Cassie

Steve sat in the worn leather armchair, the evening paper crisp in his hands. The low sun cast long shadows across the room, striping the Persian rug in bars of gold and grey. He had a habit of reading in silence, a kind of focused meditation, the short, dark bristles of his beard catching the light as he turned the pages. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of newsprint and the distant hum of traffic from the street below.

Then, a shift.

His brow creased. The paper rustled noisily as he folded it shut, not with care but with a sharp, frustrated gesture. He slapped it down onto the small table at his elbow, the motion so sudden it sent a pencil rolling to the floor. He ignored it. His gaze, dark and unreadable, was fixed on some middle distance, seeing past the familiar clutter of the room.

The silence that followed was different from before. It was heavy, charged.

You had been watching him from the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding your own breath without realizing it. You took a slow step forward, the soft tread of your socks on the wood floor seeming loud in the stillness.

"Something wrong?" Your voice was low.

Steve's head turned, his eyes finding yours. The frustration in them hadn't vanished, but it was layered over with something else now, something hotter and more immediate. He didn't answer. He just looked at you, a long, searching look that made the air thicken in your lungs.

You crossed the rest of the room until you stood before him, between him and the slanted bars of sunlight. He reached out, not for your hand, but his fingers hooked into the waistband of your trousers, tugging you closer until your shins brushed the worn leather of the armchair. The rough texture of his fingertips pressed into the skin just above your hipbone.

He tilted his head back to look up at you, the line of his throat a pale, vulnerable column in the dim light. The faintest shadow of stubble showed under his chin. His other hand came to rest on your thigh, the heat of it seeping through the thin fabric.

He didn't need to speak. The question was in the intensity of his gaze, in the way his thumb stroked a slow circle against your trousers. He was asking for something, for a distraction, for a quiet, absolute surrender.

You sank to your knees on the rug before him, the motion fluid and unhurried. His hands left you to rest on the arms of the chair, his knuckles white where he gripped the leather. You could hear the soft escape of his breath as you settled between his legs, your hands moving to the button of his fly. The metallic click of it undoing seemed unnaturally loud.

The fabric parted. You leaned in, your hair brushing against the rough denim. He made a sound, a quiet hum deep in his chest, a surrender and a command all at once. The tension in the room was no longer an abstraction, a frustration from the outside world. It was here, coiled between you, a tangible thing, waiting to be unraveled.

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, working them down over the sharp line of his hips. He lifted himself slightly from the chair to help, the movement making the leather creak in protest. The fabric pooled around his ankles, and the air between you felt suddenly cooler, sharper. You could feel the faint tremor in the muscles of his thighs as you rested your hands there, a subtle current running just beneath the skin.

The short, dark bristles of his beard caught the slanted light as he watched you, his head still tilted back, his throat exposed. His breathing was audible now, a shallow, rhythmic sound that seemed to sync with the frantic beating of your own heart. You dipped your head, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He shuddered, a full-body ripple that you felt through your hands.

His hand moved from the armrest, his fingers sinking into your hair, not pushing, not pulling, just resting there, a silent plea and a patient command all at once. The slight pressure on your scalp was an anchor, a grounding point in the charged atmosphere. You could feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the clean, familiar scent of his skin.

You took your time, tracing the line of his hip with your tongue, tasting the salt of his skin. He made another sound, a soft groan that was swallowed by the heavy silence of the room. The frustration that had been etched onto his face when he'd thrown down the paper was gone now, replaced by a raw, unguarded need. You wanted to be the one to erase it completely, to take all that tension and turn it into something else, something pure and elemental.

His fingers tightened in your hair as you finally leaned forward, your breath ghosting over him. He was hard, a hot, heavy weight against your lips, a silent testament to the desire that coiled between you. You flicked your tongue out, tasting the pre-come beaded at the tip. His hips jerked, a small, involuntary movement that sent a thrill through you.

You wrapped your lips around him, taking him slowly into your mouth, savoring the way he filled you. He was hot and hard against your tongue, the salty taste of him filling your senses. You started to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm, your hands resting on his thighs, feeling the muscles tense and quiver beneath your touch.

His breathing grew ragged, and you could feel the restraint in the way he held himself, the way he fought to keep still, to let you set the pace. But the way his fingers tightened in your hair told a different story, a story of a desperate, barely contained need. You could feel the tension building in him, a taut string stretched to its breaking point, and you knew that you were the only one who could release it.

You moved faster, your tongue swirling around him, your lips sliding up and down his length. You could feel the changes in him, the way his breathing hitched, the way the muscles in his thighs bunched, the way he started to move with you, a shallow, desperate thrusting of his hips. He was close, you could feel it, the tension in him reaching its peak, a dam about to break.

You took him deeper, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at his base, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He let out a choked cry, and then he was coming, hot and thick down your throat. You swallowed, taking all of him, your hands holding him steady as he shuddered through his release.

For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh sound of his breathing. Then, slowly, he relaxed, his body slumping back into the chair. You released him, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh before looking up at him.

His eyes were closed, his face flushed, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. The frustration was gone, replaced by a look of utter, boneless satisfaction. You rested your head on his thigh, the warmth of him seeping into your skin.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble.

"I know," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to."

He opened his eyes, and in the dim light, you could see the warmth in them, the gratitude, the affection. He reached down, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb stroking over your cheek.

"Come here," he said, his voice still rough, but now it was softer, gentler.

You rose, moving to straddle him on the armchair, your knees bracketing his hips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel the rough texture of his beard against your skin, the warmth of his breath. He held you like that for a long moment, a silent, powerful thanks.

Then he pulled back, his hands framing your face, his eyes searching yours. He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of him and of you and of the quiet, shared intimacy of the moment. It was a kiss that said everything he couldn't put into words, a kiss that promised everything and asked for nothing.

When he pulled away, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"What was wrong?" you asked, your voice a soft whisper. "Before. With the paper."

He sighed, a long, slow exhale that seemed to carry the last of the tension out of him. "Just work," he said. "Stupid, pointless nonsense."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, and then he smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face. "Not right now."

Your pack had had exactly one conversation about the potential for future pups once Ransom was fully integrated into your trio, and he had seemed so against the idea that you and Ari had agreed to revisit the discussion at a later time. 

But it seemed as if that discussion would never happen, because the Universe had butted in and made this decision for all three of you. 

And now you couldn’t help but wonder: what if this drove Ransom away? What if this made him hate you? Despise you? Never want to have anything to do with you or Ari ever again?

What if you had ruined the best thing in your life–the pack that you loved so very, very much?

At that thought, a swell of devastation nearly took you out. It was an emotional overwhelm you had never felt before, and it was insane that you were already experiencing hormonal changes. 

But you were. 

Because you were pregnant. 

You were pregnant.

It took you all day to gather the courage to tell your alpha and beta.

Of course they both knew that something was up, since you had spent a majority of the day hiding from them. 

Locked away in the spare bedroom, you had gone over how you wanted the conversation to go a million times in your head. As much as you tried to remain optimistic, the only outcome you could foresee was Ransom's utter disgust at this new and unexpected development.

You knew Ari would be happy–thrilled even–but your sensitive beta?

Your greedy-for-your-attention-always beta?

When it all became too much for you to handle alone, you finally emerged from the spare bedroom to join Ari and Ransom in the living room. They had been watching TV together, but at your sudden appearance–and anxious demeanor–Ari turned it off as they both turned their full attention to you. 

You struggled to meet either of their gazes as you tentatively sat in the armchair adjacent to them so you could see them both, even if you were actively avoiding their gazes now as you tried to hang on to the frayed thread of courage within you. 

Leg shaking to try to offset the swell of nerves that were close to consuming you entirely, you couldn’t help it as you peeked up and caught Ari’s gaze. 

His brow was furrowed in concern at your soured scent and hunched shoulders. But you saw it–the moment he knew without even being told. His nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent, a scent he was so familiar with by now, that he knew every layer to, and he could instantly detect the new and unfamiliar layer that indicated your condition. 

You watched as Ari’s eyes widened before his lips split into a joyful grin, but when he saw you were still looking distressed and terrified, his grin faded into a small, worried frown.

“What is going on?” Ransom huffed, having witnessed the weird, wordless exchange between the two of you. “Is this about our summer vacation plans again? I already told you I am not un-vetoing Florida, because ew. Fuck that humidity.”

“No,” your voice trembled as your gaze shifted from Ari to Ransom. 

Just rip the bandaid, you urged yourself. Just get it over with.

Taking a deep breath, you did just that, whispering, “I’m pregnant.”

It was immediate the way Ransom’s face shuttered. There was the most fleeting look of shock across his handsome features before his indifferent mask slid into place–something he rarely, if ever, used with you and Ari anymore–and everything about him just went blank. 

Like he had shut off. 

Like you had broken him. 

Which in turn, broke you. 

You couldn’t help it as you promptly burst into tears. All of the fear and anxiety you’d been stewing in all day finally got the best of you, like an emotional tsunami sweeping you away.

You were so lost to your devastation at the thought of losing Ransom, your body wracking with heaving sobs as you curled in on yourself, that you didn’t realize you were wrapped in two pairs of strong, comforting arms, instead of just one.

“Oh my god, fine, we can go to Florida!” Ransom huffed, trying to make light of the situation–of your complete and total meltdown–but his voice was off, and so was his scent, both laden with unrestrained panic.

You sniffled as you peeked up at him, your instinct to comfort him nearly bowling you over, even now, and you were relieved to see that Ransom’s bright blue eyes were no longer closed off but shining with concern and his own distress as he watched you. 

“You don’t hate me?” You trembled, your shaky fingers reaching for him and clinging to his forearms. 

Ransom scoffed. “What? Of course not! Does being knocked up make all sense evaporate or something?”

“Beta,” Ari rumbled the warning softly, his stink eye aimed at Ransom nearly making you giggle. 

Ransom just rolled his eyes in response. “I’m just saying! It’s not like it’s her fault and hers alone. Pretty sure we had a hand in it too. Well, not ‘a hand,’ more like a different part of anatomy,” he snickered. 

“This doesn’t change things for you?” you pressed, worried Ransom’s jokes were just a facade, a different kind of mask than before. “It doesn’t make you want to…” you struggled to even say the words aloud. “It doesn’t make you want to leave us?”

“Pffft.” Ransom waved a dismissive hand without hesitation. “As if you could ever get rid of me that easily. We all know I’m the glue that holds this pack together.”

His reaction seemed too good to be true, and you couldn’t help it as you continued to watch him, still terrified and unsure, even as a tiny bit of hope began to spark to life deep inside you. 

As Ransom drank in your big, tearful eyes and look of distress–your blatant fear–his handsome features softened. Sighing, he reeled you close, dipping his head to intentionally meet your gaze head on, without wavering, so you could see how much he meant his words as he spoke them. 

“I’m not upset,” he said firmly. “Shocked? As fuck. Mad? No. Annoyed that now there will be yet another member of our pack vying for your attention? Undoubtedly. Excited to see you get all cute, round, and glowy with our pup? Fucking hell yes.”

You heaved a deep exhale of relief that sounded more like a muffled sob as you sank against him, sniffing back more tears. 

“You were meant to be a mother,” Ransom murmured against your hair, causing a shaky chirp to fall from your lips. “Even if I’m scared shitless at the prospect of… yanno, being a father,” he whispered the last part so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. 

“Bold of you to assume you’re the one that got her pregnant,” Ari joked, easing into the conversation now that your greatest fear had been alleviated. 

Ransom scoffed again, shooting your alpha an arrogant look. “Puh-lease, my swimmers have swimmers, I’m so virile.”

You giggled, and it was watery, but it was happy, relieved tears that streamed down your face now as you reeled both men close and shakily breathed them in, drowned in their familiar, comforting scents in a moment when you needed it most.

“I’m really scared,” you confessed. “This wasn’t what we planned for. Wasn’t even on the radar anytime soon. What if–“

Ari kissed you quiet, muffling your concerns against his lips as he swallowed your gasp and hummed as you sank into him with a helpless whine. 

He was slightly breathless once he pulled away and told you, “Ransom’s right, omega, you will make an incredible mother. And you won’t be doing this alone. Ever.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ransom muttered. “I am recusing myself from diaper duty. Ever.” At Ari’s glare, he huffed. “But I will obviously make up for it in other ways! Like spoiling this kid rotten. They will wear the best name brands money can buy. Their sweater collection will give mine a run for its money. They’ll–“

This time, you were the one kissing Ransom quiet. You framed his face between your hands as you pulled away, giving him a soft, dopey smile as you told him, “I love you.”

Ransom gaped at you for a beat before his cheeks went pink and he tried to play off his delight with a sassy, “Rightfully so. I’m amazing.”

Laughing, you turned to Ari, pulling him in for a soft kiss, then pressing your forehead to his as you lingered close. “You’re happy?” You checked in, eyes flickering between his. 

But his gaze was as direct and warm as ever. “I’m ecstatic, sweetheart. This is such a gift, and so are you.”

“I love you,” you whispered just before his lips touched yours. 

“Love you more,” your alpha hummed once he retreated.

Then he turned to Ransom and yanked him in for a steamy kiss, grinning as he pulled away to find your bratty beta dazed and even pinker than before. “And we are definitely working some teeny tiny crop tops into the baby’s wardrobe. No changies.”

Giggling, and feeling much lighter than you had when you first saw the positive pregnancy test, you cuddled close between your alpha and beta. As they bickered about your baby’s future fashion sense, you couldn’t help the big, happy grin that split your lips. 

Because even the most shocking and unexpected revelation hadn’t shook them, hadn’t shook your pack, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter what may come your way, you would never need to handle it alone. 

You were in this–all of this–together.

🥹🥹🥹 No thoughts, only feels 😭

—

Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, and if you catch me on a bad day, you may even get blocked for it.

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘