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𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

boyd fowler x zookeeper!f!reader

Masterlist

when teenagers start throwing roadkill carcasses over the fence of the zoo, there's only one person you can call. boyd fowler is an odd fellow, but you find yourself harboring a certain fondness for him. will the fondness remain when he kidnaps you all for himself? (spoiler alert: yes)

Warnings: DD:DNE!! reader with a backstory, reader collects animal skulls, boyd is not a rapist serial killer in this fic, he’s just a pathetic pervy loser with some Tendencies, like he skins roadkill instead of killing people, boyd flirts by showing you a dead raccoon, you’re kinda into it, animal death, stalking, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, reader is waaaay too okay with what is happening, SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), one use of pussy pronouns, unprotected sex, breeding kink (no pregnancy), boyd is down bad and a bush-enjoying eater, scent kink (because remember who’s fics youre reading tf. like c’mon), he genuinely loves you but just doesnt know how to go about it, reader manipulates him a bit, no pronouns used for reader, no use of y/n, reader is called ‘ma’am’ A/N: dedicated to the three (3) boyd fans out there (specifically @defijones who has been waiting so patiently for this. love u <3). gotta use my zoology degree somehow *shrugs* (this is so self indulgent its not even funny LMAO) also part of this was written in the middle of the Pacific Ocean w.c. 16.3k wheeeew

You thought that moving to Miami would solve all your issues. You weren’t running per se, but you were desperate to get out of your living situation. A shitty roommate, a crazy ex, a dead-end job. You really just needed to get away. So you scoured the AZA job board and eventually got an email back from a privately owned animal park in Miami. You packed up everything you owned. It all fit in a single U-haul trailer hitched to your car. You had conflicting feelings about seeing all your worldly possessions within a single 6x12 trailer. You were glad that it was easy to move, but fuck. All the years you had been living and that’s all you had to prove it? It was even worse when you unpacked the boxes. They were stacked in the living room of your studio apartment. The shitty couch you had found was already nestled into its spot facing your TV and its stand. Outside of the necessities- bed, cookware, your animal oddities collection- you didn’t have much. You hung up the nature scene tapestry and a few band posters and stood back to admire your work. The apartment looked so cold. So lifeless. So…uninviting, honestly. You made a vow to yourself that once your first paycheck hit, you’d get some lamps to add soft light to the room instead of the harsh overhead ceiling sconce. And you did. As the initial weeks passed, you settled into your role as a small-omnivore zookeeper and as a resident of Miami. You got a rug for your apartment, a really soft one that you enjoyed running your feet over. But something was still missing. There was a disconnect. When you walked through the door after your shift, you never felt the rush of satisfaction of being home for the night. It honestly felt like you were staying at a hotel. You didn’t think much of it and just chalked it up to being in a new place. Surely it would pass eventually.

It was going to be another hot and humid day. You could feel it. Even though it was only eight in the morning and the sun hung low in the sky, you could feel the wet heat beginning to trap the fabric of your dark uniform shirt against your back. Summer was in full swing and the smell of freshly mowed grass and the chorus of birds filled the air. The animals spent more time out in their habitats rather than their climate-controlled houses. You said good morning to each one as you walked down the path carrying a bucket of vegetables for the lemurs. It was part of your morning routine. Clock in, prepare the vegetables and fruits for the small omnivores, divide them up into color-coded buckets depending on species, add in any medications or dietary supplements, and distribute them accordingly. The lemurs were the last to go. You had already made your rounds to the other habitats. The opossums had climbed up onto your shoulder as you scooped their food into their dishes. You liked the opossums. There were two at the zoo, kept separate due to behavioral issues, but they were both sweet to you and relatively well-behaved. Though, that morning, Chuck had slapped you in the face with his tail while trying to jump down from your shoulder and into the food bucket. You had to scruff him and gently place him into the grass. He waddled back up and pawed at the leg of your cargo pants. He looked up at you with his round little eyes and an over-bite that made you apologize sincerely before topping off his bowl.

The sound of your boots hitting the pavement was the only thing that broke up the quiet morning. The zoo was about to open and you cherished the quiet time before the screaming kids flooded the walkways. You turned down the pathway leading to the lemur house and stopped abruptly. The head keeper stood there, hands on his hips and looking down at the row of bushes that lined the perimeter fence. His brow was furrowed and he was muttering to himself, mustache twitching with silent words, and shaking his head. You cleared your throat to alert him to your presence and he looked up.

“Oh, good morning.” He mumbled.

“Morning, Stan. Is everything okay?” Stan let out a huff of air and took off his hat, scratching at his scalp. He motioned you over with a jerk of his head. You placed the feed bucket on the ground and walked over. You didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t what you saw. In the bushes was a dead opossum, jaws wide and eyes picked out by birds. Its fur was blood-stained and its abdomen was crushed. Its little pink fingers were stiff and part of its tail was missing. Roadkill.

“Damn teenagers,” Stan spat. “Pickin’ up roadkill and throwing it over the fence. Do it at least once a month.”

“Poor thing.” You sighed, brows knitting together with sympathy. You imagined Chuck like that, a sweet creature lifeless and discarded as part of a prank. It made your stomach clench. Accidentally running over an animal was one thing, but scraping its corpse off asphalt and hoisting it over a zoo’s fence like garbage? Despicable. Stan took a deep breath and sighed, putting his hat back on his head.

“Listen, kid, I’ve got a lot of work to do before we open.” He told you. “Do you think you can take care of this? Call the county collection people. Tell ‘em it’s not an emergency and it’s on a staff path. The gatehouse will radio you when the guy gets here. Bring him back and he’ll do his thing.” You nodded along to his instructions. Stan placed an appreciative hand on your shoulder. “Thanks.” From inside the house, you heard the lemurs screaming. “I think they’re hungry.” Stan chuckled and handed you the bucket of food before he walked away.

An hour later, your radio buzzed to life. The guardhouse called you down to the back entrance and said the Department of Sanitation had finally sent someone. You took the radio from its clip on your belt and assured them you’d be right down. After weaving through crowds of visitors, trying not to trip over a child who was trying to scoop up his dropped ice cream, you finally emerged on the other side of the zoo. You walked through the zoo’s office and made your way to the staff entrance. Through the double-wide glass doors, you could see a yellow truck with the county logo painted on the side. The sun glared off the aluminum of the truck’s hood and you had to shield your eyes as you walked back out into the hot Florida sun. The air conditioning of the building had been nice, and you felt any remnants of cool air whipped away from your keeper’s uniform. You cursed whoever mandated the dark green t-shirt and black cargo pants combination for workers who were outside all day.

You approached the van and found its driver sitting in the back of the bed. He kicked his suspended feet aimlessly while he waited for you, back hunched and fingers drumming on the metal.

“Hi,” You greeted, holding up your hand to shield your eyes from the sun. The man turned to look at you, a little startled, and jumped from the bed. “I’m assuming you’re here for the collection?” He nodded and reached out his hand with a smile. You could see a peak of his crooked teeth and it made you smile back.

“Yes, ma’am,” He confirmed, shaking your hand. “Boyd Fowler.” You introduced yourself and led him up to the doors and scanned your ID badge, unlocking the building and stepping inside.

“You have perfect timing,” You told him as you walked him through the zoo. “Saved me from having to shovel badger shit.” Boyd chuckled.

“Yea, sorry we weren’t here sooner. There was a gator th’got hit and dangerous calls are always the priority. Never know if those things are dead.”

“Was it?”

“Dunno,” Boyd shrugged. “Didn’t find it. Probably wandered off somewhere.” You hummed in interest and turned the corner onto the staff path behind the lemur building. You stopped at the bushes. The opossum was still draped across the branches, though it was now considerably smellier and covered in flies. Boyd clicked his tongue when he saw it, grabbing the gloves from his pocket and widening his stance to examine the scene.

“My boss says there’s a group of teenagers that do this sort of thing often.” you explained softly.

“Poor thing,” Boyd mused, using a single gloved finger to lift up the opossum’s paw. He twitched his nose to reposition his glasses. “No defensive marks. Just roadkill. Been dead for a few days.”

“How can you tell?” You took a step closer, peering over Boyd’s shoulder to look at the carcass. A small breeze shook the trees. He smelled like sweat, but not in a bad way, and something a little more unnatural. Almost chemical.

“The blood on its fur isn’t really red anymore. Means it’s been dried for a while. And the eyes are pecked out. So the birds have had time to get to it.” He explained.

“That’s so interesting. How do you know that?” Your question was innocent, but his shoulders tensed slightly before shrugging.

“Gotta know your craft.” He turned to you and grinned. He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a roll of trashbags. “Now usually, I just carry it back to my truck, but I have a feeling you don’t want me to traumatize all these kids by parading around a rotting carcass.”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” You took a step to the side to let Boyd do his job. You watched him while he worked. He was wearing a backwards cap, curly hair poking through the opening. It looked brown, but when the light hit it just right, you swore you could see some ginger strands. The color was reflected in his mustache and the tiny bit of chest hair that poked out from underneath his khaki county-issued shirt. The top button was undone and you noticed the bottom two were as well. His green canvas belt was barely holding up his black cargo pants. You could see a thin band of his underwear above the waistline and you wondered how he got past the guard house looking like that. Usually, guests had to stick to a dress code, family friendly establishment and all that, but you could see the dusting of freckles that covered his belly and his chest. And, of course, that covered his muscled arms. His biceps flexed as he shook out the trashbag. You weren’t necessarily complaining, but you knew you would be getting a few looks from uptight parents escorting this sweaty, half-dressed man carrying a trashbag around. Boyd gently picked up the carcass and slid it into the bag. You shivered at the plopping sound it made. Boyd looked at you and lifted up the bag triumphantly with a polite smile.

“Done.”

When you got back to the truck, he hoisted the garbage bag into the back of his truck and took off his gloves. He procured a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his shirt pocket and squeezed a glob into his palms. He held it out to you and you turned your hands over, allowing him to place some in yours too.

“Can never be too careful,” He said, rubbing the sanitizer into his skin. “Tons of bacteria on a dead animal. Live ones, too, but I’m sure you knew that.”

“Yea,” You smiled, patting the excess onto your pant legs. “We have to wash our hands between each enclosure.”

“S’good habit to have.” Boyd rounded the truck and hopped into the driver’s seat. The air fresheners hanging from the mirror swayed with the movement.

“I like your deer freshener." You pointed at the square that was hanging beside the iconic green tree. “Deer are my favorite. I grew up in an area where there were loads of them. I always liked watching them.” The words seemed to earn a genuine smile from him.

“Thanks,” His eyes scanned your face and he looked you up and down, like he was trying to decide something. Boyd dug a crumpled business card from his pocket. “Listen, I’ve gotten this call before. As the summer goes on, there’s usually more.” He handed you the card and you took it. He tapped the number with his finger. “If it happens again, this is my direct line. Sometimes it takes a while for it to go into the system if you go through a dispatcher.” You nodded, a little unsure if he was really just trying to help you professionally. On the way back to the truck, you had caught him checking out your ass.

“Alright,” you told him anyway, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Boyd. Have a nice day.” You tucked the card into the pocket of your pants and waved to him as he drove off. You had forgotten all about the card until you got home. It had been a long day of changing out bedding and creating enrichment toys. When you collapsed onto your couch with a drink, you felt the hard cardstock poke your thigh. You retrieved the card and frowned at it, taking a sip of your drink. You sighed and put it in your wallet.

Boyd had been right. After a few weeks passed, you began to find more animals littered on the pathways. Never in the same spot, and never the same species. A skunk here, five rats there. One of your coworkers said that, yea, it happened sometimes, but this year was by far the worst. You were getting one every week. You noticed that it only happened while you were working. Which wasn’t saying much, you only had 3 days off a week, but the days you had off rotated and they never had to call something in when you weren’t there. The lack of a pattern made it hard for the police to come up with an explanation. They had simply told you to install more cameras. The zoo directors took the advice, but you knew they didn’t have the funding to rewire the system. The newly added cameras didn’t work. They were just used as deterrence.

For the first month, you always called in to the Department hotline. You filled out the report and waited like you were supposed to. But today was different. Two of the zookeepers were out sick. Since there were already such a low number of workers, the absence of two pushed you to consider the department officially understaffed. You had to do all of your duties as well as take on half of the additional workload. You were stressed out of your mind, planning how to incorporate the new tasks into your already full schedule. You worked all day with an edge and you were counting down the minutes until your lunch break. You rounded the corner to the giraffe habitat and of course, laying on the welcome mat of the giraffe house, was a dead raccoon. You let out a growl of frustration and stomped your foot. You really did not have time for this. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to take a deep breath. Great. Wonderful. Now you had to push back your entire day just to sit on hold for a hotline. An idea poked into the frustration. You dug your wallet out of your pocket and opened it up. Looking back at you was the tattered edge of the business card Boyd gave you. You sighed with conflict. You really shouldn’t. You should go through the proper channels and report this, so it could be added to the file. But Boyd had given you his number. And to be fair, Boyd was always the one who showed up for the calls. You were on a first-name basis with him. Surely he wouldn’t mind. Plus he’d have to report it anyway. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you dialed the number written on the card. On the second ring, the call went through.

“Boyd Fowler.” His voice came through the speaker. It sounded slightly distorted, but professional.

“Hey, it’s me,” You started.

“Oh! Hi…” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

“I, um. I hope it’s okay that I called you.” Your words were a little shaky and you nervously shifted on your feet. “There’s a raccoon. A dead one. Can you…”

“Yea,” You heard the blinker of his truck flick on. “I’m pretty close by. Should be there in…like five minutes?”

Sure enough, six minutes later, the yellow truck you had memorized pulled into the parking lot. At least the giraffe house was directly next to the staff entrance.

“Thank you for coming,” You told him as he gathered his things. “I would have called the line but I’m way too busy to wait. I’d rather just get it over with.”

“No worries. You can always call me.” Boyd smiled at you, crinkling his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his shirt was actually buttoned and tucked into his shorts. You thought he looked good regardless, but it was nice seeing him a little cleaned up and you enjoyed that you could see the hazel ring of his eyes. They were really pretty. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea,” You huffed. “Two people called out sick and now I have to pick up the slack.” He offered his condolences as you stepped up to the giraffe house.

“Hello, Bandit,” Boyd greeted the raccoon. “Caught trying to break in, huh?” He subtly looked at you to see you suppressing a giggle. Boyd smirked anyway. He gently gathered the raccoon’s feet and lifted it up to examine it. “Huh.”

“What?” You walked closer to him and Boyd opened his posture to allow you to get a better look at the animal, hand ghosting over your lower back to get you at the right angle. He ran a finger along the throat of the raccoon. His face leaned closer to you. Another inch and his cheek would be pressed to yours. You could smell his deodorant. “See those marks?” He murmured, eyes flicking to your face. You ignored the way his gaze paused at your lips. You nodded. “Cat teeth.” He closed his teeth rapidly together to simulate a bite. “Right through poor Bandit’s carotid.” You sighed with wonder.

“How can you tell they’re cat marks and not another raccoon?”

“Distance between the teeth.” He said, using his pointer and middle finger to measure the gap. “Cats have that shorter muzzle, so there’s less of a vertical gap between the canine and incisor marks.” You saw it. It was a small semi-circle. Clean and neat. You were surprised that you didn't catch it until after Boyd pointed it out. To be fair, being so close to the man you were beginning to develop a crush on made your head a little woozy.

“Huh.” You admired. “Fascinating.” You turned to look at Boyd to find he was staring at you. Maybe he had been the entire time. His lips were turned up in an easy smile and his eyes were fond. Warmth spread in your chest. You didn’t know if it was embarrassment or something else, but you didn’t allow yourself to think too hard about it. You cleared your throat and took a slight step back. Not dramatic, but enough to get some space between the two of you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Just doin’ my civic duty.” He gave you a fake solute.

“What time is it?” You asked, gesturing to the watch he wore. When he answered, you let out a noise. “Thank god,” You sighed, rubbing at the tense muscles of your shoulder. “Lunch time.”

“What did you bring?” Boyd asked, beginning to walk back towards the entrance. You walked beside him.

“Chicken noodle soup. Just from a can. Nothing fancy.” You giggled when his nose scrunched up. “What? Don’t like soup?”

“I prefer tomato.” He said simply. “Plus it’s so hot out. It’s not really a soup day. And you deserve something more fulfilling than that, especially if you have to work harder.” You shrugged.

“That's all I had in my pantry this morning.” You stood with your hands out in front of you while you watched him toss the raccoon over the side of the truck bed. Together, you performed the hand sanitizer ritual. You’d grown so accustomed to it, you didn’t even wait for him to offer, just held out your hands and waited. Each time there was a new scent of sanitizer. The original instance had been unscented, but he began bringing ones from Bath and Body Works. He said he liked the smells. After you rubbed it in, you held up your hands to your nose and inhaled. It smelled familiar. “Mmm, what’s this one called? Smells good.”

“Japanese Cherry Blossom.” He read from the label. Your eyes widened.

“That’s funny,” You mused, “I have the body wash version.”

“Huh,” Boyd huffed. “Weird. I like it, though.” You nodded. A moment passed between the two of you and Boyd swallowed. He lifted a hand to readjust his hat. “Hey, so, this might be crazy,” he began, “but I know this really good cafe not far from here. Would you…wanna go to lunch there? It’ll be a helluva lot better than…canned soup.” Boyd’s gaze dropped to his feet at the last part, shoving his hands in his pockets and furrowing his brow. He probably thought it sounded stupid. You tried to suppress a grin, but the corners of your mouth twitched anyway.

“Yea, that sounds great.” You agreed softly.

“Really?”

“Sure. Let me grab my stuff and we can go.”

The cafe was adorable. A local bakery and coffee shop that you’d seen on your drives to work, but their hours usually fell outside your schedule. You usually just sat in the breakroom and ate reheated leftovers. The change in routine excited you and you were grinning like an idiot the entire time you ordered a sandwich from the menu. You reached for your wallet, but Boyd put a hand on your elbow, shaking his head and reaching over you to hand the cashier his card. You gave him a look and he just shrugged. His treat.

“So do you like what you do for work?” You asked, taking a bite of your sandwich. Boyd gathered a spoonful of eggs and nodded.

“It’s not for everyone,” He acknowledged “But I love it. It’s never boring.” Excitement crept into his voice and his eyes sparkled. “Like yesterday. Got this call to a house, said they needed help with a python. I’m thinkin’, okay, shouldn’t be too hard to manage if it’s already dead. What the property owner failed to mention was that the python had started eating one of his pet goats, which is why he shot it. So I had to maneuver a fifty-pound snake and a seventy pound goat halfway down the python’s throat.” He laughed and shook his head, taking a bite of eggs. “Fucking nightmare.” Your eyes widened.

“Holy shit, Boyd, that’s insane.” You laughed. “How did you do it?” Boyd scoffed.

“Used a chainsaw to divide up the weight.” He looked like he was about to go into more detail, but he decided against it once he saw you take another bite of your sandwich. He stabbed a sausage with his fork. “Pretty easy after that.” You were surprised at the level of detachment he spoke with. You worked with animals for a living, and had even been there during the euthanization of some. It still made you cry when you thought about the binturong who you worked with during your first job. She was extremely geriatric and had dozens of health issues and ultimately the choice was made to humanely euthanize her. You remembered the way her tail was curled around your arm. And the way it slowly loosened and eventually slipped off. You supposed it was a little different, considering Boyd didn’t have a personal connection with the animals and that they were already dead.

“So you’re pretty used to seeing dead things, then? I bet the smell can be terrible.” You pushed the painful memory out of your mind. Boyd shruged.

“The smell can be awful but…can’t say I ever get used to it-” A ringtone cut off his next word. Boyd patted down his body until he found the offending device. He sighed and got up from his chair. “Shit, sorry, I gotta take this call.” He piled up his napkins on his plate. Boyd looked at you. “It was really nice talking to you. Not a lot of people ask about my job. I-If you ever want to, uh, ride along with me, or something, just…let me know.”

“I appreciate the offer,” you said with a polite smile “But I think my passion lies with the alive ones.” Boyd laughed at that. A genuine, light noise that sparked something in your chest. You found yourself enamored with his smile.

Eating pussy and skinning roadkill. Those were Boyd Fowler’s two hobbies. And he had done neither of those things since he set eyes on you three months ago. The first one was self-explanatory, and he hadn’t actually done that in years. Women didn’t really pay attention to him. To most women, he was a county worker who was just as unsightly in their neighborhoods as the dead skunk on the culdesac. And as much as he loved watching the housewives jogging in the morning, he understood.

The second one was trickier. He liked to take his work home with him, storing the collected carcasses in trash bins for later use. Whenever he’d have a bad day, he’d grab something from the bin and take it to his shed. He liked the process of skinning the animals. They were already dead, he wasn’t really doing any harm. The focus he had to dedicate to the task soothed his nerves and he’d sell the pelts to his taxidermist friend for some under-the-table side income. Win-win situation for everyone. But he had to preserve the carcasses he was called to take care of. They had a better use now. The teenagers really had been throwing dead animals over the fence in the beginning, but they had stopped after three times and you had still used the call line. He wanted you to call him. To let him know that you needed him. So he decided to continue the acts until you did. It wasn’t hard. Boyd knew the cameras didn’t work. He’d pick a spot and chuck the carcass over, congratulating himself when it landed right where he intended. Boyd had memorized your work schedule. Even though it rotated slightly, there was always a pattern, and he had noticed. He only ever dropped off an animal when you were working. Because he always wanted the caller to be you.

You had enraptured him the moment he laid eyes on you. You were beautiful. The kind of effortlessly pretty that he adored. The worst part was you acted like you were oblivious to that fact, like you didn’t know how hard you got his blood pumping. And maybe you didn’t. But he would change that soon. It was more than the physicality. It was the way you actually saw him as a person, the way you asked him questions about himself. You didn’t know a ton about him- it was hard to have deep conversations when you only saw each other for thirty minutes every week- but you knew that he was an awkward minimum wage worker and still decided to talk to him. He knew all about you, though. One night you were out with some coworkers for a drink. Boyd had been watching you for weeks, getting to know your habits. And when you were out for the night, he used the spare key taped to the top of your door frame to break into your apartment. It was sparsely decorated. Not a lot of personal items beyond some books and posters. But it became very clear you enjoyed fragrances. You had a tray on your dresser with a line of perfumes. Your bathroom closet had a shelf dedicated to candles. He smelled each one until his head felt fuzzy. You had a body wash and a sugar scrub in your shower, whereas Boyd just used soap, 2-in-1 shampoo, and a washcloth. The body wash sitting on the shelf was the one he smelled on your skin that first day and had been dying to get a hit of ever since. And now he had a name. Bath and Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom. He went to the outlet mall on his next day off and bought a hand sanitizer of the same scent. Boyd slowly implemented the change of scented sanitizers, too afraid that he’d spook you by immediately coming in heavy with one that matched your smell. And he had done it perfectly; you seemed more intrigued by the fact you had a common interest rather than disturbed that he knew what scent you liked. Boyd even started deep-cleaning during his showers, making sure the dirt and grime actually flowed from his body rather than a quick rinse. He wanted to smell good for you. The image of you nuzzling against his chest and inhaling deeply hung heavy on his mind. How you might run your nose along his sweaty neck and tell him how good he smelled. He thought about it often at night with his boxers shoved down his thighs and his heavy cock in his hand.

You were smart, too. You had gone to school for animal stuff and you always seemed to know the answers to any question he had. He showed you a picture of a partial skull he found and you were able to tell him it was a striped skunk simply because it had square molars. He showed you one he thought was a grey fox and you had vehemently disagreed. It was a red fox because the temporal lines were V shaped, not U shaped. You told him it was easy to remember- Vulpes had a ‘V’, Urocyon had a ‘U’. You taught him how to tell the difference between caniformes and feliforms based on how many chambers the auditory bullae were divided into. And you always found it silly how lagomorphs (hares, rabbits, and pikas, you had explained to him) had two rows of incisors. Every time you dropped an unexpected zoological fact, Boyd just watched and listened in awe. But he also knew that the fascination with skulls ran a little deeper than simply learning about them. When Boyd was in your room that night, he saw your collection of oddities. You had deer antlers, a vial of raccoon teeth, and sixteen skulls of varying species. You liked the bones and he liked the skins. And to Boyd, that’s why you were a perfect match

Every action he took was carefully curated so he would be able to take you gently. Like luring a stray dog into the house with bits of food before capturing it and giving it a home. He thought he fucked it up once, allowing the dizzying excitement of eating lunch with you to numb his thoughts. Asking you to do a ride along was risky, too heavy-handed. And although you responded kindly, he could see the hesitation in your eyes. He went home that night and slapped himself repeatedly, spewing how utterly fucking stupid he had been while crying in the darkness. But then you called him again, and he allowed himself to breathe. This was serious. He would not slip up like that again. Even though he noticed that your fridge was empty the last time he broke in, and it took all of his strength to prevent him from filling it up for you. That would be too far. You were his everything. He knew you at least liked him, and that was enough to formulate his plan. Boyd would give anything to have you by his side for the rest of your lives. To brag to his coworkers that he had a pretty little thing waiting at home for him. Coming home to you after a hard day at work and you rubbing his shoulders, kissing his face. That you would allow him to spend hours eating you out until you were begging for him, and then he’d give it to you so good you’d be shaking after. The CDs he listened to told him that he needed to decide what he wanted and take it, because it wouldn’t wait around for him. Boyd decided he wanted you. And he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to get you. All he had to do was set up his attic and wait for the right moment.

He decided this was the perfect moment. You worked the closing shift instead of the opening, and he had asked his supervisor to do the same. The sun was below the horizon, but slivers of orange and pink still cut through the dusky sky. There had been another call. He had thrown a groundhog over the fence and patiently waited. Sure enough, you called him right away. Boyd had debated continuing his deposits. He was growing a little restless and he needed a trip to his shed. But he had ultimately concluded that he at least needed to continue it for a few weeks. If they stopped the day after you disappeared, that might be bad for you, especially since Boyd did want you to go back to work eventually. As much as he wanted to, he recognized that his job couldn’t provide for both of you. And you genuinely enjoyed what you did- he didn’t want to take that from you. The call was an hour ago and he hadn’t left. He waited for time to pass, lunchbox sitting on the passenger seat awaiting the right moment. Boyd pushed his glasses up his nose. He knew you liked it when he didn’t wear them, you had complimented his eyes when he showed up one day without them, but he was out of contacts.

Boyd’s fingers drummed nervously against his thigh and it wasn’t long before he saw the doors to the staff building open. He swallowed when he saw you. You looked so good in your work uniform. He watched your powerful legs, strong from having to lift and carry heavy food boxes and climbing through enclosures. The movement of you walking mesmerized him and he felt blood begin to flow south. He adjusted himself and willed his brain to calm down. He needed to remain aware and present if this was going to go well. You made it to your car. If you had noticed he was still there, you didn’t make it known. Still, he unzipped the lunchbox and pulled out the sandwich. He kept the bag in his hands until the right moment. You tried starting your car, but the engine sputtered. A smile twitched at his lips. He had drained the battery. He saw you hit your hands in frustration against the steering wheel. And he saw the moment your eyes moved to his truck. Now. He popped open the sandwich bag and took a bite. He forced himself to keep his eyes forward. When there was a tiny knock at his window, his jump was sincere. He couldn’t believe it worked. He turned to see you standing on the other side of the door, smiling sheepishly and eyes wet. Boyd set the sandwich down and leaned over the seat, cranking the window down. He mustered his best surprised grin.

“Oh, hey! What’s wrong?” He tilted his head when he saw the way your eyes glistened from the parking lot light. You sniffled. His heart cracked. He felt bad about the situation, but it was ultimately necessary. It was almost over.

“M-My car won’t start,” You took a shaky inhale, trying to hold back tears. “What are you still doing here?” He lifted up his sandwich.

“I decided to take my dinner break here instead of driving somewhere.” Boyd swallowed the bite. “I would offer to jump your battery, but we’re not allowed to. Company truck, company policy.” It was a lie. There was no such policy. “But I can give you a ride home and you can deal with it tomorrow.” Your eyes lit up and Boyd felt his heart soar. He loved being able to rescue you, even if he had to put you in the situation.

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You asked, teeth showing behind your smile. I’d do anything for you.

“Absolutely,” He unlocked the door and moved his lunchbox. “Climb on in.” You pulled yourself up into the truck and he immediately noticed your eyes go to the center console. His CDs. Fuck. He hadn’t meant for you to see those. He quickly swept them onto the floor of the back seat and rested the lunchbox on the console instead. His fingers dipped into the front pocket, wrapping around the needle filled with the sedative. A low dose of tranquilizer, just enough to knock you out for a few hours without harming you. He waited until you clicked your seatbelt on. Boyd’s hand shot to your neck, pulling you close and inserting the needle into the skin. You let out a strangled yelp, eyes blowing wide. When he retracted, you looked at him with panicked betrayal, hand pressing to the injection site. “I’m so sorry, baby,” Boyd cooed, thumb running over your cheekbone. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes at the sight of you. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay, you’re gonna take a good nap and I’m gonna take you home.” Your pupils dilated and your eyes fluttered closed. Boyd pressed a kiss to your temple, short hairs of his mustache scuffing against your skin. He gently eased your head against the window, so any passer-bys would just think you were sleeping. He took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. He gave you one more unsure look. You were going to hate him, Boyd knew that. But he also knew you would adjust. He had made the attic a home for you. And eventually, you’d fall in love with him. As deeply as he was with you. He was sure of it.

The first thing you noticed was the dry scratching in your throat. Then the pounding in your head. Then the ache in your knees and shoulders. Your memory was fuzzy, but you could feel that something was wrong. This wasn’t a hangover, this was something different. More sinister. You let out a little groan and shifted. You realized you were lying on your side and your face was pressed against something soft. It smelled like your sheets, fresh out of the laundry. Confusion deepened the fog in your mind. You tried to push yourself up, but something held your wrists together and you slumped back over. Your awakening seemed to stir something at the end of the room. You felt the vibrations of boots on wood and your eyes fluttered open. They focused and saw two black boots standing in front of you. Your brows pinched together.

“Boyd?” You rasped out between panting breaths. The word felt like fire as it came from your throat. Boyd bent down next to you, holding a glass of water with a straw.

“Hey, baby,” He whispered, running a soothing hand over your head. “Drink this, you’ll feel better. S’just water.” He placed the straw between your lips. You hesitated, but your throat hurt so bad you had no choice but to comply. The water was like liquid gold, soothing the daggers and allowing you to speak.

“What happened? W-Where am I?” You tried to sit up and Boyd made an uncertain sound, but allowed you to lean upright against the wall.

“You’re home.” You looked around the room. You were sitting on a mattress tucked into the corner. The shape of the ceiling told you that you were in an attic. There were counters on the other wall and a small closet with a toilet and a sink. Light streamed in from a single circular window, catching the dust particles in the air. You could see the first step of descending stairs.

“This isn’t my apartment.” Boyd was squatting, arms on his knees and looking at you carefully. He was wearing a white tanktop and black gym shorts. You could see the tan line half-way down his freckled biceps. He gave you a sympathetic look and a small smile.

“No,” He agreed. “This is my house. Our house.” He was still grinning at you. Not maliciously, but rather fondly. He looked around the room. “Do you like it? This is just the attic, but once you get…acclimated I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

“Boyd what did you do?” Your tone was escalating and Boyd shot back to his feet, scratching at the nape of his neck. He crossed his arms over the swell of his belly. “Wh-Why am I here?” You tried to press your hand to your head but it was held back. You looked over your shoulder to look at your wrists. They were linked together by a chain wound around a pipe. Two leather cuffs surrounded your wrists. You furrowed your brow. “What are these?”

“Hand cuffs.” Boyd said simply. “I’m sorry, but it needed to happen. It’s the only way we could be together. The cuffs are so you don’t hurt yourself or me while you adjust.” You blinked up at him, shock on your face. You scoffed. “What?”

“You used leather cuffs?”

“And?”

“I just…I guess I was expecting zip ties or metal.” Boyd scoffed, shaking his head, walking over to the counter where there was a grocery bag.

“Those are dangerous. I’m a safety guy. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or cut or nothin’” He explained, taking bottles of water from the bag. “The leather’s s’posed to be comfortable. If it’s not, let me know. I can get you something else.”

“What is going on?” You said it more to yourself, eyes so wide a tear dripped down your cheek. You took in the mattress you were sitting on. Your sheets and comforter were wrapped around it, your pillows at the head. And nestled between the two of them was a little stuffed deer. The same stuffed animal you had since you were six. “Is that?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but Boyd heard you.

“I wanted you to be comfortable.” He turned to face you, face open and pleading. “You like sleeping with it. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to feel safe here.” All you could do was laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The man who had kidnapped you had taken your sheets and your favorite plush toy so you could…enjoy your time locked in his attic?

“Boyd please, you have to let me go.” You begged. “Someone’s going to notice I’m missing. If you untie me I promise it won’t be bad. I won’t…I won’t press charges or hurt you or anything.” Boyd shook his head firmly and turned back to the counter.

“No.” He said. “You’re not. And no one’s going to notice. Your rent and utilities are on autopay. I told the zoo that you had a family emergency and you were going to be out of the country for extended leave. Stan was very understanding. Sends his condolences.” You let out a choked sob.

“Please,” You begged. “I thought you liked me. I liked you. Why are you doing this to me?” You could tell your questions were beginning to annoy him. His jaw clenched and he slammed his palm onto the counter.

“Life doesn’t j-just give you things. If you want something you gotta take it.” He spat, clenching his hand into a fist. Boyd turned to face you, expression softened with vulnerability and emotional pain. “And I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I’ve wanted you.” The words shocked you, and you couldn’t deny the small flicker of flattery that sparked in your chest. In any other situation you would have been over the moon that someone considered you a prize. And even now, the idea that Boyd would go through all this effort because he wanted you settled in your stomach in a not-unpleasant way. But then again, you were being held hostage in his house.

“You could have just asked me on a date like a normal person.” You told him but Boyd scoffed, muttering something self-deprecating. You saw him take a knife out of the bag and you pressed yourself back against the wall. “Please don’t hurt me.” Your voice was watery and Boyd looked confused. His eyes flicked from you to the knife he held in his palm. He dropped it instantly, like it had burned him.

“Hurt you?” Boyd looked genuinely taken aback, eyes widening and lips parting. He crossed the room and kneeled back down to you, collecting your face in his large hands. You squirmed a bit, but he made you look at him. “Hurt you? No, never. I love you.” Your lip quivered. “You don’t have to say it back right now. But you will.” Boyd pressed a kiss to your forehead. You tensed at the feeling of the combination of his soft lips and wiry mustache. “You should get some rest, okay? The tranquilizer’s still in your system. You’re gonna feel really sleepy for the next few days. I won’t do anything, don’t worry. Call me if you’re hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, okay? M’just downstairs.” Boyd helped you lay back down and he draped the comforter over you. He tucked the deer stuffy between your chin and neck and walked down the stairs. You sobbed quietly until sleep took you again.

The next few days were a blur. Dry eyes blinking open from restless sleep, Boyd forcing you to drink more water, eating crackers, and then falling back asleep. Once the tranquilizer had worn off, the reality of the situation began to settle firmly in your mind. Boyd had taken you. You were locked in his attic. There was no escaping. And yet, you weren’t as distraught as you probably should have been. As time went on, you and Boyd fell into a routine. He’d wake you up before work by running a hand up your calf, squeezing just light enough where you’d blink awake. He’d say goodbye and ask if you needed anything. During the day, you were left to your own devices. After promising Boyd you wouldn’t do anything crazy, he had let you out of the cuffs. And you had meant it. You were still angry, scared, generally confused at the situation, but you weren’t going to break out of the house. The window to the attic didn’t open, and it was far too small for you to bust out of, anyway. It’s not like you were in immediate danger. Boyd had been nothing but respectful. He brought you clothes and left you to get changed in peace. Yea, his touches lingered longer than they should, but it never truly bothered you. And he seemed like he genuinely wanted you to enjoy yourself while you got acclimated to your surroundings. When you were freed from your binds, you explored the attic. There was an old TV collecting dust in one corner, and when you asked Boyd if it worked, he spent the entire night figuring out how to get it wired up for you. He came home for lunch every day, brought up a couple of sandwiches and you’d eat together. There was no clock in the attic, but you knew it was 12:15 when you heard the door close and the heavy sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. At first, you just sat there in silence, eyes unfocused and brain trying to come to terms with the fact you were being held hostage by a man you couldn’t hate. You had tried, screamed into your pillow about how disgusting and broken you were. Boyd kidnapped you, and yet the fondness for him lingered. You repeatedly promised yourself that you would start being mean to him, refusing his offerings of food until you starved to death. But when he excitedly jogged up the stairs with your food and sat on the floor with you, giving you small sideways smiles and telling you stories from his childhood…god, something in your heart just hammered harder and those promises went out the window. He acted like he cared, like he wasn’t actually going to hurt you, and you began to allow yourself to believe him. That was the dangerous thing.

You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to get bored of you. You assumed one night you would wake up with his hands around your throat or a gun to your head. But it never came. Your routine continued. One day, you decided to take a chance and shake it up. It was lunch time and you chewed your sandwich slowly. Most of your meals were eaten in silence, with Boyd staring off into the distance and you taking in every one of his mannerisms.

“I’m craving something for dinner.” Your voice was quiet, but Boyd snapped his head up to look at you instantly. Something akin to excitement flashed across his face. Maybe he was thrilled that you were finally talking to him. He swallowed his bite quickly.

“Sure, where from? I’ll pick it up on my way home tonight.”

“No it’s…” You shifted in your spot where you sat on the floor across from him. “It’s a family recipe. I miss cooking. I haven’t had it in a while and I could really use some comfort food.” You didn’t feel bad about using his promises against him. He wanted you to enjoy your time? Fine. But that meant he needed to make some compromises. You were getting tired of microwaveable dinners. “We’d have to go to the store.” Boyd let out an unsure noise and itched the back of his head.

“Could you…give me a list?”

“Boyd, please,” You lowered your sandwich and mustered the best, most pathetically needy eyes and looked at him. “I haven’t left the house in weeks. I’m getting restless. I just need to walk around somewhere. One trip to the grocery store.” Boyd spent a few breaths looking at you. You could see the internal battle behind his eyes. Okay. You had to lay it on a little thicker. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward and rested your hand on his bare leg. “I’ll be good.” He tensed beneath you, eyes glued to where your fingers rested against his skin. You saw Boyd clench his jaw and his neck became unevenly splotched with blush. He swallowed before answering, not moving his eyes.

“Okay.”

There had been an indescribable prickling sensation that settled beneath your skin during your time in Boyd’s attic. Something frustrating and stale. The moment you stepped out of the front door of the house and took a deep breath of fresh air, the prickling subsided. A relieved smile immediately parted your lips as you filled your lungs with the summer air. You could smell freshly-cut grass and traces of a bonfire. You stretched your arms over your head and allowed your spine to decompress. Your moment of bliss ended when you felt Boyd’s thick fingers settle on your lower back. You stiffened beneath his touch. Boyd didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t care. He gently herded you over to the garage. As the door lifted up and revealed a rusted truck, Boyd turned you to look at him.

“I’m going to trust you with this,” he warned “Don’t give me a reason not to. If you’re good, maybe we can discuss some privileges.” You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. You were going to the fucking grocery store, not planning a heist. It would be maybe twenty minutes. What were you going to do, lock yourself in the freezers until the police came? You were so tired and disoriented, all you really wanted was the warmth that came from your favorite meal without the promise of additional reward. But if Boyd was considering letting you do more than sit in a confined space all day, you could play along. You nodded at him and he gave you a crooked smile, rubbing circles into your back. You stepped away quickly, climbing into the truck.

The drive to the grocery store was shorter than you had hoped. You spent ten minutes with your arm out the open window, enjoying the feeling of summer wind rippling over your skin. Your head rested against the door and you took deep breaths of the fresh air, exhaling with a soft smile. A smile that faded slightly as Boyd slowed to a stop in the parking lot. You looked over to him when he rolled up the window and turned off the car.

“Do you think I could have, like, outside time or something?” You asked, trying to keep your tone even, but you were sure Boyd picked up at the light hint of desperation tinging your words. “It’s summer and I miss being in the sun.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” He shrugged with a lopsided grin. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as his eyes flicked up and down your form. Your hair was windblown and the hem of your shorts were trapped between the junction of your thighs. “I wouldn’t mind you sunbathin’ out in the yard.” You ignored the way his tongue flicked over his teeth. You ignored the way that his words should have disgusted you, but they didn’t. Instead, you popped the door open and climbed out of the truck. The sun was beginning to dip lower into the sky, but its warmth clung to your skin as you walked into the blasting air conditioning of the store. There were small signs scattered along the entrance wall advertising various sales.

“Do you like cherries?” You asked Boyd as he grabbed a basket. He followed your gaze to the sale sign and shrugged.

“Sure.” He muttered. “They’re fine.” You grabbed a bag and put them in the basket. Boyd watched you intently. The domesticity of it made him bite the inside of his cheek. You dug the list from your pocket and began heading toward the aisle you needed. It took Boyd a few seconds to register you had moved, eyes locked on the bag of cherries, but soon hurried to catch up with you. At first, he just followed obediently, holding out the basket while you placed an ingredient in. But with every stop, he lingered a little closer, watching you with eyes so sharp you could feel them. He was on edge. You supposed you could understand why, it was the first time you had been somewhat free in weeks. But you were trying to remain relaxed, to subtly let him know you wouldn’t be trying anything. Boyd was not picking up on your signals, and his hovering was starting to annoy you. You made your way to the meat counter and as you surveyed the cuts of meat for the perfect one, Boyd brushed against you. You forced down a roll of your eyes and instead put on a smile.

“Boyd, could you go get the spices?” You asked, voice saccharine and nonthreatening. “I feel bad for just leading you around.” Boyd’s eyes narrowed. You tilted your head and brushed a stray sweaty curl away from his face. He flinched a little, but didn’t move away from you. His cheeks were pink. You couldn’t tell if it was blush or because the summer heat was beginning to seep into the store. “Please?” You dropped your voice a bit as your fingers brushed along the ridge of this cheekbone. “It’ll help us get home faster.” Your word choice was intentional, binding yourself to him and playing into his desire for you to be normal domestic partners. Boyd blinked before taking a breath and relenting. You gave him the list and he took it between his fingers, giving you one last glance before begrudgingly walking down a different aisle.

A few moments passed and the butcher still had not come out to get your order. Your eyes scanned over the cuts of meat, looking for the slab that would work perfectly for your recipe. The one your grandmother would pick if she was there with you. A small noise made you look over your shoulder. It was an older woman, clearing her throat. You immediately stepped back from the glass case.

“Sorry!” You rushed out, moving aside so she could look at the display. “I’m in your way.” The lady stepped up beside you, eyes not meeting yours. She stood close enough that you heard her whispered question.

“Are you alright, dear?” You made a confused noise and the lady continued, still gazing at the ham that glistened under the display lights. “That man,” she clarified “He looked like he was bothering you. Do you know him?” You were lost for words for a moment. You wanted to assure the woman you were alright. But were you alright? You had, in fact, been kidnapped. Somehow, you kept forgetting that. You weren’t sure why you had been so resigned to your fate. Maybe it was because you didn’t actually hate the situation. Yes, it sucked to be confined to one space, but Boyd obliged every ask of yours that would make you more comfortable. You didn’t have to wake up at 4 am to chop vegetables. Didn’t have to spend all day battling heat and head-splitting screams of children and animals nibbling at your fingers. You loved your job, but you couldn’t deny you had been feeling burnt out for a while. Maybe your body recognized that you needed a break. You might have preferred a week of vacation over being held hostage, but these were the circumstances given to you. Besides, as much as you were waiting for your fondness for Boyd to waver, it never did. If anything, getting to know him made it settle into something closer to genuine affection. Almost enough to overcome the prickle of fear that he would one day dispose of you. Almost.

“Oh!” you gasped. “Yea, I know him, he’s…” What were you supposed to say? Ah, yes, that’s Boyd, my work crush who injected me with sedatives and locked me in his attic because he was too scared to ask me on a date. But it’s okay, because he’s hot and says he loves me. Yea…right. “He’s a friend from work. We’re getting stuff for a company picnic. I know he’s a bit off-putting, but I’m fine.” The lie rolled off your tongue a little too easily. The woman didn’t look incredibly convinced, but eventually pursed her lips and nodded.

“Alright. I just thought I’d check in.”

“Yea, thank you, I appreciate you looking out for me.” You gave her a genuine smile. If you were any one else, she would have saved you. But, for some unknown reason, you didn’t really want to be saved.

The butcher came out at that moment, wiping her hands on her apron. She apologized for the wait, and packaged up your order quickly. When you were done, you told the woman to have a nice day and turned around. Boyd was leaning against the glass. The spice jars were aligned neatly in the shopping basket. A grin pushed his cheeks up to his eyes. You realized then that he had overheard your conversation, at least in part, with the woman, and pride rolled off him in waves. He held out his hand and you took it after a breath. Boyd led you down to the checkout with your hand in his.

“Great job, baby,” he practically purred. “Knew I could trust you.”

When you pulled back into Boyd’s driveway, his mood was significantly better. You had officially proved yourself to him and you could tell he was allowing himself to relax a bit.

When you walked into the house, paper grocery bags in hand, you were expecting to have to write down directions and be ushered back into the attic. Instead, Boyd led you to the kitchen. It wasn’t huge, laminate counter tops running along the walls, yellowed appliances, but it was homey. Lemon-printed towels hung from the stove handle. A carved wooden chicken was perched on the cabinet above the sink. Boyd had mentioned something about this being his parents house before he inherited it, and it didn’t look like he had changed much since their passing however long ago. He set the bag he was carrying down on the counter and stepped back. He wiped his sweaty palms on his cargo shorts and looked at you expectantly.

“I want to show you around.” He said, almost a little hesitantly. “As a reward. I hope I’ve made it clear that I want us to live together normally. And this is your home, too.” You blinked, placing the onion you were holding back in its bag before agreeing. He led you around the hallways, pointing out the decorations above the mantle and where they came from. He showed you framed photos of him as a kid. Same glasses, same overlapping teeth, same flicker of uneasiness in his posture. At first, you were simply tagging along, letting him ramble about anything he could think of. But then, something started to shift in your chest. It was when he showed you the downstairs bathroom with metal-worked colorful fish decorating the wall and the matching towel on the rack. The house was lived in. Loved in. Decorated with care and kept as a sanctuary. A place that you would want to spend time in rather than a room to sleep in between shifts. It had the spark of domesticity that your apartment was missing. As you ended your tour, you found yourself looking forward to exploring it during the day, sitting on the plush couch and flipping through Boyd’s CD collection.

It reminded you of how you introduced animals to a new habitat- slowly, carefully, bit-by-bit. You'd put them in the off-stage area first until they got comfortable. And then you open the gates to their full enclosure and suddenly, they’re right at home, exploring each new sight and sound and smell. You had seen it countless times. You had never imagined you’d be on the other side.

Even though you had free-roam of the house and yard, you still made it very clear to Boyd that there were still some boundaries you would be keeping. You were appreciative of his gesture, but you were not going to completely give in. You made it very clear that you were still going to sleep in the bed in the attic. Alone. And that, while you were okay with interacting with him more, you were not going to roll over and become a perfect house wife just because you could stretch your legs. Boyd was just glad you weren’t trying to escape. To him, that meant that you were trying to accept your circumstances. And that was all he could ask for.

You spent most of your days outside, lounging in the bikini that Boyd presented to you with a crooked grin that was only a little sleezy. He would pick up books from the library and allowed you to use his CD player so you could bask in the sun while listening to music or reading. You noticed a stack of CDs in a cupboard one day. Some self-help dude-bro bullshit that you were not going to listen to. You asked Boyd about it over dinner one day and he clammed up, muttering something about them belonging to an old friend. They were gone the next day.

After your vision was sunbleached and you felt the water evaporating from your body, you would head inside and spend the afternoon relearning your love of cooking. You whipped up a new dinner from scratch every night, greeting your captor with a proud smile and demands of feedback for whatever you had decided to try that day. Boyd had a few cookbooks collecting dust above the microwave. Each morning, you would show him the recipe you wanted to try that night. You’d give him the list of ingredients you didn’t have and he’d bring them home on his lunch break. Words could not describe the feeling he had when he came home to you, in your apron, strands of hair sticking to your forehead, a flustered and hopeful look on your face as you presented that night’s dinner to him. He would brag about it to his coworkers. Yea, my girl’s cookin’ up lasagna tonight. Homemade.

He had to work the later shift again. Since you had extra time, you decided to try and make pasta sauce from scratch. The kitchen looked like a war zone. Splotches of pulverized tomatoes and granules of spices pocked the counter. The sink was filled with bowls and utensils and the window was open to try and get some of the steam to waft away. But it was all worth it for the tantalizing aroma of fresh lasagna cooking in the oven.

You finished cleaning at 8:26, the exact moment the door unclicked and Boyd stepped into the house. You heard him grunt as he toed off his work boots and tossed his keys into the dish by the door. Boyd wandered into the kitchen. He still glistened with residual sweat and you felt the dampness of his mustache when he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You found yourself not flinching away from the contact.

“Smells great, baby,” he hummed, bending down to peer into the oven. “M’gonna shower before we eat.” You nodded. As he showered, you got everything ready. Lasagna cooling on the table, cups and forks and plates from the cabinet. He walked out of the bathroom as you were placing a plate down on the table. And you paused for a moment when your eyes caught him. He wore a white tanktop, his broad shoulders and pectorals straining against the fabric. You could see his stupid farmer’s tan that made some freckles more visible than others. His thick thighs were covered with loose-fitting black sweatpants. The sight made a shiver prickle at your lower back. You swore that, if you tilted your head just right, you could see the imprint of-

“Did you make the sauce from scratch?” Boyd pulled you from your musings with a point to the pot drying beside the sink.

“Yea.” You handed him the serving spatula so he could carve out a piece. He settled into his chair with a grunt, licking his lips before diving into his meal. He moaned when the lasagna hit his tongue. It came right from his chest, and you pushed away the desire to hear it under different circumstances.

“This’s’amazing,” He purred from around his bite, pointing his fork at the slice with a wide smile. You cast your gaze down sheepishly. No one had ever really enjoyed your cooking like he did. He made sure to sing your praises at every single meal, even if it was just a microwaved Hot Pocket. He said you “microwaved it with heart” whatever that meant. You found yourself wanting to take on more challenging dishes. To prove yourself and to make yourself useful to Boyd. And each time, he had a wider smile and more words of appreciation. The little boost of confidence stayed with you for the rest of dinner.

After everything was cleaned up, you squeezed Boyd’s arm and told him you were going to bed. You climbed the stairs to the attic and began to strip off your clothes from the day, replacing them with the silk pajama set Boyd had surprised you with one day after work. He really did try to spoil you as much as he could, given the circumstances. You were about to wash your face when you heard your name called from downstairs. It was Boyd. His voice was tense and it made you suck in a breath. A little whisper of fear licked against your brain. Maybe it’s time. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to die. But you forced the fears down to respond in an even tone. “Yea?”

“Come watch TV with me.” He called back. Your face scrunched with confusion. He had never asked you to do that before. Usually, after dinner, you’d retreat to the attic and Boyd would spend his evenings downstairs doing whatever Boyd did.

“I’m tired-“

“Please?” That really made you pause. Not once during the month and a half you’d been in the confines of Boyd’s house had he ever asked you to do something with a ‘please.’ He always said thank you after you completed a task, whether it be the laundry or dinner, but never ‘please.’ You set down the bottle of face wash on the sink and exited the makeshift bathroom. You slowly descended the stairs, cautiously turning the corner to see Boyd sitting on the couch, one arm slung over the back, while some fishing show played on the screen. You walked over to him, bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor. Boyd turned to look at you when you reached his poripheral. You caught his eyes flick quickly over your form, no doubt appreciating the fact that you were wearing his gift. He grinned and patted the open cushion next to him. You hesitated.

“You’re not gonna…hurt me…are you?” Your words were soft, purposefully not inflammatory. But Boyd looked hurt regardless, the corners of his mouth dropping and his brow furrowing.

“No,” he assured “I told you. I love you. Why would you think that?” Your eyes nervously flicked to the end table by the couch. The one where his work belt always rested. Your gaze settled on the holster and the weapon inside it, well within his reach. Boyd followed your gaze and let out a small laugh. “Oh, that?” Boyd pulled the gun from his holster and held it up so you could see it. “S’just a tranquilizer gun. No bullets in here.” He opened the chamber and you saw the fluffy pink tip of the dart. “See?” You didn’t move. Boyd sighed and pushed himself off the couch. He took his belt and carried it over to the counter by the stove. He placed it down and looked at you. “Does that make you feel better?” You paused for a moment but nodded. He might still be dangerous, but at least that obvious threat was secured. “Will you sit with me?” He plopped back on the couch and reached out his hand to you. You sat on the arm of the couch. Boyd clicked his tongue. “C’mon, now, I don’t bite. C’mere.” He raised his arm to beckon you closer. Reluctantly, you obliged and settled down on the middle cusion. You weren’t quite touching, but you were close enough to see that his hair was still damp and his skin still dewy from his shower.

“So this show’s about findin’ the biggest fish in the world. They’re in, uh, Mongolia or somethin’. The fish they’re going after ate a school bus.” You let out an involuntary disbelieving laugh. You looked at Boyd with a glint of amusement in your eyes.

“A school bus?” He nodded, small smirk forming on his mouth. “There’s no way that actually exists.” He shrugged and nodded back to the screen. The commercials were over and a very dramatic title song played.

“Guess we’ll find out.” As the show continued, you found yourself relaxing more. The muscles in your legs weren’t as tense and eventually, your knee rested gently against Boyd’s. He slightly shifted his position on the couch. You could smell the soap lingering on his skin. Crisp, but not in an overwhelming way.

“What soap do you use?” Your curiosity got the better of you. Your eyes were still on the screen. A boat cut through muddy water as the main fisherman described what bait he was using. You could feel Boyd’s gaze heavy on the side of your face.

“Irish Spring.”

“Smells good.” You nodded. His eyes lit up and his chest puffed out. You had noticed.

“Thanks.”

The show continued and, to no one’s surprise, the fisherman was struggling to find the bus-eating monster fish. During one commercial break, a small movement caught your eye. Boyd’s fist was clutching the fabric of his sweatpants. His fingers curled in on themselves so hard his knuckles were white.

“Are you alright?” You asked. Had your lasagna made him feel sick? You were feeling fine, but he looked a little sweaty and flushed and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. His gaze met yours briefly before returning to the screen. He cleared his throat and readjusted his hips on the couch. He blinked so hard the muscle in his cheek twitched.

“Yea,” he breathed out “Yea, m’fine.” He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t press it. But your eyes trailed downward and you instantly realized the source of his weird behavior. He was hard. You could see the bulge pressing against his sweatpants in the flickering TV light. You blinked away quickly. He was embarrassed, clearly, and you didn’t want to pile onto it by revealing that you had noticed. You pulled your knee away from his by an inch to give him some relief. Remove any outside contact that was unintentionally arousing him. But, to your surprise, he widened his legs immediately, chasing after you and closing the gap between the two of you. The action, while almost undetectable, sent a wave of heat coursing through your veins. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find Boyd attractive. Even now, after everything, you found yourself eyeing him when he came home from work. Sweaty and freckled from the sun. He looked way too good in that stupid uniform.

So to have the man you found attractive hard beside you simply because your knees were touching? Yea, that instilled something within you. Without looking at him, you inched closer until you were almost curled into his side. Your legs were pressed together and you noticed the poorly stifled moan that fell from his lips. His arm was curled above your shoulders, still resting on the top of the couch. You felt the tips of his fingers graze your shoulder. And when you didn’t flinch away, he made a bolder move. His arm slipped down from the couch and settled around you. The contact was light and he didn’t pull you closer to him. But it was contact nonetheless. You side-eyed his legs again. His hand was in his pocket now. You couldn’t help but smirk. You appreciated that he had the decency to not try and creep you out. Even though he was truly trying to conceal his arousal, his efforts were fruitless. His very prominent erection was hard to miss. But you still didn’t say anything. You stayed there, pressed against him, until the show ended. No fish caught.

“Guess it doesn’t exist.” You said lightly, turning to him. Boyd just blinked down at you, pupils wide and mind clearly preoccupied.

“What?” He whispered. You chuckled and got up from the couch. His eyes followed you the entire time. You leaned in and gave a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Boyd.” You murmured against his skin. You left him on the couch and walked up to your bed.

Martha Stewart was a fucking liar. The ingredients to the biscuits were simple, but they were not “a breeze to pull together” like her webpage promised. Maybe the oven wasn’t good enough or the store brand flour wasn't as good as the kind she used. But, for some reason, they were not cooking properly. Some of them were too raw and others were on the verge of being burnt. You weren’t ashamed to admit that the process had made you cry. Twice. But with each passing minute, you were worried that dinner wouldn’t be ready for Boyd when he got home. The homemade gravy and fried chicken were on their respective hot plates. It really was just the stupid biscuits that needed to hurry up.

When they were finally done to your satisfaction, you looked at the clock. 5 pm. Boyd must’ve hit some traffic. You arranged the table as usual and sat and waited. And waited some more. You watched the bird feeder outside and smiled when a sparrow was able to shoo away a thieving squirrel. As the sun dipped lower, so did your stomach. A pit in your abdomen quickly replaced by a crawling anxiety. He was late. Later than a simple excuse could explain. The gravy had congealed an the chicken would have to be reheated. The biscuits you had spent so long on had that odd texture of bread that was becoming stale. But none of that mattered. Because all you could think about was Boyd. You paced the room, back and forth, nibbling on the edge of your thumb and mind racing through endless possibilities. A car wreck. An accident at work. A hostage situation at a bank. You laughed a little at the irony of that one. Each possibility buzzed around your mind, little fireflies that lit up with each new scenario.

A phone ringing cut through your hazy headspace. Not your phone. You had no idea what Boyd had done with that. Rather, the landline in the kitchen. The one you didn’t even know still worked. You slowly approached it, as if you might startle it, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Your voice was small and your throat was dry.

“Good evening,” came a voice, peppy but in a way you knew was fake. “Is this Mrs. Fowler?” Your mouth opened and then closed. This used to be Boyd’s parents’ house. Maybe they were looking for his mother. Surely they weren’t asking for you.

“Can I ask who’s calling?” You deflected.

“Yes, this is Miami General Hospital. Mr. Fowler suffered a snake bite at work and came to us about two hours ago. This number was listed as his emergency contact.” Your eyebrows flew to your hairline. A snake bite?

“I-is he okay?” You fumbled out.

“He’s going to make a full recovery,” the person assured “we gave him a dose of antivenom and some pain medication. He’s about to be discharged but he will need a ride home.” You mumbled out something aggreeable and hung up. Your eyes shifted to the key dish by the front door. The keys to the rusted truck sat there. Had they always been? Could you have realistically left anytime you wanted? You pushed the thought to the side. You’d ruminate on that later. You grabbed the keys and left the house.

You drove to the hospital in silence. After you parked, very poorly, you hurried through the doors of the ER.

“Hi, um, I’m here for Boyd Fowler?” You greeted the nurse at the desk. She clicked a few times on her computer before nodding.

“Sign in please. I’ll take you back.” After scrawling out your signature on a tablet, the nurse led you down the hallways of the ER until you paused in front of a room. Until now, dread had settled low and heavy in your stomach. The clutches of anxiety only released when you saw Boyd sitting upright in bed, talking to one of the nurses while his IV was removed. You let out a sigh of relief. He was okay. Boyd saw you through the window of the room. Instantly, his face lit up with a toothy grin. He waved at you enthusiastically. You gave him a small wave back.

“What’s wrong with him?” You asked the nurse.

“Yea, that’s the pain meds. He’s going to be really happy and really sleepy when you get home.” She nodded.

“Wonderful. Is there any at-home care I need to do?” The nurse handed you a packet of papers. By the time she went over the visit summary and continued treatment, Boyd was dressed and ready to go. They wheeled him out of the hospital. The snake had gotten him in the ankle and it was too swollen for him to walk on. You pulled the truck around front and helped Boyd get into the passenger seat. When he was all buckled in, you thanked the nurse and got in the truck. Before you could even put the keys in the ignition, Boyd threw his arms around you in an awkwardly-positioned hug. His face nuzzled into your neck.

“You came,” he sighed happily, running his nose along the column of your throat. “I knew you cared.” You couldn’t force down the small smile it caused. You patted him on the arm and gently pushed him back into his seat.

“Let’s get you home, Boyd. I bet a nap sounds really good right now, huh?” He nodded. He looked at you sheepishly.

“Sorry I was late for dinner.”

“That’s okay,” you pressed a kiss to his knuckles and his nostrils flared. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Boyd spent a week at home and you fully accepted your role as his monitor. You cooked him whatever he requested, which was never that outlandish, and made sure he took his meds when he needed to. He was healing well, and it wasn’t long before he was cleared to go back to work. His final day off was spent sitting beside you outside, asking about your books and reacting accordingly when you read the next plot twist. You never mentioned noticing him getting hard sitting beside you on the couch. And it hadn’t happened since. You weren’t proud of it, but you were starting to feel pent up. For a whole week, you were forced to see stupid Boyd with his stupid muscles and his stupid belly and his stupid mustache without the refuge of his work hours. You really hoped that the close proximity and your apparent eagerness would spark something in the man. But, true to your suspicions, he was too much of a coward to do anything. Whatever. You would have to take matters into your own hands. You had needs, too, and if Boyd was forcing you to stay in his house, the least he could do was take care of you in all aspects of your life. Especially since it was very clear he wanted to.

You hovered in the doorframe, observing the man on the bed. Boyd was sitting up against the headboard, legs sprawled in front of him as he scrolled through his phone. His bandage peaked over the hem of his sock. The swelling of his ankle had subsided, and he was scheduled to go back the next morning. Maybe you should be kind enough to give him something to think about as he cleaned the streets of Miami. He was just in his boxers and a black tanktop. You could see the soft roundness of his belly rise and fall with each breath. His hair was mussed, still a little wet from his shower. His glasses sat low on his nose. His arms looked huge curled up beside him and the constellations on his skin were extra prominent in the low light of the room. You could see the small bulge between his legs. A flash of arousal seared your abdomen. He looked so good. You licked your bottom lip as your breathing got heavier and your pupils dilated. Yea. You needed him.

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you crossed the room. You stopped beside Boyd and plucked the phone from his hand, tossing it on the bedside table. His face snapped up to look at you, brows pinching together and mouth parting in protest. But his lips pulled shut once you climbed onto the bed. You slung one leg over his hips and settled into his lap. Boyd’s breath caught and his eyes shot wide open. His hands hovered just above your hips. You rolled your eyes and took them in your own, guiding them to rest on your sides. You didn’t waste any time, crashing your lips to his. He let out a muffled yelp and froze beneath you. After a roll of your hips, he tentatively began working his lips against yours. The kiss was soft but clearly needy. You only pulled away when you could no longer breathe. He chased after you with a desperate moan. Boyd’s eyes fluttered open just in time to watch you peel your shirt over your head and toss it behind you to the floor. He swallowed hard. His eyes slowly roamed your bare chest. You weren’t wearing a bra. You stayed still on top of him, giving him time to observe. The edge of his thumb brushed the underside of your breast and you let out a breathy sigh. You experimentally moved your hips, feeling his cock begin to chub up against your ass.

“Wh…What are you doing?” Boyd choked out, eyes still glued to your hardening nipples.

“Getting you hard,” you said simply, like it wasn’t exactly what he had been dreaming about for the better part of two months. You leaned in and ghosted your lips over his. He shivered beneath you. “And if you fuck me good enough,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip “Then maybe you can have me tomorrow, too.” Your words seemed to snap him out of his haze. His grip on you tightened and you squeaked when he rolled you over onto the bed. His hips pushed into yours as he hungrily devoured your mouth.

The kiss turned sloppy, tongues clashing and moving against each other as each moan and gasp was swallowed. Boyd moved to kiss along your jaw and you shivered with every brush of his wiry facial hair against your skin. He lazily pressed kisses down your neck and torso, stopping every so often to suck and nip a mark into your skin. He paid special attention to your breasts, licking each nipple to a peak before biting at least three hickeys into the flesh. When he kneeled upright, his glasses were fogged. He tore them from his face. The thought of not being able to see you beneath him was blasphemous. He looked at you for reassurance when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts. You nodded desperately. He pulled down the shorts and your underwear with one motion. When you were exposed to him, Boyd let out a sigh of awe. He sat back on his knees and just took a moment to look. You suddenly felt very self conscious. It had been a long time since anyone had been between your legs and your wax was long overdue. You took his staring as a signal of his disgust and you moved to close your legs. Boyd caught them immediately.

“Don’t you dare try n’ hide her from me,” He growled, quickly adjusting himself so that he settled on his stomach. He tugged you closer to him and you yelped. His eyes never left your center. You allowed your legs to fall to the side and you saw Boyd’s pupils dilate, eyes roaming the space between your legs and licking his lips in anticipation. “Prettiest pussy I ever seen,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “So fucking perfect.” The first broad swipe of his tongue was irritatingly slow but instantly shot pure pleasure up your spine. You arched into him, hand flying down to tug at his curls. He let out a small noise of appreciation at the sensation. He licked your entire sex and lifted his head briefly. “Beautiful and tastes so good,” He sighed “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Boyd, please!” You begged airily, pushing his head back to where you needed him. He just chuckled, but tugged you closer to him.

“I gotchu, baby, just sit back and relax.” He dove into his efforts without restraint. He alternated between sucking and flicking your clit with the point of his tongue, to flattening it against you and running broad stripes between your folds. And when you were panting and whimpering with need, thighs coated with a mixture of your juices, Boyd slipped two thick fingers into you. You keened, tossing your head backward, as he curled against your warm velvety walls. “Yea, s’that the spot?” Boyd cooed. The pads of his fingers continuously stroked your most sensitive spot and each of your breaths came out in little gasps. “C’mon, baby, give it to me. Lemme feel it.” He returned to your clit, circling it with his tongue as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. Each thrust sent another droplet of your arousal down his wrist. He urged you towards your release, watching you unblinking. Memorizing every twitch of your eyebrows and huff of air that left your lips. You had been so touchstarved, and Boyd was so unexpectedly skilled with his mouth, that your orgasm built fast. You squirmed under him, unsure if you were trying to chase after or escape from his onslaught. But it didn’t matter. His palm settled heavy on your abdomen, holding you to the bed. Your toes curled in on themselves and your jaw fell open as searing heat pooled above your tailbone. You came with a strangled cry of his name, bucking your hips wildly on his face. Boyd’s eyes fluttered shut, reveling in the stuttered jerks of your hips against him as you rode it out on his face. Only when you stopped, chest heaving and hand disentangled from his hair to rub at your eyes, did he lift his head. You looked down to see him licking the remnants of you from his fingers and his chin, mustache plastered to his upper lip. “Can’t wait to do that every day for the rest of my life.” He smirked.

“Please,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. Boyd pushed himself back up and you pulled him into a kiss. The taste of yourself on his tongue sent another punch of neediness to your core. You lifted your shaky legs to wrap around his waist. He gave in, rolling his bulge into you so hard it must have hurt him, but he just let out a sigh of satisfaction. He broke the kiss and you pouted.

“I know,” He soothed, kissing your nose. “But you’re actin’ like you need something inside you.” You tilted your head and nodded, brain still fuzzy from your high. Boyd used his weight to maneuver you on the bed. He positioned you on your hands and knees, facing the edge of the bed and the mirror that hung on his wall above his dresser. You watched your reflection as Boyd pushed his boxers down. His chubby cock was swollen and angry, weeping pre-cum from the tip with each desperate twitch. His eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushed in. You struggled to keep your eyes open at the feeling. Boyd wasn’t particularly long, but he stretched you almost to your limit. You felt the solidness of him pressing against each inch of your pussy, firing off every single nerve. Your hands fisted the comforter and your exhale was hitched. When Boyd bottomed out, your vision was going blurry. “Deep breath for me, sweetheart, gotta breathe.” You had forgotten that you had to do that. You sucked in a breath and the cool oxygen just augmented the pleasure fizzling in every neuron. Once your breathing evened, Boyd began to move. He used his hands to fuck you back on him, exiting almost the entire way before sinking back into you with a groan. It started off slow, but quickly turned ravenous as he used you, controlled breathing turned into frenzied pants.

“You’re so per-perfect. Mmh, fuck,” He moaned. He bit his lip and stared at where the two of you were joined, watching his cock disappear inside of you and re-emerge with a fresh coat of slick. It was hypnotizing. “G-Gonna take such good care of you. I l-love you so much.” You moaned at his words, the pussy-drunk look on his face causing you to squeeze tighter around him.

“So big, Boyd, you fuck me so good.” You gasped, words tumbling from your mouth. Your breasts swayed with every snap of his hips. Boyd leaned forward a bit and cupped one in his warm palm, never faltering with his pace.

“Yea? Gettin’ all dumb on my cock, baby?” He mocked. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Not gonna last much longer with you like this.” You gasped when a particularly harsh thrust caused his dick to split you open a little further.

“Cum inside me, please!”

“Yea?” Boyd panted, as if he was considering any other option. He straightened back up, nodding his head enthusiastically. His hands dug harshly into your hips, fat spilling between his fingers. “Want me to put a baby in you? Keep you with me forever? I can do that, baby, shit, I can do that.” He widened his knees and thrusted into you with a newfound vigor, hard and deep, loud slaps of skin joining the chorus of your combined moaning. Your arms gave out, face slowly coming to a rest on the bedspread. Boyd continued to fuck into you and your eyes rolled back at the new angle. You felt drool begin to seep from your mouth onto the sheets. You were overcome by the need for him and you reached one of your hands back, grasping for his. Boyd took it immediately, weaving your fingers between his in a small gesture of comfort. You mumbled out his name.

“Knew you were fucked up.” He let out a small huff of amusement. “The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you'd enjoy this. Enjoy me.” Boyd threw his head back and pinched his eyebrows together, biting harder onto his lip and whining with every stroke of his cock between your walls. You gripped him like a vice, internal muscles tightened without release. He came with a deep growl, ripped straight from his chest. He continued to roll his hips until he softened to ensure not a drop of his cum slipped from your cunt. Even though he wasn’t as hard, the stretch of him filling you remained delicious. You were allowed a few breaths of reprieve, but soon you felt his fingers ghost over your skin. You let out a buzzy noise of protest when they nudged against your clit again. You tried to squirm away, but Boyd pulled you back and clicked his tongue.

“Uh-uh.” He scolded “Give me one more. Wanna feel you push me out.” Your pussy was so puffy and so silky and your clit was so sensitive that it didn’t take long for another orgasm to crawl up your spine. This one rolled into you gently, but you still clenched so hard his cock was forcefully ejected from your warmth. A gush of liquid splashed against your ankles and his thighs. As it left your body, so did any remaining energy. Your face was still pressed into the bed and your legs wobbled fiercely when Boyd’s grip loosened. You let out a tiny whine and Boyd pulled you up, cradling you in his arms and laying you back on the pillows. He snaked an arm under your hips and settled you on your side. He showered your face in kisses while you regained your mind. “Did so good f’me.” He whispered softly between each press of his lips to your cheeks. “My perfect girl. All mine.”

“All yours, Boyd,” You confirmed with fluttering eyelids and a dry throat. Satisfied exhaustion settled in your bones. You felt like you had just run a marathon. “C-Can I have some water?” Boyd nodded dutifully and slipped away to the bathroom, returning with a large glass and a handful of wetwipes. The contrast of the cool wipes against your pulsing sex made you squirm and Boyd whispered an apology. The next swipe was gentler and you sipped on your water. He cleaned you so reverently that you almost forgot this was the same man who kidnapped you. Doubt swirled in your stomach. You had spent the past two months believing that he wanted to kill you, that you were a fleeting fancy he would dump in a lake somewhere. But as you watched his face as he cleaned you up, filled with devotion and care, you began to think differently. You began to trust Boyd’s words. You began to trust that he really did love you. Maybe you could love him, too.

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