Hiruko_chan

Your hand reached across the mattress, finding it empty and cold. You peeled your eyes open groggily.

Clad in the shadows that the moon cast across your bedroom through the gap between your curtains was Andrew. He sat on a chair in the corner of the room. The dirty clothes that used to occupy it probably sat folded in a laundry basket by the door now, waiting to be taken downstairs to be washed.

“Andrew?” You murmured, voice heavy with sleep, and rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes. He didn’t reply. He only wore his boxers. His pants still lay discarded on the floor where he left them when you dragged him into your bedroom, and his shirt currently kept you warm.

“Come to bed.” You patted the mattress. 

Andrew didn’t move.

You didn’t expect he would.

He was sleeping even less than you. You’d seen him like this in Folsom. He’d go without sleep for so long his sleep-deprived brain amplified all his usual symptoms tenfold until he barely functioned anymore, aggression and paranoia skyrocketing. It always ended with the guards forcing sedatives down his throat and him sleeping for three days straight.

You feared you had become a central part of his OCD thoughts, though you’d probably been to some degree for the past three years, you’d just never been around him enough to realise, and Andrew knew how to hide it from you.

He couldn’t now.

Not when he was not forcibly kept away from you by guards and metal bars.

He often followed you when you were out and about in Oceanside. He’d show up next to your cart in the grocery store out of nowhere or in the parking lot to help you load your bags into the car.

He sat in the corner of your bedroom and watched you sleep…

Most people would have found it creepy.

You should find it creepy to wake up to the ex-con you used to work with and now went out with (you still were not entirely sure what to classify it as. It was more than just sex, but it did not feel like a real, committed relationship, the change to your dynamic too fresh to be something so meaningful.) sitting in your dark bedroom, watching you sleep.

A shameful part of you preened at the attention.

He always wanted to hear about your day. He listened to you rant at the show you were currently watching. Or let you stand in front of your TV to explain the intricate web that was the plot, family relations and romantic relationships of The Vampire Diaries as if you were giving an important presentation to the board of directors of a Fortune 500 company.

You’d leave work just to discover three texts from Andrew asking if you had drunk any water twice, the third text being him apologising because he forgot you can’t take your phone inside again.

It was… nice having someone to talk to who wasn’t Marvin. And let's be real, you never really talked with Marvin to begin with.

Whenever Andrew wasn’t with his family - and lately he tried to get away from them as much as he could without sending his mother into a tantrum - he was following you like a lost puppy.

You worried what this meant for his mental health journey. 

Marvin worried about you.

He thought you were repeating the same thing you’d done with your father. Cling to the manicured fantasy a violent, unstable criminal promised, throwing yourself into your desire to fix others because you could not fix yourself and losing yourself in their lies because you simply didn’t know what true connection and unconditional love felt like.

Like a child that was never allowed sugar didn't know how to stop when they finally got their hands on some.

Not that he said any of that out loud, but you knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. And, honestly, the same could be said about your friendship with him!

You also knew Marvin would not hesitate to get his old buddies together to take aluminium bats to Andrew’s teeth and bones.

You sighed and pushed the blanket away, setting your bare feet down on the cold laminate to step in between Andrew’s spread legs.

“Talk to me.” Your whispered words sounded louder in the quiet of your bedroom. Only the stray cats in the alley behind the house and the seagulls camping out on the balcony railings were still awake. You cupped Andrew’s face in your hands, feeling his stubble scrape softly against your skin as you tipped his head back.

He blinked. His gaze grew focused, and he inhaled suddenly, as though just now realising you were talking to him, standing in front of him, touching him.

“I know it feels like it, but you are not alone in this… that doesn’t have to change, just because this-” You gestured between him and you. “-has changed.”

Hazel eyes glinting golden in the moon’s light stared up at you. He traced the shadows dancing across your face with them, and a treacherous part of him could not help but think he was still in Folsom, still trapped in the SHU, forcibly kept awake by light and blasting music, with his only respite being the daydreams of you his mind conjured up to curl around him like a protective blanket. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you.” He finally muttered after a while of charged silence. His hands came up to cradle your wrists, holding you with such aching tenderness it made your knees weak. 

You watched him take a shuddering breath, resistance melting away under your gentle but unshrinking presence. Andrew closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against your chest.

“I keep thinking about hurting you- keep seeing it happen. Keep thinking when I close my eyes something is going to harm you- something I can’t stop because I’m sleeping. But if I stay awake, if I watch over you-”

“Something could still happen.” You interrupted him. “It is scary, but that’s not within your control no matter what you do, Andrew. These are intrusive thoughts, love, and now is not the time for intrusive thoughts. It’s the time to sleep.”

“I can’t make them stop.”

The misery in his voice cut right through your heart. The urge to suggest treatment - both therapy and medication, proper medication - shoved the words into your mouth immediately, but you swallowed them down. Now was not the time for that either.

“You don’t have to make them stop.” You said against his hair, stroking your thumb over his cheek slowly. “You just have to try not to give in to them. Come. Come to bed, Andrew.”

You let go of his face to take his hand. To your surprise, Andrew gave in when you tried to tug him towards the bed. You lay down, and he curled up next to you, dragging you against his chest as his arms closed around you in a bear hug.

You ran your fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, scratching your nails along his spine just the way he enjoyed. He shivered, like he always did.

“You will not hurt me, Andrew. You would never hurt me.” You murmured while smoothing down the blanket over both of you. “You can’t control intrusive thoughts, but you can choose how to respond to them. They are like… cornstarch and water. The harder you try to fight that shit, the stronger they stick around. But you don’t need to solve any problems right now. Just breathe with me, love.”

You deepened your breaths, pushing your chest against Andrew’s so he could feel the way it moved every time your lungs inflated and deflated. You kept going, even when he didn’t join you right away.

“Curl your toes as tight as you can.” You spoke even quieter, slipping into a low, soothing murmur he had to strain his ears to even catch. You counted to five in your head before telling him to relax again. “Now bend your ankles up, pointing your feet towards your body, as far as you can without it hurting… and relax…” You moved up along his whole body, instructing Andrew to visualise and deliberately tense and relax muscles in his body. His thighs, then his butt, his back and shoulders, arms, hands, lips, nose, eyes, scalp, until he was putty in your arms, until his breathing slowed, until he was asleep and you watched over him with only the moon and seagulls keeping you company.

You were woken by rapid knocking on your front door.

You couldn’t have been asleep for long. You felt like someone dragged you through a bog, put a gun to your head and demanded you recite some poem you had to learn for kindergarten.

Andrew stirred next to you but didn’t wake up. He’d gone without sleep for too long as that he’d be woken easily after just - you peered at the alarm clock on your nightstand - two hours.

You slipped out of his embrace and padded across your living room, taking out the shotgun from under the dining table before peering through the peephole.

Two men stood in your hallway, one significantly taller than the other, probably significantly taller than most others. Both had long hair and a careless, unkempt air around them that reminded you of every frat boy surfer ever.

You unlocked your door and the deadbolt that had appeared on it the day after Andrew stayed over for the first time.

“What the fuck do you want?” You hissed quietly and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“Pope here?” The taller one asked. Was that Deran? Or Craig? You couldn’t keep them apart, though to be fair, you had barely interacted with either since Andrew got released.

You raised a brow.

“Manners really aren’t part of the Cody experience, apparently.” You muttered to yourself and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Sorry for waking you.” The shorter one muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and curling his shoulders forward in a gesture that was so Andrew, it threw you off for a moment.

“Is this important?”

“Yeah.” The taller one said with a slight shrug. You narrowed your eyes. He shrunk back ever so slightly. 

“Andrew is asleep. He doesn’t sleep. He has been awake for days. He desperately needs to sleep, so I ask again, is. this. important?”

“It’s a family thing.” The shorter one said, looking at least believably apologetic.

You didn’t want to. 

You wanted to shut the door in their faces and go back to sleeping in Andrew’s arms, and you sure as shit didn’t want Andrew leaving you to go to his manipulative, abusive mother - but that was not a decision you could make for him.

“Fine.” You stepped aside and let Andrew’s brother in. “I’ll wake him. Don’t touch my shit.”

Setting the shotgun down on the dinner table, you went back into your dark bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Andrew…” You put your hand on his shoulder, shaking him softly, unaware of the two pairs of eyes watching you curiously. “Andrew, sweetheart, wake up.”

He flinched, eyes ripping open just for his mind to toss him into raw, animalistic survival instincts. You caught his wrist, stopping his flailing arm before it could hurt you. Had Andrew been any more present in the moment, he’d have been surprised by your sudden show of strength.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, love. You’re in my bedroom, in my apartment. You’re not in Folsom, Andrew. You’re safe.” You gingerly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. You remembered well just how violent he could get when someone woke him after him staying awake for far too long.

He murmured your name, quietly, almost disbelieving, and blinked away the sleep still clinging to him.

He somehow looked more tired than he had when you dragged him to bed.

“Deran and Craig are here.” You whispered and ran your fingers through his hair. It was already starting to grow out. “They said it’s important family stuff.”

Andrew was awake and alert immediately. He stalked out of your room, leaving you alone with the sweet call of your pillows. You curled back up, inhaling the scent of him still clinging to your sheets and gave in to the heavy weight dragging your eyelids down-

“Hey…”

You startled awake.

“I’m awake. I’m awake.”

Andrew chuckled. “Sure, sweetheart.” He wiped some hair from your face. “I need my shirt back.”

You grumbled something unintelligible into the pillow.

“You were the one insisting your elderly neighbours wouldn’t survive seeing me without my shirt.”

You didn’t reply. Andrew pursed his lips.

“I don’t get how you can sleep in that thing anyway. I wore it all day. It’s filthy and now your bed-”

“Oh my god, fine!” You sat up and, without opening your eyes, struggled out of the oversized shirt. “God forbid I like how you smell.” You let yourself drop back onto the bed. Andrew, pretending the blush creeping up his neck didn’t exist, put on his shirt and bent down to press a kiss to your temple, muttering a quiet sorry before pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“I’ll lock up behind me.”

You were already back asleep. 

Andrew stayed in the doorway a moment longer, watching you. Your hair was a mess, spread out over the pillow and still knotted from the way he ran his hands through it earlier in the evening when he was fucking you, though using that word in any context with you never ceased to leave a foul taste in his mouth.

You deserved better. You deserved a boyfriend who didn’t shove your face into the pillow, grunted into your hair like a beast and fucked you.

He turned to leave when Deran called his name under his breath.

“Yeah.” Andrew grumbled. “I’m coming.”

His eyes tracked along the shotgun on your table. He was pretty sure that hadn’t been there before.

“Taking your shirt back from her? That’s cold-blooded, man.” Craig smirked outside in the hall.

“What?”

“Chicks dig that kind of thing.” Craig shrugged. “Stealing their boyfriend’s clothes.” He clarified when Andrew’s expression didn’t shift away from confusion.

He wanted to protest, say you weren’t his girlfriend. It felt preposterous to lay such a claim over you.

“What would you know about girlfriends?” He muttered instead, already stalking down the hallway towards the stairwell, but Craig merely chuckled.

“Ask Nicky if you don’t believe me, bro.”

“I told you! I’m too stupid for this shit!”

You didn’t flinch at the raised voice, despite the way it made your ears ring. You remained unfazed, merely tapping your fingernail against the worksheet the agitated teenager tried to rip out from under you.

“You are not stupid. Don’t make me force you to write out affirmations on the board again, Tyler. You know I will.”

Tyler grumbled and slumped back into the cheap plastic chair. The aircon of the building where The Hub, as the kids had taken to calling the slightly run-down youth centre, was situated was broken once again, and consequently hormonal tempers were even thinner than usual. Not to mention the smell.

“I can’t do this shit, man!”

“You can’t do this shit, yet.” You corrected. “That’s why we are here, working on this. There was a time you couldn’t walk! You were born all squishy and useless and learnt to fucking walk. You learnt to speak and read and write. That is massive. You are capable of learning this too. Let’s take a deep breath and try again.”

You watched Tyler roll his shoulders and take a deep breath before hunching over the paper again, brows furrowed as he muttered to himself, dissecting the math problem like you’d been teaching him how.

“...35. X is 35?”

You raised a brow. “You askin’ or tellin’?”

“...telling.”

“Then you’d be right. It’s 35! Well done! See? I told you you can do it.” You pulled the paper away from him and with a red pen quickly checked off all the equations he’d been working on. You slid the graded paper back towards him, alongside a cheesy meme sticker praising his work. “You can be very proud of yourself, Tyler. It wasn’t easy, but you stuck with it, and it really paid off. I’m sure proud of you.”

Tyler blushed ever so slightly, but of course a proud, tough seventeen-year-old could not show or admit that he was flustered. He shot you an arrogant, crooked grin and tried to pretend like this was nothing, but you’d long spotted the sparkle in his eyes only kids who were made to feel like they were useless idiots who’d never amount to anything their whole lives ever got when hearing the word I'm proud of you.

“What do I get?”

“The satisfaction of a job well done.” You tucked your red pen away in your pocket and smirked at Tyler, who just rolled his eyes. How often had these kids heard that one from you by now? They were all sick of it, you could tell. “You aren’t doing this for me. You are doing it for yourself, and your future. There won’t always be rewards for getting the things done that have to get done.”

“Yeah, but like… when you have a job you get paid, right? That’s a reward.” Brian called over from where he lounged in a threadbare armchair, forcing himself through the novel his English teacher assigned - though he spent significantly more time distracting himself than he spent on actually reading the damn chapter. He could have read the chapter three times had he just focused on reading it.

The lengths they all went to to avoid doing their work…

“I suppose it kind of is, but don’t forget that it is also your right. You have a contract after all to be paid a certain amount of money for completing the agreed-upon work.”

Tyler wasn’t really paying attention.

You crossed your arms and leant back. “What do you want?” Sometimes - most of the time - they just asked for a bag of Takis or a can of Monster anyway. It was not worth the headache of getting roped into mock philosophical discussions with them.

The grin stretching across Tyler’s lips told you this was not about chips or energy drinks.

“I heard you’re Pope Cody’s girl.”

You raised your brow.

“Is it true, Ms G?” Ms G - because you, apparently, were the goat, whatever that meant. Tyler leant across the table. “Are you fucking Pope?!”

You thrust your arm out towards the far corner of the room. “Accountability corner, right now.” Tyler hung his head and marched over to the old toddler activity table sitting at the back of the room while the other teens cackled.

Tyler grumbled to himself as he slumped down on one of the pillows and plucked a blank card from a stack. On the wall behind him, a large poster visualised the steps of a proper apology. The toddler play table was a - perhaps slightly unethical - means to motivate offenders to take the assignment seriously because you didn’t let anyone leave it until they’d composed a comprehensive, reflected apology and read it out loud to you.

No seventeen-year-old boy wanted to sit at the toddler play table longer than they absolutely had to.

Listen, you worked with what you had. The toddler play table had been here longer than you, it would be a shame to not put it to good use!

“Pope Cody’s girl.” You muttered to yourself. “I’m nobody’s girl. I’m a grown ass woman!”

“But is it true, Ms G?” Brian felt like testing his luck today, it seemed. “Because I go to school with his nephew and I heard him telling his girlfriend he saw you at the Cody house!”

“And who's his nephew?”

Due to your time volunteering in the youth centre to keep at-risk youth off the streets and help them build a solid foundation for their future life, you knew a lot of teenagers around Oceanside. And most teenagers knew you or of you, even if they didn't come to the Hub.

“J. Josh. The brainy kid Nicky hangs out with.”

You looked up, frowning.

“J? J is a Cody?”

Puzzle pieces fell into place in your head. J's mom was called Julia, you knew that. You'd helped her a few times when she got clean, but you could never help make it stick. You made sure Josh was okay when you could. Getting them groceries, taking him out for some tacos or hot dogs when you were taking some of the Hub kids. You got him new shoes once and school supplies.

You never realised his Julia was Andrew's Julia.

“Moved in with them when his mom O.D.'d.”

Your heart sank.

You should have done more. You should have- Josh was living with Smurf now, under her control and manipulation because you fucking failed-

You squeezed your eyes shut and fought against the wave of nausea and guilt rushing to drown you.

The shrill sound of the doorbell rang through the room. Your body was up and moving on autopilot. The doors were always locked from the outside, just a safety precaution and also to ensure confidentiality during meetings or private conversations by preventing people from just strolling in.

It was protocol.

You expected a kid, someone who had decided last minute to join the study session after all, but standing outside the glass doors was no other than Andrew.

He looked exhausted in that way no sleep in the world could fix. An emotional exhaustion you had no doubt was exasperated by the night he’d spent with his family.

“Hey.” You murmured softly as you pushed the doors open. Some of the kids whistled. The sound withered when you swirled around to glare at them. You stepped outside and let the door fall shut.

Andrew stared at you.

”You’re sweaty.”

“Yeah, the AC is useless. What’s up?” You weren’t entirely happy Andrew showed up at the youth centre, and he could tell. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, looking sheepish but not sorry.

“You can talk to me. That hasn’t changed.”

“But you won’t let me fuck you when I tell you.”

“Same goes for lying to me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Didn’t know you had a shotgun. That’s kinda hot.”

“Not the only gun I have.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his expression somewhere between surprise and wonder. This time it was you who shrugged.

Comfortable silence spread between you. You liked that you didn’t have to perform with Andrew. You could just stand there, leaning against the door of the youth centre, next to faded tags and sun-bleached flyers, surrounded by the shadow your father had cast over you that would never wash off and carrying all the fates of the kids inside on your shoulders so they got to just be… normal for a moment. Not social rejects, not young offenders, not the kids of drug addicts and deadbeats that had to grow up far too quickly.

Like you.

“Is your family okay?”

Something in his expression tightened. You hadn’t expected an answer, not when it came to his family. You never did.

“How’s J?”

His gaze flicked towards you just to slip away again. He shifted uncomfortably.

“You know J?”

“A little. I- I didn’t know he was your nephew.”

“‘tis fine.”

“I knew Julia too.”

Andrew froze. You reached out, tentatively, almost hesitating as you placed your hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise she was your Julia.”

“Did you- did you look after her like you- did with me?”

“I tried.”

Andrew nodded as if that was enough, as if it was the only thing that mattered.

“I have my tools in the truck… could take a look at that AC if you want.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. A part of you was apprehensive about allowing Andrew into this part of your life, of letting your life melt into your work here. Another part knew the way you’d been cutting yourself off from everyone for years was not healthy, something you could not sustain any longer, especially seeing as how fast you’d let yourself grow comfortable with Andrew being a part of your life.

It would take weeks to get the approval to call out a technician, and they never seemed to be able to do much anyway.

“Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”

Andrew emitted a quiet grunt, the only confirmation he’d heard you you’d get. You watched him retrieve his toolbox from the truck bed and turned around to unlock the door. The kids inside quickly pretended to be busy with their work to conceal the fact they’d been watching you.

It must be quite the piece of juicy gossip to see you, their firm but usually so gentle and kind social worker, with the infamously unstable, violent Pope Cody.

None of them knew about the things you’d done when you were their age. You understood intimately how circumstances could shape a moral person into something they never thought they’d be capable of being. It helped in this line of work.

At least something good had come from it, you told yourself, and kept telling yourself anytime the memories were too strong to let go.

“It’s back there. Not that I understand any of that shit.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Andrew shot you a crooked grin and, before you had the chance to stop him, ducked down to kiss you. It was just a quick peck, decidedly innocent, especially considering the way you’d urged him to fuck you into the mattress last night, but perhaps that just threw you off all the more.

You felt the stares of half a dozen teenagers who shared the same understanding and respect for boundaries as Andrew boring into you. Andrew shot you a last grin - the same grin you thought a little boy who’d just stolen a cookie and gotten away with it would spot - and disappeared into the back.

“Brian, I want a summary of the chapter you’ve been reading. Tyler, how is that apology coming along? Jenny, I thought I told you to put that fucking vape away!” You held your hand out. Jenny groaned but got up, depositing the vape in your hand.

“Do I get that back later?”

“You can have it back when you turn eighteen - don’t look at me like that. If you’re going to break the law, at least don’t be stupid about it.”

You returned to your seat where you’d been filling out some paperwork before Tyler came over to ask for help with his schoolwork. You put his worksheets in a neat pile before returning to your own work. 

In the distance, you heard the clank of Andrew’s tools.

Eventually, Tyler returned with his drafted apology. You leaned back in your seat, legs crossed and looked up at the teenager clutching his flash card in his hands, stuttering through the words he’d written. He’d improved his reading skills so much since you started working with him…

“Thank you for apologising.” You said and tugged the card into your bag. “Shall we continue?” You nodded towards the pile of worksheets. Tyler nodded sheepishly and slid into the chair.

Most of these kids never trusted the peace after an apology. It took time to realise once a conflict was settled, it was settled. You thanked them, forgave them, and whatever they had done was in the past once they’d made amends. The apology and thinking about what he’d said was enough amends in this case, but sometimes you had kids do something nice to the Hub. Create a banner to hang on the wall, tend the community garden in the back, clean the windows or sidewalk out front. Community service to make up for harming the community.

But once the agreed-upon amends were done? No hard feelings remained. Their mistake did not become ammunition for future conflicts.

It was just… settled.

It took Andrew three hours and one quick trip to the hardware store for some spare parts to get the AC running again. Cold air rushed through the vents, and you sighed, collapsing in your chair. The heat had grown so oppressive you thought about closing up early multiple times, but you knew most of these kids had no other place to go. They wouldn’t be going home, and it probably wasn’t very safe for some of them either. Poverty and substance abuse disorder were rampant issues in Oceanside.

Andrew returned with his toolbox in hand, some grime smeared across his tanned skin that was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

The teens cheered and clapped, obviously grateful for being saved from the heat that was somehow worse in here than outside. Andrew stopped mid-stride, eyes wide, obviously unsure how to categorise this display of juvenile gratitude.

You got up to close the distance between you and him, taking his hand before tugging him towards the doors for some privacy.

“Thanks. You saved us.”

Andrew blushed. “‘tis nothing.”

“I’m still grateful.” You stopped at the doors. You didn’t want to throw him out, especially after he helped you, but you weren’t sure it would go over well with the management of the youth centre if you let a recently-released felon stay.

On the other hand, you’d practically single-handedly revived this whole place so he could suck it.

“Can I come over tonight?”

You shook your head. “I’m not home tonight.”

Andrew looked hurt. Your heart clenched in your chest. You had no reason to feel this way. You couldn’t be available every moment of every day for Andrew to follow you around like a lost puppy, and saying you had plans shouldn’t feel like rejection to Andrew - so why did you scramble to explain?

“I… kind of started this thing with the youth centre. The kids that can show they’ve stayed in school during the semester and tried to keep their grades up get to organise a block party for their friends and families. They do fundraisers to raise the money and work really hard. It’s tonight. We all volunteer to chaperone.”

“I could come.” He looked at you through his lashes, sad puppy dog eyes cutting right through any resistance you could have put up. “Block parties are for the neighbourhood. I- I- I am part of the neighbourhood.”

“Let him come, Ms G!” One of the kids shouted from behind you.

“Yeah, don’t be so cold!”

“He fixed the AC.”

“The party is tied to your effort at school, guys. This is study group, yet I don’t hear any pens.” You shouted over your shoulder. The hackling stopped immediately, replaced by the consistent scratch of pencils on paper.

“They are worse than you.” You muttered, earning a slight grin from Andrew.

“So, can I come?”

“Sure.” You sigh. “It’s for the whole community. But there is no alcohol. And tell your brother - Craig or Deran, whichever of them it is - if he brings drugs to this thing, I will castrate him.”

Andrew chuckled.

You raised a brow. “You think I’m joking?”

Andrew squinted at you. “You are… are you?”

“You’ll never know.” You got up on your tiptoes and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before pushing the door open to gently shove him outside. “Maybe I’ve done it before.” With those words, you turned on your heels and marched back into the youth centre to collect the kids’ homework they were desperately scrambling to get done after slacking off for hours.

Andrew stayed outside the doors for a moment, staring at you, the swing of your hips, your hair, the warm smile you gave the kids that was so unlike the wicked glint that had gleamed in your eyes moments before.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

You were chewing on your bottom lip, standing on the sidewalk separating the beach from the parking lot.

Andrew had texted you just a moment ago that he was on his way, so why did you suddenly doubt he’d show?

You shoved the thought away roughly. Not two minutes later, you spotted his truck. You were standing by the driver's side door before he had even put it into park.

“Do you still have your tools?”

Andrew hesitated, taken aback by your sudden approach.

“Yeah.”

“The guy who volunteered to help set up the stage fell through, and I swear dealing with fifteen teens all in a tizzy is more exhausting than managing a goddamn prison riot!”

Usually if stuff like that happened it was you who jumped in and frantically figured out something. You had already made your way across the beach to the unassembled parts, mind racing to figure out how to put that shit together and spare your kids this disappointment when you stopped dead in your tracks - and remembered Andrew.

Perhaps… perhaps you didn’t have to figure it out? Perhaps you didn’t have to scramble for a solution?

Perhaps you could simply… lean on another person?

The thought felt foreign and that simple fact hurt.

Andrew smirked.

“So will you?”

“If you’ll let me get out of the car.”

You blinked. “Oh.” You stepped aside, giving Andrew the space to open his door and get out, just to find yourself with your back to the truck, his hands resting comfortably on your waist.

“Hey.” You whispered, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks at the sudden proximity. It made a strange warmth blossom in your stomach how needy Andrew was, how much he needed to be close to you, touch you, feel you.

You were used to being needed, to people clinging to you in their darkest moments, but with Andrew it was different. Personal. His need was not for your skills in navigating the world, the trials it set up and the help available to overcome them.

He was also beginning to know parts of you you had never bared to another soul before.

“Hey.” He rasped back, the corner of his mouth twitching. Before your ever-racing mind could talk you out of it again, you tipped your head back and kissed him. Andrew responded immediately, greedy hunger leading his every touch as he pressed you harder against the car, tongue lapping into your mouth, groaning softly against your lips.

Andrew’s fingertips dug into your flesh through the thin fabric of your dress you’d changed into. It was as though he feared someone would come and snatch you away, and if only he held you as tightly as he could, he could prevent that from happening.

You crossed your arms behind his neck and melted into his demanding presence, letting the frantic tingles his touch chased through your body cloak your mind into a girlish, giddy daze and overshadow racing thoughts. For the moment at least.

Eventually, later than you should but much sooner than you wanted, you pushed against his chest and briefly tucked your head into the crook of your neck to catch your breath before gently directing him towards the group of restless teens acting as if the end of the world had befallen them all.

Your eyes kept flicking towards him while you helped set up the rest. You helped carry ice to the makeshift bar for mocktail creations a group of girls had come up with to sell. Some kids had been baking and cooking all day in the Hub’s little kitchen and were already setting up their goodies on folding tables along the Strand. You helped with the canopy tents some local businesses loaned the Hub for the day and coordinated with artists and local makers who wanted to use the opportunity to sell some of their goods to the neighbourhood. This was new this year, a business proposition you gladly presented to your kids on behalf of the community. They came up with a few rules and a stand fee that they immediately reinvested into the block party.

Things really had grown- escalated, one might say - from the first celebration of this kind you organised two years ago. Back then it had just been you, a few other volunteers, the kids and a bonfire on the beach. You brought supplies for s'mores and twist bread, alongside some bottles of chilled soda. One of the kids had brought his guitar, another brought speakers.

It was just a nice little gathering to celebrate the effort the kids had put into their future, to acknowledge that, yes, they struggled in ways no child should have to and had to invest more energy into things like school, but despite all this, they still did it. Their accomplishments deserved recognition.

The next semester, some kids asked if their friends or siblings could join, and the idea of a block party was born.

You saw the effect it had on these kids. The instant rise in street cred, as one kid had called it, to be associated with the neighbourhood event was enough of a confidence booster for some kids to help them settle back into regular school attendance after almost flunking out.

You’d be a terrible liar to pretend seeing their development was not filling you with immense pride.

You’d hate to give any of this up…

The thought reminded you inadvertently of your father, out there somewhere in the country, probably already looking for a way to find you. You didn’t want any of these kids to get hurt because of you…

“Crisis averted.” Andrew rasped behind you, causing you to jump and swirl around with a furious frown etched onto your face. Andrew merely grinned his sheepish, adorably insincere apologetic grin. 

He nodded weakly towards the stage on the beach.

The Hub had received some donated instruments a while back, and instantly bands had been founded and a room in the run-down building chosen as a practice room. The kids, while organising today, had decided today was the perfect day for some first gigs.

It would have broken your heart to see their plans foiled.

The stage wasn’t glorious or grand, but it was a stage, a real stage, and that meant everything to the kids who were otherwise never asked to show off their skill.

“Thank you, Andrew.” It was the most heartfelt expression of gratitude you might have ever uttered in your life. Andrew blushed at your earnestness and ducked his head, muttering a quiet ‘tis no big deal.

You made your last rounds with your clipboard tucked against your hip, ensuring everyone had what they needed. Tonight had been financed through fundraisers the kids organised, car-washes, weekly yard serviced for which they’d even gotten a local business to donate some custom printed polo shirts for, beginner surf courses for kids of tourists, even a few lemonade stands.

All proceeds the kids made tonight would flow back into improvements or new purchases for the Hub or go into a savings account for the next block party.

The kids’ proud faces and joy more than made up for the headache of filling out all the paperwork to get the necessary permits, though with this being the third big block party you helped organise, you were getting quite skilled in applying for them.

Andrew trailed after you like a lost puppy, ready to jump in whenever you noticed something that needed some work - a few screws that needed tightening, missing or loose tent anchors, unstable signs.

With the setting sun, the first people arrived, and once you’d assured yourself that the teens had a handle on things, you finally let yourself relax. You got some mocktails - a creation with fresh pineapple, passion fruit, Sprite and mint that was very delicious - that Andrew insisted on paying for even though the girls running the stall wanted to give them to you for free at first. You also got some cotton candy and kettle corn before falling into a pleasant little stroll along the sidewalk, watching the many stalls and people rushing between them.

“Fuck-”

You looked up, finding a pained expression on Andrew’s face.

“I didn’t- I didn’t tell her I’d be here-”

You followed his line of sight and quickly discovered the reason for the tension suddenly curling around him like a snake squeezing its prey to death.

Smurf.

She sauntered down the street towards you, a false smile plastered across her lips. Deran, Craig and Baz in tow, the latter accompanied by a woman who must be his wife, Cath and their little daughter. J trailed behind, looking more than a little lost among his estranged family.

“It’s fine. Everyone is invited.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrew croaked. It was obvious he had made every attempt to keep his family away from you - not that you for even one second believed such an undertaking would ever be fruitful. Or asked such a thing of him.

He grabbed your arm, a little tighter than he meant to, a sorrowful frown tugging on his brow the second he looked down at your arm. You hadn’t flinched. He still felt terrible.

“Don’t underestimate her. Please.”

A silent plea filled his pretty hazel eyes.

You cupped his cheek and gave him your warmest, sincerest smile. “I’m not. But I handle volatile sociopaths every day, handsome.” Andrew blushed at the pet name and squirmed under your intense focus. It was sweet. “Your mother doesn’t scare me, Andrew. That doesn’t mean I’m forgetting what she is capable of, but you should not forget who my father is.” With those words, you turned away from him and towards his approaching mother.

“So this is where you ran off to.” She hummed, casting a sharp look at Andrew before, almost as an afterthought, looking at you, sizing you up like she were trying to figure out how big of a threat you were - or whether you were small enough for her to simply devour whole.

Andrew shifted, taking half a step forward to shield your form from his mother’s piercing eyes.

As it was, his protectiveness only made Smurf hone in on you all the more.

“What an… adorable little party you’ve got here, baby.”

A cold shiver ran down your back, but you were more than used to ignoring the disgust that demeaning and too familiar nicknames slapped onto you by strangers caused.

“What a way to integrate yourself into the community.”

“This is the fourth block party the youth centre has organised.” You say with a smile so sweet and charming it grew teeth.

Oh, and Smurf felt them.

You were not unaware of her reputation, or how most of the locals were willing to ignore her criminal activities and her sons’ unruly behaviour because she threw parties at her house and tossed some money and surf competitions and sponsorships.

You knew she’d see the block party - never mind that it was the kids’ party and not yours - as a direct provocation, an attack on her status in Oceanside.

It just sucked for her that you’d been here for two years, and your roots already dug deep.

Deeper than Smurf was expecting.

And the thing with people was, their goodwill might be purchasable with parties and donations and some money tossed at them in times of need, at least for a little while, but people were not as dumb as Smurf thought, and they'd always be more drawn to people who took a genuine interest in them.

Her expression slipped, visibly caught off guard.

“I was surprised to never see you at these things.” You hummed, adding insult to injury. “But, ah well, we can’t always know everything going on in our town, hm? Please, feel free to look around.”

You crouched down and smiled at Lena hiding behind her mother’s leg.

“Hi, there. I’m your uncle’s friend. There’s a really awesome bouncy castle over there on the beach that I’d go check out if I were you.” You winked, coaxing a shy smile from the girl before getting back up.

“Hey, J.”

“Ms G.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I’ve been dealing with some family… stuff of my own. You hanging in there alright?”

The teenager gave a half shrug, a tiny motion he seemed to decide against halfway through.

“Well, you know where to find me, yeah? Why don’t you show Lena the bouncy castle? Nicky is helping with the cotton candy stall - I’m sure she’ll sneak you both some.”

J nodded. He knew you well enough to understand your thinly veiled hint and took the little girl’s hand. Her mother joined them.

“First my son, now my grandson. One could almost wonder why you are so invested in my family.” Smurf barely bothered to hide the venom in her voice beneath honey anymore.

“Well, I’ve known J for two years now. Curiously, I only heard he was your grandson today. Curious because I’ve heard you own half of Oceanside at this point, yet it was me who bought your grandson new shoes when his had holes in them. Or school supplies. Or dinner because he hadn’t eaten in three days.” You took a step towards Smurf, invading her personal space and enduring the older woman’s hateful glare with unbothered poise, yeah almost amusement. “And it was me who made sure your son didn’t get shanked, or killed by guards, or rotted in solitary until he went insane. I believe the better question is why you aren’t more invested in your own family than some rando social worker?”

A few people greeted you as they walked by, and you could practically see the realisation of just how deeply entwined with the community you had gotten sink in more with every single one of them.

So deeply entwined that people would notice your absence, that your absence would hurt. And if she showed you too much animosity, well, people would talk should anything happen to you, because they cared more about you than they feared her.

“But I don’t want to keep you.” You murmured with a false pout and an apologetic shrug of your shoulders, taking a step back. “Do enjoy yourself, Smurf.”

She all but bared her teeth like an animal pushed into a corner, but took the way you offered, turning to walk away.

You extended your arm to stop the largest of Andrew’s brothers.

“Which one are you again?”

The giant just blinked at you in confusion.

“Deran or Craig? I can’t keep you apart. The fuckass, self-assured grin on that one’s face tells me he is Baz" Andrew, behind you, bit back a snort, while the shorter guy smirked. "- the short hair also helps with the differentiating - you two-” You gestured from the tall long-haired man to the short long-haired man. “-is tricky.”

“Craig.” He grunted, sounding a little annoyed, a little offended, and entirely over this conversation.

“Craig.” You hummed. “Did your brother give you my message?”

Craig’s eyes flicked from you to Andrew, who was still standing behind you like a guard dog.

“Yeah.”

“Mhm… did you tell him what I said or just the gist of it?”

“I told him what you said.”

“Hm.”

“I didn’t bring any drugs to this lame as shit thing, alright?”

You took a step forward. Craig visibly struggled to resist the urge to back away despite being probably two heads taller than you.

It was your eyes, someone had once told you.

You had your father’s eyes, and not just because they were the same colour…

“I was quite serious about what I said.” You said softly. “It’s quite the… evolutionary disadvantage… external genitalia. Some animals do it much better than us in that regard, concealing them on the inside when they aren’t actively breeding. It’s so… vulnerable to have such a sensitive part exposed like that… and men do bleed like fucking pigs when you cut them down there.” Your voice had dipped into a menacing, low hiss. You cocked your head, gazing up at Craig lazily while watching your words sink in.

You extended your hand, palm up.

Craig shifted uncomfortably on the spot, sniffed and pulled a little baggie out of his pocket that he promptly slapped into your hand.

“Can I trust you to put this in your car, or do I have to get uncomfortable?”

Craig muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out, but he took the baggie back and trudged away. When you turned around, you almost collided with Andrew who’d silently crept towards you sometime during your conversation with Smurf or Craig and was grinning down at you.

“Well.” You chirped, recovering quickly from the surprise. “Have fun!”

You didn’t get far.

Pete, rather brusquely, made his way through the crowd towards you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the conversation you’d been avoiding for several days now. You felt Andrew tense behind you and slipped your hand into his, giving it a little squeeze before letting go again.

“Pete, I’m pretty sure I’m not due for an oil change yet.”

You met Pedro Trujillo five years ago when you first started working at Folsom. One of his associates thought they could turn you, intimidate or threaten you to smuggle contraband into the prison for them. Needless to say, that endeavour had not been fruitful, but you would call Pete a… not friend, but some secret third thing between acquaintance and friend.

“Cut the shit.” Pete hissed, drawing himself up to his full height in front of you in a weak attempt to force you into submission. Your smile didn’t waver.

“Come to see your niece play? I’m afraid her band isn’t up until later.”

“¿Me estás tomando el pelo? I’ve been trying to call you.”

“And I’ve been ignoring you.”

Pete grabbed your wrist. Andrew made to lunge at the man, but you stopped him by extending your arm.

“Right now we are talking. Let go of me right now, and we’ll continue talking.” Your voice had turned icy. Pete understood your threat without you needing to make it explicit.

Pete scoffed but dropped your wrist. “Marvin was right. You don’t give a shit about yourself.” His eyes flicked from you to the Codys still standing behind you, watching. 

“What business do you have with the Codys anyway?” He hissed, voice lowered so only you - and maybe Andrew - could hear him.

“That is none of your concern.” You said calmly. “The same answer I gave Marvin. The same that goes for the situation with my father.”

“Yeah… fuck that. I will have some of my men on your street, keep an eye on you, hija.”

Your expression froze over. “You will do no such thing. I value our friendship, if you want to call it that, but that goes too far, Pedro.”

“He kills girls who look like you!” Pete shouted, loud enough for several heads to swivel around towards you. “Three so far already!”

You gritted your teeth. 

Oh, how you loathed it when people dragged your personal business out into the public.

You’d done Pete some favours, helped some cousins with child protective services, kept an eye on his men currently doing stints in Folsom and such things - all legal favours, simply because you could, and it was always better to be on friendly terms with gangs - and in turn Pete had developed some odd sense of responsibility when it came to you.

Like Marvin had.

Like Andrew seemed to.

What was it with dangerous criminals taking a liking to you?

You really should rethink your life choices, it would seem.

“Keep your fucking voice down.” You hissed, crowding Pete like you had done with Smurf and Craig before - like your father always did.

“Yeah? What if I don’t? Whatcha gonna do, hm?”

Your lips curled in a menacing, blood-curdling grin. “I assure you, you don’t want to find out, Pete. You may have your little gang, yeah? But only one of us was down in Louisiana feeding severed human heads to alligators to get rid of evidence, darling. I could make you fall off the face of the earth so thoroughly nobody is ever even going to find a fucking toenail of yours.”

“The last body was found in Wyoming. What’s your plan, hija, hm? Sit around and wait for him to show up? Or perhaps that’s why you’ve let that mutt into your bed?”

Andrew curled his hands to fists. You didn’t even bat an eye.

“My father isn’t killing those girls because he wants to kill me, sweetheart. He kills them because they dare impersonate me. He’s fucking insane. Clinically insane, Pete, and he’s obsessed with me. He thinks I’m his greatest creation. He’ll try to convince me to go with him, not hurt me. So if you and Marvin could please remove that stick from your ass and get a fucking grip!”

Pete kissed his teeth, eyes roaming along your body, quietly assessing you. His jaw was tense, every muscle in his body taut, as though he was merely readying himself for round two of your row.

“I’ll have my men keep an eye on your street. If he tries anything-”

“I am not one of your little cohorts!” You hissed. “You have no authority over me and certainly no right to any of this. And if you hurt a single hair on his head-”

“-yeah? Who’s gonna stop me from it?-”

“-I’ll fucking destroy you, Pete. I’ll destroy your whole family and everything you and your father ever built. And I’ll pay you back tenfold for any harm you cause my father. You know I fucking will. And nobody is ever going to know.”

Pete’s nostrils flared.

“I choose to be a gentle person, and not because I am too weak to do evil shit, that I can assure you of! You do not want to see the vengeance a gentle person wreaks. My father is the only family I have, and he may be disturbed, I may want to see him admitted to a psychiatric unit and never leave it again, but he is my father, and I will make anyone who harms him pay for it.” 

You took a step back and ran a hand through your hair, trying to shake off some of the tension this encounter had wrought around you.

“Now.” You said softly, as though none of the bloody threats from before had ever left your lips “Today is about celebrating the accomplishments of disadvantaged youth. Don’t kill the mood.”

You smiled at Andrew and made to resume your rounds through the stalls and clusters of excited teens. Pete stopped you, grabbing your arm just to let go when you shot a withering glare in his direction.

“I hope you know what you are doing, hija.” His eyes flicked towards Andrew, making clear he was not only talking about your father.

“Whether or not I do - it is not your concern.”

“Sí, always the ice queen…”

“Don’t call me that.” You grunted and turned away. This time nobody stopped you.

Andrew followed you, as he had done the whole day, every day since he was released really, but perhaps for the first time Smurf was there to watch it happen. To watch her oldest son, her first son, march after a woman who was not her.

He touched his fingertips to the back of your hand, a touch so gentle, so featherlight you barely felt it. You extended your hand a little, allowing Andrew to slip his into yours, weaving your fingers together in a gesture of such soft, easy intimacy, Andrew found himself incapable of looking away from it. He watched the way your hand all but disappeared in his larger one, watched your thumb, your nails painted a warm charcoal grey, stroke absentmindedly across the back of his hand.

You exhaled a breath you'd been holding since Smurf showed up.

“You fed severed heads to alligators?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” You joked, though it fell flat, and Andrew knew you too well as that he’d miss the sober note in your voice, the hint of bitterness that was so unusual for you.

“You know Pete well?”

Andrew had a thousand questions burning on his tongue, but he didn’t know how to express any of them.

“A little. Criminals have the tendency to grow protective of me.” You turned to look at him, a smirk stealing onto your lips. “I don’t know why.”

Andrew knew, though he again lacked the words to express it. It was- it was the way you held his hand so softly even though you knew how much blood clung to it. It was the way you’d looked at Pete even when you threatened to hurt him, how your eyes never turned hard. 

The way you held onto broken things and refused to give up on them. Even if you only did it because you thought if they were not lost yet, perhaps neither were you.

“What you said about your father-”

“I mean it.” Your voice slipped back into that low, warning tone you’d directed at Pete. “Hurt him and I will hurt you.” You hesitated, glancing at Andrew from the corner of your eye. “That doesn’t mean I want you to not fight back should he try to hurt you.”

“Will he?”

You shrugged. “He’s a jealous man.”

You didn’t need to elaborate. Andrew understood. You figured, with a mother like Smurf, he would.

“I just-” You cast your gaze down at the ground, something Andrew would almost call shame slipping into your expression. “He’s all I have. He’s terrible but- but he’s family.”

“I- I- I’m here.” Andrew pressed closer to your side, head ducked to catch your gaze, brows furrowed tightly as though he didn’t quite understand what his tentative promise entailed either.

“Mh, I noticed. What with you following me even when I tell you I don’t have time to hang out.”

You’d moved quite a bit away from the stalls. The light of the fairy lights strung around the tents and torches stuck in the sand barely reached you two, lapping at Andrew’s back as though he was absorbing it all. You came to a stand, not wanting to wander away too much in case someone needed you. The wind coming from the ocean was cold, painting goosebumps across your bare skin, and tasted of salt on your lips.

You stared at the ocean, watching the gentle waves lap at the beach and stones sticking out from it. The stars above you glinted, a thousand glowing pinpricks cutting through the dark sky, not yet fully swallowed by light pollution out here.

“How cruel…” You murmured, more to yourself than Andrew, who was staring at you like you were at the ocean. “To be afraid of something you love so much…”

Andrew wasn’t sure whether you were talking about the ocean or your father.

Perhaps both.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to stave off the cold. Andrew shrugged out of his hoodie and put it around your shoulders. You startled, ripped out of your thoughts by the warmth suddenly curling around you. You smiled at Andrew and slipped into the sleeves, drawing the warm fabric that smelled of him tighter around you.

Your hand half concealed by the hoodie cuff, you cupped his cheek and got up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Andrew’s hands found your waist and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss with the same despairing hunger that always led the way he touched you.

When you eventually dragged him back towards the crowd he’d usually despise but surprisingly barely noticed when you were at his side, he could not help but hear the odd whisper.

Pope’s girl, some muttered, but trailing behind you, basking in the warmth you extended to everyone who approached you to exchange a few words, talk about this or that inconsequential tidbit of your life you’d revealed to them, drowning in his jacket protecting you from the cold ocean air, Andrew could not help but feel that they were wrong.

So very wrong.

He was yours, not the other way around, and he’d cling to the light you’d fought so hard to regain and the way you held him as if he had no idea how it sounded when a skull cracked on asphalt, what it looked like when eye went dark and empty, or how long it took for someone set aflame to finally stop screaming for as long as you would let him.

You might have had your very own darkness, but you were the purest thing Pope’s life had ever seen…

Next Chapter

The media had been positively frothing at their mouths since the perpetually single heir of the Danforth empire was seen with a mysterious, gorgeous young woman at the Breeders’ Cup Classic.

Titus Danforth was never seen with a woman who was not his twin at his side.

None of the so-called experts of high society life knew who you were, but it took nothing more than a little digging to find out, and if they’d been greedy for a story before, they were absolutely mad for one after.

Titus Danforth and the recluse Convington child.

It was a headline seemingly created for all those soppy romantics who clung to celebrity drama and gossip to forget about their own sad little lives - not that Titus had any particular problem with it when that attention was directed at him, and especially not if that public hunger and swooning was going to get him what he wanted.

You.

You found the media circus, intimidating as it was, rather amusing. And incomprehensible.

“They don’t even know us.” You hummed one evening while on the phone with Titus.

“They want to be us.” Titus replied, leaning back in his leather swivel chair in his office. The room was only illuminated by the fireplace and a single lamp on his desk. The smoke from his cigar hung thick in the air all around him. “But they can never be, so by fawning over us like demented lemmings they feel as close to their wish as they can ever possibly be. And it lets them escape from their mediocre, insignificant lives for a while. Does it matter either way, darlin’?”

“Daddy has been fuming.” Titus could practically hear the wicked grin curling around your lips. “He hates that they took that picture of us at the races.”

“But it’s such a pretty picture.” Titus glanced at the picture frame on his desk, right next to the lamp. He found the photographer who took the picture and managed to get a copy by tossing some cash at the man.

You did look absolutely delicious in your flowy dress, standing on your tiptoes on the race track to adjust the lapels of his jacket, smiling up at him with that delectable nervous expression you always wore outside your home.

The tabloids wasted no time once they realised there was a young woman from one of the world’s most influential families they had not reported on before. Titus saw you everywhere he went. Every magazine, gossip rag and podcast dedicated to the rich and famous was retelling the same few facts some rather ambitious journalists had dragged to the surface about you.

Pictures taken a long time ago and dug out again, blown up to show the slivers of you they caught in the background between other people. You at your oldest brother’s wedding, at a fundraiser when you were thirteen, hiding in the background while your father sat in the estate’s garden recording a speech for some charitable effort while the world was on lockdown.

The media had told every story possible about your brothers so many times, not even the most hungry-for-scandal reader could still be bothered to read about it. Who cared about that time Caspian was seen vomiting outside some filthy strip club? Forgotten was Sebastian setting fire to the family yacht while coked out of his mind, and even little Darius - the youngest of your six brothers - fucking his boyfriend on the lawn in front of his pretentious, prestigious boarding school, just to be found by the headmaster who promptly, at the sight of two teenage boys, one of whom has his cock balls deep in the other’s ass, had a heartattack and died.

It seemed almost impossible that the most interesting thing about you the media had to report about was the fact that you were a bit of a shut-in and currently working towards a degree in Mythology and Occultism through an online university. 

Titus knew several, much more interesting things about you, starting with the way your tits fit perfectly into his hands and ending with the delicious sight of you covered in blood from head to toe.

Some more conservative, rich, shrivelled prunes took offence to your aspired degree, until Chester reminded them that your field of study fell under Anthropology and Religious Studies and sought nothing more than to preserve human heritage - something they had all taken up the cause of, funding several foundations keeping museums and research afloat, all tax-deductible, of course.

Titus didn’t care what anyone said. You were a little… bizarre, but he liked that about you.

At least you weren’t boring like the rest of the upper crust.

After a couple of weeks of silence from Titus - ordered by Chester, who was visibly enjoying all this, like a puppetmaster watching those attached to his strings jump and twirl at his every behest - Titus finally showed his face in public again, appearing at a high-profile fundraiser. More journalists and paparazzi than ever gathered outside the heritage building chosen as today’s location. Or perhaps the fundraiser was about collecting money for that building? It wasn’t like Titus cared either way.

You weren’t at his side.

That was all that mattered to him, and if you had been… well Titus wouldn’t be paying attention to some ancient house, would he?

He stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet. The assault of flashing camera lights was instant. He was alone, representing the Danforth name and fortune on his own, Ursula off to who knew where and Chester indisposed, as the old man had put it.

Titus knew both were a front.

Chester didn’t want anyone taking the attention away from Titus tonight, not when Richard Covington would be here too. It was dangerous to put Titus and your father into the same room together, but Chester had made sure to threaten Titus to play nice, or he’d never get what he wanted.

Titus could be remarkably compliant when one dangled a carrot in front of his nose, and nobody knew this better than Chester.

It didn’t take long, posing for a few pictures here or there, some handshaking in front of the cameras, for the line of questioning Chester had wanted to start.

Titus' name was shouted by the greedy leeches hiding behind their cameras on the other side of the barrier keeping the common people away from the invited guests. They tried so hard to get his attention, to get him to look at them over the countless other faceless cameras disappearing in the darkness beyond the camera flashes. Titus stood on the red carpet, wearing a mildly amused, charmingly contemptuous expression, posture straight but relaxed, and let the camera lightning storm wash over him.

“Titus! Are you and Ms Convington an item?!”

“Where is your sweetheart tonight?”

“Will you see Ms Convington again?!”

The longer Titus didn’t react to the inquiries after you, the hungrier the masses got for it.

“Can we expect an official announcement soon, Titus?!”

“Ah,” Titus chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of his suit absent-mindedly. “I rather fear her father does not approve of me.” He looked not so subtly to the side, finding Richard standing just within earshot. Seeing the other man’s jaw tense almost made Titus break character. He forced his expression to remain sorrowful.

“We spoke just last night, but… of course I do hope I will see her again soon.”

He ignored the frenzy his words caused and, without answering further questions, flanked by his personal assistant and security guards, disappeared within the venue.

Crumbs.

Crumbs was all he had to feed the masses to keep this rather pathetic hysteria going.

Briefly, Titus wondered the effect it would have had on the reporter had you been at his side that night… seeing him step out before you just to turn around and help you exit the car, seeing you two together, his hand around his waist, your fingers curling into the pocket of his jacket… oh, he could practically hear the roaring, demented mania you’d cause.

Titus looked up from the papers scattered on his desk at the knock resounding through the empty, dim office.

“Enter.”

Chester seemed surprised, the aliens touching down on earth-kind of surprised, to see Titus working so late - or perhaps to see him working at all, who knew?

“This is a… pleasant change.” His father murmured, more to himself than Titus and oh how Titus loathed when Chester did that, talking about him as if he weren’t even in the room. He wasn’t the most interested in business, sure, but the tasks set for him always got done. Maybe not as swiftly as Chester sometimes wanted, but always before the deadline passed!

“What can I do for you, Dad?”

“Hi, Mr Danforth!” You piped up, your voice slightly distorted by the speakers of his laptop. Titus turned it so the monitor and camera were pointing at Chester.

One had to almost commend Chester on how quickly he could adjust to situations he did not expect unfolding. He forced his expression to soften and smiled at you. Titus wasn’t fooled. He held no real warmth of affection for you, not that it was necessary. What use would another man’s affection be to you? You had Titus.

“What a pleasant surprise to see you, my dear. I hope you are not distracting Titus.”

“I’m studying until the ice melts.” You lift your book and point at the vase half filled with ice, half with water, and the soda can trapped within.

“I still don’t know why your self-imposed rules apply to me.” Titus muttered. He’d called you to talk to you, see you, maybe to convince you to watch him while he jerked off again. Not to be forced to work.

“Hm, not sure who you are talking to, Titus.” You mused in a sickly-sweet voice. “Certainly can’t be me, not with that tone.” Your smile didn’t waver.

Titus had discovered, despite his earlier assumption, that you were not shy. Nothing about you was shy. It had taken you a few video calls with him to be comfortable with that particular means of communication - but Titus simply had to see your face - and you were simply never comfortable outside the familiar walls of your home, but once you were comfortable around him, he’d been in for a rude awakening. 

You had a tongue on you!

Not that he actually minded.

Yeah… nothing about you was shy. You were just terrified in public, and Titus had learnt to tell the difference. The thought of what a menace you must be towards your brothers and especially your father when you were mad, which was all the time lately, was deeply amusing to Titus.

“Forgive me, sweetheart.” Titus purred, putting his head into his hands to smile at you innocently. You merely huffed, but you couldn’t hide the way your lips curled despite your attempts to stop it.

“That is a nice bracelet.” Chester said. Your entire mood shifted immediately. You beamed at the old man and held your arm up to show the platinum and diamond Cartier bracelet off. Thirty-five individual diamonds curling around your wrist.

“It was a gift from Titus!” You cooed. You’d been so pleased when your maid dropped the package delivered by Titus’ assistant off. You’d been talking to each other, and Titus got to see your face when you opened it, squealing and gushing.

Titus already knew he’d never tire of spoiling you…

“Marvellous. Well, I do not wish to disturb the two of you any longer than I have to.”

Titus could not remember a time his father had been so civil. The old man truly was over the moon to finally see Titus interested in marriage and ensuring the survival of the Danforth main line. It was making him soft.

“An invitation.” Chester passed the thick, handmade piece of cardstock to Titus. It was handwritten with golden ink, inviting the Danforth family for dinner at the Covington residence. Titus read the card, smirking to himself, before flipping it around to show you. Your eyes went wide.

“You’re coming, right?”

“Nothing could keep me away, darlin'.”

Ursula was surprisingly docile the day of the dinner. Chester probably gave her a stern talking to not to ruin this. Not that Titus particularly cared.

He was starved for you.

Video calls every night could never be enough, never replace feeling the soft flesh of your body against his palms, of your breath against his skin, your body warming his sheets.

He preened like a goddamn fucking peacock when he stepped out of the car, just to be tackled by you rushing down the stone steps leading up to your ancestral home to fling your arms around his neck. The rest of the household stayed firmly in place, your brother arranged by age on one side, with the wives and kids standing on the other. Your father stood in the middle, in the entrance of his house, surrounded by his wealth and bloodline, arms folded behind his back.

Titus bore your weight with ease. He curled an arm around your middle as you collided with him and picked you up to swirl you around. You squealed and laughed, clinging to his shoulders with your face buried against his neck.

It made your insides tingle to be reminded just how strong Titus was.

He set you down carefully and caught your chin in his hand, meaty fingers settling against your flushed skin, his arm still securely around your waist. 

“Am I not gettin’ a kiss?”

“No.” You grinned and turned out of his grasp. You caught his hand and tugged him along to the steps. “I want to show you my room!”

Your father stepped aside to make room for you, whirling past him, a benevolent, almost mocking expression gleaming in his eyes.

“Daddy dearest doesn’t have a problem with me alone in your bedroom?”

“Daddy only invited you to see what your father is willing to offer for my hand.” You chirped, chasing up a winding staircase before rushing down a hallway decked with rich tapestries and gold accents. “And he thinks I’ll bore you to death introducing you to everyone. Maybe he hopes I'll scare you off.” 

You flung your arms around his neck again, letting Titus push you back against the wall. The door next to you bore your name in swirly, gilded letters.

“You hiding more demons in there, sweetheart?” Titus murmured. He was so close his nose almost touched yours. That enticing mixture of his aftershave and him filled your nostrils and invaded your brain, rendering all thinking impossible for a few moments.

“No, silly.” You pushed the doorhandle down and slipped under his arm and into your room. Titus followed on your heels. “This is everyone. Everyone, this is Titus!”

Approximately three dozen pairs of beady glass eyes stared down at Titus from antique shelves mounted to the dusky pink walls.

Mice.

Mice upon mice upon mice, trapped forever in their final moments, their bodies preserved to endure long after their death.

Mice in tutus arranged into different poses. Mice around a round table playing cards. A mouse slaughtering another with a bloody knife. A fairy mouse. A wizard mouse with a massive moustache. Mice on 20th-century school benches.

A grotesque collection of taxidermied mice.

“I don’t actually talk to them.” You purred in his ear and giggled. “I don’t kill them either.” You crossed your hands on his shoulder and rested your chin atop them, pouting up at him. “I don’t hurt animals. Animals are innocent. I just pull the skin off their bodies and preserve it, stitch it back together and pull it over foam cores… but my family sure thinks I’m fucking crazy.”

Titus’ eyes flicked across the room, observing the dead mice staring at him, trying to process this new information.

“That’s why your father offered you a new mouse for your collection in exchange for your compliance after the hunt. I didn’t much think of it then, but you said he doesn’t let you have pets.”

“Does it creep you out?” Your voice dipped into a low purr. An edge of danger, of corrupted fascination played around your words, almost as if you wanted him to be unnerved.

Titus shrugged. “We have dead bucks hanging on our wall. My great aunt kept her feral little lapdog after it died. Damn thing finally croaked just for it to show back up at the house weeks later as if nothing happened. Ursula hid the thing in my room all the time just to give me a scare every time I found it. Fucking rat.”

“What did you do with it?” Your lips brushed his earlobe. A shudder rushed down Titus’ back.

“Burnt it.”

“If you burn my Evangeline, I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you, Titus.”

Another shudder, hot and prickling, eating right through his bones and settling in the marrow, chased down his spine. “Which one is Evangeline?”

“She’s a medieval princess today.” Your tongue darted out between your lips to graze his earlobe. “Isn’t she pretty?”

The mouse in question stood on your desk, right next to the textbooks on Occult studies you’d been poring over for the past weeks. It wore a poufy lilac dress and one of those ridiculous cone hats.

“Today?”

“She’s very fashionable.” You whispered. “She has her own wardrobe.”

You stepped away suddenly, without warning, leaving a gaping wound where you’d been a part of him.

“Daddy will be serving drinks soon.” You said casually, incidentally, as if you hadn’t been sucking on his earlobe and purring in his ear a moment ago. You brushed your fingertips across the buttons of your Bluetooth speaker. A dark disco, electropop song started playing.

Titus watched you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders, transfixed, all but hypnotised by the way you moved to the beat. Your dress fell off you, pooling by your feet, leaving you only in a matching set of playful, lacy underwear. You ran your hands up along your sides and through your hair before lifting them above your head, swaying your hips. 

Like a siren dragging him under her spell.

You turned around and moved towards him. His breath caught in his chest. His cock stirred in his pants and he’d never felt so desperate, so needy for someone as he felt for you.

You still had not touched him. Not once.

How could Titus feel like this for someone he met twice and otherwise only spoken to over the phone? What kind of power did you possess that you could have such an effect on him?

You settled your hands against his chest in a feather-light touch. Baby blue, pearlescent nails against the deep charcoal grey of his suit. You pressed yourself against him, feeling the fabric of his clothes against your exposed skin and moaning softly.

Titus obeyed your silent wish at the slightest pressure against his chest and sat down on the edge of your bed - a regal, gold wire frame topped with a luxurious, soft mattress and smothered in blankets and pillows. He watched you lower yourself to your knees, the song still playing in the background though Titus barely heard it over the blood pounding in his ears. His stomach clenched painfully under a debilitating wave of need punching through him at the sight of you there, on your knees, between his legs, resting your head on his thigh.

“I want to see it again.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you can do more than just see it.” Titus groaned, already getting his slacks open to draw himself out.

You frowned and tilted your head to the side. “What else would I do?”

Titus merely chuckled, not realising you were genuinely confused. Your attention didn’t linger on it. Your eyes flicked down to his hard cock, a mere few inches away from your head.

You just… stared at it.

Only in your underwear, kneeling between his thighs, staring.

His thick, veiny cock rested hard and aching against his stomach, the mushroom head an angry red and leaking pre cum. You watched it roll down his shaft, leaving his skin gleaming wetly.

You hummed and got up, turning on the spot to walk over to your antique wardrobe. Titus watched you pull a floor-length, shimmery, silver silk dress out of its depths and undo your bra, letting it carelessly drop to the ground before stepping into the dress and pulling the thin straps over your shoulder. The dress clung loosely to your frame like wet fabric, moulding to your shape in places while concealing it in others. It dipped low in the back, leaving your entire back bare. You plucked a pair of diamond earrings and a matching necklace off your vanity and put them on before turning back towards Titus.

“You shouldn’t leave daddy waiting.”

You walked out of your room without turning around to him again, leaving Titus behind with only his aching erection and your creepy collection of taxidermy.

It should piss him off.

It should make him furious what a little tease you were, how you kept getting him this hard and desperate but never touched him. It didn’t. Titus was obsessed with you, and everything you did only deepened his obsession further.

When he went downstairs to join you and his family in the sitting room, after his raging boner finally went away enough for him to tuck his cock back into his pants without wanting to die, he found you comfortably perched on your father’s lap. You sat sideways with your arm draped around his shoulders while you held a glass in your other hand. Your father looked smug. Far too fucking smug for Titus’ liking, and his words from the day at the races echoed through his head. 

So you pleasured her, maybe she came back for another taste. You really think that means something? You think she’ll return the favour?

Titus gritted his teeth and took a seat on the sofa across from Richard and you, next to his sister.

“Enjoyed the tour?” Richard asked, a devilish glint in his eyes, and took a sip of his whiskey.

“Evageline sure looked lovely tonight.”

Your eyes lit up. “I made the dress myself.”

“Impressive.”

Titus savoured watching you preen under his attention and compliment, just to duck your head and grin down at your glass.

The conversation his arrival interrupted picked back up, meaningless, scathingly polite chattering. Ursula talked about the latest collection of some hot up-and-coming designer with your three sisters-in-law while Chester, Richard and Caspian talked business. Darius and Sebastian teased Tobias with a date that had apparently gone rather horribly.

Titus barely paid attention to any of it.

How could he when you were right there, on your father’s lap, his hand resting possessively on your hip, just… watching him.

“Take a picture, sweetheart. It’ll last you longer.”

Your smile widened, accentuating the apples of your cheeks that turned pink under his gaze.

“The last picture I took caused quite the stir.”

That it had.

Little minx that you were, you had taken a selfie of yourself reclined comfortably in your bed with your laptop next to you while you were on a video call with Titus. You created a new account on some social media app. Within just a couple of hours, the account had tens of millions of followers.

Your father threatened to take away your internet access again, to which you threatened to tell the internet he wasn’t letting you talk to Titus. His company’s stocks had already taken a big hit in the face of increased scrutiny and questions regarding his treatment of his daughter, accusations of misogyny and sexism, rumours Chester was for once not lifting a finger to conceal as he usually did for the High Council.

It was safe to say that Richard was quite motivated to contain the ever-escalating media attention.

“Sir, the children would like to say goodnight.” The butler announced from the door.

“Send them in.” Richard drawled. Five children, arranged by age, all wearing dressing robes over their pyjamas, hair brushed and braided for the girls, marched into the room. The youngest held the hand of the nanny and peered fearfully at Titus, Ursula and Chester.

You put your glass down and slipped off your father’s lap to kneel down in front of them. Caspian’s wife - Lucille -  wanted to stop you, but Caspian grabbed her wrist before she could, shooting her a warning glance.

You embraced your nieces and nephews, showering them in kisses and sharing whispered words that made the children giggle.

The oldest couldn’t be older than six, not that Titus knew much about children.

Richard watched you with an insufferable, mockingly benevolent expression. Lucille grew more antsy the longer you interacted with the children. Sebastian’s and Remington’s wives didn’t look thrilled to have you so close to their spawns either.

Titus didn’t understand why.

You were nothing but gentle and sweet with them from what he saw - doting. And the children obviously adored you. Children did not laugh so freely with someone who they were scared of or who hurt them.

“Will you come?” The oldest of the bunch, Caspian’s first-born son, peered up at you with hopeful eyes.

You shook your head. “Not tonight.”

“But-” The boy’s eyes went wide. “You have to make sure there aren’t any monsters under my bed.”

Your father scoffed and rolled his eyes, but you stayed right where you were, kneeling in front of your nephew.

“Did you forget?” You grinned and adjusted his dressing gown. “All the monsters live under my bed. And if one of them gets lost, you just tell it to fuck off, or your auntie will hunt them down, hm? I’ll skin and gut them and hang them up outside as a warning. Nobody scares my little niblings and lives.”

“Could you not say such gruesome things in front of the children?”

Titus saw you roll your eyes.

“Your wife has been married into a devil-worshipping cult for what? Ten years? You’d think she’d have grown thicker skin by now.”

Richard chuckled. Even Caspian grinned, though he had the class to hide it behind the rim of his glass.

“He’ll get nightmares.” Lucille insisted.

You scoffed. “Nightmares?" You said without looking away from your nephew. "Who? You? You are the future Covington heir. You’re not scared of some blood, are you, baby?”

Your nephew shook his head.

“No, you’re not. When you’re a little bigger, I’ll teach you everything you need to know to serve Mr Le Bail.” You caught his face in your hands and pulled him closer to deposit several kisses on his face. Your nephew giggled and threw his arms around you.

“Goodnight, little bug.” You purred at the toddler holding the nanny’s hand. You poked and tickled her tummy playfully until she giggled and shrieked before bending down to press a final kiss to her forehead while your father called you back to his side.

You didn’t go to him.

You joined Titus, slipping onto his lap as if you had never sat anywhere else. You watched the children get ushered out and waved. Only once the butler closed the door to the sitting room again did you turn your attention towards Titus.

Lucille had turned to Caspian, muttering furiously under her breath about how she didn’t like you swearing in front of the children or talking about killing. Caspian brushed her off, telling her to be quiet, that they’d talk when the guests were gone, and all the platitudes husbands threw at their misbehaving wives.

“I do not understand why Mr Le Bail only tests the outsiders if he doesn't want them to join the bloodline.” You groaned as you curled your arm around Titus’ neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “Seems short-sighted that outsiders can marry in without having to prove themselves worthy.”

“Yeah? How would you do it?”

You shrugged and snapped your fingers for a footman to bring you your glass you’d left on the table. “I just think they should have to prove they have what it takes to serve Mr Le Bail. Clearly some people here don’t.” You looked at Lucille, a silent challenge the older woman was not brave enough to take you up on, before glancing back at Titus. “Do you want children?”

“If they are yours.”

Your cheeks tinged pink. You tried and failed to fight off the smile sneaking onto your lips. “Yeah? You tellin’ the truth?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, sweetheart.”

“Because my brothers sure think you only want to fuck me.”

Titus’ lips curled. “Well, to claim it is the only thing I want from you is rather the assault on my character.”

Your expression dropped. You sat up slightly, pushing away from him, frowning. “You- want-”

Titus bit back a nervous chuckle. “I want you to be my wife - with all that entails.”

“You want to put your penis inside me.”

This time the nervous chuckle broke through Titus’ defences. He did not know how to respond to your bluntness - especially when it was uttered so publicly. His family did not speak of carnal love, ever - or the unnerved expression on your face. He did not think he’d been subtle with his desire at all, so to see you so surprised by them was throwing him off.

Your father looked deeply pleased, smirking at Titus over the rim of his glass. Your brothers snorted and snickered, clearly not as blindsided by this response as he was.

“I don’t want that. That sounds disgusting.”

“Ah, there’s always IVF, I suppose.” Your father hummed, earning another round of snickers from your brothers.

Titus, not one to back down from a fight, recovered from his surprise enough to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and smirk up at you. “You did not seem disgusted when my tongue was inside you, sweetheart.”

Richard’s expression froze over. Gabriel choked on his drink. Caspian’s grip around his glass tightened to the point his knuckles went white. Tobias and Sebastian looked murderous. Remington seemed undecided whether to be amused or furious, and Darius, well, Darius was having the time of his life. His boyfriend had to hiss a warning into his ear to stop him from bursting out in laughter.

“Huh…” You tilted your head to the side, staring at Titus, utterly uncaring of your surroundings.

The butler came to Titus’ rescue, announcing that dinner was about to be served. The migration from the sitting room to the dining room helped alleviate some tension, but Richard’s murderous expression stayed firmly in place throughout all six courses.

It was becoming increasingly clear he had lost control over you - certainly more than he’d ever thought possible.

You didn’t get the opportunity to be alone with Titus again.

You couldn’t tell why, but it left you feeling restless and… unsatisfied. Like the distance the circumstances of tonight had forced upon you, after weeks of being kept away from him, had grown to manifest itself in an insistent, gnawing itch you could not shake.

Your father didn’t let you kill staff anymore because - according to him - it was getting difficult to find good replacements, so you paced your room, desperately trying to rid yourself of the sensation of a thousand insects rushing across your skin long enough to fall asleep.

It didn’t help.

Dressed only in your silk sleep dress, you made your way across the east wing, padding barefoot over the expensive runner until you reached your father’s bedroom.

You slipped inside without knocking.

Richard looked up from the book he was reading, already in bed, with only the lamp on his nightstand casting the room in a mellow, warm light. You crawled into his bed and curled up next to him, bedding your head on his lap.

“Hello, princess. Can’t sleep?”

Richard shifted his book into his left hand to thread the other one through your hair.

“I want Titus.”

His hand stilled mid-stroke. A fracture, a minuscule crack in his otherwise stern composure.

“Come here, love.” Richard set his book aside and opened his arms for you, letting you crawl onto his lap. He gripped your chin gently, a benevolent smile curling around his lips.

“That boy really has done a number on you, hm?” He clicked his tongue, a sound oozing such disappointment it made you flinch. He sighed. “It’s my fault. I should have known this would happen. You aren’t a child anymore… even if it hurts your old man to admit it.”

“I’ll always be your little girl.”

The corner of Richard’s mouth twitched. Something in his eyes softened, something that was never soft, for nobody else. Only ever for you. “Of course. But you are a young woman now, and a beautiful one too. It is only natural for you to have desires - Mr Le Bail is certainly not one to insist on stifling those, and who would I be to disobey his example? I suppose I cannot even be cross with Mr Danforth for being taken with a face like yours.”

Richard ran his knuckle along your cheek. You nuzzled into the easy display of affection.

“How about this? I will find you a toy more… suitable to your disposition, hm? Some handsome boy - or a more… mature man if that is your preference. Someone to explore with, to play with until you grow tired. Someone you can enjoy and dispose of just the way you want to.”

The thought of hands that did not belong to Titus touching you the way he had spread a foul taste through your mouth.

You shook your head.

“I want Titus.”

Richard’s nostrils flared. He never expected your childish rebellion to last this long.

“Am I that terrible to you? That you wish so desperately to leave me?”

“Of course not, daddy.”

“Then why are you suddenly so eager to marry and be rid of me?”

You sat up. “I don’t want to be rid of you! I just- I want Titus!”

“He’d take you away from me! Is that what you want? To leave your home, the place where you’ve been safe your whole life, to be with that petulant manchild? He doesn’t know you, love, not like I do. And you need me to take care of you. How would I do that when you leave me?”

“Titus would.”

Richard laughed, delighted and derisive both at once, making you feel like a silly little thing and causing you to shrink against him.

“Titus? That man cannot even take care of himself, how would he look after you?”

But he did, you thought, glaring defiantly up at your father. Titus did look after you during the race. He asked you what you needed and then gave it to you, and that was more than he or Caspian were doing lately!

Titus listened to you. He didn’t talk over you, and he took you seriously and tried to understand you even when you made no sense. He respected you, and you were beginning to think, reluctantly and with a heavy heart, that maybe… Richard didn’t.

It was stupid that you needed his permission to get married to Titus. You wouldn’t need it to marry any other man, so why should he get to decide this! The bylaws were wrong. If Richard didn’t let you have this then- then-

The itch, the perpetual squirming feeling of insects crawling across your skin intensified suddenly, growing tenfold until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it down, trying to not think about losing the way Titus looked at you forever, the feeling of his hand on your waist, of his lips against your neck - but you couldn’t.

You were losing him.

You were losing him before he even got to be yours because of Richard, because Richard had a personal vendetta against Titus! And instead of setting it aside to make his only daughter happy, here he was suggesting you’d find some- some cheap replacement to give all the first experiences to that belonged to Titus!

Why should you kiss different lips? Why should you let those lips touch any part of your body? Why should you feel cheap pleasure at their caress when all you wanted was Titus?!

The sound of your name filling the quiet bedroom pulled you back.

You blinked, disoriented, and found yourself sitting above your father, straddling his chest, your knees pinning his arms to the mattress, with your razor blade pressed into his throat.

A drop of red blood beaded along the gleaming metal.

Richard’s eyes were wide. A predator that believed himself strong enough to cage a bigger, worse version of himself knocked off his pedestal. A man foolish enough to keep a chimpanzee as a pet and just got a taste of what they were truly capable of.

“I want Titus.” You hissed. Adrenaline pumped through your entire body, making you feel energised and restless.

“Take the blade away, silly girl.”

“What if I don’t?” Your eyes lit up with manic delight. Your lips curled into a grotesque, frantic grin. “What if I kill you, daddy? Sacrifice you to Mr Le Bail? There is no rule against that, daddy. What if I do to you what I did to mummy? Caspian would take your place. Caspian would let me get married. And if he doesn’t, I’ll kill him, and Tobias takes his place. And Sebastian after him. Remington. Gabriel. Darius sure as fuck isn’t going to say no to me. And if he does, if I kill him, my sweet, precious little Edmund would become the patriarch of this family, since you’ve probably excluded me from the succession. Edmund would want his auntie to be happy.”

“Would you do that?” Richard sneered. “Place the burden of leading a High Council family on a six-year-old? Kill your whole family to bind yourself to someone like that for the rest of eternity?  There is no divorce for the High Council families!”

Mr Le Bail did not care about the values of his creator, but he valued loyalty and devotion, and he did not allow his High Council to fall into chaos over attempts to take the other families’ power and wealth through playing musical chairs with marriages.

You faltered for a second, long enough for Richard to free himself, throwing you to the side and off himself. You landed on the soft mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’d kill every last one of you so you can never say no to me again.” You whispered. “So you stop treating me like a fucking child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

You sat up and glared at your father with enough vitriol he felt it prickling on his skin. The shadows behind you squirmed, coming alive with something that was decidedly not alive.

“I will marry Titus.”

Glancing warily at the shadows, Richard decided to switch tactics.

“And then?” He murmured softly, kneeling down on the ground in front of the bed, taking your hands into his own. Blood ran down his neck in a thin trickle. You still held the bloody razor blade in your trembling fingers.

“What happens when you’ve married him? Have you thought about that? You’ll have to move. Leave behind everything you know. What if he decides he doesn’t want Rosehip and Biscuit? You can’t just kill your husband and be done with it. Mr Le Bail won’t even forgive you for taking out the Danforth heir over some goats.”

“He already said I can keep them.” You whispered, fighting the tears gathering in your eyes. “He said I won't ever need to ask him permission.”

Richard gave you a sympathetic, sad smile and tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. “Men make many lofty promises to get what they want, love. Especially a man like Titus. Do you think he loves you? Oh, sweetheart, he only loves what is between your thighs and that he’s the first to touch it.”

Richard got to his feet with a sigh and went into the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. His hands were trembling when he retrieved a washcloth to wipe the blood from his neck. Fear clung to every inch of him, thick and cloying.

You’d threatened to kill him before in petulant displays of insolence, but never had you acted on them.

He took a deep breath, scrambling to hold onto his composure a little longer, as long as you were around at least.

He found you standing at the window, looking down at the dark estate. Titus stood on the terrace, smoke curling around him and Darius, who was leaning against a stone balustrade.

“Okay.” Richard whispered, stepping up behind you, hands settling on your waist. “I think you are making a mistake, but if this is what you want… though… if I do something for you, something I really do not wish to do… you have to do something for me in return.”

You turned your head ever so slightly, glancing at him through the corner of your eye.

“That’s only fair, wouldn’t you agree? Just like Mr Le Bail would ask something of you in return for forcing my hand in this matter, and it’s better to be indebted to me than him, don’t you think?”

“What- what do you want?”

“Everything.” Richard purred in your ear before straightening up to rest his chin on your head, staring down at the figure of Titus. “The thing I’ve always wanted. The High Seat.”

You frowned. “Titus’ father has the High Seat…”

“Which is why I’m going to ask something simple of you. Something you’re good at… I’ll let you marry Titus, and after a while, when you’ve had time to grow bored of him, when I tell you… you’ll kill him.”

You stiffened, but Richard’s grip around you stopped you from backing away, forcing you to listen to his full proposal, at once no longer father but businessman.

“Let him put a child in you first if you want to play mother so badly, but you will kill him. First, you’ll kill his father, of course. Then his insipid sister and at last, him. You’ll inherit the High Seat, and I’ll graciously take that burden off you. You can come home, even when you’re a Danforth." When you are no longer family, when you can no longer kill him. "Of course, you can - I’ll always take care of you - and everything will be as it used to be.”

Richard ran his hands up your arms, letting them settle on top of your shoulders.

“I know how you get, after all, when you’ve gotten something into your mind you just can’t get out. It's not your fault. I’ll let you have your fill of him, I’ll let you have what you want, and you’ll give me what I want. I think that is fair.”

Your mouth felt dry. You tried to swallow, but it felt like swallowing sand. You stared at Titus, his strong build next to your brother’s lithe appearance. You could hear a faint whisper of his laughter as the two spoke. Your heart ached for him. You’d never wanted something more than you wanted him.

“Okay.”

Richard tipped his head forward to press a kiss against the crown of your head, concealing a smirk against your scalp.

“I knew we could figure this out. My good girl…”

You turned on the spot, twisting out of his grasp to go lie down on the bed, hugging one of the pillows to your chest and fighting the tears burning in your eyes.

You had just gotten all you’ve been asking for - why did it not feel like a victory?

Richard settled in behind you, draping his arm over your waist and kissing your cheek.

“I love you, daddy.”

Richard chuckled. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Titus watched the window even after you left. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and lowered his cigar.

“What is up with those two anyway?” He hummed, glancing at the youngest of your brothers. Darius shrugged.

“He’s weird with her, isn’t he? He’s always been like that. She’s probably the only one of us he loves, as much as he is capable of love, guess. It’s pretty insulting considering he never wanted her in the first place.” Darius was drunk, not so drunk he was slurring his words and couldn’t stand upright, but the weed he’d been smoking erased the last of his inhibitions.

Titus had gotten some useful information out of him. He liked Darius best out of all your brothers, though he supposed that wasn’t a difficult thing to accomplish with how much he’d grown to loathe Caspian and Tobias specifically.

“He swore off love a long time ago. When Le Bail made him kill his wife.”

“Your mother? I was under the impression your sister killed her.”

Darius chuckled. “Not my mother. His first wife. Le Bail may not let us divorce spouses, but there is no rule against killing them, is there? Father made his deal when he was sixteen. Two years later, when he had all the riches a prospective father-in-law could want his daughter’s suitor to have, he asked for the hand of his high school sweetheart. They got married, had a kid, the fairy tale. Until a drunk driver crashed into their car. Their son died. The wife survived, barely, but the surgery necessary to save her also removed her uterus. My father had to choose between the love of his life and the prospect of ever becoming part of the High Council. Lower families don’t have to have heirs. High Council families do. My father didn’t have siblings. He was twenty-one, without child, and with an infertile wife. Mr Le Bail made it clear. No child - no High Council. And no divorce.”

“So your father killed the love of his life?”

“Sacrificed her on the altar he built together with her in this very house. Then he found an heiress among the lower families he could stand the thought of having to look at for the rest of his life and married her. She gave him two sons, but she wanted a daughter. Years later-” Darius spread his arms and bowed mockingly. “-here we are. I’m not entirely convinced Mr Le Bail told my sister to kill our mother. Honestly, it might have been Father.” 

Darius yawned and stretched. He stubbed out his joint on the stone bannister. Titus watched him from the corner of his mouth. It fascinated him how coldly your entire family spoke of your mother’s demise.

“You know she’ll take the goats, right?” Darius asked out of nowhere. At Titus’ confused expression, he nodded towards the garden where two goats in what looked like baby onesies were currently eating one of the manicured hedges.

“Man, I don’t give a fuck about the goats or the mice or the demons.” He looked back up to the window. “I just want her.”

Darius nodded. “As long as you make her happy.” He grabbed his crystal tumbler from the balustrade and threw back the last sip of whiskey. “She deserves to finally have something for herself. And I swear, Father acts so goddamn creepy around her sometimes. It’ll do her good to get away from that.”

Titus watched Darius walk inside and drag his boyfriend up the stairs. His eyes flicked back up to the window where you still did not stand.

The sound of expensive loafers stepping up the stone stairs had him swirling around.

The Lawyer merely smirked.

The flames dancing in the fireplace behind Mr Le Bail’s chair felt cold against your skin. Or perhaps it was simply you who could not feel warm.

You knelt on the carpet with your arms crossed on the armrest of his chair, your chin resting atop them, whispering with the being only you saw.

You fell silent the moment Titus appeared in the doorway.

Your heart sank at the same time as it beat faster. How could you feel both so much joy and apprehension at the same time?

“Darlin’?”

A prickling shiver rushed down your spine at the nickname and the soft, raspy purr of his voice.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Titus knew well the trouble of heating an old mansion like this. Seeing you on the ground in only a thin, short sleep dress made him frown.

You shook your head.

“I know you must be tired.” He made a step into the room. “I’ll let you catch some sleep in a moment, but- I cannot leave just yet.” He lowered himself onto one knee next to you. His fingers trembled almost unperceivable when he reached out to brush your hair behind your ear. You nuzzled into his touch. He leaned down, bringing his forehead to yours, and as if you’d never done anything else, you tipped your head up to catch his lips in a fleeting but no less yearning kiss.

Titus cupped the side of your face and deepened the kiss. His free hand slid into his pocket, pulling out the ring box he’d been carrying with him for weeks, the ring box he opened every night, without fail, picturing the sparkling, decadent ring on your finger.

He pulled back just enough to show you the box, to open it for you as he had pictured so many times…

Your eyes fell on the delicate ring. A three-carat, cushion-cut diamond surrounded by polished, glittering moonstones, set into a narrow platinum band.

It was decadent, but tasteful in the way old money always was, almost subtle when one wasn’t directly looking at it.

“Will you make me the happiest, richest man in the whole wide world and become my wife?” He whispered, forehead still pressed to yours, breath brushing across your lips as he spoke.

“Titus…”

“Just say yes.” Titus kissed the corner of your mouth. “Please just say yes, sweetheart. We’ll figure it all out… just be mine.”

You opened and closed your mouth. A tear rolled down your cheek. “Yes.”

Titus swept you up in his arms, getting to his feet with you as if you weighed nothing and kissed you, deep, hungry, practically glowing with joy.

You let him sit you down on the table and slip the ring onto your finger. It fit exactly right. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It had his and your initials engraved on the inside of the band. He hugged you again, burying his face against your neck and whispering sweet nothings and solemn promises into your skin.

Everything was perfect.

Why did it not feel perfect?

You looked to the side, finding Mr Le Bail's fiery eyes already on you. 

He merely smirked and shrugged.

Next Chapter

It was a shit day in the Pitt.

When asked about your day, that was always your reply.

The patients were either monumentally stupid, disrespectful, verbally abusive assholes, intoxicated to the point they could not even hear the questions you asked, or the most precious, sweetest people ever - and the sweet, precious ones were always the sickest.

It was a cruel running gag of the universe, you were sure of it. The stupid assholes survived, and the sweet grandmas who called you hun and made you compliments, the polite single mums tearing themselves apart to keep their children’s worlds whole, died.

PTMC was chronically underfunded, the staff chronically overworked, running on shitty coffee, insomnia, saviour complexes and fumes, and the air conditioning unit perpetually shit.

What was there to love about this job?

You sat on the low wall by the ambulance bay, tucked away from the chaos of the ER against the corner by the wall with your knees drawn up to your chest and your head resting against the brick wall behind you.

It was your own personal little safe haven.

Everyone on staff had one.

Trinity and Dennis had the break room. Donnie and Jessy the hallways leading down into the subbasement where only the generators, central supply and the IT gremlins (as you affectionately called them) hid. Abbot and Robby had the roof.

You had this corner.

You took another sip from the can of soda you held in your lap. The late summer heat was oppressive, squeezing in around you until the air felt too heavy, too thick. The can was sweating as much as you, condensation seeping through the cheap fabric of your scrubs. Your feet were aching, your head too. Your hoodie lay discarded next to you on the wall. The ER itself was freezing cold, but the outside smoldering, and the waiting room was somehow even hotter.

ER waiting rooms often defied all laws of physics.

Yeah, when asked about your day, you always replied with shit. 

The pay wasn’t enough for the backbreaking labour expected of you to keep the crumbling healthcare system afloat on your compassion and spite alone. The patients were ungrateful or so gut-wrenchingly tragic you couldn’t breathe. You woke in cold sweats most nights, remembering the faces of patients you’d lost years ago. The air conditioning unit might as well have come straight from hell with how it savoured torturing you. You were still paying off student loans and would continue to do so for many years just to have parents argue with you that vaccines were a hoax, their children lying in the next room as they slowly died from preventable diseases.

And yet, despite it all, you kept coming back. You came back every day. You picked up shifts when colleagues called out. You volunteered for holidays so those who actually had a family could spend the day with them. You stayed longer when the Pitt was swamped.

Perhaps you had some masochistic tendencies (you definitely had those).

Perhaps you were simply insane.

For some inexplicable reason, staying away from the hospital longer than two days in a row drove you mad with boredom. You stood in the front row of every mass casualty, swirling through the ER, past bloodied gurneys and screaming patients, blood pounding in your ears and feeling alive like never before amidst the death and devastation.

There was another perk to being an absolute, hopeless workaholic, and it was currently arriving for his shift.

Robby started riding his new motorcycle to work a few weeks back, and with the shock of PittFest still deep in everyone’s bones, it took a few days for people to even realise. It started with Dana pursing her lips. It ended with you somehow finding time to sneak away for your ‘lunch’ break every day at seven a.m. when Robby arrived for his shift. 

He didn’t always notice you sitting on your wall with your packed lunch and ice-cold can of soda, no matter the weather. When he did, he shot you one of his strained, tight-lipped smiles or waved before heading inside to do handovers with Abbot.

You worked the midnight to noon shift, your time at the hospital overlapping with Abbot’s, Shen’s and Robby’s shift, a new system being tested by the hospital to provide greater continuity of care. The second-you worked from noon to midnight.

You didn’t mind. 

You got to watch Robby arrive for work and wave him goodbye when you left to go home.

You looked forward to it. To these slammed eight hours you got to see him, be near him, work at his side, sometimes close enough to smell the scent of soap he used still clinging to his skin.

Robby never wore a helmet. 

In front of Dana, he pretended he did. When you were around for one of their arguments on the matter, Robby always glanced over to you, sharing a private, conspiratorial smirk with you and winking.

Your knees went weak every single time.

It was pathetic really, how huge your crush on your much older attending had grown.

It started as fawning admiration for his skill and calm even amidst the shittiest, harshest shifts when you were nothing but a flustered med student who, no matter what she did, always stood in the way. When you were a resident, still overwhelmed that you actually got placed with your dream hospital, you worked tirelessly, making it your whole existence to prove to Dr Robby you could be trusted, that you were good, that you’d earned your spot here. That you soaked up everything he taught you. That you had not wasted the time he spent teaching you. You wanted to make him proud. You craved his approval and praise.

You were pathetic.

But when he’d been the first to congratulate you when you passed the boards, and he’d been the one to tell you your application for the attending position at PTMC’s ED had been accepted - those were your most cherished memories…

Robby parked in the same spot as always, close to the entrance of the ambulance bay. Sweat clung to his brow. The corners of his eyes were crinkled from a lifetime of smiling. You wondered when he stopped. What had sucked the joy and happiness out of him? Perhaps it was this job.

I’d make him happy again, that unhelpful, ridiculous little voice in your head whispered. You shoved it away roughly. What did you even have to offer a man at least twenty years your senior?

I’d suck him off so good he’d forget how to breathe.

“Oh my god.” You muttered to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to fight off the heat creeping up your neck. When had you become such a fucking pervert? Lusting after some old man. Your former teacher. Your boss!

You were still watching Robby, like the unhinged little freak you’d become for him. He was checking his phone, still sitting on his bike. You watched him shove the phone back into the side pocket of his cargo pants and then, as if time had turned to molasses, you watched him shove his hand under the hem of his shirt and lift it up to wipe the sweat off his face and beard.

Your eyes glued themselves to the sight unfolding before you, to Robby’s soft, round stomach on full display, protruding over his belt like the most delicious fucking muffin you’d ever seen. You stared at his sweaty skin, the liberal dusting of coarse dark hair covering it, mouth quite literally watering at the sight.

Robby dropped his shirt again. It caught on his belly, leaving a delicious sliver uncovered, the same slivers you had stolen glances of every time he stretched his back in the ER, causing his scrubs to ride up.

Robby looked up and froze. Your eyes met across the ambulance bay. You couldn’t look away. What was wrong with you? Ogling his belly in public like some- some belly fetishist!

Heat suffused your face and neck, making even the scorching temperatures around you go green with envy. 

Robby stared back at you. A slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks. He tugged on his shirt, even when it sat normally again and averted his eyes, twisting his head away with more force than necessary.

You were still staring at him.

You couldn’t stop.

Seeing his naked belly had broken something, fried some essential wiring in your brain, you were sure of it.

Robby didn’t look at you when he stalked past to disappear into the Pitt.

You stayed. Trapped between mortification at being caught ogling him and depraved delight at the sight that had burnt itself into your retinas.

This was not good.

This was not at all helpful with regards to your concerning, lecherous crush - though crush was far too tame a word to describe the absolutely filthy thoughts that came to haunt you every time you lay down in bed to catch some sleep between shifts.

You finished your soda, ate the last of your ‘lunch’ while desperately trying to remember how to act normal before heading back inside.

The scent of Robby’s aftershave, still fresh in the morning, still hung in the air. You felt yourself blush again. Oh god. You were fucked. You were so royally, monumentally FUCKED.

I want to fuck him.

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You hissed to yourself.

Dana shot you an incredulous look over the edge of her glasses, one brow raised, no doubt seeing the blush still darkening your skin when you went to check the board. You forced yourself not to look for Robby before grabbing a tablet to throw yourself back into the ER madness - a mistake, you realised as you turned around and collided with another person.

A solid, soft, very good-smelling person.

“Dr- Dr Robby.” You muttered, backing away quickly. Could this day get any worse?

You looked up on reflex - it was impossible not to look at Robby, not to look for Robby, but all you could think about as you were peering up at your old mentor and object of all your desires was how you would ride your pillow tonight while thinking about the mouth-watering show he’d inadvertently put on for you this morning.

Your blush only darkened further.

Had you been any more sane in the moment, you’d have noticed Robby’s own flushed skin, or the fidgedy, uneasy energy surrounding him.

Dana looked from you to him and promptly decided she was not paid enough to deal with whatever was going on between the two attendings.

You were called away to one of your cases and quickly ducked around Robby to scurry away, taking all your perverted thoughts and shame with you.

Good thing mind-readers don’t exist. And in case they do, please don’t tell on me.

Your shift dragged on, tugging you along at the most infuriating, pointless pace ever. You liked your shift time slot. You liked that you got to spend one half with the nightshift crew and the second half with the dayshift. Nights were slower and somewhat calmer but also batshit crazy. Days were turbulent and demanding. You never wanted to go back to twelve uninterrupted hours of this shit ever again. Eight were more than enough. 

You’d been avoiding Robby, and you’d almost made it to the end of your shift without interacting with him. You’d even voluntarily exiled yourself to chairs.

Just another hour to go before you could slink out, taking your shame with you and hopefully, hopefully Robby would have forgotten all about this by tomorrow. Or at least you could both pretend it had never happened.

You swirled around at the sound of your name being called - and cursed.

Robby made his way through the flow of staff and patients towards you.

“A word.” It was a question. He pushed the door to an empty exam room open and, hanging your head in defeat and embarrassment, you ducked under his arm and slipped into the room. Robby followed. The door fell shut. The chaos and noise of the ER faded away, leaving you alone with your stupid blush and stupid, feral thoughts and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Robby towered over you with his arms crossed, ridiculously tall and handsome and looking at you with that stern, sexy disappointed-teacher-look. You both shrunk under it and internally purred like a cat getting exactly what it wanted. He tilted his head and tipped it forward, looking down at you with those delicious dark puppy eyes-

“I expected more professionalism from you. If you have an issue, I thought you would have enough respect for me to bring it up with me personally, instead of doing this fucking charade of playing cat and mouse!”

Your eyes flicked down to his belly. Your severely unhelpful brain supplied pictures of you kneeling in front of him, feeling his belly against your forehead, choking on his cock while he berated you in exactly that tone.

Robby hissed your name. You flinched, head whipping up to meet his eyes again.

I’m no better than a man.

“I-” You mumbled unhelpfully, unsure of how to save yourself from the mess you were sinking into deeper and deeper the longer you were alone with him.

He was still going. Working himself up into a right frenzy while tearing into you in this new stress-fuelled way of his he never used to do before. You remember well how he knocked a former R4, who’d long since moved to another hospital after making attending, down a peg for shouting at you so hard after you made a harmless mistake you started crying and hyperventilating.

He was a very different man back then.

Not that you minded this new, rougher, meaner version of him.

“I know I am not the youngest man anymore-” An edge of insecurity slipped into his voice. “-but you are a doctor for Christ’s sake! I didn’t do anything inappropriate, so I don’t get what the fuck is going on with you that you can’t even do your fucking job today! Are you thinking about going to HR? Gloria? Is that it? Some snowflake shit about not being able to see some skin without getting offended?”

He was still going.

I want you to call me a filthy slut while I ride your sexy belly.

Silence.

No-

Oh god no-

“Did I say that-”

“Yep.”

You wanted to disappear. To stop existing. Better yet, for you to never have existed in the first place.

“I-” Your mouth went dry, so dry that every swallow felt like trying to force sand down your throat. “Fuck- I’m sorry-” You hid your face behind your hands and fought against the tears burning in your eyes.

Fuck.

Fucking stupid.

How could a decently smart person - and you had to at least be decently smart to have made it through med school and residency - be so fucking stupid?!

“Dr Robby, please- I-”

You bolted out of the room, leaving behind a stunned, slightly flushed Robby.

***

It was almost eight pm when a knock on your door tore you from your spiralling thoughts that shifted from berating yourself to considering resignation - because what else was there left to do at this point?

You’d stayed hidden in chairs until your shift was over and used the noon rush of people using their lunch break to see a doctor to slip out without bumping into Robby.

You barely slept, and you still had not decided whether you’d be showing up for your shift at midnight.

Peering through the peephole made your blood run cold.

Robby.

A dishevelled, sweaty, irritated-looking Robby. At your door.

You opened the door a crack, hiding behind it with only your head popping out. You felt Robby stare down at you, but you had no bravado left to face him. You didn’t have any bravado. You would have never said that to him, never confessed to your raunchy thoughts and fantasies. You still had no idea how the words slipped out.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded, still not looking up and stepped aside enough for him to slip into your apartment. You shut the door and slunk back down the hall and into the living room, where you sat down on your sofa, curling up into a tight ball with your knees to your chest and a pillow clutched in your arms.

Silence stretched between you, thick and loaded.

“Look…” Robby ran his hands through his hair and slumped down in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table with an audible sigh. “I don’t appreciate being ridiculed.”

Your head snapped up, brows dipping into a frown, lips parting as though to say something, but Robby lifted his hand, cutting you off.

“I made you uncomfortable, and instead of being a man about it and acknowledging it and apologising, I was a dick. That wasn’t right, but paying me back like that? That wasn’t cool either.”

“I- I didn’t-”

Robby snorted, a bitter, self-deprecating sound that sent a pang through your heart. “Right. Because I’m supposed to believe you meant that.”

“I did.” Your voice was a tiny, fragile little thing, bearing the evidence of the hours you’d spent panicking, thinking about what you were supposed to do to fix this, and no negligible amount of crying.

It was Robby’s turn to stare at you, opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to come up with something to say.

“I shouldn’t have- I never thought I’d say something like that to you, and that was so inappropriate, and I am sorry, but I won’t sit here and let you claim I was lying. Because I wasn’t.” Your cheeks burnt, but you forced yourself to hold eye contact even when your throat felt as though it was swelling shut.

“You- meant it?”

You nodded.

“You want to ride my belly?”

You looked away. Heat surrounded your face. “I think you look good. Really good.”

“Then you have very questionable taste, kid.”

You put the pillow down and got up, moving past your coffee table to stand in front of Robby. He watched you with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. You set your knee against the edge of the cushion, right between his spread legs.

“Do you have a problem with my taste?”

Robby whispered your name, a warning that was already hanging on by a thread, brittle, too weak to conceal his own yearning he’d been fighting to keep hidden from you.

You were too young, too pure for him to drag you down with his own messiness and inability to commit. He didn’t care about workplace relationships, he should as department chair and man who’d been frozen out by scorned nurses to the point Dana had to berate everyone involved into restoring some semblance of professionalism, but you- he didn’t want to mess you up, and everything he touched got messed up.

“Maybe it’s not my taste that’s the issue.” You placed your hand against his shoulders, curling the fingers of the other around his chin softly to force him to look at you. “Maybe it’s your perception.”

You bent down further. Robby bristled, taking a sudden, deep inhale. He looked like a man trapped between resisting and breaking, and a wicked, depraved part of you desperately wanted to see him snap.

You dropped to your knees. Robby groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to resist the temptation of looking at you, watching you huddled between his spread legs in your skimpy sleep shorts and loose shirt that did nothing to conceal the fact you weren’t wearing a bra.

You nuzzled the inside of his thigh with your head while dragging your hands down his chest, over his soft, warm belly-

You bit your lip to stifle a groan. You were too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet you already were for him, how needy and addled with pure, carnal lust that had been building for years, had grown to such devastating heights you apparently blurted it out in the middle of getting your ass handed to you - unfairly - by your attending.

You toyed with the hem of Robby’s scrub top.

“You’re crazy.”

“It would seem that way.” You murmured as you pushed his shirt up, eyes latching onto the delicious sight of soft, warm, hairy flesh. His body looked like the epitome of comfort. Lived-in, functional, not like those overly polished, eating disorder-driven fuck boys that clogged up your timeline on social media and flooded the dating apps, talking about discipline while eating unseasoned chicken with rice and making women feel shit about their very normal, very natural bodies. You could picture yourself curling up against Robby to leech off his warmth at night. Or resting your head on him while he ran his fingers through your hair.

“But since I already made a fucking spectacle of myself at work, I might as well do this.” You pressed your lips against his stomach and bit back a needy moan. Robby’s hand shot up to thread through your hair. He watched you mouth at his belly as if it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, lavishing kisses and teasing kitten licks all over his squishy flesh.

He could not fathom how someone as pretty as you could ever be attracted to the worst part of him. Though perhaps these days the worst part of him was his steadily worsening temper… not that you seemed especially opposed to that too.

“Can I?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

“What?” Robby struggled to keep up with you, his mind preoccupied with trying to process how he’d ended up in your apartment with you kneeling between his legs and still somehow not to suck his cock.

“Ride your belly.” You painted languid patterns onto his exposed belly with your fingers, kempt nails scraping softly over his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah.”

His reply came out breathless, without him really thinking about it. You emitted a squeaking noise of pure delight, and any inhibitions he might still have had melted away under it. You got to your feet, shimmying out of your shorts and panties before straddling him. You tugged and pulled impatiently on his shirt, but Robby needed a moment to get over the way your tits were in his face.

His shirt joined your shirts on the ground. Your fingers found their way into his hair and beard, toying with the coarse hair while rolling your hips against him. You stifled a moan against his temple, insides clenching violently around nothing as you dragged your soaked folds over his soft flesh. You applied more pressure, and his flesh gave way for you, allowing you more friction without it hurting or overstimulating your already swollen clit. You felt his hair against your inner thighs and heated flesh, a teasing tickle that sent prickling shivers of desire and need down your spine.

“Robby-” You moaned breathlessly. His face caught in your hands, you tipped his head back and slanted your lips over his. It was a messy kiss, uncoordinated and frankly, pathetically eager.

But was it your fault this sad old man underneath you was so fucking hot it burnt your neurons to just look at him?

After a stunned moment, Robby reciprocated. He cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other settled on the small of your back to pull you closer. He slipped down on the armchair a little, making it easier for you to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart-” He muttered against your lips when you pulled back to gasp for air. “This what you wanted? You young people have some fucking issues…”

You shuddered above him.

Robby’s eyes lit up with mirth.

“Right… no, this is not all you wanted, is it? What was it you said? You want me to call you a filthy slut?”

You could only nod.

“Tell me, baby.” His hands fell to your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he pulled you down harder against him. “What is it your deranged mind pictured when you thought about this? Did you get yourself off to the thoughts of an old man’s floppy stomach?”

You nodded again.

“Words, sweetheart. Can’t help you if you don’t talk. Come on, be a big girl and use your words.”

You moaned.

Robby forcibly stilled the movement of your hips.

“I-” You couldn’t meet his eyes. Embarrassment burnt a path up your throat, and for some terrible, filthy reason it turned you on all the more. “You’re pulling my hair, holding my arms behind my back, and degrade me. Sometimes- sometimes you tell me to stroke your cock while I get myself off. To make myself useful.”

Robby inhaled a hissing breath through his teeth.

Slowly, he ran his hand up your spine, just to drag it back down and catch the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms to help him peel it off you. His eyes flicked down to your breasts immediately, mentally cataloguing the sight of you, saving it to his memory.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, palms flush against your scalp, just to curl his fingers, gripping your hair tightly at the root, and you thought you could have come right then, just from finding out Robby knew how to properly pull a girl’s hair.

He caught your wrist and twisted your arm behind your back, just enough to hurt but not so much he would dislocate your shoulder, dragging another stuttering moan from you.

“Go on then.” Robby purred, voice lower than before, eyes dark with hunger. “If you’re getting yourself off by rubbing your little cunt all over me like a fucking slut, you might as well make it worth my while.”

You could barely move. Between the silent threat of your arm twisted behind your back, forcing you to arch your back and lewdly present your breasts to Robby, and his hand in your hair, you were trapped.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

Robby chuckled. “Fucking hell… and here I thought you were this innocent, well-behaved little thing.”

You finally managed to reach the waistband of his pants. It took you several attempts to manage to slip your hand under it, straining in Robby’s grasp and gasping when a movement had your shoulder aching. Robby, all the while, mocked you for struggling, for dripping all over him like a fucking whore, for getting so turned on by being man-handled.

“There you go… see, that wasn’t hard, was it? Pretending to be a useless, dumb bitch isn’t going to get you out of this, sweetheart. You put yourself in this situation, now be a big girl about it, hm-” Robby was cut off by a groan when you managed to close your fingers around his hard length. You tugged, forcing him out of the confines of his boxers. He felt big - long and heavy in your hand. Robby’s grip tightened around your wrist, dragging another stuttering moan from your lips.

You rolled your hips, rutting helplessly against his belly, immobilised by his strong arms around you, his cock throbbing against your palm-

“That’s all you can do? Hm? You get your hand around a cock, and suddenly that brain of yours doesn’t work anymore? Come on, sweetheart, put some effort in it. I thought you were going to make this worth my while? Why should I sit here and watch some whore get off?”

Pleasure pounded through your veins and rose to your head, wrapping your brain into a fuzzy blanket of bliss. Robby’s words made shame and embarrassment skyrocket in your chest. His hand around your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back, had sharp pain shooting through you, gasoline to the already raging storm of desire and need wreaking havoc over you.

“Robby- Robby, fuck- don’t stop-”

Tears clung to your lashes and rolled down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell with each laboured breath you forced into your lungs. Your skin prickled as though you’d touched a live wire.

Robby’s dark eyes were glued to you, glinting with desire and wonder at the discovery of your own depravity. Never, never would he have expected the bubbly, sweet, innocent girl who’d been his med student all those years ago would get up to shit like this.

In all the years he’d spent pining after you, he never dared to think you would be this fucking perfect for him.

“Are you going to come? Are you seriously going to come from this? Fucking hell, sweetheart… such a disgusting, filthy fucking whore…”

“Y-yes-” You threw your head back, just for him to pull on your hair tighter, force your head back further until your toes were curling and your lips falling open around a suffocated moan. Your hand, already slick with pre-cum, tensed around his throbbing cock. “I’m a disgusting whore- your- your filthy whore- Robby- ah-”

“Oh, mine, are you? Am I to believe you won’t crawl to another man to have him throw you around the second I leave here?”

You tried to nod, but you could barely move your head.

“You can pretend to be a good girl all you want, baby, I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Daddy-”

A shudder tore through Robby, followed by a grin splitting across his face.

“Daddy? Oh ho ho, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heated up under a fierce, bright red blush spreading across them.

“No no no, don’t you dare pretend you didn’t say that. Jesus, you’re such a fucking mess… no wonder you’re getting off to me tossing you around like you’re nothing but a used cum rag.”

“Robby-”

“No, baby.” Robby let go of your hair just to grab your chin. “No backpaddling now. Address me properly, pet.”

“D-daddy-”

“There you go. So there is some brain in that pretty head of yours after all.”

“Fuck me, daddy- please- ohmygod- I want to come on your dick-”

Robby was too far gone to question anything at this point. He was far too old to act like this, far too old to not waste a single thought of contraception or STIs or just the fact that he was your boss and you were far too young for him.

Robby let go of your arm. He had enough mental wherewithal about him still to ease it out of the uncomfortable position he held it in. He watched you for a second to make sure he’d not done any damage. You might be a little sore tomorrow, but from the way you moved it and rolled your shoulder to shake off the tension clinging to your muscles, he was sure you were fine.

You emitted a surprised squeal when Robby stood up with you in his arms, effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing. He turned you around and pushed you face-first onto the armchair. Your knees sank into the cushion. You clung to the backrest, just for Robby to grab your hair and push your face down. His fingers dug into your side, thumb pressing down on the small of your back viciously until you arched your back for him.

“Fuck- don’t even need any training, huh?”

You felt his blunt head rub through your soaked folds, heard the sharp intake of air he took in your ear as he bent over you, his front moulding to your back, belly pressed flush against your back-

“Keep that up and I might let you come.”

“Daddy-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t trust a stupid slut to do as she’s told.” Robby forced your head to the side. You met his eyes through tear-soaked lashes. His lips brushed harshly against your cheek, his beard scratching your skin deliciously. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Come on. Beg me. I know you want to.”

“I want you-” You moaned, bucking against him, desperately seeking some friction to ease the painful pressure between your legs. “I want you to fuck me, daddy- I’ve wanted you- ah- wanted you for so long-”

“Yeah? How long, baby? How long have you been thinking about my cock stretching out that slutty little cunt?”

“Years-” Your nails dug into the fabric of your armchair, the material straining beneath your desperate grip, tears tumbling down your cheeks and falling off your jaw. A desperate sob tore through your chest. “Robby, please-”

You were cut off by the overwhelming stretch of his cock breaching you, pushing forward in a single, devastating thrust that had you trembling and whimpering under Robby. He felt so good- so fucking good- The stretch of him forcing your body to open up to him was just short of too much. He filled you up so good, thick and hot and heavy, a solid, throbbing weight inside your quivering, sopping cunt you could not forget.

“Shut up.” Robby hissed in your ear, knowing his sharp tone would only drag more delicious, high-pitched whines from you. “You got yourself into this mess, now be a good girl and take what daddy gives you. I don’t want to fucking hear you complain, sweetheart. You didn’t have to act like a fucking whore, you chose to, and now you see what daddy does to pathetic sluts throwing themselves at him.”

He fucked you in quick, jostling thrusts that had the feet of the armchair scraping across your flood. A distant, very distant part of you worried about Robby knocking the whole thing over from how hard he was pounding into you, but it quickly shut up when he let go of your hair to hold onto your waist, face nuzzling into the back of your neck.

He was panting, breathing loud and heavily, only interrupted by low, deep, rumbling grunts. His hips slammed into you, slamming you into the worn cushions. His star of david necklace tapped against your shoulder blade on every thrust while he mouthed at your ear and the side of your face, beard scraping deliciously over your sweaty skin.

The feeling of your cunt clamped down around him like a vice had apparently melted away every nasty word he could have thrown at you for your own sick, twisted pleasure, replacing the severe, struggling man you’d grown used to interacting with with a much softer version.

He muttered sweet nothings and tender praise into your skin while clinging to your waist as if you were a life raft. 

And fuck, you’d be his raft, life preserver and stress relief if only he kept fucking you like this.

A younger version of you made a vow what felt like lifetimes ago to not waste any more of your time on toxic, unstable men, but for Robby you might just throw every common sense out the window.

Robby’s big nose smushed into your cheek, he kissed the tears off your skin, telling you how good you were doing for him, how good you felt for him, while a ceaseless, barely comprehensible string of daddy and please tumbled off your lips and into the cushion he’d shoved your face into.

Within minutes - or had it been hours? You weren’t sure. You sure as hell couldn’t trust your mind in this situation - Robby had reduced you to a whimpering, drooling mess. Your own arousal mixed with his pre-cum ran down your thighs and slicked up every thrust, causing an obscene symphony of wet noises paired with the telltale slap slap slap of skin hitting skin to fill up your dim living room.

Robby pressed his face into the space between your shoulder blades. He reached around you, pressing two fingers to your swollen clit, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it at just the right rhythm to make you fall apart with a strangled scream, his name still on your lips.

He thrust into you once, twice more before following you, grunting against your skin and coming inside you. His hips kept moving, almost automatically, fucking his cum deeper inside you until it covered his whole length and dripped down his balls.

You’d turned to putty under him. Drooling, happy, satisfied putty. You let your body slide down the backrest, collapsing on the armchair that was no doubt traumatised now, covered in your own arousal, cum, tears and drool as it was now.

You rubbed a hand over your face, humming in contentment.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Robby’s voice was soft, caring, the way it only got with injured, scared children and hearing him address you with it after he just wrecked you and called you a useless, disgusting slut had your insides turn all mushy and warm.

You gestured down the hall, unable to get enough of your bearing to talk. You didn’t expect him to stay. You certainly didn’t expect him to pick you up bridal style and carry you to your bedroom, or to fetch a warm washcloth from your bathroom and use it and his tongue to carefully but thoroughly clean you up.

He set you down on your unmade bed and dragged the warm cloth over your thighs before, almost as an afterthought, cleaning himself up. He settled himself between your legs, face smushed against your heated flesh and lapped at your cunt until every last drop of him was gone and you were clinging to his hair, whimpering his name sweetly.

And because Robby was apparently a depraved, wretched old man, he stayed there. He stayed there, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin until he’d dragged another orgasm from you and Jesus, you sounded so fucking sweet and tasted so fucking good- Robby couldn’t pull himself away. No matter how much he should. No matter how much guilt crashed down on him now that the lust and hunger had subsided. 

You wanted it, but how could he talk to you like that? Use you like that? You were such a sweet, young thing… how could you even know whether this was something you truly wanted? Not something you were made to believe you should enjoy? Robby had seen it before, and he had never wanted to be a part of it.

Even when you smiled at him, fingers playing with his hair and beard absentmindedly, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something terrible to you.

“Stay.” You croaked, and Robby felt himself nod before he could really think about the request, but yeah… what else was he going to do? Leave you? Fuck no.

He tossed the washcloth into your hamper and fetched you a glass of water. You gulped it down greedily before settling down, curling up against his side and nuzzling your face into his chest, your hand resting on his belly, drawing lazy circles onto his skin and playing with his hair. Robby buried his nose in your hair, the exhaustion of his shift finally crushing down on him, eyes falling shut…

Your alarm dragged you out of the easy, content, warm nap you’d slipped into. Your body felt pleasantly loosened, limbs still tingling faintly. Your arm felt sore, and a sharp, but not entirely unpleasant sting between your legs tore through you when you shifted.

Robby had wrapped his arms around you tightly, and it took some effort to extract yourself from him without waking him.

You tried to be as silent as you could as you took a shower and gathered your things for work. You left a note on the bedside table, telling Robby to stay as long as he wanted, and off you were.

You had an extra pep to your step as you strolled into the ER at midnight, just in time for your shift, and Lena commented on it right away - of course she did - gifting you one of her warm grins and peering at you over the edge of her glasses.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” You smirked and promptly slipped away to put your lunch in the fridge and your things into your locker before jumping into the nightly madness.

Your good mood stayed, and it did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Pitt either. Abbot shot you a questioning glance, a brow raised when your reply to his question came out a little more chirped than it should have. Ellis slapped you on the shoulder, grinning at you. Shen seemed a little intimidated, if not downright scared.

Seven a.m. rolled around, and you snuck away, grabbing your food and soda from the fridge, and made your way outside for your break you did not negotiate on. Seated on your wall by the entrance, you waited, perhaps with a little more anticipation than usual.

You watched Robby pull up on his motorcycle, the same motorcycle you saw parked outside your place when you left, a sight that put a grin onto your lips.

Whatever giddy, girlish delighted joy had carried you through the night, it withered the moment Robby got off his bike.

He didn’t look at you.

He didn’t acknowledge you.

He got off his bike, grabbed the helmet he never wore and marched right past you into the ER.

Tears stung in your eyes, and you didn’t know whether you hated yourself more for crying or for having had sex with him in the first place.

You knew he never committed to anyone. You knew his dating pool was basically limited to the hospital and the women who got into ill-advised affairs with him despite his reputation. You hadn’t even asked for anything. You had just had sex. Of course that didn’t have to mean anything you expected- you thought- that he’d at least look at you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, fingers trembling around your can of soda, trying not to let your thoughts spiral into self-loathing or self-deprecating versions of He is disgusted with you, of course he is. You are disgusting, playing on repeat in your head.

You finished your soda despite the nausea welling up inside your throat and dumped the rest of your lunch before heading back inside.

The change in your mood was felt viscerally by the whole ER, questioning looks following you on your way to your locker to deposit your lunch box. You didn’t notice Robby following you with his eyes, nor the concerned crease forming between his brows, but he was pulled away on an urgent case before he could make up his mind about whether to talk to you.

It was two hours into his shift when the silence between you became too much for him. The first chance he got, he slipped away, grabbed your wrist and tugged you with him into the family room.

You steeled yourself for another lecture.

It didn’t come.

“I-” Robby started, but stopped himself. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was. Until you started ignoring me again.” You shrugged.

Robby winced. “Look- I shouldn’t have come to your place. We shouldn’t have- that-” He sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Why? Am I that disgusting to you?”

“Wh-what? No! How would you even come to that conclusion?!”

“Well, everything was fine last night, and now you’re back to being a dick. What else am I supposed to think? I’m sure most women don’t ask you to call them a slut while fucking them.”

“I don’t- Do you think most guys get off on calling the woman they’re with a slut?”

“Yeah, actually, they probably do.”

Robby hesitated. “Okay… point taken. Not that it was about calling you awful things for me. It was about you- about knowing I was making you feel good…”

You crossed your arms. “Then where’s the issue, Robby?”

He gestured vaguely at you. “You. All of you.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You deadpanned, glaring up at him.

“No! Not like that! Jesus. Look, you’re too young, yeah? And far too good to waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone who’s kind and sweet and gentle. Not whatever the fuck I did to you last night.”

“You don’t get to tell me what’s good enough for me.” You sniffed. “You did what I asked you to do, you don’t think I deserve someone who does what I ask?”

“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. You didn’t actually enjoy that-”

“Why not? Oh, so you can be into BDSM but not me? Is that it? Leave me alone with that internalised sexism bullshit!”

“Woah, I’m not sexist.” Robby blinked at you.

You snorted.

“I’m not! I respect women.”

“Yeah, the thing with internalised things is you are not usually aware of them, but I’m not fucking getting into that with you now. Are you coming over tonight?”

Robby opened his mouth just to close it again. He had an odd resemblance to a fish in a moment, and you briefly wondered how it was fair for a man to be so handsome that even that didn’t turn you off.

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “You need hearing aids or something? I asked if you’re coming over tonight.”

“Why?”

You shrugged and took a step forward, letting your hand trail over his protruding, soft belly. “I want to feel this against my forehead while I choke on you.”

Robby all but sputtered. He looked around frantically, as though to make extra sure the family room was empty, just to hiss your name under his breath.

You grinned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees. Robby didn’t stop you. You popped open the button of his cargo pants and dragged down the zipper, all the while looking up at Robby. He glanced from you to the door and back to you.

“I wanna suck you dick, daddy.” You purred. Robby cursed under his breath. He braced his hand against the door before slumping against it with his back when you curled your hand around his soft dick to pull it from his boxers.

“Jesus, kid-”

“Is that a yes?” You asked in a painfully fake, high-pitched, whiny tone.

“Yeah-”

You grinned to yourself as you parted your lips to take him into your mouth. He grew hard under your touch, under the insistent drag of your tongue over his velvety skin. You sucked on his tip until he was cursing, and giggled around him when he grabbed your hair to force you down, burying himself as deep in your throat as he could. He squished your nose into the coarse, dark curls at his base and your forehead into his soft belly.

You moaned around him, eyes fluttering shut.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

A few minutes later, throat sore and hair more or less smoothed down, you emerged from the family room with a renewed pep in your step. Robby slunk out behind you a while later, once you’d cleared the hallway and hopefully nobody would put two and two together.

Dana shot him a withering, disapproving glare from central, Jack next to her merely raising his brow before shaking his head.

Robby blushed.

That night, after his shift, he found his way back to your apartment, and the night after that, and the night after… He was fucking addicted, and he didn’t even care when you sucked his cock like that or cried his name out so sweetly while coming around him - and especially not when you lay in bed next to him, playing with his stomach hair and smiling up at him so prettily…