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carelessannie · 3 years

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maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 8)

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: 10.1K

Starker, WinterSpider, SpiderShield, Peter x Clint x OFC

Peter’s POV -> it’s been a rough semester, and pack related stress isn’t making anything easier. Maybe a packmate (or the whole pack) can help him out?

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, explicit d/s abo smut, femdom, edging, face-sitting, come eating, uhhh light CBT and hair pulling, light bondage, subdrop, and non-apologetic long discussions of sex-ed

---

Maybe it goes like this:

There’s only a few weeks until finals, and of course this is when the pack has decided to move forward with officially mating and bonding. It’s not like Peter wants to postpone it, per se— it’s just, there’s so many steps involved with combining packs, and Peter can’t deal with dividing his attention between home and school.

And the lab. Dammit.

Until the end of their lease, his pack is living at their apartment during the week and at Tony’s place over the weekend. The whole upstairs of their house was built with bedroom suites, so each of them not only get a room of their own, but they have also built a makeshift nest upstairs that’s separate from Bucky’s nest downstairs. It’s been an easy transition this way— taking claim of a part of Tony’s home before a more intimate bond takes place— but Peter feels more and more stressed out as the weeks pass.

Currently, he’s staring at a screen in the lab, failing to comprehend any of the information in front of him. Over winter break, Peter was moved to a permanent position in a lab away from Tony. Pepper had insisted on it since they started getting serious, and Peter agreed. It was unprofessional to do that much cuddling at work.

The one downside now is that work has become mind-numbingly boring for most of the day. After this semester, Peter can transfer back to working in chemical engineering, or mechanics. Or even robotics. And after spending the last few months in software development and computer science, Peter is so ready for the change.

He checks the clock for the third time in the last five minutes. Still four o’clock. Still the same information in front of him.

If he squints hard enough, the code on his computer looks like Hieroglyphics.

“To- neeeey,” he whines, turning fully to face the Beta, “thank god, I’m dying. I can’t go on.”

There are a few snickers from other scientists in the lab, but Peter could care less as he watches Tony’s face crumble, “Oh sweet baby, come here,” and he opens his arms, pulling Peter in for a hug.

It only lasts a few moments, but Peter absorbs as much of Tony’s scent as he can while the Beta rocks him back and forth, stroking down his back and kissing whispered reassurances into his hair. He holds onto Tony’s tie, using it as leverage to stand up and nose around his collarbone.

Tony laughs and murmurs, “That tickles, Pete,” but Peter ignores him, dotting small kisses up the side up his neck until he can smell HappyArousedCalm coming off of his Beta.

There’s a hitch in Tony’s breath after Peter nibbles on his pulse point, “Need something from me, Omega?”

Peter hums, even as Tony pulls away slightly, “Yes, Beta,” he pauses as Tony tilts his head expectantly, “I need you to take me home.”

He watches Tony laugh, stepping back and looping an arm over Peter’s shoulders, before calling out to the room, vaguely, “Whoever’s in charge here, I’m taking him home. Because I’m actually in charge here. Okay— have a good weekend, goodbye.”

He’s towed away, barely sparing a second to grab his phone and shut down his station. They practically run out of the building— holding hands and laughing wildly as they throw their jackets into the back of Tony’s car and jump in the front seats.

“So— what are we doing with the long weekend, Tony?”

Tony starts the car, pulling out into the city, “I thought we’d go out for dinner and spend the evening in with our pack— how does that sound?”

“ Ooo,” Peter claps his hands, “that sounds perfect, Tony, oh my goodness. What do you have in mind?”

“How does seafood sound? I have a place I’ve been dying to take you.”

Peter turns, grabbing his boyfriend’s arm, “Where? Tony, where are we going?”

“Nope, not this time,” Tony shakes his head, weak, “it’s gonna be a surprise, dammit.”

“I’ll get it out of you— no secret is safe around me, Tony Stark.”

He winks and blows a kiss when Tony looks over, and the man looks terrified. Peter laughs, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of the center console and reclining back in the seat. It’s a little chilly still in early April, but the change of season means more sun, and the Omega is happy to roll up his dress shirt sleeves and bask in it like a pampered cat.

The drive passes comfortably and Peter adores sitting next to his handsome Beta— the whole world seeing that Tony is spoken for and claimed by the young Omega on his arm. Peter never thought he’d want to be a trophy Omega— and, technically, he isn’t— but something about being pampered and loved by the most powerful man in New York City has him preening where he sits.

He’s thankful the windows are down, or Tony would be able to smell it on him.

They pull around 59th and up to the curb across from Central Park. Tony exits the driver’s side, throws his keys to a waiting driver, and rounds the car to open Peter’s door. He steps out and grabs their jackets from the back seat, handing over Tony’s as the two of them link arms and hop onto the sidewalk.

“Where to, Tony?” he blinks up at his date, smiling innocently.

Tony hums, distracted, “Marea, just through the—”

“— Aha! —”

“— dammit! No! That doesn’t count!”

“Yes it does! I win,” Peter skips forward, doing a little dance in victory.

He feels Tony catch him around the waist, nuzzling into his neck, and knows the Beta is enjoying his HappyOmega scent. The two of them joke and tease for the rest of the walk into the restaurant, but Peter notices something as they walk through the door to be seated.

“Uh, Tony?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Where is everyone?” he asks, gesturing around the empty room.

Tony looks around and gives him a suspiciously innocent face, “Well... they may not be open, officially, for another hour.”

He tries to pull them further into the room, but Peter is frozen— speechless.

“Don’t give me that look, baby, I made some calls today and everything’s set, I’m paying for the extra hour, the service and the meals—”

“Tony,”

“— and even extra for the inconvenience, okay? I just wanted to treat you—”

Peter grabs his shirt collar, shutting him up with a kiss. Tony inhales against Peter’s lips and immediately takes control, snaking his hands up into Peter’s hair and pulling gently, tipping his head back to deepen the kiss. Their lips move together, perfectly synchronized, and Peter opens his mouth in an invitation. Tony just chuckles— briefly licking underneath his upper lip before pulling away and looking at Peter with a mixture of awe and amusement.

“You never have to justify treating me, Tony. I feel so special when you do,” Peter reaches up to brush his fingers through Tony’s short hair, feeling safe and warm in his hold.

The older man just grins, eyes bright, and leads them to their seats. Right in the center of the Ravello Room, their table has been set and lit with candles— a bottle of wine is chilling in an ice bath, and the maître d' stands nearby, greeting them and explaining the menu for the afternoon.

When she walks away, Tony reaches over and grabs Peter’s hand. They sit like this through the first two courses, and Peter’s content to share each of them with Tony, even if that means being basically hand fed by his boyfriend.

And it’s pretty hard to hand feed someone oysters.

The food is incredible, though, and their conversation is even better. Peter tries not to complain about work and school, but even when he inevitably does, Tony is patient and listens. He asks questions when necessary, and they even work through a few solutions to tougher problems together.

“I guess... I wish a few of the things with our pack were more definite,” Peter picks at his meal, separating the shrimp from the pasta.

“What do you mean, baby?” Tony asks, reaching over to steal a piece of shrimp.

Peter tries to defend his plate, jabbing at Tony’s hand with his fork, but misses. His pout deepens, “I dunno. I wish it wasn’t still up in the air who’s going to bond. I wish I knew how synchronizing goes, with our heats. I wish there was more communication about sex, and scenes, and who’s comfortable with what. I wish I knew the timeline,” he shakes his head, finally putting his fork down, “I don’t know, Tony, it just feels so out of control most of the time, I don’t know how to handle it.”

“I don’t think you can control it, sweetheart. There are six different people in this pack, and fifteen different individual relationships. Plus, two unique pack dynamics that need to merge. It’s uncomfortable, Petey, and it’s gonna take time.”

“I know that, Tony, it’s just… I’m supposed to be the center of this pack, and some days I don’t even know if you want to bond with me, so how—”

“I do.”

“— am I… what?”

“I do want to bond with you. God, I want nothing more in the world,” Tony reaches up to cup his cheek, “I can’t believe you doubted that, Peter. You know I love you, right?”

“I… I don’t…”

Tony’s eyes start to tear up, and he looks absolutely devastated, “I’m so sorry, baby. Dammit— I love you. I am completely gone on you. Every day I have to stop myself from keeping you all to myself; running away and starting a familial pack, just the two of us. There are so many steps: mating and bonding and collaring and marrying, and Peter— I want them all with you.”

Peter’s vision is blurry, tears falling freely as he frantically tries to wipe them away, “Tony, I— I had no idea. You never… we didn’t… I just assumed that we were getting there, you know? I’ve never been in love before, Tony—”

“It’s okay, Peter, you don’t have to—”

“— but I am in love with you. God, we’re stupid, aren’t we?” both of them laugh, wet and joyful, “everything’s just so confusing right now.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Tony coos, pulling on Peter’s wrist until he’s up, out of his seat, and moving to sit across Tony’s lap. He loves that when he sits like this and curls up, his head fits perfectly under Tony’s chin, and his mate’s arms wrap soundly around his waist.

“Da— Tony,” Peter whines, barely catching the slip up— not time for that conversation yet, Pete— as Tony holds him tighter.

“Need me to help you, baby?” Tony murmurs right next to his ear, making him shiver, “you know, you don’t have to do it all alone.”

“I know— Steve is supposed to help—”

“Not just Steve,” Tony grips his arms, looking him in the eye, “all of us. Especially me. I want to help you. Will you let me?”

It’s a heavy question, Peter knows. He knows that he needs help— but trusting someone else to do the work and do it right… only Clint, Annie and May are close enough for that. And barely so. It takes a lot for Peter to trust, it’s uncomfortable. But if he claims to love Tony—

“Yes, Beta. I need— I need your help.”

The restaurant around them is forgotten as Tony whispers, “Good boy,” and Peter starts to float, only tethered down by the warmth of his mate’s arms, the scent of Cinnamon and smoky Bonfires holding him together.

“Eat this, baby,” and he opens his mouth, biting down obediently. It’s chocolatey and creamy and crunchy— he has to focus on chewing, and Tony’s fingers around his mouth and on his arms are helping to pull him back up. “Stay up for me, Peter. I’m gonna talk and then we’ll have a conversation, baby.”

Peter finds himself switching focus between eating the dessert and following Tony’s story about… his mom? And a secret hideout?

“— mom could never find me, but, I don’t know, I don’t think she ever tried, you know? It wasn’t that hard to find.”

“She probably knew and just wanted you to have a place to yourself,” Peter mumbles into Tony’s neck.

Tony pulls him away, holding him at arm’s length and looking into his eyes for a long moment.

“You up, Pete? Ready to talk?” he asks, and Peter nods, moving to get off Tony’s lap. The older Beta lets him, and Tony stands up to move their chairs closer together. When Peter sits down, Tony immediately takes his hand and continues eating like nothing happened.

“Okay— I’m gonna start. First, we need to talk about your pack Pete. I know Bucky’s gonna want to bond with everyone, he’s told me as much, but especially you and Annie need to decide who you’re bonding with. Have you talked to Steve at all about it?”

“Yes, we’ve been going on dates, and... everything is so natural with Steve, which I guess makes sense since we’re so compatible,” he pauses, thoughtful, “I think I want to bond with everyone, too. I can’t speak for Annie, but I think you and Steve are the only ones who she’s hesitant about.”

“I get that. Have the three of you talked about going to the O clinic?”

Peter gives an affirmative hum, “Yes, but Tony… I don’t think Bucky’s ever been. I mentioned going together, and he looked so confused.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Tony chuckles to himself, eating the last bit of his mousse and wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I’ve never seen him go to an Omega doctor… I think he’s had a semi-permanent suppressant implant since he presented.”

“Well, yes. I do, too, but hasn’t he been sexually active with multiple partners for like… years? You’re saying he’s never had a pregnancy scare? Never had an internal exam or pap—”

“Uh… I don’t—”

“What about an STD test, Tony? Have any of you guys ever been tested? I swear, what on earth were you doing before us—”

“Okay, okay— to be fair, it’s worked so far. And Steve makes us all go to our primary care and the dentist once a year. It’s like… hell week. When all of us have appointments.”

Peter buries his face in his arms, groaning at the utter idiocy of his future bondmates, “Thank god I met you, Tony. You guys are worse than Clint,” he laughs a little bit, picking up his head and glancing over at his properly chastised boyfriend.

Reaching out, he gives Tony a boop on the nose, startling him out of his sad expression, “I’ll talk to Bucky, okay? Annie and I are going to the O clinic next week, and we’ll help him make an appointment. They’re flexible about pack stuff, I think. And… I guess we’ll talk to the doctor about the steps we need to take to bond.”

Tony makes a flicking motion with his hand, and Peter sees the maître d' walk across the room and silently collect the black card Tony hands her.

“Sounds good. Let’s talk about the rest on the way back, okay? I’m gonna call Steve and see if he wants us to pick them up anything to eat.”

While Tony makes the call, Peter thinks through a few of the questions he has. He’s thankful for their overall dynamic and compatibility, but there are so many variables and unspoken limits—

“Tony?” Peter tries to interrupt, tapping on his arm, “hey, Tony? Can I talk to Steve?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Tony responds, turning back to the call, “yeah, Steve? Peter wants to talk to you… okay, okay here he is,” Tony hands over the phone with a brief, “here ya go, baby.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hi sweetheart! What’s going on?” Steve sounds like he’s in the car, probably heading home from work.

Peter glances at Tony’s questioning expression before answering Steve, “Nothing bad, Alpha, no worries,” he ducks his head, a little embarrassed at his small smile. The low rumbly voice hasn’t failed to affect him yet, “I’m wondering if we could have a talk tonight. You know, as a pack.”

“Of course, Peter. What do you want to talk about?”

“I think we need to discuss sex,” Peter says, bluntly, and has to keep himself from laughing as Tony’s eyes almost pop out of his head, “specifically, we need to talk about scenes and dynamics— especially before everyone bonds this summer.”

He hears Steve clear his throat before responding, “O— okay, sweetheart. We can do that. Do you feel comfortable leading this conversation tonight?”

“Yes, Alpha, I’d like that.”

“Okay, thank you for bringing this up, Peter. Bucky mentioned something similar this week, but I just haven’t thought too much about it. You’re stepping into this role so beautifully, Peter, and I’m constantly awed by you.”

“Oh— well...” Peter feels his face flame red, and he puts a hand up to hide from Tony, “th— thank you, Alpha.”

Steve laughs— a low, rumbling sound even over the phone, “You deserve it, sweet Omega. Let me talk to Tony, and I’ll see you tonight.”

Peter mumbles his goodbye and basically throws the phone back to Tony, who takes it with a curious look, “What did you say to him, Alpha? He smells so sweet… oh, really? Mhm… I know he is, he’s my soulmate, Steve…”

After that, Peter tunes out the conversation and hides his face in his hands. These doms are really trying to kill him with the constant praise. They haven’t even had a proper scene together— he hasn’t even kissed Steve, for goodness sake— and they are already onto the things that make him tick. Is he really that transparent?

On the way back home, Tony stops briefly to pick up a take-out order of Chinese food. They don’t talk about the pack again— but it’s okay. Peter feels like everything that needs to be said will be brought up tonight.

---

One of his favorite things about their combined pack is spending evenings together. All six packmates sit in the living room, eating take-out and sharing quiet conversation. Every so often, an innocent argument will break out— usually between Tony and Clint— and the volume level will raise. But for the most part, all of them are content to touch, and eat, and snuggle in close stillness.

“Did Bucky pick out these couches?” Annie asks, sitting on the loveseat with Steve while the other four packmates squish together on the larger couch. She keeps grabbing his muscles, and Peter can tell their Alpha loves showing off for the pretty Omega.

Bucky is sitting on the floor, leaning back in between Tony’s legs. Both Betas have an arm around Peter, and he sits in the middle of them on the couch, reaching over every so often to play with Bucky’s hair.

The question makes Bucky look up, jostling the couch behind him and almost overturning Clint’s bowl.

Tony answers first, “Kind of. We all picked out the furniture together, but Bucky did have the final say.”

“Damn right I did,” Bucky says around a mouthful of noodles, “gotta be comfy for the whole pack. Tony wanted these ugly leather things,”

“Hey! They were tasteful—”

“— I’d rather sit on a concrete slab, Tony, they were so bad—”

“Steve, you liked the leather couches, right?” Tony tries to get the Alpha’s support,

“Uh,” Steve looks between his packmates, “I liked them until Bucky vetoed.”

Bucky lets out a whoop! in victory, and both Clint and Annie dissolve into laughter as Tony sinks back into the couch, pulling Peter in close for comfort.

Tony turns to Peter, “You like my couches, don’t you, baby?”

Shifting to face the Beta, Peter makes a small cooing noise while reaching up to stroke his hair, “I love you, Tony— but I’m on Bucky’s side. I like these ones.”

With a gasp, Tony practically dumps Peter off the couch, “Betrayal! My own mate betrays me!”

Bucky finishes pulling him off the couch, hauling the smaller Omega into his lap with a greasy kiss on the cheek. Peter can’t help but giggle as his Beta pouts and lets Clint pull him in for a hug, whispering to Tony that no, leather couches actually sound fuckin’ awesome.

Peter turns sideways, looping his arms around Bucky’s waist and tangling their legs together as Bucky continues to eat. He feels a familiar hand in his hair and hums, happy to have Tony’s touch back, even if it’s reluctant.

After another half an hour, Annie and Steve get up to clear the dishes, talking softly and spending a few extra minutes in the kitchen cleaning up. Peter takes this as his cue to start their conversation. He moves to a large, chaise barrel chair, facing the couches, and waits for everyone to grab their drinks and settle down.

When Steve walks back in the room, Peter extends his hand— an invitation that the Alpha takes and gently rearranges them to sit together on the sofa. He watches as Clint opens his arms and Annie runs to join the rest of the pack on the long couch.

The room gradually quiets down, and Steve clears his throat, getting their attention. Peter gives him a quick peck on the cheek and addresses their pack, “So I realized today, while I was talking to Tony, that we should probably have a serious talk about sex before moving in together and bonding, uh... forever.”

A few of them chuckle, but the room feels uncomfortable. Peter looks to Steve for help,

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be important that we have open communication about this,” Steve continues, “especially ‘cause our separate packs already have established dynamics and such. Uh,” he looks at Peter, shrugging, “maybe it would be easiest to talk now about personal preferences for scenes, and later we can share official limits? I have paperwork!”

Both Bucky and Clint groan— causing Steve to roll his eyes— but Tony interjects, giving Peter a secret wink, “Should we update our existing papers, Steve, or just use the old ones?”

“Probably update them. I assume you guys have your own contracts, right?” he asks, turning to Peter.

“Yes, but it’s mostly non-intimate stuff. We only scene if I really need to go down, and we rarely do intimate scenes,” both Clint and Annie nod in agreement, “Oh! Plus we’ll need to talk about heats, too.”

“Have y’all hadda heat together yet?” Bucky asks, motioning toward Annie and Peter.

Annie answers, “No, we’ve both been on suppressants since before we met. I only had three heats before I went on them.”

“I only had one— I presented late,” Peter adds,

Bucky nods, “Okay, yeah I only had one in high school.”

“And none of you have shared a heat with someone before?” Tony asks, giving Bucky’s shoulders a squeeze.

There’s a resounding no from all the Omegas, and Steve lets out a long exhale, “Are you guys plannin’ on goin’ to the Omega clinic?”

“Yeah,” Annie confirms, “we have an appointment on Monday.”

Peter looks over at Bucky who’s looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes, “Can you come with us, Bucky? That way we can talk to the doctor together.”

“Yeah, I’ve just… I’ve never—”

“It’s okay,” Peter stops him, “we’ll do it together.”

Tony reaches down and pulls Bucky up by the armpits, earning a squawk of surprise as he’s wrestled into Tony’s lap. Everyone laughs a bit as Bucky struggles and eventually submits to Tony’s hold on his waist, relaxing with a sigh.

The rest of the conversation is awkward, but easy. Each of them talk a little bit about their orientation and what they prefer in their current pack dynamics. For Peter, it’s interesting to hear from his Versatile packmates about their experiences swinging dominant and submissive. Bucky has spent almost six years being Steve’s submissive and three years submitting to both his Alpha and Beta, so it’s uncomfortable and different for him to be dominant in a relationship, since he’s never had to dominante a partner before.

In contrast, both Annie and Clint have experiences swinging both ways in their relationship with each other and with Peter. Clint has reservations about permanently swinging dominant, because of his past with abusive dominants, and similarly doesn’t want to swing permanently submissive. Annie feels comfortable both ways, which is something Peter already knew. She is very vocal about her preferences.

Peter shares about what it’s like to be a SubOmega, and his preferences during a scene— which, at this point, are very few. He lost his virginity to Clint and Annie, and has never taken a knot before. He smells SmugHornyAlpha coming off of Steve after this confession, and giggles slightly as Steve shamefully apologizes.

Steve and Tony both keep their time short. Peter knows a bit about Tony’s past, and knows he’s been in an intimate and unique familial pack before. Steve and Bucky have both been in other relationships, but only Steve was sexually active before they officially got together.

Possibly the most interesting part of the conversation is learning about how Steve and Tony balance being Dominant over the same Submissive.

“I think the most important part is to realize that Dominant, Submissive, or Versatile, the purpose of our orientation is all the same: service to others,” Steve explains, holding Peter tight around the waist, “so whether it’s five Doms and one Sub in a room, or a balanced pairing— Tony, Bucky, and I have all decided to love and serve each other. To put one another first. And because of this, our scenes are always fun and satisfying.”

“Ya soun’ like ‘n infomercial, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles, eyes blinking slowly— dangerously close to sleep.

“Shaddup, jerk— you know it’s true. Our scenes always build trust and support between us. And that’s what I want for our intimate pack.”

A few voices hum their agreement, but with a glance around the room, Peter realizes most of them are falling asleep. He yawns and pulls on Steve’s sleeve, getting his attention.

“Alpha, can we finish this later?”

Steve hums, distracted, and then suddenly focuses, his hum shifting— changing to a deep, rumbling growl. It startles Peter into looking up, and the Alpha’s eyes are half-lidded, dark and intense. Peter’s breath picks up. He watches as Steve moves closer, reeling him in, and leans to press his nose against the base of Peter’s throat.

Peter keens, and lets his body go limp in the strong, safe arms of his Alpha. He feels each of their breaths align, he feels their hearts beat together. He’s not sure what he smells like right now, but assumes it compliments Steve’s ProudContentStrongAlpha scent pretty well.

It doesn’t matter, though, because there’s a cloud at his back.

Gentle fingers run through his hair.

He feels the shuffle of clothes against his skin.

Floating, weightless.

---

It’s light when he wakes up again, surrounded by warmth and the sound of gentle snoring. He knows who he wishes were next to him, breathing into his neck. Drooling down his neck.

“Clint, my god,” Peter pushes at the big Beta, trying to get him to roll over, but only gets a loud snore in response.

He flops back down and tries to scoot the other way, happy to burrow into Annie’s soft curves, trailing his freezing fingertips up her hips and underneath her t-shirt—

She gasps awake, “Peter! Dammit!” and tries to squirm away from him as he cackles, waking Clint up with a snort.

“Wha— what,” Clint flails around, aimless, as Annie shoves Peter his way. One of his arms catches Peter across the back of the head, and the small Omega yelps in pain.

“Ouch, Clint. The hell?”

“Aw, poor baby,” Annie coos, pulling Peter into an octopus embrace and incidentally shoving his face right in between her breasts, “I’ll make it better.”

Mngh mmngh mngghh, Peter tries to beg Annie, and she finally releases him to heave a deep breath of relief, “You trying to kill me, woman?”

“No, Petey, just suffocate you a little bit.” Annie gives him a shark’s grin and starts to crawl towards him on her knees. He retreats, scrambling backwards until his back hits Clint’s chest and the Beta pulls his arms behind his back, holding him still.

Peter struggles, grunting, “Hey! What is this? Let me go, Clint,” but there’s no mercy as Annie finally reaches him, kneeling between his legs and leaning forward to kiss his nose.

“Wanna play, bunny?” she purrs, trailing a finger down his chest, clothed in a loose t-shirt, down to the waistband of his tight, black briefs. He can’t take his eyes off her face, and finds himself nodding in a daze, entranced by her wicked smile.

She looks over his shoulder and tilts her head at Clint, and he stutters, “P— please, Omega,” the desperation in his tone making Peter tremble.

“Good boy, birdy,” Annie mocks him, reaching around Peter to run a hand up Clint’s thigh and settling over his boxers, in between where he’s pressed up against Peter’s ass. She crawls a little closer, grabbing Peter’s chin and tipping his head up to look at her, “gimme a color, little bunny. Want me to make you both feel good— use his body to make you come?”

Peter struggles to blink, and his sight goes crossed for a second as he mewls, “Green, Omega.”

She keeps eye contact with Peter and asks Clint, “How about you, baby bird? Gonna keep you on edge, share your body with our sweet bunny, and control your pleasure. Color?”

Clint is physically shaking behind him, and he barely whispers, “Green, Omega, please,” before Annie is encouraging him to lean back against the headboard, shifting to hold Peter’s arms even further behind his back.

His Omega grabs him around the hips, and uses her knees to keep his legs spread.

“Strip him, birdy.”

The command is sharp and has Clint moving instantly, yanking Peter’s shirt up over his chest, and effortlessly moving his arms and legs to pull the shirt and his briefs off completely. Peter doesn’t have a moment to shy away from his Omega’s stare, because his arms are restrained again and she’s spreading his legs wide.

Clint’s breathing heavy on the back of his neck, and he can feel the Beta’s hardness pressed up against his back through the thin layer of boxer shorts, rutting against him lightly.

It seems that his Omega knows this, because she orders Clint’s clothes off next. Once they’re naked and rearranged to her liking, she runs a finger down Peter’s waist, scratching gently through the sparse hair above his cock, and feels underneath his balls, humming thoughtfully at the mess of slick she finds there.

He squirms as her small fingers trace around his rim, panting and throwing his head back at the tease. He hears her laugh and tries to hide his face in Clint’s neck, instead getting a whiff of HornyDesperateBeta scent from his mate.

His Omega dips the tip of one finger into his hole, up to the first knuckle.

“Play with his little titties, birdy,” she instructs, and immediately Clint readjusts his grip on Peter’s arms so that he can pinch and tug on the smaller man’s nipples.

“Oh, dammit, Omega more, please,” he begs, bucking into the torture across his sensitive chest and grinding down onto the finger inside of him.

“Patient, sweet bunny,” she shushes, pulling her finger out and swiping three of them through the slick leaking out of him. She lifts up her hand, acting surprised, “wow, feeling needy, little bunny rabbit? How about a taste?”

He nods his head yes, opening his mouth wide, but his Omega just shakes her head with a fake, sad pout, “Aw, baby— not for you,” and he watches as she reaches over, and—

— and feeds his slick, finger by finger, into Clint’s open mouth.

“That’s my good baby bird,” she coos, pushing her fingers in and slowly fucking his face with her hand. His eyes close in pleasure as he sucks desperately, eager to get all of Peter’s taste off of her fingers.

Peter whines as Clint pinches his nipple a little too hard, and his Omega turns her attention back to him.

“Hungry, baby bunny? Need something in your mouth?”

“Yes, Omega, please— anything, ‘m so empty—” he begs, and his Omega shushes him.

“Put your fingers in his mouth, birdy. I’m gonna put him on your cock.”

Both of them groan at her words, and he can feel Clint twitch against his back. The Beta reaches up and hooks two fingers into the side of his mouth, pulling slightly and forcing his head to tip backwards. He releases Peter’s arms and uses his left hand to flick across his nipples. Peter grabs at his thighs, desperate for control.

His Omega uses the distraction to work a second finger back into his hole, twisting and scissoring until Peter is grinding down, rhythmically, against her hand. His tiny, Omega cock is rock hard, and Clint has started alternating between flicking his nipples and his cockhead, making him cry out in torment.

She adds a third, and he begs around Clint’s fingers, “Oh— Omega, I can’t, please. Please, I need. I need—”

“Hush, baby bunny,” she shushes him, and Clint pushes his fingers deeper into Peter’s mouth, giving his cock a pinch with his other hand. Their Omega wipes away a few of his tears and pulls her fingers free, “why don’t you lift up, bunny?”

It’s torture. He can barely move, and his arms are trembling where they hold onto Clint’s thighs. After trying twice and failing to pick himself up, tears are flowing freely from his eyes and he looks to his Omega, blubbering, “I— I can’t,” sobs, “O— omega, please, I can’t!”

“Help him, birdy,” she instructs, leaning back to watch as Clint moves his hands down, cups under his ass, and effortlessly lifts him up. He cries harder, humiliated, as he feels Clint’s cock line up with his fluttering, empty hole.

There’s a soft hand on his cheek, and he realizes his Omega is waiting for something. He blinks through his tears, opening and closing his mouth— unsure of what she wants.

He must make a sad noise, because she’s quick to repeat, “It’s ok, Peter. Can you give me a color?”

Oh, okay. “Green, ‘mega,” he slurs, trying to give her a reassuring smile, and hears Clint whisper his agreement.

“Good boys, so good for me. Alright, birdy— you can lower him. Slowly.”

Peter lets his body go limp, helpless, as he’s worked slowly onto Clint’s cock. He feels every inch as his body is split in half for his Omega’s pleasure. For his pleasure.

Clint is shaking and panting, whimpering cries of please, Omega and holy fuck.

After a few long, agonizing moments, Peter is fully settled into Clint’s lap. The Beta is still cursing, and moves his hands from Peter’s hips to underneath his knees, pulling his legs back and exposing him wide.

“Fuck, Petey, how are you so fuckin’ tight, my god,” Clint breaths into his neck, and Peter rests his head back against the larger man’s shoulder, relaxing in his arms.

He feels a hand stroke up his tummy, and across his chest. His arms are moved again and settled onto the top of the headboard with a command of, “hold on tight, bunny.”

All of his focus is on obeying the command, so he almost misses his Omega’s next instructions—

“Baby bunny— you can come as many times as you’d like—”

— Peter whines in relief—

“— and baby bird, you can fuck him now,” Clint sighs, “but don’t you dare come, do you understand me?”

“Fuck, holy shit—” Clint curses, “green, Omega. Green, oh my god.”

The first thrust takes him by surprise. It’s almost like a levee breaks, something that was holding Clint’s hips back, and he pulls Peter up by his knees— like a fucking cocksleeve— and slams him back down on his cock with a howl.

All Peter can do is hold on as Clint begins an unforgiving pace, chasing his own pleasure. He feels the hands on his skin, the praises rolling over him, and he tries to say something but can’t, buried under pleasure and praise and—

— and he almost loses his grip on the headboard as his orgasm shakes through him. His lips open and close in a wordless plea as he clenches down on the thick cock still hammering into his hole, slapping wet against his ass.

His Omega moans her encouragement, “Fuck, baby, so good for me. Come for me baby bunny, so pretty, so good,” and he faintly feels her lips, her tongue, tracing around his cock and cleaning up the clear cum pouring out.

“Shit, Omega, I’m— I’m close, fuck,” Clint curses, still moving inside Peter even as he starts to shake from overstimulation.

“Absolutely not,” their Omega commands, standing up on the bed to move them. Clint drops Peter with a heave, both of them groaning as he bottoms out, and their Omega carefully moves his hands off the headboard, setting them back on Clint’s hips. She looks down into Peter’s eyes and then into Clint’s, “two more orgasms, birdy. Two more times— either me or him— and I’ll let you come.”

She kicks a leg over, stradling Clint’s face, and Peter realizes that at some point she took her panties off but left her shirt on. She’s beautiful, and he tries to say as much. Sadly, it just comes out as a choked gasp.

Clint’s pleas turn into moans as their Omega settles on his face, grinding down against his mouth with a firm grip in his hair. Using him. Clint flails, grabbing at Peter’s knees, and picks up where he left off, lifting him up and dropping him fully onto his cock, over and over.

Peter struggles to keep his eyes open, staring up at the vision of Clint licking, hungry into his Omega, but spiraling quickly, floating higher as he feels his orgasm build again.

Knock, knock.

“Fuck!” his Omega curses, and slaps Clint’s shoulder when he slows his pace, “keep going, they’ll go away.”

Clint hums and picks up his pace when—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Dammit,” their Omega jumps off of Clint’s face and looks into his eyes, “keep fucking him. There’s a reward in it for you if he comes before I get back,” and she jumps off the bed, grabbing a pair of their boxers on the way.

Clint resumes his pace, gathering both of Peter’s legs together in one of his long arms and using his free hand to turn Peter’s face, capturing his lips in a wet, sloppy kiss. Peter can taste their Omega on his lips, and suddenly his orgasm is right there.

“Clin’ oh, uh, uh, ‘m gonna,” he tries to warn, but it more or less comes out as a high pitched squeal.

“Yeah, pretty Omega, come on. Come for me. Come on Peter, give it to me, fuck, you feel so damn good, baby—”

His eyes roll back as the second orgasm overtakes him, shaking through his legs and bursting out of his chest in a desperate wail. Clint’s thrusts slow back down, but he barely feels them. He opens and closes his fingers, trying to hold on, and fails, floating high above his body. Below his body.

There’s a release of pressure.

Warmth shifts from his back to his side.

Small wet noises and low rumbles of begging.

His eyes blink open, soft and slow. He feels light. He feels empty.

As his vision starts to swim into focus, he realizes his Omega has moved him to the side. She’s now riding Clint into the mattress. Hard.

A flash of Clint’s face— it looks like he’s seeing heaven open— and Peter smiles, curling into the Beta’s side and clinging to one of his arms as he floats away again.

---

An hour later, Peter is up and cuddling with his pack. It took awhile to bring him back, but his pack let him float— content to relax in his submission and forget about the hundred other things going wrong outside their bedroom.

Turns out the interruption was Bucky, coming to check on them after hearing a “horrific dying animal noise.”

“Was it the noise I made or the noise Clint made?” Peter asks.

Clint rolls his eyes, and Annie answers, “Clint howled like a fucking Alpha when he dropped you on his cock.”

“Oh my— Annie!” Peter yelps, hiding his face in Clint’s arm as his mate cackles.

“You’re just too delicious, Petey. Couldn’t help myself.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but still nestles closer, “Did you float, Clint?”

“For a bit— definitely not like you did, Pete.”

“Hey,” Annie buts in, “drink this, Peter,” and she presses a bottle against his lips.

He takes a few moments to down the whole thing— he is exceedingly thirsty— before asking, “Did Bucky say anything?”

“No, he brought us water, though. And snacks. And then he ran away.”

Peter yawns and pulls Annie’s arm around him, “I wish he’d stayed to cuddle.”

His packmates snuggle in closer and pull up the blanket, cocooning themselves and drifting off for a nap before starting the day officially. When they wake up around noon, the first thing Annie does is call the Omega clinic to book Bucky an adjoining appointment with theirs.

Monday comes sooner than they expect, and all three Omegas pile into the small clinic for their appointments.

Peter keeps looking up at Bucky. The older Omega has been quiet since they left the house, and it’s starting to get concerning. Annie went into her appointment a few minutes ago, so the two of them are alone in the waiting room. He threads their fingers together, placing a small kiss on the back of his hand.

“Bucky?”

No response.

“Bucky? Buck? James? Jamie?”

At the last one, Bucky blinks a few times and shakes his head.

“Wha… what did you call me?”

“I— I don’t know, I was just trying to get your attention—”

“Only my parents ever called me Jamie,” Bucky says, looking down at Peter with wide eyes.

Peter tries to apologize, stuttering, “I’m so so sorry, Bucky, I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Pete,” Bucky squeezes his hand, “it’s okay, darlin’. I… I enjoyed it, is all.”

“... what?”

Bucky sighs, “Stevie called me Bucky for the first time when we were in middle school, ya know? I’d always been James or Jamie, but hated it when I was little. After that day, I only went by Bucky— I guess that was his claim on me, even back then. But now, it sounds good to be called Jamie by someone I consider home, alright?”

Peter scrubs at the tears forming in his eyes, looking up at Bucky as he asks, “I feel like home?”

“Yeah, Pete, you do. You don’t have to, but I’d love for you to call me Jamie. Damn... okay maybe that’s actually a bad idea, you know what, forget—”

“No, no,” Peter interrupts, “I’d love to call you Jamie. Really. We should… we should spend some time together. Like, alone together.”

Jamie finally smiles at this, nodding along, “I’d love that, Pete. Wanna go away for a weekend, or just spend a few days in my nest and kick everyone else out?”

“Either, but I’d like to do it before… before we have sex together. Or share a heat. I’d like to know you a bit more.”

“So no sex on our weekend away?” Jamie asks, and Peter looks up in surprise— and he’s laughing. Oh.

Peter gives him a light push, “I swear, you’re no better than Clint.”

Both of them end up laughing, leaning against each other and getting dirty looks from a few other patients that they ignore.

Within a few minutes, the nurses call their names and they go back for their appointments. Separately. Everything goes normally for Peter, but he can’t stop worrying about Jamie the whole time. He knows his scent must reek, but the doctor, thankfully, doesn’t comment on it. Once he’s given a clean bill of health, plus a negative pregnancy test, the nurses usher him into a larger exam room where Annie and Jamie sit waiting for him.

They take a few moments to scent each other, holding on tight, before specifically checking in on Jamie. They’re relieved to hear that his STD and pregnancy tests are negative, and all of them share details about their own exams, ultrasounds, and other blood work they had to do.

After a minute, there’s a knock on the door, and an older, female doctor enters the room.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Michaels,” she says sitting in the chair across from where they’re piled on the large exam couch, “I’m told you would like to talk about pack bonding today, correct?”

All of them exchange a look, but stay relatively silent. Great. Perfect time for them to swing submissive.

Doctor Michaels is patient, and Jamie finally speaks up.

“Yeah, Doc. We need’ta know how to bond. We’ve got an Alpha and two Betas at home who we want to bond with, but none of us have any idea what to do.”

She laughs lightly, politely, and Peter gets a whiff of sweet Omega scent from her.

“Here, all three of you take these booklets,” she passes them out, and Peter almost scoffs at the title: How to Make Your Forever, Last.

She continues on, “I’m sure you’ve had conversations with your whole pack about bonding, so the only reminder I’ll give is that a bond, when formed correctly between two consenting parties, will last indefinitely. If any of your bonded pack members were to leave and start a separate, familial pack, the bond you share will still remain and that member would be unable to rebond with another person. Understand?”

All three of them nod their heads affirmative.

“Good, now— are you all living together yet?”

“Yeah,” Jamie answers again, “we have a home and by the summer we’ll be livin' together permanently.”

“Okay, that’s imperative for testing compatibility and establishing territory. You will also need to set rules and guidelines for sexual intimacy, especially regarding gender dynamics and orientations. Speaking of which, do you have designated spaces for nesting and scenes?”

“We do. Right now, we have two nests, two dens, and two separate scene rooms. I think Stevie— that’s our DomAlpha— is plannin’ to build out a main den and the Omegas will rebuild one nest together durin’ a heat or somethin’.”

She hums in acknowledgement and makes a note, “Let’s talk about heats. I see here on your charts that none of you have shared a heat with a partner, is this correct?” they all nod, yes, “The only way a pack can bond is when an Omega mate is in heat. If all six of you are to share a bond, it will be strongest if the Omegas are synched. Have you heard this term before?”

Annie speaks up, “Once or twice. My mom used to talk about it— where Omegas off their suppressants and intimate together will get on the same heat cycle.”

“Right,” the doctor agrees, “you’ll need to go off your suppressants and wait two or three cycles before your bodies officially synch together. I’m going to suggest that each of those heats you spend with each other and try to keep other packmates from interacting unless absolutely necessary. It’s best that your hormones aren’t affected by other mates during this time.”

Jamie makes a small displeased noise, but quickly clears his throat, motioning for her to continue.

The doctor smiles again, “I know, it’ll be hard spending a few heats without your full pack, but truly, it will be for the best if you want to form a strong bond.”

“So,” Peter asks, “what about during the heat that we all have together? When we’re ready to bond— what happens then?”

“Well, it depends. I have to ask— will your bonded pack have a Dominant Alpha and Submissive Omega present?”

Peter nods, “Yes, me and Steve.”

“Okay, that will help the process significantly. You’ve probably already talked about your role as the cornerstone of the pack, but during the bonding process, it is essential that the two of you bond and knot first. It’s going to be hard for the other pack members to refrain from mating during that time, but it will help to establish an order of bonding before the occasion to curb any confusion during the hormone-fueled heats.”

“So, we have to… Steve and I have to bond before anyone else can?” Peter asks, avoiding his packmates’ attention.

“Yes,” the doctor agrees, “the whole pack can be with you, if you desire, but he will have to knot you and both of you exchange a secure bite on the neck before other packmates can join the process.”

The three Omegas shift uncomfortably at the description, and Peter slips his hand into Jamie’s, holding on tight.

“After this, just make sure all of the desired bonds are completed before the end of your shared heat. I assume your Betas know of their ability to satisfy an Omega during heat?”

“Uh…” Peter pauses, looking to Annie and Jamie, but both of them seem confused, “probably not?”

“It’s okay, it’s all in the booklet, too. Betas have the ability to help Omegas in their heats and Alphas in their ruts by simulating biological responses necessary for satisfaction in their partners. For instance— when the three of you enter heat together, your Beta packmates will both be able to knot you temporarily. It’s a shorter duration than an Alpha’s knot and only happens for the heat, but their semen still has calming properties, and under the right circumstances, can help an Omega conceive.”

At this, Jamie makes a sad noise that has both of them turning to him.

“Doc,” he starts, head down and body language tense, “is it true that only the Dominant Alpha and Submissive Omega can pup?”

Peter spins to look at him in surprise. What?

“Yes, after bonding, the cornerstone pair in the pack will undergo a hormonal shift in their reproductive system, creating a symbiosis and making it so that only their systems are compatible. The Alpha’s semen only works on the Omega’s uterus, basically.”

“How… wait, so— my body… what about Steve and Jamie? What about Tony?”

“I can only assume those are your other mates. It will still be possible for the two of you, James and Annie, to be impregnated by either of your Betas should the desire arise. Because of this,” she transitions, ignoring the ShockedDevestatedUpsetOmega scent overtaking the room, “I will still keep all of you on contraceptives unless you are wanting to conceive during your first heat. Is this okay?”

They nod, wordless and still shocked.

“Perfect. And lastly, what is the general timeline for bonding? I need to know in order to schedule appointments to retract the semi-permanent suppressants.”

“It’s,” Jamie clears his throat, “it’s as soon as possible, I think. We wanna be bonded this summer.”

“Great, then we can remove the suppressants today before you leave. Are there any other questions you may have for me?”

They shake their heads, no, and she excuses herself from the room, promising to send a nurse to complete the procedures.

When the door shuts, the three of them crowd together, hooking their chins over shoulders and shifting into each other’s laps. Peter feels Jamie grip him tight, and looks into his eyes, which are glazed over and blown wide.

He’s dropping, Peter thinks to himself, and he’s dropping dominant.

Because of this, it isn’t surprising that Jamie growls when the nurse enters the room. Peter shushes him, lacing their fingers together, and the nurse waits for their permission before approaching the chair where they sit.

The nurse pulls out a few of the tools, and asks them, “Alright, who wants to go first?”

Jamie growls again, but answers, “I will,” before lifting his shirt, giving her access to his suppressant site.

They watch as she squeezes around his stomach, feeling for the insertion. His face is screwed up in discomfort, breathing heavily.

She finds the site, a small bump underneath his skin that feeds directly into his endocrine system, and squeezes it towards the surface of his skin. Grabbing the syringe, she warns him about the sharp pain and quickly inserts the needle, puncturing the suppressant site, and injecting a clear liquid. Jamie hisses through his teeth, clamping down hard on Peter’s arm, as the nurse changes out her tool and attaches a suction to his stomach, turning on the corresponding machine that starts to massage his skin.

“It’s going to break apart the remaining parts of the suppressant site, and it will be absorbed into your system with little side effects,” she says, turning off the machine and starting to sanitize it again.

“Alright,” she turns back with a new syringe, “who’s next?”

---

“I’m never goin’ back to that damn clinic ever again.”

After their procedures, Jamie had towed both Omegas out of the clinic and back to the car, throwing them in the backseat, buckling their seat belts, and taking off towards their house.

Annie tries to get his attention, “Bucky, we should probably call—”

A deep, feral growl cuts her off, and both Omegas remain silent for the rest of the ride. Peter pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Steve, letting him know about Jamie’s drop. He also texts Tony and Clint, asking both of them to be ready to help when they get home.

Jamie isn’t driving fast— honestly, he’s probably going under the speed limit— but Peter and Annie are still holding on tight to each other, struggling to keep themselves from dropping submissive as Jamie pumps AggressiveUpsetDistressedOmega scent into the car.

When they pull up, Jamie is immediately around the side of the car, hauling both of them out of the back seat and stalking towards the front door with a low, persistent growl.

Before they even reach the door, Steve steps out with Tony and Clint not too far behind him. Jamie lets out a louder growl, straightening up, shoving both Omegas behind him— facing the Alpha head on. Steve steps closer, meeting his challenge,

“Stand down, Bucky.”

The command washes over all of them, and Peter feels his knees give in, crumpling to the ground. He can’t tear his eyes away from his Alpha— standing in front of Jamie with an expectant look on his face and ordering him to his knees in submission.

He sees Jamie finally collapse, sinking to his knees in front of their Alpha, and then there’s suddenly a set of hands on his shoulders.

“Peter, come with me, baby,” Tony croons into his ear, and he nods his head, letting his Beta scoop him up and carry him away, far away, into the house. They settle onto the nesting couch, and Tony starts to wrap him in blankets, whispering sweet encouragements into his ear that make Peter feel safe and warm.

Distantly, he hears sniffling and crying. Tony takes a moment to help him drink water, and he hums his appreciation.

“Tony?” he whispers, cursing himself quietly for how weak he sounds,

It surprises his boyfriend, though, and he’s immediately shifted to stare deep into his Beta’s eyes, “Yes, baby? Are you okay? What happened?”

He ignores the question for now, “Where’s Annie? And Jamie? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, they’re fine. Steve’s got Bucky in the den and Clint has Annie up in your nest.”

“Oh, okay,” he closes his eyes, “I’m fine, Beta. We had a rough time at the clinic— they gave us a lot of information and then we had a painful procedure to get our suppressants removed— and I think that caused all of us to drop.”

“I can tell, Pete. I’ve never seen Bucky challenge Steve like that before— it was quite a sight.”

Peter sighs, “I think he felt like we were in trouble. I should be with him.”

“No, not right now,” Tony’s tone is firm, “we can talk tonight, but right now he needs to spend time with our Alpha.”

“Beta, I need to talk to you about something,” he whispers, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. Tony grabs his chin, not letting him get away, while motioning for him to continue, “the doctor said… she said I can’t have your pups, Tony.”

His tears start to gather in his eyes, and Tony wipes them away tenderly,

“I know.”

“... you know?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but we figured it out a few years ago when the boys were courting me.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t— no, I’m really sorry, I really am Peter. I would have told you before we bonded if the doctor hadn’t mentioned it today. Bucky is devastated that he can’t have Steve’s pups—”

“I know—”

“And— oh, okay. So I can assume that’s one of the things that set him off?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “You think, Tony?”

“Damn, okay, I’m really fucking this up,” Tony scrubs his face, “Peter. I’m… you gotta know, baby, that I love you regardless. So does Steve. None of us expect pups from you, and you know that you don’t have to bond with Steve, right?”

“Stop it, Tony. I heard the news and then got my suppressant removed. I made this choice. I’m just pissed that we got so far without anyone bringing it up. I mean— we’re already living here! Dammit Tony, you asked me to trust you and I’m trying.”

“And I know that, sweetheart,” Tony says, caressing a thumb across Peter’s cheek, “I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, Peter. I respect you— you know that, right?”

Peter mirrors his touch, putting his smaller hand on Tony’s cheek, “I know, Tony.”

Tony looks relieved and leans closer. Peter closes his eyes, ready for the kiss—

“Hey— oh, sorry—”

They whip around to see Steve waiting next to their chair, shifting awkwardly where he stands and holding one of his hands behind his back. Peter scans the room, and sees Bucky curled up with Annie and Clint on a nearby couch, watching them intently.

“It’s okay, Alpha, what’s going on?” Peter untangles from Tony’s arms, sitting up straighter to look Steve in the face. Tony rubs his back encouragingly.

Steve looks to Tony, looks behind him towards their pack— all of whom give him a thumbs up— and then slowly gets to both knees, pulling a red, velvet box from behind his back, and opening it to reveal a sparkling, diamond ring.

“I— what?”

“Peter, I realized that I shouldn’t wait to ask you this. You’ve stepped so gracefully into the role we’ve required of you, and it happens to come with a lifelong bond to an Alpha you barely know. I want you to know— I’m falling in love with you. I don’t want our bond to be built out of necessity, I want it to be built out of affection and commitment to each other. I don’t just want forever with this pack— I want forever with you,”

At this, Steve bares his neck in submission and holds out the ring, “Peter Parker: will you be mine? In love, in bond, and in marriage?”

Peter feels Tony’s thumb on his cheek and realizes he’s crying again.

“Y— yes, Steve. I’ll be yours. I’m—” he takes a deep breath, “— I’m falling in love with you, too, Alpha.”

He slides off the couch, joining his Alpha on the floor, and melts into his arms as the room erupts in excited cheers.

With Steve’s ring on his finger and nose in his neck, his problems start to melt away. They’re strong together, they’re right together. And even though his pack won’t make his worries disappear— with all six of them celebrating around him and embracing each other— it seems as though they can face anything, together.

#peter parker #MiGLT #starker #spidershield #winterspider #clint barton #tony stark #d/s fic #smut #fluff #pack dynamics #mcu #ao3 #mood board #might wanna just read this on ao3 tbh #omegaverse

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viviane-lefay · 3 years

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Really!? Sure that this would be his reaction!?

(still lol @ the choice of pic, though)

Hmm, I don’t think he’d be as averse to it as is implied here - or at all, actually.

Judging from what the canonical material provides, amongst others, he actually happens to have some quite fatherly traits, and even takes pleasure associating himself with that role, as you can see here:

That, apparently, is also the consensus amongst the fandom, given there are memes like this one:

Even in the movie, he refers to his drones as “my babies”.

In this, he strongly reminds me of two other characters associated with science, invention & technology - i.e. Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars), and Aulë the Smith (Tolkien) - who are known not only for their brilliance, bordering on genius, and their strong innate creativity, but also, if not especially, for their associations with fatherhood (Aulë is known as the “Father of the Dwarves”, and Anakin … I don’t think this even needs a mention, does it!?) - again, a distinctive feature of said creative urge.

This seems to be quite a bit of a phenomenon with characters of this type, especially. Therefore, one could say, that, in terms of this role, they indeed do have a natural inclination and aptitude - and, I’d say, it definitely applies also for Robotnik. He certainly displays this very strongly with his machines so far.

Now, in another post of mine, where I looked a little closer into the role that these machines play for him, I came to the conclusion that they, amongst others, act as a surrogate for his actual, yet suppressed needs and desires.

(Please excuse the lengthiness of this part, but I felt it was really relevant for my argument. I tried to keep it as short as possible, though.)

It is so painfully obvious that this guy has some massive issues, stemming from past emotional neglect and negative experiences - so much, that he even rejects all things human altogether, along with his own humanity. His excessive idealization of and identification with technology, therefore, comes quite in handy as a defense mechanism in order to cope with said experiences.

Machines don’t ask much of you, they do what they are told, they are predictable, and they - above all - can’t suddenly abandon, betray, humiliate, and hurt you (which, I think, is the crux of the matter here).

Even though he might claim that his robots are everything to him, and that he doesn’t need anything and anyone else - his actions, however, prove otherwise (let alone his constant spiteful remarks on the matter, which just sound so damn bitter). We can recognize that quite clearly when he is forced into involuntary seclusion on that mushroom planet at the end.

[…] Essentially, all those objects and machines are but a substitutive gratification that he tries to use, but that never come remotely close to the real deal, let alone are ever able to replace it. In the end, he’s still a human being, along with all the human needs that go along with it - human contact and care included.

I am by no means suggesting that they do not matter (they do, being his creations, after all), but rather that they most definitely would take a back seat to a potential (human) child of his - especially if it is born to the woman that he loves - and, therefore, also happens to contain a part of her (which would enhance its position even further).

—

Side Note: Frankly, I absolutely can’t see this happen with any other woman, let alone him becoming physically intimate at all. If any of these - whom he doesn’t care about (no matter how pretty) - tried to do that with him, I bet all she would get from him is a frown, and being coolly, but politely sent out of the room. He just doesn’t seem the type to bother about anyone “less than” - or casual sex, for that matter.

—

And I think it is indeed the connection with this woman that is the crucial part here, given I see her as the single most important person for him - the love of his life & his undisputed No. 1 priority!

(which shouldn’t be all that surprising, given I think he has a similar attachment style & behaviour to his grandfather, as I discussed here)

In the light of this, even this potential child of theirs would “only” get to occupy second place - a very close one, but still a No. 2. But it’s the Morticia to his Gomez we’re talking about, so it’s fine, I guess. ;)

Even so, it still bests the machines with ease, who, in this scenario would get place 3.

Lastly, I want to highlight this little snippet of a quote from a Jim Carrey interview, which encapsulates quite nicely what I was getting at:

“… and all it really comes down to is, he wants to be special to somebody.” [x]

The keyword here is “somebody” - which machines are not, obviously. They’re rather something, an object, which isn’t capable of emotions, or bonds based on love - and to whom a person can never be special in that particular manner.

That is indeed something truly, uniquely human, and, as such, solely reserved for those.

And what bond is more absolute, more exclusive (because no one else can take the place), and, thus, more special than that between a husband and his wife, or - to come back to the subject of this post - a parent and a child!?

So, yeah, the above bits of info about him in mind (aside from my personal interpretation), I think he’d totally dig the thought of being a dad - especially within the context of who the mother is - and I also think he’s one of the characters with the natural propensity for being quite good at it at that (something, not every fave of mine can claim *cough*Ozai*cough*).

To come back to the screenshot at the very top, I’ll concede that he might be a little shocked at first (this coming as a “bit” of a surprise), and, yes, I also think he’d be somewhat concerned (as the OP said), but, I guess, that would be more about his doubts regarding whether or not he’d be able to be a good parent, his own personal history and upbringing in mind. A little self-awareness & -criticism can’t hurt (especially with him), even if he turns out to be wrong about this particular aspect - but, as I said, he’ll do fine. ;)

Ok, so much on that subject - ‘twas fun!

#Sonic the Hedgehog #movieverse #headcanon #personal opinion #Dr Ivo Robotnik #Adelia/Ivo #dr robotnik x OC #at least implied here #again this is just my personal headcanon - if you don't like it then please keep that to yourself and go away #I'm here for like-minded people

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years

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The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 16:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X ,14 X, 15 X

Michael’s azure hues dazzle, vibrant in their appearance, as he contemplates the idea of Bonnie being turned into a robot. The imaginings were largely inspired by Rc3′s earlier commentary. If he tried hard enough, he could picture the wires, cords, and computer chips strung expertly together to make up her perfect body. Maybe, Rc3 wasn’t that far off? What else could account for Dr. Barstow’s expansive intelligence? Knight humorously considers, lathering the motel’s conditioner through the dark coils of his hair.

Helios and the Foundation both knew that Bonnie possessed an elite mind. Unfortunately, the one particular section of Helios that had taken interest in her happened to be corrupt with criminals. That was entirely beside the point. All Michael could do, was chalk the incident up to another time where he almost lost her. Internally, he was beginning to despise the word ‘almost’. It implied an inability to fully grasp what he so desired all-the-while, maintaining that she could still leave. If he waited too long, he could blink and she’d be gone again. This thought alone causes his eyes to dull with hints of sadness.

Kitt was right to label him a coward. A coward who is constantly hiding his true feelings behind nearly impenetrable facades, Michael thinks to himself. He could blame it on the metal implant in his head, his time working in Intelligence, or even his life-times worth of trauma, and the number of losses he suffered. Heck, Michael could honestly apply just about a trillion more excuses but he doesn’t.

He lets a torrent of cold water followed by warm, rinse over all of his features, washing away his dour line of thinking. One day, he should free himself of the tethers of fear and dread that conspired to keep him and Bonnie apart forever.

Would he ever get a better opportunity to tell her than tonight? Michael ponders as he towels himself off and re-dresses. He can’t. He won’t! There has to be a better time, a better place than a motel, and a more convenient opportunity. He didn’t even have roses to assist his effort to woo her. Casting a wistful glance in the mirror, he reminds himself just how short he would always fall on the scale of measuring up to what Bonnie deserves.

In his departure of the bathroom, he finds himself greeted by the hums of the television which, was now turned on and casting it’s ethereal glow throughout the darkened room. Michael finds himself staring at Bonnie again. He can’t help it. She looked spectacular bathed in the luminosity radiating from the tv. Every one of her features seemed infinitely softened to the point of angelic glory under it’s careless caress. Even the look of determination she sported upon her countenance melted. From his observations, Michael gathers that she was multi-tasking, the way she always did when there were too many things burdening her mind.

Michael slings his towel around his neck like a decorative scarf, though neither end meets or crosses, as he strides across the room. After several minutes of silent observation, curiosity gets the better of him. “Whattacha workin’ on there, Bons?”

Turquoise hues begrudgingly lift upwards, departing from the pages of her splayed open notebook. The pages are jammed full of fresh equations, side-notes, and scribbled addendums. Bonnie had been working on adding more when he interrupted. Michael looked as shiny as a brand new penny with his damp mop of curls. The smile that accompanies his inquiry encourages her to answer. “I was...” Bonnie starts, praying he didn’t find her too nerdy to be attractive, “working on the coding mechanisms for the Foundation. Since some of the systems have been compromised, I’m working on making security-related improvements. I can’t really do too much without the computer physically in front of me, but this will give me ideas on what to try first.” She invitingly pats the opposite side of the mattress for him to sit down.

Michael can’t help but be impressed and his eyebrows elevate as he listens to her. “Ya mean all that jibberish is the code that will protect the Foundation?” He can hardly mask the surprise in his own inquiry as he seats himself beside her.

The brunette cocks her head casually to the side, stifling a soft laugh. Her eyes can’t help but dance with light as they focus on him.“Well, it is really a prototype of the code.” She should have known, that to his untrained eye, it would be interpreted as the equivalent of a foreign language filled with indiscernible hieroglyphics. Never one to excessively flaunt her intelligence, Bonnie slid the notebook closed and placed it and her pencil on the nightstand beside the bed.

Chewing the corner of her lip briefly, she adds, “and I was watching this show. I hate to say it, but they’re doing the repairs on that truck wrong.” Her gaze flashes towards the motion on the screen. Realizing that this made her sound overly critical, she tacks on, “not even terrible modifications are done that way. It is not only a fire hazard, but it is a good way to lose mechanical control on the road when you hit anything above fifty miles-per-hour.” She would have delved further into the complicated explanation but she really didn’t want to right now. “Feel free to change the channel to something better. I really stopped watching it intently about ten minutes ago when he started to cross the wrong wires.” She confides, slumping back against the pillows behind her.

Normally, Michael would hazard a guess at where the show’s mechanic went wrong but he doesn’t want to appear dim-witted, in her eyes, should his assumption be incorrect. So he willingly lets her remark evaporate into the air around him. He follows her lead, flopping back against pillows that rested against the bed’s headboard. He gleefully takes up the remote as he makes himself comfortable beside her. “What do ya wanna watch?”

“Anything but that last show and the news,” she answers with a half scrunched up nose.

Those requests were easy enough to abide by. He settles for something that appears to be a romantic comedy. It was hard to tell for certain if that was exactly what he landed upon because the movie was half-way through. Most women loved the silly Hallmark romances, right? Where could he go wrong? However, Bonnie wasn’t just any woman, so he studies her in order to gauge her reaction to his selection. To his pleasant surprise, she not only smiles, she hands him the champagne bottle.

“We might as well enjoy it since it’s free,” Bonnie offers. The way she said it, felt lame as it steamrolls passed her lips. The statement felt duller than she intended. Bonnie wanted to say something more meaningful, more intimate but that would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? He remains forbidden fruit.

Michael doesn’t even seem to notice the lackluster capacity of her suggestion. He cheerfully opens the bottle and pours them both a glass. They were certainly responsible adults. “So, what are we toastin’ to?” After a thoughtful pause, he jokingly adds, “and please don’t say this room or Devon.”

As strange as it might sound when Bonnie passed him the bottle, she hadn’t considered the idea that there would be a toast worth giving. At least, not one that should be shared between co-workers. She runs her pointer-finger slowly across her lower-lip giving herself time to think of something. Work. It was the safest of all of their options given their present predicament. Although, in her heart, she would prefer toasting to this night together. “How about a toast to us?” She eagerly proposes, her turquoise orbs hesitantly floating over to examine him.

Michael chokes in astonishment.“To us?” He parrots. He isn’t going to lie, he really enjoys the sound of that. It leaves so many wonderful possibilities and it swung open far too many doors.

Shifting in her place, she affirms. “Yeah. To us.” A proud smile steals across her lips. Bonnie pauses to untangle her thoughts before finally clarifying, “to us making a great team and resolving this case together.”

Leaning in, he smoothly returns, “I think I can drink to that.”

Lifting her glass the brunette breathes, “here is to us getting Kent back and rescuing the Foundation.” Of course, they hadn’t resolved the case just yet but what harm could a premature celebration be?

Setting aside their empty glasses, the two FLAG agents snuggle on top of the blankets to catch the remainder of the movie. While there are heaps of pillows around them, Bonnie opts to rest her head against Michael’s nearest shoulder. Every so often, the brunette would sneak glances up at him through the tangles of her long dark lashes. He is so close. Almost too close but she doesn’t pull away and to her surprise neither does he.

“Look at them, Michael! How do they not see it?! They are so in love and they are so perfect for each other.” She dreamily exclaims, pointing in the direction of the movie.

Michael’s azure hues snapped towards the screen the very instant she pointed. He had only been half watching the movie, the rest of his attention had been on her. He chuckles a little too loudly at her remark but the sound is edged with unusual jitters. “I don’t know.” His large hand massages the back of his neck because he is well aware that he is holding back just like the unfortunate man in the fictitious premise of the movie. “You’re right, though. It is glaringly obvious that they do belong together.” Maybe, this hadn’t been the right channel selection?

“Bonnie?” He asks, her name departing his lips in an adoring sotto voce. His gaze slowly flutters back down to her.

“Yeah?” She prompts in reply, cheating and focusing half of her attention on Michael and the other half on the movie.

He angles his head downwards and to the side slightly to get a better view of her. Swallowing sharply, he knows that this wasn’t going to be easy. There was a strong likelihood that what he is about to say will have him spending the night on the floor. Yet, he feels compelled to speak. “There is somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to tell you.” Michael starts, his brow glistening with sweat as he dares to meet her gaze.

Captivated, Bonnie concentrates fully upon him and she giddily prompts.“Oh? What is it?” Without giving him much time to impart his next statement she interjects “wait. Let me guess?” Her lips twist into a jovial grin as she speculates, “you want to tell me that your shirt is too big on me? Or I wouldn’t like a pair of your shorts because it’s got that funny hole in them?” She hardly finishes her assumptions before she falls into a fit of giggling.

“Well, yes... and no.” He starts, laughing till his chest hurt. His shirt was a little big for her. Still, Bonnie was practically killing him with the mental picture of her in more than just his shirt. However, it was ridiculous to imagine her wearing any of his pants, his shorts especially. His legs were at least a foot longer than her’s. Shaking off the useless imaginings, he tries to regain control of the more serious conversation he hoped to start. “First of all, my shirt looks it’s best when you wear it, over-sized or not. It has never looked better.” He almost suggests that she keep it, but he wonders if that is taking things a bit too far and too fast. “And unless I’m missin’ my mark here, you’ve already tried on my shorts. Haven’t you?” An air of playful accusation colors his tone. What had given away the fact she had tampered with his shorts, was the fact that they were folded differently than the way he had done them and then they were left on the bathroom sink for him when he went to take his shower.

His laughter feels like the presence of sunshine, balmy and wholly welcomed. She hadn’t been expecting his compliments and as a result, her face slowly stained red. The hilarious accusation, though it was spot-on, deepened the color to a lovely shade of plum. “Okay. So, I’m a little guilty. I was afraid you’d see too much of my legs. You don’t think I’m showing too much skin. Do you?”

Lord. Who suddenly turned the room’s temperature up a hundred degrees? So this was how it felt to be a cake in the nearly 400-degree oven. Michael’s gaze swiftly sweeps up the exposed expanse of her legs. “No.” He sharply swallows the lump of lust rising in his throat. “No, I don’t think there is too much showin’...” Heaven help him if he continued to vocalize the rest of that thought! “And I really have to tell you this or I think I just might burst.” This time his statement is firmer than he actually intended. “I...” He delicately uses his free hand to sweep some of Bonnie’s straying dark strands from her eyes before tucking them back behind her ear. He leans himself nearer until his lips are scantly a breath away from her’s. He can do this. Kitt was right! The whole fear thing was plain silly!!! He just has to rip the bandage off no matter the cost. His heart fiercely bellows out for mercy with every beat. “I....”

Bonnie smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear, a corner of her lower-lip catches between her teeth. She has a sneaking suspicion that she knows just where this conversation is going and it terrifies her so greatly, she can feel the harsh throbbing of her heart all the way up in the hollows of her ears. The brunette can sense the lingering of his eyes upon her lips and her own gaze ventures briefly to his. If ever there were a silent, touch-less exchange of a kiss, there was one now looming in the air between them.

“I think I... lov...” He starts, his voice is huskier than he desired it to be. He was about to finish that statement when Kitt interrupts with a series of beeps.

“Michael?” Kitt innocently starts.

There is a mild explosion of exasperation in Michael’s tone when he answers, “Kitt? Can it wait? I’m in the middle of somethin’ important?!” Kitt’s timing couldn’t have been any worse not even on a bad day.

The Bostonian voice that answers holds an apologetic air, “I’m sorry, Michael. It can’t. A group of vicious-looking men are headed your way armed with guns and an battery-operated saw.”

Bonnie’s eyes round as she removes her head from Michael’s shoulder. The fact that these “armed” men were headed in their direction with guns and a saw couldn’t be a coincidence. Now could it?

The warning doesn’t come a moment too soon as a little less than a minute later their door comes crashing in, deadbolt and all.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 16 #my fan fic #bonniebarstowofflag

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troutpopulation · 5 years

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On Borrowed Time - MTMTE Megatron x Reader

•

Synopsis: With the verdict of the trial looming over head, and the fact that humans don't live that long, you decide there isn't any time to lose, and to make things official with Megatron while you still have the chance.

(contains original poetry written with love, and conjunx ritus! :^D )

Notes: kaixo i wanna marry Megatron and nothing will stop me. also if you didn't catch it the title is a play on political/philosophical treatises being often called "On ______".

While Megatron was at a meeting, you had hit the bar. It was one of your favorite spots on the ship, right next to windowsill down the hall. You sat atop the counter, listening to Rewind and Chromedome spin you a tale about Prowl. They brought up that their story happened around the time they'd just gone through with conjunx ritus. You perked up at the unfamiliar term. Conjunx Endura you were familiar with,however, you had never heard of the former.

“Uh, sorry, alien here. What's Conjunx Ritus?” You piped up, awkwardly raising a hand.

“It’s the steps bots take to become conjunx endurae.” Chromedome replied, his partner nodding in agreement. Ok. Robot marriage proposals.

“There are acts to it, four actually. Act of Intimacy, Act of Disclosure, Act of Profference, and then the Act of Devotion.” Rewind added. Cybertronian culture and customs were fascinating, you had always thought that, but the nature of this sparked a particular interest. You tentatively took the risk of pressing a little further.

“Okay, so Intimacy, what is that? I mean I know what that is to humans but, uh…” You trailed off, face burning. You felt awfully gauche for asking, but it was a valid question. What was intimate to a human might be different than what was intimate to a cybertronian.

“Prolonged contact. It is what you make of it.” Chromedome tilted his helm down to his and Rewind’s interlocked fingers.

“And Act of Disclosure is basically sharing something about yourself; something personal that usually doesn’t paint you in the best light. Profference is a meaningful gift, and the last part, Devotion, is done by the bot the initiator is courting.” Rewind took the wheel on the explanation. You wondered who had initiated their rite. Rewind’s lively personality made sense for him to take the reigns in things, but you could see Chromedome be more willing to open his heart to him. “If they accept the rite, then they perform an act of selflessness. Something that really shows the other they love them.”

“I see, thanks you two.” You nodded earnestly and for the rest of the story, couldn’t help but fidget. The second they finished, you made haste in excusing yourself. You didn’t tell them, but were going to speak to Megatron asap.

“You know they’re going to-”

“Yeah, I know. I figured it was better that they asked us than, I don’t know, Whirl or something.”

Megatron and you had been a thing for a while now, and there was… a lot to be said about that. Not that you cared anyways, you knew what you were getting yourself into, and you had no regrets. Life, you had figured, was too short for regrets. You with your miniscule human lifespan, couldn't afford to be held back by any shame or fear. Your only option was to shoot your shot. Which you did, and we're planning to do once more.

Megatron had a dark history. His faction had carried out acts of hatred towards your kind, but he has since renounced the ideology he once led with a blazing banner. The moment he met you, the Lost Light’s human liaison, he commited one last act of murder: He held technoism ideology under the water until it stopped thrashing. Guilt had fueled him to avoid you, but you extended friendship towards him. And thus he befriended you. Time passed and friendship turned to fondness. Techoism had its grave defiled.

Still, you figured that he still may never truly be comfortable with human customs, despite his newfound respect for them. You took it from the strange, wide-eyed look he had given a proposal during some cheesy romcom at one of Swerve’s movie nights you’d dragged him to. However, you were ready to compromise, and were more than fascinated by this cybertronian equivalent. Fascinated enough to follow through with it while you had the time in this life to do so.

“Megatron?” You heard the hab suite door slide open and heavy steps trod in.

“Surprisingly.” He replied, a smile crinkling the worm edges of his crimson optics. At the sight of him enveloping the space in the room, you grinned. Seeing him approach was like watching a sunrise.

“Megatron I… I have a question.” You scampered towards the edge of his desk. He sat down and offered you his hand to climb onto.

“Yes, little one, what is it?” He lifted you gently to his shoulder and began filing a report.

“Have you uh,” You paused, reading the dry statement over his shoulder. “Ever gone thought about becoming conjunx endura? I was, um, learning about conjunx ritus earlier.” You mumbled, twiddling your thumbs and tucking yourself against his armor plating. He froze, his typing stopping short and you could hear the mechanisms in his optics dilate as his eyes widened.

“I…. (y/n),” He scooped you up carefully from his shoulders and held you in front of him in large servos. The old mech looked shocked, full of hope and disbelief. “Do you even know what that entails?”

You nodded slowly, staring up at him. His eyes were wild, and you could glimpse the bloody war that raged on behind them. You felt his guilt and the deep set disgust towards himself all clashing with an aching longing, and the thrill of what you were proposing. The battle between what he wanted and what he felt he deserved was unending.

“I do. I’ve thought it over a lot, actually, I’ve thought long and hard about it but I realize… I realize that I don’t really have to? I already know what I want. If that’s something you’d be okay with, I’m ready as soon as you are.”

His stunned stare descended into a chuckle, like he’d just understood a joke. He seemed merely amused by your offer, as if deciding that you simply didn’t know the gravity of what you were saying. Just a silly human; as usual, not knowing what you were talking about. You hated more than anything when bots thought that about you, and you only wilted more as he looked away.

“(Y/n), I don’t know how you think I deserve you.” He rasped, his voice heavy, and the foundations beneath your feet began to falter. You squeezed your partner’s thumb, both as to balance yourself and comfort him.

“Megatron, look at me.” You sighed, standing taller in determination. He did as you said, the worry lines above his brow deepening as he peered down at you. “I know you. You must think that I don’t because I haven’t... I don’t know, fled? Is that what you think I’d do? Flee? Megatron, I want you to understand that I saw the worst of you before I even met you, and I still find myself here, asking you to ma- to be my conjunx. Please, you don’t have to be afraid. You know we both don’t have the time to.”

He was stunned. His deep silver lips hung open in shock and awe. You kept a face of resolve, until it faltered into concern, and after more excruciating moments of silence, fell limp into a piteous frown. The sting of rejection had began to sink into your chest.

“(Y/n).” His deep voice jolted you to reality. “Are you sure?” It was all he could say.

“Yes.” It was all you needed to say.

This was incredibly taboo.

Two days after your conversation with Megatron and you were hauling a sack containing a datapad down the halls of the Lost Light. You didn’t want to try too hard, but you couldn’t help wanting to make yourself look presentable. You decided a tie was far too formal, but a blazer? That’d work. That and some slacks, and the nicest shoes you’d saved from home. You had combed your hair back. Then forward. Then back again as you couldn’t pinpoint which looked better. Looking decidedly sharp, you timed the start of your trek with the end of Megatron’s shift.

You passed Rodimus by down the hall, and he spun on his heel, and walked instead beside you.

“(Y/n), you look nice! Any particular reason?” There was an edge to his voice, and the force behind his smile was more audible in each syllable.

“I’m bringing this datapad to Megatron.” It wasn’t a lie, that was what you were doing, but you could tell by his tensed grin that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Really! Because he was looking really nice today too. He buffed and everything, did you know that? Hm?” He bent down as he talked down at you.

“Really? Huh.” You smiled to yourself, giddy that Megatron had decided as well to, in the cybertronian equivalent, dress for the event, and for you.

“Okay, (y/n), seriously, what’s going on?” Rodimus stopped with with his pede. You glared and walked around it.

“Rod, chill.” You sighed. His wings perked in indigance.

“Don’t tell me to chill! You know I hate being told to chill!” His fists snapped to his hips. You groaned, turned around.

“Rodimus, please, I’m going to be late. I really want to be on time for this. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I don’t want to keep him waiting.” You pleaded, your feet tapping in soft impatience. He gave you a scrutinizing squint, but yielded.

“Okay, fine. But later? I want to know what’s going on.” He huffed and continued down the halls. You did as well, making haste towards hab suite 113.

The gargantuan doors slid open for you at the press of a tiny button installed at the foot of the entrance. He had been pacing, and stopped in his tracks to turn to you. Rodimus was right, he looked breathtaking. His dark gray armor was clean and robust, and the dim lights of his room haloed around him.

He didn’t look too much different; you honestly might not even had noticed if it hadn’t already been pointed out. The change was so very subtle, but that only further delighted you. He still looked authentic. He still looked like himself.

“Hi love, sorry to keep you waiting.” You chirped, and slid the bag underneath his desk for later. You approached him, and he took you in his hands to his seat in the corner of his room.

“No need to apologize,” Megatron sat down and placed you delicately down on the windowsill. The window was round and uncomfortable to stand upon, but it didn't matter; you were reclining between his thumb and fore digit anyways.

“You look nice tonight.” You said, nestling in and giving his hand a kiss. The mech smiled.

“As do you, my dear.” He chuckled, the tip of his finger nudging at your polished shoes. “Fancy choice in clothing, what's the occasion?”

You grinned in response, shifting in his servo.

“You.” You replied simply, earning another rumble of laughter from the mech. When he laughed, pride was not the word you were looking for.

You leaned forward, sitting up and the intent in your body language compelled the mech to bring you close to his face. He brought you near, to listen to any secret you'd whisper or question you'd ask or… Or to receive a kiss you'd place on a set of lips that nearly measured your wingspan. Megatron suddenly found himself wishing he’d mass displaced to a form small enough to be able to return the gesture.

It was chaste, but loving; and when you pulled back to stare up at him, you looked nothing short of enraptured.

“I really hope one day you could feel half as loved as you are. I don't know how to say it any other way, I just… adore you. I know how you think you don't deserve it, I hear it in how you speak, I read it in the words you write.” You stood in his hand to look him in the eyes and press your forehead to his. “But we're both on borrowed time, and while we're both here, I want us to be happy.”

You heard the distinct clicks and whirrs of Megatron’s bodily mechanisms, the sound and feeling of his servos trembling underneath you, and his optics shut beneath knitted brows.

“But, before that, can I tell you something… less than happy?” You leaned back into his hand and he opened his eyes, nodding as he pursed his lips, a shaky exvent escaping him.

“Something happened once. It was, gosh how many years ago was it… (X) years? (Y) years…? (X) years, I don't know, it was a long time ago for me at least. At least, it felt like it. You know how it is for humans. Whenever it was, I remember one thing: It was my fault it happened.” You rubbed a hand over his wrist, fondly tracing the seams of his servos. You didn't bother to steel yourself for this story; this was meant to be vulnerable. This was meant to be intimate.

You couldn't keep from crying as your story came to fruition. The deep vulnerability cut you open by the belly and you were helpless to spilling your guts. The bruising shame flowered through you, but you laid it all out before him. You forced yourself not to turn away from him as you spoke, and you saw the deepest pits of your soul reflected back at you in a kaleidoscope.

“I felt disgusted with myself, I still do,” You gulped, blinking back the tears that blurred your vision. “But I realize I can't do anything to change what happened. No matter how I say the story, it doesn't change its meaning. I have to live with it. I have to live with knowing I could have done something about it, but I gave up. I was scared and fickle and stupid.”

You grimaced you rubbed your eyes, the low burn of raw skin making you squint. You took a deep, ragged breath, rubbing comforting circles over Megatron’s shaking servo below you.

“I’ve felt like that for a while but… It’s different with you. I’m not scared. I’ve never been more devoted. And…” You smiled up at him. “I think meeting you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. You’re genuinely the best part of my life, I can’t begin to tell you how much I love you, and… Do you wanna let me down real quick?”

Quickly Megatron nods and helps you to the floor. Feeling his stare on your back like a spotlight, you rush with your heart in your throat to his desk.

“I feel like I put it better into writing.” You sniffed and chuckled. “Here, I made this for you.” As he lifts you and the offering to eye level, you uncover the datapad. Megatron glanced at you, then the gift, and pressed a gentle kiss to your teary face before slipping the tablet out of the covering. He cleared his throat.

“May I?” He murmured, and you nodded. He smiled, deepening the creases in his aged face. The mech gazed softly then at your writing in his servo, his low lidded optics two warm, red eclipses. He took to reciting your poem in a gentle rumble you could feel like distant thunder in your bones.

“To Which The Sun Does Set.

Go nearer now, with earnest great

To where the sun does set.

Come to me all bound in fate,

The same as when we met.

Though change daily we might,

As many phases mold its face

High silver metamorph of night

Thus may retain his former grace.

And may he exude it during quest

Marching onward, onward yet

His hand in mine we gently rest

In the place which the sun does set.”

Megatron fell silent, the final stanza falling from him and descending into the ambient hum of ship engines.

“(Y/n),” He croaked. “This is incredible. You’re incredible.” He lifted you closer to him, and you stood eagerly to meet the deep sweeps of his lip plating. He took to peppering tender kisses atop your head, dipping then below your chin. You stifled a squeal as lips nudges your chest and stomach. It tickled, and you couldn’t help but jolt helplessly and laugh against his smile.

“I love you so much.” He murmured into your torso, his aquiline nose snug atop your shoulder. You hugged his jaw, grinning deeply with your cheek pressed to his. You returned words of adoration, and heard the slight click of his optics closing completely. He held you there for what felt like an eternity, the deep drum in your chest in sync with the pulsating of his spark.

You thought at this moment you’d be scared, or relieved that the hardest part was over. He accepted your disclosure and your profference. But instead, you found yourself immersed in the sound his ancient sentio metallico made as you ran your palm over his cheek.

You felt him shift and you stood back as he pulled away to look at you.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

You nod.

Sitting safe upon his shoulder, you watched the hallway lights pass by in tune with the heavy clunks of Megatron’s footsteps. A few mechs passed by, offering the greeting of disgusted grimaces and hateful whispers. For the first time, you didn’t hear them. If Megatron did, you couldn’t tell. He was busy keeping his eyes forward, his expression kind and focused.

He slowed to a stop, and you heard curious muttering down the halls. You were lifted from his shoulder and placed onto none other than your favorite spot on the ship. The largest window with the widest ledge. The windowsill was broad enough for you to stand comfortably on- hell, you could dance on it if you wanted. Not to mention the best part was the view: always of the brilliant cosmos. It thrilled your inner stargazer to be able to watch the stars and planets pass by.

You scampered down from Megatron’s servo, stopping yourself with a palm against the glass, turning around to see the glowing pepper of galaxy reflected against his chrome frame. This view beat that of the universe by a landslide. As The Lost Light traveled through space, it passed by a red dwarf star, and the corridor flooded in florid hue.

“(Y/n),” Megatron’s gravelly voice whispered down to you through the scarlet haze. “Decades ago, I’d never had been able to fathom myself doing this. But my spark, I know, was forged to be yours. I love you, and I love your humanity . And I know all the questions on my mind, you are the answer to. But I have but one more inquiry, and I’m certain only you can answer this for me.”

He got down on one knee.

“(Y/n), will you marry me?”

#Megatron x Reader #Megatron #MTMTE #Reader insert #maccadam #transformers #imagines #fic #elixtxt

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angelaiswriting · 5 years

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Todorovsky | Larisa Goncharova x Aleksandr Todorovsky

[original picture found on: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings: Larisa Goncharova x Aleksandr Todorovsky (both OCs)

✏️ Requested by my sick mind (but also my thirst for Alexander Skarsgård)

✏️ Summary: the Red Room, the sterilization, the Mantis Program and Shura: how Larisa’s story came to be.

✏️ A/N: oh. ohohohOH. This story is so wrong on so many levels HAHA I’m sorry, but please, let me know what you think of it anyway! Also please, share with your friends to spread this story since I didn’t know what tags to use considering that both are OCs haha

✏️ ALSO check out this amazing moodboard @flowers-in-your-hayr did for Aleksandr Todorovsky! Thank you so much, girl, you’re an angel, I wish I were brave enough to be friends haha 💛

✏️ Warnings: NSFW, so 18+ only or I will BLOCK you: manipulation, age gap, underage sex I guess (Lara is 17), slow burn, masturbation, fingering, oral (both m/r and f/r), sex with age difference, unprotected sex, sort of authority kink/play/idk what it is, general sexual themes. I think this is all, let me know if you find anything else. MINORS, DON’T INTERACT!

✏️ Word-count: 11,941 (i had to cut it short hahaha)

[You can find the following instalments in my masterlist]

TODOROVSKY

The sun was hot on her face and dazzling in the big space of the office. It glimmered on the mirror-wall at her left and it cast delicate plays of light as it reflected through the crystal spheres the doctor had on his desk.

Aleksandr Todorovsky himself, though, was absent. He had sent one of the janitors to call Larisa Efimovna, as busy as the other girls in the ballet room, with the orders to bring her to his office. And while she had been in there for almost half an hour now, according to the clock in front of her on the desk, he had still to show up.

Larisa didn’t mind. She loved the peace and tranquillity of the room, loved its silence. Even more, she loved the soft leather of the armchair she was sitting in, how comfortably it seemed to hug her tired body, how her hands slid along its armrests–how immensely huge it felt around her.

Even more than that, she loved the faint perfume that seemed to linger everywhere in the room, the same one that made every single one of the girls giggle in the dormitories because it belonged to the man of the Academy. Worn leather, tobacco, and underneath that, the delicate notes of the soap he used for his hands.

A sly grin stretched her lips as she rubbed her thighs together. The fact that she hadn’t had the time to get out of the black bodysuit and white thigh-high socks, put on above the nude tights she wore underneath for ballet practice as per the Red Room’s rules was of no help, for she could feel the slippery soft touch of the leather underneath her legs.

Just then, the door of the office silently opened–and she became aware of that just because a cool breeze, probably caused by one of the open windows in the corridor, slipped in, caressing the back of her head and making the curtains shiver. Then, the sound of shoes on the fair linoleum of the floor caught her ear and she did her best not to turn around, to slow down the deafening beating of her heart until she was calm again.

She simply stood up, hands clasped behind her back, eyes still trained on the empty office chair in front of her, so close and yet so far, on the other side of the desk. She had a vague idea of the reason why she had been called here, outside of Todorovsky’s office hours, and she was doing her best not to let it influence her too much.

“Larisa Efimovna,” the man smiled, flashing his perfectly white teeth in one of those grins that made every girl’s knees bend and heart flutter. He pointed at her with one lean hand, palm facing upward, and motioned for her to sit. “I’m glad you could come.”

His grey eyes had always successfully managed to momentarily distract her and today was no exception. She swallowed before she remembered what he had ordered her to do and she settled back into the armchair.

“I wasn’t given much of a choice, sir,” she tried to humor, even though all she could hear was the furious thud-thud of her heart in her ears.

There was something in this towering man that pushed her on edge: her hands slightly sweated and a dull throbbing never failed to start between her legs. But he was a forbidden dream: he was part of the professional body and no student would ever have a chance at taking that small step forward that went beyond a professional relationship. It didn’t matter how much every girl in the academy dreamed of slipping into his bed: nothing like that had even the slightest chance of happening.

He chuckled. “We’re in the privacy of my office now, Lara. You can call me Aleksandr–or Sasha if you prefer.”

The way he pronounced her name, so softly, with such intimacy, almost made her gasp. It forced blood to rush to her cheeks, sent a shiver down her spine that went straight to the slow dampening she felt between her legs.

“Aleksandr,” she smiled, savoring his name.

She never broke eye contact; she wanted to see any change in his expression at her calling him by his name. His eyes twinkled and he sat back against his own chair, crossing one leg over the other and making his fingertips touch before his chest, elbows resting on the armrests.

“How are your studies going?”

It was an unexpected question, and even more so coming not from a professor but from a doctor. A surgeon. It disoriented her for a moment as she stared at him, at the delicate lines of his face, at his blonde hair slicked back, at the light stubble on his cheeks.

Against what her usual behavior had become, she stuttered before she managed to stabilize her voice. “Very well, sir,” she frowned.

“No ‘sir’ in here, Lara,” he reminded her.

His smile eased her out of the nervousness that had washed over her upon realizing her mistake. It wasn’t like her, to forget rules and orders, but Aleksandr was so young compared to the rest of the professional body, so beautiful and charming that a mistake on her part shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“I apologize, Aleksandr.” And for as hard as she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to call him Sasha, to be that tiny bit more intimate with him. If this was some sort of test, she sure as hell wanted to pass it.

“I heard you defeated the best agent the agency sent here for the monthly training with you, three days ago,” he continued. “And the other students, of course.”

Heat rushed to Lara’s cheeks and she had to force herself not to turn away, but to keep her eyes fixed on his. Not an easy task, not when it came to such a fascinating man. “I did.”

“I also know he threw you down the balcony of the training room before you managed to knock him out.” The tone of Aleksandr’s voice turned serious now and it was at that moment that she turned her head slightly downward and to the left, towards the mirror not to lose sight of him. “Rumor has it, you fell on your back. I didn’t see your name on the admission sheet in the infirmary, though. A fall on your back is never something you should overlook.”

Lara knew, then and there, that he was lying: she might not have gone to the infirmary, but her coordinator had dragged her to the attending physician for a preventive check-up and everything had turned out to be in order–just a bruised back, but no broken bones. She still chose to play his game, though, just to see where it led. “I’m fine, it’s just a bruise.”

“I am the doctor, though, Lara.” God, if he said her name like that again, she was sure she would moan out loud–stoic façade be damned. “I should be the one determining whether this is just about a bruise or something worse, am I right?”

She shivered, but still tried to hide it. “I apologize, sir.” Her eyes snapped back to his when she bit her tongue just to find him smirking. “Aleksandr,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t think…”

He let her voice fade and didn’t ask for her to finish her sentence. He could see the deep rise and fall of her chest–and of her breasts underneath the black cotton of the tank top of her bodysuit–and that was enough for him. Wrong, of course, probably immoral and definitely unethical, but enough. “Go sit on the table,” he ordered, standing up and pointing at the paper-covered table near the wall on the side of the office, right in front of the mirror-wall.

She stood, the movement as mechanical as that of a robot, for the Academy had made sure she got used to obeying such an order. Every girl stood up when the headmaster passed by in the hallways, when the coordinators entered the classroom, and even in the refectory, no one sat before professors, guards and doctors had taken a seat at their table.

But now, when she turned around, she noticed the reason behind Aleksandr’s sly grin. There was no way he wouldn’t see her bare upper body in the mirror when she’d let the shoulder straps of her bodysuit slide down her arms. She had obviously dreamed of such a situation, and even more so with the pretty doctor the Academy had hired a few years ago, but to be faced by this same eventuality made her uncomfortable now.

Her feet still dragged her to the table, though, one trembling step after the other, and she was terribly aware of the man’s gaze fixed on the bruises visible on the exposed skin of her shoulders. They hurt–every movement, every tensing and relaxing of the muscles brought her back to that afternoon when the breath had been knocked out of her lungs by the sudden contact between her back and the hard floor of the training room. And even though not a single sound had left her lips, not even when tears had blurred her vision, it had managed to empty her mind for a good minute before she eventually managed to come back to reality.

She sat on the table, the paper towel crumpling underneath her and her feet dangling above the floor. Her breathing had turned deeper and every breath seemed to burn its way up her lungs, her esophagus, her nose as her whole being tensed in anticipation. To hide the slight tremor in her hands, she had to cage them between her thighs while still doing anything in her power to keep on a stubbornly emotionless façade, even when all her heat had rushed to her cheeks.

Todorovsky stood behind her, on the other side of the table, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders–his cool skin burning its way through her boiling one until she thought she felt his touch in her bones. She could see him in the mirror and he flashed her one of his many gentle smiles as his thumbs hooked underneath the straps of the bodysuit.

His touch made her swallow hard and as his fingers slid along the line of her shoulders, her lips couldn’t but part as she tried not to gasp. The coolness of his skin made goosebumps wash over hers and the shiver that ran down her spine made her wiggle on her spot.

“Does it hurt?”

It took everything she had to maintain eye contact with his reflection. “No, it’s just… cold.”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly just to then freeze up again when his thumbs dragged the straps down her arms. Inch by excruciating inch, more of the skin of her breasts and then of her abdomen got exposed until her bodysuit was pooled around her waist. Nipples hard and beaded, her hands came up to cover herself before she had the time to stop them and she averted her gaze from him, focusing it on the carillon showcased on one of the shelves in the office. To show him how much he affected her wasn’t exactly in her plans.

Aleksandr chuckled, the sound so close to her that she swore she felt the vibrations in his chest against her back as his lips brushed against her earlobe. “Tell me if it hurts.” His voice had dropped and he sounded almost breathless as she tried her best not to indulge in the fantasies she had shared many a time with Nasha.

She felt his long fingers skim down her spine, cool fingertips pressing into her bruised back here and there as she nodded in answer to his subtle command.

Such close proximity on his part made her mind foggy. And while he had visited her many a time already, somehow today felt different. For starters, he had never made her face the mirror-wall for he had never visited her in this office. This was more like his personal space, where he read articles and organized visits and wrote medical reports, but that she knew of, none of the girls had ever been in there.

He was also closer than he had ever been–and probably much closer than it would be deemed appropriate. She could feel his breath behind her right ear, fanning against her skin and hair. The smell of the sandalwood of his cologne seemed to blurry her mind even more, pushing her to slowly let her eyes fall closed.

“Relax, don’t tense your back,” Todorovsky murmured against the shell of her ear and she couldn’t help but obey as her hands loosened their grasp on her breasts and fell down into her lap.

She winced when he pressed down on a particularly throbbing bruise, her muscles tensing up again at the suddenness of that unexpected surge of pain. But his touch was gone before she had the time to complain and the frown that had all of a sudden creased her forehead quickly relaxed as she heavily exhaled from her nose.

Then, just as unexpectedly, his fingertips grazed the sides of her breasts and her eyes shot open as she gasped. Aleksandr Todorovsky was grinning at her in the mirror and there was a glint of mischief in the slightly bluer grey of his eyes.

Larisa met up again with Todorovsky–Aleksandr–a week later and while she should have expected to be called into his private office, it still came as a surprise when she was summoned during one of the spare hours, that Friday.

Sitting in the same armchair she sat in the first time, all she could think of was the smirk Nasha had sent her way as all blood rushed to her cheeks when she stood up from the armchair she had been sitting in, in the library. The hot sensation was still there, even now, boiling under the skin of her face as she did her best to avoid the man’s inquiring gaze.

It was hard to keep herself busy on the rainstorm raging outside, blowing slaps of water on the glass of the windows behind Aleksandr. The occasional lightning illuminated him from behind, turning the shadows on his face in the dimly lit room darker. The thunders that followed made goosebumps wash over the exposed skin of her arms as she tried her best not to go back to a week before.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, leaning back against his chair, hands resting on the armrests.

His stance looked more powerful and dominating than the one he had shown her the first time. He had pushed his office chair a couple of steps back from the desk and she could see his legs were spread wide–the sight almost made her gasp. He was in civilian clothes and it didn’t help the ever-expanding flush slowly crawling down her neck.

She swallowed, looking at anything but his face. The pole with the country’s flag was standing upside down in the crystal sphere in front of her, the red material twisting in the darkness of the afternoon and the vengeful force of the storm. “I’m fine, thank you,” she managed to say as an unsure half-smile stretched her lips. “How are you feeling?”

Natasha’s insinuations kept on flashing back and forth in her mind, bringing her back to eight days before. Lara had told her everything that had happened in Todorovsky’s office–how he had made her face the mirror-wall as she sat there half-naked, how he had touched each and every bruise on the battered skin of her back, how his fingers had flirtatiously grazed the skin of her breasts–and she couldn’t help the growing throbbing between her legs.

If anything, her friend had pushed her into the embrace of bliss a couple of times with her tongue and fingers. And now, faced by her one and only fantasy in flesh and bone, it was hard not to think about how desperately she wanted him to do to her what Natasha had so diligently done.

Good soldiers, that’s what they were. Always ready and hopeless in their will to obey and serve–to bow before who had the power. Not that Larisa bowed easily, that had to be recognized and said, and it was something that would never change with time, but she did kneel in front of those she deemed worthy.

“I’ve been better.” The earnest exhaustion in Aleksandr’s voice forced her to focus on his face instead of the terrible weather outside the safe nest of the Red Room.

She consciously looked at him for the first time that day–scanned the lines of fatigue marking his beautiful face, the frown wrinkling his forehead. His hair was in disarray, almost as though he had spent the whole day waving his fingers through it. For some foreign and unexpected reason, she found herself clenching her thighs at that mental image.

She cleared her throat, hesitated for a moment before shifting in her seat. “Did you need something, Aleksandr?” Worry crept up her spine: she didn’t know whether she was still allowed to call him that, but a look at his tired smile and her uneasiness dissipated.

“I’ve been told you haven’t been behaving,” he sighed, head lolling back against the backrest of the chair. “Is that true?”

Lara didn’t answer. Instead, she let her gaze wander again in the room until it landed on the music box on the shelf to Aleksandr’s right. It was the same she had noticed as he had been checking the bruises on her back, the one with the prince and princess dancing in the immortal beauty of the open Fabergé egg the music box was.

“It is,” she answered after a while, voice weak and overpowered by the scream of the thunder outside. To admit such truth out loud and to him of all people filled her with shame. She had no problem defying the whole Academy, but when it came to Todorovsky… Every girl had problems keeping up with their tantrums when he got involved. He was simply so young and breath-taking, so caring in a way, that it was almost like admitting every single one of your sins to your babushka.

“And why is that?” he demanded.

She wished to be the dancing girl in that music box, perfect in that imperfect immobility, minuscule and powerless against the wind blowing and howling outside. She wished to be held like the prince was holding the princess, because she knew that someone would have her back, then. Nasha would have felt uncomfortable with the deep gaze of such a man on her, too–there was no way she would keep her cool, of this Larisa was sure.

But it took her too long to answer, the silence stretching out between her and the young doctor, only intermittently broken by flashes of lightning and thunders. She barely heard him stand up and walk to stand behind her, lost as she was in the attempt to avoid the problem.

“Why is that, Lara?” His voice was a whisper in her ear. It made her shiver and snap back to reality with a barely audible gasp–one Aleksandr Todorovsky did hear, though.

“I…” It was suddenly hard to swallow. Her breathing had picked up its pace, her hands were fighting to fidget with each other.

“Answer me.” His lips pressed on the tender skin on her neck, under her ear, and she found herself holding her breath. “Why aren’t you behaving?”

How could she tell him it was his fault? How could she do such a thing without the risk of repercussion? It was one thing to get punished by the coordinator or one of the teachers, but it was a completely different matter when it came to him–after he had seen her, watched her, touched her.

“I’ve heard something about the graduation ceremony, sir,” she eventually admitted, her breath trembling when she exhaled: he had moved to her left to sit down into the armchair next to hers. “Something about the… the last trial.” It was not like her to stutter, but it also wasn’t like she was used to such close proximity to such a fascinating man.

His hand came up to rest on her knee, above the light cotton of her skirt, and she felt herself clench around nothing. His fingertips pressed into her skin in a gentle and quick squeeze before they skimmed under the hem of her skirt, gently pushing it a couple of centimeters upward.

He was waiting for her to continue, for her to say it, and she couldn’t help the deep rising and falling of her chest as all she could think of was the degenerated fantasy Natasha had helped her develop in the last week. The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin wasn’t helping, either, not when she felt him stare at the side of her face with that piercing, steely gaze of his.

“The sterilization,” she managed to choke out as she involuntarily tensed the muscles in her thighs.

He sighed and before she could understand what he wanted to do, he grabbed her armchair and forced it around until she was staring at him, his armchair still facing forward. “You don’t want it.” It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on in her mind. She wasn’t the first girl showing signs of discomfort and rebellion at the idea and she was definitely not going to be the last, but she was indeed the first to put her education at the Academy in danger.

“No, I…”

“You want kids.”

She nodded.

“This is a very important step, Lara.” His voice was soft but his eyes were hard and she didn’t know who to trust more. His hands came up to rest on her thighs again as he leaned over the armrest of his chair and the thought that this wasn’t exactly professional conduct suddenly flashed before her eyes. She clenched her thighs shut. “I hope you do understand. While it may have a downside, it brings along many advantages.”

“Like what?” She hadn’t meant for the tone of her voice to be so blunt and defying, but it was now too late to take it back.

“No need to worry on missions,” he started, sitting back against his armchair and turning his head to the side to keep staring at her. “No need to worry about unprotected sex, or about an unexpected pregnancy, just to make a couple of examples.”

“This is irreversible, though.”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, it is.” He didn’t say a word after that and she kept quiet, too, almost too scared to even breathe because she didn’t know what her punishment was going to be, yet. Then, when the raging rainstorm seemed to calm a little, Aleksandr spoke again. “Do you want children?”

It was an easy enough question and yet, the idea of telling him she did, in fact, want children in the future made her bite her tongue. There was no particular reason behind such behavior, no well-known fear. She had never admitted it out loud–no one at the Academy ever had, but it was definitely a fantasy all the students had entertained at least once.

Then, before she could let herself turn into a real coward, she nodded. “Yes.”

He stared at her, head slightly tilted backward, and one of his hands moved back on one of her knees. Under his insistent gaze, she almost felt naked. He had a way to look at her… She didn’t know what it was–his eyes, his face, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his tousled caramel blonde hair… It made her feel less of a soldier and more of a… girl? A young woman? A person?

“I’m going to do something I shouldn’t do, now,” he said after a while and his gaze swept down her neck, the slight neckline created by the first two buttons of her blouse she left unbuttoned, and then down her chest until he seemed to stop it between her legs, on the dark blue cotton of her skirt. “Because, you see, I like you.” In a heartbeat, his gaze was focused on hers again and both its intensity and his words made her blush.

She didn’t think, not even for a moment, that he might be saying so because she was one of the best students the Red Room had had in its whole history, not when his hand squeezed her knee again and again slipped underneath the hem of her skirt to caress her thigh.

She swallowed, trying to focus on his face and on anything else at the same time. But then, as childish and starved of affection as she was, she found herself whispering: “You do?”

Aleksandr hummed, his fingertips now dangerously close to the throbbing heat between her legs. His thumb brushed the tender skin of her inner thigh before his hand stopped just a breath away from her panties. “You intrigue me,” he seemed to confess, voice lowering and turning deeper as he forced his armchair to turn so that he could be face-to-face with her. “I was deeply disappointed to hear of your misconduct, though,” he continued, moving so close that one of his knees nestled between hers and pressed against the front of her armchair. “I hope you’ll be worth it. Because, you see, I’m risking my whole career for you.”

“Sir, I-”

He hushed her, leaning closer. He could feel her breath on his lips and her clean scent tickled his nostrils. In his defense, it should be said that he never thought about one of the students the way she thought about Lara. She made him feel ten years younger and she had quickly managed to occupy his mind in both waking and sleeping hours. And while he was aware of what the other girls said and thought about him, he wanted to know whether she agreed with the general consensus.

“We had settled for Aleksandr, Lara.”

His lips brushed against her cheek when he murmured his answer and all she could do was tense, force her hands to stay in her lap and not stretch out to grab a hold of his shoulders.

“Aleksandr,” she whispered back, voice trembling against the side of his face as she breathed him in. The burning smell of cigarettes was stronger today and while she usually didn’t like such stench, it got to her head now.

“I will need you to maintain the secret, though. No one in the Academy must know I’m doing this for you.” His thumb swiped over her inner thigh again and he moved back enough to stare into her eyes. “You understand?”

“I do, yes.” She was panting, her thighs tensing, her core clenching as she looked up at him with only one thought in her mind: she wanted him to devour her. “No one will know.” But she wanted to, wanted to know what he was set on risking his career for.

“I will need a couple of days to think about this. You think you can hang on until then?”

“So, what is it that he wants to do?”

Natasha kept on bugging her, wanting to know what Todorovsky’s plan was, but Larisa still didn’t have an answer to give to her friend. He had kept it a secret and she was still impatiently waiting to know what he had come up with.

She knew very well what she had promised Aleksandr–not to tell anybody–but she and Nasha had always been attached to the hip and there was no way she could–or would–keep that secret from her. And even though it could have been a cause of jealousy or bigger bugs in their friendship, she had had to tell her.

“I told you, I don’t know,” she groaned.

They were sitting in a secluded spot in the park of the Academy, two days after Larisa’s unexpected meeting with Aleksandr. The tree behind their back provided them with its cool shadow, a much-needed relief on that unexpectedly-hot day.

“When are you meeting him again, then?”

“I don’t know, but I hope soon.” Lara had her head tilted back, against the coarse bark of the tree, her eyes closed and lips stretched into a wide grin.

Natasha kept quiet for a couple of seconds before she burst out laughing. “God, Lara, you’re smitten!”

“Shut it, I’m not!” She was giggling, though, feeling so lightheaded that the soreness in her limbs didn’t seem to be able to truly reach her.

“I’m quite sure he likes you, too.” Nasha didn’t seem willing to let the object of their constant talking go, not yet at least.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does, he even told you so!”

“Polite shop talk, Natasha.”

“What are you talking about?” She felt her friend move and when she opened her eyes, Nasha was sitting right in front of her. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just…” She sighed, looking up at the sky. “I haven’t exactly been following the orders and they want me back on track, subdued. What if he’s offering this way out to have me back as I always were?”

“I say, who cares, Lara! This is your great opportunity and if there’s even the slightest chance of you getting out of here in one piece, then take it!”

“You’re thinking about the KGB side program, aren’t you?”

Natasha nodded.

The program didn’t have a name, not that she and the girls in the Red Room were aware of, at least. But its objective was clear and everybody knew it: a further evolution of the Academy, but without the detachment trauma and all the roubles the various agencies had to spend on future agents. She knew everyone compared it to a breeding farm, but Lara was sure that things weren’t that sick. If she only managed to get out of there and find herself a man–maybe even Aleksandr Todorovsky himself–and join the program, then…

“Think about it. You’d get to do what we’re trained to do and other than that, you’ll be able to have children. I’d give anything to have your chance.” Despite the hurt in her words, Natasha was beaming. “Of course, they want you to behave. Just keep up your game, snatch the golden ticket from the hot doctor’s hand and both you and the Academy will have your victory.”

“I want you to-”

“Don’t risk the chance you have. This program is not for girls like us, remember that. If Todorovsky manages to add your name to the list, that’s already something and we both know it’s not going to be easy. Don’t risk adding my name as well. I’ll be out of here in a couple of months anyway, but you have almost one year ahead of you before graduation.”

“We take what we have. Is this the line you’re going to play?”

Nasha grinned and pulled her in for a hug. “We will meet again once you’re out. I’ll come looking for you, yeah?”

She was rushed to Aleksandr’s private office on that Friday afternoon. Her trainer had looked annoyed by the fact that the coordinators were snatching Larisa Efimovna from yet another training session, but there was nothing the woman could do without risking going against the Academy’s executives.

The guard left her just outside the office door and it took her a minute to even out her breathing and to gather the wits to knock. The hollow sound of her knuckles on wood seemed to echo all around her and in the brief minute it took Todorovsky to cross the room and open the door, Lara’s heartbeat had already picked up its rhythm, knocking against her temples.

One could say, without the faintest trace of doubt, that Aleksandr Todorovsky stole the breath right out of her lungs, that day, as she stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.

He had always been a sight for sore eyes, there was–and most likely never will be–no denying that. But that day, all Lara could think of, was that he was magnificent. He looked like the embodiment of any heart-fluttering dream she had ever had and when she noticed his hair combed back, she had to fight against the weakness that seemed to have overcome her legs.

“Lara,” he greeted, voice as charming as ever as he took a step back to let her pass.

She entered the office, head empty and fermenting with thoughts she shouldn’t be having at the same time. For once, she almost felt like she was a real girl and not just a doll turned into an unyielding soldier.

“Shura.” The name was out there before she could stop it, before she could process such a bold way of speaking had even crossed her mind. And when she turned toward him to apologize for such a behavior, she found herself at a loss for words once again.

Aleksandr had been quick at silently closing the door as soon as she had entered and for some reason, such a realization had a shiver to course through her whole body. In front of him in the usual–and old–tank top and shorts of the uniform used for combat training, she had never felt more naked.

The office was even more tidy than usual, if possible. Three books had been neatly stacked in the center of the desk, the chairs had been symmetrically positioned in front of it and the drawn curtains prevented her from seeing the bright light of the afternoon.

“I’ve been thinking about my proposal.” Aleksandr’s seductive voice made the baby hairs on the back of her hair stand up on their ends, for he had moved closer to her while she had been lost in her own thoughts. His hands were on her shoulders before she knew it and his lips brushed her ear shell just a moment later.

She swallowed at his proximity and boy, was it hard. Lara had forgotten how hard and fast her heart could beat in Todorovsky’s presence. “You have?” Mouth dry, all she could hear was the raging drumming of her heart in her temples and his cool breath fanning her right ear.

He hummed, steering her until she was facing the well-disguised door of the small bathroom of his office. “I’m taking you somewhere tonight, so you better get cleaned up and dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

It was wrong, the way he felt about her, the way he took her–drank her–in, the thoughts that overcame him at night. She was young, way younger than him, and it was also against the Academy’s rules. There were literally a million and one reasons for why that was bad and despite his good sense, his moral sense, he couldn’t help himself.

Aleksandr had spent the whole car ride to Moscow peeking at her from the corner of his eye. With her hair down, her icy eyes framed by dark kajal, she looked older than she really was and that dress… Growing up, blue had always been his favorite color, not red. And yet, he had somehow chosen that color when he had commissioned that evening dress and his preferences were now shifting towards the hotter color.

She looked… impossible. Impossible to have, impossible to reach, impossible to even be real. The gown was sleek, the bodice form-fitting, the neckline plunging, the tear in the front of the dress showcased a leg made for ballet when she walked. Just the view of her like that had made him grip on the steering wheel with all the strength he had.

And even now, as she mingled with Bakatin’s guests, trying to ignore the way many looked at her, she felt worlds apart. She was the definition of charming: she seemed to always know what to say to everyone, how to act and move, even how to smile and laugh at terrible jokes.

She almost made him forget about the plan he had to carry out, the lies he had to feed her. They made him feel bad, the lies. He looked at her, so hopeful and happy, with that same spark in her eyes as when he had told her about that family side program that didn’t exist, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

It was like being the point of contention: on the one hand there was her and the right thing to do, on the other anything that was wrong in this world–the lies he had to tell her to keep her compliant, the way he felt about her, the things he wanted to do to her, the ways he wanted to touch and have her.

He had become a surgeon to save lives, he reminded himself when Lara briefly turned towards him and blinded him with one of those charming smiles of her. He hadn’t wanted to study medicine at first, he had simply complied to the plans his parents had laid out for him even before he was born, but the prospected profession had eventually grown on him. When he had graduated and the KGB had pretty much enlisted him, six months before he had been acquired by the Academy, he would have never thought he’d end up deceiving his own patients.

Nor falling for one of them.

“So, this party is like a showcase, right?”

It took his brain a minute to process and truly hear her words. He had unconsciously led her towards the balcony and as he thought of an answer, the gurgling of the immense fountain was the only background noise he could focus on. Eventually, not knowing what to say or even if he wanted to say anything, he just nodded.

“Am I doing a good job?” she asked, moving to stand before him and handing him a flute of champagne. The thin glass had already been fogged by the cold temperature of the drink.

She was doing a great job and the dress, for which he had relied on the tailor, wasn’t but helping her. She proved to have a great body if he had to be honest, one the Red Room had managed to mold into a killing machine.

“You’re doing great,” he smiled, swallowing the contents of his glass in one sip–he was going to need more than that if he wanted to survive the night.

Lara’s grin made him hate himself that tad bit more but it only lasted for a second: she leaned forward, pressed a kiss on his cheek, closer to the corner of his mouth than the Academy’s rules would ever allow, and the dark thoughts floating in his mind got swallowed by the hunger consuming him.

He had kissed her. He had accompanied her back to the Academy, the evening after the party, and he had kissed her right in front of the staircase that led to the girls’ dormitories.

The memory had been a major distraction, one that had done more harm than good, for it finally got her punished. But even now, strapped to the table with a blindfold covering her eyes and her ears stuffed, all she could think about was Shura.

She had accidentally called him that again, a couple days before, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, not if the kiss that had turned her knees into jelly had to be considered an indicator.

The feeling of his lips on hers was still there. They had been soft and almost hesitant, more gentle than she would have ever thought her first kiss to be. He had had her face in his hands, so big compared to her, and so warm that they had made the skin of her whole body tingle as the breath got knocked out of her lungs. It had felt both right and wrong at the same time, for she knew that what they had–or could have–was impossible and even worse than that, forbidden.

The problem was, he was pleasant–both to look at and to listen to. He was witty and charming, and he must have cared about her or he wouldn’t be risking his career and his life to keep her uterus inside her body. She knew she had fallen for him more easily than she should have, but she had never felt so cared for and looked after–never so loved if she could have considered it that way.

If before he had been an insistent but fleeting thought among the ordered chaos in her mind, he had now turned into the center of her whole being. She found herself thinking about him more often than not–about his sparkling blue-gray eyes, the softness of his hair, the gentle brushing of his stubble, the safety of his arms, the sheer authority his whole body radiated.

Even now, bombarded by the almost absolute silence broken by her heartbeat, he was all she could feel. Her blood boiled and thrummed in her veins, deafening her, and the unbearable need to squirm under the restraints keeping her down was probably the hardest part of the punishment, for she was terribly aware of the slow-dampening of her panties, something that had nothing to do with the training she had just got out of.

And the more time passed, the deeper her breathing got, almost scorching as she fought to control it, to keep her stoic mask on–she didn’t want the sensory-deprivation room’s technician to develop suspicions about what was going on in her mind.

And in her body.

Caught between the need she felt for Sasha and the awareness that what she felt for him was unethical, she felt stupid. She had been training her whole life not to be conditioned by anybody, and here she was now, melting down in front of a man. She wasn’t going to fight it, though, not when it looked like he wanted her, too.

She was the luckiest girl in the whole Academy, or so she and Nasha thought–erroneously. He didn’t show it, of course, not, he would never risk going against the Academy and its executives, but she and her friend knew he only had eyes for her.

For the first time in her life, she felt important. And it was probably childish to feel so just because a man–and an older one at that–wanted her, too. She felt important and invincible and for the first time ever since she had come to the Academy, she felt like she belonged–among those people, in that dangerous life that awaited her outside the walls of the Red Room, in a world ruled by cruelty and deceit. And she belonged there because she had someone to call her own, someone to protect her, someone that wasn’t Natasha.

She was definitely thinking far more ahead than she should have, fantasizing more than she was allowed to–fantasizing more than she should allow herself to. But she couldn’t help it, not now that she was immobile, blind and deaf and had nothing better to think about to pass the time until they let her go.

An hour and a half later, when she left the punishment room, Aleksandr was there, leaning against the wall in front of the door. Fuzzy-headed as she was, she thought he was just a figment of her own imagination.

He simply couldn’t be there.

But the hands that grabbed her biceps to steady her were more than real and she could have never conceived the worried tone of his voice for the simple reason that she had never heard it before.

“Everything alright?”

He was staring at her in the eyes but all she could see was his face a few nights before, when he had kissed her. He still had his faint, ash-blond stubble and his hair was sleeked back–it didn’t matter that he was clean-shaven now and that his hair was tousled after a long day of work.

She wanted him to kiss her again. She craved his lips on hers, craved them more than she had ever craved anything before in life–probably more than she’ll ever crave anything in the future. But she didn’t dare ask him that, so she simply nodded her answer even though she wasn’t sure she was still a person, to begin with.

He had to accompany her to the nearest staircase so that she could sit on a step, for she was clearly weaker than she wanted him to think–to see.

“We’re going back to my chambers,” he stated, kneeling down in front of her and tilting her head up so that he could look into her glossy eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re alright before I send you back to your dormitory.”

She didn’t oppose herself to the proposition and when she agreed on following him, neither of them knew things were about to go downhill.

The skin of his chest was scalding against hers just as her breasts were burning against him. Laying on his back, he had an arm around her as she laid on her side, tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin of his stomach.

Neither of them knew what to say–nor if saying anything was a good idea after what they had done.

The only certainty in the room was, Aleksandr Sergeyevich Todorovsky had never deflowered anybody, not before Lara. The knowledge that it was wrong was slowly creeping up on him but a couple of hours before, when they had ended up giving in to each other, it had felt like the only right thing in the world.

They had somehow ended up kissing–again–and while his morals should have prevailed, should have stopped him from going further, he had been too weak in front of her and he had given in. She had opened up to him like a four o’clock flower just to then swallow him whole. He had let his light fade into darkness, too, and he, too, had swallowed her whole.

And now, sweaty bodies against each other, both of them were too lost in the memory of what had happened to realize it was now approaching three in the morning.

She had been so young and pure with that body of an angel, with those eyes that seemed to speak any and every language–that seemed to speak to his soul. He had kissed every inch of her trembling body and even now, she could still feel the feathery touch of his lips pressing everywhere–her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts, the side of her breasts, her nipples, her stomach, her…

Her face had turned blood-red when he had hidden his face between her legs and she had had to cover her own face in embarrassment, for she didn’t want him to see her like that–so vulnerable and breakable, a crystal flower threatening to shatter. She had already felt good, both by her own hands and by Natasha’s, but that… That had reached a whole new level of pleasure, it had shot her through any astral plane to ever exist.

Shura could still taste her on his tongue, too, and even on his lips when he licked them to moisture them a little, his hand tracing soothing circles on the skin of her back. If he’d ever have to describe it, he’d say she tasted like sin–so good and sweet that it was a whole new sin in and of itself. And she had been so hot and wet, so tight when he had pushed that one finger inside her that…

His loins tensed at the memory and he couldn’t stop himself from looking down at her. She had her eyes closed and a tired, bright smile stretching her lips, her cheek pressed against his right pec.

She was a sin and the best dream of his life and he wondered how such things could coexist in one single person at the same time.

When he had come up with his deceiving plan, he never would have thought he’d end up with Lara in his bed. Never would have thought he’d one day take her nor that she’d let him take her. He felt both important and invincible, even now that they were resting in each other’s arms.

To think that someone like her had let someone like him take her virginity away… He wasn’t one to philosophize about virginity and the loss of it: he had never given it much importance, not before today, that is–and not even after today. The thing was, every girl in the Red Room Academy was way more superior to him than he’d ever be: they were unreachable, untouchable and even though this should have been the reality of things, he had managed to snatch the very pride of the whole organization.

And he took pride in the way he had made her feel, in the times he had made her come–mouth, fingers, dick, he had shot her to the Moon and back with all he had to offer and in change, she had done the same. Her vagina had been so tight he would have come as soon as he had pushed in if only he didn’t have some sort of self-control.

She had cried–in pleasure, as she moaned his name like a sinful litany in the otherwise absolute calm of his bedroom. Sighs, pants, moans–those four walls had witnessed it all, all the way up to the half-contained whine of pleasure she had let out when they had come together.

“I should go.” Her voice trembled, her breath fanned his cooling skin and it all snapped him out of his reverie. “It’s getting late.”

Aleksandr hummed, slightly moving down the mattress as he turned on his side to look at her. Her eyes were as glossy as they had been when she had exited the sensory-deprivation room, but for a completely different reason now. It made him smile, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.

“You should,” he agreed, hand leaving her cheek and moving down her side until it stopped behind her bent knee. He pulled her leg over his thigh so that she could hook it around his waist. “I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Their words spoke one thing, but their actions seemed to disagree. She let him move her leg and he let her get closer to him, so close that his hardening erection pressed against her lower abdomen.

For a moment–a fleeting, insignificant moment–he wished he could let her leave the Academy as she entered, wished he could see that same belly grow with the child she’d one day carry, wished he could see her breasts swell as the pregnancy progressed. But then, half a second later, that thought was gone and he was left lusting over her again.

“This must remain between the two of us,” he warned her, tilting her head slightly up and pressing a kiss against her lips. He swiped the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, brushed it against her teeth until she granted him access.

She melted in the kiss.

Their encounters didn’t end that day even though they should have. Lara didn’t even tell Nasha about that first night, not for a couple of days at least, when it became impossible to keep the secret from her best friend.

She had told her to stop. In hindsight, Larisa would agree with her friend and would chastise herself for being so childishly blind, but back then, as she slowly but surely blossomed into a woman, all she could see was him–Aleksandr, Sasha, Shura, and all the loving names she called him.

He called her Larochka. She didn’t know why, but that name always managed to make her weak in the knees. She melted inside upon hearing it, her brain stopped working, her heart started to flutter like a caged bird and her insides melted into a pool of lava.

Tonight wasn’t any different.

After that first night two weeks before, he had started to take her to mundane KGB parties. It was nice, to have someone to go with, and it was even better to have someone in whose arms he could end the night–in whose arms he could lose himself.

Larisa was more than he could ever ask for and definitely more than he could take, but he never complained, not even many years later, when he’d end up under her torturing care after having been kidnapped in Italy. She had always been his one and only weakness, even before she started to misbehave, before the Academy appointed him with the order of bringing her back to submission, before he started to feed her lies. To fall for her.

She stood there, in front of him, covered only by the lacy red panties he had bought her to wear with that second red dress. She was a sight to behold: perfect, unblemished skin, toned muscles, innocent eyes, sinner’s lips stretched into a smirk.

Shura thought of every reason why this was wrong, he tried to make them surface above all the other thoughts–the hunger, the need for her, the pulsing straining in the crotch of his tuxedo pants, the thrumming of his heart in his ears. And the more he thought about it, the more he forced himself to think of those reasons, the less he could see them, blurred as they were by the sight he had before his eyes.

It was a dance, one they hadn’t realized they had been dancing until they got to his luxurious hotel room, the one they were going to spend the night locked in. They had been flirting all night, enjoying the party as she tried her best to make a good impression on the executives of the side program, and his hands had been all over her as they danced under the twinkling lights of crystal chandeliers hanging from richly-decorated ceilings–her arms, her bare back, her plump ass.

She had done the same, always stepping closer, always craving contact.

They had both become each other’s drug without them even realizing they were falling so hard and fast until they were left panting in front of the realization. And while they had all the reasons in the world to stop, they turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to them.

They chose each other. Chose the gentle touches and the hungry ones alike, chose the pleasure, chose the prohibition. It was something neither of them could explain–something neither of them wanted to explain, not even years later, when the fire got extinguished, not even when Lara would let her guard down and Clint in. But it was here, in the present, ever-pulsing and burning as bright and hot as the sun, scalding through their veins as they devoured each other with their eyes–her, half-naked and him, still dressed, only his shirt left open and unbuttoned.

Her breathing was ragged–ragged before he even touched her, before he even spoke to her. Nipples beaded, fingers twitching at her sides, her eyes were glazed by pleasure and her panties - wet, her clit throbbing in anticipation and at the sight of him.

He was destruction–she knew it then and she knows it now–and at that moment, that was all she craved. He was good and bad destruction at the same time, burning her skin and awakening her, pulverizing her synapses and bringing her brain to life. All she needed was his eyes on her–running over her body the same way his hands soon would, seeing right through her, pointing straight for her soul.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care to be left bare and vulnerable in front of him because she had never felt safer than in his arms, under his gaze, his hands, his lips, the swipes of his tongue as it glided over her flushed skin. She had never felt as strong as she did when he looked at her almost as though she was his entire world, the beginning and the end of his life, God and the devil at the same time.

Fingers hooking under the elastic band of her skimpy panties, she pushed them down her legs, never breaking eye contact. And when he inhaled, the air hissing as it went up his nostrils and got caught in his throat, she shivered, goosebumps washing over her skin in waves as pleasure pooled in her belly, in her lungs, in her brain.

It was unexplainable, the intensity with which she wanted–needed–him. He was the forbidden, impossible dream come true and it was too much for her brain to process. Every step she took in his direction was a shorter breath, a stronger heartbeat, a foggier mind. And before she could realize it, she was standing in front of him, looking up at him, at his impossible height, at his eyes burning as hot as hers.

“You are my sin,” he murmured, hands coming up to cradle her face as he bent down to peck her lips. “But by God, am I happy to go to hell if it means having you!”

She chuckled against him and when he pulled her closer, so close that her breasts pressed against his chest, the chuckle turned into a raspy gasp bordering a moan.

It took her a second to come back to her wits but when she did, she pushed herself up on her toes and the kiss turned into a clash of lips and teeth and tongues as her fingers tugged on his perfectly-combed hair before sliding down his neck and underneath the cotton of his shirt.

Had she not been kissing him, she would have sighed. He was hot and strong and hard under her touch, broad shoulders making her want to do all kind of bad things to him–making her want to let him do all kind of bad things to her.

His shirt was gone in a matter of seconds, pooled messily on the ground at his feet, and her hands were everywhere on his arms. Her fingers gripped the muscles, her nails grazed his skin until light, red lines could be seen–the only mark she’d ever allow herself to leave on his body, too scared as she was to leave something more, hickeys and love bites and traces of her mouth and lips and tongue.

She fumbled with the button of his pants, then, and he was forced to help her in her ministrations, pushing both pants and briefs down his legs before she kneeled before him.

He couldn’t stop her–didn’t have the time nor the guts to, not when she was looking up at him with eyes blinded by pleasure and need and hunger. Her breasts hung heavy on her chest and he had to do anything in his power to keep himself on his feet, standing, and not crumble down before her and take her in any which way she wanted.

Lara was aware of it, aware of his burning gaze set on her even when she averted hers from his, giving his erection her full attention. She had been scared, the first time–scared to be a bad job, scared to give him a bad impression, scared of coming off as a child in front of her inexperience when it came to men. But he had guided her, told her what to do in the sweetest way possible and she had stared mesmerized at the way his back had arched off of the mattress, his whole body tensed as a bowstring. She had feared he would break, that his spine would snap as she still bobbed her head on his dick, taking him deeper a little more with each passing second.

He hadn’t wanted to come in her mouth and she had stared in wonder at the way his cock had twitched in her hands as she gently stroke him before rope after rope of white semen had painted his stomach and her neck and cleavage alike.

As she gently kissed the tip of his erection now, she found herself hoping to bring him the same pleasure of that first head.

Her breath shivered as she exhaled, fanning over his lower abdomen as one of her hands took a hold of the base of his dick. He felt impossibly huge in her hand and with him there, at her mercy, she felt more powerful than she did gripping a gun.

She tightened her hold slightly as she sank deeper on her heels to lick a stripe up the entire length of his cock. In the brief time that had gone from her first time to tonight, she seemed to have lost all his innocence: the worried questions in her eyes weren’t there anymore, the embarrassment crawling down her neck at being seen naked by a man wasn’t surfacing, and even though her touches were still a little insecure, they seemed to grow bolder and bolder anytime they lost themselves into each other.

“Fuck.” Aleksandr’s voice was hoarse when he groaned, hands shooting down to cradle her head when she wrapped her burning wet mouth around him. His hips bucked forward a little, the tension and excitement making it almost impossible to hold still as she accustomed herself to sucking him off, but he still somehow managed to keep the movement to a minimum.

Lara moaned around him, saliva trickling down his shaft when she bobbed her head up to lick the slit in his head before bobbing back down, taking him a little deeper, doing all she could to relax her mouth and throat in preparation of what was to come.

Left hand still wrapped around his base, slowly and slightly twisting left and right to stimulate him until her mouth could, she let the fingertips of her right hand crawl up his shin, his knee, his inner thigh before she started to tease his balls.

Skin tight, balls pulled up, her touch felt divine as she timidly swiped her fingers over his sensitive, burning skin. The muscles in his abdomen contracted, his lungs seemed to close off as he not-so-gently tugged on her hair and before he knew it, she had sunk down on her dick until her nose was pressed against his pubic bone. The long, loud moan–a strangled, almost alien sound in the otherwise silence of the room–he let out made her skin crawl as her now free left hand moved between her legs.

She was wet and the more sounds he made, the deeper she took him in, doing her best not to choke on his girth, the wetter she felt herself become. It was easy to slip first a finger and then a second one into the warmth of her pussy as her thumb teased her clit and her throat contracted around Aleksandr’s dick.

The combination of pleasures made her head dizzy and her brain foggy. When she looked up at him and found him already staring, eyes glazed over and mouth opened into a silent moan, all she could do was moan around him as she slowly finger-fucked herself. It didn’t matter that her knees hurt nor that she had to force her neck into an uncomfortable position to look up at his face overcome by pleasure because it was all worth it.

That is, until he forced himself out of her mouth before he sank down on his knees in front of her, panting for air as he tried to recompose himself.

She didn’t stop her fingers, though, and for long seconds he stared as she pleasured herself in front of him–staring at him. The slick, wet sound of her fingers thrusting in and out of her somehow managed to drown out her moans and his gasps but when he forced her on her back on the carpeted floor and she opened up her legs for him, nothing managed to hide her whimper.

He wasn’t stopping her–couldn’t bring himself to, not when she looked ravishing spread out like that, one hand between her legs and the other tugging on a nipple.

Before he could stop himself, his lips latched onto her neck, mouth suckling gently the tender skin right above her pulse point until her neck arched and she moaned low and long into the half-darkness of the room.

His hands, impatient and unable to hold still, pushed her thighs wider apart, spreading her out more as he settled between her legs and his kissed moved down her cleavage until he was sucking harshly on her untouched nipple. She mewled at the sensation and her hand moved up his arm to tug on his hair, pulling his head back enough to make him look at her before he kissed her.

He kissed her long and hard, tugged on her lips, nibbled on her lower lip before he let his tongue glide over hers. And she sighed. She sighed and her legs trembled against his thighs and when she came, breathlessly and silently, he held her down, kissed her harder, pushed his hands under her ass to rut against the hand she still had between her legs.

“Shura.” It came out like a prayer to God, like a call for mercy as her kisses shifted along the line of his jaw and moved to his neck.

“I know.” His voice choked in his throat as he gently removed her fingers from inside her. They were so wet that had he been standing, his knees would have buckled. Instead, he pressed his forehead against her shoulder for a second before he pulled up on his knees and took her slippery fingers to his mouth.

She gasped when he sucked them clean, eyes always fixed on hers as he smirked at the astonished and embarrassed expression washing over her face. Her innocence was still there, then, he thought as he bent down to kitten-lick her swollen clit before positioning himself at her entrance.

Eyes staring into each other’s, he pushed in slowly, never stopping, never faltering, not even when the spasming tightness of her walls made his toes curl and her hands squeeze her tits.

He would have died for her and he would have died happy. To see her like this, to feel her like this–so eager to take him in, to swallow him–, it was more than his brain could process as he came to a halt inside her, hipbones against hipbones.

He took her in–the way she scrunched up her nose in pleasure, the way her tongue tried to moisten her dry lips, the way her sweaty skin glistened under the low lights of the room. It all made him twitch inside her, forcing him to pull his hips back, almost all the way out, before slowly pushing back in.

They both wanted to savor it, to savor the moment before they both had to go back to the Red Room and pretend like they could act professionally around each other.

The more time passed, though, the less control they had on their bodies and soon her hands were tugging at him and he was rutting into her, pelvic bone deliciously brushing against her clit, making her muscles tense up with poorly-contained pleasure.

It was a wild chase for a climax as both their backs arched and tensed and their moans turned louder and deeper.

He was kissing her everywhere–lips, eyelids, cheeks, neck, tits, shoulders–and she was doing the same as her nails marked the fair skin of his back until they drew blood here and there.

Breaths always shorter, heartbeats louder, it was hard to keep going as his knees pressed into the floor and her neck bent to suck on the skin of his neck–regulations be damned!

When he came deep inside her, forcing his rutting to come to an abrupt stop when his back arched and his moan went silent, it was almost an explosion of static noise. White went off behind his closed eyelids and at the sight of him, so overcome, she followed suit.

Larisa got her answer from the KGB’s side program a month before Natasha’s graduation. She was laying on yet another hotel bed next to Aleksandr, catching his breath after he had taken her in the shower, and there was a stupid grin on her lips as she stared at the pristine white ceiling of the bedroom.

With the passing of the weeks, Todorovsky had fallen for his own lies. Part of him did remember the day he had forged that admission letter, but it was so deeply buried in his subconscious that he could barely feel its presence.

“I got a letter for you,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment before he stood up. The duffle bag in which he had packed his and Lara’s change of clothes was still on the desk in front of the window that gave on Piter’s Neva, flowing placidly below them.

“A letter for me?”

Larisa had never received letters. No one did at the Academy. There was no one out there waiting for them, missing them, wishing to simply write them. Therefore, the news made excitement spark below her skin, pulling her up into a sitting position under the silky blankets of the bed.

Shura came back with a grin on his lips and crawled over to her until he pecked her lips before handing her the envelope and laying down next to her.

“You already opened it?” she asked, noticing how the lid of the envelope had been torn.

He hummed, his right hand absentmindedly caressing up and down her spine, his eyes staring at the goosebumps appearing and disappearing on her skin. “It was addressed to me since I’m your doctor. I didn’t know what it was about until I opened it.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’ll see.” He chuckled at the excitement in her voice and pushed her to take out the letter.

She read it quickly and the more she proceeded, the more sparkly the excitement in her eyes got. “We have taken into consideration the exceptionality of Larisa Efimovna Goncharova’s case and are honored to welcome her into our Mantis Program. We will be waiting for her arrival after her graduation next year.” Her voice rose slightly but steadily as she read that excerpt and when she had come to the end of the letter and Bakatin’s signature, she threw the papers in the air and threw her arms around his neck, laughing.

He chuckled back, pulling her closer until she was straddling him.

She bent down to kiss him, hips settling better against him and his hungry erection, before she kissed his cheeks and his eyelids, never silencing her giggling. “Oh, God, Shura!” She was shaking with badly-contained laughter over him and it made him smile as his hands caressed her sides, his hips slowly thrusting against her out of their own accord. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

How was this? Please, consider leaving feedback, I’m slowly easing back into writing and it’d mean the world to hear from you.

Once again, thank you to @flowers-in-your-hayr both for the moodboard (and moodboarS in general) and for bless-dooming me with the unnecessarily deep thirst and hunger for Alexander Skarsgård. I’m now sad I made Todorovsky the dick he is HAHAHA

TAGS (to be added or removed, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi

Larisa:@queenoftheunderdark

People that might be interested:@sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf @flowers-in-your-hayr @pagan-geek-girl-4-life @kellydixon01

#oc larisa efimovna goncharova #oc larisa goncharova #oc larisa #oc aleksandr todorovsky #oc todorovsky #the mantis series #angelaiswriting

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certifiedmapletree · 7 years

Text

A Malfunctioning Relationship

Summary: Bucky’s arm malfunctions during an intimate moment, almost injuring you. So he decides to go to a fellow engineer teammate for help. He really wishes he hadn’t.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2426

You wake up with a metal arm and a human arm wrapped around your waist. You smile to yourself and turn over to look at your boyfriend’s sleeping face. He feels you move and squeezes his arms tighter around you.

“Don’t leave yet. I’m not letting go.” He mumbles. You chuckle and brush the hair out of his face. He places his hand over yours so it cups his cheek.

“Buck, you know we have training today, right? You keep staring at me while you’re supposed to be shooting the enemy. We can’t have another London incident. What if Steve hadn’t been there?”

Bucky opens an eye and smiles. “I can always count on you or your brother to save my ass, now can’t I?”

You remove your hand from his face and lightly hit his chest. “Yeah, well you still need to work on it. Sometimes it’s weird how much you stare at me.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought that dating someone for a year meant unlimited staring time, doll.” A seductive glint flashes across his eyes and he waggles his eyebrows. “Guess I’ll have to pay extra for that?”

You roll your eyes and try to escape his grip. “You know Tony has the vitals and condition of everyone in the tower, right? I don’t want Thor barging in here again asking why our hearts were beating ‘unnaturally fast’ again.”

“He likes you. I’m sure he’ll listen to your explanation.”

You glare at him but he just smiles, moving so that he’s on top of you. In this position, you stop trying to get free and stare up into Bucky’s eyes. He does the same and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. His human arm cups your cheek and his metal arm is next to your head, supporting his weight. You start weaving your fingers through his long hair when you hear a weird mechanical sound. You pull away, confused, looking at Bucky. He’s about to say something when he crashes down on top of you. He quickly rolls off and you cough. He gives you a worried look, hoping you’re okay. You cough again and sit up.

“Well, that was an experience.” You said gently rubbing your collarbone area.

“An experience!? I fell on top of you! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Do you need medical attention? What if I broke you!?” He says incredulously. You ruffle his hair and shake your head. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m fine. Just a little winded.”

He sits up and puts his head in his hands, struggling to fully move his metal arm. He looks down at the limb and tries to find out why it isn’t working. You’re discretely trying to catch your breath, so that Bucky doesn’t worry any more than he is already. You steady your breathing and turn to face your distressed boyfriend.

You gently pull his metal arm away from his face and he looks up at you. You give him a reassuring smile and lay it across your lap. You trace your fingers up the entire length of the arm, but don’t see anything wrong with it or out of place. You reach the part where the metal meets flesh and you hesitate to examine the area. Bucky gives you a small nod before you continue. You gingerly graze your fingers over the area and see a small wire poking out between the two different parts of his arm. You accidentally brush over it but don’t realize it until it’s too late. Bucky’s arm jerks and you feel a blow to the stomach. You slide back a few inches on the bed and immediately clutch your stomach. Bucky frantically looks at you and then at his arm.

“Shit! Okay, I’m not going to lie, that actually did really hurt.” You say groaning.

“Alright, I need to go and find Stark so he can fix this. I don’t want to beat you up anymore.” Bucky says getting off the bed. He comes to the other side and kisses your forehead.

“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll go with you.”

“No way, not in your condition. Just get some rest okay? I’ll figure it out.” He says leaving the room.

You sigh and sit against the pillows. Your stomach and chest do still kind of hurt. You laugh to yourself, not surprised how this morning has turned out. You and Bucky seem to have a lot of issues when it comes to suggestive romantic situations. On Monday, Tony decided to test new fire-resistant materials for the team’s suits.

It was 3 a.m. You and Bucky had just gotten back to the tower, returning from a successful mission. You figured no one would be awake, so you two barely got out of the elevator with any clothes on. When you finally made it to the bed, the sprinklers started going off and there were robots with fire extinguishers bursting into every room. It turned out Tony fell asleep and found out that the newest material he was testing was, in fact, not fire-resistant.

The week before, you and Bucky thought you two were alone in the tower since everyone else was seeing a movie.

Feeling full of adrenaline, you and Bucky flew at each other on the couch in the main floor living room like you had magnets in your clothes. That’s when your night was ruined by Tony’s tech, again.

“Mr. Stark would like me to deliver a message.” FRIDAY announces. “Alright kids, don’t think Uncle Tony doesn’t check up on the tower when he’s not there. He also specifically checks to see if people are doing it on his couch and he really doesn’t appreciate that. In other words, get a damn room and skedattle!” Tony said, his face appearing on the giant plasma screen.

You’re starting to fall asleep but the sound of your brother yelling your name alerts you. You roll over and see a frantic Steve Rogers in your doorway.

“Steve, what are you yelling for?” You groan burying your face back in your pillow.

He looks at you confused. “Why do your body statistics say you’re injured? You look like you haven’t even left your room today.” He says leaning against the door frame.

“Gee thanks bro, that’s because I haven’t. Bucky’s arm malfunctioned this morning and he may or may not have accidently fell on me.” You say lifting your head as your cheeks redden.

“He, fell on you?” Steve asks slowly.

“And he may have accidently punched me in the stomach too.” You say sheepishly.

“He punched you in the- you realize that he could’ve seriously hurt you right? He’s bigger and stronger than you, I mean, I can’t even take a punch from his other arm without having to take a break. And not to mention, he-”

“Wow, loving the sympathy, Steve. Thanks for that. I thought Captain America was supposed to be more empathic than this.” You say cutting him off. You shift uncomfortably and rub your chest again. Steve doesn’t miss this but says nothing.

“Yeah, well there’s an exception when it comes to sisters. It says in the handbook.” He says coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed. You move to sit next to him.

“Yeah? Well you just have to remember that next time I beat you in sparring like yesterday.” You say nudging his shoulder.

“That wasn’t a fair fight anyways. You didn’t have the sun in your eyes the whole time. But joking aside, are you okay?”

You’re about to answer but you start coughing right before you say it. Steve frowns at you and looks up at the ceiling.

“FRIDAY? Can you send a doctor in here please?”

“One has just been notified, Mr. Rogers.”

Your coughing fit stops and you shake your head.

“Steve, I’m fine. Trust me.”

“No, you obviously are having some respiratory issues. I’m sure the doc will tell you something that will help.” He says rubbing your back.

____

“Well what seems to be the problem Buckaroo? What can my genius mind do for you today?” Tony asks Bucky, who’s sitting on a table in his lab.

“Why do you have to be the only one who can help me?” He mutters to himself. “There’s a wire close to where the metal bonds with flesh that’s sticking out. It makes my arm go all crazy and I can’t control it.”

Tony gets out some tools and steps closer to him. “Hmm, let’s see what it will show me. Mind giving me a hand? Maybe an arm?”

“Stark, I hate you.”

About half an hour later, Tony is all done with Bucky’s arm. He had to take some of the plating off of the arm to get to the problem, but there were no other hitches. “Okay Furiosa, everything should be fine and dandy now. Just don’t put too much strain on it maybe for the next hour. Some of the skin where I was working got irritated so I’m going to find something to put on it from in Bruce’s lab. You can go back to your missus, I’ll bring it up to you later.” Tony says patting the metal arm.

Bucky nods and gets off the table. “Thanks Stark, I owe you one.”

“Yeah how about next time we’re in London you don’t almost let me get shot because you’re ogling your girlfriend.” He says, his mouth in a straight line.

Bucky shrugs, “Steve had you covered. Besides, what good is that tin can you step into if it can’t withstand one shot?”

“Of course it can! But it really felt like all of our team building exercises were a waste.”

“I’m sorry Stark. Tell me when more team exercises are happening though, they’re so fun.” Bucky says sarcastically. He exits Tony’s lab and starts to head towards the exit. A booming voice stops him.

“Ah, Mr. Buchanan! What brings you down in these parts of the facility? Dr. Banner here is showing me some very interesting Midgard science that I’m not really understanding.”

Bucky turns and walks over to Bruce’s lab and hovers in the doorway. Thor is standing by a table with a microscope on it. Bruce is looking at computer screen behind the god. He turns and nods at Bucky.

“Thor, I’ve said this before, it’s Bucky.”

He looks confused. “Yes, but Stark said you prefer-”

Bucky shakes his head. “He was lying. Anyways, I just had some problems with my arm, but they’re all fixed now.”

Thor smiles brightly. “That’s excellent, Bucky! So it has been upgraded?”

“No, not quite, just fixed.”

“I’ve tried to offer upgrades to him before, Goldilocks, trust me.” Tony pops out of another room in Bruce’s lab holding multiple tubes of different lotions.

Bucky rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I’ve declined because I don’t want be your next project, Tony.”

The engineer shrugs and reads through the tubes he’s holding. “Oh c'mon I could do so much. Sure you don’t want a vibrating feature? I could do it right now.”

Bucky is about to answer but Thor interjects. “Wait, why would he want that feature? Am I missing something? Banner, can you explain it?”

Bruce’s head shoots up and he looks around nervously. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry about it Thor, he’s just joking. I’ll see you later with something for my arm, right, Tony?” Bucky says ready to leave the awkward situation as quickly as possible.

Tony is already walking back into the other room. “Yeah, yeah. I just need to find the right kind. There’s like 300 things back here.”

Thor looks like he’s not going to drop the topic of a vibrating arm, so Bucky turns and exits right away. He heads to the elevator and leans against the wall letting out a long sigh. When it stops, he walks to his shared quarters, ready to flop down on the bed and give you a cuddle.

He walks in the bedroom and finds where you were earlier, just sitting in bed. You’re scrolling through your phone but look up and smile at your boyfriend. “Hey. Did you get all fixed up?”

He comes and lays down with his head in your lap. “Yep. Tony is coming up later to drop off some sort of a lotion because the skin by my arm got irritated or something.”

You set your phone down and brush your fingers through his hair. “Well I’m glad you’re okay, love. Steve was in earlier freaking out about my vitals and stuff.”

Bucky looks up at you. “So you’re saying nothing new happened?”

You smile again and start a little braid in his hair. “Yeah, he called in a doctor to come take a look at my chest and stomach. But there was nothing wrong. I’ll just be a little sore for the next few days. No marks and no bruises. It’s like nothing ever happened.”

He closes his eyes and furrows his brows. “Yeah, but it did happen. I still feel guilty. I don’t like you being in any pain at all, doll.”

You lean down and kiss his forehead. He moves so he’s next you and you climb on him. “I’m a fighter Buck. Besides, one little arm malfunction never would’ve killed me. It was an accident. No need to feel guilty.”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips. He pulls you closer, deepening it. His hands go from your back and travel down lower, pulling you up so you’re straddling him. Your hands are going towards the hem of his shirt when the inevitable happens.

“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Stark is arriving with the moisturizer you need.” FRIDAY says.

You reluctantly pull back and Bucky huffs out a very annoyed breath. “Damn you, Stark.”

You get off of your boyfriend and stifle a laugh. He stomps to the door and flings it open. Tony stands there with a bottle in his hand. He gives you a smile and you wave back.

“Here you go, heavy metal.” He glances down below Bucky’s waistband and lets out a laugh, handing him the bottle.

“Wow! Okay, here, take it! Looks like you needed it sooner than I thought. Bye lovebirds!”

Bucky looks down at the bottle and slams the door. He stalks back to the bed with a scowl on his face. You give him a confused look. He throws the bottle on the bed.

“It’s a bottle of lube.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky one shot #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel oneshot #fic #my fic

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alleiradayne · 7 years

Text

Bang Your Head (Cullen x F!Trevelyan Modern AU) Part 69

Catch up on the previous part - part 68 | ao3 Start from the beginning - part 1 | ao3

At last, Duncan brings everyone up to speed.

The den was cozy, intimate and warm. Dark red walls and pale carpet paired with a low ceiling, rich cedar book shelves surrounded Amallia as though she were in an actual bear den, except for the wet bar in the far corner.

And there, leaning against the polished cedar rail, stood Alistair, holding a wide, shallow glass, empty but for the last swallow of brown liquor at the bottom. His white shirt hung open, buttons at the neck undone with a loosened green tie. Navy slacks clung to his hips, his belt missing. Brown oxfords covered navy argyle socks, one ankle exposed by a leg propped on a bar stool.

Eyes the color of warm honey brightened as he spotted them, a soft smile hooking one corner of his mouth. And though he saw them both, he lingered on Cullen a moment longer before hefting a tray of drinks from the bar.

“Alistair, sit, I’ll take care of it,” Duncan admonished and Alistair obeyed, turning back for the couch and taking a seat beside Cullen. Amallia sat to his left, and Tanya took up a chair beside them as she spoke.

“I understand you’re in the middle of an investigation,” she asked, addressing Cullen. “But you don’t work for Duncan, though?” she clarified as she folded her burgundy cotton dress between her crossed knees.

Cullen shook his head. “No, ma’am. I was … indirectly involved with the shooting,” he explained. “Alistair and Amodisia asked that the security firm I work for, REDIS, provide extra security that day.”

“Evidently,” Alistair added, “I’d been right about that hunch. Just wanted to make sure everyone knows that I was right. The diner was a stupid idea.”

Cullen turned to him with an irritated scoff. “The diner was your stupid idea.”

“I never said it wasn’t, it absolutely was my terrible idea,” he agreed. “Still, I reached out to Cullen’s firm in September to keep up with the investigation. Redcliffe PD wasn’t …”

He cut off with a click of his teeth, eyeing Duncan with a guilty frown. Laden with the tray of drinks, he rejoined them, sitting in his own chair beside Alistair. Dower, his hooded glare and angular cheekbones cut an intimidating figure, all framed by thick black hair. Square and strong, his bearded jaw ground as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the neck of his white captain’s shirt.

“Redcliffe PD was doing absolutely nothing,” he finished his governor’s thoughts. “I knew something was wrong immediately. I just wish it hadn’t taken you as long to come to the same conclusion.”

Alistair grunted. “I was preoccupied. And terrified for Sia.”

Maker’s breath, she’d nearly forgotten about Amodisia. “Where is she, Alistair?”

Alistair gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. “Not to worry, she’s at home in Denerim. The manor is heavily guarded and has one of the most advanced security systems. She’s safe.”

Amallia glared at him. “Does she know you’re here?”

Alistair dug his phone from his pocket and tossed it to her as he picked up a drink from the tray. Amallia read the long conversation between Alistair and his wife starting earlier that afternoon. When she finished, two drinks remained on the tray, a short tumbler with reddish brown liquor and a large chunk of ice, the other filled with clear liquor and overloaded with crushed ice.

“Is this safe?” she asked as she returned his phone to him and picked up the dark drink.

“Dagna wrote it,” Alistair explained. “Some ridiculously complex program that I’m not able to explain, she said it would be the safest way to communicate while I was away.”

“Dagna?” Duncan asked. “My Dagna?”

Alistair rolled his eyes once more, sarcastic as ever. “Yes, your Dagna. I needed a closed channel to communicate with Sia while I was away and Dagna came through,” he explained, then returned his warm gaze to her. “Trust me, Mal, I know what she means to you. To us,” he assured her. “But she also wants this case solved. So, I’m not stopping for anything. If a lead comes up, I’m following it.”

Cullen perked up at that, swallowing a short sip of his drink. “Speaking of leads, why didn’t you just call me?”

Alistair looked from him to Duncan with a confident grin. “Would you like the honors? You tell it much better than I do.”

Duncan stood before them, picking the remaining glass from the tray and handing it to his wife. She smiled her thanks, then sipped from the tumbler as she settled in for Duncan’s explanation. The chief of remained standing, towering over them as he regaled them with his insider’s information.

“From May to August, the case was worked like any other,” he began. “Evidence was collected, logged, analyzed, and filed away. Given the staggering number of leads, I thought my detectives had this one in the bag,” he explained. “Boxes upon boxes of interviews, video and audio recordings of the event, eye-witnesses, and mounds of documentation.”

Cullen snarled at the last, hackles rising in fury. “They lied,” he spat. “It was a façade to make everyone believe they were investigating. Most of that evidence was just useless cannon fodder for anyone insane enough to try to sort it all out. They did it to derail the investigation.”

“Permanently,” Alistair added.

Duncan frowned as he continued. “I am partly to blame for that,” he started with a ragged sigh. “I knew it was happening and I could have put an end to it, could have stepped in and cleaned it all up. But, I didn’t want to tip my hand. As far as the two detectives were aware, they took care of everything and nobody knew otherwise.”

He fell silent then, arms folding across his chest and eyes staring ahead unseeing. A sip from his drink was robotic, wrote, like a program his mechanics followed without question. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Amallia leaned closer to hear him.

“There wasn’t enough evidence to implicate the detectives,” Duncan continued. “By the time I realized there was a problem, it was too late. Most of the evidence that would have netted us the shooter or his employer was destroyed. And I couldn’t let on that I knew. It wasn’t just about the shooting anymore. There was a cover-up.”

Amallia interjected then, unable to remain quiet. “So, you sent in a … reverse mole to plant the Warden Capitals document.”

As if she had breathed new life into him, Duncan’s eyes brightened. “Precisely,” he agreed, eager once more. “If I could prove the detectives were intentionally sabotaging the case, then I could expose them.”

“And,” Amallia began as she stood, “that’s leverage. You could find out who put them up to it.”

“We could,” Duncan started, “but that would require hard evidence to even bring them in for questioning and –”

“But we have hard evidence,” Amallia interrupted, struggling to keep quiet in her excitement. “Alistair sent it to Cullen just a few days ago. It all ties out; where the money came from, filtered through Warden Capitals, and then where it went.”

Cullen’s side-eyed glare of warning stung, deflating her excitement. They were so close, how could he let a partial truth bother him? The police could investigate the missing money later, when they had an actual case.

“Alistair, I want nothing more than to help,” Duncan began, “but you’ve got to swear to me you have concrete evidence.”

“I will when you let me talk to your mole,” Alistair stated with a smirk.

“You mean when Cullen talks to my mole,” Duncan corrected, “seeing as that he’s the only licensed private investigator in the room. Amallia, I hope you’ve been extremely careful, you really should not be involved at all.”

“I ah,” she stuttered as she returned to her seat, another hole punched in her bubble. “I only know what Cullen’s discussed with me. I’ve helped him look at what those detectives considered evidence, but I think the investigation, at this point, is beyond legal protection given what they did to it, no?”

A crooked, yet thoughtful smile spread across his lips, leaving her confused. “Ever thought about a career in law?”

Void take her, but she gaped. “I would make for a terrible lawyer,” she excused. “Not to mention, the work seems a little boring,” she added with a jab at Cullen. “All that paper work …”

Duncan chuckled, a knowing sound. “You’re not wrong,” he started. “Well, then, it seems we have an actual case on our hands again. Cullen, I’ll put you in contact with my man. Alistair, you may want to head home tonight, yet.”

“Yes, sir,” Alistair said, deferential to his mentor as usual. “Another drink wouldn’t hurt? For the road?”

Duncan accompanied him to the bar, an arm around his shoulders as they talked of a time years ago, remembered with fond reverence.

#cullenrutherford #amallia trevelyan #alistair theirin #dai fanfic #fanfic

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webanalytics · 7 years

Text

The Artificial Intelligence Opportunity: A Camel to Cars Moment

Over the last couple years, I’ve spent an increasing amount of time diving into the possibilities Deep Learning (DL) offers in terms of what we can do with Artificial Intelligence (AI). Some of these possibilities have already been realized (more on this later in the post). And, I could not be more excited to see them out in the world.

Through it all, I’ve felt there are a handful of breath-taking realities that most people are not grasping when it comes to an AI-Powered world. Why the implications are far deeper for humanity than we imagine. Why in my areas of expertise, marketing, sales, customer service and analytics, the impact will be deep and wide. Why is this not yet another programmatic moment. Why the scale at which we can (/have to) solve the problems is already well beyond the grasp of the fundamental strategy most companies follow: We have a bigger revenue opportunity, but we don’t know how to take advantage? Let’s buy more hamster wheels, hire more hamsters and train them to spin faster!

Today I want shed some light on these whys, and a bit more. My goal is to try to cause a shift in your thinking, to get you to take a leadership role in taking advantage of this opportunity both at a personal and professional level.

I’ve covered AI earlier: Artificial Intelligence: Implications On Marketing, Analytics, And You. You’ll learn all about the Global Maxima, definitions of AI/ML/DL, and the implications related to the work we do day to day. If you’ve not read that post, I do encourage you to do so as it will have valuable context.

In this post, I’ve organized my thoughts into these six clusters:

1: What’s the BFD? 2: Wait. So are we “doomed”? 3: AI: A conversation with a skeptic. 4: Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Professional) 5: Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Personal) 6: Summary.

There is a deliberate flow to this post, above. If you are going to jump around, it is ok, but please be sure to read the section below first. You won’t regret it.

Ready to have your mind stretched? Let’s go!

What’s the BFD?

I’m really excited about what’s in front of us. When I share that excitement in my keynotes or an intimate discussion with a company’s board of directors, I make sure I stress two especially powerful concepts that I have come to appreciate about the emerging AI solutions: Collective Continuous Learning + Complete Day One Knowledge.

They are crucial in being able to internalize the depth and breadth of the revolution, and why we strengths AI brings are a radical shift beyond what humans are capable of.

The first eye-opening learning for me came from the Google Research team’s post on Learning from Large-Scale Interaction.

Most robots are very robotic because they follow a sense-plan-act paradigm. This limits the types of things they are able to do, and as you might have seen their movements are deliberate. The team at Google adopted the strategy of having a robot learn own its own (rather than programming it with pre-configured models).

The one-handed robots in this case had to learn to pick up objects.

Initially the grasping mechanism was completely random – try to imagine a baby who barely knows they even have a hand at the end of their shoulder. Hence, you’ll see in the video below, they rarely succeed at the task at hand. ;)

At the end of each day, the data was collected and used to train a deep convolutional neural network (CNN), to learn to predict the outcome of each grasping motion. These learnings go back to the robot and improve its chances of success.

Here’s the video…

youtube

(Play on YouTube)

It took just 3,000 robot-hours of practice to see the beginnings of intelligent behavior.

What’s intelligent behavior of a CNN powered one-handed robot?

Among other things, being able to isolate one object (a stapler) to successfully pick-up a Lego piece. You’ll see that at 15 seconds in this video…

youtube

(Play on YouTube)

Or, learning how to pick up different types of objects (a dish washing soft sponge, a blackboard eraser, or a water glass etc.).

I felt a genuine tingling sensation just imagining a thing not knowing something and it being able to simply learn. I mean pause. Just think about it. It started from scratch – like a baby – and then just figured it out. Pretty damn fast. It truly is mind-blowing.

There were two lessons here. The first related to pure deep learning and its amazingness, I was familiar with this one. The second was something new (for me). This experiment involved 14 one-handed robot arms. While not a massive number, the 14 were collectively contributing data from the start – with their many failures. The end of day learnings by the convolutional neural network were using all 14. And, the next day, all 14 started again with this new level of collective wisdom.

For a clear way for me to capture this lesson, I call this Collective Learning.

It is very powerful.

Think of 14 humans learning a new task. Peeling an apple. Or, laying down track for a railroad. Or, programming a new and even more frustrating in-flight entertainment menu for Air Canada (who have the worst one known to mankind).

Every human will do it individually as well as they can – there will be the normal bell curve of competency. It is entirely possible, if there are incentives to do so, that the humans who are better in the group will try to teach others. There will be great improvement if the task is repetitive and does not require imagination/creativity/intrinsic intelligence. There might be a smaller improvement if the task is not repetitive and requires imagination/creativity/intrinsic intelligence.

In neither case will there be anything close to Collective Learning when it comes to humans.

Humans also do not posses this continuous closed loop: Do something. Check outcome (success or failure). Actively learn from either, improve self. Do something better the next time.

Collective Continuous Learning. An incredible advantage that I had simply not thought through deeply enough.

Here’s the second BFD.

Machine Learning is already changing lots of fields, the one I’m most excited about is what’s happening in healthcare. From the ability to speed up discovery of new medicines to the unbelievable speed with which Machine Learning techniques are becoming particularly adept at diagnosis (think blood reports, X-rays, cancers etc.).

An example I love. 415 million diabetic patients worldwide are at risk of Diabetic Retinopathy (DR) – the fastest growing cause of blindness. If caught early, the disease is completely treatable. The problem? Medical specialists capable of detecting DR are rare in many parts of the world where diabetes is prevalent.

Using a dataset of 128,000 images Google’s Accelerated Science Team trained a deep neural network to detect DR from retinal photographs. The results delivered by the algorithm (black curve) were slightly better than expert ophthalmologists (colored dots)…

Specifically the algorithm has a F-score of 0.95 and the median F-score of the eight expert ophthalmologists was 0.91.

As richer datasets become available for the neural network to learn from, as 3D imaging technology like Optical Coherence Tomography becomes available all over the world to provide more detailed view of the retina, just imagine how transformative the impact will be.

Literally millions upon millions of people at risk of blindness will have access to AI-Powered technology that can create a different outcome for their life – and their families.

#omg

A recent incredible article on this topic is in my beloved New Yorker magazine: A.I. VERSUS M.D. You *should* read it. I’ll jump to a part of the article that altered my imagination of possibilities.

An algorithm created by Sebastian Thrun, Andre Esteva and Brett Kuprel can detect keratinocyte carcinoma (a type of skin cancer) by looking at images of the skin (acne, a rash, mole etc.). In June 2015 it got the right answer 72% of the time, two board-certified dermatologists got the right answer for the same images 66% of the time.

Since then, as they outlined in their report published in the prestigious journal Nature, the algorithm has gotten smarter across even more skin cancer types – and consistently performs better than dermatologists.

Most cancers are fatal because they are detected too late, just imagine the transformative impact of this algorithm sitting in the cloud easily accessible to all humanity via their five billion smartphones. This dream come true: low-cost universal access to vital diagnostic care.

Oh, and here’s a profoundly under-appreciated facet of all this. These health algorithms (including and beyond the one above), are incredible at corner cases, the rare long-tail anomalies. They don’t forget what they have seen once or “rarely.”

This is just a little bit of context for the key point.

A dermatologist in a full-time practice will see around 200,000 cases during her/his lifetime. With every case she sees, she’ll ideally add to her knowledge and grow her diagnostic skills.

Our very human problem is that every new dermatology resident starts almost from scratch. Some textbooks might be updated (while comfortably remaining a decade of more behind). Some new techniques – machines, analytical strategies – might be accessible to the resident. But, the depth and breadth of knowledge acquired by the dermatologist at the end of her career with 200k cases, is almost completely inaccessible to the new resident. Even if they do a residency at an hospital or with a old dermatologist, a newly minted dermatologist will only be a little better than when the old one left school.

Consider this instead: The algorithm above processed 130,000 cases in three months! And every day it will get smarter as it’ll have access to the latest (and more) data. Here though is the magical bit. Every single new algorithm we bring online will have total access to all knowledge from previous algorithms! It’s starting point will be, what I call, Complete Day One Knowledge.

As it gets more data to learn from, as it has access to more compute power, it will get smarter and build upon that complete knowledge. The next version of the algorithm will start with this new high mark.

There is nothing equivalent to Complete Day One Knowledge when it comes to humans.

Combine having Complete Day One Knowledge with Collective Continuous Learning (networked hardware or software all learning at the same time) and it should take you five seconds to realize that we are in a new time and place.

Whatever form AI takes, it will always have access to complete knowledge and through the network each instance will make all others smarter every single instance/moment of its existence.

Humans simply can’t compete.

That’s the BFD.

Stop. Think. If you disagree even slightly, scroll back up and read the post again.

It is imperative that you get this not because of what will happen in 10 years, but what is happening today to the job you have. If you still disagree, scroll down and post a comment, I would love to hear your perspective and engage in a conversation.

Bonus 1: There is an additional valuable lesson related to open-loop grasp selection and blindly executing it vs. incorporating continuous feedback (50% reduction in failure rates!). The two videos are worth watching to see this in action.

Bonus 2: While are on the subject of objects… Relational reason is central to human intelligence. Deepmind has had recent success in building a simple neural network module for relational reasoning. This progress is so very cool. Additionally, I was so very excited about the Visual Interaction Network they built to mimic a human’s ability to predict. (If you kick a ball against the wall, your brain predict what will happen when the ball hits the wall.) The article is well worth reading: A neural approach to relational reasoning. Success here holds fantastic possibilities.

Wait. So are we “doomed”?

It depends on what you mean by doomed but: Yes. No. Yes, totally.

Artificial Intelligence will hold a massive advantage over humans in the coming years.

In field after field due to Collective Continuous Learning and Complete Day One Knowledge (not to mention advances in deep learning techniques and hardware :)), AI will be better at frequent high-volume tasks.

Hence, the first yes.

Neuralink at the moment is a concept (implantable brain-computer interface). But many experts (like Ray Kurzweil) believe some type of connection between our human brain and “intelligence, data, compute power in the cloud” will be accessible to humans.

I humbly believe that when that happens, over the next few decades (think 2050), humans could get to parity with AI available at that time. We might even have an advantage for some time (if only because I can’t let go of the thought that our brains are special!).

Hence, the no.

As we head towards the second half of the current century, AI will regain the lead again – and keep it for good. I don’t have the competency to judge if that will be AGI or Superintellignece or some other variation. But, with all other computing factors changing at an exponential rate it is impossible that intelligence will not surpass the limitations of humans and human brains (including the one with a version of Neuralink).

Here’s just one data-point from Jurgen Schmidhuber: Neural networks we are using for Deep Learning at the moment have around a billion neural connections compared with around 100,000 billion in the human cortex. Computers are getting 10 times faster every 5 years, and unless that trend breaks, it will only take 25 years until we have a recurrent neural network comparable with the human brain. Just 25 years.

Hence, the yes totally.

I have a personal theory as to what happens to humans as we look out 150 – 200 years. It is not relevant to this post. But, if you are curious, please ask me next time you see me. (Or, sign up for my weekly newsletter: The Marketing < > Analytics Intersect)

AI: A conversation with a skeptic.

Surely some of you think, to put it politely, that I’m a little bit out there. Some of you’ve heard the “hype” before and are deeply skeptical (AI went through a two decade long tundra where it failed to live up to every promise, until say 2010 or so). Some of you were promised Programmatic was AI and all it did was serve crap more efficiently at scale!

I assure you, skepticism is warranted.

Mitch Joel is the Rock Star of Digital Marketing, brilliant on the topic of media, and a very sweet human being. Amongst his many platforms is a fantastic podcast called Six Pixels of Separation. Our 13th podcast together was on AI. Mitch played the role of the resident skeptic and I played the role of, well, the role you see me play here.

If you can think of a skeptical question on this topic, Mitch asked it. Give the podcast a listen…

(Play at Six Pixels of Separation)

As you’ll hear multiple times, a bunch of this is a matter of thinking differently about the worldview that we’ve brought with us thus far. I share as many examples and metaphors I could to assist you in a journey that requires you to think very differently.

If you are still skeptical about something, please express it via comments below. Within the bounds of my competency, I’ll do my best to provide related context.

Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Professional)

While I look at the future with optimism (even 150 years out for humans), what I’m most excited about is what Machine Learning and Deep Learning can do for us today. There are so many things that are hard to do, opportunities we don’t even know exist, the ability to make work that sucks the life out of you easier, better, smarter, or gone.

In a recent edition of my newsletter, TMAI, I’d shared a story and a call to arms with specific recommendations of what to do now. I’ll share it with you all here with the hope that you’ll jump-start your use of Machine Learning today…

I lived in Saudi Arabia for almost three years. Working at DHL was a deeply formative professional experience. My profound love of exceptional customer service, and outrage at awful customer experiences, can be directly sourced to what I learned there.

Saudi Arabia is a country that saw massively fast modernization. In just a few years, the country went from camels to cars. (I only half-jokingly say that Saudis still ride their cars like camels – and it was scary!).

Think about it for a moment.

From camels to cars. No bicycles. No steam engines. None of the other in-betweens other parts of the world systematically went through to get to cars. They were riding camels, then they were riding cars. Consider all the implications.

We stand at just such a moment in time in the business world. You know just how immersed and obsessed I am with Artificial Intelligence and the implications on marketing and analytics. It truly is a camels to cars type moment in my humble opinion (it might even be a camels to rockets moment, but let me be conservative).

Yet, executives will often give me examples of things they are doing, and they feel satisfied that they are with it, they are doing AI. When I probe a bit, it becomes clear very quickly that all they are doing is making the camels they are riding go a little faster.

That all by itself is not a bad thing – they are certainly moving faster. The problem is they are completely missing the opportunity to get in the car (and their competitors are already in cars).

It is important to know the difference between the two – for the sake of job preservation and company survival.

Here are a handful of examples to help you truly deeply internalize the difference between these two critical strategies…

If you are moving from last-click attribution to experimenting with first-click or time-decay, this is trying to make your camel go faster. Using ML-Powered Data-Driven Attribution and connecting it with your AdWords account so that action can be taking based on DDA recommendations automatically, you are riding a car.

(More on this: Digital Attribution's Ladder of Awesomeness)

If you are moving to experimenting with every button and dial you can touch in AdWords so that you can understand how everything works and you can prove increase in conversions while narrowly focusing on a few keywords, you are making your camel go faster. Switching to ML-powered Smart Targeting, Smart Creative and Smart Bidding with company Profit as the success criteria, for every relevant keyword identified automatically by the algorithm, you are riding a car.

Staffing up your call center to wait for calls from potential customers is making your camel go faster. Creating a neural-network that analyzes all publicly available data of companies to identify which ones are going to need to raise debt, and proactively calling them to pitch your company's wonderful debt-financing services is riding a car.

Hand picking sites to show your display ads via a x by x spreadsheet that is lovingly massaged and now has new font and one more column on Viewability, is making your camel go faster. Leveraging Machine Learning to algorithmically figure out where your ad should show by analyzing over 5,000 signals in real time for Every Single Human based on human-level understanding (die cookies die!), is riding a fast car.

(To see a delightful rant on the corrosive outcomes from a Viewability obsession, and what you might be sweeping under the carpet, see TMAI #64 with the story from P&G.)

Asking your Analysts to stop puking data, sorry I mean automate reporting, and send insights by merging various data sets is making the camel go faster. Asking your Analysts to just send you just the Actions and the Business Impact from those Actions is riding a car. Asking them to shift to using ML-powered products like Analytics Intelligence in GA to identify the unknown unkonwns and connecting that to automated actions is riding a rocket.

If you are explicitly programming your chatbot with 100 different use cases and fixed paths to follow for each use case to improve customer service, that is making the camel go faster. If you take the datasets in your company around your products, problems, solutions, past successful services, your competitors products, details around your users, etc. etc. and feed it to a deep learning algorithm that can learn without explicit programming how to solve your customer's service issues, you are riding a car.

I, literally, have 25 more examples… But, you catch my drift.

I do not for one moment believe that this will be easy, or that you'll get a welcome reception when you present the answer. But, one of two extremely positive outcomes will happen:

1. You'll get permission from your management team to stop wasting time with getting the camel to go faster, and they'll empower you to do something truly worth doing for your company. Or…

2. You'll realize that this company is going to suck the life out of your career, and you'll quietly look for a new place to work where your life will be filled with meaning and material impact.

Win-Win.

Hence, be brutally honest. Audit your current cluster of priorities against the bleeding edge of possible. Then answer this question: Are you trying to make your camel go faster, or jumping on to a car?

While Machine Learning has not solved world hunger yet, and AGI is still years away, there are business-altering solutions in the market today waiting for you to use them to create a sustainable competitive advantage.

Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Personal)

If this post has not caused you to freak-out a tiny bit about your professional path, then I would have failed completely. After all, how can the huge amount of change mentioned above be happening, and your job/career not be profoundly impacted?

You and I have a small handful of years when we can create a personal pivot through an active investment of our time, energy and re-thinking. If we miss this small window of opportunity, I feel that the choice will be made for us.

This blog is read by a diverse set of people in a diverse set of roles. It would be difficult to be personal in advice/possibilities for each individual.

Instead, here’s a slide I use to share a collection of distinct thought during my speaking engagements on this topic…

In orange is a summary of what “Machines” and humans will be optimally suited for in the near-future. (Note the for now.) Frequent high-volume tasks vs. tackling novel situations.

In green, I’m quoting Carlos Espinal. I loved how simply and beautifully he framed what I imagine when I say tackle novel situations.

Over the last 24 months, I’ve made an whole collection of conscious choices to move my professional competencies to the right of the blue line. That should give me a decade plus, maybe more if Ray is right about Cloud Accessible Intelligence. Beyond that, everything’s uncertain. :)

Summary.

I hope you noticed I ended the above paragraph with a smiley. I’m inspired by the innovation happening all around us, and how far and wide it is being applied. I am genuinely excited about the opportunities in front of us, and the problems we are going to solve for us as individuals, for our businesses, for our fellow humans and for this precious planet.

In my areas of competence, marketing, analytics, service and sales, I can say with some experience that change is already here, and much bigger change is in front of us. (I share with Mitch above how long I think Analysts, as they are today, will be around.) I hope I’ve convinced you to take advantage of it for your personal and professional glory.

(All this also has a huge implication on our children. If you have kids, or play an influencing role in the life of a child, I’d shared my thoughts here: Artificial Intelligence | Future | Kids)

The times they are a changin'.

Carpe diem!

As always, it is your turn now.

Were Collective Learning and Complete Day One Knowledge concepts you’d already considered in your analysis of AI? Are there other concepts you’ve identified? Do you think we are doomed? Is your company taking advantage of Deep Neural Networks for marketing or analytics or to draw new value from your core back-office platforms? What steps have you taken in the last year to change the trajectory of your career?

Please share your insights, action-plans, critique, and outlandish predictions for the future of humanity, :), via comments below.

Thank you.

The Artificial Intelligence Opportunity: A Camel to Cars Moment is a post from: Occam's Razor by Avinash Kaushik

from Occam's Razor by Avinash Kaushik http://ift.tt/2wbcNae #Digital #Analytics #Website

#Analytics #Occam's Razor by Avinash Kaushik. Web Analytics #Tracking #Metrics #Performance

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nathandgibsca · 7 years

Text

The Artificial Intelligence Opportunity: A Camel to Cars Moment

In this post, I’ve organized my thoughts into these six clusters:

There is a deliberate flow to this post, above. If you are going to jump around, it is ok, but please be sure to read the section below first. You won’t regret it.

Ready to have your mind stretched? Let’s go!

What’s the BFD?

They are crucial in being able to internalize the depth and breadth of the revolution, and why we strengths AI brings are a radical shift beyond what humans are capable of.

The first eye-opening learning for me came from the Google Research team’s post on Learning from Large-Scale Interaction.

The one-handed robots in this case had to learn to pick up objects.

Here’s the video…

youtube

(Play on YouTube)

It took just 3,000 robot-hours of practice to see the beginnings of intelligent behavior.

What’s intelligent behavior of a CNN powered one-handed robot?

Among other things, being able to isolate one object (a stapler) to successfully pick-up a Lego piece. You’ll see that at 15 seconds in this video…

youtube

(Play on YouTube)

Or, learning how to pick up different types of objects (a dish washing soft sponge, a blackboard eraser, or a water glass etc.).

For a clear way for me to capture this lesson, I call this Collective Learning.

It is very powerful.

In neither case will there be anything close to Collective Learning when it comes to humans.

Humans also do not posses this continuous closed loop: Do something. Check outcome (success or failure). Actively learn from either, improve self. Do something better the next time.

Collective Continuous Learning. An incredible advantage that I had simply not thought through deeply enough.

Here’s the second BFD.

Specifically the algorithm has a F-score of 0.95 and the median F-score of the eight expert ophthalmologists was 0.91.

Literally millions upon millions of people at risk of blindness will have access to AI-Powered technology that can create a different outcome for their life – and their families.

#omg

This is just a little bit of context for the key point.

A dermatologist in a full-time practice will see around 200,000 cases during her/his lifetime. With every case she sees, she’ll ideally add to her knowledge and grow her diagnostic skills.

There is nothing equivalent to Complete Day One Knowledge when it comes to humans.

Whatever form AI takes, it will always have access to complete knowledge and through the network each instance will make all others smarter every single instance/moment of its existence.

Humans simply can’t compete.

That’s the BFD.

Stop. Think. If you disagree even slightly, scroll back up and read the post again.

Wait. So are we “doomed”?

It depends on what you mean by doomed but: Yes. No. Yes, totally.

Artificial Intelligence will hold a massive advantage over humans in the coming years.

Hence, the first yes.

Hence, the no.

Hence, the yes totally.

AI: A conversation with a skeptic.

I assure you, skepticism is warranted.

If you can think of a skeptical question on this topic, Mitch asked it. Give the podcast a listen…

(Play at Six Pixels of Separation)

If you are still skeptical about something, please express it via comments below. Within the bounds of my competency, I’ll do my best to provide related context.

Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Professional)

Think about it for a moment.

That all by itself is not a bad thing – they are certainly moving faster. The problem is they are completely missing the opportunity to get in the car (and their competitors are already in cars).

It is important to know the difference between the two – for the sake of job preservation and company survival.

Here are a handful of examples to help you truly deeply internalize the difference between these two critical strategies…

(More on this: Digital Attribution's Ladder of Awesomeness)

(To see a delightful rant on the corrosive outcomes from a Viewability obsession, and what you might be sweeping under the carpet, see TMAI #64 with the story from P&G.)

I, literally, have 25 more examples… But, you catch my drift.

I do not for one moment believe that this will be easy, or that you'll get a welcome reception when you present the answer. But, one of two extremely positive outcomes will happen:

1. You'll get permission from your management team to stop wasting time with getting the camel to go faster, and they'll empower you to do something truly worth doing for your company. Or…

2. You'll realize that this company is going to suck the life out of your career, and you'll quietly look for a new place to work where your life will be filled with meaning and material impact.

Win-Win.

Ok, ok, ok, but what about the now? (Personal)

This blog is read by a diverse set of people in a diverse set of roles. It would be difficult to be personal in advice/possibilities for each individual.

Instead, here’s a slide I use to share a collection of distinct thought during my speaking engagements on this topic…

In orange is a summary of what “Machines” and humans will be optimally suited for in the near-future. (Note the for now.) Frequent high-volume tasks vs. tackling novel situations.

In green, I’m quoting Carlos Espinal. I loved how simply and beautifully he framed what I imagine when I say tackle novel situations.

Summary.

(All this also has a huge implication on our children. If you have kids, or play an influencing role in the life of a child, I’d shared my thoughts here: Artificial Intelligence | Future | Kids)

The times they are a changin'.

Carpe diem!

As always, it is your turn now.

Please share your insights, action-plans, critique, and outlandish predictions for the future of humanity, :), via comments below.

Thank you.

The Artificial Intelligence Opportunity: A Camel to Cars Moment is a post from: Occam's Razor by Avinash Kaushik

from SEO Tips https://www.kaushik.net/avinash/artificial-intelligence-opportunity-camel-to-cars-moment/

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