Age >40; Inspiration for writing; fanfic Elder millennial; Happy to be auntie for Gens Z & Alpha when needed to smash the patriarchy; Lokis_Lady on AO3; avatar by @avengersfantasies; CIA Games Masterlist
The movies "The Gray Man" and "The 355" live in the same CIA universe. Reader first encounters Lloyd Hansen when they both work at the Agency. Lloyd is an asshole, but he introduces the Reader to a lot of things. Later, she meets Nick Fowler.
Notes, descriptions, and warnings on each individual piece.
Written Into Your Skin
Aftermath
Acceptance
Perspective (Lloyd's POV)
Learning - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
[Future fic plans]
Play
Messy
Fancy
Leaving
Dating
Discovery
Punishment
Where's the Drive?
Alone
Six
Lloyd Hansen has retired. He's trying to appreciate the finer things in life and along the way he joins Scrabble tournaments and quickly becomes a champion. But then he finds his title threatened by you!
Preternaturally Annoying
Warnings: Asshole Lloyd. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.
"Don't use 'preternatural'," Lloyd scoffs. "That's an asshole word."
"You're just pissed that I got a triple word score off your 'tern'," you retort.
Lloyd grumbles under his breath. He really thought he'd burned that square for you.
When Lloyd had been told he needed to retire or he'd be thrown into prison, he'd opted for the safer route, even if it was more boring. But he hadn't been prepared for just how boring.
He'd ended up finding himself walking into the library just to try to find something to do and that's when he spotted you working the reference desk. Not his usual type, but he had to admit those hips combined with the cardigan and hair tied up really did something for him.
Especially when you kept shooting him down. No matter what he did, you never gave in. Never gave him what he wanted. You were a challenge. You were interesting.
When he found out you were running a Scrabble Tournament he signed up for it, knowing it would force you to interact with him. He wasn't expecting to be good at it, let alone enjoying the outlet for his competitiveness. He even took the time to research the best words to use for unusual letters.
And yet, you're still kicking his ass. If you weren't in a public place, he wouldn't be spending so much energy into hiding his erection.
Er mah gerd I love it! Lloyd playing Scrabble against the reader is too cute but also seems fraught. Like I can totally see him flipping the board. Or if he could get you in private - perhaps strip Scrabble? Is that a thing, lol?
Summary: A flashback to Lloyd’s lowest moment in prison sets the stage for Landon’s wedding, where Lloyd finally comes face-to-face with the consequences of his actions.
Word Count: 4,975
Masterlist
Author's Note: A chapter before I start my training program next week. No (offical) promises, but I am hoping to be more productive very soon.
Warnings: Depiction of imprisonment, withdrawal. Minor use of foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.
Chapter 34: Pearls Before the Fall
Fleury-Mérogis Prison – Paris, France
Lloyd was in the infirmary. They moved him there yesterday when the symptoms progressed from an inconvenience into something the prison had to document for legal reasons. He lay on the floor because it was cooler than the vinyl mattress that was drenched with his sweat from the last few hours of misery. Lloyd lay on the floor and shivered so hard that his teeth chattered. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he’d quit trying a long time ago.
Outside his cell, the prison nurses were giving report to the relieving shift.
“Laissez-lui le seau. Il a déjà raté les toilettes deux fois, et il ne lui reste plus que de la bile.”
Leave him the bucket. He’s already missed the toilet twice, and there’s nothing left in him but bile.
Lloyd sneered at the door. Or at least, he tried to. The expression required too much energy and his facial muscles gave up halfway through. He didn’t even have the strength left for contempt. Every muscle and nerve in his body was screaming at him. His eyes burned from the sweat that had dripped into them. Since the second day of his incarceration he’d been vomiting. It was long past the point where his stomach had anything to lose but his body kept trying.
Every ten minutes or so his abdomen cramped violently, folding him in two, sending him to the toilet as he wretched up yellow bile until his throat felt scaled. His ribs ached from the force of the sickness. His jaw hurt from clenching against the waves of agony. His lips were cracked and dry. He couldn’t keep down water and he’d lost the strength to stand sometime during the night. Admitting it galled him, but the nurses were right – he couldn’t get to the toilet and he needed the damn plastic bucket they’d put beside him.
The cell reeked of bleach, bile, and the sour animal stink of his own body. Lloyd had always believed humiliation required an audience. Now, he realized he’d been wrong. Sometimes all it took was a locked room, a bucket, and cold turkey detox. All his prior insistences that his drug use was just recreational had worn thin in the face of withdrawal symptoms.
Even he couldn't deny it anymore. In the cell beside him the other prisoner was in a similar state. Lloyd had heard him all night, puking, swearing, and sobbing pathetically. The neighboring cell on the opposite side contained a man arguing with people no one else could see. Lloyd lay between them, sweating and shaking and hating every minute of what he’d been reduced to.
The metal flap in the middle of the door opened. Lloyd glanced up to see a paper cup offered through the hatch.
“Water,” a man’s voice said.
Being spoken to in English was even more startling than the kindness of being offered water. Lloyd stared at the paper cup. He was so thirsty his tongue felt glued to his teeth, but he made himself pause and weigh the cost before reaching out to take it. Eagerness was an admission of weakness and gratitude would paint a target on his back.
After a pause of appropriate length, he took the cup. His hand bumped the edge of the hatch before grasping the cup. Water sloshed over the side and ran down his wrist. He tightened his grip, furious, which did nothing but worsen the tremor.
The guard who’d handed him the cup said nothing. Lloyd took a sip of water as the nurse’s voice sounded, a stream of rapid French directed at the guard. It was too fast for him to understand, but he caught the phrase “medical history.” She crossed to the guard and handed him a packet.
The man glanced at the papers, then back to Lloyd. “Medical has questions.”
Lloyd took a sip of water instead of answering.
From the pocket of his navy shirt, the guard took a pen and braced his hand against the door, using it as a writing surface.
“Any medication allergies?”
He debated before answering, but decided there was a point where stubbornness turned into stupidity.
“No.”
“Do you take any medicines prescribed to you by a doctor?”
Lloyd’s lip twitched in amusement. “No.”
“Recreational drugs.”
“Cocaine, Vicodin, Xanax. Sometimes Valium and Ketamine.”
The pen scratched as the guard jotted down the list. “How often do you take them?”
Lloyd sighed. “Too often, clearly.”
The guard considered his answer, then wrote that down, or something close to it. “When was the last time you used?”
“Before my arrest.”
“What day was that?”
Lloyd told him.
“If you cannot make medical decisions, who should we contact?”
“No one.”
The guard stated, “If there is no contact, they will appoint someone to decide for you.”
“And who appoints that representative?”
“Either the warden or someone from the state.”
Lloyd pondered that for a moment.
“You’re allowed a phone call, which you haven’t used yet.”
“I don’t need to,” Lloyd said.
“Do you not want to notify your consulate of your arrest?”
If he did, they’d probably send someone to assassinate him. “No. I don’t need to contact anyone.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The English speaking guard was called Étienne and he was persistent. Annoyingly persistent. Every few days Étienne found an excuse to appear in Lloyd’s vicinity. He would ask the same question at least once or twice a week:
”Would you like to use your call today?”
He never took too much time or spoke with him long enough to be accused of favoritism. His voice never betrayed concern or carried any warmth, nor did he act as if he were doing Lloyd a favor. In fact, he seemed to remind Lloyd of the phone call because it was an irritating checklist item processing had missed.
Today Lloyd was in his cell, relaxing on his bunk, reading one of the French chapter books he’d picked up from the library.
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
Étienne stood outside the cell, thumbs hooked in his belt, waiting for Lloyd’s answer. He had a grizzled cop face that was impossible to read and brownish auburn-hair. However, he lacked that particular dim-wittedness Lloyd associated with the average level of intelligence found in law enforcement circles.
“I checked the logs. You have made no phone calls.”
“It’s almost as if that was on purpose.”
“If you write the number you want to call, the supervisor can approve it by morning.”
Lloyd turned a page in his book. Étienne remained in the doorway of his cell.
”You could call your consulate.”
“I’m aware.”
“Or an attorney.”
”I am an attorney.”
Étienne tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Then call a different attorney.”
Lloyd looked up. The guard didn’t smile. His expression was as unreadable as ever. Lloyd couldn’t fathom what he was getting out of this stupid ritual. They did the same dance over and over again. The steps varied only slightly.
“I don’t need representation,” Lloyd said.
“You are in prison.”
“No kidding? I thought the bars were just a whimsical choice of decor.”
Étienne watched Lloyd with that inscrutable expression that gave no hint of what was going on in his mind.
”Why do you keep bringing this up?” Lloyd asked.
Étienne’s eyes narrowed. “You know how to avoid this conversation?”
”How?”
“Use the call.”
- - - - -
And on it went. Lloyd would’ve rather swallowed glass than admit it, but somehow their little ritual became something he looked forward to. It was an irritation that lessened the tedium of days that blurred together. Against his will, their conversations turned his thoughts to ideas of who he might call if he were to use the phone call.
He was bitterly aware that anyone who cared to know where he was would’ve seen him on the news by now. His arrest had made international headlines for a full week. Anyone who wanted to reach out would have done so by now. Lloyd held no grudges against anyone for the lack of calls. The offer of representation lingered in his mind, though.
He considered it sometimes, in moments of weakness. He hated prison. The evidence against him was compelling, but not insurmountable. He knew how this ended if he went into court without clear-headed professional representation. Fortunately, there was a Rolodex of good attorneys in his head. He’d had the foresight to commit several of their phone numbers to memory. One of his former professors at Oxford. A classmate at Harvard who was now a famous defense attorney. The closest person he’d had to a real mentor, Clayton Bishop.
Lloyd knew the clock was ticking. If he wanted to organize a defense, there was a window in which these calls had to be made. The proffered phone call hung over his head like an assignment that was about to become overdue.
After seven weeks in general population, Lloyd gave in. He’d decided who to contact, and he was working out what to say. He waited on purpose, amused by the satisfaction he might see on Étienne’s face, curious if the man would have a reaction at all. The guard must be eager for a resolution to their ongoing waltz of reminder and refusal.
But Étienne didn’t show.
A few days passed. Lloyd thought little of it. The guards rotated shifts occasionally, swapped shifts, took vacations, or the odd day off. But when four days bled into five, concern grew. Finally, on the sixth day, Lloyd spoke to another guard. It was the first time he’d spoken to any of the prison staff in French.
”Where is Étienne?”
The guard regarded him with a blank expression. “Who?”
”The guard who speaks English.”
”Ah. He isn’t here.”
Lloyd frowned. ”Why? Was he reassigned?”
”No. He had a stroke.”
The guard consulted his clipboard as Lloyd stood frozen, trying to process what he’d just been told.
“He had a stroke? Are you sure? He was what…forty-five?”
“Forty-three,” the guard said as he glanced around Lloyd’s tidy cell and made a tick mark on his clipboard.
Lloyd shook his head, trying to clear the confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“His wife called. She said he was taken to hospital on Monday and the doctors were treating him for a stroke. That’s all I know.”
The guard’s tone wasn’t cold or dismissive, just unaffected. Why it pissed Lloyd off, he didn’t know.
“I need to use the phone.”
Surprise flashed across the guard’s face. “I’ll put in the request. You should be able to make your call sometime tomorrow.”
Lloyd sank down onto the edge of his bunk. He tried to sort through his feelings, but found it difficult. Confusing. Disappointment seemed to be the predominant emotion. There was nothing to trace it back to, though, so he didn’t understand why the feeling lingered through the night.
The next morning, after yard time, they took him to an office for his phone call. He made his request to the clerk and accepted the receiver when the number had been dialed. When it connected, Lloyd expected a secretary’s voice. Instead, it was his old professor who answered.
“Mr. Bishop. This is Lloyd Hansen. I’m calling because… I need help.”
His tuxedo had to be taken in. Lloyd refused to acknowledge the implications of that as he studied his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The tailor had done immaculate work, and the seams of the jacket sat cleanly on his shoulders. Lloyd smoothed a hand over the lapels and straightened his shirt cuffs. The suit looked better than the day he’d bought it. He looked worse.
Landon’s wedding had been lovely. Lloyd didn’t have much to compare it to, as he was rarely invited to occasions where affection was the organizing principle.
Across the room, Princess laughed. Lloyd didn’t let his eyes search for her. He already knew exactly where she was. He’d known since walking into the ceremony two hours ago. Lifting his eyes to the mirrored glass behind the bar, he granted himself the technicality that reflections didn’t count as staring.
She wore a green dress that made her skin look warm and healthy under the twinkling garden lights strung across the ceiling. The pearls at her throat caught his attention. He recognized the necklace immediately. He’d given it to her before their breakup, and she had no idea what it was worth. If she sold it, she could put herself through law school or buy a house for cash and still have enough left over to be furious with him.
He had chosen the necklace because it was beautiful and suited her, yes, but also because she’d never accept that kind of money from him outright. She certainly wouldn’t have kept it after their relationship ended. The necklace was an elegant loophole, portable security under the guise of a romantic gesture. Princess didn’t know what it cost, but she was practical and clever. If she ever needed money, she’d look in her jewelry box and know that, despite all his other flaws, Lloyd wasn’t the type of man to give fake pearls to the woman he loved.
“Staring is rude, Lloyd.”
The voice came from behind him, laced with dry amusement that left no doubt Bishop had been watching him for some time.
Lloyd didn’t turn. He lifted the whiskey glass that was still mostly full, despite the reception entering its second hour, and took a sip.
“Good to see you too, boss.”
Bishop claimed the empty barstool next to him and ordered a club soda. When the bartender stepped away, his gaze met Lloyd’s in the mirror instead of facing him directly.
“You look thin. I hear you’re training for a marathon.”
“GLP-1s are everywhere. Even Kim Kardashian is looking svelte these days.”
“Ah, how fashionable of you.”
Lloyd tugged at his left cufflink and gave Bishop a sidelong glance. “If you’re offering a medical opinion, I prefer those from people who completed residency.”
“I didn’t come over to comment on your figure. I came over because you’re doing a terrible job of pretending not to stare at your ex-girlfriend.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Lloyd said, a chill seeping into his tone.
“I’ve wasted more attention on far less promising students.”
Lloyd had no answer for that. Hearing it pulled on something in his chest that a softer man would have labeled as ‘heartstrings.’
Across the room, Princess laughed again. In the reflection, Lloyd watched her tilt her face up towards Marco as he bent his head to her ear. The man’s arm was looped around her waist, high enough to be friendly but low enough that romantic intentions couldn’t be ruled out. Lloyd analyzed the hand placement automatically and was disgusted with himself for doing so.
“It surprised me when you called from France,” Bishop said.
Lloyd’s attention sharpened. There was a trap being set here. He could sense it but couldn’t quite figure out the scheme behind the setup. Curiosity got the better of him. He took the bait instead of brushing off the comment and walking away, which undoubtedly would’ve been safer.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“I was in prison. People in that situation tend to retain legal counsel.”
“You waited almost two months to contact me. I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard your voice on the other end of the line.”
“I’m flattered you remember it in such detail.”
“I remember the first thing you said,” Bishop turned his club soda slowly on the bar. “You said: ‘I need help.’ Not that you wanted to retain my services, not what you were charged with…that’s the first thing you said to me. It wasn’t a sentence I thought you were capable of.”
Lloyd remembered it with grotesque clarity. The feel of the warm plastic receiver in his hand, sweat running down the back of his neck, the smell of cigarettes emanating from the clerk. He could feel the strain in his throat from the effort it took to keep his voice smooth and composed instead of hoarse and rough.
“I knew what it cost you emotionally to say that. You’d finally hit the point where the truth mattered more than maintaining an image of invulnerability.”
“Did you minor in psychology? Or is it just an armchair hobby?”
Bishop was undeterred. “You were brilliant, arrogant, and just detoxed from God knows how many substances, trying to act as if your life hadn’t exploded. And despite your lifelong commitment to recalcitrance, you picked up the phone and said possibly the most honest thing I had ever heard out of your mouth.”
Lloyd restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Do you tell this sob story at parties? I imagine it does numbers with your Toastmasters club.”
“No. I tell it to myself when I’m trying to remember why I still answer your calls.”
The rim of Lloyd’s glass paused halfway to his lips. His eyes narrowed, but under the heat of anger, something cold and sharply unpleasant bubbled up. Bishop turned on the barstool, facing Lloyd. He examined the tuxedo jacket, his eyes lingering on the spots where the shoulders had been taken in, as if he could see the alterations.
“You came out of prison better than you went in. I know you’re aware of how unusual that is. I’m not trying to flatter you. Most men come out bitter and meaner. You still had rough edges, but there was a new layer of restraint. Perspective, maybe. Even a dash of humility that was so tiny I’d have missed it if not for that phone call.”
Lloyd cocked his head. “Careful.”
“Of course. There it is.”
“What?”
“The minute an emotion you’d rather not name enters the conversation, you get your back up and reach for the nearest weapon.”
“People have a habit of naming emotions just before they use them as weapons.”
Bishop dragged a hand over his face. For the first time, he looked tired. “That has been your experience, hasn’t it?”
Lloyd swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it swirl off the crystal walls.
“It’s a deep-seated reflex. Your defenses only lower so far. I can see that now. What I doubt you can see, though I can’t imagine you don’t feel it, is how much that costs you.”
He wanted to walk away. Unfortunately, dignity required him to finish this conversation.
“Drop your guard, Lloyd. For pity’s sake, it’s not helping you. In fact, from where I’m sitting, it’s doing a clear amount of damage. GLP-1s my right foot.”
Lloyd’s jaw tightened. Across the room, Princess laughed again. He didn’t look. He didn’t need to. The sound moved through him, bright and warm and impossible to keep out.
“You’ve become someone I trust. You earned it year by year. I thought you had stopped cutting yourself loose the moment something mattered. Apparently, it was only a temporary pause.”
“Is this the part where you tell me I’ve disappointed you?”
“No. This is the part where I tell you that you’ve made a terrible decision and you’re falling back into old habits. You’re looking for isolation, the place you’ve always associated with safety. Understandable, but the exact opposite of what you really need.”
Rage flashed through him, but Lloyd buried it. “Bravo. So inspiring.”
“And off the cuff. Zero prep,” Bishop said, flashing his eyebrows.
Despite his irritation, Lloyd smiled.
Bishop picked up his soda. “You aren’t the same man who called me from Fleury-Mérogis. You worked very hard to be better than that. But tonight, you look remarkably like him.”
“And what would you have me do about that?”
“Stop pretending to be noble. You are many things, Lloyd, but noble isn’t one of them, so cast off that fiction. After that? The only direction is up.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Half an hour later, Princess slipped out of the reception hall through the French doors leading to the patio. Lloyd watched her go. Unfortunately, Bishop’s little sermon had lodged itself under his skin, so he waited a beat, then followed.
He glimpsed her disappearing down the garden path as he stepped onto the patio. Lloyd paused long enough that his pursuit wouldn’t be obvious to anyone watching from the hall, then followed at a distance. He skirted around the well-lit patches and adjusted his pace to maintain the gap between them. Shadowing her across the garden was almost concerningly easy.
At the eastern edge of the property, she entered a small greenhouse. Lloyd hesitated outside, watching her silhouette move behind the glass. For a man who had, more than once, lied convincingly while a loaded gun was held to his head, he was taking an absurd amount of time to gather his nerves. The greenhouse door opened easily, and warm, damp air wrapped around him. Inside it smelled of soil and peat moss with the faint rot of decomposing leaves. The door closed behind him with an audible click.
Princess stood in the center aisle with her back to him. She didn’t turn or stiffen when the door closed, didn’t look to see who’d come in.
“I wondered how long you were going to stand out there.”
“I was deciding whether coming in would make this situation better or worse.”
She turned to face him. “And you landed on…?”
“I’m thinking I landed on the wrong answer.”
“You didn’t look at me the entire ceremony. I figured you’d sit at the bar pretending not to notice me for the rest of the night, then slink home telling yourself you did the right thing.”
Lloyd’s jaw flexed. “You brought Marco as your date.”
Her chin lifted. “And?”
“I’m trying to decide if that was a statement, a punishment, or a lapse in taste.”
“He asked me to come. I accepted.”
Lloyd’s lip curled. “You expect me to believe it was that simple? You knew how this would come across.”
“He asked, I accepted. Not everything is about you.”
“How convenient.”
“Marco is fun. He’s easy to be around and our conversations don’t leave me feeling exhausted.”
“High praise.”
“It is, actually.”
Lloyd sneered, annoyed at the small victory she’d just won. His gaze dropped to her throat. The pearls nearly glowed in the dimly lit greenhouse.
“You wore my pearls on a date with another man.”
“They aren’t yours. You gave them to me.”
“Still feels like a low blow.”
“Again: not everything I do is a message to you,” Princess said.
Her bluntness annoyed him, almost as much as how she stood there wearing his gift, refusing to look guilty for it.
She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes I just wear things because they’re mine.”
Lloyd dropped the point and moved towards safer ground. “What we had was temporary. We both agreed to that in the beginning. You were getting too attached.”
Her brow arched. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I was hoping repetition might yield something slightly less insulting than what I thought I heard.”
“It wasn’t an insult,” Lloyd said. “It’s the truth, and you know it. You were centering your life around me, making room for things no rational person would.”
“Rational…person…do you want to stick with that phrasing?”
He let his silence speak for itself.
“Say what you mean, Lloyd.”
“Our relationship wasn’t even a real relationship. We were friends with benefits. You loved me, and I let you, without ever saying it in return. That wasn’t healthy. It was hurting you. It was going to keep hurting you. We couldn’t go on that way.”
“You never even asked me!”
His mouth flattened.
Princess stepped toward him, eyes flashing. “Don’t try to dress this up like our relationship ended by random chance. You ended it. You decided we were done. There was no conversation where I got to say my piece or tell you what I was willing to live with. You chose this. I had no say in it.”
“You weren’t going to leave me. Any sensible woman would have looked at the situation and run as far away from me as possible, but you weren’t going to do it, so I did.”
The words spewed out, escaping without his permission. Princess went still, and Lloyd couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. For a moment she stared at him, flat and unemotional. Then her features creased into fury.
He tried to head off whatever was coming by offering another layer of defense.
“There was no version of this where I remained in your life and didn’t eventually contaminate it.”
For a moment, she stared at him, eyes glittering with wrath. Then she laughed, disbelief echoing off the glass walls.
“You really believe that absolves you?!”
“I’m not asking for absolution!”
“No, you’re presenting your feelings as if they’re facts. And you’re so wrapped up in yourself that you actually believe this…this bullshit!”
Lloyd twisted his neck, flexing his jaw. Princess wasn’t done.
“You’ve really made yourself an authority on what my life should look like. I told you I loved you, and you didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. You left it alone because bringing it up would’ve forced you to take a position. I didn’t push. I knew you weren’t ready. I told myself you’d get used to being loved and eventually, you’d admit what we both knew.” Her eyes flashed. “You used that patience against me. Instead of treating me as an equal, you decided what I was allowed to risk, how much I could survive. You decided you had the right to end the relationship for both of us because you were scared.”
Despite the muggy heat of the enclosure, Lloyd went cold. “That’s not what happened.”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
“I removed myself from a situation that had become untenable.”
“You left me. Say it plainly if you’re going to stand there and make a legal argument out of my heartbreak. You didn’t protect me. You overruled me.”
Lloyd’s expression hardened. “Love doesn’t make me a safe person to be around.”
“I never said it did.”
“Wanting you doesn’t make keeping you defensible.”
“You keep saying that as if you were the only person in the relationship capable of understanding risk.”
“I was the risk.”
“Nice. You call yourself the risk and somehow still end up as the only person qualified to manage it. Careful. You’re almost making it sound like leaving me was something that happened to you. Irrational, really. And here I thought that was my department.”
He shuttered his expression, but not quickly enough. Princess saw that her barb had drawn blood. Her tone softened.
“That’s the part you’re refusing to see. You keep talking about leaving like you did the hard, disciplined thing. Like you put out a dumpster fire that was about to engulf the building. But in reality, you did it because you knew how.”
He was confused. “What?”
“You had a parachute. You knew how to leave and survive it. I couldn’t do that. I can’t love you less because it would be safer. I can’t turn it off, I don’t get to walk away. That’s the difference between us. You could walk away and still remain yourself. I can’t sever something so essential from my life and be okay. That’s something you’re capable of, not me.”
Lloyd looked away.
“Was it easy?”
“No.” The word slipped out before he could twist it into something less revealing.
“Then say you regret it.”
He stiffened, skin prickling with an uncomfortable awareness.
“Say you were wrong.”
For a second, he was close enough to the truth that he could feel the shape of it in his mouth. Yes. That would be the honest answer. His throat worked as he swallowed down something thick and bitter.
“I regret what it did to you,” he said.
Princess tilted her head, eyes lowering to his chest. There was no disappointment or surprise in her expression. Somehow that was worse.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed.
Her gaze collided with his and the hollowness he found there cut straight to his heart. He could fight fire with fire, but he didn’t know what to do with this. It felt final. Like their relationship, their friendship, had been pronounced beyond resuscitation.
“If the circumstances were different…” he began.
“They’re not circumstances, Lloyd. They’re choices.”
“It sounds simple when you put it like that, but I swear, it wasn’t.”
“You keep defending a choice I can’t understand. I’ve tried. I’m done trying.”
Lloyd closed his eyes. “There were things you didn’t know.”
“Then you should have told me.” She sounded tired.
“They were things you didn’t need to carry,” he said.
“Again, that wasn’t your decision.”
“It was mine if I was the burden.”
“No. You don’t get to do that. Don’t hurt me and tell me you’re sparing me from something worse. I loved you, and you shoved me out of your life because of it.”
Lloyd’s chest squeezed. There it was. The opening. The chance to apologize, to restore things to their natural state. He wanted it so badly he could feel the words pressing against his teeth. Princess saw it. That was the problem with them. He could hold back the words, but not the truth.
She sighed. “That’s what I mean. You keep bringing me almost. Almost honesty. Almost choosing me. If you want me, say it.”
Please come back. Forgive me.
The words burned in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t get any further. His lips were sealed against them. They were humiliating and ugly with need. He didn’t know how to get past this moment without showing the soft underbelly he’d spent a lifetime guarding.
He didn’t speak. Not because he didn’t want to, and not because he didn’t know what to say. Because he physically couldn’t.
Er mah gerd! Any time I see a chapter of this I try to stop immediately and read because I KNOW the story and the writing will be 5⭐️. The ANGST. The snippet of this Lloyd in prison had me all 😲. And the confrontation between him and Princess is CHEF’S KISS. Love love love!
But you trying to call Steve his full name with intended scolding impact and he's just:
Warnings: Implied injuries. Please let me know if I missed any.
"Steven Grant Rogers!"
Normally when someone hears their full name from their partner they know their in trouble. But for Steve, it's a sign of life and love.
It started when he woke up in the hospital after a particularly rough mission. You were the nurse in charge of his care and gave him a lecture when you saw his eyes open.
"Steve Grant Rogers! Don't ever scare us like that again. You need to take better care of yourself!"
Steve smiled softly, certain you wouldn't be yelling at a dying patient.
After he healed up, he brought you flowers as a thank you. After every mission, he asked for you. Every time you patched him up, he brought you flowers. You were the only one surprised when he asked you out.
From then on, every time you used his full name was when you were trying to be mad at him.
Buying you the expensive dress you'd been looking at but weren't sure you could pull it off?
"Steven Grant Rogers!"
Blowing off his meetings so he could be your shoulder to cry on after a rough day?
"Steven Grant Rogers!"
Setting up a very intimate picnic at the local botanical gardens so he could propose surrounded by your favorite flowers?
"Steven Grant Rogers!"
He doesn't fear hearing his full name from you. He never will. Because he knows you only say it when he's done something right.
With super soldier serum in their veins. How long the are keeping you up at night?
Summary: You lose a bet. Again.
Warnings: Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!
"Oh Sweetie, did you really think we'd take it easy on you?" Bucky teases as you whimper underneath him.
"You bet you could keep up with both of us until we were too tired," Steve sasses as he watches Bucky eagerly using your overly-sensitive pussy. "It wouldn't be fair for us to hold back."
Pouting is made difficult by how brain dead you're feeling.
"Good thing we've got a long weekend to take advantage of," Bucky grunts as he watches your breasts bounce.
Steve reaches between your bodies and starts playing with your clit making you keen.
"Pretty sure she's going to need a week to recover from this. Remember last time?"
Bucky's smile widens. "How could I forget? That was the weekend the twins were conceived."
"Wonder if we can get triplets this time," Steve smirks.
A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Caretaker stress, Implied smut, School stress. Please let me know if I missed any.
Previous
Series Masterlist; Tech Tuesdays Masterlist
It's finals week at the university. You can tell because of the lack of available tables at the cafe. It took a bit, but, with Jefferson's help, you and the student employees found a rhythm that worked for everyone. Things were kept clean, the pastries never ran out, and the tips kept coming.
Considering how many books the students had covering desks, you were even more grateful to be going to school part-time instead of full-time. Sure, accounting could be boring and the textbooks dense, but at least you didn't have five essays due on history, literature, science and current events.
There have also been a fair number of mental breakdowns at the cafe. Jefferson assures you it's not unheard of and, so long as your work gets done and the person consents to it, you can help them out. You can't believe the number of young people who just really need a hug. It makes you wonder about asking the university to get some therapy dogs on campus this time of year.
The bell at the front door rings and you get back into work mode.
You recognize the man approaching the counter. Last time he was here he was asking for any and all red velvet macarons. He was polite, even if everything about his demeanor screamed "grump" so you didn't mind giving him the discount reserved for end-of-shift foodstuffs sold. Jefferson reassured you that withholding that discount for rude customers was always allowed.
"Hi there!" you greet him. "Did your friend like the macarons?"
The man's grumpy demeanor instantly melted into a beaming smile. "She did," he answers. "In fact, I'm here to get more for her."
"Wonderful! Let me just---"
A small black kitten peeking out from the man's hoodie jacket stops you in your tracks.
"Oh my gosh!" you whisper scream. The man's smile drops and he looks about to panic. "It's so cute!" you reassure, keeping him calm. "So long as it stays in your jacket and you don't stick around, I think we can allow the critter."
The man breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, so much! She just adopted me the other day and I didn't want to just leave her in the car."
"I can see why she adopted you," you giggle. "Just the red velvets today?"
"Do you have anything that's orange cranberry?"
"We do," you confirm, eyebrows raised in surprise. It's not a common request. "Just muffins, though."
"That's perfect! A few of those as well, please."
As you're gathering up the order, one of the students brings over her refillable mug for the fifth time since she came in. While there's no official cutoff for customers, Jefferson trusts you to not let someone make themselves sick. A few times you've had to ask people if they'd like a free cup of water or two.
The man tries to move so that the kitten is hidden, a fact you appreciate. But when the creature lets out a tiny mew, it instantly gets everyone's attention.
"Oh my gosh!" the student coos. "Can I pet her? Please! I just want to pet her, just for a sec!"
"I don't know that she'll let you," the man responds. "She's fresh from the vet and hasn't been around people long."
"You got picked, didn't you!" Her voice is getting the attention of other patrons.
The man blushes a little. "Yes, the Cat Distribution System picked me."
The student starts bouncing on her toes. "Please, please, please, let me try to pet her!"
You bring the items to the counter, interrupting the conversation. Looking over at the student you whisper, "animals aren't allowed in here, so we're trying to get him out of here quickly. Don't want him to get in trouble, right?"
Her eyes widen as her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I wasn't thinking!"
"It's okay," he nods. "Just gonna get my stuff and get out of here."
"And then I'll get you your refill," you promise her.
The bell chimes again and your smile widens when you see Bucky walk in. Though he can't visit as frequently as when you were at your old workplace, he makes sure to stop by every so often for some quick flirting. Thankfully, though the place is technically full, it's quiet and you'll actually get some time to talk with him.
Ringing up the man's order, you find yourself acting as a slight barrier between him and the student who's adamantly trying to get a photo of the kitten peeking out from his jacket. You're able to distract her as he turns towards the door by asking her what kind of coffee she'd like for her refill. You're so focused on her that you don't realize the man and Bucky have frozen in place.
"Everett," Bucky greets coldly.
"Barnes," the man replies.
"You better not be getting my girl into trouble."
"Never my intention, even if I'd known she was your girl."
Bucky nods, as does the other man, before they pass each other.
The student walks back to her desk, fresh cup of coffee in hand, as Bucky takes her place.
"That guy with the kitten wasn't causing you trouble, right?" he asks.
"No, of course not," you shake your head, brows furrowed. "He's a grump, but he's a polite grump."
Bucky nods, "he's also a coworker I have beef with."
Taking a mental inventory you remember Steve mentioning that there's a feud between Bucky and a coworker. "Curtis?" you ask tentatively.
"That's him," Bucky confirms. "The guy keeps trying to push changes to the platform that don't mesh with the legacy coding we need to keep active for users."
"Which means more work for you?"
"More work that could be avoided if he'd take the time to learn the old stuff," Bucky rolls his eyes. "But he keeps talking about the futility of learning an extinct language."
"Sounds rough," you empathize. You have no idea the actual mechanics involved, but you can understand the pain of people making your work more difficult because they refuse to learn something. "Now what can I get you, handsome?"
Bucky gives you the kind of smile that has your heart and pussy fluttering. "Gotta be honest, what I'm craving ain't on the menu. But I suppose I can order the sweetest thing you've got to hold me over until I can get what I really want."
Chuckling as heat rushes to your face you lean over the counter to give him a kiss. "Keep talking like that and I might have to take you to the manager's office."
His eyes widen a little. "You really can be a wild one, can't ya?"
"Just how you like," you wink. "Now let me go get you something sweet to stave off the craving until we get some time alone tonight."
"Oh Sweetie," he breathes. "You're going to be the death of me and I'll be all the happier for it."
Awwwww, I love it! I know this is Bucky and his girl, but I love the appearance of Curtis! And the CDS! I literally adopted a new kitty yesterday after my boy passed in February, so I appreciate trying to keep the kitten on the down low. Super cute installment! 😘
Summary: A morning walk leads to an unexpected encounter.
A/N: Reader is female, nickname Bubbles. No physical descriptors used.
Warnings: References to bad parenting. Please let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: ~1k
"Why are we doing this again?" Ransom grouses for the third time since you woke up.
"Because early morning walks are good for us," you reply, unable to keep the exhaustion out of your voice. "We work very sedentary jobs and we need to get in some exercise wherever we can. Besides, the park is nice and quiet this time of day!"
"Right, nice," Ransom grumbles, eyeing all the people walking their dogs.
"Besides, it's either this or we hit the gym," you counter. "I'm sure you'd look amazing in a workout getup, but I'm not interested. So, walking it is."
Ransom's cheeks turn pink at the praise before he pivots. "Are you sure? I wouldn't mind seeing you in some skimpy workout clothes."
"Raaaaan," you playfully smack at him, your own cheeks burning.
"Just telling the truth," he smirks.
"Regardless, walking is good for us and it gets us outside. It's a mental and physical wellness exercise. Especially if we get to play with some of the puppies!" Ransom rolls his eyes at the last one. "I know you don't like dogs," you continue. "That's why I'm never gonna push for us to adopt one or anything. But I love them and this is a nice chance to indulge on that, you know?"
He faces away from you at that. He hates the idea that he's the reason you're not as happy as you could be. In truth, he didn't hate dogs, he just hated Harlan's dogs. Hated how his mother clearly preferred them to him. Hated how often Harlan would tell him he should be happier, more content, like the dogs. As if he wouldn't be mocked and humiliated for being too easy going, making himself a target, not being tough enough to survive the world.
Ransom's broken out of his thoughts by you cooing at a nearby dog.
"Is it okay if I pet them?" you ask the presumed owner.
"He's a bit shy, but if you go slow, he might let you," they explain.
Your heart melts as the puppy does seem curious, but hesitant. Crouching down, you hold out your hand for them to sniff and see if he likes you. The puppy, you think it's a corgi, takes tiny steps towards you, sniffing the air around your hand, investigating carefully.
Ransom's heart unexpectedly twists at the sight. It reminds him of how he was when the two of you first met. Needing that touch, that connection, but hesitant to accept it. He remembers how patient you've always been with him. When he told you he wasn't a hugger, you respected that. When he told you about his past, you didn't try to make it a competition or tell him he needed to get over it.
The puppy gives your hand a little lick and you can barely contain your excitement. "Good boy! Oh, such a good boy!" Your smile grows as you see his tail wag. Reaching out, you give him some pets. The tail wagging gets a little faster but he moves away from your hand. Respecting the puppy's choice you take your hand back and step away.
"Thank you so much," you tell the owner. "I really appreciate you letting me pet them."
"I'm just happy to see them responding so well to someone," they tell you. "They're up for adoption. I work at the animal shelter and take the dogs for walks to see about getting them some exercise, getting them used to being on a leash, and the like."
"Awww!" you put your hand over your heart. As sweet as they are, you're now a little embarrassed because, how are you supposed to tell them you can't adopt the puppy that responded so well to you?
"What's their name?" Ransom asks, startling you.
Looking over at him, he's standing still as a statue, looking down at the tiny puppy that decided to lay down on his shoes while looking up at him.
"Biscoff," the dog walker replies with a beaming smile.
Your breath catches as your hands fling to your face in surprise. You don't dare to hope, but you can't help it. It's perfect for him! But only if he wants it. Ransom's relationship with dogs isn't the best.
Carefully, Ransom leans down and picks up the tiny puppy. When Biscoff is close enough, he licks Ransom's nose and wags his tail with a small whine. You swear your heart is about to burst from how cute the image is. Ransom looks back and forth between you and Biscoff and, though he has his hesitations, he knows what he needs to do.
Setting Biscoff down, the puppy begins whining and gently pawing Ransom's shoes.
"What's the shelter name?" Ransom asks, taking out his phone.
You jump for joy as the dog walker gives Ransom the information he'll need.
"I don't have everything I need to take care of him, so I can't adopt just yet," Ransom says for your sake as much as the excited dog walker's. "But if you could let the shelter know to...put a hold on him or something, I'd be...grateful."
"Sure thing! Let me just get some info so they can call you to confirm, discuss the adoption fee, and all that!"
Ransom nods, not entirely sure of his decision. It's a big step for him, taking care of another living being. Sure, he's babysat the Twins, but this is something very different.
But when he looks into the eyes of that puppy, a puppy that chose him, he feels the need to step up. Not just for Biscoff, either. Seeing the pride in your eyes, he knows he's doing this for you as well. And maybe himself. He'll have to talk to his therapist about that later.
For now, he's gotta get some pet supplies. He's certain you'll be happy to help him shop.
Too freaking cute, Zombie! I love Bubbles’s emotional intelligence and how she uses it with everyone around her. She’s one of my favorites! And of course, prickly!Ransom becoming an un-cactus is just perfect! 😘
Summary: You awaken to a bouquet of blue roses, signalling you've been selected to be a Bride for one of the King's Secret Service.
A/N: Reader is female, plus sized. No other physical descriptors used.
A/N2: Part of the King's Secret Service AU.
Word Count: ~2.3k
Warnings: Forced marriage, Implied violence. Please let me know if I missed any!
Life in your little town was pleasant enough. Sure, there were troubles, every place has them. But your town was full of delightful people who looked out for each other, especially in lean times.
Your father, a baker, taught you by example. Not only did you learn how to bake anything and everything he did, but you learned the importance of keeping both the ovens and your heart from going cold. The most important thing he taught is the different times you would need for baking. The time it takes to make a perfect loaf and the time needed to make a loaf just burnt enough that you can convince the widow down the road that you can't sell it and you'd hate to see it go to waste. The time it takes for the fruit in a pie to perfectly melt together and the time it takes for a pie to cool before you can sneak pieces to the local kids.
Sure, technically his apprentice, Peter, was supposed to inherit his work, but he'd made sure to teach you, too. His excuse was that you were already so curious he figured he should teach you before you got hurt trying to learn for yourself. It also didn't hurt that you were expected to marry Peter so knowing how to help him work the bakery was the least you could do to be a good wife.
If only you and Peter cared for each other like that. The two of you kept the truth of your feelings to yourselves for the sake of your father and the town's expectations. You were good friends, but neither of you felt love for each other. Not like he had for MJ, at least.
You can't blame Peter for feeling for her. She was absolutely gorgeous and fearless. She was one of the few people who would pick blue flowers in defiance of the superstition that doing so risked the eye of the King of Kalva's Secret Service. She'd wear them in her hair much to the chagrin of the town elders. It's not that she didn't think they existed, but that the odds of being left a bouquet of blue roses in your sleep and being taken as a wife by one of the KSS were so minimal you shouldn't let fear of it dictate aspects of your life. You admired her for that, as did Peter.
There was quite a hubbub of activity that morning. Even as you and your father woke up well before most other people in town. The smell of smoke was in the air, tainted with hints of burnt leather. People were excitedly pointing at a plume of smoke, barely visible in the predawn hours. Something horrible must have happened!
The town mayor sent a couple of runners to carefully head towards the source of the smoke to learn what happened and if the alarms should be raised. A wildfire could be fought but only if caught early.
"We best get to baking," Father tells you, putting his hand on your shoulder. "No matter what it is, there's gonna be a lot of hungry people and we don't want to have to turn anyone away."
"Yes, Father," you nod as you help him get things started. You're not surprised Peter is running late, given the hubbub, but it still feels like a poor sign of his understanding of the role of baker in the town.
A couple hours later the runners come back and they're joined by an official bearing King Wilson's crest on his uniform. All activity in the town seems to pause as a formal announcement is awaited. You accidentally burn so many loaves Father chuckles about making sure the orphanage is well fed today. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at your obvious lack of discipline. Sure, the food won't be wasted, but it's bread that could be sold to the King's men! You don't want them to think your Father has nothing to sell or that all his wares are unremarkable.
"It's okay," he reassures with a smile. "I'm glad to see that you've still got that curiosity that comes with youth. I've been kinda worried being stuck with me and Peter in the ovens would make you shut down."
You smile back, but your cheeks are still burning with shame. You shake your head and set yourself to focus.
Not long after, the Mayor makes a formal announcement to the town. You and yours have to hear about it second hand because, no matter what's happening in the world, there's still work to be done. Apparently there was an attempt by an enemy kingdom to teleport their forces into Kalva's more remote areas to attack from. Thankfully, the King's Mages sensed the disturbance and sent out some of the Secret Service to dispose of them. The pillar of smoke is all that's left.
The town becomes astir with talk and gossip after that. MJ is making a point of putting more blue flowers in hair and some of her friends are even daring to wear a bit of blue ribbon, as if demanding the superstitions play out or go away. Many more are singing songs of praise to the forces unseen that protected the town and keep the people from having to send their sons into war. Some of the elders are putting together bundles to leave in the town square as gifts to the Secret Service. A tradition for such things.
Meanwhile, you are taking all of the things that didn't sell today and giving them away. You make sure to start with those who are most in need. Today's events make for a good cover, and many accept the free treats with your confession that today's distractions made them less than perfect for selling. Another thing you learned from Father, the admission of mistakes doesn't have to be a bad thing. It warms your heart to see how many people are fawning over your mini pies and cakes that didn't look pretty enough to sell.
By the time you get home, you're ready to collapse into bed and sleep away the day's exhaustion.
Your body starts to wake out of force of habit more than anything else. But something is off. It takes a moment for your brain to become aware of what that "off" feeling is. There's something light laying on top of you.
Mouser? you think to yourself, thinking it might be the cat Father keeps. But Mouser doesn't feel so light, she's kept fat by all the rodents the bakery attracts.
You manage to open your eyes and that's when you see a bouquet of blue roses gently resting on your stomach.
The joy and excitement that animated the town yesterday is now gone, replaced by disbelief and sadness. The ovens are not being lit today as Father hasn't stopped crying. The townsfolk all try to be happy for you, and you try to be grateful for their well wishes and wedding gifts. Peter and MJ even stop by, for once she's not wearing blue flowers.
"I feel like I brought this on you," she confesses. "I swear, I didn't mean for you to get to picked."
"I know, I know," you promise. "And, hey, now you have proof that, while the superstitions aren't real, they're based in some kind of fact, right?"
"It still doesn't feel right," she sniffles. "It should have been me, not you."
You give her a small smile. "Just take care of Peter and Father for me as much as you can?"
She nods and gifts you a small bag. "Sunflower seeds, to make sure the sun goes with you wherever you go."
"Thank you," you smile sincerely and hug her.
That night, you prepare yourself with a hot bath and put on your finest clothes. If you're going to be married, you might as well look your best, right?
Dinner is a small affair, just you and Father. He tells you all the things he wished he'd done differently in your upbringing, to give you a better life. All the things he's going to miss when you are gone. You respond in kind. It is a tear filled meal as you share wishes, wants, and, most importantly, memories. Happy, sad, silly. The memories will keep you together, even when you're physically apart.
You're not surprised Father insists on staying up with you. If the stories are to be believed, he won't actually see what happens. He'll just blink and you'll be gone. You've packed up your things, along with the gifts given to you by the townsfolk. You're about as ready as you can be. Unsure of what will happen, you light a lantern and continue exchanging memories with Father. It's about as peaceful a way to pass the time as you can get.
A shift in the air is the only warning you get before the world freezes around you. The flame stops flickering, the crickets go silent, Father's tear stops mid fall.
To your right, a purple-blue doorway opens up in the middle of nothing, startling you. You stand, willing yourself to face this head on, despite the fear.
Out of the doorway comes a well dressed man with a mop of brown hair and wild blue eyes. He looks around before poking his head back through the portal and gesturing for someone to follow him.
Another man walks through and your breath hitches. He is bigger and taller than any man you've ever seen before. He's covered in layers of knit clothing, unfit for the summer season you're in. What little you can see of his skin is the color of snow. You look into his eyes and they make you think of the ice covered lake people skate on in winter.
"You...you are to be my husband?" you guessed allowed.
"I am," he replies with a nod. His voice is deep, tinged with something akin to sadness.
"Can we hurry this up?" the brown haired man interjects. "These portals can be quite the drain on the system."
You snap to attention and start grabbing your things but your husband stops you. "I will carry everything," he promises as he starts picking up your bags. You try to protest that it's too much, but he carries everything as if it weighs nothing. When he has it all, he motions to the other man who sets down a small chest on your bed. The bride price.
Kissing the top of Father's head, you will yourself to follow your husband through the portal.
You find yourself in a small field, surrounded by mountains. There are a handful of houses as well as a cave. At the center of it all, a small lake that is likely the main water source. Your husband starts walking towards to one of the small houses and all you can think to do is follow.
There's a pit forming in your stomach as you remember what is expected of a bride on her wedding night. At least when you were expected to marry Peter, you knew he'd be kind, maybe even gentle with you. This stranger exudes roughness, making you shiver with fear as much as cold.
"Grab the lantern," your husband softly orders, gesturing to the light right outside the door of the house. You do so and follow him inside. "Use that lantern to help you start a fire."
You give him a quizzical look. Is this a test?
He carefully sets down your things. "I cannot light a fire," he explains. "I am a cursed creature of the coldest ice. All of my attempts fail. You cannot see in the dark so one of the other brides lit the lantern for you."
Your brain tries to process what he is saying, but you know it would take too long and you're feeling cold. Setting to work, you start preparing the fireplace with wood and kindling. It takes a few minutes, but your father trained you well when it comes to starting a controlled fire and you are rewarded with light and heat.
Crouching next to you, your husband lets out a relieved sigh.
"My name is Curtis," he tells you. "I know you have many questions, and I will answer as I am able."
"Curtis," you repeat to yourself. An odd name, but you don't want to forget it. "What...what is expected of me?"
"Warmth," he answers. "I am cold incarnate and it hurts so much. I crave heat, softness, warmth but I cannot produce them on my own. Make this house your home, fill it with warmth. Share my bed, let me hold your softness, keep me warm under the blankets."
"I...I've never lain with a man before," you confess.
"And I do not mean for you to share my bed in that way, unless you truly want to," he replies, gently caressing your cheek with his icy hand. You give him a confused look and he explains, "I have no desire for such things, but I am able to provide them, should you want. I only need a soft source of warmth to hold on to. In return, I will give you just about anything you ask. Food, shelter, books, ingredients, seeds, yarn, string, whatever you want to keep yourself busy or happy. I will also make sure you never experience a nightmare again."
"Thank you, Curtis."
"Now ask the question you really want to ask," he gently orders.
"Why me?"
"I am the embodiment of cold. Only someone who embodies warmth and sunshine could ever warm me. And that is you."
"Surely I'm not," you try to protest.
"You are," he gently counters. "I can feel the warmth of your body and your soul. You can warm me. And you will."
Oh wow, this wasn’t at all what I expected when I reread your original post of the world. I love that she was picked because of her warmth (internal and external). It’s gorgeous!
Summary: As Mike's internship comes to a close, he's faced with some important questions.
A/N: Mike is from Hellraiser: Hellworld. If you need an idea as to what his character is like, I highly recommend this gif set.
Warnings: Age gap (Reader is 10+years older than Mike), Alcohol consumption, Bad parents, Drunkenness, Power imbalance. Please let me know if I missed any!
Previous
Series Masterlist; Tech Tuesday Masterlist
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Dad asks, his tone stern.
"The job I've been interning at? They offered me a job," Mike shrugs.
"I'm offering you a cushy job in a corner office where you won't actually have to do the work."
"Yeah, and I...I don't wanna be, y'know, ungrateful or whatever. But, I already got a job."
"Huh," Dad blinks. "Well just remember, you're still representing the family so dress sharp and do well."
"You got it!"
"Now head out before I call my assistant. Gotta figure out what this payment to the flower shop is all about."
"Oh, it was Valentine's this weekend," Mike explains. "Doesn't she normally get Mom flowers for you?"
Dad blinks a few times. "It was Valentine's already? Huh. Feels like it comes by earlier and earlier each year."
He shakes his head and motions for Mike to leave his home office.
Out in the living area of the penthouse, Mike spies a giant bundle of fresh flowers in the garbage. Mom must've already gotten in her social media photos showing them off and bragging. All the stuff she needs to make people think she's living her best life.
She walks up to him, glass of wine in her hand. "So, you think you're better than me and your brother?"
"What?"
"Going out on your own? Getting a real job instead of the job your father gets for you? You think you're better than us?" she seethes.
"No, of course not," he shakes his head, not making eye contact. Eye contact with Mom is taken as a challenge by her.
She huffs. "Damn right you're not. Won't be long before you're begging him for spending money like the rest of us. Debasing yourself for the bare minimum of attention. Losing yourself to his control over you."
Mike doesn't answer, just keeps his head down. This time of year is always tricky with her. Best to keep quiet and let her rant until she finds another target or needs to refill her wine.
When she finally slogs off for her next bottle, Mike hurries to his room. He really should have moved out already but he's gotta get the funds. Maybe someday he can move in with his Boss Lady. The thought makes him smile. But first, he's gotta get ready for their first date!
First date jitters were something you haven't experienced in such a long time. And certainly not to such an extreme. Not only is it a potential new relationship, but it's the first time you're with someone significantly younger.
What if you're a disappointment? You've never been any guy's first choice, why would that change with Mike?
Well, at least you and Mike have gotten to know each other a little bit before trying to date. That's something, right?
The two of you agreed to go to the same club where Maggie had taken you previously. It was an attempt to not feel so out of place, to know that you weren't getting disapproving looks and the like. Plus, you asked Maggie if she was willing to be at the club in case something went wrong. Sure, Mike acts like such a sweet puppy, but you still need to be careful.
Sitting at the table and waiting for him gives you even more time to contemplate how many ways you can screw this up.
You're startled out of your thoughts by a small bouquet of gladiolas.
"Hi! I remember you saying how much you love gladiolas, but also that you're allergic to them so I got you some fake ones! I hope that's okay."
"I love them," you answer truthfully, beaming at the beautiful bouquet. It's incredible that, with just one gift, Mike shows that he's paying attention to your wants and needs. You're not sure you've had that before. At least not without expressly saying what it is you were wanting.
Mike sighs in relief before sitting across from you.
You lean forward a little, resting your elbows on the table and notice how his eyes are immediately drawn to your breasts. He catches himself and sheepishly looks into your eyes, gently biting his lower lip.
Trying to hide how much the look affected you, you smirk, "I think it's important we set up some...boundaries? Expectations? We work in the same building and it wasn't that long ago I was your boss. I want to be sure we're not breaking rules or getting either of us in trouble."
"Okay, yeah, that makes sense," he nods. He looks like he's scared he's already doing things wrong. Something you can truly relate to.
You gently take his hand. "It's okay," you coo. "We're both a little out of our depth here and that's why I want to make sure we're careful. Don't want to trip over a divot we could've seen coming."
Mike blushes a little at the touch. "I get it, I promise!"
"Thank you for that," you smile at him.
Truly you are grateful. How many men have bulldozed over your concerns? Called you frigid because you wanted boundaries? Demanded you make them your priority and never expect them to do the same for you?
"And I need you to know that you have agency here, too," you encourage. "It's not just me setting boundaries for the office, it's you as well. It's not just me getting my needs met, it's you too. You're allowed to tell me if you feel like I'm not giving you enough attention, or too much. If one of my boundaries or requests isn't fair to you."
Mike looks like he could cry. "I understand. And thank you! I've never really done the relationship thing before so I'm glad I've got you helping, leading the way and all that."
The next hour or so is spent talking, drinking a bit and snacking. Mike is eager to show off by regularly going to fetch you refills and you let yourself admire his posterior before he disappears into the crowd.
You're also not sure how it happened, but you find yourself sitting closer and closer to him, your chair moving inch by inch. Probably his chair as well, given how you're both placed now. The proximity is comforting, relaxing, safe. You even let yourself touch his arm more often, occasionally his leg. He leans into your touch when caress his cheek. You make sure to remind him he can tell you "no" at any time. He doesn't think he ever will.
By the time you're ready to call it a night, you make sure to make plans to meet up again. He looks like he wants to kiss you goodnight, but isn't sure how or if it would be appropriate. So you help him out by bringing him in for a deep, heated, passionate kiss like you've always wanted.
When you let go, he's got a dazed, but happy look on his face that makes you feel so damn sexy.
Summary: As Mike's internship comes to a close, he's faced with some important questions.
A/N: Mike is from Hellraiser: Hellworld. If you need an idea as to what his character is like, I highly recommend this gif set.
Warnings: Age gap (Reader is 10+years older than Mike), Alcohol consumption, Bad parents, Drunkenness, Power imbalance. Please let me know if I missed any!
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"What do you mean, 'no'?" Dad asks, his tone stern.
"The job I've been interning at? They offered me a job," Mike shrugs.
"I'm offering you a cushy job in a corner office where you won't actually have to do the work."
"Yeah, and I...I don't wanna be, y'know, ungrateful or whatever. But, I already got a job."
"Huh," Dad blinks. "Well just remember, you're still representing the family so dress sharp and do well."
"You got it!"
"Now head out before I call my assistant. Gotta figure out what this payment to the flower shop is all about."
"Oh, it was Valentine's this weekend," Mike explains. "Doesn't she normally get Mom flowers for you?"
Dad blinks a few times. "It was Valentine's already? Huh. Feels like it comes by earlier and earlier each year."
He shakes his head and motions for Mike to leave his home office.
Out in the living area of the penthouse, Mike spies a giant bundle of fresh flowers in the garbage. Mom must've already gotten in her social media photos showing them off and bragging. All the stuff she needs to make people think she's living her best life.
She walks up to him, glass of wine in her hand. "So, you think you're better than me and your brother?"
"What?"
"Going out on your own? Getting a real job instead of the job your father gets for you? You think you're better than us?" she seethes.
"No, of course not," he shakes his head, not making eye contact. Eye contact with Mom is taken as a challenge by her.
She huffs. "Damn right you're not. Won't be long before you're begging him for spending money like the rest of us. Debasing yourself for the bare minimum of attention. Losing yourself to his control over you."
Mike doesn't answer, just keeps his head down. This time of year is always tricky with her. Best to keep quiet and let her rant until she finds another target or needs to refill her wine.
When she finally slogs off for her next bottle, Mike hurries to his room. He really should have moved out already but he's gotta get the funds. Maybe someday he can move in with his Boss Lady. The thought makes him smile. But first, he's gotta get ready for their first date!
First date jitters were something you haven't experienced in such a long time. And certainly not to such an extreme. Not only is it a potential new relationship, but it's the first time you're with someone significantly younger.
What if you're a disappointment? You've never been any guy's first choice, why would that change with Mike?
Well, at least you and Mike have gotten to know each other a little bit before trying to date. That's something, right?
The two of you agreed to go to the same club where Maggie had taken you previously. It was an attempt to not feel so out of place, to know that you weren't getting disapproving looks and the like. Plus, you asked Maggie if she was willing to be at the club in case something went wrong. Sure, Mike acts like such a sweet puppy, but you still need to be careful.
Sitting at the table and waiting for him gives you even more time to contemplate how many ways you can screw this up.
You're startled out of your thoughts by a small bouquet of gladiolas.
"Hi! I remember you saying how much you love gladiolas, but also that you're allergic to them so I got you some fake ones! I hope that's okay."
"I love them," you answer truthfully, beaming at the beautiful bouquet. It's incredible that, with just one gift, Mike shows that he's paying attention to your wants and needs. You're not sure you've had that before. At least not without expressly saying what it is you were wanting.
Mike sighs in relief before sitting across from you.
You lean forward a little, resting your elbows on the table and notice how his eyes are immediately drawn to your breasts. He catches himself and sheepishly looks into your eyes, gently biting his lower lip.
Trying to hide how much the look affected you, you smirk, "I think it's important we set up some...boundaries? Expectations? We work in the same building and it wasn't that long ago I was your boss. I want to be sure we're not breaking rules or getting either of us in trouble."
"Okay, yeah, that makes sense," he nods. He looks like he's scared he's already doing things wrong. Something you can truly relate to.
You gently take his hand. "It's okay," you coo. "We're both a little out of our depth here and that's why I want to make sure we're careful. Don't want to trip over a divot we could've seen coming."
Mike blushes a little at the touch. "I get it, I promise!"
"Thank you for that," you smile at him.
Truly you are grateful. How many men have bulldozed over your concerns? Called you frigid because you wanted boundaries? Demanded you make them your priority and never expect them to do the same for you?
"And I need you to know that you have agency here, too," you encourage. "It's not just me setting boundaries for the office, it's you as well. It's not just me getting my needs met, it's you too. You're allowed to tell me if you feel like I'm not giving you enough attention, or too much. If one of my boundaries or requests isn't fair to you."
Mike looks like he could cry. "I understand. And thank you! I've never really done the relationship thing before so I'm glad I've got you helping, leading the way and all that."
The next hour or so is spent talking, drinking a bit and snacking. Mike is eager to show off by regularly going to fetch you refills and you let yourself admire his posterior before he disappears into the crowd.
You're also not sure how it happened, but you find yourself sitting closer and closer to him, your chair moving inch by inch. Probably his chair as well, given how you're both placed now. The proximity is comforting, relaxing, safe. You even let yourself touch his arm more often, occasionally his leg. He leans into your touch when caress his cheek. You make sure to remind him he can tell you "no" at any time. He doesn't think he ever will.
By the time you're ready to call it a night, you make sure to make plans to meet up again. He looks like he wants to kiss you goodnight, but isn't sure how or if it would be appropriate. So you help him out by bringing him in for a deep, heated, passionate kiss like you've always wanted.
When you let go, he's got a dazed, but happy look on his face that makes you feel so damn sexy.
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Bad parents, Fat shaming, Insecure reader. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.
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Ransom was kneeling in front of you, asking you to marry him. Giving you the first real choice in your entire relationship. He had chosen freely to propose, sharing the gift of freedom with you. Freedom from his mother's exacting requirements, freedom from your father's harshness. A truly free decision.
"I...I don't know," you confess. Ransom's face crumples and you quickly cup his face. "It's not that I don't appreciate that you have feelings for me, but, up until a few minutes ago, I genuinely thought you hated me. I was...resigned to a life unloved. I now know you do feel for me, care about me, and you've chosen me. This is an incredible whiplash and...please give me a minute to figure out my feelings?"
Ransom puts his hands over yours, silently pleading for you to stay, to say "yes," to be his.
Taking a deep breath you look him in the eyes. "For our entire 'relationship' every attempt I made to be nice, to talk, to try to find common ground, was met with scoffs, hateful looks, dismissive behaviors. You were mean to me. And that doesn't go away with a small speech about how you actually do care."
He looks like he's about to cry and you certainly feel the same.
"That said, I do believe you really care about me," you reassure. "And I...I do care about you. After meeting your family, I certainly have more empathy for why you are the way you are. But I cannot tell you that I'll marry you if I'm worried you'll fall back into old patterns."
"I won't," he quietly vows, shaking his head. "Every time I hurt you, even if it was on accident, it killed me. You know I don't like hurting, or even just being uncomfortable, so you can rely on me to never hurt you again. Because I'll only be hurting myself."
"Will you actually be good to me? Not just that you won't hurt me, but that you'll actually take care of me?"
"I will," he begs.
"Then marry me now. In the palace, in front of the Royal family," you demand. "Make your vows in the presence of those who will assuredly hold you to them."
Ransom smiles, relief written all over his face. "That was the plan, my beautiful Moonstone."
Your face softens and you lean down to kiss him.
While Her Majesty, Queen Rogers was out for business, the King and Prince Rogers were available and seemed pleased to oversee the marriage. Even Prince Rogers' betrothed, the Princess of Carga, agreed to help.
"It's nice to see the change in him," she tells you. "Last I saw he was a pompous ass making fun of a woman beneath him. Imagine my surprise when he was begging the Queen to help him keep you."
"He begged?" you gasp.
"Practically on his hands and knees," she confirms, whispering conspiratorially. "Normally I wouldn't be so supportive of such a spoiled brat, but it's clear he means to keep you."
"Thank you for telling me that," you shyly say. "It's still somewhat difficult to believe he actually wants me so hearing what he's done really helps.
"Her Majesty also took the liberty of calling your usual clothing designer. While they don't have anything that would be a 'traditional' wedding dress, they did agree to bring over several other dresses for you to choose from. And I've talked with Jonathan about getting you some flowers from the Royal Garden, whatever colors, flowers you want, they're yours."
You start to tear up and the Princess' smile drops.
"No, no, I'm okay," you reassure. "It's just...Linda had already made all the choices for our wedding. I...I had no say and now..."
"Now it's all your choice," she smiles, knowingly.
Prince Rogers is helping Ransom with his bow tie when he admits, "I'm impressed, Ransom. I never thought I'd see the day you'd humble yourself for...well, anything really."
"Neither did I," Ransom confesses.
"Father has had me looking at candidates for advisors for when I take over. I'm going to add you to the pile." Ransom stares at Steve, his confusion apparent. "In addition to having a better knack for detecting bullshit, you've shown you have the capacity to change your mind about something. I'm much more likely to trust your opinion not changing about something."
"Because if I didn't actually believe in my stance, I wouldn't keep it," Ransom nods.
"Exactly," Steve smiles. "It's not a guarantee of the position, of course. We'll see how things go for you and your diamond."
"Moonstone," Ransom corrects. "She's not a diamond in the rough that needs to be polished to be made pretty. She's pretty on her own, regardless of what society says her value is."
Steve's smile grows. "I'm proud of you."
You step into the chamber, followed closely by the Princess. The dress you chose from the options is simple, maybe even a little old fashioned, but you loved everything about it. Not to mention it went well with the chrysanthemums the gardeners brought you. Truly, you felt more beautiful than you have in some time.
And with how Ransom's eye's sparkle and his smile grows, you're fairly certain he likes your choices.
As you approach the King, Ransom takes your hand and kisses the back of it.
"My Lady," he breathes.
When he stands straight, he pulls out a small box. "I had these rings made in secret," he explains. "For us to wear when it was just the two of us. Both are made of meteorite but yours also has moonstone."
"Ransom!" you breathily exclaim. "They're perfect!"
"Just as you are," he smiles, cheeks tinted pink at the praise.
King Rogers performs the ceremony, several servants in attendance and taking photos, and you feel your heart racing. But, for once, it is not fear that drives it but happiness and anticipation. Though you are surrounded by strangers, it feels so much more intimate, relaxed, than if your families had been there. Part of you hopes your father chokes when he sees the wedding photos.
Your vows are those for an arranged marriage. Promises of fidelity, respect, care. Nothing of love. You're privately grateful for that. You're optimistic about your relationship developing into love, but right now these promises are a solid foundation for that growth.
For Ransom's part, he understands your hesitancy. If anything, it makes even more grateful that you said yes. He will spend the rest of his life making sure you never feel ugly or unloved ever again.
A/N: Reader is female, nickname Heart. No physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Abusive ex, Hospital setting. Please let me know if I missed any.
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Planning a date with Curtis was more fun than you were expecting. Then again, you weren't sure what to expect. It's been so long since you've done something like this, and you're not sure you've ever had such a start to a relationship. You actually know Curtis and he knows you. You're not strangers meeting via dating app or being set up by friends. You're two adults who got to know each other over gaming and decided to take the step towards a romantic relationship. Definitely not something you've ever done before. But, given how your previous relationships ended, maybe this is the approach you need to make it work, make it last.
The fact that you're going to an arcade is a very good sign, too. The two of you met through gaming so this feels like a way to stay in your comfort zones while taking a potentially scary step. Plus, the more relaxed atmosphere meant you didn't have to dress up more than you wanted to. Curtis has already seen you post-shift so you know he's okay with you looking less than perfect. Hell, you even had an excuse to not wear heels, even though you didn't need one. There's no way you're not getting Curtis to join you on a rhythm game. Maybe not Dance Dance Revolution, but something.
Not to say you're not dressing up a little. You've got your lucky earrings in and you've made sure to get your hair looking exactly how you like it. But no makeup or anything. Your cheeks heat up as you think you don't want your lipstick to streak on his lip piercing.
Curtis was jittery as he waited for you outside the arcade. He hasn't felt this kind of nervous excitement since waiting for you at the coffee shop to fix your computer. The fact that you seemed so eager at his suggestions for where to meet up, ideas for the date, has him more relaxed than he otherwise would be. Even your suggestion of taking a meal break at the bar next door instead of a "nice restaurant" was met with more enthusiasm than he was expecting.
It felt nice to know the two of you were so secure in your friendship that neither of you had to go all out to impress each other for a date. Sure, Curtis knows he'll be happy to go above and beyond to let you know you're wanted, appreciated. But the fact that you don't expect a fancy dinner, a night on the town, or whatever really helps him feel like he's making the right choice with you.
You greet each other with a smile and a hug. You swear you could get used to feeling Curtis' arms around you. There's a warmth to his touch you're not sure you've ever experienced before.
"Before we go in," he starts, eyes sparkling, "I gotta know if we're going to be working together or competing."
"Hmm," you playfully ponder, tilting your head. Curtis feels his heart skip a beat at how adorable you look. "I kinda like the idea of us pooling our tickets together. Either for one big prize or, perhaps, we'll have enough where we can both get something."
"It shall be done," he winks. You swear you could melt on the spot with how pretty he makes you feel.
The two of you lose track of time as you make the rounds through the various arcade games. Your conversation flows as easily as it does when you're online. Playful trash-talking during air hockey, earnest encouragement as you aim for a high score on the Ms. Pacman game, gently teasing Curtis as the two of you pick out prizes.
"I really can't pick anything," you shrug. "None of the big prizes really appeal to me."
"Not even the..." Curtis takes a look at the label, "legally distinct animated mouse plushie?" You laugh so hard you throw your head back and Curtis swears it's the most beautiful sound in the world.
"I'm sure. You go ahead and pick something for yourself."
"Would it be okay if I picked something for you?" he gently asks. "I know you said nothing in the big prizes interests you, but, I've got my eye on something that makes me think of you."
You raise an eyebrow as you lean in close to him. "I'm intrigued. Go for it."
Curtis wants so badly to kiss you right then and there but he'll wait for the moment. He needs to make sure he's got as good a read on you as he hopes with this gift idea.
"Wait right here and I'll be back with the gift in a moment," he breathily pleads.
You smile and nod, eager to see what he has in mind.
Curtis returns quickly, a hand behind his back. His cheeks are adorably pink as he looks somewhat nervous. You're certain you'll like whatever he gives you, if only because you know it's given out of genuineness. When he's close, he pulls out a little pillow that looks like one of the red velvet macarons you'd asked him to get you!
For a moment you're overwhelmed with emotion. It is a great gift that is based on experiences and memories the both of you have. Based on something he knows about you. A moment when he took care of you, without judgment, without expectation. You feel like you could cry.
Instead, you throw your arms around Curtis and give him the biggest, most emotionally sincere kiss of your life. Curtis is frozen for just a moment before he returns the fervor, holding you close, but not letting go of the pillow. You fight the urge to giggle as his lip piercing moves against your lips, his beard hair gently brushing, tickling you as well.
The kiss is interrupted by a cough, startling you and Curtis. An employee tells you they love the enthusiasm but please take things outside. Giggling as your cheeks burn, you turn to see Curtis is beet red, but also glowing.
The two of you scurry out and head to the bar next door. The rest of the night is spent talking, laughing, gently touching, all while you hold your new favorite pillow close. It ends with a kiss goodbye and the promise of another date.
A/N: Written for January Jumble Scribbles. Prompt: “You’re not as quiet as you think.”
Word Count: 287
Warnings: Female masturbation. Please let me know if I missed any!
If you weren't so tired you'd be upset at the clear lack of quality of your motel room. You and your team of nature conservationists had trudged through the forest for more than 12 hours today. It probably would've been longer if the team leader hadn't had the foresight to hire James Conrad, a retired military tracker.
An incredibly sexy retired military tracker, if you were being honest with yourself. While the team was struggling to keep going, came close to sprained ankles from bad spills here and there, Conrad showed zero signs of fatigue. The man was on for the entire trip, being on the lookout for things your team didn't even consider because you were so focused on the finch nests. You found yourself biting your lip from time to time as he walked ahead of the group, giving you a good view of his butt.
That's probably why it wasn't so surprising to find yourself in your hotel bed playing with yourself while thinking about Conrad. You're exhausted, stressed, and driven wild by thoughts of what that man can do to you. You even chant his name when you orgasm.
It's not enough, of course, because you have to catch yourself before your moans get too loud. But, at least you're a little more relaxed and ready for some sleep.
You've almost drifted off when there's a knock at your door, startling you awake. Checking through the peephole your thighs clench to see Conrad standing there.
You open the door and, before you can say anything, he purrs, "these walls are paper thin, and you're not as quiet as you think. May I be allowed to prove myself worthy of you chanting my name?"
A/N: Written for January Jumble Scribbles. Prompt: Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.
Word Count: 261
Geralt corrects Leia's stance as she holds the wooden sword. Her progress is slow and Geralt knows it's because she forgets to practice between rounds of being babysat by the G's. But he has learned a bit of patience and understanding in such matters. While he can fixate on something until it is mastered, it is not a skill shared by everyone.
While Leia is "mastering" the sword, G too, is learning patience and understanding by helping Luke learn self-defense. Apparently something happened past Halloween and Luke wanted to learn to protect himself. Knowing that weaponry is not allowed in schools, G opted to teach Luke some Jujutsu basics. It's uncertain how large will grow to, but learning to use an opponent's momentum against them should be helpful regardless of whether or not he grows to Jake's height.
Ransom's victory from his own babysitting endeavors was surprising and humbling. Even more surprising, the G's had to admit that they learned something from the experience: give the Twins a goal. If they're focused on something, they're less likely to cause trouble that you're not looking for.
Geralt and Leia do a quick practice fight where he quickly disarms her. She scowls and looks ready to throw punches instead.
"Arm yourself because no one else here will save you," he gently orders, taking a step back and pointing to her fallen sword.
Leia's scowl softens into a look of determination as she walks over. Geralt gets hit with a small dose of pride as she immediately gets into a proper stance once armed.
