctive need to help had overridden whether or not you could actually cope with this: physical proximity, first of all, but then having to tie Ben’s tie? With all the intimate domesticity it implied? It could end you there and then.

You take a deep breath and move a little closer, taking each end of the tie in your hands.

“I can literally do one knot, so I hope this is what you’re after,” you say, and he laughs lightly. You begin to knot his tie, muscle memory kicking in from your school days, when a tie was part of your convent school uniform. By necessity, you’ve had to edge closer still to him, and you can feel his dark eyes burning into you as he watches your fingers work.

David’s words from the day before continue to run through your brain on a permanent loop.

Let the light in, just a little.

You look at Ben through your lashes, mouth drying and a telltale throb fluttering through your core.

“Hope I’ve done this right. I’ll just adjust it and then I can take a picture so you can check.” You tighten the knot slightly and work it up towards the hollow of his neck, eyes trailing up to meet his gaze.

Let the light in.

You bring your hands up to fold down his collar and, almost without thinking, graze your fingertips off the grey patches that you love so much, just at the corners of his jaw.

Ben closes his eyes for a moment, and you can see his breathing speeding up slightly. He swallows hard.

“I meant it.”

You fold down the collar and adjust the knot, praying that your heart will stop beating quite so quickly and that the ache between your legs will dissipate. Still, you don’t stop touching him, bringing your right hand to rest lightly on his chest, just over his heart.

“Meant what?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “I meant it. On Thanksgiving. I…meant to kiss you.”

Your eyes widen and your features soften in understanding. “Ohhhh.”

He brings one hand up and places it over yours. “I know you didn’t mean it, you went in for a kiss on the cheek and - I’m sorry, I just have to tell you, Lyd. I… I wanted to. And I should have kept kissing you, the way I wanted to.”

With his free hand, he strokes your cheek with his long fingers, the warm span of his palm carefully cupping your jaw as if you’re the most delicate thing in the world.

You smile shyly, reciprocating his gesture as you stroke your thumb along the scruff on his jaw. “I was going in for a kiss on the cheek…but I meant it, too. I wish I’d been braver that night.” You giggle. “And yes, you should definitely have kept kissing me.”

For an instant you remember the defences you’ve built up around yourself: around your heart and your soul. They were a protection and a comfort, a suit of armour deflecting even the slightest possibility of future pain and loss. You cannot be hurt or disappointed if you never expect anything. Never let anyone in.

But even the best armour is not completely impenetrable. The first weakness was exposed the day you realised what you actually felt for this man, even if you could barely admit it to yourself.

Smiling softly, Ben drops his arm to your waist to pull you close to him, continuing to caress your cheek with his free hand. “You…you’re so beautiful. I…”

His tongue darts fleetingly across his lips, as if he’s looking at a delicious morsel, and it’s enough to make you almost feral with sheer desire.

He angles his head slightly, gently nudging at your nose with his. His soft, pink lips meet yours, slightly open, in a warm, perfect kiss.

With a light moan, your tongue immediately seeks entrance to his mouth. He tastes of peppermint and coffee, of sweetness and bitterness all at once. You reach for his tie, not breaking the kiss, and gently tug him along with you as you walk backwards towards the wall of his office until he’s almost pressing you into it.

As he kisses you ever more deeply, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in, tight as he can to his body, slowly moving his hands over your back and hips, and trailing his fingertips across your ass. In return, you run your hands through his hair and stroke your fingers down one side of his neck, eliciting a groan from him, before breaking away to wrap your arms around the broad span of his back.

You have felt his warm body before, when you’d hugged, but this was something else entirely. No need to worry about whether you’d lingered a little too long in his arms. No need to suppress the desires that had haunted and tormented you. Now it was time to express them.

Ben breaks off the kiss momentarily, pausing to look at you with those intelligent, sensitive, coffee-brown eyes. A wide grin spreads across his handsome face. You feel his cock pressing, half-hard, against you in his dress pants. The sensation sends another wave of wetness to your centre.

“What are you smiling at, Professor?”

“You. Beautiful, gorgeous you.”

It’s all you can do to stop the happy tears from falling. Instead, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him in for a deep kiss, hungrily tasting each other. He breaks away and moves his mouth to your neck, pulling a moan of desire from you that’s probably louder than was wise in a workplace.

He’s working his way down to your collarbone when your eyes snap open and you freeze. Ben looks at you with concern.

“Are you okay? Is this too much? We can stop. We can slow down. Whatever you…”

You shake your head frantically. “I wish we didn’t have to stop but, Ben: the fucking luncheon!”

His eyes widen in panic. “Oh, FUCK! FUUUUUCK! What time is it? Fuck fuck fuck -”

You look at your phone and try to calm him down. “You’re fine, you’ve got like twenty minutes before it starts. Hey,” you reach for his hand, “remember the message of Hitchhiker’s Guide? Don’t Panic. And maybe relax a bit, so you’re not… visible. Ahem.”

He raises an eyebrow and laughs. His breathing slows a little, and he squeezes your hand gratefully before planting a final, chaste kiss to your lips. “I’ll see you over there. Might be a bit late for the holiday party, depending on how many people they want me to meet after, but we can, uh, pick up where we left off?”

He looks so sweet and so painfully shy that you almost can’t believe this is the same man who was pushing you into a wall and kissing you like his life depended on it only a few minutes before.

You lean in for just one more kiss. “Abso-fucking-lutely we can.”

His address to the luncheon is, unsurprisingly, brilliant. Erudite, warm, funny: infused with the passion you saw him bring to his work and to his subject every day. He is so talented: he wears his learning lightly, his natural charm working to hook the audience in and hang on his every word.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he looks so gorgeous up there at the podium: smart suit, curls neater than usual (you suspect he’d run some wax through his hair after you left him), and that tie.

That fucking tie. You can’t even look at it, because it immediately sends your brain right back to the feeling of tugging it to pull him against you, to the taste of him, to the way his big hands roved over you, gentle but needy, to the way his body revealed just how turned on he’d become by kissing and touching you.

Fuck. You try to ignore the ache between your legs, choosing to focus instead on the handsome man at the podium.

You listen attentively to Ben making a powerful case to the large hall full of wealthy donors for the importance of making arts and humanities education accessible. The room fills with applause as he brings his address to a close, and you clap as loud as you can, looking at him with a broad smile on your face. As he walks across the stage, he turns and spots you.

“Was it okay?” He mouths the words towards you.

You nod enthusiastically, and give a subtle thumbs up. He does a tiny air punch, and grins at you as he disappears off stage.

“I’ve switched up the playlists - no one really wants more than an hour of festive hits, even if it’s curated by me. Vegan no-pig in blanket?”

Evan proffers a tray of party snacks, having come over to join you near the tables set up with drinks and food. The music has become much more eclectic: fewer holiday hits, many more danceable, extremely cool, crowd pleasers. A few people are even starting to clear space in the centre of the room as a makeshift dancefloor.

“Where’s Benjamin?” Evan asks as you chew on a no-pig in blanket. “You’re normally joined at the hip.”

You try not to choke on the pastry, grabbing a glass of red wine to wash down the food. “He was doing the address at the founders’ thing, remember? I think they wanted him to stay around afterwards to meet possible donors. It’s all about the diversity and inclusion programme.”

Evan nods, satisfied. “I’m not keeping any food for him, though.”

The strains of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” are abruptly cut off as Jen Arden taps on her wine glass. “Head of department holiday speech time! Don’t worry, I won’t keep you from your partying too long - I want to see everyone out on that floor!”

Her words are succinct but heartfelt, thanking everyone for the hard work that had made the semester successful and noting your arrival and integration into the Barrow community. You blush slightly as the eyes of the room turn in your direction.

“And as some of you know, Ben Morales delivered the address at the annual Founders Luncheon today - an important part of fundraising for the inclusion programme he’s been spearheading.” Jen looks around the room, seeking out her friend, eyes resting on the doorway as Ben finally arrives. “And here he is now!”

Ben shyly acknowledges the applause in the room, making a beeline for the food and drink. Pure coincidence, of course, that you happened to be standing over there, too. He stands behind you and greets Evan.

“Well, did you secure the megabucks? Are there hessian sacks printed with dollar signs currently filling your office?”

Ben huffs a laugh. “We have to wait and see, I guess. They seemed nice. Weird, though, talking to people you know are multi-millionaires. Billionaires, even. You keep thinking, ‘why do you need all that money?’”

He shakes his head and reaches for a glass of red wine. As he does so, he trails his hand along your lower back, fingertips grazing the top of your ass. For an instant you wonder if it was an accident, until you feel the palm of his hand pressing lightly but deliberately into the small of your back.

Evan is talking at length about the snack selection at this year’s party and is clearly oblivious to Ben’s shenanigans and the heat rising in your face as you struggle to maintain your composure. Glass of wine obtained, Ben continues the conversation with Evan, studiously avoiding your attempts to catch his eye.

He’d been explaining his holiday plans - Ben is going west, trying to make up for some of the time lost when he cancelled his trip at Thanksgiving, and is really excited about it - when Evan spots an incoming call on his phone. “Oh shit, it’s my mom. I better go talk to her - sorry guys!”

He exits the room, already talking loudly to his mother about her holiday menu plans.

As soon as you’re both alone, you swivel to face Ben head-on.

“Um, excuse me?”

He smirks. “Excuse you?”

“Benjamin Ernesto Morales. You know what I’m talking about. You’re lucky I didn’t spontaneously combust in front of Evan.”

He chuckles. “Ah, that was just a friendly hand placement. Nothing more to it.” He arches an eyebrow, and once again you can feel desire - no, need - rushing through you. The urge to kiss him here, in front of everyone, without a thought for the (possible) consequences, is overwhelming.

“You, sir, are a menace. Why didn’t I know about this before?”

He does that half-smile that makes you melt, and shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, on another topic - where’s Ani?”

“They messaged me this morning. In bed with a migraine, poor thing. I think these things wait until the end of the semester, just when you’re about to relax, and then bam.”

He makes a sympathetic face and nibbles on a cookie. “So it’s just us, then?” His gaze is both gentle and flirtatious.

“Us, and the rest of the faculty.” You gesture around the room, giving him a look that says “no funny business”.

He gently moves his hand along the edge of the table until it’s within touching distance of yours, and gently runs his fingertips along the back of your hand. You reciprocate by stroking the side of his hand with the pad of your thumb.

It’s so stupidly chaste, like something from a Georgette Heyer novel about maidens and gentlemen in Georgian England, and yet it’s one of the sweetest, most intimate things you’ve experienced in a very long time.

Ben’s eyes widen as the music changes and the unmistakable opening bars of “Edge of Seventeen” begin. “Oh, Lyd!” He outright grabs your hand now. “Let’s dance, come on.”

He looks perplexed when you don’t move. You beckon him closer with a tilt of your head, and whisper into his ear, feeling your cheeks heating.

“I can think of something better than dancing, but we might need to be somewhere more, um, private.”

His expression shifts as understanding sets in. “Oh. Ohhh.” He grins, looking you up and down. “Yours or mine?”

Praise be to Stevie Nicks. “Edge of Seventeen” got so many colleagues out on the ‘dancefloor’ that the two of you were able to slip away completely unnoticed.

You unlock the door of your office and switch on your desk lamp before pulling down the blind over the glass panel. The soft light illuminates his handsome features as you turn back to face him: the strong line of his profile; the softness of his mouth, lips slightly parted; the glint in his warm eyes. He’s taken off his suit jacket, and with a smile you suddenly recall the first time you noticed how beautifully broad he was, standing in the kitchen at Evan’s Halloween party.

“Hi, Ben.”

“Hi, Lyddie.”

You’re standing close now, face to face. You walk your fingers up towards the knot of his tie, looking at him through your lashes, and tug it so that he’s right up against you, beautiful dark eyes taking you in. He leans in with a smile and kisses you slowly and deeply, the bristling sensation of his moustache and beard against your lips and face going straight to your core.

The pace was never going to stay slow. You wrap your arms around him and he pulls you tight to his body, moving his hands over your hips and ass and pulling little gasps and moans from you. The mints and coffee of earlier are replaced by the taste of red wine and sugar cookies on his lips and tongue.

You start to run your hands through his hair, stroking your fingers down the side of his beautiful neck, loosening the knot of his tie, and opening the top buttons on his shirt to create a little more space for you. He inhales sharply when you break away from the kiss to gently lick and nibble at his neck and collarbone. You can feel him hardening against you, again.

He pulls away slightly, keeping his hands around your waist. For the first time in your life, you actually understand what romance novelists mean when they describe a character as having ‘lust-blown eyes’. Ben’s coffee-brown eyes are near black, pupils dilated and lids heavy, conveying a potent mixture of sweet affection and utter desire. He lifts his hand to stroke your cheek gently, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, before gently moving you towards the edge of your desk.

He’s nervous. He moves some of the piles of your papers and books out of the way, careful not to disrupt the chaotic ‘order’ you maintain, so you have more room to sit on the desk. As you sit on the edge, you notice his hands are trembling a little. You feel a bit better about the quivering sensation that’s been running through you since you entered the office together, a mixture of desire and nerves.

You hitch up the skirt of your dress a little, opening your legs and creating more room for him as he stands between them, resting his forehead against yours.

“You okay, Ben?”

He looks at you in surprise. “I’m great, Lyd, I’m just…it’s…I’m really glad.”

You feel a surge of affection in your chest. “So am I. And I’m glad for this tie.” You use it to pull him close to your body again, kissing him hungrily. He leans against you, hands on your waist and back.

“Is this okay? Can I…touch you, Lydia?”

Something about the way he says your name, softly but purposefully, sends you utterly wild.

“You know you can, Ben. I’m all yours,” you whisper, edging closer and slowly moving a hand down his broad torso, strong and soft at the same time. You reach his waistband and keep going, brushing your hand lightly over the bulge straining against his dress pants as you maintain eye contact. “I want you.”

He closes his eyes, letting out a soft moan, before bringing his hands - those beautiful, big hands - up to softly caress your breasts as he moves his mouth to your neck, planting gentle kisses and sucking the skin ever so gently.

It’s miraculous that you don’t come undone there and then, tipped over the edge by the feeling of his hands on your breasts, his mouth working the sensitive skin at the base of your neck, and his cock growing ever-harder underneath the light massage offered by your palm. Your fingers work at the buttons and zipper of his pants, desperately trying to get access to his hard length.

He’s pulled up your dress, running his hands up your thighs and towards the warm, wet apex of your legs. He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he traces his long fingers from the top of your stockings to the bare skin of your upper thigh, leaning back to look at your body with a sort of delighted rapture. You silently congratulate yourself for choosing to wear hold-ups instead of regular pantyhose under your dress.

Even in this moment, part of your brain starts to worry about the state of your body and its many flaws, wondering what he is going to think about the you that’s under the scarlet fabric. That said, he seems to be keen so far. He grabs handfuls of the soft flesh on your thighs and hips, grunting with pleasure into your mouth. He feels insatiable already, one hand still caressing your tits as the other slips right between your legs and starts to rub at the soaking crotch of your panties. You’re trying to keep it together, moaning as you move your fingers against the waistband of his boxer briefs, ready to take him in your hand and attend to his pleasure.

Suddenly, the lights in the corridor come on. Laughter and loud chatting from a group of colleagues fills the air. Both you and Ben freeze, breaking off the kiss while your hands stay put.

“Shit… do you think they heard us?” you hiss, unsure what the rules are around this kind of thing at Barrow.

He turns to look at the door of the office, trying to see how close the group was.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think we were that loud, were we?”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow.

“We weren’t, but we were just getting going…”

He rests his forehead on your shoulder and laughs before looking at you again, withdrawing his hands and straightening your dress.

“Shall we get out of here? I can call a cab…”, he offers as you nod in agreement. He quickly does up his fly before grabbing his phone from his jacket pocket and pulling up the relevant app. “This is going to sound so cheesy, but - your place or mine?”

You giggle. “My apartment looks like a packing monster threw up in it, so, if you’re okay with yours…”

He smiles and nods enthusiastically, tapping in the details. “Five minutes. They’ll be at the main entrance.”

“Five minutes, so that’s two minutes to get to the door - and three minutes for another kiss?”

He chuckles deeply and pulls you in again.

Ben fastens his seatbelt in the back of the cab, looking at you expectantly. The street lights have him half in shadow, half in light, and you have to focus for a moment to answer.

Fuck, he’s so sexy.

The little voice deep inside you still whispers about how someone as fucking hot as him surely couldn’t want someone like you. But you manage to hush it, focusing on Ben’s beautiful face.

The cab journey is short - no more than five minutes along the quiet streets - but feels like an eternity. You’ve spent the entire ride making out in the back seat, like horny students rather than two forty-something academics. Pulling up at his house, you and Ben try to retain at least a little decorum as you hustle to the front door.

“I hope you gave that guy a good tip,” you joke as Ben fumbles for his keys, one hand resting on your ass.

He grins. “The tip was three times the cost of the ride. Think that should cover him for enduring our, uh, shenanigans?”

The front door opens and the two of you step inside. You pause for a moment to take each other in, you trailing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck while his thumb caresses your cheek. Your lips meet again as you peel off each other’s coats and fall back against the wall in his hallway, your hands fumbling to undo his pants again while he dips his long fingers, finally, into the wet heat between your legs.

“Oh, fuck!” It feels like you’ve been waiting for him all your life. And, judging by the noises he’s making, the feeling seems to be reciprocated.

“God, Lydia, baby, I can’t believe you’re this wet for me already,” he purrs, sounding genuinely surprised and stroking the inside of your cunt firmly while his thumb works your clit. “You feel so fucking good.”

Ben resumes his work on your neck, moving more urgently now than he had in your office. His moustache and beard brushes against the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders and makes you wetter still as he continues to massage your clit, occasionally slipping a finger into your pussy. You moan deeply, feeling yourself tightening around his finger as you get ever closer.

“Fuck, I want you,” he whispers in your ear. “I really want you, Lyddie. I need you. You know?”

You whine with pleasure, one hand inside his briefs palming his cock as he works you to the edge. You can feel the orgasm about to burst deep inside, focused on the sound and sensation of his fingers - Ben’s big, strong fingers - sliding in and out of you.

He doesn’t stop, but he sounds a little more vulnerable. “Is that okay? I hope that’s okay,” he continues, and you feel like you’re about to black out.

“I…fuck…that’s more than okay, that’s - Jesus, I want that. And I want you, I need you, to have you, I want you…fuck, Ben! I think I’m going to fucking come, I…”

He looks down to where his hand is working you towards your climax. “That’s it, good girl. You’re so close. Come for me, beautiful girl.”

Good girl. Beautiful girl. Praise kink: activated.

Somehow he manages to look sexy as hell and sweetly shy as he brings you to the edge, eyes warm and dark. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to make you come, I…I’ve wanted to, so badly.”

You come with a gasp, cunt throbbing and tightening around his fingers. It has been a long time since you’ve come this hard. Your eyes shoot open, looking directly into his.

He strokes the side of your face with his other hand as he takes you through the aftershocks. Your wetness soaks his fingers as you kiss him, trying to express your gratitude for what he’s made you feel, leaning against the wall of his hallway.

You break away, able to concentrate more effectively on the way his cock is now fully hard under your hand. “Fuck, baby, that was… holy shit. It’s, uh… it’s been a while.”

He blushes and kisses your forehead. “Can I take you to bed, Lyddie?”

You grin and start to giggle. He looks confused. “What? You don’t want to?”

How can you explain the myriad feelings racing through you in this moment? Excited. Nervous. Happy. Horny.

“I do, Ben. You know I do. I’m just, I dunno, I’m - I’m happy. And I really, really want you.”

He gives you a flash of that sexy fucking smile as he withdraws his hand from your panties and gently moves yours from his cock.

“Come on.”

Taking your hand, he leads you up the stairs.

You notice almost nothing about Ben’s bedroom as the two of you enter, besides the side lamp he quickly flicks on and the pile of books he moves off the bed before turning his attention back to you. Lips locked, you focus on unbuttoning his shirt while he tries to get your dress off.

In an instant you are standing before him in black and red bra, black (sensible) high-waisted panties, and hold-ups, his shirt, tie, and pants already discarded.

His eyes widen as he takes you in, gaze lingering over the black lace and red satin of your bra. “Wow. Holy shit.”

Instinctively, you move a step backwards and wrap your arms over your body protectively. You are suddenly overwhelmed by all that is wrong with your body: its size, its awkwardness, the stretch marks from weight lost and (more commonly) gained, marks and scars, a belly that is far too squishy and soft, in your opinion, hips that are too wide, breasts made heavier and less, well, perky with age. And that’s before you get on to your perennially crunchy knees.

You feel every one of your forty-two years, and then some. The fact of his utter gorgeousness leads you to only one conclusion.

God, he’s probably only ever fucked hotter people than me. I can’t compare, surely?

You feel exposed. The defences - physical, sure, but emotional, too - have been irretrievably breached, and the fear of rejection scares the shit out of you.

The sight of Ben Morales before you, wearing just his boxer briefs (and, you notice for the first time, a pair of candy cane-patterned socks), makes you even more anxious about how you must look to him. He is a gorgeous vision, easily the most beautiful man you’ve ever even seen, let alone gone to bed with: lightly golden skin, strong arms and legs, broad shoulders, and a soft tummy that is as adorable and sexy as you’d imagined.

And best of all, that beautiful, kind face, now looking at you with real concern.

“Are… are you okay? Lyddie? Are you alright? We can stop, we don’t have to -“

You shake your head and bring your eyes up to meet his.

“I really don’t want to stop, Ben. I mean it, I want you…I need you in every way. It’s just… I mean, this,” and you gesture loosely to your body. “Like, I’ve had sex since my last relationship but it wasn’t like this, it wasn’t…this. It wasn’t…it didn’t mean…”

He reaches his hands towards you to bring you in for a hug. You take a deep breath as you try to explain properly.

“I haven’t been naked with someone like you…someone I actually care about in a long time. And I’m scared that you won’t like what you see, because you look so good and hot and so beautiful. You’re just so beautiful, Ben. And I…I’m not…”

He holds you closer and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” he whispers. “I wish you could understand what it feels like to have looked at you, to have thought for so long about what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, and now to finally touch you.” He’s blushing.

“Kinda wish I could see myself the way you seem to see me, too. Don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘beautiful’ before. Before…you.”

He is still holding you, warm and gentle against his broad chest. You are suffused with a feeling of absolute safety.

“I mean it, Lyd. If you don’t want to go any further we don’t have to.”

You pull back, bringing your arms to your sides and resisting the urge to hide yourself from his gaze. You look him in the eyes and shake your head with a soft smile.

“I know. We’re keeping going. I want this, too.”

He kisses you and reaches around to undo your bra, struggling against the hooks.

You reach behind you, keeping your eyes on him, and deftly undo the bra. His mouth moves immediately to your breasts, tongue circling first one nipple and then the other before pulling back to admire you, chest rising and falling and eyes widening as he looks at you.

Has anyone ever looked at you like that before? Like you are the most perfect creature to ever exist?

Mind you, you’re looking at him in much the same way.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Lyd. You are. Let me show you how gorgeous you are.”

You smile shyly, still a little conscious of your body, and sit back on the side of the bed.

Oh, shit. The sensible part of your brain butts in, abruptly.

You need to talk about this now, not in the moment.

“Uh, Ben? Before you do that, can we maybe talk about, um, health and that?”

He looks confused. “Health? I had a cold in October but - oh. Yes. Yes. I get you.”

He scrabbles around for his pants.

“What are you doing, Ben?”

“Getting my phone to show you my last screening results. We have the tests as an option on annual physicals and I had mine in August.” He locates his phone and looks at you fondly. “Just before you came over, as it happens.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, giggling affectionately. “Ben, love, I trust you. Just tell me, I don’t need to see them.”

He kisses the top of your head. “All good. And you?”

You nod, still feeling deeply awkward but relieved. “Also all good. Last test just before I came over. Funny, that. I’ve got a contraceptive implant thingy, as well.” You point out the little plastic device just under the skin of your upper arm. “And I haven’t been with anyone since, obviously.”

“Me neither.” He grins and whispers in your ear. “I did have a crush on someone in work, though.”

You smile and run a hand over the salt-and-pepper scruff along one side of his face. “A crush, huh? So you were waiting for them?”

He nods and kisses you softly as he gently encourages you to lie back on his bed, before swiftly discarding the candy cane socks and joining you in bed.

For a couple of moments you just lie there together, hands trailing across each other’s bodies. You look at his handsome face, and the realisation that you’re actually going to sleep with him dawns. It triggers an unfortunate, involuntary surge of giggles.

“Why are you laughing?” He’s running his hand along the curve of your hip, fingers tugging at the waistband of your panties.

“I’m not laughing, it’s just…” You start giggling again and hide your face against his broad shoulder.

“Okay, that’s definitely laughing. What did I do?”

You look at him and feel the affection and desire catch in your throat. “You didn’t do anything, baby, I’m sorry. It’s just - we’re basically naked and in bed together and…I’m excited?”

He laughs too, now, chest heaving as he pulls you tight and kisses you, slowly and deeply. You reach for his body, leg wrapping around his and one hand slipping to his hard cock while he caresses and sucks on your tits. His hand is inside your panties now, eagerly seeking out the warm, silky wetness of your folds.

“Going to take these off, is that okay?” You nod, moaning as he tugs down the black fabric and lifting your hips so he can drag them over your ass. You kick them off as he rolls you against him, one hand grabbing the flesh of your ass while the other rubs small circles over your clit.

You lean back slightly to look at him, your hands now tugging at the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I want you naked, too,” you murmur, breasts resting on Ben’s chest. “Want to go down on you for a little bit. Is that okay?”

His eyes widen. “God, yeah. Fuck, please, Lyd.”

His boxers discarded, you move down his body, one hand already gently stroking his hard length. You resist the urge that strikes you to drag your teeth over the soft flesh of his tummy, maybe even to bite him.

You plant a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock, flicking your gaze up to meet his as you take him, hard as hell, between your lips, tongue gently flicking over the head.

The gesture drives him crazy, and he groans, low and long.

“Fucking hell, you’re good at this. You’re really fucking good at this. So fucking…oh God, Lyd.”

You smile at the praise as you continue to take him deeper into your mouth, fingers tracing around the base of his cock and stroking him lightly. The bulge you’d first felt in his office earlier that evening did not disappoint.

“Fuck, Lyd, I won’t last if you keep that up,” he hisses, breathing ragged as you use your tongue to lick up and down his shaft.

Gently, you remove him from your mouth and push yourself back up the mattress, Ben’s strong hands guiding you back into place against the pillows. He drops his hand back to your soaking pussy as you feel the warm, solid softness of his body on yours. You inhale his masculine scent deeply: his cologne, leather, paper, and still a hint of wine from his lips.

You never want to be anywhere but here.

He begins to trace a line of kisses from your mouth down to your breasts and tummy, slowly bringing himself down the line of your body until he is nestled between your legs. He runs a finger along a patch of stretch marks on your hip before kissing them softly. With care and a kind of reverence, he plants kisses on the soft flesh of your belly, starting just under your belly button, and working his way down as far as the hair that covers your mound.

He gently pushes your right leg out to make a little more room and open you up, lifting your leg over his shoulder, before beginning to lick purposefully at your glistening folds. You cry out with pleasure, one hand reaching back to grip the wooden headboard of the bed and the other dropping to the back of Ben’s head. You trail your fingers through his hair as he eats you out, moaning as the line of his nose nudges rhythmically against your clit while his tongue explores you.

It doesn’t take much to bring you back to the edge, and when he brings a finger up to massage you while his tongue slips in and out of your cunt, you come on his face, hips rolling up and back as you climax.

He grins as he shifts his body back up the bed and you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss so that you can taste yourself on his lips. He hums with pleasure and pulls back to look at you, rubbing a thumb gently against your cheek before nuzzling in at your neck. His weight against you is somehow devastatingly erotic and perfectly reassuring.

He pulls back again and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, opening your legs even wider as you feel the heavy, hard length of his cock pulsing against your core. He rolls one of your nipples between the tips of his fingers, letting his broad palm cup the soft flesh of your breast.

Your voice is quiet, but determined. “I want you to fuck me, baby. Please. Fuck me.”

“I’m going to, darling.” He drops a hand to your soaking pussy, making sure you’re ready. He looks deep into your eyes and you try to make a mental screenshot of this moment: what it feels like to have him above you, to have the weight of his body against yours, to feel the tip of his cock nudging at the lips of your cunt; to look into his eyes and see them dark with lust and warm with affection, to have him tracing his fingers across your mouth and jaw before asking, silently, for a final gesture of consent.

You nod and gently move your hips down as if you’re going to take him into you all by yourself. He moans loudly, guiding himself slowly and steadily inside you until he bottoms out. The stretch makes you gasp, though it’s in no way painful. You close your eyes as you adjust to the sensation of him filling you, warm and heavy.

He’s looking deeply into your eyes when you open them again. “You okay?” He gently strokes the side of your face with his long fingers.

“Mmmyeah,” you sigh, distracted by the pleasure of having him inside you. “You’re big, you know,” you murmur. “You’re such a big boy.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you screw up your face with embarrassment.

Lydia, what in the fuck was that? Did he already manage to fuck the filter out of you with his fingers? Did he induce some sort of malfunction in lydiabrain.exe?

Ben’s eyebrows are raised but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

You’re fucking this up, Lyd, as usual.

“Oh god I’m so cringe, I’m so sorry -“

He stops you with a chuckle and a soft, sweet kiss. “I mean, it’s a hell of a compliment.” He arches an eyebrow and looks endearingly smug. “Would you like your big boy to fuck you now?”, he purrs.

This time, you’re the one who can’t help but giggle as you roll your eyes in mock horror at the cheesy line and he grins in response. You can’t remember the last time you felt this intimate with a lover.

“I would like that very much. Move, Ben, please.”

He takes it slowly at first, keeping his body close to yours as he uses his hips to pull out and push back into your core, over and over. The rhythm is steady and insistent, and your body responds in kind, your hips moving to meet him and your legs widening and hitching up to take him even more deeply.

He’s starting to increase the pace slightly and you whine, digging your fingers into his broad shoulders. “You feel so good, Lyd,” he pants, “so fucking good. So warm and tight.”

“You like how tight I am for you? You want to see how much I can take?” you coo in his ear as you trail your hands down his back before spreading your palms over his ass, triggering a growl from deep within his chest as he fucks you faster.

“Want you to take it all, baby, know you can…” A grimace flashes across his face, though he doesn’t stop, and you wonder if something’s wrong. You bring your hands back up to his shoulders and run a finger along the bristling hair on his jawline.

“Are you okay? Do we need to stop?”

“Sorry, just a tight muscle somewhere -“ He looks a little sheepish, as if his body is letting him down.

“Hey,” you murmur, “get on your back. I want to fuck you on top.” His eyes widen with delight and you shift your bodies together, keeping him inside you as he eases carefully back onto the bed and you straddle him.

For a moment you stay just like that, quiet and still. He looks you up and down, smiling at the sight of you and brushing the tips of his fingers gently over the weight of your breasts and the curve of your hips and thighs. You run your hands over Ben’s chest, gazing at his body as if it were a treasure. When you start to trace your fingers over his tummy, he seems to shrink back a little, embarrassed by his physique.

In response, you shift forward, pulling him out of you slightly so that you can lean in and run your tongue and mouth over the soft flesh of his stomach. He’s looking down his chest at you, and you look up from under your eyelashes.

“This is a really sexy tummy, you know. Probably the sexiest I’ve ever seen in my life.”

A smile flickers across his face. “You don’t have to say that -“

You silence him by sinking back down onto his full length, pulling a cry from his lungs. With a roll of your hips you start to ride his cock, keeping your fingers on his tummy. As you pick up the pace he can’t keep his eyes off your breasts, and he greedily lifts himself up to suck on your nipples. The sensation of his tongue tracing the outline of each nipple is enough to throw you off, and you have to really concentrate on the rhythm you’ve set with your hips and ass.

Months of pent-up frustration and desire find their release as you fuck Ben harder and deeper, his hands digging into your hips and thighs. “Fucking hell, Lyd, you’re amazing,” he rasps, eyes flitting between the fluid movement of your hips and the bounce of your tits. “Feels amazing. Feel good for you, too?”

You nod, not wanting to break the rhythm. With a smirk, he slips a thumb to your clit and starts to rub circles over and around it. You cry out his name in response.

“Fuck yes, Ben, keep doing that, keep doing…that’s it, fuck!”

“Are you going to come again for me, Lyd?”, he murmurs gently, the quiet of his voice in stark contrast to the obscene, wet noises coming from your cunt and the dirty talk he’s sent tripping from your tongue.

For the third time, the tightly-wound coil snaps deep inside you. You can feel your cunt pulsing around Ben’s cock as you ride out your peak, feeling him tightening between your legs. He’s close. He sits up, pausing to kiss you and to suck on your neck for a few moments while he caresses your tits, before easing you over and onto your back again so he can finish with you underneath him.

“You’re so close,” you whisper to him as he starts to fuck you again, hard and steady. “Let go, baby. Come for me.”

He picks up the pace, the wetness of your pussy letting him take you as hard as he wants. He’s still holding back.

“Let go. Come in me,” you purr, hitching your hips slightly to let him go even deeper. “I want your come in me.”

That’s enough to tip him over the edge, and Ben’s rhythm stutters and finally breaks. With a gasp and a shudder you feel him come, crying out as he fills you, cock buried deep within you and beads of sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits.

He stays put for a moment or two, panting into your neck as he tries to pull himself together. You run your fingers through the soft curls of his hair and hold him close.

“Thank you.”

His words are almost inaudible, barely a whisper, and you aren’t entirely sure if you’ve heard them or imagined them. You respond with a kiss to the top of his head.

After a couple of moments Ben pulls away and gets out of bed, pulling the comforter around you before crossing from his bedroom to the bathroom across the hall. He returns with a washcloth and a towel, cleaning you up and gently drying you off. He places one more kiss on your belly and smiles, moving back up to join you at the head of the bed.

You lie close together, facing each other in a comfortable silence. He strokes a little pattern on the curve of your hip while you absent-mindedly trace a finger over the constellation of dark freckles across the top of his chest.

He tilts your chin up to look at you, stroking your cheek as his big dark eyes gaze into yours. You plant a soft kiss on the little bare patch of skin along his jaw before shifting back to look - really look - at Ben’s face, mapping it with your eyes. The slight furrow between his brows. The line of his nose. The specific shape and colour of his lips. The little divot in his bottom lip.

“Was - was that okay?” He looks at you intently with those big, baby cow eyes, waiting for a response.

You are surprised by the question and by how quiet and awkward he sounds, given that he’s just made you come deeper and harder than you have in years. Or maybe ever.

Three. Fucking. Times.

“It was…” you search for the right word as you run your fingers over his strong bicep, “amazing. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before, honestly. Was it good for you too?”

He blushes, a wide smile creeping across his face. “Pretty spectacular, Lyd. You on top? I mean…” He mimes fireworks exploding with his hands, and you bury your face in his chest as you laugh. You stay like that for a little while, tucked into his side with a big, stupid smile on your face and your arm wrapped around Ben’s tummy. He holds you close to him, tilting his head to rest on yours.

The gesture brings you back, suddenly, to Halloween. His arm around your waist. Your arm around his shoulders. His head resting against you, yours against his.

Fuck, you two are idiots.

“We should have done this ages ago,” he murmurs, and you worry for a moment that he might be able to read your mind.

You reach for his hand, twining your fingers together.

“Was it worth the wait, Ben?”

He squeezes you tightly. “Every fucking minute.”

It’s still comparatively early when you fall asleep (the joys of a 5pm party start time), you as the little spoon, Ben dozing off with an arm around you and his hand gently holding your breast. His body is warm and comforting against your back, and you listen for a couple of minutes to the sound of his breathing slowing, steadying, into sleep.

You don’t sleep for very long - maybe an hour or two. You blink awake, noticing that the lamp is still on, and that Ben’s broad hand is still in place against your soft skin. You caress the back of his hand with yours, trying not to wake him but wanting to feel him under your fingertips again.

“Mmmmm. Hi, baby.” He drowsily starts to kiss the back of your neck, and his fingers begin to squeeze lightly at your nipple. It grows hard and pert as he nuzzles into your neck, his mouth tracing a line of kisses along your shoulder. You are still wet from earlier, but can feel the ache building again between your legs. He shifts closer to you, and you feel his cock, hard again, pressing against your ass.

You keen quietly with pleasure, still sleepy, your body starting to grind against his. He whispers a question into your ear, and in response you drag his hand down your body, lifting your leg ever so slightly so he can feel for himself.

“Christ, darling, this just from me playing with your tit?”

You hum your appreciation, nodding. “Mmmm. And the orgasms.”

He chuckles quietly. “Can I have you?” He shuffles down slightly, his hard length already notching at your thighs.

“Always,” you purr, and he reaches around to tilt your face to his. He kisses you as he lifts your leg, drapes it over his, and carefully pushes inside you. The stretch is still new, but more familiar now, and you mewl a little as he bottoms out.

It’s slow at first, intense and intimate as he works up a rhythm while still half-asleep. He moans into your neck as he fucks you gently, praising you over and over. “You feel so good, Lyddie,” he whispers, “taking it so well.” He sucks lightly at the crook of your neck, making you whimper with pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful. Beautiful girl,” he sighs, rolling his hips firmly but slowly as he thrusts up into your pussy.

“I lo-... I love y-your…body. So soft for me.”

“I love your body too, baby.” You drop a hand between your legs and touch yourself. As he realises what you’re doing, he picks up the pace, fucking you harder from behind until you come with a cry.

His hand drifts to your uppermost hip, holding you in place as he fucks - and talks - you through it. “That’s it, baby. You feel so good when you come like that for me. I lo-”

You know he’s close, both from the stuttering rhythm and the fact he can’t use his words any more. He mutters and curses as his movements become more staggered. With a moan that seems to come from the depths of his soul, he spills into you with a final thrust, panting into your back as he stays inside you for a moment.

You turn your mouth to his again, and he kisses you with hunger and gratitude.

You are both utterly wrecked, in every sense, lying flat out on the bed together as you come down from a shared high.

“So I know you’ve got your flight tomorrow,” he says, fingers idly running up and down your forearm, and you brace yourself for him suggesting you should probably go home.

“But if you’d like, you can stay the night? I can drive you to your place as early as you need.”

“If you want me to? I don’t want to impose…”

He shakes his head. “It would be a pleasure. I want you to stay, you know? Would you like something to sleep in? A t-shirt?” You nod in response. He’s holding your hand, rubbing his thumb against your palm.

He retrieves two T-shirts and a pair of boxers from a tallboy that stands against the opposite wall of the room, holding the shirts up for your approval.

“REM 1999 tour shirt, or study abroad souvenir?” He really is gorgeous, you think, even when he’s standing naked making silly faces and pretending to model each shirt. Actually, especially when he’s doing that.

“Ooh, vintage Universidad de Málaga 1996, please.” He crosses back to the bed and hands you the faded red cotton shirt before pulling on his own.

“That’s a precious relic,” he says with mock seriousness. “It is a privilege to wear that shirt.”

“Understood. I respect the power of the shirt.” You bow your head, crossing your arms across your chest reverentially and he laughs gently.

He clambers back into bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close under the comforter. You rest your head on his shoulder, hands on his chest, and sneak little glances up at him. He’s already starting to drift to sleep, lids heavy and breathing slowing into a steady rhythm.

Oh, fuck. He’s so gorgeous. He’s so beautiful.

The last word slips, unbidden, from your lips, and he looks confused for a moment before breaking into a gentle, sleepy smile. “So are you.”

The afterglow is cosy and safe. He holds you close with his strong arms, and your fingers are entwined with his. It is both new and familiar, strange and reassuring; a first time, and like you’ve been doing this forever.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: They got there. They have a long way to go (please don't hate me - it can't all be sunshine and orgasms roses). Next chapter sees some more Christmas "cheer", albeit on other sides of the Atlantic.

Thank you so much if you've been with them this far - don't forget, of course, that Lydia is just visiting...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #Youtube

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meganegatari · 2 months ago

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hiiii bug 💕🥺 22, 25, 26, and 74 for the writers game pls!!

lovely wonderful lyss <3 omgee i love ask this is a blast and a half TEEHEE. yall puttin me to work help

22: are there certain types of writing you won't do? anything taboo or in my limits list is an obvious answer, lol, but i'll give yall some more. for fanfiction, i will never do first person pov..second is what i'm most comfortable and maybe i'll branch out to third person character x character. as for genres and tropes, honestly i'll try anything. i love creativity, and there's really not any trope or whatever that puts me off to a high degree. tbh when reading, i tend to avoid high fantasy or something super like technical sci-fi, but they seem fun when you're on the creator's end LMAO

25: what fic do you wish you got more response on? ohhh man, the mythology one without a doubt. it was something new and felt like such a "me" story to create, because i was like blending my interests and whatnot. i wasn't surprised it's not very popular, because it's a rather niche idea and well, no smut (on tumblr...), but i dunno...i thought people could at least give it a chance?? but that's being really dramatic, i am grateful for any word any like any rb or comment i get on anything more than yall know, but that fic i think about all the time. i really want to do another retelling, or multiple, but ofc my attention seeking leo moon ass is like "No oNE wiLl ReAd It" BUT WE TACKLE THAT ANOTHER DAY.

26: which of your fics would you call your wildest ride? OOOOH. this is such a mean answer, because all of it is rotting in my docs, and has been for MONTHS, but superblood wolfmoon icl. with sharky we had such fun creating art for it, and brainstorming ideas, i really do wish to come back to it, especially with spiderman-centric stories gaining popularity every so often. this is the funniest story to me, considering my adhd riddled brain, but i remember being so hyperfixated on it, for three hours straigt, no breaks no music just straight locking in, i planned the entire thing start to finish in the drafts. fuck, i really wanna get the rest of it done for yall now LMAO

74: you've posted a fic anonymously. how would someone be able to guess that you've written it? omfg this is such a good question...i don't really know, maybe my overuse of silly descriptors even venturing into excess? sometimes for the fun of it i'll pile on like...four...adjectives because i wanna HELPAFJAJ. but i think this is a better questions yall can answer from an outside perspective so please do enlighten me ehehh

writers ask game

#𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐱.#𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐬 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪𖤐 #oh god the yap HELPPPP

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sirowsky-stories · 2 years ago

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Part 5

Description: Pero knows what he needs to do, but knowing it doesn't help when he can't convince himself to leave while he's so confused about his own feelings.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, use of the word hackers, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5700 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This is conversation heavy. And the next one will feature a small timegap to move things along a little.

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It takes two hours to set up the computer system and connect it to the safehouse’s secure network, but once it’s done, Will goes straight to work. True to his word, he’s not here for a vacation. Rather, he seems intent on unraveling this mystery completely, starkly offended that the people behind it have managed to sneak past his defenses. Pero helps him get everything ready, but he can’t help with the search, so once the other man goes to work, he returns downstairs. Where Gillian’s waiting.

She’s leaning against the wall of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, but when he comes down the stairs, she pushes off the exposed wood and crosses her arms over her waist.

“Who are you really?” she demands, clearly jarred by Will’s earlier comment.

He’s been waiting for this. Her natural inclination to help and care for others have kept her from prodding, and she’s seen how protective and tender he’s been towards Niki from the beginning of this mess, which has probably left her feeling largely at ease with him. But now, when there’s another source of information, when she’s no longer alone with him and technically at his mercy, she’s seemingly decided that the answers which didn’t feel important enough to ask for before, have since become necessary.

“Why don’t we take a seat. I’m gonna need some coffee for this,” he suggests, and then moves into the kitchen to start making the brew.

He can hear that she follows and sits down by the breakfast table section of the kitchen island behind him, so he starts talking while he works.

“In my late teens, I discovered that going through school being bullied or avoided by every kid I’d ever been around, had resulted in an exceptional ability to read people. I could tell from observing someone for just brief moments at a time, not just what type of character they were, but whether they had secrets, what kinds of fears plagued them, what their favorite things were, and so on. And I was bitter and angry enough, even back then, that I saw no reason to use that skill for anything helpful. So, I started my own little criminal empire instead.”

He turns around and leans against the counter once the coffee machine has started working, and when he meets her eyes, she looks only curious. Through her work, she’s had to learn to listen to people and decipher the truthfulness of what she hears, while remaining as neutral as possible herself. He knows that she’s not gonna interrupt him, and that she’ll likely only asks questions if there’s something in his story that she doesn’t understand.

“Like with most enterprises, criminal or otherwise, I started small,” he continues. “I tricked or blackmailed people out of things that were precious to them for one reason or another. Mostly money, because it was useful to me, but also because in this country that seems to be what everyone holds most dear, even those who don’t seem like they do. And in the beginning, each successful scam was such a victory that I soon started thinking about bigger things. But I also understood from the start that if I was ever gonna have a chance to stay alive in the criminal world, I’d need an alias. So, I waited until I’d managed to create a completely separate person who could take the blame for all the stealing, before I went after my first big target.”

“What do you mean by a separate person?” she asks, when he pauses to move one of the stools to the other side of the island, so that he can sit opposite her.

“Another identity, but a ghost. Someone known only by name and voice, never seen, and entirely untraceable, both in person and online. He had no history and no future, he was just a voice on the phone, making demands. I called that ghost Mr. Hood, because I only ever stole money from those who could afford it, and I never took more than a small percentage of what they really had. And if it was an item I took, it was never expensive paintings or jewelry. Instead, I would trick people out of their comfort items. Things with sentimental value, as a way of punishing them for their cruelty.”

“Their cruelty?”

“Yes. I specifically targeted people who were secretly abusive or criminal, or just mean motherfuckers who trampled all over everyone around them just because they could. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that what I did was good, but I would never have taken from someone who was just going through life doing the best they could with as much humility and compassion as they could spare, no matter how much money they had. I wanted the crooks. I wanted to punish people for their indifference and lack of appreciation for their own fortunes, not to mention the people they crushed along the way.”

He stops himself there, because he’s getting riled up thinking about this. There are so many faces in his head. People who could’ve helped so many with their riches or their influence, but instead always did the opposite. The faces of his worst bullies from childhood flood his mind, and he closes his eyes against the painful memories. The beatings and the degradation. The constant public humiliation. If just one person had told them to stop-…

“So, basically an evil Robin Hood,” Gillian suggests, interrupting his downward spiral and drawing him back to the present.

He takes a calming breath, allowing her steady voice to chase away the sounds of his own bones breaking, etched into his memory bank forever.

“Maybe not evil,” he quietly counters, not at all sure if that’s true. “But definitely dark.”

“Hm. Well, given this place, I guess you were successful?” she ponders, and he nods.

“Very. There are way too many needlessly cruel people in the world.”

“You ever kill anyone?” she wonders, but the question isn’t accusatory.

“Yes. When you take on people associated with drug cartels and mafia’s, you kinda have to be ready to spill blood to protect yourself.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… You stole money from drug cartels?” she asks with a touch of disbelief, and when he nods again, her eyebrows hit the roof. “That’s ballsy…”

“Not really. Those were the easiest paydays, because my victims had nowhere to turn. With the average rich scumbag there was always the risk that they’d involve law enforcement, which I could handle since my alias was airtight and my own identity was never at risk, but it would also mean having to abandon the mark. Whereas with cartel members, if I could find a good enough fear or damaging enough secret, I could pin a person to a wall from which they had no escape in any direction. And best of all, who’s gonna believe that person when they try to explain to their boss that they were blackmailed into stealing the money, rather than pocketing it themselves?”

“Shit. You really did have your own little empire,” she concludes, leaning back in her seat with a mildly impressed look in her eyes.

“I’m not proud of it,” he admits, before getting up and turning his back to her while he pours himself a generous cup of the now finished beverage.

“Why?” she challenges. “What happened that made you change tracks and decide to become a factory worker?”

He doesn’t remember exactly when it had happened. When he’d decided that he was done with it, but he knows the reasoning behind it. It hadn’t been obvious to him even as he’d walked away from Mr. Hood and everything he’d built. Not until years later had the reasoning finally become clear to him. But neither then nor now does he know when that seed had first been planted in his mind.

“My own reflection,” he answers, staring down into the dark liquid, looking for a strength that it can’t give him. “Over time… seeing myself in the mirror got increasingly unpleasant. And it took me a long time to understand why, but I know now that it was because of how cold and dead my eyes had become. I looked at myself and I saw someone worse than the people who had hurt me, and even though I didn’t realize it right away, it scared me so much that I couldn’t keep going.”

It’s never made him feel stupid or less of a man to admit to himself that he went too far. But it does still make him feel guilty, which is why he won’t meet her eyes to find out what she’s thinking about him right now. Part of him has always wanted to tell Niki, but then, that would’ve meant changing the dynamic of their relationship, and he’s been too scared of losing the comforting simplicity between them, to dare take that step.

“And how does William fit into all this?” Gillian finally asks, and her lack of comments or further questions about his decision to walk away, gives Pero the confidence to look up at her again.

She still just looks curious. But this is a question that he can’t answer.

“You’ll have to ask him about that. It’s not my story to tell.”

With that, he decides that their conversation is over. For now, anyway. Niki’s been alone for at least half an hour already, and while she should be out of danger, he doesn’t feel good about leaving her without supervision for very long. There’s still a risk of delayed complications or other problems emerging. He takes his coffee and heads back to the bedroom, hearing no objections from the nurse, so he assumes that she’s satisfied with his answers for the time being.

To his surprise, Niki’s awake again when he steps in, so he closes the door behind him to give them some privacy. The room is so softly lit by how the daylight is filtered through the thick and richly green vegetation outside the windows, that she looks almost as though some masterful artist had painted her into existence.

“Hey. How are you?” he asks while approaching the bed.

“Still thirsty,” she replies, so he reaches for the glass of water with the straw, still standing on a tray on top of one of the monitors beside the bed.

He raises the backrest once again, and she drinks in slow but long gulps this time, until the glass is completely empty.

“More?” he asks, but she shakes her head.

“I’m good for now. Thank you.”

He sets the glass down and then takes a seat in the chair, leaving her sitting upright for a while to let the water settle into her stomach.

“What’s happened?” she asks after a minute, and he realizes that he’s taken her hand and that he’s fighting strong emotions that are trying to claw through his chest.

It’s a simple question, but he struggles to find an answer. Too much has happened, but not really around them, just inside of him. And how is he supposed to explain that when he doesn’t even understand it himself? He runs a hand over his face in frustration. He wishes that he could hug her. That he could crawl into that bed with her and beg her to hold him, cradle him until he falls asleep, because he’s so tired.

It’s only been two days, but he’s already exhausted in mind, spirit and body. How is he supposed to protect her when he can’t even stomach two fucking days of stress without crumbling into a nervous pile of uselessness?

“Pero? Talk to me.”

Her voice is soft, but there’s fear in it, and he hates hearing that.

“Someone I know showed up here this morning,” he says, bottling up his emotions and forcing himself to stay on track. To be useful. “His name’s William and he’s the one who helped me find out who’s after you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she counters, squeezing his hand to urge him to look at her, clearly seeing right through his attempt to be stoic.

He notices that her grip is getting strong again. She’s a mechanic, her hands have been calloused and sure for as long as he’s known her. Accustomed and comfortable working with metal tools and tightly wound nuts and bolts. And when he meets her eyes, he finds them every bit as piercing but gentle as they’ve always been when directed at him.

“I don’t know what to do…” he confesses, and all at once, the emotions he just buried are overpowering him again, even worse this time.

He pulls free of her hand, even though all he wants is to hold it tighter, and drops forwards in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head fall into his open hands while he fights against desperate sobs, only just managing to hold them back.

“I’m such a fucked up person, I don’t even have friends to ask for help! We’ve got an entire government and whole other country hunting us and the best I can do is run and hide because all I’ve got is myself,” he rambles, shaking his head between the fingers he’s digging into his scalp.

“Pero-…” she tries, but he cuts her off.

“Don’t get attached, don’t start caring, don’t let people manipulate you,” he rants, reciting the rules he’s lived by as if they’re some magical shield that’ll protect him against the pain which courses through him with each breath. “I’ve spent my whole life watching people say how much they love their friends and partners, only to use and manipulate and lie to them all the time! All the fucking time! Love isn’t real, that’s what I always believed. Because how could it be when no one… no one I ever met or observed, actually seemed to care that much about their supposed loved ones? So, why make friends when I know that they’ll only hurt me down the line? Why give a shit when no one else does?”

He pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes before they can fall. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, except for the pain. Which he also doesn’t know the real source of.

“I don’t know how people do it… how they can live so falsely and act so happy. I mean, I can’t say if I’ve ever been happy. I don’t think so. But at least I’ve never strung anyone along with promises of a great future together, only to turn around and shit on them. If that’s happiness then I don’t want it.”

He falls silent then, with a final big sigh, and leans back in his chair with his head still hanging low against his chest. Feeling defeated by the entire world, somehow.

“What do you want?” Niki asks then, and she sounds so careful.

As if the question alone has the power to break him. And given that he’s been thinking about this very thing all morning, without coming up with any answers, it doesn’t seem impossible that it might. Once again he tries to consider it. To put his life into perspective and search for the things that matter to him, along with the things that don’t. It shouldn’t be this hard to figure out, but it damned well is.

“I’ve been trying to work that out, but honestly… I still don’t know,” he admits, but it’s not good enough.

She deserves more effort than that, so he keeps talking, hoping that if he just spews out enough words, eventually the right ones will just fall out and make everything okay.

“I want you to live and be free, and I want the baby to live. I know that much. I’m just not sure why. What it means to me, you, or the baby. I don’t know if it means what you might want it to. Or if you even want me like that. We never talked about it, because it wasn’t supposed to happen, we weren’t supposed to be that to each other, but now everything’s upside down and because we never talked, we don’t know this shit, or anything about each other, and it’s all such a god damned mess.”

The words run out, so he just sits there, staring at his own hands, too cowardly to meet her gaze and find out what she thinks about what he’s saying. Not because he worries that she might not like what she hears, but because he worries that she’ll look indifferent. That he doesn’t matter to her at all. He’s never been concerned about her opinion of him before, since their relationship has never required her to like him, only trust him. Which she has.

But everything really is different now. And maybe he is too.

“Yo-…” she starts, but her voice seems to break under heavy emotions, and he can’t stop himself from looking up at her.

She looks almost heartbroken, and it sends daggers through him.

“You want the baby to live?” she continues, and she sounds so incredulous.

As though she can’t imagine that he would actually want that. Which would mean that her heartbreak is rooted in hope rather than fear. That she wants to believe that he could love their child at least, if not her.

“Yes, but…” he tries, and sees her breath hitch when he doesn’t continue.

“But, what?” she prompts, and her voice is shaking now.

“But…” he tries again, knowing what he needs to say, but afraid of what she’ll think. “Fuck. Look, I’m not a good person, I think a part of you knows that. And even though I’d like to think that I could be a worthwhile dad, I really don’t think I can.”

Never before has he worried or even cared about being judged by others. The opinions of liars and betrayers and abusers have never mattered to him, and that’s what everyone around him has always looked like to his eyes. Nikita is an exception, but only because he’s chosen not to look too closely at her. He’s never observed her. Never tried to know her, because if he’d found her to be like the rest, that would’ve ruined his ability to look at her as someone desirable.

He knows now that she has lied for large portions of her life, although as far as he’s aware, only out of patriotism and necessity, which he can accept. But he still doesn’t know what else she is or has done. If she’s like the rest overall. And he isn’t sure that he wants to know. But more than that, what plagues him is the knowledge that he’s no better than anyone of them. Equally unworthy of love since he’s never once offered his to anyone.

“So, in other words, you want me to have the baby. Alone?” she counters, and she sounds upset now, so he thinks carefully before he answers.

“I just want you to have the option. To not be forced in any direction, by anyone or for any reason, but least of all by me, because I’m not… I can’t be trusted with something like this.”

“And what if you’re the only reason that I want to make that choice at all?” she ponders, still sounding upset, but also sad.

Her words truly stun him, though. He sits frozen for a while, just staring dumbly at her, before he finds his voice.

“But… I’m an asshole.”

“Maybe, but not to me. I might not know anything about you, but I know that you’ve never treated me like a piece of meat. I know that I’ve never had to fear that you’d be offensive for no reason or pick a fight because you’ve had a bad day. You’ve always been kind to me. Even now, when that means putting your life on the line. Why would I not want to share this with you? You’re the best guy I’ve ever known.”

If that’s true, then she must’ve known only the worst of mankind, which he doesn’t quite believe. But he also wonders if her current circumstances could be tainting her perspective of him, subconsciously putting him in the place of a knight in shining armor, when he’s really as far from that as anyone could be.

“If I hadn’t thrown you out that evening, is that what you would’ve told me?” he challenges, and her expression shifts, from sadness to retrospection.

“That’s impossible to answer since it would depend entirely on what you would’ve said. If all this hadn’t happened, would you even have let me talk to you again after that evening?”

Crap. He hangs his head again, because she’s right. He probably wouldn’t have given her the light of day. More likely, he would’ve avoided her at all costs, hoping to not have to deal with the baby at all. And if that was true then, then it still is now. Just hidden behind the fear of Niki dying for no fucking reason. Except…

“…that’s not right either…” he mumbles, finishing the thought out loud.

“What’s not right?” she asks, understandably confused since she hasn’t heard his internal reasoning.

He looks up at her once more, somehow feeling like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Christ, she really is beautiful.

“I’m terrified of losing you,” he confesses, and sees her features instantly soften. “Not because of any need to right my wrongs against you or because I just don’t wanna lose the closest thing I have to a friend. I’m terrified because I need you. Because the thought of having to bury yo-…”

Even finishing that sentence is too painful. The words are strangled in the depths of his throat while the unwanted image of a headstone and freshly closed grave flashes before his eyes. Disturbed by the sight, he jolts to his feet and begins pacing, alternating between crossing his arms and restlessly fiddling with his shirt, or scratching his neck or running a hand through his hair, all while rambling uncontrollably.

“I never let myself go there, because no one ever means it, it’s always just empty words, so why would I be any different? Me, the guy who’s actively avoided all attachments all my life, becoming a criminal and a thief and a god damned vigilante because I just can’t trust people. So, why didn’t I see it from the start? Why the fuck didn’t I see it?! I trusted you. From day one, I trusted you. How could I not see that it was because I wanted it to mean something? Because I wanted you to be the exception… the one that might say it and mean it. Even to me.”

He stops moving. He’s right at the foot of her bed. Nikita Morse. The woman he doesn’t want to live without. The woman he dares to care about, even though he doesn’t know her. The only person in the world… that he loves. Turning slowly, he meets her gaze, and there are tears running her cheeks. Just like there had been that night, when she’d fled the anger that she had never deserved, but which she’d shouldered so gracefully all the same.

“I will,” she whispers. “When this is over, I’ll say it… and if you believe me, you say it back. Deal?”

Stepping around the foot of the bed, he goes to her side and leans over to kiss her instead of making some bland verbal promise. He’s never just kissed her before. Only while having sex, only as a gesture of passion, never to express care or affection. This feels different. Like a spark moving from his lips into his blood, where it can course through him endlessly. It feels wonderful. Until he remembers that this might not be over for a very long time, and that it might very well end with their deaths.

“You hungry?” he asks, trying to distract himself and noticing that it’s getting close to lunchtime.

His voice is thick with emotions much deeper than anything he’s ever felt, but it’s strangely not as crippling as fear or as paralyzing as lost hope. Instead, it feels empowering. Suddenly the idea that an entire government is on their tails seems less like an insurmountable obstacle and more like a climbing challenge. How the fuck does that happen?

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’ll be constantly hungry for weeks to come yet,” she tries to joke to get the weight of the world off her chest, while wiping her tears away.

“Okay, I’ll go see what I can make for you,” he says, gently squeezing her lower arm before he leaves, hoping she’ll take it as a comforting gesture.

Returning to the kitchen, he finds Gillian in the process of finishing a chicken soup.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he offers when she looks up from stirring the pot.

“I know, but between you protecting us and keeping an eye on Nikita, and William doing his part researching the bad guys, I kinda ran out of ways to be useful.”

“Well, don’t worry, pretty soon you’re gonna be wishing you had less to do,” Pero cautions, and she stops stirring.

“What do you mean?”

She’s been around him long enough now to know that when he warns her about something, it’s generally life and death level serious.

“We can’t just sit here and wait for someone to find us. Eventually we’ll run out of food, but I suspect we’ll go crazy before that.”

“You’re leaving?” she asks, and she doesn’t sound happy about the prospect.

“We need allies. Eyes and ears outside of this place, people that can warn us if our enemy is approaching. And we can’t find any by sitting around out here,” he explains.

He can see that she realizes the truth of what he’s saying, but she seems worried about the prospect of not having him around. She takes the pot off the plate and turns off the stove before turning to face him, and by then there are tears in her eyes, which surprises him.

“You’re the only here that won’t crack under the threat of death. You can’t leave,” she pleads, but her words confuse him.

“Gillian… you’re every bit as tough as I am.”

“No,” she shakes her head firmly. “I’m not even close. I’ve been fraying at the seams ever since the hospital, I just never stopped long enough to let myself think about it. Yeah, I’m a trauma nurse and I’ve seen some bad shit in the few years I’ve been doing it, but putting myself in between patients and bullets… actually preparing to gas people to death… No. I’m not cut out for any of this.”

She’s about ready to curl into a ball and give up. He can see that in her eyes and the sudden tremors in her hands, and he doesn’t blame her one bit. Niki’s doing good, so technically there’s no need for her to stay, and he was never going to force her to, no matter what.

“Then take the truck and go back to town,” he repeats himself from the first night.

She had rejected the idea then, but he can see that it hits her differently now. That she wants to go. But she also knows herself. The tears have begun to fall, and she swipes at them with frustration as she starts rummaging through cupboards in search of a good bowl to serve the soup in. It isn’t pride or even duty that keeps her from taking him up on it. Just humanity. Just a stark unwillingness to leave them all and save herself, because that guilt would be worse than anything to her.

But the fear is still there regardless, eating away at her, leaving her nervous and angry, stealing her joy and positivity, forcing her mind into dark places that only serve to increase her anxiousness. He might not have ever wanted or sought friendship, but he knows what it looks like. And for the most part, it doesn’t seem to matter whether someone’s intentions are genuine or not, the gestures of comfort usually appear to be enough.

So, since he feels responsible for Gillian’s situation, he steps closer to her and stops her nearly frantic search, by pulling her into a hug. She’s not even shocked by it. Too desperate for the comfort it brings, she instantly abandons her efforts and lets him hold her while she allows herself to fall apart for a few moments.

He’s struck by how small she feels when she curls in on herself between his arms, trembling and sniveling. She’s such an impressive person. By his standards, at least. It seems contradictory that she should be so small when she carries such enormous things within her. But true to her character, she only allows herself a brief respite. Pulling away and resuming her task after no more than a minute.

He reaches into the correct cupboard and takes out a perfect sized bowl for a portion of soup, which he hands to her without a word. She’s looked through that cupboard in her search, but was too overwhelmed to absorb anything she saw, which is why she now feels foolish. He doesn’t tell her not to, because that won’t help. Instead, he turns to leave, giving her space to feel whatever she needs to.

“Thank you,” she says before he steps out of her view, and he stops and turns halfway to look at her.

“I owe you everything, Gillian. Don’t ever forget that I’m just a weapon. It’s you who are the hero of this story,” he says, and then turns away and heads upstairs.

The computer system takes up the entire desk, and huddled in between the screens, cables and fan-assisted operating systems and hard drives, is a deeply concentrating William. Pero has seen him work before, so the image isn’t unfamiliar to him, but the worried crease in the veteran’s forehead is something new. Which says something about how much of a mess they’re really in.

“Any updates?”

Unlike many other computer experts, Will’s time in the military has left him incapable of getting so immersed in the digital world that he loses touch with the reality around him, so it’s actually really hard to sneak up on him. He doesn’t flinch or react to Pero’s voice at all, because he’s already heard him coming up the stairs.

“Yeah, we’re definitely dealing with China. But not government. It looks more like some private radical with enough funds to finance a small war.”

“Great,” Tovar sighs and sinks into a reading chair. “That makes this so much easier.”

The sarcasm is partially lost in the fatigue, and he runs a hand over his face while he tries to think through how this information might change his course of action going forwards.

“At least it’s not another fucking country on our tails,” Garin points out, and he’s right, that would’ve been worse.

“True. But if it had been, we would’ve been able to work out the players, whereas with a private force, there’s no telling who or how many people stand between us and freedom.”

“Now you’re being offensive,” Will tuts. “I’ll have that information by the end of the day.”

“Seriously? These jackasses are dumb enough to leave a digital trail?”

“Not an obvious one, no. But they’re using a cleverly concealed chatroom, masquerading as a social media DM thread, to communicate, and once I break the encryption, we’ll know everything they’re doing. I should even be able to backtrace their locations and set up a real-time tracking system. It’s our homegrown jackasses that are proving to be a bigger issue.”

“How come?”

“Well… I suspect it’s the abundance of resources. Satellites and drone surveillance, probably an entire farm of hackers all focusing their efforts on us, not to mention thousands of boots on the ground to run down all leads and eliminate false trails.”

“Right,” Pero grumbles, already feeling defeated.

“Hey,” William calls his attention, looking up from the screens and meeting his eyes as he continues. “Don’t give up yet. We might not have an army, but that doesn’t mean we’re not dangerous. They’re already scared of us, and we can use that.”

“Yeah, I know. I just also know that this isn’t gonna end without bloodshed, one way or another.”

“Probably not. So, what’s your plan? Cause I know you’re cooking up something, your head’s far too big to not have turned and looked all this over a dozen times already.”

“More like a hundred,” Pero corrects. “But I keep coming back to one inescapable fact: we need better numbers. Allies.”

“Okay, so how are you gonna find some?”

“Doing what I always do. I’m gonna make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

Will doesn’t look particularly happy about that, but then, he’s been at the receiving end of that offer, and it didn’t work out so well for him.

“Don’t you mean threaten them?” he says quietly, and while there’s a hint of defiance in his eyes, he looks mostly scared. “Cause I can promise you, that’s how it feels.”

But Tovar isn’t offended or rattled by that statement. The veteran is probably correct, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d gotten himself into the shit that had followed, after Pero’s threat.

“Yeah, that’s the point. If you hadn’t been a selfish bastard who cared more about the one percent of your money that I took, your fiancé would’ve been alive today,” he coldly replies, because he’s tired of Will’s endless attempts to make him feel guilty about their past. “And the really sad part about all this is that I already know I’m not gonna have any trouble finding skeletons I can use under the rocks that our intended assassins are sitting on, because that’s the fucking norm. But hey, why don’t I ask them nicely? Maybe they’ll agree not to kill us out of the goodness of their hearts.”

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 6

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x original female character #pero tovar x ofc #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories #pedrostories

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megarywrites · 6 months ago

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For the Writer (& Artist) Ask Game: 1, 10, and 26? ^.^

thanks! gonna put it under the cut because you know how i get lol

1 | Who was your first ever OC? Do you still "use" them? How have they evolved over time?

Zurri my love my angel my sweetheart. She's one of the 4 POV characters from the WIP I'll be returning to once I've completed both books in Seafoam, and she'll actually be the first one who will be introduced when the book starts. She has evolved.................just so much since her creation lol. She's been my best babygirl since 2012 when my sister and I were working on her story and what will be the Cycle of Dracrie (CoD) series. The story she is (technically, no I won't elaborate) introduced in will be called Visions from the Pool, and it's an extremely loose Snow White retelling, with little miss Zurri as our leading lady. At the original conception of this story, the world and magic system was so vastly different than what I'm doing now...I can't really figure out where to begin to describe her differences. What has stayed the same, though, is her feeling of being an outsider and a sense of not belonging to the place she was raised in. She feels lost in life and curious about the world beyond the borders of the encampment she grew up in. There will be a chance for her to escape and experience life for herself and find somewhere that she can truly call home, but it'll take some time.

10 | OC you most struggled to make?

in terms of Seafoam, I'd probably have to say Geros (the Diamo, aka who most will consider the main antagonist of the duology). I think creating villains is one of my writing weaknesses, and I hope I'm doing his charisma and gentle yet violent nature justice, but we'll see. for CoD...again, probably the main antagonist for the entire (15-book) series. I've been thinking about him a lot lately and trying to sort out his motivation (spite, mainly, but also a love of chaos) and the actual logistics of redacted plot things lol he's gonna be fascinating, hopefully tho...very puppet master-esque in terms of his role in the fate of Dracrie/Thiortha (i hope i can pull it off lol)

26 | What are your favorite books?

oh jesus uh....okay

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende - magnificent. if you've never read it, I cannot recommend it enough. It's a childhood favorite of mine and I was as wrapped up in the story as Bastian was when I first read it, and, in my opinion, it still holds up when reading it as an adult. Also, I've just always loved the use of color in the actual text, switching between green and burgundy when going between Fantasia and Bastian's real life

The Starless Sea but Erin Morgenstern - the aesthetics of this one...the non-linear story telling...the poetic prose...it's all chef's kiss. it was the first book I read in ages, because I had been going through a reading slump (depression lol) and it had been literal years since I picked anything up and I decided to give it a try and I loved it. Her prose is so beautiful and she's one of the authors I'm inspired by when it comes to learning from them with regards to my own writing.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien - I mean, obviously, right? He's the father of the high fantasy genre, my dog is named after Frodo, ofc I love his work lol I try to listen to the audiobooks whenever I go on hikes just to feel included, it's great. He's another one of my inspirations when it comes to writing, because I just adore how vast his world-building is, how he writes male characters, and the earnest and authentic message of hope and fighting for what's write that so beautifully alive in this story.

The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins - a stunning and evocative piece of literature that has captivated me since I originally read them way back when. She, again, is one of my writing inspirations because of her masterful use of first person pov, which is something that I generally dislike to read, and her impeccable story structure (which is something I'm leaning toward using with Seafoam)

The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling - okay, hear me out. I know she is a controversial figure now, but no one can deny the grip that this series has had on the world since it was first released. The wizarding world was so rich and inviting that even I, who wasn't allowed to read/watch it at all when I was growing up (because of religion) wanted to be a part of it. That in and of itself is something I'd like to strive for with my world-building--creating something so tangible and fascinating that readers flock to it. Probably never to that degree of success, of course...gotta be realistic lol

and last but certainly not least

The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini - aka my first introduction to the fantasy genre. I used to reread it every summer and whenever a new book in the series was coming out. Life has unfortunately gotten in the way of me reading the most recent addition to the series (a spinoff starring one of the important side characters) but it's patiently waiting for me whenever I do have the time to dedicate to a proper reread and first-read of the new book

send me author/artist asks?

#ask game #thewriteflame #as usual it got stupid long i hope you don't mind lol

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revenancy · 2 years ago

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ok guys i'm really bad at making these kinds of decisions so i am going to. tumblr poll it. more info on these projects below the cut »

UNCHOSEN: 2nd draft. Total plot revamp + rewrite. 3rd person multipov sword-and-sorcery. – When the Chosen dies, her identical twin takes her place to keep their home from falling into chaos—but will she be enough to save the kingdom?

BEARSKIN: 3rd draft. Rewrite for pacing, new scenes, + clarity. 3rd person dual pov folktale-aes adventure with a mayfly-december romance. – When a hunter kills an ancient snow bear, her brother is stolen as payment by the fickle and enigmatic Prince of Always Night, and she must play her part in the Prince's game to win him back.

SALT & SILVER: 2nd draft. Slight plot revamp, rewrite. 3rd person dual pov frontier adventure. – The Alchemist has been hunting the tombs of gods in the wasteland, but she's not the only one. When she's attacked and a critical map is stolen, she and loyal town guard Emilián chase after the thief before any more harm is done—too late.

TGOED: 1st full draft. I've been struggling through starting this for way too long. 3rd person dual pov baroque-aes intrigue. A sort of reverse murder mystery. – Ophélie is a Spicer Decadent, a glorified guild assassin employed by a mysterious benefactor who wants to keep the Palace Royal on its toes. Everett was the crown prince—but now he's nothing more than a tutor, baring his teeth at the children who were supposed to replace him. And when he finds the Decadent with blood on her hands, he realizes with a sick joy that he would love nothing more than to watch his mother's empire crumble.

JACKDAW: 1st draft. It's gone through a lot of POV changes to get to this point lmao. 3rd person single pov with brief interludes, surreal fantasy. – Jackdaw wakes in a muddy riverbank. He doesn't know where he is, when he is, or how he got there—all he knows is that he used to be a god. He explores the strange little world of Lorne to find answers to his questions, and instead he finds more questions. For instance, what is his sister doing there, and why does she want him dead?

CANTICLE: 1st draft, technically. This is a very old WIP of mine and honestly it's been a lot of different things in the past. 1st person single pov high fantasy drama with an extremely unhealthy romance. – Six years ago, a Fifth Temple guard kidnapped a young acolyte to save her life. Now, as they eke out a life together in the downcity dark, they come ever closer to danger—and then the Fifth finds them. When the acolyte is stolen back, the guard delves into the clutches of the faithful, desperate to save her again.

SECRET 7TH OPTION: guys there are 50 other projects in my scriv files i'm not joking. i could spin any of them up. right now. but these are the projects I'd like to work on/finish at some point in the next year or so, with the others being fun things I'm starting or playing with on the side, less "solid info" to intro etc. ofc if y'all have any questions please please please ask me i am an absolute brat when given any kind of attention. i will love you. forever.

#my writing #my wips #in which i am incredibly indecisive #which ones am i working on right now??? haha. hahaha.#my brain has been in hell the last couple of months i'm just starting to pick back up on my projects again #the agony of choice

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akozuheiwa · 4 months ago

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✅, 🎶, and 🌅 for the ask game? 💜

✅ list one or two favorite lines you’ve written and explain why they’re your favorite

Ohhhhh this is a hard one.

Well, for one, the entire "no life cores detected" sequence in chapter 27 of legacies was one I really liked, not because it's technically strong or anything but because the image in my head is so delightful of Douxie just begging the computer to save his brother and ofc the computer is unfeeling stating facts

I also enjoyed these two lines from Jim in 3quel:

“Destiny doesn’t usually come with a gift receipt.”

and

"He swears he’s going to change and he knows he’s going to go right back to being a puppet of destiny the second he gets the chance, like a good Trollhunter. It’s what he knows, after all."

Those two I liked because I have had a lot of fun exploring Jim and Destiny, which, I could write a whole essay about Jim and destiny and the bathtub scene so for me that bitterness is kind of the logical follow up.

🎶 do you write with music? does the music you’re listening to influence your writing?

I often do!! When I write at work I usually have my Sleeping at Last playlist on because I love Sleeping at Last. At home, I'm either listening to instrumentals (usually Audiomachine or Brand X Music) that match the mood. In rare occasions I have specific songs that match a specific scene (I have a song for Krel's funeral and Seamus's death in wizfic, Mort's death in legacies, and the convo between Douxie and Mordred in a recent chapter of 3quel). Otherwise it doesn't really influence my writing beyond sometimes the actual speed my fingers go sjkdgjkdfha

🌅 do you typically known the ending to something before you start writing it?

Yes but also sometimes no? I usually know the broad strokes of the ending, typically who will still be alive by then, etc. And before writing I always try to fully plan the fic or book out because the one time I didn't I accidentally brought dinosaurs back to life? Long story. But sometimes my characters just do things or something changes. Like 3quel was originally going to be 40 chapters like Legacies buuuuuut then I added Toby's POV and the whole Jim-control thing happened so plans had to change.

#thank you for the ask!!#ask game #sorry I wrote so much rgadkchxbah #i have a lot of thoughts all the time #akozu's wizards

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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THE PAINT DOESN’T MOVE THE WAY THE LIGHT REFLECTS ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33

a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!

like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.

images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight.

(or… a wolf?)

before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.

and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence.

he looks a little lonely.

and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.

the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —

and that’s when you wake up.

”your highness!”

a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears.

above you waits a familiar face. impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you — and she isn’t pleased. but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath.

”a wolf…”

silence.

the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows.

”… excuse me?”

”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.”

she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”

ah. of course.

a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”

”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”

”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”

following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.

”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”

from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain. heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour.

but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close.

a bitter taste blooms on your tongue.

(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)

”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”

and she brightens. visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze — for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”

a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. laced with humour. ”i bet they are.”

”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now. you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”

”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”

again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air.

”do you have any idea who that man was?”

the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was?

”… he was hot.”

a sigh. the loudest one yet. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct.

”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”

”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.

”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”

”behave.”

with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah, there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience — you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit.

all humans have one. a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs. over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.

”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”

and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”

for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing?

the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.

so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”

before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.

(hmph.)

”where is your maid?”

in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you.

and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to.

”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”

the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.”

”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”

an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite.

”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”

he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows.

yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.

but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”

you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane.

then you groan.

”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”

”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”

you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”

your father pretends not to hear you.

”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”

your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember.

that is what royalty means — absolute dominion.

(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)

”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”

a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”

”your majesty.”

…

the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”

”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”

behave.

behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.

(you might as well be a pet.)

the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago.

automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.

you’re just about to part your lips, when —

”… am i interrupting?”

you still.

a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds.

the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”

when you turn around, you see a knight.

he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind.

and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.

(ah. he’s one of those knights.)

”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”

(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)

”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”

the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. though, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”

finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.

but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.

you feel a little nauseous.

”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.”

he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew.

”forgive me. my name is suguru geto — your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”

(suguru geto.

you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)

his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours. waiting to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything — nothing, other than to study his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar.

it’s a smile you know well.

so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”

silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.

interest?

”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”

that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.

”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny.

”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”

ah. the sympathy card.

before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”

… ugh.

to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”

a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.

they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.

before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.

it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”

(indefinitely.)

a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”

suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”

but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.

to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.

”my lord.”

”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”

”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”

you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”

but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.

”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.

”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”

”oh?”

”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”

he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”

”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”

suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him.

(”you’re a bad actor.”)

the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.

but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake.

”from now on, i serve you.”

when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.

suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.

”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.” there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”

the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.

”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”

you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.

(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)

an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”

and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.

you watch him, silently.

then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.

behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.

”good morning, your highness.”

blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.

black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile.

the gears of your mind finally click into place.

a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.

but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”

a muffled groan. ”leave.”

”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”

”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”

a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.

”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”

…

slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order.

it’s tempting. dangerously so.

(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)

”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”

a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”

(suddenly, you get an idea.)

a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased.

silence.

then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”

when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat.

that’ll definitely make him quit.

— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.

before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing.

with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented. too speechless to muster up even a sneer, all you can do it sit in silence.

he really went ahead and got you some of everything.

stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”

he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”

you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.

but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.

when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh.

it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”

”... better than usual, i guess.”

despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”

…

you pale.

silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?”

”yes.”

another pause.

”… like. all of it?”

”mhm.”

your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.

wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.

”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”

”ugh.”

a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”

”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”

”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”

”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”

and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.

but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”

you give him a look.

he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.

you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips.

then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”

”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, reassuring, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. ”no kissing involved.”

a handshake.

(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)

after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him.

”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”

suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”

kento? now, why does that sound familiar…?

”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”

”that’s not happening.”

”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.

but then you remember the tale.

so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…

”… is it true?”

he tilts his head.

”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp. ”… pull it out of a stone?”

a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”

and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”

”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets told about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as great, anyhow.”

(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)

in a matter of seconds, you deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”

”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”

…

”wait, really?”

the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.

”depends,” he shoots you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”

(... oh. he was teasing you.)

an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”

suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.

”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”

he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.”

”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”

suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat.

”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”

when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.

a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”

”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.”

a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips.

”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”

suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.

once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.

anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.

a week passes by with no particular developments.

you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods. he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being.

the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken.

(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)

a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.

as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour.

he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.

and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods.

as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf.

finally, your knight opts to break the silence.

”you’re quite talented.”

it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.

suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.

but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.

stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf.

from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.

”what?”

suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”

a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….

(something in his tone convinces you not to.)

”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”

silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.

the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?

”… huh.”

a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.

then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.”

you quirk a brow.

but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all.

a sorry spectacle of teeth.

a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow — still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep — a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.

the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.

it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.

fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.

what a mess.

when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth.

it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other.

he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”

he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.

you sigh.

after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor.

there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.

a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.”

he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”

”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”

a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief.

when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile.

(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless.

what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)

just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.

”your highness! what have you done now?”

there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.

”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”

she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”

”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”

”… my lord —”

”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”

he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.

(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)

it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.

the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.

the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.

a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.

”your highness.”

he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness.

(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)

he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks.

”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”

…

”… huh?”

he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”

a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.”

but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”

another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly.

just what the hell is happening?

”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”

”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes.

you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life.

”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”

nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”

he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”

”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”

no one does.

and that’s fine. you don’t want them to.

(you just want him to stop looking at you so fondly.)

”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.”

he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult, scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”

a scoff. desperate. ”no.”

”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”

”not me.”

”your highness.”

…

the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.

he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks.

”that was very, very kind of you.”

silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.

(someone saw through the act.)

”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.”

suguru bites back a coo.

as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet.

it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted.

you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through.

then he’s catching up to you with long strides.

(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)

sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame —

you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it. maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.

or, well — sometimes.

”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes. the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was.

effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes.

suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”

a beat.

”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”

”still no, sweetheart.”

a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”

you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.

”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”

he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”

your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.

”… thanks for breakfast.”

suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence.

”you’re welcome, my lord.”

…

(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)

peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.

today, he sounds a little hesitant.

”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”

you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant.

”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums.

”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”

you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.

”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”

you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.

”… so?”

you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.

”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.

a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting.

your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper.

”… i wanna swing a sword.”

suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?

you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.”

a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.

then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”

you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear.

when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.

(tantalizing.)

he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.

and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself.

giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.

suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes.

you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.

but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.

ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.

”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”

to your horror — it flusters you terribly.

you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two.

”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”

”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”

for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring.

a mellow excitement simmers in your bones.

you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.

”suguru!”

the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be.

when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips.

he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.

”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”

your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests.

”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”

”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”

he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him.

his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”shall we get started?”

haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”

a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”

”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”

in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half.

you’re a little awestruck.

and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”

barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.

that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”

— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.

silence.

haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.

”… i was going to say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, one closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”

”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, that you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”

he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”

a tiny pause.

(you’re being childish, again.)

brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.

suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”

”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”

”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”

he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.

a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”

from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.

but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement.

as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun.

he looks like he’s having fun. he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun.

for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash.

and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth.

you huff. heat crawling up your neck.

show off.

”excuse me, your highness?”

the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.

(uh oh.)

— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties.

it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.

slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.

so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”

haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”

but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore.

he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.

(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)

in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.

with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”

the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.

and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”

before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”

(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)

with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.

as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”

you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”

”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”

still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time.

”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”

”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?”

”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”

a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip.

”… i haven’t.”

he turns to look at you. raising a brow.

”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”

your knight falls silent.

so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.”

closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”

…

he only hums. ”i see.”

(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave.

you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.)

that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.

when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.

”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen camellias. ”for you, my lord.”

blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.

it’s mesmerizing.

”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”

when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”

it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth.

but this — this particular gift…

…

”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”

suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”

and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.

that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish —

a wish to see more of it.

”are you trying to sneak out again?”

owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.

you swallow a gulp. ”… no?”

and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken.

”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”

”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”

resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore.

like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.

(why can’t you just accept that?)

the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide.

”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”

he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”

you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.

”… the woods.”

suguru blinks. quiet.

his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit, misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”

but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something. it's the woods that you're so curious about?”

a pout slips into your lips.

”… you can see them from here.”

his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”

”they sell their fur,” you state.

(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)

suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”

a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.

”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”

he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”

you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. “if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”

”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”

”mhm. you’d be my first target.”

that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you.

a sudden urge overtakes you.

”… i wanna know about something else.”

”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”

”you.”

…

for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”

suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair.

a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”

anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence.

”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.”

he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”

you cock your head. ”being a knight?”

”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.

(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)

”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”

he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”

you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.

”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”

”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice.

(he looks a little enamored.)

”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”

”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”

”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?”

a yawn. ”it would.”

low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”

rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”

an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.

lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly.

”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”

”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”

he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his.

one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles.

it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart — but for once it works in your favour.

”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”

he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble.

but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.

”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”

he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“

”what are you, stupid?”

”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”

”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”

you sigh.

”it’s just so suffocating.”

suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something.

moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.

finally, he makes up his mind.

”okay, okay.”

when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”

…

you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.

”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”

he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”

another moment passes.

(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)

a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”

suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”

(his ears burn a cherry red.)

”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”

”yep.”

”if anyone asks, you —”

”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”

your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget.

sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour.

and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest.

when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company.

everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.

suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.

”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”

”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”

the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated.

then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”

suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it.

his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete.

when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.

”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”

under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.

your protector.

finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth.

he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm.

”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”

his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.

”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”

and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step.

”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”

and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”

the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.

all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.

only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.

the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.

so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun.

(you wonder if he feels the same.)

”hey, suguru?”

he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.

”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”

he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips.

”of course.”

…

your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.

”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”

before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical. gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak.

his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. my existence is for you, and you alone.”

suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”

and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”

”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”

another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…”

suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”

(something bitter settles on your tongue.)

but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”

a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he gives a raspy chuckle. ”possessive little thing…”

that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind.

and he always, always kneels.

such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.

”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

”i kinda do.”

a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”

a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”

”don’t be disrespectful.”

”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”

suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes.

”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”

”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”

silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.

suguru always kneels.

but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.

sometimes, he feels like your best friend.

careless, careless, careless.

how could he ever be so careless?

everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.

(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)

the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to.

suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue.

suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.

suguru is hunting — for you.

and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.

but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —

and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.

when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you.

what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.

suguru.

bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.

he’s saying your name.

there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat.

(he finally said it.)

you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise.

it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.

”oh, thank the heavens.”

another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped.

then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. his grip is firm, comforting, desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.

only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt.

and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.

suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in shining armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.

so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.

he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball.

”i’m sorry.”

and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed.

he looks sad.

with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them.

you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.

but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful —

because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.

”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”

and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.

suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.

until your voice breaks him out of it.

”it’s not your fault.”

he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

he gulps.

”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”

”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”

(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)

a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”

”it wasn’t your fault.”

…

”your highne —”

”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”

he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”

he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.

”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”

it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.

he places his palm over yours.

a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you.

”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”

you blink. he continues.

”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…”

his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”

silence.

your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”

he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.

”a fox.”

…

”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”

your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.

(well, maybe not quite all.)

”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”

he stills.

then he’s burning up.

”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.

you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”

suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”

he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.

”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”

he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears.

so he settles for using cheap tricks.

”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”

”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever.

(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)

”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”

it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.

he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.

that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished.

before you lies a field of stars.

you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song.

everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.

(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)

the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.

there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil.

you clear your throat to get his attention.

like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale.

you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.

“… okay. you can open them, now.”

he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.

he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”

”thank you.”

you raise your head.

suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin.

”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”

his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy.

until his smile drops.

”uh, actually — i…”

now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper.

then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”

with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.

it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.

it’s a sketch of a fox.

wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?”

you point to yourself.

suguru chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.

”like i said, i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”

”i’m gonna frame it.”

…

”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”

”please don't —”

”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”

”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”

a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, though a little hesitant.

”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”

he sighs. relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”

”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”

you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall.

finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz.

as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue.

”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”

mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”

”uh oh.”

he gives you one of those silent, flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. quirking a brow, he exhales amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.

”i retract my earlier statement.”

when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.

”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere.

he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place.

”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”

his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.

and then he’s smiling.

”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”

silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.

”… suguru.”

he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.

”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”

an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry.

“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”

”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”

he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.

“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”

before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.

his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is.

but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”

”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”

and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”

a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him.

one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.

”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”

(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)

so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.

and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #knight!sugu literally means the world to me… this specific version is a lil mischievous <33 and so so protective <333 #most of all he’s very veryyyy wolfy…… this fic is BRIMMING w canine symbolism like i put SO much thought into it 😭😭#knight!sugu is a wolf pretending to be a dog and royalty!reader is a fox forced to behave as a lamb <33 that’s their dynamic!#and yk…. dogs herd sheep…….. sugu guards reader………. (from wolves & foxes…. dramatic irony…….)#but in reality they both feel most at ease when they’re running around in the woods and baring their fangs :33 #i LOVE this reader btw i really hope they come off as endearing despite their brattiness LOL i think they’re soooo cute 🥺🥺#sugu and his brat taming tendencies… his ability to seek out the most guarded people and make them feel safe in his presence…….#he means the galaxy to me. king wherever u may be… i hope u are getting the love u deserve

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deripmaver · 4 years ago

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laurent is a good person - book 1 meta

one of the most amazing things about captive prince is how the reveals in book 3 recontextualize all of the scenes leading up to them, including about laurent himself. in book one, all we see is damen pov as he’s being abused and humiliated by this supposedly spoiled, vile ice prince. when the regent comes to damen and subtly (and not so subtly) insults laurent, calling him unfit to rule - well, why would he think anything different? laurent has insulted him, had him whipped within an inch of his life, and even attempted to (and later successfully lmfao) have him raped while drugged out of his mind.

after book 3 we can reread most if not all of book 1 as a very traumatized boy who has finally been confronted with the man who killed his brother, leaving him alone with his abusive uncle, and who he clearly has made into a complete monster in his own mind. damen of course sees him as a complete bitch, but there’s textual/subtextual evidence that laurent is well liked, and that his behavior during book 1 was actually pretty out of character for him. i’d like to provide some examples of that now!!!!

“Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white as though in reaction to a slap, or an insult. Damen’s view, half-truncated by the short chain at this neck, had been enough to see that. But Laurent’s expression had shuttered quickly.” Captive Prince, Chapter One

i couldn’t resist adding this one in hehe. laurent recognizes damen!! he’s come down, knowing his uncle has devised another truly horrendous and triggering “gift” and that he’ll lose support if he calls it our for what it truly is, only to find out that it’s fucking damianos of akielos sent to him as a sex slave. a jab at laurent’s trauma about auguste and also a jab at laurent’s frigid sexuality - which ofc is completely the regent’s fault. fuck that guy so much lmfao

“‘It’s so rare to see you at these entertainments, Your Highness,’ said Vannes.” Captive Prince, Chapter Two.

this is right before the fight between govart and damen in the ring, of course. damen sees laurent as depraved and vile as the sexual sadism on display by the veretian court, and considers him to be a willing purveyor of it. this is wrong, of course, as said by vannes here. laurent has only shown up because he wants to humiliate damen lmfao.

“He did remember being supported by two of the guards, here, in this room, while Radel stared athis back in horror. ‘The Prince really . . . did this.’ ‘Who else?’ Damen said. Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger. ‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

this scene, to me, was the most telling lmfao. it’s right after damen is whipped. you could argue that radel is just a servant in the employ of the royal household, so is of course going to be loyal to the prince, but he seems genuinely surprised of the prince’s cruelty towards damen. not only that, but he slaps him and immediately assumes damen must have done something. which - i mean, technically he did lmao. not necessarily enough to deserve having the skin flayed from his back, but you know. if laurent was in the habit of torturing pets and slaves, why would the overseer react this way?

“The men guarding him were the Prince’s Guard, and had no affiliation with the Regent whatsoever. It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality. Laurent’s feud with his uncle they took up wholeheartedly; there were deep schisms and rivalries between the Prince’s Guard and the Regent’s Guard, apparently.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

laurents relationships with his guards are also some of the biggest indicators that he isn’t just a spoiled brat, but can insire a deep loyalty in his men. even if they do all want to fuck him. ah, sexual harassment. it’s also hilarious that damen immediately assumes they’re loyal to him because they want to fuck him - nice projection there, dude. we know a bit more about laurent and his guards thanks to green but for a season, but this little bit here is interesting.

“Laurent was indeed good at talking. He accepted sympathy gracefully. He put his position rationally. He stopped the flow of talk when it became dangerously critical of his uncle. He said nothing that could be taken as an open slight on the Regency. Yet no one who talked to him could have any doubt that his uncle was behaving at best misguidedly and at worst treasonously.” Captive Prince, Chapter Five

idek what to say here. laurent my beloved <3333

“‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent. Damen felt himself turn ashen, as the threat sank in. ‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.” Captive Prince, Chapter Seven

this isn’t really relevant to my thesis lmfao i just love this exchange bc it gives SO MUCH information about laurent and his uncle in just three lines of dialogue. what has the regent done, who did he cut down just to hurt laurent? when and how did laurent learn that? p a i n

“Laurent’s fussy horse began acting out again, and he leaned forward in the saddle, murmuring something as he stroked her neck in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture to quiet her.” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- lmfao this scene just hurts so badly on the reread. especially later on, in book 3 i think, where laurent says something like “i provoked my uncle.” he’s really blaming himself for his uncle KILLING HIS HORSE, his horse that his murdered brother trained, one of the only living connections to auguste... all because his uncle could not let a single miniscule plan laurent had set go through without some kind of repercussion. literally all laurent did was do something to stop an innocent group of people from being abused, nothing to undermine his uncle’s rule, but because the regent is VILE he could not let laurent have even this. he’s so good with her, too. he must have known by this point and also known that there was no way to stop this. P A I N

“‘I know that you have somehow arranged this,’ said Erasmus. He was incapable of hiding what he felt, and just seemed to radiate embarrassed happiness. ‘You kept your promise. You and your master. I told you he was kind,’ Erasmus said. ‘You did,’ said Damen. He was pleased to see Erasmus happy. Whatever Erasmus believed about Laurent, Damen wasn’t going to dissuade him. ‘He’s even nicer in person. Did you know he came and talked to me?’ said Erasmus. ‘—He did?’ said Damen. It was something he couldn’t imagine. ‘He asked about . . . what happened in the gardens. Then he warned me. About last night.’ ‘He warned you,’ said Damen. ‘He said that Nicaise would make me perform before the court and it would be awful, but that if I was brave, something good might come at the end of it.’ Erasmus looked up at Damen curiously. ‘Why do you look surprised?’ ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. He likes to plan things in advance,’ said Damen.” Captive Prince, Chapter 9.

this is the first in-text confirmation we have that laurent has a good heart beneath his layers and layers of trauma-induced lashing out. book one often skeeves people out because of its graphic and, honestly, yes, kind of sexualized depiction of rape, slavery, and depravity, but beneath it all you meet these two protagonists who are going to have all of their most deeply held views about each other challenged. laurent from very early on is shaken to his core when damen refuses to rape nicaise in the ring - it cracks the very foundations of the person he’d built up in his head as this horrible monster who killed his brother in cold blood. and damen keeps defying laurents expectations by being a good person through and through. on the other hand, laurent spends the first part of the book taking out years of anger on damen, but here for the first time we see him do something just because its the kind thing to do. yes, torveld is an ally against his uncle, but laurent has clearly been scheming with him for a while now, and he’s now overlooking his hatred of damen and working with him just because none of the slaves deserve whats happened to them. it’s such a sweet moment.

“One of the other men, eyeing them, approached a moment later. ‘Don’t mind Jean. He’s in a foul mood. He was the one had to stick a sword through the mare’s throat and put her down. The Prince tore strips off him for not doing it fast enough.’” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- pt 2. this is just another really sweet and sad detail - laurent being so upset that the horse’s death could have been more painless. it must have hurt so much to see her in pain, and to know that the only way for that pain to end was being put down as quickly as possible. i wuv him. im sad

that’s it, though there are still a few more chapters left in the book. this isn’t providing any new information, of course, the path of the three books is to show that laurent isnt the man we meet in book one, that he’s actually sweet, and earnest, and he’s been fighting his own battle practically alone against his abuser since he was fifteen years old. also, the reveal that laurent knew who damianos was from the start makes it clear imo that all of his violence in book 1 was supposed vengence, not... him being evil. he apologizes explicitly in-text, and also, all of the acts of violence he commits cause serious problems for him in terms of his future alliance which he then needs to fix. i just love how layered these books are, how there’s so much information in them that makes rereading almost more fun than reading them for the very first time!

#Captive Prince #captive prince meta #damen x laurent #Laurent of Vere #Damianos of Akielos

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fandom-collective-writers · 5 years ago

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a two player game | obey me | leviathan

“And what are you doing with this game~?”

It’s an innocent enough question until Leviathan tips his head back to glance at the game in question.

“How did you sneak hentai into the House of Lamentation? I would have expected Lucifer to have some anti-porn devil dog to confiscate these types of things.” Your fingers are perfectly curled over the main character’s lewd expression as she’s ravaged by… tentacles.

“Uh–”

You smile slyly and drape your arms over his shoulders as the blush settles across his cheeks.

“I got it as part of a promotion. People pay me to review games, y’know.” It’s the best excuse he can give really, but he is at fault for not hiding it better. “Now give it here so I can put it inside of my desk. If Mammon finds this, I’ll hear about it for the next century.” Leviathan paws at the box, but you hold it just out of reach.

“You haven’t opened it.” “It’s a two player game.” “You plus me equals two.”

Leviathan laughs a bit and scratches the back of his neck. “Very perceptive. You don’t even know what the game is about.”

“Play as Haru or control the tentacle monster that has her locked up in its underwater dungeon. Win the game by resisting the orgasms or by bringing the second player to their knees,” you read from the back of the case. “Sounds easy enough. Wouldn’t it be funny if you were getting pegged by tentacles though, and I was the one to control them?”

Levi finally manages to swipe the game from your hand and sets it down on a stack of papers. “You’re into that? I think we skipped over that in last week’s kink-meeting.” The demon laughs at his own joke. (There had not, in fact, been a kink meet between the two of you, but it makes you giggle as well.)

“You never asked! I’d be down to try it with you.”

His nose brushes against yours gently and his hand finds yours. As Levi’s fingers lace with yours, you reach for the box with your opposite hand, click it open, ignore the surprised hey! and hold on tight so that the game absorbs the two of you.

Maybe you jinxed it when you teased Levi about getting pegged, because now you’re the one bound and half suspended in the air. When you try to move your wrist, the kelp-like ties around your wrist only grow tighter. “Kinky,” you mutter under your breath.

There’s a loud crashing sound outside of your cell, but it is quickly followed by Levi’s familiar voice. He looks damn good as a merperson: dark purple hair floats just above his shoulders, an iridescent tail, and of course (likely the best scene of them all) his more-than-usual pronounced abdominal muscles flecked with purple scales.

“Finally! I found you– I’ve been going through this maze for ages, just looking for you.”

“Did you miss the sign that says ‘human sex prisoner here’? Maybe turn the neon lights on.”

This earns a laugh from Leviathan before he leans against a pillar. “You look good,” he comments, checking you out in the same manner you had. When your face turns into a quizzical frown, Levi fetches one of the mirrors on the other side of the room. Upon holding it up, you realize he’s not entirely wrong. You are sporting a half ripped bikini top (calling it meager would be generous) and a sheer skirt that hangs from your hips.

“Are we underwater?”

“Technically, yes– at least according to the game we’re meant to be. Don’t question things too much, this game is still in its beta stages.” He pushes his bangs back and fusses with one of his gold rings.

“Oh, I see.” You continue to hang in place. “...What now?”

Leviathan lifts a hand. “Well… you read the instructions. Either you cum and I win, or you hold out and win.”

It takes a moment before you hear similar crashing noises. Swallowing hard, you turn your head back and see shadows darting around in the shadows. Finally, they emerge into the light: tentacles. They’re not attached to anything in particular. In fact, you can’t tell where they have come from, but your attention is quickly pulled back towards Levi.

He grasps your chin with one hand and smiles almost devilishly. “Y’know, I was going to be nice, but you were so cocky that I think I’ll just edge you and make you cum.” Levi has the ability to control these tentacles, and suddenly, you’re being held in place by said appendages rather than the kelp bindings.

“So, what, you’re going to take meme with your fancy new toys?”

One of the limbs climbs up your right leg, pulling your thighs apart. It doesn’t feel sticky in particular, but you can’t help but yelp at the sharp sensation of cold air hitting your now semi-exposed cunt. You yelp meekly and try to keep your legs closed, but there is no way you can overpower the tentacles.

Levi makes his way over to you and brushes his fingers over your collarbone. “Hm.. I think I will. This will be entertaining, no?” He lowers his head slightly to press a kiss to your lips. “Tell me if it hurts, alright? There might be some glitches because of the game.”

You’re not entirely sure how he’s controlling the tentacles, but before you can manage a response, one begins to prod at your entrance. It’s cold and sticky, but makes you moan nonetheless. “Levi!”

“What, did you orgasm just from that? I’m only testing things out.”

“Get on with it–”

“Oh? Gladly..” Levi covers your eyes with his hand and keeps the other at your jaw. Driven by a seemingly animalistic urge, he presses his hips against yours while stealing wet kisses from your lips. The tentacle moves in sync with Levi’s motions: every body roll translates to a languid stroke from the extra appendage. When he captures your nipple with two fingers, a suction cup finds your clit and pulls at it teasingly.

It’s a plethora of sensations, all at once, and is almost overwhelming. You’re being ravaged by Leviathan and his tentacles at the same time, but the worst part is that you can’t even see his beautiful expression as he wrecks you. How could anyone last in a game like this?

Saliva dribbles from your swollen lips and you open your mouth to say something, call his name– anything to warn him that your underwater tryst might come to an end faster than you could have anticipated.

A pathetic moan rolls off your tongue, but it’s cut short when something smacks your ass. Another tentacle?! How many are there?!

Not that you could count them, even if you wanted to, because Levi keeps his hand firmly over your eyes. It’s torture at this point, feeling every little thing and listening to the intense lewd sounds, but not being able to see them.

“Levi,” you whine with desperation. “I can’t see– I want to see you.”

“Eh?” He moves his hand back, and you nearly squeal with delight at his expression. Leviathan is blushing more than usual, as if he’s feeling pleasure from what the tentacles are doing to you. “Better? Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “You’re so cute…”

“Cute?” Levi huffs. “I’m fucking you with tentacles made of pixels and you call me cute?” Now he laughs a bit and a few suction cups stick to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. “I can’t do you anally though, that’s Level 2.”

Now you’re the one laughing, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I actually am. No matter who wins, with each level increase, more toys and positions are unlocked. That’s kind of smart actually.”

“But Levi, don’t you want to put your tentacle in my ass?”

This makes him shiver, and you know what the answer is. Regardless, it seems like any attempts to make the tip of the tentacle get closer to your second hole, nothing happens. With a pensive sigh, your hips meet the side of his tail so that you’re grinding on both Levi and the tentacle simultaneously. “This will have to do.”

Up until this moment, the tentacles hadn’t actually entered you, but instead danced around your hole and focused on your clit. However, your momentary leap of authority gives him a figuratively boner, since he doesn’t technically have a visible dick. It might be in his tail somewhere… but you aren’t about to ask where he’s hiding his cock. That would be weird.

“Hey Levi?”

He grunts back in response, obviously focused on other things.

“Do you think you can penetrate me? I’m sure you’ll win if you do–”

“It’s not as easy as you think– I have to give each thing something to do or my stats drop.” “You have stats?!” You lean back slightly and eye Leviathan.

“Yeah, just flex your palm.” You give Levi a flat stare. “It’s kind of difficult to do that when my wrists are bound.”

The tentacle holding your right hand releases slightly, giving you enough room to do as he’s suggested. A small screen appears in front of you. “Moaning level 2, cockwarming level 1– wait I can change the size of my breasts?!”

Levi pauses for a moment long enough to look at the small screen. “Oh, yeah, I had dick options too, but I didn’t mess with them yet.”

This makes you blink a few times in astonishment, thinking that this game is far more complicated than the first one you played. You want to look through the menu more and see what other things you can do– your mind drifts to the actual purpose of the game. Could there be a power up that would help you resist the tentacles?

Before you can continue scrolling, the slick sound of something penetrating you fills your ears. He’s done what you’ve asked him to, and is absolutely merciless about it. Now that Levi’s found a way to fuck you hard, he’s not going to let up any time soon. In fact, chances are that he won’t stop until the Congratulations, you’ve made your bitch cum screen pops up over his head, if that’s even how the game works.

A string of curses fly off your tongue, meant to be praises than anything else, but you don’t hear your own voice. “Why don’t it let me say ----?!” you screech, dragging your fingernails across Levi’s bare shoulders. “I just wanna moan for you, Levi–”

“Curse words are censored, but that’s stupid, I don’t know why. Is it possible you changed the settings?”

You’re frustrated now because, now you’ve finally accepted that you’re his and the stupid game won’t let you call out for him. It’s not a problem for very long though, because the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. A burning sensation ignites your entire body now, and your mind can’t anchor a single coherent thought for more than a few moments at a time.

The strangest thing: it actually feels like he’s the one fucking you. Not the tentacles, but rather, it feels the same as if Leviathan were fucking you in his bed. This makes you happy, so happy that saliva begins to dribble down your chin as the inevitable pressure of an orgasm starts to fill your lower abdomen. You arch your back in such a way that the bikini straps give away, releasing your breasts from the fabric.

Next thing you know, you’re subconsciously grinding against the biggest tentacle– the one fucking your mercilessly– in search for more delicious friction for your clit. At this point, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, you just really want to cum and see if those tentacle things of his will splurt out some cum.

“Levi–”

“Hm?” His lips dance over the crook of your neck, and the last thing you need now is for him to suddenly decide to be all daddy-merman. You bet anything that his tongue is wetter than your pussy is right now, and the way his teeth graze over your skin–

And then you’re cumming.

Something breaks inside of you, and then it feels as though you’re drowning but breathing at the same time. Is it part of the game? Is this what a simulated orgasm feels like? Your body pulsates like never before and you understand the appeal of sex games. Another moment passes and your mind goes blank, but only for a second because you feel the budding warmth of seed running down your legs.

So the tentacles can cum.

You manage to find the minimal strength it takes to just open your eyes, and you’re met with Leviathan’s beautiful expression as he crashes down from his high as well. He freezes for a split second, almost as if the game is glitching or overloading from the sheer impact of both orgasms taking place. You pray that he remains like this for just a bit longer, giving you the chance to lean your head against his chest.

Levi’s skin is soft, but covered with a thin, inexplicable film of perspiration. If anything, it just makes you giddy again, but you’re not sure that either of you could last for Level 2 in this sorry condition. Running your tongue over his pronounced clavicle, you nip the skin there and suck on it just as he buffers for a moment and releases a painfully loud moan.

His heart thunders loudly, echoing in your ears. It’s the only thing you can hear until his hand lands on your cheek. “Are you okay?” Leviathan’s voice grounds you, and then you realize that the tentacles are no longer in sight, but have retreated into the shadows the first emerged from.

“Yeah… but I think you froze for a second there– we should do it again, y’know, to make sure we can review the game correctly.”

This makes him laugh. The beautiful sound prompts a giggle from you as well, so you throw your arms around his neck for a tight hug. It doesn’t really matter that your skirt has magically disappeared, you’re pleased with the experience.

A screen flashes in front of the two of you, but you’re actually surprised to see the congratulations message.

“We both lost?!”

“How? I made you cum.”

You read the small print: “Haru successfully made the sea monster cum first, but unfortunately succumbed to the tentacles.” With a huff, you scroll through and read the extended audit log of your ‘underwater’ sex adventure with Levi. “That’s bull----! Ugh! I still can’t ----ing curse!”

Levi shushes you gently before brushing your hair back and offering you a consolation kiss. He taps the ‘return to main screen’ button, and the two of you are transported back to the real world.

Nothing’s changed since you left: in fact, it’s only been a few minutes, according to the clock on Levi’s nightstand, that you even opened the game in the first place. Before you can say anything, Leviathan closes the box and throws it into the desk drawer. “No more hentai games for you. I need a cold shower and something to eat after that.”

You stretch and massage your wrists. Although there is no physical evidence of the bindings, you can sure as hell feel where his tentacles kept you in place. Disappointed though, your eyes follow the outline of Levi’s body, happy to see that his normal legs have returned… with a third, very aroused, appendage sitting comfortably between the two of them.

“Levi~”

“Yeah?”

“Two things. One, give it a good review, but say that I need to be able to curse when I cum.”

He raises an eyebrow, but then nods. “And the second thing?”

Now, you’re smiling and reaching for the bulge in his pants. “I think you need a second orgasm to take care of this, no? But no game– this one, I’ll give it to you and make sure it’s real.”

Levi just swallows and shoos you away, calling you silly and that he doesn’t have any energy for that because he knows you’ll leave him an absolute mess. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction though, because now he’s both painfully hard and blushing brighter than a virgin on a windy day.

“Hey Levi?”

“What is it now?”

You just smile and wave your hand. “No, it’s nothing like that– I was just thinking, maybe next time we’ll be in reversed positions. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He contemplates this for a second. “Why, you want to try and win?”

“Well yeah!” “In your dreams, Haru.”

“I was really worried you’d moan the in game character’s name instead of mine. That would have been awkward as hell.”

Levi extends his arm, offering you a place to sit on his lap. “I wouldn’t do that. But let’s keep this between the two of us for now. Okay?”

You nod and nestle against his chest. Regardless of who the game declared, or didn’t, the winner, you like to think that both of you won. At least for a moment.

#obey me!#obey me leviathan #Obey Me Levi #obey me fanfic #obey me smut #leviathan #leviathanobeyme #shall we date #leviathan smut #otome #xreader #leviathan x reader #obey me x reader

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carelessannie · 4 years ago

Text

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 8)

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: 10.1K

Starker, WinterSpider, SpiderShield, Peter x Clint x OFC

Peter’s POV -> it’s been a rough semester, and pack related stress isn’t making anything easier. Maybe a packmate (or the whole pack) can help him out?

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, explicit d/s abo smut, femdom, edging, face-sitting, come eating, uhhh light CBT and hair pulling, light bondage, subdrop, and non-apologetic long discussions of sex-ed

---

Maybe it goes like this:

There’s only a few weeks until finals, and of course this is when the pack has decided to move forward with officially mating and bonding. It’s not like Peter wants to postpone it, per se— it’s just, there’s so many steps involved with combining packs, and Peter can’t deal with dividing his attention between home and school.

And the lab. Dammit.

Until the end of their lease, his pack is living at their apartment during the week and at Tony’s place over the weekend. The whole upstairs of their house was built with bedroom suites, so each of them not only get a room of their own, but they have also built a makeshift nest upstairs that’s separate from Bucky’s nest downstairs. It’s been an easy transition this way— taking claim of a part of Tony’s home before a more intimate bond takes place— but Peter feels more and more stressed out as the weeks pass.

Currently, he’s staring at a screen in the lab, failing to comprehend any of the information in front of him. Over winter break, Peter was moved to a permanent position in a lab away from Tony. Pepper had insisted on it since they started getting serious, and Peter agreed. It was unprofessional to do that much cuddling at work.

The one downside now is that work has become mind-numbingly boring for most of the day. After this semester, Peter can transfer back to working in chemical engineering, or mechanics. Or even robotics. And after spending the last few months in software development and computer science, Peter is so ready for the change.

He checks the clock for the third time in the last five minutes. Still four o’clock. Still the same information in front of him.

If he squints hard enough, the code on his computer looks like Hieroglyphics.

“To- neeeey,” he whines, turning fully to face the Beta, “thank god, I’m dying. I can’t go on.”

There are a few snickers from other scientists in the lab, but Peter could care less as he watches Tony’s face crumble, “Oh sweet baby, come here,” and he opens his arms, pulling Peter in for a hug.

It only lasts a few moments, but Peter absorbs as much of Tony’s scent as he can while the Beta rocks him back and forth, stroking down his back and kissing whispered reassurances into his hair. He holds onto Tony’s tie, using it as leverage to stand up and nose around his collarbone.

Tony laughs and murmurs, “That tickles, Pete,” but Peter ignores him, dotting small kisses up the side up his neck until he can smell HappyArousedCalm coming off of his Beta.

There’s a hitch in Tony’s breath after Peter nibbles on his pulse point, “Need something from me, Omega?”

Peter hums, even as Tony pulls away slightly, “Yes, Beta,” he pauses as Tony tilts his head expectantly, “I need you to take me home.”

He watches Tony laugh, stepping back and looping an arm over Peter’s shoulders, before calling out to the room, vaguely, “Whoever’s in charge here, I’m taking him home. Because I’m actually in charge here. Okay— have a good weekend, goodbye.”

He’s towed away, barely sparing a second to grab his phone and shut down his station. They practically run out of the building— holding hands and laughing wildly as they throw their jackets into the back of Tony’s car and jump in the front seats.

“So— what are we doing with the long weekend, Tony?”

Tony starts the car, pulling out into the city, “I thought we’d go out for dinner and spend the evening in with our pack— how does that sound?”

“ Ooo,” Peter claps his hands, “that sounds perfect, Tony, oh my goodness. What do you have in mind?”

“How does seafood sound? I have a place I’ve been dying to take you.”

Peter turns, grabbing his boyfriend’s arm, “Where? Tony, where are we going?”

“Nope, not this time,” Tony shakes his head, weak, “it’s gonna be a surprise, dammit.”

“I’ll get it out of you— no secret is safe around me, Tony Stark.”

He winks and blows a kiss when Tony looks over, and the man looks terrified. Peter laughs, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of the center console and reclining back in the seat. It’s a little chilly still in early April, but the change of season means more sun, and the Omega is happy to roll up his dress shirt sleeves and bask in it like a pampered cat.

The drive passes comfortably and Peter adores sitting next to his handsome Beta— the whole world seeing that Tony is spoken for and claimed by the young Omega on his arm. Peter never thought he’d want to be a trophy Omega— and, technically, he isn’t— but something about being pampered and loved by the most powerful man in New York City has him preening where he sits.

He’s thankful the windows are down, or Tony would be able to smell it on him.

They pull around 59th and up to the curb across from Central Park. Tony exits the driver’s side, throws his keys to a waiting driver, and rounds the car to open Peter’s door. He steps out and grabs their jackets from the back seat, handing over Tony’s as the two of them link arms and hop onto the sidewalk.

“Where to, Tony?” he blinks up at his date, smiling innocently.

Tony hums, distracted, “Marea, just through the—”

“— Aha! —”

“— dammit! No! That doesn’t count!”

“Yes it does! I win,” Peter skips forward, doing a little dance in victory.

He feels Tony catch him around the waist, nuzzling into his neck, and knows the Beta is enjoying his HappyOmega scent. The two of them joke and tease for the rest of the walk into the restaurant, but Peter notices something as they walk through the door to be seated.

“Uh, Tony?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Where is everyone?” he asks, gesturing around the empty room.

Tony looks around and gives him a suspiciously innocent face, “Well... they may not be open, officially, for another hour.”

He tries to pull them further into the room, but Peter is frozen— speechless.

“Don’t give me that look, baby, I made some calls today and everything’s set, I’m paying for the extra hour, the service and the meals—”

“Tony,”

“— and even extra for the inconvenience, okay? I just wanted to treat you—”

Peter grabs his shirt collar, shutting him up with a kiss. Tony inhales against Peter’s lips and immediately takes control, snaking his hands up into Peter’s hair and pulling gently, tipping his head back to deepen the kiss. Their lips move together, perfectly synchronized, and Peter opens his mouth in an invitation. Tony just chuckles— briefly licking underneath his upper lip before pulling away and looking at Peter with a mixture of awe and amusement.

“You never have to justify treating me, Tony. I feel so special when you do,” Peter reaches up to brush his fingers through Tony’s short hair, feeling safe and warm in his hold.

The older man just grins, eyes bright, and leads them to their seats. Right in the center of the Ravello Room, their table has been set and lit with candles— a bottle of wine is chilling in an ice bath, and the maître d' stands nearby, greeting them and explaining the menu for the afternoon.

When she walks away, Tony reaches over and grabs Peter’s hand. They sit like this through the first two courses, and Peter’s content to share each of them with Tony, even if that means being basically hand fed by his boyfriend.

And it’s pretty hard to hand feed someone oysters.

The food is incredible, though, and their conversation is even better. Peter tries not to complain about work and school, but even when he inevitably does, Tony is patient and listens. He asks questions when necessary, and they even work through a few solutions to tougher problems together.

“I guess... I wish a few of the things with our pack were more definite,” Peter picks at his meal, separating the shrimp from the pasta.

“What do you mean, baby?” Tony asks, reaching over to steal a piece of shrimp.

Peter tries to defend his plate, jabbing at Tony’s hand with his fork, but misses. His pout deepens, “I dunno. I wish it wasn’t still up in the air who’s going to bond. I wish I knew how synchronizing goes, with our heats. I wish there was more communication about sex, and scenes, and who’s comfortable with what. I wish I knew the timeline,” he shakes his head, finally putting his fork down, “I don’t know, Tony, it just feels so out of control most of the time, I don’t know how to handle it.”

“I don’t think you can control it, sweetheart. There are six different people in this pack, and fifteen different individual relationships. Plus, two unique pack dynamics that need to merge. It’s uncomfortable, Petey, and it’s gonna take time.”

“I know that, Tony, it’s just… I’m supposed to be the center of this pack, and some days I don’t even know if you want to bond with me, so how—”

“I do.”

“— am I… what?”

“I do want to bond with you. God, I want nothing more in the world,” Tony reaches up to cup his cheek, “I can’t believe you doubted that, Peter. You know I love you, right?”

“I… I don’t…”

Tony’s eyes start to tear up, and he looks absolutely devastated, “I’m so sorry, baby. Dammit— I love you. I am completely gone on you. Every day I have to stop myself from keeping you all to myself; running away and starting a familial pack, just the two of us. There are so many steps: mating and bonding and collaring and marrying, and Peter— I want them all with you.”

Peter’s vision is blurry, tears falling freely as he frantically tries to wipe them away, “Tony, I— I had no idea. You never… we didn’t… I just assumed that we were getting there, you know? I’ve never been in love before, Tony—”

“It’s okay, Peter, you don’t have to—”

“— but I am in love with you. God, we’re stupid, aren’t we?” both of them laugh, wet and joyful, “everything’s just so confusing right now.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Tony coos, pulling on Peter’s wrist until he’s up, out of his seat, and moving to sit across Tony’s lap. He loves that when he sits like this and curls up, his head fits perfectly under Tony’s chin, and his mate’s arms wrap soundly around his waist.

“Da— Tony,” Peter whines, barely catching the slip up— not time for that conversation yet, Pete— as Tony holds him tighter.

“Need me to help you, baby?” Tony murmurs right next to his ear, making him shiver, “you know, you don’t have to do it all alone.”

“I know— Steve is supposed to help—”

“Not just Steve,” Tony grips his arms, looking him in the eye, “all of us. Especially me. I want to help you. Will you let me?”

It’s a heavy question, Peter knows. He knows that he needs help— but trusting someone else to do the work and do it right… only Clint, Annie and May are close enough for that. And barely so. It takes a lot for Peter to trust, it’s uncomfortable. But if he claims to love Tony—

“Yes, Beta. I need— I need your help.”

The restaurant around them is forgotten as Tony whispers, “Good boy,” and Peter starts to float, only tethered down by the warmth of his mate’s arms, the scent of Cinnamon and smoky Bonfires holding him together.

“Eat this, baby,” and he opens his mouth, biting down obediently. It’s chocolatey and creamy and crunchy— he has to focus on chewing, and Tony’s fingers around his mouth and on his arms are helping to pull him back up. “Stay up for me, Peter. I’m gonna talk and then we’ll have a conversation, baby.”

Peter finds himself switching focus between eating the dessert and following Tony’s story about… his mom? And a secret hideout?

“— mom could never find me, but, I don’t know, I don’t think she ever tried, you know? It wasn’t that hard to find.”

“She probably knew and just wanted you to have a place to yourself,” Peter mumbles into Tony’s neck.

Tony pulls him away, holding him at arm’s length and looking into his eyes for a long moment.

“You up, Pete? Ready to talk?” he asks, and Peter nods, moving to get off Tony’s lap. The older Beta lets him, and Tony stands up to move their chairs closer together. When Peter sits down, Tony immediately takes his hand and continues eating like nothing happened.

“Okay— I’m gonna start. First, we need to talk about your pack Pete. I know Bucky’s gonna want to bond with everyone, he’s told me as much, but especially you and Annie need to decide who you’re bonding with. Have you talked to Steve at all about it?”

“Yes, we’ve been going on dates, and... everything is so natural with Steve, which I guess makes sense since we’re so compatible,” he pauses, thoughtful, “I think I want to bond with everyone, too. I can’t speak for Annie, but I think you and Steve are the only ones who she’s hesitant about.”

“I get that. Have the three of you talked about going to the O clinic?”

Peter gives an affirmative hum, “Yes, but Tony… I don’t think Bucky’s ever been. I mentioned going together, and he looked so confused.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Tony chuckles to himself, eating the last bit of his mousse and wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I’ve never seen him go to an Omega doctor… I think he’s had a semi-permanent suppressant implant since he presented.”

“Well, yes. I do, too, but hasn’t he been sexually active with multiple partners for like… years? You’re saying he’s never had a pregnancy scare? Never had an internal exam or pap—”

“Uh… I don’t—”

“What about an STD test, Tony? Have any of you guys ever been tested? I swear, what on earth were you doing before us—”

“Okay, okay— to be fair, it’s worked so far. And Steve makes us all go to our primary care and the dentist once a year. It’s like… hell week. When all of us have appointments.”

Peter buries his face in his arms, groaning at the utter idiocy of his future bondmates, “Thank god I met you, Tony. You guys are worse than Clint,” he laughs a little bit, picking up his head and glancing over at his properly chastised boyfriend.

Reaching out, he gives Tony a boop on the nose, startling him out of his sad expression, “I’ll talk to Bucky, okay? Annie and I are going to the O clinic next week, and we’ll help him make an appointment. They’re flexible about pack stuff, I think. And… I guess we’ll talk to the doctor about the steps we need to take to bond.”

Tony makes a flicking motion with his hand, and Peter sees the maître d' walk across the room and silently collect the black card Tony hands her.

“Sounds good. Let’s talk about the rest on the way back, okay? I’m gonna call Steve and see if he wants us to pick them up anything to eat.”

While Tony makes the call, Peter thinks through a few of the questions he has. He’s thankful for their overall dynamic and compatibility, but there are so many variables and unspoken limits—

“Tony?” Peter tries to interrupt, tapping on his arm, “hey, Tony? Can I talk to Steve?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Tony responds, turning back to the call, “yeah, Steve? Peter wants to talk to you… okay, okay here he is,” Tony hands over the phone with a brief, “here ya go, baby.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hi sweetheart! What’s going on?” Steve sounds like he’s in the car, probably heading home from work.

Peter glances at Tony’s questioning expression before answering Steve, “Nothing bad, Alpha, no worries,” he ducks his head, a little embarrassed at his small smile. The low rumbly voice hasn’t failed to affect him yet, “I’m wondering if we could have a talk tonight. You know, as a pack.”

“Of course, Peter. What do you want to talk about?”

“I think we need to discuss sex,” Peter says, bluntly, and has to keep himself from laughing as Tony’s eyes almost pop out of his head, “specifically, we need to talk about scenes and dynamics— especially before everyone bonds this summer.”

He hears Steve clear his throat before responding, “O— okay, sweetheart. We can do that. Do you feel comfortable leading this conversation tonight?”

“Yes, Alpha, I’d like that.”

“Okay, thank you for bringing this up, Peter. Bucky mentioned something similar this week, but I just haven’t thought too much about it. You’re stepping into this role so beautifully, Peter, and I’m constantly awed by you.”

“Oh— well...” Peter feels his face flame red, and he puts a hand up to hide from Tony, “th— thank you, Alpha.”

Steve laughs— a low, rumbling sound even over the phone, “You deserve it, sweet Omega. Let me talk to Tony, and I’ll see you tonight.”

Peter mumbles his goodbye and basically throws the phone back to Tony, who takes it with a curious look, “What did you say to him, Alpha? He smells so sweet… oh, really? Mhm… I know he is, he’s my soulmate, Steve…”

After that, Peter tunes out the conversation and hides his face in his hands. These doms are really trying to kill him with the constant praise. They haven’t even had a proper scene together— he hasn’t even kissed Steve, for goodness sake— and they are already onto the things that make him tick. Is he really that transparent?

On the way back home, Tony stops briefly to pick up a take-out order of Chinese food. They don’t talk about the pack again— but it’s okay. Peter feels like everything that needs to be said will be brought up tonight.

---

One of his favorite things about their combined pack is spending evenings together. All six packmates sit in the living room, eating take-out and sharing quiet conversation. Every so often, an innocent argument will break out— usually between Tony and Clint— and the volume level will raise. But for the most part, all of them are content to touch, and eat, and snuggle in close stillness.

“Did Bucky pick out these couches?” Annie asks, sitting on the loveseat with Steve while the other four packmates squish together on the larger couch. She keeps grabbing his muscles, and Peter can tell their Alpha loves showing off for the pretty Omega.

Bucky is sitting on the floor, leaning back in between Tony’s legs. Both Betas have an arm around Peter, and he sits in the middle of them on the couch, reaching over every so often to play with Bucky’s hair.

The question makes Bucky look up, jostling the couch behind him and almost overturning Clint’s bowl.

Tony answers first, “Kind of. We all picked out the furniture together, but Bucky did have the final say.”

“Damn right I did,” Bucky says around a mouthful of noodles, “gotta be comfy for the whole pack. Tony wanted these ugly leather things,”

“Hey! They were tasteful—”

“— I’d rather sit on a concrete slab, Tony, they were so bad—”

“Steve, you liked the leather couches, right?” Tony tries to get the Alpha’s support,

“Uh,” Steve looks between his packmates, “I liked them until Bucky vetoed.”

Bucky lets out a whoop! in victory, and both Clint and Annie dissolve into laughter as Tony sinks back into the couch, pulling Peter in close for comfort.

Tony turns to Peter, “You like my couches, don’t you, baby?”

Shifting to face the Beta, Peter makes a small cooing noise while reaching up to stroke his hair, “I love you, Tony— but I’m on Bucky’s side. I like these ones.”

With a gasp, Tony practically dumps Peter off the couch, “Betrayal! My own mate betrays me!”

Bucky finishes pulling him off the couch, hauling the smaller Omega into his lap with a greasy kiss on the cheek. Peter can’t help but giggle as his Beta pouts and lets Clint pull him in for a hug, whispering to Tony that no, leather couches actually sound fuckin’ awesome.

Peter turns sideways, looping his arms around Bucky’s waist and tangling their legs together as Bucky continues to eat. He feels a familiar hand in his hair and hums, happy to have Tony’s touch back, even if it’s reluctant.

After another half an hour, Annie and Steve get up to clear the dishes, talking softly and spending a few extra minutes in the kitchen cleaning up. Peter takes this as his cue to start their conversation. He moves to a large, chaise barrel chair, facing the couches, and waits for everyone to grab their drinks and settle down.

When Steve walks back in the room, Peter extends his hand— an invitation that the Alpha takes and gently rearranges them to sit together on the sofa. He watches as Clint opens his arms and Annie runs to join the rest of the pack on the long couch.

The room gradually quiets down, and Steve clears his throat, getting their attention. Peter gives him a quick peck on the cheek and addresses their pack, “So I realized today, while I was talking to Tony, that we should probably have a serious talk about sex before moving in together and bonding, uh... forever.”

A few of them chuckle, but the room feels uncomfortable. Peter looks to Steve for help,

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be important that we have open communication about this,” Steve continues, “especially ‘cause our separate packs already have established dynamics and such. Uh,” he looks at Peter, shrugging, “maybe it would be easiest to talk now about personal preferences for scenes, and later we can share official limits? I have paperwork!”

Both Bucky and Clint groan— causing Steve to roll his eyes— but Tony interjects, giving Peter a secret wink, “Should we update our existing papers, Steve, or just use the old ones?”

“Probably update them. I assume you guys have your own contracts, right?” he asks, turning to Peter.

“Yes, but it’s mostly non-intimate stuff. We only scene if I really need to go down, and we rarely do intimate scenes,” both Clint and Annie nod in agreement, “Oh! Plus we’ll need to talk about heats, too.”

“Have y’all hadda heat together yet?” Bucky asks, motioning toward Annie and Peter.

Annie answers, “No, we’ve both been on suppressants since before we met. I only had three heats before I went on them.”

“I only had one— I presented late,” Peter adds,

Bucky nods, “Okay, yeah I only had one in high school.”

“And none of you have shared a heat with someone before?” Tony asks, giving Bucky’s shoulders a squeeze.

There’s a resounding no from all the Omegas, and Steve lets out a long exhale, “Are you guys plannin’ on goin’ to the Omega clinic?”

“Yeah,” Annie confirms, “we have an appointment on Monday.”

Peter looks over at Bucky who’s looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes, “Can you come with us, Bucky? That way we can talk to the doctor together.”

“Yeah, I’ve just… I’ve never—”

“It’s okay,” Peter stops him, “we’ll do it together.”

Tony reaches down and pulls Bucky up by the armpits, earning a squawk of surprise as he’s wrestled into Tony’s lap. Everyone laughs a bit as Bucky struggles and eventually submits to Tony’s hold on his waist, relaxing with a sigh.

The rest of the conversation is awkward, but easy. Each of them talk a little bit about their orientation and what they prefer in their current pack dynamics. For Peter, it’s interesting to hear from his Versatile packmates about their experiences swinging dominant and submissive. Bucky has spent almost six years being Steve’s submissive and three years submitting to both his Alpha and Beta, so it’s uncomfortable and different for him to be dominant in a relationship, since he’s never had to dominante a partner before.

In contrast, both Annie and Clint have experiences swinging both ways in their relationship with each other and with Peter. Clint has reservations about permanently swinging dominant, because of his past with abusive dominants, and similarly doesn’t want to swing permanently submissive. Annie feels comfortable both ways, which is something Peter already knew. She is very vocal about her preferences.

Peter shares about what it’s like to be a SubOmega, and his preferences during a scene— which, at this point, are very few. He lost his virginity to Clint and Annie, and has never taken a knot before. He smells SmugHornyAlpha coming off of Steve after this confession, and giggles slightly as Steve shamefully apologizes.

Steve and Tony both keep their time short. Peter knows a bit about Tony’s past, and knows he’s been in an intimate and unique familial pack before. Steve and Bucky have both been in other relationships, but only Steve was sexually active before they officially got together.

Possibly the most interesting part of the conversation is learning about how Steve and Tony balance being Dominant over the same Submissive.

“I think the most important part is to realize that Dominant, Submissive, or Versatile, the purpose of our orientation is all the same: service to others,” Steve explains, holding Peter tight around the waist, “so whether it’s five Doms and one Sub in a room, or a balanced pairing— Tony, Bucky, and I have all decided to love and serve each other. To put one another first. And because of this, our scenes are always fun and satisfying.”

“Ya soun’ like ‘n infomercial, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles, eyes blinking slowly— dangerously close to sleep.

“Shaddup, jerk— you know it’s true. Our scenes always build trust and support between us. And that’s what I want for our intimate pack.”

A few voices hum their agreement, but with a glance around the room, Peter realizes most of them are falling asleep. He yawns and pulls on Steve’s sleeve, getting his attention.

“Alpha, can we finish this later?”

Steve hums, distracted, and then suddenly focuses, his hum shifting— changing to a deep, rumbling growl. It startles Peter into looking up, and the Alpha’s eyes are half-lidded, dark and intense. Peter’s breath picks up. He watches as Steve moves closer, reeling him in, and leans to press his nose against the base of Peter’s throat.

Peter keens, and lets his body go limp in the strong, safe arms of his Alpha. He feels each of their breaths align, he feels their hearts beat together. He’s not sure what he smells like right now, but assumes it compliments Steve’s ProudContentStrongAlpha scent pretty well.

It doesn’t matter, though, because there’s a cloud at his back.

Gentle fingers run through his hair.

He feels the shuffle of clothes against his skin.

Floating, weightless.

---

It’s light when he wakes up again, surrounded by warmth and the sound of gentle snoring. He knows who he wishes were next to him, breathing into his neck. Drooling down his neck.

“Clint, my god,” Peter pushes at the big Beta, trying to get him to roll over, but only gets a loud snore in response.

He flops back down and tries to scoot the other way, happy to burrow into Annie’s soft curves, trailing his freezing fingertips up her hips and underneath her t-shirt—

She gasps awake, “Peter! Dammit!” and tries to squirm away from him as he cackles, waking Clint up with a snort.

“Wha— what,” Clint flails around, aimless, as Annie shoves Peter his way. One of his arms catches Peter across the back of the head, and the small Omega yelps in pain.

“Ouch, Clint. The hell?”

“Aw, poor baby,” Annie coos, pulling Peter into an octopus embrace and incidentally shoving his face right in between her breasts, “I’ll make it better.”

Mngh mmngh mngghh, Peter tries to beg Annie, and she finally releases him to heave a deep breath of relief, “You trying to kill me, woman?”

“No, Petey, just suffocate you a little bit.” Annie gives him a shark’s grin and starts to crawl towards him on her knees. He retreats, scrambling backwards until his back hits Clint’s chest and the Beta pulls his arms behind his back, holding him still.

Peter struggles, grunting, “Hey! What is this? Let me go, Clint,” but there’s no mercy as Annie finally reaches him, kneeling between his legs and leaning forward to kiss his nose.

“Wanna play, bunny?” she purrs, trailing a finger down his chest, clothed in a loose t-shirt, down to the waistband of his tight, black briefs. He can’t take his eyes off her face, and finds himself nodding in a daze, entranced by her wicked smile.

She looks over his shoulder and tilts her head at Clint, and he stutters, “P— please, Omega,” the desperation in his tone making Peter tremble.

“Good boy, birdy,” Annie mocks him, reaching around Peter to run a hand up Clint’s thigh and settling over his boxers, in between where he’s pressed up against Peter’s ass. She crawls a little closer, grabbing Peter’s chin and tipping his head up to look at her, “gimme a color, little bunny. Want me to make you both feel good— use his body to make you come?”

Peter struggles to blink, and his sight goes crossed for a second as he mewls, “Green, Omega.”

She keeps eye contact with Peter and asks Clint, “How about you, baby bird? Gonna keep you on edge, share your body with our sweet bunny, and control your pleasure. Color?”

Clint is physically shaking behind him, and he barely whispers, “Green, Omega, please,” before Annie is encouraging him to lean back against the headboard, shifting to hold Peter’s arms even further behind his back.

His Omega grabs him around the hips, and uses her knees to keep his legs spread.

“Strip him, birdy.”

The command is sharp and has Clint moving instantly, yanking Peter’s shirt up over his chest, and effortlessly moving his arms and legs to pull the shirt and his briefs off completely. Peter doesn’t have a moment to shy away from his Omega’s stare, because his arms are restrained again and she’s spreading his legs wide.

Clint’s breathing heavy on the back of his neck, and he can feel the Beta’s hardness pressed up against his back through the thin layer of boxer shorts, rutting against him lightly.

It seems that his Omega knows this, because she orders Clint’s clothes off next. Once they’re naked and rearranged to her liking, she runs a finger down Peter’s waist, scratching gently through the sparse hair above his cock, and feels underneath his balls, humming thoughtfully at the mess of slick she finds there.

He squirms as her small fingers trace around his rim, panting and throwing his head back at the tease. He hears her laugh and tries to hide his face in Clint’s neck, instead getting a whiff of HornyDesperateBeta scent from his mate.

His Omega dips the tip of one finger into his hole, up to the first knuckle.

“Play with his little titties, birdy,” she instructs, and immediately Clint readjusts his grip on Peter’s arms so that he can pinch and tug on the smaller man’s nipples.

“Oh, dammit, Omega more, please,” he begs, bucking into the torture across his sensitive chest and grinding down onto the finger inside of him.

“Patient, sweet bunny,” she shushes, pulling her finger out and swiping three of them through the slick leaking out of him. She lifts up her hand, acting surprised, “wow, feeling needy, little bunny rabbit? How about a taste?”

He nods his head yes, opening his mouth wide, but his Omega just shakes her head with a fake, sad pout, “Aw, baby— not for you,” and he watches as she reaches over, and—

— and feeds his slick, finger by finger, into Clint’s open mouth.

“That’s my good baby bird,” she coos, pushing her fingers in and slowly fucking his face with her hand. His eyes close in pleasure as he sucks desperately, eager to get all of Peter’s taste off of her fingers.

Peter whines as Clint pinches his nipple a little too hard, and his Omega turns her attention back to him.

“Hungry, baby bunny? Need something in your mouth?”

“Yes, Omega, please— anything, ‘m so empty—” he begs, and his Omega shushes him.

“Put your fingers in his mouth, birdy. I’m gonna put him on your cock.”

Both of them groan at her words, and he can feel Clint twitch against his back. The Beta reaches up and hooks two fingers into the side of his mouth, pulling slightly and forcing his head to tip backwards. He releases Peter’s arms and uses his left hand to flick across his nipples. Peter grabs at his thighs, desperate for control.

His Omega uses the distraction to work a second finger back into his hole, twisting and scissoring until Peter is grinding down, rhythmically, against her hand. His tiny, Omega cock is rock hard, and Clint has started alternating between flicking his nipples and his cockhead, making him cry out in torment.

She adds a third, and he begs around Clint’s fingers, “Oh— Omega, I can’t, please. Please, I need. I need—”

“Hush, baby bunny,” she shushes him, and Clint pushes his fingers deeper into Peter’s mouth, giving his cock a pinch with his other hand. Their Omega wipes away a few of his tears and pulls her fingers free, “why don’t you lift up, bunny?”

It’s torture. He can barely move, and his arms are trembling where they hold onto Clint’s thighs. After trying twice and failing to pick himself up, tears are flowing freely from his eyes and he looks to his Omega, blubbering, “I— I can’t,” sobs, “O— omega, please, I can’t!”

“Help him, birdy,” she instructs, leaning back to watch as Clint moves his hands down, cups under his ass, and effortlessly lifts him up. He cries harder, humiliated, as he feels Clint’s cock line up with his fluttering, empty hole.

There’s a soft hand on his cheek, and he realizes his Omega is waiting for something. He blinks through his tears, opening and closing his mouth— unsure of what she wants.

He must make a sad noise, because she’s quick to repeat, “It’s ok, Peter. Can you give me a color?”

Oh, okay. “Green, ‘mega,” he slurs, trying to give her a reassuring smile, and hears Clint whisper his agreement.

“Good boys, so good for me. Alright, birdy— you can lower him. Slowly.”

Peter lets his body go limp, helpless, as he’s worked slowly onto Clint’s cock. He feels every inch as his body is split in half for his Omega’s pleasure. For his pleasure.

Clint is shaking and panting, whimpering cries of please, Omega and holy fuck.

After a few long, agonizing moments, Peter is fully settled into Clint’s lap. The Beta is still cursing, and moves his hands from Peter’s hips to underneath his knees, pulling his legs back and exposing him wide.

“Fuck, Petey, how are you so fuckin’ tight, my god,” Clint breaths into his neck, and Peter rests his head back against the larger man’s shoulder, relaxing in his arms.

He feels a hand stroke up his tummy, and across his chest. His arms are moved again and settled onto the top of the headboard with a command of, “hold on tight, bunny.”

All of his focus is on obeying the command, so he almost misses his Omega’s next instructions—

“Baby bunny— you can come as many times as you’d like—”

— Peter whines in relief—

“— and baby bird, you can fuck him now,” Clint sighs, “but don’t you dare come, do you understand me?”

“Fuck, holy shit—” Clint curses, “green, Omega. Green, oh my god.”

The first thrust takes him by surprise. It’s almost like a levee breaks, something that was holding Clint’s hips back, and he pulls Peter up by his knees— like a fucking cocksleeve— and slams him back down on his cock with a howl.

All Peter can do is hold on as Clint begins an unforgiving pace, chasing his own pleasure. He feels the hands on his skin, the praises rolling over him, and he tries to say something but can’t, buried under pleasure and praise and—

— and he almost loses his grip on the headboard as his orgasm shakes through him. His lips open and close in a wordless plea as he clenches down on the thick cock still hammering into his hole, slapping wet against his ass.

His Omega moans her encouragement, “Fuck, baby, so good for me. Come for me baby bunny, so pretty, so good,” and he faintly feels her lips, her tongue, tracing around his cock and cleaning up the clear cum pouring out.

“Shit, Omega, I’m— I’m close, fuck,” Clint curses, still moving inside Peter even as he starts to shake from overstimulation.

“Absolutely not,” their Omega commands, standing up on the bed to move them. Clint drops Peter with a heave, both of them groaning as he bottoms out, and their Omega carefully moves his hands off the headboard, setting them back on Clint’s hips. She looks down into Peter’s eyes and then into Clint’s, “two more orgasms, birdy. Two more times— either me or him— and I’ll let you come.”

She kicks a leg over, stradling Clint’s face, and Peter realizes that at some point she took her panties off but left her shirt on. She’s beautiful, and he tries to say as much. Sadly, it just comes out as a choked gasp.

Clint’s pleas turn into moans as their Omega settles on his face, grinding down against his mouth with a firm grip in his hair. Using him. Clint flails, grabbing at Peter’s knees, and picks up where he left off, lifting him up and dropping him fully onto his cock, over and over.

Peter struggles to keep his eyes open, staring up at the vision of Clint licking, hungry into his Omega, but spiraling quickly, floating higher as he feels his orgasm build again.

Knock, knock.

“Fuck!” his Omega curses, and slaps Clint’s shoulder when he slows his pace, “keep going, they’ll go away.”

Clint hums and picks up his pace when—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Dammit,” their Omega jumps off of Clint’s face and looks into his eyes, “keep fucking him. There’s a reward in it for you if he comes before I get back,” and she jumps off the bed, grabbing a pair of their boxers on the way.

Clint resumes his pace, gathering both of Peter’s legs together in one of his long arms and using his free hand to turn Peter’s face, capturing his lips in a wet, sloppy kiss. Peter can taste their Omega on his lips, and suddenly his orgasm is right there.

“Clin’ oh, uh, uh, ‘m gonna,” he tries to warn, but it more or less comes out as a high pitched squeal.

“Yeah, pretty Omega, come on. Come for me. Come on Peter, give it to me, fuck, you feel so damn good, baby—”

His eyes roll back as the second orgasm overtakes him, shaking through his legs and bursting out of his chest in a desperate wail. Clint’s thrusts slow back down, but he barely feels them. He opens and closes his fingers, trying to hold on, and fails, floating high above his body. Below his body.

There’s a release of pressure.

Warmth shifts from his back to his side.

Small wet noises and low rumbles of begging.

His eyes blink open, soft and slow. He feels light. He feels empty.

As his vision starts to swim into focus, he realizes his Omega has moved him to the side. She’s now riding Clint into the mattress. Hard.

A flash of Clint’s face— it looks like he’s seeing heaven open— and Peter smiles, curling into the Beta’s side and clinging to one of his arms as he floats away again.

---

An hour later, Peter is up and cuddling with his pack. It took awhile to bring him back, but his pack let him float— content to relax in his submission and forget about the hundred other things going wrong outside their bedroom.

Turns out the interruption was Bucky, coming to check on them after hearing a “horrific dying animal noise.”

“Was it the noise I made or the noise Clint made?” Peter asks.

Clint rolls his eyes, and Annie answers, “Clint howled like a fucking Alpha when he dropped you on his cock.”

“Oh my— Annie!” Peter yelps, hiding his face in Clint’s arm as his mate cackles.

“You’re just too delicious, Petey. Couldn’t help myself.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but still nestles closer, “Did you float, Clint?”

“For a bit— definitely not like you did, Pete.”

“Hey,” Annie buts in, “drink this, Peter,” and she presses a bottle against his lips.

He takes a few moments to down the whole thing— he is exceedingly thirsty— before asking, “Did Bucky say anything?”

“No, he brought us water, though. And snacks. And then he ran away.”

Peter yawns and pulls Annie’s arm around him, “I wish he’d stayed to cuddle.”

His packmates snuggle in closer and pull up the blanket, cocooning themselves and drifting off for a nap before starting the day officially. When they wake up around noon, the first thing Annie does is call the Omega clinic to book Bucky an adjoining appointment with theirs.

Monday comes sooner than they expect, and all three Omegas pile into the small clinic for their appointments.

Peter keeps looking up at Bucky. The older Omega has been quiet since they left the house, and it’s starting to get concerning. Annie went into her appointment a few minutes ago, so the two of them are alone in the waiting room. He threads their fingers together, placing a small kiss on the back of his hand.

“Bucky?”

No response.

“Bucky? Buck? James? Jamie?”

At the last one, Bucky blinks a few times and shakes his head.

“Wha… what did you call me?”

“I— I don’t know, I was just trying to get your attention—”

“Only my parents ever called me Jamie,” Bucky says, looking down at Peter with wide eyes.

Peter tries to apologize, stuttering, “I’m so so sorry, Bucky, I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Pete,” Bucky squeezes his hand, “it’s okay, darlin’. I… I enjoyed it, is all.”

“... what?”

Bucky sighs, “Stevie called me Bucky for the first time when we were in middle school, ya know? I’d always been James or Jamie, but hated it when I was little. After that day, I only went by Bucky— I guess that was his claim on me, even back then. But now, it sounds good to be called Jamie by someone I consider home, alright?”

Peter scrubs at the tears forming in his eyes, looking up at Bucky as he asks, “I feel like home?”

“Yeah, Pete, you do. You don’t have to, but I’d love for you to call me Jamie. Damn... okay maybe that’s actually a bad idea, you know what, forget—”

“No, no,” Peter interrupts, “I’d love to call you Jamie. Really. We should… we should spend some time together. Like, alone together.”

Jamie finally smiles at this, nodding along, “I’d love that, Pete. Wanna go away for a weekend, or just spend a few days in my nest and kick everyone else out?”

“Either, but I’d like to do it before… before we have sex together. Or share a heat. I’d like to know you a bit more.”

“So no sex on our weekend away?” Jamie asks, and Peter looks up in surprise— and he’s laughing. Oh.

Peter gives him a light push, “I swear, you’re no better than Clint.”

Both of them end up laughing, leaning against each other and getting dirty looks from a few other patients that they ignore.

Within a few minutes, the nurses call their names and they go back for their appointments. Separately. Everything goes normally for Peter, but he can’t stop worrying about Jamie the whole time. He knows his scent must reek, but the doctor, thankfully, doesn’t comment on it. Once he’s given a clean bill of health, plus a negative pregnancy test, the nurses usher him into a larger exam room where Annie and Jamie sit waiting for him.

They take a few moments to scent each other, holding on tight, before specifically checking in on Jamie. They’re relieved to hear that his STD and pregnancy tests are negative, and all of them share details about their own exams, ultrasounds, and other blood work they had to do.

After a minute, there’s a knock on the door, and an older, female doctor enters the room.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Michaels,” she says sitting in the chair across from where they’re piled on the large exam couch, “I’m told you would like to talk about pack bonding today, correct?”

All of them exchange a look, but stay relatively silent. Great. Perfect time for them to swing submissive.

Doctor Michaels is patient, and Jamie finally speaks up.

“Yeah, Doc. We need’ta know how to bond. We’ve got an Alpha and two Betas at home who we want to bond with, but none of us have any idea what to do.”

She laughs lightly, politely, and Peter gets a whiff of sweet Omega scent from her.

“Here, all three of you take these booklets,” she passes them out, and Peter almost scoffs at the title: How to Make Your Forever, Last.

She continues on, “I’m sure you’ve had conversations with your whole pack about bonding, so the only reminder I’ll give is that a bond, when formed correctly between two consenting parties, will last indefinitely. If any of your bonded pack members were to leave and start a separate, familial pack, the bond you share will still remain and that member would be unable to rebond with another person. Understand?”

All three of them nod their heads affirmative.

“Good, now— are you all living together yet?”

“Yeah,” Jamie answers again, “we have a home and by the summer we’ll be livin' together permanently.”

“Okay, that’s imperative for testing compatibility and establishing territory. You will also need to set rules and guidelines for sexual intimacy, especially regarding gender dynamics and orientations. Speaking of which, do you have designated spaces for nesting and scenes?”

“We do. Right now, we have two nests, two dens, and two separate scene rooms. I think Stevie— that’s our DomAlpha— is plannin’ to build out a main den and the Omegas will rebuild one nest together durin’ a heat or somethin’.”

She hums in acknowledgement and makes a note, “Let’s talk about heats. I see here on your charts that none of you have shared a heat with a partner, is this correct?” they all nod, yes, “The only way a pack can bond is when an Omega mate is in heat. If all six of you are to share a bond, it will be strongest if the Omegas are synched. Have you heard this term before?”

Annie speaks up, “Once or twice. My mom used to talk about it— where Omegas off their suppressants and intimate together will get on the same heat cycle.”

“Right,” the doctor agrees, “you’ll need to go off your suppressants and wait two or three cycles before your bodies officially synch together. I’m going to suggest that each of those heats you spend with each other and try to keep other packmates from interacting unless absolutely necessary. It’s best that your hormones aren’t affected by other mates during this time.”

Jamie makes a small displeased noise, but quickly clears his throat, motioning for her to continue.

The doctor smiles again, “I know, it’ll be hard spending a few heats without your full pack, but truly, it will be for the best if you want to form a strong bond.”

“So,” Peter asks, “what about during the heat that we all have together? When we’re ready to bond— what happens then?”

“Well, it depends. I have to ask— will your bonded pack have a Dominant Alpha and Submissive Omega present?”

Peter nods, “Yes, me and Steve.”

“Okay, that will help the process significantly. You’ve probably already talked about your role as the cornerstone of the pack, but during the bonding process, it is essential that the two of you bond and knot first. It’s going to be hard for the other pack members to refrain from mating during that time, but it will help to establish an order of bonding before the occasion to curb any confusion during the hormone-fueled heats.”

“So, we have to… Steve and I have to bond before anyone else can?” Peter asks, avoiding his packmates’ attention.

“Yes,” the doctor agrees, “the whole pack can be with you, if you desire, but he will have to knot you and both of you exchange a secure bite on the neck before other packmates can join the process.”

The three Omegas shift uncomfortably at the description, and Peter slips his hand into Jamie’s, holding on tight.

“After this, just make sure all of the desired bonds are completed before the end of your shared heat. I assume your Betas know of their ability to satisfy an Omega during heat?”

“Uh…” Peter pauses, looking to Annie and Jamie, but both of them seem confused, “probably not?”

“It’s okay, it’s all in the booklet, too. Betas have the ability to help Omegas in their heats and Alphas in their ruts by simulating biological responses necessary for satisfaction in their partners. For instance— when the three of you enter heat together, your Beta packmates will both be able to knot you temporarily. It’s a shorter duration than an Alpha’s knot and only happens for the heat, but their semen still has calming properties, and under the right circumstances, can help an Omega conceive.”

At this, Jamie makes a sad noise that has both of them turning to him.

“Doc,” he starts, head down and body language tense, “is it true that only the Dominant Alpha and Submissive Omega can pup?”

Peter spins to look at him in surprise. What?

“Yes, after bonding, the cornerstone pair in the pack will undergo a hormonal shift in their reproductive system, creating a symbiosis and making it so that only their systems are compatible. The Alpha’s semen only works on the Omega’s uterus, basically.”

“How… wait, so— my body… what about Steve and Jamie? What about Tony?”

“I can only assume those are your other mates. It will still be possible for the two of you, James and Annie, to be impregnated by either of your Betas should the desire arise. Because of this,” she transitions, ignoring the ShockedDevestatedUpsetOmega scent overtaking the room, “I will still keep all of you on contraceptives unless you are wanting to conceive during your first heat. Is this okay?”

They nod, wordless and still shocked.

“Perfect. And lastly, what is the general timeline for bonding? I need to know in order to schedule appointments to retract the semi-permanent suppressants.”

“It’s,” Jamie clears his throat, “it’s as soon as possible, I think. We wanna be bonded this summer.”

“Great, then we can remove the suppressants today before you leave. Are there any other questions you may have for me?”

They shake their heads, no, and she excuses herself from the room, promising to send a nurse to complete the procedures.

When the door shuts, the three of them crowd together, hooking their chins over shoulders and shifting into each other’s laps. Peter feels Jamie grip him tight, and looks into his eyes, which are glazed over and blown wide.

He’s dropping, Peter thinks to himself, and he’s dropping dominant.

Because of this, it isn’t surprising that Jamie growls when the nurse enters the room. Peter shushes him, lacing their fingers together, and the nurse waits for their permission before approaching the chair where they sit.

The nurse pulls out a few of the tools, and asks them, “Alright, who wants to go first?”

Jamie growls again, but answers, “I will,” before lifting his shirt, giving her access to his suppressant site.

They watch as she squeezes around his stomach, feeling for the insertion. His face is screwed up in discomfort, breathing heavily.

She finds the site, a small bump underneath his skin that feeds directly into his endocrine system, and squeezes it towards the surface of his skin. Grabbing the syringe, she warns him about the sharp pain and quickly inserts the needle, puncturing the suppressant site, and injecting a clear liquid. Jamie hisses through his teeth, clamping down hard on Peter’s arm, as the nurse changes out her tool and attaches a suction to his stomach, turning on the corresponding machine that starts to massage his skin.

“It’s going to break apart the remaining parts of the suppressant site, and it will be absorbed into your system with little side effects,” she says, turning off the machine and starting to sanitize it again.

“Alright,” she turns back with a new syringe, “who’s next?”

---

“I’m never goin’ back to that damn clinic ever again.”

After their procedures, Jamie had towed both Omegas out of the clinic and back to the car, throwing them in the backseat, buckling their seat belts, and taking off towards their house.

Annie tries to get his attention, “Bucky, we should probably call—”

A deep, feral growl cuts her off, and both Omegas remain silent for the rest of the ride. Peter pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Steve, letting him know about Jamie’s drop. He also texts Tony and Clint, asking both of them to be ready to help when they get home.

Jamie isn’t driving fast— honestly, he’s probably going under the speed limit— but Peter and Annie are still holding on tight to each other, struggling to keep themselves from dropping submissive as Jamie pumps AggressiveUpsetDistressedOmega scent into the car.

When they pull up, Jamie is immediately around the side of the car, hauling both of them out of the back seat and stalking towards the front door with a low, persistent growl.

Before they even reach the door, Steve steps out with Tony and Clint not too far behind him. Jamie lets out a louder growl, straightening up, shoving both Omegas behind him— facing the Alpha head on. Steve steps closer, meeting his challenge,

“Stand down, Bucky.”

The command washes over all of them, and Peter feels his knees give in, crumpling to the ground. He can’t tear his eyes away from his Alpha— standing in front of Jamie with an expectant look on his face and ordering him to his knees in submission.

He sees Jamie finally collapse, sinking to his knees in front of their Alpha, and then there’s suddenly a set of hands on his shoulders.

“Peter, come with me, baby,” Tony croons into his ear, and he nods his head, letting his Beta scoop him up and carry him away, far away, into the house. They settle onto the nesting couch, and Tony starts to wrap him in blankets, whispering sweet encouragements into his ear that make Peter feel safe and warm.

Distantly, he hears sniffling and crying. Tony takes a moment to help him drink water, and he hums his appreciation.

“Tony?” he whispers, cursing himself quietly for how weak he sounds,

It surprises his boyfriend, though, and he’s immediately shifted to stare deep into his Beta’s eyes, “Yes, baby? Are you okay? What happened?”

He ignores the question for now, “Where’s Annie? And Jamie? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, they’re fine. Steve’s got Bucky in the den and Clint has Annie up in your nest.”

“Oh, okay,” he closes his eyes, “I’m fine, Beta. We had a rough time at the clinic— they gave us a lot of information and then we had a painful procedure to get our suppressants removed— and I think that caused all of us to drop.”

“I can tell, Pete. I’ve never seen Bucky challenge Steve like that before— it was quite a sight.”

Peter sighs, “I think he felt like we were in trouble. I should be with him.”

“No, not right now,” Tony’s tone is firm, “we can talk tonight, but right now he needs to spend time with our Alpha.”

“Beta, I need to talk to you about something,” he whispers, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. Tony grabs his chin, not letting him get away, while motioning for him to continue, “the doctor said… she said I can’t have your pups, Tony.”

His tears start to gather in his eyes, and Tony wipes them away tenderly,

“I know.”

“... you know?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but we figured it out a few years ago when the boys were courting me.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t— no, I’m really sorry, I really am Peter. I would have told you before we bonded if the doctor hadn’t mentioned it today. Bucky is devastated that he can’t have Steve’s pups—”

“I know—”

“And— oh, okay. So I can assume that’s one of the things that set him off?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “You think, Tony?”

“Damn, okay, I’m really fucking this up,” Tony scrubs his face, “Peter. I’m… you gotta know, baby, that I love you regardless. So does Steve. None of us expect pups from you, and you know that you don’t have to bond with Steve, right?”

“Stop it, Tony. I heard the news and then got my suppressant removed. I made this choice. I’m just pissed that we got so far without anyone bringing it up. I mean— we’re already living here! Dammit Tony, you asked me to trust you and I’m trying.”

“And I know that, sweetheart,” Tony says, caressing a thumb across Peter’s cheek, “I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, Peter. I respect you— you know that, right?”

Peter mirrors his touch, putting his smaller hand on Tony’s cheek, “I know, Tony.”

Tony looks relieved and leans closer. Peter closes his eyes, ready for the kiss—

“Hey— oh, sorry—”

They whip around to see Steve waiting next to their chair, shifting awkwardly where he stands and holding one of his hands behind his back. Peter scans the room, and sees Bucky curled up with Annie and Clint on a nearby couch, watching them intently.

“It’s okay, Alpha, what’s going on?” Peter untangles from Tony’s arms, sitting up straighter to look Steve in the face. Tony rubs his back encouragingly.

Steve looks to Tony, looks behind him towards their pack— all of whom give him a thumbs up— and then slowly gets to both knees, pulling a red, velvet box from behind his back, and opening it to reveal a sparkling, diamond ring.

“I— what?”

“Peter, I realized that I shouldn’t wait to ask you this. You’ve stepped so gracefully into the role we’ve required of you, and it happens to come with a lifelong bond to an Alpha you barely know. I want you to know— I’m falling in love with you. I don’t want our bond to be built out of necessity, I want it to be built out of affection and commitment to each other. I don’t just want forever with this pack— I want forever with you,”

At this, Steve bares his neck in submission and holds out the ring, “Peter Parker: will you be mine? In love, in bond, and in marriage?”

Peter feels Tony’s thumb on his cheek and realizes he’s crying again.

“Y— yes, Steve. I’ll be yours. I’m—” he takes a deep breath, “— I’m falling in love with you, too, Alpha.”

He slides off the couch, joining his Alpha on the floor, and melts into his arms as the room erupts in excited cheers.

With Steve’s ring on his finger and nose in his neck, his problems start to melt away. They’re strong together, they’re right together. And even though his pack won’t make his worries disappear— with all six of them celebrating around him and embracing each other— it seems as though they can face anything, together.

#peter parker #MiGLT #starker #spidershield #winterspider #clint barton #tony stark #d/s fic #smut #fluff #pack dynamics #mcu #ao3 #mood board #might wanna just read this on ao3 tbh #omegaverse

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jam-is-my-food · 4 years ago

Note

writing asks. all of them. ( for 50 uhh just write a paragraph about how hot emmy raver-lampman is in a suit please and thank you </3 )

fUCK YOU NESSIE

THAT’S IT IM DOING IT JUST TO SPITE YOU

this is gonna be long asf click keep reading at risk of death or boredom

1. Do you listen to music when you write?

not usually, it's distracting

2. Are you a pantser or plotter?

naturally pantser but if i wanna actually finish smth i gotta plot it hh

3. Computer or pen and paper?

computer i'm not a boOmer /j i so am

4. Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published?

bitch i wiSh

actually technically i was published in this anthology thing once? and i think i have a piece in a magazine somewhere on the internet i forget those are cool

but yeah bye getting a novel published is my d r e a m (gotta write a novel first tho lawl)

5. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

n o t m u c h

unless i get one of my bUrsts aka finishing a 2.3K almoons chapter before 8am the other week after procrastinating it for like two months

but yeah jdsghliuedskj it um depends often none

6. Single or multiple POV?

i answered that for kiri so i'll just copy paste it over loll

mmm it depends. usually i do single? but i do do multiple occasionally. i almost never do alternating chapters, though, it’s usually more like part one is narrated by person a, part two person b etc.

7. Standalone or series?

baha like i could ever write a series (please, please be jinxing yourself rn refster) aside from that one trilogy when i was 7 but uh yeah atm just standalones but a series would be so cool in future

8. Oldest WIP

the aforementioned trilogy. chronicles of clara. it is incREDIBLE. 10/10. so good. so, so good.

9. Current WIP

i haven't actually mentioned it on tumblr yet but hehehe it's called the wordweaver's apprentice it's fantasy and i'm v excited about it :DD that was ooc but :DD

10. Do you set yourself deadlines?

(also answered for kiri, copy-pasting over)

hahahahhahahuhdkjashdglauhsdaugediuskjlkehdsgihkdskhgdkjx

i? try?

it does not go well?

but then i never finish my projects?

send help pls im dying

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

lmao the list is too long

12. Describe your perfect writing space

somewhere w/o distractions

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

hm. idea. that's cool. that's cool. write it down. hype myself up. forget about it within a week.

el em mayo

but like

f r LMAO

okay but fr fr idk i don't usually finish stuff but it'd be idea, brainstorm, plot (sort of), write, agonize, write, finish, throw in the other direction and never touch again bc revision whos she

14. How do you deal with self-doubts?

cry and spam my friends

15. How do you deal with writer’s block?

i don’t - mm. i don’t tend to get writer’s block? or like - idk what to classify as writer’s block? bc sometimes i get blocked for a certain story, but then i get really into like poetry or sum for a week so it’s fine idk

16. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

o n e as i said i don't - revision is a no

17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?

uHhHhhhhh idk???

18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

*laughs in gfc*

19. How do you keep yourself motivated?

i don't. if you have any ideas please hmu i need it.

20. How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?

m a n y.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

mmmmmmmmm i love cass i haven't written her in too long but i think she's probably my most well-done character to date and i'm so proud of her badkghewiludkjs

22. Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?

c y i l l

though possible imeini (ship name needs revision) in future we shall see (from twa) (the aforementioned newish wip)

23. Favourite author

there are Many

24. Favourite genre to write and read

fantasy maybe? ooh dystopia is fun

25. Favourite part of writing

everything about it when i'm motivated hh, my problem is getting more motivation

26. Favourite writing program

oh idk huh?

27. Favourite line/scene

idk?

28. Favourite side character

j o o s t

29. Favourite villain

i def have one but i forget

30. Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

too many

31. Least favourite part of writing

motivating myself :/

32. Most difficult character to write

mmmm i'm not really in the throes of a wip atm so idk

33. Have you ever killed a main character?

yessir

34. What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

drunk will was surprisingly difficult in a fun way. def not the hardest but yeah

35. What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

god idk

36. Last sentence you wrote

And then Mei was gone, and in the space that she'd filled, Imani whispered, "I wish I was like you."

37. First sentence or your current WIP

It is said that when we came to this stretch of Tatys land, it was empty.

38. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had

mm there was one about anthropomorphic chickens battling sentient fruits, the fruits in question also being six-year olds

39. Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

s e e a b o v e

40. Share some backstory for one of your characters

cass's mom used to have a drug problem & she would leave her alone for long stretches of time, she went to rehab and is now sober but it's where cass gets her abandonment issues from

41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

just write! no one taught me how to do anything, and there's no rules per se, aside from basic grammatical stuff. do what you wanna do, don't worry about others' reactions. this is cliche asf but true.

42. How do you feel about love triangles?

mostly gross, but they can be good.

43. What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

adapt. i g o w i t h t h e f l o w.

44. How much research do you do?

not much usually, depends on the genre of story. i do as much as i feel i need to. and ofc i have the random writer search history.

45. How much world building do you do?

in the past, not much. twa (once again my new wip) is fantasy, though, so i' m attempting to remedy that.

46. Do you reread your own stories?

i do! it's fun to look back at them after a few years and see how much i've improved.

47. Best way to procrastinate

random character headcanons/doodle writey spurt thingies

48. What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

bAHA this one scene in the cHrOniCLeS of cLaRa book two when this girl lisa who was 100% self-insert got annoyed at her little sister daisy (sister-insert) for chewing too loudly and then proceeded to use her wAtEr pOwErs to like flood the house. that part was less self-insert.

49. Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

bye that's so hard. c a d m u s & l a u r e n t tho cinnamon rolls are liFE.

50. Write a paragraph about how hot emmy raver-lampman is in a suit please and thank you

i don't gotta write my own bitch i have everything i need to plagiarize from right here

"Raver-Lampman’s enthusiasm is contagious. So is her laugh. It comes from deep inside, just like her voice, and it rings out — ricocheting off furniture and walls. Her head is shaved, all except for a distinctive swath of tight curls on the top and left side of her head. She has the tiniest septum ring in her nose, and a tattoo of what looks like a musical note behind her right ear."

- the clearly gay jessica belt

thank you for the ASKS darLING and thank you if you read this idk why or whether you're okay but yup

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fanfic-scribbles · 6 years ago

Text

Lunch Buddy: Chapter One

Masterlist

Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they'll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter One: Oblivious

Chapter Word Count: 2612

Tldr A/N: I don’t do tags (sorry!), this is a ‘slice of life’ I write when the mood strikes so updates will come when they come, this is set shortly after the first “Avengers” movie and any canon that pops up will likely be different so keep an open mind, Reader (or OFC, depending on your preference) is female/bisexual/plus-sized because it’s important to parts of the story but otherwise remains undefined.

(Long) A/N: This is weird(ish), but I'm posting it, because I've been writing bits and pieces for this thing for over a year now and I keep chickening out of posting it. So I'm doing it! First off, a few general warnings: this (to me) still counts as reader-insert since I haven't ascribed a detailed physical look or name to the POV character but I do know some extra things about her. Those being: female, bisexual, plus-sized, asocial. That's it for actual set details and I mention them because they will come up in the story. Also, this is written in first-person past tense. I'm sorry if any of that bugs anybody (I know some people are very 1st person averse) but it's just the way I wanted to write it. I can't honestly say it's self-insert but I can (and should) say it's pretty self-indulgent.

Secondly: this is a 'slice of life' type thing that I write bits and bobs for on occasion. Since I've been adding to it for over a year I have kind of a meandering story and a lot of little pieces that add up to something I enjoy. I'm just trying to finish this first arc so I'll just say for the time being it is Reader(or OFC) & Steve friendship but it's eventually going to be Steve/Reader (or OFC) and we'll see how it goes from there. I aim to update every other week but, again, this is the one thing I have that is for pure relaxing so we shall see. I will not be tagging for this fic. Sorry! I’m way too forgetful and this doesn’t have a planned schedule, so there’s no way I can trust myself to be an actual Adult and do something that responsible.

Thirdly: This is after the first Avengers movie but I have already altered parts of CA:TWS to fit in with what I'm doing. I'll explain it as I go, just keep an open mind.

Stupidly: I have a thing for Oblivious!Reader. It never fails to amuse me to think of different ways for a character to go 'wait, *that* guy?!' Idk why, but sorry not sorry.

I had a routine.

I actually had several, but one of my most sacred involved my lunch break. After half a day of staring at papers and screens, I took an hour to fortify myself for another half day of staring at papers and screens. By…staring at paper and screens. But this was by my choice, at least, and done in a nice, airy café, with a good drink (and sometimes snack) nearby.

I’d been coming to the same shop for almost two years, ever since I got my job just a block or so over, and I rarely missed visiting it on a weekday. Even a fucking alien invasion didn’t chase me off for long– people still had to eat and businesses still had to run. As soon as the infrastructure was back to (mostly) functioning, I was back to doing what I did in every way.

I had noticed when some of the other regulars stopped coming around (I really hoped they had just decided to go somewhere else and that they hadn’t gotten caught up in that nightmare) and I also started to notice some new regulars. One of them was a jerk and I only noticed her as much as it took to avoid her. There were a few people who just came in to get drinks and left right away. Then there was one guy who ended up causing a bit of a stir.

I really only noticed him the first time because he was attractive enough to literally turn heads. Even some of the guys I had assumed were straight took a peek and whispered to themselves. And he wasn’t unaware– his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head and I was pretty sure three people fell in love with him on the spot.

It was funny, but aside from noticing he was attractive and was very nice to the cashiers, I went back to ignoring him. I only had so long in a lunch break and I wasn’t the type to introduce myself to strangers, no matter how cute they were.

So, we simply existed in the same general space at the same general time for a couple of months. He became a regular and also found ways to disguise himself– hats and glasses, and jackets with the lapels turned up. It was funny to me because it seemed like such a movie star thing to do, but even funnier was that, when he remembered to do it, it worked. He drew eyes from strangers less and less the more he figured out how to hide himself, and the other regulars got used to him being around. Just from basic interactions I knew his name was Steve, he tipped well, he was always very polite to the people working, and he liked to sit down with a sketchbook and a cup of coffee. That was about all the ‘interaction’ we had and it was fine.

Until one day.

My headphones were in and I didn’t notice him standing nearby until he leaned closer. I yanked out one of the earbuds and straightened up to see what it was he wanted. He went from concerned to contrite in what could have been a new record. “Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t see–”

“It’s okay,” I said and pulled out the other one so I could give him my full attention. “What do you need?” I surreptitiously checked myself to make sure he wasn’t coming over to tell me about an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

“I was just wondering…” He extended an arm to the (very full, I just realized) shop. “There’s nowhere else to sit and your table is so large, could I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not like I’d hear you anyway,” I said and he smiled. I quickly pulled my bag off the chair next to him and pushed it out.

“Thank you,” he said, I nodded, and we went back to our solitary activities.

After that, though, if he ever saw me in the shop he would give me a friendly nod or say hi if I didn’t have any headphones in. I responded in kind, but we otherwise left each other alone. Except that busy periods hit and, given that one interaction, I seemed to be his go-to. We left each other alone and he seemed just as fine with that as I felt about it. It was nice– technically could it count as socializing? It sort of felt like it, but it was my favorite kind of socializing: respecting each others’ boundaries.

AKA: Leaving each other the fuck alone.

It was great.

Except he eventually started to get a little more friendly; subtly, and slowly. Like the day he asked for my name.

“I just feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to every time I take over your space,” he said.

“You’re a big guy, but you’re not that big,” I said. But I told him my name. Then, weirdly, he just…went back to his sketchbook.

I stared at him for a second. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really do this ‘meeting people’ thing that often, but don’t you normally give your name when someone else gives you theirs?”

He blinked and stared at me. “You don’t–” He stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I’d remember if you told me. And I’d remember if you told me and I forgot, because I would never, ever bring up your name or anyone else’s name ever again.”

He laughed, and looked startled by it. I was a little startled too, but he recovered pretty quick. “How do I know you’re not just covering for the fact that you forgot?” he teased.

“I am excellent at remembering when I should know someone’s name and deftly avoiding any chance at using it,” I said.

He chuckled, but he did say, “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

I wrote ‘Steve’ in the front cover of my notebook, and expected to forget all about it.

I didn’t. Steve was friendly in an unobtrusive way. His greetings were warm and genuine and he was honestly pleasant to be around. I knew nothing of him but his name, that he liked to draw, and that people liked to gawk at him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” one of the employees commented as she cleaned a nearby table.

“Uh…I guess so?” I pulled out a headphone just in case and sure enough, she stood and faced me and looked me up and down.

“How is he?” she asked.

I flinched, because seriously, what the fuck? “Um, he’s just some guy I sometimes share a table with. I don’t– I’m not– I don’t ever see him outside of here.”

“Oh I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” she said and grimaced. “And I didn’t mean that like– I just mean…is he nice?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t sit anywhere near him if he wasn’t,” I said. “I have no patience for douchebags.”

She smiled. “Nobody should,” she agreed. “Just, a guy like him…you sort of hope he’s nice, you know?”

“I…guess,” I said. I didn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m definitely not into him, if that’s what you were worried about?” She stared at me blankly so I tried to figure out a non-awkward way to say ‘fucking go for it.’ “He’s a nice guy and you seem nice, so don’t worry about me, just ask him. Even if he’s not into you he’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

“Oh. Oh, no!” She laughed and waved. “I have a boyfriend, so I’m not– no, but, uh, thanks.”

“Oh.” Then why was she so– well, maybe she just liked seeing a pretty guy like that also be a good guy. God only knew the world needed more men who weren't jerks. I didn’t get to find out though, because she got called away by her co-worker and I went back to my notebook and my headphones. Why was everyone suddenly so social?

“What are you listening to?”

I shrugged. “Just my library on shuffle; nothing really cohesive.”

He chuckled and went back to doing what he did. Today it was fitting in stealing bites of his two strawberry croissants while he sketched.

It was a little strange for me, but I was getting used to Steve asking questions out of the blue. He was a nice guy and I didn’t want to be a jerk, that was part of it, but he also seemed to know when it was okay to talk to me and how far he could go. If I ever really didn’t want human interaction he somehow clued into it and would sit quietly. If I was open to it, he kept the conversations light and just something we both did in the background. Several weeks into this strange lunchtime camaraderie I accepted that some days he was there, some days he wasn’t, but it was just a nice easy thing we both slipped in and out of as time went on.

I was realizing I never really asked a lot of questions though. I cleared my throat. “Do you work around here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, smiling at his drawing as he worked on it. “I work…well, I’m sort of ‘on call’ I guess you could say,” he said. “My schedule is really irregular. I like to come here just to get out of my apartment from time to time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“And you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work in the area,” I said. “I like to get away from my desk and out of the office for at least a little bit. So I come here and just relax for an hour before I finish out the day.”

“That sounds healthy,” he commented. Before I could figure out if he was being sarcastic, he snapped his head up and waved his hand. “I didn’t mean– shit; I’m sorry,” he said and put his pen down. “That sounded bad. I meant it sincerely though. I have a lot of friends who are…workaholics, I guess you’d say.”

“Yeah, I do my fair share of overtime, but I definitely prefer not to,” I said. I thought about asking him what he did, but then he’d probably ask what I did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It was fine– paid the bills and that was always a good thing, I just hated watching people feel like they had to feign interest in my bullshit. So we settled back into silence. And it was good.

“Um…excuse me?”

I looked up and so did Steve. The kid was looking right at him though, and I went back to looking at my book. I did keep an ear open, though, because I was nosy. Steve asked the kid’s name and I heard nothing, but when I glanced, Steve was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

His name.

I squinted, because he was signing an autograph, really?

Suddenly the woman’s comments, about hoping that ‘a guy like him’ was nice, made a lot more sense. Also the ‘movie star disguise’ thing. Was he actually a movie star? He hung out here way too much for that to be true, but I was baffled. Steve went back to his sketchbook like nothing was wrong or weird and I tried to figure out how to Google a tall blond buff guy named ‘Steve’ while somehow not getting stuck with a bunch of porn. Ugh; what was his last name again…

“You know you can just ask me.”

I looked up from my fruitless search. He smiled patiently, but he looked…tired.

Well then.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, but I didn’t have all day. When I looked at my phone again, I realized I barely had five minutes. “We’ll see how many lunch breaks it takes me to figure it out.”

He let out a surprised little laugh, and then he smiled for real. “How many do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “If it takes more than three, I’ll buy your coffee.”

“If it takes less, I’ll buy yours,” he said, we shook on it, and I packed up to leave.

“By the way– this one doesn’t count,” I said and skipped out to his protests.

There were a lot of blond buff guys who did porn.

So I maybe got a little distracted.

“Jesus.”

I leaned my head back and shut off the screen at the same time. “You’re blond and your name is Steve; I don’t have a whole lot to go on. Also, he had most of his clothes on.”

“He wasn’t going to,” Steve chuckled and sat back in his seat. “Should I try a latte? I also heard mochas were good.”

“If you really wanted to take advantage you’d go for the frozen drinks.”

He made a face like a five-year-old. It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. “I’m not sure about cold coffee,” he said.

“Ah, not even iced coffee?” I waved my sadly-not-iced drink around and took a long sip. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” He glanced at the menu, and then back at me. “Next time then?”

I stared him down. “This is only lunch break number one.”

“Two.”

“One.”

He was grinning and I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m gonna add ‘stubborn brat’ to my search parameters,” I said. And I did. He laughed at me.

There was only so much internet searching I could do before I got a little bored.

“Do you want to just give up now?”

“Never,” I said and swiped at my game. “I just need a little downtime. This is my lunch break after all; I’d rather have fun and relax before getting back to work.” I cleared the stage and looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out next time.”

“You are so strange,” he said, somehow sounding like he was laughing without actually laughing.

Search: “steve” “blond” “famous” “-porn” “douchebag”

“Hey.”

I didn’t get the full lunch break to try to figure it out one last time.

“Oh my god is that Captain America?”

I perked up and saw a flabbergasted gaggle of teenagers looking right at…Steve.

Steve.

Steve…

Steve Rogers.

Oh.

Holy shit.

He kept at his sketchbook, as he usually did, and I sat there and digested that information. The teenagers were too shy to approach (and as friendly as Steve was whenever people did come up to him, he never really encouraged that behavior) and so I got to sit quietly and take that in.

“Well?” he asked and looked up. At me. Like he was awaiting my judgment or something.

“Uhhh…” Whatever I thought I was going to say fled my brain and I was left with nothing. I scrambled for something. “Um…thank you for your service?” I said, eventually. He blinked and I let out a sigh. Why did I ever open my mouth nothing good ever happened. “Help me out, what do people normally say?”

He stared for a second longer and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Once he settled down his eyes were bright with humor and it didn’t feel like he was being mean. It took me a little bit to realize he sounded relieved. And, like that, I felt a little more relaxed. Enough to go completely deadpan when I said, “Wow. So ungrateful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He grinned like a total jerk. “Thanks.”

Yep, total jerk.

No wonder we got along.

Next Chapter>>

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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abunchofstories · 6 years ago

Text

When in Romania

A Bucky Barnes/OFC One-Shot - 8053 words

The OFC POV of Last Night in Bucharest about Bucky’s last night before the events of Civil War happened.

By: @lowkeysebastianstan

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Allusions Of Torture, Angst, PTSD, Explicit M/F Sex, 1st person POV, Excessive Use Of Commas, Far Too Long Paragraphs, Waffling, Adverbs, Google Translated Romanian

A wall of heat and smoke hit me when I opened the door, a low murmur of voices underlined by the beat from a jukebox in the corner. It was a dive, there was no other way to describe it, but it was just what I wanted, some local flavour and a drink on my last night. I was happy with the hotel, more of a hostel really, but serving my needs perfectly.

It was the last leg of my journey, the next day I was leaving Bucharest and flying to Paris, where I was staying 3 days before returning home. It had been a perfect journey: Ukraine for a week with my family, even meeting some of my resident ones. There were only very distant cousins left, but it was still exciting to see where one's roots were. We had been a group of 5, myself and 4 cousins in the same age range, and we'd had a blast. It had been great, but after a week with them I'd taken off on my own, finally allowing myself the luxury of a trip I'd wanted for so long.

Truth be told the destinations had little bearing on it, I'd just wanted to get away, to be alone, to explore. Europe was an obvious choice, culturally diverse and filled with art and history. I'd never been on my own like this, and every step of the way had been an adventure. But it was coming to an end, after 4 nights in Romania I was heading back and sad as the thought was, I was determined to have a nice last evening. I scanned the room, saw a stool at the bar, went over and sat down, fishing the phrase book out of my bag. The bartender came over and gave me a friendly nod.

"Bună seara. Ce pot să-ți aduc, dor?" I smiled and indicated the book, flicking through it.

"No no. I can speak English. What can I get you, miss?" He smiled and shook his head, indicating the wall behind him, liquors and beers, local and imported. I shook my head and held up a finger.

"Bunã seara. Nu. Pot obține un gin tonic, vă rugăm să." I sent him a questioning smile, and he nodded appreciatively.

"Foarte bine!" He turned and fetched the bottle, and mixed the drink. "Cei mai mulți oameni nici măcar nu încearcă să vorbească românește, ei cred că e prea greu." I stared and broke out in a giggle, shaking my head.

"Nu. No. Sorry. I can't keep up, I have no idea what you just said." He laughed.

"Well, the effort is much appreciated. Most people don't even try, Romanian is a hard language to learn, or so they say." He slid the drink on the counter. "On the house."

"Thank you. That's very nice."

"Well, it's not often we get pretty ladies so eager to learn." I smiled brilliantly at the kind gesture and took a small sip. Light on the tonic, just as I liked it. The bartender went over to another customer waiting, started chatting in the same easy manner, and I swirled around and took in the room.

Mostly small groups of friends, a small area over by the jukebox was cleared for dancing, where a couple of girls stood laughing—all in all a friendly, easy scene. Just what I was looking for, and I was glad I had ventured out a bit. The place was just around the corner from my small 2-star hotel, and I looked forward to a few drinks and my bed before I had to get up early to catch my flight. I sighed contentedly and turned back, my elbows on the worn counter. Suddenly I could feel the burning sensation of someone staring at me and turned my head to the far end of the bar.

He was in his mid- to late twenties, and casually dressed in a red henley, a bit frayed at the sleeves. He had a kind of homeless look about him, his brown hair was almost shoulder length and in need of a trim, and he was sporting a five-day stubble. His face was angular, with shiny red lips, sharp cheekbones, full cheeks and a strong jawline with a small dimple on the chin.

He turned his eyes down when he saw me looking, bit his lip and gave his beer a twirl before raising it to his mouth, taking a sip in what he clearly hoped was a casual manner, lifting his gaze and looked straight at me. His eyes were dark in the light, but they seemed blue, not brown, and I stared right back, hypnotized. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I raised my glass, tipped it at him, and gave him what I hoped was a winning smile.

He smiled back, but his whole demeanour changed, and he suddenly looked almost scared, like an animal ready to take flight. He down set his bottle and seemed on the verge of rising when he stopped, and had what looked like an internal discussion before sinking back on his seat. He faced me slowly, and his wide shoulders sank imperceptibly. He straightened and elevated his beer towards me, giving me a tiny nod and a shy smile. The whole thing lasted maybe three seconds, but his inner struggle was fascinating to watch. I leaned forward, and scanning the bar I saw the stool closest to him was vacant. I gave him a quizzical look and pointed my glass at it, waiting for his approval before I moved down, hoisting myself up at it.

Up close I saw his face was more lined, more worn, and I upped my estimate to late twenties early thirties, it giving him a more mature, more rugged look. It made him if possible even more gorgeous. His eyes were a startling light blue, his hair framing his face and falling into them, and he smelled clean and freshly showered. So probably not homeless then. He was breathtaking, and he was taking mine. I gave him my warmest smile and extended my hand, introducing myself. He stared at it for a long moment, but at the end taking it, his warm, massive hand swallowing mine.

"Bu—Jam—Bucky. My name is Bucky." He let go of my hand and grabbed the beer, taking a long draught. I copied him, he clearly needed the reprieve.

"Bucky." I tasted the unusual name. "That's not local. So... American?" His tongue darted out, running over his lips, making them shine. He swallowed.

"Yes. American. But I live here now." He shrugged, lifting himself up on the bar, causing his arm to flex and his biceps to bulge. His left arm and gloved hand stayed curiously still, and it seemed bigger than his right, looking like he had been injured and was sporting a bandage. A glimpse of bared skin at his hip where his sweater was pulled up made me feel a twinge in my stomach, and a familiar warmth spreading, making me squirm ever so slightly. He was looking at me almost apologetic, silently begging me not to ask any more questions. I quickly decided to pack my curiosity away, burning as it was.

"I'm just coming through. I'm trekking Europe. Sort of an adult interrail. Planes not trains." He relaxed a little, and kept my gaze.

"Interrail?"

"Yes. It's a European thing. Kids get train tickets, and travel around, backpacking all over. Sort of a rite of passage." I didn't question his ignorance, after all my own discovery of the concept was fairly recent. "You know, some architecture and culture in Prague for a couple of nights, beer in Berlin for three, then Athens and Rome for art and history, some sunbathing in southern Spain before ending in a stupor on Jim Morrison's grave at Père Lachaise." He nodded and smiled, visibly starting to enjoy himself more.

"Jim Morrison?" He shot me an inquiring look.

"The front singer in The Doors?" I cocked my head a little, studying him. Who didn't know Jim Morrison?

"Ah. Yes, of course." He cleared his throat, dropping the line of questioning. "And you do this? Alone?"

"Yes. This is my last stop before Paris. And the stupor. Why not?"

"Well, you're a..." He gestured vaguely to my body. "Well, I mean, is it safe?"

My eyebrows shot up in mock horror. "What? You think a woman can't take care of herself?"

A fleeting panic crossed his face, his hand threading into his hair, pushing it away from his face.

"No, I didn't mean to imply—I mean, I didn't..." He chuckled and shook his head. "You're joking. Sorry."

I grinned widely, glad we were finally getting somewhere. "Yes. Or not really. But you're not the first man, or woman for that matter, who's asked me that. And in some ways it's a fair point, shitty as it is." I shrugged. "The world has changed little in the last century." He nodded.

"Yes. Apart from the world changing. I think it's become rather unrecognisable." I looked at him, laughing. How old was he?

"Sure. I guess. In some ways. But you'd think with all the technical advances these things would change too. That was my point."

"Ah. In that case, yes. One would think it'd be the case. I'm sorry." I gave a small snort.

"It's not your fault. I'm just glad you agree." I drained my drink, and he mimicked me, emptying his beer.

"Another? On me." The words were a little rushed, with an edge of uncertainty, but he relaxed when I smiled and nodded.

"Sure. Thank you."

"Scuzati-ma." He called over to the bartender, who turned with a friendly smile. "O alta bere pentru mine, și la fel pentru doamna, oricare ar fi ea are."

I looked at him, a slight awe in my eyes, he sounded completely fluid. The deep timbre of his voice struck some other cords in me, thumping and warmth rushing down between my legs. I bit my lip and arranged my face in what I hoped was a neutral expression. The bartender brought our drinks over, and Bucky slid some bills on the counter.

"Vă mulțumesc, păstrați schimbarea."

The bartender took the money and gave an appreciative nod, winking at me in passing, hiding a smirk. Damn. I guess my expression wasn't all that neutral after all. I could feel a flush spreading, and in an effort to save the situation, I raised my glass at him.

"To Romanian, and the foreigners who really make an effort to learn it." He returned the gesture and grinned, a small blush colouring his cheeks.

"I've been here for some time. It's not that hard to learn. Besides, I've got a fair knowledge of Slavic languages."

"Really? How about Ukrainian?" He laughed and gave me a few phrases, some I even understood. I was fascinated.

"Russian? Hungarian? Latvian?" He indulged me further, and I shook my head, trying some others as well.

"How about French? German?" His whole frame had eased up, he was clearly enjoying the game, his face all smiles and small laughs.

He was utterly charming, and I couldn't for the life of me imagine what had caused his behaviour earlier. A man like this should have women swarming him, and judging him now it wasn't his first outing, he was used to impress, and he was obviously flirting, constantly shooting me discreet, but obvious looks hitting my bare arms, my mouth, my chest.

My whole body was humming under his searching glances, and the heat and moisture between my legs kept me on edge, I couldn't remember when I last had been so attracted to someone. I willed myself to focus and soon the conversation was flowing smoothly.

We talked about movies and music, he seemed very much up on the classics and recent chart-toppers, but I couldn't discern a particular taste. We moved on to books, travel and current events, the situation in Sokovia and the rise in terrorism first among them. He seemed a little hesitant at first but had a keen mind, and when we got into history and architecture his knowledge seemed as extensive as that of languages, so I risked another few questions.

"I actually had a tour of myself when I was young. Like you. A tour of Europe." At first he seemed like he was going to shy away from it, and I was worried I had pushed it too far, but then he just shrugged, the alcohol having done its job. He gave me a smug smile, and I could see there was no point pressing it, but he still had me rolling my eyes in exasperation. I shook my head and changed the topic, not wanting to break the flow. He took the cue, and we settled back into our easy exchange, him refreshing our drinks whenever needed, keeping us comfortably inebriated.

After a while I needed the ladies, and I slid off my seat and braced my arm on the counter, tilted forward and caught my sandal in the footwell, tumbled down and landed with a small gasp between his thighs, an inch from his face. He froze, startled, and seemed as rooted to the spot as I was. I became acutely aware of his body heat, my hand on a denim-clad massive, rock hard thigh that was brushing mine where my flimsy linen dress had ridden up, the strange hardness of his left hand where it had grabbed my shoulder in an attempt to steady me, but mostly I was aware of his eyes and his warm breath mingling with mine. I swallowed.

"Want to get out of here?" My voice was a pathetic whisper, but he seemed to hear it well enough. He nodded, eyes still locked in mine.

"Yeah." He licked his lips and nodded again. "Yeah. I do."

I smiled and put my hand carefully on his chest, the hard thumping of his heart reverberating the incessant thrumming of mine.

"Okay. Gimme a minute." I tore myself away and shakily found my way to the ladies room, trying to steady both my heart and my lungs. I finished up, splashed some water on my face, and returned, exhaling in relief when I saw him, having half expected him to have made a break for it in my absence.

His eyes were glued to me as soon as I emerged, maybe he had expected the same—envisioned me trying to escape through the bathroom window. The thought was ridiculous, and a nervous giggle burst from my mouth. I strode over to him, faking some confidence, now that it came to it I was more nervous than I'd thought I would be.

"Hi." His lips widened in a small smile, but his eyes were still boring into mine, the expression unmistakable.

"Hi." I took his hand gingerly, and he twisted his, entwining our fingers. "Shall we?" He nodded and grabbed his jacket from the back of his stool, and together we walked out, the cool evening air refreshing after the temperature inside. He stopped just outside and looked at me.

"So? Where do you want to... I mean, what do you..." He cleared his throat, but I just turned and tugged at his hand, dragging him with me around the corners to the entrance of my hotel.

I didn't dare to look back, but I could feel his eyes on my neck, shooting tingles up my spine. I didn't stop until we reached the elevator, and I pressed the button while still holding his hand, his thumb brushing mine. We stood staring at the door, and I drew a small sigh of relief when it finally arrived and the doors slid open. I could feel a tremble running through him, and we entered the elevator in unison. The doors slid shut, and finally the tension broke.

I turned around, and suddenly he pulled me into a hard embrace, his breathing ragged, his lips covering mine. My mouth opened, letting him in, tasting him, exploring his mouth, his tongue penetrating and demanding, crashing into mine. I let go of his hand, pressing myself into him, sliding my arms around his back, grinding against the hard ridge in his jeans. The ping announced the end of the journey, and as soon as the doors opened he was walking me blindly backwards, not stopping until we hit the hallway wall. He released my mouth and stood panting leaning his forehead to mine.

"Where?" I pointed in the general direction and rooted through my bag for my key, handing it to him.

"Number 14." He scanned the doors, and grabbed my wrist, making for the right one, and jammed the key in the hole, almost tearing the door off the hinges crashing it open.

He pulled me inside and swung me around, closing the door effectively by pinning me against it. With a loud moan he found my mouth again, and I whimpered into it, threading my fingers through his thick, soft hair, pulling him closer. His hands ran up my thighs, bunching up my dress and enclosed my hips. I winched when the fingers on his left hand dug into me, and he stopped and sprang back, leaving me staring in confusion at the look of utter horror on his face.

"God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He inhaled loudly, and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. I should never have... I'm sorry."

I stared at him, clueless. "Bucky. What's wrong?" I took a tentative step towards him, but he backed away, again reminding me of a caged animal. He stepped aside, trying to find a way around me, but the little hall was narrow and I held my ground.

"Bucky. Please. I'm fine. I don't want you to leave."

He stopped and stared at me indecorously. He swallowed, licked his lips, and gave me a timid smile. "You're not scared? Or hurt?"

"No. Not at all. I'm fine." I took another step, closing the gap, my breasts touching his torso.

He shivered slightly and let out a weak laugh. "You're really fine? You want to... continue?" He lifted his right hand, stroking my hair back, exposing my neck.

The gentle touch had me trembling, and I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yes. I'm fine, I'm not scared, and I'd very much like to continue."

He inhaled sharply and puffed up his cheeks, before shaking his head and clearly reaching a decision. "Okay. But we're taking it slow."

I laughed and stepped closer, lifting my mouth and ran my tongue along his lower lip. "Slow it is." My whisper got drowned out by his kiss, gentle and soft, and his right hand pulled me carefully towards him, his left arm hanging limply at his side. I let my hands run up them both, and marvelled at the smooth surface and lack of friction as I drew his sweater up. He froze again, but collected himself and relaxed, lifting it and letting it rest on my waist.

"God. You're so warm and soft." He let out a content sigh and allowed himself to tighten his embrace, rotating his hips and rubbing himself against me. To my pleasure he was still hard, and I responded by reaching up his shoulders, tugging at his shirt.

He broke the kiss and took a small step back, allowing some space, twisting the henley and pulling it over his head, tugging back the tee, covering the flash of rock hard abs. I gasped and could feel my mouth hanging open. He gave me an uncertain, apologetic look.

"Bucky. What is that? Is it a prosthetic? It's beautiful." He stretched out his left arm, flexed it, the small panels and joints rippling, shimmering in the faint light, minute whirs and clicks while gauging my expression and holding his breath.

I exhaled and reached out, tracing my fingers lightly over his underarm and up to the biceps, pressing my palm against the cool surface, pushing up the tee sleeve, covering the red star on his shoulder. The image was tugging at something, a faint memory, but I couldn't place it and shoved it back in my head. I became aware that my jaw was slackening again and shot him a shy smile.

"Sorry. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this." He snorted, finally letting himself breathe. "How does it work?"

He furrowed his brows and flexed the fingers. "Like an arm, I guess. I don't know the mechanics of it, other than it's fused to my shoulder, connected to the central nervous system." He reached over with his right hand, pulling off the glove hiding the silver fingers. He lifted it slowly to my cheek, brushing gently, looking intently at it.

"I obviously can't feel anything." His voice sounded sad, and I put my hand over his, pressing the cool metal against my face, and closed my eyes.

"No, but it feels good." I opened my eyes, smiled at him and his face softened.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

He brought up his other hand, cupping my face and brushed his lips against mine. My hands found his hips, stroking his smooth, warm skin under the hem of his t-shirt, threading my fingers into his belt loops, pulling him in. He moaned into my mouth and despite previous statements let go, giving in to it. He kissed me deeply, running his fingers up my thighs, catching my dress, and laying his metal hand at the small of my back, rotating his hips. I could feel myself swell, my panties getting soaked, and my breath came out in shallow bursts, egging him on. He ground his pelvis at me and hitched up my left leg by the knee before cupping my ass with hard unyielding fingers, taking care not to apply too much pressure.

I buried my hands in his thick hair, letting him hoist me up and hooked my ankles on the swell of his ass, kicking off my sandals in the process. He leaned back and I lifted my head, looking down at him, his eyes black from lust and lack of light. I could feel the head of his cock straining at the denim through the thin fabric of my panties, and straightening my legs slightly I hit his bare stomach, letting him feel my wetness.

"Oh god." His jaw clenched, the veins on his neck protruding, and his mouth found my chest, and he traced his tongue up my clavicle, neck and jaw, burying his nose in my hair. I crooked my neck and started grasping down his shoulders and back, pulling up the black tee, desperate for more skin contact. My nails grazed his ribs, and he stopped moving. I froze and tried to steady my voice, the frustration reaching unbearable levels.

"What?" The word was a whisper, but he just held me, tightening his grip, still breathing into my hair. "Bucky?" He swallowed hard but still said nothing. "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

He exhaled, a long ragged stream of air, and he relented his hold, starting to slide me down. My heart sank, but I conceded in good grace, even I had limits of how desperate I wanted to appear. When my feet touched the floor, I retreated a couple of feet and braced myself for the inevitable rejection.

"Listen, I—" I stopped dead, the sight of him starting to pull up his shirt totally muting me. He twisted the tee off in a smooth motion and just stood there, watching me watch him. I suddenly became aware of a pain in my lip, I was biting it so hard to stifle a moan.

"Yes. It's not pretty." He continued to keep my gaze, and I suddenly realised he was awaiting my judgement. Again. My mind was racing, what the fuck happened to this guy? My curiosity almost got the better of me, but only almost.

"No. You're right. Pretty doesn't even come close." His eyebrows shot up, and he took in my expression. "Don't you even own a mirror?"

The corner of his mouth started twitching, and he let out a low snort. I held up a finger.

"No, of course you don't. How would you get anything done?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head, but was clearly pleased with my reaction.

I continued my exploration and tried to take him all in. The wide panes of his pecs, the sharp quartering of his abs, the marked v, the soft trail of hair on his chest, narrowing down towards his jeans. He was magnificent. Of course, there was the jagged scarring along the prosthetic, but that was just standing as a sharp compliment to the perfection of the rest of him. I raised my right hand and let a finger trail over the ravaged skin. He shuddered slightly, but seemingly not from disgust.

"You're beautiful."

He laughed again and an unmistakable blush darkened his cheeks, sending renewed waves of heat and wetness down me, and suddenly I couldn't think about anything than feeling his skin against mine. In a sharp twist I pulled my dress over my head, and threw it on the floor, looking up at his widened eyes, a small smile on my lips.

"There. So you don't have to feel uncomfortable." His eyes trailed over me, lingering on my breasts and my hips, and he licked his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"Uncomfortable isn't the word I would use, no." The words were soft and shaky, and he lifted his real hand and ran his index finger along the edge of my bra, his palm stroking my nipple lightly through it. He followed the contours of it and hooked a finger through the strap, pulling it down from my shoulder. I reached back, unhooked it, relaxed my arms, and let the bra slide down. His eyes widened, and he carefully cupped my breast, weighing it in his palm, thumb flicking lightly over the hard nipple and I whimpered, laying my hands on his chest, running my fingers down and resting them on the lining of his jeans. He hesitated, obviously conscious about the direction of my hands, but bent down and took a nipple in his mouth, his tongue twirling and flicking carefully, and encouraged by my reaction sucking slightly before moving to the other.

I was in agony, having not taken the complications into account, I was already on the verge of coming just from pure anticipation. I started working on his belt, and he twisted his back slightly to give me room, allowing me to unbuckle it, and I began opening a button when his hand was between my thighs, his fingers traced the lining on my panties. An involuntary jerk of my hips and I was pressing fully against it, his fingers slipping beyond the edge and dipping into my folds.

"Jesus." He breathed the word, hot air hitting my chest, and moved in closer for a better reach, dragging his lips and tongue up my neck and rested his forehead on my shoulder, his fingers perfectly still. I moaned loudly and inched closer, desperate for friction, yanking at his fly and popped the rest of the buttons. His massive dick was straining against his boxers, and I palmed him, rubbing him gently, eliciting a low growl, and suddenly he was inside me, two fingers twisting around, hitting one sweet spot while his thumb rubbed at the wet fabric covering the other. My knees buckled, and I fell against his hand full weight, metal fingers groping my ass, sliding down my thigh, and hitching my knee up, pinning it at his hip.

He stroked back up, hooking onto the side of my panties, snapping it apart with a mere flick. A small laugh escaped me as I became vaguely aware of the rest of it tumbling down my other leg when the pad of his thumb hit my swollen clit, and I groaned loudly, arching back, helping him deeper, and my arms flung up to his shoulders to keep my balance.

"Oh fuck. Yes." I pressed my lips against his wide grin, breathing heavily into his mouth, whimpering as he rubbed in slow circular motions. "Fuuuuck."

The force of the orgasm had me clinging to him, my hips shooting forward, increasing the pressure as I clenched and pulsated around him, my chest grinding his, my frantic heartbeat and gasping causing another low chuckle.

"Damn." I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn't carry, and he laughed harder. I bit him lightly and dug my nails into his shoulders, feigning offence, before becoming aware of his cock jerking against my stomach, straining against the wet cotton of his boxers. I caught his eyes and slowly slid my hand down, finding the elastic at his hip, and slipped a finger inside.

He stopped dead and held his breath as I moved to the front and deftly pulled it down, freeing him of the constriction. Smirking I held his gaze while I grabbed him at the base, stroking firmly up once, closing my grip at the top, gently squeezing and rubbing his swollen head. He stared at me, his breathing shallow and erratic, and I edged my leg free from his hold, getting my footing back. I winced slightly as his hand slid up from between my legs, the orgasm having left me oversensitive, but kept my attention on him, slipped my other hand under his balls and cupped them gently.

His head flew back, and his whole frame tensed, his hands grabbing my shoulders for support, and watching him I slowly began pumping, revelling in his guttural moans. I sank to one knee, and his eyes widened, watching me as I leaned in and kissed him on the tip, my tongue fluttering and catching the thick fluid. His hands let go of my shoulders, and he kept them hovering over my head, uncertain whether to touch it or not, seemingly afraid to break the spell.

I looked up at him as I opened my mouth and closed my lips around him, marvelling at his expression somewhere between utter disbelief and pure pleasure, and sunk myself into him, taking as much as I could without gagging. I sucked gently, my tongue exploring his ridges and veins, and pumped slowly with my hand, rotating each stroke carefully, falling into a rhythm while he watched. I started tugging at his jeans with my free hand, pulling them down, exposing his ass and massive thighs, taking a firm hold at the back, using it as leverage as I had him carefully fucking my mouth.

He finally gave in and put his hands on my head, his right one threading into my hair, pulling lightly, the left just resting for support as I increased the pace and had him chasing his orgasm. He stopped breathing completely, a massive shiver running through him. His thighs and butt were clenching, steel fingers digging lightly into my skull, working against the relentless tugging at my hair and keeping my head perfectly still, as he controlled his final thrust, his thick cock bulging and twitching in my mouth before he finally fell forward, exhaling in a long uninterrupted groan, his load squirting into my mouth and throat.

"Jesus." The uneven whisper was reverent, and the corners of my mouth twitched as I swallowed and licked him clean, not missing one single drop. He looked at me with something akin to worship, released my head and cupped his hands under my chin, lifting me up and kissed me. "God, you are amazing."

"Really? I'd never would have thought you thought that." His whole frame was vibrating from strain and the low chuckle, and he put his arms around me and sighed my name.

"No, I really kept my cool, didn't I."

"Yes. Impossible to read." I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled. "To be honest I'm still in the dark as to whether you even liked that."

He prodded my sides and the tickle had me pushing him, and he stumbled back until he hit the edge of the bed, falling onto it, and pulling me down with him. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes, his hands stroking my back and hips.

We lay for a long time, minutes that felt like an infinity, but all good things come to an end. I wanted more, and I elevated myself, supported by an elbow, my leg resting on his far knee, and traced the muscles on his rising and falling chest, studying the perfect sculpting.

"But it's too bad really." His eyes flew open.

"What is?"

I met his gaze, biting my lip. "Well, maybe I should have saved that for something else." I grazed my fingers lightly down his stomach, stopping just above his semi-hard cock, circling the coarse, damp hair. He looked at me before looking down at himself, smirking.

"Yeah. That's too bad." He reached up and took a breast in his hand, teasing the nipple, biting his bottom lip, having me jutting my hips, trying to get some friction from his thigh. "Really too bad. But I can't do anything about that now."

His cock twitched, visibly growing. He flexed his thigh, pressing it against me, making me squirm and smear him with the increasing wetness. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he reached down, palmed my mound and teasing a finger on my clit. "Really, really too bad."

I whimpered into his chest, and suddenly I was on my back, pushed down by his weight, his mouth on mine and two fingers inserted to the knuckle. He pried my knees apart, settling between them, kicking off his boots and jeans, moving his mouth to my neck, grazing and nipping with his teeth. I shuddered, my hips shot up and my legs spread, welcoming his intrusion. His growing confidence taking control he scooted himself downwards, planting kisses and licks, sucking my nipples, his left hand anchoring itself on my waist, until he finally reached his destination, gently prodding my folds apart with his tongue.

"You taste like heaven." I groaned as my eyes rolled back into my skull, the warm air and slow lapping fast building up another orgasm. I twined my fingers into his hair, keeping it out of his way, and the metal hand stroked its way to my inner knee, pushing it out and up, allowing him better access. He had me shivering, making me lightheaded when it felt like all the blood in my body pooled down and gathered where his tongue twirled and pressed at my clit.

He paused and looked up at me, mischief glinting in his eyes, licking his reddened lips and started trailing his left hand along my inner thigh, fingertips feather light and cool against my hot skin.

"Fuck." I rolled my hips in anticipation, watching him place his right hand on my mound, prying my lips apart, making room. "Bucky." I cursed his name under my breath when he entered me carefully, two smooth fingers lubricating while inching in, feeling massive in their alienness, gently twirling around, rubbing upwards until a violent jerk by my pelvis told him he had found the target. He closed his lips around my clit, alternating between sucking and stroking, his stubble chafing slightly, keeping a firm pressure with his fingers until I was panting and begging him to come.

"You wanna come, doll?" The strange endearment in the husky voice was telling me something, but I couldn't string my thoughts together long enough to reflect on what it was.

"Yes. Please. God yes!" I gasped for breath as he sucked hard one last time, and my fingers tangled in his hair as I ground furiously against him, the orgasm rolling over me in waves. He kept up the pressure, his tongue dabbing flat against the throbbing, but relented as he relaxed his hand and let his fingers be expelled by the contractions inside me. He drew a contented breath and kissed my mound, looking pleased with himself.

"Damn. I had almost forgotten how good that felt. You taste fucking fantastic." He elevated himself and crawled up on his arms, the head of his hard length brushing up my leg, and lowered himself carefully on top of me, grinning as he kissed me. "Thank you."

I looked into his eyes, struck by the genuine emotion, again hit by the mystery. "You're welcome. It was a genuine pleasure." The words very barely audible, but he smiled and traced his tongue along my bottom lip before covering my mouth and plunging it in.

The taste of him combined with me was unbelievable, and I met him enthusiastically, wanting nothing more to stay lost in him. My hands stroked down his sides, found his hips, twisted them lightly and jutted my hips to steer him, wanting nothing more than to have him inside me, devouring me, penetrating me. He settled into position, his head bulging against me, when he suddenly deflated and sank down, and started to laugh.

"Fuck." His whole body shook, and I pushed him up by the shoulders, looking at him incredulously, painfully aware of his cock and the incessant throbbing of my pussy. He looked me, groaned, and buried his head in the crook of my neck. "I don't... We can't do this. I don't have anything."

"Anything what?" My mind blanked, and suddenly it dawned on me. Of course he didn't. He wouldn't have. "Oh. Right. That." He sighed heavily.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think, I never expected... I haven't done this in a really long time." His voice was muffled, but I could hear the pain and exasperation and the humour at the absurdity mixed with self-deprecation.

I thrust myself a little closer, wriggling so that I could feel him straining, and he froze. He raised his head slowly and looked at me, disbelief in his eyes. "That's not helping, you know.”

I grinned. "Get my bag."

He stared at me for a long second and suddenly pushed himself off me with amazing speed, finding my bag underneath his jacket by the door and brought it back to the bed. I smiled, slipped my hand inside the side pocket and extracted a small pack of condoms, handing it to him. His eyebrows shot up as he opened the packet and took one out, shooting me a curious look.

"What? Alone in the big world, remember." He nodded slowly, bit his lip and grinned. "Besides, I used to be a girl scout."

"Yes. I remember. Always prepared, huh. Wise words to live by." He turned the small foil packet around in his hands, examining it with a thoughtful look, keeping shooting glances at me.

My heart sank. "What? You think I'm a slut?"

His eyes widened, and he stepped back, looking horrified. "What? No!" He spluttered. "I think you're fucking amazing." His expression softened, and he leaned down, staring into my eyes. "I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever met." He kissed me, first my lips, then my nose, and erected himself. My heart fluttered frantically, and I blushed, the truth of the statement moving me thoroughly.

"But what then? You don't think it'll fit?" I raised a sardonic eyebrow at him and glanced at the thick throbbing erection, a new surge between my legs. He grinned and a sharp snort escaped him.

"Yes. That was exactly it." His eyes crinkled in amusement, but then his face fell a little, and he sent me an embarrassed smile before sighing. "No. I just... I don't know if I can... I haven't... It was different, they were different..." He drew a long breath and held it, shaking his head.

Mentally storing the rather shocking revelation I got up and stepped up to him, taking the condom. I kissed his chest and closed my hand gently around him, a small ragged breath announcing the humour gone from the situation. I released him long enough to tear the foil, rubbed my thumb over the tip and placed it on, rolling it down with one long stroke. His breath caught, and suddenly I was hoisted up, his arms under mine, his elbows pinning me up, and his hands clamping over my shoulders, my legs flinging around his waist and my ankles hooking behind his back before he turned and in a few long strides had me pressed against the wall.

"Are you sure?" His voice was thick and low, a deep desperate whisper, and my only response was a fervent nod against his open mouth, breath mingling with his. He growled, and the grip around my shoulders tightened as his forward motion spread my legs impossibly further apart and his cock inching into my entrance, filling me up further than I knew was possible. My breath hitched and came out in shallow bursts and his pelvis shot upward for a last thrust, and he leaned his whole weight into me, pinning me against the wall, dragging my shoulders down to plant me firmly at the base of his cock.

"Oh god oh god oh god." He stopped, his head falling heavily into the wall beside my head, and inhaled shakily.

"Is this okay?" I writhed against him, my head pressing back and down and my heels hooked harder under his ass, trying to push him further in, the sensation running a jagged shiver through me.

"Oh god, yes. Please." He shifted his grip on my shoulders, allowing my arms to sling closer around him, my fingers nestling the nape of his neck and twisting his long shaggy hair. "Please, Bucky. Just fuck me."

A deep groan rumbled through his torso, and he pulled out, eliciting another gasp from me before plunging back in, my pussy throbbing madly, feeling like it would burst. His mouth found my bare shoulder, and he opened his lips, his teeth and tongue caressing me as he breathed into it, using it as a muffler for his moans.

"Jesus fuck." I was heaving for air in unison with him as his pace quickened, and his cock was pushing at my walls, stretching me, penetrating me completely with each stroke. My head flew back into the wall, and I tugged at his hair, inviting him up and finding his mouth, sank my tongue in it, crashing against his. I spread my legs even wider, ground my clit against him, sinking down, chasing the orgasm I felt coming.

He erected himself and stopped, looking at me intently, his eyes dark pools in the dim light. I whimpered displeased, but he held me in place and jutted his hips, exerting more pressure and released my shoulders.

"Don't stop." My voice was a pathetic moan, but for the first time he gave me a brilliant smile. He just shifted his grip, placing his soft, right one under my thigh, his long fingers fanning out cradling my ass, and his left, strange shiny one bracing the wall beside my head. He steadied himself and tried to control his breathing before kissing me softly.

"No, I don't ever want to stop." He laughed into my open mouth, his cock flinching further inside me, and I sank back, resting my full weight on him. He hoisted me up to get some space to move and pulled back and started pounding relentlessly, catching my breath, swallowing my short whimpers, penetrating my mouth as he was my pussy.

"Oh god, I'm co-co—" His soft, wet lips stretched into a grin against mine, and he hitched me up an inch, his fingers digging into my ass, and crashed into me with two powerful thrusts, reaching his orgasm on the wave of mine.

I heard a sharp sound like wood splintering, and he wrenched his mouth free, my name masked by groans filling my ear, blood roaring in my head. My whole body was pulsating, quivering and clenching, and his cock throbbed, emptying in bursts.

"Fuck." I half whispered, half spat the word, and he chuckled, the rumble resonating in my chest. I sank down, my whole body feeling like it was dissolving at the joints, and I laid my forehead on the cool metal of his shoulder and buried my hands deep into his hair. "Jesus, Bucky. I'm falling apart at the seams here."

With a snicker he embraced me tighter and carried me over to the bed, laying me down carefully. Stretching his arm for support, he crouched over me for a moment, pulling out before removing the condom and dropping it by the bed. He rolled off me and settled beside me, sliding his right arm under my neck and cradled me, his fingertips brushing my skin absentmindedly. He kissed my hair, and I snuggled closer, my hand on his chest, my knee draped over his thighs. He took my hand with his left and entwined our fingers, twisting it slowly studying the effect, and sighed.

"Thank you." It was just a hoarse whisper, and I burrowed my face into his chest.

"For what?"

"For the best night in..." He hesitated and swallowed. "In a long time." I looked up at him, struck by the vulnerability in his voice. I laid my hand on his cheek and kissed him.

"You're welcome. And likewise." He smiled, and his eyes shone in the faint light from the window.

I turned away, not wanting to reveal the turmoil inside me, realising the magnitude of the situation for him was by far surpassing mine. I moved closer, the small wriggle heightening the dull, sweet ache between my legs, and closed my eyes.

"Are you staying?" He stiffened a short second before pulling me closer.

"Yes. If you want me to."

"I do. I have an early flight though, so you have to get up early." He kissed my hair, appreciative of my light tone, and yanked the blanket loose behind me, throwing it over us both.

"I always get up early. Just sleep. I'll be here." I closed my eyes, letting myself drift off to the regular sound of his heart beating, revelling in his warm scent, wishing the night would last forever.

I was sure he hadn't slept at all when the creak and strain of the bed woke me as he carefully got up. I lay perfectly still, feigning sleep, trying not to let my breathing let him know I was awake. I heard the soft rustling of his clothes as he got dressed and fought the impulse of dwelling on the way he must have looked, his body naked in the soft morning light. I could hear his hand on the door handle when he hesitated. He walked over to me, kissed me softly on the cheek and stroked my hair tenderly before his retreating steps and the click of the door told me he had gone.

I got up, and with one hand groping at the sheets bearing witness of his presence, sat on the edge of the bed, fighting back the tears and cursing myself for not going against my instincts and kissing him goodbye, but knowing full well that would only have made it harder. I shook my head, inhaled deeply, collected myself, and got up and into the bathroom.

After I had showered and packed my small suitcase I scanned the room and did a double take at the mark on the wall. I stepped over and laid my hand in the indentations, pressing my fingertips into the small holes his had made. I let my mind run through all the articles and news clippings I could remember, finally able to recollect what my mind had been nudging at. The Winter Soldier.

I scoffed, brushed my hand along the wall as I hoisted up my bag, grabbed my suitcase and exited the room, walking down the hall, not knowing that in 8 hours a bomb would go off in Vienna.

#a bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #yeah i figure unnamed it could be anyone #when in romania #wir #yeah #might as well #i think this is gonna be a thing so #why wait #fan fiction #lisa's scribbles

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