Price has plans for a wife, kids, everything that Gaz got put together and cemented before he even turned 21 (the overachieving shit). But frankly, as an unwilling foster father of three wild and unpredictable hellspawn demons, he's doing better than anyone should expect. It is time for him to settle down for real, though. Who's he to argue with fate when it comes knocking on his door? wc: 6633 / Single Moms series Part 2
cw: Price acts like a good and normal person but inside that's not a man it's a predator, single mom, unexpected parenthood, mention of a 'wild child' sister, mention of estranged family, home repair as foreplay and courting rituals, extrEME love+lust at first sight, Price has a breeding kink we all know this, really really liberal use of pet names
Of course he realized his old neighbors had moved out. It was his fucking job to notice shit. Everything, all the time, no matter how small.
After all these years, he could hardly turn it off.
Came in handy too, more often than he liked to admit.
But that meant that he knew there was someone new in the house on the left, and because the nosy neighborhood matron hadn’t sent him a borderline inappropriate request for his ‘prayers’ and ‘thoughts’ for old Mr. and Mrs. Smythe that their vacancy of 12th East Willow Lake wasn’t due to dropping dead while he’d been deployed, and instead had swanned off to greener pastures somewhere.
Probably France. They had a son in the countryside there. John only knew because Mr. Smythe never failed to complain about it to anyone who’d listen (or captive audiences like John when he’d been trimming their hedges for them out of fear that Mr. Smythe would get a heart attack just lifting the clippers) that their only child had followed some bird over the channel and stayed for the duration.
For the most part, John didn’t expect having a new neighbor to matter. He’d lived in this house for almost ten years now, if you could call it living in it when he’d spent on average about five months total out of the year there.
He’d put a lot of work into the property, adding back in historical details and flourishes that had been gutted by the previous owner ‘flipping’ the property. He’d gotten it as a steal, some hideous attempt at modernism that to him just made everything look like cubes stacked on top of each other in various shades of gray.
Now, the place was back to its original polished hickory floors top to bottom, he’d finished putting up his own hand carved interpretation of the original intricately carved trim and wrought iron filigree back where they belonged throughout the house, the plumbing and electric were all cleaned up and brought up to code (and modern day standards) behind the walls he’d ripped out to do so and put back together with better insulation.
After ten years he’d finally cobbled together enough time between his actual job and his work as the neighborhood contractor/handyman when he was on leave that the inside of his own house was finally ready for the second to last step: paint.
Fuck, that was a depressing thought. It took him ten years just to be ready to fucking paint the place.
His only excuse was that there’d been a lot of shitty work to undo and fix, not to mention that disaster with the fucking plumbing when his first ex wife left, and he didn’t trust a contractor to do it to his spec while he was deployed, so there’d been, admittedly, a lot of delays.
Not to mention that the house had seen two different mistresses enter and attempt to make the place habitable, and finding no success with that or with marriage to him, promptly exit, in admittedly two very different states of mind.
Well, here he was at long last. Drop cloths placed on his floors, trim carefully taped over, and five (the sales clerk had sworn they were all different but to John they were all fucking identical) shades of white swatched on the wall for him to stare at like he could actually tell the difference and have a preference between them.
knock knock knock
Thank fuck.
He gratefully took his leave of staring at paint swatches, unwilling to admit defeat and call Gaz’s wife as the only homeowner he knew and trusted for help, in favor of answering the knock at his door.
What he found was…unexpected to say the least.
Again, he’d known that he had a new neighbor, but he’d only been home less than twenty four hours, mostly just long enough to sleep, shower, eat, and pick up the paint. He’d never seen his new neighbor, not even a glimpse.
But this had to be her.
She couldn’t be older than late twenties, hardly up to his chin, her oversized clothes only hinting at the delicious curves beneath, and way too fucking pretty, mousey brown hair tied up in a messy knot on the top of her head, exhaustion lining every plane of her face as she stood in threadbare sweats on his porch, arms cradling a sleeping baby, big blue eyes red-rimmed with tears and shining with a wild, manic sort of determination.
“Can you build a bassinet?” Her voice shook, because despite the visible effort she was making to keep it level, the sweet little melody wobbled with tears all the same.
She was trying to put on a brave front, that was clear enough to see. But her lower lip was trembling, and no matter how hard she fought them back or tilted her chin up stubbornly, tears just kept sliding down her cheeks.
John nodded, not looking away from her. “Yeah.”
He’d cut down the fucking tree in his own goddamn front yard and build one from scratch if it would dry those tears.
Relief slumped her shoulders, a fresh wave of tears falling in answer that she tried to brush away discreetly. “Good. Um.”
She ducked her head, one loose tendril of hair brushing her damp cheek as she adjusted the baby, hiding her face. He could see she felt awkward now that the feverish determination had evaporated, leaving her unsure how to move forward.
He’d help her with that if she needed, but he didn’t think she did.
Come on, princess, keep being brave.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she looked up at him and said, “I’m Lydia.”
Good girl.
Lydia. Pretty. Old fashioned, but it fit her still.
“John Price.” He reached out, gently cupping her elbow in the cradle of his palm, leading her inside, and she moved easily with his direction. “Let me get some tools, yeah? Don’t want you to have to wait out on the porch.”
She just nodded, brushing a hand over the sleeping baby’s head before she placed a kiss on the baby’s forehead.
The image of her standing in his entryway holding a baby sunk inside of him, so deep and so fast there wasn’t a prayer of stopping it. And God help him, he didn’t even try.
He didn’t even bother arguing with himself as he went into the next room and started gathering up some tools. Wasn’t worth going through the facade when he knew how it’d wind up.
Funny thing about him was that, for all that he was a careful, deliberate man, he made his decisions pretty recklessly.
Like buying a house sight unseen while in a completely different country.
Or deciding with one glance and the most innocent of touches that he was missing something in his life: her.
Fuck, she shouldn’t have brought a baby to his doorstep. Every instinct in him was screaming, clawing, and he knew they wouldn’t shut up until she had a rock on her (for the moment, bare) finger and his cum in her womb.
It suddenly made sense, the fleeting passion that had turned first to vague apathy and then bitter regret with his first two marriages. Some part of him had always known that neither of his ex-wives were meant for him, but in his youth (and his blindness to all but the deep rooted instinct to breed create a family) he’d shoved that gut feeling aside in favor of trying to force things to work out.
They hadn’t, and he’d been left with a vicious, acrid taste in his mouth regarding that knot of unfulfilled ambition he’d let gather dust ever since the last marriage had faded into obscurity years ago.
Only, now, to suddenly rear it’s head higher and faster and harder than it had ever even stirred before, and God help him he wasn’t even going to go through with pretending like he was anything but eager to get started.
Lydia’d awoken something primal and undeniable, and the poor bird didn’t even know.
Wasn’t aware that by the end of the year she’d be wearing his ring and addicted to his cock, and he could only hope carrying his baby.
Odd how shit worked out.
If he weren’t the man he was, the time it took to gather gather some of his tools wouldn’t be nearly enough time to iron out a plan of attack.
Because he wanted her, wanted the baby in her arms to be called theirs, to give her another to match. Wasn’t that much of a shock, he knew who he was at his core, and despite the two divorces, he was a romantic at heart.
At least, romantic was a prettier word for what he was than the unvarnished truth - a beast, possessive and obsessive. Though even that had never sunk in deep with either of his wives, not like the teary-eyed angel standing in his entryway.
Having her was a necessity. That much was already clear.
But he had to go about things carefully. Lydia was clearly fragile in the moment, which while it would be extraordinarily useful for his purposes, it also presented a problem.
John usually preferred a rougher approach, teasing, even a little mean if necessary, designed to corner his target against a wall, confuse them just enough that they melted all the quicker when he came back sweet, luring them into the dark.
With her, he couldn’t be too rough. He had to be gentle.
Even if he wasn’t all that good at gentle.
It was a risk, one he didn’t have long to calculate, but it would be worth the effort. Lydia, the baby in her arms, they would be worth the effort.
Very well then. He had his approach, and sweet girl that she was, Lydia’d been the one to give him his in. The gentle treatment it was, just until she was steady enough on her feet to push back, let it become a give and take game where he’d always come out on top.
Having gathered his tools, he turned back to Lydia, opening the front door and putting a steadying hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go, love.”
Being this close to her, she couldn’t hide the tremor in her body at his touch, the way she swayed back for a moment, seeking his heat, his strength to hold her up before she remembered herself and lurched back to rigid formality.
Fuck, pretty bird, so fucking sweet. You don’t have to pretend, princess. Gonna teach you to ask me for what you need.
Despite trying to appear like she hadn’t melted into his space, she didn’t actually step out of his palm, his fingers pressing down against the thin material of her hoodie.
He followed up the short steps of her porch in silence, watching carefully, ready to catch her if her exhaustion caught up to her too fast.
Should’ve known his bird would be too stubborn to let something like that happen. Facing the challenge of motherhood with grit teeth defiance, even though it was clearly taking a toll on her.
He hoped to god she wasn’t co-parenting, because if there was a man in this house letting his sweet little bird do it all on her own and not taking proper care of her, he’d kill him.
S’alright, love. You did good, coming to me for help. I’ll take care of you both.
“I’m sorry, the house is kind of a mess,” she said as she unlocked the door, glancing over her shoulder at him.
He could see her hesitating at the last hurdle, protective maternal instincts momentarily overcoming the exhaustion.
Good girl. Clever girl.
He didn’t look away from her, offering her a soft smile. “Promise I won’t judge. You saw my place, I’m sure it’s much worse off.”
That made the barest hint of a smile flicker over her pink mouth. “Don’t hold your breath.”
When she did let him in, still standing close enough his palm was pressed against the small of her back, he was pleased to see he was right. The ‘mess’ she referred to was mostly boxes piled up in the entryway, splashed with big bubble lettering that labeled them. Lydia’s handwriting, no doubt.
It didn’t look like any of them had been touched, except the ones labeled with a different name: ‘Chloe’.
Noticing the direction of his gaze to an open box that had clearly been pawed through multiple times, baby clothes spilling out of it onto the cheap vinyl floor, Lydia said softly, “Those are Chloe’s.”
“Chloe?” The baby, obviously, but he wanted to hear her say it.
The smile on her face this time was softer, warmer, and Lydia moved closer to the line of John’s body, seemingly unaware of the way she turned to him like a flower to the sun. “Yeah, this little one is Chloe.”
He smiled, ignoring the thudding of his pulse in his veins as Lydia tilted that smile up at him, cheeks still lined with drying tear tracks. Slowly he reached out, brushing the back of one finger over the soft pudge of Chloe’s cheek, that gnawing in his stomach only growing worse when Lydia’s breath caught, and Chloe’s hand rose in sleep, curling around the digit.
His blood rushed fast, some strange mix of adrenaline that made him feel like he could take off running and never need to stop, and yet he’d be more content to stand right there and never move a muscle again if Chloe kept holding his finger.
They watched her in shared awed silence, shifting in Lydia’s arms, eyes roving behind tightly shut lids, mouth working for a moment, the sweetest little coo escaping before she settled again, still holding on to his rough finger.
“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly.
Lydia was close enough now that if he wanted to kiss her, all he had to do was drop his head down.
Not yet. Not yet. Had to pretend to be a gentleman first, like her own personal goddamn white knight. At least for now. He had to get a good meal and a good nights sleep in her before he could even think about putting her on her back so he could stuff her full of his cock.
The thrill of pursuit was half of the fun anyway, and John was damned well going to take his time and enjoy every second of it. Make it as good for her as it was for him.
Reaching out, he cupped her face in his palm, brushing his thumb over tacky tear-stained skin, watching with satisfaction as her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned into the touch, body going lax.
His poor little dove was touch-starved, was that it? Craving someone to come along and hold her for a change? Fuck, she was a sweet thing, and she needed touch and comfort so bad she’d take it from a fucking stranger. Good girl, clever girl, for coming to him first.
Don’t worry, princess, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Give you everything you need, put it right in your hands so you don’t have to lift a finger anymore, until you walk around expecting that sort of treatment like it’s your God given right, the same way it’s mine to breed that pussy full whenever I want.
Clearing her throat, Lydia stepped back. “Right. Um. The bassinet. It’s in here.”
He followed without protest as she led him into the next room, which was bare except for the scattered pieces and tools of what would hopefully, eventually become a bassinet. The packaging from a big box store was set neatly to the side, but the instructions were thrown about on top of the scattered pieces, crumpled slightly like she’d mangled them in her frustration before gathering Chloe and stomping over to his house to demand help.
Setting down his tools he glanced up at her. “Looks easy enough.”
She snorted softly, nose wrinkling cutely as she glared down at the half assembled bassinet. “That’s what I thought.”
Chuckling, he gathered the crumpled instructions to give a read through and get familiar with what he was working with. “These instruction manuals can put anyone’s head in a spin, love, don’t let it bother you.”
“I just didn’t think it’d be that hard.” She pouted, and his blood pooled in his groin at the just of that soft pink lower lip. “I know I’m new to homeownership and…everything, but still.”
He hummed, setting the instructions aside, idly arranging the parts of the bassinet in the order he’d need them. For something like this he didn’t even really need to think about it, and he much preferred for his focus to be on Lydia. “New?”
Glancing over at him, she nodded, curling in on herself slightly. “Brand new. I only just moved in last week.”
His teeth clenched and he had to swallow it back quick. The idea of her having to move in, all by herself, with a newborn-
“I only just got back from deployment yesterday.” He said. “Or I would’ve introduced myself before now.”
Lydia relaxed, the exhaustion in her face seeming to recede. “That’s sweet of you. I’m sorry you’re having to spend your second day back home here building my niece’s bassinet.”
Niece. Not daughter?
Some pieces were falling into place for him, and others were only raising new questions.
He decided to leave that piece of information lie for a moment. “Not a problem,” he said firmly, standing back up and pinning her in place with his gaze. He wanted her to hear this clearly. “I like keeping busy, I do this sort of thing for the neighborhood all the time. I’m happy to help, princess.”
It was a risk, using that word. ‘Love’, ‘sweetheart’, those could be waved away as him being a slightly over familiar and old fashioned gent. ‘Princess’ had different connotations.
Lydia’s reaction was exactly what he’d hoped to see, though. A catch in her breath. Blue eyes blowing wide, pupils dilating, riveted to his face. The tops of her cheeks pinked the slightest bit.
Fuck she looked so pretty. He wanted to give her a home cooked meal and tuck her into bed beside him with the baby monitor on their nightstand. Wanted to fuck her so full of cum her body would have no choice but to give in and let him breed her up.
So calling her princess in her own home after only being introduced twenty seconds ago in the tone he knew he’d said it in had been a risk, but she liked it. It was all over her face.
You’re gonna look so pretty begging for me to give you my cock. Gonna look so fucking pretty cumdrunk and still fucking horny enough to climb into my lap in the middle of the night, desperate to ride me.
Even besides that, he’d be damned if she ever let it get into her head that any time he spent with her was a burden and not a fucking gift.
Now, with her looking at him like all she could think about was how to get him to call her princess again, he had his opening to ask her about Chloe without putting her back up. “You said your niece?”
The soft, open expression on her face crumbled, but interestingly she leaned towards him and not away from him. A good sign.
“Yeah, it’s…it’s a long story. But Chloe’s my niece, and…now we’re all each other has left.”
They stood in mutual silence for a moment. Then, John said, “I’m sorry for your loss. But I’m glad you have each other.”
Lydia took a slow, steadying breath, looking down at the infant in her arms. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
With the pile of things organized it was time for him to get her into a seat. Who knew how long she’d been on her feet by now. There was a sofa shoved up against the longest wall, half covered in boxes and baby items.
John stepped closer to her, and nearly caught her pretty mouth in a kiss when it parted in a soft inhalation as he drew near. He placed his hand on the small of her back, drawing her in a little closer. “Will Chloe stay asleep if you sit?”
Wide blue eyes stared up at him, and Lydia nodded mutely.
“Alright then. Let’s get you off your feet, yeah?” He led her over to the couch, and made quick work of clearing it as neatly and orderly as he could, one hand on her elbow as she sat, still staring at him in something like surprise, or even confusion.
Clearly no one had ever taken proper care of her before.
Not to worry. My job now.
She cleared her throat, relaxing back into the cushion by degrees, slowly allowing herself to surrender. “Thank you. I…it’s been a long day. I thought I’d be able to at least get the bassinet put together, the instructions say the only tool needed is a screwdriver, but.”
A frustrated noise left her parted lips. “I can’t make heads or tails out of the instructions. I swear, I’m not usually helpless-”
He chuckled, unable to resist the siren call of the curve of her cheek aglow in the sunlight pouring through the large window at the front of the room, and reached out to touch the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “I’d never call you helpless, princess, I’m not that bad mannered.”
She giggled, cheeks flushing prettily. His hand curled around the top of Chloe’s head, those fangs in his heart sinking deeper as the baby cooed in her sleep, wiggling slightly, turning her head towards him.
“Did the neighborhood help you with your boxes and things at least?” He settled for asking when he let his hand drop.
She avoided his eye. “I…they offered, but I…” Clearing her throat, she finished very quietly, “I sometimes have trouble asking for help.”
Now he should have said something to the effect of chiding her that she should have gotten help moving her things into her house.
But.
But.
Fuck. What a good fucking girl, waiting for him, whether she’d known it or not.
He grinned. “Not gonna lie, that’s going right to my ego.”
Lydia rewarded him with a brilliant, relieved smile. He could see her warming to him, each slight lean and tilt of her body bringing her closer to his body by millimeters she probably didn’t even notice.
That’s my good girl, princess, so sweet but saving every last drop of it just for me.
“Still, I wish I was a little better at being a homeowner,” she said sheepishly. “I mean, like I said, I’m not totally helpless, but there’ve been a few swings and misses.”
Grinning, he raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what, accidentally knock a hole in the wall when hanging up a picture?”
Her mouth curved up at him, eyes sparkling in the sun. “No, but it does sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Let’s just say that twelve year old boys should not have access to tools.”
She giggled, covering her mouth with one hand to try and muffle to sound to not wake Chloe.
He wanted to bottle that sound. Wanted to bathe in it.
Luckily she distracted him before he did something completely ridiculous. “Those hammers are tricky business, much more than people think. Look, I even hit my thumb.”
John didn’t smile the way he knew she was going for. He was too busy staring at the poor little thumb she’d flashed at him, flushed an angry red and slightly swollen.
Catching her wrist in his hand he drew her hand closer, getting a better look.
“I - it’s really nothing, John.”
God.
Fucking hell.
He wanted her to say his name over and over again for the rest of his fucking life. He didn’t want to hear anyone but her ever use it again.
Pretty girl, calling my name already. Just wait til I give you a reason to.
“Not nothing.” He looked up at her, watching her face, drinking in her reaction as he kissed the pad of her thumb, greedy for the fleeting surprise, the hot pink flush, the smile she tried to fight off but couldn’t quite manage.
“John…”
Yes, babydoll, keep saying it.
“What, love?”
She shook her head, biting her lip to try and hide her smile. “Get back to work, or no cookies for you.”
Dragging his thumb over her wrist, he felt her pulse beat faster. He’d bet an entire month’s hazard pay that she was wet in her panties.
“You making cookies for me now, princess?”
Blue eyes dilated again, only a thin ring of sapphire around the night dark pupils. “Y-yes. If…if you like.” She swallowed, managing to smile, and tease, “But only if you get back to work.”
He squeezed her wrist before letting go, but didn’t look away from her for a long moment, smirking. “Yes, boss.”
As he worked, he managed to ferret out more information from her. Chloe was her sister’s child, but she and her sister had been estranged for most of Lydia’s life, and Lydia had tried to breach that gap multiple times in the past but her sister, to quote Lydia, ‘lived life fast and wild’.
It had apparently cost her her life eventually, but left Chloe behind. With no will and no father on the birth certificate, social services had turned to Lydia as the next of kin.
“It’s probably stupid of me,” Lydia sighed, cuddling Chloe close like someone would try to march into the house and take her right then and there. “I’m twenty six, I’ve only just got a real job post uni, I’ve been in three relationships my whole life and one of those was in primary school, what business did I think I have raising a child all on my-”
“Princess,” he cut her off, pausing as he fastened a leg to the bassinet. “Look at me.”
She did, immediately, without question, his good fucking girl.
“You love her.”
Lydia blinked, clearly not having expected that. “Well, yes, of course I do.”
“And you want to be her parent.”
“Well. Well, yes, but-”
“No,” he said firmly, but not loud enough to startle poor Chloe. “No buts, princess. Those two things count for way fucking more than anyone gives credit to. I’m not a parent myself, but I know what it looks like when someone’s doing the job right, and you can be damned sure that you are. Chloe’ll turn out right, because she’ll have all she really needs to: you.”
The whole house was quiet following that.
He didn’t speak, letting the words linger in the air, in Lydia’s ears.
Lydia’s hand curled into a white knuckled grip on a hanging corner of the baby blanket tucked around Chloe. He watched tears gather in sapphire eyes, glittering like gemstones on her lashes.
“God…John…” Her voice was wet with tears, slightly forced. “Thank you.”
Fuck it.
Following his impulse to he stood, crossing the distance between them and putting a hand beneath her chin, lifting her face to his. As he leaned down her eyes slipped closed, a few tears falling down her cheeks and leaving fresh tear tracks for him to brush away with his thumbs.
He kissed her forehead before leaning his own there. He could smell the scent of her shampoo, something fresh and mouthwatering like pears, and the scent of baby, and the two things laid against the walls of his lungs, settling there for him to hunger after forever. Because he would, he already knew he would.
“You’re doing bloody amazing, babydoll. If no one’s told you that yet, they’re just all fucking idiots.” He dropped her another kiss, letting his lips and his hands linger before reluctantly drawing back to finish the bassinet.
He let her pull herself together again in peace, but he kept an eye on her, pleased when she spent a lot of her own silence staring at him.
She’d been fighting the urge to resist letting him in, but John couldn’t have picked a better moment to insinuate himself if he’d tried. She was exhausted, scared, painfully lonely, and extremely frustrated. Craving companionship, reassurance, someone to take the reins and know what the fuck they were doing.
And the best part was, she’d been the one to seek him out, without any other pushes needed from him. His good girl, who’d known somehow that he was finally there to help her and had come running to him to demand what she needed.
He’d happily spend the rest of his life giving it to her.
“You say you don’t have kids,” Lydia began, and he had to tuck his smirk away that waiting for her to be the one to start the conversation up again had worked out so well, “but you seem really familiar with the concept. Have you really never…”
He shook his head wryly. “I want them, but don’t have any of my own.”
Yet.
“Just godfather to one of my sergeant’s sons. Gaz and his wife are working on their third right now, so you can imagine how happy the two of them are that he’s back home.”
Lydia grinned. “Probably not as happy as his kids.”
Thinking of five year old Nick and three year old Wesley, John smiled warmly. “No, probably not as happy as them.”
He went back to the bassinet, tightening up a few screws and checking that things measured up properly.
On the couch Lydia kept shifting, and he could feel her curiosity on the air. But he wanted to see how she’d approach asking him about it.
In his head, he had a quick debate. Lie and say he’d never been married, or be honest.
But it didn’t take him all that long to decide he had to go with honesty. His neighbors knew about his previous marriages, and he’d rather not blackmail everyone in his civilian life. Though, of course, if necessary, he’d do what needs must.
“So if you want children,” Lydia said slowly, looking at him from beneath her lashes, testing a boundary, “why don’t you have them?”
The truth it was, or a concise and slightly prettier version of it. “I had plans. First wife said she wanted them too, but things busted up before we got that far. We were too young to be married, not even twenty at the time, but there you go. In the end she wanted a husband who was around more, and I didn’t blame her.”
Still didn’t, truthfully. At least, not for that, but maybe for sleeping with his at the time commanding officer.
“Then my second marriage,” he shook his head, sighing, “Caught her snooping on me at work one too many times. She accused me of sleeping with my boss.”
Lydia’s eyes were wide. “God, that’s awful. Were you?”
Despite himself, he smiled, raising an eyebrow at her. “Cheeky bird. No. I’m a very traditional man when it comes to monogamy. One woman is all I need.”
He watched, pleased, as Lydia blushed with that information, clearly setting it aside for later consideration.
“Besides,” he continued as if he hadn’t noticed, “my CO is very happily married, and her wife would have my guts for garters if I ever even looked in her direction.”
A giggle bubbled out of Lydia, though she quickly stifled it. “And your wife didn’t see that, uh, orientation as precluding this theoretical affair?”
“She did not.”
Lydia shook her head, snuggling back against the sofa, her hand rubbing idle circles over Chloe’s back. “Damn, John. I have a couple dating horror stories myself, but nothing that bad.”
He shrugged. “Shit happens. No use regretting it. You make the decisions you make and have to live with those choices. The both of them are much better off.”
“No,” Lydia said, sharp, sitting up suddenly, reaching a hand out to him. “Don’t say that. How could they be better off without you, you’re…”
Blushing, she swallowed back whatever she’d wanted to say.
But he could still taste it on the air between them. Not the words themselves, he had no clue what she’d been about to say, but he could taste the meaning, the sweetness of it on his tongue.
As soon as he could, he was determined to get her on her back with her legs around his head to see if her pussy tasted as pretty and sweet as her voice.
That comment about his exes being better off hadn’t even been meant to manipulate or draw a comment like that out of her. He’d assumed it would be far too soon for something like that, all he’d meant to do was present himself as a normal, well-functioning man who didn’t have the mindset of a fucking caveman.
His exes were likely better off, though he hadn’t checked up on either of them once after the ink on the divorces dried. Better off with some husband who they could shape and mold and still be disappointed by than the bloody-handed animal who’d once shared their beds and saw through their veneers of sweetness and innocence to their cold and detached underbelly beneath.
It was a relief to him that Lydia was already so different from them. Her expressions were paper-thin when she tried to cover them, and for the most part she didn’t bother, either too tired or simply not practiced. If ever there was a girl who embodied ‘heart on her sleeve’ it would be this one.
Sweet as candyfloss and just as soft, unbroken by life and the world, but there was no empty-headedness to her vulnerability either. Clearly smart, his good and careful girl who kept her windows shut and locked tight, with three different locks on the front door. There were depths there, ones he was burning to figure out.
And she was all his. She’d been his the moment she knocked on his door, whether she’d known it or not.
She just proved that with her reaction to what she assumed was a self-deprecating comment, not the scathing indictment of both of his former wives that it was.
“Thank you,” he settled for saying, winking at her.
She relaxed, smiling as she leaned back against the sofa. “At any rate, it’s good to hear that you’re not perfect.”
“Perfect?” he chuckled. “My men would beg to differ.”
Shifting on the sofa, she asked, “How many are there? On your squad? Or is that an off limits question?”
He laughed. “What we do and where are the primary off limits questions princess, everything else is probably pretty fair game.”
At least for her. So he answered.
“There’s four of us. Me, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap.”
“Ghost, Gaz…Soap?” She blinked. “I thought…I thought callsigns were a pilot's only thing. Like in Top Gun? I thought you were in the SAS.”
He put down his screwdriver, finished, but not yet telling her that. Why would he when he could smirk at her, gaze hot as he teased, “Yeah, I’m SAS. But I didn’t tell you that, did I?”
Her cheeks went a bright, glowing pink. “Well. No. Um.” Her lower lip got caught between straight white teeth, and she flashed those big innocent blue eyes at him like a lamb begging for mercy. “I may have heard a little about you from our neighbors. And then, well. I may have asked them all to tell me about you.”
Fuck, such a good girl, who’s the hunter and who’s the prey here, babydoll, the lines are blurring even to me.
“Yeah?” His voice was low, beckoning. “Just how much asking about me have you been doing, sweetheart?”
That blush got hotter, but her eyes never left his. “A lot.”
In his chest his heart was pounding, and he was half hard in his jeans and quickly losing the willpower to fight it back. “See, that right there? That’s going straight to my ego too, princess.”
Among other things.
It was only worsened by her little giggle, eyes dancing as she teased, “Would it make it worse if I admitted I heard about you around the neighborhood so I may or may not have waited until you were back to try tackling the actual construction work?”
Worse? That depended on your definition.
What it made him feel was like he wanted to rail her seven ways to Sunday and paint her body inside and out with his cum until she forgot who she’d been before she had it.
Thankfully, he managed not to terrify her by saying that. Instead, he said, “Just makes me wish I’d gotten back from deployment when you were moving in so I could’ve helped you.”
“I would’ve been stubborn,” she warned, slightly breathless. “I wouldn’t have let you help either.”
“I dunno,” he grinned, knowing it was the same cocky, arrogant smirk that drove Laswell up a wall because she knew it always spelled trouble. “I can be pretty charming when I want to. I think I could’ve talked you into it, princess.”
“Oh you think so?”
“You tell me, sweetheart. You just said you’d waited til I got back to start trying to build your furniture.”
She bit her lip, pupils dilating as her eyes dragged over his body. “I did, didn’t I?”
He rose, putting the bassinet on its steady feet, finished. He didn’t miss the flash of realization and disappointment in Lydia’s eyes when she saw he was done. Nor the spinning gears behind that blue gaze as she tried to puzzle out a way to keep him there.
No need, princess. You’ll be seeing me a lot. In your life, in your house, in your bed.
“This one’s done, at least,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from reaching for her. “Wanna try it out?”
He’d moved it close to Lydia, so she didn’t even have to stand to slowly, carefully, lay Chloe down inside of it.
The baby didn’t even flicker an eyelid, too deeply asleep. Lydia’s hands tucked the baby blanket more firmly around her. “It’s perfect,” she sighed quietly.
She turned her face up to his, smiling sweet and lovely. “Thank you, John.”
Time to test her boundaries, one more time. He reached out, catching her chin gently, lifting it just a little higher, out of her comfort zone, drawing her in just a hair closer. Her breath caught, hands twitched on her thighs, pupils dilating.
Fuck, she was going to be so gorgeous when he had her begging, glassy-eyed and wanton for his cock.
“Anything else that needs fixing around here?” He smirked, dragging his thumb over her lower lip. “After all, you promised cookies. I just wanna make sure I earn them.”
Lydia swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was thready, betraying the heat of her body, the wet pussy he knew she was hiding beneath old, ill-fitting sweats. “Yes. I mean, I’m…I’m sure I can think of something.”
Much as he loved a bit of fight, a give and take game, there was something to be said for this as well. Hunting when the prey wanted to be caught, but not by anyone but him. Something so instinctual it didn’t even need speaking. His. Utterly and completely.
The smirk on his face flared wider, thumb tapping at her mouth, watching as she parted her lips, tongue peeking out to flick against the pad. “Good girl,” he murmured, and watched greedily as she surrendered.
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ok so!! roryshutupchallengefailed this is 12k of reader being horny af over her step brother Gaz. i did a poll to see if you guys just wanted the porn here on tumblr or the whole fic and y'all said you wanted the whole fic, so here you go. if you are just interested in the horny stuff i've marked where the pwp truly starts with:
cw: parentification of a child, emotional abuse from a parent, neglect of a child, forced isolation (from mother on reader), angst, hurt/comfort, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, stepbrother/stepsister incest (they met as adults and never lived together as siblings), age difference (reader is 18-20, Gaz is mid late 20s), pervy behavior, pillow humping, reader is nowhere near as sneaky as she thinks she is, tiiiiiny bit of manipulative behavior, virgin kink/corruption kink (if you squint), dirty talk (like WOAH), bareback sex, rough sex
your mom had gotten remarried just after you turned eighteen. he was a good guy, and she was happy, so you were happy too. of course you were!
it just.
it was your eighteenth birthday. and your mum had promised you that since money had been tight last year (and the year before, and the year before, and and and) that she’d go all out for your eighteenth.
stupid of you to get your hopes up. it wasn’t like she did it on purpose, she wasn’t a cruel or malicious person, just…forgetful. busy, that was the word. she was a busy person, heavily involved in her work as a nurse, in caring for your elderly neighbors, in her volunteer work.
but you’d thought, maybe.
again, stupid.
you’d hardly even met her boyfriend, just the once at Christmas. he was polite, an accountant or something or other, who looked at your mum with adoration and wonder, who rushed to fulfill her every whim and desire. the wedding would be quick, with your mum pregnant, and any talk of you moving out was quickly met with betrayed expressions and heartbroken ‘but are you really going to just leave? when you know I’ll need your help? your father is going to be so busy at work, and I can’t take time off…’
so moving out was quietly and firmly crossed out too.
you’d learned a long time ago that fighting her when she’d made up her mind was an exercise in futility.
and you liked kids, you did.
it wouldn’t be so terrible to take care of your little sibling. really it wouldn't.
then two months before the wedding, you learned that your new stepfather had another child.
Kyle.
he came to stay with you, all three of you, to get to know his new family. he was older than you by several years, in the military.
you weren’t sure what you expected, but Kyle was…
more.
he was tall and handsome, laughed easily, he was warm and easy with affection, and he smiled like the sun.
“Hi.” he grinned, head tilted slightly to look you in the eye considering the height difference, his voice bright and warm and sweet, and your heart tripped over itself as you stared up at him. “Hear you’re my new little sister.”
something inside you twisted, sticky, like a thorn dripping with honey winding through your stomach. you managed a nod, trying to smile back at him, offering your hand. “And you’re my big brother?”
he laughed, the sound making your whole body tingle. and it only got worse when he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight.
you couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“Handshakes are for strangers, love. Hugs are for family, right?”
your hands were already white knuckled on the rough military canvas jacket he wore. you couldn’t catch your breath, your knees were shaking and you couldn’t understand why.
“Right,” you whispered, biting your tongue when his arms squeezed you tighter, lifting you off the ground, and with that one simple move completely wiping clean the anxieties in the back of your head that had cluttered there since the wedding had been announced, and he'd done it like it cost him nothing.
his voice was warm in your ear, radiating down your back and thawing the cold that never went away. “Glad to meet you, sweetheart.”
he smelled like the forest. like fresh air and sunshine and just a tinge of something darker, like maybe motor oil or something similar yet equally unfamiliar.
it made your head swim. you inexplicably wanted more. “G-glad to meet you too.”
when he put you back down on your feet you had to force yourself not to reach out to him again immediately.
don’t be greedy. you told yourself firmly. he’s just being polite. he’s just being kind.
you found yourself sticking close to him during the run up to the wedding.
or as close as you could with your mother needing help at any and all hours ensuring every detail down to the smallest level was attended to her liking.
you sat beside him at meals, during the evenings crowded in front of the telly as a family or playing board games around the table. he always had one broad muscular arm slung on the back of your chair, that forest and fresh air and sunshine scent surrounding you like a comforting blanket. and every time he’d duck his head, leaning in close, mouth hovering near your ear to whisper a joke or a question about the show or the game, you found yourself turning to him like a flower to the sun, your insides warming, face flushing. the hair on the back of your neck would raise and you’d hold your breath.
he was so kind, so patient with you. even when you’d fumble the plates and dishes as you washed up or when you brought them over to the table, even when you’d get distracted during a conversation and miss what you'd been asked, even when you’d mess up breakfast or forget something at home while you were out as a family.
all the usual things that made your mother frown and sigh and shake her head and wonder what they were going to do with you, Kyle just smiled at, kissed your forehead and told you not to worry. he’d help you clean up that spilled milk. he’d help you run back to the house for the checkbook you’d been responsible for bringing. he’d whisper to you what the answer to the question you’d been asked was. not to worry.
strangely, you sometimes got the feeling that as sweet as Kyle was with you, as open and warm as he was to you, it wasn’t like that between him and his own father, or even your mum.
sometimes you’d glance up from your plate at dinner, trying to take advantage of the fact that no one paid attention to you so you could sneak a glimpse at your new step brother. and there would be a strange…disconnect in Kyle’s face.
like, he’d be smiling and laughing with his father and your mum the same as always, but his eyes would be cold.
you almost got the feeling he didn’t like them very much. like maybe they’d done something he didn’t like.
it made your stomach hurt to see that expression. what if he looked at you like that? if he ever did, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stand it.
so you put all the effort you could, in between wedding prep and nursery preparation and your usual chores, into doing everything you could for him.
his laundry, making his coffee and his lunches complete with little notes decorated with your doodles and wishing him a good day when he went in to work on the military base nearby. once, you even buffed his shoes when you caught him frowning while your mum chided you for breaking a plate.
“Love.”
you startled, nearly dropping the boot you were hunched over, wrenching your body around to face him.
it was late. late enough you didn’t think he’d catch you. you’d only just started, barely the toe of one boot freshly polished from your position kneeling on the floor where he kept them.
he was bare chested, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, low slung sweatpants looking soft and inviting.
a smile was tugging at his mouth. “Whatcha doin, sis?”
you paused.
the smile on his mouth faded as you felt your eyes sting. swallowing, you managed to force out quietly, “I just…I thought you might be mad at me.”
now he was frowning in earnest, warm brown eyes softer than his sweats. “Aw, love, why on earth would I ever be mad at you?”
you shrugged, ducking your head. you ignored the soft sound of him moving closer, but your breath caught when a warm, calloused hand gently cupped your jaw and lifted your face. he was so big from this angle, it made your stomach feel funny. made your breath thin. his touch just made it worse.
“Tell me, sis.” He smiled, sunshine warm. “C’mon, who can you talk to if not your big brother?”
“I dropped the plate,” you admitted quietly.
he stood there, waiting. “…and?”
your eyes stung sharper, and your voice caught. “You were frowning at me.”
a spasm of emotion flit over his face, too quick for your to catch and decipher. his jaw tensed, his handsome face going like stone for a second. “Fuck.”
he used his hand on your chin to draw you to your feet, his boot falling from your numb fingers, and then into another hug. it was such a stark relief, surrounded by his warmth and strength and skin (so much of it, burning hot and bare and pressed against your mouth and your nose so that you could almost taste it) that you burst into tears.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly, rocking you back and forth. “I’m your big brother now. You’re my sweet baby sister, and nothing you ever do could ever make me mad at you. Ok?”
you hesitated. was that how it worked?
his hand threaded through your hair, drawing your head back to meet his gaze. he looked like a Greek demigod like this, fierce and unquestionable. calm and in control. “Say you understand.”
“I understand,” you whispered, rewarded immediately by his smile, a kiss to your forehead.
“There we go then,” he said proudly, squeezing you tight. “Just do what I tell you to, and I’ll never be anything but proud and happy with you, sis. Sound good?”
you sniffled, clinging to him, head swimming. “Yeah,” you breathed.
for a long while he let you cling to him, gently rocking you back and forth, rubbing circles over your back. enough that you almost felt like you might fall asleep standing up. until -
he drew back suddenly, grinning. “Wait, wait right there, have something for you.”
he raced back down the hall, but where you expected that kind of speed coming from a man his size to be loud enough to rouse the whole house, he somehow managed to be entirely silent. you didn't even hear the creaky board int he hall when he must've rushed by it to get to his guest room. that must've been a military thing, right? to be able to run silently?
you were still blinking in confusion when he reappeared, grinning wide, holding something behind his broad back. you didn’t even have time to catalogue the scattered scars and tattoos in the warm glow of the lamplight before he was thrusting a box under your nose.
“Happy birthday, lovie.”
you stared down at the box. unmoving.
that was right. your birthday had been today. you’d forgotten.
and Kyle had gotten you a present. wrapped it, even, in expensive looking baby pink wrapping paper, tied with a crisp white bow.
your vision clouded, and your hands shook as you took it from him.
“Kyle…” you sniffed. “I don’t know what to say.”
he was smiling still, but there was a new tension in his shoulders. that pinch between his brows he got sometimes when he looked at your mum. “Haven’t even opened it yet, sweetheart. What if you hate it?”
you shook your head, unable to speak. what could you tell him? that it had been years since anyone had given you a birthday present?
you didn’t want to complain.
“Go on,” he encouraged sweetly. “Wanna see if I got it right.”
obediently, you carefully loosened the bow. removed the wrapping paper without ripping it, lifting the lid of the box to reveal a full, seventy two piece set of Copic markers you’d been staring at on your phone just a couple days ago before dinner.
he must’ve seen you looking at it, somehow. must’ve heard your mother mention your birthday, as you weren’t sure your step-father knew and you hadn’t told him. and he must’ve gotten online and ordered you a set of markers that cost almost six hundred American. they didn’t even ship to England anymore.
but he’d managed to get you a set, a full set, regardless. like it was easy. simple. a given.
Kyle had to rescue the box when your shaking hands made you fumble it. he set it aside, and let you throw yourself back into his arms, caught you easily, rocking you back and forth once more.
“So I did that good?” he chuckled as you cried silently into his neck.
he held you so easy, let you stay right there, selfishly, greedily soaking up his warmth. his kindness. hoping the scent of his skin rubbed off on you, and maybe you’d sleep soundly and well.
“Thank you,” you said thickly, voice still wet, once you’d gotten yourself under control.
he hummed, squeezing you tight, kissing your temple. “Least you deserve, love. Happy birthday.”
you’d happily have stayed there in his arms forever.
but when his broad hand rubbed down your back, something strange happened. you felt a pulse between your legs. that warmth you were hungrily soaking up from his body, his touch, seemed to follow that pulse, sinking low and swirling-
your eyes went wide, shock too acute as understanding dawned for you to even stiffen.
oh.
oh.
oh, god, no.
Kyle let you go, and you fussed with your hair, avoiding his eye, trying to act like you hadn’t just realized you were attracted to your step brother.
he was grinning at you. “Glad you liked your present, and I’m glad we cleared all that other stuff up now.”
you smiled, or tried, flustered and trying not to panic. this was bad. this was sick of you, wasn’t it?
Kyle cocked his head, looking at you, and for a moment you thought he could see right through you, could tell you’d wanted him to do more than just hug you. wanted him to let you cling to his naked chest while he, while he-
but he didn’t know. course he didn’t. if he had he wouldn’t have invited you to skip out on wedding planning the next day and go to lunch.
you accepted eagerly, because it was surely a bad idea, but. but you weren’t going to say anything. you wouldn’t do anything you shouldn’t. and maybe it would go away, and he’d never know.
and you just…you needed more of that warmth. that kindness. that acceptance.
he sent you to bed with a kiss to your forehead and a stern, sweet order to get some sleep.
you didn’t get much. tossing and turning as you worried about it in your head. it wasn’t that bad, you finally decided, clinging to hope. right? you weren’t blood related. and he’d never know.
what harm was there in a little crush?
_-_
he made a habit out of taking you to lunch, at least once a week or more when he could manage it while he was at home, and whenever the two of you weren't on one your brother/sister ‘dates’ (the use of that word made you throb, and you tried not to show how much you liked it) for one reason or another, the two of you were almost always talking either on facetime or texting or whatever the two of you could manage. even after the wedding was over and he was deployed again, when you expected him to quietly but surely drop out of your life, he didn't.
he stayed.
made a point of it, actually.
of course you couldn’t always reach him, for his safety and the security of his team and everything when they went on a communications blackout, but whenever he had a moment he was on the phone with you, asking about your day and what you were up to.
besides just calling and texting, you wrote him letters too. included drawings, colored of course by the marker set he'd so generously given you. mostly they were just silly doodles of your brand new half brother when he was born, the new family cat your mother had insisted on, the little garden of windowsill flowers she’d planted.
you never meant to tell him that you were the one who’s room the baby’s bassinet wound up in. that the kitten became your responsibility too when your mum went back to work. that you were the one watering and fertilizing and fussing over the finnicky flowers.
but he had this way of drawing things out of you, and when you told him you hated complaining, that you didn’t mind, he'd sounded so hurt.
“You’d really keep something as simple as what you got up to every day from your brother? C'mon, lovie, you know I just want to know what you're up to. I miss my little sister, is that so bad?”
so you gave up trying to protect him from your boring day to day life, though you were always always careful to downplay how much you did around the house. it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, at least just for now while your mum and stepfather got settled. and you knew you should be grateful to your mum and step father for housing you and feeding you and clothing you. you were grateful, you were, just…
at the same time you remembered that little flat a few streets down you’d been eyeing for months before graduation. the brochure of art classes and glossy flyers for art schools tucked away in your nightstand.
it was ungrateful of you to want to leave your mum to chase your own dreams when she’d given you nineteen years of life and care and love. right? that was what she kept saying, and she had to be right.
so you downplayed what you could, minimized what you told Kyle about those aspects of your life, even as they started to feel like they were pressing in around you on all sides when he asked you how you’d been and you lied to him.
nothing else was off limits to Kyle, though, and it was so nice to have someone you could tell absolutely everything to. someone who gushed with you about your dreams, who was interested in your opinions (art, literature, movies, music, hell even memes), someone who reassured you that you weren’t worthless, who worried over you.
and he did worry over you. he was such an overprotective brother, god, it should've been overbearing and annoying when he told you who you could and couldn’t hang out with, that you shouldn’t date anyone until he’d personally vetted them, basically forbid you from even looking at boys while he was away. and you tried to pretend that it was all annoying and ridiculous the way you should have felt, because you’d die of embarrassment if he ever found out that him acting like that always had you stuffing a hand between your thighs and rocking against your palm, your pillow, or worse, one of the stuffed bears he’d won you at a carnival he’d brought you to when he was home.
in your head, he was overprotective because he secretly wanted you back.
of course he didn’t, but god, the fantasy of it. and sometimes you’d playfully pretend that you’d met a boy when taking your half brother out for a stroll in his pram, and he’d get all grumpy and huffy and finally get fed up and use your first name instead of his usual endearments, the syllables a growl through the phone.
that was all it ever took to make you cum.
he seemed to take an issue with your clothes too, the old fashioned sod.
you’d included pictures of yourself in your letters when he whined about not getting any drawings of you, he had ones of everyone in the family, he wanted to keep you close too.
for a long time you’d been breathless with an idea, to send him a picture of you wearing nothing at all.
you didn’t of course. of course not. but.
well.
admittedly, the skirt you’d chosen to wear in the picture you sent was a little short. the shirt a little tight. you told yourself it wasn’t like you were doing anything inappropriate. he’d never know the difference, and it wasn’t something you wouldn’t wear in front of anyone else.
but he was grumpy and growly the next time you got him on the phone. told you flat out he didn’t want you dressing like that without him home to keep the wrong kind of man from looking at you.
“Kyle-"
“Don’t even start,” he warned. “Don’t ‘but Kyle’ me with that sweet and innocent little voice, you know I’m right. I’m just looking out for you, love. Don’t you want to let your big brother do his job?”
you sighed, pretending to be put out, even as you shuddered, your pillow stuffed between your shaking thighs. it took effort to keep your voice and breathing even as your hips bucked. “I guess. Just. Do you think I dress…”
the word died on your tongue. you couldn’t ask him that. what if he said yes?
“I think…” he said slowly, his voice a warm rumble. you imagined him lounging back on a narrow bed, frowning and wishing he were home. with you. “That I want my baby sister to be careful. That so wrong of a thing to want?”
“No,” you whispered. “I’m sorry Kyle. I won’t wear it again.”
“Good girl.”
you came.
so hard and sudden you couldn’t quite stifle the sound that came out of you in time. you froze, heart pounding.
but Kyle must not have heard. thank god.
he was smiling, you could hear it in his voice as he said, “Now tell me. Have you finally decided to go to art school?”
that was another way he looked out for you. Kyle was your biggest cheerleader about your art. he kept telling you that you should go to school, to take the leap and send your portfolio in as an application for the program you’d been eyeing for years.
and you wanted to, more than anything.
but every time you even tried to broach the subject with your mum she gave you that wounded look that always had you backing down immediately, or when you tried to push it further she snapped at you to stop being selfish, that you’d go after she got things settled at work, when your step father wasn’t as busy. when your little half brother was a little older.
and you wanted to believe her.
a few years ago you might have.
but it was getting hard to ignore that you were treated less and less like a daughter and more and more like a live in servant by your mother. maid, cook, nanny, now gardener.
your step father had maintained a large and deliberate distance from you that after the first months with Kyle also in the house, a distance you hadn’t tried to broach. frankly you didn’t have the time or energy to try and get to know your 'father' as your mum insisted on calling him, not when every ounce of energy and attention and happiness you had left at the end of a long week went to Kyle.
it went mostly to hiding the reality of your situation from Kyle when he wasn’t deployed, and was staying an hour away in London but still made the weekly (or really three times a week) trek out to the house you lived in with your mum, step father and half brother to take you out to lunch.
most weeks it was the only time you got a break, because it was strangely the one thing about you your step father seemed to have an interest in. the one thing he put his proverbial foot down with your mother about, insisting that no matter what, when Kyle came to see you, you were to see him, unbothered and unharassed for however long he was there. and what was stranger, your mum listened to him.
she let you.
you couldn’t make heads or tails out of the whole thing, but frankly you were too tired and stressed to even try.
especially as Kyle began to look calculating and suspicious when you started falling asleep at the table over your shared meals, and you were starting to think he was no longer buying your excuses of it being due to staying up too late binge watching Bridgerton or Parks and Rec or whatever else came to mind.
you didn’t know what else to do. you’d tried again and again to bring it all up with your mum, to get some clarity on when exactly she’d feel settled enough to do what she promised and at least take over care of your half brother. he was two, now, surely things were as settled as they were going to get, right?
but the last time you’d tried she’d screamed at you, and her tantrum wound up waking the baby, and it was you who had to soothe him back to sleep.
and in the end, nothing ever changed as time went on.
two, almost three years had passed since your mother had told you about the engagement, and the further distance from it you got the sharper the clarity with which you saw the situation around you.
you felt oddly like you were watching your life pass you by. living on the outskirts of real existence, like all you could do was put your hand against the thick glass that separated you from everyone else in an attempt to pretend you were among them. and no matter how loud you screamed, they never heard you. they never saw you.
the stress of lying to Kyle about it all was what broke you in the end. you’d increasingly found yourself jittery and on edge around your mum, prone to distraction during conversation, and unpredictable bouts of anxiety so fierce you couldn’t breathe. and tired, so bone deep tired that you cried at the drop of a hat, at the simplest of inconveniences.
you wanted it to stop. you wanted out. you loved your mum and of course your half brother was sweet and adorable but he wasn’t yours. neither was the cat, or the flowers, or the house, not even your room. the only things that were yours were the things Kyle had given you.
but you didn’t see a way out.
unless.
the next time you called and Kyle answered, you hesitated after your usual greeting, cuddling your stuffed bear to your chest.
exhaustion crusted your eyes, your entire body ached, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been able to scrape together enough time to shower, and you were catching a cold.
miserable.
that was what you were.
“Sweetheart.” Kyle’s voice was soft. “What’s going on with you lately? I feel like I’m putting you to sleep when we talk.”
you were quick to reassure him, your heart aching at the thought that he thought you could ever be bored with him. “It’s not you, I promise. I’m just really…tired lately.”
he paused. “Why’s that, lovie?”
you swallowed. if you did this, if you complained and laid it all bare before him, he might be disgusted with your ingratitude. might be angry with you. might hate you. and once you told him, there’d be no going back.
“You can tell me anything,” he reminded you, voice warm, drawing you toward the comfort of the memory of his touch rather than the cold clutter of your room and your swirling anxieties. “Who can you go to if not your big brother?”
taking a deep, shaking breath, you finally admitted, “I don’t think I can do this any more.”
for a second, he didn’t speak. when he did, his voice was calm, but there was a thread of steel in it, a note of darkness you’d never heard before. “Why don’t you tell me what that means, sweetheart, before you make me panic.”
you laid it out for him in halting, backtracking sentences. forgetting parts and having to go back and add in context as you finally told him what was really going on.
he was quiet, hardly even seeming to breathe. by the time you’d finished you’d worked yourself up into a real crying fit.
you clung to the bear in your arms, the phone pressed hard against your ear.
before you could unleash a glut of apologies, beg him to forget it, to forgive you, to still care about you, he said in a voice you’d never heard him use before, “I’ll be there in forty minutes. Possibly with Ghost and Soap. Maybe even the captain. We’ll get your things tonight. You’re coming home with me.”
you were dreaming.
that was the explanation, right?
you had to be dreaming.
you’d fallen asleep and now we’re getting to live out the desperate wish for your big brother to come to your rescue like your own personal white knight.
“Tell me you understand, sis.”
your mouth worked. nothing came out for a minute. “Do you mean it?” your voice was fragile. you felt like everything stopped as you waited for his answer.
“Of course I fucking mean it. You should’ve told me this ages ago, lovie. I’m raging that you’ve been living like this and kept it a secret from me. You lied to me.”
a sob broke free of your chest, pain lancing through you, brittle sharp. having him be angry at you hurt worse than you’d feared.
he sighed, hissed through his teeth, and you could imagine him rubbing his forehead. when he spoke next, his voice was soft again. “Sweetheart. It’s my job to take care of you. What did we agree on back when we first met?”
through your tears, you answered dutifully, “That I’d always do what you told me to.”
“That’s right. And haven’t I told you to always be honest with me?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then. I’m still coming to get you, baby. I just want you to think about this, about how you’ve made me worry about you because you lied to your big brother when I could’ve protected you all this time. Fell in love with your pretty face right when I first met you, lovie, think I would’ve let you stay in that house with those vultures if you’d told me the truth?”
your heart raced.
he didn’t mean love like that. he didn’t. he couldn’t. you knew that.
scrambling for something to say, you tried to protest, “But your father-”
“Fuck my father,” he snapped. “The captain is my father. The man in that house with you is nothing but a sperm donor, he couldn’t teach me anything about how to be a man or a husband or a parent. Is that why you didn’t tell me all this time? You didn’t think I’d believe you?”
you nodded miserably, and realizing he couldn’t see you, you admitted wetly, “I didn’t want you to hate me. Or think I was useless or ungrateful or-”
“That is enough of that,” he said, and you heard him take several deep, measured breaths. hearing him, you automatically matched it, managing to calm your own growing panic. “I never want you to even think those words in connection to yourself again. Hear me, sis?”
quietly, you agreed.
“We will be talking more about that later. Count on it. Now. Can you be ready to leave in thirty minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
_-_
in the end, you didn’t have much to pack. your stuffed animals from Kyle, your art and supplies (also from Kyle), and some clothes.
when your mum realized what you were doing as she caught you trying to collect a suitcase from the hall closet, she broke down into hysterics. she was sobbing and screaming, accusations flying, along with threats and vile, vicious words even as she kept looking at you with that pitying expression like she just didn’t know where she’d gone wrong with you.
Kyle showed up early, but you didn’t even hear him come in from your position still cornered against the open closet door, biting your lower lip so hard you were afraid you’d bite clean through it, tears streaming down your face as you cringed away from your mother’s flailing hands.
neither of you even realized he was there until the front door slammed shut.
your mum’s mouth clicked closed as she spun to face him, and you took one look at him, standing there with his brow furrowed, jaw set, hands in loosely curled fists at his sides, and had to cover your mouth to keep your sudden moan inside.
“Lovie,” he said, voice cold, eyes never leaving your mother. “Come out from there.”
moving on shaky feet, you edged around your mother, squeezing past her, avoiding her gaze, avoiding even coming close to touching her. as you did, you noticed your stepfather standing frozen at the other end of the room. eyes fixed on Kyle.
you wondered how long he’d been there. what was going through his mind. why he was looking at Kyle like a man who'd wandered into the cave of a hibernating bear.
the tight band of panic that had been looped around your chest as she’d screamed finally loosened when your mother was no longer looming over you, her hands within arms reach of your face and upper arms, and you nearly tripped in your haste to get to Kyle.
he had a hand out, reaching for you, and you took his huge, warm hand in both of yours, shivering as he pulled you in close enough you could bury your face in his hoodie.
every part of him was so warm.
“Did you manage to get anything packed?” he asked, softly. his body radiated tightly controlled fury, his hand slipping around your waist to splay over your lower back, pulling you in even tighter.
it felt so fucking good to have him touch you again, so good you nearly forgot to answer him. “My art,” you croaked. “The stuffed animals.”
he hummed. “That’s enough for now, then. I’ll get you out of here and let the captain and the others collect the rest of your things.”
your mother’s voice lashed out like a whip. “Everything she has I bought her, everything in that room came from me and it stays here just like she will! I will not let her behave like an ungrateful brat throwing this ridiculous tantrum, I am her mother, you aren’t even-”
“Enough.”
strangely, that was your step father’s voice. not Kyle’s like you expected.
turning just enough you could catch a glimpse of the room, you saw that your stepfather had crossed over to your mother, but his gaze was still trained on Kyle as he laid a soft hand on her tensed shoulder. “Let her go. It’s not worth it.”
Kyle gently pulled free the hand you were clinging to with both of yours, his broad palm cupping the back of your head and turning it so your face was buried back in his hoodie again. his hand stayed a heavy weight, on your neck and on the back of your head, keeping you there, his other hand on your lower back spreading out a little wider, fingers pressing in a little harder.
heat flushed through your body, your mind spinning. all you could smell was that forest and sunshine scent tinged with darkness. all you could feel was him, warm and big with his muscles wound tight like hot steel against you, bigger body curled around you protectively.
“If she goes,” your mother hissed, “she’s not my daughter anymore. She can never come back.”
Kyle laughed, the sound cold, nothing like the kind you drew out of him with bad puns or your shared inside jokes. “And she never will. But don’t worry. You can keep everything that I didn’t personally pay for.”
your face burned hot, the slow threatening purr of his voice making your insides coil tight as you listened, your nipples tightening in your shirt, and your pussy heat. you loved it when he got like this. protective. caring. concerned.
angry.
not at you, never at you.
but angry on your behalf.
how many times had you fantasized about him doing exactly this? coming to your rescue, your own personal white knight, sweeping you off your feet and-
wait he was actually sweeping you off your feet. your wide eyes peeked over his shoulder as he swung you into his arms, just in time to see the door open and three men (big, military, one with a mohawk, one with a beard and one wearing a black balaclava) file inside with all the confidence in the world.
Kyle turned, and you were left staring over his shoulder as he wordlessly walked out of the house. the man with the beard and the man with the mohawk followed you, and you put names to faces.
Captain Price, Johnny, and the one in the balaclava who'd stayed inside would be Simon.
a surreal sort of air clung to the space around you as Kyle opened up his car door and gently placed you in the front seat. you watched him buckle you in, blinking up at him.
“We’re getting out of here,” Kyle said, and you weren’t sure at first if he was talking to you until his voice softened and he met your eyes a moment, patting your hands sitting loosely in your lap and he said, “watch your fingers, baby,” before he shut the car door.
the sound of conversation was quiet, and muffled further by the car door. you could hear snatches and bits, you thought maybe what was the captain agreeing to collect your things, and drop them off later. and Johnny said something after that that made the captain reach over and slap him upside the back of his head.
Johnny had an extremely thick accent, and the words had been quiet enough, muffled enough, that you could be wrong. it could totally just be wishful thinking brought on by stress and horniness and shock and sleeplessness.
but you could’ve sworn that Johnny’d called you Kyle’s girlfriend. not his stepsister.
his girlfriend.
it echoed in your head as Kyle got into the drivers seat and started the car.
the drive to Kyle’s flat passed quickly. you were so exhausted that all it took was one stern order for you to lay your ‘pretty head down and get some rest’ and you were out like a light. you didn’t rouse until you found yourself being set down on the cold countertop of a bathroom sink.
confused, still mostly asleep, you sunk your nails into Kyle’s hoodie, trying to hang on, a pitiful querulous noise escaping you as you tried to force yourself more awake.
“Shh, lovie,” he murmured. “Just want to run a bath for ya.”
after a moment’s debate you decided to not be angry with his presumption. with the insinuation. he was just taking care of you. simple as that.
the bath was a bit of a blur, but you were bitterly disappointed when Kyle deliberately turned his back to let you get undressed and into the tub on your own. when he turned back he told you sternly not to pout, that’d he'd do the hard parts.
he washed your hair for you, lulling you back to sleep with his hands in your hair massaging your scalp. some indeterminable amount of time later, he roused you with a kiss to your cheek and told you it was time to get out.
like a gentleman, he kept his eyes averted as you got out and he wrapped you up in a huge towel that smelled like him.
“Alright,” he said, frowning slightly. “We don’t have any of your clothes here, so-”
“Can I wear yours?” the words left your mouth without thought, hope flaring bright at being so surrounded by him. you couldn’t have him the way you wanted, but maybe you could have this.
Kyle lifted a brow. “I dunno, they may not fit well, sis. Your big bro’s got more’n a few inches on you.”
a shiver chased down your spine, and you swallowed, shrugging to try and play it off as you squeezed your legs together. “So I’ll just wear a shirt tonight.”
“You’ll be freezing,” he said dryly. “The heating in my condo is off until September.”
the pout on your face deepened, and you turned it up to him, pleading softly, “I’ll be under the covers. Please? I won’t get cold. Promise.”
Kyle’s mouth curved, his eyes warm and soft. with one hand he reached out and cupped your cheek. you leaned into it, humming, eyes slipping closed in pleasure.
“You're gonna be the death of me, love, know that?” he sighed, but the words were so unbelievably fond you didn’t pay them any mind. three years with him as your brother had taught you to read him. he wasn’t worried or upset with you in the slightest. he was happy you were here.
forcing your eyes open you looked up at him, trying to press his hand between your cheek and your shoulder, greedy for every bit of touch you could get. in the back of your head you wondered again if Johnny’d really called you Kyle’s girlfriend. “I’m tired, Kyle. I just wanna sleep.”
his smile faltered and a crease appeared between his brows. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry. C’mon, lets get you settled.”
just like he had been all night, he carried you into his bedroom, still wrapped practically head to to in the towel. you tucked your face against his collarbone and giggled. “You’re spoiling me. What if I forget how to walk?”
the smirk on his face made your pussy clench. “I’ve survived worse than carrying my little sister around. I just consider it part of my big brother duties.”
he set you down on the bed, and then rifled through his dresser drawers, muttering to himself. you took the opportunity to look around his bedroom, burning with curiosity. you’d never been inside, but you’d fantasized about being here so much.
it was warmer than you’d thought it would be, or maybe cozier was the better word. it was a little chilly actually. an idea started to form in your head as Kyle turned around and offered a henley.
“How about this? I think all of my hoodies are dirty right now, I actually don’t own that many clothes-”
you nodded, sneaking an arm out from the towel to take the henley. “No, no this is perfect, I love it.”
the fabric was soft, cool to the touch under your fingers.
Kyle snorted. “It’s a henley, lovie, not another stuffed bear, you don’t have to flatter me.”
frowning, you shook your head, cuddling the shirt close. “No, I do love it. It’s my brother’s, why wouldn’t I love it?”
something flashed in his eyes, and he opened his mouth, but then shook his head, and it was only when he relaxed and fell back a step that you realized he’d advanced much closer to you than you’d noticed.
“Ok, I’m gonna turn around and let you get dressed.”
he did exactly that. heat flushed your face. you were much more conscious this time about being naked in front of him, even if he (unfortunately) wasn’t looking. slowly you drew the towel off, letting it fall to the floor.
electricity and need ran wild in your skin, and for a moment you almost wanted to call his name. make him turn, see you sitting naked and wet on his bed.
shaking your head, you tugged the henley on over your head, trying to shove that thought away. but in the back of your head, you thought about what Johnny could’ve said. what if he had said it? why would he have called you that?
was that what Kyle called you?
you glanced at the neat pile of your dirty clothes now in Kyle’s hamper in the corner. your panties were in there. Kyle hadn’t offered you anything else. the henley came down to your midthighs so you didn’t technically need anything, but…
but if you were to bend over, or reach above your head, he’d be able to see. to see everything.
carefully you got off of the edge of his bed before you left a visible wet spot there. Clearing your throat, you nervously tucked your hair behind your ears, prompting him to turn around. “Well?” you asked, holding your arms out, sharply aware of the hem of the shirt lifting, cool air wrapping around your thighs. “What do you think?”
Kyle rubbed his mouth. His dark eyes dragged over you from your head down to your feet, and then back up, slow and deliberate. in the wake of his gaze you were left breathless, clit aching. the insides of your thighs were growing heated.
“I think,” he said, and it couldn’t just be your imagination that his voice was deeper than usual. “That you look better in it than I do, sis.”
your body burned, and you tried desperately to think of something to say to have him replace his eyes with his hands.
he glanced at his watch, and then pointed meaningfully to the bed. “C’mon. I’ve kept you up late and you look like you haven’t slept in years. Bed time, love.”
gathering your courage, you said, “You get in first. I don’t care which side I get.”
Kyle looked like he’d been angling his body to leave, only to freeze now, blinking at you in confusion. “...what?”
motioning to the bed, you said evenly, “Well we’re sharing the bed, aren’t we? You said you just had a one bedroom since the other one became your office.”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “But I can’t make you share a bed with me, sis, I’ll just go sleep on the couch-”
firmly, much more firmly than you’d ever dared speak to him before, you dared to argue. “No.”
he froze, eyes a little wide, eyebrows lowered like he was struggling to recognize you.
this is your chance. take it.
stepping closer to him, you caught his hand, tugging him towards the bed. “You’ve done so much for me. Not just tonight, but since you met me. And I’m not going to make you sleep on a couch in your own home. So either we both sleep in it, or I take the couch.”
in an instant he was scowling. “Over my dead body will you sleep on any couch, baby.”
you had him. you swallowed your smile, heat rushing into your pelvis. he was spoiling you tonight, calling you baby like this. like he couldn't help it. he hardly ever used that endearment with you. you wanted more.
“So I guess we’re sharing the bed,” you said patiently, smiling at him. “Pick your side.”
of course it wasn’t quite that simple. Kyle grumbled and protested and tried to insist on taking the couch, but you stood firm, unmovable. it wasn’t until you turned big, teary eyes on him and asked why he couldn’t share with his sister that he gave in.
he put you in the bed first, but you were glad you were laying down as you watched him strip out of his day clothes, still grumbling and worrying, muttering to himself as he moved through his room like a lion prowling its enclosure.
Kyle was grace and strength and power in a perfectly controlled package, his skin rich and luxurious, marred occasionally by a scar or decorated with a tattoo. you’d long since catalogued all of them in your sketchbooks, or at least all of the ones you’d seen, but you never got tired of looking.
distracted from your gawking, and the heat crawling over your body and clouding your head, Kyle climbed under the covers, still grumbling.
for now you kept your back to him, and since you couldn’t see it you smiled, smug and victorious. you’d never really had the opportunity to be spoiled before Kyle, but you imagined that it was something like this. always getting your way, even when you shouldn’t. and it was so good.
you made your body relax, stay still, kept your breathing as even and slow as possible, not wanting Kyle to know how every nerve in your body was alive, your pussy drenched between your thighs.
when the grumbling had stopped, you started shifting restlessly on the bed. just a little, at first. then slowly more and more noticeable, drawing his attention. demanding it, luring him in to the trap you were setting.
“Lovie,” Kyle groaned through his teeth. “Why’re you moving around over there like you’re running a race?”
fuck, he sounded so sexy when he was irritated.
you shifted again, one last time before you hurriedly stilled and then replied, quietly, “M’fine, sorry.”
a soft sigh, almost a hiss, and he moved, rising like a wave, one of his fists bracing on the other side of your body so he could stare down at you, frowning as he loomed, huge and undeniable. “Baby. I’m not gonna tell you again. We’re turning over a new leaf here, sis. You’re gonna tell your big brother everything, and you’re never gonna lie to me again, not even by omission. So don't tell me it's nothing or that you're fine. Tell me why you can’t sleep.”
you turned over a little, squeezing your legs together, fighting the urge to slip a hand under the covers. licking your lips, you worked up the courage to plant the lie you’d decided on, to bait the trap for what you really wanted. “...I’m cold.”
this time the groan that came out of Kyle was guttural, his head dropping down to rest against your collarbone, your nipples tightening in response to his sheer nearness, and your breath catching.
“I told you that-” he shook his head, giving up. “Fuck it.”
he flopped back down beside you, much nearer this time, and both of his muscular arms looped around your body, hauling you in close, tight enough against his chest you could feel every breath against your back. and he was warm, like he’d been laying in the sun and not the cold dreary evening weather in London.
“Is that better, sis?” he asked.
better? It was heaven.
your clit throbbed, and you had to swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth. your heart was racing and you hoped he couldn’t feel it. his hands were in appropriate places on your stomach but you couldn’t help but think how close they were to your tits, to your pussy, how close his cock was.
“It’s good,” you eventually managed.
against the back of your neck, you felt him grin. “Good girl.”
your eyes rolled back, and you twisted your fingers in the sheets and bit your lower lip hard to keep quiet.
blissfully ignorant, Kyle just insisted gruffly, “Now sleep, alright?”
all you could manage was a single, breathy sound that you hoped would convey something approaching agreement.
you laid there, perfectly still, waiting. waiting.
eventually his body relaxed even further, arms pulling you in closer as he dropped into sleep.
it made you tremble, trying not to whimper at the feeling of his body pressing so tight against your own. he was so big, so warm, so fucking hot.
and if you don’t have a mother anymore, some desperate, lilting voice in your head whispered, then you don’t technically have a step brother. right?
your hips shifted, slow and cautious against Kyle, holding your breath. but he didn’t stir.
he’s always been a heavy sleeper, he told you that. you can do whatever you want now.
the thought made you dizzy.
you wouldn’t touch him, not in his sleep of course, and you’d never have the courage to do it when he was awake, but maybe…maybe like this you could pretend.
it would be the closest you’d ever be to the real thing, to actually having him inside you.
you could pretend, it would be so close to the real thing. you knew how to be quiet, and quick, you’d gotten herself off in a scant few minutes just as routine before.
you could. you could you could you could -
for a moment you hung there, breathless, waiting for…something. a bolt of lighting to strike you as punishment for wanting to imagine your stepbrother was getting you off with his big, tough hands on your tender little virgin pussy. for Kyle to snap out of sleep and shove you off the bed, hissing angrily at you…
but he never would.
he never could.
he was the best big brother a girl could ask for.
that thought was what had you slipping your hand below the hem of his borrowed shirt. you were dripping around your own fingers, the smallest little sound pressed out of your chest as you brushed your clit.
he was so warm and so close, that forest and fresh air scent tinged with something dark clinging to the insides of your lungs, wrapping your head in a fog as you shifted to give yourself room to work.
and as you did, your hips began to grind. ever so gently, slowly, barely noticeable, against Kyle’s hips. not enough to wake him, not enough for him to notice, just for you to pretend.
having him this close already had you on edge, and you were dangling on the precipice, remembering feverishly how he’d looked coming to your rescue, pulling you into his chest, how he’d called you good girl on the phone that once-
in his sleep Kyle groaned, and turned. a gasp got caught in your mouth as he rolled slightly, covering your body with more of his, pinning the hand you had between your thighs awkwardly to the mattress, cutting you off right before you could cum.
you lay there a second, panting quietly, trying to think around the wild thought of how good he felt weighing you down, before he shifted in his sleep, and you felt it.
he was hard.
you whimpered, too loud, but you couldn’t fucking help it. the cock you’d literally been dreaming of for so long now was right there, tucked against the curve of your ass as he started rocking against you in his sleep, your stepbrother was having a wet fucking dream while holding you against his body-
you didn’t even have to move your fingers. you came, hard and unexpected, shuddering and shaking beneath him. your thighs shook, and his hips never stopped rolling, lazy, half-coordinated thrusts of his seeking hips, unconsciously trying to find the hot, slick hole you wanted nothing more than for him to take.
thinking was gone, out the window, out of the realm of possibilities. you didn’t need to think, you needed your brother to shove that thick length deep and make you cum on it.
but even as that wishful thought formed, you felt him shift, the face he had pressed against your neck compressing, frowning.
he was waking up.
so this is fight, flight, or freeze, you thought stupidly as Kyle lifted his head, grunting sleepily, hips still grinding down.
“Wha-” a sharp inhale, his hands bruise tight on your ribcage. “Fuck, fuck-”
the second he tried to move away a sharp, pathetic whine pressed out of you.
he froze.
you could feel his heart thundering in his chest. or maybe that was just your own, your blood roaring loud enough in your ears to drown out any sane thought about what a bad idea this was.
“...love,” he whispered. “You’re…fuck. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s alright,” you said, breathless. your thighs were still trembling. and suddenly just getting off the once wasn’t enough. it never could have been enough. “I…I don’t mind.”
Kyle paused, and your eyes nearly rolled back as your pussy throbbed at the weight of his gaze, his attention, so fully and completely on you.
“You…what? What does that mean?”
now or never. right?
he wouldn’t be angry at you. not Kyle. he’d just tell you that it was alright, but it couldn’t happen, and to go back to sleep. and that would be the end of it.
you turned your head, meeting his pinched gaze.
and very deliberately, you lifted your hips, pressing your ass against his still hard dick.
greedily you watched the flare of heat in his eyes, a small sound escaping you as his hands reflexively tightened on your body.
“B-baby…” he said warningly, “I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”
nodding, your cheek sliding against his pillowcase, you kept rubbing against his cock, your hands tight around his wrists in an effort to ensure he couldn’t leave. “I do,” you whispered. “I promise.”
he groaned, and the sound rattled through your body right to your clit. he looked like a god, bathed in the moonlight pouring in from his bedroom window.
“Lovie, this is-”
“It’s alright,” you promised, trying to grind against him the way you’d seen in porn. “Please don’t leave, please stay.”
another sound, frustrated, but almost like a moan poured from his mouth, making your body tingle. “Baby, I can’t, this isn’t-”
“Please,” you begged, tears gathering in your eyes at the thought of him pulling away from you now.
he stopped moving, eyes burning through your body.
“Stay. It’s not weird,” you promised sweetly. “It’s not, we’re not really siblings.”
his eyebrows snapped together. “Yes we fucking are. I’m your goddamn big brother.”
those words, his dark tone, the feeling of his cock slotted between your ass cheeks, it was too much to bear.
you moaned.
way too loud, your eyes rolling back as your pussy clenched around nothing.
god, why did it have to turn you on that he was your big brother?
“Oh, fuck,” Kyle cursed, something you’d never heard before in his voice. Or maybe…maybe something you’d heard hints of, but never this strong. never unleashed. something that matched the dark tinge to his cologne that haunted your dreams and fantasies. “Fucking Christ, baby.”
him calling you that only made you wetter, like always.
“If I put my hand between those thighs that pussy would be wet. Wouldn’t it?”
shock made you squeak, and then the following arousal hit you like you’d run into a goddamn wall when you’d processed what he’d actually fucking said.
“She’s crying for me, isn’t she lovie?” he growled, voice lower, darker, and he slowly lowered his body back onto yours, cock throbbing behind the thin fabric of his boxers, the head of his cock pressed up against your asshole. “Let’s see f'I’m right, hm?”
before you could think he’d slipped a hand beneath you, right between your thighs, cupping your whole sex in his palm like he’d done it a million times before.
you sobbed, sparks dancing behind your eyelids, hips bucking weakly against his hand, trying to get some friction.
“God, I fucking knew it,” he grunted, squeezing a little, then drawing his hand back and spanking your cunt, making you cry out. “Shit, my little sister’s got a wet fucking pussy because I called myself her big brother, is that right pretty girl?”
what else could you do but be honest? Your head bobbed, some slutty babble bubbling out of you, you didn’t even know what you were trying to say, maybe just his name or ‘please’ or even ‘thank you’.
since the day you’d met him your body had belonged to him. you wanted him to take it.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, and shoved his hips forward, forcing you to grind against the heel of his hand as his fingers traced your hole. it caught you so off guard you nearly choked on your own moan, body jolting against his. “Think I didn't hear you on the phone, moaning like my personal goddamn dreams come to life when I told you not to dress like that where other blokes could see you? Think I didn't know you were getting off on your big brother telling you to keep this pussy locked up tight for him? Think I wasn't fucking my hand listing to you whine and moan like that on the phone with me?"
he'd known? all this time, he'd known? "Ky-Kyle-"
"You've been torturing me with it," he accused, his hand squeezing tight, grinding his cock against your ass when you jolted as he brushed your clit just right, light flashing behind your eyes at the sensation. "It's been torture listening to you cum again and again just from me telling you what to do, trying to hide it from me. Torture, haven't I been good to you? Aren't you gonna apologize for torturing me, baby?"
guilt and pleasure swirled inside of you, and mindless with the need to keep his hands on your body and comfort him to draw out that hurt tone in his words, you rushed to say, "M'sorry, Kyle."
"Nah," he grunted, spanking your pussy again and kissing the crest of your ear as you sobbed, "Say it sweeter, need a bigger apology than that, don't I deserve it?"
"M' sorry," you cried, your hands around his wrist, hips twitching, not sure if you wanted more of that spanking or less. "M'so sorry, didn't mean to be mean to my big brother, m'sorry, m'sorry!"
he shushed you sweetly, kissing your ear again, his hand now gentle as he cupped your pussy, squeezing it like it belonged to him.
didn't it?
"Thank you," he said warmly directly in your ear. his fingers traced your slick folds, the sounds making your face heat. "That's a sweet apology, baby. But I want you to make it up to me. Can you do that? Won't you make all that teasing up to your big brother?"
you tried to answer but his fingers circled your clit and all you could manage was a broken half syllable.
"Say yes," he whispered. "Say you'll make it up to me, however I want."
through the shake in your hands, in your thighs, pussy pulsing against his hand you nodded fervently. "Yes, please, wanna make it up to you, whatever you want, please!"
"Shit, that’s what I fucking thought.”
in a flash you were on your back, staring up at him. your arms were pinned above your head by one of his hands, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip even as your pussy clenched on nothing. he looked like a man gone mad, pushed too far beyond all reason. he looked starving. and you were the main course.
“I’m your big brother,” he repeated, making your knees tighten around his hips, “but that’s not all you want me to be, is it baby? You want me to act like your boyfriend too, don’t you?”
fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Yes, yes, fuck, please, Kyle, want you to be both, I need it.” the words burst out of you without running through your head for approval first.
it made him smile, slightly mean at the corners. “D’you know why you want that, sweetheart?”
you shook your head.
he leaned down, catching your mouth in a kiss. you gasped into it, too startled to even respond at first, trying hard to play catch up to the way he was devouring your mouth, licking over your teeth like he was making a point.
“You want me to be your big brother, and you want me to be your boyfriend, because you know that only your big brother could ever take proper care of you and this sweet little pussy. No one else could take care of you like me, could make you this wet.”
god, wasn’t that the truth. you lifted your mouth up in silent offering to him. “Only you, Kyle.”
“Fuck.” his hands tore at the henley he’d put you in, groaning when he sat back to get a good look at you, bathed in moonlight. “God, look at that. Look at you, sweetheart, my sweet, perfect little sister, so horny for her big brother you had to ride his cock while he was sleeping, huh?”
the blush on your cheeks burned, heightened by Kyle’s wicked smile, by his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing hard, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
“Such pretty tits, baby. And that sweet little pussy, fuck.” his gaze snapped back to your face, suddenly hard, fingers squeezing tight enough to make you squeal. “No one else has ever seen any of this, have they? You’ve been good for me and kept all of it safe, just for me, haven’t you? Haven’t you baby?”
nodding fervently, you said, “Yes, yes, just f’you, Kyle, fuck, only wanted you to see, no one else, I promise I promise-”
he let go of your nipples, and you slumped back against the sheets, panting, unsure if it was in relief or disappointment.
“Good girl,” he crooned.
your whole body quaked, another too loud moan pressed out of you from the praise.
a shuffled of fabric had you turning your head, and you whined with need, knees twitching up to open yourself wider in silent offering as you watched him shove down his boxers, pulling out his cock.
your jaw dropped. “That…that won’t…Kyle I can’t…it’s so big!”
he chuckled, one hand catching your chin, lifting your face to his own. “Nah, trust me, you can take it,” he crooned, kissing you sweetly, each pass of his lips over yours a drug that pulled you deeper into the red hot need that clouded your every thought until only being good for your big brother remained. “You wanna take it, don’t you, lovie? You’ve been wanting this dick so bad, haven’t you? Been dreaming about your big brother’s cock.”
the hand on your chin shook your face slightly, making you open your eyes to meet his hard gaze.
“Say it, baby. Or I can't give you an inch.”
the threat alone nearly made you cry, and you scrambled to comply. “Yes, I’ve wanted it so long, Kyle,” you said, clutching at his sides, forgetting all about your earlier hesitance. “Thought about it so much, please, please, please give it to me, I need it.”
he hummed, fucking his tongue into your mouth in a slow, drugging kiss, his weight shifting over your body, pressing you down, down into the mattress.
“Say ‘I need my big brother’s cock’,” he murmured against your lips.
“I need my big brother’s cock, please!”
he groaned, and you - you felt it, felt his cock twitch against your inner thigh.
fuck.
fuck.
Kyle liked it as much as you did. how long had he liked it? had he looked at you and wanted you, the same way you’d looked and wanted him?
you’d give it to him. every fantasy, every dream, every idle horny thought and desire. anything and everything for your big brother.
it was like the last of your nerves vanished with that realization, and you laid back, secure in the knowledge you were about to get everything you’d ever wanted.
“Please,” you begged prettily, watching Kyle’s eyes glimmer, feeling the teasing heat of his cock carefully evading the lifting of your hips trying to rub against him. “Please give it to me? Please, Kyle? I’ll be good, I promise, I promise.”
the smile on his mouth made your pulse pick up.
“There's my girl.”
the weight of his cock finally, finally, finally settled against your cunt, and you moaned, mouth dropping open and staying open as the tip lodged right against you. he was so hot, it felt like he was burning, and you needed all of it inside you so you could burn right along with him.
“Can feel her clenching,” Kyle grit out, and you nodded dumbly. “Shit, haven’t even made you cum proper and you’re already so pretty n' cockdrunk. Knew you’d be so perfect, lovie, so good for your big brother.”
he shoved forward, burying half of his cock deep in one push, and you screamed, nails clawing up his sides, the stretch of pain and the friction of pleasure clattering about in your insides until you couldn’t separate the two.
all you could see was Kyle, dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, eyes burning burning burning. all you could feel was his body, weighing you down into the mattress, stretching you so wide you feared you’d split in half, every breath either of you took causing him to rub against something that was driving you insane.
all you could smell was him. the forest, fresh air, that tinge of darkness, thicker now, heavier. and sex. who would've known that sex had a smell, and it smelled like heaven, like taking your big brother’s cock for the first time.
vaguely you were aware that you were saying something, or trying to at least. maybe asking for more, begging him to go easy, to take it slow, to let you adjust.
he leaned down, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you close. he kissed your cheek sweetly. “S’alright, baby, you can take it. Be good for your big brother, hm? Be good, and take this-”
without warning he pulled his hips back and shoved forward again, burying himself balls deep. you screamed loud and shrill, your vision whiting out, all thought utterly vanishing into basic words like:
big.
hot.
fuck.
“Fuck, there's my girl,” Kyle moaned, his hips starting to roll, not giving you a second to adjust. “There's my fucking girl, fuck, you took that so good, sweetheart, take it so good when your brother fucks you, you were made for this, weren’t you? Hm? Is that it? Is that what you wanted?”
yes, yes, yes, that was what you wanted, all you’d ever wanted, even if it hurt, you wanted it to hurt, wanted to feel it, to have to feel it the next day, the next week, to remember who’d done it to you, every moment of every day.
tears were running down your cheeks, and you only knew because Kyle told you.
“Look so sweet crying on my cock, so pretty, that’s a girl, that’s a girl, fucking cry for me, can feel that hot little virgin cunt fucking clenching, she’s ready to fucking cum, there's a good girl, my good fucking girl, perfect baby sister, love you so fucking much, god!"
you were close, you were so close, you would’ve already cum but you wanted to hear Kyle, hanging on to every syllable, writhing against him on his cock as he forced you to take every fat inch, like he was carving a path through your insides just for his cock, a space no one else could ever possibly hope to fill.
a space he’d never let anyone else even try to.
and those hot words kept falling from his mouth, driving you higher and higher. “Such a good girl, such a good fucking girl. Saved this perfect fucking pussy all for me, waited until I got you alone so you could ride it like a good fucking girl, god, wanted this so fucking much, no idea, no fucking idea.”
he turned his head, sucking a mark on your throat, thrusts growing harder, rougher, your eyes rolling back in your head, a faint roar building in your ears.
“Thank me,” he growled, demanding. “Thank me for it, baby, be a good girl and say fucking thank you.”
“Thank you,” you cried obediently, barely hanging on, hardly able to think, just doing what he told you to, just like always, and wasn’t that a fucking relief. “Thank you, thank you thank you, such a good big brother, love you so much, feels so good, Kyle !”
he was pounding your cunt, hard enough that all you could do was fucking take it, tears streaming down your face as the pleasure built too high, too hot, too fast, too much. you couldn’t take it, you couldn’t bear it, it was gonna break you-
“Cum,” he ordered, almost sweet in your ear. “God, cum on your big brothers cock, make me fill you up with my cum, that’s what you fucking want, isn’t it?”
the entire world vanished.
the orgasm that followed his command ripped through you, blotting out breath, shutting out light and sound and scent and feel.
your body locked, every muscle contracting, and the scream he drove out of you could’ve woken the dead.
the last thing you felt before you passed out was Kyle’s teeth on your neck, and something hot splashing against your inner walls.
when you came to, you almost thought it was a dream. you were clean and dry again, and redressed in Kyle’s henley.
for a moment, you froze, devastated, panic clawing up your throat.
but then you shifted, and pain lanced up through your insides, making you hiss through your teeth and freeze.
Kyle clicked his tongue, brow furrowed as he moved to brace himself on a fist to hover over you, his other hand softly rubbing over your side like he was quieting an animal.
“Shh, just lay there a second, baby.” he leaned down, catching your mouth in a soft, sweet kiss. “Just relax. That was a little rough for your first time.”
first time.
“It…” your voice was rough, barely a croak, but you had to confirm. “It really happened? I didn’t dream it?”
Kyle’s face softened, lovewarm and sweet. “Nah, lovie. Not a dream. Not this time.”
fresh tears, this time of relief, pricked your eyes, your fingers pulling at his sides. “Thank god.”
he chuckled, moving slowly, covering your body and pressing you back into the mattress.
strangely, you felt like you could only breathe properly again when he was completely on top of you, like the world’s best weighted blanket.
“You did so good for me,” Kyle praised, kissing your preening smile. “So pretty, sis. I’m gonna let you get a little rest, but then I’m gonna have you drink some water and eat something, alright?”
you pouted, jutting out your lower lip at him. “No. Wanna sleep.”
chuckling, he kissed your forehead, his hands squeezing your hips, your waist, your ribcage, massaging the sore muscles. “You’re gonna be good and do what I tell you. Won’t you?”
“Yes, Kyle.”
you always would.
“Good girl.” he nudged your noses together. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised quietly into the dark of the night. “Exactly like a big brother should.”
you shivered, grinning hard against his mouth. your hands rubbed clumsily, almost drunkenly over his broad shoulders. "Did Soap call me your girlfriend?"
Kyle froze.
frowning, you turned your head, only to catch him with the guiltiest face you'd ever seen.
"Well," he said slowly. you'd swear he was blushing. "Um. Y'see..."
you just laughed, drowning out his feeble excuses. you didn't even need them. icing on the perfect cake that was today. and suddenly you could feel it. a weight that had been holding you down your whole life, pinning you in place, freezing you in time, locked in a standstill watching as life happened around you and not to you, it all just...vanished.
breathing was easy, even with Kyle muttering (pouting) as he pressed you down against the mattress, his heavy body still the world's best weighted blanket. you were warmer than you'd ever been, happier than you'd ever dreamed. safer than you'd ever wanted, wanted more than you'd ever fantasized.
"What're you thinking about?" Kyle asked softly, kissing your cheek.
turning your head, you pressed your mouth to his, sleep clumsy and soft. "Love you," was all you said. "So much."
the corners of his mouth turned up against yours, and he pulled you even closer somehow. "Love you too, sweetheart. More than you know."
Graves is a long suffering twin to a worthless flop of a politician. It has unexpected yet extremely priceless benefits. wc: 6849 / Single Moms series Part 1
cw: heavyyyyy manipulation, gun makes an appearance, murder threat (not to oc), possessive behavior, slight age gap but it's not overt, Graves is just kind of a pervert but he makes it hot, pregnancy kink, accidental cheating (not between graves/oc), single mom oc, pregnant oc, slut shaming words, plus size oc, chubby chaser Graves, love+lust at first sight, Graves is a gross horn dog who thinks pregnancy is hot
It was sheer dumb fucking luck that he even met her.
Years later he’ll think about that moment where he debated not running that yellow light, or when he’d thought about not dropping by his brother’s penthouse at all, and he’ll get a cold chill down his spine and immediately call his wife.
At the time though, he wasn’t aware of what the future held. All he knew was that his dumbass bureaucrat brother had been whining about his security for some reason, and whenever his mama’s boy golden child twin whined to their parents they turned around to nag Graves incessantly until he fixed whatever it was that had most recently displeased his royal fuckhead.
So he’d finally given in and driven up to take a look at the security of the place in person, having found nothing lacking or breached in the system his company’d installed not six months ago.
He was about to head into the building when he bumped into her.
Or, more literally, when she’d been launched at him, crashing into his chest with a soft, pained sound, the wind knocked out of her.
He wasn’t affected, what pussy ass kind of soldier would he make if he couldn’t handle getting tackled by a girl half his size? His arms came up to cradle her against him, shielding her, something primal in his gut-deep initial reaction to pull her closer instead of pushing her away, all before he even noticed the cruel sneer on the doorman’s face, before he registered the parting shot of ‘whore’ that left the man’s lips.
Graves let instinct handle it from there.
He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face but he could feel her shaking like a leaf, could hear her crying, the fast, quiet, panicked kind when you were trying your fucking hardest to stop and you just couldn’t.
That was enough for him.
His gun was out of it’s holster and leveled at the doorman’s forehead with ease, a cold smile playing on his face as he watched the son of a bitch go paper white with fear. Graves’ other hand cupped the back of the woman’s head, gentle but firm enough she’d be good for him, not be tempted to leave her new home tucked against his chest and see the weapon positioned to strike.
“You got an ugly mouth, ever been told that before?”
For some reason, the sound of his voice, even as careful as he was to keep himself controlled, keep it level and even friendly, made his sweet crybaby flinch.
Soothing her, he ran his fingers through soft dark hair, winding it around his digits, feeling it catch on his callouses and scars.
“S-sir, I apologize-”
“Not to me, motherfucker,” he snapped, letting his temper through his voice a little.
“M-miss, I-”
Nope. Immediately no. When the doorman addressed her his pretty damsel just tucked herself tighter against Graves, hiding her face, letting him handle it like a good girl.
Fuck, he hoped she was ready to give up a significant portion of alone time in her future because he was gonna take up as much as he could goddamn well fucking get. But first things first.
He tapped the gun directly against the doorman’s forehead, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at the same time, the scent of urine in the air making him want to laugh. “Naw, I don’t think that’s good enough. Here, I’ll tell you what you can do. You can go inside, get your shit, and go find a new job. Preferably one not in Texas, so I won’t feel the need to come find you and give you a lecture on how to talk to a lady.”
Grin more like bared teeth, he flicked the safety back on and lowered his gun, slipping it back into place as if he’d never had it out. “Well. Better get going, huh?”
The doorman didn’t even go back inside, just took off running down the street.
Graves rolled his eyes, his now free hand rubbing over the pretty, hiccuping back half hidden by dark silky hair.
“Alright, honey, he’s gone.” Graves made a mental note to tell his team to scrub the surveillance around the area. Just in case. “Just you and me now, I gotcha, sugar, I gotcha. Cry it out, baby, atta girl.”
Any decent man would’ve left it at that, let her dry her eyes and sent her on her way with a polite, dickless smile.
Graves wasn’t a decent man. So he didn’t.
Something inside of him was clanging an alarm bell he’d never heard go off, like a glaring klaxon of ‘Caution - Important Life Event’ that made him pause, made him fight back against the deep bred instinct to do the polite, frigidly distant thing and turn her loose.
Even as he thought it, he hugged her tighter, feeling her body loosen in response, lean heavier against his in relief.
Turn her loose?
Naw.
Not on his life.
He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to get a good look at that face and ask who he had to kill to make her smile.
And that was just to start.
She felt like heaven pressed against him, plush and fucking soft. He liked women with a bit of curve, enough that he could really see it when his fingers dug into their hips, that their bodies swelled more than they plateaued.
Stupider men had called him some uglier versions of ‘chubby chaser’ but the truth of the matter was that he liked a woman who could take it when he fucked her like he meant it.
That was exactly how this pretty little thing was built, all softness and sweetness and tears for him to dry.
Fuck, the devil couldn’t get him so he’d sent an angel who ticked his every box, even the one about a rescue fantasy. What a way to go though.
Briefly he closed his eyes, dipping his head down to press his nose into her silky hair as he maneuvered them both to the shelter of his truck, needing to pin her against something and unwilling to drag her inside his brother’s ugly ass building. He’d make do with the tools at hand.
As he moved her, he took a deep breath of the heady scent of her skin. Fuck, she smelled like summer distilled, honey sweet and thick on his tongue, down the back of his throat. She smelled like Texas summer roses and being outside in the sun all afternoon.
He wanted it in his mouth. Wanted to know if her pussy tasted as good as she smelled, or fuck, even better.
To her credit, she was being so good for him. Doing exactly what she should, exactly what he told her to. She shivered with something like relief and went lax when he crowded her up against the shaded side of his truck. Clinging onto him as she cried it out, letting him cuddle her close and rub his hands in soothing circles over her back, keenly aware that her body was at most two very thin layers of summer breathable fabric away from his bare palms.
It made his mouth water.
But that would have to come later.
First he had to fix whatever made her cry before he could make her cry for all the right reasons with three fingers inside her and his mouth on her clit, making her cum for the fifth time in a row.
When her sobs had turned to sniffles, after he let her sneak her hands up and wipe her face, gather herself a little (but not completely, he wanted to keep an edge over her just in case her docility snapped and she tried to brush him off), he curled a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his.
Fuck.
In the back of his head, some dark, lethal voice crooned:
Mine.
Fuck the devil sending her to tempt him, she had to be from God. No one else could’ve known exactly what got him going this well. She was his fucking type head to toe, and it made his body ache dangerously.
God, she was so pretty. Big dark eyes, soft mouth, round cheeks, Roman nose. He just wished the tears still clinging like diamonds to her lashes and the puffy, red-raw cast to her lips was because he’d had his cock down her throat.
Again, that would come later. He’d make sure of it.
“Sugar,” he crooned, cupping her face in his hands, brushing her tears away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
There was a growing, baffled expression on her face, like she’d tried to put two pieces of a puzzle together and they hadn’t fit. “I…you…Frank, what-”
Hearing his brother’s name on her mouth made something vicious snap inside of him, and he just barely caught the growl in his chest. “Let’s cut that off at the pass, honey, Frank’s my dumb bastard brother. I’m Phillip.”
At least she’d never get him mixed up with Fred. Fred hardly ever worked out, other than the odd jog, not to mention the distinct scar over Graves’ face, over his cheek and slashing up his right ear.
They’d been truly identical when they were young, but that hadn’t been true for years and years.
“Phillip?”
Fuck, that was so much fucking better. His mood instantly improved by a factor of a million. “Damn, honey, I like the way that sounds when you say it.”
Her breath caught, eyes widening, cheeks flushing.
Tugging at her lower lip with his thumb, he leaned in slightly, skin buzzing, blood racing. “Say it again for me, hm?”
For a second, he thought she would. But the she shook her head, hard, pulling out of his hold, trying to shake off the transfixed glaze in her eyes. “Wait, just - wait.”
Damn. Here he’d been wondering if she’d let him pet her pussy out there on the street, or if she’d make him put her in his truck to get her to cum on his hand for the first time.
He let her retreat, but not too far. He kept one hand planted above her head on his truck, his body caging her in still. “I assume you know my brother, then?”
Again, she flinched, tears gathering fast in those pretty doe eyes like polished mahogany. She tried to look away, and he gently caught her chin, turning her face back up to him.
“Come on, sugar, tell me. I’ll kick his ass into next week for you if you want.”
She laughed, or tried to, the sound wet and unconvincing.
“It’s - it’s nothing,” she said shakily, still not convincing him in the slightest. “I probably shouldn’t - he said not to-”
About a hundred different possibilities for her presence, her tears, boiled down sharply to less than ten.
“I don’t answer to my brother,” he said, catching a few of her tears on his thumbs, gently brushing them away. “Do you wanna tell me here, sugar, or do you wanna go get a cup of coffee and something to eat first? You look like you need something sweet, honey.”
Her mouth worked, and he could see her arguing with herself. Good girl, fucking smart girl, trying to analyze him, weighing her safety and her suspicion with her need to be comforted, to be listened to.
It’s alright sugar, let me in. I may eat you whole same as any other animal but I swear you’ll like it. Be a good girl and let me take good care of you.
“I’ll follow you in my truck,” he said, giving her the appearance of a peace offering of neutral travel arrangements. “You pick the place. And if when we get there you decide you don’t want to talk, that’s alright too. I’ll just buy you a coffee and a brownie and let you alone, honey.”
Yeah right.
Whether she knew it or not, she was his now. Sights firmly set, target locked. No going back.
She sniffled, shaking her head, a smile trying to fight its way to the surface. “How’d you know I liked brownies?”
Chuckling, he tapped her under her soft, round chin, winking. “Sweet thing like you? Course you’d like brownies.”
She let him hold her car door open for her to get in, blushing faintly as she did, and as promised he followed her to a nearby bakery. It was a cute place, some small business and not a chain or an overcrowded tourist trap piled twenty deep at the counter with kids desperate to take Instagram pictures.
The awning outside was a light green striped with white, and strangely he thought it fit his girl completely. There were some wrought iron bistro tables scattered outside, a few occupied, and a chalkboard menu advertising the lemon poppyseed muffins.
Not exactly his usual haunt, but he was here for the company.
He kept his smug smile to himself when she got out of the car after he’d parked and he noticed that she’d touched up her makeup.
Even so she looked a half second away from bolting, her freshly applied lip gloss unable to disguise the hesitation in the line of her mouth.
He couldn’t have that.
Grinning the smile at her that had been known to cause panties to literally drop, he held the bakery door open for her. “After you, sugar.”
She paused, but then gathered her courage and stepped through. He followed close behind.
He kept a hand on the small of her back, crowding her just enough that she’d be aware of it, but not close enough she could call attention to it without sounding ridiculous.
He knew how to play these games, and he usually didn’t bother. But for her? Fuck, he wasn’t above psy-ops if that was what it fucking took.
She was a tantalizingly innocent lamb left wounded and alone in the forest, and he was a wolf half starved from winter, ready to feast.
She ordered a raspberry iced tea (probably related to the climbing early summer temp), and a brownie, just as he’d predicted. Although he had her pegged as an iced latte girl, which was curious.
The startled look on her face when he ordered an iced blonde roast coffee with hazelnut and vanilla syrup, cinnamon powder, and whole milk made him grin and wink at her. “I’m a soldier,” he volunteered, “I take my luxuries when I can get ‘em.”
Much like her. Because she was a luxury, and what a luxury she was. Manicured nails, dainty jewelry (real gold but not real stones, inexpensive but tasteful and hinting at a job that paid fairly well but not buckets, probably something in marketing or maybe even publishing), glossy hair down her back tamed from where he’d had his hands in it not long before (the sides pinned back with a white bow on each side that matched her dress), and a cute little sundress that clung in all the perfect fucking places and made her mouthwateringly delicious, just short enough it would’ve made his mother’s eyebrows raise.
He sure as shit wasn’t fucking complaining. God, imagining those legs around his hips, around his head? Fuck.
He handed the bored girl at the till a fifty before his little lamb even got her card out. And when the teller opened her mouth to ask about how he’d like his change he smiled at her and said, “Keep the tip,” which cheered her considerably.
Once they had their drinks and her brownie, he led her to one of the little tables by the floor to ceiling windows at the front of the bakery.
He didn’t have to sit with his back to a wall like a fucking asshole anymore, even if he occasionally preferred to, and he knew she’d be more comfortable in the sunlight pouring through the glass. The table he selected was tucked slightly away from the counter, shielded by a convenient wall, and away from the only other occupied tables in the bakery.
As much privacy as they were going to get, and good enough for him.
He watched her shift in her seat, clearly unsure of how to start. She’d made up her mind to tell him (for the moment, he’d seen her change it at least three times just while they were ordering), he could feel that, but it was clear just by looking at her that she didn’t know how to begin. Pretty thing, he’d handle that part for her just fine.
“Let’s start with names.” He smiled warmly when she looked up from her iced tea she was pretending to drink. “You know mine. Tell me yours, honey.”
“Allison,” she said immediately, and his gut clenched around a hot pulse of desire right down to his cock. “I’m Allison.”
He let his eyes travel slowly over her face, the curves and divots of her bone structure (some animal hind brain part of him saw the hint of dimples in her cheeks and started muttering at him that he needed to paint them with his cum), down her pretty neck to the soft swell of her tits in her cotton sundress.
When he looked back up at her, she was wide eyed, glossy lips parted softly.
“Allison,” he said, letting loose a little of his control, letting the faintest edge of the burning desire she’d dared awaken in him bleed through, just to test her see how she reacted, and fuck if she didn’t pass with flying colors when her cheeks flushed and her pupils dilated like he’d touched her pussy. God, such a good fucking girl, where’d she been all his life? “Good to meet you.”
A small, careful smile blossomed on her face, but it shattered immediately, and he watched her curl in on herself like her chest had caved in. “God, what am I even - I shouldn’t have done this, this was such a bad idea, I’m so sorry-”
Red alert. Red fucking alert.
“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” he crooned, catching her wrist gently as she tried to rise from her chair, locking eyes with her when she gathered the courage to look at him. “Now I told you that all you had to do was say you changed your mind and I’d respect that, baby,” a bald faced fucking lie, “and that’s still true. I understand my brother musta done something awful to you to make you balk like this, but I promise you one thing. I am not him. I’m nothing like him.”
Now that part was true.
Much to his great relief and his parent’s long suffering dismay.
Oh well. In the end it’d worked out for the best. His brother was a dog begging for scraps in Texas politics, and Shadow Company brought in nine figure contracts on the regular without blinking.
“It doesn’t have to be anything other than a stranger with a familiar face just listening to you talk.” He squeezed her wrist.
Come on, sugar, be a good girl and lay your worries in my lap. Lay that pretty head in my jaws, I won’t bite down too hard, honest.
He could see her hesitating, back on that tightrope she’d gotten on and off of so many times in the last half hour alone.
“Judgment free,” he promised, dragging his thumb over the thin, fragile skin on the inside of her wrist, trying to beat down the animalistic need inside of him to mark her somehow. Only made it better that she shivered when he did it, and didn’t try to pull away, actually shifted a little closer.
Atta fucking girl, lean in, honey, give it to me.
She sniffled, ducking her head. “You’re going to hate me,” she whispered.
“No,” he said immediately, holding her wrist tighter. “Fuck, sugar, how could anyone hate a sweet thing like you?”
Her eyes were miserable as she looked up at him. He watched her take a deep breath, bracing herself for the fallout. Brave fucking girl.
“I slept with your brother.”
He’d figured that.
“It’s a free country, baby, I should know, that’s my job.” For all intents and purposes, anyway, or at least that was the line they sold angry or poverty stricken teenagers looking to belong.
“He’s married,” she breathed, horror and disgust thick in her voice, clouding her expression. “I swear, I swear I didn’t know, I never - I’m not - that’s not - I would never-”
She was working herself back up to hysterics, poor thing.
He tugged on her wrist, making the same soothing sort of sound he made when the Shadows were getting a bullet dug out of their body in the field with nothing but him and a knife to help them through it. “Aw, hell, honey, he’s a goddamn sonuvabitch, not your fault if a man takes off his ring and cheats. You’re not responsible for him. Guarantee it isn’t the first time.”
For either Frank or his wife. Neither of them had what anyone could call a ‘faithful’ view of their relationship.
But that didn’t soothe Allison. “It was just one time, I - and now, with the ba-”
She cut herself off quick, but he’d heard the first syllable, and that was all he needed. Doe eyes were wide as they swung to his, self-flagellation melting into cold fear on her face, waiting for him to react the same way any good ol’ Texas boy would react.
Fortunately for her, he’d lost a hell of a lot of those good ol’ Texas boy rules in the Corps. Just wasn’t room for ‘em in the desert. And besides, he’d already decided he’d have her. No matter what it took.
She hadn’t meant to tell him, but he’d have gotten it out of her anyway.
Naw, this didn’t change a thing for him, didn’t quiet or cool the ache in his hands one fucking bit.
He dragged his thumb over her racing pulse, greedy for the contact she’d allow him. “I knew you were an iced coffee girl,” he grinned, teasing her. “You keep looking at that raspberry tea like it’s a snake that’s gonna getcha.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “You - how - is that really all you have to say?”
Shrugging, he took a sip of his coffee. “Sugar, religious judgment should be left to people with a little less blood on their hands.”
He watched her process that, first confusion and then the flash of recognition when she remembered his offhand comment about being a soldier, followed by a warm sort of look in her eyes like she wanted to come close to him and tell him his hands weren’t bloody at all.
If she only knew…but then he’d make sure she never would.
That might even be fun, once she felt a little more comfortable with him, to let her crawl into his lap and tell him she didn’t think he was a monster, kiss his mouth blissfully unaware of all the things his hands had done as they ripped the clothes off her body to fuck her raw.
Putting his half empty drink down, he leaned in closer over the little table, breaking off a piece of her brownie and lifting it to her lips. “So you found out and went to go tell his royal fuckhead.”
The heat of her lips was a delicious sensation against the pads of his fingers, slightly sticky with gloss as she accepted the bite of brownie, still too thrown by his non-reaction to her pregnancy with his married-to-another-woman-brother’s child to have the brain capacity to object to him feeding her by hand (like an animal, fuck, he was discovering something about himself here he simply did not have any expectations of having but fuck if this wasn’t doing something for him).
She nodded slowly when he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to confirm the timeline.
Good girl.
“And he must’ve been his charming self.” God, he could fucking imagine it. His brother, lecturing from the pedestal their mother put him on as first born, smug and righteous and nauseating.
Frank always did like to lecture about anything and everything, often with no goddamn clue what the fuck he was even talking about.
Looking back Graves wondered if he’d started tuning Frank out even in the womb. It certainly felt like he’d had to do it all his life, at any rate.
No, he could imagine what Frank must’ve been like when Allison dropped by and discovered he was married and told him about the baby. The picture in his head of it happening set his teeth on edge, made his trigger finger itch.
Allison’s eyes went tight, and she let her gaze drop. “I swear I didn’t know he was married.”
Of course she hadn’t. His girl wasn’t mistress material, though she was certainly fucking gorgeous enough. No, she was all wife, soft curves and clean hands and sweet perfume. Pink lip gloss and a diamond solitaire in a yellow gold setting, that was her.
Cupping her cheek, he lifted her face back up. “I believe you,” he said firmly, no room for argument or question.
The tense line of her shoulders eased, and her face turned into his palm. Just a little.
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but no less fervent for it. No less heartfelt. “God, it’s been such an awful day.”
Maybe the first half. He could guarantee the second half would be better. Grasping her jaw, he asked, “Sugar, how would you feel about giving my brother a little payback? And maybe getting to know me better at the same time?”
He could take a step back from things for a bit, have the Shadows focus on domestic ops until he got this pretty thing locked down tight on his dick and in his life.
Because the longer he was near her, the more certain he was about that instinct that had had him cradling her closer to him instead of putting her gently back on her feet when she’d gotten tossed into his arms. This girl was his, had always been meant to be his.
The baby didn’t bother him a bit. If she chose not to keep it, he’d take her anywhere she needed to have it done. And if she chose to keep it…well. Frank was his twin after all. Same DNA right down to every last gene.
No one would ever be able to tell the difference, not even him or Frank. Because at the end of it all, he knew he could make the baby feel like his. Fuck enough of himself into Allison it would wipe anything else right out of her head.
Once he made his sweet little Allison love him, once he got his ring on her pretty finger, even she would forget that their firstborn baby wasn’t made with his cock. And if she ever remembered, ever felt guilty about it, he’d just give her another and add a fat diamond to that charm bracelet on her wrist, spoil her until she forgot what she’d even been so upset about in the first place.
Mind made up, decision made, future set in stone, just like that. And Allison, none the wiser, still puzzling through his offer.
“You…you want to…are you asking me out? After what I just told you?” She blinked at him, searching his face. “Why?”
“Before that pretty head goes spinning off in a weird direction, I’ll tell you three things. One, I’m not gonna sway you one way or another about the baby. That’s not why I wanna get to know you better. You get to decide what you wanna do, and when you do, no matter what your decision, I will be there with you.”
He could taste the ‘why’ that bubbled off of her tongue and gently pinched her chin between his thumb and curled pointer finger, pulling her mouth open slightly, silencing her.
“Because two, I’m a gut instinct sort of man. I don’t question my gut, for right or wrong it’s what I follow.” He winked. “My gut just likes the look of you, honey. And three, if you want to do this the same rules apply. Your pace, your choice how it goes.”
Another lie, he’d get what he wanted through fair means or foul, and make sure she never knew the difference. But one could always hope people made the right decisions first before you made it for them.
Mahogany eyes narrowed at him, mind whirling behind them. “So if I told you I wanted you to take me to a clinic, right now?”
“Let’s get in the truck, I’ll take you there then take you home. Probably have to fly out of state ‘cause Texas loves fucking around in people’s private shit, but you say the word and we’ll go.”
Her chin lifted in challenge. “And if I said I wanted to keep it?”
“Great. I’ll have a nephew or a son in nine months.”
“A s-son?!”
“Well yeah, honey, that’s how dating works if things go well. Your kids become our kids.” He tilted his head, grinning at her. “I like you throwing these scenarios at me, baby. Tell me how I’m doing, am I passing the class, professor?”
“Don’t - don’t-”
“Don’t what? Flirt? I mean I can try, but it’s gonna be hard with you around sugar, I gotta warn you right now.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes and throwing her free hand up in surrender. But notably, not the one he had hold of. That one stayed right where it was, like if she thought she didn’t move it he wouldn’t realize he was still tracing the veins in her wrist. “I’ve just had an extremely eventful morning, can you let me catch my breath?”
He chuckled. “I’ll let you catch whatever you want, ‘cept a cold. Like I said, if we do this, we do this at your pace.”
The only truthful part of that was that he knew how to make her feel like it was her decision and not his influencing things along. She deserved to have the stained glass, Prince Charming on a white charger, fairytale love story, he wouldn’t ruin that for her. It would just be a bit more of a whirlwind than not.
Graves wasn’t all that patient at heart. Not when something like her was waiting for him on the other side.
“This is weird,” she said, trying one last ditch argument. “Right? He’s your twin brother.”
“Last time he and I were ever on the same page was in the womb, and maybe not even then. Think I’m closer with my maid than him. Doubt he’d know my birthday if it wasn’t also his. Etcetera etcetera. Next argument.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“That’s why they call it dating, sugarcube. Next.”
“What if you get to know me and you hate me? Or I have the baby and you can’t love it cause it’s not yours?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what kinda bitch boys you’re used to dealing with, but that’s not me, so put that second one out of your head entirely, you hear me honey? The baby, if you decide to have it, is family and that’s enough. Period, end of story. And so long as you don’t go selling American military secrets to the Iranians or the Russians you’ll be good on that first one.”
Allison stared at him, the slightest glimmering sparking back to life in those dark pretty doe eyes.
Squinting at her slightly, he smirked. “Actually, scratch that. You ever wanna commit treason you just come tell me and bat those pretty eyes at me and I’ll just give you a spanking and call it a day.”
“Phillip!”
“What, baby?”
“Be serious!” In spite of herself, she was blushing, the color back in her face, a genuine smile there as she fought off laughter.
“I’m completely serious, angel, don’t think I’m not. Can’t commit treason and get away with it completely, spanking’s non-negotiable honey, I’m sorry.”
She laughed, unable to stop it, and his whole chest squeezed, cock throbbing in his pants.
Yes.
This was his fucking wife.
God he couldn’t fucking wait.
“Alright,” she giggled, eyes sparkling, only the faintest trace of worry still lingering there. “Alright, I give in. I’ll go on a date with you. On one condition.”
Smirking, he raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Allison threaded their fingers together, hers soft and cool in his own. “Our first date can’t be with your family. I want us to have a plan prepared. I want to make your brother so stressed out he throws up.”
With Frank that would be an easily achieved objective, he’d always had a weak stomach. Even as the Agriculture Commissioner of the state of Texas that was still true. Dealing dirty under the table for kickbacks and kissing up to everyone around him at all times had only made Frank more paranoid and anxious of getting caught.
Pity.
Some of the best men Graves’d known had been cauterized in the crucible of political backstabbing. Of course, those men had started out at least halfway decent, and brother or not, Graves would never claim that Frank was anything close to decent.
Allison wanting to make him throw up was a fun little twist, and he found himself ravenous for more glimpses of the real woman he’d go on to marry. He was encouraged that she could be just as petty as he could. Not to mention turned on.
“Morning sickness that much fun, huh, sugar?” He chuckled knowingly.
She shuddered. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
He squeezed her fingers a couple times, still smiling. “Alright, I accept your condition. How about dinner, tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at six?”
There was a future in her cautious answering smile. “It’s a date.”
Lifting their intertwined fingers he brought her hand closer to his mouth, eagerly watching surprise flicker over her face as he bypassed her knuckles, and turning her hand, pressed his lips to the thin, warm skin of her wrist.
He nearly groaned at the taste of her skin, the satin smooth surface honey sweet, that scent of distilled summer and Texas roses heady in his nose.
God, her pussy would be so fucking sweet. He couldn’t wait to get her on her goddamn back so he could eat her out until she cried and forgot everything but his name and how to cum on his tongue. Wanted to shower her with affection and adoration until she was so used to getting it that she’d pout at the slightest bit of delay.
Wanted her to pout when he didn’t give her his cock on demand, didn’t whip out his credit card and buy her whatever she set those sweet doe eyes on.
She’d never be a natural brat, at least not until he got her comfortable with him, but he could teach her how to make demands that, no matter how outrageous, he’d always, always meet.
Gently, he scraped his teeth over the skin of her inner wrist, her charm bracelet tinkling faintly as she shivered, arousal flaring in her eyes, pupils dilating and mouth parting in invitation.
“It’s a date,” he agreed lowly. Grinning, he laid her palm on his face, her cool fingertips brushing over the scar on his cheekbone. “Can’t fucking wait, sugar.”
She was still a flight risk, of course, but this was a major win. And as she giggled, blushing like crazy, ducking her head, he started laying it out in his head. He’d keep playing it careful, reeling her in closer, insinuating himself into every corner of her life until she expected to find him there everywhere she turned.
Until she turned to him to answer everything for her.
He’d let her keep working if she really wanted to, but. Well. He made more than enough money for the both of them and all of the kids he’d give her a dozen or so times over.
And of course it would make him feel a little better (hornier) to know that when he was away on a job she was back home with nothing to do but care for their kids and wait anxiously for him to come home and fuck her through the mattress.
(And the floor, and the wall, and the kitchen table, the stairs, the shower, over the couch, in the hot tub on the balcony of his penthouse, there were so many places he’d have her…)
With a hot little wife, though, he’d have to be a little more careful, though. Which meant getting a discreet distance from Shepherd, and manipulating the dynamic until he got his orders directly from Laswell.
Graves didn’t give a fuck one way or the other about the legality of what he did the way that Laswell cared, but Shepherd had been making some questionable comments and implications lately anyway.
A problem for later. For now, he had more pleasant things to concern himself with.
“That poor doorman,” Allison frowned, her fingers curling tighter around his own. “I do feel a little bad about what happened.”
Graves raised a brow. “Honey. There’s not a damn reason why you should have any reason to feel bad, even a little bit. Hear me?”
She sighed, mouth pursing slightly (fuck, please let that be a hint that she’d be easy to lead into pouting whenever she didn’t get her way, that face was so fucking pretty he wanted it painted in his fucking cum), and she protested, “But he lost his job. Is that an equal consequence?”
He chose not to enlighten her that the doorman had come very close to losing something infinitely more precious than a job - his life. “I’d say he’s getting off easy.”
“Being jobless in this economy isn’t getting off easy.”
True, but most people didn’t care as long as it didn’t happen to them. That Allison cared? That was…unexpected. Actually, it was excellent.
If she had a little pet charity to pour her time into it would clean up his image, Shadow Company’s, give her something to do, and make her think better of him all around.
He’d have to start Shadow Company’s lawyers on the logistics of setting something like that up. If it wasn’t combating homelessness, he would bet she had a whole list of causes up that sweet, short little sleeve ready to take up a flag for, and he was more than willing to help her do it.
“He called you a word no woman should ever be called,” he said finally, firmly.
Allison flushed, and not in the way he liked. He squeezed her fingers, drawing her gaze. “I made a decision in the moment that I could either tell him to get lost or I could…give in to an urge my Lieutenant was always telling me not to overseas.”
Dark doe eyes went wide again. “You would’ve attacked him?”
He shrugged. “Probably. But you took priority, so I didn’t. Plus, figured you wouldn’t appreciate a scene like that.”
Or getting blood and gore and brain matter on her pretty little sundress with the little embroidered wildflowers. That probably wouldn’t have endeared him to her. Right? It’d been too long since he’d tried to get into the head of a civilian he honestly wasn’t totally sure anymore.
Allison was staring at him, unblinking. “You really…for me? But…but we didn’t even know each other.”
Not looking away, he shrugged once more. “Gut feeling guy, remember? Sides. I really don’t like that word used on women.”
At least, not when it was used like a weapon and not something said during sex to make them drip around his cock.
Her fingers squeezed his, a quick pulse like a twitch. He would easily bet she wasn’t even aware she’d done it. A there-and-gone tell that he’d just broken through another layer of defense.
At this rate he might not even have to wait until after their second date to get under that short skirt.
Atta girl, atta fucking girl. Letting me knock down those walls one by one, you were just waiting for me to come along, huh? Wanted to be such a good fucking girl but needed the right man for the job.
“Thank you,” she whispered thickly. “I don’t…I don’t usually need so much rescuing, I’m really good at taking care of myself, I promise.”
That was a pity if true.
Keeping his eyes on her, he tilted his head, smirking as he drained the last of his coffee. “Wouldn’t mind in the least if you weren’t, but doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
The pleased glow on her face was good comfort for the white lie.
Sugar, damsel in distress or not you’re not gonna have to take care of anything yourself from now on. Mine, all fucking mine.
“So.” She cleared her throat, and then, fighting a smile, teased, “Do you come here often?”
Alpha!Graves x Omega!FOC, modern workplace romance, ~15k
cw: stalking, manipulation, virginity kink, possessive behavior, innocence kink, control kink, noncon filming, curvy oc, "chubby chaser"!graves, age difference, sugar daddy!graves, modern omegaverse, noncon filming, love at first sight
Chicago was like any major city. Taxis honking, tourists gawking and stumbling along in their clumps and gaggles like geese fucking up traffic, hawkers and food vendors shouting, locals cursing under their breath and at the top of their lungs by turns -
Truth be told, Graves wasn’t sure if he liked or hated big cities.
He liked the action, he was at his best with his head on a swivel.
But he hated the smell of big cities. He had a more over sensitive nose than most other alphas, but he couldn’t see how even betas could stand to be in big cities. He genuinely worried he’d go nose blind, and he was only in Chicago for a few days at this conference.
He’d gone back and forth on attending before finally caving. It wouldn’t do any harm to schmooze with Shepherd’s friends and get more backers for Shadow Company before the official launch date. More backers meant more contracts, more contracts meant more money, etc etc.
So here he was, on his way back from day two and trying not to regret every minute of it, trying to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his head that spoke up whenever Shepherd moved or smiled or laughed or said anything.
He’d decided to walk back to his hotel in the vain hopes of getting a bit of fresh air, a foolish endeavor if he’d ever undertaken one.
But as his footsteps kept him marching doggedly on while the sun sank lower over the horizon, temperature dropping like a stone in the early-fall weather, the crowds began to thin as he neared the less tourist-clogged areas of the city.
He was still trying to breathe as shallowly as possible without accidentally making himself pass out (something that may or may not have happened once or twice before) when the smog and glut of sewage/garbage/stale food/gasoline was pierced by one scent.
Clean. Crisp. Cool.
Melon and ocean water, sweet and refreshing and light.
He started following it without even thinking about it, all thoughts of finding a strip club or a bar to find a pretty thing in absolutely gone in an instant.
Singling out the source of the mouthwatering scent was simple. His prey was a sweet little omega who’d just come out of the grocery store with a small bag and a medium size bouquet of cheap carnations.
Pretty thing. I’ll get you the kind of flowers you deserve, angel, swear I will.
Fuck, she was pretty. Plump and rounded in all her limbs just the way he liked, long shiny dark hair dressed in bouncy curls down her back, that perfect body wrapped up in the cutest fucking white girl outfit he’d ever seen: stockings that teased the tops of her thighs and only visible when the wind caught her plaid skirt just right, a little jacket that did probably next to nothing to shield her from the beginnings of a midwestern chill in the air, and little heeled booties that still barely had the top of her head up to meet his shoulder.
God she was so fucking pretty when he asked his tech (hacker, but one had to shy away from that word as a PMC) to tap into the city security cameras and he got a good look at her face.
She was all curves and sweetness there too, round dark eyes that he’d love to see glitter with the reflections of diamonds, full rosy cheeks, and a glossy, perfect, candy pink plush mouth stretched in a wide smile as she chatted on the phone to someone.
Naughty girl, you need to pay better attention to your surroundings. Make sure you don’t catch the attention of a predator. Like me.
He was already having to fight getting hard, fangs itching to drop and eyes wanting to flash, a low growl battled back in his chest. Her scent wove it’s way through his body like a goddamn snake, wrapping around each rib, curling around his heart, tying into knots and tangles around his veins, his bones, every part of his body and yanking tight when she laughed, bright and merry like a bell.
No matter how much he wanted to, he didn’t follow her home. Not physically. He kept his tech on her movements, following her to her little apartment building on the cameras.
Instantly he disliked the look of the place. Dingy, in a somewhat worn-down part of the city, and the building security he could see from a distance was fucking laughable.
To think that a place like that was all that was protecting a sweet little omega like her from the big bad world - it made his hands itch to draw blood, made him have to fight some strange long ingrained instinct to hunt her a doe, carve out it’s heart in offering, tuck her into his silk sheets with his knot plugging her full.
Standing against the corner of the restaurant just down the block from her building (a college age dive, by the looks of it, actually the whole district was), he zoomed in on the screenshot of her laughing, a glossy curl blown across her cheek, the cheap carnations in the crook of her elbow.
In the hollow of her collarbone, a cheap, flimsy initial necklace, an L (Louise? Lily?).
I’ll get you real gold. With your birthstone, honey, gonna spoil you so fucking rotten…
One whiff of her scent and he was hooked. He’d always prided himself on his independence, one of the few alphas who made it to their mid-30s without a mate and pups. With his life in the military, it would have driven him crazy worrying about a pretty little omega home all alone, missing him.
But now…now he could afford a luxury like that, in more than just one way. He was coming into money, more than he’d ever know what to do with on his own.
With a pretty little omega wife, though, he’d have an outlet for it. And with all the pups he’d get on a young, healthy, fertile fucking thing like her…
Right.
Decision made.
A wide smirk formed on his face, the edges of it cruel as he started to (reluctantly) move back to his original path to his hotel. But not to freshen up to find a horny beta or some broad-minded alpha in a bar, no. He had the ultimate objective in mind. He needed to plan.
With a few taps the picture of her his tech had sent became his phone background, and he set the man on digging up everything he could find on her.
By the time he got back to the hotel, the concierge tripping over himself to offer Graves assistance, he had everything he needed to get started.
Name, Lauren Elizabeth Hudson. Twenty one years old, a business student who was an only child without much of anything interesting in her background. She was an A student from a middle class family, who judging by their credit card and phone statements, only maintained a cool and infrequent line of communication with her.
Perfect.
That left him room to work his way in, color in the blank and lonely corners of her life until he blotted all of the rest of it away completely.
In his room, he sipped on a fifteen year old whiskey and pulled together an infallible plan of attack.
He’d let her finish college, she only had a year and half a semester left anyway, and it would give him time to solidify Shadow Company’s standing, really make it the perfect place for a recent graduate of business school, whatever that fuck one learned there, to apply to.
And because he was reasonable, he’d let her keep at least the illusion of her freedom for a while after. Let her think she was making it on her own in the big city as a grown woman, all while he pulled her deeper into his life.
It would take strategy, to keep anyone from touching her between now and then. He didn’t mind competition, not that there could ever be any, but when he’d looked into her social media he’d discovered that there was absolutely no evidence of any boyfriends not even dates in spite of group pictures of school dances where her friends were paired off but she was simply standing awkward and alone out to the side.
Her social media was sparse to the untrained eye but a gold mine to Graves’. There was a largely ignored Facebook page, an Instagram that she mostly posted outfits and ‘get ready with me’s on, and a Tumblr account that had at apparently at one time been a hopping source of One Direction fantasies. The account had long gone dusty so now all her posts were untagged and seemingly unnoticed private and anonymous ramblings to the mostly inactive or deactivated follower list about the stigma of virginity and her worries about finding a partner.
(And her heat, fuck, don’t forget the descriptions of her heat cycle, even the complains about being sore made him think about how much worse she’d be after a week taking his fucking knot, fresh bite marks scarring up her pretty skin.)
The confirmation that she was still a virgin, completely and totally untouched in every way was enough to have him wrapping a hand around his cock and fighting not to cum.
So yes. He’d let her graduate, lure her into an appropriate position within Shadow Company under his direct sight at all times, and to ensure he got what he wanted he’d need some carefully planned shadows implanted at the fringes of her world to encourage her to turn to him.
Shadows. There was an idea on how to achieve that.
He had time to figure out the specifics, figure out what would appeal to her most, craft the perfect way to get her to apply to a position at Shadow Company so he could pull her in close.
If his patience ran out or he needed to come up with a quicker plan, there was always a convenient meeting when her heat suppressants mysteriously ‘failed’.
At least one contingency plan would keep him calm if it came down to that.
By the time the sun came up he’d caught a couple hours of sleep, did another fine-tuning run through of the last presentation he’d be giving about Shadow Company to potential clients, spoke to the contractors building Shadow Company HQ, got in a workout in the state of the art hotel gym, and arranged to have security cameras, trackers, and even a discreet guard (a beta who Graves couldn’t in good conscious put in the field any more but had promised to find a job he could do and damn if this didn’t fit the bill) to keep watch over Lauren.
He whistled as he got out of the shower, phone chiming with the flight details for Lauren’s new guard (Samuels had said he could get out of New York that day, so Graves had made the arrangements for him to pick up all the cameras and other supplies in Chicago to secure and bug her ratty little apartment), and as he picked up his phone he spotted a text from Shepherd reminding him about their meeting.
Graves’ whistling died down, eyes narrowing as he considered the text. The wording. His hackles rose reading it over and over again. But fuck if he knew why.
Just something…deep. Instinctual.
A problem to watch, unravel as he got more information. His instincts had never led him astray, he just had to trust them.
For the moment, he sent back an affirmative, and then scrolled back to the pictures from Lauren’s Instagram.
He had no fucking business panting after an omega this young and innocent. Fifteen years his junior, it wouldn’t have been totally out of the question for him to have a child her age.
And damn him to hell, but that got him hot to think about how young and innocent and sweet she was. And all his. All his.
He traced the curve of her cheek in the picture under his thumb, cock throbbing between his legs. That smile was so pretty. He wanted to see it in person, wanted to be the reason for it. Wanted to see her smile like that at their pups.
Soon, he consoled himself.
Just you wait honey, gonna make you so completely mine you’ll forget who you were before then.
-
Two years later he was beginning to feel his patience wearing dangerously thin.
Having Lauren actually within eyesight during the day and within reach for most of that helped…at first. And then very quickly it just started making it all so much worse.
For the most part, things had proceeded exactly as he’d wanted them to. Samuels had kept watch over Lauren during the last three semesters of her undergrad, making sure that she never had to worry about getting hurt on late night walks home from the campus library (and because she didn’t know Graves was making sure she stayed safe, she still took all the precautions any single omega should’ve, his good fucking girl).
And just as important Samuels had made sure through various methods that when Lauren went home, she went alone. And arrived home alone, to an empty apartment, and more importantly to an empty bed, free of any nosy little beta or overreaching bastard alpha who could’ve even thought of laying hands on what belonged to Graves and Graves alone.
He didn’t want her because she was a virgin, wouldn’t knot her and mate her and breed her pussy full just because no one’d ever even touched it but her…but fuck he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
That kind of ownership, that kind of proprietary claim, it was addictive to the beast prowling impatiently beneath his skin. The one that wanted to sink fang gum deep and knot.
Fuck.
Really he did have so much to be grateful for, including how smoothly things had gone after her time at college was over.
When she was preparing for graduation, top of her class, god his smart fucking omega, he had a sapphire charm bracelet for her ready to go as a reward, all it took was a careful threat/bribe (the kind that Graves had long ago mastered the balance of) murmured into the ear of her guidance counselor to ensure she applied to a PA position at Shadow Company.
It helped settle her reported hesitance to apply that it was a real position posted and meant to cover all types of experience level, and there were hundreds of applicants of varying suitability.
But Graves had no intention of taking anyone but her for his PA. He could handle his own schedule if she turned out to be incompetent, it was the captains and lieutenants of SC’s departments that needed the actual PA’s that went through the real job application process.
He’d planned, honestly, that she’d never work another day in her life once he got his claim on that pretty fucking neck.
But.
Well.
No battlefield plan survived contact with the ‘enemy’.
Lauren was the only flaw in his plan.
See, she had the audacity to actually be fucking good at her job.
At every turn she fucking excelled. Exceeded expectations, above and beyond the call, whatever corporate horseshit you wanted to call it, she did it. She anticipated his every need no matter how miniscule, could manage even his most overpacked schedules, and most importantly of all she could delegate, deal, joke, and effectively command every department and team that worked under the Shadow Company name.
By the time she celebrated her six month anniversary at SC, she’d made herself fucking indispensable. She was integral to the way SC functioned, the contracts Graves negotiated (always weighed heavily in his favor with military knothead alphas distracted by her plump pretty body visible through his clear office windows), she was the goddamn mama to his fucking Shadows.
They were planning a gift for her for Mother’s Day, more than half a year away.
Samuels (still on occasional guard duty even with her in D.C. and now living in a ‘company provided’ apartment close to Graves ‘if he needed her on short notice’) had been the one to broach that particular development with him.
And far from irritating him the way it by all rights should have, it turned him the fuck on.
He wanted her so much the word had lost meaning, he needed her on his knot, wearing his claim and smelling like him, and she fucking refused to drop her goddamn professionalism long enough to give in.
She wanted him. He could smell her slick, sweet as wild honey on the back of his tongue, coating his lungs every time he crowded up against her back and leaned over her as she sat at her desk, his fists braced on either side of her cute little pink wireless keyboard, dictating to her.
Every time he flashed a smile at her, let his voice dip a little in volume, slow to the southern drawl that he only used to drop a woman’s panties, she shivered, turned her wrists up to him, pupils blowing wide and dark, head tilting just perfect to flash a strip of perfect unmarked neck.
It was instinct.
Lauren’s every instinct was screaming at her to park herself on his desk and lift her short little skirt and present her slick virgin cunt to him for him to relieve some goddamn tension.
But.
She.
Just.
Wouldn’t.
Hence why Graves’ patience was beginning to wear thin. And every other fucking soul at Shadow Company knew it.
They all got raises near the three month mark when she wore a sundress to the Fourth of July company barbecue. It was fucking ninety degrees and outside, he’d even provided a water slide bounce house for his Shadows and their kids, never suspecting that he’d get one glimpse of her soft body gleaming with sweat in the radiating summer sun, so much of her plump figure exposed to view in that short, thin fucking dress, and he’d lose his goddamn mind.
But that was exactly what had happened. One minute he’d been talking to Oz about a job, and then the next he was looming behind her back, claws sunk into his palms, blood pooling between his fingers as he fought back a rumbling sound of possession. Luckily he hadn’t jumped her in front of the Shadows, not that he’d mind his pack seeing, but their poor kids and their soft little mates were all there too.
And Lauren wouldn’t like her first time to be face down ass up in a hastily abandonded park as sunlight dripped over her turning her sweat into honey as sweet as her slick while he made her scream for her alpha.
So he’d managed to keep his hands to himself. But he’d had the subtlety of a fucking grenade, stalking half a step behind her and standing way too close, almost touching, looming over her shoulder the entire fucking day, and pouring pheromones over her the entire time like a goddamn animal. Baring fangs and flashing eyes at anyone who got within arm’s reach.
His Shadows, god fucking bless the loyal fucks, had just ensured no beta or alpha got too close and behaved like it was completely normal, acceptable behavior. Regardless of the fact that any decent alpha would have had him hung for pulling a stunt like that on an omega they weren’t mated to.
Lauren had pretended not to notice, but he could smell her melon scent turn hot candy sweet, the ocean spray note to her scent turning balmy like she was on a beach in the Caribbean, all sweat and sunscreen and salt and hot.
She wanted him fucking bad.
In the past six months she’d started calling his name in her sleep, and when her false heat had hit (only a couple days long and not nearly as strong with her suppressants) she’d spent the entirety of it rubbing her cunt and begging, crying for ‘Phillip, please, need it, need your knot so much, so empty, Phillip need it need it Phillip please’.
The security cameras he’d put into her apartment, everywhere but the bathroom, had paid off big time.
Graves spent a concerning amount of time just watching her live her life in the off hours he afforded her, though there weren’t many of them.
He was obsessed.
He was in lust.
He was in love, because she was so fucking smart, picking any new subject thrown at her within a few minutes like she was born to it. And she was so goddamn sweet, babying and worrying over Graves and his Shadows in the field, always the first voice that they heard coming back to base, worried tones turning joy bright with relief when Graves told her everyone was fine, and if they weren’t, it was her who wrote out detailed, heartfelt get well soon cards, or on the rare and unwelcome occasion it was called for, mournful letters to families.
Every time he thought she couldn’t get more perfect, she proved him wrong.
She had his coffee order (more complicated than a Starbucks barista’s worst nightmare) memorized and perfected within a week.
Within two weeks she’d organized and optimized his daily meetings and check-ins so he could maximize the time he actually spent with his Shadows rather than on the bureaucratic and financial shit.
In a month she’d mastered the communications system that since they’d opened their doors had been a fucking disaster, a tangled web of requests for meetings about potential contracts or existing contracts. What Graves used to have to waste an hour wading through to sort and categorize and straighten out, she took right off his hands and streamlined the entire process. He no longer had to waste time wading through bullshit double talk and spy wording to figure out what the fuck SC was actually being asked to do and for whom.
She’d also mastered knowing him. Every flicker of emotion, every wash of instinct driven irritability or impatience or unreasonable goddamn demand, she was prepared for each one, and no matter how good he’d always thought he’d been about keeping himself in check (an alpha’s hormones let loose could turn to a fucking biohazard just like an omega’s), she just knew what he needed.
Whether it was an extra coffee left as a peace offering on the corner of his desk, or a home baked cookie in a Ziploc tucked beneath folders in his briefcase as a reward after a meeting with Shepherd, or just her in his office, waiting anxiously with a smile for him to reel in to a tight hug the second he saw her after touching down in DC after returning from the field.
No matter what it was, she always knew exactly what he needed and gave it to him without prompting.
Save the one glaring exception of her cunt and her fucking throat.
Her hand in marriage would be nice too but that could come after he got his claim on that pretty skin for everyone to see.
Anticipating his needs went beyond just the emotional, too. She slipped MRE’s and energy bars into his go bag, knowing he burned through food quick with his metabolism. She packed soft, light, durable home comforts like lightweight but warm blankets for him and his Shadows. Or even sometimes she’d slip in notes wishing them luck and safety out on missions.
Lauren also had a knack for knowing which jobs to take, and which jobs not to. Her instincts, like most other omegas, were top fucking notch, and he’d buried far fewer of his Shadows since she’d started sorting through contracts and presenting them to him in ranked piles of which ones she thought were good bets (not just safety wise but financially or even as building blocks for the future), and which ones she didn’t.
She was actually the one who had nudged him into making Laswell his point of contact with the DOD and thus all of SC’s operations in Urzikstan, effectively limiting his professional contact with Shepherd except for formality reasons.
He never would’ve gone through with that on his own. He had some still foreign and frankly unwelcome sense of loyalty to Shepherd for helping him rise through the ranks of the Marines and enabling him to set up Shadow Company at all.
Even though since the day he’d met Lauren, that instinct that had his hackles raising and his fangs itching around Shepherd had only gotten stronger. He’d never found anything concrete enough beyond just - bad fucking vibes. Nothing he felt could justify shutting Shepherd out.
But Lauren only had to suggest that Laswell, being outside the military structure and technically outranking Shepherd when push came to shove since the CIA was far less rigidly regulated than the military, was the smarter bet, and the safer bet, and he’d made the switch without another blink.
Lauren knew every corner of him and Shadow Company, and held it in her cute little manicured hands like treasure.
And Graves was losing his mind trying to pretend to be a gentleman.
Honestly he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out without just pouncing on her one day when she flounced into his office with a wide, pretty smile and a sweet ‘Good morning, Phillip’.
The alpha’s urges got stronger every day, the beast roaring that he was a coward, he was just asking for some other fucking alpha to come in and try to take what was his, his, his-
So the plan had to evolve.
He didn’t bother starting small, not after the disaster of the Fourth of July barbecue that jolted him into an early rut and poor Lauren into an early false heat.
For a too-long, too-infuriating week he’d been locked into the rut rooms at SCHQ, snarling and ripping the place apart while his cock drooled unfulfilled between his legs, knot throbbing unhappily. Any time the meal slot had been opened he’d made a dive for it, claws out and roaring demands for Lauren.
His poor Shadows had to spray him with bear spray every goddamn time.
Good men, defending their mama, no matter how enraged he’d been at the time.
Still, the experience had proved Graves had to take Lauren with a much firmer hand. He’d given her the opportunity to make the right decision for herself and take him up on his flirting and his courting offers, and she’d shied away for the sake of ‘professionalism’.
Graves would have to do the right thing for her. So he would.
The plan in essence was simple: fuck with her suppressants, build up the courting behavior by careful degrees in the exact order that would most discourage her from speaking up to tell him to stop until it was far too late to reject him without humiliating herself (something his poor sweet little omega couldn’t stand to do, not with an alpha like him, thanks to a billion years of evolutionary instincts), and then swoop in when her suppressants failed and she was left ripe for the mating.
It would take two months for the suppressants to fully clear from her system, for her to be able to have a real heat, a full heat.
He’d already waited two years, he could manage another two months.
Tampering with her prescription was stupid simple. Samuels had the replacement of fake pills from SC’s Research & Development team (triple tested and certified safe) ready to go, and all it took was a ‘surprise’ overnighter to have Lauren help him go over the details of a new contract with an operation in Istanbul to keep her distracted and off her normal schedule while Samuels broke into her pharmacy and made the switch. She picked it up the next day on her way home from work, none the wiser.
And since it would be two months before her system cleared and her suppressants ‘failed’, Graves took that time to lay the right groundwork. Something he thoroughly enjoyed.
It started with casual touches. Little things that couldn’t be brought up without making his sweet omega sound crazy. Smoothing his hand over her shoulder, letting it fall to her lower back to get her attention, cupping her chin briefly while talking to her a mile a minute, tucking her hair behind her ears with just a hint of claw tracing the tender shell light enough it would leave her wondering if she’d imagined it.
He got bolder with it than that after a bit, leaving his hand on her lower back when they walked, pressed firm and steady to guide her where he wanted her, or even his hands on her waist, standing behind her on elevators or escalators, just a little too tight to be casual or subconscious touching.
Each touch left a little of his scent on her, bonfire smoke and the smell of freshly baled hay like a broiling Texan summer evening. And she never scrubbed it off. Never stopped him when he let his fingers find the guard collar over the glands on her neck that she only wore for when other alphas visited Shadow Company (never around him, the wanton little omega inside her unable to stomach the implication of trying to keep his teeth out of her neck, god such a good fucking omega for him), and she’d just stand there and leak slick when he’d tap the stainless steel caps that covered her scent glands lightly with a smirk as he said he just wanted to make sure it was on securely.
She knew he was marking her, her texts with her best friend (who he’d arranged to have conveniently hired right out of graduation, through a contact of his in DC so she’d have someone close that he could keep watch over, and wouldn’t get too lonely when he was in the field) got increasingly guilt tinged as she bemoaned that she fucking liked it.
The best friend won big points with Graves for shamelessly encouraging her to just let him knot her.
But Lauren, for some godforsaken reason, seemed to think that if she did it would be a mark against her honor or something. Kept going on about how it wasn’t ‘right’ for her to have sex with her boss, how it wasn’t ‘professional’, how ‘important’ her job was to her.
Seriously, her being actually so good at her work was making the whole plan to keep her barefoot and pregnant at home seem increasingly unlikely and increasingly unacceptable to him.
By then, the thought of anyone else even trying to do Lauren’s job, to take her position and place at Shadow Company (the Shadows’ fucking mama for god’s sake) had his shoulders rolling and a growl rumbling in his chest. No. He’d have to make some readjustments and figure out a new balance to strike for when he got his claim on her.
Even though she knew he was marking her and liking it, finally admitting as much in a desperate midday text to her best friend (right after Graves had swept his palm over her bare scent gland and told her what a ‘good girl’ she was for her work preparing a presentation for him), she thought that somehow he was just a flirt. That he didn’t mean it.
He fumed in his office, temper boiling hot as he struggled to keep himself seated, to stop himself from rearing up and closing the distance between them to lay her down on her goddamn desk and fuck her raw where anyone and everyone could see how much he did mean it.
So he’d had to step it up.
Just faint, bitch-ass touches like that weren’t going to be enough to prime her for what he had planned, anyway. Not when his omega was being so stubborn.
Gift giving came next.
He’d always flirted with mate-courtship rituals with her since she’d been employed, carefully toeing the line between things that made him look like he was just a normal, thoughtful boss and an alpha hunting a mate.
The gifts got more blatant, less easily explained away by the ‘proper’ rules of such things.
He went from buying her lunch every day (and dinner/snacks/coffee during overnighters) to arranging for a private chef to prepare her every meal for her. Rich, decadent meals, and he completely ignored her protests that she wasn’t a starving Victorian child, he was spoiling her terribly.
‘Good. Want you spoiled, baby. Company perk as my best girl, sugar. Gotta keep you well rewarded for all the hard work you do, honey, don’t think I don’t appreciate it.’
After that was the car. Nothing too flashy or too high powered it’d scare the holy hell out of her every time she even breathed near the gas pedal. A Rolls Royce in a custom pearl white, custom creamy calf leather interior, with every goddamn safety and luxury upgrade they offered. Presented to her with a baby pink bow on the hood after a day she’d worked herself so hard the poor thing had cried.
(He only felt a little guilty about arranging that kind of pressure cooker on her, but she’d have rejected the gift if he hadn’t done it that way.)
‘You do so fucking much for me, honey, you know you do. Work so goddamn hard and you’re so fucking good at it…I had to, sugar, had to give you something back. Be good for me and let me, yeah?’
Next was a new guard collar, gold and designed to protect her scent glands from an unwelcome bite but to still show them off. A more decorative and borderline scandalous version of the one she’d already had.
Scandalous because if one looked very closely at the filigree, when viewed from the inside or through a mirror it was plain that the filigree was just his initials woven in gold to cover her scent glands, soaking in that sweet melon and sea scent rather than dispelling it like the traditional stainless steel.
‘My job to take care of you, make sure you’re protected from these knotheads, honey. I take that job real fucking serious, you know that. Gotta let me, sugar, or I don’t know what I’ll do.’
In older eras, the gift of a guard collar was as much of a declaration as one could make. The step right before an official claim bite. The meaning had softened some since then, and use of the protective measures like a guard collar had largely gone out of style as traditional bite-mating faded out of use as well, but it still was nowhere near a casual or meaningless gift.
Lauren’s dark eyes were wide as he put it on her, her breath catching, melon and sea spray scent hot like summer as her slick dripped into her skimpy little thong beneath her short fucking skirt as he touched his thumb to the biometric lock, and it chimed prettily, accepting his scan.
Dark eyes met his, but that candy pink mouth didn’t protest even though he recognized the flash of shocked understanding there. The collar would only lock, and thus unlock, for him. Not for any other omega, beta, or alpha, not even for her. Just Graves.
She’d licked her lips, swallowed hard and thanked him. Thanked him, quiet and breathless, his good fucking girl, so goddamn sweet just for him, all his, all his, all his.
Finally came the big guns.
Real scent marking.
He started with a blanket from home saturated with his scent. Nothing dirty like an item of clothing he’d worn during pre-rut, at least not to start, it was just a blanket he’d had for years that had been in his den long enough for his scent to carry the bonfire/fresh hay between the threads and in the stitching.
He was working her harder than usual in the lead up to this, though he was extra sweet to her to make up for it and keep her reeled in close, and so during another ‘surprise’ overnighter he dropped the blanket unceremoniously over her shoulders.
With the edges bundled up right over her bare throat.
‘Drafty in this damn old barn, sugar, don’t want that fucking air conditioner to give a sweet thing like you a cold, now do we, honey? You ain’t gotta worry about a thing, though, I’ll take good care of you, don’t I always?’
She’d cuddled up with it nice enough, let herself soak in his scent like she was lounging in a hot tub, but had made a big stink about giving it back to him rather than keeping it.
A few days later, he upped the ante and gave her one of his hoodies. An old one, from a few logos ago in the Longhorn’s history, the orange faded and the cuffs threadbare, the string in the stretched out hood entirely gone. And again - totally saturated in his scent.
Not just an old, worn in, osmosis kind of scent carriage either. But fresh layers on the fabric, too. He’d worn it the night before, a hand working his knot while he watched Lauren picking out her clothes for the next day, still naked and wet from her shower, skimpy towel slipping off of her plump, rounded body.
He hadn’t cum on the fabric, not directly, just let the hoodie soak up the scent of his arousal, his sweat, his need, the faintest teasing curl of his cum clinging to the edges of the hoodie.
And if he could smell it, it would be intoxicating to Lauren.
He’d pretended to not be watching her when he handed it to her in the chill of his office, DC long gone dark beyond the ceiling to floor windows of his windows affording him a perfect view of the city.
‘Here, sugar, forgot that blanket at home. This should work to keep you warm, pretty girl. What’re you balking for, honey, you ain’t an Aggie fan, are ya? No? Then be good and put it on, sugar. Go on now, you heard me.’
She’d sat there, trembling, wide eyed, leaking slick and the scent of hot melon saltwater taffy everywhere. And then, she’d obeyed. Pulled it on over her head. When her face emerged into the hood her lids were heavy and hanging low, already drowsy, the scent of her slick getting worse by the minute.
Her arms wrapped around herself and for a full three minutes he just sat and greedily watched her bask, wrapped up in her alphas scent.
Scenting her like that, basically drugging her with it was a dick move, bullying her into it even more so, but he didn’t fucking care, not when it got him that, her purring soft and sweet into the collar, manicured fingers twisted tight in the cuffs, arousal and heat pouring off of her.
Eventually she managed to clear her head, sitting up and trying to blink away the omegan need turning her gaze glassy and knot-dumb.
Graves didn’t even pretend to not be paying attention, loving the hot flush on her cheeks when she met his gaze.
‘Ya look so fucking pretty, honey. Don’t tell ya nearly enough, do I? Need to be better about that, sugar, don’t let me slip. Wear my clothes so good, don’tcha? Like they were made for ya, baby, ain’t they?’
Winking, he’d left her to flounder for a reply.
She wore the hoodie home, and he watched her security cameras to see her not even able to make it to her bedroom, falling down against the wall in her hallway with her graceful hand stuffed between plush thighs, furiously rubbing the cuff of one sleeve against her cunt, whimpering his name mixed with ‘Alpha, alpha, alpha, please,’.
That video got saved to the folder with her false heat.
He’d always been tactile with her, dropping kisses on the top of her head or her temple. He did it more often now, and not just on those places, but also on her cheek, the bolt of her jaw, the crest of her ears when her hair was swept back or tucked behind them.
His hands brushed over her body every fucking opportunity he found, just a little too firm, or a little too close to the vulnerable nape of her neck, or lingering a little too long.
He let a select few of the things he used to carefully keep in his head and locked behind his tongue start to slip.
‘Like that dress, honey. Pink’s so pretty on you, baby, makes you look like a fucking dream.’
‘You smell good, sugar. Like fucking candy, always so sweet. Know how good it makes me feel to walk in this office and smell that?’
‘I like you with your hair down, baby. Looks so soft. Stay still, sugar, no, don’t say nothing, be good for me, behave, just lemme - fuck, yeah, knew it’d be soft, angel. You’re my soft girl, honey, aren’tcha? So sweet like fucking sugar.’
‘That presentation you made was perfect, baby. Went off without a hitch. Almost pisses me off those knotheads were too busy staring at you outside the conference room to appreciate how good it was. I know they scare you honey, but that’s what you have me for, you know that. I’d never let nothing happen to you, sugar. I take good care of my best girl, don’t I?’
At first these comments made her squeak, blush bright crimson, and flounder for the quickest excuse to find refuge at her little desk outside his office.
But the more he made them, the bigger the cracks in her armor became, until even when she retreated she was pressing her thighs together at her desk trying to find some relief in the pressure, in the scrape of lace over her clit, but they both knew the only release she’d get would be with Graves’ fat knot stuffing that virgin cunt full.
He could feel her teetering, could feel her will beginning to fray, but he wanted to be absolutely certain.
Needed it to be without question that she trusted him beyond anything else.
So he gave Samuels a new job.
The poor man’s brand new beta (he’d made a habit of popping a bottle of Dom for the Shadows when any of them got mated, Samuels had been no exception when he’d mated just a month after coming back to DC for good) was on emergency deployment as a medic for one of their ops, so Samuels had begged for an extra outlet rather than destroy their den in his anxiety, one Graves was only too happy to provide.
He tasked Samuels to return to shadowing Lauren full time, and this time to make it visible. Intimidating, escalating, the works.
A hooded figure watching her from the mouth of an alley on her daily jog at dawn. Following her through the evening farmer’s market. Showing up in the shadows at the corners of parking lots, and from a different car every time on the same level of a parking garage for her favorite little downtown area of boutiques and her spa that she visited every weekend.
Lauren noticed first thing, his good girl, his careful, obedient little omega. Took extra precautions, borrowing a stun gun from the armory, asking Graves shyly if he’d please put her guard collar on before she went home every night, finally accepting his offers to walk her to and from her car every day, moving her jogs to her building’s gym, calling him ‘just to chat’ when she was out alone anywhere.
It was good, but not enough.
Graves needed one last push to scare her into turning to him fully. He was toying with the idea of a note from her ‘stalker’ under her door that would have her running to Graves, teary eyed and needy, to protect her.
Appealing to her alpha for help and safety, which he’d be only too happy to provide at the low price of her taking his knot and his claim.
They were closing in on the two month mark. Biology differed person to person, situation to situation, and often suppressants left an omega’s system quicker if they had an alpha engaging in courting rituals stirring up their instincts (check), or if they were stressed (again, check).
Graves had notified Laswell he’d likely be unavailable in person for a couple months back when he was starting the whole process, hinting he was preparing to bond, and she’d taken it with a nod like any other piece of information he’d given her, congratulating him with a stone-faced smile he thought was hilarious.
He knew she had an omega of her own at home, and being the sort of commanding beta she was she obviously understood the hard work that went into taking proper care of them. She got it without him having to spell it out.
And actually she’d made a strange comment about his absence opening up a ‘perfect opportunity’ for the 141 that, if he actually read into what she said he might have laughed for days about how great minds thought alike.
So work was covered, his Shadows knowing without having to be told that Graves was close to getting his fangs in their mama’s pretty neck. They were good men, even the biggest knothead alpha on his payroll didn’t let his eyes linger too long on Lauren. They were loyal to their bones to their commander, and they knew who she belonged to even if she was pretending not to.
Lauren herself was ready to buckle and give in, it would just take one last push, he was sure, but it had to be the exact right one. He had to run all the scenarios in his mind, weigh the risks and rewards properly. Too much was at stake to fuck this up now.
He soothed the pressure on himself (the impatient slavering beast in the back of his head starving for a hot, slick cunt to sink his knot into, a pretty neck to sink his fangs into) by reminding himself he could always drug her, mark her, and tell her when she woke up that he’d saved her from a omega smuggling ring.
SC actually had a whole division for hunting those down, contracted through the United Nations. Lauren had helped him organize their terms for the contract to send to legal in her first month.
It wouldn’t be out of the question as a sequence of events at all.
And no harm would have actually come to her, so. No harm no foul. He’d be able to talk her round in a couple days he was sure if everything else fell through and he had to take that route.
The last two months he’d mostly been going through the motions while at work. How Lauren thought he’d be able to get anything accomplished with her sitting out there getting hotter and more fertile and needy by the day was baffling.
Most of what he did during the days when not training his Shadows or keeping up with the barest amount of meetings and corporate fucking nonsense was watch Lauren and plot.
Also messing around with the plans for the house he wanted to build for them and the pups he’d breed her full of, but working on that just made him horny, and he was at work.
He wasn’t so much of an animal that he’d take her virginity on the cold marble of his office fucking floor.
Famous last words.
-
It was a fucking Wednesday.
A normal, purely fucking average Wednesday just like all the other Wednesdays that had come before it.
He’d walked into the building at 6:02 am, got in some morning combat drills with some Shadows until eight when he showered in his private suite and got dressed for the day while reviewing Lauren’s careful, detailed hand-printed notes in her bubble letter handwriting about a potential contact for expanding operations of SC by planting a few discreet bases for the Shadows in strategic areas over the globe.
By eight thirty he’d had her observations and recommendations memorized (exactly in line with his thinking, if a little conservative, his tender hearted omega liked playing by the rules and asking permission), and he’d been there in the parking garage waiting for Lauren to pull in her customary half hour early in the car he’d bought her so he could open her door and help her out.
She blushed and smiled the same as always. “Good morning, Phillip.”
And he grinned, inhaling the scent of melon and sea salt so deep he could taste it. “Mornin’, sugar. You look so pretty today, honey, you break my heart.”
That blush only got worse, and he stepped in close, keeping her still with a hand on her rounded waist as he shut her car door after picking up her bags to carry for her.
As customary she tried to protest. “You really don’t have to, Phillip I’m supposed to be your assistant-”
‘Oh c’mon, baby, I ain’t so old I can’t carry your little work bag and my own damn breakfast.” He chuckled, kissing her temple, squeezing her waist, leaving his scent on her side by brushing up against her. “Be a good girl and humor me, sugar, have a little heart.”
“…oh alright,” she relented breathlessly, brushing nervous hands over her dress as her scent heated.
He’d walked her inside, just like normal, letting her calm herself down by babbling about work, just like normal, and at least paid half attention to it. She always had something of worth to say.
Lauren’d brought him his coffee and a high protein breakfast for him to eat before their standing conference call with Legal about developments in contract negotiations (so many fucking steps to these goddamn things it was actually insane, the legalities were fucking stupid), and he had something sweet, a blueberry and lemon muffin today, waiting for her in his office.
He let her direct the conversation to the day’s agenda for a good ten minutes but he couldn’t hardly pay attention, too consumed with watching the healthy pink flush on her face, the shine of her glossy perfectly curled hair as she moved it over a rounded shoulder, the swell of her mouth - was it his imagination or had her mouth gotten poutier somehow?
Since replacing her suppressants, she’d seemed like she was fucking glowing or something, like her body knew that this was how she was supposed to be, sweet and fertile and ready for her alpha to breed and knot at his goddamn leisure.
Not even the stress of her ‘stalker’ seemed to dim it, especially not when Graves was constantly telling her low and sweet how pretty she looked and making her blush and duck her head, biting her lip like it was a brand new piece of information even though he told her every damn day.
Her scent was stronger too…sweeter. As a baseline, it had gotten thicker, headier.
Several times now over the last week he’d had to resist the instinct to drop his head into her neck and lick over the glands he swore swelled a little when he stood too close or put a firm hand on her lower back.
She was so fucking close to giving in he could taste it on his tongue.
But she had to make the first move, the only way to assure she’d never have any reason to question anything about their relationship.
Or, perhaps more accurately, the only way he could soothe his own pride after pouring two whole goddamn years into just getting this far.
Was it too much to arrange for her to make the ‘first’ move? Make her grateful that he’d accepted her begging, pitiful pleas to make her his omega?
He just wanted her to be grateful. That was all.
Hubris, as it were, came before the fall.
The day proceeded as normal, same boring fucking corporate bullshit meetings that should be emails that his finance and HR departments refused to leave him out of or just make emails, and more bearable were the same training drill observations with the Shadows. Stepping in where he saw the opportunity to correct them, patting them on the backs and shoulder, rapping on their helmets and calling praise and orders to answered ‘yup yup!’s same as always.
Same lunch as always, even, with Lauren on the other side of his desk talking about messages he’d gotten in the last four hours while he chided her to eat more of her pasta-
‘Come on sugar, just another couple bites, I work you so hard, honey, just let me make sure you’re well fed yeah? Don’t give me that look or I’ll put you over my knee, don’t think I won’t, sweetheart. Be good for me now, go on, do as you’re told.’
Just like normal he left her horny, flushed, confused and probably stuffed full (but not in the way either of them would like most, unfortunately) while he went to go at least pretend to read through some paperwork and respond to a few idiotic emails.
Everything was fine, normal, expected as he went back to work after their shared lunch.
At first.
Then something shifted at exactly 2:12.
Something…itched.
A burr under his metaphorical saddle, a splinter under his skin between his shoulder blades, a clench in his gut he’d only ever gotten before the whistle of a mortar sounded in the air.
Something was wrong.
He glanced up from where he’d been skimming through an update from Laswell about the 141 being ‘out of commission’ for a good month and a half in preparation for a return to Urzikstan she expected Graves on the ground for as well.
Out in front of his office was Lauren’s desk, visible through the floor to ceiling glass partition. The fresh bouquet he’d given her just on Monday was sitting in pride of place, Lauren sitting where she belonged in her sweet little tight skirt and crisp white button down, dark hair swept up in the heat brought on by the strong afternoon sunlight pouring in through the huge windows.
But what didn’t belong was the tension humming through her ample body, tightening her shoulders and the sweet line of her back. The tight, protective curl of her elegant hands into fists, one inching ever closer to the Coach purse she’d bought herself with her first bonus (that cost a fraction of what he’d given her, he was going to teach his girl what it meant to spoil herself if it killed him).
What really didn’t fucking belong in the atrium of the executive suites, hounding his PA, was General Herschel fucking Shepherd.
Graves was standing, stalking to the door without conscious thought. His forebrain with the plans and the careful manipulations and the lethal cunning was gone, replaced by the alpha beast who was watching an intruder intimidate his fucking omega.
He’d already decided to kill Shepherd before the man even reached out and put his hand on Lauren’s vulnerable nape with a sick smile on his face.
Alpha pheromones and the scent of frightened omega were thick in the air when he crashed through his office doors, sending glass flying everywhere, fangs drooling as he roared a challenge loud enough to shake the goddamn foundations of his own fucking building, any kind of warning be damned, claws reaching for Shepherd’s smug fucking face.
The sick oily creep of Shepherd’s pheromones and Lauren’s fear was all he could smell.
Higher thought just sort of.
Vanished.
All he knew was -
Threat.
Rival.
Scared her.
Touched her.
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
Some undetermined amount of time later, a cool, shaky hand gently pressed against his shoulder.
He froze, fist halfway down in a vicious punch.
The red mist of rage began to thin, and he slowly became more aware of things.
First, Shepherd was unconscious, face damn near caved in from Graves’ fist. If Shepherd had gotten a hit in, Graves didn’t feel it. His chest was heaving, his limbs burning with exertion.
Blood coated his fists, sprayed finely over his face.
His body was fire-hot head to toe, only relieved where Lauren (had to be her, had to be, could smell her melon-sea scent still soured by fear but getting sweeter again) had her on his shoulder, fingers cool through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.
“Ph- …alpha,” she whispered, voice cashmere soft. “Will you get up?”
Alpha.
The animal inside of him preened, relenting. For the moment. It was good and right for her to call him that.
To ask him so sweet, submissive and pretty. Even if she knew he’d always give her what she wanted, what she needed.
He let Shepherd fall to the ground, his other hand unclenching from the grip he’d had on the lapel of the other alpha’s dress uniform.
Chest still working hard like bellows feeding his internal fire, he stood, slowly, by degrees, never taking his eyes off of Shepherd, keeping his body in between the other alpha and Lauren like he was somehow magically still a threat as he let Lauren gently pull him with a grip on the back of his now ripped and bloodied dress shirt toward his office.
A new scent emerged over all the blood, over the smell of Graves’ rage and Lauren’s fear (and something…sweeter, fuck, fuck, fuck) that had Graves tensing all over again, snarling slick and sick.
It was Oz, calm and level-headed, unmoving.
Seeing the beta helped clear his head, but not as much as the sweet nothings, the pretty pleas Lauren was giving his back, rubbing his tensed muscles, trying to appease her alpha but keeping careful mind not to overstep or even let her hands be visible to the new interloper.
Graves swallowed, forcing the animal back far enough to get some fucking words out. “Clear the floor. Get out. Stay out.”
The last two words were snarled, growling clicking threateningly in his chest, echoing off the too silent walls of the atrium.
Oz nodded once. “Commander.”
Graves backed Lauren through the smashed glass doors of his office, the glitter of the shards over marble scattering under their feet. But those doors were just for show. When they were inside, he used the margin of control he’d wrangled back to press the hidden button in the wainscoting, and it beeped, reading his thumbprint.
Lockdown doors rolled down from the ceiling, covering the door and all the windows, sealing off his entire suite. From one large wall that he’d hung some overpriced modern art on swung down a couple panels. One for supplies - medical, arms and munitions, non perishable food, water.
And one for a bed, just barely big enough to fit Graves himself. But hey, he’d never anticipated this being the place he mated his omega.
Lauren, cause she was a good fucking girl, only sighed when the lockdown settled with some ominous clicks and beeps. Light still poured in through the now much smaller windows, but it was dimmer from the one-way glass he’d installed, so they could see out but no one could see in, and the front view of his office that had awarded him his perfect view of Lauren and her desk at all times was covered with material they’d reverse engineered to be missile-proof.
They were alone. Completely and totally alone.
His sweet little omega was locked in a room with a beast and there was relief blowing cool and sweet through her scent, chasing away the sour tinge of fear and the wrong kind of salt, the tears kind of salt.
He felt her body go lax, slumping toward him as she laid her forehead on his still tense back.
“That…that was scary.”
With the world safely locked away, and Lauren safely locked in with him, Graves was free to turn, hauling her into his arms, burying his face into her neck, growling unhappily when he found the faintest trace of Shepherd’s metal and soil scent trying to cling to her.
A few scruffs from his five-o’clock shadow took care of that, and she smelled much better when she smelled like him.
His growling softened, but didn’t silence, just morphed to something he’d deny was anything like a purr when his head was clear again.
But for the moment, when he was still fucking burning head to toe, every muscle aching for some goddamn relief that’d been two fucking years in the making - he couldn’t think straight.
“Y’alright sugar?” His voice was trying to be sweet, but it sounded twisted, like a clawed hand lashing out from a dark corner to latch on to her soft little body. “Did he scruff you?”
“No,” she sniffled, hands cupping his head, framing the back of his skull, carding gentle fingers through his hair, his perfect little omega content to dangle there where he held her tight to his chest, arms corded around her back. “No, he — he didn’t get that far.”
Scruffing an omega made them go limp, and if done hard enough by an alpha wielding pheromones like a weapon the way Shepherd had to have been to soak the whole fucking atrium with his goddamn scent like that - it could make an omega fucking catatonic. Completely unaware and unable to fight back, unable to speak.
The idea had his body trembling, his temperature climbing again.
Lauren’s hands didn’t falter. “Alpha,” she started sweetly. “I think - I think you might, uh, you might be-”
“Rutting,” he answered through gritted teeth, burying his face deeper into her neck. He knew the signs. Knew what this feeling of a wild itch beneath his skin and in his gums, the unbelievable heat gathering as his knot thobbed and started to fill, sweat already coating his body.
But he couldn’t be fucked with himself when Lauren was in his arms like this. She was softer than he’d dreamed she’d be, her perfect body had so much give and plush fat to it and it made him almost want to whine. “God, you’re so fucking sweet, sugar, like watermelon fucking candy just coming off the goddamn stove, does your slick taste that fucking sweet too? Or do ya taste like a fruity cocktail drunk on the beach, like ya’ve been rimmed with salt from the sea?”
She whimpered, quietly.
And then he smelled it.
A fresh wave of heat slick.
He’d smelled her get aroused around him before, had been the reason for her pussy getting slick and puffy beneath her skirts, dripping into her panties.
But not like this.
This was boiling sugar, like melons on the vine ripe enough to fucking burst, like actually having sex on the beach with the sand and salt crusting to your sweaty skin.
He knew what this was. What it meant.
Confirmation.
Victory.
Finally.
“You’re in heat,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up.
Finally.
“I know,” Lauren panted, arching her neck to give him more room, that slick-heat-need scent getting stronger. “I don’t…uhn, I don’t understa-ah!”
“Shh,” he crooned, moving her over to the bed, knowing it could take the abuse he was about to put it through, even if it really wasn’t big enough for this, he could make it work, and it’d be more comfortable for Lauren to lose her virginity on a bed no matter how cramped than on the goddamn floor. “Lemme take care of you, sugar. S’my fucking job honey, fuck, god, gotta get that fucking slick on my goddamn tongue or I’ll lose my fucking mind-”
“Alpha!”
He froze, pulling away from her just enough to meet her eyes.
God, please, give him the strength to talk her round, give him the fucking brain cells to keep the animal in him from just convincing her with the weight of his cock when her her heat hit in full.
She didn’t look all that scared though. More like she was trying to remember something…or how she wanted to say something, from the way she started and abandoned a sentence a few times before just blurting out-
“Do you love me?”
The words were soft. Needy. Tears gathered in dark, glassy eyes. “I c-couldn’t stand it if you j-just wanted - just wanted to-”
He caught her fumbling mouth in a kiss, swallowing the nasty thought before it could spill onto the floor between them and leave a foul taste on her tongue.
“Course I fucking love you,” he told her, hands tight on her waist holding on for dear life to keep himself from reaching for something else he shouldn’t be touching at that moment. “Fell in love with you the first fucking second I saw your picture. Spent all that time trying to get you to fall in love back, thanks for noticing, sugar.”
His teasing didn’t land. A soft hiccup escaped her, and he pulled back again to see a few tears roll down her face. Relief, again, thankfully.
“I noticed,” she promised as he caught the tears with his thumbs, rumbling soothing noises deep in his chest. “I fell in love then too. You take such good care of me…ruined me for everyone else, alpha, could never want anyone but you.”
The rumble in his chest revved louder, his eyes flashing, cock throbbing in his slacks. “Good girl,” he praised, thick and dark. “My good fucking omega, sugar, that’s what you are.”
She shivered, and he could taste the wave of slick gush from her cunt as her eyes rolled back briefly. “Please, alpha,” she begged, looking at him through her lashes, baring her neck, showing off her swollen scent gland. “Want you to claim me.”
Another jolt, the temperature in his body raising once more as the words alone, the wanton position spread out on rough cotton sheets in his goddamn office pulled him deeper into rut.
“Gonna give it to ya, promise, honey, you just lay there and take this knot.” He tugged out the tie holding her hair back, groaning when it spilled free glossy and dark over the rough sheets on the too small bed.
Her eyes were nearly entirely black, glazed with heat-drunk lust as she moved restlessly beneath him, making pretty, sweet little cooing and mewling noises as he tugged off her clothes. He’d taken care not to rip them (much), though he wasn’t nearly as considerate for his own clothes.
A growl vibrated his gritted teeth as he pulled off her shirt and exposed her tits, cupped in perfect, virginal white lace.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” he crooned, claws gently running over the peaks and making her back arch, a beautiful, addictive, needy sound spilling out from between her lips.
One claw beneath the band, and it snapped. He flung the lace aside. She’d never be able to wear white again after this, so why should he keep it nice?
The flimsy, scant little scrap of white lace covering her cunt got similar treatment, though he raised the sopping fabric to his face first, eyes rolling back in his head and knot pulsing painfully as he sucked her slick from the fabric.
Just like hot watermelon saltwater taffy. Like blood, too, a little, like in the way that a properly rare steak was, so the juice just made you hungrier.
“Alpha,” she moaned, little claws biting into his sides, trying to tug him down to cover her body. “S-stop that.”
He groaned, looking over her head to toe. He wanted to memorize this. The taste of her heat slick thick as molasses on his tongue as he sucked on her lace panties, her laying spread out beneath him completely naked, scent glands swollen, heavy tits blushed and straining, and that perfect, needy, fertile fucking virgin cunt peeking from between round spread thighs.
“Can smell it,” he rasped, dropping the panties, his hands fitting around her hips, pinning her down to the bed as he lowered himself down so he could get a proper look. “Fuck, look at her. So fucking small, darlin’. Y’never put anything inside this pretty thing?”
A whine was her only reply as he buried his mouth against her, lapping right from the source.
His knees buckled, vision spotting and he growled against her cunt, yanking her closer to lick deeper. She was so fucking sweet. So goddamn motherfucking sweet, and she, she even -
“Y’even taste tight,” he grunted against her clit as he met her burning gaze, looking down the length of her soft body. “This poor girl. She’s been needing me, ain’t she? N’you’ve been keeping her from me, omega.”
Tears clumped her lashes together, puffy lips pursed in a pout as she babbled, “A-alpha-”
“This sweet fucking cunt’s been empty, ain’t she?” He rubbed his chin against her, watching greedily as her body spasmed, her eyes rolling back. “N’you kept it from your alpha. Ain’t that selfish, darlin’? Ain’t that cruel?”
“M’sorry, alpha,” she stammered through her tears.
Almost mockingly he shushed her, still rubbing her clit with his chin, his mouth, lapping up her dripping slit, hands bruising her hips as he kept her still. “Sorry ain’t enough, darlin’. Gotta teach you a lesson so y’never do it again, hear?”
He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking a little, making her shriek, the sound just edging over to animal before he pulled back and said, the words vibrating her clit, “Gonna have ya cum once on my tongue. Gotta make ya cum empty first, s’punishment.”
She whimpered, more tears spilling free, but her cunt still dripped, her thighs shaking. She was already so close.
“And then,” he soothed, kissing her sticky inner thighs, scraping fangs lightly on the tender skin there. He’d leave proper marks, maybe even a few scars some day. But not today. “Then I’ll give you your alpha’s fat fucking knot. Give you a bite on that pretty neck so everyone knows you belong to me, darlin’.”
“Yes!” She tried to buck her hips, blind and mindless. She was deep in heat, deep enough that it was flirting with criminal territory to only now bring up marking her so permanently. But that was the point.
Everything he’d done, all this time he’d put into getting her here, to this moment, it had finally paid off. Now she was so needy and heat-blind she was operating on instinct alone, instinct to please her alpha, instinct to get fucked, to be mated.
She thrashed on the bed, nails raking at his forearms, scratching him up like a naughty cat as half-formed, mindless pleas poured out of her mouth. “Need your knot, alpha, need you to bite me, need it so bad, please please please!”
He didn’t bother answering her verbally. Just fixed his mouth around her clit and sucked. Hard. Rubbed back and forth and in circles with his tongue over that tight, sensitive bud, watching and listening to every little move she made, every sound that came out of her, finding what she liked best and shoving his foot down on the gas on each of them until she finally just - shattered.
Slick spilled out from her clenching, still untouched little hole as she screamed, every muscle in her body locking up tight, back bowed, dark hair wild beneath her as he just kept sucking and licking her clit to get her through it.
And with every pulse of her cunt he felt an answering one in his cock, his knot painfully swollen, hips moving in soft, faint little ruts as he fought to keep control rather than give in to the rut.
Not yet. Not yet. He’d rut her wild all next week without a care for comfort or consideration, because by then she’d be mated and his pleasure would be her pleasure, and her pleasure would be his pleasure. He wouldn’t have to be as careful then.
But for now? No, now he had to do it right, make her cum like a good girl on his fat knot as he filled her with his cum.
He’d meant to keep talking, both as a way to reassure her it was still him, aware and in control, and to keep himself somewhat sane. But then one of her little claws actually drew blood.
One fine lined scratch down his arm.
Next thing he knew he had her on her stomach, ass up high and held in place by his hands as he knelt on the narrow bed, the fat tip of his cock notched against her pussy.
She was trembling. But her scent didn’t have a single whisper of fear or doubt. Just that boiling sugar of heat slick need, watermelon and sea salt slick still coating his tongue, his chin, his cheeks.
He moved one hand, smoothing his palm over her round ass, up the line of her spine that he’d admired do long from his desk chair.
Until he settled it on the back of her neck.
Not squeezing.
Just holding.
Threatening.
She whimpered, her pussy clenching down desperately around nothing. “Please alpha,” she begged, the words clouded and almost indistinguishable through her tears. “Please, please, please, please!”
He pressed his palm down on the nape of her neck, fingers curling around the vulnerable spot there perfectly sized for him to squeeze her right there, just like this, just for him alone to make her mind go blank and her back arch high, cutting her off mid-word as he shoved his hips forward.
The fragile barrier of her hymen popped, so completely he would’ve sworn he heard it, as he shoved deep into her tight, overwhelming heat, a too loud snarl as he bared his fangs, covering her back with his body.
Mine.
God she was unbelievable. The tight, tight stretch of her cunt squeezing and spasming as his fat knot threatened around the tight ring of her entrance, her soft body throbbing beneath his, plush and hot and sweet. That scent of hot watermelon candy and the salt of her slick still on his tongue as his mouth watered.
Perfect.
That was what she was, fucking perfect.
Words were totally beyond him.
He wanted to tell her how good she felt on his cock, how good she was being to squeeze down so tight he had to punch his hips hard to fuck her properly, her thighs shaking before she’d even taken half a dozen thrusts.
To tell her how soft and pretty she was like this, his own perfect little omega all cock hungry, so dumbed down just from getting fucked that she couldn’t even properly speak any more.
How perfect she was to cum, screaming for her alpha, gushing slight around his knot, walls fluttering as she begged and mewled so prettily for a knot to plug her up and breed her full.
Mine.
But he couldn’t get the words out. All that came out was animalistic vocalizations in varying volume as he fucked her the way he’d wanted to for years.
And godfuckingdammit but he didn’t want this to end, either. He’d only take her virginity once, and he was going to fucking enjoy it. Wanted to exact his revenge, just once, for her making him wait this long for what he’d always owned.
He’d be sweet to her the rest of their lives, but for once, just for right now, he wanted to be mean.
So he ignored her clawing up the mattress and the pitiful omega whines getting wetter and the tang of salt getting stronger in the air as she started crying, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she went unfulfilled, her heat unanswered.
The two of them were burning up, feeding into one another’s hormones, fanning inner flames higher and higher and it was fucking addictive.
This was all she’d ever needed, all Graves had ever needed, one bruising hand on her plush hip keeping her angled just how he wanted as he fucked her as hard as he liked, but not as deep as she needed, only torturing her with the threat of his knot.
But he couldn’t hold off forever.
She was too hot, too tight, too wet and sweet, and he’d been kept from her for too long. He’d made her cum twice, and that was good, but the alpha needed to knot. He needed to mark. He needed to mate.
He needed to mark her up, inside and out.
Now.
Before anyone, even God himself, could step in to stop him.
Mine.
A low, threatening growl rumbled out of him when Lauren’s sweet pleas grew louder, tone turning from begging into the beginnings of frustrated anger.
That wouldn’t do.
That would never be a tone he wanted her to use on him.
One more deliberate squeeze of his hand around the nape of her neck to make her go limp again, cutting off the growing demands and the thrashing of her body. Seeing her like that, feeling her go lax and submissive, knot-hungry and needy as her slick dripped off of his balls - fuck.
He moved the hand covering her neck, slipping his arm around her chest to hold on to her opposite shoulder as he opened his panting mouth against her swollen scent gland, the skin searing against his equally heated lips.
“Mine,” he snarled as he held her down and popped his knot in with one hard, relentless thrust.
She screamed, but she didn’t have time to do anything else before his fangs sunk deep into the spot that they’d longed to mark for two fucking years and drained his balls inside of his mate.
The pleasure was so blinding everything around him went white. The feeling of her body stuck between his knot and his fangs, every breath tugging on his sensitive gums, every pulse of her blood inside her skin enough for him to feel her tighten around his cock she was stretched so thin, so tight. He knew she’d be hurting, he was too big and he’d been fucking mean, hadn’t stretched her for it at all.
But god it was so good like this.
How she was meant to take it.
And god, she took it so fucking good. Cumming like a slut, like a good little omega all over her alpha’s fat fucking knot the second it locked and his teeth pierced her scent gland.
His hips rolled in lazy, half-formed thrusts trying to press his cum deeper, despite the fact that the head of his cock was rammed up against her fucking cervix like this.
The haze of rut cleared slightly with that first load, the chill of the air conditioner beginning to reach him again.
He could feel the sweat on his back, the scratch of the sheets under his knees, the thundering of his mate’s heart.
Could feel the bond, new, fragile, growing stronger as it formed in his chest. Filling in a hole he’d been keenly aware of his whole life, the perfect puzzle piece slotting into place.
The relief was so keen he whined, grinding sharper against her hips, another hot, thick pulse of cum streaming out into her womb as he bit down deeper.
Lauren whimpered, but her scent didn’t sour. Just got sweeter.
“I c-can feel you,” she stammered. “God…Phillip…”
He could feel her too.
The aches and strain his her lower half from the brutal way he’d fucked her. The sharp sting in her throat. The need still simmering, but no longer boiling now that she had a load in her. Her heat was quelled for now, but it’d be back with a vengeance and he’d give her everything she’d ever need.
Could feel something not physical, too. Something cool and sweet, like a freshwater spring tucked away in the heavy woods in high summer, refreshing you when you skinny-dipped to cool off.
Something that was just…Lauren.
Just like that, the perpetual anxious itch between his shoulder blades and the looming shadow of fear and dark possessive jealousy in the back of his head just vanished. She was his. Totally and completely and forever now.
Not a goddamn thing that anyone could do about it.
“Mine,” he said, or tried to.
She flinched, and this time the flash of her pain made his stomach turn.
Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth off of her neck, licking the trickles off blood off of her heated skin, a soothing rumble passed from deep in his chest right against her back, against the nape of her neck.
And because she was a good fucking omega, she begged him not to, to keep them there, please alpha she could take it-
“Shh,” he soothed, rough and dark. “Did so good, darlin’. My good omega.”
He kissed her cheek, sticky with dried and fresh tears and sweat. Spreading his knees out, he pressed her down harder into the bed, settling in, smirking slightly when the pressure of his body over hers immediately made her relax again.
“Gonna be locked a while yet,” he crooned happily. “Let’s get comfy, yeah darlin’?”
He’d have to get her something to drink, something to eat. Thank god he had ready to go nonperishables, but this was still a far cry from an omega’s carefully curated and intimately familiar nest.
Just meant he’d need to be extra attentive even after her heat, make sure she bounced back well. Course, she’d be doing it at his side, too.
That made him smile against her cheek.
Her cunt was still milking his cock, and every now and then he’d pump a new pulse of cum into her.
If he’d been in a more self-aware state he’d have tried to say something truly filthy to her about it. But he really couldn’t at the moment.
Not with her already making the cutest fucking sleepy noises as she found his hands and threaded her small, plush manicured fingers through his, yawning into the scratchy sheets. “Thank you, alpha.”
His lips drew back from his teeth as that alone made his balls draw up again, grinding his hips against her cunt as he came once more. Black spots danced over his field of vision even with his eyes shut tight.
“Gonna breed you again, sugar,” he murmured, kissing her temple, settling heavily over her body as he felt her drop off into sleep. “Get some rest. Gonna fucking need it, darlin’.”
-
Laswell was waiting for them on the other side of the doors when Graves finally gave in to Lauren’s sweet urging and raised the emergency seal.
She didn’t flinch, more credit to her, at the sight of Lauren practically mauled and drowning in Graves’ clothes in his arms even though Graves himself was only wearing a pair of boxers. Not even the scent of a rut/heat den being unleashed after a whole week seemed to have any effect on Laswell.
“Graves, for the love of god.”
He grinned at her like an asshole. “Laswell, you remember Lauren, my mate?”
Lauren waved from her perch in his arms, blushing. “Hi.”
For a moment, Laswell’s narrow gaze didn’t move from Graves. She was analyzing him, picking out pieces of information and putting them together. Not that he didn’t think she already knew the full story already.
If anything, he’d hope that she’d known exactly what his plan with Lauren was from the very beginning, otherwise she wasn’t nearly as good at her job as she should be.
So he stood there, grinning like a total dick, unphased by her scrutiny or judgment.
Sighing, Laswell turned to look at Lauren and immediately softened. “Hi. You alright, kiddo? This knothead didn’t hurt you?”
Lauren puffed up like a bird, scowling cutely. “He’d never. He’s been nothing but a gentleman.”
It didn’t escape his notice that a muscle in the beta’s jaw flickered, but he did appreciate that she managed not to laugh in Lauren’s face.
Raising a hand, Laswell forestalled any other soliloquy. “Alright. Long as you’re not upset, kid.” Leveling her gaze on Graves, she sighed again. “You know Shepherd’s in a coma.”
“Awh,” Graves said, trying to fight off the clenching jaw that wanted to lock, the curl of a growl that wanted to click into place. “Here I was hoping he’d be dead.”
“It’d be less paperwork,” Laswell admitted to them without blinking, voice dry and eyes fixed on Graves. “After all, jealous alphas going feral over their omega being dropped into an unexpected heat is so commonplace it’s got its own fucking form in the DOD.”
Graves blinked. “Really?”
“No, knothead.” She paused. “Well, technically yes, but that’s not its only purpose. Anyway, the point is that you’re gonna have to go in front of the Supreme Court and explain yourself when they get around to the case.”
Shrugging, Graves blew a raspberry. “Whatever. He touched my omega and tried to scruff her. DOD classifies that as a hate crime. I was triggered by my mate’s heat and went to an aggression rut. That I didn’t kill him proves I’m not feral.”
“Or that your omega’s got you on a short leash.”
Lauren snickered, and Graves chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at them both. “Now that she definitely does.”
Now Laswell rolled her eyes, sighing again. “Yeah, I definitely should have just emailed.”
Shifting in his arms, Graves felt the shift in Lauren’s emotions go from blissful happiness to slight anxiety before her scent changed a note. “Why did you come? Is everything alright?”
Immediately, Laswell nodded. “Everything is under control. Oz kept Shadow Company running, from what I understand everything is proceeding as expected and under control.”
Remembering their earlier conversation, Graves tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “And 141?”
Laswell paused, staring at him, expressionless. “Taskforce 141 is currently on sabbatical. They will be back in three weeks.”
So she had managed to find them mates.
He grinned wide. “Timing worked out perfectly then, huh?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her cool gaze warmed once more as she turned to Lauren. “I really came to warn you both about the Supreme Court hearing, whenever that happens, and that we’re still on track for deployment in three weeks.”
Lauren’s hand went tight on the back of his neck, and he felt her gut swoop with dread. “Oh,” she said bravely, trying to force her voice to be braver than she felt. “Thank you, for that.”
A worried little rumble revved in his throat as he kissed her cheek, holding her tighter. “We’ve still got three weeks then,” he soothed her.
After a moment she nodded, but tucked her face against his throat.
“I need to get you home, baby,” he frowned. “Need to get you to someplace you can make an actual nest and get some actual sleep.”
She’d been wound tight as a watch spring in his arms, but at that she loosened a little. “…can we order food from Maurice’s?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Course we can, honey. Anything you want.”
The ill-ease he was feeling from her settled, and he glanced back at Laswell.
She had a strange expression on her face. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said she was almost fond.
“Thanks for stopping by,” he said brightly. “Always nice to see work acquaintances first thing after a mating.”
Rolling her eyes again, Laswell turned on her heel. “Three weeks, Graves, and then wheels up.”
He ignored her departing words, grinning down at Lauren. “Three weeks isn’t nearly enough time alone with you, darlin’…”
She peeked up at him, dark eyes wide and soft, exhaustion tinging the edges.
“But it’s a damn good start, ain’t it sugar?” He kissed her, lingering, tasting her soft, swollen and much abused lips as he began to walk. “Let’s see if I can beat my record for quickest commute home, hm? And on the way you can order dinner.”
Or follow orders and play with her puffy little clit until she came all over his custom leather interior, whichever.
He’d decide in the car.
He had that option now. Had all of the options now. Had everything he’d ever wanted, actually.
Against her mouth, he sighed, squeezing her tight. “I fucking love you.”
The bright flash of surprise and glee, then the wave of warm, heavy adoration and love came barreling through the bond.
Lauren was grinning wide, eyes shining as he pulled back to see her face. Snuggling into his shoulder, she said dreamily, “I love you too.”
Price and Gaz are wifed tf up and Ghost will be damned if he's the last of the 141 to do so, but Ghost is so rizzless and bitchless he has to stalk his neighbor to get a wife (he's actually really good at it if he thinks about it like a mission) wc: 8523 / Single Moms series Part 3
cw: stalking, noncon filming, rescue kink, possessive behavior, control and trust issues, mention of past abusive partner, Ghost gets to commit murder for fun and because it keeps someone he cares about safe, single mom, pregnant oc, possible age difference but it's not advertised too much, HEAVY love at first sight
His neighbor was using a fake name.
She was twenty four, five foot six inches tall, and weighed 73 kilograms at her last prenatal checkup. She was only ten weeks along, and not really showing yet, but apparently having a tough time with nausea and insomnia.
Being her neighbor, he could vouch for the nausea. Poor thing threw up at the exact same time every day like clockwork.
As for the rest of it, Simon knew what he did because when a young, pretty girl like her moved in to a shitty flat like the ones in his building, having clearly been beaten no matter how much makeup she tried to disguise it with, and exhibiting behavior that was way past what could be brushed off as just ‘skittish’, he made it his business to know.
Last thing he needed was to ignore the whole thing and have her wind up being on the run from the mafia or some shit.
Of course he’d checked her out, which was why he knew she was using a fake name. ‘Jane’ was both too on the nose for her purposes and ill fitting for a girl as pretty as she was. In the weeks she’d existed silent as a church mouse in the flat below his, he’d watched her through his security cameras (most but not all predating her arrival) that were installed in various places in the halls, out on the street, even a couple looking in through her windows.
She was a good girl, a careful girl. She kept most of her windows shaded, especially the one that faced out to the public street, a crucial but often overlooked security and privacy measure. The only one she didn’t keep the curtains drawn over was the one that faced the garden at the back of the building that no one ever used.
Unfortunately for her, it was also her bedroom, and she spent most of her time in it. And Simon had put a camera at the perfect spot to see inside.
Simon, with nothing else to do while on leave, spent most of his time watching her. It made his teeth grind, thinking of their moronic landlord putting something as fragile and precious as her in a ground floor fucking flat, right near the main entrance of the fucking building.
But he’d been keeping an eye on her, watching the comings and goings, doing basic surveillance to make sure nothing was out of order.
At first, he’d just been doing his due diligence. But that lie didn’t work anymore after the first time he watched her stand in the mirror, nightgown pulled up to expose her belly, her hands framing it with a look of awe visible on her face even through the grainy image.
He wanted a better look. Wanted to know the exact shade of her hazel eyes, how the colors swirled in real life when they looked at him. Wanted to know how her dark blonde hair felt threaded in his fist as he sunk his cock deep.
Wanted more dangerous things too, things not tied to sex and sticky sweet lust. Wanted her to sleep tucked in his clothes like the scent of his skin would ward off predators. Wanted her child to look up at him and call him-
But she was scared shitless, and for once he wasn’t the root cause of fear (although he harbored no illusions about how she’d feel coming face to face with him in his mask in a dark alley or even outside their building on the sunniest of London afternoons). She was just plain fucking scared. Of everything.
So if he was going to do this, if he was going to get her (he was), he had to do it right and on the first fucking try. No room for mistakes.
That meant research, careful study and surveillance as he formulated a plan, waiting for the perfect opportunity whether it came naturally or if he had to manufacture it. He’d do whatever it took, and count himself lucky to.
Actually it wasn’t half bad to be ‘home’ for once. For once, he wasn’t bored out of his skull and nearly going fucking mad waiting for Price to ring his phone about a job.
With all of his careful planning in progress, he was simply too busy to think about much else.
The good part of her being on the run, if he could call it ‘good’, was that she wasn’t on the run from a mob boss or mixed up with international espionage or lying low after a heist or any of the possible scenarios he’d initially thought probable. No, just a run of the mill abusive fuck who’d treated her like a punching bag.
He’d put a bug in the rec room of a local church that held the survivor’s support group she attended, and though she was careful to give everyone a fake name for herself and for the dead man walking (good girl, careful girl), the details she’d given him, however unintentionally, had been more than enough for what he needed to find the guy, and to find her real name.
And with her real name he got the full picture of her life before he’d entered it. Which had been…bleak.
Nothing interesting from her childhood save a large number of art show awards she’d collectsd from primary through uni, but she’d wound up with no family, no friends, and overall very little in the way of an online footprint, which was likely the reason she’d been targeted by her ex. They had a way of sniffing out vulnerability.
Admittedly it was convenient for his own purposes too, to not have to worry about faking niceties with her family who would expect him to cede the lion’s share of her time and attention once she felt safe enough to reach back out to them.
Because he wouldn’t. He wanted every ounce of her time and attention spent just on him when he was home, to make up for all the time he wasn’t. It should have been strange, to find himself playing out a fantasy of a future with a woman he’d never spoken to, but somehow it wasn’t.
At his core, Simon was a selfish man. And after everything, after all of what he’d lived through, if he was going to let someone in, he’d be sure that this time nothing would take them from him.
So when his gut pulled him to her, he hadn’t even fought off the first time an image flashed in his head of himself holding the child that grew in her belly, standing beside her bed in the hospital.
What did it matter if another man was the biological father? In his experience biological fathers weren’t worth shit. He’d be different, because he knew how to be, knew from personal experience every wrong thing to do, and now that he was older, knew how easy it was to simply not do them.
Some men balked at the thought of caring for or loving another man’s child, but Simon didn’t give a fuck about that. The baby was half of the mother too. And because they came from her, he’d love them like his own. Protect them like his own. Provide for them like his own.
He was adamant about that last part. Which was the only part of the whole thing that felt strange to start taking into consideration as he began to look around himself with fresh eyes at the way he lived while not working.
Once the balaclava had started going on more often than it didn’t, even in his civilian life, he’d stopped caring about how he lived when he wasn’t on the job.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a house like Price or Gaz, as Lieutenant only the Captain was paid more than him, and all of them were paid almost absurdly high salaries due to the sort of work they did, when compared to regular soldiers.
But it just hadn’t been a priority, since he spent so much of his leave working out, training, picking up the odd bodyguard contract here or there, doing freelance glorified cyberstalking and/or assassinations for Laswell’s connections when she asked if he was free to, essentially just wasting time however he could before Price called again and they were gone once more.
With a wife (because she would be his wife) and a baby, however, a place like the run down, threadbare and stained ramshackle building they lived in now wouldn’t do at all.
So in between his surveillance and his planning he was watching the neighborhoods the others in his squad lived in for any houses on the market. It would make him feel better to know that she was near friends and familiar faces when he was away.
He’d toyed around very briefly with the thought of Scotland, but dismissed it just as quick. Soap wasn’t exactly settled, and it’d be annoying to have to move if he did. Gaz and his wife had some neighbors who were apparently thinking about downsizing now that their children were grown, and Price had moved his bird in within three months but she still owned her old place though it sat completely empty.
It gave him options, but he wasn’t going to pull a trigger without her input, even though that was unfortunately a ways off before he could broach it with her. He would eventually, when the time was right.
Because he wanted to give her everything. A good house, pretty clothes that suited her, a shiny ring on her finger, everything. Because it was clear from her background that she hadn’t ever had much.
Looking into her life had been normal, routine, but what he found could only be described as dismal. All she’d had before she’d run was a crap job at a bar and half of an art degree gathering dust.
And now a report from her ex to Scotland Yard that she was missing, though he got into their system and deprioritized it, adding himself (or the cover he used when working within their system for Laswell or her contacts) as a watcher to be notified if anything changed.
Her ex had put in the missing person report not twenty minutes after she’d boarded the bus in their shitty little town and left.
Going back to review the street footage from the day she’d ran, Simon found the man had been drinking in a pub just down the road. Waiting for her, a spider denied its dinner.
When the time came, he was going to thoroughly enjoy watching all life drain out of that man.
Of course he didn’t know how many times she’d been hurt, but even once was still too fucking many times. Ghost’d take care of it, though. He had eyes and trackers on the arsehole at all times, at his leisure to deliver him his well deserved fate.
Of course he could do it at any point, and had serious difficulty restraining himself whenever he thought about why a smart girl like her would have had to run so fast and not try to even gather together a bit of money to set herself up in safety, but Price had a standing order for no killing unless he gave them the verbal authorization. Simon didn’t have a single doubt that he’d get it, but he was waiting to have at least kissed her before he killed her abuser.
Seemed bad form otherwise.
Plus, Price was on holiday with his pregnant fiancée, and if Simon interrupted their bliss to ask for approval on a ‘non emergency’ execution he’d be running drills until he dropped dead.
So. He was in a holding pattern as he watched over her, gathering information, ensuring she was safe on the dark walks back to their building after a late shift, letting her get used to his presence from a distance, letting her see him keeping watch, letting her slowly come to terms with his shadow and size and turn it over in her head to associate it with safety.
From what he’d gathered, she’d made a run for it the second she’d found out she was pregnant. The last thing he could find her doing in her hometown on the other side of England under her real name was a doctor’s appointment. After that she’d gotten onto a bus and just left. No bag, no money, no plan, nothing.
Luckily for her, she’d landed with him.
Simon would take care of everything, including her baby.
Actually he was looking forward to it.
Gaz and his wife had three kids, and were already thinking about a fourth. Price and his fiancée were six months along and were the guardians of her sister’s kid, so the whole team was familiar enough with the process.
Nick and Wesley loved their ‘uncles’, their baby girl Tilly seemingly no different even at less than a year old, and Simon’s phone background (before he’d changed it to a picture of his future wife) had been of Nick dressed up in a skull mask and suit for Halloween last year, like what Simon had worn to Gaz and Molly’s vow renewal.
Price was all business same as ever on the job, mostly. But now, he made sure to send emails and take secure calls wherever and whenever he could stuff them in during deployments. By now they’d all been in the same car or transport with him while he gave his love to his girls (and dutifully passed on love from Lydia and Chloe when it was extended by them), and they’d all caught him smiling down at his phone as he typed out messages, or watched him stare into the distance as he listened to a voicemail, not seeing anything but their faces in his head.
And god knew Gaz never shut up about his family, too cocky that he’d locked his girl down before his first real deployment, his grade school sweetheart fairytale. They were all, even Ghost, content to let him ramble on about how wonderful it was, what a miracle, blah blah blah, because if Gaz was all starry-eyed over his wife and children then at least he and Johnny weren’t plotting on their downtime.
Plotting always led to Price having to stop Ghost from killing the two of them when they pulled yet another childish prank.
Really it was ridiculous. They rolled their eyes and groaned at his jokes and called him an old man but they got to act like ten year olds?
One mission where the helicopter was already going down and somehow Simon got blamed as if he’d done it on purpose, meaning that every time he was supposed to fly them or drive them anywhere they whined about how he was going to kill them. And Price said he couldn’t strangle them with their safety tethers?
Un-fucking-believable.
Although. Well. Fine. In the end it was frustrating but ultimately good that he never did get to follow up on his promises of lethal vengeance, because even if he’d never say it out loud, he did love them. They were family.
For the first time in a very long time, Ghost could think that sentence consciously, almost, almost free from pain.
The sweet, pretty little doe downstairs had more to do with that than anything else.
Yeah, it was lucky for her that she’d picked this building, picked the flat directly beneath his.
The cheeky thing was even piggybacking off of his internet with an absurdly cheap mobile she’d gotten from a pawn shop, but he didn’t mind really. It just made it easier to keep an eye on her.
Other than her extremely depressing ongoing job search, and the panicked checking on her ex’s social media account in incognito mode (fuck’s sake, she was so cute thinking that did absolutely anything at all), she watched a lot of videos about art and painting, and of course, she was constantly reading and watching videos about pregnancy and babies.
Her search history alone was like a constant stream of thought, and reading it made him ache. His pretty little doe was lonely and scared, and existing off of irregular tips from the sleazy bar up the road she’d managed to get a few shifts from.
Of course he spent each of her night shifts watching from the alley on the other side of the street, out of sight but within reach, and walking her back home with her none the wiser.
All part of the plan.
The plan had officially started when he’d been kept up late one night with her frantically searching for tips on saving money as a new mother, watching her search up prices of everything baby related from diapers to strollers.
It had been…frustrating wasn’t a strong enough word. He hated feeling caged, like he wasn’t able to do a thing. Wasn’t a stretch to imagine she felt similarly, cooped up in her ratty flat bare of almost any furniture but a mirror that had been left by the previous tenant and an air mattress she'd dragged home from a charity shop, a place she existed in silence and solitude just like Simon, cutting herself off from everyone and everything around her, with very little in the way of viable options to live, not just survive.
For her protection, because she was a good and careful girl, but still. Lonely. Isolating. Vulnerable.
And using a fake name, if anything were to go wrong it’d be hard to for her to get help and it restricted her to jobs that didn’t exactly ask for tax identifying information. He doubted she had much of a plan for that, but by that point she wouldn’t have to worry about it. He’d handle it for her.
Truthfully, he would have made a more concrete first move, and much earlier, but the memory of those bruises on her face lingered, the flashes of her shying away from their landlord, one arm curled protectively around her middle.
No, he had to be gentle about it, or as gentle like as he could reasonably fake. He had to be careful, and not spook her. Had to lead her to him so she’d be comfortable. And once he had her, he’d keep her safe and warm and hip deep in canvases and paint and baby clothes in some little brick house near his team.
Which led to the actionable part of the plan, that the first step of had admittedly more mixed results than he would have liked.
So when he’d decided to make his first ‘move’, it was a cool and gray Wednesday.
He’d made sure to take the stairs down from his floor to the ground floor, and of course very particularly the ones that let out in front of her flat. For once he made sure his movements were audible, for him possibly even exaggerated.
Catching her attention. Drawing her in. Waiting just in front of the stairs, pretending to be texting on his phone until he heard her soft footsteps come to her door, saw the shadow of her body under the crack at the bottom as she looked at him through the peephole, and only then did he put his balaclava on and turn to leave the building itself.
Watching his surveillance to see that she’d immediately started searching for ‘gang symbols near me’ and 'gangs that wear masks near me' was both funny, and also not.
He didn’t want his sweet little dove to be scared of him, after all.
So when he came back an hour later, he again waited to hear her move to the door to look through the peephole before he set down the box of diapers outside her door, and then went back to the stairwell and up to his flat.
Which brought on a flurry of searches like ‘how loud is vomiting’ and ‘how to tell if your neighbors can hear you through the walls’. But pretty quickly after that, the tone of the google searches changed to ‘can I be arrested for accepting stolen diapers from a stranger’ and ‘what is the penalty for stealing diapers’.
He wasn’t a common criminal, and of course he hadn’t stolen them, so a few days later when he repeated the process, he’d left the receipt crumpled beneath the box, like he’d forgotten it there totally by accident.
She’d been quiet that afternoon, and when he followed her to her shift he’d noticed she seemed distracted, pensive.
During her walk back home he ran off three would-be muggers, and she never knew the difference. He let her walk into their building first, let her get into her little flat before he followed silently.
Not ten minutes after they were both in for the night, he heard her door open, and then shortly after it the door to the stairwell. Standing in his kitchen, bathed in the light of his open refrigerator, he watched the grainy footage on his phone from his camera in the hall as she hesitated outside his door, holding a flimsy takeaway container from the pub she worked at.
He recognized the label on the bag. She brought something similar home every shift after she was done with work, and he was positive it was the only regular meal she had.
Which made it next up on his list of things to provide for her.
But didn’t explain what she was doing outside his door holding food. He watched her on his phone through the cameras as she raised her fist and knocked three times, set the food down just at the crack of his front door and then scurried away as quickly as her sweet little feet could carry her.
He went to his door on auto-pilot. Opened it, stared down at the bag tucked there for another long minute before taking it inside, unpacking it on his countertop.
This was unexpected.
Incredibly encouraging, but completely unexpected.
Really he hadn’t expected her to be so…sweet. Not so soon.
He stared at the food (steak and ale pie) for a long minute, trying to decide what to do next. Rearranging pieces of the plan. Returning the food was unthinkable, she’d think he was refusing her kindness. He’d hurt her feelings.
But her not eating?
Also unthinkable.
Which left him with only one real viable option, although perhaps a bit more on the nose, not to mention a little riskier than he would’ve originally preferred. Then again, that could work in his favor. No one got shit done without risks, after all.
He would have to cook for her. He wasn’t exactly a homemaker, but he did have a few things he could do. Had to, or he wouldn’t have lived this long.
The weather outside was cold and rainy, had been for days, and he knew well that their building didn’t have shit for insulation, so he knew exactly what to make.
Luckily he had everything he needed for it, even though he didn’t cook all that often. He went through the steps with calm, laser focus, shoving away the animal panting in his head that she was going to eat the food he provided for her.
In an hour he was walking down the stairs, hot skillet in hand and the bottom padded by one of his shirts (he didn’t exactly have a plethora of pot holders…or at least that was the excuse he came up with), the fragrant scent of cottage pie heavy in the air as he set down the skillet on the rickety little table that held their mail parcels outside her door.
For now, it was empty, and moreover a convenient place for him to put the food while he knocked on her door, trying to walk the line between loud enough for her to hear and not too loud to scare her.
But as he looked down, he smirked faintly. No need to worry about it, because his sweet girl was waiting just on the other side of the door.
Like she had, he turned away after knocking, but his return to his own flat was leisurely, not rushed.
He’d been half hoping she’d open the door, let him see her up close and in person. He was disappointed but not surprised when she didn’t.
On his phone, he watched her crack the door open, sticking her pretty head out. He cursed that it didn’t have audio when he saw her mouth open slightly in a gasp when she saw the cottage pie.
He paused just inside his door, not even hearing it close behind him as he watched her press her hands to her face, clearly fighting back tears on the grainy image. He’d gone for speed of installation and stealth over clarity of picture and he was kicking himself for it.
She quickly got herself under control, slender hand picking up the skillet (and the shirt) carefully and bringing it inside.
If he hadn’t stopped smiling for hours that night, then no one had to know.
And if he fisted his cock in the shower thinking about her eating what he gave her, her hands over his shirt, the implausible but farfetched possibility of her even wearing it, fuck-
Then that was his fucking business.
An admittedly comfortable routine developed. He’d come down the stairs, wait for her to rush to the door to see him before he pulled on his balaclava or a black medical mask, he’d go out and have a pint or grocery shop or even go see Gaz and Molly and their growing brood and help out around the house, before he’d come back bringing her something small for the baby like a blanket or a bottle warmer, and always, always food. Sometimes it would be from his favorite pub or takeaway, sometimes he’d come back home and cook her something.
Whenever he cooked for her he’d watch her eat it in her bed, phone propped up against one of the boxes of diapers he’d left, playing a Bob Ross video.
And every time he checked, she was wearing his shirt.
It wasn’t just then that she wore it, either. Every time she got in bed she was wearing it, the long sleeves having to be shoved up to her forearms so they didn’t cover her hands, the hem hanging down long enough on her legs that she didn’t need to wear anything else, at least when she was alone in the privacy of her own space - so she didn’t.
Seeing her in it that first time, the night after he’d given her the cottage pie and only a few hours after she’d dropped off the clean skillet in front of his door with a little card in the bottom that just had a red heart on it, he’d nearly done something fucking stupid like break down her door and lick her pussy til she cried and forgot about everything but him.
He settled for beating off while he watched her cuddle with her pillow, sleeping soundly.
She wore his shirt every night, and every day he lingered a little longer outside her door, or when he walked her home, watching her back, he let himself drift a little closer.
He knew she knew he was there, had spotted the first moment she’d noticed him watching the pub from across the street, leaning against the corner of the alley, smoking.
Those eyes had gone wide at first, and she’d frozen from where she was wiping down the window booth. But then, the fear just evaporated, just melted right off and she’d ducked her head, a beat too slow to hide her smile.
She’d recognized him, though of course the skull mask was fairly recognizable.
It was exactly the kind of reaction he’d been hoping for.
As much as he wanted to press, wanted to take the next step and knock on her door and actually wait for her to answer, he wouldn’t yet. She’d have to take that next step when she was ready for it.
Rushing her wasn’t something he could afford, and he’d be dead in the water if he pushed her too fast or too hard. So he’d be patient and keep drawing her in closer.
Which was of course when Laswell called and said she needed him for an emergency job. One, two days tops. A routine infiltration assassination that needed outside help for a deep cover team already in place so they all had visible alibis.
The kind of thing he never would have thought twice about before.
But now, even though he said yes (what else could he say, that he needed to stay in England in case his future wife asked him his name?), his thoughts were on his neighbor, watching another Bob Ross video with the volume up.
That meant she was doing laundry.
He looked at his go bag in hand, and made a decision. Time for another risk.
Fuck it.
Like usual, he kept his steps loud on the stairs, fighting back a grin as he heard her rushing about in her flat to shut the video off and come up to her door.
But this time he didn’t pull the balaclava on, and didn’t turn to leave. He went right to her door, and knocked.
Her shadow stayed put under the door, and the corners of his mouth twitched faintly.
Again, he knocked. Softly, he said, “Come on, love. Need to talk to you.”
Through the door he heard her breathy gasp. He kept his eyes on the door handle, frowning at it. He honestly wasn’t sure if she’d open the door at all, if she’d just stay where she was and force him to tell her through the hollow core veneer.
But then, the handle turned, and the door cracked.
He stepped back, giving her a little space as her face (pretty, so fucking pretty, fuck those hazel eyes were so much brighter in person than in pictures) appeared in the crack, surprised and a little wary.
“…yes?” She said finally.
Her hand was curled around the edge of the door, and he recognized the fabric. Recognized the bleach stain on the cuff stretched out over her knuckles.
All the blood in his body turned and went south as he realized she was wearing his shirt. And only his shirt. That was why she’d hesitated. She wasn’t wearing any fucking pants.
And she’d still opened the door.
For him.
God fucking damn everything to hell, Laswell included.
He cleared his throat, realizing he’d just been stood there staring for far too long. “I’m leaving town for a day, maybe two.”
To her credit, she didn’t try to even pretend to not know why he was telling her. But the pinch in her brow and the fear bleeding into her eyes made his stomach turn sour.
“Really?” Her voice was quiet.
He watched her closely, reading the question she wanted to ask in the tense purse of her pretty lips.
Ask it. Ask it, pretty doe, ask for it and I’ll give you anything you fucking want, swear I will. Tell me to stay.
But she didn’t, to his great disappointment.
“O-okay,” she said quietly.
He stepped forward, drawing her gaze, greedily drinking in her faint, sudden inhalation of air, the dilation of her pupils as he towered over her. “Be safe,” he told her, voice firm but hopefully not cruel. “If you need me, call.”
Lifting a hand into the space between them he offered her a card, blank of everything but his number. “I’ll answer. No matter what.”
Barely a second passed before she moved her hand on the door, carefully taking the card. She stretched her fingers out just a hair more than necessary, causing their fingers to brush, and he watched her shiver ever so slightly, barely enough to even be noticed.
“Good girl,” he said quietly, a thread of sound.
She still heard, hazel eyes snapping up to him, plump mouth parted.
He smirked. Reaching for his balaclava he stepped back and pulled it on. “Remember. Stay safe.”
Wide-eyed and blushing, she nodded mutely.
Much as he hated to, he turned to leave.
“Wait!”
He glanced back, heart pounding in his dick when he saw she’d opened the door wider, showing him a flash of her bare legs, the fabric of his shirt hanging loose around her body. She’d probably be able to wear it even at nine months, and the mental image of that possibility made him so fucking horny.
“Wha's tha', love?”
She shivered again, a little stronger this time. He watched her hesitate, a flicker of caution crossing her face.
Good girl, careful, clever little doe. But you don’t ever need to hesitate like that with me.
Slowly, he stepped forward again, crowding up against the crack in the door, looking down at her while his blood pooled low in his hips. “Tell me, doe.”
Another shiver, that blush deepening even as the hesitation vanished and any tension along with it. “What’s your name?”
“Simon. Lieutenant Simon Riley.”
He watched her mouth his name, a hot pulse of arousal jolting through him. He wondered if she’d be honest when he asked, low and rough, “What’s yours, pretty doe?”
“I-” she paused, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. And then, she straightened, chin lifting slightly. “Olivia.”
Honesty it was for her, then.
The smile on his face under the balaclava was huge, victorious, vicious. “Olivia.”
Through the wider opening in the door he watched her legs press together, the heat in her cheeks flaring brighter.
Fuck it.
What was one more risk when she’d responded so beautifully to all the ones before?
Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers over the smooth skin of her cheek. Just like he thought she would she gasped, and hung for a second in a tense, awkward posture like she couldn’t decide if she should move away.
Simon stayed rooted, staring at her.
And after a moment that tension went right out of her and she sighed, body going lax as she leaned into his touch.
Just like he thought. Still skittish, but she trusted him, enough to seek the heat of his fingers to try and alleviate the touch-starved loneliness she must be enduring.
He would know.
If it weren’t for Soap having zero concept of personal space he might never have been able to fix the itch beneath his own skin while they were deployed.
Just something else for me to take care of for you, pretty doe.
“You - you said two days?” She opened her eyes slowly, head still tilted into his palm as his thumb brushed over her cheekbone. Her pupils nearly swallowed stormy hazel whole.
He grunted. “Hopefully just one. If you need me sooner, call.”
Nodding, she lifted her own hand, curling cool fingers around his wrist, holding his hand there for a moment. “Okay.”
Moving his fingers from her cheekbone to her chin, he lifted her face up slightly. There was so much he wanted to say to her. He brushed his thumb over her parted lips.
“See you soon, love.”
Reluctantly he let his hand drop, though his touch lingered as long as it could. So did her fingers around his wrist.
Olivia blessed him with a short, shy smile. “See you soon.”
-
If Laswell noticed that he attacked the mission like a demon determined to make a point, she didn’t say other than a hedged non-question about how his leave was going.
Fucking CIA.
Just because Simon understood the typical spy-talk bullshit didn’t mean he liked doing it all the time.
He showed up, got the intel, got in, stuck a knife in the guy’s lung and then severed his spinal cord to be safe, and then he got out clean.
The longer he was away from London the worse the itch under his skin got. His phone hadn’t rung, but that was very little consolation.
He wanted eyes on Olivia at all times. He cursed that he’d neglected to get Soap or someone to watch her, but he was self-aware enough to know he would’ve hated that too, hated that it wasn’t him. Knew it might’ve scared her to have someone else watching over her.
Very quickly he resolved to get her a dog. A Doberman or a Shepherd was the safer bet. Something to hound her steps and keep predators away when he wasn’t there.
Killing her ex would help too, he was sure of it.
The whole time he was there he was snappish and brutal like a coiled snake, extreme even for him, but there wasn’t a thing he could’ve done about it even if he’d wanted to. The whole time he’d had an itch beneath his skin that he couldn’t shake. Something like a warning.
When Laswell finally gave him the go to leave, he’d been practically halfway to the tarmac. He hadn’t even strapped in on the COD before he had his phone in hand, pulling up the surveillance cameras.
A deep, angry knot of tension in his chest eased when it’d loaded to show Olivia in her bedroom making the bed.
She’d been wearing his shirt. Her dark blonde hair was up, baring her pretty neck. He would leave marks there, soon as he convinced her to let him. Suck bruises onto her skin, leave imprints of his teeth marking that she belonged to someone.
Belonged to him.
I could text her.
The realization had come without prompting as he watched her, traced the lines of her limbs with his gaze the way he ached to with his hands.
I could just open up a new message and send it.
For a moment when he’d sat there as the plane hummed to life, he’d been drunk on that realization. The possibility. Fuck, he could’ve just called her, heard her voice straight from the source.
But then she would’ve asked how he knew her number when he had only given her his.
Fuck.
With great restraint, he managed to keep himself in check. But the whole plane ride back was the worst kind of waiting.
Ghost didn't share the sniper mentality like Gaz or Price. Patience didn’t always come easily and naturally to him. Especially when he’d been waiting so long already.
After the COD landed in their facility in the south of England, he felt a little bit better. It was good to be on the same soil as her.
Sixteen hours on the job, ten more until in flight time to and from Morocco. Only less than an hour to go before he’d be walking in through the entrance of their building. He was going to beat that two day estimate.
He wondered if she’d give him another smile when she saw him.
But he’d barely gotten into his car when his stomach, unprompted by anything he could see or hear, suddenly flipped, that sour feeling going up by a million.
He pulled out his phone just before it beeped. A notification from the bloke he’d had watching Olivia’s ex’s house. The man hadn’t come home from work at the usual time.
Before he even pulled up the log he was tapped into to watch the man’s credit card purchases, he knew what he’d see. A bus ticket.
He even knew where he was headed. Somehow, someway, he’d found Olivia.
A cold sensation bloomed in his stomach, like it was encasing his body in ice. His hands went rock steady, that sour feeling sharpening into a blade to cut with.
Putting the car into drive, he started moving, barking out an order to his phone to call Price even as he pulled up the footage of his cameras, seeing Olivia sound asleep on her little air mattress taking a nap before her shift.
The phone rang once, twice, then-
“Someone had bloody better be dead.”
In the background, a sharp gasp and then a soft smack.
“Oi, woman!”
“Don’t say that! How many times have I told you not to jinx yourself?”
Cute as Price and Lydia were, really adorable, whatever he did not have time. “Price, I need a kill auth.”
A pause.
Then, soft rustling as Price moved away from his bird.
His voice was somber. “Details?”
“Abusive prick who’s hunting my neighbor. She’s on the run and he’s sniffed her out.”
Price didn’t hesitate. “Done. Keep it clean.”
Ghost just hung up, not dignifying that with a response. He weaved through traffic, ignoring the blare of horns and shouting drivers. They could all piss off. He had to be there, had to put a bullet in this man’s head before he so much as looked at Olivia again.
With one hand he reached over and pulled a silencer out of his glove box. He had everything else he’d need for clean up in his car, and a place to take the body after.
In their building, even if someone heard, fuck even if they saw the shot, no one would say shit.
Luckily that wouldn’t be a problem in their area this time of day on a Thursday. The building was practically empty, would be for the next four hours before Steinman in 2B brought home a six pack and four cartons of the vilest cigarettes Simon’d ever had the misfortune of being on the same floor as.
Simon was ready, he was more than ready to do this. He eyed his phone, open to the live feed from their building’s thankfully still empty hallway.
He just had to get there first. He pressed harder on the gas.
Nothing had happened by the time he sped into the building’s tiny car park, and he couldn’t see anything when he did a quick scan of the area.
So he wasn’t here yet. Good.
He put the silencer on the gun and tucked it into his waistband as he walked inside, most of his gear still on, the hard face mask still in place.
The soft rush of steps muffled behind walls and a door had his breath catching in his throat.
And then, even better, a soft gasp. Her door opened wide, and she was beaming, dark blonde hair still wet from the shower, wearing his shirt-
“You’re back!” she chirped, stepping out and flinging herself into his arms like he didn’t look like death come to collect.
Her arms hooked around his shoulders and he was helpless against the urge to drop his face into her neck, groaning faintly as his arms corded against her back to lift her completely off her feet, walking her back into her flat.
She didn’t seem the least bit concerned, her face tucked likewise into the collar of his quarter zip, her soft mouth against the fabric of the balaclava as she spoke. “It’s barely been a day.” Her arms tightened as he knocked the door shut behind them with his heel. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back-”
He should put her down and tell her that her ex was on his way. He should send her up to his flat and tell her to barricade herself in his bathroom until he came to get her. He should let her put on some fucking pants.
He didn’t fucking want to.
The skin of his palms felt like they were sizzling, so tantalizingly close to her bare skin. The scent of her, her fruity soap and shampoo mixed with the barest lingering trace of his own skin hung heady and drugging in his nose.
“Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing her waist, probably too tight.
She stopped talking, turning her head, leaning back. And now those hazel eyes were wide and worried. “Are you hurt? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?”
Fuck him for putting worry on that face. “Not hurt,” he said, as reassuringly as he could while adrenaline kept pouring through his body. “Not hurt.”
Goddammit how was he going to tell her this. “I-”
A few steps behind them, her door rattled in it’s frame as someone pounded on it.
“Ollie!” A man’s voice called, higher pitched than Simon had expected, nasal and sharp. “Bitch I know you’re in there! Get the fuck out before I come in there and drag you out.”
Olivia had gone a dead weight in his arms. Her hands were white-knuckled on his sleeves, hazel eyes horrified as any last remnant of her joy at seeing Simon evaporated.
“Shh,” he said softly, moving quickly. Her bathroom was in the same place his was, and he set her down carefully on the counter. When she tried to speak, clinging to him, the first tear falling as the door rattled again he shook his head. “I’m going to handle it, doe. Do you hear me?”
He locked eyes with her, promising darkly, “He will never fucking bother you again.”
She stared back at him. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, but it wasn’t something he’d seen before. It wasn’t suspicion or hesitation or even surprise. It looked…it looked like relief. “Okay,” she whispered. “Please…please be safe?”
He shoved his mask up, baring his face so he could kiss her forehead, rubbing his thumbs under her eyes, catching her tears. “Stay here,” he told her firmly. “Until I come and get you. It may be a while and you won’t hear anything, but do not come out. Understood?”
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
Another flash in her eyes, a slight shiver.
Fuck, no time for that but he would revisit it.
He backed away, pulling the mask back down. “Lock the door behind me, love.”
On the other side, he waited until she did. And then, he took his time, ambling back out into the main room.
Olivia’s flat was completely barren to the casual observer. No furniture, no food out on the counter tops, no magnets on the fridge or papers or junk cluttering up the surfaces. Nothing on the walls, either.
No evidence that she was actually there, or ever had been. It soothed something in him to realize that the dead man walking wouldn't ever get even a hint of her presence again before he ate a bullet from Simon's gun.
With the place empty like this, it looked almost like the trap that it was.
It was actually the perfect background for when the fucker finally managed to shoulder his way through the door and went stumbling to the floor, crying out, favoring his shoulder.
Fucking moron.
“That little bitch,” he hissed to the floor. “I’ll kill her for this, I swear I’ll-”
The click of Ghost’s gun cocking cut him off, the silencer pressed against his temple. He relished the uptick of his breathing, the shake of those thin fingers. “Get up. Slow.”
As soon as the man started to move, Ghost moved back, keeping the gun pointed at his skull but out of his reach.
Beneath the mask, he smirked as the guy got his first good look at him and went paper white, starting to stammer in terror. “S-sir, I’m s-s-so fuckin’ sorry, I’m j-just looking for my girlfriend, I s-s-swear!”
“Shut the fuck up,” he said calmly, “and turn around. Start walking.”
What happened next was routine. Getting him into the boot of his car already lined with vinyl, ignoring the tears and begging and pathetic bribes to just pull the trigger twice in quick succession, then tuck the vinyl tightly around him so nothing spilled out.
A phone call later, and his usual spot was ready. He dropped the body off at the mortuary two streets over where he knew it would disappear.
In a day he’d be nothing but ash, any leftovers fed to the mortician’s cousin’s hogs out in the countryside, the ashes scattered and disposed of in some random construction zone's concrete mixer.
Five years from now he’d just be another cold case on some overworked Scotland Yard officer’s desk, forgotten and unremarkable.
Ten years from now not even Olivia would remember him. Simon would make sure of that.
He spent a scant minute after the drop off prepping his boot for just another such occasion. Not that he ever foresaw these sorts of events, never went looking for them, but then fortune favored the bold and the prepared.
Soon enough he was walking back down the hall of the first floor of their building, glaring at the splintered lock of her front door as he passed through it. A weight was gone, some knot in his muscle no pressure could unravel finally relieved.
He knocked on the bathroom door gently. “It’s Simon, Olivia. Unlock the door, pretty doe.”
A pause. Then the click of the door unlatching.
Olivia’s face peered at him through the crack, but she pulled it wide when she saw for sure that it was him. Her face was swollen and red from crying but she burst into fresh tears.
“Doe,” he crooned, bending down to sweep her up off off her feet and into his arms. “It’s all over. He’ll never ever bother you again. I promise.”
He started walking out, carrying her like it was nothing. He’d put her in his bed, with him if she allowed it, and let her catch a few hours of sleep. And then he’d cook her something, maybe another cottage pie, and order dessert to be delivered. Probably something with chocolate. Something with a lot of sugar, both as a chemical anti-depressant and because she just fucking deserved a goddamned treat. She needed more meat on her bones.
“He’ll come back,” she cried, clinging to him tight like she wanted to crawl beneath his skin. He’d let her if that was what she needed. “He always comes back.”
Snorting, Simon brushed a hand over her damp hair. “Not this time.”
He climbed the stairs with little effort, trying to come up with something useful to do other than stay silent and rub her back, her hair as she cried into his shoulder. Her legs were locked around his hips and it was proving to be monumentally distracting, to say the least.
But that would have to come later. Taking care of her would take a different context for now.
With one hand he drew out his keys and unlocked his door, holding her securely against his body with his other hand while he walked through. He kissed the shell of her ear as he kicked the door shut behind him and tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, reached behind him to flip the lock before he finally, greedily spread his hand out over her back again.
“You need to sleep,” he said, walking her back to his bedroom. “And then eat. And then we can talk.”
She didn’t even hesitate this time, just sniffled and sighed. “A nap does sound good.”
He chuckled, kissed her ear again. “Good girl.”
She shivered, curling around him tighter.
In comparison to a normal flat, Simon’s wasn’t very decorated, but at least he did have some things that Soap and Gaz’s wife Molly had insisted on. So he at least had a little more in the way of comforting amenities than Olivia had as he set her down on the top of the line mattress in the king sized bed that only barely fit him when he managed to catch a few hours.
Olivia was slow to let go of her grip on him, and his hands lingered too. He stood there, thighs against the mattress, her knees on either side of his legs as she stared up at him, eyes red and puffy but less glossy with tears.
“How can you know he won’t come back?” she whispered.
There were a thousand different ways he could answer that question, some worse than others. What he settled on was cupping her face in his palm, and asking, “Don’t I always keep you safe?”
Her eyes fluttered shut, the trembling fight or flight tension in her body just gone in the blink of an eye, vanished with a sigh. “Yes. You do, Simon.”
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and i'll watch the sunset wearing all your clothes
Part 5 of the Single Moms series
Gaz has always known a good thing when he sees it. His wife is no exception to that. He's had his eye on her since they were fifteen and he first figured out what his dick was for. Now, with two kids and a third about to arrive, Gaz looks around him at the families his team have made for themselves and feels really fucking smug about being the blueprint for it all. He's really good at that, and he's really good at playing into the role he's been assigned by their families: the golden child, the good son, the nice neighbor kid who grew up and fell in love with his childhood best friend and got his ring on her finger as soon as he could. What none of them realize, his beloved Molly included, is that first pregnancy was planned. That her high school and middle school dates all 'cancelling' or no-showing was by his design. Because she always belonged to him, even when she didn't know it.
cw: potentially kind of icky toxic vibes from Gaz, very manipulative, gaslighting, possessive behavior, pregnancy kink, control kink, breeding kink, pregnant oc, Gaz wants to be a father of eight, childhood best friends to lovers
in the alley, in the back, in the center of the room
Part 4 of my Single Moms series
Soap sees what you've done for others, Lord. Price with his new wife and two children. Gaz with his childhood sweetheart and their brood of seemingly never ending children, now even bloody GHOST. Meanwhile, here's Soap, still at pubs looking for Mrs. Right. Literally where is she? Shouldn't she have stumbled across him on some meet cute by now? God knows he's been trying his hardest to knock a girl up like Gaz did, but so far no luck. Of course, since Soap's been in intense recovery and physical therapy since their last deployment, he hasn't gotten the chance to pick up where he left off in almost a year. And he's spent pretty much all of that time thinking about a girl he met the night he left...he hopes that she hasn't left town, or that his sisters befriended her and know where to find her.
cw: Soap is pining heavily, idk if i'd call it a kink but my man desperately wants a wife and kids, one night stand, accidental pregnancy, Soap is totally unaware, small town social dynamics, Soap's two sisters are gonna kick his ass, Soap has been gone for MONTHS due to needing to recover from Makarov (canon divergence of injury), meet cute in a pub, Soap has rizz, lust at first sight, love at second sight.
Ghost doesn't get new neighbors. And if he does, he investigates. Immediately. Especially if they're spooked pregnant women on the run. Last thing he needs is the goddamn mafia showing up on his fucking doorstep and catching him with his pants down. Luckily for him, she's not running from the mafia. And she's really, really pretty. Ghost is starting to see the appeal that his captain and Gaz did with their birds...
cw: stalking, noncon filming, rescue kink, possessive behavior, control and trust issues, mention of past abusive partner, Ghost gets to commit murder for fun and because it keeps someone he cares about safe, single mom, pregnant oc, possible age difference but it's not advertised too much, HEAVY love at first sight, also ghost mentions jerking off while watching his stalker cams of oc and she's doing the most boring domestic shit in the world lol
