Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six years ago

Ossian

"Ellis, come on! We've gotta go!" I whisper-shout, flinging a hoodie over his barely-awake body.

He blinks up at me, bleary-eyed. "Ossian?"

"I've got our stuff. It's time."

He starts climbing out of bed, already fumbling toward his toothbrush. "Wait—I have to brush—"

"Nope, packed it. You can brush at the hotel." I block his path. "Now move. Clothes, on."

He nods, sleepy but obedient.

I step back, station myself at his bedroom door, watching the hallway like it might turn hostile. "Don't forget Cubby," I add.

He flushes a little—like he always does—but goes to the dresser, opens the secret panel behind the bottom drawer, and pulls out the stuffed bear.

I grab it from him, quick but gentle, and tuck it into his backpack. "We don't want him getting wet."

Then I reach for the gun.

"Ossian?" Ellis's voice is small.

"You remember what I told you?"

He nods.

"Say it."

"Only if it's life or death."

"Good." My voice softens. I pull him in for a tight hug. He breathes a little easier. So do I.

"It's going to be okay," I say quietly, before pulling back and sliding the gun into the bag. "Just do exactly what I say."

He glances at the window, then back at me, nervous. "It's really dark. And raining. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow?"

I take his hand. "We don't have a tomorrow."

We creep into the hallway. The motion sensor lights blink on one by one, too loud, too bright. When we reach the basement, I shove the bookcase aside with a grunt, revealing the tunnel.

"Get in."

He drops to all fours and crawls into the narrow opening.

A footstep creaks above us.

My head snaps up. "Keyne! What the hell? You were supposed to be here already!"

"There were guards outside my door," Keyne hisses as he skids into view. "What was I supposed to do—ask them to move?"

"Shhh! They'll hear us!" Evely whispers, appearing behind Keyne with the others.

Ahmir eyes Ellis in the tunnel and sneers. "You actually brought him?"

"Of course I did," I snap.

Lelah shakes her head. "Remember: once we're out, we go separate ways. No hesitations."

"I know. Just stick to the plan."

I crawl in behind Ellis. Keyne follows. Then Evely, Ahmir, and Lelah. The tunnel groans as we move, elbows digging into dirt, the cold pressing against our skin.

"Go faster!" Lelah hisses from the back.

"We're going as fast as we can," Ahmir mutters.

That's when the alarm goes off.

A blaring, gut-wrenching wail.

Ellis freezes. Claps his hands over his ears.

"Ossian!" he whimpers, curling into himself.

"FUCK!" Keyne yells.

"Ellis, listen to me—hey, Ellie—you can do this!" I reach out, trying to touch his shoulder.

"Hurry!" Ahmir panics. "We have to go!"

"Shut UP! Let me deal with him first!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me, sub!" Ahmir snaps.

"Kiss my ass," I mutter, not even looking back at him. I turn to Ellis. "Ellie, shhh. You're my brave big brother, remember?"

He shakes his head, lip trembling.

"Yes, you are. I know this is scary. I know. But look at you—you're already here. You chose to crawl into this tunnel. That's brave, even if you're scared."

"I'm sorry," he cries.

"I'm not mad at you," I say quickly. Keyne's already pulling Cubby from the bag. "Here. You think Cubby can help us all be a little less scared?"

Ellis grabs the bear and clutches it to his chest like it's the only steady thing in the world. He doesn't care who sees.

He nods. Wipes his nose on his sleeve. Takes a breath.

Then he crawls forward.

"That's it," I whisper. "You're doing great."

"I see light!" Keyne calls.

"Ellis, remember what I told you—when you get outside, don't stand up. Stay low."

He nods again, determined now, Cubby under one arm, crawling toward freedom like he means it.

And behind him, we follow. One breath, one shuffle, one heartbeat at a time.

By the time we crawl out into the forest, we're shaking, and silent.

We stay on our hands and knees. The trees stretch out around us, tall silhouettes swallowed by rain and darkness. We can't see far, but we know what's out there: miles of mud, roots, and shadows.

No path. No map.

Just directions burned into our heads.

"Good luck," I whisper, voice hoarse.

The others nod. No goodbyes. Just that quiet kind of determination that comes when you're too scared to think and too stubborn to stop.

"Bye!" Ellis says, waving with his whole arm.

Keyne is the first to stand. He ruffles Ellis's hair on the way past. "Listen to Ossian, got it? I'll see you soon."

Ellis nods quickly, clinging to the comfort like a promise.

Keyne disappears into the trees, and the others follow—Lelah, then Evely, then Ahmir, each one swallowed by the dark and the rain, their outlines gone as fast as they stood.

And then it's just us.

"Ellis," I murmur, "our turn. Stay low."

A shout breaks through the downpour.

"HEY! I THINK I SEE SOMETHING—OVER HERE!"

Ellis freezes. "Ossian—it's a guard."

"Fuck," I hiss. Too close. Much too close.

I grab his hand. "We've still got time. We stick to the ground. Just like we practiced. Crawl. Now."

The rain hasn't let up. It slams into us like it's trying to force us down. Every inch of clothing feels like it's made of stone. And the ground? It's sludge. Thick and hungry. Ellis keeps slipping, his hands sinking into the mud, his knees caked in grime. I'm trained for this.

He's not.

Time passes like that—slow, miserable, relentless.

I make the call to stop when I spot a shallow cave carved into the hill. Barely big enough for both of us, but dry enough to count as a miracle.

Ellis collapses onto his side, hugging himself. "I'm cold," he whispers.

I dig out the water bottle and hand it to him. "We're almost there. Drink."

Then come the gunshots.

The first cracks through the air like lightning. Ellis screams.

I grab him and pull him into me, fast, one arm tight around his body, the other clamped over his mouth. His whole frame shakes. My own pulse spikes like a siren in my ears.

The next shot is closer. Then another. And another.

Each one drills through the silence, a horrible rhythm. I close my eyes and hold him tighter, riding the storm in my chest.

When it finally stops, the world feels impossibly still.

I wait. Then slowly pull my hand from his mouth, brushing his damp blond hair out of his eyes. "Ellis," I say, steady, even though my voice wants to break. "We have to keep moving."

He nods, silent tears streaking down his cheeks.

I crouch beside him and point to the hill just ahead. "You see that ridge? The truck's waiting on the other side. You run up and you get in. Don't look back. I'll be right behind you."

He nods again, this time with more weight.

I take his hand and hold it for a second longer than I should.

I look at him—really look—just in case.

Then I squeeze his fingers and let go.

"This time, we run."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

With a groan of victory, I slide onto the barstool like I've just finished a war campaign. "Anything with alcohol," I mutter to the bartender without looking up.

Odile raises a sculpted brow, unimpressed. She slides an empty glass in front of me like it's a warning shot, tosses in a few ice cubes, cracks open a can of Coke, and tops it with a very smug slice of lemon.

I stare at it. "I look twenty-five."

"Honey," she says, arms folding, "you don't look a day over nineteen."

I scowl at the glass like it personally betrayed me. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Nice try, Ossian." Her voice is dry as gin. "That line may work on the press junket, but not here."

Sue me for wanting something stronger after spending the last four hours shaking hands with every suit, starlet, and studio exec this side of the solar system. I've smiled so much my cheeks hurt, and I'm ninety percent sure I gave someone's assistant a fake name just to mess with them.

"Hey, lovey," Emrys's voice cuts in, tired and warm. He's got Ellis draped over one shoulder like a very cute, very sleepy accessory. Ellis rubs at his eyes and yawns like a baby deer in couture.

I grin. "What did you think of the movie?"

Forget critics. Their opinion matters more than every review on the planet.

"He cried so much," Ellis giggles, covering his mouth with both hands like it's classified information.

"I did not!" Emrys protests immediately, already blushing.

I turn to him, smirking. "Wait—I made you cry? Don't tell me you sobbed like after Flowers On The Moon. The theatre was echoing."

He gasps. "That film destroyed me and you know it."

I laugh—really laugh for the first time tonight.

"Shut up, brat," he huffs, pinching my thigh. "We are so proud of you."

Ellis nods in sleepy agreement beside him, all soft eyes and starry admiration.

My cheeks burn a little, and not from the Coke. "Thanks, guys."

"Not scary like the last one," Ellis adds, mumbling. He still hasn't forgiven me for the horror film. The poor boy refused to sleep alone for a week.

Even though he's older than me by almost three years, I've been looking out for him since day one. Some people just make you want to protect them. Ellis has that whole wide-eyed-forest-creature energy, and I signed up immediately.

"I promised," I say softly, "no more horror. Pinky swear."

"Good. Or I'll make Ansel spank you," he mumbles, half-teasing.

I roll my eyes. "Not scared of Ansel's 'spankings.'"

"Did they like the clothes?" Ellis asks suddenly, eyes brightening.

I perk up. "They loved the blazer. I've been getting compliments all night."

That earns a full-on smile from him—proud and shy and heart-melting all at once. I pull him into a side-hug and kiss the top of his head.

"Love you," he whispers.

"Love you too, big brother," I murmur back.

Emrys smiles at the scene. And then, of course, ruins it.

"Speaking of—Ansel wants you home in about an hour. I'm taking this one to bed before he falls asleep standing."

"I'll be home in two," I smirk.

"Ossian," Emrys groans, tugging gently at my curls. "He's already spanked you twice today."

"Emi," Ellis whines, clearly over the lecture.

"Yeah, I know, Sunshine, we're leaving."

"I'll behave," I say, holding up my hands. "Promise. Just let me sit here a minute and finish this five-star beverage."

Emrys eyes me. "You sure you're alright? You've seemed... off."

I wave him off, maybe too quickly. "Just tired. Promo tour's been a lot."

He doesn't buy it. "Ansel's worried."

I exhale. "Tell him I'm fine. And I'll be home in an hour, scout's honor."

"Fine. I'm holding you to that." Emrys leans in to kiss my cheek. "Don't disappear on us."

I nod, and they head out—Ellis waving half-asleep as Emrys guides him toward the exit.

I turn back to the bar. The Coke is still there, still smug.

I sigh and take a sip.

Tastes like sugar, exhaustion, and being nineteen in a room full of people who think I'm invincible.

Odile slings a towel over her shoulder, eyeing me like she's about to deliver a sermon.

"You know what you need?"

I take a slow sip of my soda. "Enlighten me."

"A dom."

I open my mouth, but the sound that cuts in from behind me derails it—a loud, delighted snort.

"God help whatever poor bastard signs up for Ossian Ambrose full-time."

I don't even turn. "Eat shit, Aedar."

Odile doesn't flinch. She's seen this show before. "You two better behave at my bar," she warns, already walking away to prep drinks for the next tray of servers sweeping the floor.

I swivel on the stool and meet Aedar's grin with a smirk of my own. I've always liked poking doms—especially this one. Something about the mix of ego and entitlement makes him too easy a target.

But then he tilts his head, real slow, and says, "You know that ass of yours was made to be spanked."

And just like that, something sharp twists low in my stomach.

I inhale—too fast, too tight.

Don't look at him. Don't fold for him.

But I already am. The sub part of me—the real one, not the performative flirt I wear like perfume—is inching forward, whispering things like kneel, like submit, like fix this.

It's stupid. I know better. I've had worse things said to me. 

But this hits different. Too casual. Too close to something I don't think I've ever felt. 

"Go to hell," I mutter.

It lands flat. Not sharp. Not flirty. Just... hollow.

Aedar's gaze sharpens, catching it. "You okay?"

I don't answer.

He leans in, voice lower now. "Let's get out of here. Somewhere quieter. Fewer eyes."

It's not unusual for us to dip from a party. We've snuck away to rooftop gardens, penthouse balconies, the back seats of too many overpriced cars.

Aedar's the kind of dom who's been handed everything—including me, once or twice. Son of a major producer. Too much money, too little supervision. A wild streak that makes bad decisions look like a sport.

"I don't know," I murmur, suddenly unsure of the game.

"Come on, baby," he says, that pet-name falling out like muscle memory. "We'll get real booze. Something that doesn't taste like... whatever this is."

He grabs my soda, takes a sip.

I blink at him. "You know the papz are still out there."

"So? You afraid the headlines tomorrow are going to scream Ossian Ambrose Reunites With Old Flame—Again?"

I snort. "You're not even my type."

That earns a glare. His dom ego takes hits like a porcelain vase.

"Of course I am."

I tilt my head. "Ugh, you're right," I deadpan. "We should definitely have sex right now. Maybe right here. I'm sure the lighting in this bar would really capture your best angles."

"What?" He chokes mid-sip.

"Yeah! In fact—Odile!" I call across the bar. "Get the spotlight ready, we're giving you a show!"

"Ossian!" he hisses, face now a shade deep red.

I laugh.

Aedar shakes his head, muttering, "You're impossible," but the corner of his mouth twitches. "Come on. I know a side exit. Press won't see a thing."

I slide off the stool and drop a heavy tip on the counter.

"Fine," I say. 

He opens the door, and I follow—half because I need the air.

Half because I'm not ready to go home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I'm outside the convenience store Aedar dragged me to, leaning against the wall, trying not to look famous or rich or like a walking headline.

Emrys's voice starts whispering in my head—soft at first, then louder, more like annoyed big brother mode: "Get your ass home, Ossian. Now."

I take a breath. Then another. Try to shove it down.

Ansel's going to be pissed. I can already hear the lecture. The look.

He'll spank me, probably. Put me to bed.

Normally, I wouldn't care.

But tonight? I do.

And I hate that.

"Hey, you!"

I lift my head, shoulders squaring automatically, expression flipping into neutral-famous-smile mode. I'm already reaching for a pen in my pocket—autograph, selfie, quick laugh.

Until I see the knife.

"Give me your wallet," the guy snarls, stepping into my space. He's twitchy. Wired. Desperate.

I barely register his face. All I see is the glint of the blade.

I lift my hands slow. "Okay. Okay. I'm reaching for it. Don't want trouble."

I move like I've rehearsed it. Left hand to blazer pocket. Calm. Controlled.

And then I hit him.

My fist connects with his jaw in a clean, sharp arc. He stumbles back with a grunt, stunned—but only for a second.

Then he charges.

That's when I realize how big he is. Bigger than me. Stronger, maybe.

But not faster.

I twist away from the knife, foot skidding in gravel. The blade misses me by an inch, and all I can think—stupidly, insanely—is that I'm not letting him ruin the blazer Ellis made.

My vision narrows. Tunnels.

Then it snaps.

I lunge.

We go down hard. My knees hit pavement. My fists find bone.

I don't hold back.

I don't want to.

I don't know what part of me takes over—but it's not the actor. Not the sub. Not the boy who worries about discipline or image or press.

It's something older. Meaner. Unafraid.

I hit him again. And again.

He grunts. Maybe tries to yell. I don't hear it. Just blood and rain and the pounding in my skull.

I don't count the punches. I don't care.

It could've been a minute.

Could've been an hour.

Only when hands grab my arms and yank me off him does the world come back.

"Get off!" I thrash, chest heaving, eyes still wild.

I can't see who's holding me. I don't care.

The rage hasn't burned out yet. It's alive—still crawling through me like fire.

I twist against the arms, snarling. Not words. Just instinct. Just fight.

"Ossian!" a voice barks, sharp enough to cut through the fog.

I freeze.

Blink.

Then blink again.

Aedar.

His face is pale. His grip is strong. But it's the fear in his eyes that pulls me back.

Not fear of him.

Fear of me.

Of what he just watched me do.

My breath hitches. My chest stutters, like my body just realized what it’s done.

I glance down.

The man on the pavement isn’t moving much. His nose is bent the wrong way. One eye’s already closing, purple and angry.

And my hands—

My hands are stained with it.

Red. Raw.

Like I’d forgotten they were mine.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ansel

"So you're telling me he's a level-five submissive?"

I stare at Veda like she just told me Ossian is secretly made of glass.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, that can't be right. He doesn't act like—he's not—he doesn't present like a high-level sub."

Veda gives me a look that's more sympathy than smug, but only barely. She gestures to the file on the desk, the pages a chaotic mess of neurochemical reports, behavioral assessments, and stress response data.

"We re-ran the tests, Ansel. Twice. Maybe a level four, maybe five sub could hit this degree of physiological distress without total system collapse."

She points to one chart, red-lined and alarming. "And then there's this—Dr. Murphy ran a cognitive battery after realizing we had no academic records on file. He blew the scale. We're talking low latent inhibition, accelerated pattern recognition, retention through the roof."

For the first time all day, I feel the corners of my mouth twitch. "Yeah," I murmur. "That doesn't surprise me. He's always been sharp. Too sharp."

Her voice gentles. "He was abused, right?"

I nod, jaw tight. "He and Ellis were. We don't know much. We tried getting him in with Ellis's therapist, but..." I look away. "He wouldn't go."

Veda watches me. "Ansel—don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't turn this into a guilt project. You didn't fail him."

"He feels like my responsibility, Veda."

"You thought he was a level-two. Everyone did. Hell, he probably did. And you live with your own two subs whose rhythms you're locked into—of course that's going to blur things. You're not psychic. And let's be honest—Ossian? He's a hell of an actor."

I let out a tired breath and lean back in the chair. "What'd the judge say?"

"She wants him placed in an institution for neglected submissives—something temporary, clinical. But he's high-profile. His agency's panicking. They want it buried."

"Of course they do." I scrub a hand over my face. "How'd he take it?"

Veda sighs. "Badly. They had to restrain him."

I close my eyes.

She softens. "Look, he's a charmer. Smart. Sweet when he's not terrorizing the nurses or escaping psych evals."

I snort despite myself.

"But Ansel, we're not just talking tantrums. He's had four violent incidents in three days. One of them was over the bedsheets. The texture alone sent him into a full-body panic. We're seeing clear signs of advanced sensory dysregulation—his system's raw, like there's no buffer left between stimulus and reaction."

She flips the chart toward me, her finger tracing the hormone panel. "And this? I've never seen numbers like this. His biology is screaming for structure, regulation—relief. We don't think his needs as a high-level sub have ever been fully acknowledged, let alone met."

"So what are you saying?"

"He needs something smaller. More personal. A team. A home. At least right now."

I let the words settle like lead.

"Have you talked to Onyx?" she asks.

"Not about this," I admit. "Work's been hell. And I don't know what he could even do."

"Well—one of his partners. Finnian."

I blink. "Yes."

"Then you know he's not just the heasmaster at Chestworth—he's taken in some cases before. Along with his partners. Three level-five dominants, living under one roof."

"They don't take in submissives, they've helped doms, mostly," I mutter.

"They will make an exception. I don't think Finnian would turn a blind eye if you put this—" she taps the chart—"in front of him."

I hesitate.

Because she's right.

Finnian wouldn't.

Before I can say anything else, the door bursts open. One of the nurses—young, wide-eyed, panting.

"Doctor—Mr. Ambrose. He's gone."

I'm on my feet before the words even register.

Of course he is.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

"Hey, baby," I call as I lean into the office doorway, holding up a familiar white take-out bag like a peace offering.

Onyx glances up from his laptop, eyes narrowing the second he sees me walk in. "Why are you limping?"

I smirk as I set the boxes on his desk. "Hendrix and I had a very productive morning before he left for Seattle."

His chair squeaks as he leans forward, scandalized. "I missed it!?"

I lean in and kiss the protest off his lips, grinning against his mouth. "You snooze, you lose."

With a satisfied sigh, I collapse onto the leather couch across from the desks, stretching out like I own the place.

He's just opening the first takeout box when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.

I wince. "Sorry—Ansel."

Onyx groans. "Tell him his very patient partner is waiting for him in the office, starving."

I shoot him a look and answer the call. "Ans, hey—where are you? I brought lunch—"

"Finnian, I need your help," Ansel cuts in, voice tight. "Meet me at my place. Now."

The line goes dead.

I blink. Sit up.

"What's wrong?" Onyx asks, already pushing his chair back.

"He just said to meet him at home. No details."

We lock eyes.

"It might be the boys," I say.

Onyx is on his feet in a second. "Let's go."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ansel

The front door bursts open. Onyx and Finnian sweep into the apartment, scanning the room, tense and ready.

"Is everyone okay?" Onyx asks immediately, his voice clipped.

"We're fine," I say quickly, rising from the couch. "Thanks for coming so fast."

But their eyes are already on Ossian—curled up, fast asleep, draped across Ellis's lap. Ellis holds onto him like he might vanish. I keep rubbing his back to ground him. 

Emrys appears from the hallway with a tray of coffee mugs, carefully sets it on the table, and slides down beside us on the couch.

"Ansel," Finnian says, arms crossed, brows sharp. "Explain."

Right. I take a breath. "Ossian came home tonight in full-blown panic, convinced I was having him institutionalized. He tried to lock himself in his room—we stopped him. Then he collapsed. Emrys held him until he passed out."

"He's still asleep?" Onyx asks, watching the boy closely.

"For now," Emrys murmurs, handing the file to Finnian. "But it's bad. I think you should see this."

Finnian flips it open and starts scanning.

"Who is he?" Onyx asks, gesturing gently toward the sleeping boy.

"Ellis's younger brother. I take care of him when he's in town. A week ago, he nearly beat a man into a coma during an attempted mugging. Self-defense, technically, but..."

Onyx's eyes narrow. Finnian's don't even lift. He's stopped on the hormone profile page, frozen mid-step.

"What the hell is this?" Finnian finally says, voice low and dangerous. "These numbers are—Ansel, these levels are unhinged. His stress response is maxed. His neural mapping looks like he hasn't had proper regulation in years."

"He was never formally tested," I admit. "He lied about his classification—claimed he was a level two. He's actually a five."

Finnian's voice sharpens. "How is this kid not in a hospital right now? These results are the worst I've ever seen."

Emrys flinches.

I turn. "What?"

"It's my fault," Emrys says softly.

Onyx pulls him into his lap without hesitation.

"He's been filming nonstop. Press tours. Awards, premieres, flights every other week. I didn't see it. I should've seen it."

Tears threaten to spill as he shakes his head.

"Sweetheart," I say gently, reaching for his hand, "this isn't on you."

"It's his school that failed him," Finnian agrees, closing the folder. "This wasn't just missed—it was... It must have been buried. I know a facility in Vegas—"

"NO!" Ellis blurts out.

The room falls silent.

"Ellis," I warn, voice low.

He flinches. Dips his head.

I reach out and tilt his chin up. His eyes are brimming.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to Finnian.

Finnian's expression softens instantly. "Forgiven, sweetheart."

I pull Ellis gently into my lap. He resists at first, not wanting to let go of Ossian, but finally gives in, curling against me. 

"We're not sending him to an institution," I say firmly. "His doctors are clear—intimate training would be better for him. And he's too high-profile."

Finnian nods. "They're right. Public placement would do more harm than good."

"That's why I called you." I glance between them. "I want you to take him."

Finnian and Onyx freeze, exchanging a loaded look.

"You want us to train him?" Onyx asks, eyebrows rising.

"I want you to take him into your home," I say, without hesitation. "I know it's a huge ask. I know you've only ever trained Chestworth dominants in your home. But I also know you're the only people I trust with someone like Ossian."

Finnian hands the file to Onyx, and they retreat into one of their classic silent debates—the kind that only bonded partners can have with nothing but glances and weight shifts.

Finally, Onyx exhales. "We'll take him."

Finnian nods once, like it was always going to end this way. "Ansel, you're family. Of course we'll help. I'll review his records with my team at Chestworth and put together a preliminary training framework. We'll also need to loop Hendrix in."

"Thank you," I breathe. It doesn't feel like enough.

But it's all I have.

And for the first time in days, something in my chest starts to let go.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Come on, Ossian," Emrys says gently, holding the car door open like I'm a nervous cat instead of a human person.

"No."

"Ossian." Ansel's voice is firmer now.

"I said no!"

Then Ellis touches my arm—light, hesitant—and I make the mistake of looking at him.

His eyes are wide and worried, lips pulled tight in that way he does when he's trying not to cry for me.

Damn it.

I sigh like it costs me something and finally slide out of the car.

We follow Ansel up the long, polished stone steps toward a mansion so dramatic it might as well have mood lighting and an ego of its own. Two men wait at the massive double doors—both tall, both dominants, both far too attractive for my current emotional capacity.

They greet Ellis and Emrys first—grinning, arms wide, warm voices and hugs and gross familiarity.

I tuck myself behind Ansel's shoulder, using his broad back as a shield and pretending the doms don't exist.

Then it gets quiet.

Ansel clears his throat. "Ossian."

He pulls me gently forward like I'm being handed off to a new school I didn't agree to attend.  

The blond one smiles. "I'm Finnian."

The darker-haired one gives a slow nod. "Onyx."

Onyx has those annoyingly intense deep blue eyes—the kind that look like they’re always two seconds from catching you doing something wrong. His skin’s warm-toned and golden, like he lives in perpetual sun, and he’s built like he could bench-press the front door if he felt like it.

Finnian, on the other hand, is all sharp cheekbones and expensive posture, with hazel eyes and a pale, clean-cut look. He looks like a retired 90s Abercrombie model turned guidance counselor.

I’m definitely not staring.

I’m just… gathering intel.

For self-defense. Obviously.

"And I'm leaving," I announce, already turning on my heel.

A firm hand clamps around the back of my neck.

"Stay." Ansel doesn't even raise his voice—but the command drops like a hammer. I freeze.

Finnian steps in smoothly, like this is all part of the onboarding experience. "Emrys and Ellis will show you to your room. There's an outfit laid out on the bed—something more appropriate for the house."

"I'm sure it is," I mutter under my breath.

Emrys grabs my hand before I can spark anything else and steers me inside. I groan the whole way up the grand staircase like it'll delay the inevitable. The room is gorgeous, annoyingly so—warm lighting, thick bedding, everything too curated to be real.

My bag hits the floor with a soft thud and Emrys immediately starts undressing me like he owns the rights to my wardrobe.

"I can change myself, you know."

"Clearly, that's up for debate," he says without looking at me, peeling my shirt off like I'm a mannequin with too much attitude.

Then I see the outfit on the bed.

A leather jockstrap.

I narrow my eyes. "Absolutely not."

Emrys picks it up, raises a brow, and holds it open expectantly.

"...Fine."

As he wrestles it over my thighs, he mutters, "How did your ass get plumper?"

Ellis giggles from the bed. I shoot him a glare that only makes him giggle harder.

"Good Lord," Emrys huffs as he finally gets it into place. I smile proudly, because if I have to wear it, I'm at least going to make it difficult.

He smacks me on the ass.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know exactly what," he mumbles, grabbing the matching harness. "Arms up."

I roll my eyes dramatically but do it anyway.

Then come the ankle and wrist cuffs.

"Are they taking me to a club?"

"No, lovey. I think this is just your standard house uniform," Emrys says, tone way too casual for the information he just dropped.

"WHAT? Ellis! They can literally see my ass!"

Ellis just giggles again. 

Once I'm fully dressed—or strapped in, depending on how you look at it—Emrys pulls me down onto the bed between them.

"Please," he says softly. "Just give this a chance."

I look away. "I don't need this."

Emrys tenses. "How can you say that? After everything that's happened?"

The shame hits fast and hard.

"Sorry," I murmur.

Ellis grabs my hand and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. "You're going to get better here, Ossian."

I stare at him, at the pure faith in his voice. It makes my throat tight.

"...Ellis, I demand that you design me a better uniform."

He beams. "Nope. You look amazing."

I groan. And pout.

A knock at the door, and then Ansel steps inside, his expression already braced for impact.

“It’s time to go, boys.”

“No!” The word rips out of me before I can stop it.

“Ossian,” he says gently, crossing the room.

I back away instinctively.

“Please, sweetheart—”

“I don’t want to be here!”

Emrys is on me first, arms wrapping tight. “We know,” he whispers. “But this is going to help. You’re going to get better, baby.”

Then Ellis joins, wrapping himself around me like a second skin. I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe him in—soap, sugar, something warm and safe.

When they finally pull back, Ansel steps forward and scoops me into his arms like it’s nothing. I don’t fight him. I just cling. Wrap myself around him like a koala and refuse to let go.

He carries me down the stairs while I silently beg the moment to last forever.

“Finnian, Onyx, and Hendrix—they’re family,” Ansel murmurs into my hair. “I trust them with my life. We’ll visit, sweetheart. I promise.”

But then Finnian steps into my line of sight.

And I know what’s coming.

“No,” I say, tightening my hold.

Finnian reaches out—and Ansel, goddamn traitor, gently peels me off his chest and hands me over.

“LET ME GO!” I shriek, thrashing. My fists land wherever they can, but I’m exhausted. The week’s drained every drop of strength I had.

Finnian drops with me to the floor, keeping me locked against his chest like a vice. His arms are steel. Immoveable.

And I lose it.

I scream. Loud. Messy. Ugly.

I don’t care who hears.

Until I don’t hear it anymore.

Until everything drops out.

Ellis is crying—I can see him, blurry and distant, being carried out by Ansel. His face breaks me more than the arms holding me ever could.

Then—

Nothing.

Like the volume in the world just… cuts.

I know I’m still screaming because my throat hurts, but it’s like I’m miles away from the sound. Like I’ve been dropped underwater.

Somewhere in that muffled dark, I feel Finnian’s voice. Low. Calm. Threading its way through the static.

I can’t make out the words, but I cling to the rhythm of it.

The steady rise and fall of his chest behind me. The weight of his arms. The warmth of his breath against the top of my head.

And slowly, I stop fighting.

Stop spiraling.

Stop thinking.

By the time sleep takes me, I’m still in his lap, body trembling, but quiet—his voice the last thing I hear before the dark finally lets me rest.

Chapter Text

Onyx

He buries his face in Finnian's neck, his breath uneven, fingers clutching the fabric of his black shirt like it's the only thing anchoring him to this world. He trembles slightly in his sleep, though whether from exhaustion, instinct, or something deeper, I can't quite tell.

Finnian exhales, his voice soft as his fingers comb through the boy's unruly curls. "He's... beautiful."

He really is.

"His scent, his eyes—"

"Finn," I cut in, watching him carefully. "We have to be careful."

Finnian is one of the most sensitive doms I've ever known. He feels things deeply, gets attached too easily, especially to his trainees. That's where Hendrix and I usually come in—to make sure he doesn't lose himself in someone who might not be ready for him. We've never had a sub live with us before, not in our own home. 

Ossian is different. Even I can feel it.

Finnian sighs, his hazel eyes searching mine, a flicker of conflict in them. "I... I know."

I lean in, kissing him slow, grounding him before he loses himself in whatever he's feeling. But the moment is short-lived—the boy in his lap stirs.

Both of us pull back.

"You feeling better, honey?" Finnian asks.

Ossian freezes, his entire body going rigid. Wide, alert eyes snap to Finnian, then to me, then back again. He pushes off Finnian's lap like he's been burned, scrambling back across the enormous L-couch. His gaze flickers between us, wild and wary, his breathing uneven like a cornered puppy.

Finnian reaches for him, his voice warm but firm. "Come here, pup."

Ossian scoffs. A brat through and through. But Finnian is quick—his hand catches Ossian's ankle, and with one smooth pull, he drags him forward. The boy lands on the floor between Finnian's legs, right where we want him.

We wait. Testing him.

He glares up at us, then crosses his arms and pointedly stays seated on his ass.

I smirk. "You're making this harder for yourself, sweetheart."

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even react.

Finnian, ever patient, runs a soothing hand through his hair. "I want to explain what we've been talking about. Not all high-level subs are the same; each level has its own spectrum. During your training, as we get to know you and your body, we'll learn what you need, what you enjoy, and what you don't."

Ossian's expression is unreadable, but his fingers twitch slightly in his lap. He's listening, whether he wants to or not.

Finnian continues, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. "We've discussed your case with the team at the school, and we want to take things slow. I believe this is your first real experience in a proper dynamic, isn't it?"

Ossian's gaze drops to the floor.

"That means," Finnian says gently, "for the duration of your stay, you are ours, and we are yours."

The reaction is immediate.

Ossian grimaces like the words themselves offend him. His eyes narrow, and with the same bratty defiance he's shown since the moment he stepped into this house, he turns on his hands and knees and starts crawling away.

I watch him, amused.

I typically don't go for brats. I prefer subs who follow rules, who are eager to please, who listen the first time. But there's something undeniably entertaining about the way Ossian resists. He's all sharp edges and fire, a constant challenge waiting to be tamed.

Finnian sighs, watching him crawl.

I chuckle. "You know, Finn, I think this one's going to be fun."

Finnian gives me a knowing look before he reaches out, grabbing Ossian by the back of his harness and hauling him back where he belongs.

Ossian yelps, twisting in Finnian's grip, but the hold is firm. "Let go!"

Finnian hums. "Hmm... No."

Ossian huffs. "You can't just—"

"I can," Finnian interrupts smoothly. "And I will. Now, are you going to behave, or do I have to remind you what happens when naughty brats misbehave?"

Ossian's breath catches, his pupils dilating slightly.

Interesting.

Finnian tilts his head, waiting.

For a long moment, Ossian doesn't move. Then, grudgingly, his shoulders slump.

Finnian grins. "That's what I thought."

I watch, intrigued, as Ossian sits back, the fight still simmering beneath his skin but contained—barely.

Oh yes.

This is going to be fun.

Finnian retrieves a leash, the soft metal clinking as he clips it onto Ossian's harness.

"Get it off me, dude!" Ossian snaps, jerking his shoulders back in protest.

I snort. He's so defiant, so predictably resistant, that it's almost funny. Almost. Finnian gives me a glance, and I lift my hands in mock apology. "Sorry," I mutter, though I don't bother hiding my amusement.

Finnian's voice drops to something far more authoritative. "You will refer to us as 'sir,' little boy."

Ossian scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Finnian ignores it. Instead, he begins listing the rules, his tone steady, leaving no room for argument. "These are the rules: You will treat the employees with respect. We have two new staff members who will be assisting with your care. You will sleep in our room, but the room where you first changed will be yours—you may go there during quiet time or free time; it's your space. Do whatever you want with it. We will choose your clothing—"

"Bullshit," Ossian interrupts, his voice laced with venom.

It takes everything in me not to haul him over my lap right then and there. Finnian, ever composed, doesn't react. He simply continues, "You will do as we say. You will obey us."

That's when he pulls out the collar.

Ossian stiffens. His whole body tenses as his eyes lock onto it, pupils dilating in alarm. Then, like a wild animal sensing a trap, he tries to crawl away, but Finnian already has a firm grip on his leash.

"If you don't follow orders, you will be punished."

The collar clicks into place.

"FUCK YOU!" Ossian shouts, twisting against Finnian's hold, his entire body vibrating with defiance.

Finnian doesn't even flinch. "Kneel, Ossian."

Ossian does the opposite. He flops dramatically onto his back, arms crossed, staring up at Finnian like an insolent child refusing bedtime. "No."

I see Finnian's patience snap.

In one swift movement, the leash is unclipped, and Ossian is flipped over Finnian's lap before I can blink. The brat struggles at first, but Finnian is stronger, pinning him easily. Even now, he's not taking this seriously—not until the first smack lands.

Ossian's eyes go wide.

That wasn't the kind of swat he was expecting. Probably thought he'd get the soft, measured kind that Ansel uses on Emrys and Ellis. But Ossian needs more than that.

He kicks his legs but quickly steadies them.

We both notice it.

He's holding back, trying not to give us a reaction, trying to pretend this isn't affecting him. Stubborn boy. His hands reach back, instinctively trying to block the blows, but Finnian catches them with ease, snapping his wrist cuffs together. They can only be released by us or with a special remote.

"FUCK YOU!" he yells again, voice raw with frustration.

I get up and grab the wooden spoon. When I place it in Finnian's hand, his grip tightens around the handle. He lays it flat against Ossian's ass first, letting him feel the weight of it. And then—

CRACK.

Ossian screams, his whole body jolting.

The second smack lands, but this time he stays still. Silent. Stubborn as ever.

"Let go, honey," Finnian urges.

"NO!" he snarls.

Finnian keeps going, but we both know this battle isn't going to be won today. Ossian won't break—at least, not yet. Finnian eventually tosses the spoon aside. For a moment, Ossian just lays there, chest heaving, his body burning from the discipline. Then, Finnian lifts him and settles him onto his lap.

I don't miss the quick glances my fiancé gives me. He feels it too—that ache of sympathy that creeps in despite everything.

Finnian clears his throat, refocusing. "Kneel, pup."

Ossian lifts his chin, meeting Finnian's gaze with pure defiance.

"Unless you want to go back over my knee, I'd recommend you obey."

A heavy silence.

Then, with an exasperated huff, Ossian gets into position. It's slow, begrudging, but he does it.

Finnian nods approvingly. "Hendrix is in Seattle on business. He'll be home tonight."

"I know," Ossian mutters.

Finnian's brow lifts. "What was that?"

Ossian clenches his jaw before correcting himself. "I know, sir." He forces the title out like it pains him.

"That's better. Now, explain."

Ossian shifts slightly, his posture still tense. "I already had background checks done on all of you."

I blink. "You what?"

Ossian doesn't even hesitate. "Of course I did." His tone is so casual, so nonchalant, like this was just something he naturally had to do.

I raise a brow, genuinely impressed. "How?"

He shrugs. "I know people."

Finnian and I exchange looks. Resourceful brat.

Ossian sighs. "How much longer do I have to stay here? I want to go home."

"That depends on your progress," Finnian tells him. "You are now a submissive student at Chestworth University."

"NO! NO!" Ossian shakes his head violently. "Ossian—"

"I'm not even twenty! You have to be twenty! And the media—my agency is going to be furious!" His voice is rising, panic creeping in.

Finnian remains steady. "In rare cases, exceptions are made for younger students. Chestworth is the best in the country, and many celebrities and their children attend. This won't make headlines—it's normal. Every sub and dom goes through it."

"But I have to work!"

I can see it now—the tension in his shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He's on the verge of spiraling.

I move fast, unclicking his cuffs. "Shh, Menino," I soothe, pulling him into my lap, this time turning him so he's facing me. His body stiffens, but I don't let go. Instead, I take his hand and press it against my chest. "Breathe."

His palm flattens against my shirt, his fingers twitching slightly as he feels the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.

His scent is intoxicating—clean, masculine, yet sweet in a way unique to high-level subs.

"Good boy," I murmur when he finally settles.

His head jerks up, eyes widening slightly, and I don't miss the soft flush creeping across his cheeks.

"...Am I going to be here for two years?" His voice is quieter now.

"That depends," I admit. "Mostly on your health, and when we believe you're ready to be on campus with other students."

Ossian scowls. "And then what? You expect me to let some stranger own me?"

"It's the law for high-level subs," I say simply.

"I don't need that."

I sigh. "It's not about what you think you need."

He groans. "I have to work."

"That's something Finnian, Hendrix, and I will discuss," I tell him.

Finnian senses he's had enough. "Go explore the property. We'll meet you for supper in an hour."

Ossian perks up immediately, eager to be away from us. He nods, turning quickly to leave—

"Ossian." My voice stops him.

He hesitates.

"Stay on the property."

His lips press into a thin line, but he gives a curt nod before stalking off.

Finnian sighs. "This one's going to be a handful."

I smirk. "Yeah.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

This place is incredible.

The estate sprawls out before me like something out of a dream—luxurious, vast, and almost surreal in its excess. A private movie theater, a shimmering pool, a state-of-the-art game room, and the biggest goddamn home library I've ever seen. The backyard alone is a world of its own—rolling green hills, lush gardens bursting with flowers, a pond so large it might as well be a small lake. Beyond it, the dense line of trees marks the boundary of the estate, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the breeze.

I’m standing near a row of sleek golf carts, marveling at just how absurdly rich my so-called caretakers are. It’s not like I’m hurting for money—I know my acting career has stacked up a ridiculous amount over the years. I don’t keep track of the exact numbers; that’s what my money-guy is for. I just spend it on whatever catches my interest—impulse buys, extravagant nonsense, things that make life feel a little less suffocating. But even with all that, the thought of owning something this massive, this luxurious, has never even crossed my mind.

Ellis, Ansel, and Emrys live well—they’ve got a high-end condo in one of the city's wealthiest districts, the kind with floor-to-ceiling windows and a private rooftop. It’s impressive, sure. Expensive. But it’s nothing compared to what I’m looking at now. This estate is something else entirely. It doesn’t just scream wealth—no this is what they call old money. 

Then a thought creeps into my head.

Would an alarm go off if I left?

I glance around, checking for any sign of Finnian or staff. When I see no one, I press my hand against the large sliding doors, push them slowly—waiting, listening.

Nothing.

No sirens, no blaring security system.

I glance down at myself—barefoot, dressed in the attire they gave me—before shrugging. I'm not dumb enough to escape or anything, I don't know how thick these woods are. I just want to see the pond up close.

With a quick look around, I dart across the open yard. The grass is soft under my feet, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and flowers. By the time I reach the pond, my breathing is quick, more from the thrill of sneaking around than the actual effort.

The water is dark, smooth as glass. Lily pads drift lazily on the surface, their delicate blossoms half-closed. I crouch by the edge, running my fingers over one of the cool, waxy petals. It's peaceful here—quiet in a way I don't think I have ever felt.  

And then—

Something stirs in the bushes near the woods.

My head snaps up.

At first, I think it's just the wind, rustling the dense undergrowth. But then I see it—something small, shifting just beyond the treeline.

"Hey!" I call out, leaning forward.

A tiny, twitching ear pokes out from the leaves. Then, before I can fully register what's happening, a tiny creature bursts from the underbrush and bounds toward me in a series of clumsy, excited leaps.

"No way," I whisper, stunned.

The little thing collides with my outstretched hand, its tiny tongue swiping eagerly across my fingers. A puppy. Its fur is golden, its eyes bright and intelligent. It's a little scrawny, a little wild-looking, but undeniably adorable.

"Come here, little guy," I murmur, scooping him up. His body is warm, vibrating with excitement as he wriggles in my grip. "Where did you come from, huh? You're just a baby, aren't you?"

He yips, tail wagging furiously.

I grin. "You look like an Archie to me. Yeah, that's a badass name. Archie." I scratch behind one of his oversized ears, and he melts into my touch. "You're kinda dirty, though. And I bet you're starving."

A sharp voice cuts through the air.

"Ossian!"

Archie flinches, ears flattening against his tiny skull before he wriggles free and bolts—straight back toward the forest.

"Wait!" I scramble to my feet, ready to chase after him, but before I can take a step, I'm lifted clean off the ground.

Finnian's arms lock around me as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he says, his voice firm but not angry.

I scowl, squirming in his grip. "I can walk, you know."

He ignores me.

I cross my arms over my chest, sulking. "This is humiliating."

Finnian chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Then you should've stayed where you were supposed to."

"I was just exploring."

"In the woods?"

I roll my eyes. I was not in the woods. 

"It's not like I ran away," I grumble.

"You were about to."

I stiffen but say nothing. He's annoyingly perceptive.

Finnian carries me effortlessly across the yard, back toward the house. The cool air brushes against my skin, and for a second, I glance over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Archie. But the little pup is already gone, vanished into the trees.

I hope he comes back.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The dining room is grand—vaulted ceilings, a long polished table that could seat a dozen, and warm golden light spilling from a chandelier overhead. The kind of place where important people have serious discussions over expensive wine. 

Two men I don’t recognize move with precision, setting down steaming plates of food before they exit, leaving me alone with Finnian and Onyx. I eye the meal, my stomach twisting in hunger, but I don’t move.

"Ossian." Finnian gestures to a plush cushion near his feet.

I cross my arms. "No way."

Finnian’s expression hardens. "Ossian."

"I'm not hungry," I mumble.

"You don’t have a choice. Come here. Now." His voice is firm, but it’s his eyes that make my stomach drop—that same look he gave me before the last spanking. No fucking way. My body tenses, preparing to bolt, but Finnian is faster. He’s on me in an instant, dragging me toward his chair with an ease that infuriates me.

"NO! NO! NO!" I kick and squirm, but it doesn't make a damn difference. Before I know it, I’m back over his knees, face hot with humiliation. His palm lands on my already sore ass, the sting making me jolt forward with a choked sound.

Oh. So that’s why they’ve kept me in jockstraps. Easy access.

This spanking isn’t as long as the first, but it still leaves me breathless, my skin burning. "When I tell you to do something, you do it, Ossian." His voice is steady, unshaken, like he could do this all night if he had to. He lands a final stinging slap to each cheek before setting me back on the floor. "Kneel."

I grit my teeth, my breath uneven as I drop into position. But the second my knees hit the pillow, panic flares in my chest, sharp and sudden. The texture is wrong. It sends a sick feeling crawling up my spine. I scramble off of it instantly. "Please, no!"

"Ossian!" Finnian’s voice sharpens.

"Please, it’s hurting me!" I don’t even know how to explain it—I just know I can’t do it.

Finnian frowns, exchanging a glance with Onyx, who silently approaches with a different pillow. He places it in front of me, and I hesitantly run my fingers over it. It’s softer. Not the same. I let out a slow breath and shift onto it, shoulders still tense.

"I don’t want to eat on the floor," I murmur.

Finnian’s gaze softens, but his tone stays firm. "You need it right now, honey." He doesn’t give me a chance to argue, slipping a spoonful of chicken and rice into my mouth before I can protest.

My whole body tenses. Then—fuck. A low moan escapes before I can stop it. It’s good. Really good.

"Wilma is an excellent chef," Onyx says, smirking.

Of course, they have a fucking chef.

Finnian feeds me a few more bites before turning his attention to his own plate. I sit there, stewing, heat simmering just beneath my skin. I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this. They act like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing, like I can’t function without being told what to do. It’s infuriating.

"You know what? Fuck this." I shove my plate forward. It teeters at the edge of the table, but Onyx’s quick reflexes save it before it crashes to the floor.

"That’s naughty, Ossian," Onyx scolds, like I’m some misbehaving toddler.

Before I can react, his hand lands on my ass, delivering a series of sharp spanks. I hiss, jerking forward. My skin is probably black and blue at this point.

"You’re in time out," he announces, pulling me back between his legs.

I scoff. "Oh no, not time out," I mutter sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I make sure he sees it.

He ignores me. Just keeps eating like I’m not sitting here plotting his downfall.

Then, a deep voice fills the room, smooth with a faint British accent.

"Hello, my loves."

Finnian’s head snaps up, eyes brightening. "Hendrix! You’re home early!"

I hear footsteps—strong, purposeful—followed by the sound of a kiss. Finnian’s, I assume. Then another. Onyx.

The table blocks my view, which somehow makes it worse.

"And who do we have here?" The voice is richer up close, commanding without even trying.

"A naughty little boy who tried to push his plate off the table," Onyx answers.

I glare. "You’re naughty."

"He’s in time out," Onyx adds.

Hendrix hums, stepping closer. He’s tall—taller than the others, or maybe it just feels that way. His presence is overwhelming, a quiet sort of dominance that settles over the room like a heavy fog. He’s classically handsome, his green-blue eyes sharp, assessing. His suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the chair at the head of the table before sitting.

"Am I done with time out?" I ask hopefully.

They laugh.

Fucking assholes.

"No, Menino," Onyx says smoothly. "I’ll tell you when your time is up."

I huff, fidgeting in place, my ass still burning. I sit there in silence for a few minutes before I try again. "Now?"

Onyx raises a brow. "Do I need to get the gag?"

I freeze. The gag. The one Ansel makes Emrys wear when he gets too lippy.

I shake my head.

"Words."

"No!"

"No, what?"

"...No, sir."

A flicker of approval crosses his face. 

I force myself to breathe, to stay calm. If I just behave, maybe I won’t have to stay here for long. I’m a damn actor—I can fake it. Just need to figure out how a good sub acts. Maybe take a few notes from Emrys and Ellis.

Finnian finally breaks the silence. "Come here, Ossian."

I crawl to him and kneel on the cushion. He resumes feeding me, and I let him, ignoring the way Hendrix’s gaze burns into the side of my face.

A buzzing phone breaks the tension.

Onyx answers, his expression shifting. "I’m on my way." He pockets his phone and grabs his FBI jacket, which somehow makes him look even hotter.

"They found—" He hesitates, glancing at me. "It’s another 10-54."

My eyes narrow. Possible dead body. I’m not an idiot—I know police codes.

Onyx bends down, and to my surprise, presses a quick kiss to my temple. "Behave, menino travesso," he murmurs with a smirk before heading out.

I stare after him, stunned.

Chapter Text

Finnian

"I've never seen Onyx so soft with anyone," I murmur, sprawled against Hendrix’s chest, his warmth seeping into me as he idly runs his large hand through my hair. The steady motion is soothing, grounding. "And he makes him laugh. Nobody makes Onyx laugh."

Hendrix hums in acknowledgment, his fingers threading through my curls, his touch possessive in that quiet way of his.

I chuckle. "And he called me Blondie—can you believe that?" I shake my head, amusement curling in my chest. "He’s such a brat. And those lips of his…" My voice trails off, my mind lingering on the fullness of them, the way they pout when he’s being difficult, the way they’d look parted in surrender. I exhale. "But—" My tone shifts, the weight pressing in again. "He’s so angry, Hendrix. So angry."

I press my face deeper into his chest, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne, something rich and dark. Hendrix’s arms tighten around me. "He’s going to be fine, Finnian," he says, his voice calm, unwavering. "We’ll make sure of it."

I nod against him, letting his confidence settle inside me.

A moment passes before Hendrix speaks again, his voice laced with curiosity.

"Who’s Archie?"

I blink up at him. "Archie?"

"Yeah. After dinner, I heard him yelling for ‘Archie’ in the backyard."

I hum, thinking back. "I don’t know."

Hendrix quirks a brow, but he doesn’t press. Instead, his lips curve into a knowing smile as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face. "He’s been a handful, hasn’t he?"

I scoff, grinning. "You like a handful."

"That I do," he murmurs, tilting my chin up before capturing my lips in a deep, deliberate kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that speaks of ownership, of quiet promises and unshakable control. It leaves me breathless when he finally pulls away.

"Maybe we should get him ready for his first night here," Hendrix suggests, his voice low, his fingers tracing absent patterns along my spine.

I nod, already picturing Ossian curled up somewhere he shouldn’t be, scowling, plotting his next act of defiance. "Let’s go get our boy."

Hendrix’s gaze sharpens slightly. "Finnian—"

"I know, I know," I sigh, rolling my eyes as I pull away from his warmth. "But he is our boy. For now, anyway."

Hendrix doesn’t argue. He just smirks, and together, we head upstairs.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Alright, Arch, you're all clean now. Smell better too—like a real gentleman," I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to the damp fur on his temple. The little pup gives a contented sigh as I lift him from the warm bath, cradling him carefully before setting him down onto a thick towel on the floor.

I work quickly, rubbing him dry with gentle hands, and when his coat is soft and mostly fluffed again, I scoop him up once more. He’s practically boneless in my arms, already half-asleep, his tiny body warm against mine.

"You look exhausted," I coo, carrying him to the bed. I settle in beside him, tucking him against my chest before reaching for my laptop.

"I need to order you a collar," I mutter, already typing. "And a bed. Some toys. What else do you need, huh?"

A sharp bark suddenly fills the quiet room, making me jolt.

My eyes go wide. "Shhh, Arch! You can’t do that!" I quickly pull him closer, glancing toward the door as if someone might come storming in. "They’re gonna hear you!"

I glance down at him, only to find him staring at me with what can only be described as a look. His ears are perked, his dark eyes unwavering, assessing me like he’s about to give me a lecture. My stomach tightens.

"Please don’t tell me you’re a dom," I whisper in horror. "Can dogs even be doms?"

He barks again.

"Archie!" I whisper-yell, scandalized.

The pup lunges at my face, licking me with reckless enthusiasm, making me burst into giggles despite myself. "Alright, alright, we gotta be quiet," I laugh, prying him away. He gives a small huff before curling up on my chest, his eyes lazily drifting to my laptop screen.

I scroll through collar options, my lips quirking up. "Maybe we should get matching ones?" I joke, mostly to myself.

But Archie is already asleep, his tiny body rising and falling with each slow breath. I let out a soft sigh, carefully slipping out from beneath him. He doesn't stir as I lift him and carry him to the walk-in closet.

I’ve made him a small sanctuary in there—a nest of blankets and pillows, a little bowl of water, some food I smuggled from the kitchen. I place him down gently, watching him burrow into the warmth, his tiny paws twitching in sleep.

I hesitate at the door, glancing back at him. They’re never going to let me keep you.

With a final glance, I shut the closet door behind me and turn toward the bed.

The sharp buzz of my phone interrupts the silence. I blink, realizing I haven’t checked it all day.

Scooping it up, I press it to my ear.

"How’s my favorite actor?" The familiar, lively voice of my manager, Nino, crackles through the speaker.

I sigh. "Hey, Nino."

"You got a TV near you?"

"Uh… yeah." I grab the remote, frowning as I turn it on.

"Channel 10."

A knot forms in my stomach, but I do as he says. The screen flickers to life, revealing a celebrity news segment.

"Nino, what’s going on?"

"Just keep watching."

I raise the volume.

"Has Ossian Ambrose gone from heartthrob to Hollywood’s new bad boy? The New York City Sheriff’s Office is currently investigating an incident that took place last week, where Ambrose allegedly assaulted a man outside a Brooklyn convenience store—"

I don’t hear the rest. I grab the remote and shut the TV off.

"NINO!" I snap. "What the fuck is this!?"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! Look, this is good! The agency thought the bad boy image would help your career. Every young actor goes through this phase—"

"This is fucking crazy, Nino!"

"Hey, hey—calm down! It’s not like we told them you’re a Level Five sub—"

I freeze. My breath catches.

I swallow thickly. "Wait. You told them about the incident?" My voice is eerily quiet. "How much did they pay you?"

Nino hesitates. "Look, kid—you’re not filming for a while. You got yourself into this mess, so we need to keep you relevant somehow—oh, shit."

"What?"

"...Ossian, I have no idea how they got this information—"

Dread coils in my stomach as I grab the remote again, turning the TV back on.

"Sources have confirmed that Ambrose is, in fact, a high-level submissive. The actor is currently undergoing intensive training at an institution, receiving the care he has long neglected. We reached out to his team for a comment, but have not heard back—"

My heart drops.

My vision blurs.

"No, no, no!" I gasp, pacing the room. My hands are shaking as my phone vibrates wildly, messages flooding in one after another.

"Ossian—"

I hang up.

My chest tightens, breathing ragged.

I need to get out of here.

I move without thinking, yanking a pair of black jeans from my bag. I don’t even bother taking off the jockstrap, the harness, the collar, the cuffs—I just pull on one of Ansel’s hoodies, the oversized fabric swallowing me up. My sneakers are on in seconds.

The window is my escape.

I climb out, gripping the ledge, muscles trembling as I lower myself onto the rooftop. I jump, landing on the ground with a jarring thud.

Then I run.

The forest swallows me whole, my feet pounding against the earth, lungs burning. The cold air whips against my face. Rain begins to fall, sharp and unforgiving, but I keep running.

Until I can’t.

Until the past crashes into me all at once.

The hits. The pain. Crawling through mud. The smell of rain. Ellis. Gunshots. The escape.

I sink to my knees. My fists clench, nails digging deep into my palms. 

Then—something familiar.

A scent.

Fancy, overpriced fabric softener. The breakfast Ansel makes every morning. The blueberry muffins he bakes when someone’s sad. The custom chocolates Emrys wraps so carefully. And the new fabrics Ellis comes home with. Home.

I breathe it in like it’s my last breath, burying my face into the hoodie.

When I finally rise to my feet, the rain has stopped. In the distance, a faint glow—light. A diner.

Inside, it's nearly empty. I take a seat at the counter.

A burly man glances at me, unimpressed. "Well, ya look like shit."

I sigh. "A beer."

He laughs. "No can do, little sub. Got a dom I can call?"

I scowl. "No."

He hums before setting a basket of fries and a milkshake in front of me.

"I'm Tag," he says. "Call me if you need anything."

Then—

"Hey."

''Hey.'' I look up, meeting concerned, kind eyes. I look him up and down. He's tall, lean body with gorgeous brown puppy eyes. He's definitely a sub.

 I pull my best charming Ossian smile, ''can I buy you a drink?'' I need to get laid, that'll probably make me feel better. Being surrounded by three hot gorgeous doms for hours has made my dick act up all day. 

 He laughs. ''I knew you smelled like trouble,'' he says, taking a seat on the stool beside me. I narrow my eyes at him; that's when I notice the bag by his side. ''Where you heading?'' ''That's confidential. I just stopped for a bathroom break, spilled my takeout all over my shirt.''

 ''So, I caught your eye?'' I say cheekily. He rolls his eyes playfully, stealing a few fries from my basket.

 ''Well, can we skip this part and go have awesome sex, you have a car?'' 

 ''I don't know how you make that sound so charming-'' he says amused, ''but, no. I have a boyfriend.''

 ''Great, where is he? I'm down for a threesome.'' 

 He chuckles, finding me entertaining—but then Tag approaches.

"Hey there, little sub," he drawls, his voice thick like honey, smooth like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. "Mind if I get a look at that collar of yours? It’s a real nice one. Been thinking about getting something similar for my boy."

I hesitate, my instincts whispering that something’s off. But Tag’s expression is open, expectant, and for some stupid reason, I find myself pulling the hoodie down just enough to expose the leather wrapped around my throat.

Tag doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t try to touch. He just looks.

A soft whistle leaves his lips. "Damn. That’s quality work. Your dom must care about you a hell of a lot to get you something this fine."

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling exposed, raw. The weight of his words presses against my ribs.

I yank the hoodie back up.

Tag’s eyes linger for a fraction of a second before he casually glances toward the diner’s entrance. Then—he nods.

The bell above the door chimes.

A man strides inside, his presence sucking the air from the room.

I know before he even speaks.

My stomach plummets. "Fuck."

He’s already looking at me, his sharp gaze cutting straight through flesh and bone. With a slow, measured motion, he holds up a photo, his eyes flicking between it and my face.

"Yep," he mutters, tucking the picture away. "That’s him."

I whip my head toward Tag, betrayal flaring hot and sharp in my chest. "You called them!?"

Tag doesn’t flinch. He just exhales, a slow, steady breath, before offering me something almost like sympathy.

"It’s gonna be alright, little sub. The Chestworths are good people."

Then—strong hands seize me.

I barely have time to struggle before I’m lifted clean off the stool, hoisted effortlessly over a broad, muscled shoulder.

"PUT ME DOWN!" I snarl, twisting, kicking, my fists hammering against his back. He doesn’t so much as grunt, like I’m nothing more than an unruly kitten throwing a fit.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the sub still seated at the counter, watching with wide, startled eyes.

We burst out into the night air, and I’m just about to open my mouth and start screaming when—

SMACK.

A heavy palm lands across my ass, hard enough to steal my breath.

I freeze.

The second hit comes fast. Then a third. Sharp, punishing, deliberate.

"Behave, boy," the deep voice rumbles, firm and unwavering.

I stop fighting. My breath comes in short, stunned gasps as I lift my head, staring down at the pavement with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Before I can process anything, I’m shoved into the car, the seatbelt snapping across my chest with terrifying efficiency.

The door slams.

Silence.

Then—his voice again, quiet but unshakable.

"You’re in a world of trouble, boy."

Yeah. No shit.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The moment the car door swings open, strong arms haul me out like I weigh nothing. My legs dangle uselessly before my feet finally touch solid ground. I barely have time to catch my breath before I notice a familiar car pulling up behind us.

It's the sub from the diner. 

He steps out casually, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching with unreadable eyes. My brows knit together in confusion. What the hell is he doing here?

A voice cuts through the night, sharp and furious.

"Ossian!"

I flinch at the sound of Finnian’s voice from the massive mansion’s entrance. His figure is silhouetted by the warm glow from inside, but even from here, I can feel the heat of his anger.

Panic kicks in, and I thrash against the man holding me. "Look! I’m sorry, okay? No more spankings! The big buffoon already did it—tell them!" I plead, shooting a glare at my captor.

No one listens.

I’m unceremoniously placed in front of Finnian and Hendrix. My heart lodges itself in my throat as I take in their expressions—thunderous, unwavering.

"March," Finnian commands, voice cold as steel, pointing toward the stairs.

"But—"

His grip locks around my bicep, and the next thing I know, I’m being hauled inside, past the grand staircase, down hallways bathed in low golden light, until we reach a set of heavy double doors.

A bedroom.

Not just any bedroom. Their bedroom.

The massive bed dominates the space, larger than even the one Ansel, Emrys, and Ellis have back home. Everything smells rich and clean, a mix of leather, citrus, and something distinctly them.

I yelp when Finnian suddenly pulls my hoodie over my head.

"We need to wash this," he murmurs, his fingers brushing over the damp fabric. "It’s soaked from the rain."

"No!"

His head jerks back, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?"

My stomach drops. I swallow hard, forcing the panic back down.

"Sorry," I mumble, twisting the hoodie in my hands. "Please don’t wash it. Just—just the rest of my clothes, not this."

Something shifts in his face.

"Can Emrys wash it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

A pause. Then a small nod. "I’ll make sure of it."

Relief crashes over me, and I clutch the hoodie tighter.

Finnian says nothing more, simply leading me toward the attached bathroom. The moment we step inside, I understand why it smells like candles and warm steam—there’s a large tub already filled, flickering flames casting golden light over the water’s surface. They must have been preparing this before I decided to make a run for it.

Now I feel really bad for ruining their plans.

But my thoughts scatter when Finnian starts stripping off his own clothes.

I suck in a sharp breath as his shirt is peeled away, exposing hard, lean muscle. His body isn’t just fit—it’s built like he was sculpted for control, every inch of him exuding quiet strength.

He doesn’t even give me time to stare properly before his voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Strip."

I scramble to obey, nearly tripping over myself as I yank off the rest of my wet clothes, fumbling with the cuffs until Finnian steps in to remove them, along with my collar. I stand there, bare, shivering—not from the cold, but from the realization that my body is betraying me.

I press my hands over my lap, face burning.

"Don’t."

Finnian’s fingers wrap around my wrists, prying them away.

Shame floods my system, but before I can spiral, his hands are in my hair, working a rich, fragrant shampoo through the strands. His touch is gentle, methodical, easing away the tension in my scalp.

By the time he rinses me off, my head feels light, my body pliant.

"Come," he murmurs, stepping into the large tub first.

I hesitate only a second before following, sighing as the warm water swallows me whole.

Before I can find a place to sit, he pulls me between his knees, my back resting against his chest.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s... nice.

Finnian’s steady breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest against my spine, the rich scent of soap—nothing is too much, nothing is too overwhelming. Even the water smells right—a mix of wood and citrus, grounding, steadying.

The words slip out before I can stop them.

"Who was that?"

Finnian hums, fingers absently tracing patterns against my arms. "His name is Jedrik, but he goes by Jed. He’ll be handling your security. He came just in time—right when we figured out you were gone." His grip tightens slightly, enough to make sure I don’t try to bolt again. 

''The sub?'' I ask. 

"Beniel, he is your therapist."

My entire body locks up.

Finnian feels it immediately.

"They’re the two new people we told you about," he continues, his voice smooth, unshaken. "They’re assisting with your care."

"I don’t need a fucking therapist!"

The words explode from my mouth before I can stop them.

I wait for the sting of discipline, for Finnian to put me in my place, to remind me exactly who’s in charge.

But he doesn’t.

He simply hums.

The sound vibrates against my back, low and steady. His hands slide into my hair again, nails lightly scratching my scalp, and the effect is instant. My pulse slows. My muscles uncoil.

How does he do that?

"Ansel called," he says after a moment. "He told us the media found out what happened. Is that why you ran, sweetheart?"

I flinch at the pet name. At the tenderness of it.

I try to twist out of his hold, but he won’t let me.

His arms tighten around me, keeping me pinned against his chest.

"Shhh," he soothes. "Ossian. I got you."

I thrash anyway, because the panic is too much, because if I stop fighting, it’ll mean I’ve lost. It’ll mean I need this, want this.

But my body knows what my mind refuses to admit.

So when the tears come, I can’t stop them.

Finnian shifts, turning me in his arms, pressing me closer. My face finds the crook of his neck, and I hate how natural it feels, how safe. His fingers stroke over my back in lazy, comforting motions.

And then, he hums again.

The sound is deep, warm, vibrating through his chest like a lullaby spun just for me.

It slows my breathing. Cools the raw edges of my panic.

I don’t fight when my body sags against him, don’t argue when my eyes grow heavy.

Chapter Text

Finnian

I work the towel through his damp hair with careful, practiced motions, mindful not to wake him. His breathing is slow, even, his body limp in the way only true exhaustion allows.

Once his hair is mostly dry, I set the towel aside and retrieve a fresh pair of jockstraps from the dresser. Gently, I maneuver them onto him, making sure not to disturb his sleep. He barely stirs, only a soft sigh escaping his lips before he settles deeper into unconsciousness.

Satisfied, I lift him into my arms, cradling him close as I carry him toward the bedroom.

Hendrix is by the window, the moonlight casting sharp angles over his face. He's on the phone, speaking in that clipped, intense tone he only uses when something doesn't sit right with him. His fingers drum impatiently against his thigh, his jaw tight as he listens to whoever is on the other end.

I carefully place Ossian onto the bed, tucking the blankets around him. The sheets have already been swapped—Onyx must have taken care of it, making sure they were the ones Ossian prefers.

Behind me, Hendrix ends the call with a sharp sigh.

"How was he?" His voice is quieter now as he steps closer.

"He had another meltdown, but the bath helped. It calmed him." I glance at him over my shoulder. "Who were you talking to?"

"Selik."

Selik. His old friend from university. The two of them studied law together, started their firm together, built everything from the ground up.

A frown tugs at my lips. "Why are you calling him?"

Hendrix crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. "I don't trust the agency, Finnian. I have a bad feeling."

I straighten. "What are you doing, Hendrix?"

"Just... investigating."

I exhale sharply, turning to face him fully. "No. That's not our job. We don't get involved in that."

"Our job is to protect him," he counters. His voice is low, but there's an edge to it—something firm, unyielding. "And that's what I'm doing."

I study him, a little taken aback. Hendrix isn't the type to get attached quickly, especially not to a submissive he's just met. He's intense, strict, guarded—trust is something that has to be earned with him, and that isn't easy. But when he does care, when he does let someone in...

He feels deeply.

And looking at him now, it's clear—Ossian has already wormed his way under Hendrix's skin.

I step forward, fingers tilting his chin up. His lips part slightly in surprise just before I lean in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his mouth. It's firm, grounding. When I pull back, his eyes are hooded, but there's something questioning in them.

"Hold him," I murmur.

His brows furrow. "What?"

"Get your ass into bed and hold him," I repeat, firmer this time.

Hendrix scoffs, but there's no real bite to it. "I'm not sure I like this new bossy tone of yours," he mutters, but he still moves.

I step back, watching as he slides into the bed, shifting carefully so he doesn't disturb Ossian. Then, with an ease that surprises even me, he wraps an arm around the sleeping boy, pulling him flush against his chest.

Ossian doesn't wake.

I watch as Hendrix's hold tightens instinctively, one large hand resting against Ossian's back, fingers splayed over the dip of his spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting their positions until Ossian is tucked securely against him, his face buried in Hendrix's chest.

Something inside me settles at the sight.

Hendrix's frown lingers for a moment, his expression unreadable, but then he exhales—a slow, deep breath—as his hand begins tracing absentminded circles against Ossian's back. His usual tension, the sharp edges of his perpetual wariness, start to melt.

I smirk, pleased.

"You're not as unaffected as you pretend to be," I remark quietly.

Hendrix gives me a flat look but doesn't argue.

Instead, he shifts, getting comfortable, his movements careful. He's never been one for unnecessary tenderness, but right now, he's being tender, even if he won't admit it.

And Ossian?

His breathing has evened out completely, his body lax in sleep. It's a stark contrast to how he was earlier—tense, guarded, on edge.

I step back, satisfied.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"On today's video, I'm going to be explaining the top ten basic rules for how to be a good submissive for your dominant. My mistress always says—"

I groan loudly and slam the laptop shut with more force than necessary. The chirpy, overly-polished voice grates against my nerves, making my skin itch with irritation.

Across from me, Archie, my tiny bundle of fur and judgment, tilts his head, his dark eyes filled with silent disapproval.

"Don't give me that look," I huff, crossing my arms. "Her voice is annoying. And that's the tenth video, Archie! Tenth! Why do they all have to be so... boring?" I drag out the last word, flopping backward onto the bed dramatically.

Archie just lets out a tiny huff, unimpressed.

"Ossian!"

Shit.

Panic shoots through me like a bolt of electricity. Without thinking, I scoop up Archie and dart across the room, shoving him gently into the walk-in closet before closing the door. Sorry, buddy. He lets out a soft whimper, but there’s no time—I turn just as the bedroom door swings open.

Finnian steps inside, his sharp gaze scanning the room before landing on me. His expression shifts instantly into something suspicious. "What are you doing?" His voice has that dom edge to it, smooth but firm, the kind that makes my stomach flip instinctively. "You're supposed to be downstairs. Hendrix is waiting for you."

I shift awkwardly. 

His eyes narrow slightly, but before he can say anything else, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at the screen, sighs, then rubs his temple.

"Crap," he mutters. His expression turns distracted, already lost in whatever call he’s about to take. He steps toward the door but stops to shoot me a pointed look. "Behave."

And just like that, he’s gone. 

I exhale, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. With Finnian gone, I quickly crack open the closet door. Archie blinks up at me, his little tail wagging in confused forgiveness.

"Okay, you survived. No need to be dramatic," I chuckle, scratching behind his ears before gently shutting the door again. "I'll be back soon."

With one last glance around the room, I leave, making my way down the grand, winding staircase toward the dining room. The air smells like fresh coffee, toasted bread, and something subtly spiced. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix

"Ossian, are you asking for a spanking?"

Across the room, the boy halts mid-step, then fixes me with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He holds my gaze as he stalks—stalks—toward a chair, lowering himself into it with slow, deliberate defiance.

"Morning," he mutters, directing the greeting solely at Beniel and Jedrik, still refusing to acknowledge me.

Beniel sips his coffee with an unimpressed arch of his brow. "Good morning."

Jedrik merely gives a slow nod, flipping a page of his newspaper without sparing the misbehaving sub a glance.

Ossian smirks before throwing a wink at Beniel, who rolls his eyes and pointedly focuses on his waffles.

I exhale through my nose and push my chair back. In two strides, I reach him. Before he can react, I scoop him up effortlessly, making him yelp in surprise.

"NO!"

Ignoring his squirming, I carry him back to my seat, settling him firmly on my lap. His whole body stiffens, indignation rolling off him in waves.

"Where did I tell you to be at eight-thirty a.m. sharp?" I ask, my voice low but firm.

Ossian crosses his arms, sinking deeper into his pout. "Dining room."

"And where did you go instead?"

"My room," he admits, gaze flicking away.

I tighten my hold around his waist. "When I give you an order, I expect you to obey it. I will not hesitate to spank you right here, in front of everyone, if you keep testing me. This is your first and final warning."

His face flushes deep red—not just embarrassment, but something else. I see the flicker of uncertainty behind his defiance, the way his throat works as he swallows. He darts a glance at Jed, who remains impassive behind his paper, and then at Beniel, who scribbles something down in his notebook between bites. Neither reacts.

I take advantage of his temporary silence, scooping up a spoonful of eggs and pressing it against his lips.

He pushes my hand away, scowling. "I can feed myself!"

"You lost that privilege when you threw your dinner plate off the table last night."

His nostrils flare. "This is bullshit!"

He thrashes, trying to push himself off my lap, but I hold firm. He’s strong—I’ll give him that. His body is lean, built from survival rather than training, but I’m stronger.

"LET ME GO!" He fights, twisting and writhing like a wild thing.

"Not until you calm down, darling."

"NO!"

He struggles for a good while before I decide to change tactics. With a swift motion, I shift him over my knee, his breath catching as he realizes the new position.

I don’t spank him. Not yet.

But the shift alone makes him pause.

His breath is ragged, his fingers curling into fists. I rub slow circles over his back, grounding him, waiting.

"Are you ready to eat now?" I ask, my voice softer this time.

He inhales sharply before hissing, "FUCK YOU!"

Beniel chokes on his coffee. I glance at him, making sure he’s okay. Jedrik, ever unfazed, sets his paper down long enough to help pat Beniel’s back.

"Alright," I murmur, reaching for Ossian’s wrists. The click of the cuffs locking together is sharp in the quiet room.

"No! No—" His protests cut off as I secure him properly.

Then I bring my palm down on his ass.

Not too hard—but firm. Measured.

"This is not how you get what you want, little boy," I say as I spank him again.

He stiffens but doesn’t cry out. He kicks a little, his body jerking with each strike, but he’s determined not to give me too much of a reaction. He’s holding on.

Onyx and Finnian told me about this. He won’t let go easily.

"Let go, darling," I murmur.

"NO!"

I keep going until his ass is a delicious shade of cherry red, warm under my palm. Then, without warning, I lift him again, carrying him across the room.

He growls in frustration. "Put me down!"

I set him in the corner.

He looks up at me and scoffs, then stubbornly plops himself down. He hisses when his sore ass meets the hardwood floor.

I arch a brow. 

With that, I return to my seat, though I make sure to keep an eye on him.

"Sir?"

I turn my attention to the other sub in the room. Beniel’s voice is quieter than usual.

"Just wanted to ask when we're having the meeting?"

"When Onyx and Finnian get home," I say. "Probably after lunch. You okay?"

Beniel hesitates. Then he nods, though a light blush colors his cheeks. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No problem, bud."

A beat of silence.

Then, from the corner:

"I'm done with time-out now?"

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jedrik and Beniel doing the same.

I finish my coffee, taking my time before answering. Then, finally, I walk over and pull him from the corner.

This time, when I bring the spoon to his lips, he accepts it.

Good boy.

"We're having our first training today," I inform him.

He scowls but keeps chewing. "I don’t need training."

I tilt my head. "You don’t?"

He shakes his head.

I smirk, ruffling his hair. "I guess we’ll see."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Attend."

The command leaves my lips firm and unwavering as I step into the home office, expecting him to follow. Ossian hesitates in the doorway, brows furrowing in confusion.

He doesn’t know?

I approach him slowly, watching the way his posture stiffens, the flicker of uncertainty behind his sharp gaze.

They really didn’t teach him anything, did they?

"Attend is a military position," I explain, my tone patient but firm. I tap my boot lightly against the hardwood floor. "Feet and ankles together." I gesture downward. "Arms at your sides, back straight, eyes forward."

He hesitates for a moment, then moves into position with surprising grace. His back straightens, shoulders pull back, and his hands settle neatly at his sides.

I nod approvingly. "Good boy."

A rush of color floods his cheeks. He ducks his head—instinct, perhaps—but I catch it immediately.

"Eyes up," I remind him, and his lashes flutter as he quickly obeys. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of my lips at the sight of his flustered expression.

I step back, moving around him as I settle behind my desk. For several long moments, I let him stand there in silence, his breathing steady but shallow, his hands flexing slightly at his sides.

Then—

"Kneel."

He sinks down immediately, fluidly, his knees hitting the floor without hesitation. His spine remains straight, but there’s tension in his shoulders.

"Relax your shoulders," I murmur. "Eyes down."

He exhales softly, adjusting. Good.

I turn my attention to my computer, skimming through emails, keeping him waiting. Testing his patience. He stays still, but I notice his fingers twitch once or twice.

It doesn’t take long before I start guiding him through a few more positions—simple ones, foundational ones. The basics.

He only knows how to kneel.

I already knew his so-called "agency" had him homeschooled—Ansel had told me. They supposedly hired tutors to teach him on set, during his movie shoots and tours.

Either the teacher was horrendous, or they never bothered hiring one at all.

I exhale through my nose. Of course they didn’t.

He shifts again, subtle but noticeable, growing bored too quickly. His attention wanders, his form falters.

I let it happen. I let him slip.

Then, quietly, I command, "Crawl."

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing slightly. There it is—defiance. The storm rising behind his expression, the resistance coiling in his limbs.

But he obeys.

I watch as he moves forward on all fours, making his way to my feet. His form is decent, but sloppy—impatient. I lean back in my chair, gaze unwavering.

"Spread your knees wider," I instruct. "Legs as far apart as possible. Feet together."

His nostrils flare, but he follows the order.

"Push your chest out."

His muscles flex, his breathing deepens.

"Hands behind your head. Fingers locked."

He hesitates.

For a split second, I think he might refuse—but then, jaw clenched, he obeys, linking his fingers behind his head, exposing himself completely.

"Beautiful," I breathe.

The flush returns, creeping up his neck, staining his ears. He bites his lower lip as if he wants to glare at me, but the heat in his eyes betrays him.

I smirk.

Then, slowly, I reach forward, gripping his leather-covered length.

His body jerks, eyes going wide in shock.

"This is mine," I tell him, voice smooth, assured. My fingers tighten just slightly, reminding him of who's in charge. "That means your doms control it—"

I reach into my desk drawer, retrieving the device.

His breath stutters.

I let the silence stretch, let the anticipation coil between us.

''What is that!?''

''This is a cock cage,''

''Legs together,'' I pull down the jockstrap as I grab his semi-hard cock. He whimpers but doesn't say anything else. ''This needs to be limp for me to put it on.''

''I don't want it!''

''That's not for you to decide, my boy. Don't worry it does not hurt - can just become a little uncomfortable sometimes,'' I say as I stroke his cock, ''please,'' he moans. I keep going but I stop as he's just about to cum, ''not yet!''

He growls but shuts up when It earns his ass a spank, ''be a good boy and don't move your hands. I'm going to keep doing this, then stop, then do it all over again until you beg me to finish this,'' I say as I keep edging him. After fifteen minutes, his cheeks are flushed and tears pool his eyes.

He's absolutely gorgeous.

''Please, Hendrix!'' He begs, his voice has become hoarse.

I spank him again making him hiss. ''Is that how you address me?''

''No, no, sir.''

''That's better.''

''Please let me cum, sir!''

''Hmm,'' I tease, ''I don't know.''

''Please, sir, I'll be super good.'' He smirks. 

I laugh, ''you're a brat, Ossian, It's in your nature to be a bit naughty.''

''I'll be a good brat, sir!''

I laugh again, making him grin charmingly.

''Please sir,'' he whimpers as I begin stroking him faster, driving him to a frenzy. I grab the towel I had prepared from my desk, ''cum,'' I order as I hold it in front of his cock, making sure cum does not get all over the desk. He moans as his whole form shakes, he collapses on to the floor.

I work carefully, gently running the warm, soapy cloth over his skin, wiping away the remnants of our session. He’s pliant, utterly still, his limbs soft as I handle him. His breathing is slow, steady.

After ensuring he’s completely clean, I move to the final step, securing the cage around his limp member before pulling up the snug jockstrap.

"Ossian?"

I expect some small reaction—a flicker of acknowledgment, a shift in posture—but I get nothing.

A thread of concern tightens in my chest as I study his face. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, staring at nothing.

He’s under.

I move instinctively, gathering him into my arms and settling him on my lap. His body curls into mine naturally, his head lolling against my chest as I cradle him close.

With one hand, I press the button on the desk.

"Walt, can you bring me some aftercare snacks, please?"

"Of course, sir."

As I wait, I keep my hold firm but comforting, rubbing slow, soothing circles over his back. "That was beautiful, Ossian," I murmur, voice low and deliberate. "Such a good boy. My good boy."

There’s no reply, just the steady weight of him pressing into me. I position him more securely against my chest, feeling the way his body molds to mine.

Walt returns quickly, setting down a tray with a quiet nod before slipping out. I grab the juice, pressing a straw to Ossian’s lips. "Drink," I encourage. It takes a moment, but he finally sips. I feed him small bites—strawberries, dark chocolate—each piece coaxing him back, little by little.

His body stays lax, his breathing even, and before long, I hear the softest little snores escaping him. A small, content sound.

A warmth spreads through me.

I pull a blanket over him, tucking it snugly around his shoulders. I don’t want to let go of him just yet. He’s safe like this, nestled in my arms, and that’s where I want him to stay.

So, I let him.

Balancing him easily in my lap, I go back to work, skimming through emails, approving reports.

It’s about forty minutes later when I hear the office door open.

"Hendrix!"

I glance up to see Onyx standing there, smirking like the devil himself. His sharp blue eyes flick between me and the sleeping boy in my arms.

Then, before I can stop him, he lifts his phone.

Click.

"Adorable," he drawls, shaking his head in amusement.

I scowl. "Delete that."

"Absolutely not." His grin widens. "This one’s going in the archives."

I roll my eyes, shifting Ossian slightly to keep him comfortable. "Is it already time for lunch?"

"Not yet. About thirty minutes." He saunters closer. "How did he do?"

"He was perfect," I admit without hesitation.

Onyx tilts his head, intrigued. "No fights?"

"One. At breakfast. But during training?" I glance down at the boy in my arms, his light curls a stark contrast against my chest. "Flawless."

"Let me tuck him into bed," Onyx offers, reaching out.

"No."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You possessive bastard," he laughs, shaking his head. "Never thought I’d see the day."

I scowl again, giving him an Ossian-worthy glare.

"He went under," I explain instead, watching as Onyx's amusement fades into something more serious. His expression shifts—understanding, surprise, then something softer.

Sub-space.

A state where a submissive’s mind drifts into deep relaxation, a natural high from the release of control. It’s deeply intimate, deeply vulnerable. And for someone like Ossian—who’s been neglected, mistreated, denied his needs—it’s even more significant.

"That’s amazing," Onyx murmurs. He looks down at the boy in my arms, gaze darkening with something unreadable. "And he didn’t freak out over the cage?"

"No," I say simply. "I put it on while he was under."

Onyx nods, but his mind is elsewhere—I can see it in the way his shoulders have tensed, the way his usual cold exterior has begun to crack.

He needs something.

"Take him," I say.

He doesn’t hesitate.

"Come here, Menino," he murmurs, effortlessly lifting Ossian and settling with him onto one of the leather couches. He exhales slowly as he presses his nose into the boy’s curls, inhaling his scent, grounding himself. His body relaxes for the first time since he walked in.

But something about it feels… different.

Onyx is known for his icy exterior. It’s a necessary thing in his line of work—a shield. But those of us closest to him know the truth. Beneath all that sharp steel, he can be just as sensitive as Finnian. The difference is, Onyx never shows it.

Not like this.

I study him carefully.

"Tell me about the case."

His jaw tightens.

"You know the two teenagers who went missing last week?"

I nod.

"They found the girl’s body yesterday. Motel room." His voice is clipped, measured. "The boy was found this morning in the lake. Fisherman spotted him."

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

"And another couple went missing from a campsite today." His fingers stroke absently through Ossian’s hair. "We think we’re dealing with a serial killer."

My stomach knots. "This one’s affecting you differently."

There’s a long pause.

"He had the same curls as Ossian," Onyx says quietly. His grip tightens around the sleeping boy, pulling him closer.

Oh.

"They were just going on a hike," he murmurs.

I exhale through my nose, nodding in understanding.

"And Ansel?"

"Handling it better than I am," he admits. "Back when we had cases like this during the time he got together with the boys, he struggled. He’s gotten better." He huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. "I never really understood it. But I do now."

His fingers trace lightly over Ossian’s curls, something raw flickering across his face.

"Hendrix," he says, barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what this boy is doing to me."

His voice is strained, thick with something unspoken. The cold, calculated mask he wears so well has cracked, crumbled away entirely. And underneath, the emotion is stark, overwhelming.

I move to the couch, sitting beside them. Without hesitation, I pull them both into my arms.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

Ossian whines, with a stubborn little frown. His lips press into a pout. "Don't want to eat that," he mutters, voice petulant.

He had been excited about sitting in his own chair, practically glowing with pride when we first set him up, but now he's being a little brat.

Beniel leans toward me, lowering his voice. "He looks tired."

I stab a bite of pasta salad with my fork. He does look tired. "He just had a nap."

"I'm not a child!" Ossian snaps, brows furrowing as his tired eyes glimmer with frustration.

Hendrix doesn’t hesitate. "Ossian. Sit up. Elbows off the table," he commands, voice sharp but patient. "We need to work on your atrocious table manners."

The boy glares, his whole body taut like a bowstring, but he obeys, pushing himself upright—though it’s clear he’s fighting the urge to slump back down. He yawns, rubbing his fists over his eyes, his exhaustion breaking through his irritation.

Beniel watches him closely. "Hendrix, Sir, how long did he nap for?"

"About an hour," Hendrix replies, barely glancing up from his meal.

I hum in thought, observing as Ossian fights a losing battle with sleep. His eyes flutter shut, only to snap open again in a haze of confusion. He tries to shake it off, but the pattern repeats, his head dipping lower and lower.

Finally, I take mercy on him. With a quiet sigh, I lift him into my arms and settle him onto my lap. He melts instantly, curling into me like it’s instinct. His breaths even out against my chest, warm and slow.

"The hospital records said he used to nap for at least two hours," Beniel reminds us as I adjust the boy so he’s more comfortable.

Onyx raises a brow. "Wait, really? Every day?"

"His outbursts alone must take a lot of his energy," Beniel muses, watching the sleeping boy with a thoughtful frown. "But this is common in neglected subs. I've seen it before—they need extra rest while adjusting. His body is still recovering from the deprivation."

I nod in agreement, running a slow hand down Ossian’s back. "I think you’re right. We should add naps into his schedule."

Onyx snorts. "He’s gonna hate that."

A few chuckles break the tension, but Hendrix smoothly redirects the conversation.

"Since Onyx has to get back to work soon, let's start the meeting now," he says, shifting gears effortlessly. He glances toward Jed. "You did a walkthrough of the property?"

Jed nods. "Yeah. I have some concerns about the surrounding forest—too many blind spots, not enough surveillance. I’m thinking we should station a few guards along the perimeter."

"Yes. Definitely," Hendrix agrees immediately. "Anything to ensure his safety."

Jed leans back, crossing his arms. "Did you say he dropped today?"

Beniel’s head jerks up, surprise flickering across his face. "Wait, really?"

Hendrix’s lips twitch in satisfaction. "We went through the basics—positions, posture, obedience. He was a good boy, so I rewarded him with an orgasm." He pauses, clearly enjoying the moment. "I edged him for about twenty minutes first."

Beniel whistles, clearly impressed. "That’s amazing. For a sub with his trauma, that usually takes weeks. Sometimes months before they trust enough to go under."

I don’t miss the way Hendrix’s pride swells. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, and I roll my eyes fondly.

"I’m definitely going to follow up with him about it during our session today," Beniel decides, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Onyx, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly perks up, excitement flickering in his gaze. "Does this mean we can start guiding him toward little space?"

I can’t contain my own excitement at the thought. "Yes," I say immediately. "We need to do that as soon as possible. If he can slip into sub space this early, then little space will make his recovery so much smoother in the long run."

Onyx grins, already catching onto my energy.

"I’ll set up the playroom after the meeting!" I say eagerly.

I can already see it—his big piercing eyes wide with curiosity and mischief. He’s definitely going to be a handful, but an adorable one.

Little space is a deeper level of submission, where the sub lets go completely, trusting their dom for everything. Not all subs need it, but I know Ossian could benefit from it at this time. He’s spent too long fighting for control, too long unprotected. Giving him the space to simply be, to rest without expectation, could help tremendously. 

I glance down at him, still curled against me, breathing soft and steady.

"Yeah," I murmur. "This is going to be good for him."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"I really don't need therapy, Ben," I say as I step into the room, expecting the usual sterile setup—some stiff couch, beige walls, maybe a boring painting of a tree.

Instead, I stop short, blinking in surprise.

Two oversized bean bags sit in front of a massive flat-screen TV. A bookshelf beside it is lined with neatly arranged video games, and colorful posters—some of them from movies I actually like—hang on the walls. It doesn’t look like a therapist's office at all. It looks cool.

Beniel grins at my reaction. "I heard you like video games. Had it set up for us this morning."

"We're not doing therapy?" I ask, already diving onto one of the bean bags with more enthusiasm than I intended to show.

"Oh, we are," he says, handing me a controller as he settles beside me. "But that doesn’t mean we have to make it boring."

"Fuck yeah!"

"Language!"

I roll my eyes but take the controller, my fingers already itching to play.

"I see you're wearing clothes," he notes as he starts up a game of FIFA.

I glance down at myself—red Adidas shorts, a white hoodie. Comfortable clothes. "Yeah," I mutter. "Finnian picked them out."

And I did not make it easy for him. He had to spank my ass a few times before I agreed to put them on. But I wasn’t about to sit through therapy in tight leather. Especially not now.

"I heard you went under today," Beniel says casually, selecting his team.

"Yeah," I say, focusing on the screen.

"How did it feel?"

I shoot him a look. "You’ve never gone under?"

"I have," he says. "But it’s different for everyone."

I smirk. "Better than weed."

His head snaps toward me. "What!?"

"Yeah, man. I thought I was floating."

Beniel groans, running a hand down his face. "You do drugs a lot?"

I snort. "Not a lot. Just sometimes." I glance at him, grin widening. "What? You wanna try?"

"No!"

I burst into giggles at the sheer horror on his face.

He glares. "Do you drink too?"

"Yeah."

"How!?"

I shrug. "Fake ID. Everyone's got one—wait, you're not telling the doms, right?"

Beniel gives me a look. "What you and I talk about inside these four walls stays between us. Unless it’s about your safety or something that hinders your recovery."

I huff. "I’m not doing drugs right now, okay?"

"I know you're not—HEY!"

"SCORE!" I pump my fists in victory, cackling as my character celebrates on screen. "Damn, I'm bad at this game, which means you must be horrible."

Beniel groans. "I am horrible."

I shift uncomfortably in the bean bag, a scowl tugging at my lips.

"You okay?"

I grumble. "Hendrix put my dick in chastity. Can't fucking get hard."

Beniel laughs. "Oh, man. I remember the good old cock cage from school."

"It sucks," I mutter, slouching lower.

"You’ll get used to it." He nudges my arm. "So who do you usually play video games with?"

"My brother, Ellis. He’s really good at this one specifically."

"Oh, you live with him?"

"Yeah. And his boyfriends."

Beniel raises a brow. "What does he do?"

"Fashion designer," I say, a small smile forming. "He designs most of my red-carpet stuff."

"Must be a talented guy. You close?"

"Yeah."

I look away as a tight, stinging sensation creeps up my throat. My emotions have been all over the place lately, and now they threaten to overflow. I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry.

Beniel doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful for that.

"I felt like I needed to protect him from the moment I met him," I murmur.

He tilts his head slightly. "Met him?"

"I met him in my seventh foster home."

Beniel stills. "How old were you?"

"Three."

His brows knit together. "Three—and you had been through seven homes already?"

I force out a chuckle. "I was a menace."

Beniel shakes his head, amused. "My boyfriend grew up in the foster system too," he says. "I know it isn’t easy. He was lucky—got adopted by a good family when he was about twelve or thirteen."

Twelve or thirteen.

That’s how old I was when we escaped.

The tunnel. The trees. Gunshots.

"Next time we kill him, do you understand, boy!?"

"You touch him, I'll fucking kill you!"

"Have it your way. Ken, bring me the whip."

"NO! NO!"

A scream claws its way out of my throat before I even register it.

I thrash, gasping for air, hands flying up to shield myself.

"OSSIAN! SHHH, I GOT YOU, I GOT YOU!"

I hear Beniel’s voice, but it’s distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. My chest burns, my pulse thundering in my ears.

"NO, DON’T HURT ME!"

My body trembles, fists clenched so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

"Ossian."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

I’m adjusting the final details in the Little playroom with Jed when the first scream echoes down the hallway.

We freeze.

Then, another scream—shattered, desperate.

"I think he's having another meltdown," I say, already moving.

Jed is right behind me as we bolt toward the therapy room. The second we push through the door, my chest tightens at the scene before us.

Ossian is on the floor, thrashing. His face is red from the force of his screams, his limbs jerking violently as he kicks against nothing. His voice is raw, breaking as he begs for help.

Beniel is kneeling beside him, trying to keep him from hurting himself, his grip firm but careful. But Ossian is fighting like he’s drowning, like he’s trapped in something we can’t see.

Jed moves first, grabbing hold of Ossian’s legs while I take his arms. He’s strong—adrenaline-fueled panic giving him more force than I expect—but I pull him against me, wrapping him securely between my legs, locking my arms around him in a grounding hold.

"DON’T HURT ME, PLEASE!"

His voice cracks, and my heart clenches.

"Ossian! It’s me, Finnian!" I say firmly, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "We’re not going to hurt you, sweetheart. You’re safe."

But I don’t know if he can hear me over his screaming.

"ELLIS! ELLIS!"

My grip tightens, and I press my forehead against his, desperate to anchor him. "Ellis is safe, baby. He’s with Ansel and Emrys," I whisper. "He’s okay."

"PLEASE HELP ME!"

I stroke his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as he shakes violently in my arms. His body is overheating, drenched in sweat from the sheer exhaustion of his terror.

Beniel’s voice wavers with concern. "Sir, maybe he needs to be sedated. He's going to make himself sick."

I hate the idea, but I nod. "Get it ready, Ben."

Beniel doesn’t hesitate, disappearing from the room. Jed and I exchange a look before I shift my hold, deciding to give Ossian a few more minutes before we resort to medication. I don’t want to sedate him unless we have no other choice.

My fingers smooth through his damp hair, and I hum softly. A low, familiar melody. One I used to hear when I was a child, when my own nightmares clawed their way into the waking world.

His sobs begin to slow.

The tremors don’t stop, but his thrashing turns into weak twitching. His chest heaves in ragged breaths, and I keep humming until his screams fade into broken little gasps.

"Shh, I got you," I whisper again.

Beniel returns, syringe in hand, but he stops short at the doorway when he sees the meltdown has ended.

His shoulders sag in relief.

Jed and I remain on the floor with Ossian curled against me, his small frame still trembling with the aftershocks of terror.

Beniel drops onto the floor beside us, rubbing a hand over his face before I glance at him. "You okay?" I ask.

He nods, but I see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Can you tell us what triggered it, sweetheart?"

Beniel hesitates, then exhales. "Yeah. I mentioned that Samael also grew up in foster care, and then he just..." He gestures weakly at Ossian, as if words fail him.

Jed pulls him into his side. "Hey. It's okay."

I look down at the boy in my arms, still trembling, his fingers twitching against my sleeve. "This was definitely his biggest episode yet," I murmur, running a soothing hand down his back. "But it wasn’t out of rage. It was out of fear." I swallow the lump in my throat. "I can still feel him trembling."

Ossian hasn’t moved since the episode ended, his body eerily still now except for the occasional shudder. His eyes are locked onto the wall, glassy and distant.

My chest aches.

I shift slightly, brushing my knuckles over his cheek. "Ossian, sweetheart?"

His gaze flickers, slowly refocusing, before he looks up. His voice is small, hoarse. "Finnian?"

I smile softly. "Yeah, it’s me."

His brows furrow as he blinks, dazed. "What happened?"

"You don’t remember?"

A flicker of anxiety crosses his face. "Did I blackout?"

I nod gently. "I think you did."

Panic creeps in. "I’m sorry! I—I didn’t hurt anyone!?" His breathing speeds up.

I tighten my hold. "No, no, you didn’t."

"You sure!?"

"I’m sure, sweetheart."

Ossian’s eyes dart toward Beniel. "Beniel?"

Beniel offers him a tired smile. "I’m fine, troublemaker."

Ossian launches himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around Beniel’s shoulders. "I’m sorry," he whispers against his neck, his body trembling again—but this time, it’s different. Less fear, more relief.

Beniel sighs, his hand coming up to rub comforting circles into Ossian’s back. "You’re okay," he murmurs.

Chapter Text

Finnian

"Hell no, I'm not wearing a diaper, Finnian!"

Ossian scowls as Onyx gently dries his damp curls with a towel, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. His bare skin is still flushed from the warm bath, and despite the cozy heat of the room, he's tense, coiled like a spring.

Subs can go deep. When they fully submit, their minds enter a space where the world feels softer, simpler—a state where their worries melt away, and instinct takes over. Little subspace is even deeper, a place where they can feel safe, nurtured, cared for in a way they likely never have been before. It allows the body and mind to heal, unburdened by fear or expectation. But for subs like Ossian—who have been neglected, who have never been given the space to let go—it's not easy to get there. His resistance isn't just stubbornness. It's fear.

Which is exactly why he needs this.

"Alright," I say, keeping my voice steady, firm but warm. "I'll give you two choices, and you have to pick one. Diaper or the soother."

I hold the two items in front of him.

His nose wrinkles in distaste. "The bath toys were one thing, but this!?"

"Pick one, Ossian."

His jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line before he finally snatches the soother from my hand. A different time, I might have reprimanded him for his bratty attitude, but I don't want to push him into a full rebellion right now.

"Here's the lotion," Onyx says, handing me the bottle.

Ossian shoves the soother into his mouth, sulking. "I don't want that baby lotion!" he protests around it, then suddenly tries to scramble away, attempting to burrow under the covers like a stubborn kitten.

Onyx is faster, catching him with ease and settling him back down onto the bed, his head resting on Onyx's knee. "Behave, menino," he warns. 

Ossian's lips wrap tighter around the soother, sucking harder in frustration. I don't even think he realizes he's doing it.

I exchange a look with Onyx. If he's the type of sub who goes under easily, we need to keep an extra eye on him. Hendrix managed to get him into subspace without much struggle, but this? This is different. He's fighting Little space like it's a battlefield.

"You've been such a good boy your first week here," I murmur, smoothing my hand down his side, trying to ease the tension from his body. "We think you're ready for this."

His head jerks up, eyes suddenly bright with hope. "Does this mean I can go home soon!?"

Before I can answer, Onyx pulls him back down effortlessly. "I—what?"

Ossian sits up again, the excitement bubbling in his voice. "I can go home because I've been good!"

I blink. Oh. Oh.

Is that what he's been thinking? That this has all been some kind of test? That if he plays the part of the obedient sub, he'll get to leave?

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "No,  that's not how this works. You're nowhere near ready yet."

The hope in his expression shatters.

The soother drops from his lips as anger twists through his features. "So you mean to tell me this week has been a fucking waste!?" His voice rises, his breathing sharp and erratic. "I thought if I were good, I'd be out of here!"

He tries to crawl out of bed, but Onyx is quicker, his hold unrelenting.

"Ossian!" I say firmly, just enough force behind it to cut through his spiraling thoughts. His wild gaze flicks to me. "Breathe for me," I instruct, attempting to guide him through the breathing exercises Beniel has been working on with him.

"NO!"

Shit. He's on the verge of another meltdown.

Onyx steps in smoothly, his voice calm, almost playful. "Shhh, menino, you know Ellis, Emrys, and Ansel are coming to visit tomorrow."

Ossian freezes. "Really!?"

Onyx nods. "Yeah, we're having a barbecue."

The tension in his body doesn't disappear, but it shifts. He huffs, flopping back against Onyx's legs with a glare. "I still don't want that baby lotion," he mumbles.

I roll my eyes but don't argue.

We pour the lotion onto our hands and start working it into his skin, speaking to him in soft, soothing tones. I let Onyx handle most of it at first—he's got a natural way of grounding Ossian, of making him feel safe without forcing it.

Slowly, the fight drains from his limbs.

I sneak the soother back between his lips, and this time, he doesn't spit it out. He just lets out a tiny grumble, eyes slipping half-lidded. "I smell like a baby," he complains, but his voice is sleepier now, looser.

Onyx leans in, scenting his neck. "You smell really good, menino."

Ossian twitches. "It tickles," he mutters, still trying to sound displeased—even though I can see the way he's fighting a smile.

Onyx smirks. "Finnian, can you do me next? I wanna smell like a baby too."

That does it.

Ossian lets out the most beautiful laugh—light, unguarded, utterly pure.

Onyx and I exchange looks, both of us breaking into matching grins. There's pride in his expression—like he knows exactly what he just did.

"Good job, baby," I mouth to him.

He gives me a cocky look, preening in satisfaction. I roll my eyes at him but can't hide my own amusement.

We keep massaging Ossian's now more relaxed body, kneading out the last of the tension. After a few more minutes, we shift him.

"No, keep going!" he whines.

I chuckle. "We're doing your back next, troublemaker."

It doesn't take long for his eyes to go heavy, his breath slowing into something softer, deeper. He's not fully under, but he's close—closer than he's ever been.

Gently, I pull him toward me, cradling him against my chest. "Come to, Finnian," I murmur.

Onyx hands me the bottle Ossian was cursing out after his bath. I carefully remove the soother, and he lets out a soft whine at the loss.

"Shhh, baby boy," I soothe. "Drink this."

I press the nipple of the bottle to his lips, and after a brief hesitation, he latches on. His expression shifts almost instantly, melting into contentment as he drinks. I knew he'd like it—I'd added a touch of vanilla.

He hums sleepily, eyelids fluttering, his fingers curling against my shirt.

He's dropping.

Not all the way—not yet—but it's a start.

When he's finally out, we replace the bottle with the soother and work together to diaper him. He doesn't even stir as we tuck him beneath the blankets, his breath slow and steady.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The first thing I notice when I wake is the absence of warmth beside me.

The space where Ossian should be is cold.

I sit upright. The quiet weight of dawn rests heavily over us, the only sounds the rhythmic breathing of Hendrix and Onyx still lost in sleep.

I drag my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the lingering sleep from my eyes—then freeze.

A strange texture meets my bare feet. Cool. Grainy.

I blink down. Dirt?

Dark, fine traces of soil scatter across the floor, leading toward the large potted plants in the corner. Even the pristine white sheets bear faint smudges.

And then, I see him.

Ossian, in nothing but his diaper, his frame bathed in the soft glow filtering through the curtains. His back is turned to me as he crouches by one of the plants, fingers sifting through the rich earth. He watches, fascinated, as he lets it tumble between his fingers, delighting in the sensation. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he flings a handful into the air, eyes shining as it drifts down like dark snow.

Something tight in my chest unspools.

It worked.

A week ago, this boy was guarded, brittle, resistant to every act of care we gave him. And now? He’s fully in his Little space, completely lost in the simple joy of playing with dirt.

"Guys!" I whisper, shaking my two partners.

Onyx grumbles something unintelligible, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

Hendrix groans, cracking an eye open. "What?"

I point toward Ossian. "Look."

Both men stir, Hendrix propping himself up on one elbow, Onyx blinking blearily.

Ossian, oblivious, continues his work, dirt smearing across his arms, his cheeks, even the tips of his messy curls. His feet kick against the floor, leaving prints in his wake.

Hendrix is not impressed.

"Ossian!" His sharp voice cuts through the air.

The reaction is immediate.

Ossian stiffens, the soother in his mouth bobbing as he sucks hard. Then, he scrambles backward, retreating into the nearest corner. His body folds in on itself, trembling, blue eyes blown wide with panic.

Damn it.

I whip around and smack Hendrix’s shoulder—hard.

"You're scaring him!"

Hendrix glares. "Finnian—"

I ignore him, already moving.

Lowering myself to Ossian’s level, I soften my voice. "Hey, little one… can you come to Finnian?" I stretch my hands out, palms open, inviting.

He stares at me, unblinking. Waiting.

He doesn’t move.

I make the decision for him.

Scooping him up, I feel his body tense, a flicker of hesitation—then he melts against me. A shaky breath escapes him, his face pressing into my shoulder.

I tighten my hold.

His scent—sweet and clean beneath the faint musk of dirt—grounds me. I run a hand over his back, feeling the uneven rhythm of his breath, his fingers curling against my shirt.

"You need a bath, little one," I murmur, chuckling softly.

No response, but he nestles in closer.

I carry him to the bathroom, setting him down on the heated tiles. The room fills with the gentle sound of water as I run the bath, the warm scent of vanilla soap curling into the air.

I glance down.

Ossian is staring at me, eyes wide, his fingers fisting the fabric of my shirt.

I smile. He ducks his head, cheeks pink.

Oh, My heart.

The door opens, and the moment Hendrix steps in, a hand tugs at my sleeve.

I look down.

Ossian's blue eyes plead silently.

I frown, glancing between them. Hendrix stills, noticing the boy's unease—but instead of stepping back, he lifts Ossian onto the counter before I can react.

"Playing with the plants is naughty, Ossian," he tells him, his voice stern but measured—appropriate for the headspace the boy is in.

Ossian surprises us by lifting a finger and pointing toward the bedroom, eyes twinkling with mischief behind his soother.

I bite my lip hard.

Hendrix narrows his eyes. "I do not see the hilarity in what you did. And I don't appreciate it either. Now Onyx and the staff have to clean up your mess. Next time it happens, you’ll have to be disciplined."

Next time? Next time?

I really thought he was going to spank him. Instead, Hendrix sounds like his posh British father, his accent sharpening with every clipped word. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to hold back my laughter.

Ossian? Completely unbothered.

His lips twitch into a barely hidden smile. Then—he tilts his head in that unbearably cute way, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Hendrix looks bewildered.

Oh, we’re so screwed.

I remind myself my two men don’t have much experience with Littles. 

"Hendrix, can you take off his diaper?"

"Of course," he nods, regaining some composure.

I check the water—then freeze.

Hendrix’s leg steps into the bathtub.

They're both naked as he sits down with Ossian, pulling the boy onto his lap.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Hendrix looks at me like I’m the insane one. "What do you mean? We can’t possibly let him go in by himself—what if he drowns, Finnian!?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Hendrix, he’s not going to drown."

"Well, I’m not taking any chances."

I sigh. "You are ridiculous."

"I prefer responsible."

I roll my eyes but let it go.

Ossian feels so Little right now, and I can feel how our dominant instincts are responding to him—differently than when he’s not in this headspace. 

Once my ridiculous fiancé and our Little are both clean, I wrap Ossian in a towel, pressing a kiss to his damp curls before carrying him to the playroom.

I set him down on the oversized changing table. "Stay still, little boy."

I turn to grab a fresh diaper—

The air shifts.

I whirl around—

"Ossian!"

My voice comes out sharp—too sharp.

He startles. His frame wobbles—loses balance—

I lunge.

Catching him just before he tumbles, my heart slams against my ribs.

He looks up at me, eyes wide, lip quivering.

I exhale shakily. "It’s okay, sweetheart. You just scared me."

I tighten my hold, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat against my chest.

I remember the safety strap and quickly fasten it around his tummy.

He does not appreciate it.

His soother slips from his lips as silent tears roll down his cheeks. 

I fasten the fresh diaper quickly, then dress him in maroon shorts and a white t-shirt. "Shhh, I know you were just being a curious Little. This is a new room for you, isn’t it?"

He sniffs.

I unstrap him and sit him up. "Look at you, all dressed and ready for the day."

A tiny smile breaks through.

I cup his face. "Goodness, you have no idea how adorable you are, do you?"

He hesitates. Then, in the softest voice—

"N...o."

I freeze.

"You spoke!"

His lips part slightly, eyes searching mine.

"What else can you say, sweetheart?"

A beat.

Then—

"No."

I snort. "Of course that’s your favorite word."

"Yea."

I laugh this time, pressing my forehead to his.

A voice from the doorway.

"He’s ready?"

Onyx.

I whip around. "He spoke!"

Onyx smirks. "He did? What’d he say?"

"No. And yes."

The boy watches Onyx, assessing.

Onyx holds out his arms. "Give him to me and go get ready, mama bear."

I scowl.

He grins. 

I hesitate, my eyes lingering on Ossian.

Onyx softens. "He’s safe with me, Finnian. Go."

I exhale.

Then, finally, I let go.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

Ossian’s fingers curl against my shirt as I carry him through the hallways, his wide eyes darting around curiously.

"Uh!"

His voice is soft yet urgent as he points toward a door.

I follow his gaze and realize what he’s pointing at.

“That’s big Ossian’s room, sweetheart,” I explain gently.

"Pup!"

I blink, taken aback. “Pup?”

He nods excitedly, curls bouncing with the motion.

“Yeah,” I chuckle, adjusting my hold on him. “That’s what we call big Ossian sometimes.”

I don’t think he fully remembers us outside this headspace, but I do remember from school that Littles might retain certain details—small fragments that linger like echoes.

He giggles. "No!” He shakes his head fiercely. “Pup!*”

He points again, this time with more insistence, as if I’m the one who doesn’t understand.

A slow grin tugs at my lips. “I don’t think big Ossian is going to appreciate you tearing his room apart.”

Judging by this morning, that’s exactly what would happen if I let him in there.

Ossian doesn’t argue, just stares at me with those big, imploring eyes, mischief glimmering behind them.

I exhale, shaking my head in amusement before carrying him into the dining room.

Jed, Beniel, and Hendrix are already seated, the warm scent of breakfast wafting through the space. The clinking of silverware against porcelain mingles with the low murmur of their conversation.

I settle Ossian into an oversized high chair, adjusting the straps to keep him secure before taking my seat beside him.

Beniel takes one look at Ossian and practically squeals. “Oh my, he’s adorable.”

Ossian, ever the charmer, flashes him a wide, dimpled grin.

I chuckle at his antics, glancing at Jed, who—despite his usual stoicism—softens enough to coo at him.

The moment is interrupted by the arrival of Chef Wilma, who strides in with a plate of pastries in hand. Her sharp eyes immediately land on Ossian.

“Well, well,” she drawls, crouching beside him. “Is this my little food thief?”

Ossian perks up, immediately pointing at the plate. "Uh!"

“You need to eat your eggs first, Ossian,” Hendrix says, barely looking up from his newspaper. His voice is firm, but not unkind.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing between Wilma and Ossian. “Food thief?”

Wilma huffs, though there’s no real annoyance in it. “Yeah, this one—” she presses a kiss to his forehead, “—has been sneaking into my kitchen and stealing food.”

Ossian just grins, completely unrepentant.

I frown slightly, the worry creeping in. “Is he not eating enough at mealtimes?”

“We should make sure he does,” Hendrix mutters, frowning in agreement.

Ossian doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He simply focuses on the plate in front of him, stuffing a piece of egg into his mouth. He's deep in his Little sub-space. 

I manage to grab a few bites of pancakes and fruit between making sure he eats properly, but the peaceful morning doesn’t last long.

My phone buzzes. Work.

I sigh, pushing away from the table.

Wilma hands me a coffee to go, and I murmur my thanks before turning to my boys. I lean down, pressing a kiss to Hendrix's, then I ruffle Ossian’s curls before grabbing my jacket.

But the moment I pull it on—

"No!"

The sharp cry freezes me in place.

I turn, startled.

Ossian is staring at me, his lip trembling, his eyes glassy with forming tears.

"No!" His arms stretch toward me desperately.

My heart twists.

Finnian enters the room concerned about the Little crying, and Hendrix immediately stiffens, his grip tightening on his coffee cup.

“What is going on?” Finnian demands, already bristling like a protective mama bear.

I rub a hand over my face. “He doesn’t want me to go to work.”

Hendrix looks horrified at the tears.

“Make him stop crying this instant!”

His tone isn’t cruel—it’s panicked. Ossian’s cries are like a knife to all of us.

I almost laugh at Hendrix’s helpless expression, knowing how much he hates feeling powerless.

Finnian steps in smoothly. “Go on, Onyx, I’ll distract him.” He presses a reassuring kiss to my lips before scooping Ossian up. “We’ve got him.”

I hesitate, guilt gnawing at my gut.

Ossian sniffles, clutching Finnian’s shirt with his fingers, still reaching for me with his other hand.

But I have to go.

With one last glance, I force myself to turn away, heading toward the garage.

I feel like the biggest asshole in the universe.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

Once Ossian has calmed down, I settle him back into his oversized high chair, adjusting the straps carefully. 

Satisfied that he’s secure, I take my seat and sip my coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest.

"Pup!"

Ossian’s voice is bright with excitement as he suddenly points toward the door.

I glance over my shoulder. “A puppy? Where do you see a puppy, little one?”

His hand stretches forward again, his grin wide despite the tear tracks on his cheeks.

I hum, considering. “Maybe we can find a puppy or some bugs outside later?”

That seems to satisfy him. His eyes light up. 

"Uh!"

Immediately, he tries to wriggle free. 

Hendrix steps in, arms already outstretched. “Give him to me, Finnian. He and I need to have a serious talk about table manners.”

I narrow my eyes playfully as he lifts Ossian from me and strides toward the door.

“Be gentle with him, Hendrix!” I call after them.

Hendrix waves me off with one hand, already disappearing down the hall with a squirming Ossian in tow.

I finish breakfast alongside Beniel and Jed.

As I clear my plate, I check my messages. The acceptance letters for the next semester’s Dominants are set to go out in a few days, and my inbox is already flooded. Parents trying to buy their children’s way in with donations, thinking it’ll sway the decision-making process.

It won’t.

Selections have already been finalized.

Running the University is expensive, but we don’t need bribes. Thanks to Hendrix’s great-great-great-grandfather, who founded the first Chestworth University in London decades ago, our institution has flourished. Its reputation has brought in wealth, and with it, resources to ensure that every student—regardless of status—has a fair chance.

Hendrix had never wanted to take over the school, and when I suggested that I run it instead, his father had only agreed on one condition: marriage.

We weren’t ready for that—not until we found our sub.

A compromise was struck, and we settled for an engagement.

The donations we do accept? They go toward housing scholarships for young men and women who wouldn’t have access to this education otherwise.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sharp, exasperated call of my fiancé.

"Ossian! Come here this instant!"

I look up, just in time to see a naked blur streak past the dining room entrance.

And then—Hendrix, red-faced and chasing after him, a diaper and  clothes bunched up in his fists.

I burst into laughter. “It’s not funny, Finnian!” I hear him yelling. 

“Oh, baby, it absolutely is,” I manage between chuckles.

“I turned around for one second. One! And suddenly, he was gone. The only thing left was his damn diaper and clothes!”

I glance toward the doors leading to the backyard just as Ossian’s fingers grasp the handle.

"Ossian, no!" I say firmly.

He pauses. Looks at me. Looks at Hendrix.

Then—grinning like the devil himself—he throws the door open and bolts outside.

I don’t even hesitate. I drop my laptop onto the table and sprint after them.

Hendrix is the one who manages to grab Ossian first, catching the squirming Little mid-air before he can escape further into the garden.

Ossian lets out a shriek, his body twisting as he flails in protest,  fists swinging wildly.

His hand then connects with Hendrix’s cheek in a sharp slap. 

Hendrix’s eyes darken.

He doesn’t hesitate. He swiftly turns the boy over his knee and delivers several firm smacks to his bare bottom.

The effect is instant.

Ossian freezes, going silent. His breath hitches.

Then—silent tears begin to roll down his face.

“You’re going to have a timeout, little boy,” Hendrix tells him, voice calm but resolute. “That was very naughty.”

Hendrix swiftly fastens the diaper back onto the hiccupping boy, dressing him before placing him onto a bench near the garden.

“You sit here and calm down for me,” Hendrix instructs.

"No!" Ossian wails, kicking his feet in protest.

Hendrix sighs, turning to me for support. I meet his eyes, firm but reassuring. “No, you stay there, little boy,” I say.

Hendrix walks over, standing beside me, arms crossed as we both keep a close watch on Ossian.

Seconds tick by.

Then—

“He’s done now, right?”

I blink.

I turn, raising an eyebrow at my usually unshakable fiancé.

His expression is so reminiscent of big Ossian trying to weasel his way out of a timeout that I have to bite back a laugh.

“Hendrix, baby,” I say, amusement curling in my voice, “it’s been fifteen seconds.”

Hendrix groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Why do I feel like a giant jerk? Oh, God, he’s going to hate me.”

It’s cute—seeing him so flustered. I don’t say it, of course.

I run my thumb gently over the faint red mark on his cheek. “He’s not going to hate you. I promise.”

Hendrix doesn’t look convinced.

“Give it a minute,” I add. “He already feels guilty for smacking you.”

Hendrix still looks uncertain, but then—

"Papa."

The small, hesitant voice stops us both.

My breath stills. Hendrix stiffens beside me.

We’ve been careful—calling ourselves by our names, ensuring Ossian doesn’t feel forced into picking us. He might not even choose us to be his Doms, and we don’t want to take that decision from him.

I turn slowly to Hendrix. “Hendrix!?”

My fiancé looks sheepish.

He shrugs, trying and failing to look innocent. “It… slipped out when we were talking earlier.”

I gape at him. “Hendrix Ronan!”

"Papa," Ossian says again, firmer this time.

Damnit.

Ignoring him is breaking my heart.

I kneel in front of the boy, motioning for Hendrix to join me. “Ossian,” I say gently, “hitting and not listening isn’t nice, sweetheart.”

The Little’s bottom lip trembles. He looks down, guilt evident in every line of his body. Tears gather in his eyes.

"Uh!"

He reaches out—not for me, but for Hendrix.

Hendrix doesn’t hesitate, scooping him up in one smooth motion.

“Can you tell Hendrix you’re sorry?” I ask softly.

Ossian burrows against his chest. "No. Papa.*"

I sigh. “Ossian, sweetheart, we call him Hendrix.”

"No! No! Papa!"

Hendrix shoots me a regretful glance. But I can see it—the way his arms tighten around the Little, how much he loves this.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

Ossian suddenly points to the bench. “Bad!”

Both of us burst into laughter.

But the moment is cut short by a frantic voice.

"Sirs!"

We turn just as Walter rushes toward us, panic-stricken.

“Onyx has been shot!”

Chapter Text

Onyx

"Fuck this! I'm going in,'' I say. 

"Onyx!"

"Ansel, he's deranged. I'm not letting anyone else die today."

Ansel curses under his breath before yanking open the trunk of the car. "Then I'm coming with."

"Absolutely not."

He slams the trunk shut and shoves a bulletproof vest at me. "We're partners, Onyx, or did you forget?" His voice is tight, his expression taut with frustration.

I sigh, letting him strap the vest onto me even though I know it won't do much if this goes sideways. Ansel and I have been through hell together, but I still can't shake the thought of the two subs waiting for him at home. If something happened to him because of me... No. I won't let it.

"Ansel—"

"I know. Just don't do anything stupid." He crosses his arms, his jaw set.

I pass him my gun before stepping toward the house. The air is thick with tension, the quiet hum of the street outside feeling like a world away.

"HEY, I'M COMING IN!" I call out.

A frantic, unhinged voice answers from inside. "STAY BACK!"

"I'm unarmed," I say, keeping my voice even. "We contacted your mom, Anth. I'm sure she's worried about you."

A sharp, strangled sound—half laughter, half sob. "NO! She's not! NO ONE CARES!"

"I care." I shift my stance, my ears straining for any movement inside. "Is Eden and Ophelia with you?"

"BACK OFF!"

"Hey, hey—I'm not coming in unless you tell me I can. I just want to talk, man to man."

I press my forehead to the door. From inside, I hear a grunt and muffled whimpers. The girls. "May I come in, Anth?"

A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper—"Yeah."

Slowly, I push open the door. My eyes land on the two girls first. They're huddled in the corner, wrists bound, mouths sealed shut with duct tape. Their wide, terrified eyes meet mine. I raise my hands slightly to keep Anth calm as I shift my attention to him.

"SHUT THE DOOR!" He's shaking, his grip tight on the gun.

I nudge it closed with my foot. The earpiece in my ear crackles—Ansel and the team outside can hear everything. "Turn around!"

I obey, slowly. "I told you, I'm unarmed."

His breathing is ragged, uneven. His face is streaked with scratches—some fresh, others scabbed over. Bloodshot eyes dart frantically around the room. His movements are jerky, erratic, but something inside me stills when I recognize what he is.

A sub.

My instincts react before my mind fully processes it. "I just want to help you, buddy."

His grip on the gun tightens. "NO—NO! I DON'T NEED HELP!"

"What happened, Anth?"

His breath hitches. "I just—I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to!"

"You didn't mean to kill six people?"

His expression twists. "FUCK THEM!"

The rage rolls off him in waves, but beneath it, I see something else. Guilt. Terror. Fractured pieces barely held together.

I shove down the instinctive urge to punch him. It'd be stupid, reckless. I can't let myself get shot—not for my own sake, but for Finnian and Hendrix. For Ansel. And for Ossian, waiting for me at home.

I exhale slowly. "Why, Anth? What did they do to you?"

"I'M NOT A FREAK!"

"Your classmates," I press gently. "I know they're not nice to you."

His breath rattles. "No, they're not!"

"But the people you killed weren't your classmates, Anth."

His expression darkens. "I don't care! They don't care! They're all the same—all the same to them!" His fingers flex around the gun. His eyes flicker, unfocused.

"Who's 'them'?"

His voice drops to a whisper. "The—the voices."

Shit.

"I know you're scared," I say, keeping my voice level. "But what you did was really bad, Anth. I'm very displeased with you."

His body stiffens. His lips tremble. "Sorry—sorry!"

"I want you to kneel for me. Please."

He obeys instantly. Relief washes over his face as his knees hit the floor. I step closer. "Give me the gun."

A split second. A trigger finger twitches.

The gun goes off.

The force knocks me backward, pain exploding in my chest. The vest takes the hit, but it still feels like I got punched by a truck.

"LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" Anth screams.

"Shots fired! ONYX!" Ansel's voice crackles in my earpiece.

I groan, forcing myself upright. "I'm fine! Vest took the hit. Don't send your men in, Roman. I got this."

The pain radiates through me as I steady myself. Anth is still kneeling, his gun shaking in his hands.

I take a breath, voice firm. "Anthony. That was not nice."

"They told me to do it!" He clutches his head, eyes wild.

"You've earned yourself some time in the corner. That one." I gesture to the farthest corner of the room, away from the girls.

He scrambles over without hesitation, still gripping the gun.

I approach carefully. "I'm going to touch your neck, okay?"

He doesn't protest. I press my fingers gently against the nape of his neck, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. His whole body sags under the touch.

"How old are you, Anth?"

"Twenty-three."

"Then you stay in that corner for twenty-three minutes."

"Yes—yes, sir."

I move toward the girls. I catch their eyes, pressing a finger to my lips before carefully untying them. They bolt toward the kitchen and slip out the back door.

"We got the hostages," the earpiece confirms.

I exhale. "Anth, you're doing a great job."

His head turns slightly. "Thank you, sir—NO! NO! WHERE ARE THEY!?" His scream splits the air.

Panic surges through him as he raises the gun again. Before I can react, he starts firing wildly.

Pain flares through my arm as I drop to the ground, gritting my teeth.

The shots stop. I glance up.

Anth is standing there, gun pressed to his own temple.

"ANTH, DON'T DO IT!"

Tears streak his face. "I'm sorry. The voices—they're too loud."

"Anth—"

His finger tightens on the trigger.

"I'm sorry."

"NO—"

The gunshot rings out.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The sound echoes. Then, silence.

I force myself to look.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

"Onyx! Onyx!"

I barely register the hospital staff calling after me as I shove through the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart only starts beating again when I see him—propped up against the pillows, arm and shoulder wrapped in stark white bandages.

"Oh, thank God."

I cross the room in an instant, careful but desperate as I wrap my arms around him. His body is warm, solid beneath my touch. He exhales softly, the tension in his frame melting the moment I hold him close.

"I'm fine, baby." His voice is hoarse but steady. Then, the first words out of his mouth—"Where's Hendrix?"

A pang runs through me, but it's not jealousy. It never is.

I understand.

It isn't uncommon for doms in a polygamous dynamic to submit to another dom, someone stronger, someone grounding. That's what Hendrix is to us. He is our anchor—the foundation that holds us steady, the force that keeps us from unraveling. He's the head of our household. 

I smooth my hand over Onyx's cheek, feeling the way he leans into the touch. "He's speaking to the doctor. He'll be right here."

His tired eyes search mine. "Ossian?"

"Back at the house with Beniel and Jed."

His fingers tighten briefly around my arm, a flicker of relief crossing his face. But beneath that relief, I see the exhaustion in him—the kind that weighs on the soul, not just the body.

I drag my thumb across his cheek and murmur, "You're taking a good, long nap when we get home."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes him. "I will, Mama Bear."

He doesn't look fine.

I knew he wouldn't. Ansel had told us everything, but hearing it and seeing him like this are two very different things.

Then the door opens, and Hendrix steps inside.

The moment Onyx sees him, his breath hitches. His lips tremble, and those sharp, unbreakable walls he always keeps up crack like fragile glass. His eyes well up.

Hendrix doesn't hesitate. "Come here."

He moves to the bed, sitting beside him, and Onyx doesn't waste a second before burying his face into Hendrix's neck.

"Let go."

Two words. That's all it takes.

A shuddering breath. A sob.

The dam inside Onyx breaks.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sun is warm on my skin as I step into the backyard, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand and a plate of food in the other. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant smoke from the grill mix in the air. 

"Finnian!"

Ellis is the first to reach me, practically barreling into my arms.

"Hey, guys!" I laugh, wrapping him in a quick hug. "How are you, sweetheart?"

Before he can answer, his eyes sparkle with excitement, and he blurts out, "Where is Ossian!?"

I chuckle, shaking my head.

"Ellis," Ansel scolds, his tone holding more fondness than warning.

Ellis turns and gives him a wide-eyed, innocent smile—the kind that might fool someone who didn’t know him. Ansel just sighs, shaking his head.

"He's having a nap," I tell them. "And before you ask, yes, he's still in his little space."

Emrys lets out an excited squeal. "We've missed him so much!"

"He’s missed you guys too. Talks about you all the time."

"I brought some stuff for him. May I put them in his room?"

"Of course, hun. Go ahead." I point toward the house, then narrow my eyes at Ellis. "And don’t you dare wake him, Ellis."

"Fine," he pouts, but I don’t trust the gleam in his eyes.

As the two of them disappear inside, Ansel steps up beside me and helps set up the grill. The soft pop of the fire igniting fills the silence between us.

"Onyx?" he asks after a moment.

"Resting," I say. "Hendrix is inside talking to his brother and sister. The doctor said he was lucky—the bullet didn’t hit any bones, arteries, or nerves."

Ansel exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Samael must’ve been hysterical." Samael is Onyx's brother and Beniel's boyfriend. 

"He was," I admit. "Beniel helped calm him down. He’s coming to stay with us soon."

"That’ll be good."

"Yeah," I nod. "I think it’ll be good for Ossian to have another sub around. Beniel is great, but he’s still his therapist."

Ansel hums. "Yeah, he doesn’t really have many sub friends."

That makes me pause. "Wait, what?"

"He has Emrys and Ellis, but they’re family. Outside of them, I can only think of Aedar, but he’s a dom. Those two always get into trouble together."

I frown. "What kind of trouble?"

Ansel gives me a funny look.

"What?" I ask.

"Are you jealous?"

"What!? No!" I scoff, a little too quickly.

"Alright," he says, but the amused smirk on his face is unbearable.

"I'm not."

"I didn’t say anything."

I shake my head. He’s enjoying this way too much.

Ansel leans back on the outdoor kitchen countertops, watching me carefully. "Look, Finn, having a sub like Ossian or Ellis is... it's almost like having a kid."

I arch a brow, crossing my arms. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not just talking about when they're in their Little headspace. They never had parents who taught them the things parents are supposed to. Social skills, for example." He pauses, running a hand through his hair before continuing. "Emrys and I made sure Ellis attended a few classes with only subs so he could find his own friends, make his own connections. Ossian has met plenty of people in his career, but that was all work-related."

I nod, remembering those classes. That was how Ellis discovered his talent for design.

"In some ways, we have to fill the role of not just their doms but also, kind of… their parents."

I let that sink in for a moment. It makes sense. But there’s another challenge, one we haven't quite figured out yet. "It’s harder with Ossian. We’re still trying to figure out how to help him socialize, especially since he’s a public figure."

"The news still thinks he's in some sort of instituion," Ansel mutters, shaking his head.

I sigh. That’s a conversation we’ll have to have with Ossian soon.

Ansel hesitates before rubbing the back of his neck. "And, uh—" He exhales sharply, like he's unsure how to phrase what he’s about to say. "I go to this group thing. I know it can be good to talk about some of this stuff with other doms who have a sub who has been abused."

I glance at him, brows knitting together.

"Ellis’s therapist recommended it," he continues. "It’s really helped me. You should come to the next meeting."

"But I can’t talk about Ossian."

"You don’t have to give them his name. Some people make up names to protect their subs. Hell, you don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. Just listen. It really helps, and I think it’ll help you too."

I consider it, rolling the thought around in my mind. "I’ll think about it."

Before Ansel can respond, an excited shout rings through the backyard.

"Finnian! When did Ossian get a puppy!?"

I turn just in time to see Emrys running toward us, a squirming, bright-eyed puppy in his arms. Ellis follows close behind, looking equally thrilled.

"A puppy?" I blink. "Where did you find it?"

"In his room," Ellis shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Ansel groans and drags a hand down his face. "Oh no."

I frown. "What?"

"Don't tell me he's been hiding a dog from you guys," Ansel says. "Oh, Ossian."

"Yeah, that does sound like something he’d do," Emrys chimes in, nodding like this is just another day in their world.

Realization crashes into me. "Oh my god."

"What?" Ansel eyes me warily.

"He’s been saying 'puppy' all day."

Before Ansel can reply, Hendrix and Onyx finally step outside. Hendrix is guiding Onyx to the couch with his usual brand of firm gentleness.

"You don’t move, Onyx," Hendrix orders, making sure he’s settled before letting him go.

Both subs dart toward the injured dom, stopping just short of climbing onto him.

"Be careful with him, boys," Hendrix warns, but there’s fondness in his voice.

Onyx rolls his eyes. "I’m fine."

Hendrix ignores him and turns to us, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "When did you guys get a dog?" he asks Ansel. 

"It’s not their dog," I answer. "It’s Ossian’s. He’s apparently been hiding him in his room."

Hendrix stiffens slightly. "What?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "That boy is in so much trouble. This could’ve ended badly for the puppy. What if the boys hadn’t found him? We don’t know how long Ossian’s going to stay Little."

Hendrix mutters something under his breath before looking at me sharply. "Archie."

I blink. "Who?"

"Archie," he repeats. "Ossian was shouting for Archie the first night he was here. You think he's had the puppy for a week?"

I don’t hesitate. "Archie!"

At the sound of his name, the pup wriggles free from Emrys’s arms and bounds toward me in tiny, excited jumps. I kneel, scooping him up in both arms. He licks my face immediately, his tail wagging wildly.

"Gosh, you’re a cute one," I murmur, rubbing his soft fur. Then, a thought strikes me, and I look up at the others. "I wonder if he’s potty trained."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

I decide to take Archie with me as I head to retrieve the Little. The soft padding of his paws against the floor follows me down the dim hallway, the quiet hum of the house settling around us. The cool air of the nursery greets me as I step inside. It’s always cold in here, just the way Ossian likes it. 

"Supposed to be cold, but I still have to have a thick and fluffy blanket, Finnian," he’d told me when he was 'big', wide-eyed and serious, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

The oversized crib looms in the corner, bathed in soft, silver light filtering through the curtains. Inside, Ossian lies curled up, nothing but his diaper on, his little chest rising and falling in sharp, hiccuping breaths. His soother bobs slightly in his mouth, but it does nothing to stop the quiet tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

My heart clenches. I don’t waste a second before I remove the duvet and scoop him into my arms, his body trembling as he curls into me. "Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

He only shakes his head, pressing his face into my shoulder, his fingers clinging to my shirt.

I frown, running a soothing hand down his back. "You had a bad dream?"

"P-p-papa," he stutters behind his soother. His voice is so small, so broken.

I press a kiss to the crown of his head, swaying him gently. "We’ll go to Papa, sweetheart. But first, let’s get you changed, okay?"

At the mention of a diaper change, his whimpers spike into distressed cries, his body tensing in my arms. I can feel the fear radiating from him, his tiny hands gripping at me desperately.

I sigh. He’s picked up on the fact that Hendrix is the strict and intimidating one, the protector. Maybe that’s why he’s asking for him. Maybe he thinks Papa will keep him safe from whatever he's so scared of. 

I make a mental note to talk to Beniel later, but for now, I focus on getting him changed. Laying him on the changing table only makes things worse—his cries go quiet, his breath hitching in that way that makes my stomach drop.

The silent cries. The ones that could break even the coldest of hearts.

I place Archie on the table beside his head, the tiny puppy wriggling excitedly as he nuzzles against Ossian’s cheek.

The change is immediate. Ossian’s sniffles fade, his teary eyes widening as a slow, wobbly smile spreads across his face. "Pup!"

I chuckle, brushing a stray curl from his damp forehead. "I know, little boy. You’ve been waiting for him all morning."

His attention flicks toward the crib, his brows furrowing. "Bad!"

I laugh. "No, sweetheart, that’s where you sleep."

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue, instead turning his attention back to Archie.

"Pup!" he exclaims again, reaching out to pet him with clumsy, eager fingers.

"I know," I say, tickling his belly, relieved at the sound of his soft giggles. "And big Ossian is in big trouble for hiding him from us."

His lips purse. "Trou-ble?"

"Yes, trouble."

"Time out," he declares, nodding sagely.

I snort. "You want to send big Ossian to time out?"

"Yeah."

I chuckle as I finish fastening his fresh diaper and slip him into a sleeveless romper. The sun is still warm, but I know it’ll get chilly later, so I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder before hoisting him up. "Alright, let’s not keep the boys waiting."

Archie moves ahead of us as we make our way downstairs.

The moment we step outside, excited voices erupt around us.

"Oh my God!" Emrys shrieks, practically vibrating with joy.

"Ossian!" Ellis comes running, tears shimmering in his eyes.

Ossian lets out a delighted squeal, pointing at Ellis and Emrys with the brightest smile behind his soother. "Uh!"

I grin. "I know, sweetheart. That’s Ellis, Emrys, and Ansel."

Ossian tilts his head. "Assel?"

Ansel’s grin falters for a moment before he mutters something under his breath. We all burst into laughter as he rolls his eyes and returns to flipping the food on the grill.

The boys and the Little play with Archie in the yard, laughter ringing through the air as the golden afternoon light stretches across the grass. I can’t help myself—I keep glancing over every few seconds, scanning for any sign of distress.

"Finnian," Onyx calls, raising an eyebrow.

"It’s nothing," I say quickly, though I know damn well I’m hovering like a worried mother hen. 

"Boys, set the table, please," Ansel orders.

"Yes, sir," they chorus.

Ossian crawls after them, determined to follow. But the second I scoop him up, he starts thrashing in my arms. "Nooo!"

"Stop it," I warn, my voice firm but gentle.

His lip wobbles. 

I sigh. "I know, honey, I’m a big jerk," I murmur, buckling him into his high chair. "But I don’t want you to get stepped on, alright?"

He screams in frustration, reaching for me.

"Lord," Ansel groans, covering his ears. "If there were an award for the biggest tantrums, Ossian would win."

"Nooo!" Ossian shrieks.

"Here, Menino." Onyx slides a corncob onto his tray.

Ossian’s cries halt immediately. He blinks down at the food, then lifts it to his mouth with an  "Mmm!"

Ansel chuckles as he takes a seat beside him. "Guess Ellis has some competition in the cute department." He presses a kiss to Ossian’s curls. "He looks... great."

"Are you crying?" Onyx teases.

"I’m not!"

He so is.

I smirk. "Oh, Assel," I tease, leaning in for a hug.

Ansel rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile, Ossian lifts the corncob toward him, offering it with wide, expectant eyes.

Ansel chuckles. "No, thank you, Little one. I got my own. Maybe your daddy will like some."

I freeze.

Ossian turns to Onyx, blinking up at him. "Daddy?"

Onyx looks stunned, his mouth parting slightly.

I, however, glare daggers at Ansel.

I’m supposed to be Daddy.

"What!?" Ansel exclaims, throwing his hands up.

"Nothing," I mutter, stabbing at the potato salad with a little too much force.

"Assel," Ossian says again, pointing at the dom.

Ansel sighs. "Yes, but can you say Ansel?"

Ossian shakes his head. "No."

"Daddy?" He turns to Onyx again, offering some of his food.

Onyx still looks a little dazed, but he smiles, brushing a gentle hand through Ossian’s curls. "No, thank you, Menino."

I put the salad bowl down a little harder than necessary. "Where are Jed and Ben?" I ask. 

As if on cue, Beniel appears, followed closely by Jed. Beniel lets out a long-suffering sigh as he drops into his seat.

"Your brother needs a good spanking, Onyx." Beniel says. 

Onyx barely lifts his gaze from his plate. "Samael is still worrying?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Beniel rubs at his temples. "Yeah. He's really worried about you."

Onyx sighs, shaking his head. "I'll call him again."

Once the table is set and everyone is seated, we dig into our food, the atmosphere light, the chatter easy. The yard is filled with warmth from the string lights above—the scent of grilled meat, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional delighted giggle from Ossian as he eats his food. 

"Owie, Daddy!" The Little suddenly exclaims, pointing at Onyx’s shoulder with a furrowed brow.

My grip on my fork tightens.

Onyx stills. "Daddy?" Hendrix echoes, his tone both curious and amused as he flicks his gaze toward me.

I shrug, forcing myself to stay neutral. "Don’t look at me." I jab at my food with a little too much force.

The truth is, I am pissed about it. And I know I shouldn’t be. It’s not like Ossian is supposed to call any of us that. But damn it, I wanted to be the one.

Realization dawns across Ansel’s face. "Oh."

Onyx glances between us, confused. "What?"

Ansel winces. "I’m so sorry, Finn. I totally forgot—just the way you are with him, it’s just—"

"Ansel, it’s fine," I say, cutting him off before he digs himself deeper. "He’s already been calling Hendrix ‘Papa’ anyway."

That’s not even why I’m mad.

"Papa!" Ossian giggles, pointing at Hendrix like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

And damn if Hendrix doesn’t smile—a real, warm, soft smile.

Not everyone gets those from him.

Then,  Onyx lets out a sharp groan of pain. "Son of a bitch!"

Everyone jerks in surprise, eyes snapping to him in concern.

"Onyx," I scold, "I told you, I’ll get you anything you need."

"I’m fine," he grits out, shifting slightly. "I just moved weird."

Silence hangs in the air for a moment. Then—

"Son of a bitch!"

Dead silence.

We all turn at once to stare at Ossian. The Little blinks at us, expression wide-eyed and innocent.

Laughter spills over the table—even Hendrix, usually composed, has to cover his mouth. Ansel is shaking with laughter, and Jed nearly chokes on his drink.

"No, no, no!" Ansel finally manages, trying his best to sound stern. "That’s not a word for Littles."

But he’s definitely hiding his laughter behind his hand.

I shoot Onyx a pointed look before turning back to the Little. "Ossian, those are naughty words."

Ossian stares at me for a moment, then—

"Son of a bitch."

I groan. "No!"

"Yeah!" He nods with an impish giggle before flashing me a smile so damn charming it should be illegal.

I try to keep my expression firm. I really do.

But that little grin? It gets me.

Jed lets out a low chuckle. "That boy could get away with murder."

Before I can respond, Ossian’s arms shoot up toward me, his fingers wiggling. His big, expectant eyes meet mine as he calls, "Mama Bear!"

I freeze.

The laughter starts up again, louder this time. Even Onyx, still stiff from pain, wheezes out a chuckle.

My eyes widen as I turn to glare at him. "Damn you, Onyx."

He grins through his wince. "I told you it’d stick."

It’s not Daddy. But damn it, I’ll take it.

"Come here, little boy," I sigh, unstrapping him from his chair and lifting him into my arms. "Hmm, you’re covered in barbecue sauce."

Emrys perks up instantly. "May we bathe him after dinner, sir?"

"Of course," I say as I glance at Ossian, who’s already trying to reach for my food next. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

The night air carries the scent of wood smoke and caramelized sugar as we sit gathered around the crackling fireplace, preparing s’mores. The warmth of the fire flickers across our faces, casting golden light over large U-outdoor couch and the cozy nest of blankets we’ve set up for the evening.

"Squeaky clean Little delivery!" Ellis and Emrys appear, grinning as they set a freshly bathed Ossian onto my lap. The boy’s skin is warm from the bath, smelling of vanilla soap, his damp curls sticking to his forehead.

He’s only in a diaper, his chest rising and falling with soft, breaths. Finnian hands me a hoodie and some sweats from the diaper bag.

"Uh!" Ossian points at my beer with a curious, expectant gaze. 

I roll my eyes. "Oh no, Little boy, this is definitely not for you."

"I got something better," Finnian interjects smoothly, handing him a sippy cup filled with juice. He also sets a prepared bottle of warm milk on the side, knowing we’ll be laying Ossian down soon.

I glance at Finnian, admiration filling my chest. He’s so damn good at this—effortless in the way he cares, how naturally he slips into this role. It’s clear he genuinely enjoys this headspace.

Ossian wrinkles his nose and shakes his head as I try to slip the hoodie over his head.

"Maybe just wrap him up in his blanket?" Finnian suggests, passing it to me.

"Thanks, baby," I murmur, taking the thick, fluffy material and wrapping it securely around the squirming Little. His small fingers immediately grip the edges, rubbing the softness against his cheek.

Across from us, Jed and Beniel sit close together, Archie curled up comfortably on Ben’s lap. I notice the way they’ve been gravitating toward each other more lately. Jed, usually reserved, seems more at ease around Ben than I’ve seen him in years. I really hope something comes from it.

Beniel and my brother Samael are both subs, and they’ve been searching for a dom. Jed, though—he’s been different ever since Rory. His last sub had fallen ill, and after some time of fighting, he passed away. It shattered Jed. He was never the same after that. But watching him now, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to let himself feel again.

The moment is interrupted as Hendrix appears, dressed in more comfortable clothes, clutching a few papers in his hand. His expression is thunderous.

"Selik just sent me this." His voice is sharp, tight with barely restrained fury. He drops onto the couch beside me, jaw clenched. "They knew he was a high-level submissive."

Silence falls over the group. Every muscle in my body tenses.

"What?" The word leaves our mouths in unison.

Hendrix’s grip on the papers tightens. "They sent him for a doctor’s evaluation when he was sixteen. These are the results." He thrusts the papers toward Ansel. "They fucking knew, and they did nothing."

Heat floods my chest—anger, frustration, a sickening sense of injustice.

"I’m going to kill them," Hendrix growls.

On my lap, Ossian blinks up at me, rubbing his tired eyes. His face is still relaxed, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

"You a tired boy?" I murmur, brushing a thumb across his cheek.

His pout deepens, but he shakes his head stubbornly. "No!" he says, pointing at the marshmallows instead.

Finnian exhales slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I’ll make you one," he offers, clearly needing the distraction.

A soft sound catches my attention. Ellis, curled against Emrys, looks stricken. His lower lip trembles, and his wide, tear-filled eyes stare at the floor.

"I’m sorry," he whispers, voice raw.

Emrys immediately wraps him up in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "This is not your fault, Sunny."

Ansel’s gaze sharpens. "You knew, Ellie?"

Ellis shakes his head rapidly. "No. No, I—I should have gone with him to that appointment." His voice cracks, and he buries his face in Emrys’s chest, trying to disappear.

I lean forward. "Ellis." My tone is gentle, coaxing. He peeks up at me, sniffling. "Emrys is right. This isn’t your fault. But if you know anything else, you need to tell us."

Ansel pulls him into his lap, holding him close. "Baby boy," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Tell us what you know."

Ellis hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. "Ossian made me promise not to say."

Ansel tilts his chin up, searching his face. "Baby, if this is something that can help him, you need to tell us."

Ellis whimpers but finally nods. "Okay." He swallows hard. "They never got him a teacher."

A heavy silence falls.

"He did schoolwork on his own," Ellis continues. "Online. But only the subjects you need to get into uni."

My stomach sinks. That means he’s never had any sub training.

"I can’t say I’m surprised," Hendrix mutters darkly. "We worked on kneeling and the different positions his first week. He didn’t even know the basics."

Finnian lets out a sharp breath, his grip tightening around the bag of marshmallows. His whole body is taut with rage. "I’m going to kill them," he seethes, beginning to pace.

Hendrix grabs him before he can go too far, yanking him onto the couch beside him. "I know," he says, firm but soothing. "We all want to. But we need a plan first."

Jed leans forward, his expression calculating. "First, we need to get him out of his contract with the agency. Then we destroy them. The public isn’t going to take lightly to a major company neglecting their submissive clients like this." His gaze darkens. "And I highly doubt he’s the only one."

Ossian, oblivious to the tension around him, reaches out and pokes at my arm. "Owie?"

I glance down at him, my anger cooling slightly. "Yeah, baby. It’s an owie."

"Bad?"

"Yeah," I murmur, pressing a kiss to his curls. "A bad guy did it. But he’s never hurting anyone again."

His lips tremble. Without hesitation, he tries to wrap his arms around me, offering comfort in the only way he knows how. My chest tightens. Adjusting him so we’re face to face, I let him rest against me, his weight grounding me.

"I’m okay, Menino," I assure him softly.

He peeks up at me. "Okay?"

"Yeah," I say, holding him a little tighter. "I’m okay."

The last time something like this happened, I spiraled for weeks. But Ossian—this sweet boy—has kept me steady today. And I know everyone has noticed.

I glance at Finnian, whose eyes are glassy with unshed tears. His voice wavers. "I just don’t understand how someone could do that to him."

His hands are gentle as he brings the bottle to Ossian’s lips. The s’more is forgotten, the warm milk far more comforting.

I run my fingers through Ossian’s curls as his eyelids flutter closed.

Hendrix straightens. "I’ll congregate a team of lawyers tomorrow," he says, voice steady with quiet determination. "We’re not letting them get away with this."

Chapter Text

Ossian

A weightless, floating sensation cradles me, making it impossible to care about much of anything. Everything is soft—too soft, like I'm wrapped in a cloud, drifting. My body feels boneless, my mind a pleasant haze. It takes effort to open my eyes, and when I try, they barely flutter.

"Aedar, where'd you get this stuff?" I mumble, my voice slurred.

Silence. Then, a confused voice responds.

"Excuse me?"

I try again to pry my eyes open, blinking sluggishly against the heaviness. Everything is blurry, but I manage to catch a glimpse of blond hair.

"Hey, good lookin'." I say. 

A deep chuckle rumbles from someone else—not blondie. The sound vibrates through me, warm and rich. I don't know what he looks like, but damn, he sounds hot.

"What do you mean by 'stuff'?"

I sigh blissfully. "I feel so good right now. We'll talk about this later, blondie." Even to my own ears, I sound absolutely drunk.

"I'd say Little-sub space was a success, then," the deep-voiced man observes.

"Shhh!" I whine.

"We're too loud?"

"Uh-uh."

"Sorry, Menino," the deep voice soothes.

That word tickles something in my brain. Menino.

"Onyx?" I groan, realization settling.

"Yeah, it's me."

I make another noise, not quite a groan, but close. If Onyx is here, that must mean blondie is Finnian.

"Tell Aedar—tell Aedar he needs to feed Archie," I mumble, still floating.

"Aedar's not here, bud," Onyx informs me.

"S'okay. I'll tell him later."

I feel hungry. Something about that thought is so funny. It sets off an uncontrollable giggle that bubbles up from my chest. "Burger," I whisper, then giggle again. I don't even know why—the word just sounds funny. 

Both doms chuckle.

"You hungry?" Finnian asks, amusement clear in his voice.

"Yeah."

A warm hand—Onyx's, I think—starts rubbing my neck slowly, grounding me in the most comforting way. The sensation melts through my body, spreading warmth from my spine outward. I sigh, the last remnants of tension dissolving. The constant anxiety I always feel? Gone. Stress? Gone. It's just soft, floaty warmth now, and I never want it to end.

But then... the fog starts lifting. I feel myself drifting upward, toward something lighter, brighter. The weightlessness fades little by little.

"There we go," Onyx murmurs.

Reluctantly, I force my eyes open. The room swims into focus, too sharp, too real. I blink a few times, trying to ground myself. Then something catches my attention.

"Am I wearing a fucking diaper?"

I raise my head off the pillow, but Finnian immediately presses a firm hand to my chest, guiding me back down. "Slow down."

The sight of them in sweats and hoodies throws me off. I'm used to seeing them sharp, commanding. But like this? They look cuddly. It makes everything even weirder.

"You are," Finnian confirms, "but you won't need it anymore."

I groan and flop onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. "I want to do that again."

Onyx chuckles. "Even though you were an adorable Little, we need you to be big right now, sweetheart."

I peek at him through my hair. "Little?"

"Yeah," Finnian nods. "You were deep in Little headspace. It lasted about a day and a half."

My whole body tenses. "A day and a half?!"

Embarrassment floods me. I don't remember anything—just a hazy, warm bliss. I whine, pressing my face even harder into the pillow.

I hesitate before mumbling into the fabric, "I didn't use it, right?"

Onyx's pause makes my stomach drop.

"You did pee," he admits.

"Oh no," I groan, curling up tighter.

"Oh, come on, Menino," Onyx teases, voice full of amusement. "I've never seen a cuter Little."

"Not cute!" I scowl.

Finnian smirks. "Trust me, you gave Ellis a run for his money." He pulls me effortlessly onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me like I'm something fragile. The padding between my legs only makes my mortification worse.

"You don't need to be embarrassed," he continues. "We don't mind taking care of you. Just like you enjoyed the high of subspace, we enjoy the high of taking care of you."

I shoot him a grimace, but he only chuckles.

"It's a really special thing between a sub and a dom," Finnian says, his fingers threading through my curls in slow, soothing motions. "And the headspace? It's definitely something you benefited from."

Then he asks, "Tell me, pup, why is subspace beneficial for subs?"

I blink.

Fuck.

That's probably something I was supposed to learn in school. My mind scrambles, but it comes up empty. Why does this feel like a test?

I shrug, but then it hits me.

"ARCHIE!"

I lurch forward, trying to scramble off Finnian's lap, but he's quicker. Strong hands catch me mid-motion, pulling me back down effortlessly.

"I'm glad you remembered," he says, voice calm but firm as he shifts me over his lap.

The next thing I know, he's sliding my diaper down just far enough to expose my ass.

"Take it off!" I kick my legs, heat rising to my face.

"This is part of your punishment."

My breath catches. I can't tell if it's from the humiliation or the way my body reacts to the words. My skin prickles with anticipation, and I know I must be blushing deeply.

"It could have ended really bad for Archie," Finnian says, and then—CRACK.

The sharp sting of a hairbrush landing across my ass makes me yelp. Where the hell did he even get that from?

"This isn't something you can keep from us, little boy," he continues, landing more sharp, precise smacks. "We didn't know how long you were going to stay in Little space. Thank God Emrys and Ellis found him."

"They were here!?" I yelp, my body jolting with each smack.

"Yeah," Onyx confirms from where he's sitting.

"But—"

"Don't worry," Finnian assures as he keeps spanking. "They'll visit again."

I feel awful. I knew I should have told them about Archie, but I was scared. What if they hadn't let me keep him?

"Ouch—fuck! " I shudder, arching my back. The steady rhythm of the spanking doesn't let up, each swat firm and stingy, a slow build that I know will leave me feeling it for a while.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he stops. My skin throbs, hot and tender, and I pant into the sheets.

Finnian pulls the diaper back over my sore ass before standing and guiding me toward the corner. I hesitate, confused.

"This is so not necessary," I grumble, shifting uncomfortably. The damn diaper adds an extra layer of padding, but the humiliation outweighs any comfort. Worse? I'm so turned on, and they know it.

I glance over at Onyx, who's now lounging on the bed with Finnian. He meets my gaze with a smirk.

I don't know why I do it. I really, really don't. But suddenly, I stand up, hands trembling, and shove the diaper down my legs.

"I'm not wearing it."

Silence.

Finnian's expression darkens. "Put it back on, or I'll do it for you," he says.

That definitely means spanking.

I cross my arms defiantly. He lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

Stupid, stupid brain.

"Fine!" He sighs and stands. Before I can react, his strong fingers close around my bicep. My heart slams into my ribs as he easily maneuvers me onto the bed.

Then... he leaves.

I stare at the ceiling, pulse racing. Where the fuck is he going?

When he returns, he's holding a cane.

I swallow hard.

"Ossian?"

I barely register Onyx's voice before I meet his concerned gaze.

"I—I—not that, please—" My voice shakes before I can stop it.

Onyx is on me instantly, placing a warm, grounding hand over my chest. "Hey, breathe."

I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the slow breathing Beniel taught me. In—hold—out. Again.

"Good boy," Onyx whispers when my breathing steadies.

When I open my eyes again, Finnian is holding a leather paddle instead of the cane.

"This better, pup?" he asks.

I scowl. "I don't want a spanking."

He rolls his eyes. "Tough luck, sweetheart."

Onyx speaks up. "Hun, can you tell me why the cane—"

"No."

He nods. "Okay, it's okay. But you're still getting this spanking."

"Onyx! Save me!"

His lips twitch. "Behave."

Fucking sadist.

Finnian grips both my legs, lifting them effortlessly.

"This is the diaper position," he says, his voice calm, almost soothing.

And then—CRACK.

The first smack makes my breath choke in my throat.

"Stay still," Finnian warns.

The second one has tears welling in my eyes. I bite my lip, trying to hold them back.

By the fifth, my resolve crumbles, and I gasp.

"Let go," Finnian murmurs, his voice gentle.

I know what they want. They want me to break—cry, let it all out. But I won't.

Instead, I let out pathetic, embarrassing whimpers and squeals as he continues, each strike stoking the burn until I reach the tenth and final one.

I collapse, panting.

I am not going to be able to sit for a week.

"You're beautiful," Onyx murmurs. His fingers trace over my sore, heated skin, and I hiss. Then his touch moves—down.

Oh fuck.

He presses his fingers against my hard cock, making me moan.

"Oh no, you don't," Finnian tuts, immediately pulling away.

I groan in frustration, but he only smirks. Then—before I can react—he grabs my wrists, clicks the leather cuffs around them, and secures my hands behind my back.

The diaper comes back up next.

"Why am I here!? Isn't it my day off!"

"Nice try," Finnian chuckles. "You're going to finish time-out, have a shower, eat, talk with Hendrix—then you can enjoy your day off."

I groan.

Both of them just laugh.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

The moment the words leave Hendrix's mouth, Ossian erupts.

"How could you do this to me!?" he yells, his voice raw with betrayal. His hands tremble at his sides before he throws them up in frustration, pacing the room like a caged animal. His movements are erratic—frantic—as if his whole world has just been ripped out from under him.

I shoot Hendrix a sharp look—the "I told you this would happen" look—but he ignores me. We should have prepared Ossian for this, should have eased him into the conversation instead of dropping it on him like a bomb.

"Ossian—" Hendrix starts, trying to keep his voice calm.

"No! No!" Ossian cuts him off before he can get another word in. His breathing is coming in fast, almost too fast, and there's a wild, panicked look in his eyes.

Hendrix pushes forward anyway. "Ossian, they knew you were high level, and they didn't—"

"I don't care about that!"

His voice cracks on the last word, but it doesn't slow him down. He keeps pacing, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Hendrix's jaw tightens. "Don't you understand that's why you became sick?"

I feel Hendrix's frustration in the way he grips my hand, his pulse hammering against mine. I squeeze back, grounding him before he says something he can't take back.

Ossian stumbles back a step, like the weight of it all is finally settling on him.

"But I worked so hard," he says, his voice breaking. His fists shake, and I see it—the sheer devastation in his eyes. "Only to have it get taken away from me."

His breath hitches. He clenches his jaw, swallowing down whatever emotions are threatening to spill over. "You can't do that. You're not even my real doms!"

Something unreadable flashing across Hendrix' face. His grip on my hand goes tight, then looser, and then—without a word—he storms out of the room.

A tense silence follows. Ossian stands there, chest heaving, fists still clenched. 

Then, with one last glare in my direction, he turns on his heel and storms out

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Beniel

"Beniel, I require your services!"

Hendrix strides into the room with the same commanding presence that always makes my stomach flip. His sharp, tailored suit contrasts starkly with the casual setting—soft lighting, warm-toned walls, and the collection of bean bags scattered across the floor for comfort. Instead of standing rigid like he usually does, he drops onto one of the oversized cushions with a heavy sigh. The sight of him sinking into it, suit and all, would be comical if not for the deep-set frown darkening his expression.

I grab a fresh notebook and lower myself onto the bean bag across from him. "I- uh—" My words stick for a moment before I find my footing. Hendrix is an intimidating dom, no doubt about it. The first few times I worked with him, I could barely string a sentence together in his presence. That’s why it always leaves me stunned when Ossian talks back to him the way he does.

Hendrix rubs his temples before looking at me. "I don't understand him, Beniel. I was trying to help, but he got mad. I can read most people. I always know what to do, what they need. But with him, I just—I don’t know."

I already know who he’s talking about. 

"Could it be that you’re afraid of doing the wrong thing with him? That you care more than usual?" I ask. 

Hendrix exhales sharply and looks away, like the thought hadn’t fully formed in his mind until now. "...Yes."

I hesitate for a second before asking, "Are you in love with him?"

His jaw clenches. "That’s—not—" He stops, sighs, then tries again. "No. Well, I—" He scrubs a hand over his face, frustration evident. "He's my student. Besides we haven’t known each other for long."

"It’s okay, sir—uh, I mean, Hendrix." I force myself to correct it, though it still feels unnatural. I always address my clients by their first names, but with him, the formality feels ingrained.

Hendrix leans back slightly. "I thought he would be happy once I got him out of that contract. That’s what I was supposed to do, wasn’t it?"

I chew on my lip for a second before asking, "Did you talk to him about it first?"

Silence.

Hendrix blinks once, then twice. His frown deepens, and something in his expression shifts—like the weight of realization is crashing down on him all at once.

"Wait. Of course." His voice is low, almost to himself.

I suppress a knowing smile. This is something I see a lot with younger doms, especially high-level ones. Their instincts tell them to fix things, to step in and take control for the well-being of their subs. It’s not a bad thing—not at all—but when there’s no communication, it can backfire. A sub needs to feel heard, needs to feel like they have a say in their own life. Otherwise, they might not react the way the dom expects.

Hendrix is 28. He’s not inexperienced. But he’s just realized his mistake.

And more than that—he’s just realized why he made it.

Love makes people reckless. And whether he wants to admit it or not, Hendrix loves Ossian. Anyone who’s spent more than five minutes around them can see it. Finnian, Onyx, even Ellis and Emrys—they all know it. He calls Ossian, darling, without thinking. He softens around him in a way that’s completely uncharacteristic. And now, that love has made him act without considering how Ossian might feel.

He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping it slightly before letting go. "Finnian told me not to do it." His tone is heavy, weighted with regret.

I offer him a small smile. "It’s okay, sir. I think Ossian will appreciate it if you talk to him about how you feel."

Hendrix scoffs at himself. "How could I have been so stupid? I know better than that."

"Sometimes, we become stupid for the people we really care about," I say gently.

He stands up abruptly, straightening his suit as if trying to physically compose himself. "Thank you, Beniel. I’ll make sure you get a raise."

I blink, caught off guard. "Oh—that’s not necessary. Really." They already pay me more than enough.

"Nonsense." He waves off my protest before striding out of the room with newfound determination.

I exhale, shaking my head to myself.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Those doms are infuriating, Archie! How dare they!?"

Archie lifts his head from the bed, blinking sleepily at me, clearly annoyed that I’ve disturbed his nap. His large ears flick slightly, his golden fur ruffled from where he’s been sprawled out.

"First, they make me feel—" I pace furiously, throwing my hands up. "They make me feel like I don’t hate them! And then they try to hug me! And how come they smell so good all the damn time?! And now they’ve gone and taken me out of a contract I worked my ass off to get!? Fucking control freaks!"

Archie makes a deep, disapproving noise from his spot on the bed.

"Hey! Don’t look at me like that!" I huff, pointing at him accusingly. "You’re supposed to be on my side."

He lets out a sharp bark, firm and commanding. A dominant bark. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.

I climb onto the bed beside him, flopping down dramatically. "By the way, I’m sorry for keeping you prisoner. I don’t think friends do that to each other." I reach over and rub his belly. "I got spanked for it."

Archie makes a pleased little noise, traitor.

I sigh, letting my head fall back against the pillows. "Getting out of a contract like that is almost impossible, Archie. I make them so much money… I have no idea how Hendrix pulled that off." My voice softens slightly, confusion creeping into my frustration. "Why even bother if they’re just going to throw me away when they’re done with me?"

Archie shifts, pressing his warm body into my side, a comforting weight against me.

"I didn’t even like the agency," I mutter, running my fingers through his fur. "They weren’t exactly kind to submissives. At least not high-level ones." The memory of all the subs turned away, rejected without a second thought, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "And by not telling me I was one, they used me. They knew I’d push myself to please them. Most actors get one or two big films a year. They had me doing five, sometimes more. And I let them. I was terrified they’d cancel my contract if I didn’t."

I pause. My throat feels tight. "...How could I not have seen it, Archie?"

I’m not even afraid for my career. I’ve wanted a break. I’ve wanted to try something new. Write more of my own movies. Like Flowers on the Moon. But I didn’t know how.

I just hate that Hendrix did it behind my back. It’s made me realize how much control they have over me, my life.

And I don’t like it.

"Being a good sub clearly didn’t help me at all," I grumble. "And now I’m even questioning my acting skills. That’s it. I’m going to be so bad, they’ll want to get rid of me."

Archie barks sharply in disapproval.

I narrow my eyes. "I’m the alpha in this relationship," I insist, pointing dramatically between us.

A quiet snort from the doorway makes me freeze.

"Come here, little alpha," Hendrix says, amusement dripping from his voice before he strides forward and picks me up—bridal style.

Archie wags his tail, looking far too pleased. 

I scowl up at Hendrix. "How long were you standing there?"

"Not long," he replies, carrying me effortlessly toward the door. "I was heading to your room when I heard something about you being an alpha." His smirk is absolutely infuriating.

"I have legs."

That earns me a playful whack to my ass.

I yelp. "Fuck, that still hurts!"

He hums, ''Good.'' 

"Where are we going?" I demand.

"To the garden. We need to talk."

The cool evening air greets us as we step outside the mansion. The garden is breathtaking—perfectly maintained hedges, colorful blooms, and a stone path leading to a quiet bench under a flowering tree. Hendrix lowers himself onto the seat with me still in his lap.

I frown at the bench. "I don’t like this bench."

That makes him laugh. "I know."

There’s a brief pause, then his tone shifts. Softer. "My doms really like you, you know."

He’s talking about Onyx and Finnian. His fingers trace my cheek gently, like he’s memorizing the shape of my face.

"I care about you," he adds.

My stomach twists.

I’m sure I’m not the only sub they’ve cared about. They probably tell all their subs that. Let them fall for them, get attached, only to pass them off to another dom when they’re done.

Cruel. Wicked men.

I might be feeling something for them, but I will never let myself fall.

"Look, we want you to work from home for now," Hendrix continues, watching me closely. "I’ve already spoken to a friend of mine. Her wife is a manager—owns a smaller company. She’s good. She actually cares about her clients." He gives me a pointed look, knowing full well what my old agency was like.

I roll my eyes.

"You really don’t get why I’m mad, do you?"

He exhales heavily. "Ossian," he says, voice gentler now. "What they did to you was a crime. And I am sorry—for not talking to you about it first. Subs do have a say, and I… I should’ve asked you. But I’m not sorry for getting you out of that toxic situation." His grip tightens, just slightly. "I care about you, whether you like it or not. And I don’t let the people I care about get hurt. I did what I had to do."

My throat tightens.

I look away. "All I’ve ever wanted is to work. That’s what I love. And you took that away from me."

"You will work. Maybe not filming right away, but we talked, and we’ve decided that for every job you take, you have to do a shift at Tag’s."

I blink. "Why?"

"One of our responsibilities is to provide you with normalcy," Hendrix explains. "And working at Tag’s will give you that. It’s good for you. You might even make new friends."

I scowl. "I have friends," I mumble.

He chuckles. "I know. Aedar, right?"

I stiffen. "How—how did you know that?"

Hendrix smirks slightly. "We don’t want to deprive you of your friends, Ossian. We want them to visit you."

"Oh."

"Beniel still has your phone?"

I pout. "Yeah.''

He took it away because he thought all the news about me was distracting me. 

Hendrix chuckles, then hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. "Do you… forgive me?"

I look up at him.

I’ve never seen Hendrix look nervous before. It throws me off.

"...I forgive you," I say eventually.

His shoulders relax just slightly. Then he smirks. "Thank you, little alpha."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Monday

Finnian

"Last week, we worked on kneeling. This week is all about restraint." My voice is steady as I grab lengths of rope from the supply room. I don’t rush. I want him to feel every second of the anticipation. "Lie down on your stomach."

Ossian crosses his arms, his jaw tightening as he meets my gaze with that sharp, defiant look. He’s been testing us all day, pushing every boundary he can find. 

"You’ve already gotten punished for throwing food at Hendrix during breakfast," I remind him. "I suggest you do as I say. I’m not giving you another warning, boy."

A muscle twitches in his cheek before he lets out a sharp huff, dropping onto the padded floor. It’s not surrender, not yet, but it’s something. I crouch down beside him, running a slow hand over his back before binding his wrists behind him. The rope slides smoothly, tightening in a way that leaves just enough give to avoid strain. I move to his ankles next, securing them together before drawing his wrists and ankles into a tight, elegant arch. His breath stutters.

"Beautiful," I murmur, trailing my fingers lightly through his curls. The compliment makes his cheeks flush, and he quickly turns his face away as if he can will away his reaction.

"You going to tell me what’s going on, honey?" I ask gently.

His body tenses further. "No."

I sigh, fingers tracing absent patterns along the knots. His heartbeat is a steady drum in the quiet room, but his breathing is just a little too quick, his pulse thrumming just a little too hard. I could push him, force the words out of him, but that’s not what he needs.

''Okay. I need you to be honest with me, have you ever been fucked?'' I ask. 

''Yeah, but I mostly do the fucking.''

I cover the plug with lube before I hold it over his hole. 

''What- what are you doing?''

''This is called a plug, I'm sticking it in your pretty little hole.'' It's a small one for testing and seeing his reaction, it goes in pretty smoothly; I tap it a few times, making him whimper beautifully. ''I want you to focus on your breathing.''

''It feels weird, Finnian!''

''Is that how you address me?'' I spank him.

''Ouch-I No-no! Sir!''

''Good. You're going to get used to it. For some, it can make them focus, centres them, and for others, it brings pleasure, especially if it hits the right spot.''

''How long?''

''Until I get back.''

''You're leaving!?''

''Don't worry, I got cameras in here to keep an eye on you.'' I slide out the plug from his ass and replace it with one that's a bit bigger, this one also vibrates. I don't tell him, I decide to surprise him.

He moans as his hole swallows it. I think he's ready for more anal play. 

''I'll be right back,'' I say before I check on his member that's locked in chastity again.

I exit the play room and enter Hendrix's office.

''Are you watching him?''

''He's perfect,'' he answers as he stares at the computer screen. ''Come here!'' He orders. I roll my eyes as I approach him; he whacks my ass hard for it before pushing me down over his desk.

''Here,'' I hand him my phone. He opens the app that controls the plug, ''I'll start low,'' he says as he puts it on the desk in front of me. ''What the hell, Finnian!'' We hear Ossian followed by a moan from the computer. We can't help but chuckle.

''I'm going to fuck you,'' Hendrix whispers low into my ear. 

''Please, Hen,'' I slide down my pants and boxers before spreading my legs as wide as I can. He hums, ''you need this, don't you?''

''I- I do,'' I say, closing my eyes. 

''Talk to me, Finn,'' I can hear the frown in his voice as he prepares my hole. 

''It's been harder to submit with Ossian around, I- I- feel-''

''A little less of a dom? Is that why you've been lippy with me?''

''I- yes,'' I admit.

''I've been lax, it isn't your fault, baby, it's going to be a learning process for all of us with Ossian around. But I see you need a reminder of your place,'' he says, shoving his cock inside me.  

My fists tightens their hold on the desk as he rams it in. His cock against my prostate has me pleading for him to let me come. He reaches for the phone as he increases the plug's vibration. Ossian's loud moans have me almost exploding. ''Not yet,'' Hendrix orders with a slap to my ass. ''Keep watching Ossian.''

I turn my head back to the screen.

I have tears running down my face, It hurts, but it also feels so good. It's rough, just as I like it. He continues fucking me hard as I watch Ossian on the screen. ''Cum!'' That's all he has to say before I explode, my hole tightens around Hendrix's large member making him release his load inside me. 

We're both panting hard as I feel him carry my limp body to the couch, ''Ossian,'' I croak out. ''I got him, baby, rest for me."

Chapter Text

Then

Ossian

"Ossian, did you get spanked again?"

I feel the bed dip as Ellis climbs in behind me, his warmth pressing against my back.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Fabien is so strict."

"What did you do this time?"

"Talked back." I frown, rolling onto my side to face him. "It's not fair. Why don't they ever get spanked?"

Ellis makes a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You know why, Ossian. They don't need it the way we do."

"Still not fair." I bury my face in the pillow. "We don't even know if we're subs," I huff.

His fingers card through my hair, slow and gentle, soothing the frustration out of me.

After a few quiet moments, he murmurs, "Keyne has his first mission next week."

I lift my head. "I heard."

"I don't want him to go," Ellis confesses, voice small. "What if he gets hurt?"

"He won't," I say firmly. "Keyne is strong."

Ellis lets out a small, shaky breath. "When I'm near him, I get this... weird feeling. Like tingles in my stomach."

"And your cheeks always get red," I giggle.

"I know," he whines, burying his face against my shoulder. "So embarrassing."

I grin. "Red cheeks mean you love him."

His head snaps up. "It does?"

"Yeah," I say, smiling.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

Ossian

"Beniel, I think the cock cage has broken my dick," I announce, sprawled out on the beanbag.

Beniel, already reaching for his usual notebook, barely lifts an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

I shift uncomfortably. "...It gets excited when—uhm..."

His pen hovers over the page, and when I don't continue, he gives me a patient look.

"It's okay, Ossian," he reassures. "It's good to talk about these things with another sub."

I take a breath and blurt it out. "It gets excited when the doms embarrass me. There. I said it."

Silence. Then, his lips twitch like he's trying very hard not to laugh at me.

I scowl. "Are you laughing at me!?"

He shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. "No, no, I swear. I just think you're cute." He sinks into the beanbag beside me, his ever-present cup of tea cradled in one hand. "And I know you're probably going to be reading about this later, so I'll save you the trouble—it's a pretty common kink."

I sit up, intrigued despite myself. "Really?"

"Oh yeah." He smirks. "Most of my sub friends are into it. And honestly? The fact that your doms already picked up on it tells me how well you're responding to them during scenes. This is a good thing."

I relax a little. "...So my dick isn't broken?"

"No, Ossian." He chuckles, taking a sip of his tea. "Your dick is not broken."

I consider that for a moment. Then, I frown. "Then why won't they fuck me?"

Beniel chokes on his tea.

He coughs violently, sputtering as I slap his back.

"You okay?" I ask, watching as he wipes his mouth, still half-choking.

"I—I forget how blunt you are sometimes," he wheezes. He takes a shaky breath, recovering. "Is that why you've been acting up all week? Because they won't fuck you?"

"No."

His knowing look makes my skin prickle.

 I grumble, flopping back against the beanbag. "But my plan isn't working! It's three against one—so not fair."

Beniel sighs. "Ossian... is this about trying to make them get rid of you?" His voice is gentle, too knowing. "Because if it is, trust me—they won't."

I stiffen.

How the hell did he figure that out?

His sharp gaze catches every flicker of emotion on my face, and he exhales. "By the look on your face, I'm guessing I'm right?"

"...Fine. You are."

Beniel hums, tapping his fingers against his cup. "It won't work, you know. All you're going to get is a sore ass."

"I haven't done my worst yet," I mutter, crossing my arms.

He raises an eyebrow. "Let's see... throwing your clothes all over the house, blasting loud music, jumping on furniture, talking back, cursing, throwing food at your doms—"

"I get it," I groan.

He smirks. "Okay, brat. So... are you going to stop?"

"Maybe." I shoot him a cheeky grin.

He rolls his eyes.

I hesitate for a moment before blurting out, "But seriously—why won't they fuck me, Beniel? They make me so horny. And I can't even jerk off because of the damn cock cage."

He takes a slow sip of his tea. "I think they're waiting until you're ready."

I huff. "But I am ready."

"Maybe they're not."

That stops me.

"...That doesn't make sense," I say after a beat. "They're doms. They're practically made of sex. Am I... not attractive?"

Beniel laughs, but when I don't join him, his amusement fades. "Ossian—sweetheart, no." He softens. "It's not about whether you're attractive. Have you looked at yourself? You're gorgeous. Besides, your ass—"

"Whoa, whoa— are you saying you want to have sex with me!?" I cut in with a smirk. 

Beniel chokes again.

"No! No!" He shakes his head furiously. "We've talked about this!"

I pout.

He just groans and takes another long sip of his funny smelling tea. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Damn it," Finnian sighs, shoving his phone back into his pocket with an air of resignation. His gaze flickers to me before he steps forward, reaching for the knots binding my arms. "Looks like you'll be coming with me today."

I perk up. "No training?" Hope laces my voice.

He hums as he unties the last of the rope, allowing my arms to fall free. "Nope. You're tagging along to work."

I stretch with a satisfied groan, rolling my shoulders to shake off the stiffness from being bound. "Where's Hendrix?"

"Had to take a flight to Seattle." Finnian kneads his fingers into my back absentmindedly, making me sigh. "We really need to schedule a massage session," he mutters mostly to himself.

That actually sounds amazing. Bondage week has me sore in places I didn't even know could be sore.

Onyx is at work. I don't know why, but I suspect something happened while I was in my little space. No one will tell me anything, which only makes me more suspicious. Especially when they wouldn't let Onyx spank me the other day. Something is up.

But right now? I don't care. I get to go out.

"I've never seen you this excited about anything before," Finnian remarks, amusement flickering in his eyes.

I flash him a look. "You guys keep me prisoner, Finnian," I say, layering my voice with as much wounded dramatics as possible. Maybe I'll earn some sympathy.

He chuckles, clearly unimpressed. "Hmm. I guess you have been cooped up for a while."

I nod vigorously.

"Well," he continues, "I was going to take you to Tag's today."

I blink. "Why?"

"He's going to show you around the diner and teach you a few things."

Oh. I was thinking more mall, movie theater, candy store.

"Now, go get dressed."

I don't need to be told twice. I practically bolt out of the playroom.

I burst into my room. "Archie, Archie! He's letting me pick my own clothes!"

The little puppy looks up from where he's viciously attacking a stuffed toy on the floor. His tail wags as I dive for the closet.

My hands land on the first pair of jeans within reach—Then I grab a patterned button-up shirt and shimmy into it over the stupid harness. I leave the top buttons undone.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror and tug at the collar around my neck. "This is totally ruining my fit, Arch."

Archie barks and does a little circle. I don't think he's used to seeing me in clothes.

I smirk. "I look good, don't I?"

He barks again, tail wagging furiously.

I nod approvingly. "Alright. Just need shoes."

Before I can move, Archie scurries into the closet, emerging with a pair of my combat boots clamped between his little teeth.

"Ohhh, good choice. Good boy!"

I've had to teach him to be gentle with my shoes after he murdered my Vans. Lesson learned: he needs more toys. The stuff I ordered for him should be arriving today.

Once my boots are laced up, I brush through my hair, add a little cologne, and admire myself in the mirror.

"I've missed this."

It feels... nice. Normal. I look like me again. 

Just as I finish, Finnian's voice rings out.

"Ossian."

I jolt.

I spin to find him standing in the doorway, one brow raised in amusement.

"Honey," he chuckles, "we're going to a lecture, not a premiere."

I scowl. "You're the one wearing a blazer!"

And he looks hot in it. I will never understand how someone can make something as boring as a headmaster's outfit look that good.

His expression softens as he steps closer. "I'm just teasing." His gaze trails over me, slow and warm. "You look... amazing."

My breath hitches. "...Really?"

"Yeah, I—" His fingers graze my cheek, stroking over my skin with an almost hesitant reverence. "You're beautiful."

My chest tightens. My fingers fumble at the cuffs around my wrists. Now's my chance.

I lift my arms, giving him my best, most devastating puppy eyes. "Can I take off the collar and cuffs?"

"Sorry, pup," he murmurs. "You're keeping those on."

I groan dramatically as he just laughs.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The university is huge. It's like its own town, complete with towering buildings, sprawling courtyards, and even its own subway station. A subway station. I had no idea that was even a thing.

I stare in open-mouthed awe at everything around us. There's so much happening—students rushing between classes, clusters of people deep in conversation, the faint sounds of music drifting from somewhere. The whole place hums with life.

Finnian has to physically hold my hand because I keep getting distracted. More than once, he's had to yank me out of the way of passing students when I've wandered off, mesmerized by something or other.

And, of course, people are staring.

Not just because of me—I mean, I'm pretty enough to turn heads—but mostly because of the guards Jed has sent with us. They move like shadows in their sleek black uniforms, scanning the crowd with hyper-awareness. Their presence makes us look important. 

I shift uncomfortably under the weight of all the attention, but Finnian keeps his grip firm, guiding me through the sea of people.

The moment we step into Finnian's office—huge, polished, and filled with books and leather furniture—I breathe a little easier.

Only for two seconds.

Because suddenly, I'm being hauled over his lap.

"Finnian!" I yelp, my hands automatically bracing against the floor.

The answer comes in the form of a sharp slap against my ass.

SMACK!

"Ow! What did I do!?"

My face burns as I realize the guards outside the door can definitely hear this.

"This," Finnian says calmly, landing another stinging swat over my jeans, "is a warning spanking."

I kick my legs. "That's not a thing!"

Another whack.

"Oh, It is."

It's not too hard—just enough that I feel it, enough that it'll linger for a bit. A reminder.

Finnian's voice is patient but firm. "We've talked about this. When we're not at home, you address me as 'sir'."

"That's a stupid rule—"

CRACK!

I yelp. That one was definitely harder.

"Careful," Finnian warns, his tone deceptively mild. "Unless you want this to turn into a different kind of spanking."

I shut my mouth.

"This spanking is to remind you to behave during the lecture," he continues, smacking me one last time before rubbing the heat into my backside. "I want you on your best behavior. And I will not hesitate to pull you over my knee in front of the entire class."

Oh, hell no.

"Okay, okay! I get it!" I squirm in his lap, cheeks burning hotter than ever.

"Good."

He shifts me off his lap and sets me on my feet between his legs. My bottom still tingles as he adjusts my collar, smoothing the leather like a final reminder of who's in charge.

Then, he grabs something off his desk—a book.

"Here."

I take it, still rubbing my butt. "What's this?"

"Sub: One."

I read the title out loud, then narrow my eyes at him.

"You want me to read?"

Finnian smiles like he's enjoying this too much. "I expect you to have finished the first chapter by the time the lecture is over."

I stare at him, aghast.

"This is homework," I complain.

"I know you can do it, pup." He doesn't sound remotely sorry.

I groan, but he's already ushering me toward the door.

The guards follow us as we make our way to the lecture hall. The hallways are packed with students—laughing, talking, moving between classes.

I've never been to an actual school before. Sure, I've pretended in movies and shows, but seeing it in real life is... strange. It feels unreal, like I've stepped into a different world.

When we enter the large, empty auditorium, the guards scatter, positioning themselves in different areas of the room.

Excessive? Probably.

But the doms don't take chances when it comes to me.

Finnian sets up his presentation at the front, and I hover nearby, unsure of where to go.

"You can sit in the first row," he says, barely looking up. "Where I can see you."

I hesitate. For some reason, I don't want to be that far from him.

Instead, I plop down on the floor, right next to his desk. I lean back against it, book in hand, my back turned against the rows of chairs.

A warm hand rakes through my hair, grounding me.

"You okay, pup?" Finnian murmurs.

I look up at him and nod.

The moment is quiet, just his fingers idly combing through my hair, keeping me settled. I let my eyes drift closed, relaxing into the touch.

The sound of the heavy doors slamming open makes me jump.

My pulse spikes. Finnian notices immediately—his brows crease as he pulls his chair closer. Then, without a word, he slides it in front of me and sits down.

One firm hand guides my head to his lap, resting it on his left thigh. His other hand resumes stroking my hair.

The tension in my chest uncoils.

He doesn't stop until the room is full and the lecture is about to begin.

"I want you to read the first chapter, pup," he murmurs for my ears only. "I'll be right here."

"...Okay."

I can feel their eyes on me.

The entire room is packed with doms. Their energy alone is overwhelming—strong, commanding, watching.

I don't know how many there are. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more.

I force myself to focus on the book Finnian gave me.

It's... okay. Mostly basic information about subs. Stuff I already know because, well, I am one. But some things make me frown.

...Submissives crave discipline...

Excuse me?

I scowl. A dom definitely wrote this.

I flip the book over and inspect the back cover. A picture of a woman stares back at me—author bio, serious expression.

A submissive.

I snort.

"Finnian," I say, turning in my spot. "A sub did not write this book. This is some dom propaganda—"

The moment the words leave my mouth, I freeze.

The room falls silent for a beat—then erupts into laughter.

My stomach drops. Heat rushes to my face. My hands tighten around the book. Maybe I can hide under the desk.

"Alright, settle down, everyone," Finnian says, his voice calm but amused.

I brace myself. He's definitely mad.

But when I glance up at him, I don't find anger.

Just pure, unfiltered amusement.

He approaches me, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

This is Finnian's fault.

Clearly, that warning spanking did nothing to help me behave.

The room is still buzzing with laughter when Finnian straightens, his presence alone commanding enough to quiet them down.

"He's mine and my partners' current sub student," he says, his voice carrying easily across the room. "He's new to all this—"

"He's cute!" someone shouts from the middle of the crowd.

A chorus of whistles follows, loud and shameless.

I bristle instantly. "Kiss my ass!" I snap before I can stop myself.

Laughter erupts again, echoing through the auditorium.

"Gladly!" the same voice calls back, full of cocky amusement.

"You wish!" I retort, scowling in their general direction.

More laughter. A few teasing murmurs.

Then I feel it—Finnian's hand in my hair again.

But this time, it's not just soothing. It's possessive. A silent warning, a claim, a reminder of exactly who I belong to.

And right now, I appreciate it.

Even though I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, his fingers tightening slightly in my curls.

I sneak a glance up at him and—yep.

Spanking eyes.

I swallow.

"Behave," he murmurs low enough that only I can hear. The weight of his voice alone makes my stomach dip. "We'll talk about the chapter when we get home, alright?"

I shift under his gaze, guilt stirring beneath the embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Finnian says, softer now, his thumb grazing lightly over my scalp. A silent reassurance.

Then he turns back to his lecture as if nothing happened.

I let out a breath and refocus on my book, trying to ignore the residual heat in my face.

...Then there are the rare subs, the beloved brats, who refuse to yield easily—the ones who push, test, and provoke at every opportunity. For them, submission isn't about quiet obedience but the exhilarating dance of resistance and surrender. They crave the challenge, the sharp thrill of being conquered, of being reminded, again and again, where they belong.

Discipline isn't just a necessity for submissives—it's a need, a craving written into the very core of their nature. But the brat will poke, prod, and stir up mischief, sometimes without even realizing why, all in an effort to awaken the steady, unshakable force of a dominant who won't let them slip through their fingers.

For these subs, the struggle is part of the pleasure, and the correction is its own kind of reward. They thrive under firm hands, under rules that won't bend no matter how much they push. Because in the end, it's not just about rebellion. It's about trust—knowing that no matter how much they resist, someone will always be there to catch them, hold them, and remind them of their place...

I snort at the page. 

That's stupid. And does not sound like me at all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Alright, we'll take a fifteen-minute break," Finnian finally says, and I swear I feel the weight of eternity lift off my shoulders.

I push myself up from the floor, stretching my stiff muscles before setting the book on the desk. "Finnian- Sir, I need to pee."

He barely looks up from his notes. "Alright, let's go—"

"No, I can do it myself," I say, rolling my eyes.

Finnian’s head snaps up, and I can see the warning in his expression before he even speaks. "Ossian—"

"Sir," I correct quickly, batting my lashes as sweetly as I can. "May I please go to the bathroom by myself? It's just outside."

A moment of silence. Then, before Finnian can decide, a voice interjects from nowhere. "I'll go with him, sir."

I turn to see one of the guards materializing from whatever void they all seem to emerge from.

Finnian sighs, rubbing his temple. "Fine, but I want your little butt straight back here when you're done."

"Yes, sir," I chirp, slipping past him and out the door.

The hallway is busy, filled with students grabbing coffee, chatting, and, of course, staring at me. Their whispers brush against my ears as I weave through them. I turn to my new shadow. "You don’t have to come in with me," I say.

The guard, a mountain of a man with a jagged scar running down the side of his neck, doesn’t even blink. "Ossian—"

"I promise I'll yell if I need you," I assure him. "I'm just peeing, not staging a prison break."

He exhales through his nose, clearly unamused. "Fine."

I tilt my head. "What's your name?"

"Auberon."

I smirk. "That's a badass name. You ever kill anyone?"

He doesn't answer. I take that as a maybe.

"Be right back, Auberon."

I slip into the bathroom, aware of the lingering eyes as I pass. As soon as I step inside, a hush falls over the space, and I make a beeline for a stall. It’s not until I hear the door swinging open and closed a few times that I know I’m alone.

Exiting the stall, I wash my hands quickly, eager to get back before Finnian sends in a search party. But as I round the corner, I crash straight into a solid chest.

"Hey, pretty boy," a familiar, smug voice purrs.

I step back, heart sinking. Of course. The cocky dom from the lecture.

"Can you move?" I say flatly, trying to step around him.

He doesn’t budge. "Is that how you talk to your doms?"

I scoff. "Fuck off."

I barely have time to react before I’m shoved back, my spine hitting the cold tile wall. His hands grip my shirt, fingers tightening.

Wrong move.

Before he can say another word, my fist slams into his nose. Hard.

He stumbles back with a grunt, blood already leaking between his fingers as he clutches his face.

"Don't fucking touch me like that ever again," I snarl before shoving past him and stalking out the door.

Auberon straightens the moment he sees me, his sharp eyes scanning my face. "Problem?"

"Handled it," I mutter, not slowing down.

I head straight back to Finnian, who’s deep in conversation with a few students. The moment I sit down by the desk, I feel his presence looming over me.

"Hey," he says, voice laced with suspicion. "What took you so long?"

I force a casual shrug. "Uh—long line."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

'"How was it?" Finnian asks as Auberon pulls the car smoothly out of the university parking lot. His voice is calm, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me even though he's not looking directly.

I shrug, staring out the window. "It was okay."

"Just okay?"

I nod, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

Finnian watches me for a moment before his tone softens. "Pup, did something happen when you went to the bathroom?"

I tense, keeping my eyes fixed on the campus outside. "No."

He sighs. "I could feel you getting overwhelmed. Do you know why?"

I hesitate. He’s not going to let this go.

"I don’t know," I lie.

Finnian doesn't respond right away, waiting me out the way he always does. It works, because after a long exhale, the words slip out before I can stop them.

"I've never cared what people think of me before. My business has always been public. But today… I did." My throat feels tight. "I didn’t like the way they were looking at me. Like I was some… some—"

"Victim?" Finnian finishes for me.

I nod, my fingers curling into fists in my lap. "Yeah."

Silence stretches between us, the hum of the engine filling the space. This would probably be the right time to tell him the other thing.

"Finnian, don't get mad at me."

His gaze flickers to me briefly before returning to the road. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath as we pull into the parking lot of Tag’s diner. "I never went to school. Not like normal people."

"I know."

I whip my head toward him. "What!?"

Finnian sighs. "We had our suspicions. Ellis confirmed them."

"He told you!?" My stomach twists with something close to betrayal.

"Don't get mad at him," Finnian says smoothly. "He's been worried about you."

I cross my arms, scowling. "I'm really starting to question my acting skills."

He chuckles. "Why do you think I gave you that book?"

"Oh." My cheeks heat.

Finnian turns slightly in his seat, studying me. "You haven’t been around a lot of people your age, have you?"

"Not really," I admit. "Sometimes, when we were filming, there’d be other actors my age. They were nice, but it was in a professional environment. It’s not the same."

He nods like that confirms something for him. "Alright, I want you to do something for me."

I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Pick a normal activity you'd like to do."

"Anything?"

"Yeah."

"Football."

"Too violent. My heart couldn’t take that."

"Finn- Sir!" I groan.

He smirks. "Pick something I’d approve of."

"Like what?"

"Knitting. I should put you in a knitting class. You can make scarves."

I make a face. "I’m not a grandma."

Finnian grins. "Could’ve fooled me."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Hey, little sub," Tag greets, his sharp gaze flicking over me as we step inside the diner.

Finnian shakes his hand. "Thanks for taking the time, Tag."

"No problem," he says, leading us toward the back. He pulls open a locker and tosses a folded uniform in my direction. "Change into this."

I frown down at the plain black t-shirt and work pants. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Finnian's warning tone cuts through my protest. "Ossian."

"But it's Gucci," I whine, clutching my shirt like it's a lifeline. It’s not like I’ll get to wear it for long anyway—Finnian will have me stripped down the moment we’re home.

Finnian is unimpressed. He steps forward, fingers already undoing the first few buttons of my shirt. He slides it off with practiced ease, replacing it with the boring work t-shirt.

"We don't want grease all over it, Hollywood brat," Tag says, smirking.

I scowl at the nickname, but guilt prickles at me. He’s just looking out for my clothes. Maybe I was being a brat.

"Thank you, Tag," I mumble, feeling a little sheepish.

Tag turns, his expression instantly sharp. "It's sir to you," he corrects, his voice firm enough to make my stomach flip.

I gulp. "Yes, sir." Damn, he can be scary.

"Good. I expect that uniform washed and clean before every shift."

I nod quickly as he leads us into the kitchen.

Tag teaches me how to flip burgers, which is apparently some sacred skill, judging by the way he corrects me every two seconds. Finnian and the guards sit at the bar, sipping iced tea like they’re watching some live comedy show.

I grumble under my breath as I handle the spatula. Apparently, I’m not allowed beer, but I am allowed to serve it. What kind of bullshit is that? Finnian had not appreciated me arguing about it. Turns out, the diner is a casual restaurant during the day but shifts into more of a bar at night.

A sudden sizzle makes me jump, and I nearly burn myself on the grill. Finnian’s hovering increases immediately.

"I’m fine, Finnian," I huff.

Tag lands a sharp smack on my ass, making me jolt. 

"I'm fine, sir," I correct myself, my face heating.

Tag raises an unimpressed brow. "Better."

So, Tag is allowed to spank me. Fantastic. This job is definitely going to suck.

When I'm finally done cooking, including meals for the bodyguards, Tag shows me how to plate the food properly and serve it at the bar.

"Don't take more plates than you can carry," he warns. "You can always come back for the rest."

When I’m finally allowed to sit down, I drop onto a barstool beside Finnian and immediately dig into my burger and fries.

"Wow, I’m a great chef," I declare, my mouth full.

Finnian chuckles. "This is really good, pup."

I try not to blush, but I can feel my face heating at the praise.

"Drinks?" Tag asks.

"Another iced tea, please," Finnian says.

"I want a coke," I say, then add quickly, "but in a beer glass, please." I make sure to throw in some puppy eyes for good measure.

Tag rolls his eyes, but there’s amusement behind it.

Before I know what’s happening, Finnian pulls me into his lap. It’s not casual—his hold is possessive, like earlier in the lecture hall. His arms tighten around me, and something about it makes my chest feel warm.

This is new. Very new.

I don’t understand it, but I like it. I want to please him. I want him to feel as steady as he makes me feel. I squeeze him a little before resting my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I heard you were a very good boy today," Tag comments.

"I'm always a good boy," I say smugly.

"You are," Finnian agrees, his voice full of warmth. "But you can be a little naughty sometimes."

Tag chuckles, clearly entertained.

I smirk. "I don’t know, Finn—sir, you must be mistaking me for the last sub you guys had living with you."

Finnian’s chest rumbles beneath me. "You're actually our first."

Oh.

Oh.

Chapter Text

Then  

Fabien

"Group two and five have training in the woods tomorrow," Vaughn announces, flipping through his notes.

"What about the subs?" Jen asks, leaning forward.

Tom, the tech guy, clears his throat. "Ellis is making solid progress. We'll be breaking into the rest of the computer systems tomorrow."

I nod. "Ossian will continue with his mental tests, I think."

A silence settles over the table, thick and uneasy.

Vaughn shifts in his seat. "Are you sure about that? He didn't show up to dinner. He must've gotten pretty roughed up during interrogation training today."

Something cold creeps up my spine. "What are you talking about?"

My gaze sweeps across the table, and that's when I see it—Neely, staring at his hands, avoiding my eyes.

"Neely?"

He exhales sharply before finally looking at me, expression unreadable. "Fabien, the kid is ten now. He's ready for more."

The cold inside me turns razor-sharp. "How much damage?" My voice is too calm. Too steady.

Neely actually smiles, like this is something to be proud of. "He never broke."

I feel sick.

The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand, my hands clenching into fists. "You don't fucking touch that kid again."

Neely smirks, standing up to meet me. "And what are you going to do about it?" He leans in close, breath hot, taunting.

The urge to knock him flat burns under my skin, but I can't. Not yet.

"Guys!" Vaughn snaps, but I don't hear the rest. I'm already moving.

I storm out of the conference room, my feet carrying me straight to Ossian's door. My pulse hammers in my ears as I push it open.

The room is dim, the only sound a faint, broken whimper.

"Ossian?"

He's curled up on the rug, a small, shaking form in the low light. His clothes are filthy, his skin smeared with dried blood.

My stomach twists.

His breath hitches. "F-F-Fabien?"

I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering, unsure where he isn't hurt. "It's me, kiddo. I'm here."

"H-hurt-t-ts," he stammers, his voice wrecked.

I swallow hard. "I got you. I'm gonna make it better."

Carefully, I slide my hands under his body. He flinches with a hiss of pain.

"Sorry. I have to lift you, okay?"

"S-s-okay," he chokes out, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

Silent. Always silent. It kills me every damn time.

I carry him to the bathroom, setting him gently on the closed toilet lid. His tiny hands fist weakly in my shirt, but he doesn't fight me.

I grab scissors from his desk, carefully cutting away the ruined clothes. The sight of his bruised, scraped skin makes my vision blur with fury, but I shove it down. He needs care, not my rage.

I fill the tub with warm water, adding some lavender soap and some rosemarry essential oil, It  has a pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory effects that will reduce his pain and discomfort. I  ease his little body into the bath. 

"That feel better?" I ask.

He nods, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah."

I grab a sponge, gently washing away the blood and grime, mindful of every wince. I shampoo his curls, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing motions.

When he's clean, I dry him off and grab the Spiderman underwear he loves. He's never seen the movie, but he loves the colors. No pajamas tonight. He's too raw.

I strip his bed, replacing the sheets before tucking him in carefully.

"F-Fabien?"

"I'm here, kiddo. Just getting the medicine."

"O-okay."

It takes a full hour to apply the creams and bandages, making sure he takes a few painkillers. His breathing evens out slightly, but he still trembles under my touch.

"Fabien?" he murmurs sleepily.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

His fingers curl around mine, small and trusting. "Thank you."

I run a hand through his damp curls, my throat too tight to speak.

I stay beside him long after he drifts off, silent tears slipping down my face as I hold his tiny hand in mine.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Now

Onyx

There's an ease to the morning routine, the familiar clatter of dishes, the murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. But there's an underlying anticipation, an unspoken countdown ticking in the back of our minds.

For days now, Ossian has made a game of delaying himself, testing limits with the kind of defiance that has long since stopped surprising us. It's become almost amusing—almost.

Then, the sharp crack of a voice cuts through the air, shattering the morning calm.

"Where is my brother!?"

Heads turn in unison.

"Is that...?" Finnian says. 

"Samael?" Beniel gasps, already rising to his feet.

And then, just like that, my baby brother barrels into the room, making a beeline for me before launching himself forward with enough force to nearly knock me from my chair.

I catch him, steadying us both. "I'm fine, Sammy," I murmur against his dark hair, but he isn't convinced.

He pulls back just enough to glare up at me, dark eyes burning with frustration. "You were shot."

"I kow" I deadpan.

"Beniel!" Samael calls, already twisting out of my grasp to reach the other sub in the room.

Beniel, always the picture of patience, offers a warm smile. "Baby, you're early."

"I know," Samael sighs, his posture finally loosening. "I missed you."

Jed, who has been uncharacteristically silent, suddenly fidgets, running a hand over his shirt in an awkward, useless attempt to smooth it. Amused, I quirk a brow at him, watching as he shifts under my gaze.

Beniel takes notice too. "I want to introduce you to someone," he says lightly, nodding toward Jed.

Clearing his throat, Jed finally finds his voice. "I'm Jedrik."

Samael's eyes flick between Beniel and Jed, a sly grin forming. "Oh," he hums. "You were right, Ben. He is hot."

Jed flushes instantly.

Beniel facepalms. The rest of us barely manage to contain our laughter.

But the moment shifts again as Samael scans the room, searching, eyes sharp with intent. "Where is Ossian Ambrose?"

Beniel tenses. "I... didn't tell him I was working with Ossian," he tells us.

Finnian doesn't even look up from his tea. "We know, Ben," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. After the school incident, there was no hiding Ossian. He and Finnian had been splashed across every celebrity news channel.

And right on cue, the brat himself enters, his steps deliberately slow, exaggerated, as he saunters in with all the theatricality of a performer stepping onto stage. In his arms, Archie wriggles with excitement.

"Doms, Beniel, stranger," Ossian greets with an air of mock importance. "I come bearing a proposition!"

He sets Archie down, and the pup immediately scrambles toward his food bowl. Ossian, on the other hand, straightens with an air of exaggerated gravitas.

"I know I've been a little... troublesome this week," he begins, clearly enjoying the attention. "But I'm willing to make a deal." He pauses for effect. "I'll stop being bad—"

A collective snort rises from the table.

"But in return," he presses on, undeterred, "I demand to wear real clothes. No—wait. I require it. Right, Archie?"

Archie barks happily, tail wagging.

Beniel groans, dragging a hand down his face.

"You're ten minutes late, Ossian," I remind him, voice steady, though I don't bother hiding my amusement.

Ossian blinks, feigning confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Onyx—uh, Sir."

He barely has time to react before Finnian is on him, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward with ease.

"No-no! The deal is definitely off if you spank me!" Ossian yelps, but it's already too late.

Finnian yanks him over his lap, settling into a practiced ease.

"This is the fourth time this week you've been deliberately late, Ossian," he says, voice calm, unwavering. The first smack lands clean and sharp.

"Ouch—ouch, stop!"

"You." SMACK. "Do." SMACK. "Not." SMACK. "Make." SMACK. "Demands." SMACK.

"I won't! Ouch!" Ossian squirms. 

Finnian doesn't let up, though something in his tone softens just slightly. "We're not done yet, little boy. Let go for me," Finnian coaxes. 

Ossian shakes his head, his voice hitching, "No!"

Finnian stills. "Shhh," he murmurs, rubbing slow, soothing circles against the boy's back. "We're done."

The fight bleeds out of him. His breathing evens just a little, though he stubbornly buries his face against Finnian's chest, sulking.

Without a word, Finnian lifts Ossian effortlessly into his arms, the brat too worn out to fight him this time. His body, usually tense with rebellion, is slack against Finnian's chest, though his grip remains tight—clinging, even if he doesn't realize it.

Finnian carries him toward the small alcove beneath the stairs, a space that had once been nothing more than a makeshift hiding spot, a place where Ossian and Archie would curl up when the world felt too loud. At first, it had been his secret retreat, somewhere to disappear when he thought no one was watching. But we had been watching. We had seen the way the dim lighting and enclosed walls seemed to ease something in him, how his breath would slow, how his fingers would stop twitching, how Archie would nuzzle against him, grounding him.

So, we built on it.

Beniel and Finnian had transformed it into something more—soft fairy lights now draped across the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow. The floor was layered with plush blankets and overstuffed pillows. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with books and small stress toys, things to keep his hands occupied when the restless energy took hold.

Finnian kneels and gently places Ossian down on the mattress. I follow, placing a tray of food beside him.

"We decided this will be your new calm-down area," Finnian says simply. His voice is steady, and there's something careful in the way he smooths a curl away from Ossian's forehead.

Time-outs don't seem to work on him. It only fed his frustration, his restlessness. Beniel had been the one to suggest something different—something that didn't punish, but soothed.Ossian scowls. "Don't ruin it. It's a kickass fort." But then his eyes light up as he sees the upgraded space. 

Finnian rolls his eyes, lips twitching. "Fine. You're spending breakfast in your kickass fort."

"I don't want to sit here!" Ossian protests, but there's no real heat behind it.

"You're doing as you're told," Finnian replies, tone final. "No more arguments."

Ossian glares at him, arms crossed, posture stubborn.

Despite his complaints, he doesn't move.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

I've been stuck in this cupboard all morning. Yeah, that's what I'm calling it now. These doms? They're no better than the Dursleys from Harry Potter. It's ridiculous how this whole thing is unfolding, and I'm honestly not sure what to think anymore.

Archie finally appears, trotting in with his tail wagging, his golden fur glinting in the dim light. He trots over to one of the big pillows and curls up, letting out a contented sigh as he settles in.

"This is messed up, right, Arch?" I murmur to him, my frustration lingering in the air.

He looks up at me with big brown eyes, his head tilting to the side.

I take the last sip of my juice, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat. Once finished, I place my empty plate and glass outside the cupboard before lying down on the soft, plush surface. It's actually calming here, and I have to admit, it's better than the damn time-outs they've been trying to shove down my throat.

The truth is, I've made a decision. I don't want to attend the campus school. If I'm going through this whole "training" thing, I want to do it here. Part of me wonders how long they'll keep me around—after all, I've been nothing but trouble. If it were up to me, I'd have kicked myself out by now. But if I want to stay, I might have to stop fighting. I have to be a good boy.

It's still hard to let go of what Finnian told me last week. That I'm the first sub they've trained like this. Maybe they really do care about me. Maybe they're not just acting like they do.

A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts.

"Ossian, you ready to come out?"

"Yeah," I answer, crawling out of the cramped space. I glance at Archie, who's already settling into a nap. I decide to let him be for now.

"No more reading, please!" I call out, a hint of annoyance in my tone.

This week, I've been assigned two books about subs and had to take a ridiculous exam yesterday. If I'm honest, I miss the days when we did things like "bondage week." At least it felt more like... well like we were doing something.

I expect Finnian to pull out another book, but instead, he's holding... clothes? My clothes?

A spark of excitement flickers in my chest. "Are we going out again?" I ask, trying to suppress the grin that's already starting to spread across my face.

He smiles, clearly amused. "Dress in this," he says, handing me the clothes. "You and Onyx are going out today. Beniel and I have to go to the school for a meeting, so no session today."

I can't help it. This is the best day ever. I waste no time getting dressed, practically stumbling over myself as I squeeze into the chinos. They're a little uncomfortable against my sore ass, but I don't care. The excitement is enough to keep me going.

Finnian chuckles as he watches me struggle, his laughter warm. "Careful," he says, gently helping me adjust.

"I'm fine," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"Ready?"

Onyx steps inside, two large bags in hand, looking as unbothered as ever.

Finnian eyes the bags, skeptical. "What's in those?"

"They're not heavy, babe," Onyx says, passing one to me. "Ossian will help."

Finnian doesn't look thrilled about that. He adjusts Onyx's collar, his fingers lingering like he's debating whether to push the issue. "You good?" His tone softens slightly, but the authority in it remains.

"I'm fine, mama bear," Onyx reassures him, smirking before jerking his head toward the door. "Let's go, Menino."

I follow, the bag bouncing lightly against my leg as we step outside. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see.".

We make it to the garage, and I stop dead when I see the golf cart parked near the entrance. 

"Oh, hell yes," I mutter, tossing the bag into the back and lunging straight for the driver's seat.

"Not happening." Onyx's voice is calm, but I can hear the amusement under it.

"Please," I try, already putting on my best wide-eyed look.

"Nope."

I barely have time to groan before he grabs me like I weigh nothing and plops me into the passenger seat. He doesn't even break a sweat.

"Don't tell the others I picked you up," he warns, shooting me a look as he starts the cart.

I just grin, settling in.

The ride is quiet, the hum of the cart blending with the rustle of trees as we wind through the property. The further we go, the more the usual estate disappears—no guards, no endless hallways, no one hovering over me. Just open space.

When Onyx finally parks, I glance around. It's quiet out here, nothing but rolling fields and trees stretching into the horizon. The sky is wide, the light warm but not harsh. I let out a slow breath.

It's nice.

"Come on," Onyx says, grabbing the bags along with two large canvases I hadn't noticed before.

I hesitate. "What's all this?"

"You'll see," he repeats, setting up two blankets on the grass.

I walk over and drop onto one. He places a canvas in front of me. "We're painting."

I stare at him. "We're what?"

"Painting." He doesn't even look up as he sets out supplies. "It's what I do sometimes."

I huff out a laugh. "You? Paint?"

"Yeah," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I glance at the canvas, then back at him. "I don't know how."

"Not the point," Onyx replies, already sketching on his own. "Just pick something. Something from out here, or something from in here." He taps his chest once before going back to his work.

I watch him for a second. He's focused, his usual sharpness softened just a little. Not in a way that makes him look weak—just... different.

I pick up a brush, rolling it between my fingers.

I still have no clue what I'm doing.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

I'm impressed the boy lasted two hours before sleep finally claimed him. Finnian always says my presence helps calm him, and maybe he's right. His painting is set aside, forgotten as he dozes on the blanket, his breathing slow and even. A soft breeze plays with the light brown curls falling across his forehead. His lips,  slightly pouted, part slightly with each exhale. His baby-blue hoodie and the crisp white blanket beneath him contrast beautifully with the lilac flowers scattered around us. In this moment, with the light casting gentle shadows on his face, he looks almost unreal.

I try to capture him on my canvas, tracing the delicate curve of his eyelashes, the peaceful softness in his expression. By the time I finish blocking in the background, he stirs.

"Onyx?" His voice is thick with sleep, and he rubs at his eyes.

"That was a good nap, wasn't it?" I say, setting my brush down.

"Yeah." He blinks drowsily before his expression shifts. "Hungry."

I chuckle, reaching for the picnic basket Wilma packed for us. "Lucky for you, I came prepared."

The second I hand it to him, he makes a pleased sound, immediately pulling out sandwiches, fruit, and brownies, spreading them across the blanket like a feast. Before he can settle, I grab him, pulling him into my lap.

"Onyx!" he squeaks, laughing as I maneuver him between my legs.

"Better," I say, letting him lean his back against my chest. He wastes no time taking a bite of his sandwich, chewing contentedly as we watch the trees sway and listen to the distant chirping of birds. The quiet feels different here. Softer. Less like silence, more like peace.

"I don't want to leave," he mumbles around a grape I just fed him.

"We can come up here whenever you want," I say, resting my chin on his shoulder.

His fingers squeeze my leg lightly. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just our spot." The thought sits warm in my chest.

"I like that," he whispers.

We eat in comfortable quiet, and when he finishes his last bite, I nudge him. "Alright, let me see your painting."

He stiffens immediately, his face turning pink as he hesitates.

I raise an eyebrow. "It can't be that bad, Menino."

He sighs, slowly reaching for his canvas. When he finally turns it around, I can't help the grin that spreads across my face.

"It's perfect."

He groans, clearly embarrassed. "It looks like a two-year-old made it."

"I love that you painted my hair orange," I say, amused. Of all the things he could have painted, he chose me. That alone makes it worth more than any masterpiece.

He giggles, some of his embarrassment fading. "I'm gonna put dye in your shampoo."

I narrow my eyes. "You won't be able to sit for a week if you do that."

His laughter turns into a full-blown cackle before he shifts, eager now. "Let me see yours!"

For the first time, nerves creep in. I clear my throat, grabbing my canvas and turning it toward him.

At first, his expression is unreadable. His lips part slightly, then a huge grin breaks across his face—before his eyes suddenly well with tears.

"Menino?"

He quickly turns away, shoulders stiff. "I—I—"

My stomach twists. "You hate it."

"What?! No!" His voice wobbles. "I love it. It's... beautiful."

Relief washes over me. Gently, I grab his arm and tug him back toward me. His cheeks are warm under my touch as I wipe away a stray tear with my thumb.

"You're just overwhelmed," I murmur.

He sniffles, nodding slightly. "Yeah."

I pull him closer, resting my chin on his head as he takes a slow breath.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Where is everyone?" I ask as I step into the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of something rich and familiar simmering on the stove.

Finnian doesn't look up from stirring the pot. "Jed, Ben, and Sam are out on a date. I gave the staff the night off, so I'm making dinner."

My eyes flick to the saucepan, and I immediately recognize the deep red sauce bubbling inside. "Wait... is that your mom's spaghetti?"

"It is," he confirms, dipping the spoon and holding it up for me to taste.

The second the sauce hits my tongue, I let out an appreciative hum. "Damn, I missed this."

Finnian smirks as he turns the heat down. "You heard anything from Hendrix?"

"He'll be home tomorrow."

"And the meeting?" I ask. 

"It went well. We had a long discussion about appellations, though. They weren't exactly thrilled about what he calls us when he drops into little space, but that was expected." I lean against the counter, shaking my head. "Beniel made a great point—doesn't matter who trains him, his body and mind are going to form attachments. He craves it in a different way compared to other submissives because of the things he has been through."

I nod as Finnian scoops the pasta into a serving bowl. "Makes sense. We had a good day, by the way."

"You didn't spank him, right?" His sharp gaze flicks to my injured arm. "Onyx Matteus?"

I smirk. "Nope. He behaved."

Finnian narrows his eyes. "Ossian Ambrose, behaved? Our Ossian Ambrose?"

"Yep." I grab the salad bowl and carry it to the table.

Before Finnian can argue, a loud voice bursts through the doorway.

"Guys! I found a fucking turtle!"

Ossian doesn't even stop—he just runs through the kitchen, excitement radiating off him, and disappears outside before either of us can react.

Finnian sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You leave it alone, Ossian!" he calls after him.

"I'm keeping it!" comes the distant yell.

I shake my head, amused. "What's up with him and finding all these animals?"

Finnian sighs again, but there's a hint of exasperated fondness in it. "At least he isn't hiding this one from us."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

"What are you pouting about?" I ask as I climb onto the bed, towel in hand. As usual, his hair is still dripping wet from the shower, and it drives me crazy. I start rubbing the towel over his curls, ignoring the way he tries to duck away.

"Beniel, his hot boyfriend, and I were supposed to have a threesome, but now they're out on a date, probably having sex all night without me!" he complains dramatically.

I pause, arching a brow. "You want to have sex with my brother?"

Ossian blinks at me. "What?"

"Samael. Beniel's boyfriend. He's my brother, Menino."

His mouth opens, then closes. "...Oh."

"Yeah."

He fidgets under my touch, clearly trying to redirect the conversation. "Whatever, that's not the point. I just want to have sex. I'm going to die a virgin," he whines, pushing at the towel. "Let me dry my own damn hair."

"It's still wet," I say flatly, ignoring his dramatic groaning.

I toss the towel aside once I'm satisfied, leaning in slightly as I drag a hand down his stomach. "You're not a virgin," I remind him, pressing my palm over the thin fabric of his jockstrap. His breath hitches, eyes widening.

Before he can say anything, Finnian wheels in the bench, and just like that, Ossian perks up—only to scowl a second later. "No!"

"You don't even know what we're going to do," Finnian says, unimpressed.

"I'm not laying on it."

"I thought you wanted to have... fun," I murmur.

Ossian barely hesitates before scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping in his eagerness to climb onto the bench. "Now what?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Finnian, eyes alight with anticipation.

I help Finnian secure his wrists and ankles, making sure the cuffs aren't too tight.

"Are you gonna take the cage off?" Ossian asks, hopeful.

"Hmm, I don't know," Finnian muses. "Onyx, should we?"

I hum in thought. "I did hear he was a good boy, passing his exam."

"See, Finnian? I've been a good bo—"

I press the gag into his mouth before he can finish.

His protests are muffled, his words slurred behind the rubber. "I fdon't whant a gaf," he grumbles.

''I guess you're right, he has been a good boy,'' Finnian crouches down as he removes the cage. ''Don't cum!'' He orders, making Ossian whimper. Finnian prepares the machine behind me, as I start preparing Ossian's tight little hole with my fingers. ''Ohmyffgood.'' 

I chuckle at his reaction.

I lube the dildo attached to the rod that sticks up from the machine. Finnian pushes the device closer to the boy until the dildo rests perfectly against Ossian's hole. ''Wathsgoinon?'' Ossian tries to look over his shoulder, but he can't really see what we're up to. I check on the boy to make sure he's okay, reading his body language. He gives me a confused look. ''He's ready,'' I tell Finnian.

Finn pushes the dildo closer, entering the boys' hole. ''Nghee,'' Ossian hisses and moans at the feeling. ''It's different than the plugs,'' I tell him.

He nods in agreement. When the dildo enters enough to encounter his prostate, he moans again, making my dick stand. Finnian shows me the remote as we lay on the bed to keep an eye on him.

''Ohlyshhit,'' Ossian shouts when Finn starts the machine. We watch the dildo moving. Finnian gives me a look as he palms his hand over my cock. He smirks as he slides my pyjama pants down. ''Don't cum!'' Finnian reminds the boy.

''Iccaan't''

''Yes, you can, Ossian!.''

The boy whimpers. Finnian wraps his hand around my member before starting to jack me off. ''Watch him,'' he whispers in my ear. We make sure the dildo keeps a slow and sweet pace; we don't turn up the speed too much, since it's his first time on the machine.

After fifteen minutes we decide he's had enough, he's now begging with tears in his eyes. Ossian and I both cum, simultaneously. The boy let's out a loud moan before his body goes limp.

''Shhh, I got you,'' Finnian releases him from the bench. ''You look delicious,'' Finnian tells him as he carries him to the bed and cleans him up. Ossian smiles lazily; he's definitely going under. ''No,'' the boy says as he stares at Finnian's hard member.

''Good boy, you want to please your dom?''

Ossian nods.

I grin at Finnian. This is huge.

''I'm okay, I want you to sleep now.''

The boy whines as he tries to reach for Finnian's member. I chuckle, ''no! Menino,'' I tell him in a firm voice, making him whimper. ''Shhh,'' I play with his hair making sure he knows I'm not cross with him.

''Go to sleep, Menino Travesso,'' I tell him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Next day

Finnian

"He's going to be fine," Beniel says, rubbing at his temple like he's already regretting allowing this in the first place.

"What if he gets lost? What if he gets thirsty? Oh my god, what if he gets kidnapped by some crazed fan!?"

Onyx sighs, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me toward the couch. "Finn, he's taking a walk in the woods. Our woods. The ones literally behind the house."

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to sit, even though every instinct is telling me to be up and doing something. "I know, I know. I'm being ridiculous."

Ossian has been asking for more freedom lately. Not just permission to leave the house, but to be alone when he does. We can't always be there, and keeping him locked in like some delicate thing isn't fair to him. Beniel suggested starting slow—short solo walks near the house, places he already knows. It makes sense. We have to trust him.

It doesn't make it any easier.

"We could just track him on his phone," Onyx says.

"What?!" Beniel looks scandalized, glaring at him like he just suggested putting Ossian in a glass cage.

"You cannot track him, Onyx Matteus!" I scold, turning sharply toward him.

Onyx throws his hands up. "Why are you full-naming me?"

"We can't be spying on him! We have to trust our sub, not treat him like a prisoner." Even as I say it, my eyes flick to his phone, curiosity prickling at me.

Beniel notices instantly and rips the phone from Onyx's hands before I can get a look. "Nope," he says firmly. "You only check his location in an emergency." He glares between the two of us, pointing like we're misbehaving brats. "I cannot believe I have to say this."

I groan, running a hand through my hair. "Fine."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

I can't believe I'm actually alone. No guards. No one hovering over me.

I keep expecting someone to come running after me, but all I get are a few joggers nodding as they pass by. I think they live in the other estates around here. 

When I reach a small lake, I decide to rest. The water glistens under the afternoon sun, a gentle breeze stirring the trees. It's almost unnerving how peaceful it is. I've never really done this before—just walked with no schedule, no set to rush to, no one telling me what to do.

I should've brought Archie, but my little companion is always sleeping. The vet says it's normal for his age, that he'll grow out of it.

I'm just starting to relax when I hear—

"Oh God, oh God! This can't be happening!"

I snap my head toward the voice, finding a woman bent over, breathing heavily.

"Ma'am?" I approach cautiously. "Are you okay?"

She whimpers, gripping her stomach. "I—I—Ouuuuhhh!"

I freeze, eyes widening.

Oh shit.

Her belly is round and tight, her face contorted in pain. I don't want to assume—but it's the only logical conclusion.

"My water just broke," she gasps, fingers digging into my arm as she clenches. "Wait—Ouuuhhh! You're Ossian Ambrose!"

"Uh—yeah?"

"I NEED TO GET TO A HOSPITAL!"

I stare at her, my brain short-circuiting.

"Fuck."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Beniel

"It's been two hours," Onyx growls, pacing the length of the living room like a caged animal. "Why isn't he back yet?"

Finnian isn't much better. He keeps glancing toward the front door like he's about to bolt out and track Ossian down himself.

"Guys, he's probably on his way back," I say, though I glance at the clock too.

Onyx yanks his phone out. "I'm checking."

"No, Onyx."

"But—Ben—he's not answering his phone." Finnian's voice is tight, his fingers digging into his knees.

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Fine. If he's not back in ten minutes, then you can check."

Onyx huffs, shoving his phone back in his pocket, but the tension doesn't ease.

Honestly? I think they need this exercise just as much as Ossian does.

 ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"A Helicopter!?"

The woman's scream barely cuts through the roaring wind as the helicopter descends onto a nearby field. Her fingers are like claws on my arm, her panic radiating off her in waves.

"I know the pilot!" I shout over the noise, already leading her toward it. "He'll take you to the hospital!"

"NO, YOU'RE COMING WITH ME, OSSIAN AMBROSE!"

"BUT—"

"YOU DO NOT QUESTION A PREGNANT WOMAN WHO'S ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH!"

Before I can protest again, we're being hauled into the helicopter, her grip unrelenting.

Geo, the pilot, glances back at us. "I called ahead. The hospital's expecting you."

"Geo, you're a lifesaver!"

"No problem!" he shouts, adjusting his headset.

The ride is fast, tense. The woman—who I now know as Ameerah—alternates between cursing, deep breathing, and squeezing my arm so hard I'm pretty sure she's cutting off circulation.

The moment we land on the hospital's rooftop, a team of nurses and doctors rushes forward with a hospital bed.

"Ma'am, you're going to be fine," one of them assures her, guiding her onto the bed.

"My husband! Is he here yet!? I texted him!"

"He's probably on his way. Let's get you inside," the nurse soothes as they wheel her toward the elevators.

I move to step back, assuming my part in this is done—

But Ameerah does not let go of my arm.

Before I know it, I'm being dragged through hallways at high speed, helpless against the iron grip of a woman in active labor.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next thing I know, I'm standing outside the delivery room being shoved into a set of scrubs.

A nurse eyes me skeptically. "Are you going to faint?"

"I'm not gonna faint!"

I hope.

Inside, the room is bright and chaotic. The medical team moves quickly, preparing for the baby's arrival. Ameerah resumes clutching my arm like a lifeline, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Is that—" a nurse does a double take, eyes widening. "Ossian Ambrose?"

I flash a charming grin, giving them a small wave. "Yeah!"

Ameerah lets out a guttural scream, yanking my attention back to her. I swear my arm is going to be permanently bruised.

"WHERE IS THAT MOTHERFUCKER!? HE DID THIS TO ME! HE PUT THIS BABY INSIDE ME!"

She's looking at me like I should have the answer.

"I know! What a dick!" I agree, hoping it helps.

Ameerah gasps through her pain before letting out a wheezing laugh. "Ossian Ambrose just called my husband a dick!"

Her laughter turns into another wail of pain.

The doctor, completely unfazed, glances up. "Ameerah, I can see the head. It's time to push."

"Oh, fuck," I whisper.

"Don't tell me we have a fainter!" the doctor warns.

"I'm not gonna faint!"

"LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!" Ameerah yanks me closer. "BREATHE WITH ME, OSSIAN AMBROSE!"

I breathe.

"Baby, baby!" A man—who I assume is her husband—bursts into the room, panting.

"WHERE WERE YOU!?"

"I came as soon as I saw your text!"

She snatches his arm with her free hand. She still won't let go of me.

The husband blinks, finally noticing me. "Wait—"

"Hi!" I wave weakly.

"Honey, is that Ossian Ambrose!?"

"YES!" She gasps between contractions, only to immediately scream through another push.

The doctor doesn't even look up. "Push, Ameerah! The head's almost out!"

The husband makes the grave mistake of looking.

"WE HAVE A FAINTER!" a nurse announces as his unconscious body is hauled into a chair.

After a few more agonizing minutes, the wailing of a newborn baby fills the room.

"It's a girl!"

Ameerah sobs in relief, her head falling back against the pillow.

"Who's cutting the cord?"

"Ossian! Will you do it?" Ameerah asks, breathless.

I blink. "Uh—I—yeah! Sure!"

A nurse hands me the scissors, and with careful hands, I snip the cord. The moment is surreal, overwhelming, beautiful.

As the nurses clean and swaddle the newborn, Ameerah watches me closely. "You want to hold her?"

"Oh, I don't—"

I don't even get to finish before the tiny baby is pushed into my arms.

I look down at her, this impossibly small human, so warm and delicate. "Hey, baby girl," I whisper.

Her tiny fingers curl slightly.

"Cleo," Ameerah murmurs. "Her name is Cleo." She exhales a shaky laugh. "You know what? I want you to be her godfather."

I glance up in shock. "Godfather?"

She nods, smiling tiredly.

I have no idea what that means, but I don't want to be rude and say no, we clearly just had a moment together. "Uh. Sure!"

Ameerah rolls her eyes at her unconscious husband. "This is our fifth kid, and every time, he makes the same mistake. He always has to look."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"OSSIAN!"

I turn just in time to see Finnian, Onyx, and Beniel barreling down the hospital corridor toward me.

"What are you guys doing here?"

Finnian practically tackles me, grabbing my face like he's checking for injuries. "Oh my God, are you okay!? Why didn't you answer your phone!?"

I laugh, prying his hands away. "I was a little busy helping a woman give birth!"

Onyx blinks. "What?"

Beniel looks genuinely dumbfounded.

I give them the whole story, gesturing proudly toward the nursery window where Cleo sleeps soundly. "She's the only one not crying. She's a badass."

They stare in stunned silence.

"How did you guys even find me?" I ask.

Onyx shifts. "Ehm, about that—"

Finnian blurts, "We tracked your phone!"

I cross my arms, giving them a pointed look. "Why am I not surprised?"

Onyx clears his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "Godfather, you said?"

"Yeah," I nod. "You wanna see her?"

They all nod immediately.

As I point her out behind the glass, a man clears his throat behind us.

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

We turn to find Ameerah's husband, now conscious, standing there. He extends his hand. "I'm Joshy Sullivan, Ameerah's husband." He shakes our hands one by one. "I just wanted to thank you for helping my wife."

"Of course," I say.

Joshy chuckles, shaking his head. "Can't believe Ossian Ambrose is my daughter's godfather."

"You can count on me," I grin.

We chat in the hospital cafeteria for a while, exchanging numbers before he heads back to his wife.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

The bedroom is warm, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden light over the sheets. Hendrix climbs onto the bed, his presence solid, grounding. He's finally back from that fucking forever work trip, and I can't decide if I want to punch him or cling to him.

"First outing alone, and you helped deliver a baby," he muses, stretching out beside me with a smirk.

I cross my arms and pout. "You were gone for a long time."

His expression softens. "I know. I'm sorry. But I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yeah..." My pout deepens as I glance at him, and all three doms—Hendrix, Onyx, and Finnian—look at me like I just hung the moon.

"You missed me?" Hendrix teases, nudging my side.

"No."

"Come on," he chuckles, wrapping me up in his arms and using me as his personal pillow, his head settling against my stomach.

I try to stay annoyed, but his warmth seeps into me, his scent familiar and calming. Damn it. I can't stay mad at him. And now I'm horny. I curse internally at the stupid cock cage and its cruel inventor.

"Hey, Ossian," Finnian interrupts, holding out my phone. "I think you got a new text."

I take it from him, unlocking the screen. My lips immediately curve into a smile when I see the picture Ameerah sent—a tiny Cleo, swaddled and peaceful. I show Hendrix, who grins at the baby.

"I want to find my family," I say quietly.

The warmth of the moment shifts as Hendrix releases me, looking up with something unreadable in his expression.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I want to find out if I have any family out there," I admit, feeling my heartbeat pick up.

There's a beat of silence before Onyx speaks. "Sure, Menino. I think someone at the office can help with that."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Ellis, you'll always be my big brother, you know that, right?"

We're sitting side by side in a dimly lit karaoke bar, the hum of conversation and music surrounding us.

Ellis ruffles my hair affectionately. "Yeah, and you'll always be my baby brother."

I sigh, resting my head against his shoulder as his fingers gently comb through my hair. "There might not even be anyone out there."

Ellis doesn't answer right away, his touch soothing.

Across the bar, Samael is dragging a reluctant Jedrik and Ansel onto the karaoke stage. The doms took us out after dinner. My new manager was supposed to meet us here, but she's running late.

Samael puts on a full performance, dancing and singing dramatically around the flustered dom and sub who are struggling to keep up with the lyrics.

"You know," Ellis murmurs, watching the stage, "I might have family out there too."

I squeeze his hand. "But you're not sure you want to find them?" I ask. 

He nods. "I understand why you want to look, but for some reason, it terrifies me."

"Yeah." I glance at him. "Me too."

Emrys and Beniel tackle Samael off the stage as another couple waits for their turn. Jedrik pulls Samael onto his lap, murmuring something that makes him pout but snuggle closer.

"You know," Ellis says, motioning toward our group. "We kind of already have a family."

That makes me smile.

"Ossian! Ellis! We're up next!" Emrys appears beside us, grinning.

I blink. "We're singing?"

Finnian perks up, looking both surprised and excited. Onyx, on the other hand, has his FBI eyes on, scanning the bar for possible threats—even though the men in black are literally surrounding us.

He does not like when fans approach for pictures, claiming he doesn't trust them. I know they're harmless.

I don't think the doms even know I can sing. My first job was Billy Elliot on Broadway, but they never asked about my past. Beniel once told me they didn't want to research me before meeting me. I thought that was nice.

"Those three are amazing," Ansel informs Finnian, making all three of us blush.

"Come on, we'll sing your favorite, Ossian," Ellis says, dragging me up to the stage.

The bar erupts into cheers and whistles when they see me, making Hendrix, Onyx, and Finnian glare at them. I roll my eyes.

Emrys starts the first verse, his voice smooth and warm.

"Love me tender, love me sweet
Never let me go
You have made my life complete
And I love you so..."

We harmonize on the chorus, our voices blending effortlessly.

"Love me tender, love me true
All my dreams fulfilled
For my darling, I love you
And I always will..."

Ellis takes the second verse, and when we reach the chorus again, I glance toward the group. Ansel looks seconds away from tears—he always cries when we perform this one.

Then it's my turn.

"Love me tender, love me dear
Tell me you are mine
I'll be yours through all the years
'Til the end of time..."

I make eye contact with the Chestworth doms, and—holy shit—their mouths are open.

We finish the song, the harmonies fading into silence before the whole bar bursts into a standing ovation.

Beniel, Samael, and Ansel are full-on crying, making me laugh.

"Come here!" Ansel pulls his subs into a hug.

"That was amazing," Finnian tells me, his eyes shining with something I can't place.

I smile, feeling a little shy. Hendrix yanks me onto his lap, arms wrapping around me. "That was incredible."

"It really was, Menino." Onyx is looking at me like I'm something amazing. 

"I must've sounded a little rusty—"

"Rusty!? That was not rusty!" A woman I hadn't noticed before exclaims. She shakes her head, recovering. "Sorry. I'm Piper."

I shake her hand. "Oh, you're the new management rep."

"That's me!" She grins.

"How about you two talk for a bit?" Finnian suggests.

Finnian’s suggestion hangs in the air for only a moment before I nod and follow Piper to a quiet table, not too far from the others. The bar hums around us—laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional off-key note from someone braver than talented. The atmosphere is warm, but my chest tightens as I brace myself for this conversation.

Piper watches me, her gaze assessing yet patient. "So," she starts, leaning forward slightly, "have you thought any more about our conversation on the phone?"

I nod. "I did my research, and your agency seemed way better than my last management right away."

A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips. She’s a dom, but there’s no edge of power play with her—not the kind I’ve been forced to deal with before. I feel safe around her, and that’s rare for me.

"I know how a lot of submissives are treated in this industry," she says, her voice soft but firm. "It’s something we’ve been fighting against. I know we’re not a big agency—"

"I don’t care about that," I interrupt, shaking my head. "I just want someone who won’t use me until I get sick. Like last time."

Piper’s expression darkens, her hands balling into fists on the table. For a moment, she looks furious, but not at me. "They’ve been spreading rumors," she mutters. "Saying you had a drug problem. That you chose to leave."

I exhale through my nose, unsurprised but still disgusted. "No," I say, meeting her gaze. "I had no choice. I was mad about it at first—furious. But as time passed, as I started to understand more about subs and how our needs work, I realized why Hendrix pulled me out. If I saw someone I cared about in that situation, I’d be just as angry."

Piper takes a slow breath. "We need to clear your name. Have you thought about coming forward with what they did to you? Your doms want to press charges."

I shrug. "I wouldn’t really care if they did or not."

"You should care," she says gently but insistently. "There are so many subs in the same situation, but they’re all too scared to speak up. You, on the other hand, are one of the most well-known sub actors in our industry. A high-level one. If you step forward, others might find the courage to do the same."

I hesitate, chewing on my bottom lip. "You really think I can help others?"

"I know you can," Piper says, reaching for my hand. She squeezes it in a way that feels steadying, grounding. "I won’t lie—as your manager, clearing your name is a priority. But as a dom who actually cares, I’m telling you: this could change things for a lot of people."

I exhale, nodding slowly. "Thanks for your honesty."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix!

"That’s right, Ossian! Give me more sass—YES! Give me some ass—YES! YES!"

I narrow my eyes at the photographer, barely resisting the urge to rub my temples. "Are you sure this guy knows what he’s doing?" I ask Piper, watching as Ossian rolls his eyes mid-pose.

Piper pats my back, unfazed. "He’s one of the best, Hendrix."

Ossian had a long, emotional interview with The People's  magazine yesterday, finally breaking his silence about the abuse and neglect from his former management. Today, the photoshoot follows—a big cover feature to make his comeback official.

"Doms! Where are the doms?!" the photographer suddenly shouts, waving his arms around dramatically.

Onyx and Finnian appear, freshly dressed by the stylists. Ossian immediately bursts into laughter at the subtle amount of makeup on Onyx’s face, while Finnian does a twirl like some runway model. Onyx scowls.

The photographer starts barking more orders, directing everyone where to stand. His assistants scurry around my house, adjusting lighting and equipment.

"This is going to be the cover, people! Come on!"

The shoot kicks off. Finnian is loving this more than I expected, slipping into every pose like he was born for it. Ossian, of course, is a natural—every movement effortless, every angle flawless. Onyx, however, looks like he’d rather chew glass.

"YES! YES! God, you’re all so photogenic! You’re officially my new favorite clients!"

Another outfit change later, and we move outside to the backyard. This time, Archie joins in.

"Yes, Finnian! Yes! Onyx, a smile would be nice!" the photographer calls.

Ossian whips his head around, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Before Onyx can react, Ossian attacks, hands digging into his sides. A deep, startled sound escapes Onyx—somewhere between a growl and a laugh—as Ossian mercilessly tickles him.

Onyx retaliates, grabbing Ossian and tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ossian shrieks, kicking his feet as he laughs uncontrollably. Archie, apparently feeling left out, launches himself at Finnian, nearly knocking him over. Finnian stumbles, but I catch him, chuckling as I steady him.

"Careful, supermodel," I tease, pressing a kiss to his temple.

After a four hour shoot. That moment—ends up being the cover shot.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A few days later the TV drones in the background, the news anchor’s voice smooth and impassive.

"In an exclusive interview with The People's Magazine, Ossian Ambrose makes shocking allegations against his previous management, SK Management. He describes the abuse and neglect that led to his hospitalization… Ambrose now lives with the Chestworth trio, where he is receiving the care and—"

"Hendrix, can we turn it off?"

"Of course." I grab the remote, clicking the TV off. The silence feels heavier now.

Finnian pulls Ossian onto the couch between his legs, arms wrapped securely around him. "Are you that nervous, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Ossian admits, nuzzling closer. His body is tense, and I know it’s not just because of the article.

Onyx had stepped out a while ago to take a call—from the guy looking into Ossian’s family. None of us have said it outright, but we all know that’s what he’s really anxious about.

The wait stretches on.

Then, finally, Onyx reappears.

And he’s smiling.

I sit up straighter, my pulse kicking up.

Onyx crouches in front of Ossian, his expression warm, reassuring. "Ossian," he says carefully, watching the boy’s face. "I have some good news."

Ossian’s fingers tighten around Finnian’s. "What?"

Onyx holds his gaze.

"A brother."

Chapter Text

Finnian

I blink my eyes open, still heavy with sleep, only to be met with a pair of piercing blue eyes staring straight at me.

Unruly curls frame his face, and his expression is one of pure curiosity.

"Ossian?" My voice is rough with sleep as I stretch my arms. "What time is it?"

But he’s not interested in answering. "’Sian!" he chirps, shoving a picture in front of my face with eager hands.

I groggily sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before taking the photograph. "Yeah, that's Ossian," I mumble, glancing at the image. It’s the picture Onyx's guy found—the one we believe shows Ossian as a toddler. He looks about two, sitting beside an older boy, maybe six. We think that’s his brother.

"Papa, Daddy, bye?" he suddenly asks, his tiny voice tilting with a question.

I freeze, my drowsiness vanishing instantly. My gaze snaps to him. "Ossian?"

He giggles. "Mama bear?"

My stomach clenches. His words aren’t quite right—simplified, childlike. But it’s him.

"You’re Little? But how—" I trail off, my mind scrambling for an explanation.

"’Gone?" he asks. 

I clear my throat, choosing my words carefully. "They’re at work, sweetheart," I say gently, watching his face for a reaction.

But instead of answering, Ossian fidgets.

I sigh and scoop him up, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. "First things first, I need to check if you had an accident, little one," I say, running my hand over the sheets. Thankfully, they’re dry. "Guess I got lucky."

He doesn’t seem to care about my relief. Instead, he’s twisting in my arms, restless.

I take him to the Little play room, but the second he spots the changing table, his body goes rigid. "Bad!" he blurts out, shaking his head frantically.

"Ossian—"

"NO!" His shriek is instant, his limbs flailing as he tries to wiggle free.

I exhale, steadying him against my chest. His lower lip trembles, his fists clutching my shirt.

"God, I forgot how adorable you are like this," I mutter, pressing a kiss to his curls before carrying him into the closet instead. "Alright, little boy, you can help me pick out your clothes, but then you’re laying down so I can change you."

His expression shifts as he scans the hanging clothes, and then—"Uh!" He points at a sweater with a bear on it, eyes wide with excitement. "Daddy!"

I chuckle. "Yeah, Onyx is a big teddy bear."

I grab the sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before carrying him back out. "Alright, I’m going to lay you down now."

He whines, twisting again. "Nooo!"

"Ossian," I warn, my tone firm. 

His body stills, but his face crumples, and silent tears begin to roll down his cheeks. My heart clenches.

"Hey, I’m almost done, baby boy," I reassure him, wiping a tear away. "Look, take this." I hand him a small bottle of baby cologne—one of the ones Onyx's sister, Ines, makes by hand. Her products are all-natural, soothing, and seems to work as a great distraction.

He takes it hesitantly, his fingers curling around the bottle as he sniffles.

I get to work, removing the cuffs, collar, and the rest of his usual attire. He watches me, bottom lip jutting out.

"Bad," he reminds me softly. 

"It's not bad, sweetheart," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead before fastening the diaper in place. 

He sniffles again, gripping the bottle tighter.

"Forgot the socks. You stay put," I say, securing the safety strap before heading back into the closet.

A second later, I hear a soft, frustrated grunt.

"I’ll be right back!" I call, rummaging through a drawer. Another grunt follows, but this time it’s accompanied by—giggles?

I freeze. "What are you laughing at?" I chuckle, finally grabbing a pair of socks.

As I step out of the closet, the smell hits me.

Strong. Overpowering.

Oh no.

"Ossian!?"

My jaw drops as I take in the scene before me.

The bottle of cologne—completely empty.

And Ossian?

Grinning ear to ear, his entire body soaked in the citrusy, powdery scent.

He lifts his head and holds up the bottle proudly, his eyes sparkling.

"Ossian Ambrose," I groan, snatching it from his hands. "Give it here!"

He pouts for a second, but then—without missing a beat—he pats his stomach, rubbing the cologne in deeper.

I stare at him, at a complete loss for words.

"You poured it on yourself?"

He beams.

I run a hand over my face. "I do not know what to do with you," I mutter. His curls are drenched in the scent.

His smile only widens.

"That was naughty, Ossian!" I tell him sternly.

He shakes his head, still grinning. "No."

"Yes," I counter, already feeling a headache coming on. "You smell like a cologne bomb."

"Yeah," he giggles.

I sigh in defeat. "Come on, troublemaker." I unstrap him, scooping him up once more. He wraps his arms around my neck as I carry him to the bathroom.

I rinse him off, trying to undo the damage, but the scent clings stubbornly to his skin. Eventually, I give up, drying him off and dressing him in fresh clothes. After brushing his hair and teeth, I carry him downstairs.

Beniel glances up from the breakfast table, arching a brow. "He’s little?"

"Yeah." I set Ossian on my hip, bouncing him lightly.

Beniel hums and then smiles, "Are you sure he’s not just trying to get out of a shift at Tags?"

My eyes widen. "Oh, shoot! Thanks for the reminder." I pull my phone out. "I need to text Tag and let him know Ossian won’t be able to make it today."

I glance down at the Little in my arms. "Is that what you’re up to, little one?" I tease. Ossian only giggles.

Jed gets up, dragging the high chair from the closet to the table. "Thanks, Jed," I say as I strap Ossian in.

Beniel leans down, sniffing the baby’s curls. "Mmm. You smell like a… lemon lollipop?"

I shake my head. "He managed to open a whole bottle of baby cologne while I was looking for socks and poured it all over himself."

Jed and Ben laugh. Ossian laughs with them, his body shaking with joy.

"Where’s Sam?" I ask as I start making the Little a plate. 

Jed smirks, nudging Beniel’s side. "Sleeping. We had a fun morning."

Beniel flushes red. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Beniel

I’m not surprised Ossian is Little this morning. After learning about his brother, he still refuses to contact him. I think there are a lot of reasons why, but the biggest one? I'm suspecting it's a fear of rejection.

I watch him as I cut up another pancake for him. Ossian is always a good eater. 

"He hasn't said anything about his brother?" I ask Finnian when he comes downstairs after getting ready for the day. 

Finnian exhales heavily. "No." He says sitting across from me. "What should we do?"

I glance at Ossian, who is currently fascinated by the way the jam sticks to his fingers.

"I think he just needs more time to process everything. He didn’t say a word about it in our last session."

Finnian bites his lip, his brows furrowing. "I’m worried."

That’s an understatement. Finnian has been glued to Ossian’s side these past few days, his protectiveness in overdrive. He’s scared that this new revelation will hurt Ossian emotionally, that it’ll undo the progress we’ve made.

And I know Finnian needs Ossian to be Little right now just as much as Ossian need to be Little. It’s incredible to see how Ossian’s body and mind are already subconsciously responding to his doms’ needs.

"Jed!" Ossian’s excited voice pulls me from my thoughts.

Jed, who’s been reading the news on his tablet, glances up with a rare, big grin for the boy. "Hey, kiddo."

Ossian frowns. "No," he shakes his head at Jed, as if he got it all wrong.

"Fab-ien!"

Jed and I exchange a confused glance.

"Who’s Fabien, Ossian?" I ask gently.

Ossian’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he repeats, "Fab-ien!" His giggle is light, but then his smile falters. His expression shifts, and he pouts slightly.

"Gone."

My chest tightens. "Gone?" I repeat.

The boy nods sadly, his fingers curling around his cup.

"Hey," Finnian suddenly says, his voice lifting into an excited tone. "How about you and I go out to the garden and pick some blueberries after breakfast?"

Ossian’s eyes flicker with interest. "Blu-berries?"

"Yeah! Fresh ones. The big, juicy kind."

Ossian gasps dramatically. "Blu-berries!"

I chuckle. He’s so freaking adorable.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Alastair

"Chief, this place has turned into a damn construction site," I grumble, barging into his office.

Chief barely looks up, grinning ear to ear. Which is weird, because Chief doesn’t smile.

"We got another donation!" he announces, his deep voice vibrating with excitement.

Ah. That explains the look on his face.

I fold my arms. "So, what’s the damage?"

"We’re renovating the whole station!" He gestures wildly around the office. "New kitchen, dorm rooms, everything! Did you see the new common room?"

I sigh. "Yeah, it’s great, but—"

"I got a call from Chief Sanders."

I groan. Of course Sanders called him. That guy has had it out for me for years.

Chief’s excitement dims slightly, his expression turning serious. "Henning, we’ve talked about this. When you’re out on a call, you need to set a good example for the rest of the firemen. You’re a lieutenant now. You can’t be disobeying orders."

"Yes, Chief," I say through gritted teeth. "I will do better."

I will not do better. But I’ll pretend for now.

Before Chief can say anything else, Lain storms in, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Chief, why is my office gone?"

Chief’s grin is back in an instant. "That’s because my lieutenants are getting bigger offices!"

Lain turns to me, deadpan. "Why is he smiling like that?"

I shrug. It’s unsettling, I know.

"Two weeks," Chief assures him. "I gave the workers two weeks."

Judging by how terrifying Chief can be when he’s not smiling, I’d bet my paycheck they’ll be out in one.

Before I can make another comment, Joshy strolls in, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Joshy!" we all greet.

"How’s baby girl? Ameerah?" I ask.

Joshy beams. "Cleo and Ameerah are doing great. Thanks for the gifts, by the way. She loved them."

"It was our pleasure," I say.

Lain smirks. "I heard you fainted again."

Joshy glares at him. "That’s not even the craziest part," he grumbles. "Ossian Ambrose was the one who helped Ameerah to the hospital."

"What?" Lain and Chief says. 

Joshy shakes his head, like he still doesn’t believe it himself. "Yeah. And, get this—he’s now my kid’s Godfather."

Lain snorts. "Hold on, hold on. Ossian Ambrose? The actor?"

Joshy groans. "I know, right? It was all Ameerah’s idea. She loves him." He rubs a hand over his face. "Henning, I’m making you Godfather too, by the way."

I blink, I'm Godfather to a few of my firemens kids now, so I'm used to it. "I'm honored."

Joshy waves a hand. "Ossian seems great and all, but I barely know the kid. Don’t tell Ameerah!"

Lain and I exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.

Joshy sighs heavily. "I hate both of you."

This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

“Blu-berries.” Ossian points at the bucket, his voice filled with wonder, like he’s just discovered treasure.

“Yeah, can you help me pick some?”

“Yeah,” he echoes, nodding, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s far too busy exploring, every corner of the garden suddenly more interesting than the task at hand. I watch as he wanders, his  fingers trailing over leaves, his attention shifting like the wind.

Archie is just as energetic, darting after his boy.

“Flower!” Ossian giggles, crouching to inspect one of Hendrix’s prized roses.

“Hey, be careful with Hendrix’s flowers, you too, Archie!” I warn, already picturing the wrath we’ll face if anything gets trampled.

Ossian turns his wide eyes to me. “Papa?”

“Yeah, this is his garden. He works really hard on it. He won’t be happy if he finds it destroyed.”

Ossian’s expression shifts, lower lip jutting out in concern. “Sad.”

“Yeah, it would make him sad.”

His gaze flicks to the bench at the side of the garden, he points at it. “Time out!”

I smirk. “You be a good boy.”

“Bad,” he corrects me solemnly, nodding like it’s a known fact.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I know, Ossian doesn’t like that bench.”

His agreement is immediate and serious, like we’ve just discussed something of great importance.

“Turtle?” he suddenly asks.

I glance toward the pond, where I know the turtle probably is, but I don’t want Ossian sneaking off toward the water. “I don’t know where the turtle is, baby.”

He frowns in thought but doesn’t argue. Small victories.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough berries. Let’s go make some muffins.” I ruffle his hair. “Ansel told me you really like those.”

“Assel?”

I grin as I scoop him up, holding the bucket in one hand while Ossian rests against my side, still mumbling the name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. Archie trails behind us, his tail wagging excitedly as we head inside.

The kitchen is already prepped. The ingredients are laid out neatly on the counter, waiting. I strap Ossian into the oversized high chair before rinsing the berries, his feet kicking lightly as he watches.

“Daddy, Papa, bye,” he announces, as if I might have forgotten.

“Yeah, they’ll be home later today. Maybe we’ll call them after your nap?”

“No.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not fighting your nap, mister.”

Ossian ignores me, watching curiously as I start sorting the ingredients. I’ve placed everything in separate bowls, making it easier for him to help. Littles love to explore, and Ossian, especially, needs that freedom. It keeps him grounded in his sub-space.

Sometimes, it feels like he’s experiencing the world for the first time, like every sensation is new and overwhelming. It’s rare for Littles to be like that, but I've noticed that there’s an innocence to Ossian, both big and when he's Little, it's always there.

“Alright, can you grab the bowl of flour?” I ask.

He blinks at me, confused. “Flower?”

I grab the bowl and show him. “This is flour.”

“Uh!” His eyes light up with curiosity.

“I suppose you can taste a tiny bit, but don’t expect it to be good.”

I take a small spoon and let him try some. His face immediately scrunches in disgust, and he tries to spit it out, making the most dramatic gagging noise I’ve ever heard.

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s flour.”

“Bad!” he announces, scowling as he points at the offending bowl like it personally wronged him.

“I’m sorry, baby boy,” I say between chuckles. “Now, can you help me pour it into the big bowl?”

“No.”

He’s pissed.

I shake my head, still grinning. “Alright, I’ll do this one.”

From then on, he insists on tasting everything before adding it to the mix. And, unsurprisingly, he hates most of it. Except for the butter, sugar, blueberries, and vanilla—those, he loves. I have to keep a close eye on him to stop him from sneaking too much. At one point, he almost dumps the baking soda on the floor, but I manage to stop him just in time.

When it’s time to fill the muffin tins, I pour the batter into a dispenser to make it easier. Big mistake.

Ossian gets batter everywhere. It’s on the counter, the floor, and mostly on him. His hands are coated in it, his cheeks speckled with little splatters.

I take a picture and send it to Onyx and Hendrix.

“Wow,” Ossian murmurs, awed by the mess he’s created.

Archie barks, clearly hoping for more blueberries.

“Blu-berries,” Ossian tells the puppy, tossing a few onto the floor like a royal offering.

“You know, Onyx and Hendrix are going to be so happy when they find out you made them these delicious muffins,” I tell him.

Ossian looks up at me, grinning wide.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

A sharp knock sounds against the office door before Howard steps inside, his face tense but composed.

"Onyx, Ansel," he greets, his voice carrying an unusual weight.

I set my tablet down, immediately alert. "What's going on?"

Howard exhales and hands me a file. "I found some information about Ellis. I ran his picture through our age progression software for missing children, and... a little boy named Elias was a 100% match."

Ansel stills beside me. "What?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Elias went missing when he was six years old, he was in the foster care system," Howard continues. "I’m still digging, but I strongly believe he was placed in the same home as Ossian."

"Holy shit."  I say. 

"Has Ossian made contact with his brother?" Howard asks. 

I shake my head. "No, not yet. I don’t think he’s ready."

Howard nods. "I get it." He turns to Ansel, handing him another file. "Here—Ellis is going to want to read this."

Ansel takes the folder cautiously, like it might explode in his hands. "Thanks, Howard."

"No problem. I’ll update you as soon as I find more." With that, he strides out of the office, leaving behind a thick silence.

I glance at Ansel. His brows are furrowed, his fingers gripping the file a little too tightly.

"I need to contact Ossian's brother," I say. Something about this feels off—like we’re on the edge of something bigger.

Ansel looks up at me, eyes dark with concern. "You have a weird feeling too?"

Yeah. And I don’t like it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Alastair

"God, I can’t concentrate with all this damn construction noise," Lain groans, rubbing his temples.

I sigh, flipping through the report in front of me. "I know. I don’t get how Chief expects us to get any work done like this." The whole firehouse is shaking from the renovations—drills, hammering, the occasional loud crash followed by distant cursing.

Just as I’m about to give up entirely, Cecil barges into the common room. "Hey! Henning! There are two FBI agents here looking for you."

Lain raises a brow, grinning. "FBI? What did you do now, Henning?"

I roll my eyes and stand, shooting him a glare. "Nothing."

As I walk toward the front of the firehouse, I spot them—two tall, broad-shouldered men, standing like sentinels. They watch me approach, their expressions unreadable.

"You guys looking for me?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

''You're Alastair Henning?'' One of them asks. 

''Yes,'' I answer. 

The other studies me for a second before muttering under his breath, "You look just like—"

The other agent subtly elbows him, cutting him off. "What he means to say is, we were wondering if you could answer a few questions."

I frown. "About what?"

"We’re investigating an abusive foster parent," the second agent explains. "We believe you might have had contact with them."

Something in my chest tightens. "Uh... yeah, sure. My sister and I were in a lot of homes."

Both agents perk up at that. "Sister?"

"Yeah," I nod. "We went through the system together."

The first agent pulls out a notepad. "Do you remember your first foster home?"

A cold weight settles in my stomach. "I’ll never forget. Mrs. Wallis." I hesitate before adding, "But she was never abusive."

Before they can press further, the emergency alarm blares through the firehouse.

"Shit," I mutter.

''Firetruck 31, Squad 3 and ambulance 51, house fire on west street 45...''

''I gotta go, guys, uhm here, take my number,'' I reach for a card in my pockets before handing it to the men.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian is elbow-deep in the potted plant before I can stop him, dark soil clinging to his fingers as he digs with uncontained glee.

"Ossian!" My voice is sharp, firm.

His entire body stiffens, then—"NO!" he screams, his face twisting with defiance.

I crouch beside him, "Ossian, you listen to me. We do not play with the plants." This is his third warning. He ignores me, reaching toward the dirt again, testing me.

That’s it.

Two firm swats land over the padding of his diaper. It’s not hard enough to hurt, just enough to reinforce the boundary.

The reaction is immediate.

Ossian lets out an angry scream before throwing himself onto the floor, kicking and flailing. His face scrunches as frustrated tears spill over his cheeks.

He's been cooped up for too long, and I know he needs more stimulation—running, playing, exploring—but his celebrity status complicates things. Taking him to public Little-friendly spaces right now is impossible.

"NOOOO!" he howls, body writhing in a full-blown tantrum.

I stand close, waiting. These outbursts never last long. He screams loud and wild at first, but eventually, it all simmers down into soft, hiccupping sobs. His body stills. His fingers clench and unclench against the carpet.

"Ossian," I say gently, holding my arms out, "come here, Little boy."

For a moment, he hesitates, lip trembling, then slowly, he crawls into my embrace. His quiet sobs shake through him as I scoop him up, holding him tight.

"Shhh," I soothe, rubbing his back.

He sniffles, his face buried in my shoulder. Then—"Mama bear," he hiccups, pointing back toward the plant.

I suppress a chuckle. "I know, I know. I'm such a big meanie for not letting you play with the dirt."

He nods against me, snuggling closer.

Then, I gasp dramatically, making his head pop up, his red-rimmed eyes wide with curiosity.

"I think I hear someone coming," I whisper.

A familiar voice answers, "Hello."

Ossian perks up instantly. "PAPA!"

Hendrix stands in the doorway, his smile bright and warm as he strides toward us.

"Come here," Hendrix scoops the boy into his arms, his presence effortlessly soothing.

He kisses me in greeting before handing over two grocery bags. "What's this?"

"Pizza ingredients. I thought we could give Wilma the night off and have a movie night," he says, watching as Ossian tugs at Hendrix’s shirt, eager for his attention.

"Papa!" the Little insists, pointing at Hendrix as if I hadn’t noticed his arrival.

"I know, Little one," I chuckle, ruffling his curls.

Hendrix turns his focus to Ossian, his thumb gently brushing away the lingering tear tracks on the boy’s face. "What’s with the tears, Little boy?"

''He was spanked for playing with the plants, again.'' 

Ossian hesitates. He glances at me, then at the plant, then at Hendrix again. "No," he mumbles, shaking his head.

I bite back a smirk. Little liar.

Hendrix raises a brow. "No? Finnian says you got in trouble."

Ossian’s fingers curl into Hendrix’s collar. Then, with all the conviction in the world, he declares, "Bad plant. Time out."

I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

"Exactly," Hendrix nods solemnly. "The plant is in time out. We don’t touch it."

Satisfied, Ossian relaxes against him, his hand playing with the fabric of Hendrix’s shirt.

"Hey, Ossian," I say, changing the subject, "want to show Hendrix the muffins you made today?"

At once, he hides his face in Hendrix’s neck, suddenly shy.

"Muffins?" Hendrix grins. "Well, let’s see these muffins."

I set the grocery bags down and bring out the plate. Hendrix grabs one and takes a dramatic bite.

"Well, I’ll be…" he muses, eyes twinkling. "This must be the most magnificent muffin ever baked!"

Ossian squirms in excitement, hiding his giggles in Hendrix’s shoulder.

Hendrix carries him toward the lounge area while I begin unpacking the groceries. As I put things away, I listen to their conversation.

"Flower, yuck! Mama bear, blu-erries, pup, turtle bye!" Ossian babbles.

Hendrix hums in response. "So you and Finnian picked blueberries?"

I pause, surprised that he actually understood all of that.

"Sounds like you had a good day, Darling," Hendrix continues. "My day was okay. I’m working on a proposal with a few colleagues. Politics is exhausting."

"Ex-hausting," Ossian repeats, mimicking the word carefully.

"Exactly," Hendrix chuckles, bouncing him a little. "And then there’s Sinclair—who my father would call a—"

"Hendrix!" I scold before he can finish that sentence.

He winces. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. He knows how much I hate swearing around the Little. 

He sighs and corrects himself. "Sinclair is a bad man, Ossian. We don’t like him."

Ossian nods sagely. "Time out."

Hendrix grins. "You’re right. I should put Sinclair in a time out."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Here you go," I say, handing Hendrix the bottle as he steps into the room, carrying a freshly bathed Ossian. The baby is wrapped in a fluffy towel, his damp curls clinging to his forehead. He smells like vanilla soap, but exhaustion lingers in his eyes.

Hendrix sighs as he settles onto the couch, adjusting Ossian against his chest. "I don’t think he’s going to sleep until Onyx comes home."

I nod, watching as the boy clings tightly to his crib blanket, little fingers curled into the fabric like a lifeline. I reach out to adjust him on my lap, but the moment I try to take the blanket away, Ossian shrieks.

"MINE!"

His voice is sharp, his body going rigid with defiance.

"Ossian," I warn, keeping my voice firm but calm. "We don’t scream like that."

"NO!" His face twists in frustration, and before I can react, his hand flies toward me in an attempted slap.

I catch his wrist before it lands, my grip gentle but unyielding.

"That’s not okay," I say, standing up with him in my arms. His whole body tenses as I carry him across the room. "You sit here until you calm down," I tell him, setting him down in the corner.

Ossian immediately collapses onto the floor, blanket wrapped around him as he wails. His sobs are raw, his frame shaking as he kicks out in protest.

Hendrix watches, stunned. "He was fine just a few minutes ago," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck.

I exhale. "I know. He’s overtired."

Before we can say anything else, the front door opens.

"Hey guys," Onyx’s familiar voice calls.

"Daddy!" Ossian wails, arms reaching out desperately. His body strains toward the sound.

I shake my head at Onyx, holding up a hand. "You can hug Daddy when you're done with time-out," I say firmly.

That does it.

The heartbreak in Ossian’s scream is instant and gut-wrenching. His entire body trembles with sobs, his screams reaching an almost unbearable pitch.

The commotion has Jed, Ben, and Sam rushing in.

"What’s going on?" Jed demands, eyes scanning the room.

"He’s okay," I reassure them, though my heart clenches at how small Ossian looks right now, curled up on the floor, hiccupping through his screams.

Beniel’s sharp gaze lands on me. "What happened?"

I sigh, running a hand down my face. "He tried to slap me, so I put him in time-out. Then Onyx came home, and I told him he could hug him when he was done."

Beniel frowns, watching the trembling Little. "This reaction is… extreme."

I swallow hard. "You think I handled it wrong?"

Beniel shakes his head. "No. You did what was necessary. But there’s something deeper happening here." He studies Ossian’s curled form, his small body shaking with every ragged breath.

"Finnian, I want you to pick him up," Beniel instructs gently. "Wrap the blanket around him and hold him tight. He’s going to fight you, but don’t let go."

I nod and kneel beside Ossian, lifting him carefully. The second my arms tighten around him, he thrashes wildly. His fists hit against my chest, his legs kicking out in frantic rebellion.

"No! No! Mine!" he sobs, clawing at his blanket.

I keep my grip firm, rocking him gently. "Shhh, sweetheart, I’m here."

He fights harder, but I don’t let go. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t scold him. I just hold him, letting him feel my warmth, my steady presence.

Archie whines and scurries over, pressing his little body against Ossian’s side. The moment the puppy snuggles into him, Ossian’s screams begin to soften into whimpers. His breaths come in uneven hiccups, but the tension in his limbs starts to melt.

"Good boy," I whisper, stroking Archie’s fur as the pup licks Ossian’s tear-streaked face.

Finally, Ossian slumps against me, exhausted. His sobs fade into sniffles, his grip on the blanket loosening slightly.

I shift him so he’s lying in my lap, his flushed face turned up to me. I brush damp curls from his forehead.

"Hey, sweet boy," I murmur.

His lips tremble. "M-m-mama bear."

I press a kiss to his temple. "I know, Little one. I’m not mad at you."

Slowly, I turn to Onyx, who has been waiting patiently, his arms open.

"Look, Onyx is here," I whisper.

Ossian’s entire face crumples as he reaches out, desperate for the comfort he’d been denied. Onyx doesn’t hesitate—he takes the Little into his arms, holding him close.

"Hey, Anjo," Onyx murmurs, rubbing slow circles into his back.

Ossian sniffs, still hiccupping. "M-m-mama, blu-blu-berries."

Onyx chuckles softly, holding him tighter. "I hear you, Little one. And you made muffins with the blueberries?"

Ossian nods against his chest, his little fingers curling into Onyx’s shirt. "Flower bad," he mumbles.

Onyx glances at me, confused. I sigh. "He didn’t like the taste of flour."

"Ahh," Onyx hums, amused. "Yeah, flour’s not great by itself. It can make your tummy hurt." He shifts Ossian slightly, cradling him better. "Shhh, you sleep, menino," he murmurs, placing the bottle’s nipple against the baby’s lips.

Ossian latches onto it without hesitation, his eyes already fluttering shut as exhaustion takes over.

The room falls into a soft silence.

Onyx chuckles, his voice low as he strokes Ossian’s back. "That was… dramatic."

Samael exhales, his arms crossed. "I’ve never seen a tantrum from a Little like that before," he says quietly, his expression troubled as he watches Ossian finally relax.

Jed gently pulls Sam closer, comforting him.

Beniel sighs, rubbing his chin in thought. "I think… not being allowed to greet Onyx made it worse."

My stomach twists. The realization hits me hard.

"He felt abandoned," I murmur, my chest tightening. "Or rejected."

Beniel nods. "I think so. But listen, you did everything right. He needs discipline when he acts out."

I take a deep breath, my fingers running through Ossian’s curls as he sleeps.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix has been watching me all night, his sharp gaze tracking my every movement. Even when I try to act normal—cleaning up the kitchen, straightening the blankets on the couch—his eyes never leave me.

"Finnian—" he finally says, stepping out of the bathroom, his hair damp from his shower.

"Hendrix, I—" My throat tightens. "I caused that."

He doesn’t ask what I mean. He knows.

"Come here," he orders, his voice firm but warm.

I hesitate for half a second before moving toward him, sinking onto the bed at his side. The moment I do, his arms come around me, grounding me against his solid warmth.

"You did everything you were supposed to," he says quietly. "You said it yourself—we’re all still learning."

I nod against his chest, but the guilt doesn’t fade. I still feel awful.

A door creaks open.

"I went to see him," Onyx blurts from the doorway.

Hendrix stiffens. "See who?"

Onyx hesitates for half a second before meeting Hendrix’s narrowed gaze. "His brother."

My head snaps up.

"Onyx!" Hendrix’s tone drops, thick with warning.

"I know," Onyx sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know you told me not to. But I had a bad feeling. And Ansel had one too."

"You disobeyed me," Hendrix says, his voice deceptively calm.

"I know," Onyx repeats, then quickly adds, "But listen—he has a sister."

I gasp.

Ossian has a sister.

"And his brother—" Onyx hesitates, glancing between us. "He looks a lot like Ossian."

My heart pounds. "Is it the eyes?" I ask, breathless. "It’s the eyes, right?"

"Actually, no," Onyx says, shaking his head. "His were greenish. But he had the same olive skin tone, the same nose, jawline, full lips, and curls."

A lump forms in my throat. "I want to meet him so bad."

I glance at Hendrix, knowing he feels the same. But his expression is unreadable, his jaw tight. He doesn’t like disobedience.

"I’ll deal with you tomorrow," he tells Onyx evenly.

Onyx doesn’t argue. He nods once before disappearing into the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Morning comes softly, but Ossian is all seriousness as he looks up at Beniel, his little brows furrowed in concern.

"Turtle," he says solemnly.

Beniel hums, crouching down to his level. "You still haven’t found that thing?"

Ossian shakes his head, curls bouncing. "No."

Beniel exhales, rubbing his hand over the boy’s back. "Yesterday, you got really angry, didn’t you?"

Ossian nods, then pats his stomach. "'Sian, bad."

Something inside me tightens.

He keeps calling himself Sian. It’s the most adorable thing, but hearing him say bad makes my chest ache.

"You’re not bad, Little boy," I say gently.

He’s been sneaking glances at me all morning, trying to make sure I’m not still mad about yesterday. The thought alone makes my throat tighten.

Beniel is quiet for a moment before he asks, "Who left you, Ossian?"

The question makes the room still.

Ossian hesitates, his small hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Then he turns, looking back at me.

I don’t say anything—I just open my arms.

He doesn’t need more encouragement. Within seconds, he’s scrambling into my lap, tucking himself into my chest like he belongs there. His fingers grip the back of my shirt, and I don’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him, rubbing slow circles into his back.

"It’s okay," I murmur into his curls. "I’ve got you."

The moment is quiet. Heavy. But not broken.

And then—

"Finnian Knox!"

I gasp, head snapping up.

"Mama?"

A woman stands in the doorway, all sharp eyes and soft warmth, her presence filling the room instantly.

"There you are!" she exclaims, face breaking into a bright smile.

Ossian flinches at the sudden noise, slipping from my lap and scurrying back to Beniel, but I barely have time to notice before I’m on my feet, launching myself forward.

"MAMA!" I scream, barreling into her open arms.

We cling to each other, rocking side to side as laughter bursts between us.

"I’ve missed you so much!" I say into her shoulder.

Before she can respond, another voice bellows through the room.

"Where is that boy?!"

My stomach flips.

"Mr. Lucio?!"

"What have I told you about calling me that, sir?" Calum scolds before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Sorry, Calum," I wheeze. "I didn’t know you guys were coming."

Calum pulls back, his sharp gaze scanning me. "I had to hear from Samael that Onyx was shot?!"

I wince.

"Yeah, about that..." I scratch the back of my neck.

Mama’s face darkens before she reaches up and pinches my ear between her fingers.

"Ow—Mama!"

"When any of my boys get hurt, I want to hear about it first," she scolds.

I rub my ear, pouting. "He’s at work—"

"Ohh, don’t tell him I’m here!" Calum interrupts, grinning. "I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees me!"

I smirk. Oh, this is going to be good.

Calum and my mother were practically raised together. Best friends since childhood. And when they’re together, they’re chaos.

Beniel steps forward to greet them, and then, slowly, the attention shifts.

Ossian is still tucked behind Beniel, wide-eyed, watching carefully.

Calum and Mama soften immediately.

"And who is this little one?" Mama asks, crouching down to his level.

Ossian tenses, gripping the back of Beniel’s shirt.

"Oh my," Calum breathes. "He’s beautiful."

Pride flutters in my chest.

"Hey, Ossian," I say gently. "You want to meet my Mama and Onyx’s daddy?"

Ossian hesitates, his small fingers tightening. Then, slowly, he nods.

I scoop him up, settling him against me.

"Oh, he’s precious," Calum murmurs, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

Mama pats his back. "I just never thought they were ever going to find a sub," she whispers. "And now look at them. He’s perfect."

"I know, I know," she adds, shaking her head, making me roll my eyes internally.

Mama reaches for Ossian’s hand, shaking it gently. "Hello, sweetheart." she says, mindful of the subspace he's in. 

Ossian’s lips twitch, a shy little smile peeking through.

It's no surprise Mama’s good with the Little. She's good with children and babies. She’s a midwife, has helped birth most children in my hometown, and something about her just settles people. Ossian isn’t an exception.

Mama straightens suddenly.

"Oh, I have to make us some tea," she announces. "By the way, I gave your chef some time off."

I blink.

"Mama—"

She gives me a look.

I snap my mouth shut immediately. 

"We need to catch up," she declares. "Now, please be the gentlemen we raised ya to be, and help us with our bags,'' she says in her sourhern drawl. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

Calum gasps, slapping his knee. “Oh, girl, you’re fibbing!”

Mama lifts a brow, leaning in conspiratorially. “Just think about it for a lil’ minute! I’m tellin’ ya—it was right there in front of us the whooole time!”

Calum’s eyes widen. “So ya mean after church when they would—?”

“Mhm,” Mama confirms, nodding knowingly.

I’m riveted by their small-town gossip, hanging onto every word like a kid at storytime.

But before I can ask for more details, a small voice pulls me back.

“Mama?”

I turn to see Ossian, his big eyes searching for me.

“I’m here, Little boy,” I say, moving to scoop him up.

As I settle him in my arms, I place a tray of fresh muffins on the table.

“Uh!” Ossian’s little hand shoots out, pointing at them excitedly.

“I know,” I chuckle, pressing a kiss to his curls. “It’s the ones you made.”

Mama perks up, reaching for one. “Oh, you made these, darlin’?” She takes a bite, then lets out a dramatic moan of pleasure. “Oh, honey, these are the best muffins in the world!”

Ossian ducks his head, shy but clearly pleased. “Blu-berries!” he informs, making Mama and Calum melt instantly.

“Oh, my heart!” Mama clutches her chest like she’s been struck. “Whose recipe is this?”

“Ansel’s.”

“Well,” Calum says, taking a hefty bite of his own, “we’re definitely gonna have a talk with that boy.”

I laugh, already knowing Ansel’s in for a lecture about not calling them.

Then Calum’s gaze sharpens slightly. “Did I hear him call you Mama?”

Ah. Here we go.

I barely open my mouth before he whistles low. “Ohhh, Adam is not gonna like that.”

Adam—Onyx’s other father. The very traditional, very proper one.

“Mama!” Ossian scowls, pointing at me like he’s making a declaration.

I shrug. “I really don’t mind it.” In fact, I like it. It makes sense. I’m his mama, the nurturer, the one he turns to for comfort. Onyx is his protector, and Hendrix provides the structure and firmness he craves.

“He’s a handful,” Calum says, reaching out to boop Ossian’s nose. The boy giggles, wrinkling it up.

Then Mama takes a deep breath, straightens her back, and says, “I’m just gonna say it.”

“Leann,” Calum warns, but he looks far too amused to actually stop her.

“You’re keepin’ him,” Mama announces matter-of-factly. “He’s your submissive. He’s the perfect son-in-law.”

She wipes a crumb off Ossian’s mouth like she’s already claimed him.

I groan, rubbing my temples. “Mama, Calum, I’m only gonna say this once—he’s our student—”

“He calls you Mama!” Calum interrupts, gesturing wildly.

“I know—I—”

“Then it’s settled,” Mama says firmly. “You’re keepin’ him.”

Lord, help me.

Before I can argue, Calum gasps, his tone shifting to pure scandal. “Oh! I forgot to tell ya!”

I brace myself.

“I saw Stacey Chapman in the grocery store last week,” he continues, lowering his voice like he’s revealing government secrets. “And she was high!”

I nearly choke on my muffin. “No way!”

“I swear it,” he insists. “Her eyes were red and everything!”

“Oh my gosh, I knew it,” Mama exclaims. “You know I heard she was with Anton at Darla’s barbecue?”

I gasp dramatically. “Oh, the one Anne-Marie wasn’t invited to?”

Ossian tugs on my sleeve. “Time-out?”

I glance down at him, confused for a second—until I realize he’s talking about last night.

But Mama, thinking he’s following the gossip, nods sagely. “You’re right, baby, Anne-Marie needs a time-out.”

Calum bursts into laughter, and Ossian grins, happy to be part of the conversation.

“But wait—did she find out?” I press.

Mama nods with full confidence. “Uh-huh.”

Calum’s jaw drops. “That would mean—”

Mama nods again, eyes wide. “Uh-huh!”

Calum gasps, clutching his chest. “Girl, oh my gosh!”

“In front of God and everyone,” Mama whisper-shouts.

I shake my head, grinning. Small-town gossip never fails.

But then Ossian whines, stretching his arms toward the window.

“Mama!”

I know that tone.

I follow his gaze and sigh. He’s been watching the guards come and go all week, always wanting to go with them.

“I know, sweetheart,” I murmur.

“What’s the matter, sugarbear?” Mama asks, concern lacing her tone.

“He wants to go somewhere other than the property,” I explain. “But we can’t—he’s a celebrity.”

Calum tsks sympathetically, reaching over to lift Ossian from my lap. I blink, surprised that Ossian lets him.

“Out!” Ossian insists, pointing toward the window.

Calum rubs his back. “Oh, bless your heart, little one.” Then he turns to me, brow raised. “Why don’t ya get a place in Roselake?”

Mama immediately perks up, slapping my shoulder. “Oh! That’s a great idea!”

Roselake.

It’s one of the biggest Little communities in the world, practically a city at this point. Built specifically for submissives who are often, mostly full time, in their Little-sub space. Others, who do not have full time Littles, but occasionally enjoys the sub-space, buy a place there and visit when they feel like it. 

I know a lot of high-profile subs and doms who own houses there. It’s private. Secure. And it’s not a terrible idea.

“And the town’s real close to ours,” Mama adds.

Calum nods. “You’d have privacy. Safe places for him to explore. And he wouldn’t have to feel like he’s locked away.”

I glance down at Ossian. His little face is pressed against Calum’s chest. 

I exhale, rubbing my jaw.

“I think that’s a good idea,” I mumble.

If Ossian chooses us. 

Chapter Text

Then

Fabien

The gates slide shut behind the two black SUVs, the heavy clang echoing through the compound. I watch from my office window as the vehicles roll to a stop in the garage, the tinted windows making it impossible to see inside. A knock at my door pulls me away from my thoughts.

"They're here, Fabien," Grant calls from the other side.

"I'll be right there," I reply, but I don't move just yet.

Through the glass, I see the guards stepping out first, then the back door of the lead SUV swings open. A small figure is carried out—Ossian. I was expecting him. What I wasn't expecting was the second child being pulled from the car right after him.

My brows furrow as I watch Ossian immediately reach for the boy's hand, his tiny fingers gripping tightly, offering what little comfort he can. The other boy looks older—maybe five.

I don't waste any more time. I push away from my desk and head straight for the garage.

The tension in the air is thick when I arrive. Neely looks pissed.

"What's going on?" I demand.

Neely grits his teeth. "They wouldn't let go of each other. We had to take them both. There wasn't enough time."

My jaw tightens. I glance down at the boys. Their faces are blotchy, eyes rimmed red from crying. Their tiny chests rise and fall in uneven breaths, and I know—they've been scared for a while. 

Tamara steps forward, gently nudging them forward. "This is Fabien," she tells them, her voice softer than usual. "He's your new... caretaker."

Neither of them moves. Their wide eyes stay locked onto me.

I wait until the others step back before I crouch down. They're small, fragile, barely more than babies.

"Hey, guys," I say, keeping my tone as gentle as I can.

They flinch. Shit. My voice can be rough at the best of times. I take a slow breath and try again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I keep my hands at my sides, non-threatening, waiting.

After a beat, the little one—the one I already know—speaks first. "Sian," he says softly. Then he looks up at the other boy, pressing close to him. "Ellis," he adds, pointing.

Ellis.

I didn't know his name. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to have him. But I know one thing—sending him back isn't an option now. I'll find a way to make him useful.

"You guys hungry?" I ask.

They exchange glances, their little shoulders tensing—like they're afraid to say the wrong thing. But then, hesitantly, they nod.

"Alright then," I say. "Let's get you something to eat."

I scoop Ossian up in one arm and take Ellis's hand in my free one. His grip is small, hesitant, but he holds on. That's something.

"You're a big boy, huh?" I ask Ellis as I lead them inside. "How old are you?"

Before he can answer, Ossian shrieks in my ear, "Five!"

I wince, my ear ringing, and Ossian bursts into giggles at my reaction.

Yeah. I can already tell—I'm going to have my hands full with this one.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

Hendrix

I pull my briefs up, watching as Onyx steps out of the shower. Water clings to his skin, rivulets trailing down the sharp line of his jaw, slipping over his throat, cascading down the ridges of his chest and the hard planes of his abdomen. He's effortlessly gorgeous, even now, steam curling around him like a second skin.

I smirk, leaning against the doorframe. 

"How's your ass?" I ask, voice low.

He gives me a look, equal parts amused and exhausted. "Sore."

"Good."

Before he can react, I push him up against the wall. His breath stutters, muscles tensing—but only for a moment. Then I feel it, the shift, the way his body surrenders beneath my hands. Perfect.

I lean in and claim his mouth in a deep kiss, slow and consuming. When I finally pull away, his lips are kiss-bruised, his breath uneven.

"Thank you, Hendrix," he murmurs. "I—I needed that."

I run my thumb across his jaw, satisfied. "I think we both did."

His eyes darken slightly, but then he straightens, giving me that familiar stubborn look. "I still don't think you believe I'm sorry for going to see Alastair."

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "I believe you're sorry for disobeying me. Not for going."

Onyx grins, cocky and unapologetic. I swat his ass hard enough to make him jolt. His chuckle turns into a full laugh.

"Where are they?" he asks, still grinning as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. 

"Finnian's putting the Little to sleep, but I doubt he's had any luck," I tell him.

Onyx chuckles knowingly. Ossian has been trying to sleep in our bed for days now, but we've been firm about keeping him in his crib. It's important for his headspace. But denying him anything is torture—especially for Finnian.

"I'll check on them. You—" I point a finger at Onyx, giving him a look. "Bed. Five minutes."

He salutes me mockingly. I shake my head and step out of the bathroom.

Finnian is lying in bed, glasses perched on his nose, a book propped up in his hands. But I can tell immediately—he's not reading.

"Finnian," I say.

"Hendrix," he replies, not looking up.

I raise an eyebrow.

There's a small giggle from beneath the covers.

"Finnian," I say again, slower this time.

Finnian sighs, clearly caught. "Ossian, you were supposed to be quiet, little boy," he hisses.

I pull the blanket up in one motion, revealing a guilty-looking Little curled up beneath.

Ossian squeals, caught red-handed.

Finnian starts to explain, but I don't give him the chance. "Let's go," I say, scooping up the squirming Little and carrying him to the playroom.

Archie, the little golden fluffball, is curled up by the crib in his little dog bed. His tail thumps lazily as I lay Ossian down.

"Papa?" Ossian's bottom lip pushes out.

I know that look. He's about to cry. Silent tears, the kind that break my damn heart.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. Then an idea strikes.

Without hesitation, I climb into the crib, shifting to get comfortable amidst the pillows and thick duvet.

Ossian stares at me in absolute shock before bursting into delighted laughter.

"Don't understand why you wouldn't want to sleep in here," I say casually, stretching out.

He giggles harder, hands slapping the mattress.

"Alright, alright, come here," I pull the covers over us both. His little body presses against me, warm and trusting.

"Uh!" He points at Archie.

"No," I say firmly. "He's not getting in here."

Archie whines.

Ossian's big, pleading eyes mirror the pup's perfectly. "Pl-ease," he says, struggling to pronounce the word.

I groan. "Bloody hell." Reaching out, I grab the golden fluffball and settle him at the foot of the crib.

Finnian is right. The Little does have us wrapped around his fingers.

"Daddy?" Ossian asks sleepily.

"Daddy is with Mama Bear," I tell him. "We don't want him to be all alone, right?"

He nods solemnly. "Papa gone."

"Not gone. Just had to deal with Daddy."

Ossian's eyes widen with curiosity.

"Well," I smirk, "if you must know, I spanked him... among other things."

Ossian gasp-laughs, his giggles shaking his frame.

"You think that's funny?" I ask.

"Yeah!" he squeaks.

I hum.

 "Cal, Daddy bad."

I blink. "Are you talking about Calum?"

He nods.

I let out a breath, shaking my head. I shouldn't be surprised. I should've known Calum and Leann would be waiting when I got home, ready to rip into me about Onyx being shot. 

"Yeah," I sigh. "Calum was not happy with Daddy... or Papa, for that matter."

Ossian frowns, his Little mind working through something. His eyes flick up to me, then away. Over and over.

I don't push. Not yet.

Then, suddenly, his lip wobbles. His little chest rises and falls in deep, uneven breaths before tears well up and spill over.

"Ossian?" I pull him closer, instinct kicking in. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

He takes a few shaky breaths, struggling to speak.

"Shhh," I soothe, rubbing his back. "I got you."

His hands fist into my shirt. His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Sian... b-bad." His breath hitches. His whole body trembles.

My chest tightens. I know—I know—he's not just talking about last night's meltdown.

I shift, cupping his cheek, making him look at me. "Hey," I say firmly. "My Little is not bad. You hear me?"

He sniffles, nodding weakly.

I soften just a bit. "Can be naughty sometimes," I add.

His face scrunches. "No!"

"Oh, really?" I smirk, arching a brow. "You wanna go there?"

Before he can react, I tickle him, making him shriek with laughter.

"Alright, alright, come on now," I say once his giggles die down. I reach for the soother and gently place it in his mouth.

He's asleep within minutes.

I could leave now.

But I don't.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

"How are you feeling?" I ask as Onyx steps out of the bathroom, still damp from his shower. His skin glistens under the dim bedroom light, his body covered in deep bruises and faint red streaks. Each mark is evidence of the night's intensity, of surrender and control, of trust and need.

"Jeez," I breathe, taking in the sight of him.

Instead of answering, he climbs onto the bed, pressing himself against me without hesitation. His weight is warm, grounding. He buries his face against my stomach, his arms wrapping around my waist like he belongs there.

"I'm good, baby," he mumbles against my skin. Then, with a lazy grin, he adds, "Hendrix's British accent is so hot."

I chuckle, fingers drifting through his damp hair. "We can thank Ossian for that one—he just brings it out of him."

Onyx hums in amusement before nuzzling closer, fully content. "I'm sorry you missed it."

I know exactly what he's talking about. Watching Hendrix and Onyx fight for dominance is one of my favorite things in the world. The raw energy between them, the way they push and challenge each other—it's almost primal. Hendrix always wins, but Onyx never makes it easy, and the entire thing turns me on like nothing else.

"It's okay," I murmur. "It felt nice hanging out with our parents. They love Ossian."

Onyx lets out another soft chuckle. "I know. Dad couldn't stop talking about him after he finished scolding me."

I smile, but my fingers still in his hair as something heavy settles in my chest. "Onyx," I say, voice quieter now. "I don't think I can do this again."

His body tenses. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at me. "What do you mean?"

I swallow, gathering my thoughts. "I mean, training subs like this—I can't do it again. When Ossian leaves, it's going to destroy us. I don't understand how other doms do it."

His expression shifts instantly. His entire posture tightens like I've just said something offensive. "He's not leaving."

His certainty is so absolute, so final, like fate itself wouldn't dare say otherwise.

I brush my fingers through his hair again, softer this time. "We have to be ready," I say gently.

He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw tightening. "Finnian," he says, voice firm. "We've looked for a sub for years. We finally found our boy. And we're just supposed to let him go?"

I exhale, my hand resting on the back of his neck. "Onyx, we might be ready. But Ossian isn't."

"Bullshit." His tone is sharp, defensive, laced with frustration.

I don't push. Not tonight. Instead, I lean down and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. "Let's sleep."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Alastair

"Chief, I searched everywhere. There's nothing online about his family or past—it's him!"

"Henning, I need you to calm down."

I stop pacing around the chief's office, forcing a deep breath in an attempt to steady myself, but it does little to ease the storm inside me. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my hands trembling slightly as I turn the laptop screen toward him.

"Look at him," I insist, pointing at the image on the screen. "Look at him. We look alike. He even has my mom's eyes."

The chief exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple as he studies the photo. "His name is Ossian Ambrose. What if he was adopted? What if the family only wanted one kid, and that's why we were separated? Families always want the younger child." My voice shakes slightly. "Look, Chief, I want to reduce my hours. With your permission, of course. I know I just made lieutenant, and it's only for a short time—"

"Henning." His tone is firm. "I've been urging you to take time off for a while. You still haven't used any of your vacation days." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "You have my full support. I'll have someone cover your position while you're gone. But, kid... I don't want to see you hurt. You need to be prepared for bad news."

"I know," I murmur. "I just—I need this. I need to finally figure out what happened to him."

Ever since I heard Joshy talk about Ossian, I haven't been able to get the kid out of my head. Not just because he has the same first name as my baby brother, but because something—something I can't explain—is pulling me toward him. I barely slept last night, scouring every resource I could find. If there's even a chance...

I swallow hard, staring down at the image on the screen. I have to know.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

Onyx and I bolt into the nursery, panic sharp and immediate.

We'd been downstairs, letting the baby sleep in while we had breakfast, when the sound of Archie's frantic barking came through the baby monitor. The puppy barks all the time, but this was different—this was his something's wrong bark.

Onyx is the first to reach the crib, gently lifting the tiny golden fluff ball and setting him on the floor.

"Papa!" Ossian whines, his little voice hoarse and pitiful.

"Oh, sweet boy," I murmur, scooping him into my arms. His body is warm, his forehead damp with sweat. He clings to me weakly, nuzzling into my shoulder. "Papa had to go to work," I explain softly, rocking him slightly.

Onyx stands frozen beside us, his hands clenching and unclenching, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. His protective instincts are flaring hard, but his worry is making it impossible for him to act.

"Hey, babe," I say gently. "Can you run him a bath?"

He nods immediately, still staring at the baby. "He's fine, babe," I assure him.

"You sure, Finn?"

"I am."

Ossian shifts against me, pressing his flushed cheek to my neck. "Mama," he croaks, his fingers curling into my shirt.

"I'm here, sweet boy," I whisper. "Gonna make you feel all better."

I lay him on the changing table, expecting at least a little protest, but he doesn't fight me at all. My heart squeezes. He must feel miserable. I make quick work of his clothes and diaper before carrying him into the connected bathroom, lowering him carefully into the bath.

The second the water touches him, he lets out a weak, unhappy cry.

"Shhh, Menino," Onyx murmurs, crouching beside the tub. His large hand moves soothingly over Ossian's wet hair, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the back of his neck. The Little sniffles, his fingers wrapping around Onyx's wrist like an anchor.

Once he's scrubbed down and clean, we dress him in soft sweats and a hoodie, then rub a bit of Walter's special 'sick' balm onto his chest. "Your head hurts, honey?" I ask when I notice him clutching his forehead.

He nods, lips trembling.

"It's okay, sweet boy," I murmur, dabbing some balm onto his forehead. "This will help."

After forcing down a bit of medicine, we carry him downstairs, where we're immediately swarmed by our concerned family.

"He has a fever," I inform them.

"Calum and I will make him some of my soup after breakfast," my mom declares.

"That would be great, Mama."

Walter enters, placing a warm bottle of milk on the table. "For the Little."

"Thank you, Walter," I say, my voice thick with gratitude.

"I've already instructed the staff to sanitize the entire manor," he adds.

I exhale, relieved. "Thank you." The last thing we need is for everyone to get sick.

"We'll help out," Calum says.

"But Dad—" Samael starts, but immediately quiets at Calum's raised eyebrows.

"You get better, little one," Walter says gently.

Ossian musters a tiny, weak smile—it's the first one we've seen today.

Onyx picks up the bottle and presses the nipple to Ossian's lips. "It'll help your throat, menino"

Ossian turns his head away.

Onyx tenses, frustration flickering across his face—not at Ossian, but at his own helplessness.

"Onyx," I say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "He'll take it eventually. Right now, I think he just needs some good cuddles." I stroke his tense forearm, feeling him relax under my touch.

"I must call the school—"

"Absolutely not," my mom interrupts sharply. "You are going in, Finnian Knox!"

"Mama, I can't leave! Ossian is sick!"

"Oh, it's just for a few hours, and he's in fine hands," Calum says.

"But—"

"No buts. This is an important day, and I know my son—you'll regret it if you don't go in. Besides, one reason we came was to help. Let us help, sugar."

I sigh, rubbing my temple. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

She's right. Today is an important day. Summer break is over, and the last summer classes end tomorrow. Since our school functions as both a dom/sub academy and a university, the summer program is designed to ensure that students don't fall behind.

"Daddy," Ossian sniffles.

"I got you, Menino," Onyx murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You think some fresh air will help?" he asks me.

"How about you take him to the porch swing and rock him for a bit?" Calum suggests.

Onyx hesitates. "You sure, Dad?"

"Yes. It won't hurt to try."

Onyx doesn't need more convincing. He stands with the baby and makes his way outside.

I grab two plates of breakfast and some coffee before following them.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Onyx

"He's still out?" Beniel asks as he steps into the room, his voice hushed.

"Yeah," I sigh, my fingers trailing softly through the Little's hair. Ossian is curled up against me, his feverish body limp in my arms, breaths slow and shallow.

Dad sits beside me on the couch, resting a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "He's going to be just fine, Onyx."

I swallow hard, shifting Ossian slightly so he's more comfortable. "It's just hard seeing him like this."

I've carried him all day, or had him in my lap at the very least. I know I should probably lay him down, let him rest properly in bed, but the thought of setting him down—even for a second—feels unbearable.

Hendrix just called with news that they're finally making arrests at Ossian's old agency. Everyone is gathering in the living room to watch the coverage. Except for Finnian—he's still at work.

"Hey! It's starting!" Samael turns up the volume.

The news anchor appears on the screen, voice crisp and professional.

"Breaking news: Several employees at SK Management have been arrested after multiple submissives have come forward with allegations of abuse and neglect. The scandal first came to light after actor Ossian Ambrose spoke out about his own experiences in an exclusive interview with The People's Magazine."

The screen cuts to a press conference, Ossian's legal team standing before a sea of microphones.

"Right now, we have a significant amount of evidence against multiple employees, including Ossian Ambrose's former manager and the CEO of SK Management—not only from Ambrose himself, but from other submissives as well."

A quiet sound stirs against my chest, and I glance down just as Ossian's eyes flutter open. He blinks sluggishly at the screen.

"Papa?" His voice is groggy, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, Menino, he's on TV," I murmur, adjusting him in my lap so he can see properly.

"Are the other submissives also actors?" a reporter asks.

"Some are," Hendrix answers. "Others aren't."

Ossian's lips curl into the faintest smile as he watches Hendrix on the screen. "Papa," he murmurs again, weakly pointing at the TV.

Leann leans in, pressing her cool palm to his flushed forehead. "C'mon, sugar, let's get some soup in ya."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A few days later...

Ossian

"If you didn't want fucking tomatoes, you should've told me that in the first place. I can't read your goddamn mind!"

The dumbass dom scowls at me from across the counter, shoving the plate toward me. "Get me a new one."

I snatch up the plate, pop the top bun off, flick the tomatoes onto the counter, and slap the bun back in place. Then I shove it back at him with a saccharine smile. "Good as new."

His friend barks out a laugh. "He's feisty. I like him."

I shoot him a scowl. "Don't talk about me like I'm not standing right fucking here."

"Ambrose!"

I groan as Tag suddenly appears from fucking nowhere, arms crossed, looking every bit the pissed-off boss. 

"Are you causing trouble again?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not!"

"Back into the kitchen. Now."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes.

His brows lift slightly.

"Yes, sir," I correct myself. Tag spanks hard. 

"That's better."

I trudge back into the kitchen and focus on the new order—two cheeseburgers and some onion rings. Working here isn't terrible, but I hate dealing with the customers.

This morning, I woke up from my Little headspace. It always feels weird—like waking up from a coma, like my life just skipped a week. Some subs remember everything when they shift out of Little-subspace. I never seem to do. But I always feel amazing afterward. Light. Free.

I flip the patties onto the toasted buns before moving to the fryer for the onions.

"Another order," Tag mutters, sliding a slip onto the counter.

I glare at it. "Stupid doms, thinking they own the fucking place," I grumble under my breath.

A sudden giggle startles me.

I glance over my shoulder and spot another sub standing near the doorway.

My eyes widen in delight. "Finally! Another sub around here!" I grin at him. "And you're cute." I wink.

His cheeks immediately flush pink, and he stammers, "I r-really like y-your movies," his head twitching slightly to the side in an involuntary motion.

I narrow my eyes, something clicking in my mind. "Wait a second," I say, pointing the spatula at him like I’ve just figured out a mystery. "You have Tourette’s?"

He nods, looking a bit embarrassed. "And a-also a b-bad st-stutter," he mumbles, his head twitching again as he groans quietly.

"I played a character with Tourette's!"

His entire face lights up, his eyes bright with excitement. "Th-th-that's my f-favorite m-movie from y-you," he admits shyly, a little color rising in his cheeks. Then, his expression falters, and he bites his lip, dropping his gaze to the floor. "S-sorry if it’s a-a-annoying. It’s n-not al-ways this b-bad."

My stomach clenches, a mix of empathy and protectiveness flooding over me. I straighten up and turn toward him, my voice taking on a firm edge. "Hey," I say, my tone sharp, "You're not annoying. And don’t you ever apologize for it again, got it?" I point the spatula at him like a weapon, emphasizing my words.

He looks up at me, his expression softening, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

"I can't take my eyes off you for a second—now you're threatening my other employees?"

The sound of Tag’s voice makes me groan inwardly, as if I didn’t already have enough going on.

The new sub turns to him, his smile broad and genuine. "Hey, sir!"

Tag's features immediately soften, his expression melting as he leans in to press a quick kiss to Theo's lips. "Hey, baby."

I immediately make exaggerated gagging sounds, rolling my eyes. "Ugh. Gross."

Tag just shakes his head, his usual smirk forming. Theo giggles behind his hand, clearly amused.

"This is Theo," Tag says, his voice suddenly serious, as if he’s making an official introduction. "He's my submissive. Just started at Chestworth."

I cross my arms, eyeing Theo with a critical gaze, weighing him up. "A sub who actually works here?"

Theo nods, his smile never wavering, completely unbothered by my scrutiny.

I raise an eyebrow, my smirk growing wider. "Well, you might just make this job a little less miserable."

He blushes deeply at that, and Tag mutters something under his breath about me being a menace. He hands me another order slip without further comment, but my focus drifts right back to Theo.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Alastair

"OW!"

The sharp smack against my arm stings more than it should, but I barely have time to react before she's grabbing my bicep and dragging me inside.

"That's for not answering our texts or calls!" she snaps.

"Are all chicks this violent when pregnant?" I grumble, rubbing my arm.

"If I wasn't pregnant, you'd be over my knee," she huffs. Then, narrowing her eyes, she adds, "Actually, you know what? When Emerson gets home, he'll deal with you."

I roll my eyes. "Relax, Helena. I've been busy at the firehouse—especially since making lieutenant."

Her mouth tightens like she wants to keep scolding me, but I see the shift—the slight softening in her eyes, the tension easing from her shoulders. She can't stay mad at me for long. I flash her a cocky grin, and she sighs, exasperated.

"You're so stupid," Helena mutters, rolling her eyes with that familiar exasperated look. "C'mon."

I follow her into the living room, where Alfie is kneeling on the floor, his hands resting casually on his thighs. His posture is straight, but there's a relaxed ease about him that makes it clear he’s comfortable in his space.

"Is he still being punished for last time?" I ask, my grin already creeping onto my face.

By last time, I mean the night Alfie and I went a little overboard at the bar and ended up in a holding cell for a few hours. Good times.

"No," Helena says, brushing her fingers through Alfie's messy red wavy hair as she gestures for him to stand. "He's just been in a mood all morning. Needed to settle down."

Helena and Emerson are both doms, and Alfie—their sub—also happens to be one of my best friends. We go way back, meeting in school, and I’ve been getting him into trouble ever since.

"Hey, freckles," I say, my smirk widening.

His nose scrunches up in irritation. "You know I hate that nickname."

"I know," I reply with a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat’s. "That's why it suits you."

Alfie punches me in the shoulder, hard enough to make me stumble slightly.

"Ow! Hey!" I protest, rubbing the spot where he hit me. "I am a dom, you know—I could spank you for that."

Helena snorts, clearly enjoying the banter. "Sometimes I forget."

I shoot her a look, but she just raises an eyebrow and smirks back at me.

"Anyway," I say, shifting gears, "I need to talk to you about something."

"I'll make some chai," Alfie offers, looking at Helena for approval, his tone polite but slightly distant as he seems to sense the change in the conversation.

Helena gives him a nod, and Alfie heads off to the kitchen.

I sink onto the couch next to my sister, pulling my phone from my pocket and opening the picture I’ve been dying to show her.

She glances at it, brow furrowing. "He looks familiar."

"He's an actor," I say, watching her reaction closely.

"Oh," she hums, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I think I’ve seen one of his movies. He's cute."

I hesitate for a second before saying, "I think it's 'Sian."

Her expression freezes. "What?"

I pull up another image—an old one, from when we were kids. Three little faces stare back from the screen. "His name is Ossian. And you cannot tell me he doesn't have Mom's eyes. Look—" I point to the youngest in the picture, barely three years old. "—he looks exactly like him, like our baby brother."

Helena takes the phone, staring at it for a long moment. Then, she exhales and hands it back.

"Ali," she sighs, rubbing her temples. "I know you want it to be him. Hell, I do too. But we've been through this. We've looked, we've searched, we've hired a private detective—"

I clench my jaw, knowing where this is going.

"And every single time," she continues, "we've gotten disappointed." She shakes her head. "I can't, Alastair. I won't get my hopes up again."

I grip my phone a little tighter. "I get it," I say quietly. "I do. I just... wanted you to know that I'm going to reach out to him. It won't hurt to try."

She watches me for a long moment, then sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Fine," she mutters. Then she levels me with a glare. "But—if I find out you've done something stupid—so help me God, Alastair!"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Then

Fabien

I ruffle his curls. "You're going to have several."

I don't add why. That when they're older, they'll have to use different names—different identities—when they go undercover. They're still too young to understand that part.

Ellis suddenly perks up. "How many surnames do you have?"

"Just one," I say. "Fabien Ambrose."

Ellis beams. "Fabien Ambrose. Can I have it too?"

I chuckle at the way he says my full name, like it's something important. "You want my surname?"

"Yes, please."

"I want it too!" Ossian chimes in, eyes wide with excitement. Then, realizing he's too loud, he claps a hand over his mouth.

I laugh softly. "Okay, okay—shhh, Ossian, you'll wake everyone up."

They giggle, barely containing their excitement.

"Alright," I say, smiling. "You both can have my surname. From now on, you are Ellis Ambrose and Ossian Ambrose."

Their laughter fills the room, echoing against the walls.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

Beniel

“How was work?” I ask, watching as Ossian flops onto the bean bag beside me, his face lighting up with that infectious energy he always seems to carry after a busy day.

“I met another sub!” he exclaims, his voice full of excitement.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “You two hit it off?”

He fidgets with a loose thread on his sleeve, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I think so…”

“But you felt fine working?” I press, watching him closely. “Even after waking up from your Little subspace this morning?”

He shrugs, the motion casual but his eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper. “Yeah, I’m fine. It wasn’t that bad.”

I narrow my eyes, sensing something unspoken. “You still haven’t read much about the different subspaces, have you?”

Ossian stiffens slightly, his voice a little defensive. “They mentioned them in the second sub book.”

I lean in, trying to make my point clear. “One reason the Little subspace is so important—especially for subs like you—”

His head snaps up, a flash of irritation crossing his features. “Subs like me?! How many times do I have to tell everyone—I’m not a brat, Ben!” He crosses his arms tightly across his chest, eyes narrowing in a defiant challenge. Of course, the gesture is textbook bratty behavior.

I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile. “I meant subs who’ve been through things like… abuse, Ossian. Subs who need healing.”

His expression shifts, the brief flare of anger fading into something more guarded. A muscle in his jaw tightens, and I can feel the tension in the room shift. He looks away, his arms still crossed, refusing to meet my gaze.

I take a deep breath, my tone softening as I continue. “When subs enter their Little subspace, they reconnect with their inner child.”

“Inner child?” Ossian repeats, his voice tinged with wariness.

I nod slowly, watching him closely. “It’s the part of you that still reacts and feels like a child. Everyone has one—even doms. But some people have a wounded inner child, one that needs healing. And when a sub enters Little headspace, they become that child—heart and soul. A good dom can almost help with re-parenting them in a way.”

Ossian shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his arms like he’s trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling creeping up his spine.

I continue, careful with my words. “Littles also tend to remember things from their past when they’re in that headspace. Sometimes, it’s not just feelings that surface, but memories—things that were left unresolved.”

He stiffens, the muscles in his back taut, and his gaze flickers away, like he’s bracing himself for something.

I take a breath before saying it. “For example, you’ve had nightmares. And you’ve mentioned names.”

His shoulders jerk slightly. “What names?” he asks, his voice low and tight, as though he’s already preparing to shut down.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether or not to push further, but I know this conversation is important. “Fabien is one,” I say gently.

At the mention of Fabien’s name, Ossian’s fingers tighten around his sleeves, his lips pressed together in an almost imperceptible line of tension. He bites his lip, a self-soothing gesture I’ve seen before, and I know this is something deeply sensitive for him.

I let the silence stretch, watching him carefully. Fabien is clearly a raw spot—something he’s not ready to confront yet, or perhaps never will be. It’s a reminder of how deep his scars go, how much he carries beneath that playful, bratty exterior.

"There's nothing wrong with my inner child," he mutters.

I lean forward. "Close your eyes."

He hesitates, then obeys.

"Now imagine... a four-year-old Ossian standing right in front of you. You know him best. How does he feel?"

He shrugs, keeping his face neutral.

"Is this little boy fine to you?"

"Yeah."

I let the silence stretch. Let him sit with it. Minutes pass before I see the shift—a tiny furrow between his brows, the way his throat bobs, the single tear that slips from the corner of his eye.

"Ossian?" I say gently.

His face crumples. "Please don't make him leave!"

I still. "Leave?" I coax.

"I—I—please stop!"

"Ossian, open your eyes for me."

"No!" He shakes his head violently, breathing ragged. His body tenses, trembling.

I get up quickly, calling for Hendrix, knowing he's close by. Then I sit beside Ossian, wrapping my arms around him. "Hey. You're safe now."

"NO!" He thrashes, panic spilling over.

Hendrix is there in seconds. His strong arms pull Ossian against him, slotting him between his legs, holding him steady. His voice is low, grounding. "I got you."

"Ossian," I murmur, keeping my tone calm, "Hendrix is holding you. You're safe."

"I'm here, sweetheart," Hendrix says, pressing his lips against the side of Ossian's head. "I'm right here. I got you."

A broken sound escapes Ossian's throat. "Hendrix?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm here. I got you."

There's a pause. Then, quietly, "Okay." His body melts against Hendrix, muscles going slack. But his eyes stay shut.

Hendrix turns to me. "What happened?"

I exhale slowly. "Progress."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix

"Have a good nap?"

Ossian hums in response, his fingers tapping away on his laptop, eyes never leaving the screen. His brows furrow slightly in concentration, the blue glow of the device illuminating his face in the dimly lit room.

After a moment, he says, "I had another meltdown."

I sigh. "I know, sweetheart." I reach over, gently nudging the laptop aside before settling on the bed beside him. His body tenses for just a second, then relaxes into the mattress.

"You're coming to work with me," I tell him.

That gets his attention. His fingers pause over the keys. "I am? Why?"

I stretch, rolling my shoulders. "It's part of your training. You need to learn how things work outside the house." Then, with a smirk, I add, "Besides, it's a full house right now—I love them all, but I need a break."

He snorts. "Leann and Calum are the best, Hendrix."

Of course he thinks that. They dote on him, let him get away with murder. Not that we don't spoil him too, but we enforce the rules.

"Come on," I say, standing. "Let's get you dressed."

His eyes narrow suspiciously the second I hold up the clothes I've set aside for him.

"No," he says flatly. "I'm not wearing it."

I don't react. I expected this. He's been pushing boundaries since waking up from his Little space, testing. It's been hectic around here, this is the only time I've gotten to sufficiently deal with his behavior.

"That's not a choice," I say simply.

"Like hell it isn't!" His arms cross over his chest, lips pressing into a pout.

I take a step forward, grip his wrist, and tug him over my lap in one swift motion. His yelp is more surprise than resistance, his body going rigid for just a moment before realization sinks in. His bare ass, framed perfectly by the straps of his jockstap, is a tempting shade of pale.

"You're long overdue."

"No! Fuck you!"

The first smack lands sharp and deliberate. He jerks, a choked sound slipping from his throat.

"That's not how you speak to me, you know better," I say, my voice calm but firm.

I don't offer a warm-up. That's not what he needs. Instead, I find a steady rhythm, each swat deliberate, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the bedroom. His gasps morph into little yelps, his legs kicking against the mattress.

He seems to always act out after sinking into subspace or Little-subspace. It's his way of reaching, of asking. And I always answer.

"Are you ready to apologize?"

"NO!" His voice is defiant, his body thrashing. He's putting up a fight, but it's instinct, not conviction.

I continue, never missing a beat.

"You do not swear at a dominant when they give you an order."

"But Hendrix—Sir!" His breath hitches, his voice wavering. "*I don't want to wear that—*Ow! I want to pick my own clothes!"

"You know the rules about that."

"IT'S A STUPID RULE!"

I pause, just long enough to grab the hairbrush from the nightstand.

"No!" His whole body tenses. "I'm sorry!"

Too late.

The brush cracks against his ass, and his whimper is immediate. His legs kick harder, but I trap them between mine, keeping him still. I don't stop—not yet—delivering a rapid-fire series of smacks until his body trembles, his skin flushed red.

When I finally still my hand, his breath is ragged.

I guide him up so he's straddling my lap, his forehead pressed to my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sir," he whispers, voice small.

I run a hand down his back, soothing. "That's better."

He shifts against me, groaning. "That hurt."

I pat his warm bottom, making him hiss. "I'm putting a plug in you."

"But, Sir—"

"Don't be naughty next time."

He pouts.

I retrieve the plug and ease it into him, watching his lashes flutter as he exhales shakily. Then, I grab the clothes again. "Up. Arms up."

He glares at me but obeys, and I pull the soft white polo over his harness and collar. Then, I slide the black chinos, buttoning them at his waist. They're slim fit, the way he likes.

"You need a haircut," I mumble, combing my fingers through his curls.

He makes a noise of protest. "But I like how long it's gotten!"

"I do too." I smirk. Finnian keeps saying he looks like a Disney prince. "Only a trim."

He huffs. 

"You know, your dom—or doms—are going to decide this stuff for me in the future."

"But they can't decide my haircut if it's for a job, right?"

"No, that wouldn't be right."

"Even if it's a mustache?"

I chuckle. "Yes."

He shifts, rubbing his sore ass. "That was a very hard spanking."

I arch a brow. "Then behave at the office, or you'll find yourself right back over my knee."

His glare is petulant. "No. My ass is closed for business for the rest of the day."

I grin. "We'll see about that."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

After getting our hair cut, Hendrix drives us to his skyscraper. That's the only thing I'm calling it—it's huge, towering over the city like it owns the place. He has two offices: one here for his firm and another in the government sector where all the politicians do their thing.

The moment we step into the firm, the air shifts. Employees scramble out of Hendrix's path, backs straightening, conversations cut short. Their eyes dart toward him before quickly looking away, like they're afraid lingering too long will get them turned to stone.

I bite back a laugh when one poor guy tries to greet him and only manages a choked, "M—Mr—" before scurrying off. Hendrix doesn't even acknowledge it, just strides forward like a king surveying his kingdom. It's hilarious watching him like this—towering, terrifying, utterly unbothered.

I don't get it. Hendrix is just a big teddy bear.

But my amusement dies the second we step into his office and he turns to me.

"Kneel."

I stare at him. "C'mon, I want to go explore."

His eyes narrow.

Scowling, I sink to my knees onto the plush pillow beside his desk, straightening my back, relaxing my shoulders, just like he's taught me.

Hendrix hums in approval. "Beautiful."

I fight the urge to smile.

"You've improved. Good boy." His voice is smooth as he turns to his computer and starts typing.

I try to be good. I really do. But the plug inside me is only doing so much to keep me still, and I'm already restless. I keep glancing at the clock - It has only been fifteen minutes. 

I steal glances at the massive floor-to-ceiling window. The view is stunning—endless buildings stretching toward the horizon, people moving like tiny ants below. I wish I could sit closer.

The sudden chime of a machine on Hendrix's desk makes me jump.

"Sir, a call from your father."

Hendrix straightens, taking a slow breath before answering. "Thank you, Milla. Put him through."

I watch as his expression shifts, his entire body becoming more rigid.

"Father," he says smoothly. "Yes. I'm good. Yes, of course. Yes, he is. The fundraiser is all set. Yes..."

He's distracted.

This is my chance.

I'm on my feet and bolting out the door before I can think twice, laughter bubbling in my chest. I have no clue where I'm running to, but I don't care—the thrill of it courses through me, heart pounding.

I sprint through halls, turning corners blindly until I find myself on a floor filled with rows of cubicles.

And that's when I see them.

Subs.

Some kneeling beside desks, some standing in elegant formal wear, others barely dressed at all. Each one paired with a dom, the dynamic woven seamlessly into the workplace. I've seen collared subs walking through the streets before, led on leashes through markets and restaurants, but never like this—never so openly in a corporate setting.

I'm so caught up in staring that I don't hear the footsteps behind me until a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

I whip around to find a giant of a security guard looming over me.

"I got him," he says into an earpiece.

Oh, fuck.

He doesn't even hesitate before lifting me effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" I thrash, fists smacking against his back. "I—I'm serious! This is illegal—probably!"

He doesn't react. Just turns and starts walking back toward Hendrix's office like this is just another part of his job.

Shit. I regret my little escape..

We reach the office doors.

"Ossian!"

Oh no.

Hendrix does not sound happy.

I panic. "I don't regret it!" I yell, still squirming in the guard's grip.

The guy just sighs and shoves me onto my knees in front of Hendrix's desk before stepping back.

"Thank you, Maxwell," Hendrix says smoothly.

Maxwell nods before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

I don't dare to look up.

"Look at me."

Fuck.

Slowly, I lift my gaze from his polished leather shoes, up his strong legs, and rolled-up sleeves, until I meet his eyes.

He's pissed.

"I—"

"Don't talk." His voice is cold. "Stand up and strip."

My breath catches.

I obey immediately, peeling off my clothes with quick, precise movements. The harness, the cuffs, the jockstrap underneath—all remain. When I'm done, I fold my discarded outfit neatly on the leather couch.

Hendrix gestures to his feet.

I move to stand—

"No. Crawl."

My face burns.

God, this is humiliating. But even I know better than to argue right now.

On my hands and knees, I make my way toward him, the sound of my breathing loud in my ears.

When I reach him, I feel the tug at my collar, followed by a soft click.

My heart drops.

"No, please—" I shake my head. "Not the leash—"

He gives a sharp tug. A command.

I swallow hard and follow as he walks to his desk chair, my knees dragging against the carpet. He sits down and pulls me effortlessly over his lap.

I brace myself.

But nothing happens.

Instead, he picks up his tablet and starts working.

I stiffen.

This is worse.

The anticipation is killing me. Every second stretches unbearably long.

I grunt, shifting in his lap, hoping for some kind of reaction.

Smack.

I yelp.

"That," he says, still typing, "was a warning."

I don't make another sound.

A few employees step into the room, murmuring about spreadsheets and budgets.

They have to see me.

Do they know I'm here? Am I covered by the desk? I can't tell—

"Milla," Hendrix says casually, "I will be unavailable for the next hour."

"Yes, sir."

I barely have time to process before I feel the firm grip on my wrists, the click of cuffs being secured together.

"You wanted my attention," Hendrix murmurs, adjusting his grip. "Now you have it."

Then the spanking begins.

The first hit lands sharp, making me jolt.

"Ouch! Sir, I'm sorry—"

"Hmm. I thought you said—" he tightens his grip on my waist—"and I quote, I don't regret it."

"It was a joke!" I gasp. "People joke sometimes—OW! Stop—"

He keeps going, precise, unwavering.

Each smack sends warmth blooming across my skin, the sting deepening with every strike. My breath stutters as tears prickle my eyes.

Then—finally—he stops.

A hand smooths over my burning skin, soothing, teasing. My breath comes in sharp pants.

"You've earned yourself a week on the leash."

Hmm... I will find a way to charm my way out of that one. 

Before I can respond, I feel the slow, deliberate pull of the plug sliding out of me.

I moan before I can stop myself.

Hendrix chuckles.

And then—he shoves it right back in.

"Hen—sir—" I gasp, my body tensing.

Another sharp smack lands on my already sore skin.

I let out a shuddering breath.

"Naughty little boys over my knee don't talk."

I feel my face heat as my dick tries to get hard in the stupid cock cage. He pulls the plug out again, before sliding it in. He keeps doing this. In and out, in and out, making me moan loudly.

''Sir- please!''

He spanks me again. The ones that hurt but feel so good. ''Sir!'' I try again.

''Nuh-uh, Naughty boys don't get to cum,'' he says, making me whine. He shoves the plug back in one last time, before manhandling me so I'm kneeling under the desk between his legs. He brings out two dildos. I scowl at them. ''What do I have to do around here to get the real stuff!?''

He raises his eyebrows at me before he takes out his monstrous cock.

I gasp, making him chuckle.

I've wanted this. Is it really happening? But I haven't done it in a while, what if I'm not good enough? He sees the panic in my eyes.

''Hey, hey calm down,'' I feel his hand in my hair making me relax. ''We haven't done this before, I understand, you take as much as you can when you're ready. But I want you to know-'' he points to his large hard member, ''-you and your delicious ass did this.''

I blush.

He resumes his work like his cock isn't sticking out right in front of my face. I take a few deep breaths. I wasn't this nervous my first time sucking cock. I was 15 and did it with one of my co-workers in a storage closet on the set of my first action movie. I remember the rumors going around that we were dating, but we were only friends with benefits. I just don't want to mess up, I want Hendrix to think I'm good enough, I've never cared about that, but damn it - I do now.

I gasp when I suddenly feel the plug in my ass vibrating. I look up. Hendrix is smirking, his eyes still on the computer.

Bastard.

I move closer, my arms behind my back make it a bit harder, but I manage. I open my mouth before wrapping my lips around his cock; I hear him moan in surprise making me feel a good tingly sensation throughout my body. I can do better than this, I decide to go even deeper.

Bad idea.

''Ossian?''

I start choking, I try to pull back, but I'm having a hard time, I feel tears sting my eyes, ''Ossian!'' I feel Hendrix pull me off.

I cough. 

Then a glass presses against my lips, I let the cold water soothe my throat. ''There you go, darling, you're okay,'' he removes the plug and unclicks the wrist cuffs before pulling me to his lap. I can feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. ''Don't you ever do that again!'' He says.

For once in my life, I just wanted to be good for a dom, for Hendrix.  I look away. He sighs, ''Tell me what was going through your head.''

I shake my head, not wanting to talk anymore. I wanted to impress him, show him I can make him feel good, but I fucking failed. I'm a horrible sub.

''Absolutely not, I know that look. You're not a horrible sub, Ossian. Look at me-'' I do, ''-you're my good boy,'' he guides my head, so it's laying against his chest, his hand raking through my curls.

''Let it out,'' he gently urges. I'm not going to cry., ''I'm sorry!''

''Nothing to apologize for, I thought you said you had done it before?''

''I have, just... not with you.''

''It's okay, little alpha,''

I roll my eyes at the nickname. He kisses the top of my head. ''It did not really go as any of us expected, but that's okay. Now I know how we should go about it next time.''

I nod, still feeling like the biggest failure.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix

I sit with Ossian curled up on my lap, his face tucked against my chest, the scent of his shampoo mixing with the faint of cologne. His body is still trembling slightly, though he's calming. I stroke his back in slow, reassuring circles, my fingers tracing the straps of his harness. The moment of vulnerability unsettles me. It was such a young, immature sub thing to do. But then again, he is young. And his needs have been neglected.

The soft chime of the intercom cuts through the moment.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Milla's voice says smoothly. "Mr. Harrington called—he'll be here in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Milla," I reply, glancing down at Ossian. His lashes are still damp, his lips slightly swollen from chewing on them in frustration. He needs something to brighten his mood before Harrington arrives. And I know exactly what will work.

"Hey," I nudge his cheek with my knuckles. "How about you go get us some dinner?"

His head snaps up, eyes wide with excitement. "Whatever I want?"

"Yes," I chuckle. "Put on your clothes. Maxwell will go with you."

His gaze flickers toward the leash lying on my desk, his scowl deepening.

"Behave," I warn, my tone firm.

"Fine," he mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir," he corrects, his voice dripping with playful cheekiness. I smirk. At least his mood is improving.

He hops off my lap, slipping into his clothes and sneakers. Within minutes, he's out the door with Maxwell trailing behind him like an ever-watchful shadow.

Just as they leave, there's a knock at the door.

"Hendrix," Mr. Harrington greets me with a warm but assessing smile as he steps inside. I rise, shaking his hand before gesturing toward the leather armchair in front of my desk.

"I saw you on the news about the SK case," he says, settling in.

"Yes, sir. It's a big case."

"I can imagine. Those poor subs. One of yours, as well?"

"Yes, Ossian. He's our student. We're training him."

Harrington hums in thought, nodding. "I wanted to talk to you about something important."

I raise an eyebrow. "Alright."

He leans forward, fingers steepling. "Son, you know we've been grooming you for a political career. You know we see you as a future senator."

"Yes," I say warily.

"We think you're ready."

I blink. "What?"

"You've made waves, Hendrix. Your work on the SK case has catapulted you into the public eye—not just in the legal world, but in politics. The people want someone young, someone fresh. We're ready to start your campaign."

"But—I'm only in my twenties," I protest. "You said it wouldn't be for years."

"I know," he concedes. "But you're on fire, son. I've watched your debates. You have what it takes."

I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. The idea is daunting. Exciting. Terrifying.

"Think about it," he urges, eyes twinkling. "And while we're at it—tell me more about this sub of yours."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Ramen? You could've had anything you wanted, and you chose ramen?"

"Uh-huh," I nod, mouth already watering.

"I've never had ramen," Hendrix mutters.

I gasp. "That's, like, a crime."

His brow arches. "A crime?"

"The only thing Ellis and I ate was ramen. It's so good—this is even the fancy kind, with real vegetables and meat!"

He humors me, opening the takeout container. "It looks like soup," he observes, tilting the box slightly. The colors of the vegetables pop under the office light.

"Better than soup!"

"Alright, alright, I'll try it." He twirls the noodles onto a plastic fork, lifting it to his lips. I bounce in place, eyes glued to him, practically vibrating with anticipation.

He takes a bite, and his brows lift. "This," he declares, "is marvelous."

But then he hesitates, his gaze flicking to me. I realize I've gone still, watching his fork like a starving puppy.

I don't have to say anything. Hendrix, the man who seems unreadable to everyone else, picks up on it immediately. Without a word, he gathers another bite and holds it out.

I lean in, lips closing around the fork, humming happily as I chew.

And that's how we eat—one bite for him, one bite for me—until the whole thing is gone.

He barely has time to put down the empty box before I shove another in front of him. "Next!"

He smirks, but his eyes are thoughtful as he opens it. "You didn't just buy ramen, did you?"

"Nope," I grin.

Sticky orange chicken and rice this time. Again, we share, bite for bite, until we're both satisfied.

I lick a bit of sauce from my thumb before declaring, "Now we're getting ice cream."

Hendrix lifts an eyebrow. "Ice cream?"

"Please, sir?" I bat my lashes, knowing exactly what I'm doing.

He sighs dramatically. "Since you asked so nicely, and since you did provide such a sumptuous meal—fine."

I whoop in victory.

The night air is crisp as we walk to Claire's, our footsteps soft against the pavement. Somewhere between the office and the shop, Hendrix's hand brushes mine.

I take it.

He doesn't pull away.

“I used to come here every time I visited the States with my father. Their ice cream never disappoints.” His fingers squeeze mine.

“Really?” I brighten. “Ellis and I ate so much ice cream our first time we made ourselves sick.” The memory tugs a grin out of me.

One brow arches. “First time?”

“Yep.”

“How old?”

“Thirteen.”

His expression shifts—not much, just enough for the light in his eyes to sharpen. “Thirteen? Ossian…”

I wave the topic away with a flick of my hand. “Let’s not.”

He doesn’t push, but I can feel the question still hanging in him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hendrix

By the time we reach the ice cream shop, a pit of irritation settles in my gut. I already know what I'm going to see before we even step onto the curb.

"Bloody hell!" I mutter.

Ossian peers through the darkened windows, his breath fogging up the glass. "It's closed?" His voice is small, disappointed.

I exhale sharply. I hate that sound. That soft, crushed tone. 

A thought strikes me.

"Come on." I grab his hand and tug him toward the alley beside the shop.

The building houses both the ice cream parlor and a restaurant, and I know they share a back entrance. Navigating through the narrow passage, we slip inside, weaving through the bustle of the restaurant's kitchen. The staff barely spares us a glance, too preoccupied with their own chaos.

Ossian follows close, his fingers clutching my sleeve. By the time we emerge into the ice cream shop, the air cools, thick with the sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate.

"That was easy," I say, brushing off nonexistent dust.

When I turn, Ossian is staring at me like I've just lassoed the moon and handed it to him. His wide blue eyes shimmer with something close to awe.

"You did something naughty," he murmurs, stepping forward, pressing his hands against the chilled glass display case, peering down at the rainbow of flavors.

Something unexpected twists in my gut. A strange pulse of exhilaration, laced with unease. A rush. Is this the thrill brats crave so much? The dangerous, rebellious kind of freedom?

"I suppose I did," I admit, watching him. "But—" I fix him with a look. "We are not stealing. We'll pay for what we take, and we'll leave everything as we found it."

His grin spreads slow, full of mischief and delight before he bolts behind the counter. Within moments, he returns, balancing two towering cups brimming with every imaginable flavor.

"How many scoops did you take?" I ask, eyeing the ridiculous mountain of ice cream.

He shrugs, setting them down. "Enough." Then, without missing a beat, he dashes back, grabbing chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

I watch him in amusement, the way his entire body moves with purpose and excitement. Onyx once told me that everything Ossian does is an adventure—even something as simple as getting ice cream. And now, watching him, I finally start to understand. He pulls people into his orbit, makes them do things they never thought they would. Two months ago, I never would have imagined breaking into an ice cream shop for a late-night treat. But here I am.

Still, something lingers in my mind. A question that won't go away.

Ossian notices my silence and quirks a brow. "Are you just gonna sit there?"

I blink, pulled from my thoughts. He nudges one of the cups toward me.

"Thank you," I say, making a mental note to count the scoops so I know how much to leave behind.

As I take my first bite, I ask, "Ossian, how come you didn't have ice cream before you were thirteen?"

He shrugs. "'Cause I didn't know it existed."

I pause, spoon halfway to my mouth. "What?"

"Ellis remembers more than I do," he continues casually. "He used to tell me about stuff—candy, chocolate. Fabien even snuck us some." He smiles briefly, but then it falters, his eyes shifting downward.

That name again. Ben and Finn mentioned he says it when he slips into his Little headspace.

I hesitate for only a second before speaking.

"When I was a child, I lost my mother," I say, my voice quieter now. "To cancer."

Ossian turns to me, his expression suddenly careful.

"My father... he didn't know how to handle it. In England, it's common to send children to boarding school. He was hesitant because of what he went through growing up, but after my mother died, he sent me away. It was the last thing I needed at that time."

"You watched her die?" Ossian's voice is barely above a whisper.

"I did," I say, releasing a slow breath. "Slowly."

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then, gently, he places his hand over mine and squeezes. The glow from the freezer bathes him in cool light, his blue eyes impossibly bright against the dim shop.

"You were abandoned too," he murmurs.

Something in my chest tightens.

"I wasn't," I say after a pause. "It felt like it when I was a child, but as I grew older, I understood why my father did what he did. I still don't agree with it, but I forgave him. The reason I'm telling you this, Ossian, is because I see that same pain in you."

He looks away, fingers toying with his spoon.

"It's okay to talk about your childhood," I tell him. "Both the good and the bad."

His shoulders tense. "Mine wasn't normal."

"Neither was mine," I say. "Who's Fabien?"

He stiffens. I don't press further. I let the silence stretch between us, letting him decide.

After a long while, he speaks.

"He was like a dad to me," he whispers. "He tried so hard to save us, but..." His voice trails off, like he's choking on the words.

"Save you from what?" I ask softly.

"Becoming something horrible."

Before I can respond, a sudden knock against the window startles us both.

Then—flash.

"Fucking paparazzi," Ossian hisses.

Another knock, this time heavier.

"Wait. Shit. Cops! We have to run!" He scrambles up, ready to bolt.

I watch as two more officers step out of their car, one already reaching for his radio.

I exhale, shaking my head. "Don't worry," I tell him with a confident smirk. "I got this."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

I storm into the police station, my shoes clicking sharply against the tile, my fury rolling off me in waves.

"I cannot believe you two!" My voice echoes through the station, loud enough that I’m sure even the criminals in the back cells can hear me. Right now, I don’t care. "You’re getting the spanking of your lives!"

I had been in a late meeting when Onyx’s call came through—Hendrix and Ossian had been arrested. Arrested! For what? Ice cream? My headache intensifies just thinking about it.

Hendrix, standing behind the bars of the holding cell, leans lazily against them, "My darling, calm down. We paid for everything. The officer just decided he was going to be a twat."

I narrow my eyes. "Don’t you ‘my darling’ me in that hot accent of yours!"

Ossian, who is currently hanging upside down from the bars behind Hendrix like some kind of deranged bat, giggles uncontrollably.

"What’s so funny?" I demand, crossing my arms.

Ossian swings a little, grinning. "You’re gonna spank Hendrix!?"

I blink. Oh. I hadn’t exactly thought that part through.

Hendrix smirks at me, clearly entertained. "If you’re gonna spank me for this, Blondie, you have to spank him too! It was his idea!"

"Hendrix Ronan!"

For the first time tonight, Hendrix looks vaguely sheepish. He clears his throat. "I must admit, not my best moment," he murmurs.

"Understatement of the century," I mutter.

Before I can say anything else, Onyx strolls in, wearing the biggest grin. "Where are my two delinquents?"

A cop walks in behind him, shaking his head, clearly amused as he unlocks the cell. "Really, guys? Ice cream?" Onyx says. 

"You got us out?" Hendrix blinks, looking mildly impressed.

"Yeah," Onyx shrugs. "Convinced the cops to let you two go. The shop owners aren’t pressing charges since you left a ridiculous amount of money behind."

Hendrix and Ossian exchange triumphant grins.

"That cop was a twat," Ossian mutters under his breath.

"Hey! You, be quiet before you get yourself arrested again," Onyx scolds, scooping Ossian up and tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ossian yelps and then bursts into laughter.

I shake my head, exhaling as the adrenaline finally starts to wear off.

Hendrix steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I’m sorry, baby." His voice is low, warm, teasing. "You know you can’t stay mad at me."

I huff, refusing to let him off that easily. "You’re still writing lines."

"Lines?" He leans forward slightly, peering at me.

"Yes. You are."

He chuckles, completely unbothered. "Okay, baby." A pause. "Still don’t regret it, though." His tone is smug, the smirk audible.

I groan. "Ossian’s naughtiness is rubbing off on you."

Hendrix tightens his arms around me, sensing the shift in my mood. "Hey, you seem off. What’s wrong?"

I sigh, glancing away. "We’ll talk about it later."

By the time we get home, Mom and Calum are already waiting, looking equal parts worried and relieved.

"Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?" Calum practically smothers Ossian in a hug before pulling back to check him over like he’s expecting injuries.

"You’re not hurt, are you?" Mom fusses, touching his face. "Oh, poor baby!"

Ossian grins that charming grin of his—the one that makes people fall in love with him instantly. "I’m fine, you two."

Calum and Mom sigh in unison.

Onyx, Hendrix, and I exchange knowing looks, all three of us rolling our eyes. Ossian might actually be their favorite person.

"We were just baking," Mom says, her concern quickly shifting into excitement. "Come on, we’re gonna show you how to make a soda cake!"

Ossian gasps dramatically. "Did y’all hear that?! Soda in a cake? That sounds marvelous!" He turns to us, his expression pure wonder.

I squint at him. 

Marvelous? He's definitely been hanging around Hendrix. 

Chapter Text

Then

Ossian

The fear gnaws at me, a quiet, insidious thing that lingers beneath my skin. What if I don’t survive the next time? The thought haunts me, creeping in whenever the nights get too cold. Right now, it’s spring, and I’ve managed—just barely—off fish from the river and the few protein bars Fabien secretly packed for me. But winter will come again, and when it does, I don’t know if I’ll make it.

The nights are the worst. The cold sinks into my bones, and no amount of shifting, curling up, or pressing against the earth helps. When—if—I make it back, I swear I’ll never take my bed for granted again.

A sound. Footsteps.

I stiffen, grabbing my weapon—a stick I’ve managed to sharpen with the dull knife they allowed us to keep. It’s crude, but it’s the only thing standing between me and whatever’s out there.

I turn, ready to strike.

But then—

"Felix?"

The boy standing before me is just as ragged as I am. His dark hair is unruly, his clothes filthy. His face looks thinner than usual, eyes hollowed by exhaustion. And worse, he’s limping.

"I just need water," he mutters, running a hand through his messy hair. "Then I’ll leave."

I don’t lower my stick, even as I watch him kneel at the riverbank.

We aren’t supposed to form alliances. We aren’t even supposed to help each other. Survival is the only rule here. The strong live, the weak fall. That’s what they drill into our heads.

Ellis was lucky he didn’t have to do this. He’s thirteen, still flinches at thunder. That might be normal for civilian kids, but we aren’t civilians. We aren’t children. We are soldiers.

Felix drinks from a makeshift bowl of leaves. He’s quiet, subdued. He looks—

"GUARDS!"

The shout rips through the air.

I barely register what’s happening before instinct takes over. I swing my stick, feeling it crack against something solid. A grunt. A body stumbles.

But there are more.

Five.

They move fast, but so do I. I throw my weight into the fight, remembering everything Sensei Suijin taught us. I manage to take down two—briefly—but I’m too exhausted, too sore, too weak. They overpower me. 

Boots slam into my back, forcing me down into the dirt.

"Please!" The pressure is unbearable, crushing.

"Are those tears, boy?" Neely’s voice is a sneer, cutting through my haze of pain.

"You’re hurting me! I’m injured!" I twist my head, searching for Felix, but he’s already gone. Smart. He ran.

"You don’t cry, boy." Neely presses harder, and a scream rips from my throat. My ears ring, drowning in their laughter.

"Soldiers don’t cry."

A fist knots in the fabric of my hoodie, yanking me up. My feet barely touch the ground.

"You wanna run?" Neely’s breath is hot against my ear. "Is that what you wanna do?"

Then, suddenly, I’m airborne.

I hit the ground hard, choking on dirt and leaves.

"Run, boy."

I push myself up on trembling limbs and run.

The roar of an engine splits through the silence. My stomach drops.

They’re chasing me.

I aim for the trees, hoping their thick trunks will keep their truck from following, but my foot slips—leaves shifting treacherously beneath me. I hit the ground, gasping.

For a moment, I consider staying down. Just giving up.

Then I hear the truck door slam. Heavy boots crunch against the forest floor, coming closer.

Neely’s hand closes around my collar, hauling me upright before shoving me forward. I stagger, barely keeping my balance.

I turn to face him, my pulse a frantic drumbeat.

He smirks. "I suggest you keep running."

Then he turns back to the truck, like I’m nothing.

Like I don’t even matter.

So I run. I trip. He hauls me up. I run. I trip. He hauls me up again.

It feels endless. A cruel, merciless game.

Eventually, my legs go numb. My body moves on pure instinct.

Then I trip on something thick, and this time—when I hit the ground—everything goes black.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fabien

A soft sniffle reaches my ears as I step into the dimly lit bedroom.

Ellis sits on the floor, his small frame tense, rubbing cream onto a deep bruise on Ossian’s lower back. The boy is completely knocked out, his tiny body limp against the mattress. His filthy, bloodstained clothes have already been discarded in a trash bag near the door.

I kneel beside him, my fingers carefully tracing over his face, searching for new injuries. A bandage wraps around his forehead—the doctor’s work. I’d asked Neely what had happened, but he only shrugged, claiming he didn’t know. Liar. I know better.

"I'm rubbing cream on it," Ellis says softly, breaking the silence. His hands move with practiced care, careful not to press too hard on the bruised skin.

"Good boy," I murmur, running my hand through his blonde hair. He relaxes against my touch, but I can feel the tension beneath it all. 

A small groan breaks the quiet.

"Ossian!" Ellis yelps, his voice breaking in relief.

Ossian’s eyes flutter open, dazed. "I’m back?" he whispers hoarsely.

"Yes," I exhale, feeling a weight lift from my chest. "You’re done. The exercise is over."

His lips barely move, but I catch the breath of a word: "Good."

I reach down, unfastening the tracking device from his ankle. He doesn’t need it now. 

"Come on, let’s get you into a warm bath," I say gently, moving to lift him.

A groan of protest leaves him.

"You stink," Ellis deadpans, his nose wrinkling.

To my utter relief, a grin spreads across Ossian’s face. A slow, lopsided thing that makes my chest ache.

He’s okay. He’s going to be okay.

My dad always says kids are resilient, but I know better—some wounds never fully heal.

I scoop Ossian into my arms, his small body pressing against mine. "I’m getting closer," I tell them both, as much for myself as for them. "I will get you boys out of here."

Ellis looks at me, hope flickering in his tired eyes. But Ossian—he looks away.

He doesn’t dare to hope. Not anymore. 

He’s been broken too many times before. That’s why I have to do this. Before there’s nothing left of him to save.

Ellis fills the bathtub with warm water, pouring some lavender soap. The scent fills the air as swirls of soft purple spread through the water. I add the usual oils for his pain and bruises. 

Ossian leans his head against my chest, exhausted. "I like the purple one," he mumbles.

I smile faintly. Of course, he does. Ir reminds me of when he was little:  

"I like the other one because it’s purple, Fabien!"

"I’ll get you more of that stuff, but right now, the white one is all we have."

"No! No! No!"

I still remember the way his little foot had stomped in defiance, the way his tiny hands had grabbed the bottle and hurled it at me.

He was five years old. That was the first time I spanked him.

It had shocked him still—like a switch flipping inside him. It Immediately calmed him down. It was after that moment I knew I might be dealing with a future submissive.

"Fabien," Ossian mumbles, bringing me back to the present. "My legs are sore."

"Shh, I’ve got you," I whisper, lowering him gently into the bath. "I’ll have the doctor check you over after you’ve eaten something."

"Okay."

He closes his eyes as Ellis lathers his hair with shampoo, his fingers moving in careful circles.

A thought strikes me. "How about I tell you boys about the big city?"

Ellis perks up immediately, his hands pausing in Ossian’s hair.

I grab the small stool from under the sink—the one Ossian used to use to brush his teeth—and sit down beside the tub.

Ossian’s gaze flickers to me, his little face so open, so trusting that it nearly breaks me all over again.

I deserve this. This feeling, this guilt. Years have passed, and I still haven’t gotten them out of here.

But for now, I can give them this—a dream, a world beyond these walls.

"You remember last time, when I told you about the tall buildings?"

Ossian’s sleepy voice hums. "You said they look like toys."

"That’s right," I nod. "If you look down from the top, the people and cars are so small they look like little toys."

Ossian giggles.

Ellis shifts uncomfortably. "Sounds scary," he murmurs.

I shake my head. "No, not scary. Beautiful. Especially at night."

"How?" Ellis frowns.

I smile. "Because the buildings light up. Thousands of tiny lights glow in the darkness."

"Like stars?"

I pause, considering. "Actually… yes. Just like stars. They even blink sometimes, like they're alive."

Ossian’s eyes widen. "Alive?"

"Mmhm."

He bites his lip. "Has Ron and Harry seen these lights?" he asks seriously.

A laugh escapes me. "I think they have. Even Hermione."

His lips twitch upward.

"You want me to read to you tonight?" I offer.

The answer is instant.

"Yes, please!"

They love when I read to them.

It takes them away from here.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

Ossian

"Ossian, I swear, I am this close to pulling you over my knee in front of everyone here."

A giggle escapes me just as Onyx yanks me to my feet from my hiding spot beneath the outdoor table. His dark eyes lock onto mine—stern, unwavering, all Dom energy.

"Sir," I say, batting my eyelashes at him in an exaggerated show of innocence.

A few nearby workers stifle their laughter, though none of them are brave enough to openly enjoy the show.

The Chestworth estate has been buzzing with people for days, all preparing for tonight’s massive fundraiser. The entire backyard has been transformed—tables draped in ivory linens, twinkling lights hanging like stars above us, and at the center of it all, the stage where the night’s speeches and performances will take place.

"Come on, Menino," Onyx sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. "Ellis and Emrys will be here any minute."

I flash him a grin, knowing full well he can’t stay mad at me for long. Onyx and Finnian have been way too lenient with me recently, and I am absolutely using that to my advantage.

Ellis arrives not long after, and within minutes, I find myself trapped in a suit.

He hums in satisfaction, straightening the fabric along my legs.

"You’re acting weird," I note, watching him closely.

"What!?" He straightens abruptly, too quickly.

I cross my arms. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing."

"Ellis…"

His lips press into a thin line. Then, in a rush, he blurts, "They found something about my family."

My breath catches. "That’s great!" …Right?

Ellis hesitates. "Maybe. I haven’t heard what it is yet. I—I don’t know if I’m ready to know."

"Oh." I swallow, nodding slowly. I get it.

A part of me almost wishes I had never found out about my own brother. Which is crazy, I know, but something about it still feels… too big. Like opening a door I can’t close again.

Beniel keeps telling me not to rush it. To meet him only when I’m ready.

"You know," I say softly as Ellis adjusts the hem of my suit pants, "no matter what happens, you’ll always have me."

He doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally looks up, his smile is small and watery.

"OSSIAN! Did you touch the chocolate!?" Emrys’ voice booms down the hall, growing closer and closer before he practically kicks open the door.

"Archie just wanted to make sure it tasted right!" I defend immediately.

From his spot on the bed, Archie—my ever-loyal, not-so-innocent dog—tilts his head but absolutely does not back me up. Traitor.

Emrys glares. "Dogs can’t have chocolate, Ossian!"

''Fine. It wasn't Archie.'' 

"Don’t touch my chocolate!"

"Yes, sir!" I chirp cheekily.

His response? A swift, sharp smack to my ass.

I yelp, but Emrys is already shifting gears, grabbing a brush off the nightstand and running it through my curls with surprising gentleness.

"You look amazing," he says, his voice softer now.

I preen under the compliment, but then—

"You ready for your date tonight?"

I blink. "…Date?"

"Yeah. You’re going with the doms, aren’t you?"

"Oh."

I… hadn’t actually thought about it like that.

I mean, they never called it a date. They just said I’d be attending the fundraiser with them. That’s just… what students do, right? Accompany their—

Oh god.

What if they already asked someone else?

A sick feeling creeps into my stomach, and I shove it down before it can take root.

"Ellis, I need a bowtie for Archie," I blurt out, desperate for a distraction.

Archie barks in agreement.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

"Goddammit!"

Frustration boils over as I yank the tie from my neck and throw it onto the floor.

Behind me, Hendrix sighs. "What are you keeping from me?"

I haven’t told him yet. He was away on a work trip the day after he and Ossian got arrested, and it didn’t seem right to burden him with more.

"Nothing!" I snap—too sharp, too defensive.

A beat of silence.

"Finnian?"

I exhale slowly. "Sorry, I just—"

Hendrix picks up the discarded tie, stepping closer to loop it around my neck with practiced ease. "Tell me."

I hesitate, but there’s no way around it. "He failed the second test."

The words taste bitter.

After my meeting with the school staff, it hit me—Ossian had to take the tests along with the other new submissives. And I forgot. I forgot. How could I forget? He’s my student. And yet, lately, I’m terrified that I’ve been treating him as anything but.

Beniel even warned us. If our feelings for Ossian start interfering with his progress—his education—he’d recommend that he attend the school permanently.

And now?

The first test? He aced it. No surprise there—Ossian thrives in one-on-one settings. But the second test wasn’t about individual performance. It was about group dynamics—submissives navigating a structured environment together, responding to authority, following orders.

And that’s where Ossian unraveled.

Interrupting doms mid-sentence. Distracting other subs. And the worst part? He cursed out a dom for disciplining another student. 

That earned him a long spanking.

I hear Hendrix suck in a sharp breath.

"So… he has to attend the on-campus program for a few weeks," he murmurs. "Then we get him back."

I nod.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I didn’t want to distract you during your trip."

Hendrix tightens the tie around my neck—not too tight, but just enough to remind me who he is. "From now on, I don’t want you waiting to tell me things like this," he says.

"Yes, Sir. I told Onyx."

Hendrix sighs. "Oh, darling," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. "He didn’t take it well, did he?"

I shake my head as my throat tightens. "I’ve gotten too attached to that boy."

"We all have," Hendrix whispers.

"That’s not good, Hendrix."

"Shhh," he soothes. "It’s going to be okay."

Then, in his firm lawyer voice, he says, "I’ve been thinking—let’s court him."

I jerk back, staring at him. "Are you serious?"

"Not yet. He needs time—to grow, to mature. Maybe in a year. But first? He needs the experience we had. The crushes, the friendships, getting in trouble with the house doms and subs at campus."

I wipe my eyes, a watery smile forming. "He would love that."

Hendrix chuckles. "Speaking of, how much have you and Onyx let Ossian get away with the past few days?"

"Too much," I admit.

He laughs, then smirks. "Remember when we got sent to the principal’s office for tying Onyx under the bleachers?"

I burst into laughter. "Onyx enjoyed that experience way too much."

"Where is our exhibitionist now?" Hendrix teases.

As if summoned, Onyx’s voice drifts from the doorway.

"Uhm… guys—" He clears his throat, face flushed.

And then—

"Hello, gentlemen!"

Hendrix stiffens.

I school my expression just as Mr. Chestworth strides past Onyx like he owns the place.

"F-Father?" Hendrix chokes out. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprising you, of course."

I quickly shake his hand. "Sir. It’s really nice to see you."

"You too, Finnian," he says with a nod. "I just spoke to your mother—a lovely woman, indeed."

"Thank you, Sir."

Mr. Chestworth calls me at least twice a month for school updates. He wasn’t happy when Hendrix chose politics over running the academy, but he’s slowly—slowly—warming up to me as headmaster.

And then, with a too-satisfied smirk, he drops the bomb.

"I brought you boys someone!"

Onyx swallows hard.

"Flynn is downstairs!"

Hendrix and I lock eyes. Oh, shit.

We both quickly school our faces into neutrality.

"Oh—that’s—" Hendrix starts.

"Marvellous!" Mr. Chestworth declares.

Of course he thinks so. He’s been waiting for us to find a suitable submissive to add to our future marriage. Traditional to the bone, just like Onyx’s father.

"Yes, Father, thank you," Hendrix says, straining to keep his voice even. "But I would have preferred some notice so we could—uh—"

"Prepare," I jump in.

"Nonsense!" Mr. Chestworth huffs. "You’re all well-dressed and groomed properly."

Hendrix unconsciously straightens under the approval.

We cannot tell Mr. Chestworth that we’re considering courting Ossian. 

So instead, we follow him downstairs.

Flynn stands outside, chatting with a few guests.

He looks… different.

Stronger. Sharper. A few new muscles. A more confident stance. His jawline is even more defined, his tanned skin glowing.

Beautiful.

"Hello, Sirs," he greets with a slight bow.

"Wow," I say, recovering quickly. "It’s been too long!"

Flynn smirks. "You all still look amazing."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"Ansel! Carry me!" I demand, stretching my arms out dramatically.

The big dom rolls his eyes but—predictably—lifts me anyway. I latch onto him like a stubborn little koala.

"I’ve missed you, squirt."

I scowl at the nickname, which only makes him chuckle.

"You excited for your date with the doms?" he asks, his voice teasing.

I hesitate, lowering my voice to a whisper so Emrys and Ellis—trailing behind us—won’t hear. "I don’t think it’s a date."

Ansel tilts his head. "Why not?"

"They never actually said it was a date," I mumble against his shoulder.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how much they like you, do you?"

My heart skips. "They do?"

Ansel shakes his head, amused, weaving us through the sea of wealthy, well-dressed guests.

"Oh! There’s our table!" Ellis calls out, leading the way.

Ansel turns to follow him—then freezes.

His arms tense around me, his grip instinctively tightening.

Something is definitely wrong.

Chapter Text

Ossian

“What’s wrong?” I ask, searching Ansel’s face.

His eyes flicker to mine, the briefest hesitation before he shakes his head. “Oh, nothing.” He settles into his chair and—like I weigh nothing at all—places me on his lap.

I huff out a laugh. “I can sit in my own chair now, you know.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He smirks but moves me anyway, setting me down in the empty seat beside him.

Across the table, Emrys studies him with knowing eyes. “Ansel, you sure everything’s alright?”

“I’m fine, sweets.”

He’s lying.

His subs know him too well to believe that. Ansel rarely gets tense like this—especially not around us. But there’s no edge of danger in his body language, so I don’t let myself panic.

“Is it because I didn’t listen this morning?” Ellis blurts, voice tight with worry.

Ansel’s expression softens immediately. “Hey, hey, no, baby boy. It’s not something you guys did, alright? Nothing for you to worry about.” His thumb brushes gently over Ellis’ cheek, grounding him.

“…Okay.”

But neither of feel fully convinced.

I follow Ansel’s line of sight, my gaze landing on them.

Hendrix. Finnian. Onyx.

They stand across the garden, effortlessly commanding attention, dressed in sleek three-piece suits. It takes me a second to register—they match me.

I glance down at my own forest-green suit, then back up at them. Hendrix in slate grey. Finnian in deep burgundy. Onyx in navy blue. Finnian and Hendrix are wearing ties.

“Why are we matching?” I ask suspiciously, turning to Ellis. “Did you plan this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sings, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile.

I should be focused on that. On the way my heart flutters. On the fact that maybe—just maybe—this night is more than I thought.

Instead, my gaze shifts.

To him.

A stranger. Beautiful, with big brown eyes and an effortless, classic kind of charm.

My stomach twists when he steps closer to them.

He places a hand on Finnian’s bicep, laughing at something one of them says.

I hate the sound of it.

“Isn’t that Flynn?” Ellis asks.

The name means nothing to me. “Who?”

“Their ex,” Emrys murmurs. His voice is so soft, so gentle, like he already knows what’s about to happen.

I go very, very still.

“Ossian… I’m so sorry. We didn’t know he was going to be here.”

Something ugly and raw claws at my chest. I know—I know—the anger burning in my veins is just a shield for the real feeling underneath.

Jealousy.

Pain.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t feel like my breath has been stolen right from my lungs.

I force a laugh—sharp and bitter. “See? I told you guys. They already asked someone.”

But even I can hear how forced it sounds.

"Ossian—" Emrys starts.

I don’t let him finish. I push up from my chair and walk away before anyone can see me break.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Emrys

“Hey… where’s Ossian?”

Hendrix asks the question casually as the trio approaches, but the moment feels tense.

Ellis is staring at them—no, glowering—his blue eyes burning with something I’ve never seen in him before. Ellis doesn’t get mad.

And yet—right now?

He looks furious.

Flynn lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, guys.”

I don’t return the gesture. Flynn’s a good guy—we know him. We like him. But in this moment?

I want to punch him in the face.

Not because of anything he did.

But because I can’t shake the image of Ossian’s devastated expression as he walked away.

I force a smile. “Hey, Flynn. Didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“Yeah, I got back two weeks ago.”

“So that means you’re moving back from Barcelona?” Ansel asks, voice eerily calm.

“That’s the plan, yeah.” Flynn smiles up at Hendrix, easy and familiar.

Ellis makes a noise—sharp and furious. His whole body is shaking.

Then Finnian speaks, oblivious. “You guys saw Ossian, right? We wanted to introduce him to Flynn.”

I stare at him.

Are they serious?

They have no idea what they’ve just done.

Onyx is the first to notice. His detective instincts must finally catch up, because suddenly, his sharp gaze is scanning out faces, putting the pieces together.

“Mr. Chestworth actually brought Flynn here as a surprise,” Onyx murmurs. 

I facepalm.

Onyx lets out a deep sigh, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Ellis doesn’t wait another second. He pushes to his feet. “I’m gonna go find Ossian.”

The doms still look confused.

I don’t bother explaining.

They’ll figure it out soon enough.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

I stride toward the bar, slipping past clusters of wealthy socialites lost in conversations about stocks, inheritances, and whatever else keeps them entertained. I tune it all out.

Reaching the bar, I slide onto a stool, turning my back on the party as I motion to the bartender.

"Anything with alcohol, please."

The bartender barely hesitates before shaking his head. "Sorry, we’ve been given strict orders not to serve you alcohol."

I groan. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"Nope. Your doms were very clear."

"They’re not my doms!" I snap.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Hey, how about I make you one of my specials? Alcohol-free."

"Yeah, fine. Whatever."

I barely have time to sulk before a familiar voice interrupts.

"How is it possible that every time I see this ass, it gets plumper?"

I whip around so fast my head nearly spins. "Aedar!?"

"The one and only," he grins.

Before he can react, I launch myself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug.

He lets out a startled yelp. "Oh my god, why are we hugging?"

"Shut up!" I swat his back.

I feel his arms tighten around me, the weight of his presence grounding me in ways I didn’t realize I needed. "Sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier," he murmurs.

I pull back quickly, brushing it off. "That’s okay!" I don’t want him looking at me differently now that he probably knows. That I’m a high-level sub. That I’m different now. "What are you doing here?"

"My dad drags me to this thing every year. Says it’s good for ‘making connections.’" Aedar rolls his eyes, slumping onto the barstool beside me.

The bartender sets down two striking blue drinks in front of us.

I sigh, glancing at mine. "No alcohol."

Aedar smirks over the rim of his glass. "Maybe that’s a good thing."

I narrow my eyes. "I—I’m still the same Ossian, alright? Being a high-level sub doesn’t change anything."

His gaze softens, and I hate it. Hate that look.

I want to punch him.

He laughs. "But seriously, Ossian… I’m sorry. I should’ve known. I mean, looking back, it makes sense now, but I wish I had known. Maybe I could’ve helped before things got so bad."

I roll my eyes.

"Ossian, I’m serious."

"Fine," I huff, exaggerating my sigh. "I accept your apology." I flash him a wicked grin.

He pinches my thigh. "You’re right, you haven’t changed at all."

I grin, sipping my drink. "What have you been up to?"

"Well," he starts, "after that night, my dad sent me to my uncle’s farm as punishment."

I wince. "The night?"

"The night you almost beat a man into a coma," he deadpans.

"Right."

"And now? I got into Chestworth. Their business program. My dad’s never been prouder."

I smile at him. 

Aedar’s voice pulls me back. "Are they treating you right here?"

I swallow back the surge of anger at the mere thought of them. "Yeah."

"Good," he says, squeezing my arm. "Wouldn’t want you causing too much trouble."

"Trouble is literally my middle name."

"Yeah, yeah, I—"

"Ossy!"

Ellis appears out of nowhere, nearly breathless. His eyes are wide as he rushes toward me. "It’s all a misunderstanding!" Then he blinks, finally registering Aedar. "Oh, hello, Aedar."

Aedar smirks. "Hey, Ell."

Ellis barely pauses before launching into his explanation. "Hendrix’s father brought Flynn as a surprise. He didn’t know the doms already had a date."

Oh.

Oh.

A thrill shoots through me.

So they were bringing me here as their date.

Aedar looks between us, frowning. "I am so confused right now."

Ellis turns his attention to explaining the situation to Aedar, but my mind is already elsewhere. My eyes scan the crowded garden, searching for Hendrix’s father.

I don’t even know what he looks like, but that doesn’t stop the sudden urge to find him and give him a piece of my mind.

Instead, my gaze lands on familiar faces.

Jed, Ben, and Sam are on the dance floor, laughing and twirling under the warm glow of fairy lights. Calum and Leann sit nearby with glasses of wine, undoubtedly gossiping and ranking people’s outfits. I make a mental note to join them later.

My thoughts are interrupted by Aedar’s voice. "Damn, they’re hot," he murmurs, eyes fixed on the Chestworth trio. "I would definitely get with them if they weren’t high-level."

I scoff. "Hey! I’m high-level!"

"And you’re a pain in my ass," he shoots back.

I punch his arm, but he isn’t wrong.

My gaze flickers back to them. Hendrix. Onyx. Finnian.

They are so hot.

I shift uncomfortably. "I need to get laid."

Aedar snorts. "Wait… they haven’t—?"

"No!" I groan, throwing my head back. "I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Aedar! I’m walking around half-naked ninety percent of the time when I’m around them!"

Ellis shakes his head, sipping my drink like it’s his now. "Oh, jeez. This is good," he murmurs in approval.

Aedar suddenly brightens, snapping his fingers. "Ossian, we should make them jealous."

I gasp. "That’s an awesome idea!"

Ellis lets out a quiet, "Oh no."

I cackle. "It’ll be fun, Ellis!"

"Ossian," he says, already exasperated, "this will probably get you into trouble."

"Probably," I agree.

Ellis sighs deeply, as if already mourning my future demise.

Aedar, meanwhile, smirks. "You’ve basically become a virgin."

"Exactly! It’s horrible!"

Ellis just shakes his head. "I am so not helping you with this."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Flynn’s giggle grates against my nerves, his shoulders shaking as he wipes away a tear from his half-lidded eyes. God, where the hell is Aedar? He was supposed to be here by now.

"Ossian, you okay?" Finnian’s whisper brushes against my ear.

I nod absently, scanning the room for my knight in chaotic armor.

Meanwhile, Flynn drones on with some story. I’m not even listening, but I know it’s lame. The doms, however, are eating it up, their faces lighting up as if he’s delivering the Sermon on the Mount.

I press my lips together, holding my breath.

Then—

My world tilts.

I yelp as I’m lifted right out of my chair.

"Ossian!" Aedar’s voice rings out.

I fix him with a glare as he smugly sinks onto my chair, my chair, pulling me effortlessly into his lap. "Hello," he greets the table like he belongs here.

Ellis sighs. Emrys and Ansel give us deeply suspicious looks.

"I’m Aedar," he introduces himself.

"Oh! You’re Ossian’s friend," Onyx notes, and the doms exchange names with him.

"I didn’t know you were attending," Finnian says.

"Yeah, well, my dad drags me to this thing every year." Aedar reaches for a piece of bread, then holds it up to my mouth. "Here, love."

I take a happy bite.

"So, Aedar," Emrys asks, his eyes practically skewering us, "you here with a date?"

I smirk at him.

"No," Aedar answers simply, then leans in, his breath tickling my ear. "Okay, pretend I just said something hilarious and laugh."

I let out a way-too-exaggerated, "Ohhh, Aedar, you’re sooo funny!"

He winces. "Too much. I thought you were supposed to be good at this acting thing," he mutters.

I pinch his arm. He barely suppresses a hiss.

At the table, Hendrix crosses his arms. Onyx glares daggers at Aedar—probably calculating where to hide his body. Finnian just looks… heartbroken.

Even Flynn is glaring at me.

"This is totally working," Aedar whispers in my ear.

I suddenly feel awful.

I glance at Finn. He covers his hurt well, offering me a soft smile that guts me.

I immediately scramble off Aedar’s lap and climb onto Finn’s instead. He catches me easily, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hold.

"Sorry," I whisper into his ear.

He stiffens. His eyes darken.

Oh, no.

Those are spanking eyes.

I am fleeing to Mexico.

I attempt to wiggle off his lap, but his grip tightens like iron shackles.

"Stop," he growls in my ear.

Aedar, the traitor, instantly abandons me. "Well, it was nice meeting you all! Pretty sure I just heard my father calling. Yep. Definitely him. See you soon!"

He flees the scene.

Coward.

Finnian exhales sharply. "Excuse us, gentlemen. We need to have a word with our sub."

Our sub.

The words send a thrill through me, even as Finnian effortlessly lifts me and carries me inside.

Hendrix and Onyx follow.

I barely have time to brace before Finnian sets me down on the bed. 

"Ossian—"

"I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d get hurt! I just—it was to make you jealous and—and make you want to—" 

"Jesus, Ossian," Finnian groans.

My face burns.

"There’s a reason we haven’t gotten to that point yet," he says evenly.

I scowl. "What? Why? You’re confusing me!"

"Oh, Ossian," Hendrix sighs, shaking his head. "What is something we’ve talked about time and time again?"

I roll my eyes. "Communication."

"Right." His voice is firm. "Using your friend to try to make us jealous? Not okay. It hurts us."

My breath stutters.

Ask for forgiveness. Kneel.

I pinch my thigh hard, trying to push back the rising panic. The pain helps, but it’s not enough.

"Hey," Onyx grabs my hands. "Stop that."

It’s not enough.

My chest tightens. My breath hitches.

I need… I need… pain.

I gasp, the room fading. Their mouths move, but I hear nothing.

"Ossian, here, now," Hendrix’s voice cuts through the fog.

I drop instantly, crawling to him in seconds.

A hand in my hair. "Breathe for me." Hendrix’s voice is deep, grounding.

I take several deep breaths.

Blazer—gone.

Pants—no!

A chair appears, Finnian placing it beside us. Hendrix removes his own blazer and hands it to Onyx.

Then I’m pulled over his lap.

The first crack lands.

I gasp.

It hurts.

But it’s exactly what I need. The unbearable itch inside me vanishes, replaced by sharp, grounding pain.

"Ow! Stop!"

"We’ve just started."

I try not to pout. I put myself here, after all.

…Okay, fine, I’m pouting.

I should’ve listened to Ellis.

Each smack lands solidly, an unrelenting rhythm that has me blushing.

"Sir, please! It’s too hard!"

"Good," Hendrix says. "I don’t want you pulling that stunt ever again. Understood? Next time, you won’t be sitting for a year."

Jeez.

"Yes, sir!" I try to shift into a comfier position—pointless. The spanks keep coming.

"Good. I hope you’ll think about this before your next tantrum."

Finally, he stops. His hand rubs soothing circles along my back and burning ass. A shiver runs through me.

I breathe hard.

I feel… lighter.

Huh.

Interesting.

"Good boy, Ossian," Hendrix murmurs. "You took that well, sweetheart."

Finnian helps me dress.

"You almost asked for a punishment," Finnian notes.

"I most certainly did not!"

Hendrix, Onyx, and Finnian exchange a look—smug as hell.

"It’s okay," Onyx winks. "Brats have their own way of asking."

I scowl. "Aren’t you guys supposed to be hosting a party?"

"A fundraiser," Hendrix corrects. "My father took over."

"But—"

"No, Ossian." Hendrix’s voice is firm. "This was more important."

I roll my eyes. Of course spanking me was a priority.

Then something shifts in the air. The playful edge disappears.

The three of them tense.

Hendrix gives Onyx and Finnian a look—one of their silent conversations.

My stomach knots. "Just tell me."

Finnian clears his throat. His expression falls. "Ossian… remember that test you took at school?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

"You did amazing on the first part," he says, managing a fond smile.

"I did?"

"You scored the highest possible, pup."

"So?" I frown. "Why do you all look like someone died?"

"You… failed the second part," Finnian exhales. "Which means you’ll need to attend the on-campus school for a while."

Something ugly rises in my throat.

"We already have a house for you there," he continues gently. "You’ll be with other subs. I know you’ll make so many friends."

"Okay," I blurt. "We should get back to the party."

"Ossian, are you okay?" Onyx asks.

I grin. "Of course! Now I won’t have you three breathing down my neck all the time!"

They chuckle, but they don’t sound convinced.

"I—uh—gonna go to my kickass fort," I say quickly, bolting before they can stop me.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Alright, Archie, where exactly are you taking me?"

The voice outside the fort carries the crisp polish of a British aristocrat, each syllable measured and refined. I take a slow sip of my blue mystery drink, then slide the curtain aside, revealing Archie—and a pair of impossibly long legs.

The owner of said legs crouches down, peering in with mild intrigue. His sharp gaze lands on me, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What is this?" His tone is amused yet skeptical.

He looks like Hendrix—if Hendrix were thirty years older and had spent years perfecting the art of brooding over whiskey in dimly lit libraries. The same strong features, though softened by time. His face has more wrinkles, and his salt-and-pepper hair is styled in a neat, old-fashioned swoop that screams 1950s gentleman.

His lips twitch into a smirk. "Well, hello there."

I quickly wipe my eyes.

His expression shifts. "Are you alright, little one?"

Even his voice sounds like Hendrix’s.

"I'm okay," I mutter.

"Hmm." His sharp gaze lingers for a second too long. "Well, in that case, would you mind if we joined you?"

I point at the sign taped to the entrance.

He reads it aloud, "No doms allowed?" Then, with exaggerated scandal, "Nonsense!"

Before I can react, the man drops onto his hands and knees and crawls inside.

"Must say," he muses as he settles in, crossing his legs with surprising ease, "this fort is far more spacious than I anticipated."

Archie, the traitor, curls up on my lap.

I squint at him. "Seriously?"

He was comforting me earlier. And then, deciding I needed more comfort, he left and dragged a complete stranger back.

"I'm Ossian," I say awkwardly, still trying to figure out what exactly is happening.

The man doesn’t return the introduction. Instead, he studies me carefully. "Why were you crying?"

"I'm not!" I say defensively.

His laughter rings out, warm and free, utterly unbothered by the weight of his years. "You remind me of my late wife. She was a brat too." His smile softens. "Oh, I miss her dearly."

Despite myself, I smile.

"Aha! You even have that same mischievous glint in your eyes," he notes.

I scowl.

He laughs harder.

But his words stick in my head, turning over like pebbles in a restless tide. Is that why the doms are sending me away? Because I’m too bratty? Too needy?

His smile falters. "Hey now, why the long face?"

"I—I'm just having a tough time with my doms," I admit quietly.

"Ah," he hums knowingly. "I imagine they can’t stay mad at you for long."

A voice calls from outside the fort.

"Ossian?" Onyx. "You coming out, Menino?"

I glance at the old British man and quickly press a finger to my lips, signaling him to stay quiet.

"...No," I say. "I—I'm going to stay here."

"You sure you don’t need anything?"

"Yes."

A sigh. "Alright, Menino."

I wait until Onyx's footsteps fade before turning back.

"They’re sending me away," I grumble, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. "To attend school on campus." My voice drops lower. "I think they want a break from me."

The man’s eyes darken slightly.

"Wait," he says slowly, "you’re their student?"

I nod.

He exhales, considering this. Then, his lips curve into something resembling a knowing smile. "Your doms will always do what is best for you, my child."

I don’t know if I believe that anymore.

A single tear escapes before I can stop it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Even after the old man—who I strongly suspect might be Hendrix’s father—leaves, I stay hidden in the fort for the entire fundraiser.

I only emerge when I’m absolutely sure that the last guests have left.

But that’s when I run straight into him.

Flynn.

"Oh, hey, Ossian!" He nearly collides with me, looking surprised. "Didn’t see you there."

I’m fuming.

Flynn immediately holds up his hands. "Whoa there! Look, Ossian, I—I’m not here to steal your doms away."

I narrow my eyes, but my fists unclench.

"I already met someone in Barcelona," he continues, his tone reassuring. "It was one of the first things I told them when I got here. I promise, we’re just friends."

I hesitate. "...But the way they look at you—"

Flynn laughs. "Oh, kid," he sighs. "So clueless."

I scowl.

"Listen," he says, voice softening, "I knew them for almost three years. Dated them for one—" (ugh, don’t remind me) "—and I’ve never seen them look at anyone the way they look at you."

I freeze.

He smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. "It’s so raw. At first, I won’t lie—it took me aback. And yeah, for a moment, it stung. Because they never looked at me like that." He chuckles, shaking his head. "But I get it now."

I don’t know what to say.

"Just..." He exhales. "Take care of them, yeah?"

I nod. "...Yeah. And I’m sorry. For the way I acted."

Flynn waves it off. "It’s okay. Honestly? I would’ve done the same." Then he smirks. "Oh, and just a tip—stop trying to make them jealous. The spankings won’t get softer."

He winks. "Learned that the hard way."

Chapter Text

Then

Fabien

Ossian sits comfortably on my lap, his small fingers tracing the glossy pages of the science workbooks I brought for the children. His eyes light up as he points excitedly at an image.

"Saturn!" his little voice rings out.

"That’s correct!" I say with a grin.

His entire face brightens with pride, his dimples appearing as he smiles. He’s such a smart boy for only three (Almost four now) years old. Most of the children brought here are intelligent, but Ossian? Ossian is different.

Around us, the other kids are scattered across the grass, flipping through books, completing their work under the warmth of the gentle spring sun. The air smells of earth and blossoms, and the wind carries the distant laughter of children at play.

Not too far away, Ellis wanders, his movements quiet but deliberate. He never likes straying too far from me or Ossian. His gaze sweeps over the trees, the leaves a soft, fresh green, their shadows dancing against the ground—wildflowers in splashes of violet, yellow, and white swaying gently with the breeze.

Stretching his fingers wide, he moves his hand through the air as if feeling the wind itself. Then, he crouches and plucks a small purple flower from the ground, bringing it up to his nose. A brief sniff, a wrinkle of his nose—

Then a violent sneeze.

"Oh jeez," his little voice mutters, shaking his head.

I suppress a chuckle.

Undeterred, he resumes his quiet task, collecting more flowers—probably to arrange in the vase he keeps in his room. But as I watch him, I notice something else.

Another pair of eyes.

Keyne.

He stands nearby, his expression amused as he watches Ellis. And Ellis—he notices. His face flushes, and, in an instant, he drops down into the tall grass, hiding.

I watch as Keyne approaches.

On my lap, Ossian shifts, whispering, "Ellis has butterflies in his tummy and a red face."

I glance down at him. "What do you mean, kiddo?"

Ossian scrunches his nose in exaggerated disgust. "He wans to give kisses to Keyne. Yuck!" He giggles and covers his face with the book.

I frown.

I don’t like this.

I know I’m protective of all the children here, but Ellis and Ossian? They’re my boys. They’ve been assigned to me. They trust me. They also show early submissive traits—traits that I’ve made it my responsibility to guide and protect.

Relax, Fabien. They’re just children.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling of unease curling in my stomach.

Across the field, I hear Keyne’s voice. "Is it okay if I lay here?"

Silence.

Then, without a word, Keyne drops down beside Ellis in the tall grass.

They’re just children, Fabien, I remind myself again. Just children.

A sudden shriek pulls me from my thoughts.

"Buttface!" Ossian cackles, his tiny body shaking with laughter as he hides behind his workbook.

I shake my head at his antics before swiftly rolling us into the grass. He squeals with delight, kicking his legs as I tickle him, his laughter bubbling like a stream.

The sunlight glows through his golden-brown curls, casting a halo effect around his head. His piercing blue eyes shine with mirth.

And in moments like this—where joy is simple and love is effortless—I understand something I hadn’t before.

For my father, the love he had for me was instant. But for me, for Ellis, for Ossian…

It has been almost a year now, and the love I have for them has had time to grow, to take root, to bloom.

They are a part of me.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Now

Ossian

The house feels impossibly larger after Calum, Lean, and Samael leave the morning after the fundraiser. Their absence echoes through the halls, leaving behind an emptiness that settles in my chest. I miss them already.

Mr. Chestworth, Hendrix’s father, has taken it upon himself to keep a closer eye on all of us. I don’t mind—I actually like him, even though the trio act strangely whenever he’s around. Onyx buries himself in work, Hendrix has somehow become even stricter (which I didn’t think was possible), and Finnian keeps insisting that he’s fine. But we all know he isn’t.

Lately, I barely speak to the doms outside of training. When I do, I keep it brief. The rest of the time, I do my best to stay away.

Instead, I spend most of my evenings walking the estate with Mr. Chestworth after dinner. He’s strict with me—more than I expected—but there’s something oddly soothing about it. His presence is steady, unwavering. I find myself looking forward to our time together.

Tomorrow, I leave for campus.

I don’t know how long I’ll be there.

I don’t want to go.

And Mr. Chestworth knows it.

The sun is setting as we make our way back from the garden, its golden light casting long shadows across the stone path. Just as we near the entrance, a blur of fur comes bounding toward us.

Archie.

He barrels straight into me, barking excitedly. I laugh, crouching down to greet him. "Hey, Arch!"

He’s grown so much since the day I found him at the start of summer, he was just a small, scrappy thing. Now, he’s bigger—stronger—but still just as affectionate.

Mr. Chestworth frowns, his sharp gaze flicking over the muddy streaks covering Archie’s fur. "Archie, why are you so filthy?" he says, voice laced with disapproval.

Immediately, Archie’s tail lowers. His ears droop, and he stares down at the ground in shame.

"He was probably just playing in the lake, Sir!" I defend him, scratching behind his ears.

"I disapprove," Mr. Chestworth huffs. Then his gaze shifts to me, and his frown deepens. "Ossian, look at you—you’re filthy now too!"

I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. He’s particular about a lot of things—cleanliness being high on that list.

"You will assist Archie with his bath," he decides, checking his watch. "And then you will take one as well. After that, straight to bed."

I blink. "But it’s too early!"

His eyebrows lift.

"Sorry, sir," I mumble quickly. "I’m not tired."

"Then you may read a book or watch television."

I consider arguing, just a little. Throwing a tiny tantrum just to test the waters.

But then I remember the spanking I got this morning.

Instead, I choose to be a good boy.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

I crack the door open just enough to peek inside. Ossian is curled up in bed, nestled beneath the blankets with Archie sprawled at his side. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts gentle shadows over his face. He’s wearing nothing but a snug pair of boxers and his collar, his damp curls sticking to his forehead—a clear sign that he’s freshly showered.

Good. He’s settled.

"Finnian!"

Onyx’s urgent whisper yanks my attention down the hall. He’s standing outside Hendrix’s office, his expression tense.

"I'm coming," I murmur back, gently closing Ossian’s door before heading toward him.

The moment we step inside, Onyx shuts the door behind us. Hendrix is already seated on the leather couch, arms crossed, tension radiating off him in waves.

"Ossian?" Mr. Chestworth asks, his gaze landing on me.

"He's in bed," I confirm.

The air in Hendrix’s office is thick, charged with the weight of what’s about to unfold. Mr. Chestworth stands behind the massive oak desk, his presence towering, his piercing gaze fixed on the three of us. He’s not a man who raises his voice often, but when he does, it cuts through the room like steel against stone.

"Very well," Mr. Chestworth says smoothly, though his tone is edged with something sharper. "Now that we’re all present… is there something you wish to divulge to me?"

A heavy silence settles between us. For a brief moment, we’re transported back to our childhoods—three boys caught red-handed in the headmaster’s office, awaiting punishment.

Hendrix is the first to break. "Father, I’m not entirely certain what you’ve heard—"

"I know precisely what I’ve heard, boy!" The sharpness in his tone lands like a lash. Hendrix’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Mr. Chestworth exhales, controlled but severe. "Ossian—"

"Sir," Onyx interjects before he can continue. "We’re contemplating courting him."

For a brief second, there’s only silence. Then—

"Oh, for heaven’s sake!" Mr. Chestworth pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperation leaking through the cracks of his composure. "No wonder the boy is confused! He believes you’re sending him away because he’s too needy. Were you aware of that?"

It’s like the ground shifts beneath us.

"What?" I breathe.

"But—no!" Hendrix shakes his head, his expression darkening. "We told him it was because he failed the group test. It’s not permanent."

"And yet, he doesn’t see it that way, does he?" Mr. Chestworth levels us with an unimpressed stare. "You’re not prioritizing his needs."

Hendrix bristles at the accusation, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Without a word, he stands, tension rolling off him in waves, ready to walk out.

"Sit down!" Mr. Chestworth’s voice lashes out like a whip.

Hendrix glares. "Father—"

"Hendrix Ronan, do not test me. You will not run away from this conversation."

Hendrix’s face burns with humiliation, but after a long, heavy moment, he lowers himself back onto the leather couch between me and Onyx, his movements stiff with frustration.

Mr. Chestworth presses his fingers together, studying us. "Something is off," he murmurs. "Onyx, when you visited the fort the night of the fundraiser, you knew—you knew that Ossian had not taken the news of being sent to the school well."

Onyx lowers his gaze, shoulders tightening. "You’re right, sir," he admits, voice strained. "I knew I should’ve done more, but... something held me back. I—he’s our student, but—"

"Yes. He is your student," Mr. Chestworth affirms, his voice measured.

Hendrix’s hand lands on Onyx’s shoulder, steadying him with a firm squeeze.

Then, Mr. Chestworth’s sharp gaze cuts to me. "Finnian, you are the headmaster of an institution responsible for the training, education, and well-being of thousands of students. I expect more from you."

Hendrix stiffens beside me. "Father—"

"No, Hendrix." I grip his arm before he can protest. "He’s... he’s right."

A beat of silence.

Then, Mr. Chestworth shifts, leveling his gaze at Hendrix. "Son, why did you not confide in me about what is happening here? And why have you kept your candidacy for senator hidden from me?"

"What!?" Onyx and I exclaim at once.

"Hendrix!" Onyx demands. "Why didn’t you tell us?"

"Baby, that’s incredible!" I say, still trying to process it.

Hendrix sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I didn’t think the timing was right... because of Ossian."

I stare at him. Hendrix has spent years working toward this. We never thought he’d be in a position to run this soon.

"You boys are acting foolishly," Mr. Chestworth chastises, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "This is unfair—to Ossian and to yourselves. For some reason, you are allowing him to derail your own aspirations and responsibilities. And the poor boy is utterly confused because you are failing to communicate with him effectively."

"No, that’s not—" Onyx starts.

"Isn’t it?" Mr. Chestworth arches an eyebrow.

Onyx’s mouth clamps shut.

And then—

"We’re in love with him!" The words burst from me before I can stop them, before I can think them through. "I love him."

The silence is deafening.

Hendrix and Onyx turn to me, stunned.

Mr. Chestworth merely exhales, his expression unreadable. "I see."

A few agonizing beats of silence pass before he shifts his attention to Onyx. "Onyx, are you in love with Ossian?"

"Yes." His answer is immediate. Unshaken.

"And you, Hendrix?"

Hendrix hesitates for only a fraction of a second before speaking. "Yes, Father."

Mr. Chestworth releases a slow, measured sigh. "Well, that explains a great deal."

Another moment of silence stretches between us before he continues. "I did not wish to resort to this, but I am removing Ossian from your care."

The room erupts.

"What!?" I lurch to my feet.

"Bullshit!" Onyx snaps.

"Father, you can’t do this!" Hendrix’s voice is sharper now, raw with emotion.

"SIT DOWN!"

The authority in his voice leaves no room for disobedience.

Slowly—reluctantly—we lower ourselves back onto the couch, hearts hammering.

Mr. Chestworth regards us with something softer now, but unyielding. "This decision has nothing to do with your capabilities as dominants. You are good boys—my sons. I wouldn’t have entrusted you with one of my schools if I didn’t believe that."

He exhales, folding his hands in front of him. "However," he continues, "I’ve reviewed the notes Beniel has compiled. It is evident that Ossian requires something right now that you cannot provide."

My stomach knots. "That’s not true—"

"It is true. He needs something that a dom and sub relationship cannot give him."

Hendrix’s fists clench. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Chestworth stands taller. "In due time, you will understand. But this— this is what’s best for him."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Beniel

"This script is incredible," I say, scrolling through the final lines. "Have you shown it to Piper yet?"

He shakes his head. "No. I told her I wanted to keep it to myself a little while longer."

"That’s understandable."

Ossian lowers his gaze, suddenly quiet. I close the laptop, setting it gently on his desk before shifting to sit beside him on his new bed. His room at The Huxley House is fresh with the scent of new wood, the renovations leaving it crisp and modern. Light wooden floors, neutral white walls, a sturdy desk, a neatly made bed, and a small walk-in closet. The real gem, though, is the reading nook by the window—spacious, cozy, inviting.

I reach out, running my fingers through his hair. "I know you’re going to end up liking it here," I murmur. "Some of my best memories were made in my uni house."

He exhales sharply, crossing his arms. "There are too many rules here. I’m tired of rules."

I nod, understanding. "I know. But I think you've realized that the rules do a lot of good for you,'' I say gently. 

His arms tighten around himself. "What if they get tired of me? What if they kick me out? What then, huh?" His voice wavers, his eyes lifting to mine—wide and uncertain. 

"That’s not going to happen," I say firmly.

"It always does!"

He shoves off the bed, striding toward the reading nook. The golden light of early evening casts long shadows as he presses his forehead to the glass, his reflection staring back at him like an accusation. His arms wrap around himself, a self-made barrier. "What is wrong with me, Beniel?" he whispers.

"Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you."

The next words barely reach my ears. "Then why does everyone…" He stops. "Forget it."

I frown. No amount of words will fix this—not right now.

So I don’t talk.

Instead, I cross the room and gently pull him toward me. He stiffens for a second before melting into my arms, and we settle into the nook, bodies curled close, wrapped in silence. I hold him tightly, feeling the weight of everything he’s carrying.

There are conversations we still need to have—things he’s been avoiding, things I know I have to push him to confront. But not now. Right now, he just needs comfort.

"Ossian," I murmur. "The trio aren’t leaving you here. They’ll be back for you."

He groans. "Don’t."

But I know. I know how deeply he loves them. And I know—without a doubt—that they love him, too. "They’re not going to let you go this easily."

And if they do? I’ll drag them back myself. No one is hurting this boy anymore.

His fingers twist into the hem of my shirt. "What if the people here hate me? Can I switch houses? Maybe I can live alone?"

I sigh. He’s going to learn a lot about friendships while he’s here, and I know it’ll be even harder for him because of his fame. "No, you can’t live on your own. This house is a brotherhood. You look out for each other."

His expression darkens. "What about the dom? I don’t want a new dom."

I nod. "I know, hun. But they’re here to make sure all your needs are met." Besides, Thomas and Damien already know he’s been claimed by the Chestworth trio.

His scowl deepens.

I grin, reaching out to pinch his cheeks. "Oh, Ossian," I sigh dramatically. "I feel like I’m dropping my first baby off at university!"

He giggles, the sound warm and light. But then, his face shifts—more serious now, thoughtful. "Yeah… this must be weird for you," he muses. "Parents are usually the ones dropping their kids off here, not therapists."

Ansel, Emrys, and Ellis should be here. But they’re in South Korea, visiting Emrys’ parents. I know they wanted to come.

"Ossian," I sigh, nudging him. "I’m not your therapist right now. Outside of our sessions, you’re my friend."

He rolls his eyes, his lips curving into one of his charming smiles. "You’re so unprofessional," he teases.

I shake my head. "Come on," I say, standing. "Let’s go over the rules."

His groan is pure drama. "Ugh! Fine! But I’m not happy about it!"

I laugh, tugging him up. He might think he won’t belong here, but I know better.

This house is going to be very good for him. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

The rhythmic knocking on my door comes just as Beniel and I finish hanging my new uniforms in the closet. I barely have time to groan before the door creaks open, and Finnian’s head pops in.

"Hey, Ossian, we’d like to talk to you," he says.

Beniel squeezes my shoulder. "Listen to them," he murmurs before stepping past Finnian. "I’ll see you soon, troublemaker."

As the door clicks shut, Onyx wastes no time. "We just had a meeting with your house dom and sub."

I turn away, arms folding tight across my chest. I’m supposed to be mad at them. They’re the reason I’m in this strange house. 

"We want to start off by apologizing," Finnian says, his voice soft but sure. "We haven’t been good teachers. Or good doms, for that matter."

I keep my gaze trained on the floor.

"I’ve been telling you about communication ever since we met," Hendrix adds, exhaling deeply. "And we’ve come to realize that’s an area we’ve failed in ourselves."

I press my lips together, willing myself not to react.

"The reason we haven’t taken things further with you is..." Onyx starts, hesitating.

That gets my attention. I flick my gaze to his for a brief second before looking away again, feigning disinterest.

"...because we want to wait," he finishes.

Wait? I don’t like the sound of that.

"The time you spend here—we want you to meet other subs. Other doms. We want you to experience Chestworth like any other sub would," Onyx continues.

A cold, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

They want me to meet other doms?

Does that mean they’ll be meeting other subs?

"We’ll wait for you," Hendrix adds, his voice steady. "But you need time and space to grow first."

But I don’t want time. I don’t want space.

I don’t want other doms.

I think of Onyx and the way he drags me into his world of wild adventures and impulsive decisions. I think of Hendrix, the one who breaks into ice cream shops with me and gets arrested at my side, laughing the whole way. I think of Finnian—the glue that holds us all together, the one who makes me feel home.

For a fraction of a second, my lips twitch upwards.

Then I catch myself.

I clamp my mouth shut and scoff instead. "I don’t care what you do," I snap. A lie. A terrible, obvious lie.

Onyx smirks, predatory. "Really, Menino?" he murmurs, stepping closer. Before I can react, he grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him—then shoves me onto the bed.

I gasp, breath catching in my throat.

And then he’s on top of me, caging me in with his arms, his body hovering just inches away. His smirk is sharp, eyes dark with mischief.

"I recall how you were with Flynn the night of the fundraiser," he purrs.

A groan of pure mortification escapes me. My face burns.

Not my proudest moment.

Onyx’s eyes gleam as he drinks in my reaction, the wicked curve of his lips widening. He leans in just a little more, his breath ghosting against my skin.

"Alright, you two," Hendrix says, shoving Onyx off me with an exasperated sigh. He barely budges, sprawling lazily beside me instead.

I glare at Hendrix for cockblocking.

"I know you don’t want to be here, pup," Finnian says gently. "And it’s okay to be mad at us. We want you to feel your emotions."

That’s something Beniel and I have been working on—letting myself feel instead of shoving everything down, pretending it doesn’t exist.

"There’s also another reason we haven’t... you know..." Hendrix starts, voice trailing.

I tilt my head at him. "Fucked me?" I blurt out.

Finnian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Beniel wants to talk to you about that."

Onyx sucks in a sharp breath. And then—he moves.

Before I can blink, he’s on top of me again, pressing me into the mattress, his weight deliciously close. "You know what I want to do with you?" he whispers, voice low and dangerous.

Heat spreads through me like wildfire.

"What?" I whisper back, defiant.

He smirks again.

I narrow my eyes, grinning. "I’m waiting, sweetheart."

Something in his gaze darkens, a silent challenge.

Before things can spiral further, Hendrix hooks an arm around Onyx’s waist and drags him off me.

"Behave," Hendrix warns.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. There’s something hilarious about watching doms scold each other.

Finnian clears his throat, bringing the conversation back. "While you’re here, you’ll be wearing a different collar."

The moment the words leave his lips, my body reacts before my mind does.

My hands fly to my neck, clutching my collar like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

Hendrix moves gently, carefully unclicking the clasp. I don’t even realize my grip is loosening until he’s pulling it away.

I don’t wear it in the shower, and it’s fine then. But now, in this moment, it feels like something vital has been stolen from me.

Onyx is the first to move, pressing a kiss to my temple. Hendrix follows, lingering for just a second longer.

Finnian takes my hand, pressing it against his chest. "Damien and Thomas are excited to meet you," he says. His fingers tighten, anchoring me. "Promise me you’ll at least try while you’re here."

I nod.

Barely.

I can’t bring myself to look at them.

Finnian presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles before releasing me, and just like that, the three of them move toward the door.

But—

"Wait!"

They turn back so fast.

I take a breath, crossing my arms again. "I’m still mad at you!"

They smile.

And then they leave.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finnian

The drive home is silent.

Archie doesn’t even bark when we step inside. That’s the first sign something is off. I search for him, only to find him curled up in Ossian’s fort, sound asleep.

We send the staff home for the day, retreating to the living room in heavy silence. The three of us sit there, the weight of everything pressing down on us. For ten long minutes, Hendrix just watches Onyx and me, his gaze unreadable.

I know what’s coming.

"No!" Onyx snaps suddenly, springing to his feet.

"Down," Hendrix commands, his voice dropping an octave.

The sound of it sends a shiver down my spine.

Hendrix hasn’t used that voice with us in a while—not since Ossian came into our lives.

Onyx clenches his jaw, then grudgingly sinks back onto the couch.

Hendrix calmly removes his suit jacket, draping it over the armrest before rolling up his sleeves. I bite my lip, a rush of anticipation curling in my stomach. He strides toward the cabinet, his movements slow, deliberate. When he turns back, he’s holding it.

The smaller leather paddle.

I hate that one.

He places it on the coffee table with an air of finality.

I can’t meet his gaze without blushing furiously. Not only subs get spanked—poly relationships with a head dom maintain their structure through discipline, and sometimes that includes the doms themselves. We don’t have the same biological need for it that subs do, but it still serves a purpose. Onyx would never admit it, but I know it steadies him. Steadies both of us.

"Kneel."

The command is quiet, absolute.

I drop instantly, my knees hitting the floor in front of the couch. I don’t miss the flicker of concern in Hendrix’s eyes—I usually put up more of a fight. But I need this. More than I realized.

Still, I don’t want him to think he’s failed as our head dom.

He knows. Of course he knows. He tilts my chin up, brushing his thumb over my cheek. The warmth of his touch makes my doubts fade, grounding me in the moment.

Onyx, meanwhile, is sitting back with his arms crossed, pouting in a way that reminds me of Ossian.

Hendrix sighs, takes his seat, and then—

He grabs Onyx, flipping him effortlessly over his lap.

"Hendrix!" Onyx barks in his gruff voice, writhing instantly.

"Excuse me?"

"I don’t need this!"

Hendrix pins his arm behind his back with ease. "I can stay here all day," he says coolly as Onyx keeps struggling against his hold.

I don’t actually know who’s physically stronger between them. Onyx is bigger, visibly more muscular, but somehow Hendrix always wins these little power struggles.

With practiced efficiency, Hendrix yanks Onyx’s pants down, baring his firm, muscled ass.

I swallow hard, a hot jolt of arousal striking through me.

"Eyes up here, Finnian," Hendrix warns without even looking at me.

I jump.

I force my gaze to his face just as he picks up the paddle and rubs it over Onyx’s ass. His arm flexes as he raises it, and then—crack.

Onyx hisses through his teeth, his body jerking.

Hendrix is thorough. Measured. Each stroke of the paddle lands with sharp precision, painting Onyx’s skin a progressively deeper shade of red. Onyx fights at first, muscles tense, but slowly—slowly—his resistance softens. The tension drains from his body, replaced by something deeper.

And then—

"Fuck! It hurts, Hendrix!"

"Good," Hendrix murmurs. He pauses, pressing the cool leather against Onyx’s overheated skin. "You’re doing well, my love."

The paddle lifts again. Another crack.

Another.

And another.

Onyx is going to be feeling this for days.

When Hendrix finally sets the paddle aside, he doesn’t stop.

Now it’s his hand striking down, his large palm covering more ground than the paddle ever could. I don’t count the strokes—I don’t dare—but it’s enough to know that I will not be making the mistake of fighting this.

I understand why Onyx keeps trying to squirm away, though.

"Fuck!" Onyx growls, trying to push himself up.

"Stay down," Hendrix orders, trapping him in place with his legs.

He doesn’t even break a sweat.

At last, the spanking stops. Both of them are panting. Hendrix rakes a hand through Onyx’s dark hair, his fingers tightening.

"Good boy."

Onyx exhales shakily, arching into the touch. Hendrix grips his hair tighter, tilting his head back just enough to make his back curve.

"I’m not done with you," Hendrix murmurs, voice dark and husky.

Onyx smirks, breathless. "Yes, sir," he drawls, sarcasm laced in every syllable.

Hendrix lets out a low, hoarse laugh before kissing him, deep and slow.

Onyx stumbles to his feet when Hendrix finally lets him go, his movements stiff. He’s promptly sent to the corner, ass red and on display, hands clasped behind his head.

And then—

Hendrix turns his gaze to me.

"Come here, my darling." He crooks his finger, beckoning me forward.

I let out a slow breath as I stand, my knees already weak. "I—uh—I don’t think we really need to do thi—"

Hendrix tilts his head, cutting me off with a single look.

"I think this is exactly what you need."

Then, without another word, he grabs me by the belt and flips me over his knee.

I let out a sharp gasp, instantly aware of everything—his scent, warm and woodsy beneath expensive cologne. The solid press of his thighs under me. The way my cock aches against my pants, already hard from watching Onyx take his spanking.

Hendrix grips me firmly, rubbing slow circles over my lower back.

"This is hard," he remarks, grabbing my cock through my trousers.

I hiss, squirming, my breath coming faster.

I feel the distinct tug of fabric as he starts pulling my pants down, exposing me inch by inch.

"Alright," Hendrix murmurs, his accent thick and velvety. "Let’s get this going, shall we?"

Then

The night of the escape

Ossian

He nods slowly, silent tears streaming down his face. ''Ellis. Look at that hill, we just need to get over it, and that's where the truck is going to be. You get in and don't look back, I'll be behind you!''

He nods again. I can feel my heart throbbing inside my chest as I grab his hand. I look at him, really look at him in case this is the last time I'll see him.

''This time we run.''

Ellis doesn’t hesitate. He takes off, feet pounding against the damp earth. I let him get a few steps ahead before following, my lungs burning as we dodge low-hanging branches and leap over tangled roots. Every snap of twigs beneath our feet sounds deafening in the quiet night.

"Ossian! I see it!" Ellis calls, pointing.

We skid to a stop near a thick bush.

"I think it’s under there," he says between ragged breaths.

I flick on the flashlight. A red truck is buried under a large, forest-green tarp. Relief crashes over me. "Come on!"

I lunge for the passenger door, tugging hard. Nothing.

"Is it locked?"

"It’s not supposed to be," I grit out, wiping my wet hands on my hoodie before trying again.

A loud click.

The door suddenly flies open, nearly knocking me on my ass.

"Fuck yeah!"

Ellis laughs, scrambling in after me. "Come on!"

I slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind us. I switch on the truck's dim overhead light, revealing stacks of supplies—boxes of snacks, canned food, water jugs, and clean, dry clothes. A breath shudders out of me, some of the tension in my chest finally easing.

I glance at Ellis. His lips are blue, his whole body trembling. I probably don’t look much better.

"Take off your clothes and change into anything that fits," I say.

Ellis lets out a choked laugh as he yanks off his soaked hoodie and pants. "We did it, Ossy."

A grin spreads across my face as I peel off my own freezing clothes. "We did it!"

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself believe we’re safe.

And then—

A scream.

Ellis freezes.

Another scream.

My stomach turns to ice.

"It’s Keyne," Ellis whispers, his voice tight.

"And Lelah," I breathe.

Ellis is already reaching for the door handle. "Ossian, we—we have to help them."

"What!?" I grab his arm, yanking him back. "Ellis!"

"We can’t just leave them!"

I stare at him, my pulse hammering. His eyes are wide, glassy with unshed tears.

"You stay," he pleads. "I’ll go."

"NO." My grip tightens. "Ellis, listen to me. Goddammit. I am not losing you. Do you hear me?"

His lips tremble. "But—"

"No. If I’m not back by sunrise… you leave. You get as far away from here as you can."

His head shakes wildly, his breath hitching. "No, Ossian—"

"Promise me." My voice breaks on the last word. "Please."

Ellis swallows hard. Tears slip down his cheeks.

"I promise."

Chapter Text

Ossian

"Ossian!"

Before I can react, Theo practically tackles me, his arms squeezing me in a rough embrace. "I'm so happy you're here!"

I hug him back, forcing a smile as I pull away. His big brown eyes blink at me, earnest and kind. "It—it's gonna be okay, Oss," he says, patting my back.

Beniel mentioned that Theo is in the same university house as me. I'm grateful. It's nice to have someone familiar around.

I flop onto the bed with a groan. "I want to stay in here for the rest of my stay." The last thing I feel like doing is meeting the new dom.

Theo frowns. "Sorry, Ossian. Th-Thomas won't l-let you stay in your room all the time." He watches me like I'm a fragile thing about to shatter. I must look utterly pathetic.

"Ugh, doms!" I groan, pressing a pillow over my face. "Their bossy asses are so annoying." I hold my breath for a few seconds, just long enough to make Theo nervous.

The pillow is yanked away. "You can't kill yourself, Ossian." He's frowning in disapproval, and it's so absurdly serious that I let out a surprised laugh. Theo's face lights up with a sunny grin.

I notice his stutter and tics aren't as pronounced now that he's more comfortable around me. We've spent so much time working together at Tags that it makes sense we've become friends.

A knock sounds at the door.

"Boys!"

The door swings open, revealing a man so large he has to duck slightly to enter. He's wearing gym shorts and a burgundy polo that reads Chestworth Warriors.

"Theo, go help the others in the kitchen," he orders.

"Yes, sir!" Theo scrambles out of the room, leaving me alone with the walking mountain.

I swallow hard.

The man—who I assume is Damien—has a sharp jaw, thick brown hair neatly combed to the side, and full, serious-looking lips. His piercing green eyes sweep over the room, unimpressed. Probably because my unpacked belongings are still scattered everywhere.

I thought he'd be younger, closer to the trio's age. But he looks like he's in his late thirties. And he's terrifying. With arms like those, he could snap me in half.

For once, my brain manages not to blurt out something stupid.

Before the tension can stretch too long, another figure strides into the room—this one all warmth and easy confidence. He grins widely before pulling me into a hug so tight it steals my breath.

"Ossian! It's so nice to finally meet ya'. I'm Thomas, house sub."

His southern accent is soft and familiar, reminding me of Calum, Leann, and even Finnian in certain ways.

Damien watches Thomas like he's the sun.

Thomas is gorgeous. Dimples carve into his cheeks when he smiles, his blue eyes bright with kindness. His light brown hair is short on the sides and longer on top, and he has broad shoulders—but next to Damien, even he seems smaller.

The warmth in his presence is disarming, but then he pulls back, his smile slipping into concern. He studies me with a look that makes me want to disappear.

"Ossian, where's your bracelet?"

"Huh? What bracelet?" I blink.

Thomas glances at Damien, who crosses his arms. "You were supposed to be wearing a bracelet. Where is it?"

I shrug. "I dunno." I vaguely recall Beniel mentioning something about that.

Thomas moves to the bedside table, opens a drawer, and pulls out a thin silver band. "Got it."

Before I can react, he takes my wrist and clicks the bracelet into place.

"The bracelet alerts us if you have another one of your... black outs. We know you get those, Muffin," Thomas explains gently.

Muffin?

I narrow my eyes. "It's a tracker."

"It tracks your location, but we only check if... something happens," he corrects.

I don't like it. But I guess it's a good thing.

Thomas sits beside me on the bed. Damien, meanwhile, is still staring.

"Have you read all the house rules?" Damien asks.

I nod.

Okay, half-listened while Beniel read them to me. That counts, right?

Thomas tilts his head. "You don't feel so good, do you, bub?" He rubs his thumb over my cheek, his touch ridiculously soft.

I exaggerate a pitiful frown, hoping it'll get me out of whatever social interaction is looming. "I—I just want to stay here, please." I make my voice small and polite.

"Of course, Ossian!" Thomas replies instantly.

"Thomas," Damien warns.

"Oh, c'mon, Dame, it's his first night." Thomas flashes the big dom a pair of devastating puppy eyes.

Damien tries to resist. He really does. But then he sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. I'll check on dinner."

As soon as he's gone, I mutter, "I don't think he likes me."

"Of course he does, sugarplum. He just takes time to warm up to new people," Thomas assures me. Before I can protest, he tugs me toward the bathroom. "C'mon! Get your clothes off."

I frown as he starts running the bath.

"I can bathe myself."

"Hush, you. Just relax," he murmurs, massaging my shoulders. "You're tense, Muffin."

My body loosens under his touch, but the anxiety doesn't fade. I try not to think about the Chestworth trio—which only makes me think about them more.

I sigh as I step into the tub, letting Thomas work his magic. The warm water and the familiar heavenly scent of my shampoo remind me of home, so I let him continue.

Thomas really seems to like me. And I'm not going to complain about being bathed by an attractive man. 

A thought strikes me.

I squint at him. "Are you just some crazy fan who wants to bathe me?"

His hands still in my hair. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he lets out a deep, full-bodied laugh. He laughs so hard he has to catch his breath, actual tears running down his face.

I can't help but laugh with him.

"Your life must be very interesting if that's where your mind went," he says, still chuckling as he rinses the shampoo out of my hair.

"A fan snuck into my hotel room once when I was filming in Vancouver," I shrug. I love my fans. Even the crazy ones. 

His laughter fades, replaced by concern. "That won't happen here. We'll keep you safe," he promises, voice firm. "Alright, let's get you dry."

He hands me a towel, and I dry off before slipping into a white t-shirt and soft beige pajama pants. The fabric feels strange against my skin—I haven't worn pajamas in a while—but there's something undeniably cozy about it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After dinner, Thomas clears our plates and immediately decides it's time for introductions.

"Can't I do it tomorrow?" I try, mustering my best pitiful look.

"No," he says simply, dragging me out of the room with one hand while balancing our dirty dishes in the other.

As we descend the stairs, I hear hushed voices coming from the living room. The others are gathered around the TV, murmuring among themselves—except for Damien. He's nowhere to be seen.

Theo spots me first, waving enthusiastically. "Hey, Ossian!" His grin is blinding. "This is Ossian, h-he's my friend!"

His excitement is so infectious that I can't help but smile back.

A blond boy with shoulder-length hair, exuding full-on surfer vibes, lifts a hand in greeting. "I'm Arnie."

Next to him, a boy with flushed cheeks barely manages to whisper, "I'm Elijah." He looks like he'd rather be swallowed by the couch than be perceived. Thomas ruffles his hair as he passes, heading to the kitchen.

Another boy suddenly stands, striding toward me like he's just spotted his next obsession. "I'm Benjiro! People call me Benji." His dark, wavy hair is nearly as curly as mine, and he's ridiculously pretty. "God, you're gorgeous." He turns to the others, gesturing dramatically. "Look at him—he's perfect. You and I are going to be best friends!"

Theo crosses his arms, scowling at Benji like an overprotective sibling. "You're nnnot using him, B-Benji!"

Benji gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense. "I would never do such a thing!"

I smirk, tilting my head at him. "If you want, we can talk about using each other later." I wink. "Theo, baby, you could join us."

Theo turns red.

Benji gapes at me before a wicked grin spreads across his face. "Finally! I'm not the only slut in this house anymore!"

"You're not a slut," another boy chimes in, rolling his eyes.

Benji scoffs. "Of course I am!"

The eye-rolling boy nods at me. "I'm Ro."

I nod back, taking in the chaos of this house. Everyone here is hot. Was that a requirement? Did someone vet us for attractiveness before letting people in to this school?

Before I can dwell on that thought, Thomas returns, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Alright, Ossian, come with me. You and I need to have a discussion."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You need a spanking."

That's the first thing Thomas says when we step into my room.

I stare at him, appalled. "What!? But I didn't even do anything!"

He doesn't flinch. "Not that kind of spanking," he says, stepping closer. "One that will make you feel better in here." He presses a warm palm against my stomach, right where the anxiety has been twisting itself into knots all day.

I cross my arms, backing away. "Well, you're a sub! You can't touch me!"

"Ossian—"

"Fuck you! You're not a dom!"

He exhales, slow and patient, and that somehow makes me more frustrated. He's not mad—he's just concerned.

"I'm going to give you three seconds—"

"No!"

"One."

"I swear to god, Thomas—"

"Two."

I deepen my scowl, standing my ground.

"Three."

Thomas moves.

Before I can bolt, his hand wraps around my wrist, and I fight. I don't know why I need to push, why I need to struggle, but the urge is suffocating.

"Noooo!" I kick my legs, twisting in his grip, grabbing onto the bedpost, the sheets—anything—but he's too strong. He easily pulls me across his lap, trapping my legs under one of his, pinning me effortlessly. My heart pounds.

"Let me go!"

"Ossian, you can fight as much as you want, but you're not getting out of this." His voice is steady, unshaken.

"Stupid butthead!"

Yeah, I know, not my best. 

"Excuse me?" Thomas actually has the audacity to chuckle as he strokes my back, trying to soothe me. "Are you ready to take your spanking like a good boy?"

I shake my head furiously. "Like hell I—ow!"

The first spank lands, sharp and sudden, and I gasp.

"Ow! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it—"

Three more swats land on my left ass cheek, making me yelp.

"Nooo," I whine, pressing my face into the bedsheets. The familiar scent of home clings to them—Emrys, Ansel, Ellis. It smells like the detergent and fabric softener Emrys always uses. The scent, combined with the steady rhythm of the spanking, works something loose inside me.

The tension in my chest unwinds, slow and steady. The anxiety that has been clawing at me all day begins to slip away.

But I still fight it.

"Please, I'm sorry, sir, I don't want a spanking—"

"You're getting one, Ossian," Thomas says, still infuriatingly calm. But there's something different in his tone now—like he 's so sure I need this. 

Eventually, I stop struggling. I just... take it. 

Thomas keeps going for a little while longer before deciding I've had enough. When he stops, my ass is burning, but my body feels light, soft, like I've been wrung out and left warm and pliant.

He shifts, pulling my pajama pants back up, and then he's holding me, maneuvering us under the fluffy covers.

I'm breathing heavily, my head resting against his chest. I feel like a limp noodle—completely relaxed, even as my skin still tingles from the spanking. But more importantly... the tight, anxious bubble in my chest is gone.

"I—" My voice is quiet. "I'm sorry for calling you a butthead."

Thomas chuckles. "Thank you for your apology, my little cake-pop."

I actually laugh at that one. "Cake-pop? Really?"

His chest rumbles with laughter. "What can I say? You're bite-sized and sweet."

I roll my eyes, but a giggle escapes me anyway.

After a moment, his hand settles over my chest, right where my heart is beating slow and steady now. "You know, spankings aren't just about the submissive side of us. It's a separate thing, something that helps all of us—sub and even doms. Sometimes, words or other actions just aren't enough. Spankings settle us in here." He presses gently against my sternum. "That's why there are so many different types of them."

I hesitate before mumbling, "But... you're a sub."

"I know," he admits, a smile in his voice. "And this was the first time I've ever spanked anyone."

I lift my head to stare at him. "Wait—you mean you've never—"

"Nope." He smirks. "That was my first time."

I gape. "But—you were good at it!"

Thomas shrugs. "Well, you do learn a thing or two when you spend enough time over someone's knee."

I scrunch my nose.

He laughs.

I really don't need the mental image of Thomas getting spanked. Not because it's weird exactly, but... something about him feels different. With other subs, my first thought is usually how fast I can get them into bed. But with Thomas? I don't feel that way at all.

He's attractive, sure—gorgeous, actually—but the feeling I get around him is something else. Something familiar, but not in a way I can put into words. Maybe it's because he's older, in his late thirties like Damien. Maybe it's something deeper. I don't know.

Thomas moves off the bed and tucks me in.

I grab the remote and flick on a random show, the screen casting soft, flickering light across the room.

"I'll be back to check on you, cake-pop," he says.

I nod, sinking further into the blankets, feeling lighter than I have this whole week.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thomas

Damien barely gets through the door before I feel his strong arms wrap around me from behind. He's still warm from his run, his heartbeat steady against my back. 

"How did it go?" he asks, voice low and familiar.

I lean into him. "He's been spanked and put to bed."

A pause. Then, he pulls back slightly. I turn to face him and—wow. Damien is shocked.

"You did what?"

 "I don't know. It just... happened." I search for the right words, running a hand through my hair. "I could feel it—he needed it. He was exhausted, wound up so tight I thought he might snap. So I gave him what he needed."

Damien watches me for a moment, then walks over to the armchair and sits down. His expression is unreadable.

"Are you mad, sir?" I ask hesitantly. A flicker of doubt creeps in—the same hesitation I had when I first started spanking Ossian.

Damien exhales, shaking his head. "No, baby, I'm not mad. It's just... different."

Relief washes over me, but something about his tone makes me cross my arms.

 "What?"

"You're different with him." I say. 

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

Damien runs a hand through his damp hair, looking thoughtful. "That boy needs me to be firm with him, Thomas. I can sense it."

I sigh. "You're right—he does need a firm hand. But, Dame, please... be gentle with him, too. He's going through a hard time right now."

Damien studies me, then smirks. "I will, Daddy Bear."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, shut up."

He chuckles, but his laughter deepens when I grumble, "He called me a butthead."

Damien loses it. He laughs so hard that his shoulders shake.

"He's just a... a child, Dame," I say, shaking my head. "I know he's nineteen, but I'm not talking about his age. There's something about him... something innocent. Something pure."

Damien hums, considering this.

"You think it's because he was homeschooled?" I ask.

"Maybe." He shrugs. "That, or he was just raised different."

I wander to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Outside, I spot Auberon, Jed, and a few of the campus security guards herding the paparazzi away from our front lawn. 

"Still out there?" Damien sighs.

I nod. "Kind of reminds me of your NFL days." I smirk.

He snorts. 

I shake my head at him. "Speaking of football... how's the new team shaping up? Was practice good today?"

Damien groans, rubbing his temples. "They're awful."

Ah. So that's why he's in a mood today.

"Damien John Huxley."

He immediately cowers, just a little. He only ever does that when I full-name him.

"Fine," he grumbles. "They're not awful. They just need a lot of work. I almost fired the whole staff today."

My terrifying, six-foot-five husband, known for striking fear into the hearts of men, is currently pouting.

I snort. "Oh, my poor coach." Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press a kiss to his lips. "You didn't yell at them too much, right?"

"...I did."

I laugh. "I love you, you big idiot."

He sighs, squeezing my waist. "Thanks, my love. I needed that."

I wrinkle my nose. "You also need a shower."

"Watch it," he warns, but he swats my ass hard enough to make me yelp.

I grin, mischievous. Just as I'm about to drag him into the shower for some fun, a voice bellows down the hall—

"DAMIEEEN!"

We both freeze.

"Arnie took my toothbrush!"

Damien turns to me, mid-shirt removal. He already looks exhausted.

I sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "I'll handle it."

He gives me a grateful nod, then peels off his shirt, clearly gearing up for his shower.

I head toward Ro and Arnie's shared bathroom, stepping inside just in time to see Ro fuming. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire face flushed red.

Arnie, on the other hand, is grinning way too much for someone being accused of a toothbrush heist.

"Look at me, Roman," I say, voice firm.

Ro whips his head away, scowling. "NO!"

I step closer, keeping my tone even. "Breathe." I take his hand, pulling him gently toward me. "Deep breaths."

His chest rises and falls erratically at first, but I keep rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. Eventually, the tension drains out of him, and his eyes—filled with unshed tears—blink up at me.

"Shhh," I murmur. "That's it. Just breathe."

After a long moment, Ro finally calms. But then, still sniffly, he mutters, "Damien needs to spank him." He glares at Arnie, pointing an accusing finger.

I raise an eyebrow. "And is that your decision to make?"

Ro hesitates. "...No."

I turn to Arnie. "Did you take Ro's toothbrush?"

Arnie exhales, looking guilty now. "...It fell in the toilet when I was cleaning. I threw it away. I was too scared to tell him."

I sigh.

Ro has a lot of mood swings. When he gets angry, it can be explosive. I understand why Arnie hesitated to confess.

"Next time something like that happens, I want you to come to me or Damien. Understood?"

"Yes," Arnie nods quickly. Then he adds, "And Damien won't be happy if he finds out I pestered Ro again."

I glance at Ro, who's still standing stiffly beside me. "Ro?"

He fidgets. "I—I'm sorry for getting angry," he mumbles.

Arnie nods. "It's okay."

Crisis averted.

"Now," I say, leveling Arnie with a look. "You still have homework to do."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, scurrying out of the bathroom like his life depends on it.

Ro watches him go, then, in a very small voice, mumbles, "I scare them."

I squeeze his shoulder. "Hey, you're all still getting used to living together. Give it time. It'll get better, sugarbug."

Ro nods, but his expression remains uncertain.

They've only been here for three weeks. Ever since Chestworth started at the end of August, Damien and I have been integrating a whole new group of boys into our household.

The first few weeks are always the hardest.

But we'll get there. We always do.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

Even after Damien and Thomas check in on me, sleep is fleeting. I drift for maybe two hours before my body betrays me, yanking me back into consciousness.

I try—really try—to settle again. I twist, turn, bury my face into the pillows, and kick off the covers only to pull them back up moments later. The clock reads 03:26.

Great.

Sighing, I reach for my phone and scroll aimlessly before an idea strikes me. It's daytime in South Korea, right?

I hit the call button.

After two rings, a familiar voice answers. "Hey, babe." Emrys.

I smile. "Hi." My voice comes out rough from disuse. I clear my throat. "Thanks for all the stuff you got me." I glance at the neatly stacked pile in the corner—fresh sheets, fluffy towels, a mini-fridge, snacks, bathroom essentials, and other little comforts from home.

"Of course!" Ellis chimes in. "We really wanted to be there!" His voice carries that sad puppy tone.

"It's okay," I assure him softly.

Then, I hear a much sharper voice in the background.

"Ossian, what are you doing up at this hour?"

Ansel. Of course.

I roll my eyes. "I can't sleep."

A chorus of concern echoes through the call. "Why?"

I shrug. "Dunno."

"Let me talk to Thomas! Wake him up!" Ansel demands, his face popping into view.

"Calm down, Ansel," I giggle. "I'll go back to sleep soon."

I quickly change the subject. "Hey, did you know I have to do my own laundry here?"

"Oh my God." Ellis gasps over dramatically.

I roll my eyes. 

Emrys, ever the prepared one, reassures me, "That's why I got you the detergent and softener I use. It's in the green bag."

"You promise it's the same kind?" I narrow my eyes at him through the screen.

 "Yes, I promise."

We talk for a few more minutes—about school, about them missing me, about me not waking Thomas—until Ansel orders me to go back to bed.

I lie. "Okay."

The second I hang up, I slip out of bed, tiptoeing through the darkened house.

I move quietly. I'm good at this.

The house is beautiful. Even at night, there's a warmth to it.

At the entrance, an elegant staircase winds upstairs toward the bedrooms. A gallery wall catches my eye—framed photographs, some new, some old. The boys who lived here before me?

I keep walking, my fingers trailing along the banister.

The lounge area is massive—a giant U-shaped couch dominates the space, blankets, and so many throw pillows, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. More framed pictures line the walls, capturing smiles and moments of a life I haven't yet stepped into. A fireplace sits unlit, casting soft shadows over the room. It feels lived-in, loved. Not just a house—but a home.

Beyond the lounge, the kitchen opens up—sleek, modern, yet still warm. A massive island sits at the center, and a dark wooden dining table stands nearby, surrounded by high-backed wodden black chairs.

It looks like something out of a magazine. 

 Double doors lead outside to the backyard. I make a mental note to check it out later. 

Then, I find another room.

It's different—sharper. Less warm, more focused.

Trophies glint under the dim light. Posters of football players line the walls—big, bold action shots. Most of them are of... a younger Damien.

Oh.

I step closer, scanning the achievements, the awards, the newspaper clippings framed with pride. He wasn't just a football player—he was a star.

But now... I squint at one of the newer plaques. Head Coach Huxley.

So that's what he does now.

After my little nighttime adventure, I wander back to my room. I don't bother getting back into bed. Instead, I curl up on the reading nook by the window, wrapping a soft blanket around my shoulders.

Outside, the street is quiet. Neatly trimmed lawns, massive campus houses lining the road—everything feels still. Peaceful.

I don't know when my eyelids grow heavy, but eventually, sleep does find me.

I wake up to the rumbling sound of the garbage truck.

It's still too early.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thomas

"Morning, babe," I mumble, stepping into the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee.

Damien doesn't answer right away. He's standing at the sink, staring out the window, his brows slightly furrowed.

I take a sip of my coffee before walking up beside him. "What are you looking at?"

Without a word, he gestures outside.

I follow his gaze—and nearly spit out my drink.

Ossian is in the backyard.

Wearing nothing but his underwear.

And my yellow rain boots.

He's sitting under the large oak tree, gesturing animatedly as if he's deep in conversation—with who, I have no idea.

I blink. "Is he talking to himself?"

"I got a text from Ansel," Damien mutters, still watching. "Ossian barely slept last night. He's probably been up for hours."

I sigh. "It was his first night here. We just have to give him time."

With a final glance at the half-dressed, rain-boot-wearing boy outside, I shake my head and turn back to the kitchen.

The rest of the boys trickle in, freshly showered and dressed in their school uniforms. I start breakfast, flipping eggs and buttering toast, occasionally shouting for Ossian to come inside.

"Just a minute!" he calls back.

He's been saying that for ten minutes.

The boys are nearly finished eating when my patience finally snaps. I march over to the window, slide it open, and yell, "Ossian, get your butt in here! Now!"

There's a beat of silence. Then, "We're coming!"

We?

Before I can process that, Ossian comes barrelling inside—mud-streaked legs, still in his underwear and my boots—with a chicken following right behind him.

The entire kitchen freezes.

"Is that a chicken?" Benji shouts.

"Her name is Edna," Ossian announces proudly.

The chicken flaps its wings and, before anyone can react, launches itself into the air and perches on the curtain rod.

"Did that thing just fly?!" Arnie yelps.

''I'll give a thousand dollars to whoever these boots belong to. I want them!'' Ossian says.

"Jesus, Ossian!" Damien recoils as feathers flutter around the kitchen.

Unbothered, Ossian grins. "She reminds me of my Archie. I miss him."

Damien shoots me a look—one that says, And this is exactly why his dog isn't here yet.

The reason Ossian's dog is not allowed here is because we don't want Ossian to have many distractions. Archie does a lot of good for the boy, so he might be allowed to come here after Ossian has settled in. We're still unsure.

I sigh and grab a kitchen towel, trying to shoo Edna back outside. She doesn't budge. She just stares at me, utterly unimpressed.

"We don't have time for this," I mutter.

Damien pinches the bridge of his nose. "Theo, please help Ossian upstairs and get him into some Chestworth clothes."

"Yes, sir!" Theo says, grabbing Ossian's arm and dragging him toward the stairs.

As they disappear,  Arnie suddenly speaks up, "Wait—did he say a thousand dollars for the boots?"

A beat of silence.

''Okay, so since no one has claimed the boots, they're mine,'' Ro decides.

Damien looks at me, incredulous. I sigh. "They're actually mine," I admit, "but I grew out of them ages ago, so I'm giving them to Ossian."

Ro pouts. "Damn it."

"And if he tries to buy anything from any of you," Damien adds sharply, scanning the room, "I want to know about it."

"Yes, sir," everyone chimes in—except for Benji, who is giggling while trying to offer Edna a piece of bacon.

Edna flutters her wings in warning, and Benji yanks his hand back like he's just faced death itself.

I rub my temples. It's not even 8 a.m. yet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ossian

"I can't believe I have to wear this," I mutter under my breath, tugging at the waistband of the snug black speedos.

"Uniforms are a B-British thing, and this is tech-technically a B-British school. Didn't y-you read the rules?" Theo asks, pulling something out of my bedside table drawer.

I frown. "What rules?"

He hands me a sleek black tablet. "This is your school tablet, it has everything you need."

I take it hesitantly.

Theo shakes his head with an amused smile. "You can s-see what classes you have today, what u-uniform to wear or bring, assignments due, even the food they'll be serving in the cafeteria. You can do a bunch of things with it."

"Oh." Right. Beniel had mentioned something about a tablet. Not that I was listening much.

"But they didn't wear uniforms last time I was here," I argue.

"W-w-when was that?"

I shrug. "During summer break. I came with Finnian when he was lecturing in some summer class."

Theo hums in understanding. "Yeah, you d-don't have to wear them during s-summer courses."

I glance down at the speedos again. "And this?"

"Master Leon dec-decides what we wear underneath our regular u-uniforms every day. So d-don't forget to check the tablet every morning."

Master Leon. Another name to add to my growing list of people trying to control me.

Despite my complaints, the fabric is actually comfortable—soft, snug, and lightweight. Theo helps me into the rest of the uniform: a black polo shirt with the Chestworth Academy logo embroidered in burgundy, slim-fitting black chinos, and a belt. The wardrobe is meticulously arranged—shirts, sweaters, and polos in the school's colors (burgundy, white, black, and beige) line one side, while my personal clothes are tucked away neatly on the other. Then, there are the drawers—filled with "special" uniforms: cuffs, harnesses, and even a pair of pink speedos that make my face heat up.

Theo hands me a pair of black combat boots.

"Thomas doesn't like shoes in the house. There's a cubby in the entrance closet for you," he reminds me.

By the time we reach the kitchen, Thomas is already there, arms crossed. He gives me a once-over and sighs dramatically before shoving a backpack, a sandwich, and a bottle of juice into my arms.

"You're eating on the way," he says in his no-nonsense tone. "Bracelet?"

I hold up my wrist, flashing him my most charming grin.

He shakes his head. "Go. You're going to be late." Then, whack! He swats my ass, making me yelp.

I jog after the others as Thomas calls after me, "And have a good first day, sugarplum!"

Thankfully, the paparazzi are gone, but the stares from the students? Not so much.

Whispers follow me as I navigate the massive Chestworth campus. Some students walk, others zoom past in campus golf carts or bikes. 

"I want a cart too!" I whine, stuffing the sandwich into my mouth as we rush towards the school building.

"We don't have time to find a free one," Ro calls over his shoulder.

Fine. Mental note: buy my own cart.

The halls are buzzing with students, the grandeur of Chestworth evident in every polished marble step and gold-trimmed archway. After several corridors and staircases, we reach a set of double doors and step into a changing room.

The moment we enter, silence falls.

Eyes snap to me. The room is filled with subs in identical black speedos, their expressions ranging from curious to excitement. I smirk and wink at a few, watching them blush furiously.

"Backpack," Benji instructs, motioning for me to open it.

Inside, I find a folder, a water bottle, snacks Thomas must've packed, and a note with a locker combination.

"That's the locker next to mine," Benji says.

He helps me undress and store my things. I can feel the stares. When I turn, the others quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in something in their lockers. 

"That ass of yours is a dream," Benji teases, slamming his locker shut.

I roll my eyes. "Like what you see?"

Before he can respond, a commotion erupts. Laughter. A yell.

"Shut up!" Ro's voice.

Benji curses. "Not again." He pulls me toward the growing crowd.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Nothing!" Ro snaps, storming off.

A boy approaches me with a smug smirk. He's tall, blond, well-groomed—a classic rich-kid type. His arrogance is almost suffocating.

"Ossian Ambrose," he drawls. "Finally, we meet. I can't believe they put you in the freak house, but you know how it is. Politics." He smiles, all teeth. "You're welcome to hang with us. Goldfinch House."

I say nothing. Just stare him down.

His smirk falters. A flicker of frustration crosses his face before he scoffs ''Whatever.'' and walks away with his little entourage.

"Are we really called the freak house?" I ask Benji.

"No. We're Huxley House, after Damien and Thomas Huxley." He nods toward the retreating figure. "That was Brendan Foyer. He's studying for the Chestworth Law Program. His dad's a big-time lawyer."

"Didn't seem very nice."

"Yeah, well, you'd think we left the mean-girl, mean-boy phase in high school."

"Maybe we should tell his doms?" I suggest.

Benji gives me a strange look, something between amusement and exasperation, before dragging me toward another set of double doors.

The moment we step inside, the air changes.

A hushed stillness settles over the vast training hall, a space lined with cages—polished steel bars gleaming under the stark white light. The scent of leather and something faintly clean lingers in the air. Every sub in the room moves in sync, forming a disciplined row in front of the cages. Their posture is perfect—backs straight, hands clasped behind them.

I hesitate for a second before following their lead, shifting into the same stance.

"Who are we waiting for?" I murmur.

A sharp, collective shush cuts through the silence.

"Jeez, it was just a ques—"

The doors slam open.

A presence floods the room—commanding, suffocating, unmistakably dominant.

The man who strides in is tall, broad-shouldered, dangerous. A black t-shirt stretches across his chest, leather pants cling to muscular thighs, and his combat boots echo against the stone floor. The air in the room seems to grow heavier, crackling with the force of his dom energy.

Another dominant follows behind him—quieter, composed, but no less intense. He wears the same uniform but stands to the side, hands folded behind his back. An assistant, maybe.

The first man stops in the center of the room and lets his gaze sweep over us, sharp as a blade.

"Kneel."

Everyone drops instantly. Except me.

I hesitate, scanning the room. Every pair of eyes is locked on me. The dom’s gaze settles on me last, unwavering.

I sink to my knees.

"Good morning, Master Leon," the class greets in perfect unison.

"Good morning," Master Leon replies, his voice deep, rich, and edged with authority. He lets the silence stretch before speaking again. "I trust everyone has welcomed our new boy, Ossian?"

"Yes, Master Leon!" The room answers in a sharp chorus.

The sheer force of their voices makes me jump.

Beside me, Benji snorts.

"Here, Benji." Master Leon gestures to a spot before him.

Benji hesitates before crawling forward.

Master Leon reaches for a crop, the movement slow, deliberate. Then, with practiced ease, he lands several sharp swats against each of Benji’s ass cheeks. The sound cracks through the silence. Benji’s only reaction is a soft exhale.

Then, Master Leon leans in and whispers something into his ear before dismissing him. Benji crawls back, expression unreadable as he resumes his place beside me.

I swallow. This guy is not kidding around.

Master Leon straightens, his sharp gaze sweeping the room once more. "Today, boys, we’re trying out the cages. I assume everyone has read the third chapter?"

"Yes, Master Leon!"

I frown. "I don’t know what book you’re talking about."

Silence.

Dozens of eyes turn to me—wide, disbelieving. I’m not sure if it's because I spoke or because I admitted I hadn’t read the book. Maybe both.

Master Leon doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, he methodically assigns a sub to each cage. I watch as the boys obey without question, slipping inside their designated spaces, the doors locking behind them with a solid click.

Then, he turns to me.

I’m still kneeling.

"Ossian, come here."

He walks toward his desk.

I move to stand—

"Crawl."

I freeze, staring at him. My skin prickles with defiance. "I’m getting really sick of all your orders, dude."

The reaction is immediate. A few gasps ripple through the room.

Master Leon tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face for half a second. Then, it’s gone.

His expression hardens.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out a leash.

Oh, hell no.

I scramble backward, heart hammering. "No! I—I—" My eyes dart around, searching for an escape route.

Too late.