Shameless Hoe HQ

You lift the glass and sniff it. It tingles in your nostrils. You peek up and find the Legate watching, as he has been. You put your lips to the brim and make yourself drink. The taste alone makes you wince and you quickly recoil.

You dab your lips with your knuckles and slowly draw your hand back, catching sight of your dirty fingernails. Everything about you doesn’t belong here. You drop your hand and once more ponder the depths of the alcohol.

“Too strong?” He asks. “I could mix something up. Or I have wine.”

You flinch and shake your head. “Don’t mean to waste it– August.”

His name scrapes your tongue each time you say it. It’s like a child saying a curse word in front of their parents. You drink again, scrunching up your face as you gulp tightly.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t need to drink it.” He says.

You bite your lip and shift your weight between your feet. Your legs ache horribly from the day behind you as your head spins at the night ahead.

“I wouldn’t…” you begin and your stomach growls loudly. Your chest burns with the dregs of the sour alcohol. You shake your head. “Apologies.”

“None needed,” he steps around and takes the glass from you, thick fingers brushing over yours. He drains it in a single motion and puts the glass down. “You need food.”

You ball up your fists and press them to your side. You push your shoulders up. “I…” you reach into your jacket pocket. “Okay.”

You take out the tin of peanuts and lift the edge of the lid. He sighs. He catches your hand and squeezes.

“Peanuts?” He says.

You look up at him, blinking wide. “It’s… what I have.”

“Right,” he clings to you a moment then lets go. “It’ll take a while to have something proper brought up. A snack for now.”

He turns and crosses the room. You watch him press the button beneath a sleek round speaker installed in the wall. He speaks into it. “Food. Now.”

He lets go and turns back. You hold the lid under the can and pinch a peanut between your fingers. You slip it in your mouth and chew slowly as you’ve trained yourself to do. Something tickles your hip.

You look down as Lupa sniffs at you. You reach for another nut and pause. You peer up at the Legate as he looms, pacing slowly.

“Is she allowed, noble–August?”

He tilts his head and shrugs. “She does as she likes. Peanuts won’t hurt.”

You offer her a nut and she takes it between her front teeth. It’s a silly sight to see her take it so daintily in her large fangs.

“You’re generous. She eats better than most and you’re sharing your nuts.” He muses.

You rock and look down at the canister. “I didn’t think…”

“You may sit. You must be tired.” He insists.

You take it as an order. You sit on the edge of the settee. Lupa follows and rests her head on your lap.

“You said you were digging.”

“Yes, sir. August.” You say as you have a nut then put the lid back on and clutch the can.

“In the drought land?”

“Yes.”

He runs his fingers along his stubbly cheek. His features are stoic and forged in precision. Clefted chin, thick nose, dark brows and mustache, square jaw, and the bluest eyes you’ve seen.

He continues to walk around, even, balanced, patient steps. His hands slip into his pants pockets then out again. He turns and removes his jacket, draping it over the back of the cushioned chair nearest to him. He turns and traces along his lower lip thoughtfully.

“How long were you in that camp?” He asks.

You swelter under his question and gaze. You tuck away the can of peanuts, the few left rattling in the tin. “I’m… I’m not sure. I was in another. Before.”

“Where?” He asks.

You swallow dryly. “I don’t know that either. Apologies.”

“And how old are you?”

You look at the wall. Lupa turns her head and nuzzles your hand. You open it and let her rub herself on your palm. You scratch under her chin.

“In my twenties, maybe. I think.” You answer quietly.

His eyes stay on you. You swear, he hasn’t looked anywhere else. Lupa groans and hops up next to you on the couch. You jolt in surprise as she forces herself over you and lays across your lap.

The Legate chuckles. That noise is startling. It’s like a rumble of thunder. He comes close and reaches to pet her back.

“She usually doesn’t introduce herself with anything less than teeth. She gets her manners from me.” He strokes her thick fur. “She smells something on you.” 

He bends as he pets her more firmly, his fingers combing through her fur. He curls down her side and his fingertips brush your dirty shirt peeking out from under the open jacket. He pauses and pinches the fabric.

He hums. “We’ll deal with that too.”

He pulls back and stands at full height. He hesitates then pivots and sits next to you, just where Lupa’s tail wags against him. He stares you down and you shrink back and focus on the black fur as you pet the dog.

“I’d still like to know your name.” He says as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch.

Your hand freezes then shakes. You stop it as you pull it back to fold over your chest with your other. For a moment, you can’t breathe. 8E15. The numbers repeat in your head.

“Why will you not say?” He asks.

You squeeze your hands until they throb. You release them then tug on the torn collar of your jacket. You point to the sewn patch with your number.

He clucks. “I won’t call you that.”

You let go of the fabric. “I can’t tell you. I… this is the name they gave me.”

He exhales through his nose. You keep your head down as you await his fury. You twitch as you feel something behind your neck. His fingers delve beneath your bent collar and pet along your nape.

“I’ll have to come up with something.” He says as he continues to touch you. Your spine goes rigid as you fight against the tremor spreading through you. “Venus would suit you, I think.”

Lupa lifts her head up to poke your chin with her nose. You drop your hands into her fur. She’s the most comfort you’ve had in a long time.

"Fuck," he muttered, trying to blink the black spots from his vision as he slowly turned to the body slumped over the steering wheel in the driver's seat.

There was so much blood.

"Hey!" Ransom croaked, shifting in his seat and leaning over the center console. "You need to wake up!" 

He shook the driver, a lump swelling in his throat as the body just jostled, unresponsive and only moving due to his frantic touch.

"Wake up," Ransom pleaded, not recognizing the sound of his own voice–the desperation and fear in it–as he continued to try and shake the driver to consciousness. 

He was too terrified to touch his fingers to their neck to see if there was a pulse–if they were still alive–and god, how had this happened?

One minute they were having a good time, knocking back drinks and sharing a joint, and now…

"Please wake up," Ransom whispered, slumping against the body beside him, feeling dizzy as he struggled to breathe despite the agony pulsing along his ribcage. "Please wake up, please–"

Ransom inhaled sharply as he jolted awake, his sleepy brain taking a moment to realize it had only been a dream.

Or more accurately - a memory of that night.

Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Ransom blinked the sleep from his eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight filtering in from the cracks in between his curtains. He followed the glowing rays with dust particles dancing through them to where you slept soundly beside him in his bed.

New memories–much more pleasant ones–flooded Ransom's mind now as he recalled the night before, with you.

It had been…magical.

Ransom internally cringed even thinking it, but there was no other way to describe it.

Of course he could write it off as the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in over six months, but he knew that would be a lie and a disservice to you.

Ransom had certainly had his fill of women and sex over the years, but those had always been blips of fleeting pleasure on his radar. 

Last night, with you?

Not only had it been amazing, but the aftereffects still lingered.

Ransom felt like a changed man, so content and…

Happy.

Ransom Drysdale was happy.

His lips quirked at the corners as he carefully shifted until he was laying on his side so he could watch you sleep.

You looked so peaceful–the way he himself felt–your features lax and one hand tucked beneath your cheek as you slept on your side while your other hand reached for him, even in sleep.

The memory from childhood washed over him slowly as Ransom realized this wasn't the first time that he had watched you sleep…

10-year-old Ransom carefully closed the shed door behind him once he clocked you in the far corner, curled up on the floor in a little ball as you slept.

He tiptoed across the small, cold space, frowning as he reached you and realized you were shivering and whimpering in your sleep.

You were dressed in the same long, worn dress that you always wore, and there was a barethread blanket tugged up to your chin, but even as just a kid himself, Ransom knew there was no way that blanket was keeping you warm.

So Ransom unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and carefully sat down beside you, arranging his hoodie over your trembling form and smiling a little as you seemed to settle almost instantly.

Your furrowed brow went smooth as your lips quirked just a tad, and Ransom thought that you were really pretty and he was so happy you were his friend.

Another thought flooded his mind, too, that your skin looked so soft, despite the dirt dusting your cheeks, and Ransom couldn't help himself as he slowly reached out for you, the pads of his fingers tracing down the smooth slope of your cheek…

It was your quiet, sleepy hum that brought Ransom back to the present moment, and despite the lingering sadness he felt at that memory, he smiled as your eyes fluttered open.

Your gaze went wide as you registered Ransom beside you, a big smile bursting across your face as you chirped, "Hi!" 

Shimmying closer to him, you pet his cheek with a look so warm and adoring it had Ransom feeling shy.

"Good morning," he chuckled, raising his arm and welcoming you against him as you pressed flush to his front, wrapped your arm around him, and tucked your head beneath his chin. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes!" you nodded, pulling away to smile at him. "Like sleeping with you. So safe and warm."

You watched him for a long moment, your smile faltering as you pouted instead. Gently touching your palm to the side of Ransom's face, you caressed the apple of his cheek with your thumb.

"They're back," you whispered, looking concerned.

Ransom frowned, unintentionally leaning into your touch. "What's back?"

"Your sad eyes," you replied, brushing stray strands of hair away from Ransom's face.

Something in his features softened as he caught your hand and kissed the tips of your fingers. "I'm okay, was just thinking about the ghosts of the past." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead for extra reassurance. "And I could never be sad when I'm with you."

This time you were the one feeling shy, a fluttery bloom bursting to life in your chest as your gaze fell away and you squirmed.

Laughing quietly, Ransom gently guided you onto your back before shifting until he was hovering over you. His fingers caught your chin and tipped your face up to his, catching your shy gaze before he was dropping his lips to yours for a slow, thorough kiss.

When Ransom went to pull away to let you catch your breath, you reeled him back in with a hand at the nape of his neck. Curling your leg over his hip, you twisted your body until it was pressed to his, needing to be closer to him, to feel him, as the covers pooled between you both and bared your naked chest to Ransom's darkening gaze.

"Make me feel good again?" you whispered in between kisses, framing Ransom's face with your hands and keeping him impossibly close. "Make us feel good? Please?"

Ransom hummed as your body began to squirm with desire and writhe beneath him, growing hard against your hip as he shifted closer, seeking your warmth and softness.

"Kitten, it would be my genuine pleasure," he purred, waggling his eyebrows and making you laugh before stealing another kiss as his body sank against yours, where it belonged.

It became a new and exciting routine for you and Ransom, spending each night together in his bed.

And it wasn't just sleeping in the circle of his arms–feeling so safe and warm–that you loved.

It was getting to explore and know his body, and trying your best to remain still and cognizant–instead of floating away or descending into a needy, mindless mess–as he did the same to you.

Tonight was no different as Ransom laid stretched out atop the covers, naked with his hands tucked behind his head as he aimed a lazy grin your way.

As much as you enjoyed sex–were becoming addicted to it and the way Ransom could overwhelm you with pleasure–you also still felt very shy about it.

And yet, your shyness made you no less eager to explore and admire Ransom's gorgeous form in such an intimate way.

You were nearly vibrating with excitement and anticipation as you knelt beside him in bed, naked save for your panties, because you hadn't gotten much further than that before Ransom beat you to being completely bare and you got distracted.

Ransom chuckled as your fingers twitched against your thighs, your gaze getting that glassy look as you gazed down at his naked body. 

"Go on, kitten." He grinned as your gaze lifted and you aimed slow, owlish blinks his way. "We both know what you want."

It was the way that Ransom's hard cock twitched against his stomach that had you finally moving, feeling in a haze as your hands pressed against his stomach before slowly smoothing higher.

Humming as you tugged on his chest hair, Ransom sank back against the bed with a sigh, his eyes fluttering and his face growing rosy as you continued to explore him with your questing touch.

When you dipped your head low and pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, he moaned softly, tipping his head back to give you better access and purring a, "So good to me," as you chirped in response before trailing more kisses down his neck and chest, then lower still.

"So pretty," you sighed dreamily, your fingers tracing along the indents of Ransom's stomach muscles before you were nuzzling along his belly button and pulling a surprised huff of laughter from him.

You licked your lips as you hovered over his hard cock, watching–mesmerized–as the crown pearled with some creamy pre-cum right before your eyes.

Still, you always sought permission before touching him there, so you squirmed and shifted lower down his body, until you could rest your chin on his thigh and blink up at him, unconsciously batting your eyelashes as you whispered, “Want.” 

"What do you want?" Ransom teased, shifting until he was leaning up on his elbows and watching you with twinkling eyes. "Use your words, kitten."

Whining, you buried your too warm face against the thick muscle of Ransom's bare thigh, pressing your legs together to stem the gush of arousal seeping into your panties at the steamy image invading your mind.

Ransom's hard cock filling your mouth, his musky taste flooding your senses as the salty brine of his cum danced along your tastebuds.

Despite being new to it, you loved taking Ransom into your mouth, loving on him in a new way that seemed to drive him wild and reduce him to a puddle of happy, content lover once you were done.

"Want," you begged again, your head popping up as you pouted at Ransom, aware of the way his cock bobbed in your periphery. "Please?"

"Show me what you want," Ransom insisted, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths now as you pressed up over him, your hand hesitant before you were reaching for his cock.

Rather than grip him in your hand, you gently traced your fingers along the velvety steel of him, smiling in accomplishment as he moaned and dropped his head back for a moment. You let your thumb trace up the vein lining the underside of his cock before it was rounding the crown of him and swiping up the mess of pre-cum that had gathered there. 

Ransom blinked his eyes open just in time to watch you suck your cream-covered thumb into your mouth with a happy sound so sweet despite your activities that it should have been illegal.

"Fuck. Go on, you sweet little menace," he grunted, squirming and gently rutting his hips in invitation. "Driving me crazy.” 

Feeling pleased that he was the one that seemed to be undone now–so desperate–you tilted your lips into a knowing smile before you were curling over Ransom's waist, taking his cock in hand, and giving it a few slow strokes before guiding it between your lips.

"Fuccccck," Ransom hissed, sagging back against the bed and fisting the covers at either side of him. 

You hummed around his length and reveled in the taste of him–the weight of him–on your tongue. Bobbing your head the way Ransom had taught you, and careful to keep your teeth away from his length, you pressed your tongue along the bottom of him as you retreated for a second.

Gasping for breath, you hummed quietly before dragging your tongue over the tip of Ransom's cock. You gazed up at him as another ragged moan spilled from his lips, watching the way his beautiful body jolted and rocked, responding to each eager lap and teasing kiss of your lips.

"Please," Ransom panted, his head popping up so he could stare down at you.

He looked so gorgeous and beyond wrecked, his face ruddy and his hair a mess, his lips parted and his eyes so dark they looked black.

He looked undone, and it was because of you.

Stifling a soft trill of happiness, you dove back in, taking Ransom's cock into your mouth and beyond, to the back of your throat. Your eyes closed, a few tears spilling down your cheeks as you relaxed your throat the way Ransom had instructed you last time and felt him groan and rut himself deeper.

"Oh god, can I? I need to–" one of his big hands reached for you, cradling the back of your head and keeping you still.

You hummed, understanding his question as you focused on breathing through your nose, distantly aware of the way your arousal was soaking through your panties now as Ransom began to fuck your face.

"So good, god, you're so good," he muttered, carefully framing your head between both hands now as he thrust himself down your throat and lingered until you gagged.

He let you up immediately, dazed as he watched you gasp for breath and wipe some spit from your messy chin, and then you were eagerly swallowing him down again, bobbing your head until he was as far as he could go and spilling his seed down your throat with a shout.

Gasping as you came up for air, you moaned softly, quite worked up yourself now as you stretched out beside Ransom's pliant body and nuzzled against the crook of his neck. 

"Good?" you questioned hopefully, smiling at Ransom's happy laugh.

"So fucking good."

"Can I?" you asked shyly, shifting until you were straddling his thigh and your ruined panties were sticking to his skin, showing him just how much you yourself needed some relief.

"Yeah," he breathed, giving you a lazy grin as he caught your hand with one of his before using the other to caress down your back, until he was cupping your ass and guiding the eager rock of your hips against his thigh. "Go on, kitten, make yourself feel good, too."

Mewling, you buried your face against Ransom's neck, rutting against his thigh and moaning as you caught your clit against him just right. You grinded into that perfect spot over and over again, the exquisite friction fanning that flame of bliss deep inside of you until you were cumming with a relieved keen as you jerked against him. 

You were still lost in a pleasure fog when Ransom moved, carefully shifting out from beneath your pliant body and guiding you onto your back. 

Shivering as he began to kiss his way down the length of you, you moaned softly as he lingered on your breasts, tweaking and sucking your nipples until your back was arching and you were fisting the covers with a sharp gasp of his name.

He laughed as your eyes went big and wide at the devious sparkle in his eye, but you didn't object as he removed your ruined panties and tossed them aside. 

Then Ransom was patiently kissing and nuzzling his way back up your body, away from your throbbing, needy cunt, and you whined in disappointment, spreading your legs in a silent plea that had him chuckling. 

"Please?" you whispered, reaching for Ransom and petting his hair, your eyes glassy and your body writhing as you tried to arch up against him. "Please, Ransom? Want? Please?"

"Fair's fair, kitten," he tsked at you, looking extremely smug but giving your head a soft pet to soothe you in some small way.

When you pouted at him, he grinned, ducking low for a kiss so steamy and thorough that you were whining again when he pulled away.

Ransom nuzzled your nose with his, his fingers ever so slightly trailing along your cunt and  making you gasp and rut against him.

"You had your fun, sweetheart," he murmured against your ear, giving the lobe a nip and smirking as you mewled. "Now it's my turn."

You made a sweet sound of gratitude as Ransom offered you a strawberry, dancing in your seat beside him on the blanket as you enjoyed a picnic for lunch in the meadow behind the manor.

This was another thing that was becoming a routine for the two of you, getting outside in nature together.

When Ransom had first been informed that he was being sent here, he bemoaned the thought of being exiled to the middle of nowhere, far away from his home and his friends and the life that he knew.

But now the reality of being here, surrounded by such picturesque beauty that he was slowly beginning to appreciate–and with you–it was so much better than anything he could have ever imagined.

He'd spent his life always seeking the next high, the next big purchase or goal, surrounded by vicious socialites and more material possessions than he knew what to do with.

And yet, none of it–the excess or constant partying or circle of "friends"–none of it had ever been able to fill that hollowness inside of him, hence the always seeking more.

But here, with you, Ransom got to witness the way the simplest things brought you joy, and how you were so painfully grateful for each and every one of them.

Never in a million years would Ransom believe that a picnic, of all things, could make someone so happy, but here you were, joyfully smiling beside him as you offered him a little bunch of grapes, your eyes so warm and shining with affection as you watched him.

The two of you ate in silence for a bit, enjoying the unusually warm for this time of year weather, and Ransom found himself staring off into the distance, his gaze eagerly drinking in the luscious overgrown grass and wildflowers surrounding you, and the tall, ancient looking trees that marked the edge of the woods at the end of the property line.

The feeling of you shifting closer to him drew his attention back to you, and you were peeking up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, a not-so-wicked desire burning in your gaze as you watched him. 

"What's up, kitten?" Ransom asked, planting his hand behind him on the blanket and turning toward you.

You swayed closer to him, then paused before sinking back in your spot, your eyes big and your throat nervously bobbing as you swallowed before asking, “Hold?” 

Ransom's brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes dropped to your empty hands before returning to yours. ”Hold what?” 

“Me?” you whispered.

Ransom's lips parted in surprise as his eyebrows shot up, and he realized it quite suddenly, that despite your new and engaging sex life, the only time he was really physical or affectionate with you was in the bedroom.

And you seemed to be such a naturally affectionate person, despite your upbringing, or lack thereof.

Which led Ransom to another sudden realization as he watched your gaze drop in embarrassment as your shoulders hunched and you began to curl in on yourself.

You must be extremely touch starved after years and years of being locked away, all by yourself.

"Hey," he murmured, giving you a smile as you glanced up at him. "Show me."

You perked up instantly, shooting him a hesitant smile as you hedged closer, looking strangely timid despite the way you knew each other so intimately now, and Ransom realized this was a different kind of vulnerability altogether - seeking intimacy and connection outside of sex.

"I like when you make me feel good the other way," you explained, inching closer. "But, I like being close to you this way, too. Feels good in a different way, in my heart."

Ransom all but melted, his smile so soft and encouraging as he followed your lead without question as you pressed close to him, sinking against his chest and tugging his arm around your waist as you tucked your head beneath his chin and hugged him.

As soon as his big hand smoothed up your back and began to rub in slow strokes, you chirped, making this sweet little purring sound as you hugged Ransom tighter and nuzzled against the front of his sweater.

A little while later–after a stretch of quietly holding each other on the picnic blanket in the middle of the meadow–found Ransom reclined on the blanket, one arm tucked behind his head as you sprawled atop his chest, your fingers playing with the blades of grass just beyond the edge of the blanket.

He was reflecting on how he hadn't thought about drinking or getting high or his old life at all in weeks as he slowly rubbed your back, his lips curled at the corners as he watched the white, fluffy clouds slowly pass by overhead.

Ransom didn't feel that bitterness anymore either, at being sent away, at being left out, he just felt…at peace.

He felt so at peace here, with you.

And it was like thinking of you had you perking up in awareness, because you suddenly pressed up over him, squeaking in delight as you uncovered two fluffy white dandelions amongst the grass above the blanket.

Ransom turned to follow your gaze, grinning as he sat up until he was leaning back on his elbow and could pluck the dandelions from the ground. He handed one off to you with a boyish grin and kept the other for himself. 

"Make a wish and blow as hard as you can," he instructed.

Smiling in excitement, you scrambled into a sit beside him, carefully holding your dandelion in your fingers. 

You watched it for a long moment before your gaze flickered to Ransom and lingered, the curl of your lips increasing before you took a deep breath and blew away the fuzzy white pappus. 

Your delighted laughter rang across the meadow as you watched the dandelion fragments float away on the wind, and then you were eagerly turning to Ransom and excitedly encouraging him, "Your turn! Make a wish!"

Chuckling, he closed his eyes and took a moment to think, and the first wish that popped into his head was more days, like this, with you.

Opening his eyes, Ransom sent you a smile and wink combo before making his wish, and tossing aside his bare dandelion stem once he was done.

Squeaking in happiness, you slung your arms around Ransom's neck, hugging him as you whispered against his ear, “You’re my wish come true," before shyly burying your face against the crook of his neck to hide.

Smiling, Ransom held you close, his hand smoothing up your spine and encouraging you to sink against him more fully as he settled you both back against the blanket and murmured, "And I think you're just what I needed."

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS FILTHY, FLUFFY AFTERGLOW CHAPTER AS MUCH AS I DID!! PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO LEAVE SOME FEEDBACK! THANK YOU SO  MUCH FOR READING! ❤️ (Sorry for yelling, they have me all up in my feels lolllll.)

P.S. ALSO I'M NOT SAYING THE PLOT AND SOME ANGST WILL PICK UP NEXT CHAPTER, BUT I'M NOT NOT SAYING THAT 👀

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 😘

Saralie’s eyes are open and her fine features brighten in a smile as her blond lashes flick. “Morning!” She chirps.

“Um… hi, uh, morning,” your voice is crisp from the dry air of the AC.

“I have an idea.” She breathes in delight.

You blink. “What time is it?”

She giggles and sits up. She looks tiny in her oversized shirt. You can guess by the baseball team logo that it’s likely one of her dad’s handmedowns. You push yourself up and suppress a groan as your head swims.

“It’s morning.” She shrugs and wiggles on her knees. “Um,” she taps her pointer fingers together. “Do you work today?”

“No, it’s my day off.”

“Nice! I mean…” She tilts her head one way then the other. “Are you… busy?”

You shake your head.

“Good. Good. Do you remember I said dad just put in a pool?”

“I think…”

“We should go swimming! Have a pool party.” She claps. “Won’t that be fun?”

“Oh, sure, I guess if it’s… okay?”

“Sure it will be!” She bounces and turns around, hopping off the bed.

You clear your gritty throat. “Um, I don’t… have a swimsuit.”

“All good. We need to go get supplies so I’m sure dad will let me borrow the car.” She sits at her vanity with the fur trimmed mirror and grabs a brush with a vintage wooden engraving in the back. She runs it through her flaxen hair. “How’d you sleep?”

You shift to the edge of the bed and contemplate the steep drop. “Okay.” You lie.

“I dreamt of dragons! Must be all that map making,” she sweeps back her long locks. “Did you dream of anything?”

“Not really.” You say, though you wonder if maybe what happened was actually a dream. It was just so strange.

“Right, well, do you drink coffee like Dad? Cause he has a bunch and I’m sure you can figure out how to make it.” She offers.

“Oh that’s okay.” You defer. “Really, I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose? You’re my friend! What’s mine is yours. Or whatever.” She trills. “Peter just goes ahead and plays with all my stuff. No questions. He broke my Robin Hood figure, actually.”

“Oh…”

“All good. He fixed it.” She puts the brush down. “So… I can’t wait! Pool party! And maybe I’ll make more Unicorn Juice. It’s great with ice in the sun.”

“Hm, maybe, yeah.” You agree gently as you slide down off the bed. “Or maybe some iced tea?”

🦄

You sit on one of the tall stools along the kitchen island. Before you there’s a collection of coloured gel pens littered across the wooden surface and a notepad with items written in every shade of neon. Saralie pops the cap back on an aqua hue and sticks her tongue out.

“I totally forgot my new purse!” She bounces. “Be right back.”

“Sure, I’ll be… here.” You twiddle your fingers on the island as she skitters out of the room.

You sit in the silence of the kitchen. You wiggle your foot against the bar of the stool and look around. You could probably fit most of your apartment in just this one room.

“Mmph,” the deep groan startles you as Steve enters, dragging his hands over his beard. He drops his arms and stops short as he sees you. You stiffen in your seat. “Mm… Morning,” he grits out.

“Morning,” you murmur and pull your hands off the island and cross your arms.

He nods and glances around awkwardly. He goes to the counter and puts his back to you. He grips the edge, tapping his thick fingertips, before he makes up his mind. You watch the strain of the cotton between his broad shoulders as he reaches to open a cupboard.

“You like coffee?” He asks over his shoulder, giving a glimpse of his profile.

“Erm, you don’t have to–”

“I’m making a pot.” He insists and pulls out the canister. “So if you do, help yourself.”

He sidles along as he goes about measuring the grounds into a wet filter and slipping it into a pourover urn. Before he pours the water, he sets the small eggs timer and waits. You squirm, trying to think of any reason to leave him to his morning ritual.

“Got it! Isn't it so cuteeeee!” Saralie squeals as she enters and shows off a purse in the shape of a tea pot. Oh, wouldn’t it be so awesome if you got the tea cup one and we could be like twins?”

“Sure,” you force a smile.

“Morning, Sara.” Steve says sternly over his shoulder.

“Sara? Oof, what’d I do now?” She chuckles.

He harrumphs and sets down the kettle. He turns and braces his hips, a gesture that bulges in his biceps and chest. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” she sticks out her tongue.

He narrows his eyes. She grins and angles her head coyly.

“We had a great idea!” She chimes. “Pool party!”

“A pool party?” He echoes and his eyes skim between her and you. You chafe in your seat.

“Well, you put it in for a reason, didn’t you?” She retorts. “We’re just going to go grab some floaties. Oh and her swim suit.”

“You are?” He challenges.

“Dad. Daddy.” She pouts. He shakes his head.

“Dad is fine.” He sniffs.

“Captain!” She salutes mockingly. “Can I pretty please borrow the car today? Promise we’ll be so quick.”

He stares at her and his cheek dimples. His face softens. “I got nowhere. Just make sure you wear your glasses.”

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes.

He nods and drops his hands. He turns around and swirls the urn of coffee then grabs a mug to pour. He smells the nutty scent of the blend as he faces you again.

“It’s good coffee if I do say so myself. I finally perfected the ratio.” He lifts the cup ever so slightly. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, dad!” Saralie beams then hops up to the island. “This is going to be so awesome! EEEE!” She claps and you glimpse Steve behind her as he looks back just as he gets to the door. He seems protective of her. Or suspicious of you. Maybe both.

🦄

You can’t remember the last time you used your swimsuit. You’re surprised you haven’t thrown it away. It’s an old black and white one-piece with nothing really special about it. You shove it into a reusable shopping bag with a pair of beat-up flip flops and hurry out before you run into any of your roommates.

As you pull the car handle, the door doesn’t release. You peer inside as Saralie clings to the steering wheel and stares in the other direction. You gently tap on the window and she jumps. She looks at you and smiles, waving frantically before she unlocks the door.

You get in and cradle the bag on your lap. As you do up your seatbelt, the safety censor chiming at you, she looks back in the same direction as before. You lean forward to try to find what has her attention.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm,” she sits back and shifts into drive. “It’s only… there was a man. He looked like he needed help. He was all…dazed or something.”

You chew your cheek as she makes a u-turn and steers back down the street. You shift awkwardly. “Mm, there’s a few people around here… you know, they do need help but nothing we can do for them.”

“What do you mean?” She asks as she flips her glasses up and squints at the road.

You watch her for a minute then sigh. “You know, drugs and stuff.”

Her brows pop up and her mouth falls open. “Oh… I didn’t…”

“It’s fine. I don’t know. There’s shelter around the next street or something.” You grumble. “It’s… sad.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

You’re quiet for a while after that. You can sense her thinking and see the sadness in her face. It takes a moment to realise she isn’t slowing down at some shopping plaza, rather in front of a row of townhouses.

“Saralie, are you alright?” You ask.

“I’m good. I just… wish people like that could get help.” She says wispily.

“Me too,” you say. “But you can’t fix every problem.”

“Yeah…” she trails off.

Something thumps on the side of the car and you both jolt in surprise. You look over as a young guy stands outside, smirking. Saralie brightens up and rolls down the window, just an inch.

“Sorry, we don’t need a car wash.”

“LeeLee, come on,” the guy says. “It’s hot as Mordor out here.”

He has a sheen of sweat on his forehead, a head of thick reddish brown curls, and sports a beachy shirt with palm fronds printed on the thin fabric. His sunglasses have bright red frames and he has a back pack hooked over one shoulder.

“What’s the password?” She taunts.

“Let me in or I’ll tell Mr. Rogers about your detour last month–”

“Oh, blackmail? Pete, I thought we were friends.” She scoffs.

He shakes his head and laughs. She unlocks the door and he climbs in the back. He drops his bag beside him.

“Don’t call me Pete. It reminds me of Bucky. He’s scary.” The guy says. “This must be the new party member.”

“Oh, yeah! Peter this is…” Saralie introduces you.

“Hi,” you wave as Peter winks at you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say anything in front of dad.” She says as she pulls off. “He’s not easy so early in the morning. With him, better to ask forgiveness.”

“Ah, right,” you sit straight and try to hide your discomfort. Your parents never hesitated to tell you no. Not even in front of guests.

“We’re still going shopping,” she assures.

“Yeah, no problem.” You rub your palms together, as you have a flash of the night before. The danger in Steve’s tone and grip.

“It’s gonna be awesome. We can brainstorm the campaign.” Peter says.

“So are you going to be goblin?” Saralie taunts.

“Will you be my goblin queen?” Peter hurls back.

They laugh but you can’t even smile. You’re the third wheel. Again.

🦄

You’re vigilant as you get back to Saralie’s house. The three of you sneak through the house with the haul from the shopping centre. You recall Steve said he had a security system; he can probably see the pathetic attempt at stealth on some camera.

You go out to the backyard and unpack. Saralie strategises as you and Peter work on blowing up the unicorn floatie she chose and the shark he picked. You got the alligator that was on clearance and did your best to cover the red sale tag.

“You’re not making that dumpster juice again, are you?” Peter asks as he pinches the plastic tube to keep the air in.

“Unicorn juice.” She corrects. “And no, I’m going to make grog. It’s on them. Pineapple juice, marshmallows, gummy bears, lime soda, and cherry syrup.”

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Peter says and goes back to inflating.

“It sounds like yumminess.” She trills.

She lifts the bag, barely able to get it off the ground, and she lumbers towards the sliding doors.

“You need help?” You offer.

“All good! I’ll be back with drinks and snacks.”

You nod and go back to getting the unicorn blown up. As you puff through the tube, your eyes wander around the yard. It’s lovely and trimmed and green. You try not to be jealous, you suppose only covetous. You’d love to live somewhere like this.

Your eyes float over to the house and something shifts in one of the windows. You can’t see much as the sun reflects off the glass. The shadow disappears and the streaks of light sting your eyes.

Log Date 53499Willow5

Subjects stabilizing companionship. No outbursts or conflicts observed. Biometric data balanced with signs of pheromonal compatibility. No mating behaviors. Further enrichment introduced to enclosure.

You stare at Kurt. Your eyes narrow. There’s no way. He can’t.

“Do you have any fives?”

“Goddamnit,” you huff under your breath, handing the cards over the table.

A small smirk quirks at his lips before vanishing—smug asshole. He’s wiping the floor with you. You can never win. Not checkers, not hangman, not go fish. He’s good at every game you come up with.

“Don’t pout like that,” he gruffs, tucking the cards into his hand and putting all four on the table in a pile. “You’re cute. It doesn’t suit you.”

You swallow. Shifting in your seat, you shuffle the cards in your hands. Trying to focus on the numbers. Not the way his comment plucks at something longing inside you. The next one you need to make a set—that’s what matters. Your eyes flick up to Kurt, his attention solely on you. His brow quirks.

“Do you have any sevens?” you ask.

Before he can respond, a loud bang rattles the window. You jump.

A creature stands outside, their voice garbled as they gesture with long appendages. Their teeth gnash with saliva. All the while, they continue to pound on the glass.

Your eyes dart over the surface, sure the force will be enough to cause cracks. Your pulse pounds in your ears, in time with each strike. You start to lean away, bracing for the moment when the alien will break through.

Kurt’s cards scatter over the table. His solid form shielding you as he steps in front. Widening his stance, his arms hang at his sides. His fists clench and unclench readying for action. Yet you still peek around him.

“I hope he doesn’t try to get one,” you mutter under your breath.

“What?” Kurt’s asks, glancing over his shoulder with a bewildered pinch to his expression.

The keeper door hisses open. Virion glides into your habitat, their hand gesturing for calm. Your alien walks toward the window as others of their kind intervene without.

Are you alright?

“We’re fine,” you direct toward Virion as they stand between you both and the scene outside. “Are they going to be able to, you know?”

Kurt shoots you another searching look, his brow furrowed.

Virion’s head swings from one side to the other. You breathe in relief. Your head nods in acknowledgment. The thought of some human unknowingly sent to live with that kind of…fervor. A shudder quakes down your spine.

Virion approaches. Their hand lifting. And you just know that they aim to place it upon your head and stroke over your hair. To offer comfort.

But before they can get too close, Kurt blocks the way. “You can leave.”

Virion stops short, staring down at Kurt with an indecipherable expression. Cool and calm ever present but rigid. Their gaze finds you, still seated at your table. Cards flicking and shuffling in your hands.

Does he speak for you?

They blink slow as they wait for your response. Hand cradled against their chest, ready to extend once again for the contact you expect.

You drop the cards, stand, and tug on Kurt. He steps aside. His jaw tics, a heavy breath flaring his nostrils. He doesn’t step far. His shoulder stays in your way.

“They probably need to make sure we’re calm now,” you say under your breath to him. “Let them perform their checks and then they can go. They’re just doing their job.”

“Yeah,” he huffs in response, arms crossing over his chest and bulging his muscles. A quick look cast over his shoulder toward you. “Keeping us here. Making us a spectacle.” His eyes narrow in a glare. “They’re not fucking touching me.”

Your lips part. Not for breath but in searching for something more to say. Any placation for Kurt gone with an exhale. You’re blank.

May I inspect you?

You turn your gaze back to Virion. Your alien holds out their hand.

Kurt growls in the back of his throat. A grumbling comment he spits out, “it would be better if they just left us alone.”

You hesitate with that statement, mulling it over in your mind. Would it? Without the interaction with Virion, would it be better?

You skirt around the man who would be your protector. Strong resolve in the answer formed in your mind—no.

Your hand finds Virion’s. They guide you a distance away, toward the glass. Kurt stays planted in place, glower affixed just as firmly.

Have you told him about our connection?

Their hand lifts to your head. A brush of it over your hair. A cooed praise that rolls in their throat. Chirps and chittering words follow. You don’t think you’ll ever understand them. Though you find you don’t mind. Your head shakes back and forth in response. Their gaze brightens.

We would like to perform an attachment test soon. Would you be willing to comply?

“What’re they saying?” Kurt asks with a huff.

You ignore both. Thoughts snagging on the phrasing—attachment test. Attachment to whom?

You nod regardless. Trepidation pulses in your chest. Virion won’t go far. They’ll come back eventually. It’s just a test. Or maybe Kurt? You wouldn’t want to be here alone. Not again. It’s been so nice to have constant company—no matter how surly he may be.

Three cycles. Will that be enough time?

Your lips part without an answer. Because what does that mean? Three days for what? The test? To prepare? Though Virion has never been very transparent with explanations, questions buzz through your head. But then they coo something soft, a treat offered in their fingers.

You accept. Mouth full as you reply, “I guess.”

“How do you know what they’re saying?” Kurt calls over, his eyes narrowed and flashing between the two of you. “They teach you their language?”

“Not exactly,” you reply with a hum, glancing toward him in your periphery. “It’s like—”

Stop.

You trip over the thought. Virion chitters something, tilting your head back toward them.

He will not understand.

“What’s happening?” Kurt asks, finally making his move. His hand wraps around your wrist, a tug drawing you away from your keeper. “What’re they doing?” His voice drops low, only for you to hear.

You can’t figure out what to say. How to explain with Virion on one side and Kurt on the other.

Your brow tilts. Kurt’s glare landing solely on your alien. His lips lifting in distaste.

Kurt’s teeth click. “You done here?” The subtlest of shifts placing him between you and Virion.

Virion’s eyes narrow. The closest you’ve ever seen a reaction akin to outright displeasure. They step back and retreat toward the door without another glance.

“Why do you act like that?” you ask, letting space fill between you and Kurt. “They’ve only ever been kind to me.”

“Except for kidnapping you and placing you in their zoo, you mean?” Kurt bites back. “I don’t trust them.”

A flare of irritation fills you with fiery heat. It licks at your belly as you retort, “well, what else do we have?” You gesture to the enclosure around you. “There’s no way out. We’re here whether we like it or not. We might as well make the best of it.”

Kurt doesn’t respond. The sharpness of his stare cutting as he sizes you up in a new light. He huffs and turns, leaving you to wander through the trees of your space. Lost among the branches until you’re alone.

You turn back toward the window. The crowd gathers without. You sit and watch them pass, tears blurring your vision.

Next Part

Kurt’s cards scatter over the table. His solid form shielding you as he steps in front. Widening his stance, his arms hang at his sides. His fists clench and unclench readying for action.

🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I love how protective he is 🥹

You can’t figure out what to say. How to explain with Virion on one side and Kurt on the other.

Oh me, oh my, it sure is getting tense in here 🤭

“You’re much better at cooking than you think,” Nick assured you. “And it really does look and smell and taste amazing.” 

“Taste?” you echoed, giving him a half-hearted glare. “Did you sneak tastes when I was trying to find placemats for the table?”

“I definitely did,” he grinned. “Those mashed potatoes? Well, let's just say you’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d hoard them all for myself.”

Your inner omega chirped happily at your beta’s praise–especially for something so homemaker-y, which you knew wasn’t exactly a strength of yours. It was probably one of your biggest insecurities actually, especially when it came to finding an alpha. 

But you were trying. You were trying so hard. 

You really wanted everything to be perfect for when Frank arrived home from work. 

It was the very least he deserved for saving you from Omega Control, from being shipped off to a breeder and God knows what kind of misery and abuse would have awaited you then. 

Surely nothing you haven’t already experienced in foster care, a mean little voice spoke up in the back of your mind. 

You closed your eyes against the onslaught of memories that stirred up. At the vivid intrusive thoughts that played against the back of your eyelids at what could have happened if you’d been torn away from Nick, from Frank, from the life you had worked so hard to live as freely and happily as possible. 

You had been so close to losing it all. 

And you still weren’t convinced you hadn’t already lost Frank, for good. 

“Omega?”

The sound of Nick’s concerned voice had you surfacing from the swirl of anxiety filling your head, and you blinked your eyes open, trying to muster a smile for him. 

It had been a really long time since you felt this anxious, this helpless. But you had to shove it all down. All of it. 

You had to finish this perfect dinner for Frank and welcome him home like a perfect omega would and–

The sound of the front door opening and the jangle of keys being tossed on the entryway table had you perking up in alarm. Your eyes flew to the clock above the stove and you gasped, “Oh my god! I didn’t realize how late it was! He’s home! Oh my–”

Your words faded away as Nick framed your face between his hand and tugged you in for a brief, soft kiss. 

“It’s all amazing, and so are you,” he whispered, giving you a soft smile before pulling away. 

A moment later, Frank’s tall figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. His brow was furrowed, his eyes wary as he glanced from the three places settings at the dining table, to you standing over the stove in an apron you had found in the back of the front closet along with the linens that now adorned the table. 

“Why are you wearing that?” Frank snapped, his face darkening in a way that made you whine and stumble back a step.  

“What?” You glanced down at the apron. “I-I didn’t want to make a mess–”

“That isn’t yours. Take it off!” Frank snarled, stalking toward you. 

“Hey, Frank, calm down,” Nick’s voice was as soothing and careful as ever as he stepped in front of you, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of meaning no harm. 

“It’s not hers! It’s…” Frank’s voice broke, his eyes gleaming with a wild kind of grief as he stared at you, then at the apron, like he was gutted.

And you realized that he was, and then why.

Horror dawned at your misstep–at what you had unintentionally done–unearthing something that had belonged to his late wife. 

“Oh god,” you quavered, quickly untying the apron and slipping it off. You folded it carefully, respectfully, your tears already spilling over as you held it out to Frank with trembling fingers. “Frank, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize.”

“Hey, let’s all just take a deep breath and calm down,” Nick encouraged, shifting sideways so he could give you a gentle look. “You didn’t know. It was an honest mistake.” He turned back to Frank, who was holding the apron between his hands with the look of utmost sorrow clouding his features. “Frank, she was just trying to do something nice for you. Spent all day cooking a really great dinner–”

“I didn’t fucking ask for any of this,” Frank rasped, shaking his head as he crumbled the apron between his hands. “I didn’t ask for this!” he held it up, his eyes wet with unshed tears and his face flushed in anger, in heartbreak. “I didn’t ask for this!” he swept a hand toward the stove covered in steaming pots as the delicious aroma of the meal you had worked so hard on all day filled the air. 

“Frank,” you wobbled, unsure of what to say but knowing you felt as devastated as he looked. 

He shook his head, jaw clenching. “I can’t… do this. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t.”

And then he turned on his heel and stormed from the kitchen, leaving you and Nick staring after him, utterly devastated for an entirely different reason.

A couple of hours later, Nick tentatively eased open the door leading from the kitchen to the garage. 

He heard soft clinking sounds, and the low hum of classic rock playing from a beat up stereo set on the corner of Frank’s work table. 

The man himself was ducked under the hood of a fully restored 1967 Mustang Fastback. It was royal blue with white rally stripes, and it was gorgeous enough to have Nick whistling before he could really think better of it. 

Frank went rigid, easing away from the car’s engine that didn’t really need any work, but it was just his way to keep himself busy, to keep his mind quiet when he needed it most, to hide.

“What do you want?” Frank grunted, looking tense as his grease-stained fingers twitched at his sides. 

“Nothing, just thought I’d bring you one of these.” Nick held up a beer in each hand, one for him and one for Frank. 

Frank’s eyes landed on the proffered beer and lingered long enough that Nick exhaled in relief. He moved closer, a soft, hopeful smile curling his lips as he held out the beer to Frank. 

After a long, tense moment, Frank swiped the bottle from Nick’s grip, taking a long pull before turning away and ducking back under the hood of his car. 

“I know you don’t want us here,” Nick murmured, inching closer before taking a tentative seat on a nearby crate. “I’m sorry that we’re encroaching on your space, on your home–”

“It’s not a home,” Frank said sharply before taking another gulp of his beer. “It hasn’t been a home for a long time. I don’t do homes, not anymore.”

“Right,” Nick breathed, his features softening, looking so very, very sad for the rigid alpha standing a few feet away. 

Frank turned to set his beer aside to free up his hand and caught the way Nick was looking at him. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t pity me. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Frank. It’s empathy.”

“I don’t want that either,” Frank gritted, moving to grab a wrench from the toolbox placed on the mobile cart between them. He pointed it at Nick, his eyes hard. “Don’t fucking feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t,” Nick said earnestly. “I feel sorry for what you went through, and I’m sorry for… for all of this. How messy it all turned out. You deserve better, so much better–”

“Christ, can you just be quiet?” Frank scoffed. 

Nick snapped his mouth shut, his gaze falling to the floor as he took a small sip from his beer. He was trying so hard to smooth things over–for you, for himself, too, and for Frank. 

He so desperately wanted to see the potential that you had so joyfully spoken about for the past few months. 

All three of you had been through so much in different ways, and it was poetic, in a sense, that the Universe had brought you all together. 

He just knew that if Frank would let some of that emotional armor crumble, if you two could just get through to him–earn his forgiveness–there was a chance that this could be something special. 

The three of you, you could be a pack. 

You could be each other’s home.

“Hand me that grease rag behind you,” Frank muttered, making Nick sit up at attention. 

Blinking in surprise, that Frank had not only asked him for something but hadn’t kicked him out yet either, Nick twisted to the workbench behind him, plucking said grease rag from the surface and holding it out to Frank. 

Frank’s eyes met his for a brief second–enough for Nick to feel the spark of something between them–and if the way Frank quickly looked away and his shoulders tensed was any indicator, the alpha had felt it, too. 

Suppressing a soft smile, Nick watched Frank work, familiar with what he was tinkering with since he was the one who maintained your van. And before Frank could reach for the next tool he needed, Nick had scooped it up and had it held out. 

Again, Frank’s eyes found the beta’s, some of the icy glint fading into something else–curioristy, perhaps. A touch of confusion, too, and just the tiniest, tiniest glimmer of what could have been admiration. 

Regardless, whatever it was, it had Nick’s belly swooping and his chest fluttering with a tentative kind of hope. 

The next morning, Frank was intent on getting out of the house to head to work before either you or Nick emerged from the guest room you were sharing. But as he went to pass by said guest room, the sound of your sharp, raised voice made him pause. 

Frowning, because he had never heard you sound so irritated, Frank hovered just outside the door, which was cracked open, listening in on the conversation between you and Nick. 

“Please,” your voice was softer this time as you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just, stop.” 

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Nick swore as he crouched before where you were curled up on the window seat overlooking the side yard. “I’m just worried. You’re having nightmares again–”

“So?” you challenged, your features set and stubborn as you met his gaze. 

Nick sighed. “You haven’t had nightmares like this in a really long time.” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, feeling more tired than even Nick knew. “I’m fine.”

Nick’s touch was so painfully gentle as he held your hand, his thumb trailing back and forth over your knuckles. “It’s okay if you’re not, considering everything you’ve been through.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your exhaustion seeping into your voice now as you tried so hard to blink back the tears gathering. 

Nick’s hold on your hand shifted, until he was guiding your palm to the center of his chest, where you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your touch. He leaned into you more fully, his free hand lifting to cradle the side of your face, making your gaze meet his. 

“You haven’t told me anything about what happened at Omega Control,” he looked pained by this, his eyes flickering between yours, looking more worried than you had ever seen, so much so that you couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and looked away instead. “Usually you tell me everything.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it ever again,” you whispered, turning away from Nick and curling in on yourself as you fixed your gaze outside–both yearning to be out there but terrified of being caught again. “We should keep the past in the past.”

At the sound of Nick’s disappointed sigh, Frank eased away from the door, frowning at the way you had echoed his own words to you, about keeping the past in the past. 

Because everything inside of him–especially his inner alpha who was listlessly hovering beneath the surface, yearning to comfort you, to get to know Nick more–was telling him that you needed to talk about what happened. That it wasn’t a weight–or fear–that you should carry on your own. 

Frank watched as his hand moved toward the doorknob, trembling slightly. Every rusty caretaker instinct inside of him was screaming at him to walk through that door, sweep you up against his chest, and soothe you with his alpha purr until you felt safe enough to tell him and Nick what had happened. 

It would be so easy. All he had to do was press the door open, make his presence known, and just… allow things to go from there. 

But instead, Frank took a step away from the door, then another, until he was jogging down the steps, swiping up his keys and briefcase from the entryway table, and shoving outside into the bright morning sunshine. 

And the whole time he walked to his car, he thought the same thing over and over–that it wasn’t his place to take care of you, to protect you, that you had Nick for that. 

You didn’t need him.

You didn’t.

It was nearly midnight once Frank finally returned home. He was exhausted, and had spent the hours after work at his favorite dive bar, nursing a couple of beers and eating bad frozen appetizers for dinner when all he really wanted was to go home. 

But after this morning, what he had almost done…what he had wanted to do…

It felt safer to just stay away. 

So it was like some kind of twisted, cosmic joke, that as soon as Frank stepped inside the house, he was instantly enveloped in your sweet, addictive omega scent. 

Only there was a sour note to your divine smell, one that instantly had Frank as alert as his inner alpha. 

Because that sour scent meant that you were distressed–terrified. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Frank was dashing into the living room, only to pull up short. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to find–but it wasn’t you curled up on the sofa, asleep and visibly trembling as you whimpered at whatever nightmare had you caught in its dark web.

A beat later, Frank registered the distant sound of the shower running, which explained why you were by yourself in this state, and why Nick wasn’t there to soothe you. 

But you so obviously needed soothing in this moment as you gave a choked sob, your features twisting in the utmost distress as you curled in on yourself tighter. 

Frank was across the room in three long strides, before he even realized he was moving. 

The need to calm you was like a visceral thing rippling over every inch of him–clawing at him from the inside out–and it was all he could focus on as he knelt on the floor beside you and tentatively reached out to touch the crown of your head. 

“Shhh, omega,” Frank rumbled, his voice the softest it had been with you in weeks as he gently caressed your hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

This close now, Frank could see the glimmer of tear-tracks along your cheeks, how tense your body was as you laid in the fetal position and tried to make yourself as small as possible. 

Frank murmured your name, hesitating for a second before he held his wrist gland beneath your nose so you could breathe in his alpha scent. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay now.”

You shuddered hard, your brows furrowing in your sleep, a soft whimper falling from your lips as you shifted and pressed your nose against Frank’s wrist without even knowing it. You were just desperately seeking the sudden source of your comfort–of the familiar–of something, no, someone who made you feel safe. 

“There you go,” Frank praised softly, resuming his pets along your head as he watched your body go lax and the rigid tension slowly ease from your frame. “Such a good omega.” 

Frank’s voice broke, his breath shaky as he watched you sleep, as he really looked at you for the first time in weeks–since everything had happened. 

You looked so tired, and so small. 

So vulnerable. 

And it made him ache. It made him want. It made him yearn. It made all of his instincts–both man and alpha–stir up and rise within him in a way that terrified him. 

Because he never thought he would feel this way again. 

Frank never thought that he would care about someone so deeply again. 

In fact, he had tried so fucking hard to avoid it at all costs, because he knew what it felt like to lose it all. To lose the person you loved most. To lose the future you had been so hopeful for. To lose your entire family, your home, everything that made you who were in one awful, tragic fell swoop. 

He’d had it all–the love, the future, the life, the home. And he was supposed to protect them at all costs.   

And he had failed. 

He had failed as a man, as an alpha–as a husband and as a soon-to-be father. Frank had failed in a way that still haunted his every waking moment five years later. 

So when he looked at you, when he felt what he felt for you, when he got caught in Nick’s soft, warm gaze and wanted to stay there–it terrified him in a way that made him want to turn his back on it all–on everything. 

But he couldn’t find it in himself to do that right now. 

Not when you clung to his wrist in your sleep and a quiet chirp spilled past your lips. Not when the sour note faded from your scent and was replaced by the warm, spicy tones of your contentment and relief. 

All Frank could do was watch you, convinced that in this moment, he was the only thing keeping your nightmares at bay, and that was enough for his protective instinct to override his sheer panic. 

It was enough to have the rest of the world fade away as he focused on soothing you into a peaceful sleep, completely unaware that Nick stood in the doorway, having witnessed this entire tender, protective display.

And finally getting to see with his own eyes the kind of alpha that Frank Adler could be, and why you were so completely taken with him.

OH EM GEEEEE. I’m kind of in emotional shambles right now, ngl. This story feels so messy lol, but I’m also kind of in love with it anyway. I just want them all to be happy and loved 🥺

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