Shameless Hoe HQ

GENERAL EVENT DETAILS

When: August 15-18 *Writing challenge submissions will be accepted through the end of August (or later if needed).

How to Participate: 

🎁 Birthday Gifts aka the writing challenge 🎉 Party Favors aka Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order

🎁 BIRTHDAY GIFTS (AKA THE WRITING CHALLENGE) 🎁

Rules for Fic Entries:

500 word minimum, 5,000 word max. (Please put your story under a cut after 150 words.)

Original works only. If your story is part of a series, it must be able to be read as a standalone piece.

Please tag me @stargazingfangirl18 when posting your story.

Include the tag #happy birthday siri 2026 on the original post of your fic (not on reblogs or reblog replies, please.)

Any genre accepted! Can be fluff, angst, smut, comedy, AU, dark, soft!dark, whatever you want.

Please stick to the CE characters listed below, and no RPF.

Reader insert stories only. LGBTQ+, BIPOC, & interracial stories are welcome and encouraged!

No toilet stuff, no necrophilia, no snuff, or bestiality. Non-con and dub-con must fall within commonly posted dark fics. (FYI: I personally don’t read daddy kink, mommy kink, spit kink, lactation kink, harsh degradation, dumbification, or anything focusing on health/illnesses/medical details/scenarios.) 

Please include warnings as needed for explicit language, explicit sexual content, non-con, dub-con, dark fic, trigger warnings, 18+, etc.

Odds & Ends:

Each writer can submit a maximum of 3 stories.

Writers DO NOT need to claim prompts.

Smut writers and characters must be 18+.

Writers can also submit a Superior AI Custom Order but please keep it to one submission per person.

You do not need to write smut, I know it’s not everyone’s jam. 

I reserve the right to not read or reblog anything that makes me uncomfortable.

Writing Challenge Babes & Prompts

BABES

Andy Barber

Ari Levinson

Bryce Langley

Cole Turner

Curtis Everett

Frank Adler

Jake Jensen

Lloyd Hansen

Pete Brenner

Ransom Drysdale

Reverend Drew

Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy)

Steve Rogers

PROMPTS

Pick at least 1 prompt. You can pick more than 1, and you don’t need to claim prompts:

SCENARIOS:

Being a predatory babe’s prey (in a sexy way, not a hungry way lolll)

Sweet and/or Vulnerable!Reader x Scary!Hot!Babe

Being blackmailed by someone unlikely 

Scary babe is only soft with you

Commitment phobe!babe is high key obsessed with you

A titillating encounter with a monster!babe

You’re an actual human disaster, but soft!dark babe finds it charming

Emotional constipation

Making a deal with the devil

Meet!oops or fail

Sacrificing yourself to a dangerous babe to save someone else

Being betrayed by someone you trust

DIALOGUE:

“I was just going to punish you, but now? Now I’m going to annihilate you.”

“Oh my god, how can someone be so fucking oblivious?!”

“You have no idea what your scent does to me.”

“That’s it! I’m done! No more adulting, no more responsibilities, no more anything! We’re just going to lay here and cuddle and hide from the rest of the world.”

 “You picked the wrong man to steal from.”

“I have no idea what the future holds, but what I do know is that I want you by my side for every second of it.”

“I’ve never had someone so innocent, but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be as corrupted as me.”

“Did you just… propose to me?”

“You know I reward loyalty and good work, and I thought she would make such a sweet, pretty gift.”

“Please, just give me one more chance. I know I can be better, for you. I would do anything for you.”

“The only thing you have to offer that’s of any interest to me is that sweet, warm place between your legs. So strip and show me just how badly you need my help.”

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but we really need to talk.” 

KINKS:

Breeding kink (non-pregnancy version)

Size kink

Praise kink

Somnophilia

Prone bone

Squirting

Manhandling

Oral sex (f receiving)

Anal play/sex

Overstimulation 

Monster fucking 

Creampie

TROPES:

Omegaverse

Mob AU

Good girl x bad boy

Biker AU

Delulu babe or Reader

Mercenary AU

Human disaster!Reader or babe

Conqueror AU

Friends to lovers

Sugar daddy/baby AU

Guard dog!Babe

CEO AU

🎉 PARTY FAVORS (AKA SUBMIT YOUR SUPERIOR AI CUSTOM ORDER) 🎉

Rules for Submission:

Submissions will only be accepted during the event dates of August 15-18. Those sent before or after those dates will be discarded. 

You must submit your order by sending me an ask that answers the questions below.

There is a limit of 1 submission per person (please respect this limit, even if you request on anon; I don’t want to be overwhelmed or stressed).

Odds & Ends:

If you’re new to my Superior AI verse, you can check it out here.

Even if your babe of choice isn’t an AI in my verse, you can still request them for your custom order. Think of these resulting drabbles as AU :) 

I may not get to every submission within the event timeframe, but I’ll try my best to answer all of them eventually, so please be patient.

Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order Form

Send me an ask with the following info, and I will write a (likely AU) Superior AI verse drabble starring the CE!babe of your choice! I’ve written these questions in one paragraph to make it easier for you to copy/paste, but you can space them out when you send your ask. Thank you! 

Superior AI Custom Order Request: 1) Your CE!babe of choice (If you’d rather I pick the babe for you, let me know). 2) What are the top 3 reasons why you are ordering an AI? 3) Soft, soft!dark, or dark? 4) Smut or no smut?

Thank youuu. But also, happy birthday to me 🫠 lolll.

—

Tagging some fellow hoes who may be interested or want to signal boost the event, no pressure though! (Sorry if I forgot anyone, I’m awful at tagging lol.) ❤️

His hand shot out, a harsh gesture your way, and it was instinctual, the way you flinched and whimpered as you threw your arms up to shield your face without thinking. 

It was the kind of instinct–and expectation of violence–that was ingrained in you after the life you had lived, after years and years of being punished and beaten for always making your poppy so angry. 

There was a long, tense moment of silence before you realized Ransom wasn't going to hurt you, and then you slowly dropped your arms and gazed up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. 

"What are you doing in here?" he asked again, his voice still terse and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Scared," you whispered. 

Ransom just stared at you for a beat, the last of his fury slowly melting away into a blank mask of indifference. His jaw ticked once and then he spun on his heel and stalked into his bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

You jumped at the loud sound–at his sudden and aggravated departure–your heart hammering beneath your rib cage as your tears finally spilled over. 

Ransom had been so nice to you, such a good friend, and you made him mad.

Your poppy was right, you were so bad.

Another wave of tears flooded your vision and you tried to choke down your sobs, hurrying from Ransom's room and back down the long hallway until you reached your own guest room.

You didn't even know why Ransom was so mad, or what you had done to cause it, but you knew it was your fault, and the memory of the way he had looked at you just now–so enraged–it had you shaking as you tried to swallow down your sadness and shame. 

You must be really bad if you made your friend so upset.

Glancing around the bright, foreign space–and all the unfamiliar luxury that came along with it–you felt even more lost and out of place before finally catching sight of another door across the room.

You scurried over to it and pulled it open, revealing a tiny mostly empty room. It had a shelf stretching across the entire space and a rod fixed in place beneath it, with a few oddly shaped objects hanging on the rod. 

You weren't sure what the small room was for, but it seemed so much less overwhelming than the rest of the room, or Ransom's room, or the house as a whole.

This small room felt safe. 

So as your distress and confusion began to mount, along with the fear of Ransom making you leave–sending you off all by yourself with nowhere to go–you stepped into the tiny room and pulled the door shut behind you. 

Making your way to the furthest corner of the small space, you curled up on the floor in the dark–feeling oddly at home here–as you continued to cry.

Ransom gritted his teeth as he bent over the bathroom sink, turned the faucet on, and splashed his face with cold water.

And then he just stood there for a moment, staring into the sink, unseeing as the water continued to rush free before circling down the drain.

He felt the last dregs of his anger and confusion fade away, and he hated that that had been his knee jerk reaction to finding you sleeping on the floor beside his bed.

He wasn't even mad about that, really, he just hadn't been fully awake yet when he had unexpectedly tripped over you and nearly face planted on the floor. You had startled him and he had reacted badly.

So badly.

God, the way you had cowered away from him, like you thought he was going to hurt you…

It made his stomach turn, because Ransom knew that was what you were used to.

And it was his fault.

Blinking against the burning sensation at the back of his eyes, Ransom sniffed hard before finally turning off the faucet and straightening.

He stared at himself in the mirror, and for some reason, it felt like he was looking at a stranger. The poised, perfectly put together socialite disaster with stoic features and cold, blue eyes. So quick to anger and so desperate for a way to turn it all off - the anger and feelings and too loud thoughts in his mind.

But when he was with you, all of that seemed to fall away.

Despite being dealt such a shitty hand in life, you had somehow managed to retain that sweet, gentle demeanor. You hadn't changed much at all, in fact, still a soft, bright soul with kind eyes and so eager to be his friend. 

And now here you were, back in his life, and although Ransom hadn't been in your presence much so far, when he was, things just seemed…simpler. Quiet.

You soothed him in a way he hadn't experienced since he was a boy.

In fact, last night as he had gotten you all cleaned up and settled, he hadn't thought of his own shitty situation, or family, or the demons nipping at his heels once.

And how had he repaid you for that small reprieve? By that fucked up fiasco a few moments ago.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat as he thought of you, and how small and frightened you had looked–of him–Ransom wished to god he had a drink or at least a joint right now, anything to quell the shame and remorse bubbling up inside of him. 

But he didn't have any of that—not anymore—so he just huffed to himself before shedding his joggers and turning the shower on full blast. He let the scalding hot water beat down on him for a while, pretending it could wash away the turmoil eating him alive.

Once he was showered and dressed, Ransom slowly made his way down the hallway to your room. He hesitated, still feeling like the world's biggest asshole for the way he had treated you earlier, before stepping into the wide-open doorway. 

When he found the room empty, Ransom frowned. He peered into the bathroom, finding that room dark and empty too, and was just about to head downstairs when he heard a quiet, muffled sniffle coming from the closet. 

Feeling his heart sink, Ransom slowly made his way to the closet door, standing outside of it for a moment and listening to the sound of your distress on the other side. He lightly knocked on the door and he heard you instantly go quiet, but you didn't respond.

"Hey, can I…can I come in?" Ransom asked through the door. "Please?"

Your voice was a quiet tremble as you replied, "Yes."

Ransom pulled open the door, allowing some of the sunlight filling the guest room to illuminate the small space. You were curled up in the corner on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you peeked up at him, your eyes glistening with tears. 

"I'm sorry–" you started, but Ransom shook his head. 

"No, I'm sorry, I was a total asshole."

"Asshole?" you repeated, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He snickered as he stepped into the closet and joined you. Sliding down the wall beside you, Ransom planted his feet on the floor and draped his arms over his knees. 

"Asshole…it means jerk. I was mean for no reason," he explained.

"Oh."

His lips quirked at the corners as he watched you, his heart feeling a little bit lighter as you straightened and glanced over at him. 

"I made you mad?" you whisper-asked.

"You just surprised me, I didn't know you were there and I'm not really a morning person," Ransom shrugged, knowing his excuse was lame. "I'm sorry I yelled at you and scared you, I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," you forgave him quickly.

"No," Ransom shook his head. "It's not." He turned to you, his eyes fixed on you and he didn't continue until you met his gaze. "I'm going to try really hard to curb my temper and not be such an asshole, because you don't deserve that. You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

Your throat jumped as you swallowed, a few new tears streaking down your cheeks as you asked, "I'm not bad?"

Ransom's face softened. "No, you're not bad."

He watched you for a moment, noting the way you were blinking rapidly, and he knew you were trying not to cry anymore.

"You said you were in my room because you're scared." he started, remembering your reason for being in his room in the first place. "Why are you scared?"

"So different here, so big, and…" you struggled for the words, your lower lip trembling as you peeked over at him and whispered, "I don't want you to leave me. I don't want to be alone again."

Feeling that pit of shame open a little wider within him, Ransom nodded his understanding. He was quiet for a long moment, glancing away because watching you watch him with those big, sad eyes was fucking gut wrenching.

He did that to you. 

When he started to speak again, his voice shook a little, "Look, I'm stuck here for god knows how long, so I'm not going anywhere. My mother made sure of that."

You perked up at the mention of his mother. "She still mean to you?"

Ransom snorted, dropping his head back against the wall and lolling it your way. "Yeah, worse than ever."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault."

You watched him for a moment, and he could see the question in your gaze before you finally asked, "You're here because you were bad?"

Ransom hesitated, thinking of that night–of the truth–before shrugging again, "So I’ve been told. Anyway," he hurried on, "You have free reign of this big house, and you're hiding away in here?"

"It's a lot."

"Yeah, I guess it would be after being in that tiny shed all those years, huh? Come on, I'll give you a tour, so it won’t feel so imposing."

Ransom rose to his feet before turning to you and holding out his hand. The way your face lit up, a beautiful smile finally breaking free had that sinking feeling in his stomach instantly replaced by something light and fluttery.

You took his hand as you stood up, smiling down at the way your hands were joined before squeezing his big one between both of yours. 

Ransom just stared at your joined hands for a beat, marveling at the difference in size, and how gingerly you touched him, like his hand–like he–was something you coveted. 

Clearing his throat, Ransom resisted the urge to yank his hand away and flee from all the feelings swirling within him, because you looked so fucking happy just from something as simple as holding his hand.

And after the way your day had started–and how much of a shit head he had been–he wasn't going to do anything to make that smile dim.

So Ransom stamped down his own instincts and decided to do the opposite of what he would usually do in a situation like this–be mean and flee–and instead gently held your hand in his as he gave you a small smile. 

"I want you to know that you can stay here as long as you want, and you're free to go, too. I just," his gaze dropped as he felt a wave of sorrow rise within him. "I want you to know that you're free now, okay?"

He squeezed your hand and you squeezed his in return, nodding as you echoed his, "Okay."

"Good," Ransom cleared his throat, glancing away for a moment, and then he shot you another small, encouraging smile and led you from the closet and out of the guest room to give you a tour of the manor.

It was like watching a flower bloom, the way in which you came to life under his undivided attention and patience for all of your excited–and endearingly sweet–questions.

It also made Ransom realize how much he took for granted, and emphasized just how different your life had been from his, the way in which you were so mind blown by the simplest things.

When he showed you the electric fireplace in the living room, and how the flames flickered to life with the flip of a switch, you knelt in front of it for a solid five minutes with eyes so big with wonder that he couldn't help but laugh.

And when he took you into the study, you had been floored by the computer and all of the buttons, pressing them one by one with your pointer finger and not stepping away from the desk until you had pressed every single button on the keyboard. 

Now you finally stepped away from the desk, giving the keyboard a sad, fleeting look at leaving it behind before your wide gaze drank in the rest of your surroundings. 

You chirped at the realization that you were surrounded by books. The study walls were floor to ceiling shelves all brimming with story after story. 

"Do you remember this one?" Ransom asked, pulling The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien from a shelf and holding it out to you. 

"Oh yes!" you replied, smiling as you caressed the leatherbound cover before looking up at him shyly. "Our story."

Ransom had been a voracious reader as a child and spent many days with you in your shed teaching you how to read with this very book. 

He watched as your smile fell away, replaced by a look of sadness mixed with shame. 

"Poppy found the one you gave me and he ripped it all up," you confessed. "He said bad girls can't have nice things, but I read it every day until then, I promise."

A spark of rage lit in the deepest depths of Ransom as he wondered what could be so wrong with someone that they could be so cruel to a child. Then he fleetingly thought of his own mother before shaking those thoughts away and returning his attention to you. 

"You can have this one," he said.

Your eyes widened and shot up to his. "What? Mine now?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his lips curling. "I'm sure we have half a dozen copies of it around here anyway. You keep that one."

"Thank you," you whispered in awe, your eyes glittering with tears again as you carefully held the book to your chest and hugged it for dear life. "Thank you, Ransom."

"You're welcome." He shifted on his feet, watching you for a beat before glancing past you and out the large windows. "How about I show you the back patio? It overlooks the garden."

"Okay," you nodded, still hugging the book to your chest as you followed Ransom from the study and outside.

He led you out the main entrance of the manor and around the wrap-around porch so you could see the property from all sides before you wound up on the back patio. 

Ransom paused as his eyes fell on the hose, now neatly replaced in its holder on the exterior wall, realizing that it had been just last night when he had hosed you down like a stray animal, his gut burning with shame as he glanced over at you.

You didn't seem to be rehashing the same memory, however, instead standing at the very edge of the patio bricks a few feet away, hugging your book still as you grinned big and glanced all around in amazement. 

"So green and pretty!" you said, smiling at Ransom over your shoulder. "And look, way out there, so many trees! And look! Pretty flowers right there!"

"Yeah, wait until you see the rest of it, that's just the entry to the garden."

"There's more?"

Ransom chuckled at your flabbergasted face. "Yup."

"Wow." You opened your mouth to say something else but went quiet as your stomach growled loudly.

Huffing a laugh, Ransom thumbed over his shoulder at the patio doors and toward the kitchen. "I'll go get us some food and coffee, okay? Then we can sit out here for breakfast."

"Okay," your voice quavered with uncertainty, but you just stood there and watched as Ransom turned and retreated into the house.

When he entered the kitchen, it was to find Ruby–dressed in colorful chef garb–pulling a pan of scones from the oven and Savannah putting the finishing touches on a tray of coffee, tea, and various breakfast foods.

The older woman gave him a look, her gray brows raising as she asked, "It's been one night and you already have company?"

Ransom scowled, "It's not like that, and even if it was, it's none of your business anyway."

"Guess all those rumors about you are true," Ruby muttered under her breath, setting the pan of scones down to cool before moving to spoon some homemade jam into a little serving dish.

"You got something to say?" Ransom challenged, leaning on the kitchen isle and giving Ruby the stink eye. "Then say it loud and proud or keep your mouth shut, Julia Child."

Ruby scoffed, dropping her hand to her hip as she scowled at Ransom. "Look–"

But you suddenly popped up behind Ransom, looking both shy and excited as you peeked around his arm and eyed the tray of food and drink as your stomach growled and gurgled.

You seemed unaware of the tense silence, your gaze flickering from the food to Ruby then Savannah, before you shifted closer to Ransom. You clutched the sleeve of his sweater, hiding behind him as you continued to cradle The Hobbit in your arms.

At your shy, nervous state, Savannah's grandmotherly features instantly softened as she aimed a kind smile your way. "Good morning, dear. Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" you nodded eagerly, returning her bright smile with one of your own. 

"Alright then, will you be taking your breakfast out on the patio?" Savannah asked Ransom.

He nodded wordlessly, still glowering between her and Ruby.

You frowned at him, tugging on his sleeve as you whispered, "Why mean face?"

Ruby's own scowl cracked then, her eyes shining with amusement as she snorted a laugh before finally moving to the pan of scones and carefully setting them on a plate to bring out to Savannah. 

Ransom sighed, mustering a small smile for you as he turned his full attention your way. "It's all good."

You watched him for a moment, looking sweetly wary, your lips pursed before you were reaching up and smoothing the furrow between his brows and making him laugh.

At that, you grinned. "All better!"

"Yeah, come on, let's get you fed," Ransom told you, corralling you out onto the back patio and rolling his eyes as Savannah gave the two of you a soft, knowing smile. 

"I'm Savannah, the housekeeper," she introduced herself to you before doing the same for Ruby. "You let us know if you need anything, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded shyly, leaning into Ransom under Savannah's attention but still giving her a genuine, "Thank you."

Once it was just the two of you left to enjoy your breakfast, Ransom patiently pointed out what each food and drink item was, telling you to taste everything to see what you liked. 

You were nearly buzzing in excitement, but still, before you dug into anything, you took a moment to scoot your chair as close to his as you could get, like you were afraid he would disappear or up and leave you entirely. 

"Here, try this," Ransom encouraged, smearing some jam on a scone before handing it off to you, something in his heart clenching at the way you carefully cradled the scone in both your hands and held it just beneath your nose to inhale the scent.

You bit into it carefully, your eyes lighting up at the taste, and he chuckled as you nodded at him, humming in happiness and dancing in your seat as you continued to eat.

Ransom took a moment to doctor a mug of coffee for himself, grabbing his own scone before he glanced over at you. 

"Hey," he murmured. "Are you still feeling scared?"

You perked up, your gaze flickering to him as you finished chewing. You thought for a moment, your head cocked to the side all sweetly before a small smile curled your lips and you shook your head. "No! Not scared."

"Good," Ransom grinned, laughing as you barely polished off your first scone before slowly reaching for another as you looked to him for permission. He nodded and you smiled, carefully covering the scone in jam the way he had before you continued to eat your breakfast with gusto.

"So good!" you chirped, your cheeks bulging with food as you wiggled in your seat and thoroughly enjoyed your meal, with Ransom at your side.

A little while later, Ransom set out a new set of his clothes for you to borrow as you showered, smiling softly at the closed bathroom door as he remembered the way you had shyly asked him after breakfast if you could get clean again.

While you were still occupied, he jogged back downstairs, heading into the kitchen to where he knew Ruby and Savannah were prepping dinner for later. 

"Hey," he cleared his throat, "My friend, she needs some clothes and…other things. Lady things, but she's…not great at shopping and stuff. Can you help me figure out what to get her?"

Savannah blinked at him, sharing a sideways look with Ruby before she asked, “She’s staying indefinitely then? Do your parents know?”

“Why? Are you gonna rat me out to them?" Ransom sneered, immediately on the defensive. "Is having a friend here against the rules of my imprisonment?”

“A friend, huh?” Ruby snorted, never lifting her gaze from where she masterfully chopped various vegetables for dinner.

Ransom glared at her, huffing as his eyes flickered to Savannah to find her watching him with a raised brow. An expectant one. 

And he knew that he wasn't going to get what he wanted–what he needed, for you–out of them unless he gave them more information, as much as he despised busy bodies.

Especially when it came to his business.

“Look," he gritted. "We knew each other when we were kids, and she had a shitty family life, and I wound up moving before I could help her or make it right, and now that I’m back and she’s here, I’m going to help her, okay?" He gripped the edge of the counter hard, glaring at Savannah. "So if you could just help me do that and keep it between us, I’d appreciate it.”

“How much?” Ruby piped up, her grin wicked.

Savannah hushed her immediately, giving her a disapproving look.

“Chill," Ruby rolled her eyes. "I was just joking. I don’t care, as long as I get paid and you leave me be." She went back to her chopping. "Besides, your friend seems like a sweet little weirdo, and she's already making you less of an ass, so.”

Sighing, Savannah shook her head at Ruby before her gaze returned to Ransom. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursing in contemplation, but after a long moment–and once Ransom started to fidget under her stare–a small smile broke free.

“I will come up with a list and we can go from there, how’s that sound?"

Ransom sighed in relief, nodding. "Okay, I can also just give you my credit card, if it's easier. Just, buy her whatever you think she needs - clothes, all the essentials. She really likes soft things. And you can get her anything else that you think may make her happy. I dunno, girl stuff."

It was clear Savannah was trying not to laugh at Ransom's rambling, so she just nodded once more, eyes sparkling at his grumpy glower as she told him, “That’s very generous of you, sir.”

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, turning on his heel and storming from the kitchen. 

After a long moment, Ruby muttered, "So, we're really not gonna rat him out to his mother? Technically she's the one paying our salaries."

"Goodness no," Savannah shook her head. "That woman is a viper and she's the reason that sweet boy turned out like this." 

She moved toward the dishwasher, pulling it open to start putting away the recently washed load of dishes and cutlery.

"You know I've worked here ever since they first bought this property, back when he was a young boy," she said. "He was such a little ball of energy but very sweet. Perhaps his friend can help him remember that."

"Prayer circle GIF," Ruby replied, laughing as Savannah poked her in the side before dancing out of reach.

Ransom spent the day glued to your side as you slowly settled into life outside of the shed and here with him. 

As unexpected as your arrival was, it softened the blow of Ransom being exiled here in the first place. Even just a day later, he felt so much less angry and resentful than when he first arrived, because he had you to occupy his time. 

Instead of spinning out about his life in the city going on without him or wondering how long he'd be here, he got to watch your sweet, innocent brain short circuit when he showed you his cell phone, and had you snuggle close to his side when he cracked open The Hobbit for the first time since he was a kid and started to read it aloud to you, at your request.

And yet, as good as you were at distracting him, Ransom's mind was noisy. 

As the day grew later, and you dozed on the loveseat across the room, and Savannah and Ruby departed once the sun began to set, Ransom felt himself fall into a sullen, listless mood.

This was the time of day when he'd usually be getting ready for a night out on the town, a night filled with booze and his substance of choice, women too, as he'd waste the evening "blowing off some steam" and having fun.

Instead, Ransom was sprawled in the armchair by the living room window, staring outside into the growing darkness as that itch for something to numb out began to creep up on him. 

He was too distracted to realize that you had woken up and you had been watching him for a while, frowning at his sad state, before you slid to your feet and padded into the kitchen. 

Ransom was still zoned out when he heard your pained yelp and a loud clatter come from the kitchen, and then he was jumping to his feet and hurrying your way before he even realized what was happening. 

He found you standing before the stove, cradling your hand to your chest as you sniffled, the tea kettle turned over and streaming piping hot water all over the counter and floor.

"What happened?" he asked as he hurried toward you. 

"Burned it," you wobbled, holding out your hand to him and whimpering in pain. 

It hit Ransom like a freight train, the sudden memory of his 11-year-old self doing something similar…

Ransom yelped as he dropped the heavy pot of boiling water and macaroni into the sink, his little arms too weak to hold the weight of it as he tried to make himself mac and cheese since neither of his parents would.

"What the hell is all this racket?" Richard roared as he stormed into the kitchen, his face flushed with anger as he made his way to Ransom. 

"I was trying to make it myself," Ransom quavered, crying as he clutched his burnt hand to his chest. 

"Do you know how many things I have to do? Important things? And now I need to drop everything to take you to the goddamn hospital because you had to go and cause all this goddamn trouble?"

Ransom winced as his stepfather continued to berate him, uncaring of his injury or even checking it at all before he was turning on his heel and stalking from the kitchen. 

"Well, let's go! I swear to god, if you make me miss my meeting, there's gonna be hell to pay, you little shit!"

Crying more because he was such a burden than the way his hand was throbbing in agony, Ransom carefully clambered off of the kitchen chair he had moved before the sink and hurried after his stepfather. 

"It was so hot," your small voice brought Ransom back to the present moment and he gently led you away from the stove and to the small dining table off to the side of the kitchen. 

"Wait here, I'll be right back," he told you before hurrying to the first floor bathroom and digging the first aid kit from beneath the sink. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered once he returned. 

"It's okay, it was an accident," Ransom gave you a small smile as he knelt at your feet, rifling through the first aid kit for the burn cream. 

Once he found the small tube, he carefully applied the ointment, shushing you as you whined at the pain and squirmed in your seat. 

"I know it hurts, but give it a second, it will make it feel better," he promised. 

You nodded, sniffling back more tears before telling him, "It's better. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ransom wiped off his hands before setting the first aid kid aside, his touch falling to your knees as you sat before him, frowning down at your injured hand. "What were you trying to do anyway?"

You glanced at him before your gaze dropped and you squirmed some more. 

"Make tea, like you did for me earlier when I was sad," you admitted.

Ransom felt his chest bloom with warmth as he nodded. "Thank you, that's very sweet."

"Ruined it."

"You didn't," he assured you, gently giving your knees a squeeze and getting distracted by how soft and warm you felt beneath his hands, still dressed in his clothes.

Ransom's gaze fell from your face, and despite the way you were swimming in his alma mater t-shirt and rolled up joggers, he could still see a hint of your womanly curves and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.

He jumped when your uninjured hand touched his cheek, soft and cradling as you gave him a look of concern. "Okay?"

And god, you had hurt yourself trying to do something nice for him, and yet here you were, checking on him.

"Yeah," Ransom whispered. 

That strange fluttery feeling invaded his gut as he watched you, and his brows furrowed at this new and unfamiliar feeling that had seemed to crop up just when you did.

Ransom was trying to figure out what that feeling was when his gaze dipped and he noticed something. 

The ragged scars and faded bruises all around your ankle.

From being chained up like an animal.

He reached for your ankle without thinking, his fingers so gentle as he held your foot atop his thigh and just gazed down at the healing wounds that marred your flesh.

And he wondered, once again, for the millionth time since reuniting with you, how anyone could do this, let alone to you. 

You were the sweetest, gentlest person he had ever met, and Ransom knew if your grandfather had just told you to stay in that shed and never leave, without chaining you up at all, you would have listened.

But instead he had shackled you to the ground like a dog, keeping you captive, keeping you prisoner, and Ransom couldn't even begin to imagine what it had been like for you, living every single day of your life like that. 

And yet, here you were, still this little beacon of kindness and gratitude and compassion.

It made him so angry that this had been done to you. It was horrifying what you had been through, and he hadn't stopped it, he hadn’t helped you, and you must have been so scared, you must have—

"Something wrong?"

Your unsure voice had Ransom blinking back to awareness, and he realized that he was panting, gasping for breaths that were shallow and difficult to catch as he rocketed to his feet, on the edge of a panic attack. 

"Ransom?"

"I'm okay!" he wheezed, quickly turning on his heel and shoving through the patio doors. 

He staggered outside, a few yards away, before sagging back against the side of the house, bending over and dropping his head low as he tried to calm his breathing, inhaling slow and deep and exhaling the same way. 

Ransom felt like the walls were closing in on him, trapping him, suffocating him as darkness danced on the edge of his vision and he struggled to breathe.   

It was the feeling of your small hand gripping his tightly that grounded him and finally had the fog of distress starting to clear. 

Ransom straightened, trembling and sucking in a deep breath greedily as you stood before him, your eyes big and scared but also so painfully soft and shining with concern. 

And then you were stepping close, pressing your cheek to his chest, hugging him tight, and saying, "It's okay, I promise."

Shuddering, Ransom hugged you back just as hard, his forehead dropping to the crown of your head as he suppressed the unfamiliar urge to cry. 

Instead, he breathed in as deep as he could, combating the urge to let his pain and overwhelm consume him by inhaling your soft scent until it flooded his senses and it was the only thing he could focus on, getting lost in it.

Getting lost in you.

Ransom wasn't sure how long the two of you stood out back and held each other, but by the time his stomach started to growl, making you giggle, he was feeling much better and ushered you inside for dinner. 

Wanting to end the night on a positive note, and do something fun for you, Ransom wrangled you into the TV room and pulled up the first Lord of the Rings movie on a streaming app, figuring you'd get a kick out of it.

And, at first, you did.

You gasped in delight and shot straight up in your seat beside him as the movie started. Before the opening credits even hit, you were across the room and kneeling beside the TV stand, gazing up at the TV from inches away with big, startled eyes. 

Ransom smiled softly as he watched you, much more avidly than the movie, but after a few moments, his smile faded as he noticed that your body had grown rigid. 

You seemed less and less entranced by the movie now, and more distraught. 

Sliding from his seat, Ransom slowly made his way across the room to crouch beside you. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, gently touching your shoulder.

Only to find you trembling hard as you turned to him with tear filled eyes and asked, "Trapped in this box? They bad, like me?"

Ransom's face fell, his hand smoothing down your shoulder until he was gripping your elbow and tugging you away from the TV and toward him. 

He murmured your name softly. "No, they're not trapped. It's all pretend, it's a movie, like a story."

You sniffled, wiping away a few tears as you glanced back at the TV in confusion. "Like our book?"

"Yes!" Ransom nodded, giving you a sad smile. "It's for fun - watching movies and TV shows."

"Oh," you sank onto your knees beside him, the distress melting from your frame as you blinked up at him, confirming, "Not trapped though? Okay?"

"Yes, they're okay, I promise." Ransom held up his pinky before you could, making you laugh. 

You curled your pinky around his, shaking on it before shifting to holding his hand instead. "Can we read instead please?" 

"Of course we can." Ransom turned off the TV immediately, then he was gently helping you to your feet and guiding you back to the sofa. 

He grabbed The Hobbit from the coffee table, where you had left it, and waited for you to snuggle close to his side before he opened up to where you had previously left off before starting to read.

Eventually, he felt you start to sag against him, your eyes struggling to stay open as he read, and you just nodded when he asked if you were tired and ready for bed. 

Soon Ransom had you tucked away in bed, snug as a bug in a rug, smiling softly as you pretty much fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

After a long moment of lingering and just watching you, he retreated to his bedroom. Despite how exhausted he was, sleep eluded him, and after a couple of hours of tossing and turning and being wide awake, Ransom sighed, thinking of you.

The way you had reacted to the movie was heartbreaking.

Your shitty family had taken so much from you, even something as simple and supposedly fun as watching a movie was distressing and so confusing for you.

And it killed him, that you thought you were bad, because the truth was, you were anything but.

In his world, kindness was such a rare commodity–almost unheard of–but you gave it so freely, it was just a part of you, even after everything you had suffered.

And you had suffered, so much.

Feeling a cocktail of rage at the way you had been treated and determination to make it better, Ransom threw back his covers and slid from bed.

He silently made his way down the hallway to your bedroom, pausing in the doorway as he watched you.

The full moon was bright outside, perfectly illuminating your sweet face. You looked like some kind of ethereal angel as you laid curled up on your side, finally at rest.

He wanted to protect you with everything he had, Ransom realized quite suddenly.  

The thought alone had that growing-familiar-now lump of emotion back in Ransom's throat as he made his way toward you. He carefully sat on the floor beside your bed and pulled his knees to his chest, hugging himself as he looked up at you.

He was reaching for you before he even realized what he was doing, the urge to touch you–confirm you were real and okay–so powerful a need that Ransom was certain it was some kind of siren's song, sung just for him. 

Still, he hesitated for just a second–loathe to wake you but needing to just feel you, comfort you even though you were unaware of it–before his skin made contact with yours and he drew his knuckles down the slope of your cheek. 

“You're so good," Ransom whispered, gently cradling your face, his thumb drawing back and forth beneath your eye. "You're so sweet and kind and beautiful. You always have been."

For the first time in years, Ransom's eyes grew wet with tears before they were spilling over as he told you, "You're so good. You're so good, do you hear me?"

Because you were. 

You were the furthest thing from bad that he had ever encountered in his life.

Ransom Drysdale knew bad, and it wasn't you. 

You had such an air of wonder about you, this innocent type of awe and curiosity and delight in the simplest things that he wanted to guard at all costs. 

And that sweetness of yours? That pure heart of gold? They deserved to be protected. 

Cherished.

You deserved to be cherished, because you were a gift, a true, rare treasure in a world that didn't deserve you.

The longer Ransom watched you, the brighter that fire burned within him - a raging inferno of determination to keep you safe. 

He may not have been able to help you or protect you back when he was a child, but he could do it now. 

He would. 

As Ransom continued to gently stroke your face and whisper how good you were, he vowed that he would do everything he could to protect you and treat you right–make you happy–because that, not the shitty life you had known for far too long, was what you really deserved.

To steal a line from my BFF, Bee: CRYING IN THE CLUB 😭😭😭 Please take a moment to drop me your thoughts. I'd love to hear from you! Thank you so much for reading ❤️

NEXT PART

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

"She will smell of wild berries. She will be cloaked in dignity but not at the cost of kindness. Her pride in her people will inspire great loyalty."

"Both descriptive and yet, not helpful," Curtis grumbles under his breath.

"I will know her," the Creature promises.

Curtis nods in acceptance.

The morning of your arrival at the palace you make sure to dress appropriately. It's none of the finery you'll be wearing when you greet the king, but it is suitable to a lady of your status.

Conrad and his men are on higher alert because of this change as well. They're keeping you and your horse in a protective circle with Conrad in the lead.

The courtyard around the palace is bustling with activity with the arrivals of parties from every duchy. What staff there is seem well versed in their work and it makes you wonder if King Everett is actually the merciful sort who doesn't harm servants. At the very least, you hope that is the truth of his nature.

Conrad stays by your side as Tanya, the woman who seems in charge of things, tells your party where the carts for the tithes are going. The horses are left with a one-armed man with bright red hair and a small boy who, given the shared hair color, is likely to be his son. It breaks your heart to see young children having to work, but that seems to be the way of things.

Another little boy cuts through the crowd carrying a bucket of water, quite likely for the horses. He trips and the water sprays out, splashing your skirts, and you let out a yelp in surprise.

Immediately the little boy is crying and apologizing and it breaks your heart.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," you reassure him, taking his hands in yours. "It was an accident and it's just water."

"Dirty water," he sniffles. "The other pretty lady threatened to throw me in the dungeon."

"Well I'm not her, and I promise you that you're going to be okay."

"Timmy?" Tanya's voice calls out as she rushes over. "Timmy, are you okay?"

"Yes, Mama," he answers.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, Mama. I was just scared. But the pretty lady promises I'm not in trouble."

"Well she's right," Tanya smiles. "So long as you go and refill the water bucket. We've got a lot of horses to take care of."

"Yes, Mama!" he beams as he grabs the bucket and runs back.

Turning to you Tanya's smile softens. "Thank you for not being angry with him."

"Accidents happen," you shake your head. "Still, I should get myself and to my quarters so I can let this dry up."

Entering the wing meant for the ladies of the palace, you grimace at a familiar voice chiding her servants. Marianne, daughter of Duke Snyder. As vicious and ruthless as her father. She was a favorite of Queen Yelena and was set to marry the oldest prince.

But with King Everett taking over, slaying the old king and his sons, banning Queen Yelena to a tower in the castle, those plans had to be thrown out. You'd give her the mercy of thinking she's upset at having years of planning go to waste, but given her treatment of you, your late mother, your father, you let yourself think of her as a demon in human form.

Most of the rooms are already taken over by other ladies of the court and their servants but you manage to find a smaller one that's the perfect size for you and a guard or two. You probably could have brought along one of the servants from home, but it was a long, dangerous trip and couldn't ask any of the ladies who worked for you to go with, especially in disguise.

Freshening up and changing into a more appropriate dress, you can hear the quiet sobs of the lady in the room next to you. Part of you wants to go over and comfort her. This is a very dangerous time to be a Lady. The new king is no doubt in search of a bride, but his reputation for bloody warfare, carnage even, against the former royals does not bode well for a good life. To be forced into the bed of that man is a scary thought indeed. And that's if he doesn't decide to outright kill you for being of noble birth.

As you're finishing up, a pronouncement is made in the wing that tomorrow would be dedicated to the giving of tithes and oaths. Until then, food would be provided in the dining room, though the King will remain in his rooms.

You're certain there will be very little sleep, if any, for the ladies tonight.

In the King's Quarters, Curtis is pacing. His inner creature is practically feral because he knows you've arrived today. The creature swears it can smell you, though Curtis has his doubts.

She is here! the creature thinks. Our mate is waiting for us! She needs to be claimed!

"If we go to her like this, if we move too fast, we could hurt her, scare her," Curtis warns. "Our mate is not to be harmed, even by us!"

The creature begrudgingly calms itself in agreement.

When they sleep, I want to find her.

"So long as we don't wake her up. You'll need to be in charge and your visage is meant to inspire fear."

I'll be careful. Won't wake her. Just want a scent.

"With any luck, she's the one Tanya told us about. The one who comforted Timmy instead of scolding him."

The Great Glen would not approve of the angry one.

"Fair. But for now, we need to calm down. It's going to be a long, boring day tomorrow."

After we find her.

"After we find her."

In the dead of night, Curtis and the creature take advantage of the cloudy night and slink through the windows. In his human form, Curtis wouldn't dare try to scale the walls of the castle, but the creature has the strength, the dexterity, the claws to make simple work of climbing towards the wing where the women are staying.

As they get closer, the scent of wild berries becomes stronger and his mouth salivates, hoping you taste as sweet as you smell.

Can't taste yet, Curtis reminds the creature.

The creature grumbles under its breath but agrees.

When they reach the window to your room, they almost whimper from how sweet you smell. Wild berries, honey, hints of creme. They could eat you out all day. He purrs as he looks over your soft, plush form. He takes a deep, slow breath, savoring everything.

The guard by your door stirs and the creature quickly, quietly, carefully goes back out the window. They'd hoped for more time, but it was probably for the best they left when they did given how hard they are.

Back inside his quarters, Curtis takes control again and fists his erection with fervor.

Should save for mate, the creature objects.

"If I don't cum I'm not going to be able to hold back next time I see her. Remember, we can't scare or hurt her."

She'll look even prettier with our cubs in her belly.

The mental image is enough to push Curtis over the edge and he cums all over his stomach with a grunt.

Previous--Next

With turquoise waters softly swishing around it and reaching the horizon. The sand is pure white and shimmers with what might truly be crushed gold. It's warm beneath your feet, but not burning.

There's exotic greenery, feeling more welcoming and soothing than dangerous. Trees provide shade, fruit, beautiful flowers.

Among it stands a palace - all white marble with streaks of gold. It's pleasant inside; not entirely cool, but not too warm. It sprawls in intricate corridors, all filled with sunlight. And there are pools of water all around the place. Smaller ones, just to thread through and cool your feet. Big ones to dip into fully and swim laps.

Ari's amusement flares into something more heated when he makes your clothes disappear. There's no need for those fabrics, he says, with the air here always keeping you just at the right temperature. And where only his eyes can feast on you.

"You tried to capture a god, little hunter," Ari said, "this is your punishment. And my delight."

You scowled at the spoiling you got each day. Food and drink at your whim. Water to bathe in. Shade to relax in. A daring god who boldly touched and roused your body.

"Would we now?" he asked, his grin growing wide. "And you came to this conclusion how, love?"

That tugged another giggle even as you chirped, "A little birdie told me." 

His hand came across the table, palm up and waiting.

He didn't have to wait long as your hand settled within it, your fingers intertwining. 

Ari's gaze softened.

A low groaning chorus from the corner table reached your ears, but you tuned it out, content to hold Ari's hand for the moment. 

"Your little birdie isn't wrong," he murmured, his gaze never drifting even as the group got a bit louder with their displeasure. "I can't imagine a life without you in it, love. You've made every day we've shared so much better just by being in it." 

"Even if you're having to save me all day, every day from myself?" you asked, quite familiar with this little routine of yours but never growing tired of hearing it. 

Ari didn't hesitate in shaking his head. "Nah, keeps my reflexes sharp. You, my sweet little disaster, are worth every bump and bruise I've gained." 

"And saying things like that, my dear Ari, will get you everything tonight," you said softly, your fingers brushing over where a new bruise was sure to form on his hand. 

It'd been an accident on your part really that you hadn't seen the glass door due to its clean shininess. The only thing keeping you from a nice bruise along your forehead had been his hand leaping out and stopping the door before it could make contact. A habit he'd formed really since your early days of acquaintanceship and one that'd only grown stronger as your feelings for one another bloomed into friends and eventually lovers. 

"Does it now?" His eyes glittered while his lips curved from grin into a full-blown, satisfied smirk. "What do I get if I said I ordered another piece of this cake for later tonight?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and find out." 

"My lady is full of surprises," Ari murmured, clearing pleased with whatever you might planned for him. He always did. "What say we get out of here? There's still a bit of sunlight left to walk the beach before we head back to the hotel."

You nodded, sliding out of the seat with your hand still clasped in his.

One of the ladies from the corner booth, bolstered by whatever alcohol she'd been favoring, approached and tried to slip a card into Ari's back pocket when he wasn't looking. 

Before you could reach over and hand it back, Ari had already grabbed the card and dropped it on the table. His hand had briefly left yours, but it soon settled on your waist along with his other, drawing you into him. With his gaze locked on you and you alone, he leaned in and sealed your lips with his. He needed no encouragement from you to make it one of the filthiest yet still public acceptable kisses he could manage. 

When he finally pulled away, you were pleased to see the woman had rejoined her group and your server shot you both a big thumbs up. 

"Guess we really do make a cute couple," you said between soft breaths. 

Ari laughed and pulled you into his side. "We really do, love." 

"Bathroom's through there," he waved a hand toward the door that was ajar and the dark room beyond. "There should be soap and towels and everything you need to get cleaned up."

You blinked at him, overwhelmed, not knowing what any of those things were, but the tense lines in Ransom's handsome face had you suppressing your questions, worried that you would make him mad. So you just nodded and scurried into the bathroom before just standing there in the dark. 

After a long, awkward beat, you heard Ransom sigh behind you before he joined you in the small space, reaching for a switch on the wall and flipping on the lights. 

You winced at the sudden brightness, blinking owlishly as you glanced around the room that was done up in all bright whites and grays and that looked just as sparkling and beautiful as the rest of the house that you had seen so far.

"Here's a spare toothbrush and toothpaste," Ransom said, rifling around in one of the drawers before setting said items out for you beside the sink. 

Those things you were familiar with, as grammy had brought them to you every so often so you could keep your teeth strong and clean and they didn't need to hear you whine about any pain or issues over the years.

Next, Ransom pulled a fluffy, folded bundle from the cabinet beside the sink and set it on the edge of the counter for you. 

He waved you toward the large glass encased shower, "It's all yours."

But when you just glanced between him and the shower, your brows furrowing in confusion as you swallowed nervously and didn't move an inch–clearly unsure of what to do next–Ransom huffed, hands dropping to his hips as he cocked his head and gave you an annoyed look.

“You’re acting like you’ve never showered before," he snapped in frustration.

You winced at his tone, blinking back tears as you admitted, “I haven’t.”

Ransom's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he just stared at you for a moment before his features softened as he asked, “They never let you out of the shed? Not once? In all those years?”

You shook your head. “Grammy would bring a bucket of water and a cloth so I could clean, but this is the first time I’ve been…" you struggled for the words before finally settling on, "Not there.”

“And you immediately came here?” Ransom gaped at you.

“Just like you told me to," your lips curled into a small, proud smile. "I remembered this whole time, what you said."

Ransom swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, glancing away for a long moment–like he needed a beat to comprehend what you were telling him–before his gaze returned to you. “How did you get out?”

“Poppy, he was so mad and he…” your voice quavered, your vision blurring with tears as you whispered, “He died. And grammy’s gone, too. Just me now.”

"Jesus," Ransom muttered, just watching you and observing how you were starting to fidget and curl in on yourself again. "Okay, let's just get you cleaned up, alright?"

When you nodded quickly–grateful to move on from that line of questioning–Ransom turned to the shower and showed you the different nozzles.

"This one's hot water, this one's cold, you can adjust them however you like." He turned the water on, glancing over at you as you jumped and squeaked in surprise as the showerhead burst to life and rained down clean water in a loud rush.

"Oh!" You scurried closer, peeking around him in wonder and hesitantly sticking your hand beneath the stream of water. "It's so hot!"

"Too hot?" he asked, noting how your hand quickly recoiled. He adjusted the temperature until it was slightly cooler, his gaze dipping to your dress. "You can just leave your dress on the floor. I'll have the housekeeper trash it tomorrow and we can get you some new clothes. In the meantime, I'll find you something to sleep in, okay?"

"Okay!" you answered quickly, not really paying attention to what he was saying as you hesitantly stuck your hand back into the stream of water, making a noise of wonder. 

"Okay," Ransom chuckled, earning your attention then–and an abashed smile–as he moved past you. 

You watched as he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Your smile faded as you realized you were all by yourself now–again–and in an unfamiliar space no less. Desperate to rejoin Ransom–to not be alone–you hurried to undress and stepped into the shower, gasping in delight at the warm spray of water and how good it felt on your cold, achy body.

You read the bottles of the products lining the in-shower shelves, using a few of them and in awe at how nice they smelled and how soft they made your skin feel. 

After a while, you were fumbling with the shower nozzles, clean as a whistle as you turned off the water and just stood there dripping for a moment. 

You stopped at the sink long enough to use the toothbrush and toothpaste, then once you figured out how to use the faucet and nozzles, you drank some cold water before returning to the bedroom. 

It wasn't as big as some of the other rooms in the manor, but it was so nice! The bed was huge and piled high with soft, luxurious linens and pillows that you couldn't help but touch. 

At the foot of the bed was a small pile of clothes, and you touched those too as you walked by before leaving the room and retracing the route Ransom had taken earlier so you could go and find him. 

Ransom wiped up the last of your muddy footprints from the kitchen floor before throwing away the dirty paper towels, and then he just stared down at the closed silver trash can, unseeing as he tried to remember the last time he actually cleaned up anything himself. 

He literally couldn't recall. His entire life, his family had employed help to clean up and cook and take care of them and their various homes.

Meanwhile you had been locked in that shed like an animal for your entire life.

Ransom planted his big hands on the edge of the marble countertop, sagging against it as he closed his eyes and tried not to drown in the guilt and shame that was eating him alive.

How could he forget about you?

How could he have done nothing and just left you to that awful fate?

It didn't matter that he had tried to tell his parents about you and they had done nothing, at the end of the day, he had failed in his measly attempt to help you.

And then he had been whisked away by his parents, back home to the city, leaving you behind and stuffing the memories of you–and the distress that came with them–down so deep he didn't even know they were there.

It was finally starting to make sense, why he endlessly sought escape through drugs and alcohol. He had always thought it was to escape his family–drown out their constant noise and disappointment–and some of it was because of that.

But Ransom was starting to think that maybe, on some level, he had been punishing himself. 

He just didn't know why until now.

Ransom was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of quiet shuffling behind him, and when he straightened and turned around, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock.

Because you were standing in the kitchen doorway, shivering, dripping wet, and completely naked.

Ransom just gaped at you a moment, his mouth hanging open as his dark blue eyes trailed over the length of you from head to toe. 

It was obvious that you were malnourished, but despite that–despite the life you had lived, if it could even be called that–you were beautiful, and your eyes were still so bright and kind as your lips tilted into a smile as you met his gaze.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, something in his chest clenching at the soft, happy way you were looking at him–a way he didn't deserve, not after what he did to you–but he quickly shook it off. 

Before he could rein himself in, his discomfort got the best of him, and Ransom was snapping at you with a narrowed gaze. "Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?"

You cowered at his harsh tone, your smile falling away as you hugged yourself tightly and whispered, "Sorry?"

"Why aren't you wearing the clothes I left out for you?" Ransom huffed as he rounded the kitchen isle and moved toward you.

Your look was part puzzled, part surprised as you gaped at him. "For me?"

He blinked at your confusion, suddenly realizing that you probably weren't used to receiving things. Averting his wandering gaze from your body–and feeling pissed at himself for even looking–Ransom stormed past you and back upstairs to the guest bedroom.

He was confident that you would follow him, and you did, trotting after him as he swept into the room, then the bathroom, grabbing the towel from the counter before returning and holding it out to you. "Dry off."

You were like a deer in headlights, and Ransom could see it written all over your face, that you were perplexed by what he was asking of you. Still, you tentatively took the towel and just held it against your chest, unsure of what to do next but too afraid to ask as you stared at him. 

And then suddenly, you were chirping softly, your eyes going big as you realized the towel was so soft and fluffy. You hugged it against you, rubbing your cheek along the material, and you looked so fucking sweet and amazed that Ransom felt all of his frustration instantly melt away.

How could he be annoyed with you? 

It truly seemed an impossible feat, especially as he watched you bury your face in the towel and cling to it like it was some kind of cherished stuffed animal or pet or something.

Heaving another sigh, Ransom patiently explained how to dry off, his gaze pointedly focused elsewhere as you did what he instructed.

"Put these on," he said next, scooping up the spare clothes from the foot of the bed and handing them off to you. Again, he kept his eyes averted before you were breathing a quiet, awe-filled "Thank you." that had him finally looking back your way. 

You were swimming in the sweatshirt and joggers he had lent you, and Ransom tried his best to squash the primal kind of awareness that was rising up in him at seeing you dressed in his clothes.

It helped that you beamed up at him, so sweet and innocent as you spoke another grateful little, "Thank you!" And how you kept smoothing your hands down the front of the sweatshirt, murmuring to yourself, "So soft and clean!"

When your stomach growled loud enough to startle you, making you squeak and jump as you shot him a wide-eyed look before dropping your gaze to the floor in embarrassment, Ransom chuckled, so fucking charmed by you.

"You hungry?" he asked, waiting until you peeked up at him and nodded shyly before moving past you. "Come on, I'm no chef–and she comes tomorrow–but I'm sure we can find something to tide you over."

And back down to the kitchen you both went. 

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of what to do with yourself as Ransom rooted around in the cabinets before moving to a huge, silver box at the end of the counter, opening its doors, and doing the same. 

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but ask, "What's that?" as you gazed at the silver box, trying to see around Ransom to its brightly lit contents.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, lips twitching at your inquisitive look as you stared at the fridge, explaining, "It's a refrigerator. It's a kitchen appliance that keeps food cold and fresh." He pulled a few things free, gently tapping the bottom drawer of the fridge with his foot since his hands were full as he told you, "And that's the freezer. Freezes things, makes them cold as ice so they last longer."

"Oh."

Closing the fridge, Ransom turned toward the isle and placed down a small haul of items, his eyes flickering to you as he frowned at the way you were just standing in the doorway, fidgeting nervously.

"Have a seat," he gestured to one of the stools on the other side of the isle counter, waiting until you tentatively made your way closer before turning away to pull a plate from the cabinets and a knife from a drawer. 

Your throat jumped on an apprehensive swallow as you stood beside the stool across from Ransom, your brows furrowed in trepidation as you asked, "I can sit here? On the nice chair?"

You smoothed your hand over the soft microfiber material of the seat, humming a little at how nice it felt as you glanced up at Ransom.

He blinked at you, processing your question–your hesitancy to use the furniture–before his features softened. "Yes, you can sit there."

"Thank you," you grinned, carefully climbing onto the stool and folding your hands in your lap as you sat still and watched him.

Ransom nodded, quickly making some sort of sandwich as you observed, and then he set the plate in front of you. 

You perked up in your seat, your stomach growling non stop now and your mouth watering, because it had been days since you last ate anything, and you were starving.

But still, you waited for Ransom's permission to dig in, watching in amazement as he used a device on the front of the refrigerator to fill a tall glass with water before placing it in front of you.

He just watched expectantly as your gaze flickered between him and the sandwich, his brows furrowing in confusion before he realized what was going on. 

"Go on, eat," he encouraged, his eyes sad as he watched you nod eagerly before picking up half of the sandwich.

Your gaze flickered to Ransom's before you took a bite, and you chewed slowly, humming your delight as the salty-sweet flavors burst all along your tastebuds. The flavor was so familiar, and it took you a moment to realize that Ransom had made you a PB&J sandwich, just like he had when you were children and he came to visit you all those years ago.

Something about that realization, and those memories, and the fact that you were now here–free and with him–hit you hard, and you burst into tears as so many mixed emotions rose within you at once. 

Sadness and relief, gratitude and disbelief all warring within you–consuming you–as you set down your sandwich and covered your mouth with your hand as you sobbed. 

There was a long, awkward moment where you just sat there, shaking as you cried, lost to the maelstrom of your feelings–beside yourself and so overwhelmed–and then Ransom's warm, musky scent filled your nose before he hesitantly touched your shoulder and began rubbing your arm to console you.

Another sob hitched in your chest, and it was instinctual, the way you turned and sank against his chest, seeking comfort from the one and only person who had ever been kind to you.

Ransom was rigid against you at first, but his stance softened the longer he held you, his chin knocking against the crown of your head as he murmured, "It's okay." His big hand pressed between your shoulder blades, a soothing weight, as he shushed you. "You're okay now, I promise."

Your unexpected watery giggle had him stilling, and he stayed close, holding you loosely as you pulled away, sniffling and wiping away your tears. 

"Pinky promise?" you quavered, holding up your pinky.

The smile that broke out across Ransom's face at the familiar exchange from a lifetime ago was beautiful–and it instantly quelled the turmoil within you–his eyes warming as his cheeks glowed with a rosy flush and he nodded. 

"Yeah, pinky promise," he chuckled, curling his pinky around yours and giving it a shake. After a long moment of watching you gather yourself, he stepped away, nudging your plate closer to you as he said, "Come on, finish eating, I'm sure you're starving."

You nodded, devouring your sandwich in record time, humming and wiggling in your seat, thoroughly enjoying the yummy taste the entire time as Ransom watched you in amusement. 

Just as you finished your first sandwich, he placed another on your plate, smiling as you chirped your gratitude before scarfing down that one, too. 

When you finished, you drank down half your glass of water in one go, feeling exhaustion start to lap at you as you blinked over at Ransom, who was watching you with warm, twinkling eyes.

"You're kind of a disaster, you know?" he teased, reaching for a nearby napkin and stepping up beside you to wipe stray jelly from your cheek.

Despite his words, his tone was fond, and you leaned into Ransom's soft touch. You were desperate for it, having gone so long without such a gentle kindness or physical contact that wasn't a violent punishment.

Once he set the napkin aside, Ransom remained close, watching as your small hands smoothed over the front of his sweater then up along his broad shoulders. Your touch was innocent–inquisitive–your eyes, although drooping with fatigue sparkling with wonder and appreciation as you pet along the soft material of his shirt.

Soon your admiration for his sweater shifted to admiration of him, your gaze lifting to Ransom's, unwavering as you said, “You got so big and strong!" Your lips twisted into a slight frown as you watched him, raising your hand to cradle the side of his face as you whispered, "Your eyes are the same though, so pretty, but so sad now, too."

A slight grimace flickered over Ransom's features, but then his lips were curling into a small smile as he looked you over in return. “You’ve grown up quite a bit yourself.”

You returned his smile with one of your own, blinking at him sleepily before you reached for him. Your fingers curled into the front of his sweater and you tugged him closer, whispering, "I missed you."

Ransom swayed near–against you–not resisting as you pressed your face against his chest and just took a moment to breathe him in. There was an unfamiliar feeling rising up within you the longer you remained in Ransom's loose embrace, and it was something so foreign to you that it took you a moment to place what exactly it was.

Safety.

Ransom made you feel safe.

You sank against him even more at the realization–trying to soak it all in, and desperately so–gripping his sweater tighter as you blinked back a fresh wave of tears, because you never thought you'd feel this way, not in your wildest dreams. 

Ransom's amused voice and gentle touch as he rubbed your back snapped you back into the present moment as he asked, "Did you fall asleep on me?"

His amusement lingered as you gave him an abashed smile. Your eyes drooped with exhaustion as you whispered, "Sleepy."

"Yeah, it's been a long, crazy day, huh?"

You nodded. 

"Okay, let's get you to bed then."

Ransom stepped back, waiting for you to slip from your seat. You followed him back upstairs, yawning as you padded behind him, trying to cover it with your hand as he stood at the doorway of the guest room and ushered you inside. 

"My room's all the way at the other end of the hall, past the staircase, if you need me," He gestured behind him. "The staff should arrive first thing in the morning, so if you wake up before me and want some food or coffee or something, just ask the chef."

You were too tired to ask what coffee was, but you were suddenly more alert when Ransom took a step back to retreat. You darted toward him, your eyes going big and scared as you asked, "You're leaving?"

"Not leaving," he told you, "Just going to my bedroom to sleep."

You swallowed, looking distraught as you wrung your hands before you. "Not leaving? Like before?"

Ransom's features softened as he stepped into your room and closed the distance between you. His hands cupped your upper arms as he ducked his face close, his expression–and eyes–so earnest as he said, "I'm not leaving, I promise."

You automatically held up your pinky in expectation at his words, and Ransom huffed a laugh.

"Pinky promise," he told you as he curled his pinky around yours.

"Okay," you still looked worried as you stepped away, frowning a little before another yawn broke free and your tiredness won out over your apprehension.

You sank to the floor, your hand running over the soft texture of the rug beneath you before you went to curl up on your side, but Ransom's voice stopped you. 

"What are you doing?"

You glanced up at him, lips pursing in confusion. "Sleeping."

"That's what the bed is for," he said, moving around you and pulling some of the decorative pillows from the bed and tossing them aside. He pulled back the thick comforter before stepping back and gesturing for you to climb in. 

You felt another lump rising in your throat as you stared at the bed. 

You'd never slept in a bed before. You'd spent your entire life sleeping on the floor of the shed, considering yourself lucky when you had a spare, worn blanket to help shield you from the cold elements during the winter months. 

"For me?" you trembled, pulling your tearful gaze from the bed to glance at Ransom. "I can sleep there?"

"Of course you can, it's a guest bedroom and you're my guest."

"I am?"

"Yeah," Ransom laughed, "Now tuck in, it's late and we're both exhausted."

You scrambled into the bed, quietly squealing at how soft it was. You tugged the comforter up to your chin and sank back against the luxurious pillows, wriggling around, your eyes big and brimming with happy tears as you breathed, "It's so soft! And warm!"

"That's kind of the point," Ransom grinned.

“Thank you, thank you!” you told him, dipping your nose to the comforter and inhaling the soft clean scent. "Such a good friend!"

"Eh, these days, I'm not really the friend type," Ransom replied before he could think better of it.

Your face fell, your lower lip wobbling as you whispered, "Oh."

A look of panic flickered over Ransom's face, and then he was clearing his throat, glancing away as he replied, "But I suppose, I can make an exception for you."

Your dejected look instantly melted away as you perked up, giving him the sweetest look of hope ever as you asked, "So…friends?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "Friends."

You were launching yourself from the bed before you realized it, overcome with joy and hugging Ransom tight as you thanked him over and over again. 

"Okay, you're welcome, Jesus, calm down, you little ball of gratitude," he muttered, giving you a squeeze before corralling you back into bed. "Sweet dreams or whatever."

He turned to leave but paused in the doorway when you called his name. 

"Ransom?"

He glanced back at you. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for protecting me," you smiled. 

He just watched you for a beat, looking strangely sad before he mustered a smile and murmured, "You're welcome. Good night."

"Good night!" you echoed back at him, watching as Ransom stepped from your room and switched off the light before pulling the door shut. 

Still smiling, you settled back against the perfectly fluffy pillows, hugging the thick comforter around you and feeling like you were living an actual dream, one of the many fantasies you had conjured up over the years to help you escape your harsh reality.

When you finally fell asleep just a few moments later, safe and cozy in bed for the first time in your life, your dreams were so much better than your fantasies had ever been.

You dreamed of a new reality, of a life where you were free and happy and loved, and Ransom was there with you the entire time, his big hand holding yours tight as he kept you close–right beside him–where you belonged.

EEEEEEP!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, THESE SWEET, TRAUMATIZED BABIES 🥺😭 ALSO! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT - TWO CHAPTERS AND STILL NO FILTH?! HAHAHAHA. PLEASE OH PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO DROP A REBLOG OR COMMENT! I TRULY APPRECIATE IT! 🙏🏻❤️

NEXT PART

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Your silence says more than any response could. The driver chuckles and opens the door. He pulls down the stool even as you protest it isn’t needed. He helps you inside by your elbow and you thank him.

“Be calm, lady, and I will have us to Mr. Clement’s by midday.” He avows.

“As you will have us. Take the road safety, is all I would bid, sir.” You settle into the bench and stack your hands in your lap.

The Lady Duchess, Diana Sombrette, would speak to Giles in a bolder tone, with impatience in her teeth. As she does all who do her bidding and even those who do not. She has little patience or pity for those who cannot meet her measure.

You cannot resent your place very much. It keeps you a palette to sleep and food in your belly. As meagre as both may be, they are preferable to none. You also cannot gripe for a task outside the castle walls, as oppressive as they are.

Giles takes his seat at the front of the carriage and puts the horses to trot. You rock with the motion of the axle. Mister Clement is not much more amiable than the Duchess. You do not relish even a brief rapport with the tailor.

The driver whistles and the willowy tune puts you at ease. You lean over to see past the curtains to the rows of trees and a cluster of brush beyond. The shadows of creatures unknown pass between the trunks and crack twigs and fallen branches beneath their paws.

The forests are a mysterious place. Treacherous. The noble claim right to them as their hunting and game grounds, while other less regarded figures trespass, hidden in caves and ravines as they plot against the proclaimed keepers. You shiver and try not to think of those tales, instead catching the white tail of a hare as it retreats from the clatter of the carriage.

You laze in the soft canter of the horses, barely noticing as they slow. It’s only as the uneven melody of the driver’s lips quiets that you break from your trance. You sit up as the rustle of branches and leaves fills the silence Giles grunts.

“What is the meaning of–”

Thunk! Something hits the side of the carriage and you wince as you notice the piercing point lodged through the upper corner. The arrow head stares you down as you clutch your hands over your heart. It cannot be!

“We have no conflict with you, sir,” a voice proclaims. “But with the lady within.”

“The lady… no, no, yer mistaken,” Giles insists.

“Are we? Is that not the duchess’ sigil upon those wheels? Hm? Painted by those hands she enslaves for her selfish needs.” The voice accuses again.

“They are, but the lady is back at the castle.” Giles insists.

“So you steer an empty carriage? How ridiculous.”

“I am on the duchess’ mission. I needn’t explain to you lot of scoundrels–”

Another startling thump lurches the carriage. The blade of a knife pokes through the other side of the wall. You gulp.

“We don’t wan’ harm you, fellow. You are only as we are. Crushed beneath the greed of that vile duchess.” The man continues. “We only ask that you step down and surrender your cargo.”

“I cannot do that–”

“We would not like to hurt you, but will if needed.” The voice sinks in warning. “We permit you one last chance.”

“I am done with you vermin!” Giles sneers and the reins snap. The horses jolt forward and the carriage bounces. The wheels turn one spin before they catch and something cracks. You fly from the bench and hit the parallel one before heaping onto the floor.

Giles cries out as you hear his body hit the dirt. You heave out a tight breath and gasp. Your body is paralysed as you struggle to breathe through the pain in your ribs.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” a grittier voice cuts through the chaos without and you hear a terrible slice and groan.

Footsteps clamour around the carriage as you rock and fight to sit up. When you find the strength to, the door opens from the other side. You cry out and kick your heels down, pushing yourself back. The door behind you swings out and you’re seized, hauled out into the open air.

“We’ve got her!” The men proclaim.

There’s a cheer from the dozen other bodies closing in on you. Your eyes flit back and forth as panic swirls in your vision. Your gaze clings to the body on the ground. Poor Giles is face down, a puddle of blood spreading through the dirt. Your stomach drops and your legs buckle.

 Several of the men part to let through a man in a wool cap and tattered grey clothing. He holds an axe as he walks with unbreakable pride in his shoulders. Your tremble as the edge of the tool glistens scarlet.

He stares you down as you wilt and wriggle against the two men clinging to your arms. He sighs and blinks slowly. He keeps his eyes closed.

“It is not her.” He hisses.

“It has to be! She was within. There is no other–”

“The driver was honest.” The man opens his eyes, irises icy blue. “I know the duchess. And she would never wear an apron of the sort.” He grips his hips. “She must suspect our plot.”

The men exchange looks and grumble.

“What do we do?” Another asks; the one who spoke to Giles earlier. “Let her go?”

“No. We cannot. It would only give the duchess more suspicion.” The man in the grey wool, the one you assume to be their leader, grits. “We keep her. Use her. She will know the duchess and her life. Perhaps she will afford us our next chance.”

“Hm, suppose that makes sense.” The other man responds thoughtfully.

“No one…” the leader raises his finger and comes forward. “Is to touch her.” He growls as he approaches you and waves off the men beside you. “I will get the information we need.”

🪓

The man walks you between the trees on a short length of rope. One end is wound around your wrists, the other in his grip as he tugs you along. The other men walk in pairs, whispering, watching the trees as they make cautious progress.

You keep your head down and stare at your thumbs. Your skirt catches on thorns and brambles and your soft-soled shoes slip on roots and moss. Several times the man yanks you as you slow to avoid falling.

He leads you down a steep ridged decline and at the bottom, you find a sight that strikes you. Tents set up on the flat of the ravine, a few women peeking out from the flaps with feral eyes. One emerges and sheaths a long dagger at her waist.

“Edgar,” she greets the man who did most of the talking back at the carriage. She rushes toward him then slows as she sees you next to the other man. She frowns. “What’s happened?”

“It wasn’t the duchess.” He says grimly as he squeezes the woman’s arm.

“Then…?” The woman prompts.

“We’ll figure it out,” the man at the other end of the rope snips and pulls you forward.

He drags you past the other women as they emerge; a few with children on their hips or behind their skirts. The man tugs you forward and grabs the back of your neck. He forces your head under the tent flap of the structure at the very rear of the settlement.

He points to the ground. “Sit.”

You obey. He gets down on his knees and winds the loose end of the robe around your ankles. You watch him without a word.

“You are the duchess’ sheep.” He accuses as he stands.

You lower your head. His soles scuff the ground. He grabs the waterskin slung around his torso and loosens the top. He drinks and hums. He tightens the tie on it and paces around.

“Maid.” He states.

“Yes.” You murmur.

“Close to her then.” He mulls as he brings his hand up to his chin. You peek up at the movement and find his cold eyes on you. You quickly drop your head again. “She’s lost a driver. Won’t want to lose you too.”

You chew your cheek. You’re not certain for that. The duchess dismissed Talula for bringing the wrong wine and the stable boy for kicking up dirt as she passed.

He walks a small circle, stops, then squats down in front of you. He rests his forearms on his knees.

“Look at me.” He snarls.

You look up as you shiver. “Sir.”

“Tell me everything.”

You scrunch up your nose in confusion.

“Tell me about what the duchess does in a day. Tell me when she pisses, when she eats, when she sleeps. Tell me everything you know.” He reaches to his belt and frees the axe, pointing it at your nose. “Believe me when I tell you, I can smell a lie before it’s told.”

You gulp. “I understand,” you wisp out. “I… I will be honest.”

He turns the axe and presses it to your chest. “Good woman.”

🪓

You sleep on the ground, as you have for nights past. You don’t count them. Knowing won’t help you. You shiver in the corner, wrists and ankles bound so you can only lay in a ball.

You groan as you shift. There is no comfort to be had; not waking, not sleeping. Two times a day, the bonds are loosed so you may go into the trees to relieve yourself. A woman called Ursula watches you with her blade out. Then you are led back. You are fed a handful of nuts and sometimes burnt barley.

There is no use in complaint. You are afraid but there is nothing this man could do or say to assuage that. You told him all you could but he did not seem happy for it; if that is an emotion he would know. Since, he has said little. You haven’t either.

“Curtis,” a whisper comes from without.

That’s his name. You’ve heard a few say it. He sniffs and rolls over on his bedroom. He sits up, axe already in hand. You watch his shadow.

“Ed,” he greets the man through the flap. The soft dwindling dusk pores through the small gap.

“Today. The horsemen ready.”

Curtis grunts.

“There is a feast. The duchess will go. Along with the rest of those heathens.” Edgar explains in a coarse hush.

Curtis nods. “Six men.”

“Six?” Edgar sounds surprised.

“More than enough,” Curtis assures and drops the flap back.

He turns and goes back to his bedroom. He doesn’t lay down. He lights a stub of tallow with the scratch of flint. He pulls out a whetstone and works on the edge of his axe, the shink of his sharpening making you twitch.

“You’ll come too.” He says bluntly. “I’m certain your mistress misses her sheep.”

🪓

A different man holds the rope. You perch at the foot of the trees as you watch the line of men snake through the brush and hide in the ditch at the edge of the beaten road. You’re exhausted, so much so that even your adrenaline can’t keep your head from nodding. The endless coursing of fear has drained you of all strength and hope.

Your eyes droop and your head wobbles until you hear it. A noise so distant it could have been as simple as a bird flapping through the leaves. But then it keeps going. The steady grind of wheels grows closer and closer, pebbles pouncing beneath the wooden frames, dirt mulching louder than it should.

The man next to you tenses. You look down at the ditch. You cannot see the men as they hide beneath a criss cross of overgrown weeds and vines. They are clever. It must be how they surprised Giles before. 

And left him dead.

The horses’ hooves thunder nearer and the call of a bird goes up. All at once, you realise the squawk came from the throat of a man. Guards appear first. The duchess must have heeded the previous carriage’s fate. The bandits are methodic in their attack. Their arrows aimed in the gap above halberd or exposed beneath the under arm.

The soldiers wail and fall from their saddles, their horses stampeding forward. That is until they notice the large rocks across the road, arranged there by the attackers. They rear and kick up, neighing in fear.

The bandits hurl up ropes tipped with iron hooks as the carriage comes into sight. Two stand and shoot their arrows that embed in the wood.

The driver panics and rolls off the bench. You know him; his name is Rhys. He stumbles over the side of the carriage as the horses keep running. The bandits tie the ropes to trees and the carriage lurches to a halt entirely. The roof splits from the tension of its bounds. You clutch your damp skirts and stare foggily as the scene plays out.

“Come, your time is now.” The man wrenches you up as the bandits hurry onto the road, checking the men writhing on the ground. If they are not dead, the bandits make sure of it.

There’s a shriek from within the carriage. 

“Around, around!” Edgar hollers.

Two of the men hurry around as the door on the opposite side opens, swaying the vehicle. There is another fearful shout. You’ve never heard the duchess so terrified.

The man jerks you down the incline and through the ditch. Diana continues her struggle as she is restrained by Edgar. Curtis stands before her calmly as you’re dragged up onto the road.

“You!” She snarls as her green eyes flash. “I should’ve known it was you, you vile rat.”

“Shhhh,” Curtis hushes her as he raises his axe to his lips and walks forward.

The duchess retracts against Edgar and whines. “Who are you, scoundrel?”

He hushes her again and pushes the blunt top of the axe to her mouth. “I’ve come to make a barter. A generous one as what you’ve taken cannot be repaid.”

“What do you–”

“If I must quiet you again, I will have your tongue in my purse.” He warns. The duchess’ scoffs as her face contorts in fear. “Now, my terms are not imbalance. You will have your maid returned to you. You may even keep your horses and your carriage. But that will be all.” He turns the blade slowly in front of her face. “And you will ride and ride and ride until you cannot any further. But you will not come back here.”

Her nostrils flare and her lip curls.

“And you will not return. Ever. If I see your face again, I will do worse than what your men did to my people.” He sneers. “I will burn you alive but you will not die of it. You will live with it. For days, weeks, possibly months… and your flesh will rot away and you still will not know of the pain you’ve caused me and mine.” He declares, his hand shaking on his axe. “And we will claim what we need. The castle, the kitchens, the barrels you hoard, the rooms kept empty for your pride.” He pushes the axe against her chest. “Am I understood?”

The duchess rolls her eyes. “Kill the maid, see if I care.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow. His lashes dip down and he bows his head. He backs up and signals.

“Grab the pitch.” He commands.

“Pitch?” Diana squeals. “You cannot– you must unhand me– the King will have your heads.”

“Not if I have his first.” Curtis retorts. “But I’ll settle for yours.”

He spins and approaches another man with a pail in hand. He trades his axe for it and looks into it. He carries it to the duchess. It’s steaming.

“You have your men go out and fight your battles so you would not know what pitch smells like. You would not know how it covers the flesh of a man and slowly suffocates him. How he can remain alive for such a time and suffer and suffer.” He tilts his head. “But you will learn. Slowly.”

He raises the bucket as Edgar forces the Duchess to her knees. She cries out and claws at his hands. Curtis holds the pail over her.

“You will not want it to get in your eyes. For what is worse than burning from the outside in, being blind as you do.” He slowly tips the bucket and you close your eyes. The duchess screeches as you hear a sizzle so sickly you fall to your knees. You cover your face with your bound hands and shudder. In her fate, you only see your own.

🪓

The pressure drains from your hands. You open your eyes as the burning smell stains your tongue and soul. You shake as you blink away the shock and stare at your loose wrists. A hand with black trimmed nails winds up the rope.

You look at Curtis as the men move behind him, inspecting the carriage, reining in the horses.

“Is it my turn?” You ask.

His brows tweak and his lashes flutter. “Your…” he begins.

You look at the axe on his belt. He hooks the rope beside it. “What good is your death?” He growls. “Cruel enough she would throw you to us wolves.”

He stands and claps his hands on his jacket.

“What… what do I do?” You ask as you look around.

“Did I say you were free?” He challenges. You stay on your knees. “You know our faces, our names, where we eat and sleep. You cannot go but you don’t have to die.”

He spins away and calls to Edgar. The other men continue to strip down the carriage and search the purses of the soldiers in the dirt. You look over it all. You don’t want to die but you don’t know if you want to live either.

🪓

You walk with the bandits back to camp. Ahead of you, Curtis leads the way, at the rear, Edgar keeps the line moving. As you get to the decline, you lower yourself to make your way down. Your foot slips and you slide over the jutting rocks and roots that make the footholds.

You’re caught by your sleeve. You plant your foot and look up as Curtis clings to you. He steadies you then lets go. You continue down as he trails you.

Ursula greets her husband, Neil, and Edgar finds his wife, Joan, and their daughter, Gwen. The other men disperse to return to their tents. There are two missing. The ones who were bid to take the duchess back to her castle. You can still hear her senseless whimpers.

You peer around. You don’t know what to do. You don’t belong here. You go to the smoking pit and sit in the dirt. You stare at the embers.

You stay like that for a while. Ursula appears with her mussed and pot in hand. You quickly look away.

“My husband says you will stay with us.” She hangs the pot over the pit and stokes it.

“I guess.” You agree weakly.

She nods and hums. “There are some women, you might have seen them. The sisters Martin. They were nuns but… we were all once someone else. They might have space in their tent.”

“I thank you.” You say.

“Hm. If you give me your name, you can share the soup.” She offers.

You look at her. You recite the name that doesn’t feel like yours.

She feeds you as you stay where you are. Others come to warm their food and fill their bellies. You are a ghost among them. Children chase each other between that fire and the next.

Dusk sets in and you shiver. You should get up and find those nuns. You can’t.

The moon shimmers down as the fire dwindles. You lower your head and bend over your knees.

“You cannot sleep here. There are real wolves.” Curtis startles you as his shadow blocks out the moonlight. You look up at him. “My tent remains… open to you.”

“That is kind.” You say.

You rub your hands together and blow into them. You hug your bent knees, tucking your fingers under them. He sighs and circles the pit.

“I’m not asking.” He says.

You swallow. You take a deep breath. You can’t move, not right away. He waits. You shift onto your knees and press your hands to the dirt. You stand stiffly.

He approaches and you shy away. He catches your wrist. You quiver but do not draw away. He walks you away from the fire and between the tents.

Your eyes wander and as you pass Ursula’s tent, you spy her by a torch propped out of the dirt. She watches you and lifts her chin in acknowledgement. Curtis drags you to his tent and pushes you under the flap.

It’s different. There are blankets piled over soft mounds. You have seen that embroidery before. These come from the Duchess’ inventory.

“You need purpose. I took that from you.” He says as he slides his axe free from his belt. He places it on a pillow. He stands straight and undoes his belt completely. He locks it inside the hide chest next to the heap of bedding. “So, I have thought on it. You will have new purpose.”

He stands again and undoes the wooden buttons on his jacket. You stand and rock near the tent flap. He peels off the jacket and folds it over the chest. He tugs the back of his tunic and strips it off too, revealing the dark hair that trims his torso.

When he straightens again, he pauses to look at you. He crosses the small space and grabs the braided end of your belt. He unknots it as he stares at you. You watch the apple of his throat.

“It is cold in the night.” He tosses the belt away and pinches the slack fabric of your dress. “But you are warm and I’ve not been in some years.” His hands stretch around your waist. “Do you see your purpose now?”

Your lip trembles and you squirm.