Juniper Woodwell

It was a day later when you saw Gator again.

He hadn’t come by to see Callie or you since the other night, and he’d been ignoring your calls and texts. To say you were growing worried was an understatement. But there was nothing you could do except wait for a response.

It was three in the morning when you woke to the sound of knocking at the front door.

You groaned, eyes bleary from sleep, feet heavy on the floorboards. You yanked on a robe and tied it around your waist, then pulled the door open with a sigh.

“It is three in the morning. What could you possibly need from—”

You stopped.

The figure on your porch wasn’t your neighbor.

“Oh. Gator.” You bit your lip slightly. “Sorry. What’re you doin’ here?”

He looked up at you with bloodshot, exhausted eyes that froze you in place.

“Let me in. Please.”

His voice was rough and quiet.

He looked worse than you remembered. His eye was a darker shade of purple, like he’d been hit again. His sleeve was duct-taped over his cast, and he smelled faintly of cheap beer. Then you noticed he was shivering, his hair mussed and unkempt.

“I need you.”

The way he said it, low and bare and desperate, made your heart ache for him.

He leaned heavily against the doorframe, as if he might fall over otherwise.

You gently took his good hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his bruised knuckles.

“I’m not Callie, Gator,” you said softly, looking him over again.

His eyes fluttered shut when you touched him. When he opened them, there was a sheen of tears.

“I know,” he whispered. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

He took in a shaky breath.

“Can I just… can I come in? I don’t wanna go home tonight.”

His voice cracked on the last word, thin with exhaustion.

Your brows furrowed. You let go of his hand and lifted it to his face, resting your palm against his cheek. Just looking at him made your throat tighten.

So broken.

“Have you eaten?” you asked, your thumb brushing lightly over his lashes.

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing again as he pressed his cheek into your palm.

He shook his head.

“No,” he murmured. “Haven’t eaten since… since yesterday, I think.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet admission. Right on cue, his stomach growled, as if to confirm it.

He opened his eyes and gave you a weak, apologetic, almost shy smile.

You dropped your hand reluctantly, opened the door wider, and stepped aside.

“We still got some meatloaf left,” you offered.

He nodded immediately.

“Yeah. That… that’d be real nice.”

“That sounds good,” he murmured.

Your hand reached out to gently rub his arm. He turned to face you, his eye locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten even more.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer and wrapped his good arm around your waist, pressing his face into your shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered.

He melted into your touch when you lifted one hand to his hair and the other over his shoulders, relaxing completely as you gently scratched his scalp and rubbed over his shoulder blades.

“I know,” you whispered back. “You can stay here tonight. But let’s get you some food.”

You hummed softly, tightening your hold on him just a little. “Take a seat at the counter. I’ll warm up the leftovers for ya.”

He nodded against your shoulder, breathing you in, your perfume and shampoo, before pulling back reluctantly.

He shuffled over to the counter and sat on one of the stools.

He looked exhausted.

You could feel his eyes on you as you took out the leftovers, plated them, and slid them into the microwave. When you leaned against the counter in front of him, resting your forearms on the edge, he tensed slightly as your fingers lifted to brush over the deeper purple bruise beneath his eye.

“How’d it get worse?” you asked carefully.

He sighed and leaned into your touch instead of pulling away.

“Roy,” he whispered under his breath. “Saw I got fixed up. Ripped the whole damn bandage off. Then hit me again.”

He swallowed.

“Said, ‘See if she’ll fix your broken face this time. Maybe she’ll realize you’re a failure and leave you.’”

Your whole body went rigid, jaw tightening.

Before you could say anything, the microwave beeped.

You took out the warm plate and set it in front of him with a fork.

He picked up the fork with his casted hand, then reached for your hand where it rested on the counter, taking it gently with his good one.

Your anger softened as you watched him struggle.

“Gator, use your good hand.”

He shook his head immediately, squeezing your hand.

“Wanna hold your hand,” he muttered.

Then he dropped the fork.

He tensed.

Before he could reach for it, you grabbed it with your free hand, stabbed a piece of meatloaf, and held it out to him.

He went to take the fork, but you pulled it back.

“Ah-ah. Open,” you ordered softly.

His face flushed red. He scoffed.

“You’re not gonna feed me—”

You slipped the food into his mouth mid-sentence.

He sighed, groaning irritably, but his eyes fell shut as he chewed.

You pulled the fork away. He smiled faintly.

He swallowed.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “That’s good.”

You smiled and nodded. “Mhm. And it’s a day old. So all the flavors’ve had time to sit and mix.”

He sighed, squeezing your hand.

“Want more?” you asked.

He scoffed out a weak laugh. “I’m not a baby.”

He tried to defend himself, but when you started to pull the plate away, he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand.

“B-But… yeah. I want more. Please.”

The last word slipped out in a whisper.

His cheeks flushed deeper as you continued to feed him slowly, making sure he finished every bite. When the plate was finally empty, you set the fork down and lifted your hand to card through his short black hair.

“Good job, Gator.”

You swore he melted into a puddle.

He hummed softly, looking up at you with those big hazel-brown eyes, and your heart kicked hard in your chest.

You pulled away, set the plate and fork in the dishwasher, then rounded the counter and took his hand. Opening the freezer, you grabbed a bag of peas.

“Do you wanna take a shower?” you asked, gently easing the cold bag against his bruised eye.

He hissed and pulled back slightly, but you pressed it there a little firmer.

“Answer me, Gator,” you said softly.

“Mhm,” he hummed distractedly, the peas numbing the ache. “Yeah. I… I could use a shower.”

His voice shivered despite the warmth of the apartment.

His hand, still holding yours, squeezed gently.

“Would you… could you help me? With gettin’ undressed and stuff?”

His ears burned red at the admission.

You knew that hesitation. Home had taught him to handle everything alone.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help. But you shouldn’t shower with that cast.”

You lifted the peas from his cheek and tugged him toward the bathroom.

When you closed the door behind you, you noticed the nervous way his eyes flicked around the small space. The way he avoided looking at you told you exactly what he was replaying.

“I’m just gonna give you a cloth wash,” you said gently. “How’s that sound?”

You set the peas on the counter.

You started by pulling off your shirt.

He inhaled sharply and turned his head away.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked quickly.

You laughed under your breath. “I’m gonna be the one in the tub. I’d rather not soak my clothes.”

You said it like it was obvious, though teasing him was a little too easy.

“Gator,” you added, smirking, “quit actin’ like we didn’t take baths together all the time when we were little.”

You turned on the water, testing it with your hand until it ran warm.

He scoffed, leaning back against the door, eyes fixed on the floor.

“That was ages ago. We haven’t taken a bath together since we were, like, seven. And even then, we wore swimsuits.”

Your smirk softened into a quiet smile as you bent over the tub, letting the warm water run over your fingers.

You added a splash of sweet-scented bubble bath soap and mixed it with your hand. 

When the water reached about a foot high, you turned it off and stood, wiggling out of your pajama pants until you were left in your bra and underwear.

“Well,” you said gently, “just think of this as a bikini, and your boxers as swim trunks. We’ll be just fine.”

You pulled his hands from where they were crossed tightly over his chest.

He sighed and let you guide him away from the door.

You slowly unzipped his tactical vest and carefully slipped it off his shoulders, mindful of his casted arm, then set it on the counter beside the bag of peas.

Next, you tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt.

“Lift up,” you said quietly.

He raised his arms, and you pulled the shirt up over his head, adding it to the pile.

When he lowered his hands, you inhaled sharply.

Yellow and purple bruises mottled his bare torso.

You wanted to ask where they came from. You already knew.

Your fingers traced over them gently, not pressing.

“I’m fine,” he muttered automatically, catching your hand with his good one.

You sighed, resisting the desperate urge to kiss his skin, to kiss away the bruises and the pain.

You nodded and let your hands drift down to his belt.

You unbuckled it, but before you could unbutton his cargo pants, his hands closed over yours.

He inhaled sharply.

You looked up at him.

His head was turned away, his eyes distant, the skin at his chest and throat flushed a warm red.

“I can do that,” he whispered.

You smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

You pulled your hands back and turned toward the tub, grabbing a soft washcloth and running it under the warm water.

You stepped carefully into the tub as you heard fabric rustle and a soft clink as his pants hit the tile.

“Where do I—”

“Sit on the edge, facing me,” you said.

You lowered yourself to your knees in the water and looked up as he hovered uncertainly, a shiver running down your spine, a warmth blooming low in your stomach.

You ignored it.

He stepped in and sat on the edge.

You noticed it immediately.

You looked up to his eyes instead.

His good hand moved quickly to cover the very obvious bulge.

“Gator—”

“It’s not on purpose,” he blurted, meeting your gaze.

You snorted softly, resting your hand on his thigh. The water splashed gently around your calves as you shifted closer, your face near his as you settled between his knees.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you said quietly. “You’re a guy. I get it.”

You smiled, took the warm cloth, wrung it out, and patted it gently against his face, washing away the dirt.

“No, you don’t,” he muttered as you turned his head to clean behind his ear.

You worked slowly down his neck, then over his shoulders, then across his chest, rinsing the cloth and warming it again whenever it cooled.

Even though the bathroom was warm, goosebumps covered his arms and thighs.

He shivered as the cloth brushed over his tightened nipple and let out a shaky breath.

“You okay?” you asked, your hand stilling.

He swallowed and nodded, hands resting on the edge of the tub beside his hips.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah.”

You continued, finishing his chest and torso carefully, avoiding the worst of the bruises. You washed down his arms, working gently around the cast.

“Can I wash your legs too, Gator?” you asked, sitting back on your heels, not bothering that your underwear was getting wet. They were black anyway.

You could tell he was trying to keep himself steady by the slow, deliberate way he was breathing.

He nodded quickly.

His good hand stayed braced on the tub. His casted hand rested on his lap, covering the obvious effect your closeness was having.

He spread his legs a little wider to give you space.

You watched his face turn beet red.

“I didn’t realize how shy you are around girls, Gator.”

His head snapped back to you, glare sharp.

“Don’t tease me,” he grunted.

You bit back a laugh as you started washing up his left calf, your fingers absently massaging the tight muscle.

“Why not? Teasin’ you’s kind of fun.”

His eyes slid shut, his head tipping lazily to the side.

He let out a soft sound, almost a moan.

“Does that feel good?” you asked innocently, moving to his other calf, working the muscle there too.

He cleared his throat, trying to cover another quiet sound.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Thought so.”

He opened his eyes, his casted hand shifting slightly.

“Quit it,” he said.

The command lost its strength when his voice cracked.

You met his eyes and shrugged. “I was just askin’, Gator.”

He scoffed. “Just askin’, my ass.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re still teasin’ me. Tryin’ to make me act up.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not. That time, I swear.”

You rested your hands on his knees, the cloth hanging loose from your fingers.

“Your muscles are tight,” you said gently. “I was just curious if massagin’ them felt good.”

He sighed, gripping the edge of the tub.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Yeah. It did.”

You hummed, pleased.

The rest of the bath passed smoothly, without any more groans or teasing. When you finished, you stood, water streaming down your legs as you reached past him to grab a towel and pressed the drain so the tub began to empty.

You wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

“Turn around,” you whispered.

“Why? Aren’t we done?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m gonna wash your hair. There’s no way I’m lettin’ you sleep in my bed with that much gel in it.”

He scoffed, smirking, and stood.

Your chests brushed.

We inhaled deeply, swallowing as we stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. You could feel him press against you, but before you could commit the sensation to memory, he stepped out of the tub and turned so his back faced you.

“There you go,” you muttered.

You turned on the shower and adjusted it so only the handheld head sprayed warm water. You made sure it didn’t hit his body, then tilted his head back until his shoulders rested against your thighs.

He didn’t protest as you pressed the spray into his hair.

Your free hand rested against his forehead, keeping the water from running into his eyes.

He hummed softly, the warmth easing the tension from his body.

“You gonna fall asleep like this?” you asked.

You moved your hand from his forehead to comb through his hair, loosening the slicked-back strands.

He hummed again and shrugged, offering no real answer.

You grumbled. “Good grief, Gator. I don’t get it. Why do you need so much gel? Your hair is so pretty when you let it naturally flow.”

He shrugged again with a grunt, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“Roy says it’s more professional–like.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Well, fuck Roy. You look like a fucking dick with your hair slicked back.”

He chuckled. “I am a dick, sweetheart.”

He opened his eyes to look up at you.

“You’re not,” you said firmly, staring down at him. “You’re not.”

You repeated it, slower this time.

He swallowed again.

“Say it, Gator.”

His eyes widened. He started to sit up, but your free hand slid under his chin, keeping his head tilted back.

He cleared his throat.

“I–I’m not a dick.”

His voice cracked.

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his damp forehead.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

Then you pulled back and finished washing his hair, using your shampoo and conditioner. You were pretty sure he nodded off more than once while you worked.

When you were done, you both stepped out of the tub.

You dried him with a fresh towel, then used the one around his shoulders to ruffle and dry his hair.

It was soft. Floofy.

“There’s my Gator,” you grinned up at him.

His good hand lifted, trying to tame the loose strands.

You caught his wrist and pulled it away.

“Stop it. You look good.”

You turned him toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You’re so handsome.”

You cooed shamelessly.

He scoffed, but the smirk still crept in.

“Ya think so?”

You bit your lip, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

You cleared your throat and shrugged. “I-I mean. As your best friend. Of course I think you’re handsome.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Can we put clothes on now?”

You snorted and nodded. “Yeah, sure. But I’m surprised by you, Gator. You’re usually such a fan of takin’ off your clothes.”

He gently swatted your arm as you opened the bathroom door, gathering up your clothes and the now-thawed bag of peas you’d completely forgotten about. 

You cursed and carefully handed the clothes to him.

“I’m gonna toss these into the freezer. Take our stuff to my room. I’ll be right back.”

You smiled and took the peas as he trudged down the hall toward your room.

You stepped into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light as you opened the freezer and tossed the peas inside.

There was a knock at the door.

You froze.

Your body moved on instinct, not even registering the state you were in. Just your bra and underwear.

You opened the door.

Your blood went cold.

“Sh-Sheriff Tillman.”

Suddenly, you were acutely aware of your nakedness.

“Do you always answer your door in your undergarments?” he asked, looking you over.

The way he looked at you, like a piece of meat, made your stomach turn.

His gaze was cold, lingering on your curves. His voice was sharp, disapproving.

“Where’s my son?”

He stepped over the threshold without waiting for an invitation.

The intrusion sent your heart racing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself.

“H-He’s in my room,” you whispered.

A smirk tugged at Roy’s mouth.

“That so?”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir. It is.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Good for him.”

He stepped closer until the front of his shirt brushed your arms.

He leaned in, his hot breath fanning across your face.

“Well, I’ll let you two be. This day has been long-awaited. Just tell him something for me.”

You shivered.

“Tell him if he’s not back at the ranch before sunup, I will find him, and he’ll have to pay for it. Can you do that for me?”

He pulled back.

You stared up at him, fire in your eyes.

“Better wipe that attitude off your face there, girly, lest you want to be part of his punishment.”

You forced a smile, biting down hard on your tongue.

“Yes, sir. I’ll… I’ll let him know.”

You had to stop yourself from gnawing his hand off when it patted your cheek.

“That’s a good girl. Now, don’t stay up too late. And remind that boy to use protection.”

Then he tipped his hat and walked back to his truck.

You slammed the door shut and locked it.

Your fist struck the hardwood, lighting your knuckles with hot pain.

“Bastard, mother-fucking bitch-bastard,” you snarled.

“Who was that?”

You whipped around so fast your neck twinged.

Gator stood in the hallway in a T-shirt and sweatpants, the ones he kept here for emergencies.

You clenched and unclenched your aching hand.

“It was your daddy. He said to wrap up first,” You grated.

The edge in your voice faded when his face drained of color and his eyes widened.

His movements were hurried as he crossed the kitchen toward you. His hand closed around your bicep, gripping tight.

“And he saw you like this?”

His voice was low, sharp.

You looked away and sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately. But from how he was seconds from barging in, I think it distracted him and made him change his plan.”

He tilted his head, brows furrowing. “What?” he whispered.

“He told me to tell you that if you’re not back home before the sun comes up, that he was gonna find you and punish you.”

His hand tightened on your arm. The fear in his eyes made your stomach drop.

“Gator—”

He let go abruptly and turned away, heading for your bedroom.

You followed.

“Gator!” you called, closing the door behind you and catching his arm.

He shrugged you off and sat heavily on your bed, dragging a hand down his face. His shoulders sagged.

You grabbed a hoodie and a pair of shorts, pulling them on quickly before kneeling in front of him. You took his hand and gently pulled it away from his face.

“What’s going on, Gator. Talk to me—”

He didn’t let you finish.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you up, burying his face in your neck. His breathing was deep and unsteady.

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

His voice was quiet. Broken.

You pushed yourself to your feet. His arms slid around your hips, pulling you close until his face pressed against your stomach.

Your fingers combed through his hair.

“I’m tired,” he ground out. “I’m tired of it.”

“Of what, Gator?” you asked, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“Of getting punished. Of hurting. Of the bruises. The words.”

He was shaking now, holding himself together by sheer will. He drew in a deep breath, arms tightening around you.

“Let’s run away, then,” you said softly, your lips against his damp hair.

His breath hitched. He looked up at you, his chin pressing into your ribs.

“No,” he muttered.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, then back down at him. “Why not. You never tell me why we can’t.”

You tried to pull back, but he held you there.

“Because… if he finds us out there, he’ll hurt you just to get back at me for runnin’ away.”

The words landed hard.

Your mouth went dry. Your blood felt cold.

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you.

“I swear on my life, Gator Tillman,” you said quietly. “That bastard of a father will never find us. And he will never hurt us again.”

You meant it so fiercely it brought tears to your eyes.

“You can’t promise that—”

“Yes. The fuck I can.”

You pressed your lips to his forehead, then drew his head back against your stomach, holding him there.

“We’re leavin’ tomorrow night. We pack our things into your truck and drive until the roads end and meet the sea, and if that’s not far enough, we’ll get a plane and fly across the Atlantic and find a place in Tuscany.”

He laughed softly against you.

“I’m serious. Maybe we can find a place with a view of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

You lifted his head. His eyes were wet, tears clinging to his lashes.

“Think so?” he sniffled, licking his lip.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. We’ll run so far away that he’ll never find us again.”

Gator lifted his good hand, slid it behind your head, and pulled you down until his lips met yours.

You froze for half a second.

He pulled back. “Sorry—I just—”

“Mph.”

You cupped his face and kissed him back.

His hand tightened on your hip.

Everything moved fast after that.

Your hands pushed him back onto the bed, and he went without resistance. You straddled him without breaking the kiss, your fingers gripping his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth.

You pulled back with a sharp gasp, air rushing into your lungs.

His eyes were closed as he panted softly.

You sat up and pulled off your hoodie.

His eyes opened slowly, pupils blown wide.

He swallowed hard.

His arms slid around your waist, holding you there as he lifted himself slightly and pressed his face between your breasts. He inhaled deeply, hands tightening on your shoulders.

He breathed your name against your skin.

His lips moved, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

His good hand reached behind you to unhook your bra while the other stayed firm on your hip.

He hummed against your skin as your fingers massaged his scalp, tugging gently at his hair.

He pulled back just long enough to slide your bra down your arms and toss it across the room.

His eyes never left your chest.

He used his good hand to cup one breast, leaning in to kiss the other before trailing his mouth up to your neck.

His thumb brushed slowly over your nipple.

You sighed, pressing yourself more firmly into his hand.

“Gator,” you whispered, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Mmm,” he hummed against your throat.

His thumb and forefinger rolled your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine.

His mouth kissed and sucked gently at your pulse.

He shifted beneath you, pressing his hard length against you through your clothes.

His hand slid from your breast to grip your hip, possessive.

You rocked your hips against him on instinct, then forced yourself to stop.

You lifted his face, brushing his hair back with both hands.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you asked.

His big brown eyes stared up at you, dark with need.

“Yes,” he whispered firmly, arching his hips to meet yours again. “I’m sure. With you… I’m sure.”

His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Please, Y/n… I need this. I need you.”

His voice softened into a plea.

“Make love to me, please.”

The words were barely audible.

Your heart lurched.

You took in a deep, shaking breath and nodded.

“Yeah… okay.”

You smiled and kissed him.

“Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

He lay back almost immediately.

His good arm slid behind his head, gripping one of your pillows, the pillow pet crushed in his fist. His casted arm rested heavy at his side.

You bit your lip to keep from cooing.

He looked heavenly and precious at the same time.

You shifted back to sit on his thighs. Your hands trailed slowly over his chest, then pushed up his shirt.

“Mind holdin’ this?” you asked sweetly, lifting the hem to his lips.

He nodded, lips parting to catch the fabric between his teeth.

You kissed his chest approvingly.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

You kissed down his exposed skin, pressing your mouth to his bruises, your tongue flicking out to trace their edges.

He inhaled sharply every time your tongue brushed a sore spot, keeping the shirt clenched tight between his teeth.

His good hand twitched around the pillow pet, aching to touch you, to guide you, but he didn’t dare let go.

A soft, needy whine slipped from him as your mouth lingered on a dark bruise along his ribs.

You lifted your head.

“You okay?” you hummed, tilting your head.

He nodded quickly, letting out a muffled, “Mhmm,” around the fabric.

His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. The attention to his bruises sent pleasure and pain colliding through him.

He bit down harder on the shirt, breathing heavy through his nose.

You smiled.

“Gator, you can let go of the shirt.”

Your hands slid over his exposed hips.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

He released the fabric with a soft pop, his mouth finding yours immediately.

He kissed you deep and desperate, his good hand finally tangling in your hair.

“More,” he gasped against your lips. “Touch me more… please.”

His hips lifted instinctively, seeking friction, while his casted arm lay useless at his side, a quiet reminder of what he couldn’t do.

“Okay, okay,” you murmured, pressing a hand to his chest. “You don’t have to beg. I’m right here.”

You kissed him again, then lifted your hips and slid his sweatpants down.

To your surprise, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Oh—shit. N-now I get why she screams so loud.”

You swallowed thickly, heat pooling low in your stomach.

He lifted his hips as you wrapped your hand around him, a whine slipping free.

His face flushed crimson as you touched him, a moan escaping despite himself. His hips bucked into your palm, hard length pressing insistently there.

“You really gonna make fun of me right now?” he panted.

His good hand slid down to grip your hip as his back arched off the bed.

“I’m not teasing, I swear,” you defended, giving him slow, deliberate strokes. “She said you were big. I didn’t believe her. Now I do.”

You grinned down at him and leaned in to capture his lips.

He groaned into the kiss, hips thrusting up into your grip. His good hand clutched your hip, pulling you closer, his casted arm hanging useless at his side.

“She’s talked about me with you?” he asked breathlessly between kisses, clearly curious but far too undone to chase the thought.

Your slow strokes were driving him out of his mind.

“Fuck, Y/n, harder,” he whimpered, hips stuttering.

His eyes searched yours, desperate.

You brushed your nose against his. “She said it to make me jealous,” you whispered against his lips.

Your hand stilled on him.

“Tell me why you sleep with her, Gator. Why?”

He froze.

His hips went completely still as he looked up at you, wide-eyed, dazed.

The question cut straight through the haze.

“Because…” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard.

Your hand stayed there, not moving. Just holding him.

“Shit, Y/n, can we not talk about this right now?” he pleaded, shifting restlessly beneath your palm.

“Tell me,” you said softly, squeezing him, “and I’ll fuck you until you see the stars.”

His eyes rolled back at the squeeze, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.

“Fuck,” he gasped, head falling back.

“I sleep with her because… because she’s not you and I’m lonely and stupid.”

The words came out rushed and raw.

You felt the sting in your chest but forced it down.

He’d told you the truth.

You owed him his reward.

You smiled and kissed his chest.

“Good boy, Gator,” you murmured.

Your hand started moving again, slow and easy, your mouth trailing up his neck.

You picked up the pace, kissing and sucking at his pulse.

His body arched into your touch, his good hand gripping your hip hard as he dragged you closer.

The pressure built fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathed, hips jerking into your hand. “I’m gonna come so hard if you keep doing that.”

His voice was wrecked.

“Y/n, wait—”

You didn’t slow.

Your teeth nipped at his jaw before kissing him.

“Just let it happen, Gator. Don’t fight it.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his nose.

He groaned loudly as he finally lost the battle with his orgasm.

He came undone in your hand, hips jerking hard as he spilled over your fingers. He buried his face in the pillow pet to muffle his cries, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

You felt the heat and slickness coat your hand and drip onto his stomach.

“Oh—shit,” he gasped, chest pounding wildly.

You gave him a few more strokes.

He could barely catch his breath before he batted your hand away with his good one, a weak whine slipping from his throat.

You bit back a quiet laugh and nuzzled your nose against his jaw.

“Geez, Gator. What a mess,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

His body still twitched with aftershocks.

He laughed weakly, face buried in the pillow pet as he tried to pull himself together.

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

You snorted. “I can’t take you seriously when you’re lyin’ against my pillow pet, Gator.”

You brushed his sweat-damp hair back with your clean hand.

“Fuck, you’ve never looked hotter in your life than you do beneath me right now.”

He blushed hard, eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

He looked completely wrecked. Hair wild, face flushed, chest heaving, cum streaked across his stomach.

Despite the mess, he looked more cared for than he ever had.

His good hand lifted to cup your face.

“You really think so?” he asked quietly. “Even like this? All fucked out and useless?”

You nodded, kissing his nose, then his forehead.

“Yeah. Especially like this.”

You pressed a wet kiss to his cheek.

You pulled back and wiped your messy hand on his sweatpants, earning a grunt and a glare.

“What?” you said lightly. “When we run away, you’ll get new ones.”

Then you ran your hands slowly over his chest.

“Now… wanna go further, or are you too fucked out?”

His body already reacted to your touch again.

“I’m not… too fucked out,” he admitted breathlessly, tugging gently on your hair. “But I can’t… move much with this cast.”

He tapped the useless limb, anxiety flickering in his eyes.

You bit your lip, a mischievous spark there.

“Well… that’s why I’m offerin’ to do all the work for you,” you murmured. “All you gotta do is lie there and enjoy it.”

His eyes widened.

…his face flushing an even deeper red.

The idea of you taking full control sent a shiver down his spine, exciting and intimidating him all at once.

He swallowed hard, his good hand tightening in your hair as he nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Do whatever you want to me.”

He spread his legs slightly, inviting you without a word.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, then slipped off the bed.

He watched you strip off your shorts and underwear, his breath catching at the sight of you bare before him.

He spread his legs wider as you climbed back over him, his good hand gripping your thigh possessively.

He bit his lip, trying to stay calm as you lined yourself up.

“Condom?” he asked softly.

“In my wallet.” He gestured toward his discarded cargo pants. “Front pocket.”

You huffed a quiet laugh and reached for the pile of clothes. You fumbled with his pants, then finally yanked out the… blue… condom.

“Really?” you raised a brow, holding the clear package up in front of his face.

He flushed bright red.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to grab it. “It was on sale, okay? And Roy said they’re supposed to be extra… sturdy.”

He realized how bad that sounded and groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

“Just put it on me before I die of embarrassment.”

You looked away to keep from laughing, then leaned back in and kissed him.

“Alright, fine, you big baby,” you murmured, nuzzling his jaw. “But if you say your daddy’s name again, I won’t make this fun for you.”

His laughter died instantly.

Your tone sent a jolt through him, his body reacting hard against yours.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

He watched you tear open the package, eyes fixed on your hands.

“Y/n?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, Gator?” you hummed.

“Can you… talk to me while we do this?” he asked nervously, his good hand lifting to your face. “Just… keep talkin’ to me, okay? So I don’t freak out or somethin’.”

He bit his lip, eyes soft and vulnerable.

“Please?”

He adds softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“Does Callie talk you through it?” you hissed out unintentionally, your bitterness toward your sister slipping out. You sighed and rubbed his hip bones. “Sorry—I didn’t—I—”

Gator’s face falls at the mention of Callie, his hand dropping from your cheek.

“No,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with sadness and frustration. “She doesn’t talk to me during sex.”

He swallows hard, his eyes searching yours desperately.

“Please, Y/n? Just talk to me? Make this different from what I’m used to?”

His good hand reaches up again, pleadingly grasping your wrist.

“Please?” he whispers again, almost begging.

“Do you fuck her or does she fuck you?” you asked, curiously. Because from the sounds you’d heard through the wall before, it always sounded like he was the one fucking her.

His hand tightened on your wrist.

“I… I fuck her,” he admits quietly, looking away in embarrassment and shame. “I’m always on top. She likes it that way.”

He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing in a whisper.

“She says I’m too big and rough for her to take it any other way.”

He shrugs helplessly, his voice dropping lower.

“So I just… pound into her until she comes and then I finish on top of her.”

You would hate to admit how his words make your cunt pulse around nothingness.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts and leaned forward to kiss him.

“Yeah, Gator. I’ll talk you through it. If that’s what you need.”

Gator parts his lips eagerly for the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed as he deepens it automatically. His good hand pulls you closer while the casted one rests uselessly on your hip.

He nuzzles into the kiss with a soft moan, his body arching slightly off the bed to rub against yours.

He breaks the kiss only to whisper against your lips, “Thank you. Just… just tell me what to do.”

He swallows hard, his face turning red again.

“And be bossy. Like you were before.”

You chuckled against his lips and nodded.

“Hold onto the pillow,” you whispered in his ear as you sat up.

You lifted your hips and guided his tip to your heat.

His tip sank inside easily, but the rest took some deep breaths as you lowered yourself down onto his big shaft.

Gator’s eyes roll back as you slowly lower yourself onto him, his good hand gripping the pillow tightly as instructed. He can feel you stretching around him, taking him inch by inch.

His hips twitch involuntarily, trying to push deeper into you.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice strained with pleasure and concentration. “You’re so warm… and tight.”

He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he tries to 

…hold still for you.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks softly, concern etched on his face.

You smiled and shook your head. “No—oh fuck… no, honey, you’re doing just fine—ngh.”

You whined softly, your nails biting into his chest, leaving crescent marks.

You both moaned when you bottomed out. His hand gripped your hip, and your nails scratched down his chest.

“Oh fuck—Mama,” he groaned.

Gator’s eyes snap open at your whine, his hips jerking slightly as he feels you take him fully. The nickname slips out before he can stop it.

He freezes, mortified but also incredibly turned on by how natural it felt coming out of his mouth while buried inside you.

His good hand squeezes your hip possessively while the other grips the pillow tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Shit,” he pants quickly, trying to regain composure. “Did I just—”

You bit your lip, letting yourself adjust to his size. “Yeah,” you exhaled, your cunt squeezing around him. “Didn’t take you for the Mommy type, Gator.”

You teased, brushing your thumb over his nipple.

Gator’s face burns with embarrassment at your tease, but his body reacts immediately to your touch. He arches into your thumb, his hips bucking slightly and sending a jolt of pleasure through both of you.

You gasped sharply, your other hand gripping his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide his flushing cheeks. His good hand covers yours over his chest, pressing down to hold your thumb in place against his hardening nub.

“It just… slipped out,” he mumbles against your skin.

You exhaled a shaking breath and kissed him.

“Say it again,” you demanded, rocking your hips sharply, biting back your moan.

“Mama,” he breathes out against your lips, his voice trembling with arousal and embarrassment. His hand tightens around yours over his chest, squeezing hard as he repeats the word. “Mama, fuck, mama…”

His hips snap up in quick, shallow thrusts.

You push your hips down in time with his, then pull back, pressing your hands firmly against his abdomen, taking complete control, rolling your hips, and bouncing on his cock.

“That’s—that’s it, Gator.”

Gator whimpers helplessly as you take control, his head thrashing against the pillow. His good hand releases its grip to snake up and grip your thigh as you bounce on top of him.

“Mama,” he gasps again. “So good—fuck, so good—don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

His eyes are unfocused, glazed over with pleasure as he watches you roll your hips on top of him, completely giving himself over to your control.

You gasp as his cock hits against your cervix, making you see stars. You rock your hips faster to chase the feeling, beginning to feel your orgasm rising.

“Oh fuck—Gator, rub mama’s clit with your thumb,” you order gently, gasping again.

His hand moves immediately to obey, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles just as you asked. His hips buck wildly beneath you, trying to hit that spot again while his thumb works you relentlessly.

“Mama,” he pants desperately. “Come on my cock—please come—I need—”

His thumb presses harder as he feels your walls fluttering around him.

“Mama!” he grunts urgently as you start trembling above him.

“Oh go—Gator!” you cry out, your hands gripping his waist.

You bite your lip as your head tips back, and you come around him so hard your vision goes white. You rock your hips absently, riding out your high.

His eyes roll back as he feels you come undone around him, your walls squeezing him and pulling his orgasm from him.

He screams your name, his hips snapping up to bury himself as deep as he can as he comes hard, filling the condom with rope after rope of hot cum.

His whole body tenses and shudders beneath you, his good hand digging into your thigh as he holds you down through his release.

He grunts as he carefully flips you both, ending up on top while protecting his casted arm. He pulls out quickly, ties off the condom, and tosses it into the small trash can beside your bed.

He collapses next to you, his body slick with sweat, breathing ragged.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers hoarsely.

He reaches out with his good hand and pulls you into his side.

You smile and kiss his shoulder.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Your hand rests on his chest, fingers gently brushing through the curls there.

“Gator, tell me. Why’d you never wanna have sex with me?”

He shifts so he can look at you.

“I did—I mean… I wanted to, all the time.”

“Then why didn’t you?” you asked, biting your lip. “Why go to Callie when I’m right here?”

He sighed and kissed the top of your head.

“I went to Callie every time I wanted to fuck you, truthfully. And… my dad—Roy. Would know if we fucked, and he could use it against me… use you against me.”

He inhaled and nuzzled his nose against your hair.

“More than he already does,” he breathed out.

He pulled you closer into his side, his good arm wrapping protectively around you as he held you there.

You felt yourself tense slightly at the mention of his father.

“He’s already threatened me enough about you,” he continued softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Said he’d make your life hell if I ever touched you. So I… I dealt with my urges elsewhere.”

He kissed your forehead gently.

“But every time I was with Callie, I was thinkin’ about you.”

You snorted. “That’s fucked up.”

You shook your head as you forced yourself up off the bed.

“She knew,” he mumbled, sitting up.

You could feel his eyes on you as you stepped into the small bathroom and grabbed a wet washcloth. You gently wiped the sweat from his brow, the cum from his stomach, then cleaned yourself up, tossing the cloth into the hamper.

“She agreed to it?” you asked carefully.

He nodded, pulling you between his knees, his lips pressing softly to your neck.

“You call her Mama, too?”

He scoffed and pulled back. “Definitely not.”

His lip twitched, almost turning into a scowl.

You sighed and brushed his damp hair from his face. His mouth returned to your neck, littering it with the softest kisses.

“Let’s pack up the stuff you want. I ain’t got nothin’ back home I wanna keep,” he muttered into your skin.

You rubbed his shoulders gently, letting out a slow breath.

“You don’t wanna say goodbye to your sisters?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Better for them if I don’t.”

You nodded, working a knot in his shoulder blade.

He grunted, hands gripping your hips.

“Tell me you want this, Gator,” you pleaded, lifting his chin so he had to look at you.

He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I want this.”

The sun rose that morning, blinding.

Few things were left behind when you chased freedom.

A note, folded and left for a sister.

A vest, hung on the front door, leaving the past where it finally belonged.

Everything else had already been decided.

The road ahead was long.

The future uncertain.

And for the first time, uncertainty felt like a kind of mercy.

Nothing mattered more than that sun, climbing higher and higher in the sky.

Not the fear you carried with you.

Not the life you were leaving behind.

Not the things you might never get back.

Only the light.

Only the quiet understanding that freedom was not the end of pain,

just the beginning of choice.

Rising.

Signifying the great escape.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“I’m cravin’ that fuckin’ meatloaf,” he grunted, his hand tangled in yours, the sun sinking behind you.

You squeezed his fingers and glanced over at him.

“Yeah? Well… you’ll just have to wait till we get home.”

You smiled.

He looked at you, the same quiet smile on his face, then turned his eyes back to the road.

“Damn right,” he murmured.

And for the first time in a long time,

You could hear how safe he felt in his own voice.

_______________

Ever since you were kids, everyone believed you and Gator Tillman would end up together. From day one, you were glued to the hip—inseparable in a way people noticed and commented on, like it was already decided.

Even Roy Tillman believed it. He had you convinced, as a naïve twelve-year-old girl, that Gator Tillman was going to ask you to marry him someday. You believed him, too. How could you not? You were young, impressionable, and surrounded by certainty that wasn’t yours to question. You can’t blame yourself for that.

At thirteen, you caught your first real glimpse of Gator’s home life, and whatever soft fantasy you’d been holding onto shattered clean through the middle. Then Nadine came along. You weren’t blind—your mama raised you smarter than that.

After Gator’s mama left, Roy married Nadine, and you stopped coming around the Tillman ranch. Quietly. Without explanation.

Gator knew why, but he never said a word about it. That didn’t stop him from sticking to you like glue anyway, orbiting close no matter how much distance you tried to put between his family and yourself. You didn’t know it then, but you were the only kind and steady thing in his life—the one place that didn’t feel sharp or unpredictable.

Things changed when Gator started hooking up with your older sister.

You and she had moved into an apartment together after your parents decided that, at eighteen, it was time for you to “discover independence.” While you learned the weight of rent, exhaustion, and dead-end jobs, your sister discovered the luxury of being Gator’s favorite slut.

Nine years later, it had become routine.

Your sister was twenty-eight. You were twenty-seven. Gator was the same age as you—old enough to know better, young enough not to care.

You worked the graveyard shift at the truck-stop diner just off I-94. It was a shit job with shit hours and shit pay. The only thing that ever made it tolerable were the occasional nights when Gator stopped in for coffee during his patrol, leaning against the counter like he belonged there, like the place bent a little around him. Those nights were getting rarer the longer he stayed tangled up with your sister.

You came home one morning around six a.m., same as always—keys clattering onto the counter, feet dragging through the apartment like they belonged to someone else. Down the hall, your sister’s door opened.

Gator stepped out, fitting his Stark County hat onto his head.

He paused, giving you a slow once-over, clocking the weight sitting heavy on your shoulders.

“I hope you’re in there just to change, Gator,” you said tiredly, a thread of playfulness still clinging to your voice as you pushed open your bedroom door.

You didn’t look back, but you heard the shuffle of his boots against the carpet as he followed you in.

You tossed your bag onto the chair in the corner and kicked off your shoes, your body moving on autopilot.

“Actually, for your information—Callie was just helpin’ me relax after my shift,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You shot him a look of pure disgust over your shoulder before peeling off your work shirt. You grabbed a zipped-up hoodie, pulled it on, then shimmied out of your pants and into a pair of sweatpants. In the mirror, you caught his reflection—his hand subtly adjusting himself as you changed.

You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t get what you see in her, Gator,” you muttered, more tired than angry.

You turned to face him, hands settling on your hips. He only shrugged, fishing his vape from his pocket and taking a long, unhurried pull. Smoke spilled from his lips as he crossed the room, the faint scent of it hanging between you. He tucked the vape away, then wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you forward until you were pressed comfortably against him—held there in a quiet, effortless embrace.

“I’d tell ya,” he paused, a grin tugging at his mouth, “but you’d never look at me the same way,” he teased.

Your nose wrinkled as you cringed at the implication. His smirk only widened.

“Yeah. I’d rather not know,” you said, your arms resting loosely around his torso.

He pulled back suddenly, eyes scanning your face, concern creasing his brow.

“You been sleepin’ much lately?” he asked.

You slipped out of his hold and turned to shut the curtains before the sun had a chance to ruin your day.

“Yeah. Plenty,” you replied with a shrug.

He didn’t buy it. You should’ve known better than to lie.

“When was the last time you got more’n four hours?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You sighed, your head dipping. “Gator,” you groaned, his name stretched thin with exhaustion.

“Seriously. When was it?” he pressed, stepping close enough that you could feel his warmth at your back.

You shrugged again, sharper this time. “I don’t know,” you snapped. “I don’t have time to think about sleep when I’m the only one here making any money. I pay the rent. I work. I cook. I clean. Everything. While she stays in her room—or gets fucked by you.”

You spun around, pressing an accusatory finger into his chest. The dark circles under your eyes felt suddenly impossible to hide.

He noticed.

“Well, I can’t exactly fuck you, sweetheart. Now can I?”

You blinked at him, shaking your head. “What?” The word came out sharp, your brows pulling together as your brain tried—and failed—to catch up.

“What the fuck, Gator?” you said, stunned by the audacity.

“I’m kiddin’.” He lifted his hands in defense.

You smacked the side of his arm.

“You’re such a prick. Get out and go home, Tillman,” you grumbled, pushing him toward the door.

“See ya in a while, Crocodile,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Good lord, you’re so cringe,” you scoffed, failing to hide your smile.

“Later, Gator,” you muttered, and he ruffled your hair before finally leaving.

When the front door clicked shut, you crawled under your covers and slept until ten a.m.

You were up and out of bed by the first chime of your alarm.

When you stepped into the kitchenette, Callie was already at the counter, perched at the counter with a bowl of cereal in front of her, thumb scrolling lazily through her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Fun night?” you asked, opening the fridge.

The half-gallon of milk was empty.

You scowled at the shelf for a second longer than necessary, then shut the door without saying anything. It wasn’t worth it. Not this early.

Callie hummed and shrugged. “Oh—you mean did I have a fun night with Gator?” She finally put her phone down, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

You hummed in acknowledgment and grabbed an apple off the counter.

“It’s always a great night when Gator’s here,” she continued, leaning forward against the counter. “Gosh, let me tell you—”

“Please don’t,” you cut in quickly.

She ignored you.

“He’s amazing. He does this thing with his tongue, Y/N. And his coc—”

You immediately jammed your fingers into your ears. “La la la la, I can’t hear you—la la,” you said loudly, over-enunciating like a child.

She shot you a glare through her fake lashes, lips pulling into an irritated pout. You pulled your hands away and took a sharp bite of your apple.

“I don’t need to know this stuff, Cal,” you said flatly. “I’d rather not know anything about my best friend’s junk. Or whatever he does with his tongue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you asked.”

You shook your head. “I asked if you had a fun night. I didn’t ask for details.” You paused, then added, “And anyway—does Gator know you’re sleeping with other guys?”

She stood up from the counter with an exaggerated scoff, chair legs scraping softly against the floor. Her nose twitched as she scowled at you.

“No. And he’ll never know,” she said sharply, “as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple as she abandoned her cereal and disappeared into the bathroom, getting ready for who-knew-what. Definitely not a job.​​​

You leaned your forehead against the fridge door and gave it a soft, deliberate thud.

“Why is she so stupid?” you muttered to yourself.

Around lunchtime, after Callie had left all dolled up and pretty, someone knocked on the door.

When you opened it, Gator stood there.

He had a black eye that hadn’t been there this morning.

“Shit—what happened to you?” you said immediately, stepping back to let him in.

He didn’t move.

“Where’s Callie?” he asked, his voice hoarse, like it scraped on the way out.

You shrugged, eyes already roaming over him. His cheek was split near his eye, dried blood dark against his skin. Your brows furrowed without you meaning them to. “Not here,” you said. “She went out a few hours ago.”

You took him in more fully then.

His right arm sat stiff and awkward in a blue cast. He favored his left leg, putting more weight on it, his good hand hovering low near his groin like he was guarding something. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Why don’t you come inside?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

He shook his head—but when you grabbed his good hand and tugged, he didn’t fight you. You ended up practically dragging him down the hall and into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and pressed him down by the shoulders until he sat on the edge of the tub.

“Sit,” you said, firmer now.

You carefully removed his Stark County hat and set it on the sink counter.

Stepping between his knees, you brushed his hair back with one hand. He leaned into the touch without thinking, like it was muscle memory—like this was familiar ground.

“Gator,” you said quietly, searching his face, “who the hell beat you up? What happened to your arm?”

He shrugged again.

Your patience thinned.

You brought your other hand up and gently grabbed his face, squashing his cheeks just a little. “Gator,” you said, softer but more serious, “talk t’me.”

Your accent slipped without you noticing.

“Was it your daddy?” you asked. “Did he hit you again?”

He shook his head as much as he could with your hands on him.

You let go and turned toward the cabinet, grabbing the alcohol and a cotton ball. “Are you lyin’ to me?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder as you soaked it.

You stepped back in and pressed the cotton to the cut on his cheek.

He hissed sharply and smacked your hand away.

Before you could react, he stood up too fast. The moment snapped sideways—too sudden, too close. He crowded you back against the bathroom door, his good hand coming up hard against your throat.

Your eyes went wide as your brain lagged behind your body.

You moved on instinct.

You lifted your knee, aiming for his jewels, and he flinched immediately, stumbling back with a grunt and letting you go.

The air felt wrong—thick, charged.

For a split second, as he loomed there—angry, breathing hard—you didn’t see Gator.

You saw his father.

“What the hell, Gator!” you yelled, smacking his arm hard. “Don’t you ever touch me like that again,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. “I was just trying to help.”

You yanked the bathroom door open and stormed out.

In the kitchen, you grabbed the first thing you could find to busy your hands, trying to steady yourself. Your heart was still pounding.

You didn’t need two angry people trying to solve each other’s problems.

Not like this.

You heard him call your name softly from the bathroom.

His head thumped once against the door. “I’m sorry,” he called out, voice low and rough.

You ignored him.

You cracked a few eggs into a bowl, shells clinking against the counter. You didn’t have a clue what you were making. Your hands just needed something to do—something repetitive, grounding.

A few moments later, the bathroom door creaked open.

There was a neon pink Band-Aid slapped over the cut on his cheek.

“Ya don’t got less girly Band-Aids?” he asked. His tone was quieter than usual, eyes heavy with something close to shame.

“Those are the less girly ones,” you replied flatly. “Callie’s got princesses and Hello Kitty.”

You sighed, still not looking at him.

His boots thumped softly against the linoleum as he crossed the kitchen, each step sounding too much like Roy pacing behind someone—an echo that never really went away. A shadow that followed him everywhere.

He stopped behind you, placing both hands on the counter on either side of your hips. He leaned forward and sighed, long and tired.

“M’sorry,” he muttered, pressing his forehead gently against the back of your head.

You paused, fingers still in the bowl.

“I know you are,” you said quietly. “But you don’t get to act like your daddy.” You took a steadying breath. “Not around me. Not when I’ve done nothin’ but care about you—when no one else does.”

You stirred the mixture again. Somewhere in the fog of stress-cooking, your body had decided on meatloaf. Comfort. Familiar. Something solid.

“Not even Callie cares about you as much as I do,” you muttered.

You felt it immediately—the way his shoulders slumped behind you.

“Yeah,” he breathed, resting his head against your shoulder.

“You know she’s sleeping with other guys, don’t you?” you asked.

He nodded against you.

“And still you pursue her?”

He shrugged, arms tightening slightly around your waist. “I dunno,” he admitted. “I just… I like feelin’ wanted.”

That did something sharp to your chest.

“Gator,” you said softly, “I want you. You know I treat you ten times better than my sister does—and I don’t even have to fuck you to do it.”

Your movements slowed as you greased the bread pan, careful and deliberate now. His arms wrapped more fully around you, holding on like he needed the reminder that you were real.

“I feel bad,” he murmured into your hair. “Like—really bad. I shouldn’t’ve reacted like that. I shouldn’t’ve put my hands on you.”

You turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

This was a side of Gator you didn’t see often. Not the cocky deputy. Not Roy’s son. Just a man sitting in the wreckage of his own regret.

“Thank you for the apology, Gator,” you said gently. “I appreciate it.”

You smiled at him, small and sincere.

He stepped back so you could slide the meatloaf into the oven. When you turned to face him, you lifted your hand to his bandaged cheek, thumb brushing the edge of the neon pink.

“Let’s get you a different bandage,” you said lightly, giving his cheek a gentle pat. “Before your daddy sees that and gets ideas.”

His mouth twitched despite himself.

And for the first time since he’d knocked on your door, the air felt like it could breathe again.

He nodded and followed you into your bedroom, where you kept the regular Band-Aids. He sat down on the edge of your bed, shoulders slumping slightly, and you started the whole process over again.

This time, you added a thin layer of antibiotic ointment to the bandage before pressing it carefully over the cut. He winced hard—and damn near teared up—when you ripped off the atrocious neon pink one. His hands were feather-light where they rested against your thighs as you stood between his camo-clad knees, careful not to jostle him more than necessary.

“Who did this, Gator?” you asked again, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you. Your thumbs brushed gently over his cheekbones, grounding, familiar.

“Some douchebag my dad hired to do a job,” he muttered, clicking his tongue. His eyes fixed anywhere but your face.

“He did all of this?” You glanced down his body again, cataloging the damage. He smirked briefly, then sighed and shook his head. Lifting a hand, he touched the black eye gingerly.

“Dad did this,” he admitted. “When he found out I let the guy get away.” His voice wavered, just slightly. “Then he took me to the hospital.”

Silence settled between you—thick, heavy—before you shattered it.

“That fucking asshole,” you snapped, heat flooding your face at the audacity of Roy Tillman. Your hands drifted down and gripped Gator’s shoulders tighter than you meant to, anger flaring fast and hot.

He winced.

You immediately let go. “Sorry—sorry,” you muttered.

His hands slid slowly up and down your thighs, grounding but wordless. He didn’t try to calm you down. He didn’t interrupt. He liked that someone was angry for him.

“If I ever get the fucking chance,” you said through clenched teeth, staring at the wall behind him, “I’d take him down. Point blank.”

“I know,” he whispered.

His hand tightened lightly on your thigh.

“Let’s run away,” you said suddenly. “Like we said we would when Nadine left. Let’s go somewhere Roy will never find us.” You hesitated, then added quietly, “Not that he’d even try to…”

You cringed as soon as the words left your mouth. Mean—but true. Roy Tillman hadn’t given two flying fucks about Gator until he disobeyed him.

“I can’t,” Gator said, firm but quiet. He finally lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“Why not?” you pressed. “We don’t have anything here. My job sucks. Your life sucks. My sister uses me. Your daddy hits you.” Your voice cracked just a little. “Gator, we could leave. We could find something better—somewhere else.”

He shook his head and pulled you closer, pressing his unbruised cheek against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist like he needed the contact to stay upright. You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to win this one, and draped your arms around his shoulders, holding him back.

“You’re my best friend,” you said softly. “You know that.”

He nodded, tightening his grip.

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his slicked-back hair. “I’ll always love you,” you whispered. “And I’ll always take care of you.”

He nodded again.

“I know,” he murmured, voice muffled against your chest. “I’ll be there—if you ever need me to.”

Gator wasn’t good with words. He wasn’t good with feelings, either. But despite his attitude, despite his upbringing, he was unwaveringly loyal.

The front door opened just as the kitchen timer started ringing.

Callie called your name, and you heard the oven door creak open.

You pulled away from Gator immediately. His hold on you lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he let go. You stormed toward the kitchen without looking back.

It’s late—maybe twelve-thirty-ish. Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman has you pressed against the hood of his squad car. He’s calling it a routine inspection. At this hour, there are no cars around aside from yours. You worked late that night. If you’d left an hour earlier, you wouldn’t be here.

Pressed against the cold hood, your hands are held tight behind your back with one of his, something firm pressing against the back of your thigh. It’s either his gun or something far worse. He speaks low in your ear, shifting slightly so the object presses against you more firmly. His free hand runs up your side, over your hip—checking you for any weapons. Or so he says.

“Gator, please,” you groan. “I want to go home.”

You push back against him, and he tightens his grip.

“You have the right to remain silent—” he growls low, his lips brushing your neck.

“Gator,” you groan again, frustrated. “I had a twelve-hour shift. My feet hurt, my back is sore. You know damn well I don’t have any drugs or weapons.”

You wiggle slightly in his hold, trying to free yourself.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You keep squirming like that and someone’s gonna get hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, it’ll be you when I give you another black eye to match the one you already have if you don’t let me go,” you sass—earning a forceful shove as he slams your chest down, firm against the cold hood. You gasp as the freezing metal presses against your cheek.

“You’re such an ass!” you yell back at him.

“Keep talking,” he says, rolling his hips against you. “See what happens.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you sneer at him.

His roaming hand gropes your chest greedily, kneading over the fabric of your shirt and sending a shiver through you.

“Gator,” you warn low.

He shoves his hips forward harshly, forcing your body up the hood an inch.

“You’re on thin ice there, girly,” he says smugly. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he grinds his hips in a slow rhythm, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Seriously, Tillman. I’m not kidding.” You squirm, but he doesn’t let up.

“Don’t make me tell your daddy, Gator. You know I will,” you threaten.

He stills instantly.

He pulls you upright, hands firm as he turns you to face him. The smugness is gone now, his mouth pressed into a hard line. You can feel the shift immediately.

“Watch it,” he hisses. You’ve clearly struck a nerve.

“I could take you in,” he continues quietly. “Plant something in your car. Ruin your night over that smart mouth of yours.”

His gaze drops, deliberate.

“Or I could deal with it right here.”

His hand moves toward his belt. You hear the soft clink of metal. Your eyes flick down before snapping back up—

—and you slap him.

Hard.

The sound cracks through the empty road. His head jerks to the side, skin flushing red where your hand connected. You wrench yourself out of his reach and put space between you.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you spit at his shoes. “I told you. I’m tired. I’m sore, and the last thing I need is Gator fucking Tillman shoving his dick in my mouth.”

For a split second, he just stands there.

Then he exhales slowly through his nose.

When he looks at you again, his expression is flat. Calm. That’s worse.

He closes the distance in two strides, fingers locking around your bicep and hauling you flush against him. His grip is brutal, deliberate. You’re sure bruises will bloom by morning.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growls low.

You glare up at him, unflinching.

He holds your gaze, jaw tight, control barely leashed.

You scoff.

“Why? What’re you gonna do—rail me against your car?” you taunt.

“Yeah,” he replies smoothly.

Your stomach drops instantly, the look in his eyes telling you he means it. He shoves you back down against the car, grabbing a pair of cuffs from his belt and snapping them around your wrists behind your back.

“Gator!” you yell, trying to get away, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you—and part of you thrills at the idea.

You hear the clink of his belt, then the pull of his zipper as he presses firmly against you.

“You’ll take my cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs low against your ear. “You’ll be quiet, and you won’t complain.”

His hands tug your jeans down, along with your panties. Goosebumps rise across your skin as cold air nips at your bare thighs.

There’s no warning. Just a firm hand on your hip and a soft grunt as he lines himself up and pushes inside. You gasp at the stretch, your hands clenching into fists, the cuffs clinking together as he pulls back and thrusts deeper, drawing a cry from your throat.

“Gator!” you yell, glaring at him over your shoulder.

His baseball cap is turned backward, sunglasses tucked into his vest. His eyes are downcast, focused on where you meet. He groans low in his throat.

“Quiet,” he warns. “Don’t make me gag you too.”

His eyes snap up to yours as he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. His pace is slow and steady—until you open your mouth.

“You’re such a prick,” you hiss, biting your lip to hold back a moan. “You’re no better than your daddy.”

Both of his hands clamp down on your hips, bruisingly tight. He pulls back until only the tip remains, then snaps his hips forward in a brutal thrust. A loud moan spills from you, echoing across the silent fields.

His pace turns fast and hard, eyes squeezed shut as he fights to keep quiet. You can hear the groans caught in his throat with every thrust.

“Oh fuck—Gator,” you whine. “Too fast—slow down.”

You struggle against the cuffs as he leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, your hands trapped beneath his pelvis as he drives deeper. Heat pools low in your stomach.

You whine as he nips at your neck with his teeth.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that if you cum on my cock, baby,” he murmurs, using the pet name he knows you hate—and that still gives you butterflies.

“Screw you,” you hiss.

He slams his hips forward, biting your neck, then licking the spot with his tongue.

“You already are,” he sasses.

One hand leaves your hips, sliding down your front until his fingers brush your clit. You whine, thighs shaking as he presses firmly and rubs slow circles. It doesn’t take long—you’re a mess beneath him, insults spilling between moans and desperate cries.

“Beg,” he says, punctuating the word with a grind of his hips.

“What?” you gasp as his finger presses harder.

“Beg,” he repeats. “Beg me to let you cum.”

You groan. Him and his superiority complex.

He pulls out abruptly, fingers still at your clit.

“Gator—” you sneer, but it breaks into a moan as his hand comes down hard against your ass.

“Do it, or I’ll leave you here,” he threatens in your ear. “Cuffed, pantless, and desperate.”

He rubs himself against your entrance, waiting.

You sigh, letting your forehead rest against the hood. “Fine,” you whine. “Fine. Please, Gator. Please—make me cum. Please.”

You push back against him until his tip slips inside, both of you inhaling sharply.

“Fuck—” he curses, pushing in slowly.

Your hands clench into fists, the cuffs rubbing your skin raw as his fingers start again—faster, harder. You moan deeply, eyes fluttering shut as you approach your peak.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Cum on my cock. Cum for me.”

His teeth catch beneath your ear. He’s close—you can feel it in the stutter of his hips, the heaviness of his breath, the bruising grip on your hip as his other hand works desperately.

You gasp into the crisp night air, stars bursting behind your eyes as you tip over the edge, his name on your tongue.

He keeps moving through your orgasm, fingers never leaving your clit. When he finally pulls out, it’s with a strained groan. One hand strokes himself fast, the other bracing against the hood as he comes against your ass and lower back.

He tucks himself away with a quiet curse when the fabric brushes him, then braces his hands beside your hips, breath warm against your face as you both catch it.

“A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be out this late,” he rasps. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

He softens then—rare, gentle—as his lips trail down your clothed back. He pulls your underwear and jeans back up, buttons them, then steps back.

You jingle your hands. “Cuffs, Gator.”

You swear you hear the smirk in his voice.

She sat in the Great Hall, staring up at the massive Christmas tree, its branches draped in shining lights and glittering ornaments. Beneath it sat fifteen gifts, each hand-picked and carefully wrapped by her. Thirteen for the thirteen students who had stayed at Hogwarts over the break — and the fourteenth and fifteenth for one student in particular.

“Curfew is still enforced, even on Christmas Eve, you know.”

She spun around so fast her breath caught, eyes widening as they met his. Then her shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

“I believe I get a pass,” she said, motioning toward the presents beneath the tree.

She heard him click his tongue as he stepped beside her.

“Ah. You finished them, then,” he said lightly.

She didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she knelt in front of the tree, picked up a gift, and rose again. He stayed where he was, watching as she crossed the short distance between them, a gentle smile on her lips as she held out the box wrapped in shimmering paper.

“It’s a few days late, but…” She hesitated, then continued, “since tomorrow’s Christmas, I thought you deserved two gifts.”

Her smile widened into a grin as he lifted his hands to take it. He looked at the box, then at her, then back at the box again.

“Go on, Tom. Open it,” she encouraged.

He hesitated.

Carefully, he tugged at the ribbon. The wrapping fell away to reveal a black box. He glanced at her again before opening it, slow and deliberate. There was the faintest hitch in his breath, a subtle straightening of his shoulders.

“I know they’re not much,” she said quietly, “but they reminded me of your eyes.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze. His attention fixed on the pair of tiger’s-eye cuff links gleaming in the candlelight.

A beat of silence passed. Fabric rustled as she shifted nervously.

Then he closed the box.

“They are lovely,” he said, measured. “But I already have quite a few pairs.”

Her smile faltered.

Wrong words, he thought, suppressing the reflexive wince.

“Y-yes, I know,” she said quickly, stepping in before the moment could linger. “It’s alright if you don’t keep them.”

She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet.

He slipped the box into his robes.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, finally meeting her eyes. “I apologize. I did not get you anything.”

“No — no,” she waved him off at once. “It’s alright. Christmas isn’t about giving and expecting anything in return. It’s just about giving. And being kind.”

Her feet stilled. Her hands dropped to her sides, uncertain of what to do with themselves.

She drew in a quiet breath and turned back toward the tree.

“I hope tomorrow goes well,” she said.

He found his place beside her again.

“I’m sure it will,” he replied.

A comfortable silence settled between them. He knew she hated quiet. She knew he hated nearness. Still, neither spoke. Neither pulled away when their shoulders brushed, or when the tips of her fingers grazed the back of his hand.

I didn’t even notice I was singing until my own voice echoed faintly off the marble walls. Just a casual tune under my breath as I padded barefoot through the Dreaming, fingertips grazing the spines of ancient books stacked taller than me.

“It must have been a deadly kiss…”

The words slipped out, drifting upward toward the vaulted ceiling.

“Am I to presume that line is about me?”

The voice rolled down from above—smooth, measured, far too amused.

I startled and looked up. There he was, leaning over the balcony rail, his arms folded against the stone, posture deceptively relaxed for a king. His eyes found me with that impossible weight that always made me feel both caught and claimed.

I pressed my lips together, heat rushing to my face.

“Oh Please. I’m not standing here writing tragic ballads about you.”

“Yet,” he murmured, tilting his head, “you sing of heartbreak.”

I gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just stuck in my head. Not everything I sing is a coded message.”

He hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t argue. Instead, he moved. His long coat shifted as he turned, and with unhurried grace he started down the wrought-iron spiral staircase that curved elegantly from the balcony to the floor where I stood.

I tried not to watch him, but of course I did—every step, every slow sweep of his hand along the railing until he reached me. When he stopped just a breath away, his height and presence seemed to swallow all the air.

His hand came up, brushing along my jaw—light as a sigh—before resting there, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth as if weighing whether I was shadow or flesh.

“If you believe that love must wound,” he said softly, each word deliberate, “then I have failed you.”

The playful spark died in my throat, replaced by a sudden tightness in my chest. His forehead lowered to mine, his voice breaking the silence like a vow.

“I will not be another wound you have to learn to live with.”

I laughed gently, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

“You’re right—you won’t be. And you haven’t failed me, babe. You never will.”

My hands curled around his biceps as I pulled back with a smile.

“The only reason I sing it is because I can sympathize with the singer. I feel her emotions in the way she delivers it. To me it’s more musical than lyrical. Her voice is so unique it gets stuck in my head.”

His mouth parted in a silent oh, which only made me grin wider.

“Perhaps I was being a bit…” He rolled his eyes, as if admitting the word cost him. “Dramatic.”

I tilted my head, pinching my fingers together, squinting. “Just a bit?”

He groaned at my teasing, leaning in to pepper quick kisses along my neck. His hands slid firmly to my hips, anchoring me against him.

“It hurts because it’s love,” I whispered.

He lifted his head, catching my gaze with a raised brow that urged me to explain.

“If it doesn’t hurt,” I said softly, “is it love? If it doesn’t ache to leave behind the person you love, then maybe it wasn’t really love at all.”

He sighed, shaking his head as his forehead came to rest on my shoulder. His grip on my hips tightened, enough to bruise.

“No… I suppose it’s not.”

I smiled, brushing a kiss across his hair.

“That’s how I see the song, babe. A love so good and strong that it hurts to be apart.”

“Lucienne, is this book here about the Endless… like Dream’s family?” I asked, my finger resting on the spine of a black leather-bound book.

Lucienne lifted her head from the one she was reading. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, carefully pulling it from the shelf and taking a seat at the table. “I’m just curious. I sometimes hear him talk about his siblings but never his parents… would this tell me anything?”

Lucienne smiled. “See for yourself.”

I flipped open the book. The first page was a family tree: Time and Night at the top, then the Endless, listed in order—Destruction to Delirium, whose name had once been Delight. Beside Morpheus was Calliope… and beneath them, a son named Orpheus.

I tilted my head, quietly piecing it together before closing the book. That was all I needed to see for now.

Leaning back in my chair, I bit the inside of my lip and looked to Lucienne. “Dream has a son?” The words came out harsher than I meant. There was no malice behind them.

“Yes, indeed he does.” Her voice held that note—curious, cautious. The tone of someone who wanted to ask something but didn’t want to overstep.

“Does this bother you?” she finally asked.

I shook my head, then paused. “Not… not in the way you might think.” I slid the book forward across the table and stood. “He’s centuries old. I half expected him to have twelve children. I’m just bothered he hasn’t told me about this one.”

Lucienne smiled to herself. “I understand. But it might not be wise to ask him directly. It’s a sensitive topic. So tread carefully.”

I thanked her and left the library.

I entered his chambers quietly, not wanting to disturb him. He sat at his desk, wearing that rare, comfy sweater I loved so much. I savored every glimpse of it.

“Do you plan to stare at me all night, Lover?” His head was still down, scribbling across the page, brow furrowed in focus. But his voice was light. Almost joyful.

“I could, if you want me to.” I took that as an invitation and stepped into the room, walking around to stand beside him. I leaned forward, peering over his shoulder.

“You’re quite nosy tonight, are you not?” he teased, still not meeting my eyes.

“Just curious, that’s all, babe.”

He hummed in response, continuing to write.

I leaned closer and kissed the back of his head. That stopped him. His hand froze, his entire body going still—even his breath, which he barely needed.

I pulled back, confused. “What’s wrong?”

That broke whatever pause he’d slipped into. He straightened in his chair, turning to look at me.

He looked ethereal.

I reached out, brushing through his hair. “Are you here to distract me, lover?” he whispered, the faintest smile twitching on his lips.

“Only if you’re looking for a distraction.”

I tucked a wild strand behind his ear—it popped right back into place.

“Yes. Get me away from this mindless work,” he said, his voice like velvet.

I smiled and kissed his forehead. “Come on, then. Let’s take a walk.”

He stood, letting me take his hand. “Where to?”

“Anywhere. I wouldn’t mind walking around the castle—I still haven’t seen everything.”

He hummed, thoughtful, and linked his arm with mine.

We walked in silence down a baroque hallway. I admired how each room in the Dreaming had its own unique design. “I love how nothing here is ever the same. It’s wonderful.”

He nodded, still quiet—like he was just soaking in the moment. Eventually, we came to the garden balcony. My favorite place.

“Dream,” I said softly. He turned his gaze to mine.

“Yes, my love?”

I unlinked our arms and wrapped mine around his waist, pressing close. “I found a book today in the library. I wanted to ask you about it.”

He tilted his head, sliding his arms around my back. “I believed Lucienne would be the best one to ask. She knows more about those books than I do.”

I kissed his shoulder. “No, darling… this question is for you.”

Our eyes met. He could see the hesitation in mine, and his fingers began tracing soft patterns along my back.

“Well then,” he said gently, “you may ask.”

I took a breath. “The book was a family tree. It says you have a son?”

He stiffened, his hands freezing. But only for a moment—then they resumed their soft movement.

“Yes. I do.” His voice was guarded, emotionless.

“Did you ever plan on telling me?”

“I did… I just—” But before he could finish, Matthew swooped down onto the railing.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, sir.”

Dream’s eyes sharpened. “Matthew.”

“I know, I know—but it’s important.”

Dream sighed and turned to me with an apologetic look. “I’ll find you later, my love.”

“Okay. Good luck,” I whispered, watching him leave.

But he didn’t find me later.

Two days passed. The Dreaming itself seemed anxious—thick air, grey skies, thunder without rain. I hadn’t seen him. Not in the throne room. Not the library. Not even his chambers.

It felt like he was avoiding me.

I sat slumped in a library chair, cold tea at my side. “Should I not have brought it up? Maybe I freaked him out—”

“Maybe,” Lucienne said, appearing in front of me, “you should ask him yourself.”

I looked up. “How can I ask someone who doesn’t want to be found?”

“That’s exactly why you should,” she said with a knowing smile.

I sighed, stretched, and stood. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

After some searching and a helpful tip from Mervyn (who told me not to say he told me), I made my way to my personal gallery—a gift Dream had made for me, filled with favorite art and a pillow room where I read and sometimes slept.

I didn’t announce myself. Just eased the door open.

He was standing there, arms folded, staring at a portrait I’d painted of him once in a dream.

“There you are,” I said softly.

He turned, visibly startled—as though he hadn’t expected me to be in my own room.

“I’ve been looking everywhere,” I said, brushing my fingers along his cheek. “Are you okay? You never hide from me.”

“I apologize,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “But I assure you, I’m fine.”

I scoffed, amused. “If fine isn’t enough to keep me away, it shouldn’t be enough to push me away.”

He said nothing. I took his hand and sat on the stone bench, tugging him down beside me.

“We’ve talked about this, Morpheus. You need to communicate.”

He sighed. “Yes. I remember.”

I kissed the back of his hand. “Good. So tell me what’s going on.”

He hesitated, then met my gaze. “When you asked about my son… I thought you were put off by the idea of me having children. I feared you might leave.”

A silence settled between us.

Then I rose, stepping in front of him. I cupped his face, kissed his temple.

“I’d never leave you. Know that first.”

I tilted his head so our eyes locked. “You’re powerful. Mysterious. Handsome. And sometimes, absolutely ridiculous. This might not be one of those times—but it needed to be said.”

His hands found my hips, drawing lazy patterns.

“To be honest,” I continued, “I was a little hurt you hadn’t told me. But after reading, after understanding… the hurt’s gone.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I raised a hand.

“Let me finish. If you really want to know how I feel—” I leaned in close, lips grazing his ear, “—it’s made me want to try for one of our own.”

He inhaled sharply, fingers tightening at my hips.

“That is… if you want children,” I whispered. “If not, I understand.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “I do. I want children—with you.”

His words came slow, like each one carried weight he wasn’t used to bearing.

“That’s good to know,” I murmured, kissing his cheek. “I love you, Morpheus. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

He chuckled and pulled me into his lap. I straddled him, and his eyes, wide with love, never left mine.

“I love you more,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath, as though saying it louder might shatter him.

He rested his head against my chest, and we sat there—his arms around me, my hands threading through his hair.

Then I smirked. “Do you want to get to work, then?”

His head lifted quickly. “My love?”

I gave him a look—and understanding dawned in his expression.

“Yes,” he said softly, kissing my jaw, then my cheek. “I would like that very much.”

He stood, my legs wrapping around his waist.

“Where are you taking me?” I laughed.

He kissed my neck, voice low and aching. “To bed, my love. I must have you.”

He carried me into the bedroom, laying me down with care—but pinning me with intention. A playful glint danced in his eyes, but the need behind it was real.

His brooding had melted into something else entirely.

And I was ready for it.

“How many children do you want?” he groaned into my neck, voice low and raw, as he pressed my thighs against my chest and rutted deep into me.

The angle had me gasping—completely folded beneath him, every thrust pounding into me like he was trying to leave something behind. I whined, overwhelmed by the stretch, the pressure, the way he moved like a man starved.

“Oh—fuck… oh fuck, Morpheus,” I moaned, head falling back against the pillow as his hips snapped forward again and again, keeping me locked in a tight, desperate mating press.

He was relentless.

“How many?” he asked again, slower now, grinding his cock deep and pausing to savor every twitch of my body around him. His teeth sank into the curve of my collarbone, and he drove into me again—sharp, brutal.

“Answer me,” he growled, voice laced with hunger.

“T-Two,” I whimpered, barely able to breathe.

“Only two?” he murmured near my ear, his voice a teasing threat. His lips ghosted over my skin, then kissed just behind my ear, soft and slow—a contrast to the rough way he held me down.

“Mmm… fine. Maybe three. Or four,” I choked out, squirming for more friction. “Just—fuck—Dream, just fill me up. I need your cum—please—”

He held me still, refusing to let me take control.

“As you wish,” he whispered against my lips, and then began again—deep, punishing thrusts that made the bed groan beneath us.

His name spilled from my mouth like a prayer and a cry all at once, my voice breaking beneath the rhythm he set. I could barely hold on.

I felt the shift in him when his forehead rested against my chest, breath ragged and desperate.

“I’ll come in you every day and night until it takes,” he grunted, hips beginning to stutter, “—until I see you round with my children.”

His thumb found my clit, rubbing fast and rough, and I came hard around him—my nails raking down his back, my scream echoing into the room.

He followed with a sharp groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into me, pulsing deep, filling me to the brim. His breathing turned to gasps, like the force of it had knocked the air from his lungs.

Even as his orgasm faded, he stayed inside me, thrusting slowly to make sure not a drop was wasted. Only when he was sure did he finally pull out. We both moaned at the loss.

He got up, padded to the bathroom, and returned with a warm cloth. He cleaned me with care, kissing the inside of my thigh before crawling back into bed and pulling me against him.

His chest pressed to my back, still rising and falling with uneven breaths. One hand rested over my lower belly, possessive and proud, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Like he already knew it would take. But even if it did… he'd keep fucking me until we were sure

“You’re insatiable,” I mumbled once my mind was clear enough to form full thoughts.

He chuckled, kissing my shoulder. “You bring out this side of me, lover.”

Then quieter, more serious, “I’ll take care of you through it all. There will not be a day—or night—where you’re alone.”

His voice was a promise I could feel in my bones.

Even if this was just practice… I really did hope it took.

Because building a family with him wasn’t just a fantasy.

I came home to my apartment, pissed off and exhausted, the weight of my coworkers and boss still clinging to me. Morpheus was on the couch in my living room, one of my books in his hand. He looked up as I walked in.

“You would not believe the shit I’ve had to put up with today,” I snapped, irritation radiating off me as I dropped my bag to the floor, shrugged off my coat, and kicked off my shoes with a little too much force. I scowled all the way to the kitchen, each step landing heavier than the last. I heard him rise and follow, but I didn’t look back.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I filled it with water and downed it in one go, then filled it again.

“They had the audacity to dump all the paperwork on me—an hour before I was supposed to leave—knowing damn well it was Kelly’s day to file,” I ranted, spinning around mid-sentence.

He was right there. Inches away.

“Shit—” I stumbled back, nearly spilling the water. His hands were on my waist in an instant.

“Careful,” he said softly, voice smooth and grounding. He took the glass from my hand and set it gently on the counter. Just like that, my anger dissolved. In its place, a sudden awareness bloomed—of how close he was, how warm he felt, how I could feel his breath on my skin.

“You don’t deserve bad days,” he murmured. “You should quit and spend all your time with me. Then you’d never have a bad day again.”

The corner of his mouth curled into a faint smirk.

I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful shove, a smile breaking through. “I’m still mad about it, though,” I lied, poorly.

He gave me that smug look I both hated and loved. “Then take it out on me,” he said with a casual shrug.

“I could never do that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, then leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle—intentional. When we pulled apart, my arms were around his shoulders, his wrapped tightly around me.

“Oh… I see now,” I whispered.

He nodded, slow and deliberate. “Yes. What do you say to that, my love?”

I smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth.

He rutted his hips against me, chasing a high. His cock slid in and out with precise movements, his hands on my hips as he brought them to match his thrusts. He was a mess behind me, panting and groaning and whining. It felt good but I had to stay quiet. This was the agreement after all. I was just a warm body for him to take whenever he wanted. This...King. I was his Whore.

"Fuck" I hissed out, my face buried against the pillow as the tip of his cock hit that sweet spot. He gripped my hips tighter, crescent shapes forming on the supple skin as he felt me clinch around him. He groaned and leaned forward, biting the meat of my shoulder. His release was coming quickly as his movements got more intense, sloppy. The sound of skin on skin became louder and so did he. He hid his face in the crook of my neck as he always does.

"You are perfect."

he'd groan out, hot breath fanning over my face.

"You serve me well,"

he'd pant, then he'd slam his hips against mine, making me cry out into the pillow beneath me as I came around his cock. His hips slowed to hard, deep thrusts until his cock pumped hot white ropes of cum inside of me.

"You are mine"

he'd mumble into my hair as he'd grind his hips against me, not wasting a drop of his release.

Then he'd pull out slowly, making us both moan as the loss. He'd snap his fingers, I'd be cleaned up and a pair of panties would be on me. And he'd be fully clothed again, I lifted my head and looked at him. My bones ached, we had been at this for three hours...four rounds of insatiable hunger.

"What would you like this time?" He'd ask, no emotion in his voice. Right, my payment...

I sighed and sat up, my breasts on full display. Exactly how he liked it.

"I don't know, My Lord." I hated using that title for him, I know what I am to him. Nothing but his Whore, but he could be so gentle and sweet with me that I sometimes wish we could be more than what we are.

That's it. That's what I want. I nodded slowly to myself, he stood there. Watching. Even in the darkness of the room, he was enchanting. "I take that back. I do know what I want." I paused, mulling over the words.

"Go on?"

I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes locked on his. "I would like to indulge in a fantasy of my own..." he raised a brow, unsure of where this is going.

"With me?" He asked, I nodded in response.

"No, you may not." His voice was dark and held cruelty in it. I wanted to argue and tell him that wasn't fair. But it was fair, I'm nothing more than a glorified sex toy to him.

I stood from the bed, my chest almost brushing his. "Okay. Then, fifty, in cash." My tone now serious, I avoided showing my disappointment. It was only a silly hope.

He reached into his coat and pulled out the money, he lifted my hand with his own and placed the cash in my palm. I looked down and it was a $100 dollar bill.

"I said fifty?" He rolled his eyes, "I can take it back if you don't want it." I quickly pulled my hand back with the cash. "No- no, I'll take it, thank you sir." He nodded then turned towards my bedroom door, as he opened the door to leave he glanced over at me. "You were very pleasant as always. Money is no object to me, so ask me for more and you shall receive it. You deserve at least that much." Then he was gone.

I groaned and collapsed on my bed, the cash clenched against my bare chest.

I'm not sure when I drifted off to sleep but I wasn't upset by this. Whenever I couldn't have what I wanted while I was awake, I'd find it in my sleep.

My hips rocked back and forth on his lap, his cock filling me completely as I rode him slowly. His head lulled back, my hands on his shoulders as I took what I wanted. The warm sun shining down on us, a breeze chilling my hot skin. We sat on a pretty white chair. His hands held my thighs tightly. He made no sounds, aside from the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

"You feel so good, my King. So good. You're filling me to full" I'd praise, keeping the same languid pace, I leaned forward and kissed his neck, indulging in leaving marks over the pale skin. Watching bruises bloom. He'd groan quietly at my words, like they'd pleased him.

I had been bringing him slowly to the edge now, all I needed was to clench around him and he'd tip over. I lifted my head from his neck and suddenly, the dream was over.

I groaned as I stared at my ceiling, "Fuck." I cursed, tears welling in my eyes from frustration. "I'll never get to finish that stupid dream." I sat up, the sun now shining through the curtains. It was time to start my day but I felt as though I would not be enjoying it. I threw on a t-shirt and padded through my apartment. Once in the kitchen I turned the kettle on and watched as it boiled the water. I felt the air around me shift, I looked over my shoulder.

"You're back. Already? But I haven't even had my tea yet" I turned towards him fully and crossed my arms. He looked disheveled. His cheeks were flushed and his hands seemed to shake slightly. He approached me slowly, his voice low as he spoke. "Is that what you wish to have?" He asked, I looked at him confused. "Your dream." He refused to elaborate more, but i understood. My cheeks flushed red.

"I-...no, well. Yes. But you said no, so no." I stuttered out, I stepped back until I was against the counter.

"So gentle. And sweet. Self indulgent but soft." He stepped towards me then placed his hands on either side of the counter, cageing me in. He tipped his head forward then kissed the spot behind my ear. I hated how quickly my body reacted to him. His head lulled to the side to give him more access, which he gladly took with a hum. He kissed gently, unlike his normal way of biting and leaving hickeys. He wasn't kissing to claim, he was kissing to...savor.

"I believed your fantasy may have been one of power. Of getting back at me for using you too roughly." He spoke between kisses. His head lifted and he kissed the corner of my mouth. "I didn't think that perhaps, all you wanted was something gentle, a little control but not to be controlling, but to make it pleasurable for us both."

I nodded, I gave him nothing more than that. "Take what you want, then leave please. I have to get on with my day."

He pulled back, I swore I saw a hint of hurt or offense in his cold demeanor. His face was soft in the morning light.

"I Want Nothing." He glared at me now. I did offend him,

"Then why are you here? You only come here to fuck me then leave. To use me however you please, never caring about how rough you can get or how often you leave me to care for myself or finish the job." I started to get heated, once the words started they didn't want to stop. He stepped back and I followed. Anger boiling in my chest, "do you know how often I have you lay there after you leave to make myself cum? Do you know how difficult it is to piece myself back together after you've ruined me completely? There are some mornings where I have to call off work because I can't physically get up because I'm so sore." I ranted, my anger growing when I saw a flicker of a smirk on his lips, like he was proud of himself. "You're a selfish bastard, you know."

This changed his demeanor quickly. The air was charged with something I shouldn't see. "Selfish?" He scoffed. His tall figure, towering mine. "Selfish. You ungrateful human. You only have the life you do because I allow it. You aren't on the streets, selling yourself for money now. You could even be called respectable. And all I ask from you is to be the only person who gets to have you." His hands gently gripped my biceps as he stared into my eyes. "And I'm selfish?– I only returned to allow you to have your fantasy. To take what you needed, but...I've changed my mind." His voice was low and held power in it and for the first time, I was actually afraid he might hurt me. Intentionally.

He moved quickly, shoving me down to my knees. His hands moved quickly to pull his cock free from his pants, it was red at the tip and leaked precum. He stroked himself before nudging the head of his cock against my lips, smearing the precum over them.

My hands were shaking as I gripped his thighs, "open" he ordered, and I obeyed with zero resistance. I stuck out my tongue and he rubbed his cock against it, groaning quietly. I closed my lips around the tip and sucked it hard, his hands flew to my hair, gripping tightly. I looked up at him through my lashes and he wore an expression of fury when his eyes met mine.

He held my head and forcefully shoved his cock down my throat until my nose was nuzzled against his pelvis, I gagged at the intrusion and tears slipped from my eyes. I groaned in surpised and pain but he didn't seem to care as he began fucking my throat. His eyes never leaving mine even as my vision began to blur from tears, I could still see the anger in him. I gagged every time his cock hit the back of my throat and every time it seemed he got deeper. Drool dripped from my chin onto the floor, he picked up the pace, his hips thrusting faster and harder. I wanted to sob and stop him but all I could do was claw at his thighs. "Ahh..you take me so well, slut. You disappoint me, I gave you a new life and you repay me with anger and sass." His voice was airy as he panted and moaned. "Perhaps you'll learn your lesson"

He shoved his cock deep inside my throat, my nose smushed against him as he came. I was forced to swallow it all, and it seemed for a moment it wouldn't stop. But when it did he yanked my head back, his cock slipping out. My tongue stuck out to lick his tip and he groaned, caressing the back of my head. My chest was heaving and I hiccuped from lack of air, he tucked himself away then knelt in front of me.

He gripped my chin tightly, gave me no other option than to look into his eyes.

Now full of something soft, the anger was no longer visible. "Take a deep breath." He said softly, his other hand slid down between my legs. His fingers caressed my heat and he smiled. A real, honest smile. I took a deep breath, and another one. But I got distracted by his gentle eyes. "For someone who seems to hate me...It certainly feels as though you enjoyed yourself." I groaned at his words, not in pleasure but in defeat. I lifted my shaking hands to his face and placed them on his cheeks, my breathing was still fast but I took one last deep breath and pulled him forward. My hips ghosting over his, his breath fanning my face. He didn't hesitate, his lips pressed against mine in a fury of need. He wrapped a hand around my back as he sat down on the floor, his back against the island. His lips never leaving mine as I straddle his legs. When my body pressed against his, I could feel his cock already hard again. I moaned into the kiss, my fingers combing through his hair, his hands gently holding my waist.

I pulled away and gasped for air, his lips kissed my temple as I caught my breath.

"Can I indulge now?" I whispered, too afraid to break the moment. I refused to meet his eyes but he forced me to. "Yes." He said in a single breath. As though he had been the one to ask.

I smiled softly and he took in a sharp breath. But I didn't ask him why, I just moved to undo his pants and pull his erect cock from its confine. I licked my lips, tasting him still on my tongue as I slowly pumped his cock in my hands, I moved one hand between my thighs and felt the wetness on my panties. So I pushed the panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside, my head tilted back as I stroked his cock and fuck myself on my fingers. I gathered some of my slick then smeared it over his cock, I watched his eyes dilate and it was gratifying. I used both hands to get him off, the pace increased quickly until I could feel his thighs shaking beneath me. He bit his lip to hold in his moans. I shook my head and kissed him. Swallowing his moans, this tongue taking the liberty of dominating mine. I removed my hands from him immediately and pulled back from the kiss and to my surprise he let out the most pathetic whine I had ever heard. It made my thighs clench.

I was done playing now, so I lifted my hip, pulled my panties to the side and slid down on him in one motion. My eyes rolled back in my head and his nails scraped my hips as he bit onto my shoulder. I exhaled a shaky breath and met his hooded gaze.

I expected something harsh and mean to be reflected in them. But they were blown wide in lust, in utter appreciation as I began to roll my hips. His hands helped guide me.

He kissed my collarbone as I threaded my hands in his hair. "You feel lovely," he praised quietly. He was gentle, I knew in an instant he could be fucking me until I was nothing but a sobbing puddle on the kitchen floor. And yet, he allowed me to lead. Allowed me to set the pace.

"Thank you, My Lord-" he placed a finger against my lips. Right– I'm not supposed to speak.

"Do not use my title. I'd prefer if you called me by something else at this moment." He moved his finger and pressed his lips to mine in a brief kiss that I chased when he pulled back. "Say my name." He asked. I smiled, my hips slowly down. "Morpheus."

His breath shuddered and his grip tightened. "Again." He rutted his hips up to meet mine and I gasped out his name "Morpheus!"

"That's better." He set the pace now, his hands controlling my hips as he thrusted his to meet mine. My hands curled in his hair and my back arched the head of his cock kissed my cervix with practiced ease.

"Morpheus" I chanted, his name on every breath I exhaled. He watched his awe as I took what he gave. Not because I had to out of obligation, but because I wanted to. And that made him hunger for my release.

His eyes darkened and he slammed my hips down harder now, hitting that spot over and over again. My head fell forward into the crook of his neck. "Can I cum? Please, Morpheus. Please" I begged, my arms tightened around his shoulders. "Yes, let go for me. You don't need to plead." He kissed my head, rocking my hips just how he knew I needed and then the waves crashed over me, my back arching and my head thrown back as screams of his name echoed off the kitchen walls. His release followed mine as he stilled our movements, my hips sputtering slightly as he filled me full of his cum. His head fell forward against my breasts. Our chests heaving and falling.

As we came down from our highs, his fingers kneaded the skin of my hips then caressed my ass, squeezing and pulling at the flesh.

"I am sorry." He spoke, voice muffled in my chest. I opened my eyes and looked down at him, he pulled back and rested against the island. "Perhaps...we should change the terms of our agreement."

I nodded, "perhaps we should...anything you want to change in particular?" I asked, running my hands over his clothed chest, picking at the soft fabric as I waited. His cock softened inside but neither of us wanted to move yet. "You sound very pleasant when you're loud...I'd like to hear your sounds. All of them. And, use my name for everything unless you intend to tease me with power play." I chuckled, making him grunt from overstimulation. "Yes, my Lord." I teased, then leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against his lips and smiled as he chased for another one when I pulled back. "You must always...kiss me whenever I come to see you." He demanded, but no power in his words. "Even when we're angry at each other?" He nodded, "Especially then."

We decided to get off the floor and I took my hand. Guiding me toward the bathroom, my legs wobbled but his grip on my waist kept me firm against him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, he said nothing and turned on the bath. It filled the room with steam as the tub filled with water. He took hold of my waist and kissed me again and spoke softly, "I am changing another thing. You will be taken care of. Not just cleaned in an instant and left to put yourself back together." He shook his head, his tongue running over his bottom lip. "No...You shall be put together again after I take you apart. Because that is what you deserve. I will soothe the aches I cause, I will clean the mess I have made. And you...will be embraced by care."

I bit my lip and my chin quivered. "That's all I wanted...I didn't mind letting you take me whenever you pleased. What I didn't like was to be thrown away after like I was only a toy to be played with."

His eyes softened and a look of regret filled his eyes. "I know...it was cruel of me. I'm sorry. I took my emotions out on you. That was not fair. And then to deny you of one request, you never disobeyed. Never asked for anything. That was most unfair." He kissed the side of my head then began to take off my t-shirt. It slid over my head with ease then he helped me step out of my panties. He stepped back and looked me over. A smug smile of satisfaction on his lips.

He lounged against the chaise in his chambers, firelight dancing along the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed sprawl of his limbs. His legs spread wide, exuding lazy power—like a masterpiece painted by a wickedly talented hand.

She stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable beneath the disguise of casual clothes—a pair of fitted jeans and a soft shirt that dipped low at the neckline. Innocent enough. But he knew better.

"Hello, my love," she murmured, her voice like velvet in the quiet. Her steps echoed lightly across the polished floor as she moved toward him.

He lifted his head, and the moment their eyes met, something in him eased. His gaze grew softer, his shoulders dropped.

"Hello, lover."

The low heat in his voice curled around her spine and pulled tight.

She stepped between his parted knees, her fingers rising to brush through his tousled hair. Instead of taming it, her touch only made it wilder—like him. His eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh, deep and sinful, spilled from his lips.

"Did someone get you all wound up today?" she whispered, letting her fingers trail to the back of his neck, nails grazing skin. "You seem like a man in need of... unwinding."

"Mmm," he hummed, the sound deep and indulgent. He tilted his head back slightly, basking in the sensation of her touch. "That would be—" he took in a slow breath, chest rising against her.

"—exquisite, dove."

She smiled and pulled her hand away, his eyes opened slowly, forlorn. His expression turned to one of confusion.

"Love?"

But the crease in his brow eased as she sank down between his legs.

His eyes were heavy now, something dark swirling in them.

Her hands trailed from his knees, over the expanse of his thighs and to his hips. The material of his jeans failing to mask the muscles beneath them as she gently dragged her nails down over his thighs.

His eyes never left hers. He released the faintest of breaths as she kissed his clothed knee and then when she leaned forward and kissed the inside of his thigh. His hand rose to thread through her hair as she leaned in closer, bracing herself on his shins. Her lips grazing the front of his pants, she looked up at him and smirked. His eyes darkened, knowing her games.

She pressed open mouthed kisses to his hips and down the zipper of his jeans. She could feel him harden against her lips, his hand curled in her hair gently. She pressed harder kisses against the outline of his cock. His hips bucked forward slightly, and she pulled her face away.

"Play nice now, my Lord."

She teased, earning her hair a tug. –Pushing her face against his now painfully hard erection, she groaned happily.

She moved her hands from his shins to his hips, kneading the muscles there. His breathing stuttered as she nuzzled her face against his clothed member. She pulled back only slightly to trace it with her tongue then suckling the tip through his jeans. His head lulled to the side as he felt her, rather than watched her.

"How much longer do you intend to be a tease?"

He grumbled out. She smiled up at him and batted her eyes.

"For how ever long I please."

She teased, but her movements betrayed her. She popped the button of his jeans and unzipped the fly. He released a barely audible groan as she pulled his cock free from the confines of his pants.

–He was warm in her hand, a stark contrast to rest of his body. –She pushed up his shirt some with her free hand and placed a kiss to the exposed skin of his hip. The hand in her hair tightened in anticipation.

She ran a single stripe from the base to the tip, swirling her tongue over the slit. The taste of him was salty and much appreciated as she lapped a few more times at his tip.

She began slow languid strokes and placed kisses to the spots of his cock where her hand didn't occpy space,

"Lover."

He groaned out, voice hoarse from holding himself back, it was a warning.

She knew this but refused to let up her teasing. She licked another stripe up his cock but instead of licking she took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it then pulling off with a 'pop'. She licked her lips and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Have patience."

She chided then took him into her mouth again, taking him slowly.

Inch by agonizingly slow inch, he groaned at the feeling of her warm mouth around him, his free hand now tangled in her hair with his other one. Allowing her to set the pace but prepared to take what he wants.

She takes as much as she can fit down her throat and uses her hand for the rest.

As she begins to stroke and bob her head on his cock, his hips stutter, hitting the back of her throat, she let out a strangled noise and her throat convolsed around his cock making him groan, his hands digging into her scalp.

He moved his hips again and her throat constricted again, her hands were splayed over his thighs now as he gently ground himself against the back of her throat, each time causing her to choke.

It turned them both on more than either would admit. Morpheous released her, realizing how close he was reaching his peak. She groaned in protest, in turn earning her the softest of whine from him. If she wasn't tuned to every piece of him, she sould have missed it.

She pulled back slightly then began sucking his cock with vigor, he groaned and it echoed off the walls. His hands found her hair again and he let her be in control.

When she swallowed around him she could taste the precum on her tongue again, she reached her hand down to her heat and slipped her hand into her pants, running slow circles over her clit.

She moaned around him, the feeling causing his hips to buck and she swallowed around him again. His head fell back, his mouth open in silent pleasure. She knew he was close so she took in as much of him as she could until It made her choke then she bobbed her head at a fast pace, making him pant.

Morpheous lifted his head to watch her with a heavy gaze, his chest rising a falling with each heated breath he took, he was close to the edge, but she knew how to make him last.

He was not having that tonight, his hands took hold of her hair and he began to thrust up into her throat, taking control and using her to get himself off.

She gagged and drool dripped down her chin as he fucked her throat.

"Have you not yet learned, Pet. That I am always in control?"

His question was rhetorical and he groaned when her throat tightened around his cock every time he pulled back.

She felt his cock go deeper into her throat as if it had grown a few more inches. She moaned at the idea, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

When he shoved his cock deep inside, her nose would brush against the small patch of soft hair. Her fingers worked hard to get herself off as he used her throat to chase his own release.

Then she felt his cock pulse in her throat, she hollowed her cheeks and Morpheous moaned out like a whore, gravely and desperate. He held her head down, her nose pressed against his pelvis as thick hot cum shot down her throat and she had no choice but to swallow.

This tipped her over the edge and she moaned around his cock as she came on her fingers, her hips shaking at the force of it.

He thrusted his hips once more then pulled her off him, she licked her lips as he tilted her head back. She looked up at him like he hung the stars,

"Thank you."

She said and he chuckled, his throat dry and his voice hoarse as he spoke.

"No, Darling. Thank you."

He leaned forward and kissed her, he could taste himself on her lips and it almost made him ready for another round.

Almost.

She pulled back then tucked him back in his pants, he watched her in awe then pulled her up into his lap. He kissed her jaw then her cheek, then her lips again.

"You were right, I did need to be unwound."

He held her tightly against him, and she relaxed against him, boneless and smug.

.

.

.

Late night. New York City. Endless possibilities.

Except the one I want.

My friends dragged me out of the house with the excuse of, "You’ve been cooped up in here for weeks!" If only they knew the real reason why.

The absence of the masked vigilante stung more than I cared to admit. So when they brought me to the club, I made a beeline for the bar, slipping into the first available seat. Folding my arms under my chest, I leaned over the counter to grab the bartender’s attention. He glanced my way before offering a small smile.

"What can I get you?"

Sitting back, I returned the polite gesture. "Gin and Coke, please."

He nodded, finishing off a glass he’d been polishing. I barely had a second to let my thoughts drift before a hand landed on my shoulder. My body tensed, but I quickly relaxed at the sight of familiar blonde curls.

Maya.

I glanced over my shoulder, taking in her bouncy, blue-eyed enthusiasm. "Maya, you startled me." My voice was soft, but she brushed off my reaction.

"You’re drinking already?!" she shouted, raising her voice as the music surged louder.

I shrugged. "What can I say? I like to start early."

She gave me a look of disapproval, but I ignored it.

"We have a table if you wanna join. We’re gonna dance!"

I tilted my head, eyeing her outfit—a baby blue tank top that showed just a sliver of stomach, low-cut shorts, and a thick black belt. A pair of oversized black sunglasses sat atop her head.

This was what we called her hunting outfit.

I smirked. "Oh, I see. You’re on the prowl, huh, Maya?"

Her face flushed a rosy shade. "Nooo, I swear I’m not!" She smacked my arm in protest just as the bartender set my drink in front of me.

"Gin and Coke."

"Yeah, thanks." I picked it up, taking a sip. The familiar burn trailed down my throat, a sensation I’d come to enjoy.

Maya placed a hand on my shoulder, leaning in so I could hear her over the music. "I’m gonna go dance, but you should join us. Please? It'll be fun."

I shook my head. "Maybe later. Go have fun."

She pouted but left me alone.

I sighed, shoulders sagging as I nursed my drink. "What a night." The words slipped out to no one in particular.

I sat there, contemplating the dull weight of responsibilities—work, bills, emails I’d been putting off.

Then, someone slid into the seat beside me.

I barely reacted at first, still hunched over, one arm resting on the bar while the other held my drink. But I felt them—their presence radiated heat despite the inches between us.

Curiosity piqued, I turned my head, and my breath hitched.

The man beside me held a white cane. He wore red-lensed glasses and spoke to the bartender in a low, smooth tone. My alcohol-buzzed brain struggled to process his words, too distracted by his lips, his shoulders—everything.

My gaze shamelessly devoured every inch of him.

I was never this bold. On a normal day, I was respectful. But when he turned his head slightly in my direction, I snapped my eyes away, suddenly embarrassed.

I took a long sip of my drink, draining it.

Sliding the empty glass across the counter, I reached into my pocket for my wallet—only to freeze.

"Shit."

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself.

Leaning over the counter, I apologized quickly. "I’m so sorry, I left my wallet at home—do you have an ATM here?"

Before the bartender could respond, the man beside me spoke up.

"Put it on my card."

I turned to him, startled. "N-no, it’s okay. I just need to get some cash. You don’t have to—"

He smiled. And just like that, my already fuzzy brain fogged up even more.

"It’s alright. Just pass it on."

I hesitated before finally nodding. "Alright… well, thanks."

Sliding out of my seat, I scanned the club, searching for my friends. The dance floor was a mess of bodies—sweaty, grinding, lost in the music. I spotted Maya and the girls at our table and straightened my shoulders before heading toward them, dodging wandering hands and swaying hips.

Apparently, a hoodie and black jeans weren’t enough of a deterrent.

At the table, the girls cheered when they saw me.

"Hiiiiii!" Maya was the loudest, throwing her arms around me in a hug.

I smiled, patting her back. "Hi."

She pulled away with a pout. "Find anyone yet?" I teased, sliding into the booth beside her.

Mixed responses followed—some excited, some disappointed. I just shrugged.

A sudden squeal erupted beside me as a new song started.

Before I could react, a pair of hands yanked me from the booth.

"Maya! I’m not dancing!" I yelled over the music as we reached the center of the floor.

"Oh, come on! Let go—have some fun for once in your miserable life!"

She was drunk. I knew it plain as day.

But the words still stung.

Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide with regret. "Oh my God, I didn’t mean—"

I rolled my shoulders back, forcing a nod. "Right."

She reached for me, but I stepped away.

She shouted apologies, but I didn’t hear them. I was already pushing my way through the crowd, past feverish singles and entangled couples—until my shoulder collided with something firm.

Someone.

I looked up, gasping softly.

It was him. The man from the bar.

He held a beer in one hand. The other…

I glanced at my arm, where his fingers rested.

He leaned in slightly, tilting his head. "Are you alright?"

His voice vibrated through me.

I stepped back quickly. "Y-yeah. I’m fine. Thanks."

Then, the realization hit me.

"Why is a blind guy in a nightclub?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

My eyes widened in horror as I clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I—"

He laughed.

A genuine, amused chuckle.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

"Who said I was blind?" he smirked, throwing my not-so-sober brain for a loop. I tried to respond, but it came out as a confused stutter, which only made his smile widen and his laughter continue.

"Blind guys can have fun too, you know," he teased, making me roll my eyes and smile.

"I realize that, it's just… there are a lot of people and a lot of things you could run into if you're not careful."

He shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Well, I like a challenge."

I snorted out a laugh—it caught me off guard. Maybe the gin and coke was too strong tonight, or maybe I was going crazy.

"You remind me of someone I know," I said.

He tilted his head. "Oh yeah? How so?"

“I don’t know exactly…” I murmured, searching for the ghost of a memory just out of reach. “You just… feel like him.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his head tilting slightly toward me, like he was listening for something beyond my words. “That so?” His voice was smooth, teasing, laced with a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine.

Before I could piece together what felt so familiar about him, the music shifted into something slower, something that curled through the air like an invitation. His hand lifted toward me, open, expectant.

“Dance with me?”

I hesitated, my pulse stuttering for reasons I couldn’t name. But then my fingers brushed against his—warm, steady, confident—and suddenly, stepping into his space felt inevitable.

We moved easily together, the motion effortless despite the press of people around us. I guided him just slightly, but he already knew how to follow, his grip light yet assured, the sway of his body perfectly in sync with mine. He didn’t need to see the way I watched him—he could feel it, sense the shift in my breath, the way my fingers tightened in his.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, voice just audible over the music. “Thinking too hard?”

I huffed a soft laugh. “Just… trying to figure something out.”

“Mm.” His lips quirked, amused. “And?”

I studied him—how he moved with such certainty, how he never hesitated, how he tilted his head just slightly as if catching on to the things I wasn’t saying. It was in the way he held me, not just with his hands, but in the space between us, filled with something unspoken. Something I should’ve recognized.

“I just can’t put my finger on it,” I admitted.

His smirk deepened, just enough for me to feel it rather than see it. “Careful,” he said, voice dipping lower, almost conspiratorial. “You might not like the answer.”

The words sent a strange thrill through me, but before I could respond, he shifted just slightly, closing the distance between us, his breath warm near my temple. The world outside our slow-moving steps blurred—the pulse of music, the murmur of voices—until it was just us, caught in the quiet pull of something neither of us had named.

For now, I let myself stay in that moment, letting the mystery linger, the answer just out of reach.

As the song came to a slow, fading end, I felt a presence beside me before I even turned my head.

“There you are!” Maya’s voice cut through the haze, a mix of relief and impatience. “We’re heading out. You coming?”

I blinked, my fingers still loosely curled around the man’s hand. I glanced at Maya, then back at him, feeling an odd reluctance to step away just yet.

“No—It’s alright,” I said slowly. “I think I want to stay a bit, with—”

I turned back toward him, realizing I didn’t even know his name. He must’ve noticed my hesitation because a small, amused smile tugged at his lips.

“Matt,” he supplied smoothly.

I met his gaze—or rather, the space behind his red-lensed glasses—before nodding and turning to Maya. “With Matt.”

Maya gave me a knowing smirk, but she didn’t push. “Alright, just text me when you get home.” Then, with a wink, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with Matt and the pulsing warmth still lingering between us.

He tilted his head in the direction of an empty booth near the edge of the room. “Sit with me?”

I nodded, following him as he maneuvered through the club effortlessly, despite his inability to see. He slid into the booth first, then gestured for me to sit.

Before I could say anything, he flagged down a server. “A water for her,” he said, then tapped the bottle of beer in front of him. “And I’ll finish this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Ordering for me already?”

He smirked, resting his elbow on the table. “Call it a well-educated guess.”

I huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue as the water was set in front of me. I took a sip before leaning forward, studying him again.

“You really do remind me of someone,” I said, picking up where we left off.

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down with an amused expression. “Still stuck on that, huh?”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “You’re not making it any easier with your whole… vibe.”

He leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “My vibe?”

I waved vaguely at him. “The smugness, the teasing, the way you talk. It’s like you know something I don’t.”

His grin deepened. “Maybe I do.”

I scoffed. “See? That! That’s exactly what I mean.”

He chuckled, running a slow finger along the rim of his bottle. “And what if I just have one of those faces?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bit of a bold claim, considering…”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, he looked even more entertained. “Touché.”

I shook my head, sipping my water as he finished his beer. Our conversation drifted into easy banter—light, teasing, but always skirting around the edges of something unspoken. Every time I tried to place the familiarity nagging at me, he would smirk, throw out a casual remark, and steer me away before I could catch onto it fully.

Before I knew it, the club had thinned out. I sighed, stretching my arms over my head. “I should probably head home.”

Matt nodded, pushing his empty bottle aside. “Let me walk you.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He stood, waiting for me to do the same. “But I want to.”

Something about the way he said it, calm and matter-of-fact, made it impossible to refuse. So I didn’t.

With a small nod, I zipped up my hoodie, and together, we stepped out into the cool New York night.

As they walked, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement, I glanced at Matt with a smirk.

“You know,” I mused, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets, “I think it’s kind of ironic—a blind guy walking a girl home.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Well, you seemed pretty confident dancing with me. Figured you’d trust me to get you a few blocks safely.”

I scoffed. “Dancing in place and crossing a city street are two very different things.”

He smirked. “Not for me.”

I shook my head, laughing softly as we continued in comfortable silence. The city hummed around us, the distant sirens, the occasional honk, the steady rhythm of our steps against the sidewalk. It was strangely easy—being next to him, teasing him, letting the warmth between us linger a little longer.

Before I knew it, we were at my building. I stopped at the entrance, turning to him with a small, grateful smile. “Well… thanks for the escort, Matt.”

He gave a small nod, standing relaxed with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “Anytime.”

I lingered for half a second before stepping inside, but just as the door started to close, his voice reached me—calm, smooth, and laced with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t stay up too late working on the rooftop tonight.”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, heart hammering against my ribs.

Slowly, I turned back to face him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

Matt stood just where I left him, head tilted slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The world around me blurred as memories slammed into me all at once—late nights on the rooftop, the crisp night air, the city stretching endlessly beneath me. The voice, the teasing remarks, the quiet laughter that always found its way into our conversations.

Him.

My lips parted, but no words came out. My throat tightened, my eyes stung, and before I could stop it, a tear slipped down my cheek.

He just stood there, waiting.

I took a shaky breath, stepping forward, my voice barely above a whisper.

“…It’s you.”

Matt’s smirk deepened ever so slightly, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. He just stood there, letting the weight of realization settle over me like thick fog.

I took another shaky step forward, my pulse a frantic drum in my ears. “You—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to catch up. “You left.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “I did.”

A flood of emotions crashed through me—relief, anger, confusion, something dangerously close to hope. I wiped at my cheek quickly, blinking against the rush of tears threatening to spill. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His lips pressed together, his jaw tensed. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I had to.” His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear it. “It wasn’t safe—for me or for you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “And now it is?”

“No.” He took a step closer, the heat of his presence wrapping around me like a whisper of something I’d been missing for too long. “But I couldn’t stay away this time.”

A sharp breath left me, my throat tightening. This time.

The past year and a half of wondering, of waiting on that rooftop for a voice that never came back, of aching for something I never fully understood—it all came crashing down on me.

And now he was standing here, saying he had to leave but wanted to stay.

I shook my head again, stepping back, trying to put some kind of distance between us before I drowned in the pull of him. “I don’t— I don’t know what to do with this.” My voice was thick with emotion. “With you.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, studying me like he could see every part of me, even without his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

The way he said it—gentle, patient—made something in my chest crack open.

I looked away, exhaling shakily.

I could send him away. Walk inside and pretend this never happened.

But that wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted answers. I wanted to understand why he left. Why he came back.

Why I still cared so much after all this time.

I looked up at him again. “Do you—do you want to come up?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

–

He followed me inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind him sending a ripple of unease through me. Not fear—never fear with him—but something heavier, something tangled between longing and disbelief.

It was the first time he’d actually stepped into my apartment, and suddenly, I saw it the way he would. Dishes stacked in the sink. Laundry baskets overflowing in the corner. Work files and unopened mail strewn across the table. A complete disaster.

I shrugged off my hoodie, tossing it onto the couch like I didn’t care. The air felt too thick, too suffocating, so I moved to the window and shoved it open. A cool night breeze rolled in, but it did little to steady my racing heart.

"I’ll make some coffee," I offered, needing something—anything—to ground me. "And maybe a snack."

Matt hummed in approval, stepping farther in. He slid off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair before following me into the kitchen. He rested his back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest in that effortlessly confident way of his.

I kept my back to him, pretending to focus on the coffee maker, but his presence pressed into me like a weight. Every inhale, every shift—it was maddening.

My thoughts spun, colliding between the past and present. Even after all this time, after already feeling his hands on me, there was still this desperate yearning to reach out—to touch him, to know he was real.

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Why now?" My voice came out quieter than I intended. "Why couldn’t you stay away this time?"

Silence.

It stretched long enough that doubt started creeping in, twisting in my gut. Then, finally, his voice—low, smooth, familiar—cut through the tension.

"Would you believe me if I said I missed you?"

I let out a breath, half scoff, half laugh. "I don’t know. Do you actually miss people, or do you just like messing with them?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and damn it, it sent something sharp through my ribs.

"Both," he admitted, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "But this time, it’s real."

I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching as I reached for a mug from the cabinet. My grip tightened around the ceramic, rolling the weight of it in my palm.

And then, instead of setting it on the counter for him, I put it back.

“Cold, sweetheart.”

“You deserve it,” I shot back, finally turning to face him.

His smirk deepened, but something flickered behind it—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Fair,” he said easily, though I could tell it amused him.

I crossed my arms. “You just decided one day to find me?”

“Not exactly.” His voice softened, the weight of something unspoken pressing between us. “I always knew where you were.”

My stomach clenched. I searched his face, trying to decide if that was meant to be comforting or unsettling.

Matt must have sensed my unease because he quickly added, “I wasn’t watching you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I narrowed my eyes, skeptical. “No? Because that sounds an awful lot like something a guy who was watching me would say.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just sighed and leaned back against the counter, tapping his fingertips idly against the surface. “I stayed away,” he murmured. “Told myself it was better that way. That you’d move on.”

I exhaled a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Move on from what?” I shook my head. “You never even told me your name.”

His jaw tensed slightly. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then—

“That was the problem,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to leave at all.”

A dull ache settled in my chest, my pulse tripping over itself.

It wasn’t fair. That he could say things like that. That he could come back after all this time and still make me feel—

I looked away, blinking hard. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

Matt chuckled, tilting his head. “So I’ve been told.”

I turned back toward the counter, eyeing the empty coffee mug I had put away. For a split second, I considered taking it back down.

But I didn’t.

I let him sit with that.

I turned, gripping the counter behind me. "So what now?"

Matt let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as if listening for something beyond the walls. "That depends on you."

"On me?" I scoffed. "You’re the one who left. The one who stayed away. You decided what was best for me without even asking."

His lips pressed together. "You think it was easy?" His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. "You think I wanted to disappear?"

I swallowed, my grip tightening. "I don’t know what to think, Matt. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Something in his expression made my breath hitch. His eyes—unseeing but unwavering—pinned me in place.

"Then ask me."

I hesitated, every question I wanted to ask battling to be first.

"Did you miss me?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft and uncertain.

Matt’s lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that one.

His fingers tapped against the counter once. Twice. Then stepping toward me, closing the space between us.

"I thought about you every damn night," he admitted, his voice low and unguarded. "I told myself it was for the best, that you’d be safer without me in your life." A wry smile flickered across his lips. "But then I’d hear your voice in my head, telling me I was being an idiot."

I exhaled a shaky laugh. "Sounds about right."

Matt reached out then, slowly, giving me space to pull away. When I didn’t, his fingers ghosted along my wrist, trailing up to my elbow.

"I told myself I wouldn’t come back," he murmured. "That I’d stay out of your life, no matter how much I wanted to see you again."

"Then why are you here?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.

His hand trailed higher, brushing my shoulder, then my jaw, his thumb just beneath my chin.

"Because I lost that fight."

And then his lips were on mine.

 It wasn’t tentative or careful. It was searing, a collision of every word left unsaid, every moment stolen by time and distance. 

I sucked in a breath, caught completely off guard. My hands hovered uselessly at my sides, caught between the instinct to push him away and the overwhelming need to pull him closer. For a split second, I hesitated—years of questions, of hurt, flashing through my mind. But then he let out the smallest, almost desperate sound against my lips, and I melted. 

My fingers fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him in as I kissed him back, all hesitation burned away in the heat of his touch. His hands framed my face now, holding me to him like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers again. And Lord help me, but I didn’t want to let go either. 

The world outside ceased to exist. His hands were firm, steady, tracing along my jaw, threading into my hair as the kiss deepened. 

I felt it everywhere—his warmth, his breath, the way he moved against me like he was memorizing me all over again. I didn’t realize we were moving until my back hit the edge of the couch. He pulled me with him, guiding me through the apartment, our hands never leaving each other, fingers gripping, anchoring. 

I barely noticed when we knocked into the table, when my hoodie slipped off the couch onto the floor. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this. Matt’s lips moved to my jaw, then just below my ear, his breath sending a shiver through me. I exhaled shakily, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as we stumbled toward the hallway. 

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice rough, his forehead resting against mine for the briefest moment. 

I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I pulled him back to me, pressing my lips to his like we could make up for all the lost time in a single moment. 

We reached my bedroom door, hands roaming, bodies pressed close, the air between us electric. I reached behind me, fumbling for the doorknob, pushing it open.