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punemy-spotted · 11 months

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Sixteen Tons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Muscle and Blood

Pairing: Miner!Curtis Everett x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, Discussion of death, graphic depiction of someone bleeding out, 1890s coal mining town aesthetic in the modern day, strong pro-union opinions, Pentecostal Christianity, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Cosmic Horror, See future chapter warnings for additional tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The world melts away, rots into dirt and decay, and as a garden grows untended, you find your gifts crowding out the rest of your life.

We all know that the only light in the deep dark is a paycheck. So hush. Count your blessings, boy. Roof over your head, food on the table, diesel and grease, work boots on the porch, crippled back, crumbling joints, and silence. Company and even union, tuck you in, shut you up, and leave you to rot. And God damn it, you’d better be grateful. - Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 3: The Covenant

Notes: This fic also serves as a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, in that the reader is technically the daughter of Pastor and Ma Rogers, but uses a pseudonym outside of the home she grew up in. The song referenced in this chapter is No Glory, by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. They're wonderful, so check them out!

At the time of publishing this chapter, the Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley is still ongoing! Please come by and check it out as we celebrate spooky season all year ‘round!

Also, in this house we support Unions.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire for.

Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-and-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ of course, you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy and a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were just… all the guides meant to introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kind of oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet t’be earned, bruises waitin’ to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger an’ dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him.

You also watch him sittin’ in your clinic, for once not complainin’ as you finish cleaning and re-wrappin’ the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully lettin’ you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healin’ nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not goin’ to be the last. You’ve been countin’ down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, bein’ the company’s own doctor as you are.

Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’, interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, an’ ever if she was, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walkin’ dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment an’ that precious, ultimate verdict.

You were not, your momma woulda reminded, voice sharp as the trowel she always kept at her side, garden bloomin’ by her stern hand, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an’ the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em!

Anythin’ you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitterness, reminds you of the more pressin’ responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him, lookin’ at him as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care.

Except that’s not what you give, is it?

‘Stead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quest dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’. I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late t’take care of it — an’ t’clean the coal dust outta your clinic — but it’s better you than him.

Least, that’s what you tell yourself, as Curtis Everett’s shoulder relax, relief floodin’ those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizing by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

By the time you leave your clinic, barrin’ the doors for the night, even the moon’s started its settin’, leaving the town in near-pitch darkness. You might’ve — if you were young an’ naïve enough — equated the darkness around you to a mineshaft, if mineshafts still had the privilege of fresh air to reward you for breathin’.

Not on Company Time.

Wiser folk than you might’ve considered stayin’ indoors ‘til sunup. Maybe even considered the merits of puttin’ a cot in your office to avoid havin’ to brave the deep woods durin’ the Witchin’ Hour, everyone more than aware of what sorta shadows lurked beyond the borders of a sad little minin’ town — an’ what sorta shadows would encroach upon those borders the moment they got the chance.

You… ain’t got much time t’think about that now though, not when you catch sight of the figure lurkin’ by the road, the only path there is t’ween your two worlds — the Clinic and the House. Everett?

There he is, hands jammed into the pockets of his overcoat, lurkin’ by the lone streetlamp Pierce an’ Rumlow’d finally seen fit to install in this part of town, after you’d spent about four years complainin’. Too late to be walkin’ back alone, Doctor, he tells you, almost sheepishly, expression invisible in the darkness — and yet you know exactly how his lips have curved into a half-smile you might’ve been quick to return had you seen it in the daytime, Figured I’d walk you back up as thanks for stayin’ late for me.

You can’t help yourself, really — you smile at him right back, the corners of your mouth tickin’ up despite the cruelty playin’ out before your eyes, at least until you remember yourself an’ blink away the vision, If I kept the same hours as you pit boys, nobody’d be gettin’ patched up. Now you best not be tellin’ me you were lurkin’ out here in the pitch dark an’ cold waitin’ for me t’finish my notes and close up, Curtis Everett.

Maybe you ought not have put words in his mouth — or taken ‘em out, as the case may be — as he shrugs at you and flashes you a grin you cannot see but are certain of, Then I won’t, Doctor.

An’ with that, he starts off back down the road, towards the lights still spillin’ from the windows of your boarding house, hummin’ some ol’ work song you only halfway knew the words too. An’ you watch him go on for longer than you should, takin’ in the sight of his silhouette slowly becomin’ part of the gloom.

You catch up soon enough, keepin’ up with his long, languid strides as if by some miracle, your own steps quick and harried. There are moments you wonder how a man like Curtis Everett — always managin’ to tower over everyone in the room, includin’ Superintendent Wilford an’ that lady Minister Mason he’d installed over at the Tabernacle of the Iron Gospel — ever really managed to fit in the mines this whole sad sack of a town was built around.

Shouldn’t have stayed out waitin’ for me, you scold with a good-natured ribbin’, not really meaning to chastise… but worry instead, You’ll’ve missed dinner call, Everett.

So’ve you, Doctor, he counters, the burr of laughter in his voice makin’ you roll your eyes an’ put on a scowl you barely mean — mostly cuz you hate feelin’ so outwitted, but no one dare make you admit it.

I’m allowed to be late, I own the place, you argue right back, a rebuttal that earns you another low chuckle, a sound you’re only used to hearin’ from Curtis on rare occasion — earnin’ you a burn of pride in your chest at hearing it now.

You really ought not do this, you know. But here you are, comfortable in the cold silence of the deep night, hands jammed into your coat pockets, walkin’ alongside Curtis Everett with all the calm an’ ease of dear friends.

Glancing at him. Looking without lookin’, pretendin’ you don’t know what you’ll see when you—

You know better, is the bottom line. You know you ought to know better — hell, you know your momma taught you better.

In the corner of your vision, Curtis Everett bleeds his last on your linoleum floor.

In front of you? Curtis Everett hums a work song an’ walks with you through the gloom, right up to the gold-light gleam of your doorstep an’ into your kitchen, the ghosts of the future fadin’ into an approaching dawn.

An’ maybe that’s enough.

Company House — its true name barely in use by you or your boarders, halfway for your own protection an’ halfways cuz it’s just easier — is a handsome-enough structure, nothin’ like that ramblin’ greenhouse you’d sprouted in, a bloom in your momma’s garden.

No. Company House — name lost an’ purpose found — on the other hand, is yours. All yours.

A loomin’ thing, the house cuts through the nighttime gloom like a lighthouse, every window on its main story burstin’ with light. Built on a hill overlookin’ the town proper, it served as home an’ hearth for any miner ineligible for the pretty pre-built housin’ developments south of the mine, where Pierce & Rumlow… rewarded those willin’ to produce more bodies to throw into that gapin’ wound the combine’d carved into the mountainside with such luxuries as driveways, fences, mortgages, an’ obligations.

It was just the way you liked it. Home for the lonely an’ the friendless — least that’s how it sounded in town, if someone dared ask Minister Mason about the mountain fortress an’ the ‘Godless Heathens’ inhabitin’ it. The Iron Gospel she preached ran on the blood an’ bones of its congregation, on family an’ obligation, on ties that bind whole generations to the mine.

A Gospel that had no room for the wholly different kinda worship that comes from strangers sittin’ round a table breakin’ bread an’ formin’ bonds. On brotherhood an’ union, on wantin’ somethin’ better that the paltry concessions afforded by minders with plenty of money t’provide more. You knew it then from your daddy’s own congregation an’ those Sunday suppers your momma arranged each week. You know it now from the warm surety of Curtis Everett’s hand on your arm, keepin’ you from losin’ your footing on that trick step you ain’t had time to fix — I can get Ed to take care of that tomorrow — and the sound of hurried conversation bubbling outta your front parlor, house still buzzin’ with life.

Shit, Curtis’s swearing nearly startles you outta your skin all over again as you both stand on the front porch, stompin’ the day’s coal dust off your shoes, forgot there was meeting tonight. Foreman’s gonna have words for me, no doubt.

You’re allowed t’be late, for walkin’ me home, you tell him, letting the light of the house illuminate your smile as you open the front door.

Meeting is a cute word for it — s’the way things go, get the lonely and the friendless to start airin’ grievances an’ suddenly they ain’t so lonely nor so friendless anymore. A man with a wife and children might think twice about givin’ the company a reason to tear away the roof over his family’s head, divin’ into his future tomb day after day, respirator an’ headlamp in hand, but a man with nothin’ to lose is a man with a bone to pick with the only industry in town capable of puttin’ food in his belly on a daily basis — so long as he survived to see his next meal. Unions, you got used to hearin’ back in your own holler, are the Lord’s way of puttin’ His protection back into a man’s own hands.

Too bad them folks at P&R’d forgotten that sorta conventional wisdom.

Tonight’s union meeting is just about comin’ to a close when you and Curtis walk in, a cracked joke derailing whatever Gilliam’s supposed agenda had left to cover. You’re late, the old man half-scolds, room hushed by his disappointment as all eyes turn to you and the union leader you know you’re already being accused of distracting.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Ignoring the raised voices that begin in your wake — and unwilling to get between two men in the middle of a union dispute — you make yourself proper scarce, disappearing into the kitchen. Between running the clinic and the house, you’re run halfway ragged, but you do cheer quietly upon seeing two foil-covered plates sitting in the fridge — Yona keeps true to her eternal word, making sure nobody goes hungry if she’s got the time and the ingredients.

The sound of someone entering the kitchen while you’re putting plates in the warmer don’t surprise you much — someone was bound to follow you into this place eventually — but you don’t turn around, not immediately.

Not ‘til Curtis Everett clears his throat, Thought I smelled food.

You sure you ain’t part bloodhound, smellin’ it all the way out there?

There. Another burr of laughter, low in his throat, and another burn of pride.

They calm down out there? You wave your hand toward the general direction of the parlor, noting the distinct lack of raised voices now that the warmer’s stopped beepin’ at you.

It’s my fault — should’ve told ‘em I’d be late.

They worried?

He’s quiet at that, the silence sittin’ heavy on both your shoulders while you move around the kitchen some more, collectin’ utensils and glancin’ back at him occasionally, waiting.

Finally — Gilliam’s steppin’ down. Nobody wants the job — company’s made sure of that.

You set the platter in front of him, to quiet thanks, He still want you to take over?

He don’t need to answer. You see it again, written all over his face — someone’s gotta do it.

The rest of the meal is… quiet. Heavy. Uncomfortable. A silence neither of you are willin’ to break, coupled with glances neither of you are willin’ to admit to, brows furrowed and thoughts elsewhere. Barely tasting the food, just glad to have something to busy your mouths with, ‘stead of trying to hold a conversation neither party wants t’have or worse — trying to change the fuckin’ subject, with both your minds trapped on the things you’d rather not think about.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Everything dies, eventually. You rationalize it between bites, teeth on tongue to keep the scream of it all held in your chest. Everything dies, including Curtis Everett. Including Gilliam — whose death you’ve pre-emptively forgiven certain parties for. Including Yona — whose hands will evidence endless adventures before she lays down for that final rest, satisfied an’ satisfying. Everything dies. Includin’ Curtis Everett.

Curtis Everett, who will take on the work. Who, in three weeks’ time, will be back in your clinic, bullet in his shoulder an’ strike unbroken. Company infuriated.

One injury closer.

You open your mouth, about to do the unthinkable, disappointment and poisoned bloom — everythin’ dies, but Curtis Everett deserves to choose — when the music finally registers with you both.

Music. And singing. And laughter.

The kitchen door slams open hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard, Yona’s wild presence in the doorway, Come on!

No explanation. No answers. You’ll have t’see it to know it.

Curtis glances back at you, brow raised an’ hackles too. Better make sure they’re behavin’ out there, is all you give in response to it, on your feet in a flash, empty dishes in hand.

He lingers, eyes on you. Imposes his will with his presence, You need help with the dishes?

Let him stay.

You don’t.

S’two plates an’ a couple mugs. I’ll be fine — you go, keep an eye on ‘em for me.

He’s so fast — behind you in a flash. How does a man so tall an’ so full of presence move so fast?

Got no time for answering that, not when his hand’s on your shoulder and you’re glancin’ back at him without thinkin’, waiting. Come out there when you’re done or Yona’ll never let either of us hear the end of it.

An’ neither will I, is what he doesn’t say. Not aloud, at least, stepping back only when you nod.

It don’t stop you from hearin’ it though, playin’ on loop in your mind all the way through dishes, through cleanin’ up your kitchen, through makin’ good on your word an’ takin’ that cautious walk to your parlor, where the sound of stompin’ boots joins in with the chorus of voices pouring outta your record player, blessedly drownin’ out all manner of conscious thought.

Take me down to that red dirt road Where all them white tails, white tails roam

The parlor is abuzz with life, a hive of movement as you take in rearranged furniture an’ the slowly climbin’ beat of stomping boots coupled with clapping hands, ring of bodies circlin’ the room, all watching Tanya — up from the General Store like always, on behalf of the widows this town left behind — in her valiant attempt to tutor Edgar in the complexities an’ social conventions of a good ol’ fashioned barn dance.

I don’t belong in a big coal town Can’t hear my Lord in all that sound

You almost manage t’become part of that ring of onlookers, slippin’ past the disapproval ruining Gilliam’s face, but turns out no one escapes Curtis Everet, work-hardened fingers winding around your wrist an’ pulling you back, Thought I was gonna have t’come rescue you from the sink, and now there’s no getting away, nor are you feelin’ quite so keen on it anymore.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Wanna show ‘em how it’s done, Doctor?

You dance, Everett? Since when? And since when did Curtis Everett become capable of smiling so sweet he just might fool you into saying yes?

Hell — what gave him the right?

Well I’ve had my fill, of concrete floor Where all them highways, them highways grow

You don’t get a chance to ask too many questions of him, not when he’s pullin’ your fool self right into the center of that cleared floor, sayin’ somethin’ about secrets you barely catch before he’s turnin’ you about an’ you gotta start paying some fucking attention.

There ain’t no glory None that I see None to compare Your love for me

‘Course, you’ve danced before — your daddy might’ve been a fire an’ brimstone preacher up at that bone an’ antler pulpit but he wasn’t a fool — but barn dances an’ church revivals don’t do shit t’prepare you for the rush, for the easy pressure of Curtis Everett’s hands on you, for the peal of laughter that pours outta your throat before you get a chance to think about it the moment he spins you out an’ catches you back with entirely too much ease.

He surprises you and doesn’t at the same time, sure hands and steady feet, both of you catching on to the rhythm quickly as the rest of the room drums the beat, a cacophony of work boots strikin’ the floor in a steady pattern, You gonna answer my question properly, Everett, you accuse him and he pulls you closer, smile on your face betrayin’ any anger you might be feigning.

I’m full of surprises, Doctor.

My days are few, my time is near But I know God will take my fear

He keeps his hands respectful, holdin’ one of your high and keepin’ the other at the small of your back, but there’s nothin’ either of you can — or want to, you’re startin’ to realize — do about the closeness, about the way you can’t stop looking up at him and the stormclouds in his eyes, like you’re seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them, that is.

It’s somethin’. Hypnotic.

The chorus turns into a loop, a rising swell of voices joinin’ your thudding heartbeat, lips parting to ask another question, make another joke, feel that burr of laughter against your chest, feel hands fallin’ from the glory of God to meet a different kinda worship, feel fingers curl into his coat like a lifeline.

He holds your cheek. He draws you in.

His mouth slides over yours like an invitation, your lips parting like an acceptance, like forgetting, like surrender. The music does not slow, but you do, fallin’ into the languid ease of hungry breathlessness, like you could find answers in the sweep of a tongue against yours, in the tightening of his grip on your back, in the wall of him around you.

Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x fem!reader #curtis everett #curtis everett x you #curtis everett imagine #chris evans #chris evans imagine #fanfiction #writing #in which tessa finally writes something #series: down here in this valley

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the-iceni-bitch · 2 years

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You’ll Never Go Down to the Gods Again

Part II/X

Pairing: dark!Alpha stepbrother Ransom Drysdale x innocent!naive Omega stepsister reader, dark!Alpha Curtis Everett x innocent Omega reader

Words: ~2.8k

Summary: Ransom is already loving how pliable and willing you are to go along with his rules, and introducing you to his friends just cements that feeing.

Chapter Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (exhibition, f receiving oral sex, vaginal fingering, scenting, Alpha/Omega dynamics), hints at some super dark stuff that Curtis is involved in, Alpha!Lance Tucker is an asshole (one use of the R word because it just felt in character him), cruel vibes from all our Alphas, SMUT!!! NO MINORS!!!

A/N: It’s finally here!!! My muse is awake and I hope to be gracing you are with more fics in the future now that I’ve finally had a change to my work schedule. This part is more world building but the next parts will be very much focused on just Ransom and bunny and how they may or may not be developing unhealthy feelings towards each other.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

“R-Alpha, are you sure?” You bit your lip while you peeked up at him through your lashes, your fingers gripping his sweater against his chest while you curled closer to him as you sat on his lap.

“I would never lie to you, bunny.” He tried not to smirk when you wiggled a little and nuzzled into his shoulder, pressing his lips to your temple and breathing deep of the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine and vanilla and just a hint of something warm and fertile that made up your sweet scent. “I know it seems strange, honey, but that’s why we’re doing it now, so you can get used to it. Your mate isn’t going to want to put up with all these questions and teaching you how to be good once you're bonded, he’s gonna want to breed you and be able to show you off. And I know you want to be good, don’t you, bunny?”

“Y-yes Alpha.” You shivered when he ran his hand up your spine, sitting up and starting to undo the buttons of your blouse even as your hands were shaking. “Want to be so good.”

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“I dunno man, she sounds like a fucking moron.” Ransom frowned at Curtis when he stamped the cigarette out against the side of his building before the three of them headed inside. “Of course, that would make her perfect for Tucker.”

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Everett.” Lance smacked Curtis’s shoulder when they got on the elevator and flipped the larger man off when he started chuckling. “Seriously, Drysdale, you’re sure she’s not retarded or something?”

“Nope, just sheltered and naive as all fuck.” Ransom grinned and leaned against the wall when they just gave him disbelieving looks. “I’m serious men, that sweet little idiot wants to be a perfect Omega so bad, she’ll let you do whatever you want to her. Linda and that preacher fucked her up. Just tell her it’s something her future Alpha will expect from her.”

“Anything, huh?” The way Curtis licked his lips made Ransom grin.

“Don’t fucking break her, Curt, none of that rough shit you’re into. Want to keep her nice and sweet so she doesn’t run to my fucking mother again.” Ransom winked at his friends when the elevator door opened and they followed him into his apartment. “Scent her, touch her, go nuts. Bunny! Come on out, we have guests!”

Ransom could tell when the full effect of your scent hit them by the way their nostrils flared and the low growl Curtis let out. Then you walked into the room and he could have cackled at the way their pupils dilated and they had to obviously fight the urge to stalk towards you when you struggled to meet their gazes.

“H-hello Alpha.” He sometimes still couldn’t believe you’d actually just accepted that once you were mated and bonded you were going to be expected to constantly be naked when you were at home, but you swallowed it whole. Just thinking about the way you had nuzzled into his shoulder then looked up at him with big innocent eyes before nodding like a good girl and slowly stripping yourself of every bit of clothing was starting to make him hard. And now he got to see every inch of your sweet, soft body all fucking day, like a damn dream. “Do you want me to take your coats?”

“Yes, honey, you’re such a good girl.” Ransom rubbed his nose over your temple and breathed deeply when you came close, purring when you let out a small chirp and brushed your hand over his chest. “Go say hello to our guests, bunny.”

“Yes, Alpha.” You’re voice was so soft and small and contrasted so sharply with how utterly sinful you looked walking around naked, he could’ve kissed himself for having this idea. “Hi.”

“Hey there, sweet thing.” Lance didn’t even notice the questioning look you gave Ransom when his friend put his hand on your waist and pulled you close so he could scent your neck and run his fingers over your hips, the shuddering breath you took when he licked your jaw making him groan. “Can’t believe your asshole brother’s been hiding you away from us.”

“I-I just don’t like going out.” You shivered when you felt the large Alpha’s presence behind you and his warm hands skimmed over your shoulders. “An Omega’s place is keeping the home.”

“Oh, they trained you good, didn’t they, pretty girl?” The bearded Alpha growled when you tilted your head to the side so he could scent your neck, his hands suddenly cupping your breasts and making you whine when you felt a strange sensation shoot through your core. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“Th-thank you, Alpha.” You felt lightheaded from the scent of their pheromones swirling around you, your whole body getting suddenly warm as slick started to leak down your thighs. “Oh…”

“Alright that’s enough saying hello.” Ransom couldn’t keep from grinning when you looked like you were about to pass out, reaching out to steady you when you stumbled a bit after his friends disconnected from you with a pair of low growls. “Such a good bunny, you stay out here in case we need anything, okay honey?”

“Yes Alpha.” You let out a small chirp when Ransom tucked his fingers under your chin and leaned into his touch, steadying a little when he kissed your forehead before moving to sit at the kitchen table and read your book, trying to ignore the heated gazes that were still locked onto you while you settled into your seat.

“Why the fuck do you even leave the house, Drysdale?” Lance licked his lips when he watched you tuck your feet under yourself, cocking his head and taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “Don’t think I’d ever get enough of that view. She lets you touch her too?”

“Whatever I want. That little thing was made for pleasure.” Ransom grinned wolfishly when he peeked at you over his shoulder and saw you gnawing on your bottom lip nervously.

“You fucked her yet?” Curtis kept an eye on you even as he talked to your stepbrother, snorting when Ransom frowned at him and shook his head. “You’re wasting time, you need to do it early if you want to break her in.”

“Told you, not trying to break her.” Ransom caught you glancing at him and gave you a wink that had you burying your face in your book again with a small gasp. “Just having fun.”

“Breaking them in is fun.” Curtis draped himself lazily over his edge of the couch as he grumbled into his bourbon. “You have any idea what most Alphas would be willing to give for the chance to claim some sweet little practically untouched thing like her? Wasted opportunity if you ask me.”

“I’m very aware, my mother likes to remind me of it constantly when she’s scolding me that I need to take care of the golden child.” Ransom just kept giving Curtis a smug grin while he sipped on his drink. “It’s not like I can bring her to your compound, Everett. Pretty sure Linda and the preacher would have a collective aneurysm if their precious girl went missing, or came back completely broken. So unless you have some other idea…”

“Stay here.” The smile Curtis was wearing when he rose from his seat should have maybe concerned Ransom, but he was too intrigued. “Sweetheart, stand up for me.”

“It’s okay, bunny. Curtis is sort of a bond prep expert.” Ransom couldn’t help but be a little proud at how pliable you already were, standing for Curtis with just one wary glance towards your stepbrother before you turned your attention to the massive Alpha. “Be good for him.”

“Yes, Alpha.” You shivered when Curtis reached out to curl his hand around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his and feeling sudden calm wash over you when he put a small amount of pressure on your mating gland. “Oh…”

“You’re a very good girl, aren’t you?” Curtis grinned and pulled you closer when he felt you relax in his grip, the attention of all three Alphas laser focused on you and the way you were melting under Curtis’s touch when he brought his other hand up to caress your cheek. “Have you gotten used to Alpha commands yet, darling?”

You could only shake your head. Ransom had never used a command on you. He didn’t need to, like they all liked to tell you, you were a very good girl, you always wanted to be. But maybe the mate Linda and your father would pick for you would want to be more dominant. You knew you had to be prepared for anything, Ransom kept telling you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be gentle.” Curtis scented your hair before pressing on your mating gland one more time, letting out a deep growl as his voice took on a low timbre. “Present for me, Omega.”

The whine you let out when you felt your hindbrain urging you to submit had all three Alphas snarling with arousal, the noises from them getting even deeper when you bent over the counter and spread your legs. You were so swollen and slick and pretty and Ransom couldn’t believe that Curtis was the first one who had the idea to get a really good look at you.

“What a good little ‘mega. Gonna make such a perfect mate.” Curtis grinned when you cooed softly, dragging his palms up the backs of your thighs and spreading you open even further. “Once you’re bonded, your Alpha’s gonna want to check this sweet little pussy every day to make sure you really belong to him, that you’re being the good girl he mated and not letting any other Alpha use what’s his.”

“H-how would he check my… my…” You let out another lovely sound when Curtis knelt behind you and shoved fingers from both his hands inside you with no warning. “Oh goodness…”

“Bunny, I’ve told you, you’re gonna have to say the word.” Ransom wanted to crawl over the back of the couch and lose himself in you, your scent was getting stronger while Curtis touched you and it was making Ransom feel like he was lost in a haze. “Ask your question like a big girl.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Alpha.” You kept your eyes on Ransom even while Curtis was drawing more slick from your aching core, curling your fingers against the stone of the counter and panting softly while he licked his lips and purred at you. “How would he check my… pussy?”

“Oh, there’s lots of different ways sweetheart. Fuck, look at you.” Curtis hooked his fingers and pulled your cunt open so he could get a really good look at you, biting softly at the back of your thigh and groaning when he watched you try to clench around the emptiness. “So fucking gorgeous, you’re gonna spoil whichever lucky bastard bonds you. Don’t think he’s gonna be able to stop himself at just looking. Might have to smell you.”

Curtis swiped his nose over your sex and breathed deeply, burying his face between your legs and growling when you let out another soft whine and your thighs started trembling. The air in the apartment was thick and heavy with the smell of sex as all three Alphas let themselves get lost in you, Ransom and Lance feeling just as enraptured even though they weren’t currently touching you. But they could practically taste you in the air, Ransom didn’t even need to look at Lance to know the man was well on his way to becoming obsessed with you. Not that he could look at Lance, when you were filling his vision and making those perfect sounds and letting Curtis touch your sweet little cunt however he wanted and never taking your eyes off your stepbrother’s.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so good, honey. Bet you’d let me do whatever the fuck I wanted to you and you wouldn’t make a peep.” Curtis grinned when you only moaned in response and arched your back further, your fingers digging into the counter as you breathed heavily. “Best way to check is gonna be taste though.”

“What do you… oh my!” Ransom snarled when your eyes fluttered wildly before falling closed when Curtis plunged his tongue inside you, your body arching back on itself as you rose on your toes and your breath became ragged. He didn’t even notice the sound of breaking glass when Lance’s grip on his tumbler got too tight, digging his fingers into the back of the couch while he kept watching you and feeling like he was ready to fight something just to get closer to you.

“Such a good fucking girl, shit.” Curtis’s voice was muffled as he dragged his tongue all over your pussy, making sure he tasted every inch of you before releasing his grip on your swollen walls so he could squeeze your thighs while he groaned softly.

You couldn’t answer him, you felt like you were about to pass out, strange sensations shooting through your body. Even the noises coming from your throat were foreign to your ears, high pitched and whiny and desperate as you pressed your hips back into the giant Alpha’s face and rolled them to meet his mouth. There was something pooling warm and low in your stomach that made you feel like you were about to scream, but it couldn’t be bad, Ransom would never hurt you, or let someone touch you who was going to hurt you. But still…

“Oh… oh my… what are you… ah!” You felt like you were cresting a massive wave, some massive, pleasurable sensation crashing over you as you screamed wildly and and your whole body sagged into the counter, shaking as you struggled to come back to yourself as Curtis kept sucking on a spot that seemed designed to make you lose your mind. “What… what did you do to me? What was that?”

“What’s wrong, honey, you’ve never come before?” Curtis just chuckled lightly as he rose to his feet, running his hands over your still trembling thighs and cooing when you just answered him with a wretched sob. “Oh shit, you haven’t! Christ, the things I could do to you…”

“That’s enough for now.” Ransom finally felt the spell break and leapt over the back of the couch and caught your other arm when you almost collapsed, pulling you into his chest after Curtis rubbed his nose over your shoulder with a comforting purr and gave Ransom a lascivious wink. “Bunny you did so good, huh? We’re gonna get you cleaned up, baby.”

“Mmm.” You sighed and nuzzled into his neck after giving Curtis a curious look over your shoulder, clutching at Ransom’s arms and curling as close as you could so you could take in his comforting scent while you were still vibrating from the pleasure that had been ripped from you. Ransom tried not to give Curtis too sour of a look when he shouldered past him, but fuck if he hadn’t realized just how untouched you were. And he definitely would have wanted to be the first one to draw an orgasm from your sweet little body if he had known.

“She taste as good as she smells?” Lance turned his phone off and tucked it back in his pocket, grateful Ransom was distracted with you so he didn’t have to get a lecture about getting you on video. “Don’t know how the fuck you managed to hold back, would’ve broken that bitch.”

“Because you’re horrible and have zero self control.” Curtis frowned as he stepped between the entrance to the hall and Lance, who was still looking pretty keyed up, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips when he heard the shower running and heard Ransom cooing softly at you. “Go bond some easy slut and dump her like you normally would if that’s what you need something to do. As much as I’d love to watch Drysdale beat the shit out of you if you try to move in on his precious new toy, I kinda like her, and you’re a bastard who can’t play nice. This one’s not a pump and dump.”

“Fuck you.” Lance flipped Curtis off as he rose to his feet, calling the lift and frowning at his friend while he waited. “Why don’t you call me when you two are sick of being pussy whipped by some virgin and I’ll show you how you could really have fun with that sweet slice of pussy.”

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