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the moon now urges us to sleep a little later (and/or go to bed earlier) and eat better (less junk but MORE GOOD) and slow down and smell the roses and feel the warmth of the sun and appreciate the sparkle of snow and. so on.
i have moved sextile transit posts to patreon. please join us there if you can! trines will also be moving soon!
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Adam Frankenstein x FemResearcher!Reader
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: In the 21st century, you are an archaeologist that travels with a group of fellow researchers to Frankenstein Estate for field research. Adam Frankenstein has acquired the estate but remains a shut in. The group's love of history strikes an interest in Adam, but you, you look at him and see a man, not a creature. For once, he may allow himself to fall and trust that he will fall into loving arms. But will unwelcome guests force Adam to indulge in his rage?
ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ: comfort, hurt, strangers to lovers, some fluff, soft and shy Adam, yearning, violent and protective Adam, descriptions of blood and gore, sexual themes
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9k
ᴀ/ɴ: I rewrote this like three times lol and really had to stop myself from doing too much or making it too long. Really tryna steer myself back to the snapshot conception I initially had in mind. The program I used on my tablet really fucked the formatting and I tried to fix it on my computer and then had to fix it again on here. So if something looks weird, that's why.
Anyways I'm back to work tomorrow and have a busy weekend ahead of me, but part 7 is in the works and I promise things will pick up and kick off from there!
Part V / Masterlist
~*~
Adam unlocked the ballroom doors and led you in. When he turned the lights on, you were met with stacks of boxes and furniture covered in white cloth. You’d expect this place to be covered with a layer of dust but John actually came in from time to time to keep it tidy.
“These are the last of the Frankenstein’s possessions,” Adam explained. He pointed to a steamer trunk near one side of the room, underneath a painting of Victor Frankenstein himself. “You will find the account of Victor Frankenstein there.”
You glanced at Adam as you let go of his arm and made your way to the trunk. “He was a surgeon right? What does he have to do with werewolves?”
“His story is just the beginning.”
You lifted the lid of the trunk and found all sorts of paraphernalia stuffed inside. A marble model of a pregnant woman, red gloves, and a green ribbed glass wrapped in some kind of metal. Sitting on top of everything was a thick leather bound journal and a slimmer, rather colorful book that had been burned along the edges. You grabbed both looking to Adam for confirmation.
“I will leave you to read.” He turned to leave.
“Wait! I don’t understand.”
“You will. I shall be in my room, when you are ready.” With that, Adam hesitantly left you alone in the ballroom. You looked after him, more confused than ever before. You limped over to a couch, pulling back the sheet and sat down. Starting with the colorful book first, you found astonishingly detailed surgical drawings within. The notes scrawled in between told of theories and experiments on how to conquer death. The writer spoke of the lymphatic system and where a ‘battery’ would have to be applied in order to stimulate the nerves. This wasn’t just about conquering death, it was about creating life. Building life almost from scratch.
You set the book side and unwrapped the leather journal. In it were several loose pages, letters written by a Captain Robert Walton to his sister. The first page read: So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can come into your possession. Last Monday, we were nearly surrounded by the ice, which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the searoom in which she floated…
Your heart raced and then shattered reading Victor and Adam’s accounts. It explained why Adam looked the way he did. A madman created him that way and then abandoned him. Adam did warn you. He said you might not like what you find. You figured it out pretty quickly that he meant himself. You would not like him if you knew the truth about him. He could not be more wrong. If anything you felt for him. You wanted to hold him and keep him safe. Victor was long dead and even though he somewhat redeemed himself in the end and Adam forgave him, you loathed him still.
There was a thing that made your brain hurt. Adam was created, stitched together like some kind of fairy tale, or nightmare depending on the person, and he was brought into this world over two hundred years ago. Your baron was immortal, both inhuman and more human than any other, and that unnerved you a bit. You could not begin to fathom what hell Adam had been through in all that time. Othering people was worse back then in normal circumstances. There were likely more scars unseen and it made sense now why Adam kept to himself in this big house.
You found yourself outside of Adam’s bedroom door some time later. He had been sitting in his large armchair, staring into the fire when he heard your tell-tale footsteps approach. He rose from his chair and looked to the door. You hesitated at first, knuckles primed to knock and questioned what you would even say. Perhaps it would come to you. There was no backing out of this, not that you wanted to. So you knocked.
Adam’s soft voice responded and you entered the room. He was the first thing you noticed, standing near his fireplace. The orange glow cast soft shadows across his form, making him seem larger than he actually was. The interior of his room made him every bit the stereotypical gothic character. Dark walls, renaissance paintings, a king size poster bed, a large chair by the fire and a writing desk facing the window. Parallel to that was an inset bookcase, filled top to bottom, with stacks on the floor. You leaned on your cane and walked over to the side table next to Adam’s chair, depositing the journals there.
Adam silently watched you cross the room and come closer to him. He dare not move. He was actually a little surprised that you sought him out in the end. Knowing what you now know. You finally looked at him and once again took in every detail of his face. “Y-you. You are Victor Frankenstein’s…creation? You are a man, made from dozens of men?”
Adam slowly nodded his head. “I am an abomination.”
You shook your head in stern disagreement, “You had no control over that. No matter how Victor made you, it does not make you some kind of monster.”
Your firm words tugged at Adam’s heart.
You had managed to get within arm’s length of him, eyeing his shirt. “Can I? See?”
Adam’s breathing hitched. You wished to see his body? John had been the only one to see his body in many, many years. Adam had gotten so used to it. But here you were asking for permission. You were asking for trust. You were asking for his vulnerability. His hands trembled as he began to unbutton his shirt. The first thing you saw was the horribly puckered skin in the middle of his chest. You gasped softly and put your cane aside.
Your own hands trembled as you reached out, stopping just short of touching him. You looked up at him in question. He simply nodded. His gaze did not leave you as your hands slid under the top of his shirt and carefully pulled it down his shoulders. Then your fingers began their exploration across his bare skin. They slid over the scars that marked his body and his breathing grew heavier. Your hand went over one shoulder and down his arm before gently pulling him to turn around. You made another small sound when you saw his back. Fingers explored the expanse from one side to the other and then you were gently turning him around again. His eyes locked with yours and he could see the depths of your pain. His pain. Your hands slowly reached up to his face and traced the scars there. You mapped out his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips.
It took everything within Adam to control himself. His hands had instinctively reached for you but he did not want to scare you or overstep. His fingers itched for purchase on your waist but they settled on your arms instead. You placed one hand against the side of his face and cradled it. He closed his eyes with a sigh and nuzzled. “We do not ask to be born…nor created but we all bear the burden of humanity’s cruelty in some way. Victor Frankenstein was cruel to you. The world was cruel to you. I can’t imagine the pain you must have gone through. Two hundred years of it?”
Adam kept his eyes closed for fear that this moment would vanish if he opened them, “Between the ebb and flow of cruelty, I have managed to find a safe harbor in that of a friend once every generation. As much as I value those friendships, I have always felt…lonely. I ached. They have never touched me as you have just now. They have never been this close.”
A quiet sob escaped you as you failed to keep the ocean of emotions at bay, “Have you not been held? Kissed?”
Adam opened his eyes again and saw the tears pooling in yours. His hand covered yours and he shook his head. Your lips wobbled as the tears finally escaped and streamed down your face. To be so touch starved for so long must have been excruciating. It had only been a handful of years for you and Luna was such a tactile person but this was different. There was a certain intimacy here in this room that could not be found in friendship alone. It was not sexual either. It was like his soul was reaching out to another for understanding.
Adam’s massive hands gently held your face as his thumbs wiped away the tears. You laughed at yourself and shook your head, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m the one crying. I have had friends and family who loved me. I have been touched, hugged, and kissed but…it never…I always felt like something was missing. Deep, deep inside.” You pressed a fist against your chest as if you were trying to find the source of your despair. “An ache.”
“John would say you are crying because you’re a good person. But I feel it’s more than that.” Adam took your hand and placed it against his chest and in turn he placed his hand against your chest. “Perhaps we are kindred spirits, you and I. Alone, even when there are friends.”
You closed your eyes and visibly shook this time as if your body could no longer contain what you were feeling. You felt so confused but everything before you was so clear. The implications were strong and too much. Here was a man out of time who should not exist and your soul yearned to reach back. Your body has twice now gravitated to his as if it had always fit there. Adam held fast to your arms again, “You are shaking.”
“Werewolves are real. You are real. Everything is so-,” you sighed deeply, “I am overwhelmed…and I think overstimulated …and I need to think.”
“Then rest. I will be here.”
You simply nodded and reluctantly backed out of his embrace. His hands slid down your arms as you went until they grasped your hands. You tried to regain a steady breath as you squeezed his hands. You then grabbed your cane and headed for the door. You paused there and looked back at Adam with such a sadness that he longed to chase away. “Goodnight Adam.”
“Goodnight.”
With that, you shut the door behind you and released another sob. You demanded yourself to hold it together as you crossed the West Wing and moved into the East. When you were finally in your room, the door shut and locked, your body could no longer contain the torrent of pain and confusion. You cried, your heart aching for Adam and for yourself. You slowly collapsed to your knees, the cane abandoned and held your hands over your mouth so no one could hear you break. You took deep, shuddering breaths trying to calm down but ultimately failed. So you crawled to your bed and climbed up. You buried your face into a pillow and curled into a ball, crying until you fell asleep.
Bronte had it right. Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
~*~
The next morning you awoke with a heavy pressure on your head and heart. The events of last night came rushing back in full force. Your reflection was a pathetic shell of a person with swollen eyes and a puffy face. You remembered crying yourself to sleep and sighed. You did not want to join the others for breakfast because there would be questions. They would probably think you were crying about the attack. You were over it at this point, despite the fact that you were attacked by a creature that was supposed to be a myth.
So you headed down to the kitchen instead, looking for John. He had sent the last plates of breakfast up to the others when you entered through the side door. He smiled cheerfully at you before taking in your appearance. His smile faltered and he quickly walked up to you. “My dear what has happened? Come sit by the fire. I’ll make some tea.”
You let John direct you over to the large, warm hearth without any complaint. When he returned with a cuppa, he sat down across from you. “Are you alright?”
You took a sip of the tea and nodded.
“Is it…about the attack?”
You shook your head, “Adam.”
“Adam?” John sat back in disbelief, dreading the answer but he asked the question anyways, “Why were you crying about Adam?”
You remained silent for a moment. Adam did not tell you if John knew the same truth but with someone so loyal you had no doubt that he knew more than he ever let on. “I know who he is. Who he really is.”
It was John’s turn to be quiet for a moment. He crossed his arms and relaxed a bit, “Oh. So…you know about Victor?”
“He was an asshole. He made someone, his life’s work, his obsession and then abandoned him?”
John sighed and almost shrugged, “I do not recommend a psychoanalysis of Victor Frankenstein. He believed he made a monster and for a brief moment that is what Adam became. After their drama, Adam did his best to live his life in peace.”
“I don’t know why I feel so strongly about him. Plenty of people suffer everyday but I don’t think anyone has suffered for as long as Adam has.”
“Quite right. From what he’s told me, the world had been cruel. He was such a mystery when I first met him. We spoke through letters and notes for several months before I got to see him. He thought that I would be terrified. I won’t lie. At first, I was taken aback. I wasn’t expecting…all of that, but from his letters and his countenance, I knew he was a good man. We had become fast friends.”
You smiled a bit at that, “That explains why talking to him with letters has proven effective.”
John placed his hands on yours, “Don’t worry yourself about him. You’re a good person and you care for him. That is enough.”
The elder man sat back again and took a sip of his own tea. “Well now that you know the truth about our dear baron, I’m afraid I must ask if you remember what attacked you.”
“Unfortunately. Since it’s honesty hour, am I correct in assuming vampires also exist?”
John’s expression turned grim, “Unfortunately. Though not in the way you may think. It’s all a long explanation and I swear one day I will tell you but there is a more pressing matter at hand. You must not tell the others.”
You scoffed, almost laughing at the thought, “Trust me, they wouldn’t believe me anyways. They would need evidence. Undeniable proof and hopefully not at the hands of a near death experience. However, they need to be told something otherwise this whole research thing is likely to be canceled.”
“I don’t know how much Adam has told you, but it would be in everyone’s best interest if you stayed for now. All of you.”
You squinted at that, “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s better if you don’t know the whole truth. Just know that there is another world out there and Adam will keep you safe from it.”
~*~
You carried on with your day feeling a little lighter. You had confined yourself to the lab once more, trying to figure out the mystery of the Dacians and what they had to do with the Romans here. You decided to bring up your theory about the wolf rituals to Daniel and Luna.
“Werewolves?” Daniel questioned, arms folded as he leaned against the heavy artifact table.
“It’s an extremely common myth here. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was and still is a cult. It could also explain the disappearances all those years ago.”
“Are you saying someone dressed like a werewolf attacked you?” Luna asked, fingers tracing the wolf imprint on the bronze matrix.
“I’m not saying anything cause that would make me sound crazy. I’m just trying to make sense out of all of it. The abandoned village, the Dacians, whatever- whoever attacked me.”
“Well we only have a couple of weeks left here so let’s not play Sherlock Holmes, please. Though, I do admit it is interesting.”
“Right, maybe it was just some nutter who fancies themselves a wolf. You can try telling that constable and seeing what he makes of it?” Luna replied, placing the matrix back on the table. “Let’s just hope the baron scared him off.”
“I’m pretty sure he did. I just hope that nutter was the only one.” You pulled a chair over to the table and sat.
Daniel picked up your cane and examined the designs in the handle. “Charlie doesn’t want us back in the woods until we finish the bathhouse and then we work in larger groups until the documentation is done. But you, old mum, have to stay here until you don’t need this cane anymore.”
You smiled with sarcastic humor and took the cane, “Any day now.”
"Have you seen him at all?" Luna asked, trying to look innocuous in her questioning.
"Who?"
"The baron of course. He did save your life after all."
You sighed and tried distracting yourself with an artifact, "Yes I have seen him."
Luna's excitement was barely concealed as she marched over to your chair, "What did he look like? Is he old? Or does he look," she gestured around her face.
"He is...a perfectly normal person. He's kind and he is beautiful."
"Beautiful?" Daniel asked, suddenly intrigued as well.
You nearly scoffed and rolled your eyes, "He is unconventionally attractive but that is besides the point."
"So he's what? Agoraphobic then?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Well, I hope he graces us with his presence at some point. I know Charles would like to thank him for being your knight in shining armor," Luna teased.
“He’s been thanked enough.”
“Oh has he?” Daniel also teased, waggling one eyebrow.
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“JUST MARRIED,” Fernando, seated, and his husband, both members of Los Angeles’ Blue Max Motorcycle Club, get pulled over as they leave their wedding ceremony, December 1969. Photo c/o @onearchives. In the mid-twentieth century, the Blue Max Motorcycle Club, along with many other gay motorcycle clubs, provided an alternative to gay bars, which were constantly at risk of police raids and harassment. #lgbthistory #lgbtherstory #lgbttheirstory #lgbtpride #queerhistorymatters #haveprideinhistory (at Los Angeles, California)
fun fact: motorcycle clubs in the U.S. were founded and run largely by gay men who missed the homosocial camaraderie of being in the U.S. military during WWII. the lifestyle and aesthetics of those motorcycle clubs gave rise to many of the stereotypical/classic gay “looks” (leather, chaps, etc) and indeed to the gay leather scene itself (both the gay male leather/biker scene and the lesbian/dykes on bikes leather/biker scene)
Just to add to this - the classic “metal look” that heavy metal rock came to be associated with (leather, studs, tight fitting clothes) was introduced by Rob Halford of Judas Priest, an openly gay man who says he was simply wearing the look from the gay leather subculture on stage, and people started imitating him.
So the two “iconically heteo” fixtures of masculinity - biker gangs and heavy metal music, are both actually just gay culture that heteros unknowingly adopted.
Summary: After bumping into you - Aleksander’s childhood neighbour - for the first time in years, he asks you out to dinner for a catch up.
Warnings [18+]: usual omegaverse themes and content, discussion of heats and sexual content, unspecified age gap between Aleksander and the reader.
My Masterlist • Series Masterlist
Aleksander can’t help himself. He isn’t snooping; you had told him to make himself at home while you are in the shower. It’s not his fault your things are everywhere in preparation of your evening. He wants to see who you’ve become in the years he hasn’t seen you.
He eyes the makeup spread across your desk. Some brands he vaguely recognises, whilst others he has no knowledge of. Shimmers and sparkles. Glosses and glitter. Similar looking products from different brands. It’s clear you’ve expanded your repertoire since you last saw one another.
Carefully, he lifts the stopper on your bottle of perfume, bringing it to his nose so that he can breathe in the scent. Always so sweet. It clings in his nostrils, like toffee sticking to the roof of his mouth.
He glances at the bed, pretty floral sheets tossed haphazardly over the mattress, with matching pillows placed askew at the head. It looks like you had assembled it in a hurry this morning.
There’s a basket full of blankets at the foot of your bed - pink and knitted, cream and fluffy - all manner of designs poke out from the container. He can imagine you gathering them together, alongside the cushions currently on your window seat, to build your nest before your heats.
As he’s scanning over your bookcase, he notices his name adorning one of the spines. It seems an odd addition; most of your books are fiction. Aleksander writes relationship and self-help books for both alphas and omegas.
It takes a moment for him to process that you’ve read one of his books. Then he realises which of his books is on your shelf. O for Omega: a brief guide to self-pleasure for omegas. He spots a few other titles by him and his heart skips a beat at the thought of you taking an interest in his work.
When he hears the water shut off, he retreats quietly back into your kitchen, seating himself on one of the barstools. He hears you enter your bedroom, rummage around for several minutes before a long moment of silence. Then you call out to him.
“Aleksander?”
He stands immediately, heading towards your open bedroom door. The apartment you live in is so small it takes a mere few strides before he’s leaning against your door frame. He watches as you style your hair.
“Yes?”
At the sound of his voice, the frown creasing at your brows smoothens out and when you sense his presence you turn away from your reflection to smile at him.
“Where are we actually going for dinner? I don’t want to be too overdressed.”
“It’s a restaurant downtown. The Little Palace.”
He watches your eyes go round, but you quickly smooth over your expression. It’s obvious you recognised the name as one of the best restaurants in Os Alta. He didn’t pick the venue to impress or intimidate you. Money isn’t an issue to Aleksander, he likes the food there, and he wants to treat you.
He loosens the button on his coat, opening it up to reveal his outfit - a dark charcoal suit with a white shirt and a black tie.
“I’m wearing my work wear.”
He notices the sudden flutter of your lashes, your pupils dilating as your gaze sweeps down his form.
“That’s what you wear for work?”
“Not always. Usually I opt for something a little more casual. But it all depends on what kind of session I’m leading. Stubborn omegas tend to respond better to an alpha in a suit.”
“Oh.” Then a frown appears between your brows, your head tilting aside as you think something over. “Really?” He cocks his head, raising a brow at you questioningly which prompts you to elaborate. “I would have thought it’d be the opposite.”
“How so?”
“Wearing a suit often conveys authority. Shy, more reserved omegas like the visual reassurance that someone else is in control of their environment. Whereas such an obvious display of dominance is going to raise the hackles of a more stubborn omega.”
“That’s… very insightful.”
The smile you give him is shy as you lower your gaze to your hands, clasped in your lap.
“Alphas fascinate me.”
“Fascinate?” he repeats, surprise threading its way through the word. You nod.
“The way you can walk into a room, and it instantly becomes your space.”
“Omegas can do that too.”
“I know, but it’s different.”
“How good are you at controlling your pheromones?”
All omegas secrete pheromones during moments of high emotion. Some omegas can use their emotions to produce specific pheromones to gain a reaction from an alpha. They focus on their desire while flirting, or their fear when they want comfort.
“I can do it occasionally,” you admit. “I wouldn’t say I’m very good at it.”
He takes a step forwards, moving towards you as he speaks in a warm, low tone.
“You’re doing rather well now.”
“I think that’s mostly you.”
He tilts his head aside.
“Me?”
You hum weakly in affirmation.
“I don’t feel like I’m in control of anything when I’m around you.”
“You’re in control of everything,” he states. Then he frowns slightly. “Unless you don’t want to be?”
Seemingly overwhelmed by the sudden question put towards you, your gaze drops down to your lap once again.
“I- I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s okay.” He pauses for a moment, looking down at your knees pressed tightly together. “You don’t have to hide from me.” That makes your eyes snap back up to his, round in surprise and confusion as you attempt to decipher the meaning behind his words. “Spread your legs.”
“Aleksander-”
“Omega,” he states firmly. The volume of his voice drops, though the intensity in his tone remains the same, gentle but commanding. “Spread your legs.”
The whimper that writhes in your throat makes sparks dance across his skin, the familiar, delightful feeling of bringing an omega to heel. The fact that it’s you makes it all the more thrilling. He knows you’re going to obey. Not only is it in your nature, but it’s in your temperament too - you never could deny him and that hasn’t changed even after all these years.
“Let me read your scent, hm?” he murmurs encouragingly.
He hears you breathe out a little gasp of agitation, knees squeezing together one last time before your muscles relax, your legs slipping open to reveal your scent to the room.
He hooks a finger beneath your chin, guiding your eyes upwards to meet his.
“Don’t be ashamed.”
Aleksander shifts his stance slightly, parting his legs a little wider so that you can inhale a deep breath of his scent - filled with desire - a mirror of your own. He watches your teeth sink into your lower lip and he has to swallow down a growl of frustration. Instead he says quietly,
“I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
A pale green dress is what you eventually decide on. It’s short and flowy at the bottom, stopping a little beneath the curve of your buttocks - where his gaze most definitely does not linger. The sleeves are long, flared at the wrist, and the mesh-like fabric reveals hints of your skin from between the floral swirls adorning the garment.
The neckline is low, though he isn’t sure whether the addition of a black bralette makes it better or worse. The thought of seeing so much of your bare chest makes his stomach twist, but the lace that clings to the curves of your cleavage is as equally as distracting. When you slip on your boots, the only portion of your legs that remains visible is your thighs and it’s hard not to imagine how it would feel to squeeze them in his hands.
His gaze isn’t subtle, though you seem to misinterpret the reasoning behind it.
“Is this okay?” you ask shyly, fingers playing with the hem of your dress.
“You look beautiful.”
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
“So, you haven’t found yourself an alpha yet?” Aleksander asks as he dips a cut of his steak into the small dish of sauce at the side of his plate.
He breathes out a silent laugh as you pause mid-chew, with a look on your face akin to a deer in headlights. Your expression remains somewhat flustered as you swallow your food, dabbing your lips with a napkin before you answer him.
“No.” He lifts a brow slightly and you fill the pause. “I’ve dated a little over the years, but no one’s really been mate material.”
He can see the question in your eyes, but as you reach for your glass he wonders if you’ll find the courage to ask it. Instead of staring, he lowers his gaze back down to his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you turn your fork over in your hand.
“What about you?” you ask. He looks up in time to see your throat bob nervously. “Have you found an omega?”
He shakes his head slowly, leaning back in his chair slightly.
“No. I haven’t.”
“Really?”
The question is soft, as if it has slipped past your lips without thought, and your eyes go wide when you realise you had spoken it aloud. Aleksander cocks his head slightly in surprise.
“My work keeps me busy. It feels as though the only omegas I interact with these days are my clients.”
The smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth is small, but there’s amusement in your eyes rather than judgement. It’s refreshing. Lots of omegas think at his age he should be more focused on finding someone to start a family with. It’s not that he doesn’t want to have a family - he does, more than anything - it just seems like he can’t find the right omega.
“I read your latest book. I thought it was brilliant.”
His stomach flips at the word ‘brilliant.’ Aleksander has always been a perfectionist, striving to do his very best. His mother had scoffed at his career plan to help omegas, and his father died when he was small. It isn’t often that he gets praise from someone he truly cares for.
“You did?”
“I never thought about having a platonic alpha. It makes sense though.”
“Alphas used to lead packs. It’s in our nature to provide. They would look after everyone in their pack, regardless of their designation, and not just their mate.”
“Packs aren’t very common these days.”
He nods slowly.
“We’re the most isolated we’ve ever been. Pack dynamics are much smaller than they were a century ago. Like you said, some people don’t even form a pack. They exist in a bubble with their mate.”
“It’s understandable though, wanting to be with your mate.”
“Of course it is. Especially during the honeymoon phase of bonding. But afterwards, it’s just as important to be around other people of various designations.”
“Why’s that?”
“If you were dating an alpha, and he told you not to interact with one of your alpha friends, what would you do?”
“What’s the reason? Does the alpha know something about my friend?”
“The reason is that you should do as you’re told.”
Aleksander sees the heaviness your lashes gain for a moment, as you flutter them in response to his words. He suspects that you enjoy doing as you’re told. It takes a few seconds for you to refocus on the conversation and give him your answer.
“I’d tell him I’ll be friends with whoever I want and if that bothers him then he can leave.”
He smiles.
“Good girl.”
His praise flusters you, but he doesn’t regret the words that came to him instinctively. While he knows you enjoy submission, he’s glad you won’t be baring your neck to a bad alpha.
The two of you are quiet as you finish your meal and order some dessert when the server comes to collect your plates. You make idle chatter as you wait, telling Aleksander anecdotes from your work which he listens to with rapt attention. He feels as though he’s missed so much of your life in the years you’ve been apart.
It isn’t long before you’re both tucking into your desserts and Aleksander can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight of you enjoying yourself.
“Can I ask you something?” he says suddenly. When you nod immediately, he feels the need to add, “If you don’t feel comfortable answering, just tell me and I won’t mention it again.”
That makes you pause, thinking for a moment before you nod again, slowly.
“If you don’t currently have an alpha, how do you cope during your heat?”
He sees something shift in your expression - contemplation turning sad for a second before embarrassment takes hold of your features.
“I wouldn’t say I cope particularly well.”
Distress sours your scent as you press your knees together, your fingertips digging into the plush flesh of your inner thigh, and Aleksander wants to make you feel better.
“Come here.”
“What?”
He beckons to you.
“Come sit with me, omega.”
He sees your eyes flicker around nervously, but it isn’t uncommon to see an omega sitting in an alpha’s lap - even in public. Just in Aleksander’s eye-line, he can see two separate couples where the omega is seated on their alpha’s knee. A few tables across from the two of you, there’s even an omega sitting at their alpha’s feet.
When you stand, a little shakily, Aleksander shifts his chair back a little to make room for you. It takes a moment for you both to get comfortable, but he feels the tension in your body ease slightly once you’re seated.
He strokes his fingers across your inner thigh, soothing the glands there. They feel a little swollen, you must be around a week away from your heat. A tiny gasp slips from your lips, your body jerking in surprise at his brazen touch. He presses his lips to your temple.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs in a low tone. “No one here knows we aren’t a couple.” He cups his fingers beneath your jaw, his thumb circling over the apple of your cheek gently. “When they see us, all they will think is that my omega needs some soothing. Don’t you, darling?”
With an unfocused glaze to your eyes, you nod, and Aleksander’s smile widens.
“Would you tell me about your heat?”
“It-” He sees the emotion well up inside you, words sticking in your throat as you struggle to verbalise your natural plight without getting upset.
“It’s okay. Alpha’s here. I’ve got you.”
He watches you fight to keep your eyes from rolling back in response to his gentle display of dominance.
“Al- Aleksander.”
“I’m here. Talk to me. How long does your heat usually last?”
“Around ten days.”
He makes a sympathetic little noise in the back of his throat.
“Longer than average. Are you slick for the entire ten days?”
You nod bashfully. Omegas are nearly always embarrassed by the amount of slick they produce, especially those with a heavy flow. He understands that not being in control of your body can be somewhat mortifying, but as an alpha all he can think of is how much easier it would be to slip his knot into you.
“Sometimes it starts a couple of days pre-heat,” you admit, and Aleksander wants to grind his hips upwards against your body.
“You’re in pre-heat now, aren’t you?”
You nod again.
“It’s about five days before I start. I’m going to make my nest when I get home tonight.”
Aleksander is fighting a losing battle against his cock. The thought of you going home to build your nest after seeing him, the thought of his scent still clinging to you as you gather blankets and pillows, makes him ache painfully. He hopes you don’t notice how the bulge in his trousers is slowly hardening.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asks.
The smile you give him is soft, but there’s a self-depreciating twist at the corner of your mouth.
“Aside from an alpha?”
He grits his teeth to prevent him from offering himself to you. It wouldn’t be the first time he had helped an omega in heat, but with you it feels different. It would feel like more. He knows he would want more from you and it wouldn’t be fair to either of you. So, he offers you the next best thing - his expertise.
“I have a few suggestions for you, if you don’t mind me offering them.”
“Suggestions?”
“There’s lotions, to rub over your glands, to ease the swelling. I could help you find the right toys to sate your needs. And we can work out what scents lower your stress levels, to keep you more relaxed during your heat.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.” There’s a short pause before you ask with a shy smile, “Do I need to make an appointment with you?”
“Not at all,” he responds genuinely. “I can stop by your place after work, sometime before your heat?”
“Tomorrow? It’s my day off.”
“My last appointment should finish at around three in the afternoon. Would that work with you?”
“That would be perfect.”
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
When the two of you leave the restaurant, Aleksander notices you shiver. The thin little blouse you’re wearing over your dress is pretty, but Aleksander doubts it provides any warmth. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders, wrapping it around your body.
“I’m fine,” you insist, your chin wobbling as you try to stop your teeth from chattering. He hums, unconvinced, and keeps his arm around you while you stand waiting for the valet to bring Aleksander’s car to the entrance.
He sees your eyes slip shut for a moment as you lean your forehead against his chest. Dinner had lasted much longer than either of you had anticipated. Aleksander knows you’ve had a busy day at work too. You must be exhausted. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzle closer into his body, seeking out his warmth. He wonders, as the car pulls up, if you will be able to nap on the way home.
He dismisses the valet with a look, when the woman reaches to open the passenger door for you. He knows it’s irrational, but he allows himself this brief moment of possession. With you in such a sleepy, vulnerable state, he feels the need to protect and provide for you as much as possible.
He guides you towards the car, careful not to break the hazy headspace you’ve fallen into.
“In we go, omega. Watch your head.” He places a hand over the back of your head as you climb into the passenger seat. “Good girl.” Once he has you settled, he buckles your seatbelt and reaches down to your shoes. “Let’s slip these off, okay?”
He unzips the boots, pulling at them both gently before discarding them into the footwell. He rubs your calves soothingly.
“Get comfy, darling. You’ll be home soon.”
You do manage to sleep in the car. Aleksander turns the heated seats on, and keeps the hot air blowing gently, which seems to knock you out completely. He glances over at you regularly, your face turned towards him, cheek smushed against the curve of the seat.
When he pulls up outside your building, Aleksander doesn’t want to wake you. He wishes he could have taken you to his home, scooped you up in his arms, and lowered down into his bed. Instead, he strokes your face gently before nudging at your shoulder.
“Darling, we’re here.”
He breathes out a soft laugh at the adorable sight of you blinking groggily. Aleksander exits the car smoothly, but you take much longer. It seems to take you a moment to reorientate yourself. Then you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove your feet into your boots.
Aleksander opens the door, reaching down to zip up your boots and pick up your purse. Without a word, he offers you his free hand which you accept, and he walks you into the building. Once you reach your front door, he holds your purse open as you rummage for your keys. He wants to drag out his time with you as much as possible.
When you finally get your door open, you rub your eye sleepily, makeup smudging slightly in the corner. Then you seem to remember you’re still wearing his jacket.
“Oh, m’sorry.”
You begin to slip it from your shoulders, but Aleksander reaches out to stop you.
“No, no. Keep it,” he assures you. “For your nest.” He sees your grip tighten on the garment and for a second he hopes you feel as possessive over him as he does for you. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
“Okay.”
He leans close, cupping your face between his hands as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Good night, darling. Sweet dreams.”
“G’night, alpha.”
He sucks in a breath at your mumbled response. It’s clear you’re more than half asleep, but that’s the first time you’ve ever called him alpha. He watches you slip through your door, giving him one last smile before you’re gone. He stands there for a few seconds, hoping to cling to this moment for a little longer. Then he turns away.
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Summary: When you find yourself with nowhere to live, your friend Alina offers you the perfect solution - her Uncle Aleksander’s empty townhouse. What you don’t know is that Aleksander’s security cameras watch your every move, and Aleksander himself is almost instantly captivated by you.
Warnings [18+]: smut, dom!Aleksander, reader is staying in Aleksander’s house (supposedly) without his knowledge, subtle mafia vibes, power play, voyeuristic vibes from Aleksander, unspecified age gap, reference to oral (fem receiving), slight cnc vibes (no verbal consent but a safeword is established), smidge of size kink, very subtle hints that Aleksander wants children, he’s quite intense but she’s into it.
A/N: happy christmas everyone!
My Masterlist
Aleksander receives an alert the moment his front door is opened. One glance at the screen of his phone reveals that Alina’s key card had deactivated the alarm system.
It isn’t unusual for her to invite herself into his townhouse in one of the affluent boroughs of the city. He rarely uses the space himself, preferring his smaller apartment in Central Os Alta due to the vicinity to his workplace. What is unusual, however, is that she has company today.
Aleksander has an extensive number of security cameras and microphones placed throughout his home. It helps to ease his paranoia and sate the need to control his surroundings. He doesn’t tend to check on Alina when she visits, leaving her to her own devices, but your presence has his interest piqued.
Alina doesn’t bother to take her shoes off, per usual. But you do. After dragging your feet over the doormat - twice, one foot after the other - you tug off your shoes, placing them neatly beside his shoe rack before hurrying to catch up to Alina as she heads towards the kitchen.
He’s proud of the townhouse, a space he had curated as a safe haven for himself and a currently non-existent significant other. Seeing you stare, lips parted as your eyes drink in the furniture and decor in what seems like awe, has a warmth gathering in his chest. He will admit, your admiration of his house is rather adorable.
Curious, he unmutes the sound on the security feed, just in time to hear your voice as you ask tentatively,
“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”
Alina opens up a cupboard, retrieving a bag of snacks which she examines with a small frown, before she rips the packaging open and begins to munch on the treats inside. She shrugs through a mouthful.
“He barely ever stays here.”
“But you did ask him… didn’t you?”
Aleksander vaguely remembers Alina mentioning a friend of hers that needed a place to stay. What he doesn’t remember is giving her permission to accommodate said friend in his house. But he watches Alina nod, scrunching up the bag as she finishes her snacks.
“He wants someone here to receive his parcels,” she says, tossing the crumpled wrapper towards the bin. She misses.
He doesn’t order anything to his house. All his parcels are delivered either to his work or his apartment. The townhouse is his hidden treasure, though strangely he doesn’t loathe the idea of letting you stay there. Perhaps he should place a few harmless orders, to aid Alina’s lie. Something inconspicuous, that you might enjoy, like a monthly flower subscription. He likes the thought of you assembling a cheerful bouquet in his living room.
“And you’re sure he doesn’t want any rent,” you say, picking up Alina’s rubbish and placing it in the bin. You’re already a perfect houseguest, though he hopes you might be able to feel comfortable enough to relax in his house.
Aleksander almost feels offended by your suggestion and is relieved when Alina shakes her head.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m the one staying here. Besides, you’re like my sister. What’s mine is yours.”
“Even your Uncle Sasha?” you ask with a shy smile and this tiny glimpse at your humour has Aleksander wanting to devour you.
Alina grins.
“Especially him.” She pushes away from where she’s been leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’ll give you the password to his grocery account. Order whatever you like.”
That nervous expression returns to your features.
“Are you sure?”
“He gives me an allowance that I never use. You can have it.” She opens one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging through the contents despite Aleksander’s meticulous organisation. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. “Here’s a key card to disable the security alarms and the wifi password.”
Aleksander watches you take the objects slowly, holding them in the palm of your hand before closing your fist around them protectively. Alina gestures upwards towards the rest of the house.
“Pick whatever bedroom you like best.”
Unknown by you, the moment you choose Aleksander’s bed to sleep in you become his.
»»---------------------►
As the owner of the internet router at his house, Aleksander can see what sites you visit while using his internet - a power that he abuses fully. He enjoys the insight into your thoughts and interests. The questions you have about the world and the things that make you happy.
During his lunch one day, Aleksander is scrolling through your recent search history when he spots something interesting. His name. Initially just a google search. Then you had examined his Instagram and Facebook, before moving onto his company website.
He’s tempted to pull up the security feed and rewind it back to the moment you had first typed his name, just to see your reaction to what you’re seeing. Especially when he sees how long you had spent reading the tabloids and swiping through images of him. It seems he has captured your attention.
»»---------------------►
It takes a small nudge from Aleksander for you to stop buying only the necessities during your grocery order. Just a few small taps of his thumbs and he adds enough random baking supplies for you to perceive it as an accident when it arrives.
One day, Alina visits him at work, a small box of cupcakes tucked under her arm. Instantly, he recognises them as one of your creations. He had watched you bake them yesterday head bobbing to your music as you had decorated them with an adorable frown of concentration and a smudge of buttercream on your face.
He waits until she leaves before cracking open the box, allowing the sweet sugary scent to invade his senses. The moan that escapes him during his first bite is obscene. He wonders whether your cheeks would flush with heat at the sound. His mind wanders, thinking of kissing the cream off your cheeks.
Aleksander finds himself imagining what it would be like to come home to you, the house warm and inviting as you await his arrival with a sweet treat and an eager smile. He would sink to his knees on the kitchen tiles, slide your skirt and apron up to your waist so that he can kiss your pretty cunt until his name is the only word you can manage.
»»---------------------►
Aleksander hates seeing you cry. But that job of yours was doing you no good. Waking up early to catch the bus and arriving home so tired that you don’t have enough energy to cook yourself a hot meal. Now, after Aleksander has pulled a few strings, you can sleep for as long as you like and spend time creating food that brings you joy.
He has already logged onto his grocery account and amended your weekly order to include a few recipes you wanted to try and some additional treats in an attempt at lifting your spirits. All he wants is for you to be happy.
He’s sorely tempted to go to you now. To wrap his arms around you, hold you against his chest and kiss the crown of your head while murmuring reassurances that this was for the best. He doesn’t like seeing you so despondent. He wants his happy girl back, who tends to the flowers and reads curled up in his armchair beside the fire.
He could just go to you. It’s his house you’re staying in after all. But he doesn’t want to rob you of your safe place. If he turned up now, he knows you would feel pressured to leave, even when you have nowhere else to go. His sweet girl, so terrified of taking up too much space. One day, very soon, he will be able to appreciate you how he longs to.
»»---------------------►
He thinks you might be trying to kill him.
Aleksander’s home gym is a room occupied by a treadmill and a few stray pieces of equipment that he hardly ever uses, there to fill the space he hopes will one day be converted into a nursery.
Currently, you’re stretching yourself out over a yoga mat he didn’t even know he owned, twisting your body into a rather enticing position. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, shifting in his seat to alleviate some of the ache in his throbbing cock.
Whilst he’s glad you’ve found another hobby to fill your time - and the thought of your improved flexibility pleases him - he almost wishes he hadn’t checked in on you. Now, he is going to have to sit through a meeting and resist the urge to continue watching you.
»»---------------------►
Once a week, Alina stays over with you, spending the evening catching up and talking about all manner of things together. Aleksander likes to listen in while he’s working, imagining that he’s actually in the office across the hall from the living room.
Alina’s suggestion of a blind date for you makes him stiffen, lifting his eyes away from his papers and onto the screen. He’s somewhat glad that you seem apprehensive.
“I thought you didn’t like Mal?” you ask Alina, fidgeting with the edge of the velvet cushion in your lap.
She shrugs.
“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he won’t be right for you.”
Aleksander can say with absolute certainty that Mal is nowhere near the right man for you. He can remember when Alina was infatuated with the boy. If he strings you along like he did with Alina, Aleksander won’t be able to stop himself from interfering.
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t be mad, but I might have already made a reservation for you.”
“Lina!”
You swat her with your cushion - almost playfully - but Aleksander can see your anxiety in the set of your shoulders. To hell with not interfering. He mutes the sound on the screen, picking up his phone and dialling a familiar number.
“Zoya, I need a favour.”
»»---------------------►
He needs to play this carefully. With Zoya’s intervention at the bar where Mal was meeting his friends for a drink beforehand, he will never make it to your date. Aleksander needs to leave you waiting long enough to be relieved by his arrival, but not so long that the rejection damages your self esteem. From a corner of the restaurant, he watches your face carefully.
Each time a waiter appears, he sees you grow a little more agitated, fidgeting with your fingers as you insist that your date will arrive soon. It’s only once he sees you inhale shakily that he decides to pick up his coat and stroll over to your table.
“Is this seat taken?”
Embarrassment touches at your features as you glance up at him, then the tables surrounding you as you seem to assume he’s asking to take the chair to his own table. He watches your lips press together before you shake your head and gesture defeatedly at the chair.
“It’s all yours.”
He smiles widely, draping his coat over the back of the chair before he sits down.
“Thank you, milaya.”
The look of surprise on your face is delightful, even more so when recognition sparkles in your eyes.
“Mr Morozova.”
He’s exceptionally proud of the feigned confusion he spreads over his features.
“Do we know each other?”
“You’re Alina’s uncle.”
“Yes,” he says, the hint of a question at the edge of his tone. Ducking your head bashfully, you tell him your name.
He repeats your name slowly, as if it is the first time he’s ever spoken it, trying to ignore how wide your eyes are at the sound of your name on his lips.
“Alina mentioned you were looking for a place to stay in the city. Did you manage to find somewhere?”
You seem startled at the thought of him remembering you.
“Oh, yes. I did, thank you.”
He smiles. Alina had lied to him, telling him that she was the one staying at his house. Whilst he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, the urge to make you squirm a little pokes at him.
“Do you like where you’re living now?”
He watches you shift nervously in your seat, but your response is earnest.
“Yes, I do,” you admit quietly. “It’s lovely.” He hums indulgently, hoping you might continue speaking, and you nod. “One of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.”
He wants to keep you forever.
Instead, he offers to buy you dinner, which you agree to after a little convincing from Aleksander. He asks for your order, calling the waiter over to place it for you both.
Now that you’re front of him, after watching you through a screen for so long, Aleksander can’t look away from you. In such proximity, he can observe every minute detail. The way you fidget with the charms on your bracelet. The way you attempt to be subtle when you glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.
He drinks in the sight of you, warmth in his chest as you tuck into your meal. He will admit, he pays little attention to his own plate, choosing to watch as you eat eagerly with soft sounds of pleasure in response to the taste. All the while, he coaxes you into conversation and by the time you’ve finished you seem much more relaxed in his presence.
Aleksander leans back in his chair, swirling the wine around in his glass with nimble fingers. With a polite gesture to the waiter, he orders another bottle of wine. When the waiter mentions dessert, Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you. He can see the nervousness creep into your eyes at the thought of asking for more.
After you refuse his offer, he orders a plateful of dessert that he intends on sharing with you. When it arrives, he takes a few mouthfuls for himself before he offers a spoonful to you.
“Come on, milaya. I bought it for us to share.”
When you relent, leaning forwards to take the spoon from him, he retracts his head, pulling it out of your reach.
“Ah, ah. No hands. Let me.”
After ducking your head bashfully, you look down to avoid his gaze and Aleksander can see how flustered his words have made you. Still, you nod obediently. He moves the spoon back towards you, feeding you the dessert when you open your mouth for him.
He stares as your eyes flutter closed and you hum in delight at the rich taste with a pretty smile on your face.
Saints, you’re so perfect.
Aleksander pays the bill. He keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant. He frowns at the sight of goosebumps prickling over your skin.
“Where’s your coat, milaya?”
“Alina gave me a lift here and I left it in her car.”
He tuts quietly in disapproval.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Aleksander places his coat over your shoulders, thick wool draped over your frame to shield you from the cold. He smiles at the sight of you, helping you tuck each of your arms into the sleeves. “There we go.”
You give him a bright smile and begin to play shyly with the buttons at the front of his coat.
“Thank you.”
“Let me give you a lift home.”
Immediately your smile falters and you refuse his offer.
“Oh no, I’m fine walking, thank you.”
“You’re walking?” The moment you nod he begins to shake his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m not living in the city centre. It’ll be too out of your way.”
“Nonsense.”
“Mr Morozova-”
“Call me Aleksander, please.”
“Aleksander,” you state slowly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“I’m not going back to my apartment tonight.”
There’s a waver in your voice as you say,
“You’re not?”
He shakes his head.
“I have a house not far from here.”
He watches the internal struggle play over your face. Realisation. Anxiety. Words scrambling from your mind to your tongue as you attempt to create a confession. Sweet girl. Always so honest.
“Aleksander, I…” He watches you wring your hands, the sleeves of his coat covering all but your fingertips. “Alina’s been letting me stay at your townhouse. I’m so sorry for not telling you.”
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he smiles at the valet, standing behind you as he waits for the man to retrieve his car keys. Leaning down, he presses a pacifying kiss to your temple, smoothing his hands over each of your shoulders, stroking your biceps. He can see the confusion in your eyes at his reaction.
“We’ll discuss this at home, darling.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, though he doubts you would ever openly disagree with him. He feels you shiver at the command in his voice and a thrill runs through him at the thought of you enjoying the role he has picked out for you.
The short walk to the car is silent, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall. Aleksander keeps his arm around you, ensuring you don’t slip on any ice. He holds the passenger door open for you and keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire journey, ignoring your squirming.
“Aleksander,” you whisper. “I really am sorry.”
“Not now, milaya. Let me concentrate on the roads.”
He feels your skin flush with embarrassment at his condescending tone. The snow has quickly covered the world in white, thick flurries falling faster with every passing moment.
When you finally return home, he slips his coat from your shoulders, hanging it up in the hallway as he nods at your shoes, a silent order for you to remove them. With the height of your heels gone, you seem so much smaller than him as he looks down at you.
“I do not tolerate lying, milaya.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr Morozova. I can move my things out now-”
He presses his thumb against your mouth, index finger curling under your chin.
“I do not want to hear another word from those pretty lips of yours. Safeword is shadow. Understood?”
Excitement sparks in your eyes as you realise what is happening, and when you nod obediently Aleksander feels his cock throb. He knows you will enjoy this. He knows your preferences - what you search for when you’re eager to get yourself off.
“Good girl. Now go pour me a drink.”
Aleksander settles down on his favourite armchair in the living room, watching as you unlock the alcohol cabinet and pour him a small sample of whiskey, the liquid falling smoothly into the crystal glass. He stretches his legs out; his knees always ache during the cold weather. Soaking in a hot bath with you is certainly an enticing thought - perhaps for tomorrow evening.
There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you hand him the glass.
“Thank you, milaya. Be a dear and take my shoes off - I can’t reach them too comfortably at my age.”
With fumbling fingers, you manage to untie his laces and loosen the shoes away from his feet, slipping them off easily enough. The sight of you between his thighs, kneeling on the ground is utter perfection. He smiles down at you, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.
“There’s a good girl. Place them in the hallway for me?”
In the time it takes you to move into the hallway and place the shoes down on the rack beside his front door, Aleksander has freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and underwear, hissing slightly as he grips himself.
When you return, the sight of him has your footsteps faltering in the doorway. He leans his head back, watching you through hooded eyes and a tense jaw. He sees your eyes widen, like a little deer in headlights. He sees your gaze flicker down to his exposed cock and your thighs tremble as they press against each other.
He tilts his head at you.
“Come sit on my cock, milaya.”
A slight shake of your head.
“It won’t fit.”
“Yes it will. Come here.” Still you don’t move. “I won’t ask again.”
His tone has you stumbling forwards.
As you struggle to straddle his lap, he pushes the hem of your dress, velvet smoothing easily upwards to reveal bare skin. The underwear you’re wearing is nice, though he knows you own much prettier sets. That knowledge reassures him that you hadn’t intended on sleeping with your date tonight.
Retrieving his drink from the table beside him, watching you with a self satisfied smirk as he lifts his glass to your lips.
“Some liquid courage for you.”
He breathes out a soft laugh when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste; evidently you must have swallowed more than you were anticipating.
“Now let’s have a look at what we have here,” he muses, pushing the gusset of your panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, flushed and glossy with arousal. A perfect little mess. “Have you been in this state since we arrived? Or during the car ride home?”
He can feel your body burning as you admit,
“Since dinner, sir.”
“Oh sweet girl, have I left you wanting?”
“Please,” you whisper weakly. He brushes the head of his cock over your quivering entrance, grinning at the sound of your whimpers.
“Let’s start with the tip, shall we?”
He begins to ease you onto his cock, stretching you out slowly and a small cry escapes from your lips at the sensation. Sweat glistens over your chest as you heave in a few hurried breaths.
Aleksander praises you with every inch, telling you how perfect you are as you writhe and buck against his hold. Once you’re fully seated on his cock, he runs his hands over your thighs soothingly, encouraging you to relax as your cunt continues to twitch around him.
He tugs the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts for him to fondle freely. His hands wander over your body, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Almost absentmindedly, he begins to play with your nipples, pressing kisses from your forehead down to your jawline.
“Such a pretty sight. How are you feeling, my love?”
“So full,” you whine, on the verge of tears. “So good. Aleksander.”
“That’s it, darling.” He holds onto your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”
A weak shake of your head that doesn’t convince him. He suspects you can’t even convince yourself that you don’t want this. Nevertheless, he can’t help but argue with you.
“Who’s been housing you, and feeding you, these last few months?”
He watches your expression crumble in defeat, giving in to your desire.
“You have.”
“That’s right, milaya.” He grasps onto your hips, encouraging you to begin bouncing on his cock.“You have no idea..” The feeling of your cunt squeezing him like a vice makes him groan, hands gripping your trembling thighs. “…how difficult it’s been to resist buying clothes for you as well.” His words are breathless, panted out against your lips as he presses your foreheads together. “Dresses and skirts and pretty lingerie sets. But we have a wedding to save for, don’t we?”
His question seems to catch you off guard, as an obscene moan is ripped from the back of your throat. He rolls his hips upwards, notching the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you that makes you clench violently. Something akin to a sob heaves at your shoulders as you tremble.
“I’m going to spoil you, darling. I want my ring on your finger. I want you in white lace and diamonds.”
Aleksander moans at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He keeps one hand on your hip, occasionally stroking the tense muscles of your abdomen, the other hand cupping your face so that he can kiss you.
He sees your toes curl, calves twitching as your cunt pulses an erratic beat that makes pleasure rocket down his spine. Aleksander moans your name softly, over and over until you’re shaking with overstimulation as you near your climax. When you begin to plead, he hushes you soothingly.
He knows you haven’t touched yourself in quite some time. He knows that the orgasm you’re seconds away from will unravel you completely. He can’t wait to see it.
“Let go, milaya. I’m right here,” he says warmly as he reaches down to rub firm circles over your swollen clit. “Cum around my cock like the good girl you are. Let me have you.”
Aleksander would consider it something of a religious experience, watching you lose yourself to pleasure. To see something so intimate, so sacred, in such proximity, when he has only ever seen you through a screen for months. The orgasm that hits you is lengthy, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your cunt pulses around him. Every movement, every sound you make, is so breathtakingly beautiful that he stares openly at you with his lips parted in awe. His beautiful girl. His.
That final thought is what pushes him into completion, spilling inside you with a deep moan. He looks down at where the two of you are joined, admiring the glistening mess there. He kisses your forehead as you slump down against his chest. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you stare down at the buttons on his shirt, fidgeting with them absentmindedly.
“I can leave, if you’d like,” you suggest in a quiet murmur. He places his hands on your lower back, keeping you pressed to him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You would freeze out there.”
Aleksander lifts you upwards, squeezing your hips gently as he does so, and his cock slips out of you. He leans forwards, kissing you again as he tucks himself back into his trousers. He sucks on your lower lip, dragging it lightly between his teeth as he buttons up his trousers with one hand.
“Stay,” he says.
The smile you give him is shy as you nod, whispering,
“Okay.”
He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. Instantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, coiling yourself around him as he carries you up the stairs.
Some of his cum slips out of you, as he lowers you down onto his sheets. He presses his fingers against your cunt, pushing his spend back inside you where it belongs. A quiet groan catches in his throat at the sensation of your warm cunt clinging to his digits, desperate to keep him inside. He curls his finger, pressing his thumb against your clit.
Aleksander grins when you cant your hips forwards mindlessly.
“What a mess we’ve made. Let me clean you up, milaya.”
Then he ducks his head between your thighs and enters heaven.
»»---------------------►
Aleksander nudges the front door closed with his hip, his hands occupied by shopping bags. He kicks his feet together to dislodge some of the snow stuck to the sole of his shoes, wondering if you’re still asleep.
He finds his answer in the kitchen; you’re dressed in one of his t-shirts. At the sound of him approaching you turn, wide eyed as he stands in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair. He notices your tears immediately, staining your cheeks as you sniffle.
“Milaya?”
“I thought you left me.” The words wobble on their way out. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you’d left me.”
He lowers the bags, stepping towards you to take you into his arms. After the events of last night, it seems you’re in a somewhat fragile state. He folds his arms around you, giving your body a gentle squeeze as you press yourself tightly against his chest.
“The snow is getting heavy. I thought I would stock up on some essentials to last us until the weather improves,” he explains calmly. He hears how your breathing shakes with emotion. His clothes are still cold from his trip outside and you are delightfully warm. “As if I could ever leave you, my sweet girl.”
He kisses your forehead and your grip on him tightens.
“I’m here,” he murmurs gently, swaying the two of you from side to side as he strokes his hands down your body.
He ducks his head down, hooking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head backwards so he can kiss you properly. His lips move slowly against yours, palms cupping your cheeks tenderly.
He ensures that you remain attached to him as he puts the perishables away, your arms looped around his neck and your body nestled into his side. Then he abandons the rest of the shopping, opting to bend you over the kitchen countertop, shoving his trousers down so that he can drive his cock into you.
He heaves a sigh of relief at the sound of your breathy gasp, kissing over your neck as you scramble for purchase against the marble.
“That’s it,” he breathes out with a smile, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of your throat. “Isn’t that better?”
Aleksander grips at your waist, dragging you towards him, delighting in your moans as he rolls his hips forwards. He curls a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to bring your attention to his face. His nose grazes against yours as he insists,
“I meant every word I said last night.”
He leans in, kissing you throughly until he has to stop and breathe. Lowering his hand, his fingers circle your clit, causing you to jerk forwards with a soft moan as he sucks on your lower lip.
Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1 ... Chapter 8, check out the story tag for all the chapters)
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: buggy x afab!reader, this chapter is SFW, alcohol, buggy doesn’t know how to handle compliments, no use of y/n
A/N: Because of @mmv-ymvm
Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @voloured
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The port town was brimming full of daily life, plus diversions to avoid the mundanity. Even with buskers luring the swimming crowd to pool together and dance in the cobblestone square, fresh food fried and eaten from wooden stalls at every corner, and an outdoor emporium of shops alternating between newly crafted goods and vintage finds, none of the hubbub was enough to keep your attention for long.
One line of thought refused to break away from the book shop you left behind. It threatened to stitch up ideas that you were not ready to piece together. With every tug on the seams, you walked faster and searched for something else to occupy your mind. Something that would let you continue believing it was only coincidence that you and Bu- your captain held shared interests in reading.
Soon you found a bar to feed you lies. A diversion was poured into a glass with a heavy hand and passed to your own grateful hold. The sharp taste of juniper berries overpowered the sweetness that would keep you stuck. You crinkled your nose as too much bright flavor flooded your tongue and sinuses. A cough refused to be suppressed in your throat and pushed it's way out your nose. With tears in your eyes and anxiety burning your face, you choked down the rest of your drink and held up a finger.
You'd need another - or two - to wash away your thoughts and sheer fucking embarrassment.
With your tongue numb from alcohol and talking too much about your predicament to the backside of the inattentive bartender, you made your way back to the ship. The sky was a blanket of gold and orange, tucking the sun into the horizon. The ship swayed softly on the incoming tide and you swayed softly on the uneven ground. Uncertainty floated just under the surface, low enough for you to ignore the feeling and step back into familiarity that you could hide within.
The familiarity didn't stay as a comfort, however. You entered your room, and closed the door on the thoughts running behind you, before noticing something unfamiliar. A piece of paper waited on your pillow. It sat politely among the mess of sheets. And on the unfamiliar paper was writing. Familiar writing.
The note was inked by a hand that previously filled the margins of books with you. A hand that commands a ship to navigate dangerous waters and to throw an all night party. A hand that shared childhood memories. A hand that wielded a pen as deftly as a knife. A hand that picked a flower from your hair and replaced it. A hand that helped you up in the book shop. A hand that finally validated all of the uncertainty and hope you carried all afternoon.
And with the answer in hand, the taut thread stitching together the story finally snapped.
"Sorry about what happened in the shop. I hope you recovered and aren't thinking about that funny sound you made.
I know you want the book, so come by my quarters at 9 and you can have it back."
With another funny sound breaking free from your throat, you crumpled the paper, hid your face in your hands, and muffled your groan. Fuuuuuck.
———
Buggy sat on his bed, forcing himself through the printed words. He was also chewing on his lip, tapping the pen against the side of the book, and jiggling the foot hanging off the edge of the bed. The contained but messy energy was needed to keep himself fully occupied. Rather than letting the spare thoughts stray back to the afternoon and the look on your face, he kept them busy with absentminded movements.
Rifling through the next few pages, Buggy figured he had plenty of time to finish reading this section. He'd be able to stick the book out in the hallway, in front of his door, and avoid seeing you face to face. Although maybe he'd listen through the door. Just in case.
Out of all the stories he's read, every emotional chapter and weighty paragraphs, tired and bleary eyes, or memories of teasing that was more taunting than playful, Buggy had never had more difficulty reading than he did tonight. Every time his pen hovered over the paper, his foot shook more and his bottom lip stayed clamped between his teeth. You knew who was behind these words. You knew it was him. The anonymity was gone and he…kind of liked it.
Maybe that wasn't the right word. Part of Buggy decided that you wouldn't show up. After finding out that you formed a casual relationship with the captain - that you were sharing and dissecting smut with a fucking clown - why would you even want to continue? You'd probably come get the book that put a distraught look on your face in town and then pretend as if you two were nothing more than people on the same shitty ship.
As painful as that thought was, at least Buggy's overactive imagination would have plenty to keep him occupied and agonized for far longer. He almost looked forward to obsessing over every future interaction and revisiting every moment you two spent together before this. Any bit of faux affection or interest he could pull out would be a soothing balm for the heartache.
Lost in the thoughts that got past all of his twitching boundaries, Buggy was startled by rapid knocking on his door.
"I'm busy!" Buggy shouted to the door, directing the annoyance from his pause in reading towards the interrupter, rather than himself.
The fiery feeling fell into a bottomless pit in his stomach when a response carried through the door.
"Reading a book?"
———
You stood outside Buggy's door full of nerves. Squeezing the hem of your dress, you considered knocking again or even testing to see if the door was locked. Sure, walking into someone's room uninvited was rude, but so was ignoring a visitor. He was taking too long to answer, after taking too long with a book he had to replace, and after asking you to wait too long to come by.
There was no way in hell you were going to sit idly in your room wondering if maybe there was still a chance that he wasn't the person you were swapping books with. Even with all of the evidence, you needed to have the book in your hand and see his writing in the margins. Then you could sit in your room and meltdown about every single thing you shared with your captain directly.
How you practically told him that you liked him. Sharing memories that made you cringe. You even wrote about things you liked and didn't like during sex. If you had any damn idea that you were sharing books with Buggy, you would have tossed this book into the depths of the ocean the moment you read the word "perky breasts."
The door swung open just as your panicked desperation threatened to spill over. The bubbling emotion was calmed by the sheepish pirate looking at you through the crack. Your eyes darted from his own, to the door that you wished was still closed, and back to him.
"…I think I'm early," you mumbled, "I can come back."
Great. Another awkward interaction. Fucking perfect.
"I'm almost done reading this chapter," Buggy said.
You nodded and died inside thinking about how you'd have to knock on this damn door again later. Maybe a rogue wave would hit the ship, sweep you away, and you'd live out the rest of your days on an island that this ship would never come near.
"You can wait, if you want. It's just a few pages."
Buggy opened the door wider. Warm amber light reached out to you, extending the invite. You watched as Buggy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn't wearing his heavy boots, and his socks were mismatched - one was a dingy white, and the other alternated between red and white. His button-up shirt was also striped, with the colors traveling vertically this time. It was partially undone, revealing his Adam's apple, collarbones, and a hint of blue body hair. He looked unkempt but comfortable. More comfortable than you felt alone in your room.
"Yeah, okay," you agreed. Hopefully he didn't notice how you spoke to his exposed chest.
The Captain's quarters. His bedroom. Buggy's room.
You had seen peeks when delivering messages and meals, but this was your first time inside. The wood was the same throughout the ship. The lamps were also the same. The air was the same, although the smell of whiskey and ash was stronger. And something else. A familiar scent. One that reminded you of a heavy coat, an orange hat, a crooked smile, and longing.
"You can sit…" Buggy's offer trailed off when realization blocked the path.
He gestured awkwardly to the only two spots currently available. The chair behind his desk (which was still littered with maps and reference books) and his unmade bed. Mostly unmade. There was a corner at the foot of the bed with enough unwrinkled spanse of blanket to give him some grace.
You could pick between a seat synonymous with power, or further invade Buggy's personal space. Actually, he had invited you in and to choose a seat. He welcomed you into is personal space and seemed open to sharing. It would be rude to decline, right?
Your stomach flipped with each step you took towards Buggy's bed. With your ass and thighs firmly on the patch of blanket, you thanked him and said something about being comfortable. A smile twitched on Buggy's lips and he made his way to the desk. Behind you, a hand zipped across the bed, nudging the blankets back into place and snatching up a pen revealed by the shifting blankets.
"Do you want a drink?" Buggy asked with a big grin, as if he was offering a treat sneaked from the cookie jar.
The drink gave you something to do - overthink how often you can take a casual sip and sneak glances at the captain while the glass was pressed to your lips. Buggy's private stash was spiced, smooth, and delicious. The flavor lasted in your mouth.
During your fourth or fifth very normal sip, you saw that the small portion of Buggy's face you could see behind the book was uncomfortably tight. His eyes were strained and squinted under unruly knotted eyebrows.
"Do you need more light?" you asked, looking around the room for something that could help.
"Hm? No, I'm fine," Buggy said while keeping his face buried in the pages. He blinked a few times and sighed.
You hummed an acknowledgment and took a drink.
Buggy turned a page. Then flipped it back.
You took another drink.
Buggy sighed and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking and groaning with the shift in weight. With his face towards the ceiling and eyes closed, you felt comfortable staring with a minimal amount of shame.
Your captain sucked his lower lip into his mouth, chewed it for a moment, then let it slide back out. Maybe it was a trick in the light, but his lips seemed to shine. And they looked so soft. You resisted the urge to mimic his movements, to momentarily imagine what his lips felt like. What is mouth would feel like against yours.
Time for a sip. And for another thought that you needed to push away. The idea of your lips touching the same spot that your captain's have before.
Fuck. Why were you getting worked up over the idea of an indirect kiss?
The taunting thoughts circled you, bouncing and rolling, but staying just out of reach of the safe spot on the bed. But they were there with promises to follow you back to your room later tonight. To tuck you under the blankets and cover you in their touch until you shook and shivered. Until your toes curled. Until you could only taste the hint of spiced alcohol and your captain's name on your tongue.
Your horny demons were scared into shadows by a deep rumbling. A resigned groan. Buggy was pinching the bridge of his nose, his head bobbing along to a silent conversation. He sat back up, glanced over at you before sliding his gaze behind you to the sound of wood scraping against wood. A disembodied hand whizzed past you and back to it's owner.
You watched as Buggy avoided looking at you. He feigned concentration as he stared pointedly at the book sitting on the desk and slipped on a pair of round glasses. His eyes drifted to the edge of the desk closest to you, before being reeled away. Like a fish exploring the reef, his darted back towards you. Buggy's attention lifted, finally settling on you. He looked at you over top of the glasses.
Tension was still holding his face hostage, but the hold had moved from his forehead and eyes down to his jaw. Almost as if Buggy was biting back words, holding in something he didn't want to say. Instead, he waited for you. For your cue.
You gave a small smile, a sign of deference to your captain. You weren't sure exactly what he expected from you, so you offered the only thing you could think of. The truth.
"They look nice." You pointed at your face then towards his.
The tension snapped, leaving Buggy nearly slack-jawed. He gaped at you. Whatever words he had been trying to swallow were gone entirely and his mouth was empty.
"Don't bullshit me," he finally croaked.
"I'm not! I like them. On you." A fire burned in the back of your throat and warmed your cheeks to a rosy red. "You look nice in glasses, Captain," you said candidly. "Dashing, handsome, intelligent…well-read."
If you were going to compliment Buggy, you were going to make damn sure he accepted it.
Buggy stared at you a little longer, searching for a crack he could pry open and pull the truth from. You kept your eyes on his and downed the last mouthful in your glass. The alcohol slid through your body. There were were no cracks. No leaks. You were honest.
"Whatever," Buggy mumbled before hiding his blushing face in the book. "Just a few more minutes."
You nodded, more to yourself than in acknowledgment of the update. Actually, the reminder that this would end soon was not something you wanted to accept yet.
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