Midnights

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53492Willow5

Sedative in male subject metabolized. Waking imminent. Observation to begin with minimal keeper interference. Female subject shows no signs of territorial tendencies. Indicators of curiosity observed toward male subject. Compatibility to be assessed.

“Fuck!”

The shout jolts you from your sleep. Your heartbeat spikes. You shoot up to sit. The hammock rocks beneath you. You shriek and cling to the sides hoping to still it before you capsize and plummet to your death.

“Who’s there?!” The voice, rough and gristly, barks from below. The man in the box awake and alert.

Carefully, you peek over the side of the hammock, hung higher in the air than you’re willing to acknowledge. From above, you can’t get a clear view into the cage, but you can see a vague figure pacing behind the frosted cover. If you squint.

You shimmy over the side of the fabric and turn your attention to climbing rung by rung down the rope ladder. Your hands ache from your tight grip. But you wanted to be closer, just in case.

Once your feet finally plant themselves on solid ground again, you turn toward the box. The pane clears at your proximity. And the man inside pauses.

With a slow look up and down your body, he assesses you.

Your hand raises. “Hi.”

His brow furrows, a deep crease carved between them. His lips bend in an unfriendly frown.

You start to introduce yourself, ignoring his surly countenance. Only to be interrupted.

“Where the fuck am I?”

You flinch at his tone, stepping to the side and turning your shoulder toward him. “They take care of us here,” you explain with a nod and a small smile. Your arms wrap behind your back. Fingers pick at your skin. “I’ve never seen outside. But,” you pause, letting your own brow pinch, “I think being here is better than the alternative.” You gesture toward the right side of the window. Past which you can only speculate that humans are bred and bought as…pets? Gods, you hope that’s all.

The man lets a long, slow breath push past his lips. His shoulders roll and you let yourself look as his gaze casts to the side.

He’s taller than you, his shoulders broad. His whole body muscled in that soft, unflexed way. His strength just beneath the surface of flesh decorated with ink. His hair is shaved close to his skull on one side, prickly like a cactus. The rest of his hair is longer, brushing his shoulder in a muddy brown wave. His beard is the same color, but wilder, not as well-kept. He rubs an agitated hand over the shaved side of his head, the scratch filling your ears as he huffs. Fierce grey eyes flash to you, piercing.

“Why am I in a cage?” he asks, low tone gritting in his throat. He charges closer toward the wall of his box.

“I—” You lick your lips, head shaking, “I don’t know.”

He huffs another breath through his nose. His irritation lines his face, fierce like a snarling wolf.

His fist raises before you can say more, slamming into the transparent pane between you. You jump, a hop away from the box, and it frosts over again.

The clunky arrival of breakfast reaches your ear. Your stone table laden with a plate. You approach. Black noodles, purple fluffy stuff and—is that popcorn?

You swallow and breathe and glance at the box before slowly lowering yourself to the seat. The pane clears again. His hands raised and pressing on his wall, eyes narrowed in concentration. Until he notices you. He pauses.

His own plate sits in the corner and you gesture to it.

“The noodles are not noodles,” you warn, taking the utensil provided and scooping a bite of the ‘popcorn’. Your teeth crunch through it—not quite, but almost close, if popcorn tasted of something like avocado.

The man’s gaze falls to the plate. He folds his legs and sits across from you, shoveling food into his mouth. He pauses as he tastes the noodles. A minute tick of disgust before he continues.

You pick at your food. Distracted by the ravenous way he devours every speck on his plate. Utensil scrapes against it and you twitch from the jarring sound.

“Not hungry?” he asks, wiping a hand over his mouth and beard. He barely looks at you, intent on the plate settled in his lap.

“What’s your name?” you ask, twirling your utensil in your food. Your elbow rests on the stone beside your plate, head on your hand.

“Kurt.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, giving your name in return.

He nods in acknowledgment but says nothing more. The silence stretches between you. You shift in discomfort. Surely there must be something to talk about.

“Did you wake up here first or did they take you somewhere else?” He could pull back the curtain a little. Give you a peek behind—into your keeper’s world.

“What do you think?” He drops his clean plate to the side and stands. His feet take him back and forth.

You can’t help but picture the tigers at the zoo who used to do that. Pacing against the glass, looking ready to take the first opportunity, planning something as they stare past their enclosure.

“You can’t escape,” you pipe up.

He pauses and glares.

A prod at your mind steals your attention. You still, waiting for Virion’s voice. When they don’t speak, your head cocks to the side, straining to listen for their voice.

It’s empty. The nothingness in your mind gaping like an open wound. You turn toward the door, waiting for the hiss of its opening. The camouflage of the rock wall remains solid. They’re not coming for you. Even as you reach out, your thoughts full of them. Lips parted and ready to call out.

“What are you doing?”

You snap back to your body. Kurt stares. His perpetual frown chisels his features like stone. For a moment you wonder what he’d look like if he smiled.

Next Part

As you moved into the hall, you were surprised to find Ransom’s door wide open. The far bedside lamp was on, but his bed was empty. But when you went downstairs, none of the lights were on. You cautiously flipped on the light in the kitchen, checking around, but the whole floor was empty. That was a bit odd, but not enough to interrupt your mission. You went straight to the pantry and got out the jar of peanut butter, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. As you were about to go back upstairs, something outside, by the back door, caught your eye. You stopped and waited until you saw movement again, so you cautiously moved forward and peeked your head outside. Ransom was standing a few feet to the side of the door, his gaze on the trees that lined the yard. There was a glass of whiskey in his hand, but it looked untouched.

You came out to stand next to him, closing the door behind you. “Sorry,” he said, very quietly, “did I wake you?”

You weren’t sure how that could have happened, when he was standing alone in the dark, completely silent. “No,” you answered. “I was just hungry.”

He glanced down at what you were holding. His nose wrinkled. “You’re eating peanut butter straight from the jar.”

“Yup,” you confirmed with a smile. “It was the only thing we had that sounded good. What I really want is a burger to dip in it.”

He raised his eyebrow at you. “A burger? To dip in peanut butter?”

“Uh huh! With extra pickles and extra mustard. And jalapeños.” Your stomach gave a little rumble, as if to cement your position on the matter.

Ransom wrinkled his nose. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a sigh. “I want it so bad.”

“So I guess that means your appetite is back.”

“Yeah,” you gave him a relieved smile. “Finally.”

He nodded. “That’s good,” he said, quietly.

You waited a beat, comfortable in the silence, and then asked, “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged, looking back out at the trees. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Mmm,” you hummed in response. You could have gone back in, finished your snack, gone back to bed. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure why. But you settled in next to him and looked out at the trees.

After several minutes, he added, “My brain just won’t turn off.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, not turning your attention to him.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. There was another very long beat before he continued, “I’m not going to be good at this.”

“Good at what?” you asked softly.

He shrugged, resolutely not looking at you. “Any of this. I have no idea how to be a father.” He swallowed, swirling around the ice in his drink but not taking a sip. “Or a husband. I don’t know how to be good at it.”

“Oh,” was all you said at first, his words landing in your chest. Then, “I don’t know how to do it either, be a wife or mother. Or,” you stopped, remembering all of your mother’s words and advice since you were a little girl and how hard you’d been trying to shut them out recently. “I guess I know how to be a certain version of a wife, but I don’t think that’s the kind I want to be.”

He finally looked at you, his eyes soft, a deep blue in the dark. “Like your mom, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Hmm…” another swirl of his glass, “was she a good mom? To you?”

“Um…” you started, fully turning your head away, but you still felt his eyes on you. “I don’t know. I guess–“ You sighed. You knew the answer even though you didn’t want to say it. “No. No, I don’t think she was. Not in a malicious way, she just- I don’t think she ever had the capabilities. I think she was too beaten down by the time I came along. She loved me in the only way she was able, but… But maybe that wasn’t enough.” You blinked back a few tears and shook your head. The steady chirping of crickets filled the quiet. You tried to let it calm you.

“My parents never loved me,” Ransom said after a long enough beat for you to pull yourself together. “I know that for sure. They’d tell you they do, but they don’t. I’ve known it since I was a kid.”

You put the spoon in the peanut butter and set it down on the patio next to you. With both hands you cradled your stomach. You were starting to really notice it changing, now that you were officially in your second trimester. Now that there was no reason to try to hide it. “I want to love them so much, but I just, I’m afraid I won’t know how.”

Ransom put his glass down on the ledge behind him and then took a step towards you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you very carefully. Then he took another step, reached a hand toward your middle and stopped. “Uh, do you mind if– Can I?“

It took you a moment to understand what he was asking for. Then, “Oh! Uh, yeah, sure.” You moved your own hands from your belly to make room for his. He carefully put both hands on you, cradling whoever was inside. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even really look up at you. But he stood there for a long time, holding you so gently, staring at your stomach like maybe if he stared hard enough, he could unlock some secret of the universe.

Eventually, you broke the silence, speaking softly in an effort to not disturb the peace you felt here in the dark. “I think,” his eyes shot up to meet yours at the sound of your voice. You gulped at the intensity of his gaze but kept going. “I think that as long as we try, we’ll be giving them more than we ever got. Maybe it still won’t be enough, but, it’ll be something. We just have to try.”

Ransom visibly swallowed, then looked you right in the eye and nodded. He took a step back and picked up his drink from where he’d left it, but he still didn’t drink it. He seemingly just needed something to do with his hands.

You stood in companionable silence for another long moment. Just as you were readying yourself to leave him alone with his thoughts and go back to bed, he spoke again. “What do you think about this house?”

“What?” was the only thing you could say to the strange abruptness of the question.

He was staring absently into the house now, a pronounced crease between his brows. “I keep trying to imagine a little kid running around here and I just can’t.”

Oh. You remembered back to that first day when you found out you were pregnant. You’d tried and failed to do the same thing. “No, I guess I can’t really either. And–“ you paused, finding your words, and he turned his attention to you, “when I first got here, I remember thinking that there was nothing in this house that seemed to have anything of you in it.”

He looked back into the living room through the large windows. “Linda got me this house when I turned twenty-five. It was already decorated and fully furnished when I moved in. I don’t know, I guess it was just the place I lived. Nothing more. And I never really thought about it.”

You didn’t say anything in response. He was clearly thinking through something. You took the moment to look at him, here in just the light coming out through the window. He looked different, you thought, now that you were actually getting to know him. Softer, maybe. Or smaller? Or, just, more like him.

“Maybe,” he said after several moments, “maybe it could be good to find a new place. Somewhere that fits all of us.”

“Yeah,” you said, quietly, a warmth moving through you. “Yeah, that could be really nice.”

He hummed in affirmation, and finally took a sip of his drink, before decisively putting it down again.

He didn’t say anything more, so you decided it was a good time to head back to bed. You quietly moved to the door, then stopped and turned back to him. “Hey, Ransom,” you called. He looked up at you, questioning, ready. “There’s still so much about this that really scares me, but I don’t think I’m scared of doing it all with you. Not anymore.”

The way he held your gaze at that was intense. Like he could really see you. And you could see him too. He swallowed roughly and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. It came out rough. “Me too.”

You just looked at each other for a few more seconds. Then, with your hand on the door, you nodded back at him. “Okay. Well, goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he said, soft and quiet. You felt his eyes on you until you were all the way inside.

Once you got upstairs, your room was empty. You went across the hall, and sure enough, Lola was curled up next to Ransom’s pillow. You smiled to yourself then went back to your room, leaving the door open, just a bit, a little dog-sized crack, in case either of them changed their minds.

You shouldn’t have been surprised how quickly things moved after that. If you’d learned anything about him it was that once he’d made up his mind about something, he acted quickly. The next week, Ransom had set up a meeting with a real estate agent—completely unaffiliated with his mother—and a week after that you were looking at houses. It felt surreal, actively making plans for your future family. But as the growth of your stomach became more noticeable every day, that future was starting to feel a lot more like your present.

There were some differences, it’d turned out, in how you and Ransom had pictured that future. You’d had your sites set on somewhere in Boston proper. Ransom’s empty neighborhood only added to your feelings of isolation and you were sick of it. You missed your apartment in downtown LA. and you wanted something urban again. You wanted parks and restaurants and walkability and culture. You wanted noise and activity and life.

Ransom couldn’t understand that. Especially with a baby on the way. He wanted privacy and quiet and space. But Ransom had a car he loved driving. Ransom had a job that got him out of the house everyday. Ransom had never had to worry about feeling isolated.

So you silenced the voice in your head that always sounded like your mom and put your foot down. This new life you were starting together would not involve another house that didn’t have neighbors. A house that made you feel like a ghost. A house that cut you off from society. So you stared Ransom down until he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Your real estate agent Deborah did her best to bridge the gulf between you, mostly looking at inner-ring suburbs that were quieter and upscale without feeling dead. You’d seen a few houses so far and at each one both you and Ransom had found reasons to turn them down. You hoped this one might be different. You were ready to have at least one part of your new life with this baby settled.

The car pulled up in front of a three-story, swell-front house in Brookline. It was constructed from red brick with black trim. There were brightly colored flower beds lining the walk up to the front door. It felt homey, at least from the outside. As much as you tried to focus on taking it all in, you were quickly distracted by the sight of Ransom, already there, pacing in front of the property and growling into his phone. You turned to the driver, asking him to wait there for you, as you weren’t sure if Ransom would be coming home when you were done or would need to return to work. As he nodded and got back in the car, you headed to Ransom who’d ended his conversation and now was shaking his head in frustration.

“Everything okay?” you asked him as you got close.

His shoulders relaxed at the sight of you. “Just fucking Harlan,” he said with an eye roll as he greeted you with a hug. That was something he’d been doing lately. Since that awful dinner at his grandfather’s house. It was nice. It was really nice. “He wants the baby to take his last name.”

That stopped you cold. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ransom scowled. “I think if he had it to do over again, he would have figured out a way to get my name changed when he made me his heir. But he didn’t, so now he wants to correct it with my heir.”

Your hands instinctively went to your belly. What if this baby isn’t your heir? a tiny voice asked. A voice that had been getting bigger ever since Harlan’s toast to your son at that dinner. But saying that out loud felt too much like tempting fate, so instead you voiced a safer anxiety. “The baby will have a different last name from us?”

“Hey, no. Don’t worry. I’ll figure out a way to talk him down. I promise.” He gently placed his hand on the small of your back. “Now, come on, let’s go let Deborah try to convince us that this is the house.”

You nodded, letting your hands relax at your sides, and let him guide you up the front steps to where Deborah was waiting to let you in.

Your first impression was that everything was very beige. It was staged beautifully. But god, you hated the color scheme. The paint, all the fixtures. All so beige. It was oppressive.

Deborah showed you through the house. The finished basement, the semi-open plan living and dining spaces on the first floor, the bedrooms and en suites on the second. It was nice, you supposed, fine. But it just felt like a house. You didn’t know what would push you over into loving it.

So, instead of looking around at the rooms you passed through, you started watching Ransom. You could see his keen eyes taking in every detail. You wondered what he was seeing. More than you were, it seemed. But you couldn’t tell what direction he was leaning. You still found him so hard to read.

Deborah ended the tour on the third floor. “This floor would make a lovely au pair’s suite,” she said with a soft smile toward your pregnant belly. You and Ransom hadn’t talked about that yet, the nanny situation. Only that you both lamented having been completely raised by nannies. “Or if you decide against live-in help, easily convertible into a set of offices.” She looked to you and then Ransom, who was peering around the small common living space. “Well, I’ll let the two of you explore a bit on your own. I’ll be right downstairs if you have any questions.”

You thanked her as she left, then turned to Ransom who was looking at you, a soft smile on his face. “This is the one, right?” he asked you.

“You think?” you asked back, looking around, trying to see what you were missing.

“I do,” he nodded. “I think it’s exactly what we need.”

You wrinkled your nose at the beige walls that surrounded you. “I hate all the colors.”

Ransom gave you a smile that you could only describe as affectionate. It made your stomach swoop oddly. “That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll get a decorator. Have it exactly how we want before we even move in.” He paused and his expression grew more careful. “You really don’t see it?”

You sighed as you looked around again. “I mean, I don’t hate it. And I’m trying, but…” You gave a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry.”

One last long, careful look at you had him asking, “Can I show you?” with his hand outstretched to take yours.

You only hesitated for a moment before putting your hand in his. “Okay.”

He quickly brought you down to the second floor, his hand warm and snug around your own. He stopped in the hallway. “We can figure out rooms for each of us eventually. You can have the primary if you want. I–“ He abruptly stopped, then shook his head. There was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t read. But then he gestured to the room directly across from the primary and said, “But that’s the nursery.”

You let him lead you inside. It was a large room with a window directly opposite the door. There were built in bookcases on each side of the window, with a low, padded window seat that ran between them. It was lovely.

Ransom came up behind you, close enough that you could feel a hint of his body heat, and pointed, over your shoulder, to one corner. “That’s where the crib will go. Something to match the built-ins.” He moved your attention to the opposite wall. “Some toy chests over there.” And then back to the space next to one of the bookshelves. “And a comfy rocking chair in the corner here. So we can sit with them.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. Tears had started to prick at the corners of your eyes. It wasn’t just that you could see what he was describing. It was that he could see it. That he had thought of the kind of room he wanted for your child. That he so clearly wanted them to be happy.

“We could do a forest theme. Sage and dark green walls, knick knacks on the shelves, get some big stuffed animals.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your emotion out of your voice. “That sounds really nice.”

He grabbed your hand again. “Okay, come on. There’s more.”

He brought you downstairs next, and into the kitchen.

It was large, spacious, with two sliding doors that could separate it from the rest of the house if needed. There was an island with a large gas range on top of it and stools lining one side. It was nice, with all the appliances you could want in a kitchen.

Ransom was watching you take it in. “We’ll have a housekeeper who can prepare meals, of course, but I want this to be a place you can use whenever you want. But only when you want. When the doors are open, I think the sight lines are pretty good to the rest of this level.” He walked over to the breakfast nook that sat under a large window to the backyard, looking at something you couldn’t see. “I really like this,” he said, quietly. “The kid could sit here and color or play or whatever, while you cooked. Or I could sit here with them, and talk to you. Keep you company. I think this could be a really nice place to spend time in.”

You swallowed harshly around a lump in your throat. He was imagining so much. “Yeah,” you agreed, starting to see what he saw. “You’re right. It really could be.”

“Okay,” he said with a soft smile. “One last thing.” Then you let him pull you, a little dazed, into the backyard.

It was bigger than you’d expected, due to it being a corner lot. But you thought the property must have been extended at some point as well. There was a carriage house with the same red brick and black trim as the main house converted into a multi-car garage in the far corner. A paved drive leading from it to the street guarded by a wrought-iron gate. Nearer to the house, there was a small patio, big enough for a dining area. It was beautifully landscaped, surrounded by a tall, thick hedge screen.

“It’s not huge, but big enough I think. Lola would have plenty of room to run around. And maybe we could put a little swing set or something over there, some sort of play area” he gestured back to the dining area, “and you and I could spend nice nights out here, watch the kid play–“

He kept talking. You know he did. But you were so overwhelmed you couldn’t take in anymore. He hadn’t just imagined his own life in this house, with you as a background character. No, he’d imagined the three of you here, as a family, and the way these walls might contain your whole lives together. You were so overcome with feeling. You’d never felt like this before. You lunged for him without a single conscious thought to do it, connecting your lips to his.

Ransom went very still. Shocked. His whole body stiff against yours. Just as you felt him start to relax minutely, you brain finally caught up with your body and you pulled away, taking several steps back. Your hands came up to your mouth in horror. “Oh my god,” you muttered. What had you done? Why had you done that? “I-“ you started and stopped. You wanted to apologize but you didn’t know how to get the words out. And he was standing there, stock still, just staring at you. “I, um,” you swallowed harshly. “You’re, uh, you’re right. This house is ours. Um. You should go tell Deborah. Get the process started. But I–“ You tried to force yourself to breathe. “I have to go.”

And then you ran away, even with him calling after you. Back to the waiting car and then back home.

You beat Ransom home. Of course you did. Hopefully, he’d be gone for a while, getting things settled with Deborah. You didn’t know how you would face him. You fed Lola and let her out, and then you just paced around the lower floor of the house, round and round, before you finally got out your phone and typed a message.

Shit Steve, I think I really fucked up

The three dots to show he was typing appeared immediately, then disappeared, and reappeared.

Give me two minutes

You reacted with a thumbs up and waited. Two minutes later, on the dot, your phone rang. “Hey Steve,” you answered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, urgently. “Do I need to come out there and beat someone up?”

“No,” you sighed. “This one’s all my fault.”

“Chip, what happened?”

You braced yourself. “I kissed Ransom.”

Steve didn’t say anything in response. For too long. Oh god. You really had fucked up. “Steve?” you asked nervously.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, sounding caught off guard. “I thought– Is that it?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean ‘is that it?’”

“I– I guess I don’t really understand what the problem is here. You think you fucked up because you… kissed your husband?”

“No, that’s not– When you say it like that–“ you struggled, then sighed. “You know that’s not how we are.”

There was another long pause from him and when he spoke again his voice was shockingly soft. “Are you sure about that?”

“Steve, I– What are you talking about?”

“Chip, I was there. From everything I saw and everything you’ve told me since, it’s obvious he cares about you. And vice versa.”

This time it was you who was quiet for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. “I know that he cares about me,” you said, and you meant it. You could finally admit that you felt his care every day. “But caring about me isn’t the same thing as wanting that kind of relationship with me. We’re friends and–“ you stopped, not sure how to say exactly what you meant. “We’re friends.”

When he paused this time, the silence was thoughtful. “Okay, Chip. I can tell you're really panicking and I want to help you, but I need you to help me understand why you’re so upset."

“I just–“ You took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to form. “I don’t want to have ruined everything.”

“But what if you didn’t?” he asked, his voice gentle. “What if he feels the same way?”

You immediately shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “No,” you argued, voice quiet. “No, he can’t. That’s not something I get to have.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I– I’ve always known that that isn’t for me. I– That’s not– Even being friends is more than I ever imagined I’d get to have. I should be so grateful to have a husband who cares about me at all. It feels too greedy to want anything else.”

“Oh, Chipmunk.” His voice was so sad. “It’s okay to want good things for yourself. I want everything good for you. I want you to have it.”

Your eyes were fully watering now. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”

“Listen, you know I hate to say anything nice about Ransom. But I think he really wants to take good care of you. If that’s true, he’d want you to talk to him about this. I think it’ll go better than you expect. I think you can trust him.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

“Talk to him,” he ordered. “Promise me you will.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, your voice so small.

“It’s going to be okay, Chip.” He sounded so sure. “No matter what happens, it’s going to be okay.”

And for a moment, you were ten again, believing everything your big brother told you. “Okay,” you said. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said, without hesitation. Then he sighed. “All right. I should probably get back to my meeting.”

“What? Oh no, you didn’t–“

“Stop, this was more important. But I should get back now. Let me know how things go.”

“I will. Thank you, Steve.”

“Love you, Chip. Bye.”

Love you. Bye Steve.” You hung up the phone and tried to hold onto the feeling that things might be all right.

You’d done your best to try to settle yourself down. You’d sat on the couch. You’d picked up the book you were in the middle of and opened it to where you’d left off. But you didn’t read. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked on the front door. You had no idea how this was going to go.

Even with all of your attention on the door, you still startled when it opened and Ransom walked in. He froze, a little, when he noticed you on the couch. He was carrying something. Your eyes flicked to it as you stood up, taking a few steps forward, but still leaving a gulf between you.

“I got you something. To eat,” he said, shockingly timid, gesturing at you with the greasy, white paper bag in his hand. He set it down on the kitchen island and took a step back.

You walked to the island and very carefully opened it. It was a burger, absolutely slathered in peanut butter. With extra mustard, extra pickles, and jalapeños. The exact burger you’d told him you’d been craving.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, “it took me a while to find a place that could do it. Because, you know, it’s disgusting.”

You just stared at it for a long moment, ignoring his teasing. Those feelings welling up inside you again. But no matter how he cared for you, you decided, it was enough. No matter what Steve said. You couldn’t fuck that up. “I, uh– I owe you an apology,” you said nervously, your fingers fidgeting on the counter top in front of you. You felt Ransom’s gaze snap to you, but he didn’t say anything so you continued. “I’m so sorry I kissed you. I never should have done that and it won’t happen again. I’m really sorry.”

You kept your gaze on your hands until the silence stretched on far longer than you were comfortable with. Nervously, you looked up, locking eyes with Ransom. His brow was furrowed. He looked upset. Was the apology not enough?

He stared at you for too long, like he was trying to find something in your expression, but you weren’t sure what. Then, finally, he asked, “What, exactly, are you apologizing for?” When your only response was to look at him in confusion—you thought you’d been clear—he rephrased. “Why are you sorry you kissed me?”

“Because–“ It felt like your breath was caught in your throat. The moment suddenly felt charged, for reasons you didn’t fully understand. “Because I know that’s not something you want and I–“

“I think,” he cut you off, voice low and so serious, “that you have no idea what I actually want.” And then, before you could parse what he meant, he surged forward, taking your face in both hands, and kissed you.

It took a moment for your brain to register what was happening, it was so far beyond anything you’d expected. But then you caught up, feeling his soft lips on yours, his hands gently cradling your head, the warmth of his body seeping into you. You let out a little gasp, finally understanding, feeling it for real, and he took it as invitation to deepen the kiss, his tongue tentatively entering your mouth. You sank into it, taking everything he was giving you. You’d never been kissed like this, never with such feeling. All you could do was ride its wave.

Far too soon, Ransom pulled away. But not far. He pressed his forehead to yours, his lips still so close, and whispered, “What I want is whatever you’re willing to give me. Not a single thing more, but not anything less, either. I want anything you might want.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice so small, overwhelmed. You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes, and you futilely tried to blink them away.

“Really,” he answered, and the certainty in his voice moved through you, as he brushed a tear off your face with his thumb. “I promise. Anything you want. Always.”

You took a deep breath. “I want to be a family with you,” you whispered. And with those words, you felt something inside of you, something that you hadn’t fully realized was undone, settle for the first time since you’d sat in Joseph’s office and been forced to sign that contract.

“Me too,” he whispered back. “Let’s be a family.”

And then he kissed you again. Like he meant it. And you believed him.

A/N 2: 😭😭😭 It only took eleven chapters but they finally did it, you guys!!!! I hope you love this as much as I do. Please let me know what you think!

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Log Date 53487Willow5

Female subject stable. Routine developed for hygiene and sustenance. Body suit monitoring data reviewed and archived. Brief periods of data loss to be investigated.

The water cascades over your body. Trailing along your curves as you sigh and stand beneath the fall. It’s the best shower you’ve ever used. Always the perfect temperature and pressure. The floor slick with water, but not slippery. Small stones create a surface with enough grip to keep you firmly on your feet. More rocks jut from behind the fall for the spongy soap they provide. The smell fragrant but not overpowering.

And best of all, it’s tucked away from any prying eyes at the window. Like your bed, a little slice of privacy in this place. You revel in it, thank the heavens for the reprieve.

You will admit, there was a learning curve to your daily ablutions. Your first attempts at peeling off the body suit were a challenge. You’d managed. But it takes serious concentration, sweat, and tears.

For the blissful moments you lose yourself under the waterfall, it lays crumpled in a pile to the side, away from splatter and spray. And you remain grateful that slipping it on remains easier than taking it off.

With a rinse of your face, you let your thoughts circle the drain—though you’ve never checked to see if there really is one.

A soft nudge in your brain catches your notice. As you’ve noticed the sensation several times over the past several days. You wipe water away from your eyes and lean away from the fall. Like the brief introduction to your keeper speaking in your head. A strange sensation that almost feels like deja vu. You’ve tried to catch the feeling—to respond back, silently call them, but it’s just your thoughts. Nothing more.

You sigh and turn to let the water cascade over your back. Only to be met by a looming figure.

You jump and cover yourself as best you can. Heat fills your blood with adrenaline and embarrassment. You didn’t hear their approach.

They stand there, stare unrelenting but lidded as it drags over the planes of your flesh. The suit drapes over their hand, held out in offering. But they remain speechless, in all aspects. A tinge of bluish green speckling their cheeks.

“I’m showering!” you screech the obvious in hopes that it will dissuade them from continuing to ogle your form.

Your suit.

You shiver. Still unused to the intrusion in your mind, even though their voice is a melodious lure that leads you toward unwarranted thoughts.

“I’m getting clean,” you respond aloud, still unsure of how exactly to cross this bridge of communication. The intricacies of how it works and the proper etiquette lost to you.

But their nod is indication enough to confirm their understanding.

Wear your suit.

Your teeth clench. You shiver. They shake the fabric in your direction. A command without words. Your mind flashes to the man in the window. Naked, afraid—you don’t want to be like that.

A shuddering breath blows through your nose and you step away from the waterfall and the warmth it provides your bare figure.

Stepping right up to your keeper, you grab onto the fabric. Their fist tightens. A glint in their eye you cannot decipher as they keep their thoughts to themself.

Instead of saying anything outright, they sink to the floor. The body suit pools across the ground and spreads with their hands.

In, please.

You hesitate a moment, but oblige. A tentative hand on their shoulder to steady yourself. They freeze. Body rigid under your touch.

It’s a slow process, the way their hands skim up your sides. Pulling the material over your curves until it covers you entirely. Low murmurs escaping their lips in whispers. Their eyes blink in a slow sweep before they reach toward your neck. You steel yourself not to flinch away. With a gentle press, the material shimmers like it did when they examined your lower abdomen. Except this time, it all disappears. Revealing every inch of skin to their examination.

Like this.

“What’s the difference?” you ask, hiding the nervous pluck of your voice with a clearing of your throat.

This monitors your data. You’ve been impeding our research.

Your lips circle around a syllable—understanding mixed with even more confusion. “Why?”

Their eyes blink again. A gesture of their hand in the direction of the water.

Continue.

An aborted protest passes your lips, but you nod, trailing back to the waterfall with a glance over your shoulder.

“Do you, uh, have to watch?” you ask. Unsure of what answer you crave in the pits of your belly.

Research.

Your teeth clench and you give a stilted nod.

A tide of heat licks at your fingertips as you reach into the stream of water and let it cool you. A transparent shroud for your naked figure. It softens the edges of your vulnerability.

You let your eyes flutter shut, everything sinking into the background before reaching to the shelf and retrieving the soap. You lather the planes of your body, washing away the nerves that pluck uneasy at your alien’s proximity.

Their stare pierces you. Carving deep and thorough over every measure of your flesh.

As you soap your shoulders, you peek at them. Attentive does not begin to describe their gaze as they watch your hands skim your arms.

An unsettling, electric hunger flares in their eyes—surely for knowledge, to dissect your species for their research. That is all they want. You are positive. And yet, you shiver, nipples pebbling and a faint yearning clench deep in your core.

No. You turn your face under the water. Washing that thought away. You haven’t been touched in too long, you’re lonely, you need another human to scratch this itch stirring to life. You do not want them. It’s impossible.

Virion.

You pause, hands cupping your chest as you rinse suds away.

“What?”

My name. Virion.

“Virion,” you repeat aloud. The taste on your tongue foreign as you let your mouth curve over the sound of it.

They blink slowly. An unconscious step taken forward. You tense. Body locked in awareness of their size—of what they’ve done, could do. The promise of their touch stolen as they pause.

Your eyes dart to their fingertips. Reaching toward you, so close. Their hand flexes and closes in a fist. Then they turn and leave without another word.

A heavy breath billows past your lips. Hand swiping over your head and finding the nape of your neck. A moment taken to reset from your close encounter.

You finish your shower. But the rest of the day is lost in a daze. Mind occupied by thoughts of Virion. Their intensity and the ache it awakened in you.

Visitors watch as you pace back and forth in front of your window. Their eyes tracking your movement. The audience ignored and forgotten minutiae separated from you by more than glass.

Your dinner arrives with the usual clunk. You pick at it with your fingers, leaving the chalky bar that smells of almonds untouched—running on autopilot and so used to avoiding the allergen as thoughts consume more than you do.

Night falls and you lay on the soft spread of mossy bedding, eyes searching for the camouflaged ceiling. Your mind drifts to Virion. The aborted step forward. The near touch of their hand. The concentrated fervor in their eyes.

You fall into a fitful and unsatisfying slumber plagued by frustration and discomfort.

Next Part

Log Date 53479Crystal8

CONTAINMENT BREACH. Stock escaped. Headed toward exhibits. Keeper sent to mitigate damage.

Lights flash. A noise drones. You whine and flip to your other side, reaching for that oblivion of sleep. And yet it escapes your grasp. It’s not morning. Exhaustion still weighing your eyelids down. But the noise continues and ruins any hope of easy sleep. An eye peeks open. Your habitat still and blanketed in darkness. The soft blue glow of your tattoo bands your arm, drowned by flashes of white and orange lights. You turn back and peek past the vines of your resting place. The curtain sits closed and blocks the window from without—drawn for the night. Yet lights pierce through the small break in the fabric, blinding you in intervals.

You stare at it from your soft bedding, a silent debate playing in your head whether to investigate.

The curtain rustles. Your brow quirks. Your decision made for you.

Your feet pad over the ground, warmed by the artificial soil. Hands cover your ears to block the blaring noise. Your eyes scan the expanse of maroon fabric as it stills.

A red glow catches your eye. Tucked in the corner of the window, huddled between it and the curtain. Brighter than white and orange. Outlining a figure.

Another human, naked and trembling. His hand clutches at his bicep, creeping to cover the light. The band around it like yours, but an angry red. He hisses as his fingers find contact, sucking at the tips as if burned. Concealment all but forgotten as he tends to them.

Your hand lowers from one ear, knuckle tapping on the glass. The man jumps.

“Shit!”

“What are you doing?” you ask, relieved he speaks a language you understand.

He raises a finger over his lips in a bid for quiet. You nod and he replies, “I gotta get outta there. Help me.”

You lower yourself to his crouching level. Hand leaning on the glass to keep you steady. Your brow furrows. “You got out of your habitat?”

“I wasn’t in-they—” He runs a shaking hand over his face and turns his gaze away from you. Scanning for something you can’t see between the wall and the curtain. A heavy bluster of breath breaks past his lips. His teeth grit as he turns back to you and hisses,“We’re animals to them. Like cows on a farm. They’re making more—to sell.” His eyes flick over the glass separating you. And beyond, at the dimly illuminated shape of your habitat. He turns to you, eyes widening. “Are they using you to—”

A clattering noise catches his attention and he silences himself. Shrinks further into the corner. You crouch closer beside him, separated only by the window.

The noise lowers, volume bearable. But something’s not right. Your hair stands on end. Nerves jumping. Dread floods your system.

You glance to the dark behind you, and back to the fear in his eyes. It sinks like lead in your gut. You cannot help him. You don’t know how. Your nails pick at the seal of the window. Swallowing around the lump in your throat.

A swathe of fabric falls over your shoulders. You chirp in fear and press to the glass. The man’s eyes snap to you, widening with his own terror.

Gentle hands guide you away from the window. They wrap you further in the blanket and into their arms until you lean against a firm chest in their embrace.

Cooing foreign words wash over your head. Familiar hands pet over your limbs and sides. Attempt to tilt your stubborn head toward them.

Your eyes widen as they lift you without strain. And in turn you cling to them, unused to the ease of their carry. Sure they will drop you, your weight too much for their arms.

“No,” the man gasps, swallowing around his fear. He scrambles along the pane, away from his huddled position. A desperate animal trying to flee.

Hands, like the ones holding you, grab at the curtain. Lights flare around them. An angry halo surrounding their looming figures. Their features shadowed and clinically void of emotion.

They latch onto the man and drag him away. His fingers streaking against the glass like a scream. The flutter of the fabric and his cries in the night the only evidence he was ever there at all.

Next Part

You glanced at his screen to find the text you’d sent earlier that day, telling him to come home at a decent time because you were making dinner. “I’m making dinner,” you said, obviously.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, clearly. But why?”

You just shrugged. “Because I wanted to. I told you I enjoyed it, didn’t I?”

He looked at you skeptically. “I just figured that was some Stepford bullshit you expected me to want. Didn’t realize anyone actually enjoyed it.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Well, I do. It’s still got about twenty minutes, so you can go relax and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” You froze as soon as the words were out of your mouth, for just a second, almost like you were having an out-of-body experience. What a wife thing to say.

As you tried to subtly shake yourself out of it, Ransom shot you a look to show that he had perhaps thought the same thing, before he went upstairs to his room with a promise that he’d be back down soon. 

You busied yourself easily, readying the finishing touches as the contents of your pot and pan finished cooking. You were perfectly happy to keep working on dinner by yourself while Ransom unwound from his workday upstairs. So you were surprised when, just a few moments after he'd gone upstairs, Ransom came back down, wearing a soft maroon sweater and gray sweats, and took a seat right in front of you at the kitchen island. You didn’t comment on it, though, and neither did he. 

“How was your day?” you asked, keeping your eyes on the cutting board.

He let out a low groan, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rolling his shoulders. With a sigh, he said, “Walt's gonna be the fucking death of me.”

You carefully set your knife down to give him your full attention. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “He just thinks that constantly undermining me is the way to get Harlan to realize his mistake and name Walt heir. It's an ongoing problem.”

You resumed your chopping. “Harlan won't change his mind. I've barely met him, and even I know Walt's a fucking idiot.” 

You looked up to find Ransom smirking at you, but this time, it didn't make you feel stupid or silly.  Instead, it made you feel like part of his team, united against his idiot relations. It was a nice feeling. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I think Walt's the only one who doesn't know that. It won't make him stop trying, though.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be too long until Harlan retires and hands everything over to you. Then you can just fire Walt immediately and finally be done with him.”

Ransom shot you a mean little grin. “Oh, trust me. I’ve had numerous fantasies of what that moment will look like. In great detail. I’m going to savor it.”

You laughed. “Maybe I’ll come to work with you that day. He’ll definitely deserve witnesses.”

“Of course,” he said, “I mean, I’ll need someone to film it.” That just made you laugh harder, and his mean smile turned pleased. “I didn’t know you had a vindictive streak. I like it.”

You laughed again. “Trust me,” you said, “I can be plenty vindictive. I broke Steve’s paintbrushes once when I was a kid, because he wouldn’t take me to get ice cream.”

Ransom leaned forward with a devilish smile. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see his face.”

You gave him a good-natured eye roll. “Yeah, I’m sure you would have.” 

He just grinned at you but didn’t respond further. A comfortable silence filled the room as you put the finishing touches on dinner, one that neither of you seemed to feel an urgent need to fill. You hummed quietly to yourself as you pulled the pans off the burners and began to dish it up onto two plates. You placed one in front of Ransom and moved to sit next to him.

“Oh wow,” he said, looking down at the beef tenderloin medallions in porcini sauce nestled next to garlic mashed potatoes and an herb salad. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “I guess I don’t really know. I’ve never cooked for myself, so” another shrug. “Ramen, maybe?”

You snorted. “If I ever serve you ramen, you can trust that it won’t be from a packet.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, still looking down at the plate. “I understand that now.” He took a bite of the beef and immediately closed his eyes. “Holy shit,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” you asked, feeling strangely vulnerable.

 “Yeah,” he answered, locking eyes with you. “It’s delicious. Incredible.”

His eyes were intense. You swallowed and looked down at your own plate. “Good. I’m glad you like it.”

You both ate quietly for a few moments before he spoke again. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

You shrugged, a little bashful. “Steve went to college when I was twelve. I was too old for a nanny at that point, so I was just all alone in that house. My mom–” You stopped yourself and shook your head. You never knew how to explain her. “I would go down to the kitchen and hang out with Joseph’s cook, because he’d always been nice to me. After a while, he started teaching me, letting me help with dinner. I think my mom was kind of weirded out at first, but she eventually decided it’d be a great skill to impress my future husband. I was just doing it for myself, though. I used to daydream about being a chef somewhere.”

“Well,” he said, so softly, “you’re really good at it. You’re welcome to kick Carol out of the kitchen any time you want.”

You couldn’t help the way you beamed down at your plate. “Thank you.” After a few more quiet moments of you both eating, you added, “Sorry, there isn’t any wine. Anything with alcohol has been making me so nauseous lately.”

Ransom frowned. “Are you feeling alright now?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been doing okay today. And everything online says I’ll hopefully feel better in just a few weeks, so… Just gotta hold on ‘til then.”

He gave your back a comforting pat, seemingly without realizing it. “Well,” he said, “this probably won’t make you feel any better, but before I forget, Harlan invited us to dinner on Saturday.”

You stopped eating, carefully placing your fork on your plate. “Oh.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Just him and my parents, so not the whole awful lot of them.”

You nodded compulsively, trying to stop your insides from twisting. “Right. That’s fine.” And then a thought struck you with horror. “I suppose we’ll need to tell them that I’m pregnant.”

“Do you want to tell them?” he asked, his tone incredibly even.

“Not really, but we have to, don’t we?”

Ransom rolled his eyes hard, shifting his whole body. “They can find out at the baby’s first birthday, for all I care. If you don’t want to tell them, we don’t have to tell them.”

You knew, logically, that that wasn’t true. People would need to know that you’d fulfilled the contract. But when you actually thought about facing them and sharing this news, your entire body locked up. “No,” you said very quietly. “No, I don’t want to tell them. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” Ransom said with finality. “Then we won’t mention it. We’ll just have a run-of-the-mill awful dinner with them and keep our mouths shut.” Then he went back to eating his potatoes, and the conversation moved on.

Saturday came sooner than you were ready for.

You took off another dress and threw it down in your closet. There was a small pile gathering at your feet. You weren't quite gripped by the same absolute panic as the last time you tried to dress for his family, but you could feel it starting to bubble up inside of you. You tried to force yourself to take a deep breath. There was one more thing you could try. 

You tentatively took a step outside the closet and hesitated. You looked across the hallway to the other bedroom. This was okay. You could ask for this. “Hey, Ransom,” you called out. It only took a moment for him to appear in his doorway. He wasn’t dressed yet. “Could you– I– I could use your help.”

He studied your face for a moment and then nodded decisively. He left his room, and you led him back into your closet, where you just stood and stared helplessly at your clothes.

“What do you need help with?” he asked, softly, putting a gentle hand on your back. That was the moment you both seemed to realize you were just in your underwear. He pulled his hand back quickly as you cleared your throat nervously.

“Uh, your mom– She always seems to have an opinion about how I’m dressed and–” you gestured to the racks and shelves of your clothes. “I don’t know what will make her happy.”

He sighed and took a step closer. “The first thing you need to know is that nothing you do will ever make her happy. So don’t waste your energy trying to please her. It’s impossible. But–” he turned to the dresses hanging in front of you and looked at them carefully.  Then he took down a simple, knee-length Chanel. “Here,” he said, handing you the hanger, “it’ll be hard for her to find anything to complain about with that one.” 

You took the dress with a nod and slipped it onto your body. Then, as you reached behind yourself to zip it up, Ransom’s hand on your wrist stopped you. “Let me,” he whispered. Both of his hands found the small of your back and you swallowed, feeling his heat through the thin fabric. As he slowly glided the zipper up your back, you suddenly remembered the way he’d unfastened your wedding dress the first morning you’d been married. His hands had always been so gentle with you.

When he got to the top of your dress, he lingered there for just a moment, his hands still on you. Then he took a purposeful step back. “There,” he said.

You turned to your full-length mirror. The dress looked nice, simple but elegant. Perfect for an intimate family dinner. You turned to the side and looked at yourself in profile, running your hand over your stomach. “Do you think they’ll be able to tell?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away, looking at you carefully. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I barely can, and I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

You looked at your reflection again and sighed. “Alright. Well, I should finish getting ready. And you need to get dressed. We don’t want to be late.” You turned to start putting on jewelry, but Ransom stayed where he was.

At your questioning glance, he put his hands on his hips. “We don’t need to go, you know. If you don’t want to.”

You scoffed. “Of course we do. Harlan invited us, and you’re his heir. Of course, we need to go.”

He sighed and dropped his hands, pinning you with a surprisingly serious look. “One of these days,” he said lowly, “we’re going to talk about this unearned sense of responsibility you have towards everything.”

You immediately rolled your eyes. Nothing you felt was unearned. You just understood how this world worked. More than he did, apparently. You didn’t say anything more and shooed him back to his own room.

You grabbed Ransom’s wrist as it was still on the gear shift between you, after he’d put the car into park. He turned to you with his brows furrowed in concern. “Sorry,” you started, knowing the anxiety you felt was in your voice. “I just– Can you–” You took a deep breath and in a much smaller voice, you pleaded, “Promise you won’t leave me alone in there. Please.” You were such a coward.

But Ransom’s face didn’t show any judgment. “I promise,” he said, his voice so soft. “Not for a second.”

You nodded, with one more shaky breath, then you both got out of the car. 

Once at the house, you were shown into an intimate sitting room where Ransom’s parents and grandfather were having pre-dinner drinks. The conversation stopped the moment you entered the room, all eyes on the two of you. 

Harlan was out of his seat first, coming over to greet you. “My dear!” he said, once he was close enough to grasp both of your hands. “I swear you grow more radiant by the day.”

You forced a smile and a small thank you as you felt your face heat, just a bit. You hated the way his compliments always made you feel like an object. One to be admired, yes, but– But only ever that.

You felt Ransom’s hand press into you where it was stuck like glue to your lower back. You tried to let his touch ground you as Linda joined your group, Richard still over at Harlan’s drink cart. “Well,” she said, in lieu of a greeting, “not quite as late as usual. I suppose I should count it as a win.”  

“Mother,” Ransom forced out, and you were sure you could hear his teeth grinding together. 

“Son,” she said, shortly, before her gaze fell on you. Her pinched features roved over your body, and it took everything in you to stand firm, not flinch, not cower, Ransom’s hand steady on your back. “Darling, you’re looking well.”

What the hell did that mean? It was close to a compliment, but it couldn’t possibly be that. Did she know? Could she tell? Was that what she was trying to say? You tried to not let yourself spiral as you felt Ransom’s hand on your back press into you even more. You were fine. You weren’t facing her alone. “Thank you, Linda,” you said with a smile that you hoped had at least a little bite in it, “so are you.”

Her brows pinched together for a nanosecond, just long enough for you to catch, before they smoothed back out into her uniformed look of regal calm. But you’d done it, you’d ruffled her too. You’d seen it.

“Come, come,” Harlan said, motioning towards the little circle of love seats and arm chairs on one side of the room. “Let’s not make the kids stand awkwardly in the doorway. Let them sit!” 

Linda gave you one more hard look, then turned back to the sitting area. As she did, you caught a whiff of her strong perfume and your stomach roiled dangerously. You let out a rough exhale, trying to steady your stomach. No. Not here. Not now. You refused.

Ransom, of course, noticed. He seemed to notice everything. He shot you a concerned look, but you just shook your head as subtly as you could. You’d be okay. You had to be.

The moment you sat down, Richard was in front of you, handing Ransom a glass of whiskey. He passed it right under your nose, and the moment the scent of the alcohol hit you, your stomach did another flip. No no no.

You were so focused on not being sick, it took you a long moment to register the fact that Richard had asked you a question. “What can I make you to drink, sweetheart?”

You froze. Everyone was looking at you. Oh god, why hadn’t you planned for this? You were going to give it away. They would see right through you. 

“I don’t think she wants anything. Right?” Ransom asked you with a raised eyebrow. He turned back to his father. “She’s had a headache all day.”

You grabbed onto the lifeline he was offering with both hands. “Yes! Nothing for me, thank you. I’m feeling much better now, but no reason to tempt fate, right?” You forced a chuckle and felt Ransom relax minutely next to you.

That seemed to be a good enough excuse, and the conversation moved on quickly. You didn’t pay much attention. Linda crowed about her business. Richard complained about the state of the world. Harlan offered up opinions about everyone else. But luckily, no one seemed to require much input from you, so you didn’t offer any. More surprising was that Ransom stayed equally quiet. He didn’t snipe. He didn’t complain. He didn’t yell or insult. He just sat next to you, tense, with one hand on your thigh.

Since it was a much more intimate group this time, when it was time to eat, you all moved to the table set up on the other side of the sitting room, instead of moving into the formal dining room. You were seated between Ransom and Harlan, which seemed like the safest option, even though you now found yourself across from Richard and could feel his eyes on you. That was alright, though, you told yourself. As long as Ransom stayed with you, like he promised, you’d be okay.

The first course passed without incident, and you were starting to breathe easier. But then the next plate was placed in front of you: poached salmon in an herbed beurre blanc. Your already shaky stomach revolted violently, and you moved without thinking, rushing from the table to the nearest bathroom. You heard your name being called behind you, but you didn’t dare stop. You careened into the little bathroom off of the main entrance, slamming the door behind you. Just in time, you found yourself kneeling in front of the toilet, no longer trying to keep yourself together.

Once you were done and your stomach was empty, you stood up on shaky legs and began to clean yourself up. You still looked a little green around the gills when you checked yourself in the mirror, but you were presentable enough.

You heard voices on the other side of the bathroom door and sighed deeply as you braced yourself. There was no use hiding. You opened the door to find Ransom standing directly in front of it, facing you with a deep look of concern on his face, shielding you from his family behind him. “Are you alright?” he asked, lowly, just for you, his brows knit together, his eyes roving over your face.

You took another deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” you answered softly, “I’m okay.”

Linda’s head popped up over Ransom’s shoulder. “Darling,” she demanded, voice sharp. “Are you pregnant?”

You thought about lying for a split second, but what was the point? They would all find out eventually. Your eyes flicked to Ransom, hoping to find an answer there, but he seemed to be looking for the same from you. So you just sighed and said, resigned, “Yes. I am.”

Harlan immediately clapped his hands together. “Wonderful news!” he exclaimed. “Fran!” he called out to his housekeeper. “We need champagne! And a sparkling water! This is a time to celebrate!”

You were both herded back into the sitting room and deposited onto the love seat. Linda was already on her phone in the corner, speaking about finalizing the deal. Richard was making himself another drink. Harlan accepted the tray of champagne from Fran and passed them out. 

You felt… something at having it all out in the open. Maybe that this was a real thing happening in the real world now. And if it was no longer a secret, maybe now you could put all of your energy toward preparing for this very real baby.

Next to you, Ransom didn’t seem to be experiencing any of that relief or clarity. He was stiff, thrumming with tension. His expression was on the verge of stormy. What was he thinking? What could he be so upset about? You put a gentle hand on his wrist where his fist was clenched next to your leg. He didn’t relax, but he didn’t pull away either.

Once everyone had a glass, Harlan raised his own. “To the two of you and the family you’re starting. May this bring you closer together and help you understand your purpose. And may your son be strong and smart and know that he is a Thrombey and stands on the shoulders of giants!” 

Everyone drank except for Ransom, whose face had gone completely stony. But Harlan wasn’t done. Now he turned his gaze directly on his grandson.

“Oh, my boy. Fatherhood will be so good for you. Exactly what you need. That’s why I was so insistent on the pregnancy clause. This is what will finally turn you into the man I’ve always known you could be. This is what will make you truly worthy of being my heir.”

In that moment, your heart broke for Ransom. You knew how much his grandfather’s approval meant to him. And how much it hurt him to know that he’d never get it, not unless he became a different person. This was just more of the same, but on a much grander scale. You went to squeeze his wrist, but he stood up instead and shook you off.

“Did it ever occur to you, in this whole fucking mess,” he growled, and you braced yourself for what was coming, even as you knew how much Ransom deserved to stand up for himself, “that she is an actual person with her own thoughts and feelings instead of just a prop, a tool that you could use to turn me into what you always thought I should be?”

You stopped dead, your head filling with static. He wasn’t standing up for himself; he was standing up for you. Defending you. Letting his grandfather, and the patriarch of his family, finally have a piece of his mind for you. This felt different than Steve bickering with Joseph. You didn’t know what this was.

“She never asked for any of this, but she’s accepted it, she’s done what you’ve all told her to do, And yet you all still treat her like dirt, or a pawn, at best. She is a person who deserved to be asked whether or not she wanted to have a baby to fullfill your idiotic dream of a dynasty, Harlan! Not be forced into it under threat of having her entire life ruined if she couldn’t produce a miracle in time!” 

“Ransom–” Linda began as she took a step forward, but Ransom didn’t let her get any farther.

He pointed an aggressive, angry finger in her direction. “Don’t even get me started on you! You ever need to speak to her again, you go through me. Lose her number, you’re only calling me from now on. And don’t even think about showing up unannounced at our house–”

He kept going, but your brain couldn’t keep up. It stuttered and stopped and fixated on one phrase. Our house. Our house. Our house. That– You– You hadn’t known he thought of it that way. Hadn’t realized that he included you in anything. You had always thought of it as his house, everything inside of it as his, and you were just… staying there, you guessed. Somewhere inside of you, you’d assumed that you’d always feel like a guest, an intruder, always be treated like one. But he’d just said “our house”, had included you in something that was his. Had given you some ownership. Had made it yours and his together. It took your breath away.

When your brain came back online, everyone was standing in close proximity, their faces red and scrunched in anger, their fingers pointing accusingly at each other. “We’re changing the fucking locks, I swear!” Ransom yelled.

“You little shit,” Richard yelled back. “You don’t get to talk to us like–”

Ransom moved his hands to his hips, threw his head back, and laughed, right in his father’s face. “Oh fuck off.” But then he stopped laughing and got deathly serious. “She is my wife. You touch her again, and I will tear that hand right off.” Richard cowered at that, panicked eyes flicking to you and then Linda, who was still sputtering. And Harlan, who was a shade of maroon you’d never seen on a person, his expression a strange combination of rage and smug knowing.

But there wasn’t time to detangle that or try to de-escalate the situation. Ransom bound over to you in two long strides and pulled you from the love seat, where you’d remained sitting for the entire confrontation. “We’re leaving,” he growled to the room at large, and then pulled you by the hand through the house and out the front door. You tripped over your feet trying to keep up with him. He didn’t slow down until he was right in front of the car.

“Ransom,” you called out to him, once he’d finally stopped. He turned on you sharply, his chest heaving, his face still thunderous. But that couldn’t stop you. Not after what he’d just done. You threw your arms around him and hugged him as hard as you could. “Thank you,” you breathed into his chest, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

For a long moment, he just stood there, stiff in your arms. Then his hands came up to encircle you, and he hugged you back. “It’s the very least you deserve,” he whispered into your hair.

And for the first time in your life, you started to believe it.

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The door swung shut behind you and Clark’s head jerked up, eyes meeting yours as your bag thudded to the floor. Clark was stood in the living room, and it would’ve been normal, if not for the fact that the zipper on his black work pants was open, fabric bunched around his thighs, and his cock was in his hand.

You blinked at him, eyes glued to the part of him you’d occasionally thought about since you’d first moved in six months ago. Clark’s pubic hair was neatly groomed (because of course it was), dark and curly around the base of his cock. He was longer than you’d imagined, a little thicker around the base in a way that made it impossible not to think of how he’d feel if he was buried inside you.

And his hand, long fingered and shaky, was gripping on to his cock like it was about to disappear. For a moment you almost felt embarrassed that you’d interrupted what was clearly a very intense moment. His glasses were slightly fogged up in a way that would’ve been cute if not for the monster he was wielding down below, and his cheeks and lips were cherry red, as though he’d been biting his lips to stifle his noises before you’d burst in.

The whole thing lasted less than ten seconds but would be on repeat in your mind for the rest of the night.

With a noise that sounded a lot like a whimper, Clark shoved himself back into his pants and yanked them up his hips, leaving the zipper open as he turned away and began speed walking to his room.

“Um, dinner is – is warm in the oven,” he informed you, meeting your eyes briefly before disappearing into the tiny hallway and shutting the door to his room.

On autopilot, you locked the door and hung your bag onto it’s designated hook. As Clark has said, dinner was in the oven. You put on a pair of oven gloves and pulled it out, inhaling the savoury goodness of the lasagne he’d made. It was still whole; Clark liked to wait till you were both home to eat but you got the feeling he wouldn’t be coming back out for a while.

You cut yourself a slice and began to shovel forkfuls of it into your mouth. You trained your eyes on the plate and tried not to picture the chef’s dick as you ate the best lasagne you’d ever had in your life.

You peered up through your eyelashes, eyeing the spot in the living room where Clark had been standing. What was weirder – the fact he was jerking off in the living room, or the fact he’d been standing up? It seemed a weird position. Your eyes traced over the side table he’d been in front of, passing over the picture of the two of you from not long after you’d first moved in.

Never had you thought you’d move in with a guy. But then you’d never thought you’d meet a guy like Clark Kent, who was the perfect gentleman. You’d known within minutes of meeting him that everything would be okay and you’d moved in with him only two weeks after seeing his add for a roommate online.

You were only a couple bites in when a quiet sound registered in your ears. You paused, fork scraping the plate, and tilted your head. Your jaw dropped when you realised what you were hearing – wet, muffled sounds coming from Clark’s room.

He was actually finishing what he’d started.

It was so unlike him, so shameless, that you couldn’t feel any other emotion than shock. Well, and maybe a little arousal but you wouldn’t be taking the blame for that. You widened your stance at the kitchen counter, refusing to acknowledge the heat building between your legs.

When you were finished, you took your plate to the sink and rinsed it off. Your mind was oddly quiet. The shitty work day you’d had was the furthest thing from your mind. Idly you let the water run from the edge of your plate and watched it swirl down the hole, thinking, thinking.

“Did you like it?”

You yelped, dropping the plate with a clatter and whirling to face Clark. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants and a black top; glasses perched on the end of his nose as always. There was no sign of what had occurred earlier – except, perhaps, a lingering flush on his cheeks.

“What?”

“The lasagne,” he gestured to your plate, “did you like it?”

The lasagne. Of course. He was talking about the lasagne.

“So good,” you nodded, throwing him a thumbs up which you immediately regretted.

“I’ll get mine now,” he said, grabbing his own plate from the cupboard. “Come sit with me while I eat? Tell me about your day.”

“Sure,” you blinked, trailing after him as he led you to the living room.

So, he was going to act like it had never happened. Sure. You could go with that.

After the ‘incident’, you’d assumed everything would go back to normal. That was clearly what Clark wanted. And while a part of you would forever be picturing him there, the most handsome guy you knew, dick in hand – you were happy to go along with it.

Maybe it had even brought you closer. Clark seemed to be touchier than you’d already come to expect, constantly offering you a hand up off the couch, placing his hand in the small of your back to steer you around the apartment, sometimes even hugging you when you got home from work. And that was only if he hadn’t walked you home himself.

The last week had gone by like that and you’d found yourself growing more relaxed, more casual around him. You liked him like this, even though you’d thought the ‘incident’ was a one-time thing. Clark, however, seemed to be getting more comfortable and casual around you too.

You sat pinned in place on the sofa, not daring to move. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, steam escaping into the hallway and out of the tiny window you’d opened. That in itself was not unusual. The bathroom fan was shitty, so you’d both agreed a while ago to leave the door slightly open and crack the window in the hall instead.

What was unusual, was the sounds floating out alongside the steam.

Soft little gasps accompanied by a rhythmic wet sounds were ringing in your ears, almost driving you to the point of dizziness. At first, you’d thought you were hearing things, but then it had become clear you weren’t. You stayed glued to the couch, nervous that any move you made would alert him to the fact that you could hear him.

For the first five minutes, you pretended that you were doing this for Clark’s sake, unwilling to embarrass him. After that, you’d had to admit that you were sitting around to listen to your roommate jack off because you wanted to listen and because you were clearly a pervert.

You kept your eyes wide open because you knew that if you were to let them close, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from picturing exactly what was going down in that shower. You could do that later, in the privacy of your room, but you weren’t quite ready to let all inhibitions go (like Clark) and go to town whilst reclining on the couch.

There was a sudden pause and your heart skipped a beat, shaming you for how closely you were listening. You could hear the shuffle of wet feet on the shower floor and you tilted your head, confused.

Clark called your name and you jumped, feeling caught.

You sucked in a quick breath before replying, “What’s up?”

“I, uh, left my towel on my bed,” he called back, “can you grab it for me?”

God was fucking testing you. Or maybe it was Satan, you weren’t sure.

You scrambled to do as Clark had requested, briefly going into his room to find the aforementioned towel before standing awkwardly outside the bathroom door, tapping nervously on the wood.

“You can come in.”

Your heart was in your throat as you pushed open the door. The steam wasn’t as thick as you’d hoped and you could see the outline of Clark through the shower curtain.

“I’ll put it on the rail,” you called, voice shakier than you’d intended.

You jumped when the curtain peeled back a little, reveling Clark, red and wet and handsome. His eyes were half-lidded and he offered you a smile and a thank you as he watched you tuck the towel onto the rail.

Now you knew you were delusional. Because as you messed with the towel, you could almost swear that Clark’s arm was still moving, slightly jostling the curtain as he – no. There was just no way.

You let out a strangled ‘your welcome’ as you retreated from the bathroom, face warm and hands trembling. With each step you could feel the wetness in your panties clinging to your pussy. You desperately wanted to go to your room, throw yourself on the bed and loose yourself like Clark had.

Instead, you forced yourself to sit rigidly on the couch and keep your eyes glued on the TV, refusing to ogle Clark when he emerged from the bathroom with the towel around his waist.

The next few weeks dragged by, marked by similar events that left you wanting and confused. On one night, you’d been brave enough to whip out your vibrator and press it to your clit like you’d wanted to for the past two weeks.

You’d made sure the door was closed several times and gotten yourself propped and comfortable amongst your pillows before opening the bedside draw and pulling out your vibrator. It was nothing fancy but it did the job.

You’d let your legs part, dipping the head between them to gather a little wetness before pressing it to your swollen clit. It had felt like heaven after resisting lately. You’d bitten your lip to keep your noises to a minimum, and when images of Clark flashed in your mind, you didn’t shoo them away. Your vibrator was conveniently quiet, so you felt safe enough to let go a little and moan into your hand.

Then, there had been a noise from the room next door – Clark’s room. You’d turned off the vibrator and almost flung it across the room in your nerves. It sounded like something was sliding across the wall the two of you shared and you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been trying to keep so quiet yourself.

Paranoia had almost got the better of you, but there had been no way you were going to leave yourself wanting after what you’d been through the past couple weeks. One more glimpse of Clark and you would combust if you didn’t take things into your own hands.

So, you’d gotten yourself comfy again and driven yourself to a quick orgasm, aware of every single noise from within the apartment that wasn’t yours.

That had been a week ago and you were feeling needy again.

It had been hard to focus at work and you’d practically ran from the building once it hit 5. If you were lucky, you could beat Clark home and really touch yourself the way you wanted to.

Like before, as you barged in, you didn’t notice Clark’s stuff already hanging by the door. You didn’t hear the telltale sounds that you now knew meant Clark Kent was jerking off. All you could feel was your own desire, the gusset of your panties sticking to you as you kicked off your shoes and eagerly headed to your room.

You were tearing at the zipper on your skirt as you stumbled in, and you almost didn’t notice him. Clark Kent, sprawled across your bed as though he belonged there. This time, his pants were all the way off, white shirt unbuttoned to reveal the white tank he was wearing underneath, and his boxers were shoved haphazardly around his ankles.

There was no avoiding it. His cock was standing tall, gripped in his fist as he lazily stroked from top to bottom, pausing to squeeze the tip as he let out a breathy moan. Your eyes slowly dragged themselves up his body until they came to rest on his face, shocked to find he was already looking at you.

His eyes were trained on your face, taking in the parting of your lips and slightly frazzled hair. He bit his lip and moaned, hand squeezing around his length, and you almost dropped to your knees.

“Clark,” you murmured, “do you – like me?”

Clark laughed breathlessly, thumb coming up to smooth over the head of his cock as his eyes roamed your face. “Isn’t it obvious? Been trying to tell you for months – then I couldn’t help but show you.”

You wanted to smile but the throbbing at your core was merciless. Clark shifted as though he was going to get up and you held out your hands, motioning him back.

“Just – just wait a second,” you breathed, “just like that.”

With a strangled laugh, you began to wriggle out of your clothes with little grace. Clark’s pupils were blown as he watched you strip, hand tightening around the base of his cock as the tip flushed a deeper red. You paused for a moment, fingers on the band of your panties, before shimmying them off and dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. If Clark was going to be shameless, so were you.

You approached him cautiously, pausing at the edge of the bed. “Can I –“

“Please,” he begged, holding out his hands to assist you in clambering onto his bare thighs.

You hovered over his cock for a minute before settling down, letting the searing length of him press into your clit and slide through your puffy folds. You gave your hips an experimental tilt, letting the head of him nudge at your clit in a way that almost made stars burst across your vision.

“Holy – I can’t believe this is happening,” Clark bit out, mostly talking to himself.

Typically, you were shy in the bedroom, but no one had ever made you feel like Clark had. You thought back to when you’d caught him that first time, standing in front of that picture of the two of you, and you felt like you knew what it meant to be desired. It had been you, all this time.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you were. The sound of Clark rocking against you was obscene and echoed all around your room along with breathy gasps and choked moans. You placed your palms on his chest and met his eyes, half-lidded and clouded with want.

Clark swallowed hard and propped himself onto his elbows, tilting up his face until you understood and bent down to meet his lips. He paused for a moment before you touched, eyes searching yours as though he wanted to make sure this was really happening, and then he pressed his mouth to yours with a shaky breath.

The kiss didn’t stay chaste for long. Clark did something with his tongue that made you mewl, rolling it into your mouth once he had access. His tongue flickered against yours and he rolled his hips, sliding his cock through your folds as he kissed you breathless.

He parted with a groan, leaning back a little to observe the mess you were making of him. You could feel your lips were slick and swollen from his. You brought up a hand to press over them, enjoying their sensitivity.

Clark’s eyes darkened as they settled on your breasts. He sat up suddenly, sending you further down his lap, and shifted until his cock was pressed between your stomachs and your chests were flush against each other.

“Clark,” you cried out, letting him maneuver you just how he wanted.

He reached for the centre of your bra, pinching the fabric and metal the joined the two cups together. For a moment you were confused as he did something with his fingers, and then your bra was springing open, breasts bared to him.

Your nipples were so hard they almost hurt. Clark breathed softly against one, urging you to your knees, before he enveloped it into his warm mouth. You let your head fall back for a moment and when you looked again, Clark’s eyes were wide open and taking in every bit of you.

You could feel the barest hint of teeth against your sensitive flesh and you cupped the back of his head, urging him closer. He groaned into your breast, tongue laving over the sensitive peak as he watched you pant.

He separated from your breast with a wet ‘pop’, letting out a cool breath over your stiffened nipple that had you shivering. He smiled and tilted his head in a movement that was so Clark you almost giggled. Your sound cut off into a purr as he leaned in again to kiss your nipples, nipping and licking wherever he could reach.

“Do you like it?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you said, “yes, Clark, I love it.”

“Knew you would,” he grinned into your neck, nipping at the skin there before soothing it with his tongue. “Just needed a little convincing, is all.”

Clark eased you back further forward and let himself look at you, look at your dripping pussy as you hovered over his lap. He let his hand trail down your stomach, fingers briefly brushing your clit, before he was gripping his cock in his hand.

He notched himself at your entrance, eyes glued to the way you parted around him, hungry for his length. He fed it slowly into you, keeping one hand on the base and another on your hip to ease you down.

Your thighs shook but held until he was seated fully inside you, dark curls brushing your clit in a way that almost had you in tears. You were eager to move but Clark held you steady by the hips as he settled inside you, the thickness of him stretching you in ways you’d only thought about in daydreams.

“Please,” you begged, cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples. “C’mon, Clark.”

“Sorry,” he said, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “Just want to enjoy you like this.”

Clark eased his fingers to your waist, tightening his hold there as he raised you a little. You immediately missed the fullness of him, whining and tilting your hips in an attempt to get back down. Clark was strong as hell, seeming to hold most of your weight as he slid you up the length of his cock before meeting you halfway with a thrust that almost had you choking.

“You’re so pretty,” he grinned, burying his cock inside you with each shift of his hips. “So pretty down here, too. Could look at you for days.”

You’d never been fucked speechless before, but that was exactly what was happening. With each snap of his hips Clark seemed to go deeper than before, until the head of his cock was nudging insistently at a place you’d only ever managed to reach yourself.

When you went to touch your clit, Clark brushed your hand away and replaced it with his. His thumb was large and covered exactly the spot you wanted and you swore as he began rubbing in steady circles, somehow timing it with each thrust until you couldn’t feel anything but him.

“You’re going to cum,” Clark said, voice low and thick. “Cum on me, baby, like I've wanted you to.”

You raised your palm to cover your mouth as you bounced atop Clark’s lap, noises getting steadily louder as you rode him to orgasm. Between his thick cock and thumb, Clark had you dissolving into orgasm quicker than you could cope with.

You could feel yourself contracting around him as you came, knees shaking on either side of him as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. It was just so fucking good. Your body was quickly careening towards sensitivity as Clark kept you rocking atop him, thumbs swiping across your flesh as you clenched and gasped.

Clark was quick to follow you over the edge, yanking you down until you were flat atop him and his cock was plunging into your pussy with a sound that made you hot and dizzy. He kept you pressed to his chest as he whispered things into the side of your temple between kisses and licks of his tongue, keeping you spread open to take what he’d been wanting to give you all this time.

You could feel him twitch inside you as he came, one hand darting down to rest above your ass and keep you flush against him as he emptied inside of you. It was so intimate that you felt the beginnings of arousal flutter in your stomach again until you registered the heaviness of your eyes.

You sat up a little to press a soft kiss to Clark’s chin. “Want me to move?”

“No,” he bit out, warm breath puffing across your cheeks. “Want you to stay like this.”

You could feel his cum seeping out as he kept his softening cock pressed inside you. His thighs were a slick mess from your combined efforts but you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue when he told you to stay put.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, tugging at the strands.

“Oh?” you teased. “Does this mean that you’re mine?”

“Have been for a while,” he coughed, “took you some time to notice though.”

“Until you made me notice.”

Clark flushed and pouted. “First time was an accident, I swear.”

“And all the times after?”

“I got addicted to your eyes on me,” he admitted.

You nipped playfully at his chest, content to settle down. Clark had just spent the evening making sure that you would both be addicted to each other and you were more than happy to comply.

A/N - pleaseeee leave comments/reblogs if you enjoyed & don’t be afraid to send asks!!

This was soo fun and I hope you liked it🫣

masterlist

“That was fucking stupid,” Freezy growls, brow furrowed, his glare directly aimed at the trust fund thorn in his side. He points, a menacing jab. “I ain’t going to jail for you, fuckhead. No way I’m leaving my princess by herself.”

“Hey,” Ari interjects, a hand raised in placation, “let him finish his share.”

Robert grumbles under his breath, crosses his arms, and sinks into his chair. Eyes volley from the hitman to Ransom, waiting to hear the story’s end.

“Like I was saying,” Ransom continues on a huff, “my grandad finds the door and barges in. My pidge’s standing right there. Her eyes are wider than saucers.” He runs a hand through his coiffed hair, styling it with his fingers in a brazen preening of himself. His shoulders lift in a shrug. “And we talked about it. Turns out I didn’t have much to worry about. It’s all good.”

“What does that even mean?” Andy asks, his arms crossed tight over his chest. Tense as a bowstring while his mind compiles possible legal precedents.

Ransom scoffs and nudges Lloyd’s shoulder. The mercenary quirks a brow. Intrigue dancing in his eyes.

“You’re sure it’s handled?” Ari asks, rolling his shoulder like he’s done all night.

“You okay?” Jake asks, peeking up from his screen. Tucking his phone into his pocket, as the door to the study unlocks for his angel.

Ari waves a dismissive hand, nodding toward Ransom for an answer.

“As long as I keep her nice and safe, the old man’s satisfied I won’t bring shame to the family name.” Ransom smiles, relaxed and sinking into his chair. Not a care in the world.

“And if you fuck up again?” Robert bites.

For the first time in the meeting, Ransom’s brow furrows. “I’ll handle it,” he snipes.

“Then we’ll all be fine,” Ari says, a hand massaging his shoulder.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with your arm?” Lloyd asks, wagging his hand toward the older man.

Ari smiles, an easy self deprecation. “Had a little too much fun with my girl.”

The silence fills with expectation. The men around the circle exchanging glances.

“She got out,” Ari confesses with a small shrug and wince.

“What?” Andy says, leaning forward in his chair.

“But you managed the speedrun,” Jake adds. “Why would she want to leave?”

A smirk spreads over Ari’s lips. Pressed together in a quiet pride.

“You sly dog.” Lloyd leans forward, his eyes gleaming. The mercenary stands, striding over to the table set up with coffee and cookies. He takes one and offers another to Ari. “You were playing a game.”

“I’ll just say, it was all worth it.” He takes a bite, humming as he chews. The rest of the men relax, figuring their versions of whatever game Ari set up. “These are good, where’d you get them?”

“My sucker’s been baking me out of house and home. My freezer’s insane. Crammed up to the gills. Barely enough room for any-fucking-thing else.” Lloyd’s head cranes to the side, joints popping in his neck.

Andy glances at the others in the group. “Do you think it’s because of the whole Ni—”

“Don’t you dare say his fucking name,” Lloyd snaps, munching on a cookie like it personally insulted him. “Just when I started to like you, legal prick.”

Andy raises his hands in surrendering placation. His own eyes straying toward the table and thinking of his wife. The fantasies he used to have about a happy housewife. Waiting for him in the kitchen. Apron framing her bare body. Her smile. The home cooked meals. He scowls.

“Now eat the damn cookies.”

The rec room doors burst open just as Jake and Ransom stand to check out the tray. None of them expect to see the man entering. His shoulders hunched and a scowl marring his features. He stops just at the edge of the circle. Hands clamping on the back of a cheap plastic chair.

“Something wrong?” Ari asks, brow raising in question.

Curtis huffs a breath, straining as he growls out, “I think it’s time I joined your group.”

You’d barely started riding him and he was already whining that he was going to cum. So you grinned and encouraged him to do just that. 

Cooing at him. Ruffling his hair. Nipping at his jaw as you rode him harder. 

Cole gave a shout, hands flying to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he jerked up into you. His head was thrown back, the tendon in his neck bulging, his face and chest rosy as fuck as he pumped you full of his cum. 

He went completely boneless after, panting hard as he sagged back against the bed. Cole turned his face away, like he couldn’t look at you, and you realized why once you shifted closer and ducked down, spying the tear tracks trailing along his temples. 

You fucked him so good that you actually made him cry.

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, you murmured, “You’re so pretty and sweet, handsome.” You pressed a kiss to Cole’s rosy cheek. “And I love being filled with your cum.”

Giggling as you felt his softening cock twitch inside of you, you draped yourself over him, peppering his face with more soft kisses that Cole was now leaning into, so you were sure to shower him with affection like you knew he needed right now.

Your own orgasm could wait. You had a very sweet, pathetic, gone for you man to dote on after all.

And you stanned. 

lollllll. Oh, Cole.

—

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You’re carefully looking over the hand-dyed organic wool yarn laid out over the small booth when you feel an insistent tug on your arm. You turn to your little sister, who’s shuffling her feet impatiently. “Can I go get some cider?” she asks.

You take a moment to look around. The farmer’s market isn’t too busy today, and the cider booth isn’t too far down the aisle. Plus, you and Janie are here almost every week; you know most of the vendors. This place feels as safe as anywhere. “Yeah, okay,” you say, taking a five-dollar bill out of your pocket and handing it to her. “But come right back.” She takes the money from you with a big grin, turning on her heel to race away. “And don’t run!” you call after her.

You go back to perusing the yarn when you feel a presence pull up beside you. You don’t look up until the body next to you says something. “Big knitter?” a deep, male voice asks. There’s some grit to his voice, but it’s soft, warm. You turn to find a very handsome man, tall and broad. He has dark, fluffy hair—you blame professional curiosity for the instant urge to run your hand through it— and an immaculately trimmed beard. He wears a beautiful, dark gray overcoat, the collar pulled up around his neck to guard against the crisp fall air. The smile on his face reaches his bright blue eyes.

It takes you a moment to answer him, caught off guard by his attention. “Oh,” you say softly, “no, I’m just starting. Just learning. But these are beautiful.” You brush a reverent hand over some of the wool.

He hums in agreement. “They are,” he says lowly. And something about it, the way he’s looking at you, sends a shiver down your body. You subtly try to shake it off. It’s probably just the early fall chill.

“What about you?” you ask, desperately trying to ignore the effect this stranger has on you. “Are you a practitioner of the fiber arts?” Your eyes drift down to his hands, his thick fingers. You silence any wondering about how dexterous those fingers might be.

He lets out a soft little chuckle. “No, definitely not. I’m just wandering around, getting a lay of the land before a business meeting.”

“You have a business meeting at the farmer’s market? What do you do? I didn’t peg you for a farmer.”

“No,” he says, looking down at the wool and giving it a soft caress. “I guess you could say I’m an investor. Among other things.”

His caginess strikes you as odd, but really, you’re just two strangers making small talk in front of an artisan’s booth. You can’t exactly expect a detailed personal account from this man.

“What about you? What brings you to the farmer’s market today? If not a business meeting.”

“It’s the Saturday morning routine,” you say, a little bashfully. You could almost swear that his eyes flit down to your lips as you speak, but you must be imagining it.“We wander around here, looking at all the pretty things. Getting ideas for crafts we might want to try.”

He hums and looks back at the yarn. “Which one are you going to get?” he asks.

“Oh. No,” you sigh. “No, I don’t think I’m good enough yet for something this beautiful. Maybe one day.” And you meant it. It was all too expensive and too nice for your fumbled attempts at a project. But even so, your hand wanders down to a skein of beautiful midnight blue yarn, too soft not to touch.

His eyes catch the movement, focusing on where your thumb strokes the yarn, back and forth. “I find it hard to believe,” he says, lowly, “that you could ever be considered not good enough for something beautiful.”

You’re caught speechless by the sentiment, awfully intense for a random stranger at the farmer’s market. You can’t remember the last time you received this kind of attention from a man. Your life hasn’t seemed to have room for it. Still doesn’t, you think, as the realization that you’ve kept your eyes off of Janie for too long hits you in the chest. You turn around wildly, terrified and angry with yourself, but you find her easily, still at the cider booth, talking the ear off Sal, the vendor, her hands moving enthusiastically in the air.

You stay focused on her for a long moment before movement beside you brings you back to the conversation. He smiles when your eyes meet his and extends his hand. “I’m Andy.”

You give him your name, and his smile gets bigger. His handshake is very firm but warm. And when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. Something in your chest moves in a way you haven’t let it in a very long time.

He’s still holding your hand when a tall, broad, heavily tattooed man approaches you. Your instincts tell you to take a step back, but he stops next to Andy. “Boss,” is all he says in a low voice.

Andy sighs and lets go of you. “No rest for the wicked,” he says, with a sheepish smile. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“Oh, you too,” you say, caught off guard by how abruptly this is ending. But it’s just as well, you think, as Andy walks off with not just the other man but two more who've materialized out of nowhere. You have enough going on in your life, enough to focus on.

You go and collect Janie from the cider booth and head back to the parking lot. As you’re nearing your car, you hear a commotion behind you. You spare a glance over your shoulder but don’t see anything. It’s odd. The market is usually a pretty peaceful place. You hope everything’s okay.

A week later, you’re cleaning up your station at work between clients when the owner of the salon comes rushing over to you. She looks harried and unsettlingly worried.

“I need you to make a house call,” she says the moment she reaches you.

“What?” you ask. This isn’t just out of the ordinary, it’s completely unheard of.

She leans in and in a near whisper she asks, “Have you gotten mixed up with Andrew Barber?”

It takes a moment for the name to register as it has to fight through the constant swirling mess of all the things that normally occupy your thoughts: Janie’s schedule, all the bills you’re juggling, and your dad’s whereabouts. But it finally breaks through. “The mobster?! No! What??”

“He called and requested you. By name.” She’s openly wringing her hands in front of herself now.

Fear crawls up your throat. It’s something to do with your dad, it has to be. What has he dragged you into now?

“I told him you’d be there in half an hour.”

You stare at her, aghast. “Why would you tell him that?”

And suddenly, the concern on her face is gone, replaced by a steeliness you haven’t seen before. “Because we don’t need any sort of negative attention from him. So if he wants you to make a house call, then that’s what you’ll do.”

You pull up at the gigantic estate on the edge of town and try to control your breathing. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. People know where you are. He (hopefully) has no reason to hurt you. You park in the long, circular driveway and, grabbing your tools, will yourself out of the car and up the front steps, even as your legs want to run the other way. As you approach the door, it swings open from the inside. And improbably, Andy from the farmer’s market is standing in the doorway.

He says your name, so softly, so gently, with that smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “Small world, huh? I was really hoping I’d get to see you again.” And then he steps aside so you can come into the house.

Tagging the people who interacted with my post about this earlier today:

If you were still at the breeder’s you’d still be on suppressants.

If you weren’t theirs now, in close proximity to them always, and constantly exposed to the low key courting that was going on on a daily basis, this never would have happened.

Because both your body and your inner omega knew that you were in the presence of what you, an omega, needed most, what you existed for–the knots of your alphas to claim you–and right now–take away your pain.

You had tried everything to get through this yourself, to bear the unimaginable pain, to distract yourself from the tempting, looming presence of your alphas just outside your room. 

You had sat in your bath tub and let cold water pour down on you for hours.

Then you had tried hot water to see if that helped any better–it didn’t.

You had even resorted to touching yourself despite knowing Andy and Ari were just a few feet away and would be able to hear and scent what you were doing, but you hadn’t been able to make yourself orgasm, and all of your attempts to pleasure yourself just fell flat. 

No matter what you did, your mind kept straying—fixating—on the presence of Andy and Ari just outside of your room, one sitting on either side of your door, as close as you would let them be for now.

Every so often, you would get a whiff of their scents, and for just a second, the agony would recede before it came roaring back ten times over. 

Like now, as Andy and Ari hesitantly inched closer. Their scents rushed into your room and hung heavy in the air as you whimpered in sheer torture, your stomach clenching as a stabbing pain pulsed through you.

Panting through it, you curled up in your pile of sweat-soaked blankets that wasn’t really a nest because you had never made one of those before–you had never been allowed to.

“Let us help you up, honey,” Andy murmured as he and Ari crouched on either side of you, but you scrambled away from them.

“No!” you hissed, pressing against the side of your bed as you glared at them. “Don’t touch me.”

Retreating a few steps to give you space, Andy and Ari shared a furrow-browed look before returning their concerned gazes to you. 

“Not sure how this will work otherwise, sweetheart,” Ari told you, his smile tentatively playful.

“I’m in charge,” you panted, whining and clutching your stomach as another wave of pain seared through you. You used your bed to help you stand as you told them, “I don’t want either of you touching me more than needed for the actual fucking, because this is all this is.”

“Okay, honey,” Andy held up his hands in mock surrender, his eyes somber and unwavering. “You’re in charge. We’ll follow your lead. Whatever you need.”

Turning, you leaned against the bed for a moment to catch your breath. When you glanced back at them, you realized that both alphas were staring at your back–at the web of raised scars along your flesh from the breeder.

Even though your body was ragged and tired beyond belief, you managed to straighten your spine, your chin tilting in defiance as you met both their gazes without shying away. 

“See something you don’t like?” you snapped. “You knew what you signed up for: damaged goods.”

“No, omega, you’re beautiful,” Ari said earnestly at the same time Andy rumbled, “I’m sorry that happened to you, honey. You deserved so much better.”

Your eyes smarted and you turned away in a huff before crawling onto the bed and kneeling just off center. You watched both men for a beat, contemplating, struggling to decide what came next since you were the one running the show. 

Then your inner omega niggled at you from just beneath the surface, so you let her take charge–for the first time ever. 

“Andy,” you summoned him first. 

Although Ari had only ever been soft and sweet with you, there was something about Andy that was like safety incarnate. He soothed you and grounded you in a way you had never experienced before, and you needed that so desperately now as you made yourself vulnerable in a way you swore you never ever would. 

And to two alphas no less. 

Just as your mind started to spiral out about how weak and willing you were, the most painful ripple yet licked along every inch of you. You gritted your teeth, digging your fingers into your bare thighs as you choked back a scream.

That had Andy moving toward you quickly now, glancing over his shoulder at Ari–who gave him an encouraging nod and smile–before he focused all his attention on you. 

Andy stood at the edge of the bed and quickly undressed before his hand dropped to grip his hard cock and slowly stroke himself in preparation. 

Your gaze fell to watch his motions, and nerves or something must have played across your features because Andy was soothing you in a heartbeat, his voice low and rumbly and making your insides flutter as he spoke. 

“I won’t hurt you, honey, I promise. I just want to help take the pain away. I want to make you feel good.”

“Good luck,” you snorted, your eyes flashing with defiance as they met his.

Because you had never once enjoyed sex, and you doubted you ever would.

Andy’s lips twitched in amusement at your sass, but he didn’t hesitate to move closer, joining you in bed. 

You were overly aware of Ari–who was naked now too–sitting at the foot of the bed, watching you both as Andy reclined beside you, and you instantly rose up on your knees beside him.

As eager as you were to not be in pain anymore, you were also all up in your head at what was about to happen. So you tried to keep it as clinical as possible. 

This wasn’t real sex. This wasn’t about lust or desire or desperation for another. This wasn’t even about pleasure. It was a method to cure your ailment, and that was it.

Your jaw was clenched as you threw your leg over Andy’s hips and hovered over him. Try as you might, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a moment to look at him.

He really was beautiful. Pale skin over flexing muscles. Dark hair peppering his chest, and his shoulders broad and rounded in a way that made your insides clench with want. His face was rosy, but rather than looking eager to fuck, his eyes just shown with worry as he watched you. 

Trying to ignore how obvious his care was for you–how it shone at you from his eyes so openly and without reserve–you focused instead on the way your pussy gushed some more as your gaze shifted to Andy’s long, hard cock.

You reached for him, unable to keep your eyes from flickering up to meet his just as your fingers closed around the hot, steely length of him and started to guide him to your cunt. You watched as Andy’s nostrils flared at your touch, as his cheek ticked, but he otherwise remained silent and stoic. 

Something inside of you desperately wanted to hide from that soft, watchful gaze of his, especially now, during something so intimate.

No, clinical! Necessary! you internally berated yourself.

Forcefully pulling your gaze from Andy’s, your eyes landed on his big hands and how they were fisting the sheets at his sides. You focused on that minute detail instead as you slowly sank down on his cock without fanfare. 

By the time he was buried to the hilt, you were unable to suppress your loud moan of relief just as something struck you–you realized that Andy wasn’t fisting the sheets because he was enjoying this, but because he was trying to resist the urge to touch you. 

And something about that realization made your pussy flutter as your chest ached, but you tried to ignore it all as you let your body take over and started to slowly ride Andy.

You hated to admit it, but he felt incredible. 

This was the first time you were having sex since the last time the breeder assaulted you, and all those times–all that sex–it never felt like this.

This felt good. 

It weirdly almost felt…safe.

Most importantly, every deep drive of Andy’s hard cock inside of you was pushing the pain of your heat further and further away.

You shifted atop him, unable to help it as your hands fell to his flat stomach, and you leaned forward a little. The new angle made you gasp sharply and clench hard. 

Andy groaned in response, the sound making your insides flutter wildly as your inner omega whined in elation at making her alpha feel good. 

You saw Andy’s hands lift toward you, but then suddenly Ari was there, gently gripping Andy’s hands in his own and holding them down and away from you, just like you had demanded.

“Thank you,” Andy panted, his guilty gaze finding Ari’s before his eyes rolled back in his head as your pace picked up. He sank back with a loud groan, his fingers clenching in Ari’s grip as he moaned, “Feels so good, you feel so incredible, omega. So perfect.”

You couldn’t stifle the needy whine his praise evoked. Huffing as your face burned, you closed your eyes, trying to block them both out as you allowed your head to fall back and lost yourself to how amazing it felt to have Andy’s cock inside of you.

So deep inside of you–filling you up. Not only keeping the heat pain at bay but chasing away the soul deep emptiness that had consumed you for as long as you could remember.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Ari’s soft voice pulled you out of the murky mire of your thoughts, and you were grateful, fixating on his quiet murmurs of praise as your thighs began to burn and your insides started to pull taut. 

It was like your body had a mind of its own as your hand slid between your thighs to find your clit. Your fingers rubbed frantic circles, and you gave a wordless cry as a whole new layer of pleasure was unlocked by the added stimulation.

You rode Andy more vigorously now, so hyper aware of the way he perfectly filled you up over and over again, his hard cock hitting so many sweet spots you were only now discovering for the first time.

You came without warning, without being prepared for it. 

For the first time since you were young and experimenting with your own touch, you were orgasming. 

The white hot flood of pleasure erupted from your core before streaking through the rest of you. Your body was overwrought with it, clenching and trembling as your pussy clamped and fluttered around Andy’s cock.

He groaned loudly, his hips frantically rutting up into you a few times before he gave a shout and you felt a warm rush as he came inside you. As he pumped you full of his cum, that new sensation—and the sense of being claimed that came along with it—had you whining through another orgasm as you clawed at Andy’s muscled stomach and mindlessly rode him through the latest wave of bliss. 

When Andy’s alpha knot expanded and locked your bodies together, your mind went instantly blank and hazy–no pain or negative thoughts or deep-seeded fear to be found.

You were so head empty in a way you had never been before–a good way–that you didn’t even remember dismounting Andy to clamber on top of Ari next. 

But it was like you couldn’t get enough now. 

You needed more. 

More from your alphas–everything they were willing to give you, and then some.

You were drunk off of their pleasure scents, which were so musky with tones of desire and need, for you.

The sound of Ari’s gravelly groan of delight as you sank down on his cock for the very first time instantly  brought you back to the present.

Just in time to see his massive hands reach for you without thinking, but thankfully Andy intercepted them, kissing the backs of Ari’s hands before gently holding them down and showering you both in praise.

Despite your utter exhaustion, your body was so warm and tingly and you couldn’t stop writhing on top of Ari, moaning at how good his thick, meaty cock felt stretching you to your limit.

You started to bounce on him eagerly, letting out these sharp, breathless cries every time you took him to the root all over again, felt him drive into you so deep and good, it had your toes curling as your breath caught in your chest.

The fact that Ari came first with a blissed out moan of your name had your insides lighting up before you followed him over the edge with a wordless cry of ecstasy.

Like with Andy, the feeling of taking Ari’s knot had your mind going instantly quiet and floaty. Distantly, you had a sneaking suspicion that you were lost to your inner omega’s euphoria, but you were too blissed out and well fucked to care.

You sagged over Ari long enough to catch your breath, to wait for his knot to go down, and then your nostrils were flaring as your dark eyes found Andy, and you reached for him all over again. 

From there, the three of you descended into a marathon of desperate heat sex, where you alternated between fucking your two eager and willing alphas until your body was finally sated.

Until you were pain free for the first time in days as you passed out into a blissful, much-needed slumber.

The next morning, you woke up slowly, feeling sore and lethargic in the most pleasant way.

It wasn’t until your eyes fluttered open, and you found yourself curled up between the sleeping forms of your alphas—who had somehow managed to maintain your demanded distance even in sleep—that you remembered everything that had happened the night before.  

Shockingly, you didn’t immediately feel regret. 

All you could feel at the moment was very soft and extremely sad as you took in the distance between you, Andy, and Ari, and how they were both sleeping at the very edges of your much-smaller-than-theirs bed so they could give you your space. 

Despite being close enough that you could feel their warmth and smell the way sex and sweat still lingered heavy on their skin, you found yourself wishing they were closer. 

You didn’t want to run and hide and not look at them after a night of being more vulnerable than ever. You, not just your inner omega, you wanted to curl close to them both at once and be blanketed by their warmth and bodies and their lo—

You tried to shake that thought from your mind quickly, but it seemed impossible as you kept replaying moments from last night in your head. 

It wasn’t just the pleasure you had experienced. It was the way that for the first time in your life, sex hadn’t been used as a method to put you in your place. To hurt you or punish you. 

To violate you. 

With Andy and Ari, sex had been a way for them to take care of you. To help you and soothe your distressed omega. 

To them—and with you—sex had been a way for them to express their love for you. 

And you couldn’t stubbornly deny it any longer. 

Because all of those moments that kept replaying in your mind weren’t centered on the sex and the way Andy and Ari had prioritized you and your pleasure and needs first and foremost. 

The memories that kept gnawing at you were much more innocent…

The shaky exhale of relief and reverence Andy had let out when your bodies finally joined.

The uninhibited awe shining from his eyes as you sat atop him, taking pleasure from his willing body. 

The way Ari’s massive hands twitched at his sides, extensions of him and how desperately he had wanted to touch you.

The strand of boundless joy in his scent and the unadulterated love gleaming in his eyes as he watched you. 

The final memory hit you like a bolt of lightning, because when it had happened, you had been too exhausted and blissed out to register it in the moment…

Your body felt so loose and warm–so full and boneless all at once as you sank against the bed in a blissful heap.

Keeping your eyes open was impossible, so you didn’t even try, but you were aware that Andy and Ari sat on either side of you, close enough to feel their presence and breathe in their comforting scents, but far enough away to give you your space.

“You did so well for us, honey,” Andy murmured softly, his voice like a soothing caress along your pleasantly sore body.

“Thank you for letting us take care of you,” Ari added, his voice more of an alpha purr than speaking. “We love you, omega.”

“We love you so much,” Andy echoed, his voice catching.

And from the deep recesses of your throat, for the first time ever, a fragile omega chirp rose up and fell from your lips before you finally gave in to the call of sleep.

Now, your eyes burned with tears at the memory, your insides swooping and fluttering, somersaulting and quavering.

You had spent every waking moment since the day you were brought home trying to keep Andy and Ari at bay—trying to keep your heart protected from them and their desire to possess you, to own you. 

But if last night proved anything, it was that what they had been telling you from the start was true—they didn’t want to own you, they wanted to love you.  

And they so clearly and irrevocably did. 

Andy and Ari loved you. 

Your alphas loved you. 

Feeling overcome with a flood of emotions you weren’t prepared to feel, you tentatively shifted closer to Andy without thinking. A lump swelled in your throat, your heart beating erratically—fearfully—beneath your ribs as you moved even closer to him, on purpose.

Your fingers trembled as they willingly touched his bare chest, as you watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his body as he breathed. Something rose within you as your palm met Andy’s skin and you felt the steady beat of his heart–his heart that was so full of love for you.

A moment later, it was the sound of your quiet, muffled sob against Andy’s chest as you hid your face against his warm skin that woke both alphas.

They were instantly alert, their gazes meeting across the bed over your curled up form, eyes shining with hope and pure joy as they had a silent conversation before slowly converging on you as one.

Until you were firmly–safely–sandwiched between them, Andy’s hands so gentle as they caressed along your skin, his lips pressed to your forehead as Ari kissed the crown of your head and softly rubbed your back in soothing circles. 

And you let them. 

You didn’t resist at all, crying harder–letting go of all the fear and hurt that had been a part of you for as long as you could remember–as you melted beneath their attention, finally surrendering to their soft touches and affection.

To Andy and Ari’s love for you.

You drank it all in, basked in it–in every last word and gentle caress–so desperately wanting more as you whined your need and wept, so overwhelmed to finally have what you had always wanted your entire miserable life…

Safety, a forever home, and real, unconditional love.

CRYING IN MY ALPHA SANDWICH 😭 I will need 7-10 business days to recover from this.

Pretty please take a moment to drop me your thoughts! I am simply dying to know your reaction to this milestone!!!

—

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You should probably just turn around and go back to your room. It seemed like you were just on the precipice of finally witnessing the very thing you had been wary of all along–Andy and Ari’s true colors. 

The way they would say it aloud, just between the two of them–how disappointed they were in you and selecting you as their omega. 

Your stomach was roiling now, anxiety trickling throughout every inch of your body as your inner omega whined pitifully and you angrily blinked back tears.

No. If they were going to shit talk you and air the truth aloud while they thought they were alone, you were going to stay right here and listen to every single word that came out of their lying mouths. 

Clenching your hands into tight fists at your sides, you hedged closer to the kitchen doorway, pressing yourself to the wall to remain hidden as your heart hammered in your chest as the alphas continued to talk. 

“Why are you struggling with this so much?” Ari asked softly.

Struggling with what exactly? You? As their omega? And a bad one at that?

Andy heaved a long-suffering sigh. “It’s just…I see how much she enjoys being in the kitchen with you, and I love that for both of you, I really genuinely do, but I dunno, I guess I just want…” 

As Andy trailed off, Ari finished his sentence for him, “Something special that you can share with her, just the two of you?”

Andy’s voice was the smallest you had ever heard it as he replied, “Yeah.” A beat, and then his concerned protector voice was speaking now. “Does that upset you?”

“Not at all, handsome,” Ari murmured. “I totally get it. I stumbled on the cooking thing with her by sheer dumb luck, thanks to my obsession with food and my desperation to connect with her, but I think you are overthinking this and driving yourself crazy with all this research and trying to come up with the absolute perfect idea. Andy, just be you.”

“You really need to stop being so perfect,” Andy laughed, but it was filled with emotion, and it made your own eyes sting for a different reason now.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me and my utter, undeniable perfection,” Ari sniffed.

Your hands slowly unclenched at your sides as your heart rate started to regulate. Your anger and betrayal faded away too as you swallowed hard and edged closer to the doorway, peeking around the corner to see Andy and Ari hugging, Ari’s big hand gently soothing up and down Andy’s back as the other alpha buried his face against his love’s neck.

You couldn’t believe it. Andy was this upset because he wanted to connect with you and spend more time with you, one on one?

Something in your chest fluttered, and for some reason, a dumb smile split your lips. You pulled back immediately, grimacing at yourself as you pressed your fingers to your mouth to try to curb the way your stupid lips kept trying to curve upward.

What was wrong with you?

You like being wanted, your inner omega crowed.

Giving the empty entryway the stink eye, you resisted the urge to huff. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you took a moment to school your features into an unknowing, indifferent mask. 

Then you turned the corner, stepped into the kitchen, and planted your hands on your hips as you asked, “Are we having dinner tonight, or what?”

And maybe your belly somersalted just a little when the alphas pulled away from each other, and Andy’s gaze found you and softened then warmed as a genuine smile tilted his lips. 

“Absolutely, honey,” he replied, no trace of his former upset to be found on his handsome face. “We can all get started on it together.”

Your belly did another fluttery swoop as your inner omega urged you to look at how happy you make him and you ignored her, suppressing another smile as you moved toward the kitchen island and tried not to bounce in place as Ari began to gather ingredients for tonight’s meal.

Later that night, once the house was dark and quiet, you found yourself wide awake as you laid in bed, staring into the darkness. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about what you had overheard earlier. 

The way that Andy was so desperately seeking a way to connect with you. 

And the way that Ari coveted his own connection with you that had formed. 

They really were making it hard to hate them and hate this new life you found yourself now living. 

More than that, there was a part of you that wanted to make Andy feel better. 

You tried telling yourself it was because it was dumb that he was so worked up over some sort of stupid activity for the two of you. 

But really, deep down, you couldn’t stop hearing how small and sad his voice had sounded when he spoke to Ari earlier. 

Andy always tried so hard to make you happy and content. Would it really kill you to return like 5% of that energy? Just this once?

Groaning quietly, and knowing that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you did this, you flung back your covers and slid from bed. 

You made your way out of your bedroom and were relieved when you saw a soft light spilling from the living room, maybe a little excited too, even though you didn’t know why, as you peeked inside and saw Andy sitting on the sofa. 

He had his laptop on his lap, his brow furrowed and his reading glasses perched on his nose as he stared at the screen, reading something intently. 

“Are you working this late at night?” you asked as you stepped into the room. 

Andy’s head snapped up, his whole face lighting up at the sight of you. “Hi, honey!” That familiar concern of his flashed across his features next as he asked, “Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?”

“No,” you huffed, crossing your arms as you stood there, staring at him. You swayed on your feet for a moment, not really sure what to say. 

This was a stupid idea.

Andy swallowed, and he shook his head at himself, his grin wry as he closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table before sagging back against the sofa with a tired sigh. 

“Can I be honest?”

You nodded, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“I’ve been trying to research something fun for the two of us to do together,” Andy confessed. “I’ve spent hours over the past few weeks pouring over local community sites and threads. I probably know more about the farmer markets and state fairs in a hundred mile radius than the people who organize them.” 

Inside, you were all warm and gooey that Andy was admitting all of this to you, that he wasn’t keeping things from you and making you feel othered compared to Ari, which was what you worried about most in being a late addition to their pack. 

Of course, on the outside, your smart mouth ran away with your reply before you could stop it, “Sounds like a waste of time.”

Andy’s smile dimmed, his gaze falling to his lap. “Yeah, I suppose it is. I’m sorry I’m not more fun like Ari.” 

Once again, the words were out of your mouth before you could really process them let alone keep them to yourself, “You don’t need to be fun and showy, you’re soothing and make me feel safe, and that’s important, too.” 

Slowly, Andy lifted his head to meet your gaze. His eyes glimmered as he swallowed hard, something so beautifully touched aimed your way as he watched you for a long moment, not quite sure how to respond. 

When he finally did, his voice was rough–with emotion, you suspected–as he told you, “Thank you, honey. That means a lot to me, especially coming from you.”

You fought the urge to preen at his gratitude, and how genuinely happy he looked by your comment, feeling stupidly pleased with yourself as you shrugged and then huffed.

There was no real bite to your words as you said, “Stop making me be nice, it’s gross.” 

You moved closer, rounding the coffee table and swiping up the throw blanket on the armchair before sinking onto the sofa a few feet away from Andy. 

You situated the blanket around you, getting comfy before peeking over at him to find Andy watching you with this soft, glowing smile on his face.

“It may not be as exciting as a state fair–which, ew, sounds like a lot of people–but maybe you could read aloud to me like you did that one time? That wasn’t horrible.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Andy, and you nearly giggled in response because it was so unexpected and you liked that you had made him laugh. It lit up his whole face, and a tiny voice in the back of your mind observed that you had never seen him look more gorgeous than he did in that moment, happy and smiling, because of you.

Andy looked a little shy now as he played with the hem of his t-shirt, asking, “You liked when I read to you?”

“Don’t fish,” you glared at him, but it was half-hearted. You sank against the sofa arm, all comfy now as you looked at him and arched a brow. “Well? I’m waiting?”

“Okay!” Andy sounded excited now, by something so basic, but you found yourself amused as he launched himself from the sofa and moved toward the lined bookshelves a few feet away. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular? Fiction? Fantasy? Sci-fi? Horror? I’m sure we have some good thrillers, too.”

“You pick,” you told him, feeling a little overwhelmed by all of the options presented to you.

Andy must have realized that immediately, and was quick to say, “Sure,” before skimming the book spines and plucking one from the group.

He sank back into his seat, glancing over at you again with a soft smile. When he put his glasses back on and cracked the book open and started to read aloud, his cheeks were ruddy from joy.

And, you had an inkling, from your undivided and willing attention, too.

A few weeks later, Andy had barely been at work for a few hours before he arrived home and burst through the front door in a frenzy. 

“Ari?” he called, his voice trembling with concern as he carelessly dropped his briefcase by the front door and yanked off his suit jacket, dropping that on the floor too before rushing further into the house.

“Here,” Ari’s voice was quiet and tinged with helplessness, his face stricken as he appeared at the mouth of the hallway that led to your bedroom. 

“Where is she?” Andy asked, taking a moment to draw Ari to him, cradling his bearded cheek and giving it a soft caress. 

It was a wordless sign of reassurance despite the way Andy looked as distressed as Ari. 

“She’s in her room. She locked herself in there and won’t let me near her,” Ari fretted.

“I’m not surprised,” Andy murmured, looking past Ari to your closed bedroom door. His nostrils flared, and your scent–much muskier and more pungent than usual–filled his nose. “This is likely her first heat in years since they were kept on suppressants at the breeder facility.”

“I can hear her whimpering in pain,” Ari’s voice cracked. “What should we do? We don’t want to force our way in, right?”

“No,” Andy immediately shook his head. “No, she won’t like that. Come on, I want her to know I’m home in case…” he shrugged, grabbing Ari’s hand and leading him back down the hallway. “Just so she knows, in case it brings her comfort.”

Once they arrived outside of your bedroom door, they were nearly bowled over by the heavy scent permeating the air. 

It smelled like heaven to their primal inner alphas, but to their logical minds, all they could focus on was the strand of immense distress that was coming off of you in waves. 

Andy quietly spoke your name, his knuckles rapping on the door. “Honey, we know you’re in heat, and we’re here for whatever you need.”

“Go away!” your voice was ragged and stubborn with a note of hysteria. “Leave me alone! Don’t come near me!”

From inside your room, you groaned in agony, curled into the fetal position on your bed, covered in sweat as you clutched your stomach and openly wept at the pain. 

It felt like your body was on fire from the inside out, your belly clenching every few moments in a way so agonizing, it stole your breath away and had you dizzy and on the verge of passing out.

But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t.

You were now truly at your most vulnerable, with two alphas just on the other side of your door, looming. 

Waiting.

For you to give in to them, finally. 

Their omega that they had waited so long for, at her ripest and most tempting.

You knew they were likely going feral. The thought of triggering their ruts, of having them show you just how primal and impatient they could be–what they could really do to you, especially when you were at your weakest–it made you sick.

It terrified you, too. In so many ways.

It would destroy all of the fragile trust and safety in them that had built up over the past few months.

So you didn’t want Andy and Ari anywhere near you.

And it wasn’t just because you didn’t trust they would be able to control themselves when you were in this state–part of you was concerned you wouldn’t be able to control yourself either.

From giving in to them.

From becoming the thing you tried so hard to avoid most of all–a weak and willing omega who only lived for her alphas’ knots. 

A thing–not a person–for them to fuck and fill and breed.

You whined loudly as another surge of pain streaked through you, sobbing at the force of it as you sagged into your messy, unmade bed, weak and hinging on delirious from pain.

“Sweetheart,” Ari’s voice sounded as pained as your own body felt. “Please, let us take care of you.”

“We won’t touch you or knot you or anything you’re thinking,” Andy was quick to assure you. “We just want to set you up in a nest in our bedroom, so you can be soothed by our scents and as comfortable as possible.”

“And I can cook you anything you want, and we can give you some pain killers, and just…please, omega,” Ari sounded near tears, and you heard a soft thunk against the door, knowing it was his forehead meeting the wood in his helplessness. “Please let us help you.”

As usual, all of their words sounded so pretty and promising–perfect, and exactly what you needed–but now, more than ever, knowing you couldn’t control your body or your mind in your condition, you didn’t want to risk it.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t give in to them.

You had to be strong, no matter how hard it was, or how much it fucking hurt. 

Even if it killed you, you were determined to get through your heat alone.

Andy and Ari be damned. 

HISSY OMEGA, LET THEM LOVE YOU!!! 😭

—

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You didn’t believe in violence. You weren’t hungry for power or infamy. While there were definitely benefits to your father’s wealth and connections, you’d leave behind the lavish lifestyle afforded by organized crime in a heartbeat if it meant real, true freedom. 

If it meant peace.

But sadly, you didn’t get that choice. 

You were an adult still living in your parents’ opulent home, because your father had to control you like he controlled everything else, and really, at the end of the day, there was nothing you could do about it.

It had been this way your entire life. 

Feeling a headache coming on–along with the familiar burning sensation at the back of your eyes that always accompanied how hopeless you felt–you took a shaky breath and began to make your way through the sea of people surrounding you.

You felt the back of your neck prickle as you did so and glanced up, your eyes connecting with a watchful, steely gaze.

It belonged to Ari Levinson, your father’s bodyguard and closest confidant. 

Despite the way Ari was a constant looming shadow in your life, you never really engaged with him much one on one. The truth was, like everything else in your father’s orbit, Ari scared you.

It wasn’t just his humongous size and how stoic and intimidating he was, it was the fact that Ari’s duty was to protect your father–one of the most dangerous and ruthless men around–which spoke volumes about how lethal and brutal Ari himself must be. 

Granted, Ari had only ever been cordial with you, and usually at a distance, but sometimes, you swore you caught him haunting your space. You’d get a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye but when you’d turn to look, he’d be gone, the faint scent of his cologne lingering–the only evidence that he had been there, watching you. 

He was like a spectre that you couldn’t always see, but you could feel, and lately, it seemed like Ari had been watching you more and more. Or maybe you had only just noticed his unwanted attention, but regardless, it made you extremely anxious. 

Did your father tell him to keep an eye on you, too? Had you done something you shouldn’t have and now you were under a microscope? Walking on eggshells and you didn’t even realize it? 

Your belly flipped unpleasantly as you slipped outside, grateful to be the only one seeking a bit of fresh air on the stone balcony off the manor’s ballroom. 

Your anxiety wasn’t the only thing that had your stomach turning–seeing the guests tonight, who your father did business with, it was terrifying. 

Because they weren’t all mobsters. 

Some were, but most weren’t. Politicians. Law enforcement. Judges. Faces behind large charities and corporations that were supposed to do good. 

Your father’s network ran far and wide, and it made you sick to realize who he had under his thumb. 

How powerful he truly was. 

So lost to your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you were no longer alone until a deep, gruff voice spoke behind you.

“Your father’s looking for you.”

You jumped a foot, choking on a shriek as you whirled around to find Ari looming close. 

“You scared me!” you trembled, clutching your chest as you tried to take an instinctive step away only to realize you had nowhere to go with the stone balustrade at your back.

“Did I?” Ari hummed as his eyes brazenly raked your form, drinking in your floor-length evening gown. 

It was lovely but much more conservative than what most of the women in the ballroom wore. Still, it gave enough of a hint at your curves to have Ari’s gaze lingering, and your belly swooping as your eyes shyly fell to the ground. 

Between one breath and the next, Ari moved closer, looming so near now, that his warmth chased the evening chill from your body. 

Startled, you glance up at him, eyes wide. 

Something in Ari’s gaze made you think that he was amused by your reaction, and the longer you watched him watch you, you realized something else about his eyes–that they had a predatory gleam that made all of your hair stand on end.

Again, you tried to retreat from him, but you were pinned to the balustrade with nowhere to go, trapped in close proximity to your father’s bodyguard who didn’t seem to be in any rush to move away from you.

You could only imagine how obvious your discomfort was–because you weren’t good at hiding your feelings–but Ari didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he lingered, his eyes dipping from your face to drink in the swell of your chest. 

Suddenly, he reached out, gently tracing the collar of your dress, fingers skimming the bare skin at the top of your chest and making your breath catch as you shivered at his bold and unexpected touch. 

“Beautiful,” his voice was a low husk as he spoke the solitary word, but something about his tone was enough to make your face flood with heat.

Unable to stand his direct gaze any longer, your eyes fell, and you glanced down at your dress, touching the soft material as you whispered, “Thank you, it’s new.”

Ari’s gravelly chuckle had you peeking up at him from beneath your lashes, and he ducked close, meeting your startled gaze as he rumbled, “I wasn’t talking about the dress.”

As your mouth gaped in shock at his comment–and the fact that he thought you were beautiful–Ari straightened. 

He finally stepped away, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him. “Time to get you back to the ball, princess.”

Flustered, and wanting to hide now more than ever, you scurried past Ari and back inside the ballroom, feeling the heat of his gaze on you the entire time. 

A few weeks after the party, you surprisingly found yourself riding in the back of your father’s town car one night with the man himself, and Ari. 

You tried to keep your nervous fidgeting at bay, knowing you would easily draw attention to yourself in such close proximity, but it was a challenge because a cocktail of anxiety and confusion gnawed at you as you wondered why you were here with them.

You never accompanied your father on business, as it was no secret you had a genuine aversion to his mob dealings.

So it was shocking–and very much out of the norm–for you to be here right now. 

Then again, your father did enjoy making others miserable and lording his power over them. 

Perhaps that’s why you were here. 

Maybe you had done something to stoke his ire, and this was a way to make you uncomfortable and scared. 

You couldn’t think of anything you might have done, but then again, your general and complete disinterest in all your father had built–and the way you “turned up your nose” at him– made him angry. 

That wasn’t your intention though. You weren’t disrespectful, argumentative, or ungrateful. 

You just didn’t want the life he chose for himself to be yours as well. It scared you. 

Which is likely why your father didn’t love you–he just tolerated you. You weren’t the son he had always wanted, and since your mother wasn’t able to have more children after your birth, his line ended with you, and you were the ultimate disappointment to a man like him.

You jerked as your father’s voice sounded from beside you, peeking over to see him turned toward Ari, addressing the beefy bodyguard who took up almost as much space in the backseat as you and your father combined.

“You’ve been by my side for over twenty years now. Hell, I watched you grow up, Ari, and you’re the person I trust most of all.” 

Your father’s voice was so warm as he spoke to Ari–so unlike how he spoke to you–that your eyes stung and you quickly turned away to look out your window as the car drove on. 

Ari’s voice was a gruff rumble like always–as if it was rusty because it didn’t get much use–as he replied, “I don’t take your trust lightly, sir.”

“I know you don’t, son,” your father chuckled. “I’ve always known you were loyal, but last week, when that parley with Hansen went sideways and you saved my ass—“

“I was just doing my job, and I’d do it again, without hesitation.”

“I know you would. You’re fearless and reliable in a way that no one else in our outfit is, which is why I have a surprise for you.”

It was almost perfect timing, the way your father’s words still hung in the air as the car rolled to a stop out front of a brightly lit cabin in the middle of the deep, dark woods.

In the middle of nowhere.

Whereas you were confused, Ari straightened in recognition, the shadow of alarm furrowing his brow as he looked at your father and asked, “Did you receive a threat that I’m not aware of?”

“No.”

“Then why are we at one of your safe houses?”

“Because you’ll need somewhere safe and private to enjoy your thank you gift, and besides, you’ve earned a reprieve.”

Now your own brow furrowed at your father’s words as you continued to look out of your window and into the darkness beyond. You again wondered what you were doing here, especially if it was a trek for Ari, and after a long moment, you finally registered the tense, awkward silence around you. 

You glanced over to find both your father and Ari staring at you–your father with a triumphant smirk, and Ari with a stoic gaze that just hinted at his surprise, and how pleased he was. 

It took a moment for it to click, for your father’s words to replay in your mind, and then it hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air from your lungs as you stared at him in horror.

Because you were Ari’s thank you gift.

Your chest hitched in panic–in disbelief–betrayal flooding through you as you met your father’s cold, unapologetic gaze. 

Before you could respond, your car door opened, and your father’s chauffeur stood aside, waiting for you to emerge. 

“Go on,” your father snapped, impatience coloring his voice and bleeding into his features.

You flinched, dazed as you slid from the backseat. Once you were standing outside of the car, your knees barely kept you upright as you shifted aside and hugged yourself tightly, staring up at the unfamiliar cabin, your mind a whirlwind of hurt, fear, and shock.

“I could always tell this safe house was your favorite,” your father said jovially as he corralled Ari closer to you. 

“Sir,” Ari tilted his head in acknowledgement, his dark eyes flickering between the wood structure and you standing a few feet away, visibly cowering.

Your father’s jovial nature quickly shifted to distaste as he turned to you. 

“You belong to Ari now,” he said in a voice so steely and uncaring–and brooking no argument–that it made your eyes fill with tears.

You knew he didn’t love you, but to give you to someone else, like you were a thing and not a person–not his own flesh and blood–it had a well of desolation opening up inside of you.

Were you really that unlovable in his eyes?

“You do what he says,” your father went on. “Anything he says. Your whole reason for existing now is to please Ari.”

“But…you can’t just give me to him,” you trembled, batting away a tear that escaped.

Your father’s laugh was mean and had you flinching again. “I can do anything I want. Speaking of want–I always wanted a son, but instead I got you. You’ve been useless to me your whole life, but now, just this once, you have something of value to me: Ari’s desire for you.”

That had Ari shifting his weight and speaking up, “Sir, I’m sorry. I never meant any disrespect—“

Your father’s features shifted to fond amusement as his eyes flickered to Ari. “These things happen. And she is pretty, at the very least,” he waved a dismissive hand at you before clasping Ari’s shoulder. “Ari, you’ve been loyal to me since you were sixteen. You’ve worked hard, been dedicated, not afraid to get your hands dirty. You worked your way up the ranks the good old fashion way, and after last week, it just solidified what I already knew–you are meant to be the son I always wanted.”

Reaching for you, your father grabbed your hand, yanking you close, uncaring of how you stumbled and squeaked in pain. When he tried to put your hand in Ari’s, you pulled away, making him hiss and turn on you.

“You better fall in line quickly, you little bitch, because you know what happens to those I have no use for.” He leaned in close, spittle flying as he snarled, “I get rid of them, for good.”

The sound you made was pathetic–a whimper and a sob combined–but this time when your father grabbed your hand and placed it in Ari’s, you didn’t pull away. You just stared down at the way the bodyguard’s hand was so massive, so much bigger than yours, and yet his touch was gentle as his thumb brushed along your trembling fingers. 

“This is more than a thank you gift, it’s a union,” your father declared. “One day, you’ll run this outfit, and I’ll be proud to hand over my legacy to you. For now, enjoy your gift.” He shot Ari a wink, not bothering to look your way. “I’ll send a driver to retrieve you both Monday morning.”

You couldn’t help but wilt beneath Ari’s unwavering gaze, which was so filled with so much yearning. You trembled harder as his thumb drew along your knuckles now, but then he sighed and took a step back. 

“I appreciate the gesture, sir, really, but I’m scheduled to be on duty all weekend.”

“Christ, you’re a workaholic,” your father laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I have Everett filling in.”

He gestured toward the car, and you saw the familiar looming figure of Curtis Everett–another member of your father’s security detail–sitting in the front passenger seat. Seeing Ari and your father’s gazes looking his way, he gave a small nod, and Ari loosened up instantly. 

It was obvious he trusted Curtis in his stead. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me, son. This will benefit us both. Now!” He clapped his hands together loudly, making you jump. “Go on and seal the deal. We can talk about a formal union next week. For now, have fun. You deserve it.”

A few more tears spilled over as your father spoke about you like a toy for Ari’s entertainment, and nothing more. You watched, stunned, as he made his way back in the car, and soon the vehicle was driving away, leaving you all alone, in the middle of nowhere, with Ari.

“Come on, sweet gift,” Ari husked, an eagerness you had never heard before seeping into his words. “I’ve waited a long time to have you, and I’m not waiting any longer.”

You just stared at him for a moment, your face a canvas of devastation, but when he moved closer and pressed a big, warm hand to the small of your back and guided you toward the front steps leading up to the cabin’s porch, you didn’t resist. 

What was the point? 

You knew you were no match for Ari. 

And your father had made his threat perfectly clear, you didn’t really have a choice in this matter, not if you wanted to stay alive. 

You were foolish to think you’d ever escape him, or escape this life. 

You were overcome with a deep sense of sorrow as you realized your life as you knew it–and all your hopes and dreams for the future–were gone now. 

Just like that.

It was like you were on autopilot as Ari led you inside, static filling your head and making it hard to even see or process your surroundings, let alone what was coming next. 

All too soon, you were in the large bedroom of the cabin. A humongous four poster bed occupied most of the space, and the lights were turned low, creating a warm ambiance you would have appreciated in any other circumstance. 

But right now, as panic swirled within you, you turned away from the bed, gasping as you face planted right into Ari’s broad chest. You stumbled away from him, but only got a couple of steps before he caught your wrist and pulled you close once more.

Again, you recoiled, your breaths coming quicker now as anger glinted in Ari’s eyes, making your insides curdle in terror. 

Because this was a man whose job wasn’t only to protect your father, but to kill people on his whim.

Ari tutted, taking a calming breath before he reached for you again. He yanked you flush against him–more roughly this time–causing a whimper to fall from your lips before your face crumpled and you started to cry.

Ari cooed at you as he backed you into the wall, the soft sound making your insides flutter as his hands found your hips and gave an appreciative squeeze. The next sound he made was a lewd groan as his touch grew more brazen, skimming up your sides before cupping your breasts and giving a firm grope. 

You whined, but had nowhere to go. You got a glimpse of the victory shining in Ari’s eyes at this realization as well, before you turned your face away. 

But he just took that as an invitation to lean in and press his lips to your throat. You gasped, then gave a frightened cry as his teeth nipped your skin hard enough to hurt, and probably leave a mark. 

You wept harder as Ari gave your tits another harsh squeeze before he started to unbutton the front of your dress. 

“No!” you tried to shove him away, but it was useless, so you clutched at the front of your dress instead, trying to stop the inevitable as you curled in on yourself.

Ari’s hand shot out, gripping your throat and making you shriek as he pressed your head back against the wall and aimed your terrified gaze his way. 

“If you keep fighting me, this is going to be very unpleasant for you.” His hand gripped your neck tighter in a wordless threat, and you squealed, a new wash of tears spilling over as you cried harder.

Ari took another soothing breath, that scary glint fading from his gaze as he watched you weep. He released your throat, drawing his knuckles down your tender skin as he stepped closer–right against you–so you felt every inch of his big, firm body against yours.

The way he loomed over you emphasized the intimidating size of him, and it occurred to you then, how easily he could really hurt you. And as horrible as all of this was, you didn’t want that on top of everything else. 

“Please, don’t hurt me,” you quavered, sniffling as more tears streaked down your cheeks.

Ari’s hand lifted, and you flinched, but all he did was brush the tears from your cheek. “Shh shh shh, I’m not going to hurt you,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your other cheek before his lips found your ear. “I’m going to unwrap my gift.”

He started to do just that, staring you down–like he was daring you to resist some more–as he undid the buttons along the front of your dress.

You didn’t resist, you just squirmed as you whispered, “I don’t want this,” hoping that maybe if you said it aloud, he’d realize how fucked up this was, how wrong it was. 

But Ari just smirked at you. “What you want doesn’t matter, it never has, at least not to your father.”

His words were like a slap to the face. You wondered if he said them because of your resistance–because it had bruised his ego. Regardless, he pressed on a very real pain point that had you curling in on yourself and looking away, devastated.

“He never wanted you, sweet gift, but me?” Ari purred as he undid the final button of your dress and gently nudged the sides apart, baring your body to him for the first time. “You are all I want.”

You shuddered at that, more affected by Ari’s confession than you should have been, than you wanted to be.

“Yeah, you’re not used to being wanted, are you? Especially like this.” Ari pressed a kiss to your forehead before his mouth continued on, peppering a trail of soft kisses along your face as his hands pushed the dress from your body until it pooled at your feet.  

His hands anchored onto your hips, giving a possessive squeeze that had your breath catching as your heart raced.

“I can make you feel so good,” Ari whispered against your tear-stained cheek. “All you have to do is be good for me, and I’ll show you how good it feels to be mine.”

Another shiver wracked through you, your tummy fluttering in a way that made shame rise up within you. 

You weren’t sure if it was your reaction–however silent–or Ari’s own words, but a sudden feral, manic gleam sparked in his gaze.

“You’re mine now,” he growled, almost like he was realizing it for the first time. 

One of Ari’s hands lifted, gently collaring the front of your throat and making your heart skip a beat before hammering in fear as you imagined how easy it would be for him to crush your neck like he nearly did before.

“Say it,” he demanded, his touch trailing up until his thumb could test the softness of your lower lip. 

Your silence had his eyes snapping up to yours so suddenly, it made you jerk in alarm. That feral gaze glittered with warning as he said, “I won’t ask again.”

“I’m…I’m yours,” you wisped, your voice cracking with fear on the last word. 

Ari didn’t seem to mind, cooing at you as he tilted your face for better access before leaning in to kiss you hard.

Ari’s lips against yours for the very first time wasn’t sweet or savoring or even exploratory. It was possessive–an ardent conquering of your lips by his, and all you could do was cling to Ari’s broad shoulders as he thoroughly plundered your mouth and staked his claim until you were both breathless and panting.

Just as suddenly as he kissed you, Ari turned–taking you with him–before tossing you on the bed. 

You whimpered in fear as you watched him loom over your sprawled form, because you could see it–the way Ari was so close to snapping. 

He was toeing the line between giving into the carnal side of him that just wanted to fuck you and fill you, and the logical, calculating part of him that was trying not to scare you too much. 

That wanted to take his time with you.

His wide chest heaved with an inhale, then a deep exhale as he gathered himself, his nostrils flaring as he watched you like a predator that wasn’t so much going in for the kill as excited to play with its food. 

Ari’s movements were slow and calculated as he moved closer. It didn’t register in your brain that he was positioned between your sprawled legs until he gently gripped one of your ankles in each of his hands and tugged you closer. He guided your legs around either side of his thighs as he stood over your, his calloused touch shifting to cup your knees as you shook and stared up at him with wide, glistening eyes. 

He was gentle as he started to trace along your bare skin with his fingertips. His thumb brushed over the curve of your knee, his other fingers trailing along your outer thigh. When he curled his fingers and drew his knuckles up your inner thigh, you snapped your legs shut as much as you could with him looming like he was. 

Ari’s laugh was breathless, his eyes sparkling–and impossibly dark–as he met your pleading, tearful gaze and cooed, “Let me touch what’s mine, sweet gift.”

Your hesitation to do what you were told resulted in Ari’s hand once again collaring your throat and making you whimper. He intentionally aimed your terrified gaze his way as his other hand continued its journey up your inner thigh before reaching its destination. 

It was a mindfuck, the way Ari meanly forced eye contact when you were obviously so scared and vulnerable, but once he tore off your panties, his fingers were so gentle as they began to pet along your bare cunt for the first time.

“You’re so warm and soft,” he hummed, his nostrils flaring as he watched a new wave of tears spill down your cheeks. 

Your tears came harder as you felt your pussy grow slick at Ari’s touch, betraying you entirely as it gave in to the way his thumb circled your clit until it was throbbing, your traitorous body wanting more, as your hips tilted up in invitation of their own accord. 

Whining your humiliation, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to turn away to hide. Ari surprisingly let you, releasing your throat so you could sink back against the bed and he could move closer. 

You felt the mattress dip with his weight as he planted his free hand above your head and stretched out over you. His big body sank closer to yours, mere inches separating you now as his fingers teased along your slit before dipping down to the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. 

Gasping as Ari’s finger glanced over your hole, you whined again, fisting the blankets on either side of you as you felt your insides flutter with anticipation even as your mind wailed in despair. 

Ari’s lips touched your cheek, his words washing over you in a humid puff as he spoke,  “Stop being difficult. Stop thinking so much, and just feel. Your body wants this–wants me–even if your mind is trying to tell you otherwise. Let it feel good, sweetheart.”

It was like you had no choice but to obey him, because Ari’s fingers were circling your clit again, rubbing in a way that had you mewling and squirming and–

You came suddenly, gasping as your body locked up before arching sharply as pleasure flooded through your veins in a dizzying rush that made you keen. 

“Yeah, there you go,” Ari praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips as he lingered close and drank you in. “Fuck, you’re pretty when you cum. This sweet pussy is so responsive and eager for my touch, isn’t she?”

You were too stunned to resist as Ari suddenly straightened and undid your bra before tossing it aside. He groaned at the sight of you completely naked before him and took a moment to cup your heaving breasts in his big hands. He gave them a squeeze before he sank to his knees, yanking you closer and lapping up the evidence of your orgasm with his tongue. 

Vulnerability and traitorous desire warred within you, making you freeze as Ari moaned into your cunt before he spread your folds with his thumbs and tongued at your fluttering hole.

Your face flamed as you tried to weakly shove him away, but he persisted, his hand reaching up to plant against your belly in silent warning as his tongue trailed higher before flicking over your sensitive clit. 

You gasped, jerking at the delicious sensation, hating that it felt so good as you sank back against the bed–a pliant mess–and just took it. It was like with every eager lap of Ari’s tongue, with every talented tease of his fingers, your mind got quieter and quieter, and your body came to life in a way it never had before. 

When you realized you were gripping Ari’s hair instead of trying to shove him away, you felt shame roil within you, but then Ari’s tongue shoved into your cunt, and you keened as you jerked against him, your insides wound so incredibly tight that all you could think about was how badly you needed more.

When your legs spread of their own accord and you rutted against Ari’s face in desperation, he gazed up the length of your writhing body, triumph flashing in his eyes, before he doubled down and devoured your cunt until you were crying and shaking with another orgasm. 

Your tears didn’t stop once you came down from your high, a distant part of you so distraught and mourning the way you were giving in and accepting this cruel, fucked up fate that your father had dealt you.

Those thoughts were quickly chased from your mind as Ari suddenly stood over you, completely naked now. He was so big, and thick with muscle, his body flexing and his strength obvious as he easily manhandled you to the center of the bed before stretching out over you.

You sniffled as his full weight sank against you, taking up residence between your legs, as he dipped close for a languid kiss. You didn’t return it as much as endure it, but the fact that you didn’t turn away had him cooing, “Good girl,” against your lips before he retreated.

He stayed close though, his eyes like two deep, dark pools of sin as they met yours–ensnared your gaze entirely–as he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly started to fill you with his cock.

You whined at the way he stretched you, turning away then due to the discomfort, but Ari just cooed at you some more, his lips pressing against your jaw as he told you, “You can take it, I know you can, because you were made for me, sweet gift.”

He pulled back, gazing down the length of your bodies so he could watch the way your tight pussy slowly swallowed every hard, thick inch of his cock. Once he bottomed out, Ari grunted, and you felt him shudder with a shaky exhale as he basked in the feeling of your tight, hot cunt gripping his cock for dear life. 

You couldn’t help but blink your eyes back open and look at him, because you could feel the way something had shifted now that your body was joined with Ari’s.

That feral gleam was back in his eyes, and as Ari’s hands framed your hips and he slowly retreated before thrusting deep inside you once more, you could actually see his composure begin to crack. 

Your gasp was sharp as the next drive of his hips had him fucking into you harder, deeper, deep enough to make you mewl pathetically and press a hand to his flexing stomach to try to stem the onslaught of his desire.

Of his passion for you. 

But it was like being inside of you flipped that primal switch in his brain, and any care Ari had shown you before–his patience and soft touch–was gone now.

He fucked you like an animal, snarling as he pounded you into the mattress, holding you down by your waist as his hips snapped against you over and over again, and he moaned in pleasure as he used your tight, wet hole the way he had always dreamt of. 

You had a feeling that the only reason his fingers eventually sought your clit was so he could feel you cum around him, squeeze and flutter around his cock, and his obscene groan as you did just that proved your point.

You whimpered, feeling wrung out already, as Ari gave another deep rut and lingered. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, and then you jumped as his teeth grazed the hinge of your jaw before he pulled back, then out of you altogether. 

Ari rolled you onto your side, groping your ass as he held you the way he wanted and shoved back inside of you. He gave a loud moan as he started to pump into you wildly, the bed shaking with the force of your coupling before he gave a snarl as he came.

Gasping at the hot flood of his cum, you just laid there, tears webbing along your eyelashes as you felt Ari jerk into you a few more times, fucking his cum deeper inside of you before he finally went still. 

Your eyes fluttered in exhaustion, but before you could sink into a much needed reprieve, Ari rolled you onto your belly. You yelped as he yanked you up onto your hands and knees before he slid back into you, still hard despite his orgasm and already filling you with his cream.

Your body jostled as Ari started fucking you again, pounding into you relentlessly, and with so much force, that you had to press your hand against the headboard to keep from being shoved into face first in his mindless fervor.

When you felt Ari’s free hand smooth up your back, you shivered, feeling a tweak and flutter deep within you. His touch skimmed down before it rounded your hip and planted against your belly, pressing firmly. 

You couldn’t help it as you moaned on his next thrust, feeling it more now as his touch reaffirmed his claiming of you–his complete and utter possession of you. 

“Never gonna stop, I’m never gonna stop filling you up,” Ari panted, his fingers dipping to strum your clit. 

He groaned as you clenched around him at the added stimulation, countering your soft, pretty cry of pleasure with a gravelly hum of satisfaction. 

“Cum for me, sweet gift, give me one more so I can feel you grip my cock like you just can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of me.”

Ari curled over you–his big body completely blanketing yours–as he fucked you faster. It was so overwhelming, it felt like you were being consumed by him entirely as the sound of skin slapping skin echoed around the room, along with the wet squelches of your pussy, making your cheeks burn.

Your face flamed hotter as you found yourself shoving back into the eager drives of his cock, your needy body having a mind of its own now as it greedily chased another release.

Ari’s fingers descended down your belly to play with your clit, making you keen and him groan in response as your cunt clenched hard as a result. 

A particularly firm rub of his thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves, teamed with his hard cock hitting just right deep inside you, had you crying out with bliss, your fingers curling against the bedding as your body rocked with your most intense orgasm yet.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Ari groaned, his arm curling around your middle, holding you captive against him as his hips pistoned wildly and he rutted into you with feral desperation. “Squeeze me tight, baby, milk this fucking cock.”

Your pussy fluttered and pulsed some more at his lewdness, pulling another primal groan from Ari before he gave a shout and was unloading inside of you all over again. 

His sweaty forehead dropped to your shoulder, and he shoved into you with force–completely overcome with feral bliss–as his cum coated your insides. He continued to rut into you, fucking his cream as deep as he could into your sweet, thoroughly owned pussy.

As Ari sagged against you, you were both panting and covered in sweat.

Trembling beneath Ari’s heavy weight, you felt a few fresh tears seep free and streak down your face, because you had never had someone cum inside of you before, and Ari had done it twice tonight.

You felt so owned now, so thoroughly debauched and claimed, and you knew that there was no going back from this–you really were Ari’s now, in every way.

As you started to cry once more, Ari hushed you, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder– much softer and less feral than a moment ago–as he straightened and pulled out of you with a soft grunt. 

He gave your sides a squeeze before easing you onto your back. He thumbed away your tears next, his eyes bright with possessive satisfaction as they raked over your thoroughly fucked form. 

Ari’s hands smoothed down your sides, his touch moving lower as he shifted down the bed. You didn’t even have the energy to try to pull away as he placed a gentle kiss on your puffy cunt that was still leaking his cum.

“She’s mine now, too,” Ari purred, giving your folds one more kiss before his mouth ascended.

He kissed up your belly, then between your breasts, before he finally ended his intimate, possessive trek with a soft kiss to your lips. Ari took another moment to wipe away the last remnants of your tears as you blinked up at him sleepily, no longer shying away from his touch. 

Because what was the point?

You–and your body–belonged to Ari now, and you both knew it.

So as Ari laid beside you and tugged you closer, arranging you against his chest, you didn’t resist. 

In fact, a tiny, fractured part of you felt grateful that he was showing you any kind of warmth and kindness at all, instead of discarding you like a used fuck toy since he got what he wanted. 

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” Ari’s deep voice rumbled as he petted your head. “Because you probably won’t get much rest this weekend, so you should get it while you can.”

Even as your belly twisted in hopeless defeat, your pussy—the ultimate betrayer–fluttered with interest at Ari’s warning. 

At his sinful promise of what was to come and what he had in store for you.

You knew that whatever it was, you wouldn’t be able to deny it, deny him. 

Because this was your life now…

Being shackled to the mob, and your father, without any hope for escape.

Being Ari’s entirely–body and mind–whether you liked it or not. 

Your new reality was everything you had never wanted, but for Ari? 

All he had ever wanted was you.

And now he had you, for good.

Ngl, I made myself pretty 🥴 with this lolol. Happy, horny birthday to me lollll. Please take a moment to screech at me, I’d love to know what you think! And if your panties have been ruined bwahaha.

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You awoke with a terrified whimper, crying as you trembled in the darkness of Curtis’ bedroom. You clawed at the underside of your chin to make sure it was unmarred still, intact and unharmed–unlike in your dream. 

Curtis remained asleep beside you, so close you could feel the heat of him, and it was an invitation that you couldn’t refuse, especially right now.

When you were feeling out of your mind with terror.

When all you wanted was to feel safe. 

When you remembered, for a fleeting moment, the way your older brother used to comfort you in the middle of the night when you’d sneak into his room after a rare nightmare and shake him awake. 

But your brother was gone now. They were all gone now.

All you had, in this moment, was Curtis.

Sniffling back your tears, and feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, you shifted closer to him. Reclining beside him, you curled into Curtis’ side, instantly soothed by his presence, by not being alone right now, when you felt so scared and off balance. 

You listened to the steady sound of his breathing, focused on it with all of your waning energy and attention, and after a little while, it finally–thankfully–lulled you back to sleep.

When Curtis awoke hours later, just as the sun began to rise and chase the shadows of nighttime away, it was to find you fast asleep and barnacled to him.

Your arm was draped over his chest, your hand clutching his side and keeping him close. Your nose was tucked against Curtis’ bare shoulder, like you were seeking his scent, even in sleep. 

If he was anyone else, he’d be charmed by this sweet observation of you, maybe even a little touched. 

But he wasn’t anyone else, and he wasn’t any of those things. 

What he was in this moment was pleased. Pleased to witness your attachment to him, especially when you were at your least guarded and most vulnerable.

It was a testament to how much he thoroughly owned you now, the way in which he had so fully conquered you–body and mind–that you would cling so sweetly and so desperately to your own tormentor.

A small smile curled Curtis’ lips as he watched you. It wasn’t quite fondness that had him reaching for you–consumed by the need to touch you–it was possession.

Because you were his, in every way, and this moment just proved it.

Curtis was gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek, watching the way your brows furrowed in response. Even asleep, you looked exhausted and scared, and it had Curtis’ cock twitching as he gently traced your features.

He laid that way for longer than he should have, gently caressing you and enjoying his possession of you entirely, before finally slipping from bed to start his day. 

You couldn’t stop yawning as you made your way to Curtis’ office. 

Sleeping and lazing were available to you at almost any time. It wasn't like you had much to do unless Curtis demanded your company, or much, much more than that. 

Despite being utterly exhausted because your sleep quality seemed to diminish more and more with each passing day, you were so afraid to sleep and experience the horrors that awaited you in your nightmares. 

So you persevered through the long–and often lonely–days, dreading the approach of evening with every fiber of your being.

Which is why you were actually grateful that Curtis had summoned you to his office. You needed the distraction–something to do that would keep you awake–even if you were sure that whatever he had planned for you wasn’t much better than your nightmares. 

After knocking on the office door, you waited for Curtis’ invitation inside before entering, then pulling up short. 

Because your pedestal wasn’t empty and awaiting you as usual. 

Today, your favorite curved chaise lounge from the sitting room you frequented sat on the center of the pedestal, angled toward Curtis’ desk. 

“Thought we’d try something a little different today,” he murmured as he rose from his seat. 

He waited for you beside the pedestal, watching your nervous, tentative approach in amusement. Once you stood before him, anxious and unsure, Curtis held out a hand to you, helping you up onto the pedestal and then down onto the chaise lounge.

You were tense and trying to prepare for what came next as you perched on the edge of the seat. 

This seemed to amuse Curtis further as he crouched beside you, setting his large hands on your thighs before shifting them to frame your waist and urging you further back on the lounge.

“Get comfortable,” he husked, his hands lingering as you did as you were told and reclined against the lounge. 

Curtis adjusted you how he wanted, so you were laid back and facing his desk. His gaze smoldered at you as he removed your panties without asking before guiding one of your legs over the edge of the lounge chair, spreading you wide. 

He shifted the long, flowing folds of your dress next, so that by the time he was done arranging you, your pussy was on full display, just for him. 

Curtis’ lips twitched as you squirmed and shyly dropped your gaze at being so lewdly exposed. 

Your breath caught as he leaned in and gently kissed your pouting lips, and then he shifted much lower to just as softly kiss your cunt.

You gasped as Curtis’ tongue darted out to give your slit a quick, teasing lick, your hips arching up for more without your permission. 

That got a husky chuckle out of Curtis before he straightened and then pulled away. He rose to his full height, watching you for a moment with laughter in his lust-darkened gaze as you stared up at him, lips parted, and body as tense as a bowstring.

“Relax, pretty prize, that’s the whole point of this. You look tired.” Curtis petted your head, his touch so gentle that you couldn’t suppress the urge to lean into it, just a little. 

It was instant, the way tears welled in your eyes, because it occurred to you just then, how it was a rarity for you now, to be touched in such a gentle, innocent way, and that you craved it–yearned for it–so desperately.

Sniffling, you tried your best to blink the moisture from your eyes and get more comfortable, urging your body to go as pliant as possible as you warily watched Curtis return to his desk and take his seat.

You didn’t trust that the whole point of this was for you to relax. That he didn’t have something diabolical or demeaning up his sleeve. 

That that mean, devious switch in him wouldn’t flip at any moment, and then you’d really be in for it.

But all Curtis did was focus back on his computer and type away on his keyboard for a bit. 

You were still on edge when his phone buzzed with an incoming call, and you jerked at the sound of it, your heart hammering as your startled gaze met Curtis’.

“Relax,” he reminded you with a quiet hum, and then he answered the call–which was clearly business related–and ignored you entirely.

The longer you laid there, begrudgingly comfortable as Curtis spoke softly on the phone, the harder it was to fight the exhaustion that lapped at you constantly, trying to pull you closer and closer to the treacherous depths of sleep.

It was that very exhaustion teamed with the soft baritone of Curtis’ voice that did just that–lulled you to sleep in just mere moments. 

And then it was happening again. 

The same nightmare, but in a different way. 

Now it was your father in the chair, and you knew what came next as you watched Curtis advance on him. 

Watched him reach for the leather-bound hilt resting at the small of his back. 

Watched him pull the knife free, raise it high, and plunge it into the back of your father’s hand. 

Watched the way your father screamed in agony and writhed in pain, begging and pleading for his life.

Watched as Curtis wrenched the bloody knife from your father’s hand and aimed it just beneath his chin before driving it upward with a brutal thrust.

When you jolted awake, you were screaming just the way you had been screaming in your dream as Curtis murdered your father right in front of you. 

You were so hysterical as you sobbed and trembled, that it took you a moment to realize that real life Curtis was crouching beside the chaise lounge, his brows furrowed as he watched you. 

Logically, you knew that he was the very reason for these nightmares in the first place–for your constant state of terror and distress–but you weren’t thinking logically as you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

You weren’t thinking at all, you were desperately seeking comfort, and Curtis was the only source available to you. 

“Shhh, calm down, pretty prize,” his voice was soft as his hand spanned down length of your back in one smooth stroke before ascending to start the journey all over again. “It was just a dream, you’re okay.”

You whimpered as you gripped the soft material of his button up, your body lethargic still as you sank against him even further, straddling his thighs, and so very desperate for his warmth and comfort. You couldn’t stop trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut against the horrifying remnants of your dream. 

After a few moments, your crying died down to stray hiccups and sniffles, and by the time you shifted against him again, you were aware enough to realize that Curtis was now hard. 

Your breath hitched at the realization as you slowly pulled away from his chest. Curtis’ gaze was so dark, it had you trembling for a different reason now.

Because he looked like he wanted to eat you whole.

He remained gentle though as he wiped away your tears. His thumbs brushed away the most recent wash of them, and then he leaned in and slowly kissed along the wet trails shining on your cheeks. 

Curtis groaned at the salty taste of your sweet terror, and then he shifted so quickly, it made you squeal as he turned and laid you out on the soft throw rug across from the pedestal.

You didn’t resist as he shoved your legs apart and slotted himself between them. You just watched with wide, still wet eyes as he loomed above you on his knees and undid his pants. He fished his hard cock free and gave himself a few strokes until he was at full mast and lunging closer.

Again, you didn’t resist, in fact, you welcomed Curtis’ onslaught, spreading your legs wider and shifting your dress to give him better access.

Because this, this was the best way to chase the dregs of your nightmare away. 

When Curtis shoved into you hard, you choked on a keen, clinging to him, digging your nails into his flesh through his shirt as he started to fuck you in a feral frenzy. 

Your eyes rolled, and then closed, as he filled you up over and over again, each eager thrust of his cock driving you closer and closer to euphoria and further and further away from the dreams that haunted you without relent.

It shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t. You knew that. You knew everything about this was fucked up–was wrong–but it was all you had. This was all you had.

Curtis was all you had.

And as he pounded into you in a way that had you whining and mewling and begging for more, you couldn’t help the fleeting thought in the back of your mind…

That in a strange way, it was like your waking nightmare kept the sleep ones at bay. 

Later that night, as you curled close to Curtis’ side in bed, resting your cheek on his thigh as he sat against the headboard and read a book, you were on edge all over again. 

It was nearly bedtime now, inching closer and closer to midnight, and you were weary down to your very bones, but you couldn’t fall asleep again. 

You wouldn’t.

As if he could read your mind, Curtis spoke from above you, his free hand touching the crown of your head as he asked, “You’ve had chronic nightmares before?”

“No,” you whispered, part of you feeling ashamed for being plagued by something so stupid.

To someone like him, you must have seemed ridiculous–so terribly, laughably weak. 

“I suppose it’s not surprising given your…circumstances,” Curtis hummed. “Tell me, pretty prize, what are you most afraid of?”

You frowned as you glanced up at him. He had set his book aside now, his full attention on you. And once again, he looked amused by you.

I’m his favorite form of entertainment, you thought. 

And really that was your sole purpose for existing now–to entertain Curtis, whatever it took, whatever he commanded.

Shaking yourself from your sullen and self-loathing thoughts, you finally answered his question: “I’m most afraid of you.”

Curtis seemed pleased by this, but also, there was something else that flashed in his watchful gaze at your answer, something you couldn’t place, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. 

“What about me scares you so much?”

“Everything,” you replied without thinking. Your gaze fell away from him then, your eyes fluttering as his fingers began to gently skim along your temple, then your hairline next. “That you’ll kill me like you killed my family.”

Curtis’ touch on you stilled, then shifted. He cradled the side of your face and tipped your head back up his way, until your vulnerable gaze met his unwavering one.

“If I wanted to kill you,” he spoke slowly, intentionally. “You’d be dead already.” 

It was ridiculous, given your circumstances, that a soft exhale of relief fell from your lips, but it did, and along with it, the ever-present tension inside of you loosened up, just a tiny bit. 

“Then,” your voice quavered, and you took a beat before continuing, “Then what do you want from me?”

A slow, wicked smile unfurled across Curtis’ lips, like the devil’s trademark appearing right before your very eyes. He touched you more firmly now, lifting you up until you were sat beside him, and then tugged you against him entirely.

“This is a good start…” he rumbled before gripping your chin and pulling you in for a kiss. 

It was easy to give in to the talented press of Curtis’ lips against yours. To the way he deepened the kiss without reserve and invaded your mouth with his tongue. He hummed in satisfaction as you gasped and then sank against him–both in surrender but exhaustion, too. 

It was that exhaustion that made it difficult for you to keep up with Curtis’ kisses, made him pull away from you and watch you with a sparkle in his eye.

His tone was teasing as he asked, “You’re not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, emphatically. “I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want any more nightmares.” 

Your face crumpled suddenly, because of how truthful that statement was, how hard all of this was. It was like no matter what you did, or where you turned, there was some horror or another awaiting you, and you just couldn’t escape. 

You could never escape.

You’d always be a prisoner–and suffering–in some way.

“I’m so tired,” you quavered, your voice breaking as you dropped your face into your hands. “I just want to rest. I just want to be okay.”

Before you could get too swept away by your grief and despair, Curtis was throwing his legs over the side of the bed and rising to his feet. 

“Come on,” he gestured for you to follow suit before striding into the walk-in closet and disappearing from sight.

Confused, you sniffed back more tears, slowly climbing from bed. By the time you were swaying on your feet, Curtis had reappeared with a long, white nightgown in his hands. 

“Change into this,” he directed, giving your short, lacy sleep dress an appreciative look before pressing the thin, gauzy nightgown into your hands. “Go on.”

You did as you were told, quickly swapping one garment for the other. The nightgown fluttered down to your ankles, fitting you in a way that surprisingly emphasized your body for one of the few conservative pieces of clothing that Curtis had ever given you. 

You shivered as the cool air of the room easily penetrated the nearly sheer fabric, making your nipples pebble, and Curtis’ gaze drop and linger for a long, tense moment.

He hummed his wordless approval, licking his lips before taking your hand and leading you out of the bedroom, then downstairs. 

You side eyed him, still dressed in just his black pajama pants, his broad, toned chest as bare as his feet as he led you through the kitchen, then out the sliding glass doors to the back patio. 

You had to jog to keep up with his quick strides as Curtis led you across the back lawn of the manor, which was perfectly manicured and nearly as soft as the indoor carpet beneath your feet. 

He took a sharp right that you had never taken before, and you gasped to suddenly find yourself at the entrance of the elaborate hedge maze you had only ever seen from the bedroom window and had assumed was another method he used to torment and scare his enemies.

Is that why he brought you here?

Before your frantic thoughts could spiral beyond that, Curtis dropped your hand, his voice a commanding husk as you told you to, “Run.”

Startled, you turned and stared at him, uncomprehending. “W-what?”

“I’ll give you a one minute head start,” Curtis murmured, eyeing you up like you were a prime cut of meat and he hadn’t eaten in a long, long time.

“I…I don’t understand,” you whispered as you took a nervous step away from him.

“I’m in the mood for a chase, pretty prize, so run.”

You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as you glanced over your shoulder at the dark path before you, then back at Curtis. 

“You’ll just need to wait and see what happens when I catch you,” Curtis said, his nostrils flaring as he gave you the kind of slow onceover that instantly ruined your panties. “And I  will catch you.”

When his gaze realigned with yours, it was so feral and predatory that it had you turning on your heel and darting away from him on pure instinct. 

You rushed into the maze and took a quick left, then a right, another right, then a left, and it wasn’t long before you were deep within the tall, lush greenery, frantic and all turned around. 

Despite your flustered state and fear, you were strangely excited, too. 

For some reason, you didn’t get a sense that Curtis was doing this to hurt or punish you. He had seemed almost…playful. And you had given up trying to predict his moods and motivation a long time ago.

Speaking of, the sound of rustling close by had you taking off down a new path, your bare feet pounding against the ridiculously soft grass beneath you as you ran. 

You were nearly winded when you took another turn and then pulled up short when you found yourself entering a courtyard. 

The sight of the large stone fountain before you and stray benches was so out of place, so unexpected, that you were taken aback and struck dumb. For a split second, you also forgot that you were being chased. 

So of course, that was when Curtis caught you.

He surprised you as he tackled you from behind, but as you both landed on the ground together, he rolled your bodies in a way that cushioned your fall and left you completely unharmed.

The impressive move–and his desire to protect you in some way–had you dumbstruck all over again and you couldn’t school your features at all, staring up at Curtis completely O_O 

He grinned at you, still panting from the chase, then he swooped low, took a moment to meet your startled gaze, and then kissed you in a way so filthy, it had you whining as your pussy fluttered and clenched around nothing. 

Curtis pulled back just as quickly as he had pounced, rolling you over onto your belly and blanketing his warm, heavy body over yours. 

You felt him shift against you, then gasped as he tore your panties off before the spongy head of his cock was prodding between your legs. He filled you in one slow, savoring plunge, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt and settled into your tight, hot cunt balls deep. 

“Fuck, I love this cunt.”

Moaning as you felt him throb inside of you, you dropped your head to the ground, fingers digging into the grass and fragrant earth on either side of you as Curtis slowly began to fuck you. 

You didn’t resist as Curtis tugged up your nightgown, whipping it off of you and tossing it aside. Almost instantly, his lips were at your bare shoulder, and he took his time trailing a path of kisses all the way across your skin to the other shoulder before his lips moved up to tease along your ear. 

“Do you know how good you feel?” he husked against the shell of your ear. “Gripping my cock so hard, so perfectly?”

You moaned in response, an embarrassed kind of heat flooding your cheeks as your pussy fluttered and clenched in response to his praise. 

“Mmm, such a good girl, so fucking responsive for me.”

Curtis went at you harder then, fucking you in quick, deep strokes that lingered each time you whined his name or pleaded with him on a thready keen. 

It was the way he dug his hand beneath you to rub at your clit just as he gently sank his teeth into the meat of your nape that had you cumming with a sharp cry. 

Curtis hissed as you clamped around him so hard, he could barely move, so hard that you had him unexpectedly following you over the edge. You trembled and writhed beneath him as you rode out your own pleasure, your carnal euphoria heightened by the warm flood of Curtis cum flooding your insides. 

“Mmm, love pumping you full of me, pretty prize. Take it all. Every. Last. Drop.” He punctuated his final few words with forceful thrusts that had him fucking his cum deep inside you. 

Until you were panting and shivering as you sagged beneath him at last, completely spent. 

Curtis sank against you for a beat, gently kissing the imprint of his teeth on the back of his neck, and only when he slowly started to move again did you realize that he was still hard. 

And he wasn’t quite done with you yet. 

By the time he worked you up to another orgasm, you were nearly delirious from being so well and thoroughly fucked. 

You were mindless too, uncaring as you keened and screamed and reveled in the way Curtis ruined you with his cock until you couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and were thanking him just like he told you to as he spilled another creamy load deep inside your pussy. 

When Curtis finally pulled out of you, you could hardly keep your eyes open, let alone move. You went without resistance as he turned you onto your back, shifted down your body, and sank between your thighs. 

You were so fucked out and head empty, you literally couldn’t string together a sentence, let alone tell Curtis to stop as he cleaned your messy, overstimulated pussy with his mouth and worked you up to another orgasm while he was at it.

Crying as your exhausted body arched with your final climax of the evening, you whimpered as you sank back against the grass, sprawled and splayed, and covered in sweat.

“Good girl,” Curtis cooed at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your swollen clit and laughing as you twitched and whined as a result.

You were so sleepy and discombobulated that Curtis had to hold you upright once he helped you to your feet. You swayed and leaned against him as he dressed you in your nightgown once more, and you didn’t even remember the trek back to the manor. 

It was like you were in the maze courtyard one moment, and being tucked into bed the next. 

As Curtis tugged you against him, and urged you to get some rest, you had the most wild and fleeting thought… 

That maybe all of this–going out to the hedge maze, the impromptu chase, and the very thorough fucking–was less about entertaining Curtis and more about tiring you out so that you could finally fall asleep and have a nightmare-free rest.

And you did.

🥺 I don’t even know what’s happening. This unpredictable fictional man is ruining my liiiife in the best way 😭

—

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Getting up feels like a chore, one you do at some expense. With a sigh, you shuffle toward the bedroom door and down to the bathroom. You look tired in the mirror despite your rest, and you wonder if you shouldn’t just go back to bed and stay there until August. The thought is tempting. You drag yourself through a shower before heading down to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal for breakfast. 

Your mother is seated at the table when you walk in, her hands clasped tightly atop a multicolored pile of folded papers you recognize from last night. Lead forms in your belly at the sight of her—you know someone prepared for a fight when you see one. 

“Morning Momma.” She doesn’t answer you, only looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, her eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin. “I saw those on the step last night and brought ‘em in.” 

“You opened them.” Her voice is accusatory. “Is your fucking name on them?” She asks, slamming her palms down on the table. Her breath smells like cheap gas station liquor. You glance at the microwave—10:45am. “These were pinned on the fridge. You got something to say to me?” For a moment, a ghost of the all consuming rage you’d felt last night bubbles back up in your belly, hot and wild.

“I wanna know where the money I’ve been giving you is going, since it isn’t to these bills,” you say before you can stop yourself.  The air shifts in the room, and you regret the words immediately, wishing you could unspeak them. Your mother’s face contorts, fury 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Your mother is standing now, a finger pointed accusatorially in your direction. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

“Momma I’m sorry, I just meant—” You’re scrambling to de-escalate things now, your hands held palms out. “Things aren’t good, okay, and we need to—”

“No, you shut your fucking mouth. Ungrateful, disrespectful—” You’re half afraid she’s going to come across the table at you. You’ve seen your mother angry—but not like this. Her lips are curled into an angry snarl, eyes cold with hate. Your chest aches sharply—that’s what it is. It’s hate. Your mother hates you. “Do you ever get fucking tired of being a problem? Of causing problems?” She snarls at you, and you flinch.

“Momma, the neighbors are gonna hear you, just—”

“Good! You think I give a damn? You think this house runs on whatever pennies you throw me every few weeks? How do you think your brother’s court fees, his fines, how do you they all get paid?” Your knees go weak at her admission. You want to scream. But when you open your mouth to try, no sound comes out.

“You-you’re paying his—are you insane?” You ask, your voice getting louder. “Ma, do you hear yourself?”

“He’ll go back in if they don’t get paid!” She snaps.

“So fucking let him!” You can’t hold the curses back anymore. 

“He’s my son!” You flinch.

“And I’m not your fucking daughter?” Your voice breaks. “I’m yours too, Momma, and I’ve been right here with you while D’s been running the fucking streets and locked up and—” You shake your head, an exasperated, defeated laugh escaping your parted lips. Your mother rounds on you circling the table and grabbing your shoulder hard. The pain makes you hiss, and you push her away. 

“God it’s like you’re blind on purpose!” You card your fingers through your still damp curls. 

“You sound just like your fucking father!” She spits the word out like it’s poison, like the comparison is an insult. 

“Good! The only thing he had the good fucking sense to do was get away from you—”

The palm of your mother’s hand cracks hard across your face, silencing you.

You lift trembling fingers to your stinging cheek, holding it as you stare at her. Your mother looks angry, not sorry, as she glares at you. She hit me. You can’t do anything but blink at her, stunned. She actually hit me. She almost looks like she wants to do it again, her hand still held high and trembling. You stare at each other for a few heartbeats, the pain rising in your cheek as you clutch your face, dumbfounded. 

“Get out.” The words she breathes are almost too low for you to hear. You stare at her, hot angry tears welling up behind your eyes. This isn’t happening. 

“W-what?” 

“Get out. I want you out!” She shoves you. “Get your fucking shit and get out!”

“Momma I-I’m sorry.” you choke the words out through the tears you’re trying desperately to hold back. “Momma please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry—”

She only looks at you with something like apathy and relief. “I never wanted another baby.” She says it like she’s wanted to for a long time, and only now given herself permission to share. It shouldn’t hurt to hear the it, because it isn’t like you don’t already know. Like she hasn’t shown you every day of your life. But it hurts anyway, a dull ache that settles behind your ribs. 

“You don’t mean that, Momma,” You sob, grabbing for her hand. She shakes you off, sneering. “You don’t!” 

“I mean it when I say I want you out of here.” Her glassy eyes are hard. 

“I don’t—I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say, chest tight.

“You’re grown aren’t you?” She sneers. “You’ll figure it out.” 

—

Your mother stands in the doorway of your room as you shove your clothes and other personal items into a duffel bag and a suitcase, and when you run out of room, garbage bags. Your heart is pounding against your ribs the whole time, praying that she’ll reconsider, that she won’t throw you out onto the street. 

The hope that your mother is just angry, that this, too will blow over curdles quickly in your chest as she kicks a pair of shoes in your direction. 

“Don’t forget these.”

You’re crying, you’re dimly aware that you are, salty tears dripping down your chin as you ferry things down from your bedroom to the porch outside. A thin drizzle is still falling, leaving everything coated in a fine layer of misty dew. You cover your books as best you can with the garbage bags as your head spins. 

What do I do? You don’t have anywhere to go—you don’t feel comfortable asking any of the girls from work to take you in, you don’t even have half of their phone numbers to ask. Where do I even go? How?

Curtis. 

Curtis would give you a ride, you know he would. At least you can figure things out from there, can’t you? You dig out your phone and face away from the front door, hoping your mother doesn’t ask for it back, too. You type out a message with shaking fingers. 

I’m sorry but I need you to come get me Curtis. 

You’ve barely lifted your finger from the send button before his response comes.  

Curtis: I’ll be there in 30.

Curtis: You at home? Did something happen?

I’m home. Can we just talk when you get here?

It only takes him twenty minutes, you recognize the Jag as it comes speeding down the road. He jumps out, his expression hard as he takes in the sight. The contents of your life all thrown into garbage bags on the porch as you stare up at him tearfully. Curtis takes the stairs two at a time, pulling you against his chest as he sighs. 

“She’s putting you out, Ladybug?” he asks, though you know by his tone he already knows the answer. “Drunk bitch is off her rocker.” You almost want to laugh—but your chest won’t expand. “I’m gonna start getting this stuff into the car. We’ll fit as much as we can, I’ll have my guys come back and get the rest, okay?”

You nod slowly. “Okay.” 

You work with Curtis to pack the trunk and back seat as full as you can of your things. 

“Can we leave the—“

“No.” You place a protective hand over your amp and the bass guitar you don’t know how to play. “It comes now.” You can’t bear the thought of your mother doing something to the instrument, hurting it more than it already had been by time and her own negligence. Though this time you’re less worried about accidents and more concerned about her vitriol. Curtis grabs your chin as you’re shoving a bag of your clothes into the trunk, trying to fit it into the tiny space left beside your amp. He turns your face with a sharp frown.

“She hit you.” You don’t answer as he runs his thumb over the sore, swollen spot on your cheek. You wonder if it’s bruised. For a moment, Curtis looks like he wants to march inside but he just clenches his fists over and over, staring at the house. 

In the end, only a few bags of your clothes and things are left sitting soggy and miserable on the porch as you climb into the passenger seat. 

“Sorry I keep getting your car wet.” You say softly. “I’ll pay to get it cleaned.” Curtis shakes his head, but doesn’t respond. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, shoulders high and tense. His brows are creased together in a way that speaks of more than just irritation, and you curl in on yourself, wondering if you’re the cause. You watch the house disappear in the rearview. 

“I don’t want your money, Ladybug.” Curtis says, his eyes still locked on the road. “Don’t be sorry, either. I’m glad you called me.” 

“I don’t know where to go,” you admit. “I… I know there are shelters…” You trail off as Curtis snorts. 

“You think I’m lettin’ you stay in a shelter?” He actually looks at you, incredulity there in the raise of his brows. “You’re staying with me.” Curtis’ grip tightens again on the steering wheel and he lets out a long measured breath. “She hit you. Why?” 

You look down. 

“I—we got into it bad, Curtis.” You thread your fingers together. “Really bad. We both said some shitty things, and then…” You trail off, gesturing at your aching cheek. “You know the rest.” 

“Ain’t nothing you could’ve said worth putting you out over.” He says through gritted teeth. “And nothing—and I mean nothing, Ladybug, is a good reason for her to hit you.” 

“I said—”

“I couldn’t give a fuck less what you said.” He cuts you off sharply. “Nobody puts hands on you. You understandin’ me? Nobody.” Curtis fixes you with another hard look, one you’ve seen on the faces of the patrons watching their favorite girls dance, the possessive, righteous anger summed up in a single word. 

Mine.

“O-okay.” 

Curtis scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Ladybug. I’m not—I’m not angry with you. Never with you. None of this is your fault.” 

“I don’t know,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh. “I could have just kept my damn mouth shut.” You know you should have, should have simply stuck it out until August. 

“I’m happy you called me, Sweetheart.” Curtis reaches over to squeeze your  hand. “You shouldn’t have to live like that.” 

You lean back against the seat. “Why do I want to defend her right now?” You say, shaking your head as you stare at the upholstery. “Maybe that’s just how good she’s trained me.”

“Maybe.” He agrees. “But it doesn’t have to stay that way.” The neighborhood outside changes drastically as Curtis navigates from city to highway to city again.

“You live in Midtown?” You ask, changing the subject. For a perilous moment you wonder if he’ll let you. Then he nods. 

“Yeah. Got a place out here when I got out.” You make an impressed noise in the back of your throat, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Expensive.”

“I make it work.” Your stomach goes cold. Oh yeah. You’d almost forgotten who he is—what he is. It had felt good to slip back into that old routine, natural even. But you aren’t sixteen anymore, and the last thing you should feel around Curtis Everett is comfortable. This is temporary, you think pointedly as Curtis turns into a parking garage, pulling a permit from the glove box. You shiver as his fingers graze your thigh.

This is just temporary.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he says as he parks. “Just grab a few things for now, Ladybug. I’ll get the rest.”

“I can’t let you—”

“You can. You called me for help. So let me help.” Curtis grabs a few garbage bags in each hand, and you do the same before following him to the elevator on the other side of the garage. 

“Let me show you up.” He presses the button for the thirty fifth floor—the top. “I’ll get you a key tomorrow, okay Ladybug?” 

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll try not to be here too long, just till I get myself together.”

”You ain’t even gotten upstairs yet and you’re half out the door,” he laughs. “At least put your things down. Get your bearings, maybe we’ll order some dinner.” 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage,” you reply, cheeks warm. “That’s all.” The elevator opens onto a short hallway with only one door.

“I wouldn’t care even if you were.” Your stomach twists in the beat of silence that follows as Curtis unlocks the wide metal door. “Go ahead in, I have a call to make.” He pulls out his phone, taps the screen and begins to dial, making a shooing motion with his hand. “I’ll be right there.” 

Inside, you kick off your shoes in the entryway out of habit, and then, carrying two of your bags, you make your way into the house. The living room is wide open, one floor to ceiling window taking up an entire wall, spanning from the open kitchen to the far end of the living room. The city is spread out like a map before you, the cars and people like tiny toys as they move through the streets. 

You don’t feel comfortable going much further without Curtis, regardless of his instruction, so you use the time to explore his kitchen instead. It’s nice, clean, in a sterile sort of way. You don’t imagine Curtis does much cooking and the kitchen seems to reflect that; clean counters and an empty sink. On the other side of the room is a hallway lined with doors, ones you assume lead to bedrooms, bathrooms, the places you’re too nervous to go on your own.

“You’re not exploring.” Curtis says from behind you, and you jump. You hadn’t heard him come in. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to invade,” you reply. I don’t want to see something I shouldn’t. Curtis frowns at you. 

“Ladybug, I’m not Damien. The apartment’s your home till you say it’s not, okay?” 

“O-okay.” 

“Let me show you were to put your things.” 

Curtis leads you down the hallway you’d been right about. “Bathroom’s here. And this is you.” He pushes open one of the dark wood doors to reveal a bedroom. It’s empty aside from a bed and an armchair, but it’s big—bigger than your room in your mother’s house by at least half. The ceiling doesn’t slope down or leak, and the door closes easy, no shoving required. You stand there awkwardly as Curtis sets down a few of the garbage bags. 

“I have something I have to take care of, but I’ll be back tonight. You go ahead and get comfortable, Ladybug, I’ll leave you some money for dinner.” He’s not asking you anything, simply telling you how things will go. You nod. 

“Thank you, Curtis.” 

“I’m glad you called me. Wish I could say I’m surprised,” he says, and there’s pity on his face. You hate the sight of it. “She’s not a good person, Ladybug. You didn’t do anything to deserve a Momma so rotten.” You laugh tonelessly. “I mean it.” He reaches for you again, turning your face so he can look at the bruise that’s bloomed on your cheek like an angry flower. 

“Got half a mind to go talk to her myself.” 

“No!” You say quickly, your whole body going tense at the thought. “No. Please. It’ll just make everything worse.” 

“I can’t have people puttin’ their hands on you, Ladybug.” He says after a moment. “I ain’t gonna allow it.” 

You are struck with the sudden realization that you’ve made a mistake. That you’ve changed something fundamental in your relationship with Curtis by calling him for help—and what’s worse, you don’t know how you could have avoided it. Maybe calling one of the girls from work would have been better, surfing from couch to couch instead of staying here, if any of them would even let you. How can you make the right choice when the wrong one is your only option?

“You don’t have to worry about it.” You say, looking at the empty space beside his head so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “It’s my problem.” 

“Ladybug you got a bruise the size of Texas on your face and you’re telling me not to worry about it?” 

“What would it do?” You ask. “You gonna tell her she’s a drunk? She knows that, Curtis. Just… just let her stew. She’ll get over it eventually.” Curtis looks about as sure of that as you are, but you pretend, for both of you.

“Will you?” You don’t have an answer, but he waits a moment more to give  time to think of one. “I didn’t think so.” He looks at your cheek again, and you watch his eyes go hard again. “Some things you don’t forgive.” You think about Neesh and Damien. “Some things you can’t.” 

You wonder if he’s talking about you, or about himself. 

—

By the time you head in to bed, you’re exhausted. Your day hasn’t been particularly physically taxing, but it still feels like you’ve run the gauntlet as you drag yourself up off of Curtis’ comfortable sectional and shuffle down the hallway. The apartment feels even bigger now that you’re alone in it, and the silence makes you nervous. You aren’t used to the quiet, not when the block is so goddamn noisy, cars, people—not to mention Damien. 

But Curtis’ place is peaceful by comparison, and the unfamiliarity of it makes you feel out of place. You climb into bed, and the sheets are soft on your skin. You can’t sleep, though, staring at the ceiling above you with wet eyes. 

I never wanted another baby.

God, it shouldn’t feel like broken glass in your chest to think about that, but it does. Angry, hurt tears press at the backs of your eyes and before you know it you’re pushing the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids to stop them from falling. It doesn’t work, and they leak out of the corners of your eyes and track down your cheeks. Your breath hitches until you’re sobbing, loud and uncontrolled. 

You cry until you’re gasping for breath, your chest aching as you hold yourself. You don’t know how long it lasts, but you rush to quiet yourself when you hear the sound of the front door open and shut. You don’t want Curtis seeing you like this, it’s too… personal. Too intimate. And something tells you that intimate is not what you need with Curtis, not right now. 

“Ladybug? You up? I thought I heard you.” You’re still wiping at your wet cheeks when he raps his knuckles against the door. Curtis crosses his arms as he leans against the doorframe. His eyes are in shadow but you can still feel him studying you. You wonder if he can see your face in the low light, swollen and puffy from crying. You know you shouldn’t care. 

“I’m good.” The words sound off through your tight throat and gritted teeth. You sniffle quietly. “I’m just… You know. Today.” You’re fighting not to cry as you shoot him a watery smile. “I’m good, really.” He cocks his head at you. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Curtis comes to sit on the edge of the back and you scoot back to give him space, clutching your knees to your chest. His hand is warm on your shoulder through the t-shirt. “I don’t want you to pretend with me.” 

He’s too close. Your heart is a panicked rabbit inside your ribs. He smells good. You shouldn’t say anything shouldn’t let him in any closer than he already is. 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He frowns. “Please, Ladybug.” 

He’s wearing a tank top, the earlier henley gone. You swallow thickly as the thick corded muscles flex beneath his sun-tanned skin. The tattoos you’d seen peeking out of his collar are on full display now, a set of roman numerals on his collarbone. Is that a bruise? It’s still partially hidden by the tank top, yellow and purple with burst blood vessels. 

“What happened?” He grimaces. 

 “I asked you first.”

You snort. “You keeping secrets doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you.”  You already don’t want to trust him, because you know what he is—what he does—did. You suppose you have to give him credit where it’s due. Where he says it’s due. 

“Some secrets you’re better off not knowing.” 

“You hurt someone.” You say, and he frowns, before sighing. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Curtis rubs a hand over his buzzed scalp. 

“Sometimes people have to learn a lesson the hard way. And I had a lot of lessons to teach tonight, Ladybug.” Your stomach tightens. Curtis Everett is not  a man you want teaching you the kind of lesson you suspect someone is recovering from. He’s not a man you cross. 

“Now will you be honest with me?” He asks, and you’re both afraid to lie and, if you could admit it to yourself, relieved to confess the hurt. To have someplace for it to go that isn’t deeper inside of you. 

“She didn’t want me.” Your voice trembles. “That’s what she said, Curtis. She never wanted me.” The tears from earlier return with a vengeance, blurring him until he’s just a hazy outline. 

“C’mere.” He holds you to his chest as you sob hard, fingers curling in his shirt. God it hurts, it hurts so much, like a hand wrapped around your heart and squeezing. She doesn’t love me. 

She never loved me.

Maybe that’s what’s rawest about it all, knowing that it was always going to be this way, was always going to end with her choosing Damien, every time. 

No matter the cost. 

Curtis rubs your back as you cry yourself sick, hiccoughing and panting. Slow, gentle circles as he tells you to breathe, Ladybug, breathe. You can’t for a little while, sucking in gasping, stuttering breaths as he pets you. But after a while the tears go dry, and you simply sit there, leaning against him as you blink unseeingly at nothing. You rub your swollen eyes with the back of your hand.

“All cried out, Ladybug?” He asks softly, and you nod silently. You’re even more exhausted than when you came in, and now that you’re all done crying, your swollen eyes don’t seem to want to stay open for longer than a few seconds at a time. You’re leaned against Curtis still, his other hand still drawing circles on your lower back. 

“You don’t ever have to go back if you don’t want to,” he says, and curls his fingers against your hip where your t-shirt has ridden up. Suddenly you’re more aware of the fact that your shorts are glorified panties than ever before, especially when his hand slides affectionately through the curls at the nape of your neck, and the other tugs you back against his chest. 

There’s part of you that is small, scared. And you suspect it always will be, now. You’re tempted briefly to listen to it. After all, you certainly aren’t outrunning security with a baby in your arms—but you don’t. The light in the bedroom behind you goes out with a soft hum, leaving you in twilight. The little voice tells you to do nothing, pleads again for you to wait, for waiting is easier than running. 

Instead, you grab the baby blanket inside the bassinet, shaking loose it with one hand before you place Dove carefully between your shoulders blades. You’d only ever wrapped her up like that one time—Andy didn’t trust that she wouldn’t fall. The baby settles easily between your shoulders, and you wrap the blanket around her securely, checking her position in the mirror.

When you’re finished, you test the security of your knots a few times before you’re satisfied she isn’t going anywhere. 

I need to get out of this house.

The hallway is empty and silent when you open the door. You pause on the threshold, waiting for Andy to materialize. He doesn’t, though, and after a few seconds of debate, you step out into the dark. You don’t dare try the light, instead grabbing the bannister as you make your way toward the stairs. Dove gurgles, tugging on a fistful of your hair. You take them slowly, one at a time as your eyes adjust to the dark, teeth sunk firmly into your lower lip. 

There are no shoes by the front door when you reach the landing, and you recall the way Andy had looked at you as he’d thrown them in the garbage. You may have new ones when you can be trusted again.

You smile viciously. 

I’d walk on glass if it meant being away from you.

You try the pin-pad by the door a few times, brows furrowing in growing fear and frustration as the Error code flashes with a loud buzz each time. You try every combination you can think of—your birthday, Dove’s, Jacob’s, Andy’s, nothing works. 

“Fucking—fuck!” You kick the door, cursing again at the pain. Dove burbles sleepily on your back, and when you glance at her in the hall mirror, she’s fixated with a strand of your hair, mouthing on it as she mumbles. If you listen carefully, the syllables are almost Mama, close but not quite. 

You’re getting nowhere with the door, you need to try something else. Behind you is the living room, the kitchen, his office and other rooms being places Andy hadn’t “trusted” you enough to allow you to enter. The windows in the living room are firmly sealed when you tug on them, as are the ones in the kitchen. Freedom is six inches of glass away, and you can’t reach it. Panic begins to rise again in your chest, and you tamp it down determinedly. No. No tears. I will get out of here. We will get out of here. 

As you are debating whether to venture further into the house, the keypad by the front door lets out a familiar warbling tone you know means it’s unlocked, and the fear makes you go cold. 

Andy.

You duck into the pantry as the front door opens, peering through the tiny crack in the sliding cupboard door at the bright beam of the flashlight. Dove babbles and you hush her, your heart pounding. 

“Upstairs,” Andy’s voice is low, and deadly serious. You want to cower just hearing it. “Get her and the baby. We need to leave.” Leave? You press closer to the door. Why?

“This is the worst fucking job I’ve ever had,” the sound of Robert Pronge’s voice turns your stomach. “I’m not a fucking babysitter—” There’s a sharp click as a gun is cocked, and you feel no small amount of satisfaction picturing him at the end of the barrel. “I’m fucking going, Christ, Barber.” You listen as he stomps up the stairs, and Andy storms into the kitchen and past, into his office. 

You hear things being opened, thrown around. Quickly you reach behind you to check your knots again, making sure Dove’s secure—you’ll have to run, you know that. It will only take Robert a few minutes to deduce you aren’t anywhere upstairs, and by the time Andy figures it out too, you need to be out the door. 

You had not heard the lock re-engage, not heard any of the familiar beeps as Andy punched in the code. Of course, you might just have missed it, but you have to try—staying in the pantry isn’t an option. Andy is still opening and closing drawers in his office, you can hear him through the thin cupboard wall. You slowly slide open the pantry door, creeping out through the gap. You’re mindful of Dove, careful not to wake her as you pad quietly back through the house. 

The door stands slightly ajar, and through it you can see the driveway, wet grass on either side. 

Now. It has to be now.

You throw open the door. You’re prepared to sprint barefoot into the yard but instead are met with a person. Dressed in black body armor, a gun held in one hand. Scrambling backwards you prepare to fight past the security guard, but strangely, he doesn’t reach for you. Instead, he pulls up the edge of his mask, and you feel your knees go weak as you grasp for the doorframe. 

“Hello, Mouse.” Ari smiles down at you so brilliantly it takes you nearly a full minute to see the blood on his cheek. 

“Ari!” You’re afraid for a moment that he isn’t real, that none of this is, that you’ll open your eyes and Andy will be there instead. Ari cups your chin. 

“Cover her ears, Baby.” You reach back and clap your ears around your groggy infant’s head as Ari raises his arm, gun held tightly in his hand. He pulls you to his chest just as Robert Pronge’s panicked footsteps start down the stairs. 

“She’s not upstairs, Barber, baby’s gone too—Oh.” He stops suddenly, and you turn to see him glaring hatefully at you, stopped halfway down the staircase. “You little bitch.” He snarls, but doesn’t take a step closer. Ari looks down at you, eyes narrowed at the healing bruise still evident on your face. 

“Him or Andy, Mouse?”

“What?” 

“Was it him or Andy that put that mark on your face?” He pulls back the hammer.

“H-him.” 

“Good.” 

You’re still holding your hands over Dove’s ears when he squeezes the trigger, and you watch Robert’s right shoulder explode into a bloody mess of raw skin and torn muscle. He screams, and the sound is more satisfying to you than it probably should be. You expect a matching one from your own throat at the sight, but instead you only inhale sharply, gazing with indifference as the man who’d murdered Irene falls in a clumsy, bloody heap at the foot of the stairs. He holds his ruined shoulder, moaning curses—mostly aimed at you. 

“You fucking cunt, you fucking cunt—”

Ari leans down and pulls the guns from their holsters at Robert’s sides, tucking them into his own waistband. He pulls you towards the door, a hand on your back beneath the baby like he’s about to push you over the threshold. 

“Go outside, Mouse.” He cups your chin. “I need to finish this.” 

You barely make it two steps over the threshold before Ari fires another shot, and Robert’s pained wails instantly cease. You can smell it when he dies, raw and bloody and tinged with gunpowder, blocking out the scent of the coming rain. 

Ari is standing over Robert when you go back inside. 

“Mouse let’s get you to the truck.” He steps over the dead man’s twitching body. “I need to get you out of here before—”

“Before what, Mr. Levinson?” You look up to find yourself staring straight down the barrel of a shotgun. 

Andy stands at the other end of the hallway, the gun raised and steady, pointed directly at Ari. You know the only thing that’s stopped him from firing is your proximity—there’s no clean shot with you and Dove not three feet away. But Andy… his eyes are wild and fever-bright, a terrible expression on his handsome features. Ari isn’t afraid, his face is stone, shoulders squared and ready. 

“You’re not keeping her here.” He puts his body in front of yours as Andy raises the gun higher. 

“Honey come here.” You tense, but stay still. His eyes go wider. “I said come here!” 

“No, Andy.” Your voice is small and trembling, but it is yours. “You can’t—you can’t hurt me anymore.” 

“I’ve never—” He shakes his head. “All I’ve ever done was love you!” 

“Your love is fucking glass Andy!” You shout. “And you can’t hurt me with it anymore!” Your heart is beating so wildly in your chest that it hurts. “We’re leaving.” Andy laughs derisively. 

“And go where, Honey? There’s nowhere far enough that I wouldn’t bring you right fucking back.” He flicks back the hammer, and you flinch, covering your face. “I know all about your little lover boy, here,” he spits, before turning to Ari. “How was she? Pussy’s good, isn’t it?” 

Ari explodes outwards, pushing you out of the way before he grabs the barrel, pushing it up just as Andy squeezes the trigger. Splinters and plaster rain down on your heads as the shot goes off like a clap of thunder. Dove is fully awake and squalling now, screaming as you back away from the two men. The gun clatters to the floor as Ari punches Andy hard in the gut. 

You don’t see the knife until Andy swings it in a wide arc, and Ari lets out a pained grunt as it connects with his side. You watch, horrified as the blade sinks in to the hilt and Andy twists, a wicked grin on his face. 

“Ari!” 

He shoves Andy back hard, your captor hitting the wall with a satisfying thud. Ari grimaces, his bloody hand slipping on the handle as he fumbles to pull it out. 

“Go, Mouse!” He shouts. “Get to the truck now!” His eyes are wide, pleading. “You need to go!” 

He wants you to leave him. 

Your ears are ringing, blood pumping louder than your lover’s pleas, than your screaming baby. Ari wants you to run, to never look back. Andy is getting up again, straightening himself up to his full height, he is reaching for Ari again—

The gun.

It’s by your feet. 

In all of the confusion you’d barely noticed how close it was, the barrel pointed right at you. You bend down to pick it up. It’s heavy, heavier than the pistol Ari had given you to shoot, but you know the general principle is the same. Andy is on top of Ari now, fighting for the knife, trying to twist it in deeper. Slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re in a dream, you lift the shotgun. You rack it the way you’d seen in movies, the sharp sound making both of the men freeze instantly. 

“Get off of him.” When Andy doesn’t move, you press the muzzle to his back. “Get off.” 

He moves. 

At last you see Andrew Barber unmasked, his face contorted with fury. There is no tenderness in his gaze as he glares at you, stepping slowly away from Ari. Only hate. Andy’s eyes are dark, lips drawn back into an angry snarl. Andy hates you, and you wonder how he’d ever mistaken it for something as tender as love. He hated you for leaving, for living, and he hated you just as much now. His lips twist into a cruel smile.

“You gonna shoot me, Honeybee? You gonna kill your husband?” 

“You’re not my fucking husband!” You scream, brandishing the gun. “I’m leaving here, Andy!” 

“You’re not going to shoot me. You’re no killer, Sweetheart. Our baby’s on your back. You gonna put a slug in me in front of her?”

“If I have to.” You bite out through gritted teeth. His face twists. 

He lunges.

You aren’t expecting him to come for you, to try and wrestle the gun out of your hands the way Ari had done to him, but your finger is on the trigger, and he isn’t fast enough to avoid the slug. He’s thrown back against the wall, red spraying from his side. It’s so thick in the air that you can taste it, worse than Pronge. 

He lays there, twitching. 

You stare at each other, Andy gurgling and struggling for breath, still reaching for you even as you step away. You help Ari to his feet. He’s unsteady, leaning on you for support as the two of you slowly make your way back towards the door. Ari squeezes your shoulder, planting a kiss on your head as he limps alongside you. 

“Wait! Dove is s-still my daughter,” Andy spits blood onto the carpet, sputtering. “T-tell her—”

“No.” You say, shaking your head. Ari leans against the doorframe, watching as you turn back to Andy for the last time. He looks so small there, cowering against the wall as what’s left of his life flows out of him. He reaches for you weakly, bloody fingers skating against your calf. 

“She won’t even know your name.” 

🌹 

Epilogue

“Daddy! Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Dove bounces excitedly in the back seat, pointing at the sprawling old farmhouse as you approach. You can just see the slant of the roof over the tall, shifting grass, and the tiny figures of the construction workers standing on it. 

“Yes, that’s right,” you say, nodding encouragingly as you glance over your shoulder. “We’re going to surprise daddy.” 

“Sa-pies daddy,” she repeats seriously, before sticking her thumb into her mouth. You’ve barely had time to visit the construction site all week, once or twice at most. It feels like you’ve seen your husband even less, the lingering warmth on his side of the bed, or the sound of his tired footsteps at the door as you fall asleep has been the extent of your interactions. Between his work at the fire-station and getting the house ready, you feel like you’re living with a ghost. Ari had been tackling the farmhouse with the single-mindedness of a man possessed, his paint and wood-chip covered clothing often the only evidence of his passage.

You cut your eyes at the picnic basket on the passenger’s seat, the lunch you’d packed. 

I hope he likes it.

The guys at the gate wave at you as you turn down the driveway, and by the time you pull up to the house, your husband is already jogging down the stairs to meet you, a wide grin splitting his handsome face. You put the truck in park as he walks up to the driver’s side, leaning in the window to kiss you. 

“How are my girls?” He asks, and Dove giggles. 

“Sa-pies!” She claps her hands. “I sa-pies!” 

“I’m very surprised, Munchkin,” Ari says as helps you out of the car, and then returns to unbuckle Dove from her car seat. “To what do I owe the honor?” 

You heft the picnic basket. 

“Lunch,” you say, and he grabs the basket from you, clucking his tongue. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over fifty pounds.”

“Like that weighs fifty pounds.”

“Knowing you?” He asks, and you swat him playfully. Dove toddles over on her still unsteady legs and clings to Ari’s pant leg until he hoists her up with the other arm, throwing her over his shoulder. Your toddler screams with laughter. “C’mon, Mouse.” He jerks his head toward the house, where the sounds of construction are still going strong. “Let me show you.” 

The radio is still buzzing quietly in the truck’s empty cab, too low to be heard over buzzsaws and hammers. You lean in through the window, reaching for the knob to turn it off.  

Inside, the evidence of the construction is everywhere. The dated carpets have been pulled up, the beautiful hardwood beneath lovingly restored. The wallpaper—a horrible 70’s affair—is being steamed and scraped off. They’re in the middle of knocking down one of the walls to widen up the kitchen, and the construction workers stop to greet you. 

“Bonjour, Madame Levinson, it’s good to see you!” You look down, face burning. 

“Y-you too, Freddy.” Dove clings to your legs. 

You pass through the war-zone of a kitchen and out into the backyard, where your toddler begins pulling up handfuls of grass. 

“I’m so happy to see you.” Ari says, pulling you against his chest. “Missed you, Mouse.” You burrow in, wrapping your arms around him. They don’t touch, of course, he’s too broad. The v-neck of his henley exposes a hint of his chest hair, and you bury your nose in it. He laughs, tucking a finger beneath your chin and tilting it up to kiss you. 

“I missed you too,” you mumble against his lips. “Dove misses you.” 

“I’m trying to get the house ready for you know who,” he replies quietly, and his expression speaks to his earnestness. He squeezes your hip, passing a hand over the gentle, nearly imperceptible swell of your belly.

“Let’s eat.” 

—

A few hours after your late lunch, you put Dove to sleep in the back of the truck, rolling down the windows and putting a blanket over her little body. 

“She’s out for the count,” you reply laughing, shutting the door. “We should head home.” You make for the driver’s seat, but Ari stops you.

“Just a minute, you didn’t look upstairs.” He grabs your hand. “I want to show you.” 

“It’s finished?” You ask excitedly, turning back to the house. The guys have all gone home now, and it’s just the three of you. 

“Almost,” Ari replies. “When it is, we can leave the apartment for good. Finish moving everything in.” You let Ari lead you back inside, back past the unfinished projects on the first floor and up the steps to the second floor where you know he’s been hard at work. Dove’s room is painted a gentle blue, soft clouds sponged onto the walls and ceiling. In the master, the walls are a light, creamy yellow, one wall still unfinished.Tarps are draped over the floors and sparse furniture to protect them from the paint. 

“This wasn’t here before,” you tap an old, heavy looking dresser. It’s familiar—almost like one you and Ari had seen at an antiques market.

He grins. “It’s new.” 

“It was too expensive!” 

“I found it in the budget.” Ari grips your hips and you laugh, resting your hands on his shoulders. The muscles are solid beneath the thick cotton. “Besides, the bar’s doing well, I can afford a little splurge.” 

“It was five hundred dollars.” 

“A steal.” Ari holds you, swaying slowly from side to side. The movement is comforting, and you lean into it, and to him. He threads his fingers through yours. “You like it?”

He’d been working hard to make this house a home, he knows how much it means to you to have a place that’s yours, that you got to be a part of, not just a fixture in. You’d picked the paint colors, the flooring, the light fixtures, even the things you didn’t care about Ari made sure to consult you on. 

“I love it.” 

Ari kisses you again, and shyly you touch your tongue to the seam of his lips. He hums. “I love you, Mouse.” 

Those words don’t swarm and suffocate the way they used to, not when Ari says them. No, when he says them, you feel like you can fly. 

“I love you too.” No coercion, no prompting—you say it because you want to, because you want him to know you still feel the same. With the freedom he has given you, you have chosen Ari, and that makes all the difference. He kisses you again, and this time it isn’t the chaste touching of lips from earlier. 

Ari surges around you like a tidal wave, his mouth hungrily devouring yours as he picks you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you over to the old chaise lounge that had been in the farmhouse likely longer than you’d been alive, and sets you down on the worn surface. You’re fumbling with the button on your jeans, only freeing them a moment before he begins working them down your thighs. 

Your panties go somewhere, you aren’t quite sure where—Ari always manages to do away with them while you aren’t looking, he must have a growing collection of them—

And then all thoughts are lost as he wrenches your thighs apart and runs a slow finger up your slit. You shiver, torn between the shame you’ve learnt and the desire to pull him closer. You, settle for tangling your fingers in his hair.   He moans unabashedly when your blunt nails press against his scalp, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. God. He reaches up to pluck at your nipples with one hand, slapping yours away. 

“You’re so wet already, Mouse,” he says lowly. “Supposed to at least put it on my tongue first, Baby.” You clench around nothing and whine his name.

“Ari please.” 

It’s like his name on your lips is a signal, and he leans forward circling your clit with his lips and tongue. Your hips jerk fingers tightening in your husband—your real husband, the ceremony had been small but it had been legal and true—grins wickedly against you. 

“God I love how you taste.” You don’t get a chance to respond, the quick flicking of his tongue against you while his thick fingers press into your entrance is almost enough to bring you to the edge. “Tastes like mine.” 

“O-oh God, A-Ari!” The words trip over themselves in their haste to get out of your mouth as you rock against his face. “Mmm, oh, I—” Your husband wraps his arms around your thighs. The pleased noises he makes as he tastes you are almost as good as his tongue on your clit. You’re drowning in him, in loving and being loved by Ari, and you never, ever want it to stop. 

You convulse, panting and whining as you succumb. Thighs trembling and hips pushing hard against Ari’s welcoming mouth. He leaves you there for a moment, dazed as he begins working at his shirt, pulling it up over his head. You help him with the belt, biting your lip when the thick, hard length of him springs out to tap against your cheek. You slide from the chaise to your knees on the floor, peering up at him through your lashes. 

With one barely steady hand you encircle the base of him—as much as you can, anyway, your fingers don’t even come close to touching. You brush your lips against the head of him in a soft kiss, and you relish the sound of his breath catching, the soft “Fuck” that slips from his lips. He wants to rush forward, you can tell, the tightness in his twitching thighs as you lave a bolder, hungrier kiss along the veiny side of your husband’s cock tells you the truth of it. 

Ari groans, his fingers finding their place in your loose hair and pulling. You hum, cunt clenching jealously around nothing. You take as much as you can of him into your throat, tongue nearly meeting your fingers at the base before pulling back, a thin strand of your own drool connecting the throbbing head of his cock to your swollen lips. You try to do to him what he does to you, circling the head of him with your soft mouth, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside with your tongue until your nose brushes his swollen balls—

And then Ari is pulling you off of him with a curse, tugging you down to the couch and across his lap, hands against the back of the sofa for balance. He shoves your dress up over your hip, groaning as his cock slides against your slick heat. You reach between your bodies to line him up, and Ari curses again  as his tip presses into your tight entrance. You brace your hand against his chest as he surges up and into you, driving the breath from your lungs. 

“Mmm, fuck,” the old loveseat creaks dangerously beneath you, but Ari either doesn’t hear it, or doesn’t care. You moan into the crook of his neck, teeth catching against his skin and Ari’s fingers flex on your hips in response, tightening as he drives into you again, harder. You’re babbling in response, half formed words and pleas falling from your lips in time to the wet sticky noise punctuating each thrust. 

Despite his grip you attempt to grind down, bouncing on the hard dick between your legs. Ari groans, reaching up to tug down the neckline of your dress. He leans down to catch one of your puffy nipples in his mouth, rolling it between his tongue and teeth. He switches from one to the other and back again, the sensation making you squeeze down around his cock. Ari releases them with a pop to kiss you again, teeth finding your swollen bottom lip and worrying it until you open your mouth and allow his tongue to sweep inside. 

The feel of him splitting you open, his tongue in your mouth, hand on your hip, God it’s almost too much. Ari reaches between your bodies to flick at your clit with the pad of his thumb, tongue curling against the shell of your ear—

“C’mon Mouse, let me feel you.”

You don’t have much of a choice, cumming with a pathetic little whine. Ari thrusts into the tight, clenching center of you once, twice more before his thighs twitch and tremble as he holds you in place while he empties into you. 

“Fuck, mmm,” he mumbles nonsense into your hair as he presses kisses to the top of your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, laying your head on his bare chest. His hands find their way up under your dress to stroke your back. You bask in Ari’s love, pressing a soft kiss to his sweat-damp skin. You’d never thought you could have this, that you deserved it, were worthy of it, but Ari shows you every day that he believes it—even when you don’t. 

Gingerly he lifts you off of him, eyes gleaming with what you can only describe as male pride at the mess he’d made of you. The half-finished bathroom has hot water, and you clean yourself up as best you can while fending off your husband’s attempts at a second round. 

Dove is still fast asleep on the back seat of the truck, and she barely even stirs when you tuck her into her car seat, fastening the seatbelt around her little body. 

“Let me drive.” 

You get yourself settled in the passenger’s seat and Ari’s hand takes up its place on your thigh, squeezing affectionately. The engine roars to life, and soon the back country prairie roads give way to the bustling little town. Ari reaches for the radio knob as Dove begins to stir, fussing. It soothes her, the static-y sound coming through the stereo. In place of music, however, the grim voice of a radio-host is what you hear instead. 

“In international news, the city of Boston is still reeling as the State Attorney’s office continues to roll back the layers of Barber’s deception. Nearly a year ago today Barber’s body was discovered in the charred remains of his home, which also contained evidence of over a decade’s worth of bribes, false evidence, and a network of contacts up to and including wanted criminals, federal judges, prosecutors, and even politicians—”

“You okay, Mouse?” He asks, and for an instant that fragile, broken woman resides in your skin again, staring out through your eyes. For a moment you can smell the sterile musk of Andy’s basement, his horrible cologne, but you blink and it’s gone, replaced with Dove’s lingering baby-smell and the scent of Ari’s aftershave. It’s old fear, old fear that has no home in you any longer. That fear had paralyzed you once, kept you small and docile—but now you simply swat it away, reaching for the radio. You turn the knob, switching it abruptly to another station. 

“I’m good.” You reply, smiling. You actually mean it. You squeeze Ari’s hand and he squeezes back. “I’m good.”