Pairing: Frank Adler x Fem!Reader x Nick Vaughan
Word Count: 3,217
Summary: You’re struggling in the aftermath of being caught by Omega Control; Nick’s trying his best to smooth things over with Frank; and Frank? He’s trying like hell to avoid each and every one of his alpha instincts.
Warnings: A/B/O. Eventual M/F/M. Omegaverse elements like scenting, mates, designations, etc. Pet parallels. Widower!Frank. Reference to growing up in foster care and being unhoused. Omega Control (like Animal Control). Angst. Grief and lashing out because of it. Omega being re-traumatized and going through it. Nick is the sweetest, softest boi.
A/N: Oh em geeee, it has been far too long since we last saw this trio! I think because their story is so angsty, it can be hard for me to be in the right headspace to write it, but they were recently voted the second story y’all wanted to see most, so I got it done, just for you. I hope you enjoy! ❤️
Pound Town Masterlist
“Table’s set,” Nick said as he came up behind you.
You were standing over the stove, finishing up the side dishes to go along with the roasted chicken that was thankfully perfectly cooked and keeping warm in the oven.
“It smells amazing,” Nick murmured as he slid his arms around you and pressed against your back. He kissed your cheek, giving you a soft smile when you turned to meet his gaze.
“Really? You know I’m not great at this kind of stuff, but I really wanted to show Frank what it could be like if…” you faltered, swallowing thickly then taking a breath as Nick pressed another kiss to your cheek. “If he gave us a chance.”
“You’re much better at cooking than you think,” Nick assured you. “And it really does look and smell and taste amazing.”
“Taste?” you echoed, giving him a half-hearted glare. “Did you sneak tastes when I was trying to find placemats for the table?”
“I definitely did,” he grinned. “Those mashed potatoes? Well, let's just say you’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d hoard them all for myself.”
Your inner omega chirped happily at your beta’s praise–especially for something so homemaker-y, which you knew wasn’t exactly a strength of yours. It was probably one of your biggest insecurities actually, especially when it came to finding an alpha.
But you were trying. You were trying so hard.
You really wanted everything to be perfect for when Frank arrived home from work.
It was the very least he deserved for saving you from Omega Control, from being shipped off to a breeder and God knows what kind of misery and abuse would have awaited you then.
Surely nothing you haven’t already experienced in foster care, a mean little voice spoke up in the back of your mind.
You closed your eyes against the onslaught of memories that stirred up. At the vivid intrusive thoughts that played against the back of your eyelids at what could have happened if you’d been torn away from Nick, from Frank, from the life you had worked so hard to live as freely and happily as possible.
You had been so close to losing it all.
And you still weren’t convinced you hadn’t already lost Frank, for good.
“Omega?”
The sound of Nick’s concerned voice had you surfacing from the swirl of anxiety filling your head, and you blinked your eyes open, trying to muster a smile for him.
It had been a really long time since you felt this anxious, this helpless. But you had to shove it all down. All of it.
You had to finish this perfect dinner for Frank and welcome him home like a perfect omega would and–
The sound of the front door opening and the jangle of keys being tossed on the entryway table had you perking up in alarm. Your eyes flew to the clock above the stove and you gasped, “Oh my god! I didn’t realize how late it was! He’s home! Oh my–”
Your words faded away as Nick framed your face between his hand and tugged you in for a brief, soft kiss.
“It’s all amazing, and so are you,” he whispered, giving you a soft smile before pulling away.
A moment later, Frank’s tall figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. His brow was furrowed, his eyes wary as he glanced from the three places settings at the dining table, to you standing over the stove in an apron you had found in the back of the front closet along with the linens that now adorned the table.
“Why are you wearing that?” Frank snapped, his face darkening in a way that made you whine and stumble back a step.
“What?” You glanced down at the apron. “I-I didn’t want to make a mess–”
“That isn’t yours. Take it off!” Frank snarled, stalking toward you.
“Hey, Frank, calm down,” Nick’s voice was as soothing and careful as ever as he stepped in front of you, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of meaning no harm.
“It’s not hers! It’s…” Frank’s voice broke, his eyes gleaming with a wild kind of grief as he stared at you, then at the apron, like he was gutted.
And you realized that he was, and then why.
Horror dawned at your misstep–at what you had unintentionally done–unearthing something that had belonged to his late wife.
“Oh god,” you quavered, quickly untying the apron and slipping it off. You folded it carefully, respectfully, your tears already spilling over as you held it out to Frank with trembling fingers. “Frank, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize.”
“Hey, let’s all just take a deep breath and calm down,” Nick encouraged, shifting sideways so he could give you a gentle look. “You didn’t know. It was an honest mistake.” He turned back to Frank, who was holding the apron between his hands with the look of utmost sorrow clouding his features. “Frank, she was just trying to do something nice for you. Spent all day cooking a really great dinner–”
“I didn’t fucking ask for any of this,” Frank rasped, shaking his head as he crumbled the apron between his hands. “I didn’t ask for this!” he held it up, his eyes wet with unshed tears and his face flushed in anger, in heartbreak. “I didn’t ask for this!” he swept a hand toward the stove covered in steaming pots as the delicious aroma of the meal you had worked so hard on all day filled the air.
“Frank,” you wobbled, unsure of what to say but knowing you felt as devastated as he looked.
He shook his head, jaw clenching. “I can’t… do this. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t.”
And then he turned on his heel and stormed from the kitchen, leaving you and Nick staring after him, utterly devastated for an entirely different reason.
A couple of hours later, Nick tentatively eased open the door leading from the kitchen to the garage.
He heard soft clinking sounds, and the low hum of classic rock playing from a beat up stereo set on the corner of Frank’s work table.
The man himself was ducked under the hood of a fully restored 1967 Mustang Fastback. It was royal blue with white rally stripes, and it was gorgeous enough to have Nick whistling before he could really think better of it.
Frank went rigid, easing away from the car’s engine that didn’t really need any work, but it was just his way to keep himself busy, to keep his mind quiet when he needed it most, to hide.
“What do you want?” Frank grunted, looking tense as his grease-stained fingers twitched at his sides.
“Nothing, just thought I’d bring you one of these.” Nick held up a beer in each hand, one for him and one for Frank.
Frank’s eyes landed on the proffered beer and lingered long enough that Nick exhaled in relief. He moved closer, a soft, hopeful smile curling his lips as he held out the beer to Frank.
After a long, tense moment, Frank swiped the bottle from Nick’s grip, taking a long pull before turning away and ducking back under the hood of his car.
“I know you don’t want us here,” Nick murmured, inching closer before taking a tentative seat on a nearby crate. “I’m sorry that we’re encroaching on your space, on your home–”
“It’s not a home,” Frank said sharply before taking another gulp of his beer. “It hasn’t been a home for a long time. I don’t do homes, not anymore.”
“Right,” Nick breathed, his features softening, looking so very, very sad for the rigid alpha standing a few feet away.
Frank turned to set his beer aside to free up his hand and caught the way Nick was looking at him. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t pity me. I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity, Frank. It’s empathy.”
“I don’t want that either,” Frank gritted, moving to grab a wrench from the toolbox placed on the mobile cart between them. He pointed it at Nick, his eyes hard. “Don’t fucking feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t,” Nick said earnestly. “I feel sorry for what you went through, and I’m sorry for… for all of this. How messy it all turned out. You deserve better, so much better–”
“Christ, can you just be quiet?” Frank scoffed.
Nick snapped his mouth shut, his gaze falling to the floor as he took a small sip from his beer. He was trying so hard to smooth things over–for you, for himself, too, and for Frank.
He so desperately wanted to see the potential that you had so joyfully spoken about for the past few months.
All three of you had been through so much in different ways, and it was poetic, in a sense, that the Universe had brought you all together.
He just knew that if Frank would let some of that emotional armor crumble, if you two could just get through to him–earn his forgiveness–there was a chance that this could be something special.
The three of you, you could be a pack.
You could be each other’s home.
“Hand me that grease rag behind you,” Frank muttered, making Nick sit up at attention.
Blinking in surprise, that Frank had not only asked him for something but hadn’t kicked him out yet either, Nick twisted to the workbench behind him, plucking said grease rag from the surface and holding it out to Frank.
Frank’s eyes met his for a brief second–enough for Nick to feel the spark of something between them–and if the way Frank quickly looked away and his shoulders tensed was any indicator, the alpha had felt it, too.
Suppressing a soft smile, Nick watched Frank work, familiar with what he was tinkering with since he was the one who maintained your van. And before Frank could reach for the next tool he needed, Nick had scooped it up and had it held out.
Again, Frank’s eyes found the beta’s, some of the icy glint fading into something else–curioristy, perhaps. A touch of confusion, too, and just the tiniest, tiniest glimmer of what could have been admiration.
Regardless, whatever it was, it had Nick’s belly swooping and his chest fluttering with a tentative kind of hope.
The next morning, Frank was intent on getting out of the house to head to work before either you or Nick emerged from the guest room you were sharing. But as he went to pass by said guest room, the sound of your sharp, raised voice made him pause.
Frowning, because he had never heard you sound so irritated, Frank hovered just outside the door, which was cracked open, listening in on the conversation between you and Nick.
“Please,” your voice was softer this time as you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just, stop.”
“I’m not trying to upset you,” Nick swore as he crouched before where you were curled up on the window seat overlooking the side yard. “I’m just worried. You’re having nightmares again–”
“So?” you challenged, your features set and stubborn as you met his gaze.
Nick sighed. “You haven’t had nightmares like this in a really long time.”
“It’s nothing,” you insisted, feeling more tired than even Nick knew. “I’m fine.”
Nick’s touch was so painfully gentle as he held your hand, his thumb trailing back and forth over your knuckles. “It’s okay if you’re not, considering everything you’ve been through.”
“I’m fine,” you repeated, your exhaustion seeping into your voice now as you tried so hard to blink back the tears gathering.
Nick’s hold on your hand shifted, until he was guiding your palm to the center of his chest, where you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your touch. He leaned into you more fully, his free hand lifting to cradle the side of your face, making your gaze meet his.
“You haven’t told me anything about what happened at Omega Control,” he looked pained by this, his eyes flickering between yours, looking more worried than you had ever seen, so much so that you couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and looked away instead. “Usually you tell me everything.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it ever again,” you whispered, turning away from Nick and curling in on yourself as you fixed your gaze outside–both yearning to be out there but terrified of being caught again. “We should keep the past in the past.”
At the sound of Nick’s disappointed sigh, Frank eased away from the door, frowning at the way you had echoed his own words to you, about keeping the past in the past.
Because everything inside of him–especially his inner alpha who was listlessly hovering beneath the surface, yearning to comfort you, to get to know Nick more–was telling him that you needed to talk about what happened. That it wasn’t a weight–or fear–that you should carry on your own.
Frank watched as his hand moved toward the doorknob, trembling slightly. Every rusty caretaker instinct inside of him was screaming at him to walk through that door, sweep you up against his chest, and soothe you with his alpha purr until you felt safe enough to tell him and Nick what had happened.
It would be so easy. All he had to do was press the door open, make his presence known, and just… allow things to go from there.
But instead, Frank took a step away from the door, then another, until he was jogging down the steps, swiping up his keys and briefcase from the entryway table, and shoving outside into the bright morning sunshine.
And the whole time he walked to his car, he thought the same thing over and over–that it wasn’t his place to take care of you, to protect you, that you had Nick for that.
You didn’t need him.
You didn’t.
It was nearly midnight once Frank finally returned home. He was exhausted, and had spent the hours after work at his favorite dive bar, nursing a couple of beers and eating bad frozen appetizers for dinner when all he really wanted was to go home.
But after this morning, what he had almost done…what he had wanted to do…
It felt safer to just stay away.
So it was like some kind of twisted, cosmic joke, that as soon as Frank stepped inside the house, he was instantly enveloped in your sweet, addictive omega scent.
Only there was a sour note to your divine smell, one that instantly had Frank as alert as his inner alpha.
Because that sour scent meant that you were distressed–terrified.
Before he realized what he was doing, Frank was dashing into the living room, only to pull up short. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to find–but it wasn’t you curled up on the sofa, asleep and visibly trembling as you whimpered at whatever nightmare had you caught in its dark web.
A beat later, Frank registered the distant sound of the shower running, which explained why you were by yourself in this state, and why Nick wasn’t there to soothe you.
But you so obviously needed soothing in this moment as you gave a choked sob, your features twisting in the utmost distress as you curled in on yourself tighter.
Frank was across the room in three long strides, before he even realized he was moving.
The need to calm you was like a visceral thing rippling over every inch of him–clawing at him from the inside out–and it was all he could focus on as he knelt on the floor beside you and tentatively reached out to touch the crown of your head.
“Shhh, omega,” Frank rumbled, his voice the softest it had been with you in weeks as he gently caressed your hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
This close now, Frank could see the glimmer of tear-tracks along your cheeks, how tense your body was as you laid in the fetal position and tried to make yourself as small as possible.
Frank murmured your name, hesitating for a second before he held his wrist gland beneath your nose so you could breathe in his alpha scent. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay now.”
You shuddered hard, your brows furrowing in your sleep, a soft whimper falling from your lips as you shifted and pressed your nose against Frank’s wrist without even knowing it. You were just desperately seeking the sudden source of your comfort–of the familiar–of something, no, someone who made you feel safe.
“There you go,” Frank praised softly, resuming his pets along your head as he watched your body go lax and the rigid tension slowly ease from your frame. “Such a good omega.”
Frank’s voice broke, his breath shaky as he watched you sleep, as he really looked at you for the first time in weeks–since everything had happened.
You looked so tired, and so small.
So vulnerable.
And it made him ache. It made him want. It made him yearn. It made all of his instincts–both man and alpha–stir up and rise within him in a way that terrified him.
Because he never thought he would feel this way again.
Frank never thought that he would care about someone so deeply again.
In fact, he had tried so fucking hard to avoid it at all costs, because he knew what it felt like to lose it all. To lose the person you loved most. To lose the future you had been so hopeful for. To lose your entire family, your home, everything that made you who were in one awful, tragic fell swoop.
He’d had it all–the love, the future, the life, the home. And he was supposed to protect them at all costs.
And he had failed.
He had failed as a man, as an alpha–as a husband and as a soon-to-be father. Frank had failed in a way that still haunted his every waking moment five years later.
So when he looked at you, when he felt what he felt for you, when he got caught in Nick’s soft, warm gaze and wanted to stay there–it terrified him in a way that made him want to turn his back on it all–on everything.
But he couldn’t find it in himself to do that right now.
Not when you clung to his wrist in your sleep and a quiet chirp spilled past your lips. Not when the sour note faded from your scent and was replaced by the warm, spicy tones of your contentment and relief.
All Frank could do was watch you, convinced that in this moment, he was the only thing keeping your nightmares at bay, and that was enough for his protective instinct to override his sheer panic.
It was enough to have the rest of the world fade away as he focused on soothing you into a peaceful sleep, completely unaware that Nick stood in the doorway, having witnessed this entire tender, protective display.
And finally getting to see with his own eyes the kind of alpha that Frank Adler could be, and why you were so completely taken with him.
OH EM GEEEEE. I’m kind of in emotional shambles right now, ngl. This story feels so messy lol, but I’m also kind of in love with it anyway. I just want them all to be happy and loved 🥺
—
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Type: Omegaverse, nomad!Steve Rogers, AU to canon (duh), eventually all three food groups (angst, smut, fluff)
Warnings: allusions to NSFW, they're soulmates but it hurts, nomad Steve because he's a warning
Word count of the peek: 750
You left the door open that day, stepping in to make tea and coffee and to serve cookies of all things, blindly driven to take care of your alpha, to please him, to make a home; your breath caught, your trembling heart pounding the moment he actually walked in.
You never got to eat or drink, even as you tried to be polite, both of you, to think it through. To fight the natural designation breaking through your suppressants and scent masking with ease, because where modern medicine might be able to fool an omega’s body and alpha’s and beta’s sense of smell, it was useless in face of the precious phenomenon of fated mates.
He was yours. You were his.
There was no fighting it – not completely. Neither of you had the willpower to stay underwater when the air you needed to breathe was at your fingertips, your scent all over your house enticing him, his seeping into it in perfect harmony, like puzzle pieces falling into place.
Before you knew it you were standing inches apart, his nose trailing along your wrist with a groan, your mind hazy, body vibrating in anticipation, voice breathless even as you breathed quick and shallow in order to remain composed and at least a tad rational. Exchanging names was the least you could do and the most you managed before you could not hold back any longer.
You knew who he was; he knew you knew. You knew his situation, or enough of it, the star he had been carrying on his chest faded and torn away, his golden boy persona and looks long gone.
It didn’t make a goddamn difference.
If anything, the ragged bearded man who stood but two inches from you was the embodiment of an alpha and everything about him had your inmost carnal instincts and soul-deep longing scream mine.
My Steve. My alpha.
The kiss he pressed to your wrist was tender, the chirp escaping you nearing a whimper, knees wobbling under the overwhelming sensation rushing through your body. He caught you with arm firmly wrapped around you and a kiss that was all teeth and desperate need and laying a claim and you reciprocated with fervour, inhaling his intoxicating scent and the rest were days to remember spent in a haze and pleasure you had never known to exist before.
And pain. Sharp and dull at once, its echo resonating in your ribcage even now as you shed the gardening gloves and went to wash your hands, starting the kettle and laying out ingredients for a warm homecooked meal Steve – former Captain America turned fugitive from the law of several countries – deserved and got to eat scarcely.
Sometimes, you didn’t make it past a hello, his hands on you wishing to recreate the imprints they had left weeks if not months ago, exploring you anew, nose against your neck, teeth scraping over the most sensitive part of your throat to induce pleasure so intense you forgot how to make a sound or think.
Other times, you held each other first and inhaled softly, allowing yourselves to reacquaint with someone who was fated to belong with you, who was yours with every fibre of their being, the cracks in your ribcages mended at last, body, soul and home rebuilt.
Today, it seemed, was the case of the former.
You were ruminating through the cabinets, trying to figure out what to cook, when Steve’s arms circled you from behind and pulled you to his front, nose instantly at your collar, breathing in deeply with a satisfied rumble in his chest that had your omega shivering with delight. Heat rushed all over your skin as you inhaled deeply, hands covering his, body melting in his hold already as you felt familiar burn at the apex of your thighs respond to his presence like clockwork.
“Alpha…” you whispered, shuddering when he hummed behind you, arms squeezing tighter, mouth pressing to the side of your neck, lingering, a quick lap of tongue over your skin making him groan; and you clutch at his forearms, legs turning weaker as your blood rushed elsewhere.
It was torture; torture of the bittersweetest kind, a tease of a promise never delivered on and never as much as made. It twisted your stomach in knots, the ache of his absence, the agonizing absence of a bonding mark already flaring through you and chasing tears into your eyes, deep-bone agony you knew would come again, because you had been here before. Every single time.
-.-💕-.-
So... writing omegaverse. That's different and fun, especially with an angsty edge 🤭 Let me know your thoughts 💕
AN: 25 days down of #JuneJukeboxScribbles and I can’t stay away from Mob! Curtis and Schoolteacher! Reader. This picks up directly after ‘Serious’ and I promise I will put them all under their own series header soon.
Today’s prompt is Rude by MAGIC!
Unbeta’d. Banner by me and divider by @firefly-graphics
Master list | Jukebox Master list | Join my tag list
Relationship: Mob! Curtis Everett x School Teacher female reader.
Word count: 300
CW: Drunk Reader, Manhandling, Mean Curtis.
You looked at him, confused and shocked. “What did you say? You might be the owner, but you have no right to tell me to go home.”
A frown marred his features, before he shook it in frustration. “I hate to do this, sweetheart, but you leave no choice.”
Before you could even think, he closed the gap between you, bent down and threw you over his shoulder. You screeched in response. However, in seconds he was striding across the club, the crowd of patrons opening up to let him move, apparently unbothered by the unorthodox manner he was using to remove you. And where were your friends? Hadn’t they noticed? You tried to look for them, but being drunk, upside down and surrounded by flashing lights meant you had no idea where they were. A few seconds later the colours and sounds faded away, replaced with the cool and quiet of outside.
You staggered as you were returned to your feet, realising after an embarrassing moment that you were holding onto him. Angrily, you pushed yourself away as he let out a chuckle.
“You’re a pig.”
“So I’ve been told. But I was being truthful inside there. The state you’re in, it's not safe, so we’re going to wait right here while a car comes round to take you off home.”
Your anger grew. Your hands curled into fists and you stamped your foot. “You’re not the boss of me!”
“Yeah, but I am the boss of this place. They aren’t going to let you back in, and even in your state you know that it would be unwise to walk home. You don’t have any other choice, but to go with it, sweetheart.
Goddamnit, he was right, but that didn’t stop you scowling at his handsome dumb face.
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.
Hi, lovey! I am hanging in there. Work is sucking so much right now, but I’m trying to just not care lol. I hope you’re well ❤️
Now for this ask!! It took a hot minute for a good idea to click in my brain, but once it did, I cackled 🤣
Because that is MYB!Andy crashing a local business networking event that he overheard MYB!Ari’s feisty handful of a Reader chatting about with a few customers while outside of her shop one day.
And Andy figured, you know what? You deserve some payback for sticking your nose in his business and throwing wrenches in his plans. The very least he can do is grace you with his unwelcomed presence.
Again.
So when Andy shows up at this networking event that you both know he would normally never go to—and doesn’t need for his kind of connections,—you are fuming. Livid. About to blow a fucking gasket.
Andy can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears. And since you’re currently chatting with a few business council members, he knows you have no choice but to behave and play nice when he walks up to you and acts so friendly and familiar with you.
Saying your name with warmth and pulling you in to kiss your cheek, just able to stifle his belly laugh when he sees your eye twitch as you paste this terribly fake and pained smile on your face.
Sensing Andy’s importance, the business council folks are all aflutter and insist you introduce them to Andy, and when they talk about how nice it must be to be new neighbors, Andy just smiles so big as he nods along.
“She was so beyond welcoming, I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier and more respectful neighbor.”
Andy does finally laugh once it’s just the two of you, and you give him the nastiest stink eye he’s ever received as you hiss, “How dare you infest a place filled with honest, humble, non-murderous business owners with your organized crime cooties.”
“You have me all wrong, you know,” Andy smiles at you, his gaze looking as amused as that first day you met.
“Doubt it.”
Andy just hums, moving to step past you but pausing close, invading your space and smirking as you squirm and death glare him.
“Have you ever considered that the best, most strategic thing you could do for your business—and its success—is become my ally?”
When you just press your lips into a firm line and give him a wary look, Andy chuckles.
“Of course you haven’t. Sweetie,” he emphasizes, grinning as you snarl at the nickname. “Enjoy the rest of the event. I know I will.”
And that gif above? That’s Andy making eye contact with you in between guest speakers, riling you up from across the room with a simple wink and smile, because he can.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3,068
Summary: Telling Steve about your stalker opens the floodgates of emotions you’d been suppressing for months… and you’re not the only one who gets swept away by their feelings.
Warnings: AU. AI!Bot!Steve. Reader is anxious, stressed, and prone to panic, traumatized, too. Stalking and delulu behavior (not from Steve). Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Attempted sexual assault (not by Steve). Unfavorable representation of the police. Angst.
A/N: My lovelies!! I’m so excited to share AI!Steve’s next part with you all. I know quite a few of you really love him, so enjoy! ❤️
P.S. This part is a direct continuation of where we left off in their first part, so be sure to read that if you haven’t already.
Superior AI Masterlist
“I met him at the local farmer’s market back home,” you started, your voice quavering as you allowed your frazzled mind to return to that day.
The day that had seemed so insignificant at the time but wound up changing the course of your life forever.
The day that you wished with everything inside of you that you could go back and completely erase from your experience.
“He seemed so nice and sweet…” you trembled, your voice going distant as you remembered…
“I dunno,” you hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip as you eyed the small plant. It really was so cute and would be the perfect pop of color on your new entryway table, but… “I’m so terrible with plants,” you confessed, your guilty gaze flickering up to the man who ran the plant and flower booth.
His smile was soft–his bright blue eyes twinkling in amusement–as he ducked his head to meet your gaze more fully. “I promise this plant is practically unkillable. And I can give you a little card with easy, detailed instructions to help you care for it.”
You sighed, your fingers gently touching the healthy, vibrant leaves of the plant. It really was calling to you for some reason. “Okay…” your eyes caught the man’s, and you frowned playfully. “But if I kill this thing, its blood is on your hands.”
He laughed, and it lit up his entire face, which only grew more handsome in his delight. You felt your belly swoop at the sight, at the way he was watching you with a spark of interest you hadn’t had directed your way in a long time.
“I’m Cole, Turner,” he introduced himself, holding out his big, rough hand for a shake.
You didn’t hesitate to slip your hand into his, noticing the way he cradled it more than shook it, the way his touch lingered longer than necessary.
“And I’d happily get blood on my hands for you,” he grinned, then froze, his eyes going wide as he registered his own words.
There was a beat of silence as you both stared at each other, and then Cole grimaced as he let your hand slip from his.
“Sorry, that sounded more suave and less serial killer-y in my head,” he cringed, broad shoulders hiking up to his ears.
You laughed, utterly charmed by this sweet, handsome stranger. “Noted,” you murmured in amusement, watching the way Cole’s cheeks glowed pink as he started to gently package your plant for the car ride home.
You took a shaky breath as you hugged yourself tightly, feeling a chill dance along your spine as you thought of Cole, of the fact that you had been genuinely interested in him, and so happy he seemed to feel the same way.
You glanced over at Steve to find him watching you with this look of sympathetic concern. His eyes were so soft and earnest as they met yours, that you had to remind yourself that he was a robot and not an actual person.
“You couldn’t have known the way things would turn out,” he assured you.
“No,” you shook your head slowly. “I really couldn’t have. Cole was so lovely at first. Always had new plants set aside for me at the market, always checking in on the ones I had previously bought. It only took a few visits before he asked me out, and I was happy about it,” your voice broke as tears began to flood your vision. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into…”
The longer you sat across the dinner table from Cole, the more uneasy you grew. There was this intensity to him tonight, an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he leaned in close and rambled about finally settling down, how relieved his parents would be, how he couldn’t wait to have children, how the farm was the perfect place to raise a family…
“Wow,” you couldn’t help but blurt, laughing uncomfortably as you glanced away. “You really know what you want, huh?”
“I do,” Cole hummed, and when your gaze hesitantly returned to him, it was to find him watching you in this way that made all of your hair stand on end.
In that moment, as a chill skittered its way up your spine, you felt like prey, and it was nowhere near as sexy as the dark romances you read made it out to be.
Instead of thrilled or flattered, you felt sick. You felt dread the longer Cole stared at you, and disappointment, too, because you had been so excited for this date.
“So, how many kids do you want?” Cole asked, reaching for his wine glass and taking a drink.
“Well,” you laughed awkwardly, fiddling with the napkin spread across your lap. “I never actually said I wanted kids, so…”
“Oh you were definitely meant to be a mother,” Cole scoffed, a knowing smile tilting his lips as his eyes slowly trailed over you, making your skin crawl. “I can already see it now. One baby perched on your hip and another growing in your belly. You’d be so beautiful pregnant, glowing.”
This time, you were the one reaching for your wine glass, taking a deep gulp as you discreetly glanced at your watch, praying for dinner to be served so you could get the hell out of here.
Once you were finally home a couple of hours later, you still felt icky at the way Cole had tried to kiss you goodnight and seemed very disappointed when you’d evaded him and gone in for a quick, fleeting hug instead.
You waited a while, until you were sure he was home, before texting him to thank him for dinner but also let him know that it wasn’t going to work between the two of you.
The deluge was instant.
One text after another flooding the chat thread you had with Cole. Asking why. Refuting your shutdown. Telling you he knew the two of you were meant to be together. That he had never felt this way about anyone.
Then he tried to call you. Repeatedly. Your phone blew up until you finally blocked him with trembling fingers, feeling beyond anxious and strangely scared before turning your phone off entirely and trying to wind down for bed.
“I thought that would be the end of it, you know?” you whispered, gaze distant and fixed on the fireplace as you twisted your fingers in your lap. “I didn’t dare return to the farmer’s market, I avoided it instead. But it only took a couple of weeks before it started to feel like I was being watched any time I left my home. Then Cole confirmed my suspicions by cornering me one day after work…and I never told him what I did or where I worked…”
“Cole?!” your voice was pitched high–unnaturally so–your panic bleeding into your tone as Cole pressed you up against the driver’s side door of your car. “What…how…”
“You can’t just avoid me forever!” he huffed, gripping your shoulders hard enough to bruise and make you squeak in pain. “Sorry,” he relented his harsh touch immediately, but kept his hands on you, his fingers petting instead of gripping now as you squirmed and tried to recoil. “Look, I just… I can’t stop thinking about you, and I just know if you gave me another chance–”
“Cole, you’re at my work right now,” you said firmly despite your voice shaking, despite your terror. “How did you even know where to find me?”
He looked away, jaw clenched as he remained silent.
“Please, you need to go,” you trembled.
“No!” he shook his head, eyes blazing as they returned to you. He took a breath, deflating a little at the look of sheer terror on your face. “Please, sweetheart, I’m sorry for scaring you, I just… I need you.”
“We hardly know each other.”
“When you know, you know, and I know, with everything inside of me, that you’re it for me. You’re all I want, please…”
You squealed and jerked away as Cole leaned in and tried to kiss you.
It was instant the way his eyes flashed with displeasure, with malice.
“Don’t do that,” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms as he shoved you back against your car with enough force to make you whimper. He opened his mouth again, but before he could speak, one of your colleagues was calling your name from across the parking lot, sounding concerned.
It was enough to have Cole cursing under his breath before turning on his heel and racing from the parking lot, leaving you weak from fear as your coworker rushed over and asked if you wanted them to call the police.
“But I didn’t want to get Cole in trouble, I didn’t want to make this a big thing, you know?” You sniffled, batting away a stray tear. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”
“But he didn’t?” Steve guessed, a tic popping in his jaw as you slowly shook your head.
Curling into the corner of the sofa, you whispered, “No, he didn’t…”
You weren’t sure what woke you up, but you startled awake nonetheless, feeling the furthest thing from well rested, as your sleep quality had deteriorated over the past few months due to everything happening with Cole.
Just as you thought his name, you realized that he was standing over you.
That it wasn’t just another nightmare or night terror, that Cole Turner was in your bedroom right now–naked, his bare chest heaving as he stroked his cock slowly and shushed your terrified whimper.
“Shhh, don’t scream–” he started as you opened your mouth to do just that. He cursed, lunging at you, pressing the hand he had been using to touch himself over your mouth to muffle your cry for help.
You struggled wildly beneath him, something about feeling the weight and warmth of him–his bare skin, his wiry chest hair–it made you feel sick, but it also made you feel angry.
So you slapped at him, clawed at him, continuing to shriek against his damp palm as he tried to subdue you.
“Shh shh shh, it’s okay! Baby, please, just let me show you how good we can be together,” he groaned as all your writhing and twisting had his hard cock getting trapped against the blankets bunched at your stomach. “Fuck, I know you’re gonna feel so good, cause you were made for me–”
Cole’s words morphed into a pained cry as you bit his palm hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to have him jerking away from you as he cradled his hand and stared at you with wide eyes.
Then you opened your mouth and screamed for all you were worth.
You didn’t stop screaming when Cole scrambled out of the bedroom window he had left open, and onto the fire escape. You didn’t stop screaming when your neighbor pounded on your front door asking if you were okay, or when you heard the police sirens in the distance growing closer.
You didn’t stop screaming until your voice finally gave out. You sank back against your headboard, sobbing and shaking, feeling like you were going to be sick as adrenaline surged through your body, mixing with the fear and disgust rioting within your very bones.
“But they didn’t believe me, the cops,” you explained. “Not when it was all said and done.”
At the sound of displeasure–of offense–that Steve made, your tear-filled eyes finally focused and returned to him.
“Cole’s parents gave him a fake alibi, and the cops boiled it down to it was dark and I was hysterical because I’d been stressed and suffering from insomnia. They had no proof, it was my word against his, and…” you shrugged, more tears spilling over as you whispered, “They did nothing. So I moved here and left everything behind–my whole life, my career, my friends and family. Everything.”
You shook your head in disbelief that this was now your life–your unwanted reality.
“What else was I supposed to do? I knew he wouldn’t stop. He won’t stop,” your face crumpled as you dropped your head into your hands, feeling panic rise within you as you thought of Cole, of how relentless he had been, of the fact that he was still out there. “He’ll never stop.”
Steve was crouching before you in a heartbeat, holding out the box of tissues from the side table, looking hesitant and so concerned as he touched his free hand to your knee and gave it a squeeze.
You shuddered at the soft touch, realizing that you hadn’t been touched by another since that night with Cole. But this was so different–Steve’s touch made you feel safe and cared for.
Which, for some reason, only made you cry harder.
“I will keep you safe,” Steve promised. “It’s my number one objective, my sole mission. The whole reason why I exist is to protect you.”
It took a moment for Steve’s words to sink in, for you to realize that you weren’t alone in this anymore, that you had support now.
That you had Steve.
“I-I’ve been so scared and alone,” you cried. “They didn’t b-believe me! How could they not believe me?”
“I believe you,” Steve’s voice was soft, but his words were firm. “I will always believe you.”
“What if he finds me? What if I have to spend the rest of my life running and hiding from him?”
Steve shook his head, not one solitary doubt flickering across his painfully handsome face as he assured you, “I won’t let that happen.”
There was a fierceness to Steve now–in his words, in his gaze–and for a moment, you forgot what he was, and what he wasn’t.
Because he seemed like so much more than a machine.
And maybe that’s why you were finally allowing yourself to fall apart, because you had someone else now to help you pick up the pieces, to help you hold all of this.
You were no longer all alone in the darkness, being crushed beneath an unbearable weight.
“I don’t want to live like this,” you whispered brokenly. “I’m so tired and I’m so scared and I don’t want to live like this anymore! I can’t do this anymore, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
You hunched over your lap as you sobbed, rocking back and forth, your body buzzing with grief and overwhelm, with absolute turmoil as you finally surrendered to all of the feelings you had been harboring and suppressing for months on end.
You were so lost to it all, that it took a few moments for you to realize that you were pressed against a warm, firm chest. That you were crying into Steve’s shoulder as he gently smoothed his hands up and down your back in soft, soothing strokes.
For some reason, the gesture of comfort only made you cry harder.
When Steve asked if he could hold you, all you could do was nod before collapsing against him entirely, letting him hold you through the tidal waves of emotion, your calm and steady anchor who, despite the maelstrom raging inside of you, made you feel safe and cared for in his tight embrace.
A little while later found you on the sofa, tucked beneath the cradle of Steve’s arm, your body pliant and tension free for the first time in weeks as you slept soundly against his chest.
Of course Steve had been briefed on your situation before being delivered to you, but seeing the toll everything had taken on you firsthand–and how vulnerable you truly were–it had Steve experiencing something unexpected.
Beyond his programmed duty to keep you safe, Steve felt this overwhelming need to protect you, to take care of you, to take away all of your pain and distress.
And it wasn’t so much his undeniable attachment to you–and how quickly it had formed–that had Steve’s brow furrowing.
It was the fact that he felt at all.
Because machines shouldn’t have emotions.
Not even top-of-the-line, meticulously designed custom AIs like him should feel.
But Steve couldn’t deny that he felt strong empathy for you, as well as a fierce desire to keep you safe. It was like a living, breathing thing clawing at him from the inside out.
And it only grew stronger as Cole Turner’s photo flickered across Steve’s vision.
He’d gone a few steps further than all of the information on your situation that Sam had already uploaded to his mainframe, running his own in-depth research on the offender as you slept. Seeing Cole for himself, and recalling how terrified and disturbed you had been as you recounted your experiences with him…
It had Steve’s vision bleeding red at the edges.
It had him feeling anger, no, fury for the first time ever.
And that unexpected, unexplainable ripple of feeling–of something more and outside of his programming–had Steve going rigid in his seat.
It had him worrying that perhaps there was a flaw in his design, in his functioning, in his ability to take care of you like you needed and deserved.
Steve’s vision flashed green as he initiated diagnostics on himself, coding now speeding across his sight, as he made a mental note to send any findings–and his concerns–to Sam once the process was complete.
But just as quickly as the thought had come to him, it was pushed aside as you shifted against him, murmuring in your sleep.
Steve’s eyes flew to you, softening as he watched you frown in your sleep.
He moved before he realized it–before his programming caught up with his actions–his hand smoothing over your head in a slow, gentle caress that immediately had you sinking against him and the line between your brows smoothing.
His touch seemed to have a mind of its own, and Steve could only watch, feeling a sense of helplessness for the first time, as his fingers traced along your face, mapping the terrain of your skin.
As he looked down at you sleeping against him and processed the way you clung to him, how your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, Steve felt something else that he knew shouldn’t be possible.
Something that should be cause for concern and reported to Sam immediately…
RIP slow burn, sorry to say. Or sorry not sorry, I can’t decide yet lolll.
—
Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,937
Summary: You couldn’t admit that you wanted to make Steve’s birthday special, so instead, you had to put a very you spin on it.
Warnings: A/B/O AU. Explicit language. Mild sexual content. Alpha!Steve. Sassy omega!Reader. Established relationship. Omegaverse dynamic and details (like scenting, mating glands, etc.). Fluff. Feels. Being emotionally constipated. Slight dirty talk.
A/N: Surprise, my lovelies! I’m so happy to join in on @witchywithwhiskey ‘s birthday event for Steeb 🥹 Thank you for hosting and helping me choose which Steve to write, Molly! I hope you enjoy this ❤️
Pound Town Masterlist
Steve turned away from the coffee machine, jumping a little as he found you standing a few feet away, on the other side of the marble kitchen isle, staring at him in a way that was accusatory.
“Who’s sneaking up on who now?” he laughed, his smile faltering as your eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you have something you’d like to tell me, Hercules?” you challenged, your look haughty and knowing and annoyed.
“Um.” Steve frowned in confusion, his eyes glinting with concern as they flickered between yours.
After a moment, you saw something in his gaze shift, his jaw setting slightly as this look of now-or-never sort of determination glimmered in his eyes, making a surge of panic swell within you.
Because oh my god, that wasn’t what you meant!
So before Steve could open his mouth and say something you were not yet ready to hear, you beat him to it, tossing a piece of opened mail on the counter.
Steve blinked down at it, frowning once more as he glanced between you and the paper before him. “...my driver’s license renewal card?”
You huffed, leaning closer and stabbing your finger at the date of birth printed on the card stock. “Your birthday is in a few weeks! And you haven’t mentioned it at all!”
“Oh.” Steve’s big, broad shoulders lifted as he gave you a sheepish look, a rosy flush staining his cheeks and working its way to the tips of his ears. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Well what if I want to?” you glared at him. “You were just going to rob me of the full birthday experience?” You made something close to jazz hands that had Steve choking down a laugh because you did seem genuinely irritated by this. “That’s so selfish of you, Hercules,” you finished with a huff, crossing your arms for good measure.
Even though he was able to suppress his laughter, Steve wasn’t able to do the same with his smile. He grinned big, blue eyes twinkling with a very fond sort of mirth as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms.
“You’re right, omega, I’m the worst.”
“Truly!” you nodded in agreement, your own lips twitching as Steve interlocked his hands at the small of your back and kissed your cheek.
“Next year, I’ll be sure to set monthly reminders for you about my birthday so it’s always top of mind,” Steve murmured, kissing your other cheek. “It won’t be obnoxious at all.”
You nearly giggled, but were able to maintain your stink eye as you gave him an unimpressed look. “You better,” you hmphed, realizing your mistake a second after you spoke.
That you didn’t object to the fact that you would still be here–with Steve–a year from now.
You hadn’t really thought much about the future since you were a young omega, still brimming with hope and not yet beat down by the state of the world.
But now… after months of being in Steve’s orbit, of… whatever this was between you–because you still weren’t ready to admit that you were together–the thought of this whole thing not being temporary, of it being your future, of Steve being your future…
Well, it was an idea that you didn’t hate.
You could tell by the warmth and softness in Steve’s gaze that he was thinking along the same lines as you, but again, you just couldn’t with what ifs, and big feelings, and more.
Not yet.
“So,” you cleared your throat, pretending to fiddle with the collar of Steve’s t-shirt so you could escape his intese gaze for a moment. “What would the perfect birthday look like to you?”
Steve was quiet for a moment, for more than a moment, and you felt a swirl of anxiety in your stomach, worried that you had upset him by side-stepping the almost emotional landmine.
But when you peeked up at him, Steve’s gaze was just as warm and soft as a moment ago, and he was giving you a small, boyish smile as he replied, “I think I have an idea that we’ll both enjoy.”
A few weeks later, on Steve’s birthday, his idea came to fruition, and for the first time in a very long time–maybe ever–you really were getting the full birthday experience, even if it wasn’t your birthday.
But that didn’t make it any less perfect.
Because Steve had driven you upstate to a small lake house in the middle of the woods.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had been out of the city, and it truly felt like a slice of heaven to be surrounded by nature and quiet and have Steve all to yourself on his special day.
His special day was just part of the week-long vacation he had surprised you with, and he really had planned it all so perfectly. The fridge and pantry were stocked with your favorite prepped foods and takeout, so neither of you would need to cook. And he had gotten a cute little birthday cake, along with lots of other treats, from his favorite bakery.
And now, you were both enjoying the gorgeous tranquility around you, as you and Steve sat on the dock out back of the house, watching the sun set over the lake.
You gave a quiet sigh of contentment as you sank back in the circle of Steve’s arms, allowing your head to fall to the side as his nose skimmed up the side of your throat as he took his time scenting you.
It was actually the first time you two had ever done this–scenting outside of sex–and you didn’t hate it. You were kind of obsessed with it to be honest.
In fact, you had never been so squirmy in your life, your mind pleasantly hazy and quiet for once as you gave a soft chirp when Steve pressed a kiss to your unmarked mating gland.
“You smell so good, omega,” he murmured against your skin, inhaling deeply and purring with satisfaction as he basked in your scent. “You always do.”
Your inner omega chirped up a storm, loving Steve’s attention and admiration as you turned your face so you could nuzzle his nose with yours.
Steve kissed you gently, his eyes so soft and happy as he told you, “This really is the perfect birthday.” His lips touched yours again, lingering this time before he pulled away and breathed, “Thank you, omega. I mean it.”
As he often was, Steve was so earnest in his words and feelings, but something about the sheer affection for you that was coloring his alpha scent had you feeling shy, and a little cranky to be honest.
Because you were still getting used to how much Steve made you feel and want, even after knowing him for months. But you shoved down the minor flare of irritation that you knew was a defense mechanism, because you would not be bitchy with Steve on his birthday.
So instead, you playfully rolled your eyes, murmuring, “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you,” Steve grinned.
Your scent spiked with your own joy–and something wanting–and he huffed a laugh.
He leaned in and kissed your mating gland, laughing again as you squealed and tried to squirm away, overwhelmed by how sensitive that part of you was, especially under Steve’s attention.
“How do you like it?” he rumbled, eyes twinkling as you huffed and twisted in his hold to glare at him.
For a moment, you just gave him the best stink eye you could muster, and then, you pounced.
Of course you knew that Steve was letting you “attack” him as he fell back against the dock and took you with him. But that didn’t make it any less silly or fun as you wrestled with him until you straddled his hips and had his hands pinned above his head, preening your victory.
“Well now that you’ve got me, what are you gonna do with me?” Steve husked, his eyes noticeably darker as you hovered over him.
For probably the millionth time, you were nearly struck dumb by how gorgeous Steve was. His skin smooth and flawless, his golden hair gleaming in the setting sun and now perfectly mussed. And his eyes–those pretty blue eyes–so expressive as he watched you, as he waited for whatever you deemed came next.
For a long, quiet moment, you just stared at each other, and then your eyes flickered down to another feature of his that you sure did love–those plump pink lips.
Those plump, pink, kissable lips.
“I have a few ideas,” you finally replied before swooping close and capturing his lips with yours.
Steve groaned into your mouth as you traded pinning his wrists for framing his face between your hands. You made your own sound of delight when you felt his touch at your hips, his fingers pressing into you, holding you tight and urging your body against his even more.
Your lips teased and tasted until both you and Steve were breathless, and when you finally pulled back enough to raggedly inhale a gulp of air, you paused for a beat, your eyes dancing as you said, “I want smores.”
“I want more too,” Steve immediately returned. His big hand cradled your cheek and tried to reel you back in for another kiss, but you pulled away.
Giggling as you sat up over him, you shook your head, lips curled into a playful smirk as you tutted, “Keep it in your pants, Hercules. I want smores. You promised we’d make them using that little fire pit on the back deck.”
For a long moment, Steve just stared up at you, uncomprehending, gaping. And it was nearly enough to make you cackle, but then he blinked owlishly, his brain rebooting, and he didn’t look disappointed at all as he said, “Oh. Right.” Instead, he gave your hips a squeeze, his grin boyish as he continued, “I’ll go set it up now.”
You couldn’t help the dreamy sigh that bubbled past your lips as Steve helped you to your feet. Because he really was so good, so perfect.
And he was all yours.
Preening for a different reason now, you looped your arm through Steve’s, pressing close to his side as you two began to slowly walk back up the dock.
You felt mischievous as you glanced over and drank in the still flushed state of Steve’s cheeks, the way his lips were still kiss swollen, too.
“After smores, then I’ll give you more,” you teased, shooting Steve a wicked grin. “You can spend the rest of my night fucking me full of your cum and keeping me on your knot, birthday boy.”
Steve tripped over his own feet, making you burst into laughter as you grabbed onto him to help steady his steps, enjoying the way his flush deepened for an entirely different reason now as he shot you a stink eye.
“You’re such a menace," he muttered, but he was already grinning again as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you flush against him. “But you’re my menace.”
“Well happy birthday to you,” you chimed, laughing into Steve’s side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.
He held you just a little bit tighter as he murmured against your hair, “You’re the best birthday present ever,” rumbling his content as you caught his hand with yours, twined your fingers together, and stayed tucked close as you cleared the dock and made your way back to the lake house.
—
Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Andy Barber x Female!Reader
Word Count: 4,683
Summary: It was hard to believe that once upon a time, Andy Barber was a stranger to you. Because now? Now he was your everything, just like you were his.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Established relationship. Flashback. Mob boss!Andy. Reader is a delicate thing with a rough history. Boss/employee relations. Reference to non-con touching. Touch avoidant. Allusions to past abuse and forced sex work. But also a good amount of fluff and affection tbh.
A/N: I am beyond tickled that this Andy won my recent poll. He’s the one I’ve been most eager to write, but there are so many other stories and babes that I know deserve my attention, so it was hard to commit to him. Thank you for giving me an excuse to indulge and also expand this verse. I hope you enjoy this ❤️
P.S. Andy made his debut in mob enforcer!Ari’s story, but you don’t need to read that to read this.
It was getting to be that time of day when you were starting to flag.
As hard as you worked, as supportive and helpful as you wanted to be–especially to Andy–your brain could only handle so much.
Especially when you were running on barely a few hours of sleep last night.
So you finished the final must do on your list for the day, closing your laptop with a small swell of relief as you rose from your seat at the small table in the corner of Andy’s home office.
It was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, and not just because you spent so much time here with Andy. The decor was traditional–and expensive–a myriad of dark woods and butter-smooth leather. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, stacked with books and dotted with expensive pieces of decor, and even some antiques that probably cost more money than your brain could comprehend.
But your favorite personal touch were the two pieces of framed artwork hanging behind Andy’s desk. They were abstract and colorful, and each time you got swept away staring at them, you swore your eyes gleaned a completely new shape or scene or meaning behind them.
Andy once told you the story of how he had won them in a bidding war at an antique auction after months of tracking down any artwork he could find by his late mother’s favorite artist.
It seemed like such a small thing about himself that he had shared with you–but it showed the kind of man that Andy Barber was.
Devoted. Determined. Strategic. Patient when it counted most.
And never willing to give up.
You smiled as you slowly made your way to where he sat hunched over his executive desk, still deep in his own work despite the approach of early evening.
It was traits like his devotion and patience that had finally won you over completely–despite how gun-shy you had been at the mere idea of anything more with Andy.
With anyone, really, given your history.
But even you couldn’t deny that the more you got to know Andy, the more time you had spent with him, the more the thought of something more had taken root in your brain and began to flourish.
And now here you were.
Clocking your proximity, Andy finally pulled his eyes from his computer screen, straightening in his leather-back chair. His gaze softened as it landed on you, his lips tilting up at the corners into your favorite smile.
“All done for the day?” he asked, pushing his seat back and making room for you, because he knew you well.
So Andy didn’t bat an eye when you nodded in response to his question before slowly sinking to the floor, until you were sat between his feet and resting your cheek against his knee with a soft sound of contentment.
“I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow to next week, like you asked,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering as Andy reached out and began to gently pet your head. “And I ordered flowers for Ari’s mother for her birthday next week, too.”
“Thank you, honey,” Andy murmured, his fingers teasing along the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You take such good care of me, of all of us. I bet you even reminded Ari of his mother’s birthday, just to be safe.”
Your cheeks warmed, because Andy was right, and his tone was so fond colored with the kind of tenderness–just for you–that made your insides swoop and flutter. You hid your face against his leg, your insides fluttering some more at the sound of Andy’s quiet, husky laugh.
But speaking of Ari, something tickled your brain, something that made you frown as you tilted your face up and opened your eyes, your gaze shining with worry.
“How are things with the art gallery?” you asked. “Is the business owner next door still causing you trouble?”
Andy’s eyes danced at the mention of the woman who owned the tea and bookshop next door to his new business. “She’s nothing to fret over, honey. Ari’s taking care of her.”
At that, you nervously gnawed on your lower lip. As much as you had come to accept the fact that Andy was a mob boss–and sometimes had to do ruthless, unsavory things–he treated you so well, and was so loving, that it wasn’t an issue for you.
In fact, it provided a sense of security that you had never known until Andy–the fact that you now had such a powerful and competent protector.
But still… you didn’t like the idea of Ari hurting anyone, of the things you were sure he had done and was capable of doing. No matter how respectful and protective he was of you.
You didn’t wish his dark intentions on anyone, even someone who had proven to be a thorn in Andy’s side from day one.
But then again, given the rivals and competition he usually dealt with, this woman’s antics were almost… charming.
“Don’t look so worried,” Andy hummed, gently caressing your cheek. “He’s dealing with her in a way I’m quite certain she enjoys.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh.” Your eyes widened enough to make Andy laugh. “Well… good. I know the gallery is your pet project and the first business that you’re genuinely excited for.”
“And it’s the perfect front for arms dealing, which drives the most revenue, so really it’s a win win.”
You hummed in agreement, once again sinking against Andy as he continued his light touches and caresses. His fingers danced along the tension in your shoulders, moving slower and pressing firmly, until you were making a quiet sound of relief as the knots of tension seemed to melt away into nothing.
“You slept fitfully last night,” Andy said.
You nodded, leaning into the cradle of Andy’s palm that now rested against your cheek. He tilted your face up so he could get a better look at you, observing the shadows beneath your eyes with a small frown and furrowed brow.
“More nightmares?” he asked.
This time you hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding again.
You didn’t hesitate because you wanted to hide your struggles from Andy, or because you were embarrassed he had of course noticed the state of you, but more so just because you hated to think about your nightmares, and the things from your past that caused them.
At your admission, and the way your shoulders hunched and curled just a little, Andy’s touch instantly became more intentional. His hand moved to grip the back of your neck, squeezing in that way he knew melted your brain and made all of your anxiety dissipate.
Of their own accord, your hands lifted so you could cling to Andy’s thighs, pressing your forehead against his knee and nearly curling around his leg like a koala–greedy for his touch.
Even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe it, the way Andy’s touch affected you–in a good way. That you loved it and often needed it now.
Because there had been a time when you thought that you would never enjoy the touch of another again…
18 Months Ago
“Another month in the green,” Andy said, sounding pleased as he scrolled through the financial slides on the tablet he held.
“Bet you’re fucking tickled that you went all in on the club with me,” Lloyd Hansen preened, sinking back in his desk chair and giving Andy a shit-eating grin. “I told you this would be a money maker. There’s nothing like it for miles and miles.”
Andy hummed, setting the tablet on Lloyd’s desk, his face serious as he eyed the other man. “And I bet you’re fucking tickled that I gave you permission to set up shop in my territory.”
Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me work for it and go in halfsies with you, so.”
“You’re welcome,” Andy smirked.
Lloyd scoffed, opening his mouth to likely fire back something Andy would make him regret, but before he could speak a word, his office door flung open and you were forcefully shoved inside.
You squealed as Lloyd’s head of club security–the brute–gave you another shove that had you nearly face planting into the thick, expensive carpet.
“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be interrupted?” Lloyd snarled at said brute.
“Sorry, boss,” he grunted, giving you a lethal glare, “but she caused a scene out on the floor.”
Lloyd’s eyes snapped to you so quickly that you flinched.
“Did she?” The chill in his voice had you cowering in dread as the security guy quickly ducked out of the office, pulling the door closed as he went and shutting you away with your prickly boss.
You were too terrified of Lloyd, and too distressed after what had happened out on the night club floor, to notice the stranger sitting across from Lloyd’s desk.
“This is the thanks I get for hiring your cry baby ass?” Lloyd hissed as he rose from his seat.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you quavered as he rounded his desk and stalked closer. “But… I, I told you, I don’t like to be touched and one of the men out there, he grabbed me and–”
Lloyd didn’t stop his approach until he stood toe-to-toe with you, causing you to visibly tremble as you hugged yourself tightly and kept your head ducked low, your eyes fixed on your feet.
“You’re in a fucking night club, toots, dressed like that, might I add–“ Lloyd scoffed.
“You made me–“ you countered weakly.
“It’s called a work uniform.”
You thought that was a stretch as you eyed your outfit which wasn’t much more than a pair of metallic booty shorts and a sorry excuse for a shirt that nearly had your breasts spilling out the top.
And you weren’t even one of the cage dancers, you were just a server.
“You told me you needed this job, that you were desperate for work,” Lloyd growled.
At that, your head lifted, your gaze frantic as it met Lloyd’s. “I am, I do! Please, I’m sorry–“
Lloyd shook his head. “I can’t have you out there causing a scene anytime the clientele gets a little handsy. That’s part of the job. I mean, what the fuck did you think you were getting into working here?”
“Please, sir, I need this job. I don’t have anything else or anyone or–”
“Oh boo fucking hoo,” Lloyd sneered, dipping his head close and making you recoil. “I gave you a chance. I was more than generous. You get paid well. You get benefits. And this is how you thank me?”
Your chest hitched, a sob working its way up to your throat, because he was right. You had been so obviously out of your depth when you had shown up here for your interview, but you had also been beyond desperate for the gig, for a steady income, to survive.
And now you had gone and fucked it all up because you couldn’t just do what all the other servers did and acclimate to your environment.
“Get out,” Lloyd enunciated slowly before straightening. “And don’t come back.”
“No! Please!” Your voice was pitched with hysteria as panic flared within you.
Because you couldn’t lose this job.
“I can… I can do something else! Anything else!” you cried, trailing behind Lloyd as he turned his back on you and sauntered toward his desk. “I can tend bar or or do inventory or–”
He whirled on you suddenly, making you squeak as you walked right into him and then sharply drew back as if you’d been burnt.
There was a mean glint in Lloyd’s eyes as they slowly trailed over you, in a familiar way that had your belly sinking and your skin crawling.
“The only other use I have for you wouldn’t be ideal since you don’t like being touched, cupcake.” Lloyd made a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue to get his point across, giving a mean laugh as you hugged yourself tightly and stumbled away from him. “That’s what I thought. I have no use for you. You’re useless. So get fucking gone.”
He turned away, clearly dismissing you, his words reverberating in your head loud enough to drown out all of your panicked thoughts.
Because you were useless.
Your tears finally fell as your devastation consumed you. You would be out of your shitty apartment within weeks if you couldn’t make rent. You’d be back on the streets, needing to do whatever it took just to get by.
You shuddered with dread just thinking about it. Especially in this city.
But you had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to.
You had nothing.
You were nothing.
“GET OUT!” Lloyd’s holler made you snap back to the present moment.
You physically jumped at his raised voice, whimpering before turning on your heel to scurry out of his office, but a quiet, unfamiliar baritone made you freeze in place.
“Wait.”
Lloyd huffed. “Really, Barber? You’re undermining me in my own club?”
“Our club. And I’m not undermining you. Just because you don’t have a use for her, Hansen, doesn’t mean I don’t.”
The tiniest, weakest flare of hope flickered within you as you turned and looked at the man who spoke, not nearly as bold in your gaze as he was.
Even though he was seated, you could tell that he was tall, his posture straight and confident, his shoulders broad beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His skin was fair and flawless, his face shadowed with a dark, meticulously kept beard that matched the floofy swoop of his brown hair.
But it was his dark blue eyes that made your own gaze linger, and widen.
Because you realized that the stranger wasn’t watching you with a lecherous look like most men you’d come into contact with. His gaze was shining with something new and unfamiliar–sympathy, and calculation.
“Take her out to the car,” he nodded, and another man you didn’t even notice until now materialized from the dark corner of the office.
He was the biggest, broadest man in the room. His hair dark and long enough to curl around his blue, denim shirt collar. He was so big, in fact, that when he stepped toward you, you whimpered again, cowering at the sheer size of him.
“He won’t hurt you,” the stranger with the pretty blue eyes promised. “Go on. We’ll speak once I’m done here.”
You swallowed hard–nervously–but you were nodding before you even realized it, your body picking up on the softness in his tone and gaze before your brain did.
It made zero sense, especially given your history, but you trusted him, instinctively.
So you turned, grateful when the man you assumed was his bodyguard didn’t touch you as he corralled you out of the office and down the back hallway of the club.
Once you were tucked away in the dark, luxurious SUV parked out back, your mind started to spiral again, all the frantic noise inside your head blaring on a loop.
What were you doing?
You didn’t even know this man.
If he was in business with Lloyd, you couldn’t imagine he was much better.
But then you remembered the softness in his voice when he spoke to you. In his gaze when he looked at you.
He saw your fear and desperation and it seemed like maybe he actually wanted to help you.
Lord knew you could use that right about now.
You were startled from your thoughts as the back door opened and the stranger appeared, climbing in beside you. You noticed how he seemed intentional in keeping some distance between you–in respecting your personal space.
It was such a far cry from Lloyd and pretty much every other man you had ever met, that you felt a lump swell in your throat, and you had to look away from his intent gaze to blink the tears from your own.
“What’s your name?” he asked gently.
You took a breath, peeking over at him as you murmured your name.
He gave you a small smile, introducing himself in return. “I’m Andy Barber, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”
Your lips trembled into an almost hopeful smile.
“You need work?”
You nodded fervently, so much so that you made yourself dizzy as you breathed, “Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any skills or notable experience?” Andy asked.
And just like that–you wilted.
Because you didn’t. You barely had an education, and your resume was laughable–just a string of odd jobs that never lasted long, and the kind of years-long gap that would make any eyebrow raise.
The only thing you had to offer was what Lloyd alluded to back in his office.
Yourself. Your body.
But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. Not again. Not even if it was your choice this time.
You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.
Andy’s quiet voice broke through your internal spiral–your mindless mental chant–as he told you, “You know, I didn’t start out at the top. I came from nothing. But someone with means saw potential in me. They gave me a chance. So I’m willing to do the same for you.”
And there it was again, that tiny flicker of hope sparking to life in the deep recesses of your tarnished soul.
“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’m very good at reading people, and I think you’re someone capable of loyalty, and that I prize most above all. Skills can be taught, knowledge can be gleaned, but loyalty? Trust? Those are innate and of the utmost value, especially in my world.”
You looked at Andy again and couldn't help but shiver. His poise, his confidence, his direct gaze.
You weren’t quite sure who he was, but you knew that you had somehow stumbled your way into the path of someone important. Someone powerful.
Someone who maybe, if you earned his trust, if you made him proud, he would keep you safe.
And that, to you, was of the utmost value.
So you took a deep, shaky breath before whispering, “I can be loyal.” You swallowed before continuing, “And I can work real hard, no matter what you ask of me,” your voice faltered. “Except… I don’t… please, I’m not–“
Despite your fumbling, Andy seemed to understand where your mind had gone. What fear overtook you now.
You saw him reach for you–perhaps his intention was a comforting touch–but he must have remembered you didn’t like to be touched, because he pulled up short and his hand retreated, resting on his thigh instead.
“That isn’t what this is,” he said gently.
“Okay,” you squeaked, sinking beneath the weight of your relief. “Good. T-thank you.”
You peeked over at him again, feeling unsure but also a little mesmerized. Because Andy Barber was beyond handsome. In fact, he was beautiful, but his eyes… your gaze couldn’t stop returning to his and the softness that resided there.
No one had ever looked at you that way before.
Without vile or cruel intentions aimed your way. Without malice or greed. Without the promise of pain, or worse. So much worse.
“Well, this seems pretty cut and dry to me, and genuinely the most pleasant interview process I’ve ever experienced,” Andy said. “So, you’re hired.” He winked, looking delighted when that got a quiet giggle out of you.
But the sound of your amusement cut off abruptly as the car began to move, and you jolted upright, panicked.
“Relax,” Andy soothed, his fingers twitching against his thigh like he was once again resisting the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. “We’re just driving you home, and then you can come to my place tomorrow and we can discuss how you can best support me,” Andy explained. “Where do you live?”
You didn’t respond for a moment, not so much because you didn’t trust him–didn’t know him–but because you were embarrassed by the answer. But after a beat, you gave it to him anyway.
Andy didn’t wrinkle his nose in disgust or make a judgmental remark like Lloyd had when he read your address on your new hire paperwork. He just relayed the address to his bodyguard, who was driving, before sitting back in his seat.
“Would you be open to relocating?” Andy asked, clearly taking you by surprise. “If I have you assisting me daily, it makes the most sense for you to live on my property.”
“I…” you hesitated, not wanting to spoil this gift so soon after receiving it.
Especially since you had no other prospects.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said carefully.
Andy’s eyes sparkled at your diplomatic answer. “You wouldn’t be. Most of my staff have quarters at my manor. Like Ari,” he nodded toward the beefy man in the driver’s seat. “Same with my personal chef and butler.”
“Oh,” you murmured, nervously wringing your hands together in your lap.
Because it seemed like Andy had a whole staff under his employ. Not to mention a manor.
Again, you couldn’t help but wonder who he was, whose orbit you had been drawn into.
“Can I think about it, please?” You asked, not wanting to give up all of your minimal autonomy at once.
Not wanting to make what could be a very life-changing decision before you knew Andy better.
“Of course,” he replied easily. “I can show you around tomorrow to help inform your decision. How does that sound?”
“Very generous.”
Andy shot you a small smile, and your belly swooped at the sight before you quickly looked away, your leg jiggling with nerves as Ari steered the SUV onto your street.
The vehicle eased to a stop at the curb just outside of your dingy apartment building, and you found yourself unable to look at Andy–to risk seeing the pity in his eyes.
“Here, why don’t we exchange numbers?” Andy suggested, fishing his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket.
You pulled your own dated device from your back pocket, quickly fulfilling his request before clutching your phone between your sweaty palms.
“I’ll send a driver to pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty, does that work for you?” Andy asked.
“Yes, but you don’t need to,“ you objected. “I can take the bus, or–”
“It’s a safety precaution on my end,” Andy assured you. “I don’t give out my home address to many. Not in my line of work.”
He winked to make light of something serious, and you once again found yourself wondering what–exactly–was Andy’s line of work?
What were you getting yourself into?
But you just as quickly shook that thought away, because this opportunity–Andy’s kindness–it was all you had, and it was truly a gift.
No one had ever done something like this for you before, had given you a chance, a helping hand in a moment when you needed it most.
And you wouldn’t waste it.
So you nodded, mustering a smile despite your anxiety as you told Andy, “I’ll be ready tomorrow at eight thirty.”
“Perfect,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He watched as you opened the car door and slipped outside, hesitating before you turned back to him. Because a new feeling was overriding your nerves now.
Gratitude.
You felt so very thankful for this unexpected opportunity. For Andy’s empathy and belief in you.
You weren’t used to getting help or lucky breaks.
You weren’t used to anyone caring about you in any way at all.
It must have been written all over your face too, all these thoughts swirling inside of you, because Andy’s features softened as he watched you, another one of those small smiles cursing his lips.
“Go get some rest, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Your belly swooped at the term of endearment, and you lingered for a moment, wishing you were good with words, that you could articulate how grateful you were, how much this meant to you. But you finally settled on a very earnest, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”
“No need to thank me. And call me ‘Andy.’”
Your insides fluttered at his request, and you nodded. “Goodnight, Andy.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching your retreat.
Despite the way you hurried up the front steps and into the entryway, the SUV seemed in no rush to depart, instead idling at the curb until you were safely inside.
You scurried up the four flights of stairs to your unit in a daze, your brain trying to process everything that happened tonight. You were out of your new job at the club, but it seemed like something better could be awaiting you.
Thanks to Andy.
You were terrified to really get your hopes up, because so rarely did things go your way, but this time, weirdly, the excitement–and anticipation to see Andy again–was something you just couldn’t shake…
“Come here, honey.”
The sound of Andy’s voice brought you back to the present moment, your hazy mind surfacing from one of the few pleasant memories you had.
Blinking owlishly, you glanced up to find Andy watching you in soft amusement, his big hand held out toward you.
You slipped your hand into his, allowing Andy to pull you first to your feet, then into his lap.
His arms circled you in an instant, tugging you close as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. As you went pliant against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, he murmured, “We’re going away for a long weekend.”
Your head snapped up in surprise. “We are?”
Andy smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Well, as long as you want to, but it’s why I had you clear my calendar tomorrow. I think some peace, quiet, and nature will do you good.”
You couldn’t suppress your giddy smile if you tried. “We’re going to the lake house then?”
Andy’s smile was more of a grin as he nodded, “I know it’s your favorite.”
“Thank you, Andy!” you squealed, nearly bouncing in his lap as you hugged him and pressed a kiss to his beardy cheek.
Andy’s eyes twinkled at your sweet excitement. As you went to pull away, his fingers caught your chin, staying your retreat as his eyes ignited in a way that had a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly.
Slowly, his gaze meeting yours and not shying away, Andy pulled you in for a real kiss. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to catch your breath because you could feel with each and every press of Andy’s lips against yours how much he loved you, cherished you, wanted you.
You were nearly panting once he pulled away, your eyes dazed enough to make him smile.
“You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” Andy hummed, touching his lips to your forehead. “For treating you the way you deserve.” His next kiss warmed your cheek, then he placed a final kiss on the other before pulling away at last. “Why don’t you go pack?”
“I will, in a little while, but first, can we just…” You sank against him, loosely clinging to him as you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. “Stay like this for a little while?”
“We can stay this way for as long as you want,” Andy promised, his big hand touching your back before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm–up and down, up and down–making you go even more pliant against him.
Humming your content, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, truly feeling your exhaustion for the first time all day.
But you felt something else alongside it, something that–once upon a time, but not so long ago–you never would have thought you would ever feel…
As Andy’s soft, musky scent filled your nose, as his warm, reassuring touch smoothed up and down your back, as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck and breathed in as deep, you felt truly and unequivocally safe.
🥹 You guysss. I love them SO hard. I would be so beyond grateful and delighted if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog with your thoughts. Pretty please! With a naked Andy and Ari on top?! 😘
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Warnings: this fic contains violence, age gap, noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 13th’s fic! (It's late. Sorry)
Ransom Drysdale + “Do you really want to find out how much worse this can get?”
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Another dirty dish. You made a very clear choice in your life not to be a mother, yet here you are, cleaning up after another. You sigh and put the bowl in the sink, noting the streaks of green; the guac you made for yourself.
You shrug off the agitation. Maybe a review of house rules is in order. You made it very clear when your tenant moved in; he has his things, you have yours, and they stay separate. You don’t see what excuse he has to leave a mess or indulge in your food when he has an entire guest house to himself.
That division is what reassured you when Linda phoned in the favour. It will just be for a while, she said. You should’ve expected when you couldn’t get her to define ‘while’ that this would be a cut and dry as you hoped. Linda is rarely the one to leave out details.
You scrub the bowl and dry it and set it away. You start on your own meal for the day. You’re disappointed to find there’s more than just a helping taken out of your guac; it’s pretty much gone. Worse, it was left unsealed so what remnants remain are brown.
You set the container aside. Alright then, something else. Chicken alfredo isn’t too difficult. Amazing, the cream is on the counter and warm. Guess that’s out too.
You tap your fingers in irritation. You are not his mother, just doing a favour for his mother. You won’t be the one to teach him basic manners, only lay down your own boundaries. Simple things; don’t eat what isn’t yours and put things back where they belong.
You don’t have the energy for the conversation right now. Knowing the spoiled Thrombey, it will be more of a confrontation. You’re not so good at those.
🏠
You yawn against the back of your hand as you set down your work bag. What a long day. You leave your shoes beside the leather brief case and let your jacket hang open. You rub your eyes as you walk blindly from the entry way to the hall.
Your stomach is growling and a dull pounding is slowly building in your head. Water, maybe some crackers to tide you over for the night. You drop your hands as you enter the kitchen.
You barely keep from shouting as you find Ransom pouring himself a glass of your chardonnay. More shameless than his blatant theft, is his attire, or lack of. He’s in a pair of paisley boxers and not much else. You’re even more unprepared for that than him and the brewing tension of his imposition.
“Um, hey,” you say flatly as you stop and watch him top off the glass.
He puts the bottle down beside the cork and looks at you from the corner of his eyes. His cheek dimples as he lifts the glass and slurps. He faces you as you try not to look at his broad chest with the thick hair all across it.
“You look like you could use a glass,” he grins.
You swallow dryly. You could but you need a degree of strength. You sniff and circle around the island, keeping a wide breadth from him. He turns to watch you pull down a tall glass from the cupboard and slides closer.
You sidle over to the fridge and press the glass to the lever beneath the water filter. You watch the depths fill. He looms and gulps again.
“Bottle didn’t have a note on it,” he scoffs. “So I figured…”
You knew it was a bad idea. Passive aggressive at best. You made a new batch of guac and put a little label on it; do not eat. You back up and sip the cold water, a chill spreading through you.
You’re too old to be dealing with entitled brats like him. That thought makes you feel bad but when you were his age, you avoided your peers for the same characteristics. You strayed from the path of marriage and motherhood to find your own peace and now you’ve foolishly welcomed chaos into your home. All because Linda Thrombey wanted her due.
“Look, I didn’t have a chance to mention it, is all.”
“Uh huh,” he snorts. “Sure.”
You clear your throat. “We can be mature about this. I guess we should go over the agreement. You have your space, your stuff, and I have mine.”
“Sure,” he agrees tritely.
You look at the glass in his hands. “So, if you do need to borrow something, you can just ask first–”
“I remember when I got here, you said make myself at home,” he counters, pausing to drain the last of the wine. He sets the glass down so roughly, you swear you hear a crack. “But you really haven’t made me feel at home, have you?”
You take another drink and hide behind the glass, the condensation staining your palms. “I’m sorry, I thought… you’d prefer your space.”
“My space, you mean the shed?” He scoffs.
You furrow your brows.
“This is a big house for just you. It’s pretty fucking selfish to have me out there then treat me like an outdoor dog when I dare come inside.” He snarls as he stands at his full height, shoulders squaring. He’s a lot bigger than you realised before. Even with nearly nothing on.
“I’m sorry if it’s come off that way–”
“I wondered why you were still single, you know? Think I get it now.” He spits.
“Hey, you don’t have to be mean. We can talk this out. All I’m asking is that you… just ask. If you want something, just let me know.” You barter. “And I’ll make sure to communicate back. No more notes.”
He snorts and tilts his head. He grips his hips as he stares at you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and shifts his weight on his long legs. He gives a subtle nod.
“All I gotta do is ask?” He says.
You nod nervously.
“So, if I ask nicely to bend you over and loosen up that tight ass, what would you say to that?” He taunts.
You blanch and blink, instinctively taking a step back. “That’s… not funny.”
“I’m not being funny. I don’t make fucking jokes.” He snarls.
Your eyes flit from him to the door; past the island and past him. You grip the glass tighter and look him in the face.
“The answer would be no and I’d prefer it if you went back to the guest house. Now.” You say rigidly.
He chuckles. The rocky rumble sends a shiver through you then suddenly, quiets. His face drops, his eyes darkening as the angles of his jaw grow sharp. He steps toward you and you retreat. He slaps the glass from your hands and the glass shatters against the side of the island.
You gasp and stumble backward. He steps over the puddle of shards and water as he pursues you, eyes dilated, jaw set. You turn around the side of the island, dragging your hand on the wall.
“Ransom, I didn’t– what–”
He lunges at you and you stagger. You throw out your arms as you dodge away from him. He’s too fast. Too strong. He catches you by your throat and swings you into the side of the island. You cry out at the marble edge cracks into the middle of your back. You whine and wriggle in his grasp.
“You think you’re fucking than me? That you’re doing me some kind of fucking favour? This is a punishment for me. Living with some crotchety old lady with a snatch that hasn’t been stretched in decades. With her tightass fucking rules and ass.” He sneers down at you, getting close as his breath scalds with the scent of wine.
“Ransom,” you clasp onto his thick wrist and writhe. You can feel the tendons and veins as you tremble at his strength. “Please, you’ve been drinking–”
“Shut you’re fucking mouth!” He snaps. “Every fucking word you say just makes me want to break you more.”
“Please,” you whisper.
“Stop fucking talking and pull your skirt up.” He growls.
Your eyes sting and your lip trembles. You stare at him, paralysed. He huffs and reaches down, gripping the seam of your skirt as he yanks. You jerk in his grasp and bat his hand blindly. He squeezes your neck tighter and shakes you.
“Stop fucking fighting,” he barks in your face. “Do you really want to find out how much worse this can get?”
You whimper as your hand shakes around his wrist. You gape up at him dumbly. He bends down and presses his forehead and nose to yours.
“Keep this up, and I’ll break your fucking neck.” He scoffs as he rips your skirt up higher. “Hell, it be a lot fucking easier to fuck you then, wouldn’t it?”
Written for pre-July bingo: Square filled: Pleasure
Summary: You came for new underwear and got more than you bargained for…
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (Mature)
Warnings: dubcon, smut, public sex, language, pet names, fingering, groping, unprotected sex, tight spaces, sex from behind, a hint of breeding kink, curvy reader, Lloyd being Lloyd, he’s shameless, and we love it, mentions of future anal (nothing happens)
A/N: Inspired by a meme. You know, the one with Skeletor on it.
A/N2: Lloyd loves some boobs and ass in this. Therefore, our reader has bigger boobies and a juicy ass. No other description.
As you browsed the shelves, you slowly became nervous. All you wanted was to find some nice, and maybe naughty, underwear to wear for your second date. You weren’t sure if you wanted Scott to see it all yet, but you never know. Better safe than sorry.
“Do not touch yourself,” you read one of the signs. It was the first time you read something like this at a store. “Ask the staff for assistance.”
“It’s our client approach, miss,” a young clerk, looking barely of age, tried to help you with your underwear.
His cheeks were flushed, and he was close to creaming his pants, only looking at your cleavage. He stepped closer, hoping to get the chance to get a glimpse of you trying on the new undergarment.
“Boy, get lost.” A man in an expensive suit stepped next to you. He looked at the sign and then at you. “I’ll take care of this client myself. Go, stack up some shelves.”
“Yes…uh,” the boy stammered, glancing one last time at your cleavage. “I think she’s looking for underwear.” He said, sadness coloring his features because of another lost opportunity.
The man in the suit rolled his eyes. He looked annoyed when dropping his eyes to your ass. “I know exactly what she’s looking for. It’s a piece of Lloyd.”
“Lloyd? Is that a new lingerie brand?” You cocked your head to look at the man. “Is it expensive? You know, I have this important date. I need something nice, but naughty. Maybe silk or lace.”
“Lloyd is my name, baby cakes,” Lloyd said, eyes half-hooded. He had watched your interaction with the boy for some time before he finally stepped in. “Follow me to the fitting room. I’ll give you exactly what a pretty little thing like you needs.”
You cocked a brow. The customer service in the lingerie store seemed to follow a different concept from the others you visited before. “Uh, sure.”
Lloyd showed you the way, his hand finding the small of your back. It felt warm and big, and you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed his touch.
“What do you like?”
“I’m not sure yet,” you admitted, stopping in front of the fitting room. “I want to buy something for a second date.”
“You want some guy to look at your ass and tits?” Lloyd seemed to be angry out of the blue. You didn’t understand why. He didn’t know you.
“I don’t know that either. It’s just in case, you know,” you nervously answered. “Maybe I should look somewhere else. There’s a nice boutique selling underwear too.”
“No!” He almost growled, stepping closer. He was intimidating in ways that made your panties dampen. “You came here to receive the best customer service you’ll ever experience. Just wait here.”
He walked away, swaying his hips a little. You watched him walk away, eyes glued to his ass; your lower lip trapped between your teeth. Lloyd was not too bad to look at. If only he didn’t have this old-fashioned mustache ruining his face.
“Wake up, princess,” Lloyd suddenly whispered in your ear. His mustache tickling your ear shell. “I found the perfect set for you and your date. He’ll lose his mind.”
“Wonderful,” you nervously replied, eyes dropping to the white silk bodysuit in his hands. “I like white.”
Her grinned, revealing his teeth like a wolf his fangs, “Of course you do, princess. With that plump ass and the tits, you are a keeper. Here, try this one on.”
You hesitantly took the bodysuit out of his hands, looking at it. It was crotchless, and you weren’t sure I’d fit. “What if it doesn’t fit?”
“Oh, we will make it fit,” he said, eyes dropping to your crotch. “Yeah, stretch it a little and all.”
You huffed and walked inside the fitting room, closing the door. While you stripped bare to try the bodysuit on, Lloyd rubbed his hands. He looked around the store, smirking darkly.
Lloyd could hear you mutter inside the room. He squared his shoulders and opened the door, stepping inside. “Let me help you get that ripe body inside the bodysuit.”
He whistled, seeing you dressed in his chosen outfit, his eyes hungrily roaming your body. “I told you we’d make it fit. Damn, it’s a shame I’m going to rip it off your tits.”
“Sir, if you want me to tip you, you should stop making inappropriate comments.” You tried to stand tall, but Lloyd stepped even closer. He put his hands on your hips and brushed his lips over your ear.
He purred, “You want the tip, baby cakes? You’ll get it. Not just the tip, though. All of me.” You whimpered when he twirled you around and pressed you against the floor-length mirror in the fitting room with his firm chest. He held you pinned against the mirror, groaning loudly as his cock pressed against your ass. “Hmm. That’s more like it.”
“What are you doing?” You breathlessly asked. “This is…you can’t do this!”
“It’s the customer service we promised you,” he purred while one of his hands moved between your legs. His index finger immediately found your swollen pearl, making your body jolt at the simple touch. “There you go.”
His fingers started to work your flesh before you got the chance to protest. You whimpered, feeling the slick coating his fingers.
“Get…” You wanted to tell him to stop or scream, but two thick fingers found their way inside your cunt.
“Yeah, you’re about to get the first of many orgasms.” Lloyd nuzzled your neck, while his fingers worked your cunt towards an orgasm. “Feel this? You’re dripping for me. Fuck.”
“Ngghh…” You tried to tell him to get off you, but your body already surrendered because the bastard knew what he was doing. He curled his fingers inside your cunt while this thumb rubbed your swollen nub. “No…I…I can’t.”
“You will learn that you don’t deny me. I want you to cum all over my fingers, and you will thank me for it. No discussion.”
After that, he whispered filthy words into your ear while his fingers tortured your clit and cunt. He didn’t stop or give you a break after you squeezed his fingers for the first time. No. He added a third finger, now fucking you in earnest.
“That’s it. Another one, my sweet little whore. This body was meant to be used by me.
“Fuck…” You came again, your legs shaking and your vision going white. “I can’t…not again.”
“Princess, you didn’t thank me properly,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But don’t worry. Lloyd is going to take what he wants from you in return for the two orgasms I have already given to you. Needy slut.”
His fingers and the warmth of his body left you cold and empty, but not for long. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Lloyd unzipped his pants as you were breathing hard and tried to steady your trembling body with your hands against the mirror. You still tried to recover from your second orgasm when you felt his hands on you again.
Lloyd forced you to bend your body to his will, manipulating your posture. He stared at your crotchless bodysuit, now soaked with your juices.
“Fuck, this is so hot.” Lloyd cussed before guiding the tip inside your still pulsing cunt.
You were putty in his hands, allowing him to grip your hips and ram the last inches inside.
“Fuck.” You exclaimed, followed by a desperate moan. “You went in bare…fuck…no.” You said, but your lust-clouded mind was singing in delight.
Ashamed you realized, you were already a whore for this man. You didn’t care that you could hear the boy from earlier making an odd noise, or that you heard his zipper come down.
“Ignore that perv,” Lloyd groaned in your ear. He slowly started to rock your body, now using your cunt for his pleasure. “Fuck, that’s a nice little hole for me to use. That douche won’t get another date. You’re mine now.”
He told you to look in the mirror. All you could do was press your hands against the mirror and listen to him. You met his gaze in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman getting railed. This couldn’t be you. Never.
“Fuck,” he cussed, moving one hand to your chest to rip the bodysuit open. “Shit, I need to fuck these tits later.”
He was taking his sweet time, his hand guiding your body up and down his cock. You still stared in the mirror, your mouth hanging open as Lloyd slid in and out of your used hole.
“That’s a good whore. Look at you, baby cakes. Your tits, ass, mouth, and pussy are mine to use from now on. Say it.”
“I…” You blinked a few times, unable to reply. He smirked and stopped moving, snatching your approaching high out of your hands. “No! Don’t stop! You said it’s customer service to serve me. I want to come.”
“Slut,” you heard some say outside the fitting room, but you didn’t give a shit. This man had the perfect cock, and you wanted to come all over it.
“Shut up, asshat,” Lloyd cussed before pulling out. He looked at you in the mirror and listened to the wine leave your lips. “Say it, and I’ll fuck you into the next day.”
“Please…fine…yes…” You turned around to grab his jacket and bring him closer for a messy, hungry kiss. “I wanna be your slut.”
“Excellent.” Lloyd looked like he just made the best deal of his life. He easily lifted you into his arms, smirking darkly as he said, “Good thing I don’t work here, right?”
“What?” He silenced your question with his mouth, swallowing your moans when he slipped back inside. Your legs found their way around his waistline, and your arms around his neck, clinging to him.
“They would fire me,” he purred against your lips. “For fucking a customer.” Lloyd was pressing you against the mirror, his hips snapping into yours. “For making you scream like a whore.”
You heard commotion outside, and someone hammered against the door. Luckily, Lloyd managed to lock it between fingering and fucking you. It all didn’t matter.
You were trapped against his body and the mirror, your cunt close to another orgasm. Much to Lloyd’s delight, you moaned, screamed and cussed him with every deep stroke of his cock.
“Fuck, fuck…I’m gonna breed this cunt. I will paint it from the inside before I paint your whole body!” He threatened, but you only moaned louder. “Fucking slut…”
“SIR!” The commotion outside became louder right when you screamed his name. Lloyd didn’t care. He held you against the mirror, his eyes dark with lust, and fucked you through your high, following soon after.
“Fuck off. This is my lingerie store. I bought half an hour ago,” Lloyd snarled at the woman outside. “The moment I saw this perfect slut.”
You looked at him, bewildered. “You bought it to fuck me?”
“I bought it to get you,” Lloyd replied. “Now, we should look for more lingerie to ruin before I sell this shitty place.”
Lloyd walked out of the fitting room; you were wrapped in his arm, wearing only his jacket and a dopey smile.
He smirked at the women and the boy from earlier.
“That’s what I call customer service,” Lloyd said, throwing the ruined bodysuit at the boy. “Something for lonely nights. Now. Throw these hags out and close for today. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you a thing or two about getting the ladies all wet and tingly…”
He didn’t let you go home. Lloyd insisted on bringing you to his place.
You ended up filled with cock for most of the night. He wasn’t satisfied until he used almost all your holes.
“We’re saving this one for later,” he purred, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to leave another mark. “Maybe I’ll buy a sex store too to get the newest toys for my slutty princess. A nice little plug to open that hole for me too.”
Lloyd playfully swatted your ass, making you moan loudly. “I need to go home, you know.”
“Oh, Y/N,” he said, licking over the bite mark he left. “You are home. From now on, you only need to look ready to get fucked and take cock. Everything else leave to me.”
Lloyd was still buried inside your cunt, and you didn’t have the energy to argue. You’d go home another day, or week, or maybe in a month…
Curtis + “It’s the most wonderful time of the year, right?”
I, of course, envision this very angsty, but I'd be curious to see where you'd take it!
All In
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3,924
Summary: Maybe, just maybe, it really is the most wonderful time of the year, or like, ever.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Curvy!Reader. Cranky diner owner!Curtis. Reference to shitty dating behavior and ghosting. Reader has some insecurities, too. Unprotected sex. Cockwarming. Praise kink if you squint. Sooo much fluff and feels.
A/N: This is my second submission for Hoes for the Holidays @buckets-and-trees @biteofcherry It’s not quite as angst heavy as you’d like, @krirebr lol but your ask did spark a lil something! This scenario is also totally inspired by Luke and Lorelai from Gilmore Girls. I was like… what if we had a cranky diner owner!Curtis who’s been in love with you for years?? So now, we do 😌 Enjoy!
Prompts: Whipped cream on the nose/lip after drinking hot cocoa + “It’s the most wonderful time of the year, right?” + Praise kink
It wasn’t unusual for you to be hanging out in Curtis’ Diner well after closing time.
Not when Snow’s Hollow–the cute, dreamy town you’d lived in for almost a decade–had so few places to really hang out to begin with, especially later in the evening.
It also wasn’t unusual because you were good friends with Curtis, the stoic, often cranky diner owner who seemed a little less cranky when you were around and didn’t mind when you hogged your favorite table in the corner to “work from home” on whichever freelance project you were consumed by at the moment.
But that wasn’t why you were here right now.
Right now, work was the furthest thing from your mind as you nursed your tender heart with a stack of Curtis’ famous pancakes. The extra berries and whipped cream were accouterments you didn’t even need to ask for, because Curtis knew you that well and when you showed up on his doorstep a short while ago, he could tell that you were in desperate need of a pick me up.
Or at least a lot of yummy carbs and sugar to drown your sorrows in.
You finished chewing your mouthful of said yummy carbs and sugar, swallowing it down and then sniffing back a new wave of tears as you leaned your chin on your hand and watched Curtis clean the diner counter around you.
“I just don’t get it! Who kinda breaks up with someone right before the holidays?” you pouted, stabbing the tines of your fork through a juicy slice of strawberry.
“An asshole,” Curtis grunted as he moved on to topping off the salt and pepper shakers lining the counter.
“Ransom’s not–” you started, but then wilted when Curtis’ eyes snapped to you, his eyebrows hiking up in a wordless, ‘really?’ “Okay, fine, he is, but I kind of liked that about him. Well, until he aimed it at me.”
You pouted some more, stuffing your face with another forkful of tastebud heaven as your eyes speckled with more tears at being ghosted by the guy you had been so smitten with for the past couple of months.
You had really thought things had been going so well with Ransom.
Apparently, you were wrong.
“I was so excited to invite him to the winter festival, too,” you quavered. “It would have been the first time I could share it with someone else, yanno? It’s my favorite town event, and now…I probably won’t even go.”
Curtis sighed, pausing in the middle of refilling the nearest napkin dispenser. “You should still go,” he said firmly. “You love that stupid thing.”
“It’s not stupid,” you admonished, nearly grinning as Curtis just rolled his eyes and gave a wordless grunt in reply.
Curtis wasn’t the most talkative person, he was more the type to be a man of few words, but those few words were always impactful. But if there was one thing you knew he could expound on for a good, long while, it was the “unhinged amount of over-the-top town events and activities” that Snow’s Hollow frequently hosted.
Sometimes, you wondered why he even lived here, if he seemed so irritated by the quirky town’s way of operating, but then you’d catch him in these moments–of quietly talking with Tanya over breakfast, or throwing around a football with Timmy in the town square, or helping old Mr. Gilliam carry his groceries home–and you just knew that Curtis loved this town as much of you did, in his own cranky way.
Shaking yourself from those musings, you pushed away your nearly empty plate, your belly uncomfortably full now as you crossed your arms and sank back in your stool.
You watched Curtis as he quietly continued his closing routine, finding comfort in the methodical way he moved and operated, the familiarly of him, the way his big, calloused hands were oddly gentle with the outdated bits and bobs that were still in shockingly good shape considering most of them had accessorized the diner back when his father had owned it many years ago.
Your eyes lingered on Curtis’ big hands, and you ignored the way you squirmed in your seat as you perked up and exclaimed, “Hey, you’re a guy!”
Curtis’ face was deadpan as he met your bright gaze, his own eyes twinkling with mirth as he wryly replied, “Thanks for noticing.”
“No, I mean, you can give me the male perspective!”
His brows furrowed, and he was somehow able to convey his intense trepidation in only one word: “On?”
“What’s wrong with me!”
Curtis gave you an unamused look as he shook his head and moved around the counter to start stacking the chairs on the tables littering the floor so he could sweep.
“No, seriously! I mean it,” you needled, hopping off your stool and trailing after him as he worked. “I genuinely want to know! I mean, there has to be a reason why I’m like guy repellant and can’t maintain a relationship to save my life. So! Tell me: what’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” Curtis muttered with finality, shooting you a stink eye over his shoulder as he moved to the next table.
“Curtis!” you whined, sticking out your lower lip and holding your hands together before you in a pleading fashion. “Please! Tell me! You know me better than anyone and have the male perspective. So just…please. Just tell me what’s so wrong with me—“
Curtis spun around and was looming over you so suddenly, that you squeaked in alarm, staring at him with wide eyes as he swept you up against him with one arm curled around your back and cradled your cheek with that rough hand of his as he kissed you quiet.
And not only kissed you quiet, but kissed you quiet.
You gasped as his soft, plump lips eagerly moved against yours in a way that conveyed he had been yearning to taste you like this–intimately and without reserve–for years. Curtis’ tongue soon joined the fray, sneaking out just enough to tease along the seam of your lips and make your knees quake as you sank against him with a soft moan.
Your mouth mirrored his own frantic need as your fingers curled into the front of his worn flannel and you kissed him back with the same kind of fiery passion that you didn’t even think yourself capable of.
Until now.
Pressing a final, lingering kiss to your now swollen lips, Curtis slowly retreated just a few inches, his eyes dark but smoldering–blazing at you–as he met your dazed, still startled gaze, and husked, “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. Every single thing about you is perfect.”
Your breath caught, not only at his words, but at the fierce truth behind them burning in his eyes as he watched you like you were the most beautiful thing–the most beautiful person–he had ever seen.
“Oh,” you breathed, your body still trembling and lighting up all at once as you met that dark, heady gaze of his head on, fell into it, happily drowned in it of your own free will.
You were quiet for a beat as this unexpected moment–and realization–sank in, inched over you from head to toe and warmed you in a way that you felt deep down in your bones.
And then you pounced on Curtis this time, your hand sliding around the nape of his neck as you yanked him in for another round of ardent, needy kisses that were your new favorite drug.
Curtis groaned against your mouth as your tongue brazenly swept into his mouth to tangle with his own. Those big hands of his that you had been so mesmerized by earlier fell away from where he had been gripping your arms and tentatively touched your sides instead.
His touch grew more confident–and wanting–by the second, his hands traveling along the curves of your body, wordlessly admiring your softness before he gripped your hips and backed you toward the door behind the counter that led upstairs to his apartment.
You were only a few feet away from that destination–your mouths still fused together and stealing each other’s breath away between eager kisses as both your hands wandered the new and exciting terrain of the other’s body–when Curtis abruptly pulled away.
“Wait,” he panted, dropping his forehead to yours as you clung to him. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“If there’s nothing wrong with me, then why are you rejecting me?” you frowned up at him, feeling your insides suddenly curdle as you tried to pull away from him entirely.
But Curtis wouldn’t let you. His hands locked together around the small of your back, tugging you flush against him once more.
“I’m not rejecting you,” he said. “But you deserve more than an impromptu fuck, especially when you’re feeling sad and hurt about that asshole Drysdale. I want you in my bed because you want to be there, with me, not because you’re trying to forget about someone else.”
That curdling feeling instantly morphed to your insides blooming and fluttering wildly at Curtis’ words. His desire for you.
And his desire for you to want him as much as he apparently wanted you.
“The winter festival,” he suddenly muttered.
“Huh?” You paused in the way you had been unthinkingly petting along his chest, your brows furrowed in confusion as you lifted your gaze to his.
“You won’t have to go alone. I want to take you.”
“You want to go to the winter festival? You? Curtis Everett?!”
He glared at you, but it was nowhere near as fierce or genuine as you knew that look of his could be.
Not for you, never for you.
“I want to take you,” he said firmly, broaching no argument. Then he softened as he murmured, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year, right?”
You couldn’t help it as your lips unfurled into a big, dopey grin, and you clutched Curtis’ broad shoulders as you bounced on your toes and replied with an enthusiastic, “Okay! Then we’ll go, together!”
Curtis’ lips curled into a small, pleased smile, and then he corralled you close once more, and kissed you breathless all over again.
When Curtis showed up at your place a few evenings later, it was only awkward for a moment as you stood together out front, drinking each other in.
He was wearing a new winter coat and scarf combo, his pale cheeks ruddy from the cold, winter air, and he was gazing at the way your little leggings and sweater dress combo hugged all your curves like he wanted to eat you.
Which had you giggling nervously and preening all at once.
Curtis' gaze cleared as his brow furrowed and he encouraged you to finish doing up the front of your coat and put on your gloves, and then he guided your arm to hook around his as you two turned to walk to the town’s center–together.
It didn’t take long to notice the way others were giving the two of you looks of interest and encouraging smiles. Edgar even shot you a double thumbs up as he walked by, giving Curtis a cheeky grin and wink as the other man growled in response to his shenanigans.
You laughed, feeling your face warm as you clung to Curtis even tighter and leaned into him to mutter, “Wow, they’re real subtle, huh?”
“Like a sledgehammer,” he scoffed, making you laugh.
“It’s sweet though,” you couldn’t hide a big, dumb grin as Tanya shot you a lascivious wink as you passed by her hardware shop. “That they’re all, I dunno, rooting for us.”
“They’re a bunch of meddling busy bodies.”
“You love them anyway,” you wheedled, rubbing your cold cheek against Curtis’ sleeve.
He hmphed, glancing over at you, that concerned furrow taking over his handsome face as he murmured, “You cold?”
“Yes,” you answered honestly, smiling big. “But I love it.” Your voice had a dreamy quality as the two of you stepped under just one of the half a dozen archways of twinkling lights and decorative snowflakes and icicles that littered the area.
Curtis nodded across the brightly lit and almost garishly decorated town square to where a bunch of different food and game booths were set up. “How about we get some hot cocoa to warm up?”
“Only if we get extra whipped cream,” your grin was cheshire-like and faded as you spotted the soft, fond way Curtis was watching you. It made you feel shy, and you buried your face against his arm once more.
“I’ll steal all the whipped cream they have if it’ll make you happy,” he murmured against the crown of your head before leading you to the booth.
A few moments later, you cradled the steaming cup of hot cocoa and mound of whipped cream that came with it, carefully taking a sip before pulling back with a happy hum. “Chocolate, creamy nirvana.”
Curtis was actually grinning when you glanced over at him. He shook off one of his gloves before reaching out to wipe away the smear of whipped cream your drink had left behind on your upper lip.
His eyes met yours–unwavering–as he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked the cream from his skin.
“Oh boy,” you whispered, unable to stifle your response, and feeling heat flood your face as he gave you a wicked grin before ushering you across the square.
“Come on, there’s something I always wanted to do with you,” Curtis spoke softly as his hand found its way to the small of your back and stayed there.
“I know the fine people of Snow’s Hollow are rooting for us, but I don't think they want a show,” you trailed off into giggles as Curtis shot you a half-hearted stink eye.
Knowing he didn’t even need to ask, he paused at the sugary treats stand and bought a bunch of snacks he knew you loved, and then he was once again leading you to his chosen destination with this determined glint in his eye.
You stood at the crossway across the street from his diner, confused as you sipped at your hot cocoa and glanced around. You opened your mouth to ask what you were doing, and then promptly choked on your words as two gorgeous horses trotted up, pulling behind them an intricate red and gold carriage that looked just like a sleigh.
You had forgotten this was one of the winter festival activities, one you always seemed to miss out on because the line was always so long and the cut off time made waiting at the end of it not worth it.
“How?” you spluttered, glancing around again, “There’s not even a line…”
“Because sleigh rides haven’t technically started yet,” Curtis smirked. “I paid Grey to do me a solid.”
You glanced past Curtis to where Grey sat at the front of the sleigh, he shot you a wink and amused grin before looking away as Curtis grabbed your hand and ushered you up into the carriage.
“Wow, this is so…wow,” you breathed as you settled into the cushy velvet seat.
“I’m glad you like it,” Curtis replied, arranging a ridiculously soft and warm blanket over both your laps before curling his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
As the horses started to trot down the beautifully lit street, you snuggled even closer to Curtis, remembering something he said from before. “You always wanted to do this? With me?”
Curtis glanced at you, huffing a laugh at your pleased, cheesy grin. “Yeah, I have.”
“I can’t believe I’ve known you all this time and had no idea that you’re a big secret sap,” you teased.
“I guess it’s a week of discoveries for you, huh?” Curtis drawled. “First, you realized I’m a guy, and now a secret sap, just for you.”
You had never seen him so playful, or so happy–it was coming off of him in waves, really. His beautiful blue eyes were bright and dancing, a smile was constantly tugging at the corner of his lips…and it was because of you.
You made Curtis Everett happy.
And if the way your belly was swarming like it was filled with a kaleidoscope of butterflies was any indication–and the way you couldn't stop smiling like an absolute dope–Curtis had the same exact effect on you.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” you confessed softly. “You and me. It’s like…a dream, or a fairytale. It’s–“
“Everything I’ve always wanted.”
“Flatterer,” you huffed playfully to hide just how touched–and joyful–his admission made you.
“No, I mean it,” Curtis said, gently touching your cheek.
As much as you wanted to believe him–as beautiful and memorable of a time as you were having–you couldn’t help it as a little voice of doubt spoke up in the back of your mind…
You’re so bad at men and relationships, this will never last.
Curtis, who knew you so well, must have been able to read the doubts and fears stirring up your mind, because he got this determined look on his face as he turned toward you, reaching behind him to dig his wallet from his back pocket.
“You moved here eight years ago in January,” he said, flipping his wallet open. “And the third time you came into the diner and ordered pancakes, you gave me this little Best Pancakes in the Universe certificate that you made.”
“Oh my god,” you laughed at yourself, feeling your face re-heat all over again. “I’m truly the biggest dork ever.”
“No,” Curtis shook his head, his eyes blazing at you in that way that made your body stand to attention and your insides squirm and throb. “You’re sweet and unguarded, genuine and kind.”
He finished rifling through his wallet, pulling out a worn and battered square of paper that he so very carefully unfolded before holding it out to you.
It was the Best Pancakes in the Universe certificate that you had given him all those years ago.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears as you stared down at the ridiculous award you had fashioned, just for him. “I can’t believe you kept this. After all these years?”
“I’m all in,” Curtis replied, his gaze meeting yours, as unguarded as he said you were, and the most serious you had ever seen him. “You and me?” he reiterated, making sure he was perfectly clear. “I’m all in.”
Feeling the first few happy tears spill over, you reached for him, pressing close as you cupped his beardy cheek with your gloved hand, met his gaze without wavering, and told him, “So am I.”
You could actually feel the coiled tension ease from Curtis’ big, broad frame as he melted against you in relief, sinking into your touch, his lips gentle but still eager as they met yours.
He kissed you slowly, reverently, taking his time tasting you–and savoring you–as the sleigh continued its trek around the town square, the two of you completely oblivious to anything or anyone other than eachother.
“Curtis,” you whimpered, your body so overwrought and yet standing at the cliff’s edge all over again. Honestly, you had lost count of the number of times he had made you cum at this point.
Neither of you had expected your first date to end like this, but you certainly weren’t complaining.
Not. One. Bit.
“I’ve got you,” Curtis breathed against your sweaty cheek.
The rhythm of his hips didn’t falter as his hand found yours atop the tangled sheets of your bed. His rough palm slid against your own, his fingers twining with yours as his lips dragged along your skin.
“Let go for me,” he breathed into your ear. “I wanna feel you cum around my cock, gorgeous.”
His next thrust was harder than before, going deeper, lighting up every inch of you more brightly than the town square, until you gasped sharply and tipped over the edge.
You were falling, falling, falling as bliss enveloped you entirely, rushing through your veins from head to toe as you moaned and arched up against the warm, firm mass of Curtis’ naked body.
“Good girl,” he husked against the cut of your jaw, his teeth nipping and making you gasp and squeeze around him all over again.
Curtis’ forehead was sweaty as it dropped to your shoulder, and only then, as your fluttering cunt clamped around him as the last dregs of your orgasm faded away, did he finally falter.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned.
“Your turn now,” you slurred in response, your free hand rounding Curtis’ waist and sinking down to grope his bare ass. You tilted your hips up, spreading your legs even wider in invitation. “Wanna feel you fill me up.”
He groaned again, his long, hard cock twitching inside of you, but then he started to move again. The push and pull of his hips frantic and feral. Desperate.
Curtis sank against you more fully, clutching you tightly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and rutted into you until his own release washed over him in a powerful wave of pleasure.
You felt him gasp against your bare skin, moaning as he shoved into you hard and deep, lingering as his cock throbbed. A few more jerky pumps of his hips and you felt the warm flood of his cum as he filled you up just like you wanted, not stilling until he fucked every last drop as deep into your thoroughly claimed cunt as he could.
The feel of his large, heavy body going totally boneless as he sank against you made your chest flutter and your belly swoop. And when you felt Curtis gently snuffling along your neck and shoulder, you couldn’t help but grin.
“Be honest,” you murmured, your hands gently skimming up his bare back before gripping his sides. “What was more satisfying? This, or the sleigh ride?”
Curtis shook with laughter against you, his head popping up and his eyes so very warm as they met yours. “This, definitely this.”
“Agreed,” your grin was mischievous as your fingers trailed along his rosy cheek. “Besides, this ride came with a very generous load of cream, sooo….”
You giggled as Curtis tickled your sides, squirming beneath him and then gasping as he suddenly ducked low and caught your lips with his.
You hummed into the kiss, your hands moving to frame his face as you opened up to the passionate, talented onslaught of his mouth.
Curtis didn’t pull away until you were both panting for breath, shifting until he could cradle your warm, beaming face between his massive hands. He just watched you for a long, quiet moment, admiring you in a way that was impossible to ignore.
“I believe you,” you whispered, your fingers gently curling around his wrists.
“About what?”
“That you think I’m perfect,” your gaze flickered away shyly, but your insides were swooping all over again, because it was true.
Curtis made you feel beautiful and wanted, and you knew that to him, you really were perfect.
He caught your chin with his fingers, guiding your vulnerable gaze back to his. Curtis’ knuckles gently caressed your cheek as he said, “I don’t think you’re perfect, I know it.”
Then that warm, unguarded smile of his that was becoming your new norm split his lips, and he dipped close, stealing another kiss between declaring, “In addition to being perfect, you’re also mine.”
And you were.
AHHHHH!!! I actually really, really love this. It made me so 🥹 to write it. I hope it’s a bright dose of hoeliday shenanigans for you, too!
FOLLOW UP DRABBLE
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How are diner owner Curtis and his reader doing? Still totally happy and smitten I hope😍👏
Down Time
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female!Reader
Word Count: 1,704
Summary: It’s your first time going on vacation with Curtis, and he’s kind of bad at it.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Curvy!Reader. Cranky diner owner!Curtis. Established relationship. Fluff and banter. Brief hand job. Oral sex (m receiving). Cum swallowing. Allusions to face riding.
A/N: I’m sorry it took me some time to respond to this, nonnie. I just knew I wanted to write a little something for it, because I love these two, so I hope it was worth the wait ❤️
If you’re new to this verse, you can read the original story here.
It was about six months into your relationship with Curtis, and the first time you were on a real vacation together.
Ten whole days free from work, tucked away in a quaint little cabin by the lake, with only each other's company to enjoy.
It was heaven.
Well, for you.
You watched Curtis pace the length of the tiny, rustic kitchen as he typed away on his phone, his brow furrowed and his handsome face pinched as he turned on his heel and retraced the path to the other end of the kitchen.
“It’s so fun that I still get to learn new things about you after all this time,” you chirped from your seat at the retro dining table tucked in the corner of the kitchen.
You couldn’t hide your smirk as you rested your chin on your hand, watching as Curtis paused and looked over at you, his brow somehow furrowing even more.
“What do you mean?”
Your smirk turned to a full on grin as you replied, “You, sir, are badddd at vacationing.”
Curtis glowered at you, his gaze narrowing into a very impressive stink eye that didn’t intimidate you in the least. Quite the opposite. It made you want to coo at him and cover his ridiculously handsome face in allll the kisses.
“It’s true, Mr. Workaholic. We’ve been here two days, and sadly you’ve spent more time texting on your phone than rocking my world. For shame.”
Curtis rolled his eyes at your teasing, but then his features softened with a hint of concern–a glimmer of guilt, too. “I’m sorry, I just want to make sure Edgar doesn’t burn down the diner while I'm gone.”
“He won’t,” you assured Curtis, rising from your seat. You closed the short distance between you, pressing close and twining your arms around his neck as he sank against you, wordlessly welcoming your embrace. “Edgar wants to make you proud, so let him.”
Curtis frowned, his gaze falling away from yours. He grumbled a little, knowing you were right but also this was the first time he had ever left his diner in the hands of another, and it was hard not to worry.
“Looks like maybe I need to distract you,” you decided.
“How are you–“ Curtis started, and then made a sound of surprised indignation as you backed out of his hold and swiped his phone as you went.
You put it on silent mode before tucking it away in a random kitchen drawer, and then you planted your hands on Curtis’ chest and began to push him out of the kitchen and toward the living room.
Of course, you wouldn’t have been able to move him if he didn’t allow it, so you were glad he did, and you were sure the mischievous smile on your face–along with the darkening twinkle in your eye–was why he didn’t resist.
Curtis grunted once the back of his knees hit the edge of the sofa and you gave him a final shove until he was plopping down on the plush, plaid cushions. When you sank to your knees between his spread legs, his eyes widened ever so slightly, his nostrils flaring as his tongue snuck out to wet his bottom lip.
“Oh,” he realized, the single word a primal sound of acknowledgment that had your pussy fluttering in response.
You grinned at his dumbfounded look. “Time to relax, handsome. No more work or worrying. Good vibes only.”
You bounced up to peck his parted lips before your hand dropped to the bulge at the front of his jeans that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Hnnnngh,” Curtis groaned, sinking back against the sofa even more now as you began to undo his pants.
“See, isn’t vacationing the best?” You teased as your hand circled his swelling length and gave it a few strokes until he was at full mast and pulsing in your grip.
“Anything with you is the best,” Curtis rumbled.
“I’m so impressed that you can still be so smitten and sweet even when I’ve got your cock in my hand. You’re such a keeper,” you giggled as Curtis gave you another stink eye.
Waggling your eyebrows at him, you gave him another stroke, making sure to let your thumb swipe through the mess of pre-cum dribbling from his tip before smearing it along his length, aiding the glide of your hand and pulling a ragged moan from the back of his throat.
And if you thought that sound was delightful–and porn worthy–it was nothing compared to the near growl that vibrated Curtis’ chest when you eagerly took him into your mouth.
Honestly, you weren’t sure who was enjoying it more–you or him. You loved feeling the weight of him on your tongue, the salty musk of him overtaking your senses. And the way both his big hands shot out to cradle the back of your head when you began to bob up and down on his cock–it made your pussy gush.
You drew it out as long as you could, savoring each and every one of the wrecked sounds Curtis gifted you. The broken moan when you took him deep into the back of your throat and swallowed until you gagged. The grunt of your name when you dragged your tongue along the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock. The sharp gasp when you suckled at the crown of his cock, humming as a healthy trickle of pre-cum spilled past your lips in response.
Eventually, you could feel Curtis just on the edge of his climax. His thick thighs were tense and shaking, he was muttering complete nonsense as he rutted into your mouth, and then he was groaning so loud you nearly came as a result–that deep, primal rumble making the flood of his cum down the back of your throat all the more rewarding.
Once you pulled away from him with a wet pop, you barely had time to wipe the cum from the corner of your mouth before Curtis was pulling you up into his lap and burying his face against the crook of your neck.
You grinned as he barnacled to you, and you felt him breathlessly pant against your skin. His hands were everywhere as he touched and caressed every inch of you he could reach as he slowly came down from his high. You were pretty sure he started purring like a cat once you began to drag your fingers along his scalp, feeling him go even more boneless beneath you.
After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, Curtis pressed a kiss to the side of your neck. He straightened, his handsome face still a bit pink and glowy from the aftermath of your sinful attention.
He was giving you those soft, moon eyes of his that always made your insides flutter like wild, and when his big hand reached out to cradle the side of your face, you eagerly leaned into his touch with a dopey smile.
“I’m sorry if I ruined the first couple of days here,” he said.
“You haven’t,” you were quick to counter, turning your head so you could kiss his palm. “You couldn’t. Just being here with you is special, you cute worry wart.”
Curtis’ eyes twinkled at you, his lips tilting at the corners as he drew his thumb over your bottom lip before reeling you in. He kissed you softly, lingering in that way that always made you feel like he found you irresistible, like he loathed even the smallest amount of distance between you two.
When he pulled away, he watched you for a beat, something sheepish working its way into his gaze, and it made you laugh.
“You’re thinking about texting Edgar again, aren’t you?” you grinned.
Curtis’ shoulders hitched up to his ears. “I forgot to tell him where I store the backup backup backup napkins. And if we have a busier week than anticipated, and he runs out–”
Giggling, you leaned in and kissed away the rest of his spiral, giving him a fond smile as you pulled away and said, “I love you.”
Curtis blinked, making a wordless sound of shock before he stuttered, “W-what??”
You felt a little shy at his reaction, but it was cute, too, and most importantly of all–you didn’t regret your words or dropping them without thought or plan in the least–because they were true. “You’re ridiculous and amazing and I love you,” you confirmed.
Curtis’ features went the softest you had ever seen them, but there was a serious air to him as well as he cupped your face between both of his hands and tugged you in for the gentlest kiss he had ever given you. One that stole your breath away because it was so painfully tender and telling.
“I love you too,” Curtis breathed, giving you another soft kiss for good measure. And then he was nearly grinning as he said, “Actually, I’m pretty sure I loved you first, because I had years of pining on you, so. I win.”
Rolling your eyes, you tugged him in for another kiss, not pulling away until you were both panting against each other’s lips and grinning like a couple of giddy idiots in love.
Which you were.
“Just give me a minute to text Edgar about the napkins, and then I’m gonna make it up to you.”
“Oh yeah? And how will you do that?”
“You’re gonna sit on my face and let me eat that pretty cunt until I melt your bones with my tongue and a few orgasms.” Curtis laughed as your face went slack at his words, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose before gently moving you from his lap so he could stand. “Give me sixty seconds, pretty girl, and get naked while I’m gone.”
You blinked as he winked at you, still gaping after him like a fish as he hurried into the kitchen to use his phone.
And then you were snapping to, giggling quietly as you jumped to your feet and began to shimmy out of your clothes, tossing them haphazardly away, pretty sure that this was, in fact, the best vacation ever.
Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Warnings: this fic contains violence, age gap, noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 14th’s fic! (It's late. Sorry)
Lloyd Hansen + “I just need you close to me.” (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Restlessness stirs your skirts. You pace around your chambers, from canopy to fireplace to window. You stop at the last and peer out onto the blooms trimmed in perfect geometric patterns. You sway back and forth as a swell of unease chases at your heels.
You spin and hurry to the door. You poke your head out and find your usual guard, as vigilant as ever. Sir Lloyd looks at you from the corner of his eye, his nose cut in a stoic profile over his tufted mustache. His light armour clinks with his movement as his hand tightens on his pommel.
“Princess,” he intones flatly.
“Ah, you’re here.” You reply.
“As ever.” He states as a fact.
“Mm,” you hum. Ever since your father put you at the guard’s charge, you’ve felt a twinge of guilt. He isn’t the sort to find glory in watching over a naive princess. “And I am as ever grateful for your protection.”
His cheek dimples and brow arches. His eyes drift back to the opposite wall. You cannot blame him his resent.
“You require your lady maid, princess?” He asks.
“No. Unless, do you think?” You step out fully and touch the net over your hair. “Would a duke prefer my hair loose, sir?”
Sir Lloyd keeps his eyes on the stone. “I’ve sworn all the attention I might pay to lady’s tresses to your father. I fear I’m not much versed in braids and curls.” He looks at you again, once more without turning his head. “The net becomes you, however.”
“Ah, sir, you are silly.” You clap your hands. “No, I didn’t need Mercia. I only… I hoped to sneak away to the gardens. I thought some roses might be nice to receive the Duke.”
His eyes narrow and his armour rises and falls with his chest. “Princess.”
“You wouldn’t have to come. I’ll be quick.”
“You know that I must, princess.” His thumb rubs the metal ornament at the top of his pommel.
You pout and nod. He is correct. You are to go nowhere without company, least of all, his. You pity him the task of acting as your shadow. You suppose your days seem as folly to a knight and royal guard.
“I suppose then you might call Mercia and I would send her.” You resign.
He sighs again and tilts his head. “We will go, princess.”
Your smile beams and you bounce on your toes. “I must bring a basket. I will be quick, sir.”
You turn and leave the door open. You snatch up the woven basket with the twisted handle and shuffle back to the corridor. As you emerge, Sir Lloyd reaches to pull shut the door. You swing the basket in triumph.
“At your delight, princess.” He gestures with his gloved hand.
You stand taller and set off down the corridor. He walks just a step back. You can hear his armour and the hard soles of his boots.
“What colour do you think, sir?”
“A flower is a flower,” he harrumphs.
“No, not just a flower.” You trill. “Red is for love and charity. A kind colour. White would be innocence, and I suppose, heavenly. The purple would be too royal, would it not? Too pretentious? Or pink for grace and romance…”
He’s silent as he skirts around you. He goes down the first step of the staircase and offers his hand. You brace his wrist as you descend and he assures your balance. He makes a slow descent.
“And what should they mean if your father denies the betrothal, princess?”
“They will be something pretty to cheer me.” You shrug. “Father said he didn’t mind the Duke.”
“Your father has never met a person he did not mind. He will find fault in a child at play.” He scoffs. “With respect, princess.”
“No, you wouldn’t be untrue. My father is…elusively temperamental.” You drone as you come to the flat stone. “Perhaps then the flowers would be for me. A measure to calm my nerves as I wait anon.”
“You…” he begins but stops himself, as if thinking better of his thought. He continues. “You are anxious for your suitor, princess?”
You look at him over your shoulder. Servants rush to open the doors as you approach. “I am. It is kind of you to ask though… there are many troubles bigger than mine own.”
“Whatever troubles the princess is my duty to ward off.” He assures. “That is as your father bid.”
“And to you, I apologise. I’m certain you’d rather be ahorse or at least, have reason to draw your sword, sir.”
“I shouldn’t long for it for it would mean you are in danger.” He says as he follows you out into the sunshine.
You make your way to the gardens and delve into the hedges of intertwined thorns and petals. You see a blushing pink bloom and hurry forward to touch it. You feel along the stem and squeak as you pull your hand back.
Sir Lloyd approaches and opens his gloved hand. “Princess.”
You show him your pricked finger. The blood beads at the tip. He pinches, firm but gentle, and tuts.
“Do not touch. A duke would be appalled to see such fine fingers tortured.” He bids. “Point and I will cut whatever you like.”
“Oh, sir, thank you.”
You pull your hand from his and fix the basket over your other arm. “That pink one that bit me, sir.”
He gives you a look and you giggle. He slides a long dagger from his belt. You watch the metal and your eyes widen. You never paid much heed to the weapons he carried. They would never be used against you, thus you never worried.
He delicately slips his hand around the stem, careful not to disturb the petals, and he cuts through the thorns. He lays the rose in the basket as you hold it out.
“Pink, romance, you said, princess.”
“Or grace. Or heavenly perfection.” You muse. “But I only like the shade, sir. Don’t you?”
He turns to cut some more pink blooms. “I’ve not much of an eye for these things,” he holds up another rose, this one with white at the base of the petals and pink along the edges. He looks at you over it. “Though I can see beauty when it is in front of me.”
🌹
Compline rang out from the cathedral bells ages ago. It is late and you are just as restless as you’ve been much of the day. You are adrift somewhere between dusk and dawn. Alone.
The duke did not arrive. Not as they said he would. Has he turned back with doubt? Or has something worse befallen him? No, those things are only wives tales.
You sit against the headboard, still in your lilac gown, with the net still in your hair, and the chain around your neck bearing your mother’s bequeathed gem. Your slippers even remain on your feet as you wring your hands and wait. As the night wears on, so do you. Your head bobbles and dips.
A knock at the door gives you a start. The door opens and Mercia enters. The lantern flickers at your bedside. She gasps.
“Princess, you’ve not slept!” She decries.
You hush her. “Is there word of the duke?”
“Oh, Princess, you mustn’t worry so. You must be ready for when he does come. You will be dreary with fatigue–”
“Have you heard anything?” You plead with her.
“No, Princess. Nothing. I’ve only come as morning approaches.” She explains.
“Go then. I have no need of any but the duke.”
“Princess, perhaps some rose tea or–”
“Please, leave.”
She obeys. Your mind races with worry. Was it you? Or your father? He can be demanding and rather particular. Perhaps he saw the duke and turned him away…
Another knock comes before you can slump. You call for the visitor to enter. It is only Sir Lloyd. He does not enter often. Only with your father.
“Princess.” He greets. “The maid says you are unwell.”
“The maid lies.”
“You’ve not slept, princess.”
“So I’ve not,” you cross your arms. “And the duke has not come.”
Sir Lloyd stares at you. You shy away and look at your skirts. You huff.
“You should rest. It is my duty to see you safe and well. You will not be without sleep.”
“Sir. You needn’t worry so. Only keep the wretches out. That is your duty.”
He is quiet. He backs up and pulls the door with him. “So it is,” he utters before it closes entirely.
🌹
Your father enters without pretense. He is a king, he needs no welcome or permission. You sit at the window, in the same lilac gown as these last two days, with the same gnawing dread in your gut. Sir Lloyd stands at the door, hand on his pommel and shoulders straight.
“Daughter,” the king says in his cold tone. “We’ve news of your suitor. He will not be your husband.”
You gasp and stand. You nearly tip from exhaustion. “But why not? Where has he gone?”
“Slain. Dead in the dirt. Some bandits.” He says without compassion.
You put your hands to your cheek in horror. Sir Lloyd’s brow twitches slightly but otherwise, he is unbothered. Your father growls.
“Rather inconvenient. I tire of meeting these upstarts. All they do is recite their useless titles and praise a maiden they’ve never laid eyes on. I do not require love, I require money, lands. And now his shrew of a sister will hoard it for herself.” He throws his hands up. “Rats.”
He turns and stomps to the door. Sir Lloyd clears his throat. “And the bandits? Are they not a threat to other travellers? If they would assault a noble, what might keep them from the very same upon the royal person? The summer progress is not far away, your highness.”
Your father snorts. “Always my cleverest knight, Hansen.” He smacks his knuckles on the guard’s arm. “Go on then. Deal with the rabble. Make an example as you do.”
“Happily,” Sir Lloyd bows his head. “I will have Nikolai take my place here until I return.”
“If he isn’t sober, let me suggest Geralt.” Your father retorts before he strides out.
You stand, stunned. You back up and sit on the window seat. You hang your head.
“Dead?” You whisper.
“Princess,” Sir Lloyd says. “I will avenge your suitor. In your honour.”
“Death and more death,” you turn onto your side and crumple up. “I thought… I hoped…”
You close your eyes and hug yourself. You hear the guard come close, sense him even. Almost as if his fingers hover right above your cheek. He exhales.
“I will have Mercia bring you some lemon water and milk. You must calm. Sleep, princess. I will not be long in my justice.”
🌹
You languish in bed, defeated by fate. How many times must this charade be played out. The first lord your father chose was too short and squat. The second made a bad jape and nearly got the axe. The third complimented and earl your father despised. The fourth and the fifth annoyed him for no particular reason. Now the sixth has perished to some forest-infesting scoundrels.
Mercia brings you meals you do not touch and says words you do not hear. You are a princess. You are meant to marry a fine man; to love him; to be cherished. You long as any does to be wanted. For once in your life…
It is night. The window lets in a night breeze to soothe the stagnant air. There are voices in the hall. You perk up at the familiarity of the latter tone. Footsteps trod away.
A gentle tap comes at the door. You do not move. Slowly, the hinges groan.
“Princess,” Sir Lloyd’s shadow stands at the wall.
“Good knight, you’ve returned.” You say without rising.
“So I have. Victorious. The beast that slew the young duke have been dealt with.”
You sit up as your fatigue slakes away. “You…”
“By my hand. In your name.” He assures.
“I… but the duke is dead, still.”
He exhales loudly. He closes the door, from the inside. You turn your legs over the side of the bed and fumble to strike flint to light the lantern. He nears and takes it from you, doing it himself. He smells like iron.
“Sir?”
“I’ve ridden all night to be sure I could be here. That I could protect you from heels such as those I’ve seen off to their fates.” He sneers as he backs up.
You look up at him. There is a dent in his shoulder armour and a reddened patch on his cheekbone. You rise and lift the lantern. You follow him as he strides to the window.
“Sir, you’ve been injured?”
“I’ve had worse.” He stares out at the night.
You bring the lantern closer to see him better and he turns away. There’s something amiss. He has changed. He moves in a prowl as he considers the room. He pauses to touch the wilting flowers in the pot on the table. The ones he cut for you. He bends to smell them.
He stands and snickers. “The very purse I filled are now on my own belt.”
You stare at him and set the lantern down on the other side of the pot. “What do you mean, sir?”
“It is ironic to think, men as me, are paid to wield death upon others and it is called honour. Others are paid for the same and deemed criminals.” He scoffs. “I suppose it is all in who is felled and who is paying.”
You frown. Your chest flutters and your mind swims. You don’t understand.
“Sir, your words confound me.”
He bends forward and flattens his palms on the table. He hangs his head and lingers like that as you listen to his breath. He inhales deeply and stands at full height. You never noticed before how fearsome and gargantuan he is. There is blood upon his armour still, it catches the flame’s flicker.
“Your father bid me protect you and it is what I’ve done.” He says.
“Sir?”
He walks around the table and you turn to him. He stands before you. He looks down at his hands and brings them up next to your arms. He shudders.
“The duke was better dying on the road. It would not be right to slay him on his wedding night.” He drawls as he closes his hands around your arms and drags them up. You shiver.
“What…. You don’t mean? You…”
“I did my duty. I protected you. I kept you from some spoiled duke who would not care for you as I do.”
“Sir? You cannot– you jape. You play with my wits.”
“Darling princess, I am sworn to do all and anything for you. To my spirit.” He brings his hands up to the sides of your neck. “My only desire is to have you safe.” He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. You quiver as your eyes crest with hot tears. “I just need you close to me… and he would’ve taken you away.”
On this sinful Sunday, I cannot tame my whore muse, who is currently frothing over the idea of a scary alpha DA!Andy, who’s affiliated with the mob. Not quite a mob boss himself, but very well respected and connected.
And feared.
They call him The Magician because he makes problems—and people—disappear 😥🫣
Andy has spent most of his life and all of his energy building up his career (both public facing and less savory back channels) and his reputation. He’s never had much time or interest in dating.
If he has a scratch, he itches it. If he goes into an unexpected rut, he has a very reputable and discreet escort he turns to.
But then you fall into his lap…
You’re innocent bystander collateral damage for one of his back channel clients. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed something you shouldn’t have.
So naturally, Andy’s client gave him a call and the location of the abandoned warehouse where you’re currently chained up.
When Andy arrives in his expensive suit, his jaw tight and his eyes steely, he doesn’t expect to find the prettiest omega he’s ever seen curled into a ball on the floor and giving him the scaredest, sweetest 🥺 face ever.
As Andy moves closer and gets a whiff of your delectable scent, and hears your voice for the first time as you tremble, “Please, I won’t say anything, I promise.” the rumbled observation is out of Andy’s mouth before he can stop it—
“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”
You swallow nervously as he crouches before you, his musky alpha scent immediately filling your nose and making you a little dazed.
You don’t even recoil when Andy gently pets your head, or when he brushes his fingers down your throat then pulls aside the collar of your shirt so he can see your mating gland.
His inner alpha rumbles its satisfaction when your unmarked skin is revealed, and Andy decides it would be such a waste to get rid of you.
As you tentatively lean into his touch without realizing it, his lips tilt up into an almost smile. You’re so docile, and responsive to him already, and he’s worked so hard for so long, he deserves a spoil of war.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” Andy husks.
You shiver at the deep baritone of his voice, still taken aback by how beautiful he is. “Yes, alpha,” you whisper.
Andy hums, his knuckles drawing up along the curve of your throat before his thumb is pressing against the softness of your lower lip. “I like that word on these pretty lips, especially directed at me.” His thumb trails back and forth along your lip, his electric blue eyes meeting yours. “Do you know why they sent me here, honey?”
Your eyes fill with tears as your breath catches, and your voice nearly breaks as you answer, “To hurt me?”
“To kill you,” Andy corrects, shushing you as a pitiful, terrified whine spills past your lips. “But I don’t think I need to resort to such extreme measures,” he coos. “Not with you. Because you’ll be good for me, won’t you, my sweet, obedient omega?”
And what can you do but nod and accept your fate?
“Come on,” Andy says as he rises to his feet and takes you with him. His nostrils flare when he gets a whiff of your sweet, relieved scent, a pleased purr rumbling the back of his throat as his hands fall to cup your hips. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up, sweetheart. By the end of the night, you’ll be warming my knot with my bondmark on your pretty throat.”
Despite the way your knees nearly buckle as your tears finally spill over, you know your place, and that Andy is quite literally sparing your life, so you quaver a soft, “Thank you, alpha.”
And Andy can’t help but grin at your sweet, good girl manners.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as power imbalance age gap, and noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your new job brings you into the crosshairs of the CEO.
Characters: CEO Steve Rogers, plus!reader
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Your efforts to make the best of the flight are as fruitful as those at your new job. You can’t sleep, you can’t focus enough to read, and the onboard movies aren’t very compelling.
At the halfway point, your head begins to pound. You didn’t sleep much before you got on the plane, the airport was a cacophony of overstimulation, and the flight is endless; even with the stopover.
You restlessly wait to escape your neighbour. The crusty socked man was replaced by a man who shelled sunflower seeds all over his lap and chewed like a camel. After his grand feast, he fell into a coma complete with a grinding snore.
When at last the signs come on for seatbelts and your impending arrival is announced, you’re hardly relieved. You still have to get off the plane, through another airport, then… what?
You stand as the aisle clears near your row. You grab your bag from the compartment as your head spins and your body aches. Your brain is dull and your eyes droopy. It’s as if you’re wading through sludge.
Your disembarkment is tedious and slow. The impatience of your fellow passengers only makes it feel longer. When at last you cross the tarmac to the tunnel, you’re dizzy with fatigue and anxiety. You follow the signs around the airport to your arrival gate then stand stranded among the rush.
Where do you go now? That question should have occurred to you sooner but you were so focused on the flight and getting through that, that you could barely think of anything else. That and the all-looming presence of the CEO. You can’t even appreciate your surroundings. You’re in Sydney and that only fills you with dread.
You turn airplane mode off and you have an email. It’s a forward of the previous one with the ticket. This time, you only get an address. You tap it and put it into the maps app. A hotel. Figures.
You go out and nearly drown in the flurry of new arrivals. As taxis pull away, new ones appear, quickly claimed by travellers more confident than yourself. Oh come on. You’re already behind with how long it took you just to get off the plane.
Finally, you get in the backseat of a cab, dragging your bag in next to you instead of dumping it in the trunk. The driver gives you a look in the rearview. Whatever. You just have to put up with him for the ride. You’ll tip him well to make up for your existence.
You give the address as you buckle your seatbelt. Your mind races over the unfamiliar streets to the hotel. You have no idea what’s awaiting you. Is it him? And why exactly are you meeting him there? Should you have booked yourself a hotel before you came? Why did you ask zero questions? You really are stupid.
The driver asks you the questions he probably asks everyone. His accent is nice, almost comforting. ‘What are you in town for?’ ‘Business’ ‘Oh, how long?’ It goes on but can’t chase away the shadow that darkens your mind.
You get to the hotel and thank the driver one last time. You pull your bag behind you toward the sleek entryway. You could never afford to stay somewhere like this. This is the kind of place you see on an influencer’s vlog and wonder how they can even pay for it.
You stop at the front desk. A woman with sun-kissed cheeks smiles at you and greets you brightly in the local accent.
“Hi, um, I… I’m looking for Mr. Rogers. Steve Rogers? I think he’s staying here…”
She nods and tells you to hold. She picks up the phone as she types on her computer. She keys in an extension and waits.
“Hello, sir. Front desk. This is Theresa. You have a visitor down here. Oh, yes, a moment.” She pauses and asks you your name. You eke it out as you flick your lashes out of a droop. She recites your response into the phone, hums, then hangs up.
“He’s in an executive suite. I’ll write the number down for you.” She grabs a card for the hotel and scribbles on it. “Welcome and enjoy.”
She hands it over and you thank her. You swivel awkwardly before you get your bearings. You cross to the elevators and check the card. The doors open and you enter, jabbing the button until it closes behind you.
The ascent adds to the swirly sensation in your skull. You grip the handle of your bag as you teeter. At last, you reach the right floor and step off. You stomp down the hall, gathering all your strength to keep going.
You match the loopy numbers on the card to the room sign. You tuck away the card and take a breath. You knock and your heart swells, ready to explode.
You wait, staring dully at the door. You feel yourself leaning and blink. Don’t. Wake up.
The door opens and you gasp. Mr. Rogers growls as he stands in only a towel. Your mouth falls open and you gap dumbly. Don’t look below his face! And yet, it’s almost impossible to keep eye contact as his irises blaze with agitation.
“You got some timing.” He snarls. “Took long enough.”
You gulp. “Sir–”
“Get in here.” He grabs your arm and forces you through the door. Your bag bounces on its plastic wheels.
He lets you go with a huff and swings the door so it slams. You wince and back up, pulling your bag in front of you like a shield. He growls and grabs it, wrenching it out of your hands.
“I don’t wait on anyone.” He drags your bag further into the suite then hauls it up onto the sofa. He unzips it. “Especially not an inmate.”
“Sir…” you go to follow but stop yourself. You take off your shoes before going any further.
He flips up the lid of the suitcase and digs through your clothes. He unfolds them, examining each piece before tossing it onto the floor behind the sofa. You clasp your hands together and watch sheepishly.
His biceps bulge and his chest strains as he growls under his breath. He clucks and shakes his head as he shakes out a pair of your panties. You touch your hot cheeks and cringe.
“Sir–”
He hushes you and flings the underwear. His eyes narrow as he looks at you.
“All of this is trash. Get rid of it.”
“Sir. I don’t have–” You stop as his glare intensifies. “Yes, Mr. Rogers. I’ll deal with it.”
You go to gather up your clothes. As you bend over, you sense him moving. Suddenly, he’s behind you. He grips your hips and squeezes. He rubs himself against your ass.
“No. You deal with this problem first.”
He unlatches one hand and you feel a shift. His towel falls to his feet and you snap up straight. You squeak in surprise and horror. His hand curls around your neck and he pulls you back against him.
“This.” He drags his hand up your side and pinches your shirt. “Not acceptable. Take. It. Off.”
You nod as he squeezes your neck then lets you go. You tremble as you grab the hem of your shirt and strip it off. You shiver and he swats the back of your head.
“All of it.”
Your eyes tinge and you look down at the floor. Humiliation boils under your skin as you obey. You don’t know what you thought was going to happen but this is all too surreal. It can’t be happening.
You undress, bit by bit, shaking so much you can barely get your fly undone. You feel him fuming behind you as you refuse to look at him. As you push your panties down to your thighs and let them fall to the floor, he growls.
He grabs your shoulder and spins you around. You catch your chest as it jiggles and squeeze your legs together, scalded by your nudity. He tilts his head as his eyes skim your body.
“Well,” he grips his hips and looks down. His arousal bobs in front of him. “I didn’t bring you here to stare at me like a bimbo.”
Your eyes round and you pout. “Mr. Rogers–”
He steps closer and grabs your chin. He squeezes behind your jaw until you whimper. “What I want from that mouth is not a conversation. Understand?”
Your eyes glisten and you bat away the tears before they can fall. You try to nod but can’t. “I understand, Mr. Rogers.”
He scoffs and rips his hand away. You stagger and shakily sway before him. You clasp your hands to fists and slowly lower yourself to your knees. Your lip quivers as you come just below with his pelvis. You press your lips tight and force your hands open.
He grabs your head and you squeal. He bends his knees as he positions himself in front of you. You wrap your hand around his dick, the veins rigid against your palm, and you whine again. You slide up and down his length, a quavery breath fluttering up your throat.
You wet your lips as you bring his tip down to meet them. You close your eyes as defeat boils in your chest. You open your mouth around him. As you press your tongue to his head, he groans and grips your head tighter.
You slowly take him deeper, tongue firm to him as you push down to your limit. It’s not near all of him. You try to pull back but he doesn’t let you. He tilts your head further back as he angles himself over you.
His fingers splay around your skull as he forces himself into your throat. You kick your feet and slap his thick thigh as you gag. Your eyes roll back as hot tears line their brims. You can’t breathe around him.
He plunges past your reflex as your body tenses and your head pounds. He doesn’t stop until he’s completely buried in you. You think you’re going to pass out.
He rolls his pelvis back and takes himself out of you entirely. You gasp and gulp, throat ragged and burning. You flick your lashes as tears spill over. His dick shines and strings with your saliva.
He shifts his grip on your head, fisting your hair, and rams back into you. Your hand crawls up his stomach as he dips into your throat. Again, he sinks down until you suffocate, but this time, does not pull all the way out.
He thrust in and out in tempo. He buries himself to his limit then rolls back, just between your lips, and back in again. He stills his hips and moves you on him like a rag doll. Your nerves scatter and your mind splits. You can only think of it ending. You just want it to be over.
His grunts and the wet noises of your mouth fill the suite. He fucks your mouth until your dozed and dazed. Until you’re as good as dangling from his grip.
He growls and twitches, pulling you off him suddenly. He keeps a hold of your hair as your wet lashes part. Your vision is hazy as he pumps himself above you. His voice rumbles in his chest and rattles in his throat. Warmth strings across your face and neck, spattering down your chest as he cums, shaking as he spills onto you shamelessly.
He heaves and lets you go. You fall back and catch yourself on your elbows. You lay weak and worn as he backs up and sighs. He tilts his head until his neck cracks.
“If you can’t dress yourself right, you can just wear me.” He sneers.
Type: medieval-ish fairy-tale-fantasy-ish three-shot, angst with fluff and a bit of hurt and comfort
Pairing: king!Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 12500 (oops?)
Summary:
Stolen by a couple of mercenaries to become a gift to a king of a neighbouring kingdom, you’re helpless to but watch even the pitiful remnants of your life burn down – and with it, your hopes. For freedom. For a good life. For love.
There are all kinds of tales told about King Steve Rogers I.; and only time will tell which of them are true and which are mere rumours. You can only hope – but hope is a fickle, whimsical thing.
And so is fate.
Warnings: brief reference to period-typical violence, references to reader’s kidnapping and injuries, allusions to internalized misogyny and strict religious rules (and a drop of religious trauma), clearly excellent parenting on the dad's side, lots of feels, my love for Steve showing a bit too much, … that’s it, I think? Oh and Steve. He’s a warning.
A/N: Let me thank you in advance for your patience - I hope you will find the wait was worth it. I'm bringing a humble offering of soft Steve, doubts and further lean into the soulmate(ish) trope; divider by @thecutestgrotto, header is mine; Happy reading!💕
He was already standing to greet you.
It shouldn’t have caught you off guard – your arrival must have caused some ruckus outside of the chambers and with him being a man whose survival depended on hearing the danger as it was coming if not before that, there was no wonder he stood alert – but it did.
Much like it did surprise you that for all the portraits and dreams you had dreamed of him in a stranger’s bed, for all you had thought you remembered his features sharply after only having met him for barely a moment, you had forgotten with just how fine care and reverence the gods and angels had carved his face.
How sweetly they’d diluted the blue of his eyes with kindness and warmth, warmer than the flames from the hearth that played across his cheeks and jaw and in the golden halo of his hair.
How your heart raced upon a single meeting of your gaze and his. How much you felt yourself sinking into the colours and wonders of the sky caught inside his irises.
And how it felt like drowning – to cast your gaze low, to the floor, when the heavy door behind you closed shut, the sound snapping you from your reverie enough to act with the respect a man like Steven Rogers I., The Just, deserved.
You bent in your knees so low they almost touched the floor, keeping the position unwaveringly despite every step you heard him take, his voice a caress, like the soft touch of a summer breeze.
“My lady… please, rise. And be welcomed.”
You obeyed, a shudder rushing through your body when you lifted your gaze slowly, trailing the impressive lines of his body until it reached his face again.
Open. Welcoming indeed. A brief flicker of his eyes all over, one corner of his lips rising higher in his smile as if whatever he was seeing pleased him greatly – and sincerely. As if the trial you had so desperately hoped to pass when you had found yourself at your wit’s end, wishing to choose a dress in likes to the king’s wishes, was the most successful when you had not thought about it at all.
When you let your heart guide you and left all worries behind.
You wished you could do so completely; the light in the king’s irises made you desire so, almost as if coaxing you to forget what had brought you here.
But you could not. Not with your heart having leapt to your throat, fear and cautious anticipation battling for your breath.
Your felt heat rise to your cheeks as you bowed just a fraction once more, to show profound respect and gratitude.
“Your Majesty,” you said, only rising when light scorn creased his brows. “Apologies for my tardiness… and for missing the dinner, that was not my intention in the least. I meant no offence if you could believe it.”
“I do believe you, my lady,” he replied, his frown smoothening. “Yet I wish for you to understand there was no offence taken. I meant what I said – what I wrote. I am glad you found peace and rest here. Would you sit with me for a moment?”
You gulped, willing your lips to curl up in a smile; with barely any effort in the face of his kindness, however surprising still.
He waited for you to nod before he set off, slow, but easily gaining several steps on you as you stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room for the first time. The fireplace with a heavy wooden table and three cushioned chairs at it dominated the spacious room, even if barely; the bed, not unlike the one in your temporary dwellings only with heavier dark blue canopy, took up the most space and was nothing short of a masterpiece. One wall was entirely lined with bookcases, while the three remaining ones were each adorned with a painting you were sure had been painted by the hand of the king himself; a landscape with mountains, the ocean, the golden fields. Three large windows, two of them hidden by thick curtains, one left exposing the view of the starry night.
With how clear the skies looked, it must have been freezing outside; yet, you felt like the cold could never touch you here, the room basking in endless warmth a part of you whispered could not come from the hearth only.
Your gaze trailed over the interior with an absent smile, soon drawn back to the man who truly was at its centre. At its heart.
“Please,” he beckoned to one of the chairs, pulling it out for you. “Would you like wine or cider? It is still warm.”
Blinking, you finally followed him, whispering your choice with a breath of a please and thank you. Watching him pour you a goblet as if it was meant to be the work of a king rather than a servant – rather than your work, since you had been brought to this castle to please him – was utterly bewildering. Dreamlike.
It was almost as if you only watched yourself too, mind outside of your body, as you sat down, the goblet set in front of you before he poured himself one as well, sitting next to you, chairs angled towards each other, dangerously close – and yet, to your heart’s yearnings, too afar.
You observed him in mute awe, thousands of questions and hundreds of vague answers circling your head, the absurd – and absurdly natural – circumstance not lost on you. The only thing truly at loss – and lost in his gaze – was you. His eyes hadn’t left you either; he watched you with intensity which would have been unbearably unnerving had it not been so pleasant at the same time.
“I do hope you found the entirety of your chambers to your satisfaction. I wish you found yourself comfortable here.”
You nodded minutely.
But you did not understand.
You did not understand how you had deserved his hospitality.
Neither you could as much as hope to comprehend why, despite feeling so out of place, you felt right at home and safe.
But much like you knew to pray and thank to any higher power there was for being it so, you knew to express your gratitude here, to the man whom, at this point, you owed everything.
For he owed everything you had.
Including yourself.
A rational part of realised how utterly terrifying that should make you; another part which you could feel residing deep within your chest did not find it terrifying in the slightest. For if there was one man who you needn’t to fear, it was him.
Your gaze, unable to bear the power of his, lowered to your lap where your fingers fiddled with the skirt of the lovely dress you had been gifted.
“I… words cannot express how grateful I am for all your generosity, Your Majesty. I admit I am… not quite certain how I deserved such, but I assure you it is my every intention to repay your kindness with all I am.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw his hand twitch; as if he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t.
“The gifts you have been given are given freely, without conditions, my lady.”
For you deserve everything, my sweetling, the soft breeze caressing your cheek seemed to whisper, an echo of the very voice that had just spoken. You deserve everything and I shall give you all that your heart desires.
You shook your head lightly, feeling the voice fill your ears sweetly, words of the kind you knew better than to believe:
The world, as different as this one seemed from the one you had known all your life, did not work in such ways.
For all the riches the man sitting across from you must have possessed, he could not afford such generosity to be true, to give so much away without conditions attached; for it would be too foolish. And to have gained such riches, to have been entrusted with them and to keep them, one could be no fool.
And yet – you would not look the gifted house in the mouth. You were not one who could afford to question.
“Your Majesty is too kind,” you whispered. “Even as I am certain I am far from the sole recipient of such kindness, I feel profoundly grateful. As… as no doubt the men who brought me here do,” you added, trailing off.
You were not sure why you’d even brought them up.
You had little reason to wish to think of Dimitri and Henry, for they had brought you nothing but misery, even as they were the sole reason why you were here, safe and warm and far away from the townspeople who had been secretly eyeing you for prize.
You had little reason to remind the king of them too; for they had angered him with the ways they had spoken at first.
To mention them was risking upsetting the man who was being nothing but pleasant and almost unbearably welcoming until that moment. And yet. Yet, something inside you had whispered you to tempt fate.
Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was fear of not having been done with the mercenaries just yet. Perhaps it was the inviting gentleness Steven had emanated, coaxing you to be all too honest and blunt even in subtlety of your claims.
The little breathy laugh erupting from the king’s chest was not an amused sound, not quite; it startled you enough to snap your gaze up, met with a storm in his irises, a glint like a flash of lightning born there.
“I am sure they do. But they more than earned the reward they received for their trouble… even as they shall not be joining the Royal Army.”
“Oh?” you chirped instinctively, unable to hide your surprise; and then quickly shook your head in a display of regret at failing to behave appropriately. Again. “My apologies, I did not--- I did not mean to pry-”
“It is quite alright, my lady,” he assured you, his features softening even as the stormy clouds remained in his eyes. “If you wish to know, ask.”
Ask me anything, my sweetling, his gaze whispered, his lips not moving an inch despite the heavy promise spoken in his voice echoing in your ears. I shall never lie to you.
You hesitated for barely three beats of your frantic heart, your question quiet.
“How so?”
He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on his thighs – and what an inconvenient moment for your gaze to flicker there and notice the powerful thickness of the muscle there – capturing your gaze with his without a chance to escape.
“Because, my lady, as much as you are a gift, you are not a thing to be dragged here under the threat of death, with your house burned to ashes so you’d have no home to return to.”
Your heart seized in your chest; your lips parted for a breath that caught in your throat instead.
Not because of the images he painted with his words, as painful as their shadow was, no; for the fact he knew.
“How— how did you-“
You knew the answer before either of you spoke a word, the realization creeping upon you much like the unamused smirk did to Steve’s lips.
‘Please, tell me more of the trouble you went through to deliver me a gift and about what you’d wish for…’
That was what he had asked.
‘Tell me more of the trouble you went through…’
He had not asked to reward them.
He had likely never intended to do so; every word he had chosen carefully to coax them into telling him everything. Telling him of every wrong they had done beyond binding your hands hard enough to bruise and treat you as a commodity rather than a human being.
Oh he was no fool at all indeed.
“Perhaps I too am guilty of being such, but I hear men are known be quite the simple creatures. Have them believe they speak of their heroics, and they can no longer tell the difference between bragging and a confession.”
I hope you can forgive me if I ever behave such too, my sweetling. Forgive me if my words have misled you at first.
You caught yourself before you could nod in reaction to the echo of his voice in your head, stunned.
And with startling clarity despite the sudden spin your mind set off to, you were certain in your very bones that you would forgive him anything. Let alone worrying you while tricking the men who hurt you into confessing every single one of their crimes against a knight’s code. A code of an honourable man.
A man like the one facing you now.
Your throat felt tighter than before, even as something in your ribcage cracked with soft understanding, the images of Steve in your head – that of a good, just man, a fierce warrior and yet a tender artist – blending together seamlessly once more.
“But then--- then their reward-“
“Was what the law commands as punishment for arson and laying a hand on a woman in the ways they have,” he said, voice tender despite the embers of anger smouldering under. “A brand burned to their arm to mark arsonists. A broken hand to remember not to use their strength to hurt an innocent ever again.”
A shudder ran down your spine, a thrill of justice executed; but for the first time in the king’s company, one of true fear too.
For for all the relief you felt for having him understand the situation perfectly, guilt bit into your conscience. The king was no fool indeed; and he seemed a man with a sense of justice etched into his very core. You could feel the righteous fury on your behalf simmering under his skin despite the air of quiet gentleness.
There was only one justice for men like that, as it should be: a universal one.
And you, too, had already committed crimes that would require the intervention of justice; you did not need to know the precise law of Starkerbürg to know such. You had taken what was not yours to take; stealing was a such an offence it had even been written into the Scripture.
And so, there was a punishment awaiting you. As it should.
It was the will of the Lord, of the old gods, and men alike.
Thou shalt not steal, spoke the Scripture, recited so many times in your home by your father’s slurred voice.
Honour thy father and thy mother.
You knew what your father had thought the punishment should be for breaking even one of the commandments.
What was the punishment for theft in these lands?
What would be the punishment for other wrongs you had done?
“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you… nor to remind you of your sorrows-”
You shook our head as another shudder followed the first one, colder, guilt taking another bite off of your soul.
“It is-- it is not that, Your Majesty,” you offered quietly, a little white lie; but not quite, for your fear could truly not be blamed on him, only on yourself. “I merely judge that the word has not been wrong about you – your mind is quite brilliant and cunning indeed.”
Something flickered in his eye as he sat a bit straighter at the praise, shoulders relaxing, a reassuring smile playing on his lips.
“It would not be just to leave a crime as grave as this unpunished.”
I would never stand for you to suffer while the bastards who are to blame for your tears and bruises and cuts walk free, the enticing voice swore, Steve’s eyes boring into yours with fire burning as gently as fierce. As the fire, you supposed, should be burning in your veins by your lineage.
Yet the only burn you felt was shame seated deeply in your stomach, slowly crawling out.
Your smile in response – however grateful for Steve’s sentiment, true or imaginary – was tight, eyes turning glassy as you took a wavering breath and looked away, unable to bear it.
There he sat; a good man, honourable and generous and brave and cunning, believing in justice with all his heart.
You could not hold pretence in face of that. You could not find it in your soul to lie or keep a secret. Not from him. Even if your heart clenched in horrifying anticipation at the mere thought of confessing your sins.
“You are admirably fair, Your Majesty,” you husked, clearing your throat to raise your voice from but a whisper. He was worthy of as much. “As you are just… it feels even worse a crime not to say I do not deserve half the kindness I have been offered.”
Steve tilted his head to side a bit, observing you with curiosity, his face, gods bless, such a beautiful face, twisting into a slight frown.
“Why would that be so? You deserve to be treated with decency and respect and more. More so since you have done no wrong.”
His voice was so sincere in that belief that the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, the harsh truth scratchy on your tongue:
“I threatened my father with gutting him if he tried to touch me one more time.”
And I might would have done so had it come to it, raged the blood in your veins, a memory of your nails digging into his skin to protect yourself, a fiery sensation as brief as the words themselves, before dread of facing the rightful judgement replaced it with ice.
Judgement.
Disgust.
Loathing.
Punishment.
You did not dare to as much as glance up from where your fingers were gripping your skirts; not until you’d swear you heard Steve teeth clank together and grind, making you to look up anyway.
His jaw was set tight. Fingers dug into the armrests. His shoulders – wonderful broad shoulders, right arm twitching towards where you remembered he had kept the sword by his throne, now leaned against the table – squared and prepared for battle.
He was positively shaken by your inappropriate confession; but his conviction was not. If anything, it seemed to grow tenfold.
“If he had touched you once, it was one time too many,” he spat. “I fail to see how wishing to be safe could ever make you less worthy of the treatment you have received here.”
I would have personally ripped his hand clear off for such offence, committed on his own daughter no less. A mere threat, my sweetling, seems a kindness. I am proud of you and grateful you kept what I hold dear safe.
Your breath caught in your throat.
But it was the gentle ghost of a voice, dark with a promise, warm, that somehow urged you to continue, to share your own darkness so it may touch light; it was the unshakable ghost of the hand of your father on your shoulder, cold, that spurred you to try and defend and justify his drunken actions.
Honor thy father. Do not speak ill of him.
“He… he’d be too drunk to tell whether I was his daughter or a thief or… whether—whether I was my mother-”
The wood of the armrest cried under Steve’s grip, causing you to fall silent in an instant, palm flying to your mouth.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. Please… forgive me. Such talk is not for polite company,” you whispered swiftly, ignoring the sharp itch of tears in the base of your nose, the burn of shame in your cheeks. “…suppose should only serve to prove my point of not-”
“Yes, indeed. Proves my point perfectly.”
You met his gaze, not uttering a single word, hand slowly falling back into your lap.
For a quiet moment, you simply observed each other, each lost in your own thoughts.
You would not hope to image what his thoughts were beyond pity for what you had been through.
He, in turn, could not hope to imagine how deeply beyond overwhelmed by guilt you grew with every passing moment of the silence that had settled, interrupted only by your stumbling, frantic heart.
Sweet. Compassionate. Patient.
A flavour of silence you were not worth of tasting.
You closed your eyes as the fatal confession fell from your lips, unable to face the sincere warmth in his gaze, built up on the lie of you being but a victim, a good person through and through.
“… I stole a knife from your kitchens. When they brought me food, I--- I took it. And hid it… I—I hid it.”
Silence again.
Deeper than before; deep enough for you to drown in your own ragged heartbeat.
Darker too, in your sudden loneliness.
And yet all but such.
The air was cold and stiff and terribly still until it wasn’t.
A whisper of an instinct as ancient as this world, a whisper of what was to come just before it did, was the only thing that prevented you from nearly jumping out of your skin when you felt the touch.
A tender brush of a hand over yours, steadying the tremble by closing around it.
A stunningly, bafflingly gentle squeeze.
Endless warmth seeping through your skin to the very marrow of your bones, golden threads of a profound sense of right threading through your veins all the way to your heart.
The hot tears rolling down your cheeks from your tightly squeezed eyelids were as much shame and as sweet heaviness of relief.
You felt the absence of judgement whispering through your very soul, but you were sure it would coming. It had to.
It had to, for you had sinned, for you had taken what was not rightfully yours, abused kindness-
He might have steadied our hand, but your lower lip began to wobble.
“I am so sorry, there is no--- Your Highness—Your Majesty, no penance, but please-- please forgive me, I-“
I shall make it right, somehow- I--
“I heard.”
A shaky intake of breath caught in your lungs, eyes snapping open.
You were met with Steve, Steve Steve Steve watching you earnestly, the blue of his eyes brimming with emotion.
No anger. No judgement.
Not pity either, not quite.
Compassion.
And a profound understanding already assuring you that despite all logic, despite your confession, no punishment was coming for your crime.
I know of your shortcomings, my sweetling, his touch whispered, I do not blame you; I see you. Gods, do I see you.
He knew. He had known.
And still, he observed you without as much as minute change of expression, without malice or accusation.
Your face was damp with tears, but your throat felt dry, your voice but a scratchy sound.
“They--- they told you… And after all you have offered to me so generously and beyond, you knew I stole from you… and you--- you let me get away with it. So far.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” you choked out, the answer coming written all over his face, nonsensical and yet so right you had no reason to question it.
Because it’s you. Because you are mine.
Steve hummed a soft noncommittal sound. His free hand took your other hand, engulfing it in warmth.
“My mother used to say that one must always fight for what they believe in, for what they deem just – by sword, if necessary. And that yet, oftentimes, the greatest power one can wield is mercy and compassion.”
You shuddered.
You should already be whispering of gratitude. You should be falling to your knees. You should be swearing loyalty.
But you could not move, words growing heavier and heavier on your tongue you as he kept looking at you, hands cradled in his, eyes serious and so deeply kind, patiently waiting for you to process and fully understand what he was saying.
This is the time to exercise that compassion and mercy, my sweetling, and I shall do so.
You cleared your throat, only prepared to state the obvious.
“She... she sounds like a wise woman.”
Steve’s irises lit up with fondness and longing all too familiar; one of love lost, affection for the person who loved you despite your flaws and made you, fundamentally, into who you were.
“She was. Had she not fallen ill in the sick tents where she had been tending to the injured and ill, she would have died of the number of grey hairs I had given her.”
With the smallest of smile tempting your lips, you could not but recall Bucky’s words, all too similar, all too fond too. And you could not but notice how Steve’s voice, slow and reverent, translated perfectly into the affection the portrait of her you had seen had been painted with.
“I do not hold your actions against you. You do not deserve punishment for taking the knife,” he said, tender but firm. “You deserve to feel safe as that is the basic right of all. I stand by that and I shall continue to do so, all the more after what you have just told me. As much as I wish that my right hand, the best soldier and protector in the kingdom, stationed in front of the door to your chamber would make you feel so, I shall not deny you the comfort you are accustomed to.”
For all your confusion at what he meant by that and what by gods he was suggesting, for all the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, you could not look away; you could not look away from the depth of the blue you were drowning in, the golden threads weaving through your body by Steve’s touch, reaching out through your skin, interlaced into a quilt warmer than anything you had ever felt. Safer than any armour you imagined you could ever wear.
Words failed you.
But perhaps you did not need them just yet.
“I rose from nothing. My father died too young in a senseless war, my mother was a healer serving the Royal army. I was barely a soldier without any chance of ever climbing ranks, until I was fortunate enough to end up fighting side by side with the king… I used to sleep with a rusty knife under my rag of a shawl instead of a pillow too.”
Your breath hitched deeper in your lungs, the sensation of your very soul being seen raw but not entirely unpleasant. For most of the fear people ever felt of being seen stemmed from the fear of being judged if it happened so; and there was nothing but profound understanding staring back at you.
And perhaps your own understanding, however impossible after knowing the man sitting in front of you less than half a day and having spent but half an hour with him, was staring right back at him.
Steven Rogers I., The Just.
The king who believed in justice driven by morality and compassion and mercy rather than cruelty and rigidity inspiring fear. Inspiring loyalty instead.
“So I shall not have you punished and I shall not take your comforts from you. Only, should you accept it, I would rather gift you a dagger as that is a much more proper weapon than a butter knife.”
Your exhale was almost a huff of laughter, a wave of fresh tears flooding your face; for he could not mean that.
And yet; yet you had no doubt he did.
He would reward a theft by another gift. And somehow, at the same time, he was not foolish in the slightest, however incomprehensible his actions were.
The gods and angels must have not only carved his handsome face; they had built his soul and heart with the same tender love, extending their care through his late mother.
The sudden urge to fall to your knees – not to beg forgiveness as it did not seem he would give it if he felt there had been no crime, but to display your respect and gratitude – was halted by the smallest squeeze to your hands. As if he knew; and as if he warned you not to. For to him, there was no need for as much as a thank you.
Perhaps there was a little piece of fool in him; for there was no world where you would not give that at least.
And yet; when you vision cleared, there was something glimmering in his own eyes, that brought a little smile to your still wobbly lips.
“As grateful as I am, your Majesty, for your mercy and such kind offering, I am afraid a knife is all I know how to use. A gift of a dagger would be rather wasted on my hand.”
His smile seemed almost proud; a brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your wrist, a warm shudder rushing up your arm, only turned his smile wider.
“Then we shall teach your hand to handle a dagger as well as needed. I can show you – or have Natasha or Bucky teach you. I have yet to meet a person more skilled with blades smaller than a sword than them… should you wish so.”
“…thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, no other words making sense, no words at all able to encompass the entirety of the storm of emotion and wonder raging in your mind and heart alike.
“It will be my pleasure, my lady, to ensure that whichever you choose will be done.”
For I shall fulfil your every wish, my love.
He squeezed your hands gently once more, hesitant as their warmth slowly withdrew, along with the golden tendrils of comfort and profound understanding threading around your heart.
Silence settled on the room once more, sweet and heavy; and too quiet for your mind, swirling with too many loud questions and conjectures, too quiet for your pounding heart and still burning eyes.
And you could not bear it; not for but a few rapid beats of your heart so strong in your tight ribcage you worried the muscle might break free off your chest. Not when he observed you with the steady bottomless kindness you had just understood he had a capacity for – but still made little sense.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I—I do not understand. I don’t--- for all you said, for the kindness I can see you have abundance of, I do not understand,” you husked, your voice betraying you, as the intrusive and profoundly evil echo of Henry’s voice whispered slimy answers to the questions you were yet to ask. “Why would you do such? What should I--- what is expected of me? What would you wish me to do in return? What-”
The king’s mouth barely opened when the assault of your questions ceased and you were already apologizing swiftly for it.
“I am sorry. My apologies, for— I should have not--- I-“
The hand to grasp yours returned in an instant; and it should not sooth you as much, for it made no sense, but it did. It did, for it allowed you to breathe again, to meet his gaze, to keep your heart steady. For the warmth and calm returned.
With a single touch.
How? Was that one of the blessings the gods had graced him with? Magic?
“I expect you to be honest with me, my lady,” he said simply, slowly. “I expect you to be honest with yourself. I expect you to do as it is in your power to find happiness in life and I hope you can accept my aid in doing so.”
Why? You wanted to ask, but he was not done, and his thumb drew a soothing circle over your wrist and you lost yourself in the tender gesture, tense shoulders falling, mirroring his own.
“And my hopes are that… perhaps, while staying true to yourself and without any duty you might think you’d have to repay me for that aid… that you might give me a chance.”
“A chance?” you echoed quietly.
“To prove myself a good man to you… worthy to be allowed to try and win over your heart.”
For that is all I wish for, my sweetling, my love, my queen, his voice whispered in your mind, his eyes most sincere despite the utter madness the words carried.
And yet the beat your heart skipped was not one of a startle nor a doubt, as much as your mind protested such reality. It was one of bliss.
He is a king, your mind argued.
He is mine, the heart hummed peacefully in return, and I am his.
The question fell from your lips nevertheless, breathless, but entirely justified.
“Why?”
Why me, the single word implied, even as with any lesser man, the question could also ask why bother proving anything and asking for a chance, when he could simply take.
With Steve, you already knew the answer to the latter, long before he could continue to prove to you as he apparently wished; for he was a good man.
The first shadow of uncertainty in the entirety of the evening passed over his face, hesitation clear as his hand twitched over yours just a bit, his gaze flickering to one of the documents on the edge of the table you had been politely ignoring for you had barely even noticed them, let alone thought to pay them any mind without a grave breach of a law, politeness and trust.
It was a single sheet of parchment, dark ink masterfully curled into letters just as beautiful as the letter you had received from His Majesty; while you could not read the words, for they were too afar and partly concealed by the natural curve of the parchment, you had no doubt the author of the words was holding your hand.
He took a wavering breath, drawing your gaze back to his, and his eyes turned the softest yet, even as his sudden determination shone through, his voice carrying an almost ceremonial note as he recited words that touched your very soul, the warm threads of gold travelling through your veins and bones, blooming inside your chest in an inevitable masterpiece.
“The first snow, like the last ashes, is settling down
A phoenix from them ashes rises, worthy of a crown.
A gentle soul, tireless spirit, bound by chain
Of exquisite beauty, heart restless, clothing plain.
A lonely soul soaked in gold’s already defied fate
Set aflame once it meets eye of its one true mate.
The glory of just rule is one of long-lost precious arts
The key to just world lies in two pure and content hearts.”
You listened with bated breath as the words rolled off Steve’s tongue with reverence; and with familiarity of something one had read and recited to themselves a thousand times before.
You had never heard those words spoken before in your life, you were certain; and yet you’d swear you could have recited them along with him, for you knew them. You would swear on your mother’s grave you knew them; a whisper as old as time itself in the back of your head, goosebumps rising on your skin at the touch of something, an entity that did deserve reverence indeed.
“That is beautiful…” you whispered, a ghost of a smile passing on Steve’s lips, soft. “Where does this come from?”
“A prophecy. Made by the Scalet Witch the day I was crowned the king.”
A prophecy I wrote down and learned by heart for I understood the fatal importance of it, the squeeze of his hand to yours murmured, the brush of his thumb over the back of your hand having your lips part. The importance of you, my sweetling.
A prophecy, your mind echoed, the likeliness of his wordless claim as absurd as the unlikeliness.
It would have been preposterous to believe a prophecy made by a figure as legendary as the Scarlet Witch could be speaking of you of all people.
But it would have been downright foolish to ignore the obvious. You would have to be nothing short of stubbornly blind to not see the reasons why Steve should believe it coming true with your arrival.
‘The first snow.’
‘Fire and ashes.’
‘Bound.’
‘Clothing plain.’
Clothing plain, rang in your mind with more familiarity than anything, your free hand instinctively curling in your skirts, the one dress you had put on and never changed from, almost mindlessly, driven by a force you did not quite understand; and yet you understood it quite well for it was a deep longing to see Steve as soon as possible.
‘Set aflame,’ a whisper sounded in your very soul, the fire your mother had always spoke of, the thing that was meant to keep crackling in your soul and was all but gently kindled by the threads of golden warmth seeping into you through Steve’s touch.
‘Soaked in gold.’
‘Defied fate.’
‘Just rule.’
As clear as these words were to speak of Steve Rogers I., The Just, it seemed as if they, of all things to be said of him, were not chosen by accident. You were feeling the consequences of all these qualities of his at the very moment; basking in the warmth of his touch, having found a relatable experience, having benefited from his merciful sense of justice.
And yes; one might argue other things mentioned were questionable at best and yet, you did not believe the Scarlet Witch said anything at all accidentally.
And neither did Steve.
Steve, who waited patiently for you to process what he had had years to come to terms to.
Had he been waiting, with every arrival of winter, for the prophecy to come true? Looking out of the window awaiting the first snow with longing for the one person, the one thing that seemed most unattainable and yet was the sweetest promise of the prophecy, foreseeing one true love, dooming all other love conquests as possibly futile in the process?
The tender crystals of blue in his irises – as he didn’t shift his gaze away from you, not once in your prolonged silence – were an answer enough.
“One true mate?” you questioned quietly. “…a soulmate?”
“That is my understanding, yes,” he said, not needing a second longer to think. “The one true love one only meets once in their lifetime… if they are fortunate.”
If I could ever be so fortunate, my sweetling, after all the blessings I have already received.
Earned, you wished to argue, fingers twitching, releasing the fabric of your skirts, gravitating towards the hand that held yours, fingertips brushing the skin of his knuckles, roughened by battle and scattered with scars that deserved nothing but a careful, soft touch.
The hitch of Steve’s breath a was tender music to your ears.
“…do you believe it? That…” Your voice faded out, unable, unwilling perhaps, to finish the exhilarating and yet fragile thought.
Not to believe that soulmates existed – you’d like to hope that they did, however they would come to be, written across the stars in your skies, the book of fate, a red string threading through people’s lives – no.
To believe, for some inexplicable reason, that the person for him could be you.
Reluctant to believe it despite fate having toyed with the pair of you more than he was yet to know.
He gulped and cleared his throat at your question, straightening in his seat.
“Yes. The Scarlet Witch has been with the court since I was a boy. She has not once been wrong.”
The Scarlet Witch, yes, you thought, unable to entirely swallow your disappointment at the sheer rationality of the answer while what was blooming inside you was all but.
Without doubt, however, his point was undebatable – for the Scarlet Witch was larger than life.
The mystical woman living everyone and nowhere, in the woods, in the streams, in the wind. No one knew of her true origin, only of her power.
An incredibly gifted prevoyant.
A god-like figure only few were fortunate enough to have seen for longer than a passing moment, let alone spoke to her.
Some believed her to be the daughter of the gods, others whispered she had made a horrible sacrifice of her own children to the gods in exchange for the gift of clairvoyance and other immeasurable powers. Some thought her but a charlatan with clever ways of speaking things; others called them fools for that for they swore that their grand grandfathers had seen her being the witch who would not burn at the stake several kingdoms over. And many had witnessed her to warn kingdoms of floods and fires and diseases killing the crops; many a warning which would be ignored by some and had them pay the highest price for they always came true.
You had no doubt she could see things that were to come… for all you knew, she might even be the sister to Lady Fortuna herself or was able to read her scribbles.
She had not once been wrong indeed; and if she had been, no one dared to speak of it, out of fear and respect alike.
“And yes, my lady. Yes, I do,” Steve added softly, the answer to your true question.
Almost as if he could hear your thoughts; or read in your face that legitimacy of a prophecy was not quite what mattered to you the most, even as it probably should have.
But how could it, if fate, Lady Fortuna, the gods, or whoever or whichever, had led a kind, generous, brilliant and undeniably handsome man into your path?
“Do you believe then that was it fate that brought me here?”
That brought me here to you?
A contemplative furrow appeared on Steve’s brow as his gaze fell lower, his hand shifting on your thigh to cradle your palm, thumb tracing your lifeline almost absently, a small smile playing in the corner of his lips when your other hand instinctively turned palm-up as well, an offering for him to place his free hand there.
Acceptance.
Of him. Of fate. Of whichever brought you here in his path.
Regardless of where that path would lead you.
He laid his hand into yours willingly, warmth seeping through even as it was your hand that cupped his, attempted to despite how large it was. It sent a shudder through your entire body, all but unpleasant, and the smile on his lips grew a fraction.
Does it matter whether it was fate, my sweetling, if you are here with me?
“I believe there is a higher power. The gods, the Lord, Fate, Fortuna – I do not know which. Perhaps all at once,” he mused, thumb still stroking your palm, as if he was trying to commit the sight and feeling to memory. “I… I believe in paths we are offered, perhaps in certain fates which are indeed inevitable… but I believe in free will too. We make choices. And those choices make us who we are and make us responsible for the consequences our actions have. To us or to others.”
His eyes snapped to yours with gravity and it was not difficult to guess what – and whom – he was thinking of; of men who treated others, who had treated you, wholly differently than he was now.
“Should the prophecy, and thus perhaps fate, speak of me meeting you – and I shall hope so and I believe so – then it is still my responsibility to treat you best to my ability and conscience. And I will,” he promised. “…And yes, it might mean then, that perhaps those men were always meant to bring you here, one way or another – but how they chose to try to earn my favour and how they mistreated you, that was their choice and it sent them on the path they walk now.”
The path they walked… in the dungeons, a brand burned on their skin, hands broken—
A tremor whispered along your spine, cold and strangely satisfied yet – and all the higher it reached, the more it made you shiver in reverence and respect in front of that higher power, perhaps fate or Fortuna indeed, who had threaded carefully to lead you here.
And yet, with a choice.
You thought of all the moments you had considered trying to escape but chose not to.
You thought of your choice, however subconscious and desperate, to grab a knife to your protection and giving into the strong urge to confess it to Steve, only to witness him being merciful.
You thought of your father’s choice to drink as much as he had those few fateful nights ago, getting into a brawl; a choice that had made you all the easier target for Henry and Dimitri.
You thought of the men’s decision to take you, to bring any woman to the king in the first place, by any means necessary, all but shy of violence and threats to your life and destroying what could have been left of it right in front of your eyes, such wicked actions, irreversible harm--
You drew in a sharp breath as the realisation landed on your chest heavily, the gravity of the thought this could all have been destiny lit anew.
“You have punished them for arson… and for laying a hand on me…” you whispered, and even as you were staring at your joined hands, you could feel Steve’s gaze on you.
Gaze thoughtful, sorrowful, and heavy with guilt.
You did not have the heart to finish your thought out loud. To voice the accusation, one you would have barely had the right to made, since what he had done was already more than you could ever ask for. To speak of it as of something to hold against him and blame him for.
You could not; for with humility which a deity as large as Fate deserved, you understood.
And so instead, you simply stated the facts.
“You did not punish them for taking me... For whether they were aware of such or not, they were but fulfilling their destiny. Guided by Fate…”
You dared to glance up, strangely certain of your assumptions, eyes falling on Steve’s face torn by guilt, anger and regret for having solved a dilemma the way he had.
“And as powerful as a hand of a king is, any wise man knows to respect the hand of Fate and that of the gods,” you added softly.
Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his hand twitching in yours, thumb pressing against your palm.
“You are not wrong, my lady,” he admitted, hesitating but briefly before he continued. “But I also… I alone did not feel adequate to give punishment of a gravity fitting the crime since you were the one who has been done irreversible harm.”
Your lips parted, a violent shiver rushing through your very soul, a lick of a justified angry flame at your veins, a fire put out just as fast at the mere thought of holding someone’s fate – someone’s life, entirely possibly, the most precious entity – in your hand.
As empowering and all too terrifying as the thought was, it did not blind you. You were not unaware of the heat that settled in your stomach at the chivalrous and almost savage gesture of giving you the power to choose, instead of doing it himself; nor that you did not see, once again, how justice worked in Steve’s mind and how much you approved of it.
“And so if you choose their punishment and bestow me the power to do so, I will see to it that it is done,” he vowed, eyes boring into yours with intensity that made you see the very flame inside you mirror in his cerulean irises, before his gaze fell in what could only be shame. “But I am but a man too, my lady. Selfish in my ways like any other, despite priding in acting as just as I can. And I… I do struggle to—it is quite difficult for me decide a grave punishment for someone whose actions, however undisputably wicked and condemnable, I benefit from immensely… for you are here.”
And I am trying my damnest to be a good man, my love, for you the most… but I am not perfect. Far from it, whispered your mind in his voice, an apology, an atonement, a plea for forgiveness.
You observed the sorrow on Steve’s face, softened by his last words that made your heart sear, and you could not think of how wrong he was.
Not far from it in the slightest, was what you thought and almost as if he could hear it – or merely understood what the gentle squeeze to his hand meant – his features softened further, gaze lifting back to yours, the faintest hints of a smile in one corner of his lips.
“Can you forgive me for my shortcomings, my lady?”
You reciprocated the small smile, barely fazed anymore but no less grateful for his kindness and self-awareness.
“I cannot forgive for what I do not see as wrong, Steve. ----oh no, I mean-“
Faster than you could comprehend, faster than you could finish your apology for the too familial of an addressing that had no place in your mouth, for in your mind he might have had turned Steve long moments ago, but he remained His Majesty--- three tender fingers were laid over your lips, pressing lightly, sending delightfully dizzying tingle straight into your core, mind coming to a halt as all you could see and feel was him.
His eyes, tenderness incarnate, boring into yours.
His lips, plush and parted.
The touch of his fingers, roughened by hard work but all the more careful, no longer pressing but caressing your mouth, tracing its shape and feeling the stolen air.
His voice, echoing in your mind, resonating within your bones.
“Have never heard a sweeter sound, my sweetling… my lady.”
My love.
His gaze flickered to follow the touch of his fingers, so overwhelmingly warm you were sure you’d never feel a day of cold ever again, your heart racing miles a minute in sinful harmony of the pulse you could swear you could feel on Steve’s fingertips.
Your breath stuck deeper in your throat, a whisper of his name falling from your lips again, his gaze an inferno inviting you to say it over and over again; you only felt your chest finally expand with an inhale when his hand shifted, leaving your lips suddenly cold with but a sweet aftertaste, his knuckles caressing your cheek instead, the tenderness of the gesture filling your lungs with light and sweetness.
My sweetling, he’d said, the true sound of the echo you’d been hearing in your head like the headiest wine, making your head spin – letting you rise into heights you never wanted to leave.
But you did; his hand fell back into yours, a bliss nevertheless, however faint compared to the sensation still pulsing inside your veins and burning in your stomach.
You blinked, gathering your wits, a nearly lost cause given the hypnotizing smile on Steve’s lips.
My sweetling, my love-
“Where are your thoughts, my sweetling?”
Your cheeks burned at the addressing; burned with the urge to smile, gaze where your fingers laid interlaced still, a sight no less alluring with the protective hold Steve’s hands seemed to have on yours.
It took you a while to school your thoughts into coherence, the wild carousel of questions and answers and destiny and choices spinning still.
“Merely thinking about fate and choices… Perhaps Doctor Erskine was always meant to invent his great experiment… but you asking to the be one to undergo the risk brought you to the throne. A little bit of fate. A little bit of choice changing the courses of the lives of many,” you mused, raising your gaze to find Steve observing you, exasperated surprise blended with fondness all over his expression.
“Bucky has been talking.”
Indeed he had.
You smiled, remembering all too well he had clearly told you many things not only to paint Steve in the best possible light, being good a friend, but also to showcase his glee. Glee at Steve meeting someone at least half as stubborn as himself, ready to challenge him – and exasperate him too, to repay his for all the years he had been doing so to others with all the choices he was making in life.
Insane choices made for a greater good. Choices… made on carefully built paths and crossroads of fate itself, steered by the choices of others.
“Yes,” you admitted, seeing no point in denying so. “He also spoke of how--- how much pain it cost you… and how you might have not survived had it not been for the Doctor’s wife’s choice to run off with him from another kingdom and join his efforts.”
Steve’s eyebrow rose; no trace of anger, only surprise. You wondered briefly, if you had revealed too much, knowing more than Bucky could have told you; and whether Steve realized such or not. There was no telling whether the story of the woman – your grandmother – was known to many.
“Bucky truly has been talking… but yes. I believe that might be the case.”
“Her choice… or her fate. Fortune, really.”
‘Lady Fortuna is watching over you, my little love,’ your mother’s voice echoed in your ears for many a time that day, tempting you to believe. Believer her. Believe in fate. Believe in you. ‘The red thread of hers will lead you to your fate.’
Steve smiled warmly, nodding, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “Yes. Whichever it was, all there is to know is that I owe them both a great debt.”
For I have lived. For I have lived and have been given the chance guide the lives of many towards a better life.
For I have lived long enough to meet you.
None of those words were spoken and yet – you read them so clear in Steve’s irises they might as well have been.
And whichever choices had been made… you had no doubt they were the right ones, indeed, if they had, eventually, led you here.
Here, where despite all circumstance, everything felt right on such a fundamental level it must have been so.
“They certainly seem to have chosen well.”
Steve’s chest subtly puffed out at the praise, his chin inching higher, a spark of pride appearing in his irises; and it pleased you to have such effect on him, so simply as to speak—
And yet fright seized your mind at once, heart stumbling in your chest painfully, throat tight as it hit you that Steve, ever so slightly, turned into a vision of pride.
And pride… pride was a dangerous thing.
There was no doubt Steve deserved to feel so and had earned your every word of appreciation – to deny you thought so might as well be a crime.
But His Majesty the King was a wholly different entity than you.
For you, you were short of a virtue and exceptionality.
Under Steve’s gaze, with all his sweet words of soulmates and prophecies, with his touch pouring a sweet mist into your head and into your lungs expanding so wildly it affected your heart, it was all too easy – all too tempting – to be led astray. To believe it all to be true.
That you were exceptional.
Special enough to have been chosen by Lady Fortuna to be by his side.
Special enough to be mentioned in a prophecy made by one of the most powerful figures of the entire generation.
‘The women of our family have been blessed; there’s light blooming in our hearts, fire crackling in our souls,’ your mother used to say, the dreamer, the believer in great things, her light having been dimming every day as if to deny her words.
‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,’ your father used to say, your daily bread, the deadly sins, the ten commandments, the warnings not to be seduced by evil that not o rarely wore a pretty face, all gold and promises glinting. ‘Humility, obedience – such is the true way of a good life. The way of a good woman. Honour thy father and thy mother.’
“I am trying to make the best choices possible too,” Steve’s gentle murmur snapped you from your dark reverie.
“From what I have seen, you have done so…” you said, words leaving your lips absently as your mind roamed shadowy places, doubt beginning to sprout in your chest despite the sweet threads of gold still blooming around your heart. “Me, however… it is still difficult to believe, despite all evidence, should we call it such, that a fate so great has been bestowed on me of all people.”
‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall—'
Steve’s gaze was inquisitive as it roamed your face, a myriad of emotions suddenly hard to read playing across his features, until a shadow of well-masked sadness covered it, his hold on you growing rather slack.
“I believe it,” he whispered, earnestly so. “And you know already that I believe in fate, in higher power, as much as in choice… What I do not believe in, however, is forced affection.”
Your heart skipped a startled beat, confusion no doubt showing on your face for you were at loss as to why he would say such thing. Unless his displays of affection, so warm and perfect and the incarnation of a home yet to be tainted by grief of a loss, were so.
Forced.
Pretend.
The mere idea was a cold stab straight to your heart, beating vigorously in opposition of the possibility of such being true.
“Please know… Should you not find me worthy, should you find that you do not feel the same… I would never force you to stay, never forced you to charm affection where there is none,” he continued, realization dawning to you and stealing your breath even as your lips parted to disprove the terrible misinterpretation of your own words--- “I would never take back what I have given and never laid a hand on you or otherwise punish you. Should you wish to leave… I would not stop you. I could not… but least I would ask you if you’d accept a chest of precious gems to ensure you were well off.”
But do not, my sweetling. Please. I could not bear it.
My heart would break, half my soul leaving with you.
You blinked, the ache of the loss as if already pulsing inside your ribcage, knocking all air from your lungs.
But it was the last sentence, so nonsensical and so contradictory to the truth of life that has proved to you that you always had to earn the fortune’s favour and the gods’ and Lord’s benevolence – and kindness of strangers, kindness of men – that urged you to ask questions; rather than reassure Steve that leaving was the last thing on your mind. For your heart, your soul, your mind, however foolish to have already fallen for him, would not bear separating from him either.
The loss of the warmth of his touch alone poured potency into the ache in your chest. To leave him altogether would rip you apart.
And yet… how could what he had said ever make sense?
“How would I deserve so? After all you have-“
“For I would never wish you any harm,” he said, his grip on your hand firmer again, his gaze a sea of regret. “And yet, it has already been done.”
Many people have been done harm in the course of their life, you thought to argue, but the touch, the blissful touch returning stopped you at once; and offered clarity without words, Steve’s hold on your hand as strong as the cage of his gaze he trapped yours with.
But none of them are you, my sweetling – and none of them, none, suffered in my name.
And those who had done so, serving me or my kingdom, had done so willingly; and even those, if it were possible, were compensated.
He did not speak those words yet you did not have the faintest doubt that they were true.
For he was the king of the people, serving, like the rest of them.
For he was the king responsible for his people.
And you were one of his already, in one sense of the word or another. A gift to him; whether he had asked for it or not, whether it was fate or someone else’s choice.
In the dim lights of the hearth, you nearly moved your hand to shield your eyes from the strikingly clear sight of him offered, his very soul speaking to you in tongues ancient and never learnt; and yet perfectly comprehensible.
He was not wearing a crown now; not even the simple circlet of gold he had worn when holding the very court you had been dragged to and yet, the shadow of the crown sat on his head heavier and more apparent than a few hours ago. And it was not the precious metal of it that weighted on him; it was the very responsibility he had told you he believed came with being given a choice, grown hundredfold as it came with the power bestowed to him as the king.
And gods help you, you never wished for him to be weighted down, weary with pain or as much as worry – but looking at him now, he was the most beautiful you had yet seen him. A fundamentally, undeniably good man.
And despite that, somehow, he had read your reluctance to belief in being so blessed as something to have anything to do with him not being enough. As if being a soulmate to the embodiment of kindness and fierceness was a feat rather than the most generous gift you had never done anything to deserve and had been given nevertheless.
And perhaps accepting it made you proud.
Perhaps it made you a sinner.
But you would atone for your sins the only way that, seeing the man in front of you, felt right in every fibre of your being.
By loving him.
“I see,” you rasped, emotions thickening your voice as it constricted your throat. “Your kindness sees no bounds… but I believe you misunderstand me.”
He winced as if you slapped him; but the brave man he was, wishing to understand, he held your gaze.
And thankfully, your hands too, still.
You let a small smile curl your lips, causing his head to tilt minutely to the left, some of the previous shadow falling away.
“I do have trouble believing, still… but I do not wish to leave or this not to be true. Quite the opposite. I… I only fear--- there so little sense in all this, and I fear that if there were any chance we might be wrong after all… that in all the hopes and--- wishes of such to be true, that we are— that you are forcing yourself into something you do not… yet-- feel…” Your voice trailed off, weaker with every word while hope grew in Steve’s eyes, determination rising and fleshing out right in front of your eyes.
You suddenly recognized how your worry seemed so silly with all you were feeling and was mirrored in Steve’s face, how it made little sense indeed, but it made all sense, with how you could still feel the touch to your lips, still tingling, still humming in your blood-
Warm.
So warm as his hand left yours, palm cradling your cheek instead, crystal-like blue shining around dark pupils observing you like you were the night skies with the most wonderful and rarest of constellations known to men visible for the first time.
Your breath hitched as the golden warmth seeped into your skin anew, rushing through your veins like the most potent wine and cider combined, neither of which you had touched tonight, but the touch, gentleness and firmness aligned, lit you alive like one of the stars on the skies indeed; and so did Steve’s voice.
“My sweetling… there is no doubt in my mind, in my heart, in my body nor soul,” he whispered and you caught yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling into his palm, sinking into his tenderness and promise, for nothing had never felt like the touch of divine itself like this before. His eyes crinkled at the edges as you did so, a brilliant soft smile curling his lips. “Seeing you… having the privilege of touching you… it awoken something in me. We only have just met, I barely know your name, and yet I feel like a part of me, deep within me, my heart or my soul-“
“-has known me for a lifetime,” you finished the thought gingerly, finding yourself leaning in, gravitating closer to him, a force of nature you, at last, gave in to, the distance slowly erased.
Much like your doubts; and you were not bothered by either, not in the slightest.
Steve’s expression – and gods, he was nothing short of stunning, even up close, so close his exhale would almost tickle your lips, so so far – grew warmer.
“Yes. Is that…?”
You lowered your gaze, incidentally, glancing over his mouth, the curve of his broad shoulders in your peripheral, all exquisite things to observe.
“I… am not unaffected myself. I do not know how… or why.”
Yes, you do, my sweetling. Yes, you do.
You licked your lips. Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Though I suppose I do… or I believe so,” you added, reluctantly raising your gaze only to meet Steve’s, a soft inferno of emotion staring back at you.
“Should you wish, we could explore that path together… I certainly wish so, if I have not made myself clear yet.”
You have, my love, you almost pushed past your lips, the last worry of yours the only obstacle.
That and the fact that Steve’s proximity was much like a spell you were quickly falling under, the sweet vertigo of a free fall making words lose all meaning.
“My only worry then is-“
“Isn’t it weary to worry as much, my sweetling? No need for it… I shall protect you from any further harm. From the gods themselves if I must…”
You sighed, weary indeed, where the weight of his crown seem to have but fade away when he held you.
And how tempting would be to believe him, to let your heart alone guide you, to set your fears and doubt free as if you were the one clutching at them and not the other way around.
“I am not of noble blood,” you husked, the issue seemingly so insignificant with the little distance between Steve’s lips and yours, his fingertips brushing your hair, his palm cradling your face oh so gingerly, his other mirroring the gesture, holding your face like the most precious gem with the fragility of a spring blossom- “Surely-- surely the laws-“
The instinctive flicker of your eyes to his mouth as he licked his lips was nothing short of devastating and delightful, the gentle thud on his forehead against yours almost comically tender compared to the violent pulse and rush of your blood past your ears and temples.
Your eyes slipped shut.
“I am the king… I am the law,” he spoke firmly, even if barely audible, sending a shudder down your spine, not at all cold. “I do discuss all important matters with my council, my trusted ones, the former queen, my friends… but if I wish to make you my queen, if you wish the same--- I shall see it done.”
My sweetling, my love, my queen-
All these wonderful unshakeable vows dissipated the last traces of hesitance and doubt like the very magic the Scarlet Witch possessed was at work, and tangled the words on your tongue.
“If it lightens your soul, my sweetling, Tony-- the late King, was not quite known for standing by the rules as old as his lineage either. I am the living proof of how much. I do not have the faintest care whether you are of nobility or not. I came from nothing. And I rule to my best conscience all the more for it, perhaps… if anything, a wife who understands such is the perfect partner… the perfect queen.”
My queen, sounded possessive and decisive and alluringly sweet and tempting in your ears, Steve’s breath tickling your lips, his warmth, his touch, the vision of him behind your closed eyelids an overwhelming assault on your senses tempting you to give up. To let go.
And you did.
The release of the air stuck in your lungs made you as light as a feather, as warm as the summer midday sun on your skin.
“Are you saying I am nothing, Your Majesty?” you whispered, an intimate tease more than anything.
And what a gorgeous reward you received, hearing his smile in his voice when he spoke again, feeling his fingers twitch on your face, tipping your head back a bit as if on pure instinct.
“Oh no, my sweetling, not at all…”
His lips a hair’s breadth from yours, he stole your breath and gave his in return, offering a torturously long time to withdrew as if you had the slightest intention of doing so--
“You… are everything.”
The small sound born in your throat at the sincerity in his voice was drowned in a sea of bliss.
In the light poured into your veins, sunshine and moonlight and stardust born in your bones and consuming your heart and soul alike.
In the heat spreading through every fibre of your being, from your fingertips to your core, beginning and ending where Steve’s lips pressed against yours with delight of the first kiss and deep familiarity of it having been done thousand times for a lifetime.
In his kiss.
Your hands laid against his chest and shoulder, the most solid anchor in the storm of sensations, his lips warmth and softness incarnate; hesitant but sure, cupping your face still for his hesitance neither stemmed from lack of desire, only fear of rejection.
Your lips parted with a breath, heat thrumming though your body when Steve’s deepened the kiss, thighs clenching at the not unfamiliar but shockingly powerful pulse in your core, your fingers clutching on the fabric of his chemise.
The action must have not gone unnoticed, for he shifted, a silent rumble in his chest and he retreated, parting with pressing a small chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth and a sigh.
Your ragged breathing meddled with his, forehead once more resting against yours, your grip on the fabric unrelenting; the idea of letting go painful despite it being the only logical thing to do.
Later then.
Never.
Steve caressed your hair, another kiss brushing your lips, drunk eagerly like the sweetest cider and the most delicious of wines.
You savoured the taste and let it sink into all your senses, refusing to open your eyes just yet.
“My sweetling, my queen…” Steve rasped, the rumbling noise bringing a tickling swoop into your stomach, “as belated as my questions seems… would you do me the honour of allowing me to court you?”
You huffed a surprised laugh, a quiet delightful sound that felt awfully foreign, an echo of a distant past, and yet so natural in his company. You opened your eyes at last, offered the gorgeous sight of him still savouring the moment, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, mouth kiss-swollen and red, and gently raked your fingers over his nape, his smile joining yours.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
When he met your gaze, sparkling with joy and the gentlest scold, only then you spoke what your heart had been whispering since the first time you had set your eyes on him, as reluctant as you had been to hear and listen:
“… yes, Steve.”
Another sweet kiss to your lips, before his hands slowly released your face, only to cradle your hand again and press one more kiss to your knuckles like the gentleman he was, a promise to court you and sweep your off your feet indeed.
“Thank you, my lady, for allowing me such honour… I feel I should escort you to your chambers, for the hour must be rather late…”
Before you could protest, for away was the furthest from where you wished to be at the moment-
– Forever, my love, for ever-
-he did so for you.
“Yet I cannot imagine parting from you for the night, not just yet… Would you sit with me for a moment, my sweetling?” he asked for the second time that evening, all respectful despite the profound plea you could not but hear, for it echoed your own, written all over his expression, all over his cheeks dusted with the faintest pink.
Your body sifted closer to him as he let your hand fall between you, never releasing it, and you pressed your free palm to his sternum, glancing up at him with an ever-present smile on your lips.
“It would be an awful shame to waste a drink, wouldn’t it? And a night so wonderful so far… I should wish to stay, my love.”
The endearment rolled off your lips with such ease – so nonsensically true and so right – that you could not find yourself regretting it, less so upon seeing Steve’s gaze light up like the starry frozen night outside, brilliant happiness shining brighter than the sun and the moon together.
“Indeed, my sweetling. Your wish is my pleasure to follow.”
And so after another passing moment of indulging in indecent proximity, you inched away far enough from each other to clear your minds at least a bit, yet not once not touching – a hand, a knee brushing the other, a kiss to your hand, a caress to his knuckles – and toasting to a new courtship.
And your heart – while racing, excited and perhaps a little scared of the future still, and with gentle fire crackling in your soul, with golden threads of affection interlacing with the red thread of fate in your veins – was content and blooming with pure love.
And never once taking your eyes off Steve, you could tell that you were not alone in feeling such.
One next to another, beating in hopeful harmony, sat two pure and content hearts, with a promise of a bright future ahead.
For both of you – and for the entire kingdom too.
S.R. masterlist
Hello esteemed readers 🥰 Thank you for reading all the way here, hopefully with a dreamy smile 😌 I am considering a fourth part where they would... consumate their marriage and union, but have nothing specific in mind, nor a solid plan... for now, their story on paper/screen ends here even as it is their beginning 🥰
Please, remember interaction is love and food for writer's thought, as well as greatly appreciated 💕
I can only imagine Reader must be quite 🫠🥵🫣😏😬🥰😕 after her encounter with Enforcer!Ari... When will she see him again? Under what circumstances? Do we throw all our feminist gusto out the window for him? Was he just keeping us occupied to help his boss? Regardless of what he may have said or done, it was one night. That can get a clever girl spiraling...
I know the I AM SPIRALING!!!
How do we come to terms with the fact that we were taken up so easily and so completely by this big scary/not scary enforcer??????
WHAT'S A HOE/READER TO DO?
ASKING FOR ME AND ALL MY FRIENDS AND READERRRR. 😭
No but like oh my god, this man seriously had a chokehold on me from go, so I’m so happy I’m not the only one having an utter meltdown over him 🤭 But of course I can always rely on my beloved wifey and fellow hoes (especially those of you who voted for Ari in my recent poll) to be good hoe company hehe. I hope you all enjoy this ❤️
Unwelcome
Pairing: Ari Levinson x Female!Reader
Word Count: 2,462
Summary: You can’t shake the memories of that night with Ari, and to make matters worse, he returns–with another unwelcome guest in tow.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft!dark mob enforcer!Ari. Dub con. Vaginal fingering. Ruined orgasm. Mob boss!Andy. Reader owns her own business and is a spitfire with a complete lack of self-preservation lolll. Lots of antagonism.
A/N: You can read the ask and drabbles that started this all here.
You were distracted. Again.
Frustrated, too.
No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t stop thinking about that night with Ari in your office.
About Ari in general.
And it made you so fucking cranky and ashamed.
You kept trying to tell yourself it was because he was terrifying–an actual facts mob henchman–that you hadn’t resisted much as he had so sinfully touched you...
“Shh shh shh,” Ari cooed, his hand on your belly giving a gentle pet before it slowly started to descend.
You gasped sharply as his touch slid between your thighs, as he cupped your cunt through your jeans and panties as his teeth caught your earlobe and gave a warning nip.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Ari husked. “You won’t fall victim to my usual methods. It would be such a waste, and I have a much better idea for keeping you occupied and out of trouble.”
You could only whimper and squirm as Ari–this man you didn’t even know, who you had only just meant mere moments ago–popped open the button on your jeans and stuffed his big hand down the front of your pants and panties like he had every right to.
His fingers were thick and rough as they teased along your cunt. When his touch glanced off your clit for the first time, you gave a startled cry that had you going rigid in Ari’s lap.
“Oh, I liked that sound, sweetheart, give me another.”
His touch grew more intentional then–more wicked. It seemed like it took him no time at all, and barely any effort, to have you creaming all over his fingers and begging him to make you cum.
Because it had been so long since you had been touched like this–especially by someone who knew what they were doing, who was so confident and scary in a way that made your body tingle.
You could feel the rock hard length of Ari press along the small of your back, and you could only imagine the way he ached, but still, he kept all of his focus and intent on you.
“God, look at you, honey, you’re like putty in my hands, so needy and desperate for it, huh?”
You whined at the deep baritone of Ari’s voice, at his seductive words, at that delightful pull pulsing deep within you, feeling like a live wire as pleasure and the cusp of ecstasy danced all along your body from head to toe.
You arched your back in desperation, shameless now as you rutted against Ari’s touch, moaning loudly and without reserve as he shoved two thick fingers deep inside your cunt and began to rub along your sensitive walls.
Sounds that could only be described as primal and desperate began to fall from your lips as you curled your fingers into Ari’s thick thighs beneath you, inching closer and closer to the height of your pleasure.
“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” Ari rumbled against the curve of your jaw.
“Yes!”
“You gonna be good for me?” he asked. “You gonna promise to keep that cute little nose where it belongs and out of our business?”
“Uh huh,” you replied without hesitance, not really comprehending Ari’s words but also willing to agree to anything in this moment if it meant getting what you wanted–being able to cum, to completely unravel in the best way.
His fingers went at you harder, making you keen and bow against him. Just before you fully ascended, only a swipe or two of Ari’s thumb against your clit away from falling apart entirely–from surrendering to the type of toe-curling pleasure you knew you’d remember for days–Ari stopped.
“Nooo!” you whined as his fingers suddenly retreated from you entirely, leaving your poor body taut and woefully, horrifically unsatisfied.
“Only good girls get to cum, and you gotta earn that privilege, trouble,” Ari husked against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your warm cheek before he shifted you off of his lap then poured himself to his feet.
You gaped up at him in utter shock–in visceral betrayal–as Ari adjusted the bulge at the front of his jeans before shooting you a smirk and wink combo.
And then you could only stare after him as he turned and sauntered out the back door of your business, leaving you dazed, angry, and mourning the loss of what you knew would have been an incredible orgasm.
“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glowering at the memory.
And yet–you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong since.
You weren’t sure if it was from fear and self-preservation, or if maybe you were hiding and didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention your way.
Maybe you had learned the lesson Ari and his boss had wanted to teach you.
You crumpled today’s high tea menu in your hand at the very thought–being schooled, by anyone, let alone a couple of criminals. Then you frowned as you quickly tried to straighten out the wrinkles in the beige paper. The color of it, and the font printed on it, were a play on a book, since that was kind of your schtick.
Books & Brews.
Aka your baby. Your dream business that spawned from a combination of two of your passions–tea and books.
It was such a niche and novelty sort of business, that you hadn’t been able to secure any investors when you were first starting out. No one had believed in you and your dream except you, which honestly only made it all the sweeter now that it was such a success.
All it had taken was a couple of online influencers having high tea in your cute little shop, and raving about the food, tea, and book selection, and you had pretty much gone viral overnight.
And never looked back.
That was why you were so mad about the utter bullshit that had moved in next door.
This was a nice neighborhood. Safe. Family friendly. You had repeat customers that you loved. You hosted kids’ birthday parties, bridal showers, all types of milestone events.
If word got out that the fucking mob had moved in next door, you knew it would pretty much be a death sentence for Books & Brews.
“Ugh!” You tried to shake that thought–and all the thoughts like it–from your mind. Because then you would get mad. And start to spiral. You would get stupid protective over your business and all of your self-preservation would go out the window.
And now you knew what happened when that was the case.
So! Screw organized criminals and their unwanted neighbor status.
You had a successful dream business to run.
Speaking of… the little bell over the front door cheerfully jingled the arrival of new guests, and you straightened from leaning against the checkout counter, a smile already curling your lips.
But it instantly fell as you watched two figures step inside your shop. Although one was a total stranger to you, the other was familiar as hell–because it was Ari.
You hated that your first thought upon seeing him was that he was so ridiculously hot. So big and beefy. His worn denim button up shirt bulged with his muscles, his dark, wiry chest hair sticking out the top where quite a few buttons were undone. He was wearing another pair of those criminally tight jeans and–
Stop staring, you internally screamed at yourself when you caught sight of Ari’s arrogant smirk.
Because he had totally caught you ogling.
You made a face at him before rounding the counter, puffing up a little as your narrowed gaze shifted from him to the man beside him.
He wasn’t as tall or thick as Ari, but he was no slouch either in his obviously expensive suit and equally handsome features. He had fair skin, dark floofy hair that was perfectly styled, and a thick beard that was just as neatly trimmed. His eyes were an electric blue, and although they glittered with amusement as they met your fiery gaze, there was something about them that was too hard to be genuine.
Despite the charming smile spreading across his lips, there was an air of ruthlessness to him that you could see from a mile away.
And you knew that this man, he was the boss. Of Ari. Of the new “business” next door. Of an entire mob empire you wanted nothing to do with.
You also knew that he–and Ari–were ones not to be messed with, but they had your hackles rising so quickly, that it was like all logic evaporated from your brain as you marched right up to them, crossed your arms over your chest, and stared Ari’s boss down without care.
“You’re not welcome here,” you said firmly, giving yourself a mental high five at how confident you sounded.
The stranger’s eyes only twinkled more, a quiet chuckle spilling from his lips as he ignored your statement entirely and introduced himself. “Andy Barber,” he didn’t try to shake your hand, instead looking away from you as his gaze drifted around your small shop, which was a little quiet at the moment.
“What a… charming little place you have here,” he observed, and you knew just from his tone and delivery that he didn’t mean it as a compliment.
He meant for it to be condescending–to insult you and your business and put you in your place–but it had quite the opposite effect. Instead, it had you firing off your sassy response before you could think better of it–or realize just how closely Ari was watching you, awaiting your reaction like a teacher surveying their student’s progress.
“Certainly more charming than illegal activity and shady business associates,” you smiled beatifically, meeting Andy’s suddenly steely gaze without flinching. “But what’s a little murder and mayhem, as long as you don’t get caught, right?”
“Careful, neighbor,” Andy tutted, but his lips were curled in amusement, his eyes flickering with a hint of respect as he watched you.
For some reason, you got the sense that Andy wasn’t used to people mouthing off to him, that it was a rare novelty in fact, and he was actually enjoying it as you death stared him and tried to turn him away from your doorstep.
Him.
“We’ll stay for lunch,” he decided instead, stepping past you and picking the empty table of his choice without waiting for your response.
“You need a reservation,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and storming after him.
And, okay, while you did appreciate reservations, especially for larger parties, you never actually turned anyone away.
But today, for him—for both of them—it was an exception that you were willing to make.
“As luck would have it,” Andy hummed, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I have my reservation right here.” He pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and plucking out a few crisp hundred dollar bills before tossing them on the edge of the table in front of you.
Which only made you seethe more.
“I don’t want your blood money,” you whisper!hissed, aware of the two small parties across the room, enjoying their high tea service.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Andy smirked at the way your nose wrinkled at the pet name. “I left my blood money wallet at home today. That’s legit and legal revenue.”
Clenching your hands into fists at your sides, you were just about to tell Andy where he could shove his legal revenue when you suddenly felt a searing heat at your back.
“Be nice, trouble,” Ari murmured against your ear, his big hands falling to your hips and giving a warning squeeze that had you gasping and your body instantly lighting up at his touch. “Or else.”
You spun around, smacking his hands away from you before trying to shove him out of your space. “I am at work! Maybe that aspect of your life isn’t important to you, but to me, it means everything, and I don’t need you pawing me in public, asshole.”
Andy’s bark of laughter surprised both you and Ari, and it also gave you a reason to look away from the scary displeased look Ari was aiming your way.
“And here I thought she’d be cowed and welcoming after your visit the other night,” Andy smirked, plucking one of the fancy linen napkins from the table and arranging it over his lap. “Seems like you have some more work to do, Levinson.”
“Seems like.” Ari gritted, giving you a look so dark it had a chill racing up your spine as he shifted past you and sat in the seat across from Andy.
For a moment, you were frozen, both from their combined audacity, and that look Ari had given you–a look that conveyed you were in deep shit and had your stomach sinking with regret.
Which is why you could only stare at them dumbly for a beat–these two big, scary mobsters who were sitting in the middle of your cute, cozy tea shop bookstore, looking so painfully out of place that it was almost funny.
Almost.
Thankfully, the thick tension in the air was alleviated as one of your servers who tended to this section bounded over, looking excited to have a table to wait on. You forced a smile to mirror her own, stiffly nodding as she asked if these gentlemen were ready to be served.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” you muttered, ignoring the watchful stares of Andy and Ari as you turned on your heel, intending to stalk away.
And maybe hide in your office until they were blessedly gone.
But the sound of Ari’s gravelly voice gave you pause, his words making your insides somehow wilt and flutter at the same time as he promised, “See you soon, trouble.”
Feeling your mouth go dry, you didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him, but you did low key hate yourself as you all but scurried away.
Desperate to be away from Ari and his boss, you cleared the main floor in record time before ducking down the back hallway. Once you were in your office, with the door shut tight behind you–and locked for good measure–you felt only the tiniest bit of relief.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, you sank back against the door, trying to get your rapid heart rate under control. As you felt anxiety–and something else, something that felt very much like anticipation–buzz along every inch of your body, you purposefully kept your gaze away from the small, worn sofa where all of this had started.
And you tried like hell to shove down all the sinful, shameful memories of Ari that just the mere thought of it conjured in your frazzled mind.
Raise your hand if you’re still in enforcer!Ari’s chokehold 🙋🏻♀️
—
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