Chapter Text
There’s a little girl standing over your bed. In and of herself she doesn’t seem scary – she’s maybe ten or twelve, with shoulder-length black hair, wearing a charcoal gray dress that comes down to her skinny knees. Harmless, right? But there’s something in her eyes, something dark and glittering, and you lie there paralyzed by terror as she stares at you.
“Will you be my mommy?” she asks. You get the feeling that if you say yes, she’ll swallow you whole. It’s like she can see the thought on your face; she smiles toothily – a predator’s grin.
You jerk awake, your heart pounding.
“Mmph?” Ethan mumbles, stirring beside you. You turn over, putting a hand on his chest. His brown eyes flicker open and he smiles at you sleepily.
“Sorry,” you say. He takes your hand; his skin is so warm, so soft, so real. You try to focus on his touch, not the nightmare that still hovers over you.
“For what?” he asks.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you tell him, dragging your mind away from the dream and into reality. You moved in with him a few months ago after about two years of dating, and you still kind of think it might have been the best idea you’ve ever had. Your lease was up, and you think his kid is the best thing since sliced bread, and you’re hopelessly in love with him besides, and so far it’s been pretty smooth sailing, aside from the odd inevitable conflicts over things like who cleans the bathroom. You don’t usually wake him up by startling out of nightmares on Saturday mornings; mostly he’s the one having the nightmares, though they’re relatively infrequent these days.
“You didn’t. Or, I don’t think you did,” Ethan says, a little uncertainly. He rubs his face with one sleepy hand. His hair is sticking straight up; it looks so fucking cute.
You lean your head on his chest. “I had a bad dream,” you confess.
“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nah.” You snuggle closer, throwing a leg over his thigh. Ethan wraps an arm around you, warm and comfortable. He slept in his boxers and nothing else; you rub your cheek against his sparse chest hair, curling your leg around him – and bump into his morning wood. “Oh,” you say wickedly. “Good morning, Mr. Winters.”
Ethan gives you a lop-sided grin. “Good morning, baby.”
Your hand wanders down his chest, over his belly, tracing the line of this treasure trail under the waistband of his boxers. “I should do something about this, shouldn’t I?”
“Rose will be up any min – ah – ” Ethan loses his train of thought as you wrap your hand around his shaft and stroke him slowly, gently, with that little twist of the wrist that he likes so much.
“I’ll just have to be quick then, won’t I?” you murmur, and duck under the covers.
“Baby – mmmh…” he sighs, trailing off as you take him into your mouth and suck slowly, your tongue swirling against the head of his cock. You sink down onto him, opening your throat and suppressing your gag reflex as you swallow him down, your nose pressing into his pubic hair. Ethan bites back a moan. His hand gropes for you under the covers, but he doesn’t tug you back up, as you’d half-thought he would; instead his fingers twine through your hair, gently encouraging your head to bob.
“Oh god,” he breathes, “oh god, baby…”
You settle into a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth on and off of his cock, your tongue soft on the underside of his shaft, stroking him delicately. Ethan is panting, clutching at you a little; you can feel the shift of his hips as he restrains himself from thrusting up into your mouth. His cock twitches against your tongue and you pull off him, then duck your head to kiss your way down his shaft, nuzzling against the base, then darting your tongue out to lick your way up the seam of his balls.
“Nnh,” he groans, clearly struggling to keep quiet. You allow yourself a tiny smile of satisfaction before you take him into your mouth again, sucking him slowly at first, then moving faster as he shudders under you. Muscles are jumping in his legs at the pleasure, and you can feel his fingers trembling in your hair, his grip going tighter, then looser as he fights the urge to set a rhythm for you. You can feel wetness gathering in your panties, arousal pooling hot between your thighs at the taste of him, the thickness of him entering your throat, how much he wants it, how close he’s getting. You stroke his balls with your fingertips and feel them tightening; you can hear the way his breath is starting to tremble and catch. He’s going to come.
“Baby,” he gasps, “baby I’m – I – ah – ”
You plunge down onto him, taking him deep into your throat and sucking slowly and hungrily around the base of his cock, your tongue stroking the underside of his shaft steadily, rhythmically, up and down and up and down, and Ethan’s fingers lock in your hair, and he sucks in a harsh breath and holds it – and then he shudders hard under you, his cock twitching in your mouth, and you feel him spilling down your throat. You keep on as you have been, stroking his clenching balls, sucking on him deeply until he tugs at your hair. Then you release him, and he crumples back into the mattress, panting for breath.
“Fuck,” he sighs, sounding utterly content.
You press a gentle kiss to his shaft, then wipe your mouth and wriggle out from under the blankets to settle your head on his chest, propping your chin on your hand. Ethan strokes your hair, a little clumsy with the aftermath of his orgasm. He smiles at you, his eyes warm.
“You weren’t kidding about this morning being good,” he says.
You giggle. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He cups your face in his hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I love you.”
You turn your head a little to press a kiss to his palm. “I love you too,” you say.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging on you. “It’s my turn.”
You grin and scoot up to kiss him, curling your fingers in his hair. Ethan’s hand runs down your spine, sliding under the covers to grab a handful of your ass, hitching you closer, and you sigh against his mouth; then his fingers are under your tank top, pushing it up greedily, nudging at the waistband of your sweats –
The doorknob turns. Your heart leaps – Rose is up. You roll off him hastily as he lets go of you just as hastily, and both of you greet your five-year-old visitor propped up on your elbows like rational adults who were definitely not just making out after a blowjob.
“Daddy?” Rose says.
“Hey Rosie. Good morning,” Ethan says.
The little girl sidles into the bedroom. She’s small for her age, a little skinny, with big, gray eyes – her mom’s – and a mop of golden hair – all Ethan’s.
“Morning, Rose,” you say.
She shoots you a grin, then looks up at her father. “I’m hungry,” she says.
“What do you want to eat?” Ethan asks.
Rose clambers up onto the bed, crawling across your legs to get to him. Ethan holds out an arm for her and she flops on his lap, leaning her little head against his bare shoulder. She seems to consider the question seriously, then brightens. “Pancakes!” she says.
Ethan frowns. “Are we out of mix?” he asks you. He’s not a bad cook by any means, but he’s definitely a Bisquick guy.
You grin at him. “Yeah, but we can just make them from scratch.”
“Can we?”
“Yeah.” You know you have everything you need.
“What do you think, Rosie? You wanna make pancakes from scratch?” Ethan asks.
“Yeah!” Rose says.
“Well, Daddy needs to get dressed, so how about you two girls go on ahead – ” he says, but Rose interrupts him.
“Wait.” She turns to you. “Sing the song!”
The three of you watched Singin’ In The Rain last night, and the ‘Moses Supposes’ number was a big hit with certain parties, who seemed to feel that Moses supposed his toes belonged to them. You took it upon yourself to sing along with her, and an instant craze was born.
“Oh god,” Ethan says, and you go for Rose’s toes.
“Moses supposes his toeses are Rose’s,” you sing, grabbing her big toes in a gentle grip and wiggling them a little. Rose shrieks with laughter, kicking – “But Moses supposes erroneously!” you continue, doing a silly voice for her benefit. She squeals delightedly as you progress to the next toe.
“Stop, stop!” Ethan is laughing. “Not on my lap!” So you scoop Rose up, pulling her onto your lap for easier toe access. Rose squeaks and grabs a fistful of your tank top, grinning from ear to ear.
“Moses, he knowses his toeses aren’t Rose’s,” you say, tickling her foot, and Rose shrieks again. Ethan winces a little, but there’s a smile on his face.
“As Moses supposes his toeses to be!” you finish triumphantly, allowing Rose to wriggle out of your grip. She’s giggling wildly.
“Do it again!” she says.
“I thought you wanted pancakes?” you say, elated. Rose used to be so shy with you, but she’s really warmed up since you moved in – you always knew she was a sweet kid, but now the two of you are actually friends and it feels great.
“I can want both,” Rose informs you.
“You got me there,” you admit.
“Want both downstairs,” Ethan says firmly.
“Okay,” you sigh, exaggerating for Rose’s benefit. “Come on, Rose. It’s just us girls on pancake duty.”
“I’ll help! I just need to put some pants on,” he protests.
Rose giggles. “Let’s go make pancakes,” she says, and slides off the bed. You toss the blankets back and get up, following her somewhat more sedately as she hurries to the door and then goes clattering down the stairs, singing “Pancakes, pancakes,” to herself under her breath. You look over your shoulder at Ethan from the doorway, and he’s smiling at you, something deep and glad in his eyes; you head downstairs with warmth blooming in your chest, fighting the urge to hug yourself with happiness. You don’t see the way Ethan flops onto his back after you leave; he lies there grinning stupidly at the ceiling for a minute or two before finally getting up.
The pancakes are a success, as is coloring with Rose (glitter glue notwithstanding,) and then she plays with her toys, and then it’s time for some insane kids’ TV program in which only one-third of the characters wear pants – you and Ethan have a debate going about what’s up with that. (He insists there are different clothing norms for puppets than there are for real people; you think the puppets are just nudists.) Lunch passes without incident, then dinner, and then Mia is coming by to pick Rose up. She’s always punctual, as is Ethan when it comes to Rose – they’re both a little jealous of the time they get to spend with their daughter, but not irrationally so, you don’t think, not so much that it causes problems. Ethan has Rose three days a week, but Mia usually drops her off on Wednesday night and often picks her up Sunday morning; this weekend, her parents are in town, and for whatever reason that means Saturday evening is better for her.
Ethan’s ex intimidated you at first. You didn’t actually meet her until you moved in with him – at first it had been none of your business, and then as you and Ethan got more serious it just seemed awkward, but Mia had insisted on meeting anyone who was going to live with her daughter, which you couldn’t really argue with. She was perfectly nice – she’s always perfectly nice. She and Ethan are civil, cordial even, but the rift between them is obvious. They are manifestly exes, not friends. Ethan always seems a little withdrawn in her presence, a little unhappy about something, and Mia watches him with silent gray eyes that give nothing away. Sometimes you wonder what happened between them, but you know better than to pry. Ethan tends not to volunteer information about the divorce; you assume it has something to do with his trauma, which he won’t talk about. PTSD has destroyed an awful lot of relationships, you figure, and remain committed to minding your own business.
The expected knock at the door comes after the spaghetti and cookies have been eaten. Rose was very good about her broccoli – she’s in a dinosaur phase at the moment, and likes to pretend they’re little trees she’s eating, she says – and Ethan is doing the washing-up, so you get the door.
“Hey Mia,” you say.
“Hello,” she replies, giving you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You let her in.
“Rose is just – ”
“Mommy!” Rose cries, interrupting you. She barrels down the hallway for a hug; Mia goes down on one knee to wrap her daughter in her arms. “Mommy, we watched a movie, and there was a song about my toeses!”
Mia looks at you wryly. “Toes,” she corrects.
“But in the song it was toeses,” Rose insists.
“We watched Singin’ In The Rain,” you clarify.
“Ah. I see. And did you like it?”
“Yeah!” Rose says. “I drew a picture of it! You wanna see?”
“I would love to!” Mia says.
“Hey Mia,” Ethan says, stepping out into the hallway.
“Hi Ethan.” There always seems to be something unsaid resting between them, like a huge, black stone. You have no idea what it is.
“Hey Rosie, let’s get your stuff,” he says, holding out a hand. Rose trots over to him and takes it with a grin; Ethan smiles back with that brilliance he seems to reserve exclusively for his daughter.
“Can we show Mommy the picture I drew?”
“Which one?” says Ethan.
They head upstairs, chattering together. Mia rises and stands there by the door, her arms folded. You try to think of a polite way to make your escape. Should you go try to wash some dishes?
“He seems good,” she says.
“Yeah,” you say.
“I wasn’t sure, at first, about him dating, you know? After everything he’s been through…”
Like what? you want to ask, but you know you can’t. Part of you is dying to beg Mia for information, but most of you bristles a little that she would talk to you about Ethan behind his back, however innocuously.
“You weren’t sure?” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. You’re sort of tempted to be offended.
“Well, it’s really none of my business. But he seems good. Really good. Happy. It’s nice to see that,” she tells you. “I was really worried about him for a really long time. But it seems like you’ve been good for him.”
You mull over some possible responses to that, and settle on, “I mean, I try to be.”
Mia smiles at you, inviting you to share a joke you’re not sure is particularly funny. “Keep up the good work, then,” she says.
And then Ethan and Rose are back with Rose’s pictures, and everything is a flurry of activity and farewells and bundling a five-year-old out the door with her coat and her shoes and her art and her favorite stuffed toy and her mom and all, and by the time you and Ethan are standing alone in the foyer of the house, you’re sort of done being nettled. It was a weird interaction, sure, but you’re not so much mad about it as just confused.
“Mia said – ” you begin, but Ethan cuts you off with a kiss, swift and sudden, his hand cupping the back of your neck, fingers sliding up into your hair. You whimper into his mouth a little as he crowds you up against the wall, pinning you there with his body, one hand holding your head, the other groping for your thigh.
“I owe you for this morning,” he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile.
You put your arms around his neck. Screw it. I’ll tell him later, you think. “Did you have something special in mind?”
“Hmm. Yeah.” He nips at your mouth.
“Show me,” you murmur.
So he does.