boo.

You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.

“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.

“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...” 

You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.

“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”

“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.

The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.

He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”

“Ah,” is all you can think to say.

You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”

He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.

“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion. 

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.

You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.

“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”

He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you. 

“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”

“And how long have you been fighting here?”

He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”

There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.

You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread. 

He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.

He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.

“Any pain?”

“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.

This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.

“Am I good, Doc?”

“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”

“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.” 

He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.

But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.

“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.

“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”

At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”

“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.

But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.

“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.

“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.

He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.

You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise. 

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He furrows his brow at your statement.

 “Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”

Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.

Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”

You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.

“And what’s yours?”

“Choso. Choso Kamo.”

Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.

“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.

“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”

That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.

So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.

He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”

There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.

“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.

“Yeah.... thanks.” 

Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.

The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room. 

By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone. 

Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.

But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment. 

Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently. 

You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”

”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”

You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.

”How’d you get that one?”

“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”

He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and  now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations. 

The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.

Slightly masochistic, but impressive. 

From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.

Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.

He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time. 

You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door. 

Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.

And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.

And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.

“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.

The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting. 

Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.

“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.” 

He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.

There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.

You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?

There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But it’s true.”

”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.

“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.

Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”

”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”

”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”

”You purse your lips when you concentrate.” 

You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”

 He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”

As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.

”See?”

”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”

His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”

”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”

”I… sigh loudly?”

”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”

”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”

“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”

Snip.

Silence.

“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”

“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”

Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”

“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”

You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding. 

“I’m a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”

“A challenge? In what way?”

“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you.  But there’s some things I can tell.” 

His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face. 

“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”

“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”

“That’s not what I meant -” 

He walks toward you, but you turn away.

“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”  

You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.

It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.

There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.

——

“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”

Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment? 

That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.

This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.

Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”

Shit. 

The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster. 

Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away. 

(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)

Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.

”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”

Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.

”Doc…” 

He cautiously walks towards you.

”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.

Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”

That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.

Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”

You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.

He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”

Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.

“What happened?”

You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”

”What kind of trouble?”

You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.

”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days.  “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”

He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.

But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.

Or maybe he is.

He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours. 

“Let me in.”

Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself. 

Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.

”Choso...”

That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you - 

“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.

Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.

“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”

This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it. 

“Alright,” is your answer.

And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath. 

“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”

He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.

You’re gonna wait for him.

He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.

”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”

He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.

But right now, all he wants is you.

”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”

——

You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow. 

Let me in… he’d said.

You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both. 

You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…

And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats. 

Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind. 

But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.

And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him. 

It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes. 

The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.

”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”

”Choso! Choso! Choso!”

The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring. 

In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood. 

You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.

——

True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night. 

You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.

When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.

You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.

”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” 

His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.

An offering. And a surrender. 

You decide to accept.

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

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Pro Hero Ingenium, real name Tenya Iida, had a social media presence akin to a milennial living room: drab, gray, and uninteresting. it wasn't a train wreck like some of his constituents, but that was almost worse. audiences liked a train wreck, it meant they couldn't look away. with Ingenium, no one was looking in the first place.

when he first stepped into your office for a consult, it immediately became clear why.

"you need to ditch the haircut."

you blurted it out the second he took his helmet off. when he marched in wearing shining white armor, you had assumed he'd be some dashing knight with shimmering blond hair down to his lower back. instead, he was touting a slicked back blue haircut that was deeply unflattering.

he looks nigh on offended at your words, bringing his helmet closer to his chest, about to start a polite bow before he was upended by your insult. "… excuse me?"

you shake your head, and hold your hands up in surrender. "my apologies, mr. iida. let me start over." with both hands, you pull back your own hair, showing off a petite forehead. "how do you think this looks on me?"

the pro hero gapes, an indignant blush rising to his cheeks. "f-fine, i suppose."

he's very polite. i can work with that. with one hand still holding your hair back, you bring the fingers of your other hand to rest on your forehead. only about 3 and a half of them are all it takes to cover the whole area. "do you see how small my forehead is? pulling it back elongates the area." you let your hair fall, then spread both your palms upwards in a sort of supplication. "now, your turn."

he looks down at your hands, then, tentatively, takes a step forward, and presses his own fingers lengthwise onto your forehead. you chuckle. he's charming in his awkwardness.

"i meant on your own forehead, mr. iida."

"oh!" he jumps back like he's been burned, then presses his fingers to his own forehead. one, two, three, four, and his thumb, all fit on it. "it's… quite a bit bigger."

you nod, eyebrows raised. "yes. i'd venture to say a bit more than average. and that haircut puts a spotlight on it."

he looks perturbed, eyes seeming to darken as he puts a hand to his chin. "it's supposed to convey speed. that is my quirk, after all."

"oh, i understand the intent. and an 'a' for effort, mr. iida." you pull out a notepad, already scribbling down some of the basic facets of his personality to bring through on his socials. "i like that you're already thinking about those things. i appreciate a hero that brings more than a pretty face and an outstanding quirk to the table."

"a… pretty face?" he has the expression of a man who has never heard such a thing before, which baffles you. "but i thought you said that the haircut-"

"the haircut." you stop him, and begin jotting down a number on a sticky note. "the terrible haircut is distracting from the pretty face. you need bangs." you reach across the desk, and wait for him to gingerly take the proffered note. "that's my hairdresser. tell her exactly what i told you, and come back tomorrow. we'll start a social plan."

"but, ma'am, this meeting is supposed to be a whole hour. i've barely been here five minutes!" the hero looks absolutely distraught. you've never seen a client who didn't want to leave early. when you say nothing and give him only a surprised face, he pulls a folder from what seems to be thin air and starts leafing through it. "i've brought my social insights from x and instagram, as well as some charts that meta provided regarding my demographics. i thought perhaps we could discuss them, and you could help me interpret them. it all seems fairly intuitive, but i don't think the content i'm producing is resonating the way i expect it to. with your help, perhaps we…"

he keeps prattling on, but you can't bring yourself to listen. a dark blue hair has broken free from the gel, and is curling over his pointed eyebrow as he looks down upon the marketing documents. my god, he actually gives a shit. this must be how ben gates felt when he found the map on the back of the declaration of independence.

you wait for him to finish speaking, then pull up a chair from the wall to sit across from your own. your tone is clipped and professional, perfectly hiding a butterfly that seems to have made a home in your stomach. "i'll happily discuss specifics with you, mr. iida. i simply didn't expect you to be so interested in your own social presence."

he plops down without preamble, immediately placing the folder on your desk, then settling his own hands stalwartly on his armored thighs. the sudden proximity seems to bother him little, so focused is he on the task at hand. there is something truly noble and knightlike about him, and it's not just the polished metal that graces his body.

your hour meeting becomes an hour and a half, both of you ensconced in discussions of content marketing and the value of brand voice. he's uneducated on the finer points, sure, but it's clear his preliminary research is sound. you've had clients with a vested interest in their socials before, but never ones that demonstrated a level of care and research like tenya iida. by the time the meeting draws to a close and he's leaving your office with sticky note in hand, you find that you're sad to see him go. you even catch yourself watching him leave from your window, his helmet back on, engines on his legs shaking just slightly as he breaks into a run.

"ingenium, huh…" you muse to yourself, watching him tear off into the evening sun.

"yeah. i can work with that."

you've never had a crush on a client.

Sitting alone on a table meant for two, drinking your third glass of champagne for the past thirty minutes, is bound to get people’s attention. Even in a black layered shoulder-length wig, nude makeup, and a simple mini dress, you still stand out unfortunately. People still stare at you, gossiping about you being stood up. Chances are people are already feasting over a few speculating posts on social media, and more paparazzi are on their way here. You really should’ve put on a pair of colored contacts or silicone prosthetics to better blend in with the crowd.

You take a sip of your champagne. Calm. Collected.

You glance at the empty champagne glass next to your half-filled glass. Your date didn’t ditch you. You’re simply just too early. Too excited. You know the man you are about to meet isn’t someone who will embarrass a woman, but then again, all you have is Hange’s word (and a lot of pictures, thanks them hyping you up.)

Levi Ackerman is an accomplished and very handsome man, one you’re too eager to meet in person.

You look at your watch. Hange did say he’s a punctual guy, so he should be here any minute now.

Another sip the last of your champagne. Refill.

Levi walks into the restaurant a short moment later, closing the top button of his suit. You watch him look around before his eyes eventually find you, widening a little in recognition. Hopefully, your being a royalty doesn’t intimidate him. He won’t be here if he doesn’t want to date a royal, right?

Unless Hange didn’t tell him.

No. You specifically told Hange to let him know. There’s no way they would withhold that information.

You put on a smile and stand up to welcome him. Immediately, you’re met by an inviting scent of mint, apples, and vanilla. Sweet and seductive. You take in his appearance: light grey windowpane checked suit, white dress shirt, and a blue silk cravat with white polka dots.

Ooh. Nice touch.

He clears his throat.

You snap out of your trance, clearing your throat as well. God, it hasn’t even been a minute and you’re already making a fool of yourself.

“Hi!”

“You’re Cameron,” he says with a tone of incredulity. Like he didn’t expect it’s the princess he’s on a date with.

Somehow you think Hange might not have told him.

You tell him your real name because that is who you came here as, not as the princess, “...but Cam’s also fine,” you add quickly. Though you do hope he’ll call you by your real name. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” you shake hands with him.

“Likewise.”

A man of few words, Hange said.

You gesture at him to take a seat. “I already started a drink,” you say as you pour champagne in his glass. “I hope you don't mind.”

His eyes never leave your face. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long,” you answer. Then, “actually, I was a little early. Nerves and excitement. Haven’t been on a date in a while.”

He nods simply.

It feels like he doesn’t want to be here. But then again, Hange did tell you Levi often looks like he hates life.

You shrug the thought away. Another sip should calm you down, even if only a little.

Then, you try again.

“So… Do you want to order now?”

“Actually—” he stands up abruptly, and you nearly choke on your drink. “Let’s go somewhere else. I hate the food here.”

“Oh, uh…” you down your champagne. “Let me pay for this first.”

Levi beats you to it, calling a waiter with a bill already in his hands, telling him to keep the change. People watch as he takes your hand and leads you out of the restaurant urgently, as though he hates the whole place itself and not just the food.

You laugh once the doors close. “Well, that was fun.”

Levi smirks, amused.

You realize he’s still holding your hand, and if he does too, he doesn’t show it and he doesn’t let go either. He leads you to the parking lot, past numerous new models of cars in different sizes and colors, to an old model of white Camry with a crisp paint job that makes it look brand new. He goes straight to the passenger seat to open the door for you while you walk slowly in front of the vehicle, fingers running along the smooth edge of its hood cover. It makes a little screech.

“1995,” you remark, looking up at him.

He’s quiet for a second, eyes a little wide in surprise. “You can tell.” He steps back as you approach the door.

“I know a thing or two. My father used to bring me to car shows.” When life was still simple. Life before the tragedy. When not one single person thought your father would be sitting on the throne years later.

“It used to be my Mom’s,” he says.

Sentimental.

The interior’s been overhauled. The seat’s comfortable, dressed in cotton cover instead of leather.

“Can you drive?”

“Haven’t touched a wheel in… eight years,” you sigh, a little surprised it’s been that long.

He nods, closing the door carefully.

The drive to wherever Levi planned to take you is quiet, but it’s not the awkward kind. You sit in silence, watching the buildings change to ones you’re no longer familiar with, until he stops in front of a small restaurant in the traditional Italian style with a rather plain looking signage to announce its name.

“I hijacked our date,” he notes, and you can’t tell if he’s being apologetic. “I just can’t stand the food there.” He hasn't stopped the engine yet, as if offering you a choice to back out.

“It’s alright,” you chuckle. “I did hear one of the diners say the tiramisu wasn’t good. Hard pass, instantly.”

He lets out a sharp exhale that sounds like a laugh. You start to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Aren’t you worried I’d kidnap you, princess?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you chuckle and get out of the car.

Upon entering the restaurant is a deli for to-go boxes—cold cuts and different kinds of cheese sold per gram. The interior is built with bricks and warmly lit by hanging string lights, the walls filled with fancy wine cellars from top to bottom. At the most inner dining area is a big mural of Birth of Venus by Botticelli, where some people are waiting in line to take pictures. Levi, who doesn’t seem thrilled by the number of people instead, asks if you’d like to dine outside instead. Since the weather’s nice, you agree to dining outside, and a waiter follows you with menus in hand, informing you of their weekends-only offer: cooking your pasta of choice in a massive parmesan wheel for a price inclusive of a drink, the options for the pasta and the sumptuous choices for the sauces, all of which sound enticing to you but not to Levi, sadly.

“Did you want that?” Levi asks once the waiter is gone.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. He holds your gaze for a moment, unconvinced, so you flash him a smile. “I swear, it’s alright. Then you add, “we can try it next time,” gauging his reaction.

He nods with a little smile before turning his attention to the menu in his hands.

Your eyes flicker to his stylish cravat. Then his hands. His slender fingers. Ugh.

“Is the menu written on my face?” He sounds amused.

You chuckle. “Are you getting pasta?”

“Their frutti di mare is good.” He flips the page.

“I’ll get the truffle pasta… so we can try both,” you say excitedly. “I mean, whatever you’ll get.”

He blinks at you, then looks back at the menu and clears his throat. “Sure.”

“You’ve been here before?”

He flips pages again. “Their pizzas are good.”

Is that an answer?? It doesn't matter, because your heart already sinks a little at the thought of him being here with an ex. Maybe this was her favorite restaurant and he’s come to love it too.

You brush the thought away. “Quattro formaggi?”

He nods in answer. “How about wine?”

You set aside the menu to prop your elbows on the table, your chin at the back of your interlaced fingers. “I hope you’re not trying to get me drunk,” you tease.

He tilts his head to the side. “If I am?”

“Where will you bring me next?” you challenge.

He crosses his knees. “Home.”

“Yours?”

He smirks audibly.

OK. Too much flirting. That’s so unladylike, especially for a princess.

“I’m just kidding,” you chuckle, picking up the menu again. “Let’s go with Pinot Grigio.”

You order a small charcuterie board, served ahead with the wine while the pasta platters and pizza are being prepared. The waiter pours your drinks. You share a toast with Levi. He then takes a cut of guanciale to try while you get a slice of each of the cheese.

You eat in silence, tasting each item on the board. You try to focus on the cheese you’re munching on, stopping yourself from even glancing up at him, but the desire to look at his face is killing you. You like his eyes the most: cold, steel grey orbs that seem to see through you and know just what you’re thinking. Then his lips: pale pink, set in a tight, deadpan line that shouldn’t even look attractive. You wonder what it feels like to kiss those lips (you’ve only ever kissed one guy, that one fuck buddy you had in college). Is Levi a good kisser? How many women have been lucky to feel those lips on their lips?

Lips that are moving slowly as he talks without a sound.

“What?” You snap out of your trance.

“Sixteen seconds,” he says, “that’s how long you’ve been staring at me.”

You let out a sharp breath in disbelief. “I wasn’t staring. I was deliberating over the cheese.”

“Sure, princess.”

Looking away, you grab your glass of wine to take a sip. “I just like the cravat.”

“Can’t miss the chance to impress the princess on our first date.” Levi crosses his arms and his knees, sitting back in his chair, looking relaxed and genuinely curious. “So, what keeps a lady like you busy?”

You hesitate. Not even Hange knows what you’re about to say.

“I’m a web developer and designer.”

He blinks. “You have a job,” he says in disbelief.

“You sound like my parents,” you chuckle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You did not,” you shake your head. “It’s unusual for a princess to have a job after all.” You watch the wine dance in your glass as you gently rotate it. “Before my father was made king we lived a simple life. A normal family with a father and the eldest kid who worked nine to five jobs and a full-time mother who took care of the house. For years, I was a corporate slave,” you pause, a bitter laugh bubbling from your throat. Talking about it now, you feel overwhelmingly nostalgic for the days you freely walked outside. Even when there were chances people would recognize you, they weren’t as invading as they are now that you’re next in line to the throne.

“And then that happened, half of my family gone because of a man who hated the king who’s been dead for decades.” You stop shaking the glass. You think the wine turns red. Like blood.

The criminal hadn’t even been out of prison for a whole month when he was hanged. Some part of you understood him somehow—you still do. He was wrongly accused and he wanted the king who put him in prison to pay for it, so he sought revenge. But that king was already dead. And he refused to let go.

You still blame him for killing your only cousin. You still blame that man every day for putting you where you are now.

“Jeez.” You let out a sharp breath that sounds like a laugh. “I sound like I hate being a royal—which I really do. Sometimes.” You chuckle, ashamed. 

“Understandable,” he sympathizes. “You’ve got a billion pairs of eyes watching your every move.”

And you’ve got to find a worthy husband soon, which is already no easy feat even when you aren’t significantly royal yet.

You set your glass on the table. He refills your drink. You shake it, then drink all of it. Uh oh. Your face feels hot. You had a lot of champagne already. It’s about time you slowdown from drinking.

“What about you, Levi? What keeps you busy besides your job?”

“Gym.”

You nearly choke on your wine as thoughts of Levi in a white compression shirt, grey gym joggers, and white training shoes fill your mind like a flash flood. You imagine him on the bench press, earbuds on, the muscles and veins in his arms bulging as he lifts the barbel. Oh, boy. You wish you’d get the chance to see him train sometimes. Maybe even train with him if a relationship blossoms from this first date.

The imagination is short lived when you spot two waiters arriving with your orders.

“Our food’s here!” You squeal excitedly.

He doesn’t respond, only watches you do a little happy dance as the waiters serve your orders. You ask for a hot sauce for the pizza and more parmesan for your pasta, but the waiter regretfully refuses because extra parmesan isn’t on the menu. With a pout, you murmur an “okay,” missing the surprised look on Levi’s face as you smile at the waiter.

There’s a moment of silence as you both begin to eat. You urge Levi to try the truffle pasta and in return, he shares some of his food with you. Throughout dinner, you exchange stuff about yourselves—hobbies, favorite food, likes and dislikes, places you want to go to. You share bits and pieces of your life and how it affects your job. That your parents still strongly disapprove of it, saying it’s not princess-like to be working such a technical job. When Levi asks about how you met Hange, you recount the project you were both assigned to, the business meeting where you met them personally, and how you became friends after. What you don’t say is that they have been encouraging you to meet Levi since then, insisting you’d be perfect for each other. But you were a career-oriented woman. And you almost got pregnant in college, so you couldn’t trust yourself anymore since then. You didn’t want to ruin your life, so you refused Hange until they stopped.

You wish you did not. You wished you enjoyed life more when you were younger and still have more freedom.

If only you knew things would turn out the way they did.

Sadly, your date soon ends, and you can’t help but wonder if Levi feels the same. He insists on paying for dinner despite your offer to chip in. You take home a deli box of cold cuts and cheese for your brother. Levi offers to drive you home, which you have to refuse since your driver is nearby, tasked to follow you around and bring you home at the end of the night.

“I see,” he murmurs.

You smile regretfully. You want to spend more time with him, even if that’s just another thirty minutes. You want to talk a little more, just be in the same space with him and enjoy his presence. The realization that you enjoyed this date more than you anticipated hits you harder than a slap. You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a man’s company.

Ahh, you wish you could say yes to him. In fact, you do have the choice to say yes to him, but there are certain protocols you need to follow to ensure what happened before won’t happen again.

Besides, you don’t want to put Levi in the spotlight. Not when he just said he doesn’t intend to see you again.

You snap out of your thought bubble. “What?”

“I’m not the right man for you. I don’t want your life.”

He didn’t even hesitate. Ouch.

You feel like someone just splashed a bucket of ice-cold water on your face.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” he says, still with the deadpan look that makes you think the apology isn’t genuine at all.

Why date me then? You force a smile. “It’s alright, it was no waste at all. I had fun. And I understand…” you stop, feeling the tremors in your voice.

He nods, taking a step back. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” you manage to utter. “Thank you, Levi, for a good night.”

“Thank you,” he calls you by your name. “Take care of yourself.”

For the first time, you see emotions swirling in his eyes. Doubt? Sympathy? Things he wants to say.

You turn away from each other at the same time. You don’t see him looking back, watching you walk away for a short moment before turning away with a sigh. You walk in the direction of your car, each step sending your heart crumbling until you’re once again the empty girl that you were before this night started.

.

The night hasn’t even ended yet, but Levi’s face is all over the internet already. His phone buzzes every minute as more people find his social media accounts, sending him follower and message requests.

“Fucking Christ.”

His phone rings, the words Four-Eyes written in the caller ID.

“Oh my God, Levi, you’re famous!” They shriek excitedly.

“Fucking— tone it down. You’re on speaker.” Levi glares at the screen of his phone, hoping his friend would feel his frustration through the call. “You didn’t even consider giving me a heads up that it’s the princess I'm going on a date with?”

“You would’ve said no!” they reason out.

“You idiot,” he snaps. “I wouldn’t say no, not when the date’s already set. I could’ve come prepared though.”

Hange chuckles awkwardly. “Well, did you like her?”

“Yes.”

They squeal. “When’s the next date then?”

“There’s no next date.”

“WHAAAAT?! What do you—”

He drops the call.

His phone rings again two seconds later.

“What do you mean there’s no next date? Don’t tell me you rejected her?!”

Levi sighs.

“You rejected her?!” Hange repeats.

He did like you. He enjoyed your company.

Fine. He is stupid for doing that.

But he isn’t going to admit that to Hange. Or to anyone at all.

“I need to drop. I’m entering the highway.”

“No, Levi, you—”

He did the right thing. He’s a nobody. You deserve someone with status, with influence. Someone important just like you.

Clink, clink.

The air feels thick, heavy with tension, suffocating even in a big dining room.

Clank. Clink, clank.

The king doesn’t talk, he just glances at you every once in a while.

You hear it loud and clear.

We had a deal. No second chances.

If the date fails, you do it the traditional way: your hand offered in marriage. Like an auction item.

Never in your life did you think your own father would do this to you.

Oh, if only Levi didn’t say no.

You should’ve known better than to agree to the blind date—you’ve dragged him in a mess. Prince Levi, they already call him, rooting for him, while others question your choice, dating a man who’s unimportant. You hate that they call him that, so much that you reported every post that called him names. You wanted to talk to him, to apologize for the mess you pulled him into, but the Council advised otherwise. The Council also advised against responding to anything, insisting you let them handle everything. You’re pretty certain they reached out to Levi and bribed him into keeping quiet. Later, the PR team released a statement claiming it was just a friendly date between two high school friends.

You put your utensils down.

“You’re done?” asks your mother.

You wipe the side of your mouth. “Yes.”

“You barely ate,” she remarks.

Joshua shifts on his seat. “Are we gonna play Chained Together tonight?”

“Sure.” You pat his head on your way out.

You hear your mother asking, “must we really do this to her?” as the door closes behind you.

You don’t need to stay to know his answer. 

There’s no other way.

.

One of the few things you like in the palace is its vast backyard that houses not just ancient oak trees and various colorful flowering bushes and wild plants, but also your private house: a quaint bungalow that only you have access to, hidden from the meddlesome world outside. A large pond sits at the side, with stepping stones leading to the center, where you would sit to feed and watch the koi carps, goldfishes, and mosquitofishes. Afterwards, you’d head inside and grab some snacks from the pantry before going to the living room, where your work and gaming desks are set up next to a wall-mounted TV, a fireplace and an oversized bean bag. You sit on the couch, munching popcorn as you watch an anime show. Two hours later you hear a loud buzz, a notification that someone is at the backdoor. You check the ring camera from your phone to confirm your visitors before letting them in. You turn the TV off, wash the bowl you used then put it back in the cupboard, drink water, use the restroom, head back to the pantry to grab a bottle of wine and a glass, then head to the only "bedroom" in the house.

Your biggest secret.

You switch the cove lights on. Dim. Casting a soft and warm glow against wine red velvet walls. A full height, dark oak cabinet stands next to the door, and at the center of the room are a rococo-style cabriole couch with gold frames and wine-red velvet cushions, a wine-red leather chaise lounge, and a small dark oak long coffee table, where you set aside the wine and glass. A two-way mirror separates the lounge area from the bedroom; its walls covered in the same wine-red velvet. A dark oak bedside table sits next to a queen-sized bed covered in white and wine-red sheets and pillows dressed in wine-red cases. On the bed is a couple. Naked. Making out.

You sit on the cabriole couch, knees crossed, fingers laced together over your knee, and watch the couple start to get handsy. But it hasn’t even been a minute, yet when you stand up and take your clothes off, leaving them in a pool on the ground as you turn towards the cabinet, opening the doors and revealing a huge collection of sex toys. Collars, cuffs, vibrators, clit suckers, dildos—some of which are still in their packages, opened but never used. You have your favorites. Like the pair of black nipple clamps with fur pom-poms and a pastel red vibrator with a plump and ribbed shaft and rabbit ears-like clit tickler.

As always, not wanting to spoil the velvets of the cabriole couch, you lay on the chaise lounge instead, feet flat on the cushion so that your knees are folded up and spread apart. You place the nipple clamps on the areola, twisting the screws to slightly tighten the jaws until you feel a pulling and pinching sensation that fades to a dull ache over time. The pom-poms brushing against your underboobs send tingly sensations across your nerves, helping in the buildup of your arousal. You’ve always liked that feeling, like barely-there touches. You wet your fingers with your saliva, then the shaft of the vibrator, sliding it in and out of your mouth as if it’s a cock.

On the other side of the mirror, the man begins to suck on the woman’s tit. You watch his tongue twirling around the nipple until it’s stiff, while the other he works with his fingers, pinching and pulling. And then he trails lower, kissing and sucking down her stomach, until his face is between her thighs. You start the vibrator, wet your fingers some more to smear saliva on your cunt, and then press the vibrating shaft against your clit, making your breath hitch and your body twitch at the sudden yet very welcome stimulation. Up and down, you rub the shaft against your clit and between your folds, teasing a poke at your hole, letting out little moans while you watch the man push up the woman’s thighs against her stomach to eat her cunt. You wonder how good his tongue feels. It must be fucking heaven, how slowly he laps up her folds and then sucks on her cunt. Fuck, you wish that’s you on the bed with him. It’s been years since a man pleased you really good.

Eventually the man straightens up. The woman keeps her legs folded against her stomach, and you watch him slapping the head of his cock against her cunt. You position the tip of the shaft of the vibrator against your hole, and as he slowly thrusts into her, you gently insert the shaft on your vagina, pushing and pushing until the slender arms of the tickler are touching your clit. You switch the vibration mode: an exchange of deep one-second vibrations between the shaft and the ticklers, stimulating your G-spot and clit. You let out a low moan, spreading your legs further apart until your foot slips to the ground. God, you miss the feeling of a cock in you. You crave the sounds of heavy breaths, the skin against skin, the warmth of flesh. You crave real pleasure, the body connection.

A pair of steel grey eyes flashes in your head.

A moan slips from your mouth, and then a name.

Levi.

You nearly sit up in surprise, but then your climax hits you, sending your body shuddering violently.

Images of Levi flash before your eyes, naked, positioned between thighs, holding your right feet up and over his shoulder, your left leg pinned under his thighs as he slams his cock into you. You imagine clothes scattered around, the two of you on this very couch, panting, moaning, covered in sweat, fucking you senseless. Another wave hits you, and you aren’t sure if you’re orgasming twice or your orgasm’s lasting longer than usual. In your mind, you hear him calling you princess with that smirk on his lips.

“Feels good, princess?” You hear his voice loud and clear. You feel his touch, caressing your hip and then settling on your stomach as he fills you up with his cum.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head so hard you see white. You pull the vibrator out of your cunt, dropping it on the couch between your thighs, where it continues to vibrate intensely against the leather. Eyes shut tight, you pant loudly, chest rising and falling like angry sea waves as you lie limply on the lounge, cum dripping from your vagina and to the cushions.

When your eyes flicker open again and find the couple who are still fucking on the bed, all you could see is you lying on your stomach while Levi fucks you from behind.

You watch the men gather in the grand from where you stand on the second floor, all eleven of them acting like they’re friends with each other, talking to one another with fake smiles and laughter. Three of them are princes from other countries and the rest are men with high profiles: a politician, three celebrities, and four businessmen. One of the princes is twelve years younger than you, two of the businessmen have greying hairs and are twenty years older than you, and one is a divorcee. You understand now why they kept you out of the screening—if any screening did happen. None of these men would’ve made it here if you did the background check yourself.

Out of the eleven, you strike out four instantly: the young prince and the three businessmen. Marrying a politician is also a no-no. You find their lifestyle repulsive. Celebrities’ too. They hide so much behind the cameras. That’s eight out of eleven already, leaving you only the two princes and one businessman.

One who you wish is Levi.

You bite back the pathetic laugh that threatens to spill from your mouth.

Such a shame you let him walk away from you. You should’ve pursued him.

A kitchen staff approaches the group, offering wine. Your father joins them a moment later, his own glass of wine raised. 

“Gentlemen.”

“Your Majesty.” The pigs bow their heads slightly.

“Plus points to anyone who can tell what wine this is,” your father challenges, and you can’t help but huff incredulously.

“Commandaria. Cyprus,” says the divorcee proudly. “The world’s oldest continually produced wine.”

Your father looks up at you, as if you ought to keep track of these men’s points.

“You know a lot about wines, Your Majesty,” says one of the celebrities.

“My daughter does,” he corrects, looking up at you again, this time a little fondly. “I take after her.” The group chuckles. The King beckons you to come and join them, but you only stare. To spite him. He only smiles and turns back to the men around him.

“Princess,” the tall guy dressed in black and white suit raises his glass towards you. You recognize him from a few game release live streams you saw back then. “I heard you are a gamer,” he remarks with a curious smile.

“I am.”

“Jean Kirstein, Your Highness. I’m a fan. I watched your live streams when you were still streaming,” he brags.

“Kiss ass,” scoffs the dark-brown haired celebrity with a sleek man-bun.

Eren Yeager. You’ve seen some of his movies. He’s a good actor. Too bad he’s not your kind of person.

“Huh?!” Jean turns to him with a glare.

“Hush, you kids! Not in front of the princess,” chides the 54-year old businessman.

Whoever decided to let these men who are twenty years older than you join this stupid competition is an idiot.

Another kitchen staff approaches the King. You take that as a sign to head to the grand dining hall. Gotta get this over and done with, you think begrudgingly.

Across the King you sit, watching eleven strangers sit around the long table, their chins held high and their chest puffed. Every second is a competition, and they can’t afford to look unworthy. Funny. If you really have a choice, you would’ve sent all of them home already.

Throughout the meal, your “suitors” talked with the King as if it's his hand they are competing for in marriage, so eager to know more about the royal life and what power they would have should they become royalty. You’ve hated this kind of talk. Even when you or your parents weren’t directly involved in it, only listening to your grandpa and your uncle discuss such matters during family dinners when they were still alive.

The only one who shows interest is Jean, asking simple questions such as what do you like doing other than gaming, the places you want to go to, your favorite food. He’d say stuff about himself, as if this is a date where you’re getting to know each other, except Eren and Caleb are with you, both Jean would encourage to share too. You can’t tell if he’s just that good a person or he’s setting himself up to win.

Well, on the brighter side, he’s making things easier for you. He’s someone you can vibe with. He was a game developer before he became CTO of the company. Playing games can be one of your bonding activities, and your brother will like him too. Telling him your secret shouldn’t be a problem as well. He doesn’t seem like a judgmental person.

That’s it. You made your choice. Gotta get this over and done with, you remind yourself.

“Everyone.” You clear your throat.

Silence erupts. Twelve pairs of eyes turn in your direction, you keep yours glued to the king, urging yourself to speak.

“I would like to—”

The doors swing open.

The guards try to get hold of Joshua, who rushes in and announces, “big sis, you have a phone call!”

“Joshua, you shouldn’t be here,” says the King.

“It’s an emergency!” He reasons out, shoving his phone onto your hand.

It’s from an unknown number. You answer tentatively, thoughts racing in your head, thinking who it could be. The answer comes in a familiar voice shrieking your name, so loud it makes you flinch.

“Hange?”

“Maydaaaaay!!”

Oh.

Oh.

“They won’t let us in!!” Hange cries out.

“What’s happening?” asks the King.

“Your guards won’t let us in is what’s happening, Your Lord Majesty!”

“Us?” Your brows knit together. “Who’s us?”

There’s a funny feeling in your chest.

You stand up, thinking you already know the answer.

There’s a loud rustle, then Hange’s distant voice as they shout, “come on, talk to the princess!”

“Let the guards take care of it.” The King lets out a heavy sigh, running out of patience. “Put the phone down. Now.”

You meet his eyes with a defiant gaze. He says your name—your real name—in a voice so low but with alarm bells blaring in the background.

Ah, fuck it. Your only hope is right outside, waiting for the gates to let them in—to let him in.

So, that’s what you tell the guard, who, after a short moment of contemplation, meekly answers “yes, Your Highness.”

The chair shrieks against the marbled floor as the king gets up from his chair, glaring daggers in your way. “Sit down.”

“Pardon, Your Majesty,” a slight incline of your head. “I have guests to tend to.”

“Your guests are here.”

You turn to everyone on the table and excuse yourself with a curtsy. The King calls you by your name. A final warning.

You choose to ignore it.

Joshua follows you out of the dining hall, and when the doors close, you ruffle his hair, telling him he did a good job.

“You owe me primogems!” he grins and scurries away.

You march in the direction of the front doors, anxious yet excited. It’s got to be Levi—it has to be Levi.

The guards bow to you in greeting before opening the doors, and you quietly walk along the grand hall, your hands sweating, almost tripping on your heels as your pace quickens. Another pair of guards greet you before pushing the doors open, revealing the car that’s parked at the drop-off area and your guests, Hange and a tall blond, leaning against the side of the car, arms and feet crossed.

No Levi.

“There she is!” Hange smacks their hands together, pushing themselves off the car.

You force out a smile. Surely you didn’t just disobey the king for nothing?

“Come on!” They smack you on the back, nearly sending you tumbling forward. “You don’t look so thrilled to see us!”

“Of course I am,” you chuckle, awkward.

The blond guy steps towards you, offering a hand. “Princess, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Erwin Smith, their boss.”

“Their boss,” you murmur, turning to Hange.

“What? Bosses have bosses too!”

You roll your eyes at them. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I hope we’re not too late,” says Erwin.

Your lips part, but not even a small sound comes out of your throat. You can’t imagine yourself with this guy. Heck, you can’t imagine him joining this stupid contest at all.  He doesn’t seem that desperate.

“No. Certainly not—”

The car door opens. A black brogue boot appears, followed by the next of the pair. A man comes out of the car, dressed in a light mid-grey suit and a white dress shirt with a blue and black patterned silk cravat.

God, you love his cravats.

“Levi.” Your voice is almost inaudible.

He slams the door closed and walks up to you, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “Sorry, I’m late. Hange’s a shitty driver. Got pulled up by the police twice for beating the red light.”

“Hey, I got you here in one piece!” Hange points out.

Levi scowls. “We almost crashed.”

“Missed a police car by a hair’s breadth,” adds Erwin.

Hange throws their hands in the air frustratingly. “You’re supposed to say she looks good in her dress! What happened to our rehearsal?!”

Levi rolls his eyes, turning to you, and in that split second his gaze softens. You get it, what he wants to say.

You squeeze his hand gently.

“I thought you didn’t want this,” you gesture to your surroundings.

“I don’t,” he confirms, and your heart drops. “But I like you.”

Now your heart would’ve jumped out of your chest if it could only break through your ribs. In your peripherals, you see Hange hitting Erwin’s arm.

“And I’ll be fine. I can tolerate all these—” he gestures widely to the mansion behind you, “—just fine.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That isn’t rehearsed, is it?”

“No,” he smiles softly.

You can’t help the big smile that nearly splits your face in half. “Well then, Prince Levi,” you tease, offering your hand to him with the palm up, “shall we make a scene?”

He smirks, placing his hand on yours. “Princess.”

“Wait!” Hange shrieks. “Please tell me there are desserts for us!”

A laugh bubbles from your chest. “You know where the pantry is.”

Levi throws you a funny look. “Hange’s really been here?”

“Told ‘ya!” The person in question pipes up.

You start pulling Levi into the mansion. “I hope you’re ready to meet the king.”

“Can’t wait,” he deadpans.

Hange and Erwin are taken to the kitchen by the palace maids. You walk towards the towering doors of the grand dining hall with Levi, your heart hammering in your chest. When the guards reach for the door handles, you stop them. Your stomach’s churning. Your father will certainly recognize Levi. He’s seen the pictures. He’ll definitely call the guards to drag him out of the palace.

You think you’re going to puke. You’ll embarrass yourself in front of everyone, in front of Levi, and he’ll find you disgusting—

His fingers lace with yours, and when you turn to look at him, he tells you, “we’ll make this work.”

“There’s no turning back after this,” you emphasize. “This isn’t like our first date. This is the real thing. And there’s still stuff about me you—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, his voice soft, but his hold in your hand firm, keeping you grounded. “I am sure.”

That feels enough. That is enough.

“Okay,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re hesitating,” he murmurs.

You shake your head. “Just anxious. It’s my dad I’m worried about.”

“There’s no turning back after this,” he returns, squeezing your hand and then tugging you closer. “You’re stuck with me now.”

You can’t help but chuckle. He smiles faintly.

With a single nod from you, the guards push the doors open. Eleven pairs of eyes turn to your direction. Quiet. Speculating. If they recognize Levi, they don’t show it.

“Everyone,” you clear your throat, “I want you all to meet Prince Levi.”

The king turns to two of you at last, his eyes cold, unimpressed. He eyes Levi from head to toe, then picks his glass of wine and takes a sip.

The 54-year old scoffs. “What is this, a joke?”

“He isn’t even a participant.” The politician tosses his serviette on the table.

“You wasted our time!” spats the other old guy. “You humiliated us!”

The glassware and utensils clink as the king slams his knuckle against the table. “I will not have my daughter disrespected in our own house.” He speaks in a low yet furious voice, turning to the enraged men. “Leave.”

“You say that to us after she toyed with us?” the politician questions.

Eren sighs loudly. “It’s not like you were going to win anyway.”

“Excuse me?” His nostrils flare.

“Leave,” the King repeats, louder, firmer, “before the guards drag you out of the palace.” And as if to emphasize, the guards step forward, one by your right side and the other, Levi’s left. The king slightly inclines his head, an eyebrow raised at the fuming politician. “You wouldn’t want that as that would be more humiliating, would you?”

One by one they leave the grand dining hall, stomping like children throwing tantrums, until the only ones left are Jean, Eren, and the three princes, all seemingly unaffected by the unexpected turn of events. The empty seats have been cleared. Clean plates and utensils are provided to you and Levi, followed by a fresh batch of food. You sit next to your father, who hasn’t spoken a word after the other candidates left. He’s only been drinking wine. He hasn’t even spared Levi a glance at all ever since he sat on the table! You can’t tell if he’s angry—well, he is angry, but this isn’t his usual anger. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Like he’s waiting for either you or Levi to crack. Perhaps, a test?

No matter. He can’t treat Levi like this. You won’t allow that.

You empty your glass of wine. Then, a deep breath, ready to say—

“What made you change your mind?”

You press your lips shut and turn to Levi.

They talked. After the date. Your father reached out to Levi indeed, and knowing him, he might’ve struck a deal.

“I like her,” Levi says simply.

“You like the title,” the king suggests.

Levi meets your eyes. You offer a small smile. It doesn’t matter, you want to tell him, it doesn’t matter if he’s into the title more than you. You like him enough that you think you can share your secret with him and that’s all that matters. You can live with that. You can live with him.

But you like to hear what he has to say too. He was certain when he said he doesn’t want this life, so really, what made him change his mind?

“I liked that she was able to tell what year my car was made in just one look.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

The king takes a while before he finally responds with a smile. “She enjoyed going to car shows when she was a kid.”

“If she wants to drive again,” Levi continues, “I’d like to see through that. I want her to be able to go to places by herself, with or without her driver or me.”

“Road trips,” you murmur, grinning when he answers with a nod.

You miss the way your father’s eyes soften at the exchange. It’s gone the moment Levi looks back to him.

“I like that she gets excited over food, and that she didn’t use her status to get more parmesan for her pasta.”

You bite back the giggle that threatens to spill from your mouth. Oh, God. You think your heart’s about to explode.

“I liked that she shared her food with me.”

Your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“I want us to go out more often. Have picnics. Travel in and out of the country. I want to watch her little happy dances whenever she’s excited. I want…” he turns to you, his gaze softening, “I want to get to know her better.”

Instinctively, you wet your lips, then reach for his face, pulling him into a kiss. He blinks in surprise, a tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

Your father lets out a sigh, but when you turn to face him, you find him smiling. “I’m glad my daughter met you,” he says, picking up his wine glass. “I haven’t seen her this happy in a while.” The softness of his voice makes your eyes water. He raises his glass, and everyone else follows. “A toast to the prince and princess.”

The others chorus a “to the prince and princess,” raising their glasses to honor you and Levi.

“To us.” You raise your glass towards Levi.

He smiles. “To us.”

There’s a gentle knock on the door, followed by Hange shouting “Oi, Shorty! Lunch break’s over!”

“Is that Hange?” asks your father.

“Yes, papa.” You turn to Levi, who looks dismayed. “Work?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”

“You have meetings.” He would’ve cancelled if they weren't important. “Come back tonight?”

He nods and gets up. You watch him approach the king to shake hands with, not expecting he’d receive a quick hug from your father as well. Levi nods to the other guests in respect, and they once again congratulate him. Then, he turns to you and kisses your hand with a promise to see you later. You catch Hange waving at you as the door closes.

Your father smiles. You can’t believe he’d accept Levi so quickly. You’re glad he did.

(He later tells you “I’m still your father, okay? And I want you to be happy first and foremost.” after you enveloped him in a tight hug.)

.

Levi does come back later that night, bringing with him sleeping clothes and a few sets of casual outfits for the weekend. You introduce him to your mother and brother before touring him around the mansion, the dining room being your last destination for some snacks and drink. You stand opposite each other on the bar table, exchanging stories over cheese, crackers and a glass of wine you’re sharing between the two of you. Each time it’s his turn to drink, you’d watch how he rotates the glass first so that the side where your lips touched faces his way. He’d pick up the glass, swirl the wine, and then drink, his eyes glued to your face while yours are on his lips, which he would later lick clean.

Well, fuck.

Standing on your toes, you bend as close as you could towards Levi and he smirks, eyes flickering to your lips. You take the wine glass back to refill it, pretending you aren’t feeling the way he’s staring at your lips as you drink, like he’s so close to tugging you towards him for a kiss. You swallow slowly, grab some crackers to eat, then pour wine into the glass for his turn. You aren’t sure who makes the contact first: Levi, when he puts his fingers over yours to receive the glass, or you, learning towards him to get a kiss. One thing’s for sure: you both like it, judging the way he’s hurriedly walking around the table to get to your side, how you immediately reach for his arms to close the gap between your faces, and how deeply he sucks in a breath when his lips crash into yours, as if he wants to breathe you in. His hands move down to the sides of your neck, his touch sending electricity through your nerves, frying your body.

You pull away, breathless as you say “we have to go. Mom drinks milk at nine-thirty!” You grab the bottle of wine, downing the remaining two glasses in it. Levi watches, eyes wide in surprise, and then laughs. You let out a huff, feeling bloated in an instant, and drag him through the hall and back to your room.

His mouth is on your lips the moment the door closes, neither of you bothering to turn the lights on. His hand won’t stop roaming all over back, fingers slipping under your shirt a few times, eliciting little moans from you. If his skin against your skin can only catch fire, you’ll be ashes now.

You’ve never felt this alive for such a long time.

Levi pulls away briefly. “We’re not in a rush to get married, are we?”

“No,” you chuckle, kissing him again. “Though, I believe, my parents are in a hurry for a grandchild.”

He hums, catching your lips in a heated kiss that sucks the air right out of your lungs. Levi breathes heavy, as if he’s been holding back for so long and is still holding back at the same time. His hands find the small of your back, fingers slipping under your shirt, sending a jolt through your nerves that makes you pull at his cravat to get him even closer. You grind your hips into his, and when you feel his hard-on through his suit trousers, you can’t help but smile against his lips. A gasp escapes your mouth, followed by a chuckle, when he lifts you so easily from the floor, as if you’re nothing but a doll to him. You wrap your legs around his waist, and without breaking the kiss, he walks to your bed, where he lays you gently. He props himself up and stares at you, your hands laced together above your head. Even in the dark, you find his eyes pretty, his steel grey irises that seem to glow faintly like moonlight. Maybe it’s just the alcohol in your system that makes you see things, makes you feel things. Like how sweet his breath tastes or how hot his body feels against yours. Or how your hands fit together as if you’re meant to be holding each other. Or how the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world.

“I liked your dress today, you look good in it. The red ribbons look good on white.”

You hum, nuzzling his nose.

“Couldn’t stop imagining myself untying them.”

“Naughty prince,” you scold playfully. “You should’ve told me earlier, so I would’ve kept it on for you to live your dream tonight.”

He smirks. “Plenty of chances to do that.” When he kisses you this time, it’s gentle and slow. He lets go of your hands only to comb his fingers in your hair. Your hands move to his waist, slipping under the suit and grabbing at his shirt to pull it out of slacks.

“Levi,” you sigh into his mouth. He breaks from the kiss only for his lips to trail along your jaw. “There’s something I need to show you tomorrow before we get really serious about this.”

He hums in question against your neck.

“It might change the way you look at me.”

He pulls away completely this time and eyes you curiously. “Any hint?”

You avoid his gaze, looking at his cravat instead as you fidget with it. “It’s… about sex. Or something like that.”

“Hmm.”

You straighten his already creaseless shirt. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

“Trying to get me to back out?” He kisses your lips. Then your chin.

“I hope not,” you sigh in his hair.

“Nothing—” he presses a kiss on the side of your neck, “about you—” a kiss on your jugular notch, “will make me—” a kiss between your chest, “back out.”

You chuckle. “But we haven’t had sex yet,” you point out.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs against your stomach, biting at the hem of your shirt and then pushing it up. You rake your fingers through his fringe, pulling the strands back to make him look up at you while his nose and lips trail down your lower belly.

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

He kisses you through your underwear and pyjamas. “Me too.”

“I bet…” you spread your knees apart for him, “you couldn’t stop dreaming of me like this while you were at work.”

Levi smirks audibly, and after one more press of his lips against your clothed sex, he straightens up and pulls your underwear and pyjamas down post-haste. A frenzied grin breaks through your mouth as you lift your legs quickly, and then he leans forward to quickly rid you of your shirt and bra. He wastes no time, burying his face between your tits, breathing in the smell of your skin before pressing wet kisses along the valley of your chest. You reach for the collar of his suit, desperate to get him naked as well, but it’s as if he’s gone mad and wouldn’t stop kissing all over your chest to let you undress him. You sigh out his name in plea, pushing at the shoulders of his suit, but he only murmurs “just let me” before his mouth feasts on your left tit. You arch your chest towards him, your fingers settling in his hair instead as his mouth moves to your other tit, tongue twirling around the nipple until it’s stiff. You sigh his name again, but he refuses to stop, alternating between your tits, replacing with his fingers what his mouth couldn’t reach. The only time he moves away from your chest is when you cry out “please!” He pulls at the nipple, letting it go with a pop before he starts placing a trail of sucking kisses on your stomach. Lips parted, you pant loudly, each puff complemented by the press of his lips on your skin and the little sounds they make.

But his lips don't make it to your pubic mound just yet. Levi straightens up. You bite back a grumble, pressing your lips together as you watch him finally take his coat off and toss it somewhere behind him. He pauses to take you in, eyes roaming all over your body, lingering a second longer on your chest and then your pussy. He leans forward, hooks his hands under your knees, and pushes them forward until they’re touching your breasts. Even when he straightens up again and lets go of your knees, you keep them firm against your chest.

“Look at you,” he praises.

You smile, sickly sweet, making your cunt clench and unclench around nothing. Levi smirks, pressing his fingertip oh-so-lightly on your clit, circling the nub before dragging his finger down your folds.

“Oh, Levi,” you sigh, pussy lips clenching around the tip of his finger that’s slightly poking your hole.

He twists his hand, gathering your slick at the pad of his finger.

“Stop teasing!” You grumble.

He leans forward, planting his left hand on the mattress by your waist while he rubs along your folds with the other. “What would you have me do, princess?”

Your breath catches in your throat when he nudges at your hole. But that’s all you get. A little nudge every few seconds, between circling your clit and spreading your lips with his slender fingers.

“Fuck me,” you demand.

He hums in thought. “Not tonight.”

“What?” You snap.

He leans forward to press a kiss on your lips, then your chin, slowly along each of your clavicles, down your cleavage and each of your nipples, flicking them with his tongue. He bites lightly at the flesh above the areola of your right breast and then sucks hard until the skin blooms red. You let out a breathy moan of his name, pleading, and he only answers with “not tonight, princess.” Firm. Decided. He trails down your stomach, bites again at the mound, and then breathes in your scent when he presses his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“God, Levi, can’t you be a little more eager?”

He smirks against your inner left thigh. “Oh, I am eager, my lady, just appreciating what is being offered to me right now.” A kiss, wet and loud, then he sucks on the skin until a red patch appears.

“Please, Levi…”

He silences you with a hush, blowing warmth against your cunt, causing your body to shudder.

He focuses on your clit, kissing, sucking, each pull at the hood by his lips making you pant a little heavier. You spread your legs as far apart as possible and reach for his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Levi looks up at you, and the way your tits are pressed together between your arms makes him groan against your cunt. He grabs one of your breasts, squeezing and pinching at the nipple with an intensity that makes you twitch and moan louder. With the fingers of his other hand, he spreads your pussy lips apart for his tongue to slick up your folds, opening you up to give way to his fingers plunging into your cunt. You gasp, walls clenching around his middle and index fingers, squeezing out slick that makes him pull out his fingers just so he can lick you up and taste. You bring your ankles to his back, squeezing your legs on either side of his head. Such a euphoric feeling, his nose against your mound, mouth working your clit while his fingers are scissoring your insides. Your grip in his hair tightens, your toes curl in, your ankles dig harder into his back as you start humping his face. Levi continues to fuck you with his fingers even when he starts to feel like his ears are about to explode.

And it’s all worth it when your thighs begin to tremble against his ears and all you can say is his name in many ways his brain recognizes: pleading him for more, praising his work, announcing you’re close. It’s all worth it when he begins to hump the mattress too, grinding his still-clothed cock through the offending fabrics while he sucks your cunt harder. He looks up at your face and finds you looking down at him, only for you to show him a frenzied smile, then your eyes rolling back and your head thrown back to the pillow as your body shudders. You shove your feet into the mattress as you cry out his name, gripping his hair as you guide his face up and down your twitching cunt. Levi grunts, sucks the cum out of your hole while he, too, starts to spoil his clothes.

“My God,” you chuckle breathlessly when his mouth finds your lips again. Your taste in his mouth to yours doesn’t even bother you anymore, having used to it already when you would get too curious while pleasing yourself.

“I might’ve spoiled your sheets,” he murmurs, looking down at the bed between your legs.

“You finished?”

“Yeah.” He settles on top of you, nuzzling your neck.

You cling to him like a koala, arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist. “That’s good. Even better if you were inside me.”

“Not tonight.”

“You’re annoying.”

He chuckles against your clavicle. Then he kisses it. “May I use the bathroom?”

“Of course. Everything here is also yours.”

You hope Levi won't get tired of you. It’s been years since you had someone to cling to in your sleep.

The walk to your private house is quiet. You can’t figure out if he's just enjoying the scenery or he’s mulling over a hundred possible ideas about what he’s about to find out. This part of the palace grounds isn’t known to the public after all, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s too stunned to speak at the moment. You show him to the pond, where you stand in the middle and kiss for a while until you remember you’re there to feed the fishes. You then lead him into the house, and he hasn’t even toured the whole kitchen yet, when he pulls you into a kiss and your tongues are in each other’s mouths. You push him onto the bean bag, where you straddle him and kiss even more. You fumble for the buttons of his shirt. He reaches around your shoulders to unzip your dress. But by the time you’re pulling him up to remove his shirt and he’s unhooking your bra while kissing down your chest, a loud buzz startles you both.

“I thought no one else comes here?”

“From the family.” You pluck your phone from the pocket of his jeans (you asked him to keep it since your dress is pocketless) to let the couple in. You take your bra off and drape it over the headrest of your work chair—no use in keeping it on since the chances of you getting naked later are high. You do ask him to zip your dress up for you. Then, you take his hand and drag him out of the seat, leading him to the room. Backwards you walk, gauging Levi’s reaction when the cove lights switch on. His eyes are on the other side of the room first, still empty since the couple is still preparing. You watch Levi walk around, his eyes moving to the cabriole couch, then the chaise lounge, and when he finds nothing interesting, he walks to the glass and touches it.

“Two-way?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

You hear it, the amusement in his tone.

He turns away, gaze falling upon the cabinet. “I assume there aren't any clothes inside.”

“Mhm.” You stand with your back against the cabinet, arms on your back as you hold the handles. This is it, you think. You’re going to have your biggest secret told soon.

Behind Levi, the couple finally appears, walking to the bed, naked like always. Levi must’ve noticed your gaze isn’t on him, so he turns to face the glass again. He pauses, so quiet even his breathing can’t be heard. His attention is fixed on the couple who starts their performance. Sloppy kisses, hands everywhere. Then, the man carries his partner to bed, where they share more kisses before he whispers something in her ear. They exchange positions so that he now lies under her, stroking the top of her head as she peppers his skin with kisses.

“How long?” asks Levi.

“A year,” you answer in a quiet voice. “But they aren’t the first.”

Levi turns to face you completely, and it sucks that you can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s so good at that, maintaining an impassive gaze, suppressing his emotions.

“There was another couple. For two years.” You’ve got no choice but to go on. You’re here now. He’s going to find out one way or another.

“And you only watch?”

“Kinda.” You turn away to finally open the cabinet, its doors heavier than you remember, like they’re trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself further. With the contents bared, you can’t make yourself face Levi just yet, afraid that this time you’ll see a sliver of anything the screams not good on his face. Disappointment. Disgust. Ashamed of getting involved with a person who’s sick in the head.

“Huh.”

There it is again, the amusement in his voice.

You face him, lips parting in surprise when you find him approaching.

“You’ve used all this?”

“N—no. Only some. The rest are just for collection.”

“I see,” he hums, now standing by your side, eyes roaming all over the sex toys. Levi murmurs your name in a low and gravelly voice that makes your insides churn, and says “you always surprise me, princess.” He faces you, and your breath catches in your throat. There it is again, the glint in his eyes, the gaze that makes you feel things.

Levi steps between you and the cabinet, so close that your noses nearly touch. You hold your ground, keeping your eyes glued to his.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “This is what you’re afraid to tell me?” He steps forward, forcing you to step back until you hit the couch. “You thought this would disgust me and turn me away?”

“Yes,” you answer firmly even though deep inside, you feel ablaze and already melting.

“It did.”

Your heart drops in your chest but you keep your cool, pretending it doesn’t bother you. You should’ve known better than to tell Levi. You should’ve just stopped this, should’ve just fired the couple and locked this room up. Now he’s going to leave you and this time, he will never come back.

You feel his hand on your hip, almost at the top of your ass cheek, there but barely touching.

“It made me want you even more.”

Before you can even digest what he just said, his mouth crashes into yours, stealing the air right out of your lungs. The suddenness of it pushes you against the couch, causing it to slide back with a screech that would’ve made you jump if he isn’t pressing his pelvis against yours, letting you feel his growing hard-on through his jeans. The pressure that’s been building in your belly turns to something positive. His other hand finds your hip, pulling you against him, grinding his hips into yours. Your lips part as you moan into the kiss, and Levi slips his tongue into your mouth. You grab him by the collars of his shirt as you meet his tongue with your own. You need him. You want him so fucking bad.

And you own him.

Levi pulls away, leaving you reeling and panting.

“Show me what you learned from these two.”

You smirk, accepting the challenge. You grab at the part of his shirt that’s still buttoned and drag him around the couch. You push him to sit on the velvet cushion, positioning your knees between his parted ones as you lean forward for a chaste kiss. Slowly, you unbutton the rest of his shirt to finally get rid of it, tossing it somewhere behind you. You lean in for another kiss, slow and steady this time, but when he reaches for your face with his hands, you pull away to tell him, “no touching.” You don’t wait for an answer, capturing his lips in another slow kiss while your hands roam all over his chest, feeling his pecks, teasing the nipples. Levi stays still, but you feel the tension in his stomach when he arches his back slightly, gravitating to your touch. Slowly, your mouth inches along his jaw, to the skin under his ear. You place a trail of featherlight kisses down the side of his neck, smirking against his hot skin when you feel him tilting his head in your direction. “You’re cheating,” you whisper in his ear before moving down to his shoulder, “you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” His chest heaves, but you can’t tell if it’s because of the sucking kisses you’re placing along his collarbone or if it’s because you’re teasing his erection through his jeans with a barely-there touch of your finger.

“Want me to take it off?” You ask sweetly.

“Whatever you want,” he croaks.

You kiss him on the mouth, a reward for leaving you the choice. With your eyes locked on his eyes, you unbutton his jeans and zip it open. “Up,” you instruct, and Levi lifts his hips off the couch for you to pull his pants down, leaving him in his boxer shorts. “My, my…”

He keeps his eyes on your face. He doesn’t need to look down to know he’s leaking through—

“Fuck!” He chokes out when you tap the head of his cock that’s poking against the wet fabric. It twitches after the touch, releasing more precum. He sighs out your name, frustrated.

“Patience, my prince,” you say against his mouth, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Another chaste kiss, then you trail down his chest, kissing softly the skin of his pectorals before focusing on his nipples, swirling your tongue around the stiff nubs. Levi shudders under your touch, breathing heavily through gritted teeth, knuckles turning white as his grip on the cushion tightens. With half-lidded eyes, he watches you move down his stomach, lips trailing along the narrow space between his abs, stopping right where his happy trail starts with a loud playful peck. Planting your hands on the cushion on each side of his knees, you look up at him and smile innocently.

“Still good?”

A sliver of emotion passes on his face. “Come on,” he sighs.

“Whatever happened to being patient?” You giggle, caressing his right chest.

“Been fucking patient enough,” he grumbles.

Your hand slides south, the tip of your fingers gliding along his abs. The sensation makes his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers.

“Fine, fine,” you sing-sang—you’re eager yourself, after all—hooking your index fingers over the garters to pull his boxers down. Levi’s cock springs free, twitching again in the sudden cold, its head glistening from being coated in so much pre-cum. The view makes your mouth water. He looks so delicious, like a melting ice cream that you can’t stop imagining you’re licking.

“Did they turn you on too?” You tease with a tap at his cockhead.

“Just fucking take me.” (But what he wants to say is that he hasn’t even so much as glanced at the couple behind you ever since you sat on the couch. You’re all he cares about. You’re all he wants to look at.)

“So impatient,” you remark in a playful scolding tone as you get down on your knees. Levi smirks, satisfied, but it’s cut short by a frustrated sigh when you remind him that he’s still not allowed to touch. You smile, mouth open and tongue sticking out right next to the bulbous cockhead. You let out a quiet breath through your mouth to see how sensitive he already is, and when it twitches, you reward him with a little lick at the frenulum. Levi throws his head back against the backrest of the couch as another frustrated sigh escapes him, and in that second that he’s unsuspecting, you quickly take all of him deep in your throat, startling him and causing him to choke out a gasp and grab hold of your head.

“Shit— sorry!” He withdraws his hands and settles back to gripping the cushions again. “You’re going to give me a heart attack."

Your hands glide along his inner thighs while you take him into your mouth, not too deep but just enough for the tip to hit your uvula before you pull back, cheeks hollowed out as you suck hard at the head. With your eyes glued to his pretty face, admiring his brows that are slightly creased, his half-lidded eyes, and slightly parted lips, you repeat the action slowly, sucking harder with every pull, and each time, Levi would buck his hips up, desperate to go deeper in your throat and make you choke. You give him what he wants once, twice, allowing him as deep as you can take until you’re twitching and your eyes cloud with tears. His grip on the cushions tightens that the fingers nearly turn white as he jerks his hips up in an attempt to bury his cock deep down your throat, sighing out a “fuuuck,” when you’d pull out not even two seconds after to gasp for air. Levi murmurs your name, pleading with you, and you’d comfort him with only a squeeze on both knees and a kiss on the head of his cock. You do this again and again, riling him up, enjoying the desperate moans he makes every time you leave him hanging, and God, it makes you feel so good to hear him beg, even if twice he lost his control and disobeyed you by gripping the back of your head to hold you still for a few seconds longer, waiting for you to start twitching at the lack of oxygen before letting you go. You let both times slip after he apologized and whimpered “you feel so good.”

It doesn’t take him long before he’s murmuring that he’s close. You quicken your pace and take him deeper until his breathing turns loud and erratic, and when he cries out “shit!” you pull back and watch his cock twitch in air as cum dribbles out. “You’re so fucking mean,” he whines, and you giggle at how he seems to be close to sobbing.

You wrap your fingers around the base, pushing his cock to his stomach and stroking him upwards to gather his cum towards his belly instead. You can’t spoil the velvet covers after all, not this time yet at least. He watches while you lick your fingers clean, his breathing slowing to calm as you place a trail of kisses up his stomach and chest, until you’re straddling him.

“You can touch me now.”

His hands slip under your skirts to caress your thighs.

You peck his lips, asking “how are you?” between kisses.

“Could be better,” is all he says, in his usual deadpan tone.

You chuckle, cupping his jaw, tilting his head to the side to kiss the side of his face.

His hands snake around your lower back, fingers slipping under the garters of your underwear, pushing them down and then spreading your ass apart so that he can feel your wetness at the tip of his fingers while he squeezes your cheeks.

You move your hips to rub yourself on his fingers, moaning against his lips when he nudges your hole.

“So… will you still be my prince or nah?”

He slips a finger into your cunt, curling it inward and outward, causing your hips to falter.

“You can’t get rid of me by giving me ruined orgasms. Or by watching strangers fuck.”

“Do you want me to fire them?”

He kisses your chin. “I wouldn’t mind if you don’t.”

“Good to know…” You bury your face in the crook of his neck as you lift your hips slightly, allowing him better reach and angle. He slips another finger, and you moan breathily against his skin as he starts fucking you with his fingers. You kiss the junction where his neck and shoulder meet and say, “I can finally put that gorgeous cock ring into good use.” Levi stiffens, his fingers still buried in your cunt. You pull away and laugh at the flabbergasted look on his face. “Not today, though.” You kiss the tip of his nose, winking at him as you get up. “I’ll just get my butt plug.”

p.s. i know nothing about wines (im a beer girl lol) so if the combination of food and wine i chose isn't a good pair, i'm sorry 😖😂