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Part 1 // Part 2
A snip taken from Le Printemps, by Eugène Bidau
.
It takes you too long to pick a dress the next morning. There was an issue with all of them, one was too tight around your chest that you could barely breathe, the other had a hole in the sleeve that you hadn’t noticed before.
You'd ended up picking something you hadn't worn in a while- sage green with little flowers on it.
Halfway to the museum, you'd noticed a small stain on the skirt, that had made you frown.
It wouldn't lift with the wet wipe you'd pulled from your bag, and you'd have to settle for hoping he wouldn't see it.
Your stomach flips at the thought of him.
You'd worn a dress in hopes that this was a date- you didn't understand why you wanted it to be a date so badly.
Okay, that wasn't true, you knew you liked him, even though you shouldn't.
It probably wasn't a date, why would he be interested in dating you?
I haven't had a clear thought since, he'd said, you knew the sentiment, wondering, if he was just like every other Alpha, nice at first and then demanding later.
The other Alphas you'd been with- you try not to shudder- they'd been awful, love bombing until you let your guard down, and then getting angry when you tried to deny them something.
The last one had gotten upset that after only knowing him for two weeks, you didn't want to share your heat with him.
The scorn he'd shown you when you reinforced your denial instead of caving, it had made you curl up and never want to see another Alpha again.
This Alpha could be worse, he could be cruel, waiting to get you alone to trick you into something you didn't want because you'd stolen his coat. The thought sent an uncomfortable wave of nausea over you.
You see your seedy reflection in the window, everything moving too fast for you to focus on except your own gaze.
You would not be taken advantage of.
.
There’s that too much feeling again, everyone is so busy around you as you stand outside the art museum waiting. You see children running past, and dogs, a delighted scream in the distance that makes your chest feel like it’s on fire with the too much of it all.
Why did the world have to be so chaotic? Why couldn’t it be warm and quiet and peaceful with hints of cracked pepper and bergamot-
You blink, realising you’d been thinking about the Alpha again.
Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. To get involved with someone that made you feel this way, like you wanted to give in to his demands. At which point would he ask for too much?
Your shoulders drop, you check the time, quarter to twelve.
You turn to leave.
Someone says your name.
You raise your head to find the Alpha approaching. He’s wearing a beige shirt, with large threads that look almost knitted, paired with black pants and another coat that definitely costs more than you can afford.
Too late, your stomach twists.
You nod your head in greeting.
“Hi,” You acknowledge shyly, “You’re early.”
“Hello, I thought I told you to call me when you got here?”
Your chest squeezes in fright. Was he already making demands?
You keep his gaze, trying to show him a braver you than you were.
“I only just got here.” You challenge, wondering why it was such a big deal.
He nods, raising a hand to push his hair back. You watch him scan the area before letting out a soft breath.
“Sorry, I just didn’t like the idea of you waiting all alone here.”
Was he worried about you?
“I can manage,” You inform him, “I come here all the time.”
He studies you for a moment, looks as though he wants to say something, but decides against it.
“My apologies,” He turns to stand beside you, “Shall we?”
Your stomach flips at his words and you try not to focus on it, or him, and definitely not his smell.
You begin walking.
You try not to touch him, keeping a respectful distance, not wanting to take any part of him he might not be willing to give.
As you walk through the museum’s outdoor park, a lot of people glance your way. Men and women alike, want to steal a look at the man standing beside you. It makes you feel incredibly conscious of yourself, and you feel like the stain on your skirt grows ten times its size in that time.
You wonder if any of their staring has to do with the assumption that you were a mated pair- the thought makes you shiver- the idea that you would be mated to a person that looks like him.
“Cold? Want my coat?” He offers.
You shake your head, not wanting to touch this Alpha’s coats ever again.
“I’m alright, I’m overheating anyway.” You reply, hoping he didn’t ask any follow up questions. Your period would be upon you soon.
“Poor thing.” He soothes.
It almost makes you stumble.
Your eyes widen and you feel a sharp pang in your stomach, his easy comfort swirling in your hindbrain, begging you to curl up with this man in a cozy nest- not a man, you correct yourself, an Alpha.
You’d only walked a few minutes beside him and already you were thinking about bringing him into your nest? Had you gone insane?
You refuse to think about it, focusing on the trees, and the people passing by with dogs on harnesses leading the way-
“Did you grow up in New York?” He asks, his voice breaking into the whirlwind in your head.
You swallow, shaking your head before looking over at him.
Damn- looking at him was a mistake.
You tell him where you grew up on a shaky breath, asking him to reciprocate.
He smiles, calmly responds that he grew up here, bounced around the city a bit. Something about his response, the tone of his voice, tells you that there’s a key part of the story missing.
You don’t pry, knowing better than to ask intrusive questions.
You swallow, smiling at him politely when he looks at you, still trapped in the moment when he offered you his coat.
You catch a group of women with their eyes on William, and when their gaze falls on you, you watch their collective expressions switch from interest to disdain.
You drop your head, finding that maybe the floor is safer to gaze at than your environment.
What were you doing here with him? Why had you done this? You should have just stayed home where you were safer.
“What do you do for work?” He asks next, breaking into the din in your head.
You turn to look at him with wide eyes, unsure as to why he was so interested in you.
“Uh- I’m- I work in customer service… somehow. I have no idea how I ended up there.”
“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice sounds genuinely curious.
You glance his way, giving him a smile.
“I’m not exactly a person that’s comfortable around people. I like… being alone.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Not really, but it’s better than nothing.” You let out a breath, “Can’t complain.” You finish with a mutter.
“Something else you want to do?”
You shake your head sadly. You couldn’t very well say that you’d rather not work at all- it would look like you were after his money.
You think for a moment, trying to make something up, and falling short.
“Honestly, I don’t know, I guess I haven’t found my calling yet.”
He nods in understanding, and it gives you the opportunity to ask about his line of work.
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I'm in security,” he answers, “I handle asset and individual protection, and I even get contracted by the government occasionally.”
You listen intently, nodding along to his words. You'd already looked him up and had some idea of what he did, but it was interesting to hear it from him.
“That sounds really cool. Is there a lot of danger?”
He grins, and abjectly, you feel as though you've asked something stupid.
“It can get dicey sometimes, yeah, especially with protecting people.”
“Right, yeah, sorry, dumb question.” You mutter, looking down.
“I like your questions.” He says lowly, angling his head in your direction so that you hear him.
Like a fledgling omega, your heart skips a damn beat.
His eyes are very dark, you try not to trip as you get caught up in them, pools of obsidian, pulling you into him.
He gazes right back, the soft look in his eyes fills your head with delight, makes you forget about breathing for a few moments.
It's something so primal inside of you, a whisper in your head that this… this alpha, might be special.
You breathe out a short sigh, inching closer, until you're close enough to breathe him in. You close your eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, bergamot and citrus chasing your anxieties away.
You lean in more, hindbrain in control, desperate for more of his scent, his hand is rough on the back of your neck.
Your nose almost brushes the scent gland on the side of his neck when someone walking past clears their throat loudly.
You jerk, pulling back, brain restarting as absolute horror fills you.
No way did you almost scent a stranger in a public place.
You make a sound of regret, stepping back, his hand slips from your neck, you glance up at him, the scent of desire heavy in the air.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You vocalise, turning away for a second to catch your breath and calm yourself.
“I wasn't stopping you.” He admits, as you continue to breathe.
This was too much, he had too much of an influence on you. His words make your stomach flip.
It was a very good thing, you decided, that you'd chosen a public place. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if you'd been alone. You weren't sure if you had the capacity to stop yourself around him.
He had the hidden ability to somehow switch your brain from rationality to instinct. And that, was the most dangerous thing of all.
“I'm sorry,” you say again, trying not to cry from how overwhelming it is to resist him, “If you- if you want to leave I'll understand.”
“Not at all, omega.” He replies almost instantly, “I want this, don't be sorry.” He reaches out to take your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on.” He guides, taking a step forward to prompt you into walking again.
He doesn't let go of your hand.
.
The sandwich shop has an old feel to it, sitting at the center of the park with lots of seating both indoors and out for dining, the little building looks like it was built at least a decade or two ago. The roof is partially made of glass to allow natural light to spill in, blocked by trees all around except in the direct centre where a large amount of light spills in.
When Billy asks to be seated in the coolest spot, you turn to look at him in surprise, your stomach twisting, heart accelerating as you take in his casual dominance of his environment.
Like other Alphas, he knew how to command a room, though, with him, the assertion was more subtext. He was polite, and yet he always seemed to get what he wanted. It was a dangerous mix, and the implications of what that meant for you scared you a little.
“Is here okay?” He asks, turning to you when the woman at the front guides you to a table.
You blink in surprise. No one had ever-
You study the booth with a little frown, finding it a little too bright for your senses and then your eyes drift two tables down to a darker booth before looking back at him shyly.
“That one?” He asks, already moving.
“Yes please.” You say nicely, following him.
It's nice, you never sit in the booths because it's usually just you when you come here, but the seats are soft, and you can tell the velvety upholstery is clean and has recently been redone.
He slides into the seat opposite to you, his knees bumping yours for a second as he gets settled.
You giggle when they bump you again and he mutters an apology.
“Sorry, it's a little small,” you say, “And you're kind of… not.”
He laughs quietly.
“I'm okay, getting in was the hardest part, and it's not too bad.” You feel his legs extend out on either side of yours, taking up space to get comfortable.
You can feel your heart beating forcefully as you watch him scan the little paper menu that had been placed on the table before you'd been seated. Finding difficulty in figuring out why exactly he'd taken an interest in you.
“S-so,” you murmur, getting his attention, “You didn't have the coat cleaned?”
His eyes darken, a smile pulling on his lips as he recounts the memory in his head.
“I was curious. I'd deleted the video of you taking it- didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble for you- plus I know that omegas occasionally do things on instinct- so when I got it back, wrapped so tightly, I was… just wondering about you a little.”
You swallow nervously.
“And then?”
You feel the molten heat in his gaze as his eyes roam over you.
“And then I smelled the most delicious scent. It made me desperate, made me lose control of my own thoughts for a couple of minutes. The smell of your heat was wonderful, omega. I knew I had to find you.”
You open your mouth to respond, but your eyes catch movement of a waitress coming your way.
“Hello, my name is Teresa, I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?” She rushes out, smiling politely though you notice that her eyes linger on William for a few moments more.
“We're not ready to order yet,” he says, eyes still locked on you, “Can you come back in five minutes?”
She nods easily, stepping away with a ‘sure thing.’
There's a beat of silence, where you stare down at your menu and read none of the words, head racing with what you know.
“What are you thinking about getting?”
You blink, glancing up at him and then back down to the menu.
“Um, I usually get the turkey on rye, so maybe that.”
“Got any suggestions for me?”
You hum, deep in thought.
“The grilled chicken pesto always smells so delicious, there's some fresh mozzarella in it too. I've never had it, but it's a popular one.”
“You should try it. Mix things up.”
You smile sadly, glancing at the price of the sandwich in question, the fresh mozzarella near triples the price.
“That's okay, I'll stick with my turkey.”
“Don't worry about anything else. If you really want the pesto, get it.”
His eyes are earnest, and you know there's another conversation happening in the subtext of this one. That he was willing to cover the cost, that it was obvious that it was the source of your hesitation.
You swallow, glancing down at the price once again, figuring that one sandwich wouldn't throw him into debt.
A little lump swells in your throat, you wonder if he would expect anything because of this like alphas before. You figure one sandwich did not give him that much leverage over you. You'd done more damage with his coat and he'd overlooked that.
“Okay, I'll have it. What will you get?”
“Steak sandwich.” He answers, with a smile, just as Teresa appears again.
“Ready?” She asks eagerly.
.
“Why did you pick this table?” He asks, studying you.
You glance over at him, having been distracted by some people walking in.
You're beautiful, he squeezes his fists, fighting himself. He wants to provide for you so badly that it tears at him. He can see how defensive you are, how cautious you act sometimes. He knows that you must have had bad encounters with Alphas to be this wary. He wants to learn you, know you better than he knows himself.
“I have a little sensitivity to light.” You respond, absentmindedly, “I can barely see in direct sunlight.”
He inclines his head, noting for later, to avoid anything that would overwhelm you.
“I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart, it must be so hard to deal with.”
He feels delight fill his body as you give him a wide eyed look, your omega nature appreciating his sympathy to your plights.
He bites the inside corner of his lip, wanting this sweet, timid omega to be his, very badly.
The urge to have you scent him sharpens, to press your nose to his neck, to have you breathe him in, mix your scents together so that no one would question whether or not you were a mated pair. You'd almost done it earlier, and he hadn't realized how eager he was for it until the moment you'd pulled away.
He had to play his cards right. If he scared you away, he would not get another chance.
.
You talk a lot, about where you grew up, and the schools you went to, and when he tells you about his childhood, you try not to give him any looks of pity, nodding along, eager to listen to everything he has to tell you.
You want to comfort him though, your hands clenching into fists in your lap because you want to reach over and squeeze his hand and tell him you’re sorry but logically you know that you barely know him.
Except that you feel like you’ve known him a very long time. Your face hurts with the amount you’ve smiled, the unfamiliar expression printed onto your face, where you’re usually shy or frightened.
When he asks about you, you feel a little more comfortable revealing personal information. Describing the details of your job so that he understands your day to day work.
“Does it pay well?”
“You know it doesn't.” You grumble sadly, “I would take up a second job if I could, but companies have this rule about how many hours an omega is allowed to work weekly.” You stop talking, waiting to see what stance he was going to take on this. The entire job market was designed to push omegas into the arms of alphas or betas rich enough to take care of them.
His mouth turns down into a frown.
“They should just pay people liveable wages to begin with. Having a second job would be too much for anyone. At least tell me you get health insurance.”
You make an unsure face.
“For the most part, but there are… big gaps.”
His eyebrows crush together in sympathy.
“You get heat days?”
You nod, taking a few sips of your drink.
“Yeah, they give us three, and I usually have to take two extra sick days because I have longer heats.”
“Wait, they don’t give you days specific to your heat requirements?”
You let out a little awkward laugh.
“No, three heat days, giving more days to some people would be unfair according to them.”
He clicks his tongue, “That must be so hard.” He hums, and something primal sparks inside of you.
Yes, your mind screamed at him, yes alpha, I’m a poor little thing, please soothe me and take care of me and keep me warm and safe and full-
You clear your throat.
“I get by.” You reply.
He shakes his head, deep in thought.
“It’s still not fair.”
.
You let out a slow sigh when you take your first bite of the sandwich.
Eyes closed, you can't believe what you're tasting, that it could be so delicious.
You do your hardest not to take a second bite before finishing the first, determined to savour it.
Across from you, he makes a low hum when he bites into his, and you fight a smile, stomach fluttering, happy that he likes it.
“Maybe you can find another job?” He suggests between bites.
You blink, shoulders dropping.
“I've been trying, it's just not that easy,” You look down at your sandwich, a touch of sadness fills your chest, “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”
“It's okay, I want to hear about it.”
You let out a harsh breath, your stomach turning over.
“Why? Because you smelled my heat and decided I was going to be your omega?” You blink, regretting the words as soon as they come out, drawing back into yourself and waiting for him to get angry.
“I'm sorry,” you say when he doesn't immediately speak, “I shouldn’t have- I'm sorry.” You take a shallow breath, feeling the panic grip you tightly.
“Don't apologize, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong.”
You don't meet his eyes, still trying to get control of your fears.
You hear movement, and in your peripherals, you watch him slide out of the booth and to a stand. Oh god, was he leaving? You feel your eyes begin to swell with tears.
You'd done it, successfully chased him away.
Your breath stutters when his plated sandwich slides in beside yours, and finally, you glance up at him.
“May I?” He asks softly, and you automatically comply without thinking, sliding deeper into the booth to give him more space.
He fits himself in, while you grab a napkin to blot at your tears, a little embarrassed now that you realize he wasn't actually leaving.
“S-sorry.” You whisper, trying to apologize for this abundance of emotion. For sure, it would definitely annoy him.
Your breath stutters when you feel the warm press of his palm to your shoulder blade.
“Breathe, omega, everything's alright.”
You suck in a shaky breath, his scent wrapping around you.
He moves slowly in your peripheral, moving his hand to brush the backs of his fingers over your cheek.
You finally look at him when he touches you, the sensation leaving tingles behind.
“One more big breath for me.” He guides, and you obey, feeling your brain respond to his gentleness.
His eyes are warm, chocolate, a feeling of ease settles into the base of your spine.
“When I smelled you on my coat for the first time, I knew I had to find you. But, finally meeting you, and slowly getting to know you, is what makes me want to stay. You're not my omega, and I'm not your alpha… But I'd like to be.”
My alpha?
Your lips part in disbelief, looking into his eyes, feeling hope swell inside of you.
Maybe he would make a good alpha, maybe he would hold you when you were scared, and kiss your cheek every night before falling asleep, maybe he would hold you tightly and talk to you after sex, and not make you feel like a used item to be discarded-
You shudder out a breath.
“I-I'm not interested in finding an alpha right now.” You stutter out, afraid of his response.
His eyes remain kind, though there's something in them that makes you think that he's sad.
“I understand, sweetheart. I won't bring it up again.” He turns, bringing his sandwich up to his mouth to take another bite.
You follow his lead with wide eyes, surprised that this was all he had to say on the subject.
After a few bites, shoulder brushing his arm every now and again, you can't hold back.
“You're not… mad?”
You hear him exhale slowly.
“I don't think I could ever be mad at you, little one. I like you a lot, and I'm willing to… be as patient as you need me to be.”
Your heart squeezes in your chest.
“And what if it never happens? I don't want to give you false hope.”
To your surprise, he laughs, low and sweet. It brings a smile to your face though you don't know the joke.
“I'm going to have hope whether I want to or not. That's the consequence of wanting.”
Want.
“You want… me?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“Well, yes, I guess it was, but…” You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head, “I'm sorry, this is so crazy.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why is it crazy?”
“Bec-” You couldn’t say it out loud.
He turns to you, studying you intently for a moment.
“I mean, well, look at me.” You say softly.
He raises his eyebrows.
“You're lovely.” He murmurs.
You can't help the shy smile that it brings to your face.
.
To no one's surprise, he pays.
You let him, because you were in no position to offer any kind of payment, and he was willing to lose a three thousand dollar coat on a whim.
When he offers you a ride home, you feel comfortable enough with him to accept, looping your arm around his bicep when he extends his elbow for you to take.
The muscle below is firm, and you simmer with delight at the privilege he gives you.
You look around as you walk together, taking in the scenery around, watching as someone throws a frisbee, and a dalmatian runs to catch it.
“I take it you don’t like me, then.” He says, interrupting your thoughts.
“I do.” You blurt so quickly that your brain doesn’t have time to catch up. There’s something aching in your chest at the thought that he was unlikeable to you.
You take a deep breath, smiling sadly.
“That’s the problem. I like you, and that will cloud my judgement. My past experience has made following my heart almost impossible… and alphas…” You swallow, “Alphas can be scary, and they flip so suddenly sometimes,” you let out a sigh, shaking your head, “It's dangerous to trust an alpha.”
“It hurts me to hear you say that.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry, and angry that you've had so many bad experiences with alphas. I'm sorry that they made you feel unsafe. I know it doesn't hold much weight right now, but I'd never hurt you.”
You're almost inclined to believe him.
“I guess we'll see.” You say, giving him a meaningful look.
He grins down at you.
“I like the sound of that.”
.
His car is heavy with his scent. You close your eyes, heart racing, breathing in deep lungfuls, feeling your brain go hazy with it.
Your skin gets hypersensitive, the feel of his leather seats brushing your thighs, the way it feels on your fingertips, makes you drunk in a way you've never felt before.
You don't give him your real address, but one that's a block over so that he doesn't see the hovel you really live in.
It's hard to focus on anything outside of the vehicle, when his engine purrs to life and the sound vibrates your eardrums gently, he makes sure you're buckled in, before starting off.
He doesn't race, takes his time, moves reasonably. It makes you feel safe, settles you. You'd been a little worried he was an aggressive driver, but you had nothing to worry about.
You blink in surprise when he extends his phone to you, unlocked, his hands catching your eye, a work of art you could stare at for hours.
“Pick some music?” He offers.
You nod, fingers brushing his, and you select something soothing, lo-fi, to enjoy.
You get hypnotised by it, the bergamot and notes of citrus, cracked pepper that makes you hum, delighted. If this was what being in his presence was always like, how would you ever leave?
You wanted to press your nose to his neck, breathe him in right from the source, you wanted this scent soaked into your pores until it followed you everywhere. You wanted this smell in your nest, clinging to your things.
You're so needy by the time he pulls over, eyes glassy with want, you notice his hands are gripping his steering tightly.
“Omega,” he says, a slight tremble to his voice, “Do you want to scent me? It'll help you relax.”
It wouldn't. You knew it from the bottom of your heart, scenting him would only make you want him more. But your hindbrain's in control now, and all you do is nod shakily, fumbling to unbuckle your seat belt.
He covers your hands calmly, doing it for you when you struggle too many times. You look at him shyly when you're both free.
He gives you a warm smile, before tilting his head up, exposing his gland to you.
Your heart pounds in your ears, a thrumming that fills your head, almost too loud as you lean forward, pressing your face to his neck.
He groans, and you reach to fist his shirt tightly in your hands, taking in a deep breath.
This was your alpha, there was no denying it, no other scent had ever took hold of you the way his did, everything else was rotten in comparison, and you were losing grip of your sanity with each passing moment.
You breathe him in, memorizing it, the extra kick, straight from the source, your hindbrain takes full control in these moments, and you're completely helpless to it.
“Alpha.” You sigh into his neck, and you feel him shudder beneath you.
You tilt your head up, lips brushing his gland, he groans loudly, the sound echoing in your ears, drowning out the thrumming of your heart for just a moment.
“That's it, omega," He guides, "Take what you need.”
You whine, if you really took what you needed, he'd already be at home in your nest, ready to make you his.
You tilt your head higher, and he turns to look at you with heated eyes, your noses brush in the quiet of his car.
Someone walking past catches in your peripheral, and you gasp, reeling back, realising where you were.
“S- sorry.” You say, scrambling away, reaching to unlock the door, stepping out and bolting as fast as your legs can carry you, too afraid to look back at him.
It takes you three orgasms in your bed before you begin thinking again.
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Bolting up with a gasp, your heart pounds in your chest for a few minutes. You’re not sure what the noise was- a door slamming shut, or maybe something falling in the apartment above you, but the echo of it in your head keeps you awake for a while, hating that your anxiety doesn’t let you sleep.
.
You go to another dry cleaners, you do your best to avoid going out. You go to work, and back home for a couple of weeks, worried that someone will find you and scold you for what you’ve done.
You think about being scolded by him, you doubt you’d be able to last a moment in his presence.
After you’d ensured the safe delivery of the coat, did you finally research the owner.
William Russo, his stoic, borderline angry expression staring back at you through your computer screen had only made you aroused all over again.
This, this was the Alpha with a scent so magnetic, you couldn’t resist it.
He was rich, a CEO, and you could only look around your threadbare apartment and sigh sadly, there was nothing you could offer him that would interest him.
So, you try to move on with your life, work hard so you can afford to buy alleviators for your next heat, and stay away from alphas that would no doubt hurt you.
The art museum was a big comfort. On a Friday evening, when it was at its emptiest, you’d go in, and stare at all the paintings. You’d study the brushstrokes till your eyes burned, items like Starry Night, and Street Light were beautiful works that always made you dare to dream of a life better than the one you were in. Today however, The Lovers was the one that kept you most occupied.
Two people, with white cloths over their heads as they lean into each other, kissing. Hidden from each other’s sight, you wonder if the painting only holds its romance because of the seemingly anonymity of the subjects. If the mystery was removed, would there be more love, or less?
It was kind of how you felt right now, pained, searching for something that you weren’t familiar with. An alpha, to call your own.
None of the alphas you’d met had ever been right for you. There was an entitlement written into them, the belief that your station was lesser, so you were supposed to submit. Alphas constantly lived with that air of superiority surrounding them, and they were easily upset when you did not give them what they wanted.
The alphas you dated were wrong to think that submission was something freely given, in reality, it had to be earned.
You wondered if the alpha on your mind would ask nicely.
Probably not. It was a good thing he existed only in your fantasies.
.
Your omega privilege means you get to stay a little after closing. You smile gratefully in the security guard’s direction when he comes to escort you out.
“We’ve got a new piece coming in tomorrow. You won’t be able to stay late anymore, but I’m sure you’ll like it.”
You smile in delight.
“Do you know which one it is?” You ask.
“Not really, not much of an art guy, but it’s a big deal, really expensive.”
You nod, enthusiastically.
“Well, I can’t wait.” You reply, wishing the beta a good night when you finally reach the exit, pulling your jacket tighter around you to protect from the cold.
.
Not for the first time in his life, he feels the loneliness.
It’s only that he’s never felt it quite like this. Usually, people just didn’t want him, his mother gave him up when he was a baby, and he’d never really understood why. Through his life, people had assumed he’d present as a beta, because he’d been a scrawny kid. Things had only gotten worse when at ten, his alpha denomination had shown through.
Then, everyone had wanted a piece of him, an opportunity to say that they’d fought an alpha and won, uncaring of his age and size- the world had forced him to become ruthless very quickly.
He’d let the world’s rejection shape him, and he’d only realised that when he’d met Frank.
Frank had made him understand, that alphas were not supposed to be cruel, but rather the very definition of safety and security.
He'd tried his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside of him, and that had worked.
At least, it had, up until he'd smelled that stupid coat.
Now, it was like someone had taken a piece of him and ran off with it, ripped a carefully placed bandage off and left him with an open wound. He could feel the absence, like if it was a whole other person in the room.
He wanted his omega.
It was all he’d thought about now, as he pressed the coat to his nose every night, struggling to catch her fading scent, he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again when the scent fully faded.
He keeps going, maybe he even pushes himself harder, his work distracts him, helps him keep a clear head.
He’d even accepted a job to secure artwork for the museum, even though his specialty was protecting people, and Frank was usually the man that handled asset protection.
He’s following closely behind The Scream when he stops dead in his tracks.
One of his employees tosses him a confused glance, but he ignores it as he takes a deep inhale.
He’d know that vanilla scent anywhere, the smell of apples mixed in and his heart gives an eager kick.
Surely not-
He turns his head, sees a painting of two lovers hiding from each other, kissing through a shroud of white cloth. He studies it for a moment, his mind racing at speeds he can’t fathom.
When the painting gets too far ahead, he turns and resumes his stride, thinking about all the ways he can do his best to get what he wants.
.
He gets permission to access the security footage of the museum.
Who’s really going to deny an alpha anyway?
Billy finds her, or at least the back of her head, and he can’t help the excitement that after weeks of searching, he’s managed to get lucky and obtain a lead on her.
He talks to the security guard that walked her out. With a sleepy voice over the phone, the man tells him that she’s a frequent visitor to the museum on Fridays, and she doesn’t cause any trouble so he lets her stay a little after closing.
“She just likes looking at the pieces, and I can’t be mean to an omega as shy as her.”
Billy’s mouth twitches upward, amused at the biological imprint inside everyone to protect omegas. The men who’d done her a favour to deliver his coat had said near the same thing.
It had made him fond, of a sweet girl, that would no doubt be spooked if he showed up at her home unannounced. Even if he now had the means to trace her back to her home, he couldn’t take the risk. He had to play this right.
.
When you hear Edvard Munch’s The Scream is on display, you vibrate with excitement. Instead of going the opening week, you wait till your usual time the next Friday, when hopefully there’s much less of a crowd to contend with.
It’s not completely empty, but you’re okay with the sparse crowd, you smile, tiptoeing to peek over shoulders so that you can catch a sight of it before you’re at the front.
You love everything about it, the colour and the expressionism of it, you wonder how much the paint has faded over time. The little paragraph beside the painting describes an infinite scream, a universal anxiety, and you think you can almost feel that as you stare at it, the idea that you’re being watched sending a nervous thrill down your spine.
When you move away from the painting however, the feeling lingers. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to shake the feeling, you don’t understand how a painting can have such an effect.
To clear your head, you find an impressionist nearby, Monet’s reflections of clouds on a lily pond, and you stand in front of it, letting out a long sigh.
When the distinct smell of bergamot hits you, you stiffen.
Your heart squeezes into your throat, and you try to look around as casually as possible, betas turn to look at you as they scent your distress in the air.
Did you feel like you were being watched- because you were actually being watched?
You take in another breath, and this time, you’re sure.
Cracked pepper, citrus-
The alpha was here.
Someone says your name behind you, and you turn in fright.
There he was. Dressed down in casual clothes, trying to blend in with the people around him- as if an alpha as handsome as him ever could.
Billy Russo was devastatingly gorgeous up close.
But you were fucked.
Your eyes widen and you take a step back, knowing that this was definitely about stealing his coat. He would no doubt try to make you pay for cleaning- or worse yet- a new coat entirely.
Your body flushes with fear as you back away from him on shaky legs.
His head tilts as he watches you go, dark eyes caught on your retreating form.
“Don’t run, omega.” He says easily, taking a single stride as you back away, his presence looming over you, igniting something in your stomach like a match being struck.
You make a small sound in the back of your throat, and you do exactly what he says not to.
You run.
Well, not exactly.
More like a quick walk, looking back to see if he follows, you beeline for the bathroom, hoping to hide in there for a moment.
You groan, splashing your face with water, internally grumbling over what you've gotten yourself into.
You should have never grabbed that stupid coat with your stupid omega senses always searching for the right alpha. What did you think? That just because he’d had an amazing scent meant that he wanted to take care of you?
No, he was probably going to scold you, and force you to pay him back, and you couldn’t afford three thousand for a coat.
Your throat tightens in panic, your body flushes with fear.
You couldn’t think too much on what he would do if he caught you, all you needed to focus on right now, was getting away.
So you take a deep breath and you shed your jacket, tucking it under your arm and stepping out of the bathroom behind someone.
There’s not a lot of people, but luckily you know the museum, and you take the most secluded paths that you doubt anyone unfamiliar to the museum would know of.
You sigh happily when you see the exit door in sight, making large meaningful steps, looking back every now and then. Behind you is empty, and you think that you might have actually lost him.
It sends a pang of sadness through you, but you shake your head to shove it away.
You look back once more when you push your way through the exit doors, making sure the path behind you is clear of any six foot alphas.
And you walk right into him.
You’re not sure it is at first, but his size and smell give it away. Your face is pressed securely to his chest, and his hands come up to grip your upper arms firmly.
You raise your head in panic, trying to wrench back from him.
“Relax omega, you’re not in any trouble, I promise.” He says, something in his voice that makes his words sound believable.
You whine in distress.
“Please, I’m sorry, I can’t afford to replace your coat. I shouldn’t have taken it.” You plead, voice wobbling with the struggle to speak under duress.
“Shh, little one, I’m not here to ask you for money.”
His words don’t register in your head, and you begin to cry. Thick swells of tears fall from the corners of your eyes.
“I can’t pay.” You struggle out in a tiny voice.
He grunts, his hands move to cup your face, your tears spilling onto his fingers instead.
“Omega.” He says meaningfully.
The command in his tone makes you look up at him, brain going quiet, the power of his voice catching your attention easily. His stern expression softens.
“I’m not here to make you pay for anything, and I promise you’re not in any trouble.”
You make a little sniffle.
“ ‘M not?” You ask weakly.
The corner of his mouth curves up.
“No, I just want to talk.”
“Talk?” You repeat dumbly.
His thumbs trace over your cheekbones gently, a soft tingling sensation swims in your head and settles at the top of your spine. Your eyelids flutter as you watch him nod.
“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, omega, since you left me that coat drenched in your sweet scent, I haven’t had a clear thought since.”
You gulp.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
“Don’t be sorry just-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s looking for the right words, “Have dinner with me. Tonight. My treat.”
You take a deep breath, eyes widening.
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”
He lets out a swift breath, you worry that you might be aggravating him.
“What aren’t you sure about? Your safety?”
You feel your heart pick up its pace beneath your ribcage, tormenting your body with the feeling of panic.
You reach up, cupping his hands in yours and peeling them off your cheeks.
“Alphas are… notorious for getting angry when they don’t get their way.” You reply anxiously, your hands uncurling from his, filled with so much trepidation.
“I understand, but give me a chance to prove myself. There’s something between us, omega, you just have to open yourself up to it.”
You blink, stomach flipping as you debate your options.
You eye him warily, too afraid to say no, too scared of how he would react.
You take another step back, and his face looks pained, his body tense.
You shake your head, scared, taking another cautious step away.
“Please don’t run.” He says softly, it makes you pause.
Maybe… maybe a chance wouldn’t be so bad.
“What about lunch tomorrow?” Somewhere bright and public that would make you feel safer about being around him.
He lets out a slow breath.
“Lunch is great. Where?”
You think for a moment.
“We can meet right here, there’s a place not far from here with nice sandwiches.”
He inclines his head.
“Sandwiches are great.”
You give him a soft smile of amusement, still a little unsure.
“Okay, we’ll meet here tomorrow? Around 12?”
He nods, digging into his pockets for a moment before pulling a card out and extending it to you.
You blink, a little cautious, reaching for the obsidian coloured paper in his hand. You study the raised silver lettering, his name, his job title, his company.
“The one on the left is my cell. Let me know when you get here. If you want, we can look around the museum too.”
Something flips in your chest at the thought. You wonder what he thought of The Scream.
“No,” You mumble, shaking your head, “The museum is packed on a Saturday. I hate crowds.”
He nods in understanding.
“No crowds then, maybe we can take a walk in the park.”
“Maybe.” You reply, still a little unsure of this entire scenario.
“You're safe, Omega, I promise.”
You offer a sad smile.
“That's what they all say.”
.
He was going to kill every Alpha that had ever made you feel unsafe.
He sits in his car, after you'd denied his offer to at least take you home.
Your scent fades where he'd touched you, his body demanding more. Apples, so fucking sweet his mouth waters.
Halfway to his home, a text comes in from you, shyly informing him that you'd made it home.
He'd asked, wanted to make sure that you were safe as the late evening had turned to night.
He keeps it simple, types out a small message to put you at ease.
Thank you. Sweet dreams
.
.
.
A/N: Pretty sure y'all are gonna hate this. Sorry.
Also, just asking for more without leaving any kind of feedback makes me feel kinda used 😅
A/N: My very first A/B/O fic, that I started a while ago, and just decided to post.
It all started after finding out how much that lovely coat Billy wears in s1 costs.
Warnings: Masturbation, omega in heat.
You’re often overwhelmed.
It’s the hitch of your breath when your feelings are too big for your body, or the way your throat hurts with all the words that go unsaid.
There are not enoughs and there are too muchs and hardly any moments when things are… just right.
The coat in your hands is soft- ridiculously so, the label offers you an explanation- 100% cotton. You can't help the way your hands tighten on the material, as if you’d fight off anyone that tried to take it from you. Like for the first time, just right isn’t just a far away idea, it’s here, in your hands, against your chest.
How had you ended up here? Curled under your bed sheets, pillows all around you, clutching this lovely black coat to your body?
Today had been very overwhelming, your phone had pinged, alerting you to your impending heat, reminding you that you needed to pick up supplies.
Your heats were formidable too, always too hot or too hungry or too needy. There was never a part of you that existed within the realms of fine.
At least until now.
When you were clutching this delightful black coat in your hands, bringing it up to your nose so that you could catch a whiff of the bewitching scent.
It's bergamot at first, followed by notes of citrus that makes your eyes flutter shut. Delight spreads out inside you, fanning at the flames of your desire- your heat coming on faster as your nose lingers on the scent. You catch hints of pepper at the very end and it prompts you to take another long inhale.
Based on the size of the coat, your mind formulates an idea of the size of the person that wears it. The very thought causes you to clench your thighs together.
You didn't mean for this to happen, you'd only gone to pick up your silky PJs from the dry cleaners, designed specifically to be worn during your heat for maximum comfort on your skin. The delicate, gossamer material demanded special care, but you were very glad to have been gifted them some years ago.
You'd just picked up your item, when your nose had zeroed in on a scent that had made your body perk up curiously. It was the first time your senses had streamlined onto one thing, where throughout the day you'd had a number of difficult sensory encounters, leading you into wearing a beanie and noise cancelling headphones and the biggest jacket in your closet in any attempt to feel less things. The scent had made your brain ache for more, demanding you follow what your body had accepted- that this specific scent brought you absolute pleasure.
Even through the garment bag it was stored in, it had activated dangerous thoughts in your hindbrain, and before you could even look around for cameras, you'd reached over the counter and swiped the garment bag when the girl at the front desk wasn't looking. It had been tucked to your chest and smuggled out of the dry cleaners without even a moment of guilt.
Realistically, you wouldn't be in that much trouble anyway, omega behaviour was usually forgiven, even if it didn't make sense. No one would lock you up for swiping a men's coat, especially not so close to your heat.
You have a few hours left, and you use it to make sure your food supplies are easily accessible. Your heats tended to run on for five days- higher than average- which means that you were in a lot more danger of starvation and dehydration.
You wonder if he would take good care of you. Your mind spinning back to the owner of the coat, having already made up some basic idea of him.
You knew his designation, by scent alone, but you were too afraid to admit it to yourself, worried about the consequences of having stolen a coat from someone like that.
Would they be mad? Probably not, you were sure with a scent like that, they were used to omegas swarming around.
The thought made you unreasonably jealous, for a person you didn’t even know.
.
Your heat hits you in the early hours of the next morning.
You wake with a whine, sitting up, thighs damp with your arousal. You reach for the pills on your bedside table, taking them quickly and swallowing down some tepid water, before lying back. They would help you go back to sleep until morning alleviating some symptoms of your heat. You turn, finding the coat lying beside you. You take a deep breath into it as you fall asleep.
.
You can’t focus on anything as you pump the slick pink dildo in and out of you. There are tears streaming down your face, desperate for much more than you could ever give yourself.
You bring the coat up to your nose, crying harder as the scent wraps around you.
“Alpha.” You pant into the soft material, imagining your fantasy version of the owner.
You take a deep breath, envisioning him here with you, presumably large body curved over yours, taking up all the air around you, smooth skin available for you to scratch and claw at, his scent glands on display and eager for your mark.
“Alpha.” You beg again, into the loneliness of your apartment.
.
The coat becomes a centerpoint in your nest.
On day three when it’s fully finished to a satisfactory level, an arrangement of pillows and sheets all around your bed, you tuck the coat in beside you, delighted at the way the material feels on your flushed skin.
The scent is strongest at the collar, where it's probably rubbed on his neck often, brushed against his gland when he turns to examine something.
You groan, mouth watering for a bite of him, whoever he was.
There’s a lot of buttons and buckles on it, and your hindbrain is somewhat obsessed with what you think he looks like wearing it, probaby commands any room he walks into.
The label at the back says Burberry, and though you're not very familiar with the brand, the clean stitching and soft material tells you that it’s definitely got to cost more than what you pay for your own coats.
You sigh, stripping out of your PJ’s and opting to slide into the coat itself.
A groan slips from your mouth, the material feels coarse on your oversensitive skin, but you welcome it as you feel his scent engulf you.
A fresh wave of arousal coats your thighs, and you can’t help inching your hand down between damp thighs until you find your swollen clit.
.
On your knees now, face down into your bed, you bite down on the collar of the midnight black coat.
Your eyes roll back into your head, muffled grunts as you pump your overstimulated cunt to the brim.
You rub your face into the collar, arching your neck so that your scent gland rubs against the coat, a low whine at the severe taboo thought of rubbing your gland against a stranger's.
It's frowned upon, but the very thought of it is what brings you to orgasm just a few moments later.
You struggle for air, hair tickling your cheek as you huff, some of it clings to the saliva at the corner of your mouth, some of it is caught in the tears that smear your cheeks.
You want- like never before.
.
When your heat is over, the guilt kicks in.
You know better than to wash the coat yourself, only wiping gently at the interior in hopes of wiping off any lingering traces of… you away. You think about getting it dry cleaned yourself but you’d used the last of your money on the alleviator pills to help with your heat symptoms. You wouldn’t get paid until the end of the month.
Finally, you rummage through the pockets, checking to see if anything had been left behind by the owner. You find a crumpled napkin with someone’s number scribbled on, leaning in, you take an experimental sniff and draw away from it in disgust as the scent hits your nose.
You almost put it back, but you figured it was crumpled anyway, probably meant for a bin in the first place- so you put it there. Searching again and you smile when you come across a tub of lip balm, opening it and giving a little sniff of the inside. There’s no scent to it, and you curiously swipe a bit onto your finger and smear it onto your lips.
You begin to get a sense that the person this coat belongs to, has very refined tastes, and after a quick search, your eyes widen in shock when you discover the lip balm costs near fifty dollars.
Which is how it starts- an itch at the back of your head that tries to warn you of the possibility that the coat in your possession costs more than you’d initially thought.
You let out a slow breath, typing in the information stitched onto the label and your eyes bulge out of your head when you finally see the price of the coat sitting in your lap.
Three thousand.
The coat you stole had cost nearly three thousand dollars.
You look down at the item in betrayal, the scent of its true owner just barely clinging to it.
You take a deep breath, pushing your phone aside as you begin rummaging for a box capable of returning such an expensive item.
Thankfully, you know where to return it to, as the name and address had been hooked to the garment bag.
Delivering it is another difficult task on its own, but you manage, having to call in a few favours and explain in lengthy detail to the courier that your package wasn’t dangerous in any way but you’d rather not deliver it yourself.
Luckily, you’re able to convince them of your cause, the urge to help an omega in distress working in your favour.
.
It’s nine a.m on a Saturday morning when Billy comes home from his run.
He’s fishing for his keys in his pocket when he notices that there’s a box sitting in front of his door.
He pauses for a moment, looks at the item, before stepping forward to examine it.
There’s a card on top- one of those printed ones you can get at a convenience store- light blue sky and a panda holding onto a handful of bamboo stalks.
There’s an “I’m Sorry,” printed on, and then something added in below in pen.
‘From a very apologetic Omega.’ It says.
His eyebrows twitch in amusement, he brings the card up to his nose to catch a whiff- the scent of light, floral perfume fills his nose.
He’s aware his coat had been stolen, he’d seen video footage of the crime itself, watched as a small hooded frame had reached across and nicked his coat before it could be cleaned. The dry cleaners had sent him the footage when they’d explained what had happened.
He’d thought it had been gone for good, deleting the only copy of the footage and moving on. He could afford to replace one coat.
This though, was interesting, it seems like the omega had felt some sort of remorse, and had returned his coat to him.
It was sweet, he found himself smiling as he reached down to pick the box up, cradling it under one arm and flipping the card open as he enters his apartment.
He huffs, feeling a little sorry for an omega that couldn’t afford a dry cleaning bill, then again, the cost of the coat would definitely bring up the price a lot more.
‘Dear Alpha,
I’m so sorry I took your coat. I tried to clean it as best as I could, but I couldn’t afford to have it dry cleaned for you. It’s wrapped tightly to protect you from the scent on it. I'd suggest not opening it, and taking it to be cleaned as soon as you get it. I’m very sorry.
P.S. You have a very nice scent.’
Curiously, he tugs the box open, finding that the garment bag has been folded carefully and wrapped in plastic wrap.
He sniffs the box experimentally, searching for any hint of a scent, or any indication that the package could be dangerous.
All he gets is more of that pleasant perfume that he figured was doused in the box to protect him from the scent.
It only makes him more curious.
Billy grips the plastic wrap, and very carefully tears a little hole into the plastic, breaking the seal.
His body goes rigid.
He feels his pupils dilate, his hindbrain roaring to life as he catches the scent of an omega in heat.
His omega.
He rips the plastic furiously, fumbles with the garment bag and rips the zipper open. His eyes scan the coat, as he takes one long, slow breath.
The first scent he gets are apples, and then light notes of vanilla, but under it all, is the kick of pheromones, that sticks like honey on his tongue.
He takes another deep breath, groaning as his cock swells, pulsing to life, begging to claim the owner of such a delicious scent.
There’s so much of it, filling his space with sweet notes of frustration, yearning and unfulfillment.
His omega, needing him.
A growl tears from his chest, something inside of him collapses like an avalanche, only increasing with time, decimating his thoughts and leaving a feverish burn under his skin.
He tugs the coat open, groaning, the tart smell of cunt clings to the inside of his coat, telling him that his omega wore his coat naked.
Desperate little thing, he thinks, as he dips his hand into his joggers, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock, squeezing in an attempt to force his orgasm away. He groans, the grip around his cock rewarding him with pleasure, and he can’t help pumping himself, trying to ease the desire inside of him.
He leans in, nose pressed to the collar of his coat, where the scent is strongest, where his omega must have rubbed their little scent gland vigorously against his coat,
Sweet, delightful, his cock aches for a cunt he’s never seen, his mouth yearns for skin he’s never touched. All he has, is the honeyed scent of an omega’s heat, and the screaming inside of him that demands he claim what his body knows is his.
His grip on his cock tightens, his vision blurs, head full of thoughts, ideas of a little omega under him, sobbing as they take his cock repeatedly, begging for more with broken cries.
He doesn’t stop until he comes into his hand, only then, does his thinking sharpen.
He puts his coat in bed beside him, he hopes the sheets will absorb the smell, so that he can have his little omega with him while he sleeps. He wakes with an aching cock, and the coat clutched tightly against his chest, struggling to remember fading dreams of little omegas that beg nicely.
He doesn’t get out of bed until he’s come twice into the palm of his hand.
.
He searches for days.
But when he’d deleted the footage from the dry cleaners, he’d gotten rid of any hope of tracing his omega’s movements, and chances of finding an address.
She doesn’t leave any record of one, always opting to pick up her items herself.
At least he’s gotten that, a basic description, a height, an idea of her complexion and the colour of her eyes.
It was too vague to work with, but it was something he could think about before he went to sleep at night, with his nose buried in his coat, breathing in the scent of her, desperate to find the omega that had stolen his coat and unintentionally taken his heart.
He studies the card too, learns the handwriting, growing more and more desperate for his little omega.
Billy knew he wouldn't stop looking, not until he found the person who'd opened up a nest of possibilities in his head, giving him something he'd never had in a very long time.
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Re-creating my first webcomic from 12 years ago, "Hair Expectations vs Reality."
I can't help but feel all kinds of emotions after re-visiting the original comic: the one that started it all. A lot has changed since then, and I feel so fortunate to still create art and tell stories for a living. Thanks for your support, and sticking around for so long ❤️
Summary: Who could have thought that the fiercest Yautja would be such a girl's dad.
When Kwei arrives home the first thing he hears is not your voice.
It is the unmistakable patter of tiny feet racing across the wooden floor.
He has barely pushed the front door open before something very small throws itself against his leg with all the force a three-year-old can manage.
“Father!”
His hand, still holding the leather strap of his hunting pack, immediately lets go. The pack lands on the floor with a heavy thud, forgotten before it even touches the ground.
Kwei looks down. His little daughter is wrapped around his leg, her tiny arms barely meeting around it, her eyes shining as though she had not seen him in months instead of two days.
“There you are,” he says quietly, she tips her head back until she can look at him.
“You came back.”
“I did.”
“Like you promised.”
“I keep my promises.”
Satisfied, she nods once, then she lifts both arms as high as they go.
“Up.”
There is no hesitation.
Kwei bends immediately, slipping one large hand under her before lifting her against his chest. She settles there as if she has always belonged in that exact spot. Because, in many ways, she has.
From the doorway, you watch the entire exchange with a smile tugging at your lips.
“You didn’t even take your armour off.”
Kwei glances at you.
“It can wait, she is more important.”
His daughter has already tucked her face under his mandible, one tiny hand absentmindedly playing with one of his dreadlocks. She sighs happily.
“You smell like outside.”
“I do.”
“And snow.”
“There is snow.”
“And trees.”
“There are trees.”
She thinks very hard before adding, “…and Father.”
A chuckle rumbles deep in Kwei’s chest.
“Yes.”
You shake your head, unable to hide your amusement.
“I carried her for months.”
He looks at you with complete seriousness.
“You did.”
“I gave birth to her.”
“You did.”
“I feed her every day.”
“You do.”
You fold your arms.
“And yet she hears the door open and suddenly I no longer exist.”
Kwei looks down at the little girl clinging happily to him.
“I fail to see the problem.”
“Oh, of course.”
Your eldest is outside training with Dek, your youngest has fallen asleep after wearing himself out chasing insects around the garden, and your daughter has decided that her father is not allowed to move more than a few steps away from her.
Kwei sits outside the house repairing the shaft of one of his spears, a task that usually demands complete concentration.
Today, he has considerably less. Tiny footsteps approach again.
He does not need to look up. He already knows who it is.
She stops beside him, carrying a small wooden cup in both hands, her tongue poking out slightly with the effort of keeping it level.
She holds it up proudly.
“For Father.”
Kwei sets the spear aside immediately.
“What is this?”
“Tea.”
You glance through the open doorway just in time to see him accept the cup with all the solemnity of receiving a ceremonial offering.
Inside is little more than cold water with a handful of leaves floating lazily on the surface.
Your daughter watches him happily. Kwei lifts the cup and takes a long drink, then lowers it again. He nods once, approving.
“Excellent.”
Her entire face lights up.
“I made it!”
“I can tell.”
“You like it?”
“I do.”
She smiled so brightly that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, when she runs off again to gather more “ingredients,” you step outside.
“So?”
Kwei hands you the cup. You look inside.
“…Kwei.”
“Hm?”
“That’s a leaf.”
“I noticed.”
“And…” You poke gently at something floating near the bottom. “…I think that’s moss.”
“It is.”
“You drank it.”
He looks genuinely confused.
“She made it.”
“As pretend tea.”
“I know.”
“…You weren’t actually supposed to drink it.”
“She seemed pleased.”
You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder.
“You are impossible.”
“No.” He watches your daughter proudly collecting more weeds from the edge of the garden. “I am her customer.”
A few days later, Dek came over for a visit.
He found Kwei sitting on the floor of the house instead of sharpening weapons or preparing for a hunt.
This alone surprises him.
What surprises him more is what Kwei is doing.
Or rather… what he is allowing.
Your daughter sits behind him with the fiercest expression imaginable, surrounded by colourful beads, bits of leather cord and tiny flowers she insisted on picking that morning.
“Stay still,” she says very seriously.
“I am.”
“No moving.”
“I have not moved.”
Dek blinks, Kwei, one of the most feared hunters in the clan, sits perfectly upright while a toddler struggles to braid one of his dreadlocks.
It is… Not going well.
The braid is uneven. The beads are completely mismatched.
One flower somehow ends up tied near the end of another dreadlock for no apparent reason.
Still…
Kwei does not move.
Nearly an hour passes before she finally climbs around to look at her work.
She places both tiny hands on her hips. Satisfied.
“There.”
Kwei reaches up carefully, feeling the collection of flowers and beads now decorating his hair.
“You have finished?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“You handsome.”
He inclines his head.
“Thank you.”
Dek cannot hold it in any longer.
He laughs. Loud enough that both of you look over.
“Kwei.”
“Hm?”
“You once told me taking a mate would make you soft.”
“I did.”
“You claimed children would distract you.”
“I did.”
Dek gestures toward him.
“You have flowers in your hair.”
Kwei reaches up again, gently touching one of the tiny flowers your daughter had carefully tied into place.
He smiles, just enough for the people who know him best to notice.
“Yes.”
Dek waits.
Surely there is more.
There is not.
“…You are not taking them out?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Kwei glances toward his daughter, who is now trying very hard to braid one of your youngest son’s curls while he giggles uncontrollably.
“She was proud of her work.”
Dek shakes his head in disbelief.
“You really are completely wrapped around her little finger.”
Kwei does not even attempt to deny it.
“If she asks for my time…” His gaze remains fixed on his daughter. “…she shall have it.”
“If she asks you to wear flowers?”
“I will.”
“If she asks you to attend tea?”
“I will.”
“If she asks you to sit still for another hour?”
“I will.”
Dek sighs dramatically before looking at you.
“There is no saving him.”
“I know.” you smile at Dek.
The sound draws your daughter’s attention. She runs across the room, stopping in front of Kwei before lifting both arms again.
“Up.”
Without a single complaint, Kwei leans down and lifts her into his arms.
She immediately curls against his chest with a happy sigh, one little hand resting against his shoulder.
You walk over and brush one of the crooked flowers back into place among his dreadlocks.
“It suits you.”
“So I have been told.”
You smile.
“It does.”
Your daughter reaches out toward you then, patting the space between the two of them.
“Mother.”
You lean closer, she wraps one arm around your neck while remaining securely tucked against Kwei, insisting on holding both of you at once.
For a moment, the three of you simply stay like that. Your forehead resting lightly against Kwei’s. Your daughter happily sandwiched between you.
Warm.
Safe.
Loved.
Across the room, Dek watches the quiet scene unfold before quietly shaking his head with a smile.
The strongest warrior in the clan stood perfectly happy wearing crooked flowers in his dreadlocks, smelling faintly of moss tea, while a tiny little girl held his heart so completely that all she had to do was lift her arms and ask to be carried.
And Kwei knew, without the slightest doubt, that this was the greatest honour he had ever been given.
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