goldensunshines

[goldensunshines]

A Scary Little Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, alcohol, humiliation, spanking, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You make a mistake while cooking Christmas dinner.

Character: Frank Castle

Day One of the December Daze Challenge. Prompt - i didn't know the egg nog was spiked! + don’t look at them, why are you looking at them? look at me. they’re not going to help you. - source

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You pour yourself another glass of the rich eggnog. It’s unlike any you’ve had before. Luxurious almost. You sip on the clear mug of the festive fuel as you flutter around the warm kitchen. The stove sends a radiating swelter through the space, along with the scent of turkey and thyme. 

You set the cup down and flip on the stove light. You have a look at the turkey through the window. You take the thermometer and stand, gripping the handle as your head ripples oddly. Ooh, it must be the heat. You should open a window, yet the blistering cold hardly sounds much better. 

You open the door and reach through to poke the turkey with the tip. You wait until the temperature pops up. Almost there. 

“Peach,” Frank’s voice drawls from the front room. 

As always, you are diligent in your response. You rush you to look in on him as you press your sweaty palms to the front of your apron. You give a sheepish smile. 

“Yes, sir,” you say. “Bird’s almost done.” 

“Not too worried ‘bout that,” he wiggles his can at you. “Get Bill too.” 

Your Christmas is small. Just you, him, and his best friend. An old marine buddy who sleeps as much on your couch as in his own bed. You don’t mind, he knows how to keep Frank mellow. 

“Of course, honey,” you take his can, a swish of dregs still in the bottom, then take Billy’s glass. As you weave around the table, you stumble over your own toes.  

“Eh, slow down,” Frank warns, “don’t need ya makin’ a mess.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. It’s a call-and-answer. You can’t leave him unheard. 

You go into the kitchen and dump what’s left in the can. You rinse it and put it in the recycling bin. You take a new one from the fridge and slide it into his coozy. You mix Billy a new drink from the bottle he brought with him. 

You return and serve Frank first. Billy smiles as he accepts his glass. “Smells delicious,” he comments. 

“Thank you, Billy,” you step back and blink, your lashes seeming to catch each other. “It’s a pretty big turkey so there’s a lot to go around.” 

“Good, I’m starving,” he slaps his flat stomach then sips from his glass, “that’s good. You make the best drinks.” 

“Just coke and whiskey,” Frank grumbles. 

“Sure, but it’s a good balance,” Billy raises his glass. 

“Thank you, sir. Uh, that eggnog you brought is pretty good. I’m on my third glass. I know Frank doesn’t like it very much,” you say. 

“Eggnog?” Frank echoes. 

Billy chuckles, “oh yeah? You like it?” 

“Sure. I haven’t had any since I was a kid.” 

He laughs again, “did you read the label?” 

Frank stiffens and slurps from the can. You look at him and shake your head. “Kinda.” 

“It’s Baileys, sweetheart. 60 proof. You been drinking it straight?” 

“You brought her alcohol?” Frank sits ups. 

“I brought it for everyone. I was being a good house guest, Castle.” 

“You been drinking?” Frank turns his sneer on you, knowing Billy will meet him with the same. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know--” 

“You telling me you didn’t taste the rum?” He snarls. 

You blink and glance at Billy nervously. He shrugs and sips his whiskey. 

“Don’t look at him, why are you looking at him? Look at me. He's not going to help you.” Frank barks. 

You flinch and face him. You clasp your hands together. “I don’t drink sir, I wouldn’t know--” 

“You talking back to me?” He sits forward and reaches to put his beer down. 

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before--” 

“Get over here,” he points in front of him. “And shut your smart mouth.” 

Your lip trembles as you nod and put your eyes down. Usually, he’s until Billy isn’t there, or at least, you are somewhere private. You know it’s bad because he isn’t. 

You shrink down, curling your shoulders and approach him. You’re all too aware of the other man in the room. Just as conscious of his full attention. As you near Frank, he grabs your wrist and wrenches you forward. You whine as you stagger. 

“Don’t be goddamn stubborn,” he growls. 

You snivel and apologise again. 

“Get yourself over my knee. And pull that skirt up while you’re at it.” He commands. 

You obey. You lay across his lap and reach back to lift your skirt. He just as quickly grabs your panties and swipes them down your ass. You whimper again, your thighs quivering as you’re exposed to the room. To Billy. 

Frank spreads his calloused hand across your ass. You brace yourself as he lifts his arm, leaving your skin cold. The first strike is scalding. You cry out as your flesh stings. You keep your head down as he does it again. Spanking you so hard that you feel it in your spine. 

“You know better than that,” he reprimands as he lays each slap. 

When he stops, he keeps his hand on your fiery skin. You don’t dare move. You stay draped over his lap as the noise of the football game continues on around you. 

“Go on,” he gives a lighter tap. “Get dinner on the table. Game’s getting good.” 

You lift yourself, pulling up your panties as you keep your eyes on the floor. You’re too humiliated to look at Billy. As you drop your skirt. You sense him shift in his seat and it makes you wince. You flee to the kitchen. 

The turkey is done. You take it out and blink away tears as you carve it. You sort out light and dark meat on a platter and carry it to the table. You arrange all the fixings in serving dishes; sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, beans, turnip, cranberry sauce, gravy, stuffing, and buns. 

You hesitate as you cautiously peek into the living room. 

“Um, sir, dinner--” 

“Go on, wait for us,” Frank waves you away, his eyes fixated on the television. “Wanna see this kick.” 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper. 

You go to the table and sit. You’re patient as you wait for them. Billy comes first, appearing through the kitchen as he brings in his glass with a helping of the eggnog. You look away shamefully. 

“You’re right, sweetheart. It’s pretty good,” he sets the glass down as he sits. 

“Yes, sir, very,” you agree. “I’m sorry I drank so much.” 

“Well, I brought it for that very purpose,” he affirms. 

Frank finally comes in. He claims his chair at the head of the table. You get up and step up next to his shoulder. 

“Can I fix you a plate, sir?” You ask. 

“You know what I like.” 

You take his plate; dark meat, potatoes, carrots, gravy, a bun, and some stuffing. You butter his bun then sit down. He doesn’t move. 

“Well, we got company,” he sneers. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Billy--” 

You go to get up and Billy waves you off. “I’m a big boy, I can serve myself.” 

“Big boy?” Frank echoes under his breath. 

Billy snickers and shakes his head, “jeez, Frank, it’s Christmas. Have a bit of holiday cheer.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child,” Frank snaps. 

“Fuck if you don’t act like one,” Billy retorts. 

“Big boy. Think you’re a fucking big boy,” Frank repeats. “I’ll show you a man.” 

The table lurches as Frank stands. You stare at him as he reaches for you. He grabs your upper arm, his fingertips dipping into the bruises already there. He rips you up to your feet and moves you around the table in front of him. He kicks the chair behind him away as he hits it. 

“You don’t need to take it out on her, Frank. What’s the problem--” 

“I’m showing you what a big man is,” Frank grabs the back of your neck and bends you forcefully. Your stomach crushes his place and you feel the moisture sopping through the layers of your apron and dress. “You come in here, givin’ her that poison--” 

“It’s the holiday. Just a treat--” 

“You both shut your fucking mouth,” Frank tears your skirt up above your ass. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way she fawns over you. ‘Oh, Billy, thank you’,” he mimics you meanly. “Well, I’ll show you what you’re never going to have.” 

You stare at the wall as Frank tugs your panties down again. He kicks your feet apart and pinches your ass. You squeak as he splays his hand against your flesh and pokes around your cunt. You close your eyes as he brushes your entrance with his rough fingertips. 

He pushes two fingers inside of you and you whine. He wiggles them then slides them out. You hear the clank of cutlery. You blow out between your lips as Frank’s weight shifts around behind you and he pushes his tip between your cheeks. 

He guides himself down to your cunt and bucks his hips mercilessly. He splits you with a single thrust. You gnash your teeth as he jerks again, bottoming out with a grunt. You grip the edge of the table and hold your breath. 

A knife scratches on porcelain. You hear chewing. You lift your head as Frank thrusts again. You stare at Billy as he scoops up gravy, potato, and turkey in a single bite. He sucks the fork clean and smiles. He's entirely unbothered by the gruff display. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Frank puffs but does not relent. The table jolts with his aggression and Billy picks up his glass to keep the liquid from sloshing. 

“Well, I don’t want my food to get cold,” he says. 

Frank growls and frames your hips. He snaps his pelvis against you and grunts. “Goddamn, Bill, you always were a goddamn freak.” 

Billy laughs and takes a gulp of the eggnog. He swallows and lets out a sigh, “well, you know, I won’t mind if there’s leftovers. I'll be happy to eat them up.” He winks and Frank pumps into harder. 

“Fucking bastard,” he snarls and his flesh slaps you loudly. “Peach, you keep looking at him but you remember who you belong too. “He bends over you and loops his arm around to grab your chin. He lifts you, arching your back as he forces your head up. He ruts into you relentlessly. “Remember, it ain’t fucking him.” 

[goldensunshines]

So Black the Darkness Hums

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader, unnamed husband of reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: Your wedding day is destroyed when your village is raided by the vicious king Steven and his viking warriors. He will lay claim to all he wants, including you.

Content/Warnings: DARK, invoking prima nocta, non-consent/rape, stealing of virginity, explicit smut (oral - male and female receiving, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, anal fingering, anal intercourse, breastplay, overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms), use of pet name (little bride), dacryphilia, innocence kink, implied breeding kink, exhibitionism, human tribute/trade

Notes: I was struck by the idea of a very mean viking Steve last Thursday, and he would not let me go. Thanks to the encouragements from @biteofcherry, @witchywithwhiskey, and @vonalyn. An unapologetically brutal offering for the ninth week of Chris-mas.

Additional Note: I've gone with the term magnate over chieftan per this source.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You had already made a long walk, dressed in white, towards a man today. But where this morning, you had walked happily in the sunlight to your betrothed - the eldest son of the village magnate, now you walk over the flagstones of the village hall to the seat typically occupied by the magnate.

A seat now filled by the brutal and terrifying Steven - warrior and king of an army which had landed on the shores of your village to raid and conquer today.

And conquer they had.

Your white dress, once pristine and flowing, now clings to your skin, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt and leaves. The veil that had adorned your hair this morning lies discarded somewhere in the forest, torn away by grasping branches as you fled.

The memory of your desperate flight from your wedding into the woods plays in your mind like a fevered dream. The screams of the villagers, the clash of steel, the acrid smell of smoke as buildings burned – all of it had driven you and a group of women and children to seek refuge among the ancient oaks. The forest, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, became a labyrinth of terror as you led the group deeper and deeper, branches scratching at your arms and face, tearing at the delicate fabric of your gown. The sounds of pursuit never seemed to fade, no matter how far you ran.

As dusk fell, you huddled together, exhausted, praying to gods old and new that you would not be found. But the gods were silent, and the crunch of heavy boots on fallen leaves had filled their absence. You were all bound and forced back.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the throne, each step echoing in the cavernous hall. The white gown that once symbolized joy now feels like a shroud.

The smell of blood and sweat permeates the room, a stark contrast to the polished wood and fine tapestries of the hall.

Steven's piercing eyes lock onto yours, a predatory gleam reflecting in their depths like shards of ice. His massive frame dwarfs the ornate chair, his battle-scarred hands gripping the armrests with a strength that could crush them at any moment. A round, wooden shield leans against the side of the throne. He looks both handsome and terrifying, his rugged features perfectly fitting for a fierce Viking warrior. The intensity in his gaze sends shivers down your spine, making you wonder if he is capable of unspeakable violence or if it is all just an act to maintain his reputation as a fearsome leader. Either way, there is no denying the raw power emanating from him, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from this captivating figure before you.

Your steps falter, but a rough shove from one of Steven's men propels you forward. You stumble, nearly falling at the conqueror's feet.

"So," Steven's voice booms, a mix of amusement and contempt. "You are the bride I've heard so much about."

His face is scarred, weathered by countless battles, but still impossibly handsom, and his eyes gleam with intelligence. You see something there – a flicker that suggests he is not just a brutal conqueror, but a man with depth and complexity.

Dangerous.

"I hear you were married to the fine magnate’s son," Steven continues, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "How fortunate that I've arrived in time for the celebration."

Your throat constricts, choking back the bitter retort that threatens to escape. You force yourself to square your shoulders and hold his gaze, summoning every ounce of courage you possess.

Steven's eyes narrow as he studies you, his gaze raking over your disheveled form with predatory intensity. He leans forward, the worn leather of his armor creaking with the movement.

"Come closer, little bride," he beckons, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Your feet feel leaden as you force yourself to take another step forward. You are by no means small, but he is so large in comparison that the term ‘little’ apply to most who come into his presence. The flagstones beneath you are cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the soft grass you had walked upon just hours before, your heart full of hope and promise.

Steven's lips curl into a wolfish grin as you approach. "Tell me," he says, his voice deceptively casual, "were you to be a proper bride for your husband?"

The insinuation in his words is clear, and heat rises to your cheeks. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes hungry and leering. You swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure.

"I was to be a dutiful wife," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steven's laughter booms through the hall, echoing off the stone walls. "Dutiful," he repeats, mockery dripping from the word. "And what duties did you imagine, little bride? Mending his clothes? Warming his bed?"

Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. The urge to lash out, to scream defiance in his face, is almost overwhelming. But you force yourself to remain still, knowing that any show of rebellion could mean death – not just for you, but for the other villagers as well.

"Whatever duties were required of me," you reply, striving to keep your voice steady.

Steven leans back in the chair. "Tell me, little bride, do you know what happens to dutiful wives when their husbands fall?"

Your stomach churns at his words, but you force yourself to stand tall. "I imagine they mourn," you reply, a hint of defiance creeping into your voice.

The warrior king's eyes flash dangerously. In one fluid motion, he rises from the chair, towering over you. His hand, calloused and rough, grasps your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Oh, he may have wished for death in battle, but he was merely conquered an imprisoned.”

There’s a small relief, but it’s fleeting as you know this is far from over.

“Dutiful wives plead and bargain what they can to spare their husbands an even crueler fate.”

You tremble with both fear and anger.

“And the bride of the magnate’s eldest son needs to bargain for far more than the fate of only one man.”

Your sink to your knees at Steven's words, now with the fate of your village laid at your hands. Your once-pristine dress pools around you like spilled milk over the cold flagstones. The stone bites into your skin, a sharp reminder of how far you've fallen in just one day.

Tears blur your vision as you look up at Steven, his massive form looming over you like a colossus. The firelight from nearby sconces casts dancing shadows across his face, making his scars seem to writhe like serpents.

"Please," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Spare them. Spare the village. We are simple folk, we have nothing to offer but our loyalty and our labor."

A low chuckle rumbles from Steven's chest. "Getting on your knees is a good start, little bride," he says, his voice low.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation at his words, but you force yourself to remain kneeling. The fate of your village, your family, your new husband – all of it rests on your shoulders now.

Steven circles you slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. His heavy boots echo on the stone floor, each step sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes a palpable weight.

"Loyalty and labor," Steven muses, coming to a stop before you. "Those are indeed valuable commodities. But I wonder, little bride, if you truly understand the depths of loyalty I require."

He crouches down, bringing his face level with yours. His breath is hot on your cheek as he speaks. "Your village will serve me, yes. But you... you will be the seal on our bargain. The trophy of my conquest."

Your heart stops.

“And to my earlier curiosity, I shall ask plainly and have you answer me in kind: are you a virgin bride? Untouched? Unsullied?”

You close your eyes and nod.

If you had been harboring any hope your fate would not turn this way, it has vanished now.

“A king is entitled, if he so chooses, to invoke the rite of prima nocta.”

Your blood runs cold at Steven's words. Prima nocta - the right of the first night. An ancient, barbaric custom that you had only heard whispered about in hushed tones. Never did you imagine it would become your reality.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. You immediately regret it as Steven's eyes flash dangerously.

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "No?" he growls. "You dare refuse me? Perhaps you need a reminder of your position."

With a snap of his fingers, two of his men drag forward a bound figure, depositing him on his knees off to the side but in clear view. Your heart sinks as you recognize your new husband, his body littered with cuts and bruises.

"For every refusal, every act of defiance," Steven says coldly, "he will suffer. And not just him. Your family, your friends, you are all of you conquered and my men can hunt through this village to pull any one of them here if it serves me.”

Your eyes well with tears because you do not doubt his resolve.

“You will spare them if I give you my maidenhood?”

He straightens back up to his full height. “I think I could spare your village for at least one night.”

Steven turns to his men, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave us," he commands, his voice echoing through the hall. "But the husband stays. He will bear witness."

The soldiers file out, swiftly acquiescing to their king’s request. The heavy doors slam shut behind them, the sound reverberating through your bones. Now it is just the three of you - conqueror, conquered, and the terrified bride between.

Steven's fingers tangle in your hair, forcing your head back. His other hand works at the fastenings of his breeches. "Show me how dutiful you can be, little bride," he growls.

Steven towers over you, his massive frame blocking out the flickering light from the nearby braziers. You can smell the leather of his armor, the tang of sweat and metal that clings to his skin.

Your eyes flicker to your husband, but he refuses to look at you, apparently unwilling to watch. You would not have him suffer, but his refusal to even look your way hurts. You held no silly romantic notions for the eldest son of the magnate, but he was a fine man, good, you had been happy to make a match with him, and you thought there was a growing affection between you.

“Do not look at him, little bride,” Steven growls, impatiently shaking you by the hair. “Why are you looking at him? Look at me. He can not help you.”

You force your gaze back to Steven, your heart pounding. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and cruel triumph. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"I... I don't know what to do," you whisper, heat flaming your cheeks. It's true - you are a virgin, after all, and the mechanics of what he expects are foreign to you.

Steven's laugh is low and mocking. "Oh, little bride," he says, his voice a rumble. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

His hand leaves your hair, moving to cup your face. His thumb traces your lower lip, rough and calloused. "Open," he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting once more to your husband. This time, his gaze meets yours, and you see the resentment burning in them. It wounds you more than anything this cruel conquering king has done to you so far.

Steeling yourself, you look back up at Steven and part your lips.

His thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. "Suck," he commands.

With trembling lips, you obey, closing your mouth around his thick digit. The taste of salt and leather fills your senses as you tentatively suck on his thumb. Steven's eyes darken with lust, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his free hand working at the laces of his breeches. "That's it, use your tongue."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you obey, swirling your tongue around his digit, your cheeks burning with shame. You try to focus solely on the task at hand, to forget where you are and what's happening. But the sound of your husband's labored breathing, the cold stone beneath your knees, the looming presence of Steven above you – it all serves as a stark reminder of your situation.

The sound of fabric rustling makes your stomach clench.

Steven withdraws his thumb, replacing it with two fingers. They press deeper into your mouth, nearly making you gag. "Breathe through your nose," he instructs. "You'll need to learn this."

Your heart races as you struggle to follow his command, fighting against your gag reflex as his fingers probe deeper. The taste of salt and leather is overwhelming, and you can feel saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth.

"Open your eyes," Steven growls. "I want you to see everything."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. With his free hand, he finishes unlacing his breeches, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, fully aroused and intimidatingly large. A whimper escapes you around his fingers, and he smirks.

"Don't worry, you'll learn to take all of me in time."

Steven withdraws his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping. His hand moves to grip your hair again, tilting your head back as he positions himself before you.

"Open wide, little bride," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

You hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. The reality of what's about to happen crashes over you like a wave. But then you hear a pained grunt from your husband, and you know you have no choice. Closing your eyes, you part your lips.

Steven wastes no time, pushing himself into your mouth with a groan of satisfaction. The taste is foreign, salty and musky, and you struggle not to gag as he fills your mouth.

"Use your tongue," he instructs, his hand tightening in your hair. "And mind your teeth."

Tears stream down your face as you try to obey, running your tongue along the length of him. Your whole body trembles with fear and revulsion, but his grip on your hair is unrelenting. He thrusts in and out of your mouth, setting a brutal pace that makes you gag and gasp for air.

"You're doing well, my little bride," Steven grunts, his voice thick with lust. "Just relax and take it all in."

You try to comply, but it's a struggle. Your eyes water from the force of his movements, and you feel like you're choking on him. But you know you have no choice but to endure it or risk angering him further.

As he continues to use your mouth for his pleasure, you feel a sense of detachment wash over you. It's like watching yourself from a distance, your body merely a tool for his satisfaction. You can't believe this is happening – this reality had never even haunted your nightmares.

A sharp pain shoots through your scalp as Steven tugs harder on your hair, pulling your head back even further. You whimper at the sting, struggling against the urge to cry out.

"You make such beautiful noises," he growls. "But I want more from you."

With that, he starts thrusting deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You choke and gag around him, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now.

But then something changes – he starts moving faster and faster until suddenly he stills inside you with a groan of release. Your mouth is flooded with his release, and you swallow what you can, tasting him on your tongue as he pulls out of your mouth, leaving it feeling raw and sore. A mess of tears, his cum, and your drool drip down your neck as you gasp for air.

Steven's thumb roughly grazes down your cheek, a false gesture of affection. Then he speaks, his eyes moving from you to your husband. "Such a pretty thing," he purrs. "Isn't she?" the question - a taunt - directed at your husband.

He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with both of you. Steven's laughter fills the room as he continues, "They say you are a noble and good man, always treating her right. I bet you would never ask her to do anything degrading, may have waited weeks or moths before coaxing her to suck your cock."

You don’t even know how to react to what he is saying and how the other man is reacting - or not reacting - to Steve’s words.

“You would never use her.”

Steven’s focus shifts fully back to you.

“But I will.”

A small whimper escapes from your chest as he roughly grabs your chin.

“I will ruin you and wreck you for my pleasure, and he does not get to see what I will do to you next.”

The other man makes a strangled sound, finally trying to fight his bonds.

Steven laughs darkly. “It may have tortured you to watch,” he says, and then leans down and scoops you up from the floor and into his arms - bridal style to drive the point of his dominance and the humiliation of your special day home, “but not knowing what I do to your bride next will eat you alive for the rest of your days.”

As Steven carries you from the hall, your world becomes a blur of sensations and emotions. The warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the cold dread settling in your stomach. His arms, corded with muscle, hold you firmly against his broad chest, and you wrap your arms around his neck for steadiness as he moves so swiftly. The scent of leather, sweat, and something distinctly male envelops you in such close proximity, making your head spin.

As he carries you from the great hall, you find yourself unable to look away from his face. The flickering torchlight casts deep shadows across his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and cold like the sea in a storm, and it chills your bones. He leans down and steals a fast, ruthless kiss, nipping at your bottom lip, and you look away when he ends it, uncomfortable with the sensation it stirs in your belly.

The corridors of the village hall, once so familiar, now seem alien and menacing. Shadows dance on the walls, cast by flickering torches, creating grotesque shapes that mirror the turmoil in your mind. The stone beneath Steven's feet echoes with each step, a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of your heart.

You pass tapestries depicting scenes from your village's history - harvests, celebrations, battles long past. They mock you now, reminders of a life that seems to have ended mere hours ago.

As Steven carries you further into the depths of the hall, the familiar corridors give way to parts of the building you've never seen before. The air grows cooler, damper, and you shiver involuntarily against his chest. He notices, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Cold, little bride?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his words, to pretend this isn't happening. But the solid warmth of his body against yours, the strength in his arms as he carries you, makes denial impossible.

Finally, Steven comes to a stop before a heavy wooden door. With one hand still supporting you, he reaches out and pushes it open. The hinges creak ominously, and your heart rate spikes as he carries you across the threshold.

The room is dimly lit by a few sputtering candles, casting long shadows across the stone walls. In the center stands a large bed, draped in furs and silks - a stark contrast to the simple furnishings you're accustomed to. You see the ceremonial bridal lace, embroidered with the flower of the magnate’s clan, laying atop the other furs and silks and realize this was the bedchamber intended for you and your husband. The irony is not lost on you - this room, where you should have spent your wedding night and started your new life with your new husband, will now be the site of your defilement.

Steven tosses you onto the bed unceremoniously, and you land with a gasp, your white dress billowing around you.

Steven looms over you, his massive frame blocking out the dim candlelight. His eyes rove over your body hungrily, and you feel exposed despite still being fully clothed. You try to curl in on yourself, to shield your body from his gaze, but he tsks disapprovingly.

"Now, now, little bride," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't hide from me. I want to see all of you."

His hands move to the laces of your dress, and you flinch away instinctively. Steven's eyes narrow, and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. With his other hand, he reaches for a knife at his hip, brings it up to the neckline of your dress, positioning the cool blade between your skin and the fabric and pulls down swiftly, tearing your dress down the middle. He releases your hands so he can use both to finish ripping away your clothing, throwing it to the floor. Your attempts to fight him are easily shunted, and once you’re naked, he presses you back down to the bed, pressing the blade of the knife cruelly to your neck, just below your jaw.

“Do not think I will maintain much patience. I will not hesitate to punish if you continue to resist,” he promises. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whisper, a tear escaping and rolling slowly down your cheek.

“Good," he says, his voice low and husky, "it's time to consummate the arrangement you agreed to fulfill."

He moves away, positioning himself next to the bed. His hands move to the fastenings of his leather armor, slowly removing each piece, then his shirt. The firelight gleams off his muscled torso as it's revealed, highlighting scars that tell tales of countless battles. You can't help but stare, a mix of fear and unwanted fascination coursing through you.

Steven notices your gaze and smirks. "Like what you see?" he taunts.

You quickly avert your eyes.

Steven chuckles darkly. "Don't be shy now, little bride. You'll become very familiar with every inch of me soon enough."

He finishes undressing, his massive frame now fully revealed in the flickering candlelight. Despite your fear and revulsion, you can't help but notice the raw power of his body - all hard muscle and battle scars. He is undeniably handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that makes your heart race with a confusing mix of terror and unwanted attraction.

Steven climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he looms over you. His hand trails down your body, callused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shiver involuntarily, eyes closing.

"Open your eyes," he commands. "I want you to see everything I do to you."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. He looms over you, his muscled body casting you in shadow.

"Please," you whisper, a final, desperate plea. "You don't have to do this."

Steven's hand cups your face. “But I want to,” he growls, “and I always take what I want.”

His lips crash down on yours, harsh and demanding. You whimper against his mouth, overwhelmed by his forcefulness. His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring every inch of your mouth as his hand slides down to grip your breast roughly.

You gasp at the sensation, your body betraying you as your nipple hardens under his touch. Steven chuckles against your lips.

"Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind resists," he murmurs, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

His hand continues its travels lower, skimming over your stomach before reaching the junction between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his knee wedges between them, forcing them apart and settling himself between them. His fingers find your most intimate place, and you jerk at the unfamiliar touch.

"So soft," he growls, his fingers exploring the apex between your thighs. "And already getting wet for me."

You flush with shame, hating your body's involuntary response, feeling things you’ve never felt before and with a cruel stranger instead of the man you had pledged yourself to, built a budding relationship and trust with through your courtship.

"So responsive," he murmurs against your lips. "And so tight. This will hurt, little bride, but I'll make it good for you too."

His fingers probe deeper, and you cry out at the intrusion. Steven's mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting as his fingers work between your legs. You feel a building pressure, your body responding against your will to his ministrations.

"That's it," he murmurs against your skin. "Let yourself feel it."

Tears stream down your face as waves of unwanted pleasure course through you. Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, seeking more of the sensation.

Steven chuckles darkly. "So eager now," he taunts. "Are you ready for me, little bride?"

Before you can respond, he positions himself at your entrance. You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, and panic rises in your chest.

"Wait," you gasp. "Please, I'm not-"

But Steven doesn't wait. With one powerful thrust, he sheathes himself inside you. The pain is sharp and immediate, tearing a cry from your throat. Steven groans in pleasure, his massive frame pinning you to the bed.

"So tight," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel even better than I imagined."

Tears stream down your face as he begins to move, each thrust sending waves of pain through your body. You turn your head away, unable to look at him, but his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I told you to watch," he snarls. "I want to see the moment you break."

His pace increases, and you whimper with each brutal thrust. The pain begins to dull, replaced by a strange, burning sensation that spreads through your lower body. Your breath comes in short gasps, matching the rhythm of his movements.

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling with the shock of the intrusion. Steven's hand cups your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that has escaped down your cheek. The gesture is almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of his actions.

"Breathe," he commands softly. "The pain will pass."

You try to breathe more evenly, but it feels impossible as he maintains his brutal, relentless pace.

Your body feels torn between pain and an unfamiliar, building pleasure. You hate yourself for responding to his touch, for the way your hips begin to move in rhythm with his thrusts. Steven notices, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"There it is," he growls, his pace quickening. "Your body knows what it wants, even if you deny it."

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding a sensitive bundle of nerves above where you're joined. You cry out as he begins to circle it with his thumb, waves of sensation crashing over you.

"Let go," Steven commands, his voice husky with exertion. "Come for me, little bride."

Your body obeys even as your mind recoils. The pressure builds and builds until it finally shatters, your back arching as you cry out. Steven groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the mattress, his body slick with sweat. You lie there, trembling, tears streaming silently down your face as the reality of what just happened washes over you.

Steven lifts himself onto his elbows, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. "You did well, little bride," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

The tenderness in his touch and his voice confuses you, but the moment passes because his eyes

arken once more as he gazes down at you. "The night is far from over," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire.

He shifts his massive body, moving downward until his face is level with your breasts. His rough hands cup the soft flesh, kneading and squeezing with a possessive grip that makes you gasp. You feel his hot breath against your skin, sending involuntary shivers through your body.

Steven's mouth descends on your left breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he takes it between his lips. He sucks hard, drawing a whimper from your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, sending jolts of sensation through your body.

He alternates between your breasts, sucking and biting with increasing intensity. What starts as pleasure soon edges into discomfort, then pain. Your nipples, sensitive and swollen from his attention, ache as he continues his ministrations. You squirm beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations, but his body pins you firmly to the bed.

"Please," you gasp, "it's too much."

Steven lifts his head, his eyes dark with lust. "Nothing is too much for you, little bride," he growls. "You'll take everything I give you and beg for more."

His mouth returns to your breast, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out, tears springing to your eyes yet again. The pain mingles with a confusing undercurrent of pleasure, your body betraying you once again.

Steven's hand slides down your body, fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He begins to stroke in slow, deliberate circles, and you feel yourself responding despite your best efforts to resist. You’re shocked at how your dripping hole is aching again already. These sensations are foreign to you and frightening to experience at his hand.

Steven's fingers move with expert precision, building a slow, inexorable tension in your core. His mouth continues its assault on your breasts, alternating between gentle sucks and sharp nips that send jolts of sensation through your body. The dual stimulation overwhelms your senses, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath him.

His fingers quicken their pace, circling your sensitive bud with increasing pressure. The tension coils tighter and tighter, a spring wound to the breaking point. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, chasing the building pleasure despite your mind's desperate attempts to resist.

Steven's mouth moves to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "That's it," he growls, his voice low and husky.

Your body trembles on the edge of release, every muscle taut with anticipation. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, Steven suddenly withdraws his hand. You whimper at the loss, your body aching for completion. He lifts his head from your breast, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“I told you I would ruin you,” he murmurs, “and this is part of your ruining.”

Steven rolls onto his back, his massive frame sprawled across the bed. His eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as he beckons you with a crook of his finger. "Come here, little bride," he commands, his voice a low rumble. "I want to feel that pretty mouth on my cock again."

You hesitate, your body still trembling from the denied release. Steven's hand shoots out, gripping your hair and pulling you towards him. "I said, come here," he growls, his patience wearing thin.

Reluctantly, you crawl towards him, positioning yourself between his muscular thighs. His manhood lies semi-hard against his stomach, still glistening with the evidence of your earlier coupling. The sight and scent of it make your stomach churn with a mix of revulsion and unwanted arousal.

"Take me in your mouth," Steven orders, his hand still commanding the back of your head. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Slowly, as if in a trance, you lower your trembling form towards his groin. You can't believe the turn of events that have brought you to this point – from a joyful bride to a conquered villager at the mercy of Steven and his ruthless warriors. The knowledge burns in your heart, but you force it down, focusing instead on surviving this nightmare.

As your lips touch the velvety head of his member, Steven emits a low groan of pleasure. His hand loosens its grip on your hair just enough to allow you some movement. Despite yourself, you remember the way he had thrust into your mouth earlier, how he had seemed to enjoy it when you'd used your tongue. Drawing on that brief flash of experience, you tentatively flick your tongue over his cock. The taste is overwhelming - a potent mixture of his earlier release, your own arousal, and the metallic tang of blood. It's a stark reminder of what's transpired, of your lost innocence.

Steven groans as you engulf him, his hips bucking slightly. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire. "Take it all in."

You struggle to accommodate his size, your jaw aching as you try to take more of him. His hand guides your movements, setting a steady rhythm as he uses your mouth. Your tongue teases across the sensitive underside of his shaft, encountering a vein that runs along its length, and you try to apply more pressure there. Steven groans in response, low and guttural, spurring you on.

"That's it, little bride," he grunts, the praise almost an animalistic growl. "Suck harder. Take more of me into that pretty mouth."

You struggle to obey, pushing yourself to take more of his length into your mouth. His hips begin to thrust upwards, forcing himself deeper. You choke and splutter around him, saliva dripping down your chin.

"Relax your throat," Steven commands, his voice strained with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose."

You try to follow his instructions, fighting against your gag reflex as he pushes deeper. Steven's hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements more forcefully. "Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You raise your eyes to meet his, your cheeks burning with shame as you continue to work your mouth over him. His gaze is dark and predatory, filled with a hunger that makes you shiver.

"Such a good little bride," he murmurs, his hips starting to thrust up to meet your mouth. "Taking my cock so well. But I think you can take more."

Without warning, he pushes your head down, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag and choke, face pushed flush to his pelvis. The taste and scent of him overwhelm your senses, throat struggling at his intrusion, and you feel lightheaded from the lack of air. Just when you think you can't take anymore, Steven pulls you off his cock with a wet pop.

Gasping for breath, you look up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His face is flushed with arousal, his eyes dark, but gleaming with… pride?

“You are such an exquisite, pliant thing,” he says. “It has been too long since I’ve been so well-pleased, so near insatiable.”

Your chest constricts at the praise. You did not want any of this nightmare, but his danger is novel and alluring, the unknown pleasures he’s exacting from your body, guiding you down paths you’ve never explored before - it’s all twisting your body and your very soul, seeping through your veins, a poison you can’t stop now that he’s pierced into you.

He sits up, frames your jaw in both of his calloused hands, and then lewdly licks one cheek and then the other, lapping at your tears. It’s not tender. He’s playing with his prey.

Steven's hands move to your shoulders, gripping them firmly. With a sudden, forceful movement, he flips you onto your stomach. You gasp at the abrupt change, your face pressed into the furs on the bed. His large hands grasp your hips, pulling them upwards as he pushes your upper body down, positioning you on your hands and knees before him.

"Spread your legs wider and present yourself to me," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

Trembling, you obey, pushing your knees out further, lowering your chest to the bed, and raising your hips higher. You feel completely exposed, a new kind of vulnerable in this position, and your cheeks burn with shame. The cool air of the room caresses your most intimate places, making you shiver.

Steven's large hands grip your hips, kneading the flesh of your buttocks, spreading them apart.

"Such a pretty sight," he murmurs.

His thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your buttocks as he spreads you open further. You tense, expecting the brutal intrusion of his manhood, but instead, you feel his beard brush against your most intimate flesh as he presses his mouth to your core. His tongue, hot and wet, slides up the cut of you, and you cry out in surprise. You had been told your husband would couple his manhood with your maidenhood. You had heard the lewd rumors of men using a woman’s mouth for his cock.

No one had ever whispered even a word that man might put his own lips to your sex, and it’s an onslaught of pleasure you were in no way prepared to experience. The moan you let out is obscene and unrestrained, and you graps helplessly at the blankets and furs beneath you.

Steven's tongue explores your folds with wicked precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your most sensitive areas. Your body trembles uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the intense sensations. You try to stifle your moans, burying your face in the furs, but Steven's hand snakes up to grip your hair, yanking your head back.

"Let me hear you," he growls against your flesh. "I want to hear every sound you make."

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue delving deeper, tasting every inch of you. His beard scratches against your sensitive skin, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming pleasure. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back against his face as he continues his relentless assault. You feel his lips close around your sensitive bud, sucking hard, and a cry tears from your throat.

"That's it," Steven murmurs, his voice vibrating against your flesh. "Let go, little bride. Show me how well you enjoy being ruined by your new king.”

His words send a shiver through you, a mix of shame and unwanted arousal. Steven's tongue continues its relentless assault on your cunt, building a tension in your core that threatens to overwhelm you. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as you writhe against him. The tension within you builds to an unbearable level, and with a final, targeted flick of his tongue, you shatter.

A cry tears from your throat as the waves of ecstasy wash over you. He laps up your juices eagerly, groaning in satisfaction, before he pulls away.

You whimper at the loss, and he chuckles. “Worry not, there is yet more pleasure I will force upon you this night,” he promises.

Before you can catch your breath, you feel the blunt head of his manhood pressing against your entrance. Steven guides the tip of his cock up and down your slit, over your oversensitive bundle of nerves, and you shiver. But it is soon evident he is in no hurry at this next pursuit.

Steven continues to tease you with the head of his cock, running it along your sensitive folds. Up and down, up and down. Slow strokes, sometimes bumping against your clit, sometimes ignoring it, unpredictable in the pattern so you don’t know when the surge will come. Your body trembles, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Despite your mind's protests, your hips shift back, seeking more contact, even though you're still sore from his earlier intrusion.

His fingers dip into your core, pulling from the wetness dripping out of you, and then he swipes them over your tight rosebud, and you gasp. You know immediately what he intends to do next, though you could never have imagined such a thing, and you can not process any sort of reaction against it. Indeed, he presses the tip of one of his fingers against the tight muscle, then insistently pushes through, and your heart pounds in your chest with fear. The foreign feeling is shocking.

Shocking because it should not feel as good as it does.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears of shame and frustration leaking from the corners.

He moves his finger in and out in only a very small motion - not fucking you with the finger, but pressing pleasure there in small, torturous amounts. He resumes the rutting of his cock against your folds, and you begin to openly weep, feeling wanton, confused, but moans accompany your sobs that you cannot hide from him.

He leans over you, his broad chest pressing against your back. His breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. "Eager for more, are we?" Steven chuckles darkly. "Beg for it, little bride. Beg for your king's cock."

You hesitate, torn between your body's desperate need for release and the last shreds of your dignity. Steven's free hand moves to circle around the front of your throat, possessive, threatening.

"Beg," he snarls.

The words stick in your throat, and Steven removes his finger from your tight hole and his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"I said beg," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

"Please," you whimper, the word barely audible.

Another stinging slap lands on your other cheek. "Louder," Steven demands.

"Please!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "Please, I need... I need you.”

He slaps your ass again. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow hard. But you can’t deny betrayal of your body, aching for his touch, for the release only he can provide. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please... fuck me. I need your cock inside me."

A growl of satisfaction rumbles through Steven's chest. "As you wish, little bride."

He shifts and begins thrusting his cock inside your cunt again.

Steven's cock enters you with a single, powerful thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping. He sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deep into your core, your body rocking forward with the force of his movements.

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The room fills with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your breathless moans, and Steven's grunts of exertion. The musky scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air.

"So tight," Steven growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "So perfect for your king, the perfect tribute."

Your body responds to his words, to his touch, clenching around him involuntarily. The friction of his cock against your walls sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building a familiar tension in your core. He hits a particularly sensitive spot on the front of your walls that has you writhing in ecstasy, and he presses the head of his cock there over, and over. You're overwhelmed by the sensations, the fullness, the way he plays and experiments with your body, until you spasm, thrown over the edge into another orgasm.

Your body convulses as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you weak and trembling. Your limbs feel heavy, your muscles liquid, as if all the strength has been drained from your body. You struggle to stay on your hands and knees, your arms shaking with the effort of supporting your weight.

Steven senses your weakness, feeling the way your body has gone limp beneath him. With a growl of satisfaction, he pushes you down flat against the mattress. The furs are soft against your oversensitive skin, tickling your nipples and sending shivers through your body. You turn your head to the side, gasping for air, feeling utterly spent.

Before your breathing can return to anything close to normal, before you can prepare yourself, Steven’s rough hands are spreading your cheeks, and he rams his cock into your ass. The intrusion rips a tortured scream from your throat.

The pain is sharp and immediate as Steven forces his cock into your tightest opening. Your body instinctively tenses, trying to reject the intrusion, which only intensifies the burning sensation. More tears spring to your eyes as you gasp for breath, though you don’t know how you still have more tears to shed.

"Relax," Steven growls, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "The more you fight it, the more it will hurt, and I’m not going to stop."

You try to force your body to relax, to accept him, but it's a struggle against your instincts. Steven's hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to move. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pain and an unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

"So tight," he groans, his pace increasing. "You feel incredible."

The friction is intense, unlike anything you've ever felt before. It's not quite pleasure, but it's no longer just pain. It burns, but the fire consumes your whole body. You feel stretched to your limit, filled completely by Steven's massive cock.

His hands roam over your body, rough and possessive, groping at your flesh. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your cries, but it's futile. Each thrust draws a whimper or moan from you, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

Steven's hand snakes around to the front of your body, his fingers finding your sensitive bud. He begins to stroke in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations of his thick cock stretching your ass and his skilled fingers on your clit create a maelstrom of sensation that threatens to overwhelm you completely.

You're only vaguely aware of the sounds escaping your throat - desperate, wanton moans that you scarcely recognize as your own. This may be the first night you lie with a man, but though you are inexperienced, you think it can not be possible to experience any more of the overwhelming pleasure he seems determined to rip from you yet again.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, caught between the pain of the intrusion and the impossible mounting of pleasure. Each thrust sends sparks of electricity coursing through your nerves, building the tension in your core. You've never experienced anything like this before - the intensity, the fullness, the way your body seems to betray you at every turn.

Steven's pace increases, his hips snapping against your ass with bruising force. His fingers match the rhythm, pressing harder, moving faster. You are hurled over another cliff of ecstasy, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, body jerking futilely beneath his massive form. He pounds into you once, twice, thrice more, and on the fourth thrust, he shouts and stills, cock buried inside you, and groans as he empties his seed in your tightest channel.

Finally spent and satisfied, Steven collapses on top of you, his massive weight pressing you into the furs. You feel utterly crushed beneath him, struggling to draw breath, yet there's an undeniable warmth from his body enveloping yours that sneaks unwanted into your bones. His heart thunders against your back, matching the frantic pace of your own. The room is filled with the sound of your mingled panting as you both quest for normal breath.

The scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthier smells of leather and furs. Your body thrums with residual pleasure, every nerve ending still singing from the intensity of your coupling. You feel utterly boneless, all strength drained from your limbs.

Slowly, your breathing begins to even out. You become acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - the rough hair on his chest against your back, the way his thighs press against the backs of your legs, his hot breath against your neck, and his lips too close to that tender and intimate space as only a beloved’s should be.

Finally, Steven rolls to the side and off of you, but you are not freed from him as he bands an arm around your waist, resettling you with him. He curls around you, and you resign yourself to being held captive, bound by his thick, corded muscles yet a while longer - possibly until the morning.

Just as you are about to drop off into sleep, he speaks directly into your ear. “I have claimed all of your holes, little bride. You will always know that I had every bit of you first, leaving him nothing.” The words are cruel, wicked, and his voice low and far too intimate.

You take a shaky breath in, and out, and beg for sleep to take you so you do not have to think of how his words haunt you now and will haunt you forever.

In the morning, your body still feels spent beyond its limits, aching, but as you shift and stir, you discover the bed is empty.

Your heart accelerates at this discovery.

Then plummets the next moment as the cruel conqueror speaks breaks the silence. “Get up and get dressed,” he commands from where he’s perched on the windowsill, watching the first light of morning appear.

Your eyes dart around the room, drawn to the scraps of your wedding clothes. “I’ve no clothes to-”

“On the chair over there,” he interrupts and gestures to a pile of clothing and shoes that have been brought in.

You slip out of the bed, trying to ignore thoughts of whether or not he watches you - he has already seen your naked form, so what does it matter?

There is a well-made linen chemise with a fine, blue linen dress to go over it. You hastily slip on the chemise, but as you reach for the dress, you hesitate. The detailing is finer than anything made in your village. This came from him.

“Shall I assist you?” Steven asks, making you jump as he’s silently crossed the room to stand directly behind you.

“No, I can dress myself,” you answer, but it falls on unhearing ears, as he’s already reaching past you for the garment.

He assists in pulling the dress over your head, and his hands roughly tug at the ties of your dress. Then he turns you to face him, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"I've decided your husband will truly be left with nothing," he declares harshly. “After last night, I cannot abide him having you as his bride when clearly you should be mine. His father - the magnate - with the rest of the elders have accepted my bargain to take my men, leave your village, and never return on condition that I take you as tribute.”

You cannot speak, the shock of Steven's words rendering you mute. Your mind reels, trying to process the implications of what he's just said. The village elders, including your own father-in-law, have agreed to trade you away like chattel to save themselves. The betrayal cuts deep, leaving you feeling hollow and abandoned, and yet you know it was likely a choice of little difficulty when weighing the safety of the village.

Steven cups your cheek again in that way that pretends a tenderness that is not there, and kisses you roughly. His lips are demanding, forceful, claiming you once more. The taste of him is now too familiar. His beard scratches against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips.

His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor. Your body responds traitorously, a warmth blooming in your core despite everything, and you tangle a hand in his long hair.

Steven breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and conflicted. His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

"You are not why I came to these shores, but you are mine now," he says, his voice low and possessive. "My little bride, my tribute, my prize."

His words send a shiver down your spine - fear, anticipation, and something else you can't quite name. You know you should be horrified, should be fighting against this fate with every fiber of your being. But after the night you've shared, after experiencing all-consuming pleasures you never knew existed, a part of you - a part you're ashamed to acknowledge - is drawn to the thought of belonging to this powerful, dangerous man.

Steven's hand moves to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he speaks. "We sail with the morning tide and leave within the hour. My men are already loading the ship with supplies - food, weapons, gold. And you, my little bride, are the most valuable cargo of all."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. The reality of your situation crashes over you anew - you're leaving behind everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. Your family, your friends, the life you were meant to have - all of it gone in the span of a single day and night.

"Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Let me say goodbye to my family, to-"

"No," Steven cuts you off, his voice firm. "There will be no goodbyes. We leave now. I am your husband, your family. My lands will be your lands, and you will learn to forget. Perhaps all the sooner as you learn to crave the pleasures only I can give and ultimately grow with my child in your womb. Mine completely.”

so... if any of you are still alive, screech for help. I won't be able to help, because I have perished from writing this, but someone else might be able to assist you.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[goldensunshines]

Red, White & True: Athens to Miami [6/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 7.5k Summary: How will finding out about Jeff affect your marriage? The situation also brings you both to consider how long you can keep going on playing Mr. and Mrs. Rogers to the public. Steve also questions whether upcoming campaign plans will help or hurt.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: I left you with a bombshell at the end of the last chapter, but FEAR NOT because I drop you in immediately where we left off. This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

PREVIOUSLY... You take a steadying breath, then look up at Steve and say, “Jeff Connor is my former husband.”

[SEPTEMBER 28 - AFTERNOON CAMPAIGN FLIGHT FROM ATHENS TO MIAMI]

Some eyes had been on you, but now all of the staff turn to look at Steve to gage his reaction to this statement. His mouth is slightly open, a storm in his blue eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

You consider him for another moment, then pull out your phone, scroll to Jeff’s name in your contacts, and hit the call button. As the call starts to connect, Bucky leans over to whisper something in Steve’s ear. Steve frowns and shakes his head. Bucky shares a glare with him, then gets up and leaves the staff cabin.

As your call rings through to Jeff, you also stand, but you leave the staff cabin in the other direction, passing through to the private area that only you and Steve have total access to - anyone else needing to knock or be invited in.

You’re about to close the door when Steve catches it and follows in behind you.

You two exchange a look, both of you evidently trying to give nothing away about what just happened, and then you turn away to look out the window just as Jeff picks up on the other end of the line, answering with your name in an urgent and concerned tone.

"Hey, Jeff," you respond, keeping your voice neutral despite the tension you feel. You can feel Steve's presence behind you, a silent but palpable force in the small cabin.

"I'm so sorry," Jeff's voice comes through the phone, sounding genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean for any of this to get into the press. I swear I had no idea."

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. "What happened, Jeff?"

There's a sigh on the other end of the line. "I was at a barbecue at Mark and Sarah's last night. You remember them, right? From our old neighborhood?"

"Yeah, I remember," you say, a flood of memories from your previous life washing over you.

“I hadn’t heard from them in a couple of years, but they reached out, and I thought it would be nice to reconnect. Started talking to a new guy, I’d never met him before, figured it was one of their neighbors. He seemed nice enough, we got to talking about work, hobbies, life. I had no idea he was from TMZ and definitely didn’t know he was recording our conversation,” anger bleeds through the tail end of his explanation.

You sigh. You have no reason to doubt his story. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? No, I’m sorry! I was stupid saying anything to a stranger, and more stupid for even going to the party at all.”

“What? No, Jeff, I’m sorry because a choice I made is impacting your life. It’s not fair that you’re getting targeted by press, especially tabloids.”

Jeff is silent for a beat, and then he says. “He paid Mark and Sarah to get access to me.”

Your heart feels sick. “How did you-?”

“Lawyers from your campaign called me an hour and a half ago when TMZ put it up online to question me, they called back twenty minutes later with confirmation of the money trail.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again - because you are, and because you don’t know what else to say.

Jeff sighs heavily on the other end of the line. "Stop apologizing," he says, his voice soft but serious in his directive. "This isn't your fault."

You lean against the window, watching the clouds drift by below, a stark contrast to the turmoil you feel inside. "But it kind of is, Jeff. The press is only interested in you because we were married."

"That doesn't make it your fault," he insists. "The fact that some tabloid vultures want to profit off our past relationship isn't on you."

There's a moment of silence on the line, filled only by the faint hum of the plane's engines. You can feel Steve's presence behind you, a silent sentinel.

"You okay?" you ask finally.

"I'm... I'm mad. And disappointed - in myself and in them. I feel like an idiot. I should’ve known it was a weird time for them to reach out after not seeing them for so long."

"Jeff, you couldn't have known that. You assumed good intentions. It’s part of what makes you who you are.”

The words came so easily out of your mouth, but once they’ve been said, your chest aches, and part of you wishes you could take them back.

You don’t know what he’s thinking on the other end, but you know it can’t be easy for him either, because he only manages a small, “Thanks,” and then there’s another pregnant pause between you.

Jeff clears his throat, breaking the silence. "Did I mess anything up for the campaign? I know how important this is, and I'd hate to think I've caused any problems."

You shake your head, even though he can't see you. "No, Jeff. If anything, your comments were probably the best-case scenario. You were kind and respectful. It's hard for anyone to spin that negatively.”

There's a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "Well, I guess all those years of you drilling the importance of tact into me finally paid off, huh?"

You can't help but smile. "You never needed me for that."

"You know," Jeff says, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "it's kind of amazing to see you in action like this. I mean, I always knew you were capable of great things, but if this works out, I can’t wait to see what you do in action as First Lady.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” you reply, a lump rising in your throat. “Listen, I better go.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he says. “Take care.”

“And you,” you reply. “Bye.”

You hang up the call, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring out the window at the clouds below. The weight of the conversation, of the past and present colliding, settles heavily on your shoulders.

Finally, you turn to face Steve. He's leaning against the cabin wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. The silence between you is thick with unspoken questions and emotions.

“You heard all of that, right?” you ask, knowing some of his senses are enhanced through the super soldier serum that changed his body eighty years ago.

He nods.

You sigh and take a seat on the arm rest of one of the chairs, no longer wanting to stand, but not wanting to be fully seated while he’s still standing. “I thought you knew about Jeff. It’s in my file.”

One of the first things meetings for you joining the campaign had been to sit down with Jake, the head of the campaign, Elsa the communications director, and your assistant Sophia, to review the opposition research file that had been compiled for you - everything that an opponent could potentially try to dig up from your past and attempt to attack you or the campaign with. Your marriage to Jeff had been part of that.

Steve's jaw clenches, and he looks away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I... I never read your file," he admits, his voice low and tinged with regret.

You had suspected as much given how he reacted to learning about Jeff, but the confession still hits you like a wave, leaving you momentarily speechless. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirls within you - surprise, confusion, a hint of hurt, and something else you can't quite name. The plane's engines hum in the background, filling the silence between you.

You study Steve's face, taking in the furrowed brow, the slight downturn of his lips. His blue eyes, usually so clear and determined, now hold a mix of guilt and uncertainty. It's a vulnerability you've rarely seen in him, and it catches you off guard.

"You never read it?" you question, your voice barely above a whisper. The implications of his admission begin to unfold in your mind, and it feels like pulling on a thread, unravelling a piece of what you thought had developed between you.”Why?”

"I trusted Pepper," he says softly.

The cabin suddenly feels smaller, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, there's a sharp knock on the cabin door.

“Come in,” Steve calls out.

The door swings open, revealing Bucky. His expression is a mix of concern and frustration as he strides into the cabin, a thick manila folder clutched in his metal hand. The soft whirring of the arm's plates adjusting is audible in the tense silence.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Bucky says, his voice a low growl as he thrusts the folder at Steve. "I can't believe you never read this."

Steve takes the folder, his fingers curling around the edges. The weight of it seems to surprise him, and he glances down at it with a furrowed brow. "Buck, I-"

"Save it," Bucky cuts him off, running a hand through his long hair in exasperation and then turning to address you. "I just found out before you made your call that this punk never bothered to look at your file. I’m sorry, I didn’t raise him to be so inconsiderate.”

Steve scoffs, “Raise me? You’re only one year older than me!”

In other circumstances, you would laugh at this exchange, but in this moment you can’t, your mind absorbing each new and shifting moment.

Bucky rounds back on his best friend. “I read it, Steve. I read every damn page because I wanted to make sure you weren't getting played or walking into a situation you’d regret. But you? You just went along with it, no questions asked?"

Steve's jaw clenches, his grip on the folder tightening. "I trusted Pepper's judgment. She wouldn't put someone in this position if she didn't think they were right for it."

"Right for what?" Bucky challenges. "The campaign? Or you?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You feel your heart rate quicken, very aware of your presence in this conversation about you.

Steve's eyes flick to you for a moment before returning to Bucky. "Both," he says quietly.

Bucky shakes his head, looks at you and gives barely a quarter of a smile - seemingly all he can manage, and then leaves the two of you alone again.

Steve's eyes meet yours, a mix of emotions swirling in their blue depths. "I trusted Pepper," he says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "When she told me about you, about this arrangement, I didn't want to reduce you to a file full of facts and figures. I wanted to get to know you as a person, not as a dossier."

He strides further into the cabin and takes a seat across from you. "I thought it would be more... genuine that way. To learn about you through our interactions, through the campaign, through..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

“It has been. Even if we got a slow start.” Both of you know you had taken turns keeping your guards up at various points over the past four months. You slip down properly into your seat.

“We’ve been talking more with each other, about each other, though, so I have to ask… Is there a reason you’ve never brought up your divorce?”

You clasp your hands in your lap, but you continue to hold his gaze, even though your heart constricts painfully. “Aside from thinking you did know about him, it didn’t naturally come up, and I wasn’t eager to just drop one of the most painful pieces of my past into our conversations because it wasn’t a divorce.”

Steve’s brow furrows even more. It’s no wonder the man has developed so many worry lines.

“I was smitten from the moment I met him, and he loved me back the way you grow up dreaming about your future husband - only it was even better because it was real. Everything about it was so normal and real. We dated, we got married, he finished his residency and joined a good family practice. We bought a house. We stayed up late watching stupid movies or playing games or going to concerts on the weekends or just talking on the weekends. We started talking babies.”

You pause and look away.

“And then?”

You look back to Steve, and, eyes burning with tears you don’t want to cry, you say, “I didn’t exist for five years and he did.”

His face falls immediately.

You press on because this is like pressing on a wound when the skin has healed but the muscles are still sore beneath the surface.

“I reappeared in a house Jeff had sold. He was my first call, of course, and he still had the same number. He picked me upHe’d just been remarried for about a year, and they were four months along expecting their first child.”

You pause, letting the weight of your words settle in the cabin. Steve's face is a mix of shock and sympathy, his blue eyes wide as he processes what you've just revealed.

“It’s something like thirty percent of couples who were married before The Blip who have had to file for this new legal classification to end a marriage. They call it a cessation. An annulment legally voids a marriage as if it never happened, and divorce is too commonly associated with a negative ending, ergo new procedure and new language.”

Steve's face crumples with understanding and sympathy. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. "I'm so sorry," he says softly. "I had no idea."

You nod, blinking back tears. "It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but... it's been a few years now. I've had time to process it."

Steve's eyes search your face. "But it still hurts."

You let out a shaky breath. "It was surreal. Like waking up from a dream, only to find that the nightmare was real. Jeff was devastated too, in his own way. He'd mourned me, moved on, built a new life. And then suddenly I was back, throwing everything into chaos. We both knew we couldn't just pick up where we left off, but it was hard to let go of what we'd had."

Steve nods slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. "I can't even imagine what that must have been like for both of you."

"It was complicated," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "We tried to be friends at first, but it was too painful. Too many memories, too much history. Eventually, we decided it was best to go our separate ways."

Steve reaches out hesitantly, his hand hovering near yours before he pulls it back. "That must have been incredibly difficult," he says softly.

You nod, swallowing hard. "It was. For a while, I felt like I was just going through the motions. Everything I had known, everything I had planned for my future, was gone in an instant."

"How did you move forward?" Steve asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath. "Slowly. Day by day. I threw myself into work, into causes I cared about. I reconnected with old friends who had also returned, made new ones. And eventually," you pause, meeting Steve's eyes, "I started to feel like myself again.”

Steve nods, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's amazing how resilient we can be," he says softly. "How we can rebuild our lives from the ashes."

You smile faintly. "It's not always easy, but we find a way."

You can see how - though your experiences had been vastly different - you had each had to piece lives back together through loss and being pushed through time in ways you never could have dreamed.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the steady hum of the plane's engines. Outside the window, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. The clouds below are bathed in golden light, creating an ethereal landscape that seems to stretch on forever.

Steve's gaze follows yours to the window, and for a moment, you both just watch the breathtaking view. When he turns back to you, his expression is thoughtful, almost hesitant.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, his voice low.

You nod, bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I know this might be presumptuous of me to ask, but you'll always love Jeff, won't you?"

You take in his earnest expression, the way his brow is slightly furrowed with concern. The cabin feels both impossibly small and infinitely vast in this moment, like you're suspended in time and space, just the two of you existing in this bubble of honesty. You consider Steve's question, feeling the weight of your history with Jeff, the joy and the pain, the love and the loss.

"Love is... complicated," you begin, your voice soft but steady. "Jeff was my first real love - the love that weathers storms kind of love. For a long time, he was my whole world. But the world changed. We both changed. And while there will always be a part of me that cares deeply for Jeff, that cherishes the memories we shared and the life we built together, it's more like..." you pause, searching for the right words.

"It's like loving a chapter of a book that's already been written?” Steve offers.

You nod, and your mind clicks, putting together that the two of you share this understanding, too.

You have Jeff and he had Peggy Carter.

“You can look back on it fondly, appreciate the story,” he continues, “but you can never go back.”

"Exactly," you say softly, meeting Steve's gaze. "It's a part of my past that shaped me, but it's not my present or my future."

Steve nods, his blue eyes filled with far too much understanding. "I know that feeling," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of shared experiences hanging between you. The fading sunlight casts long shadows across the cabin, painting everything in warm, golden hues.

"Steve," you begin, your heart racing slightly, "I hope you know that despite how this arrangement started, I've come to care about you. Genuinely."

His eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and something else—hope, maybe—flickering across his face. "I care about you too," he says, his voice low and earnest, and he looks like he wants to say more, but you cut him off, knowing you need to say what’s been slowly rising to the surface in the back of your mind while the two of you have been alone in here.

“Steve, we have to tell the senior staff of the campaign about our arranged marriage. I don’t know if we go public, but we need to bring them in so it doesn’t get discovered by someone else and revealed in a blindside that no one is ready for. They were already pretty thrown off that you didn’t know about Jeff, and that’s something two people who actually dated - for any amount of time - would have known about each other before tying the knot, and we have got to be kidding ourselves if we think there aren’t other pieces that they think don’t quite fit together.”

Steve leans back fully in his seat and drops his head back, looking at the ceiling. “What, like how we didn’t sit together much before a few weeks ago? Them potentially overhearing any of our conversations where we’re clearly getting to know each other? Or, you know, not sharing a room the nights we stay in the same city and bouncing between the excuses of it being easier so we don’t wake the other one up if one of us has an earlier call time, one of us being too light of a sleeper, or that I don’t sleep as much with being a super soldier and don’t want to keep you up while I take phone calls or strategy meetings?”

You grimace. “Obviously Bucky and Sam know, but the only way the rest of them don’t already know is if they are far too busy doing their jobs from before dawn until after midnight and don’t specifically speak to anyone else on the campaign about the odd things that might raise a flag.”

Steve sighs heavily, running a hand over his beard. "You're right," he admits, his voice tinged with resignation. "We can't keep this up forever. The longer we wait, the worse it could be if it comes out."

You nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. "So, how do you want to do this? Call a meeting when we land in Miami?"

Steve shakes his head. "No, we need to do it now."

You raise an eyebrow. "Now? As in, on the plane?"

"Why not?" Steve says, a hint of determination creeping into his voice. "We've got the whole senior staff here. It's a controlled environment. No risk of being overheard by the wrong people."

“We should tell Jake first,” you say, standing up and smoothing down your clothes. "As campaign manager, we owe him the courtesy of finding out before the rest of the staff since he is their leader. Then we can work with him to figure out how to tell the rest of the senior staff and map strategy."

Steve nods in agreement, standing up as well. "You're right. Jake should know first." He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Ready?"

You give a short nod, your heart racing.

Steve reaches for the cabin door, but pauses with his hand on the handle. He turns back to you, his blue eyes intense. "Whatever happens, we're in this together, okay?"

"Together," you agree softly, though there’s a piece of you that wonders how you ever thought any of this would truly work.

With that, Steve opens the door and you both step out into the main cabin. The staff members look up as you enter, curiosity and concern evident on their faces. You spot Jake near the front, poring over some documents.

"Jake," Steve calls out, his voice steady and authoritative. "We need to speak with you privately.”

Bucky glances glances at you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. You give him a small nod, and he seems to understand, settling back in his seat. Steve is already stepping back into the private cabin, Jake heading toward you, but your gaze lingers on Bucky for another moment. You never thought you would be at a point where Bucky would be supportive of your arranged marriage, let alone getting after Steve and siding with you on how things were between you.

As the three of you enter the private cabin, Jake's eyes flick between you and Steve, his expression carefully neutral. The air feels thick with tension as Steve closes the door behind you, sealing off the curious gazes of the staff outside.

Jake takes a seat, his posture relaxed but attentive. The setting sun casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of experience etched there. You and Steve remain standing, unconsciously positioning yourselves as a united front.

Steve takes a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle. "Jake, there's something we need to tell you about our relationship," he begins, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of tension. "The story about our whirlwind engagement... it's not entirely accurate."

Jake's expression remains impassive, his eyes moving between you and Steve as he listens.

Steve’s eyes meet your breifly before he continues. "Pepper did set us up, but it wasn't a typical matchmaking situation. It was... an arrangement."

The word hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Jake's expression remains unreadable, his eyes fixed on Steve.

"An arrangement," Steve repeats, his voice low and steady, "specifically designed to provide me with a wife who could potentially serve as First Lady. We met for the first time the day we got married. Everything since then - the public appearances, the interviews, the campaign trail - it's all been part of a carefully constructed narrative."

As Steve speaks, you find yourself transported back to those first awkward days. The stilted conversations, the hesitant touches, the constant awareness of the cameras and the expectations weighing on both of your shoulders.

You watch Jake carefully, searching for any sign of surprise or disappointment, but his years of political experience have clearly honed his ability to maintain a poker face. His fingers are steepled under his chin, his eyes never leaving Steve's face as he absorbs every word.

Steve's voice grows softer as he delves into the more personal aspects of your arrangement - the initial awkwardness, the gradual building of trust, the unexpected bond that has formed between you. You feel a lump forming in your throat as you listen to him describe your journey, realizing just how far you've come.

When Steve finally gets to the end, not going into details, but going right through pieces of the conversation you had about the misunderstanding with Jeff, not reading your dossier, and then talking through it together, both of you are quiet, waiting for Jake to process and respond.

He leans back in his seat, the leather creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, he simply looks at you both, his gaze moving between you and Steve with an unreadable intensity.

Then, to your utter astonishment, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I know," he says quietly.

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Your jaw drops, your mind reeling from this revelation, and you can see Steve's eyes wide in surprise. The cabin suddenly feels smaller, more claustrophobic, as if the walls are closing in around you.

"You know?" Steve manages to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, that small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've known from the beginning," he says, his voice low and steady. "In fact, I was the one who insisted on it."

Jake continues, his eyes moving between you and Steve. "When Pepper approached me about running this campaign, I knew it would be unlike anything we've ever seen before. A man out of time, a living legend, running for the highest office in the land." He pauses, his gaze settling on Steve. "I’ve made political miracles happen. I’ve done it many times in my career. But I knew I couldn’t make multiple miracles happen. Someone with a name but without much political background? Yes. A third party candidate? Yes. An unmarried man? Yes. All three? Not taking that chance. I told her I’d only take the campaign if she got you married off.”

You blink, no words coming to you. Steve huffs and widens his stance, putting his hands on his hips. His jaw clenches as he processes Jake's words. "So this whole thing... it was your idea?"

Jake nods, his expression serious. "Not the specifics, mind you. I didn't choose who you'd marry or how it would happen. I just laid out the necessity of it. Pepper handled the rest."

You find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you intended. "Why didn't you tell us you knew?"

"I wanted to see how you two would handle it. How you'd work together, how you'd present yourselves to the public and the staff. I needed to know if this arrangement could work, if you could sell it convincingly enough."

Steve's posture stiffens, his voice taking on an edge. "So we've been what, some kind of experiment to you?”

Jake holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Not an experiment, Steve. A necessary political strategy. And I have to say, you've both exceeded my expectations."

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you - relief that Jake already knew, frustration at being kept in the dark, and a strange sense of pride at his last statement. "How have we exceeded your expectations?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Jake leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "At first, I was worried. You two were clearly uncomfortable around each other, and it showed. But over time, something changed. You started to gel, to work as a unit. The way you interact now, the little touches, the shared glances - it's become genuine."

Steve's posture relaxes slightly, but his voice is still tense when he speaks. "So what happens now? Do we tell the rest of the staff? The rest of America?”

Jake shakes his head, his expression turning serious. "In an ideal world, yes. But this isn't an ideal world. This is politics. And in politics, sometimes the truth can be more damaging than a carefully crafted narrative."

Steve's jaw clenches again, his discomfort with the situation evident. "I don't like lying to the American people," he says, his voice low.

Jake stands up, moving to face both of you directly. "It's not lying, Steve. It's... selective truth-telling. You two are married. It all moved really quickly. What started as an arrangement has become something more. And that's what we'll continue to present to the world - a strong partnership, a united front."

You feel a mix of relief and unease at his words. "But what about transparency? Isn't that what this campaign is supposed to be about?"

Jake raises an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "Transparency in governance, yes. But the intimate details of your personal life? Why should those be public knowledge if the broad strokes are there?"

He moves to the window, gazing out at the fading sunset.

"Look," Jake continues, his voice taking on a gentler tone, "nearly half of all marriages in America end in divorce. People change, circumstances change. What matters is how couples work through those changes together."

He turns back to face you and Steve, his eyes moving between you. "And let's not forget, arranged marriages are still a reality for many families in America. Immigrants from cultures where it's common, religious communities that practice it. The fact that you two have made it work, have grown together - that's actually a powerful narrative in itself."

You and Steve exchange a glance, both processing Jake's words. There's truth in what he's saying, even if it feels uncomfortable.

"So what do we tell the rest of the staff?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Jake considers for a moment. "Essential personnel only - so the directors and your right hands, though I imagine Bucky and Sam already know?” Steve nods and Jake continues. “We tell them the basics. That your relationship started unconventionally, that it was initially more of an arrangement than a romance. But we emphasize how you've grown together, how you've become a true partnership. We focus on the present and the future, not the past."

Steve nods slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. "And the public?"

"For now, nothing changes," Jake says firmly. "We continue with the narrative we've established. If questions arise, we address them honestly but carefully. We emphasize the same message. If people want to fight that, we point out a willingness to sacrifice, an ability to build meaningful relationships, there are a lot of ways we can go with it.”

You and Steve exchange a long look, a silent conversation passing between you. You have reservations, and so does he, but what Jake is saying makes the most sense. At least for now.

Steve takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I understand the strategy," he says, his voice low and steady. "And I agree that we shouldn't disrupt the campaign or put unnecessary pressure on our relationship by going public with every detail."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I agree," you say softly. "What we have... It's complicated and it's evolving, but it's ours.”

“Good,” Jake says. Then his expression shifts, an eagerness in his eyes. "Now that we've cleared the air, I have some news for you," he says, his voice taking on a tone of barely contained enthusiasm.

You and Steve exchange a curious glance, the tension from your previous conversation slowly dissipating.

"Elsa and her team have been working on getting a high-profile interview scheduled for the two of you?" Jake begins, pacing the small cabin with an energy that seems to electrify the air around him.

Steve nods, his brow furrowing slightly. "Yes, I remember you mentioning it a few days ago."

Jake's face breaks into a wide grin, his eyes sparkling with triumph. "Well, I'm pleased to announce that we've secured what might just be the most coveted interview slot in America."

[SEPTEMBER 28 - EVENING DRIVE FROM THE RALLY BACK TO THE MIAMI AIRPORT]

“I don’t like it,” Steve says as soon as the partition between the front and back of the SUV has closed and your privacy is in place. He had also quickly jumped in the vehicle after you and shut the door to prevent anyone else joining you on the way to the airport.

You let out as small of an exasperated sigh as you can manage.

“Like it or not, it’s what’s happening,” you respond.

The the ninety-minute flight time from Athens to Miami (thanks to an airliner boosted with Stark technology) had not been enough time to tell the senior staff about your marriage, do the final logistics review for Miami, and discuss a potential strategy adjustment for the coming days given the revelation about your marriage and the ramp up to the game-changing interview coming up, so while Steve had been on stage, you had been finalizing the itinerary with Jake, Elsa, Bucky, and Pepper, who weighed in over the phone.

“I don’t think it’s the right time for you to head off to the other side of the country.”

You frown at him. “Steve, we all signed off on this plan two days ago! Zoey and I are expected to show up for this string of women-targeted events from San Diego to Seattle, and it would be horrible to cancel now.”

Steve opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Plus, Helen Santos has agreed to appear at some of those stops with us. This will be huge for the women’s vote on the West Coast.”

Steve's jaw clenches and the breaks between Miami streetlights cast intermittent shadows across his face. "I understand the political value," he says, his voice low and tense. "But after everything that's happened today, I don't think we should be apart right now."

You feel a mix of frustration and warmth in your chest at his concern. "Steve," you say, your voice softer now, "we can't change our entire campaign strategy every time something unexpected happens. That's not how this works."

“Isn’t it?” he asks. "We adjust strategy every day, and this isn't just 'something unexpected.' This is about us, about our relationship. We just told the senior staff about our arrangement. Don't you think we need some time to process that together?"

You lean back in your seat, considering his words. "I get it. Today has been intense for us both. But the West Coast tour has been planned and the advance teams have been preparing everything and rallying people to come. We’ve spent money on ad buys and billboards. Canceling now would raise more questions than we want to deal with."

He sighs heavily, running a hand over his beard. "I know you're right. I just... I worry about you being so far away, especially now."

"Maybe this is exactly what we need right now," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's brow furrows, his blue eyes searching your face. "What do you mean?"

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "Think about it, Steve. Since this whole thing started, we've been living this performance, day in and day out, sometimes together, sometimes apart. You got talked into marrying me, Sam had to lecture you and Bucky to start giving me a real chance,” Steve opens his mouth but you put up a hand, “I overheard him in Cleveland. And, yes, ultimately it was good for us to talk about Jeff today, but it has me thinking about a lot of things.”

“Like what?” he asks earnestly, reaching for your hand.

You look down and squeeze it in return.

"Like why I agreed to this in the first place," you say softly. "When Pepper approached me with this idea, part of me thought it was crazy. But another part... another part of me saw it as an opportunity."

Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, encouraging you to continue.

"After Jeff, after losing everything I had built and dreamed of I was terrified of caring that deeply again. Of investing so much of myself in another person, only to have it all ripped away." Your voice catches slightly, and you swallow hard before continuing. "This arrangement it felt safe, in a way. Detached. A way to move forward without risking my heart again.

“I knew you were a good guy, Steve. One of the best. Everyone knows that. Captain America, the hero who sacrificed everything to save the world. I wasn't worried about an arranged marriage with you because I knew it would be good companionship, doing important work for others. We'd be partners in a noble cause, working to make the world better."

You pause, looking out the window at the Miami streets passing by, the neon lights of the city blurring into streaks of color. When you turn back to Steve, his blue eyes are fixed on you, intense and attentive.

"But then something changed," you continue, your voice soft. "You started to open up, to let me see beyond the shield, beyond the legend. I saw your kindness, your humor, your vulnerability. The way you care so deeply about everything and everyone around you. But I don’t want either of us getting swept up into something just because we’re in this weird life that is the campaign where every minute is compressed and there are scores people around us in addition to the thousands of people we’re meeting every day and a hundred reporters and falling into each other would just be too easy while we play these parts.”

You leave off there, your heart pounding, unsure of what to say next, but sure that you said what you needed to say, even if you don’t know what is means even in your own mind and heart yet. But you know the thoughts and feelings are there.

“Where does that leave us then?” Steve questions after a few moments. “I don’t want us to take a step back.”

Your throat aches yet again with tears that want to come but that you don’t want to shed. “I don’t either,” you finally say. “I don’t feel like it’s a step back, maybe just a step sideways, needing to find more secure footing.”

The electric sound of the partition lowering a few inches interrupts the two of you.

“Captain and Mrs. Rogers, we’re about three minutes out from the airport,” the driver says, and Steve thanks him as he rolls the partition back up.

“It’s only a week,” you reassure him.

Steve sighs. “The whole point of schedule this split in our appearances together precisely at this point was to get the public primed in the idea that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder,’” he says. “Maybe it’ll work for us.”

You don’t need to grow fonder of him. “Maybe it will clear our hearts more than anything.”

“I guess we’ll see,” he says. Then he turns and looks out the window on his side.

You continue holding hands the last few minutes, but sit in silence.

[SEPTEMBER 28 - LATE EVENING - MIAMI AIRPORT]

The campaign staff swarms around you and Steve as soon as you exit the SUV. The private hangar buzzes with activity as luggage is loaded and last-minute preparations are made. You feel a twinge of anxiety as you realize this is where you and Steve will part ways for the next week.

"Mrs. Rogers, your flight to San Diego is on schedule. Wheels up in 30 minutes," Sophia, your assistant, informs you as she hands you a folder. "I've updated your briefing materials for tomorrow's events."

You nod, taking the folder and trying to focus on Sophia's words even as your mind lingers on the conversation with Steve in the car. The weight of your discussion, of the revelations and uncertainties, sits heavy in your chest.

As Sophia briefs you on the details, you can't help but glance over at Steve. He's surrounded by his own team, nodding seriously as they discuss something. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and you feel a jolt of electricity pass between you. There's so much left unsaid, so many emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Sophia's voice snaps you back to attention. "Did you hear what I said about the event with Zoey Young and Helen Santos tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'm sorry, Sophia. Could you repeat that?" you ask, forcing yourself to focus.

As Sophia goes over the details again, you see Steve making his way over to you. Your heart rate picks up slightly as he approaches.

"Can I have a moment?" he asks, his voice low.

Sophia nods and steps away, giving you some privacy. You turn to face Steve, acutely aware of the bustling activity around you.

"I just wanted to say," Steve begins, then pauses, running a hand through his hair. "Be safe out there, okay? And if you need anything…”

“You, too,” you offer back.

Bucky approaches out of nowhere, “Sorry, wheels up in ten for us, Steve, but you can take a few more minutes if you sprint to the plane.”

Bucky squeezes your shoulder briefly. “You take care.”

You nod and smile as warmly as you can.

Alone in the sea of people again, you and Steve stall to savor a few final moments, but the uncertainty of how you’ll part is palpable.

“I meant what I said in the car about not wanting it to be a step back for us either,” you start. “I thought I’d have Sophia connect with Bucky about finding thirty minutes a day in our schedules for us to jump on a call together.”

“I think that sounds good,” Steve agrees.

Quiet falls between you two again. Your heart beats hard in your chest because now that it’s time for you to split up and board two separate planes and it was you who insisted it’s what you needed, in the final moments part of you is wavering.

Then Steve moves half a step closer and takes both of your hands in his. His touch is warm, familiar, and you feel a flutter in your chest as he looks into your eyes with an intensity that makes the bustling airport hangar fade away.

"Before you go," Steve says, his voice low and urgent, "there's something I need you to know."

You nod, your heart continuing to pound in your chest, the nearness of him both comforting and electrifying.

"I know Pepper told you I was reluctant to agree to this. She had an easier time convincing me to run than to get married. But the logical points checked out, and since I was already in, I knew I had to be all in, and I trusted Pep.”

You remember your own early conversations with Pepper, the careful way she had explained Steve's hesitation. At the time, you had assumed it was about understanding that Steve needed to become a more conventional candidate with marriage helping that.

Steve's eyes search yours, his voice softening as he continues, "But I gave her that trust because she agreed to base her choice based on the one condition I wanted her to agree to: pick someone she could see me marrying if I weren't running for President. That’s the real reason I never read your file."

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words settling over you.

"When I first met you," Steve says, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on the backs of your hands, "I understood why Pepper chose you. You were kind, intelligent, passionate about making a difference. But I was still guarded, still unsure about this whole arrangement."

He takes a deep breath, his blue eyes never leaving yours. "As I got to know you, as we spent time together, I questioned myself, not knowing how to move forward since I’d faltered in the beginning, but then we started to really make something of this. I don’t know what this is yet or what will happen to us, but I think it’s something good.”

“Steve, I-”

He leans in and kisses your cheek, lingering, and your eyes flutter closed in that moment. You inhale the mix of his cologne with his natural scent, feel the warmth of his cheek against yours, the light scratch of his beard, and you want time to stop right there.

When he pulls back, there’s a serene smile on his face. “I’ll see you in Brooklyn, Mrs. Rogers.”

next part: coming 12/6

Before anyone gets carried away: THERE WILL NOT BE ANY ROMANTIC OR LUSTFUL CHAOS WITH BUCKY. Purely platonic. But now that you're one of his people, you're one of his people, and he's disappointed/annoyed with Steve, so he's in your corner on this day.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[goldensunshines]

Let Him Loose (Preview)

As promised, here is a preview of what I am working on. A slow build to be sure but it's been a while since I posted something and I'm still working on closing up some fics but life has been extremely busy!

I'll also be responding to those in my inbox - I didn't forget you, I promise!

Dennis Baker x Female Reader

Word Count: 925

Warnings: None for now, just some world building.

-

He keeps his eyes on the road, lifting a shaky hand to bring the insulated mug to his lips, swallowing down a sip as an 80’s synth pop song plays faintly in the background. Dennis has always been a nervous sort but today he’s much worse for wear, talkative at first about his new promotion until the city became a distant past, the highway stretching longer than before, his silence almost unnerving. His fingers grip the steering wheel tight, a cheerful commercial breaking through as you strain to listen to it.

“Come on down to Delilah’s Discount Deals! Where there’s something for everyone,” the upbeat spokesperson invites before the music starts again.

Enough is enough.

Your boyfriend’s jaw is clenched so tight that you wonder if he’ll break a tooth, placing your hand on his over the gear shift as he looks down under his clear framed glasses.

“Hey,” you begin, seeing him smile for a scant second. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he answers, his eyes going back on the road. “Why?”

“Because you’ve barely said two words since we left?”

“Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone alerts with another incoming text message and then another before he exhales loudly.

“She won’t let up,” Dennis says forlornly. “I’m driving as fast as I can. Why they need me there before tomorrow is ridiculous, it’s not like we’re part of their plan.”

He accelerates slightly, your fingers pressing into the plush leather armrest as he begins to slow.

It’s not a secret that he doesn’t want to see his family for the holidays. He’s been putting it off for months – years even – but a promotion, even one that he had excitedly told his parents, had been a cause for a celebration that ended up becoming mandatory, by his family offering to host you both for the holiday, not taking no for an answer.

There’s not much you know about his family. Ever since you started dating, he’s been careful to navigate how he speaks about them to you. It wasn’t the best upbringing, that much you know as he’s shared that much. He grew up poor, bullied for his glasses and calm demeanor, ostracized for leaving the small town he grew up in for a scholarship for college and never looking back, let alone to visit. His parents, Dennis had told you, were proud people – proud of who they were and where they came from.

It was obvious that Dennis didn’t agree and knowing how stressed he was, it didn’t make sense for you to push the issue, not when you knew that topic is one he still tries to avoid.

“We don’t have to go,” you speak up, Dennis shaking his head slowly, eyes still on the road.

“That won’t go over well. Just better to get it over with.”

“Dennis,” you admonish, seeing him reach for his coffee again. “They’re your parents.”

“I know. They’re gonna love you, you know.”

As much of a comfort as that gives you, it’s the sadness in his voice that almost feels envious. Still, you don’t press, quietly looking at the window as the trees whizz past.

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I’m not,” he answers matter-of-factly, picking up his phone to glance at the text message before he places it back down, a look of dread appearing on his features.

“What is it?”

“My brother will be there.”

“Oh?” you ask, watching him take another gulp of coffee. “You haven’t seen him in a while, right? Sounds like a family reunion.”

“I wouldn’t call it that but sure.”

“What’s your brother like?” you ask, trying to get him to open up. Whatever the text message was, it didn’t please Dennis in the slightest, seeing him turn the phone face down in the cup holder.

“The favorite.”

“The favorite?” you repeat, Dennis still looking straight ahead, his fingers flexing slightly.

“Yeah.”

That’s all the response you will get, you realize, Dennis giving a short shrug. You know nothing about his brother, only that he has one, something muttered when you were first starting to date but the subject was dropped quickly.

“He’ll like you,” he says, almost bitterly. “You’ll like him too.”

“How do you know?”

You sound accusatory but you don’t mean it. Dennis seems so resolved that he’ll be cast aside that you find yourself getting defensive, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t be on his side.

“Because he’s the rugged type. I’ve seen the books you read,” Dennis chides with a slight smile that is gone before you can appreciate it. “He’s like that.”

“Books are books, they aren’t you,” you remind him, flashing him a smile. “Those books don’t have your self-deprecating jokes, your thoughtfulness and care. You know that.”

He smiles finally – a real smile with a flash of pearly white teeth – before he settles back into his seat.

“Just promise one thing,” Dennis says after a short pause, slowing to look at you for a moment. “Stay inside when it starts to get dark when we get there. Probably a silly superstition but it’s important. Promise?”

You want to make a joke but you know better, especially with how serious Dennis has become again. You’ll ask your questions later, when he’s not so agitated.

“I promise,” you recite.

“Good,” he says with a sigh of relief. “My family loves their traditions, Ari even more so. Let’s just ease you in slow so you don’t get overwhelmed.”

“Who is Ari?” you ask.

“My older brother.”

[goldensunshines]

Okay, hear me out...

Sy as a mafia boss and reader who owns the coffee shop.

The Olde Bakery

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: mob!Syverson, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Burly is most appropriate to describe the man. Tall, thick, looming. The door shuts behind him without a care as his eyes skim the small shop. In a town as isolated as Springfort everything is smaller; simpler. You can tell at a glance that this man is neither. 

His eyes pass over the specials board and fall on you. More virulent than desolation in a small town is gossip. You’ve heard about the man already, though his appearance still surprises you. A man like him would go to the lawyer’s office and throw his weight around or trash the liquor store, but what business does he have in a cafe. Your cafe. 

For as much as you’ve heard about the mysterious and mercurial newcomer, you know better than to ask that. Instead, you recite the usual. The boring daily routines are what make Springfort safe. Or did. 

“Hello, what can I get you today?” You ask as he nears the counter. You move to face him over the small till.  

There’s not much to the space; enough for you to work. Espresso machine, frother, blender, toaster oven, percolator... the basics and a little more. There’s the display case of your hand-crafted baked goods and not much else. It’s the only place in town beside the diner for locals to sit down, though there are only four tables inside. 

The man doesn’t answer. He stares back at you. You can’t read his expressions. His blues fall to your hands as you place them on either side of the till. 

He wears a quarter-zip with the tab pulled down. The collar folds over as chest hair peaks out unabashedly. His black cargo pants have a military cut to them and his fingerless gloves are a final peculiar accessory. He sports a thick beard but a shaved scalp, and his blunt brows give him a naturally angry affect. 

“Sir? We have a new butterscotch mocha as today’s special,” you suggest. 

“You.” He speaks at last. 

You blink and hold your calm smile. You try to process his question. You point to your name tag an introduce yourself. 

“No, you asked me what you can get me.” 

You nod but don’t understand. 

“I can help you, sir. Sure. What would you like?” 

He looks you up and down and plants his hands on the counter. As he does that, you pull yours offer and fold them over your apron. He leans in and licks his lips. 

“I would like...” he gives a crooked grin, “you.” 

“I...” You open your mouth dumbly. “I don’t...” your voice is brittle. Your throat tightens and you choke on a disbelieving laugh. 

“You laughing at me?” He challenges. 

You gulp and snap your mouth shut, “no, sir. Sorry, I’m just... confused.” 

“What’s confusing?” He bends until he’s leaning on his elbows and twines his fingers together. His knuckles bulge and whiten. You lean back on your heel, resisting the urge to flee. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. The look in his eyes fills you with icy fear. 

“So, I put my order in...” he drawls. 

“Um. I can’t... I... this is my...” you sputter and recall Sonia’s recount of Osborne and Meyers sacking. The older law partner ended up in emerge though his exact malady varied according the source. “I own the cafe so--” 

“You go on and lock that door,” he says. “Since you’re the boss, you can take a break, can’t ya?” You sway on your feet and stare back at him. He untangles his fingers and brings a hand up to pull at a tuft of his beard. “I don’t know, I was told the service here was speedy.” He sucks his teeth. “But you’re here dragging your feet, wasting my time.” 

You wince and take a cautious step back. He watches you, unmoving, though you brace yourself for him to lunge. You slowly come out around the counter and cross to the door. You twist the lock and flip the sign. 

His footsteps scuff as he grunts into a long groan. You face him reluctantly as he drags one of the chairs from the table and puts it in front of the counter. His attention hangs on the seat as he considers it. You stand where you are, frightened. 

“Come here,” he beckons with two fingers, his other hand on the back of the chair. 

You approach and stop a foot away. He tilts his head to look at you. The gleam in his irises swells over you like frigid water. He lets go of the chair and turns to you fully. He steps closer and you wince as he reaches for you. 

He loops his arms around you and tugs at the knot of the apron. It slackens and he brings his hands up to unhook the strap from around your neck. He pulls it away and drops it on the floor. 

“Sir, I... what did I do?” 

“Chh, chh, chh,” he tuts between his teeth. 

You seal your lips and peer up at him. Your eyes meet again. He brings his large hands to cradle your face and tilts your head. He gives you an appraising look over. 

“You just worry about what you need to do, sweetheart,” he growls. 

His hands drift down to the top of your blouse. You shiver as he plucks open the buttons one at a time. As he does, gritty noises rise in his throat. He pushes the fabric away from your shoulders and down your arms. The blouse falls to your feet. 

You turn your head away as he tugs at the knotted belt of your high-waisted pants. He unties it and stretches the elastic waistband, guiding it past your hips. You sniff as you focus on staying upright. Your pants pool at your feet, heaping over your round-toed flats. 

You gasp as he cups your chest with his large hands. Your nipples harden and poke him through your bra. He purrs and gropes you harder. You shudder and waver with his force. He lifts your tits, jiggling them, and pushes them together. 

“I was told you sell sweets,” he says, “but I wasn’t expecting these.” 

[goldensunshines]

Thanksgiving w/ Mr. Stevens & the Udakus

SoftBoi!Erik Killmonger x Black Reader

A/N: Hey, friends! This is my first time writing for Erik so drag me if need be lol. It’s just a quick imagine that I needed to get out since I was feeling lonely today. Let me know what you think! Love y’all; Happy Thanksgiving!

You were stirred out of your sleep by the alarm on your phone. 8:30 pm. It was the day before thanksgiving and after prepping all morning, you decided to treat yourself to a nap. Cooking, prepping, and generally being awake was exhausting around this time of year.

Every Thanksgiving was the same with your family; you’d plan everything by yourself, set the table by yourself, and force people to cook with you. Everyone wanted to eat but no one everyone wanted to help. You always felt alone, even when you were at the dinner table surrounded by family. Be it seasonal depression or a lack of holiday committment from your family, you were sure you were done with the holiday season. But not this year. This year, you had Erik.

Here you were a year and a half into your relationship, staying with him and his family in Wakanda. It took you a while to get used the to the new scenery; and the fact that you were dating a fomerly lost prince.

“Yo, cakes, you up yet?! I heard your alarm go off,” you heard the prince yell from across the room. You groaned in response, hiding your face in your pillow.

Erik stripped the covers of the bed and smacked your mostly bare ass.

“Erik,” you yelped,” why do you have to be so rough, damn!”

“I’m sorry, cakes, but you gotta get up; we got cooking to do,” he said, sitting next to you.

You sat up and pouted as he rubbed your leg.

“Daddy, I’m tired-“

“No, don’t ‘daddy’ me; unless you tryna get fucked right now, I suggest you get your cute ass up and follow me to kitchen,” Erik said sternly.

“Firstly, I’m always tryna get fucked,” you stated, smiling. He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re a fool. Come on, y/n.” He said kissing your lips softly.

After putting on a onesie and taking off your bonnet, you followed Erik to the kitchen. His cousins Shuri and T’Challa were already in there, doing there best at following the instructions Erik had given them. Even queen-mother was helping; mixing the ingredients for the sweet potato pie.

“Goodmorning, sis,” Shuri yelled,” I see my cousin has decided to wake you up the proper way.” You tried your best to keep your laugh in but once she started, so did you.

“Fuck that supposed to mean?” Erik chided, mean mugging her from across the kitchen. Shuri shrugged her shoulders as she continued to peel the softened sweet potatoes.

“Nothing,” you giggled, rubbing his arms as he cut up some vegetables.

You love the way his scarred biceps looked in a tight white tshirt; the apron he wore was even more excruciatingly sexy than it needed to be and you knew you’d have a hard time focusing.

“You make food prep hella sexy, N’Jadaka,” you whispered. His gold fangs flashed as he smiled.

“You better stop playing before I take you to the bathroom, y/n,” Erik said, biting his lip.

“Alright, alright, put me in coach.”

“Aight, go help T with the mac and cheese. Then come back over here and you can mix the turkey drippings into the dressing; got it, cakes?” You nodded as Erik instructed you then went over to gather the cheeses to help T’Challa.

“Why do you call y/n ‘cakes’?” T’Challa asked innocently. You laughed quietly, placing the cheeses next to T’Challa’s workspace.

“Nigga, you don’t see all that cake she got? Matter fact, nevermind; I don’t need you looking.” Erik said, shaking his head.

“N’Jadaka, please do not discuss y/n in that matter while we are cooking,” Ramonda reprimanded.

“My bad, auntie,” Erik said shooting T’Challa an incredulous look.

“It’s okay, T. It’s an AAVE term,” you consoled him.

“It means she has a big ass,” Shuri said nonchalantly.

“Shuri, what did I just tell your cousin?!” Ramonda yelled.

“Sorry, mother!”

After putting the mac and cheese in the oven and mixing the dressing, you headed to the dining hall to see how the tablescape was coming along. You took your time at each seat, adjusting and folding the napkins and place settings.

“Is everything to your liking, y/n?”

You looked up to see the queen-mother looking at you lovingly.

“Everything is so beautiful, queen-mother. I’m elated to be here. Everything and everyone is so open and warm and inviting,” you said as she took a seat next to you. She placed her hand on yours, smiling warmly.

“I’m glad you feel safe enough to share this holiday with us. You’ve brought such happiness with you. Especially to N’Jadaka; this means a lot to him,” Ramonda noted.

“Here me when I say this, Y/N; you are filling a void in his heart that no one ever could. For so long he was lost and isolated; even after the challeneg had commenced he never celebrated like this until you. His love for you is so apparrent, he practically floats into the room when you are by his side,” Ramonda said, laughing. You laughed as well, looking down at your hand.

“Thank you for keeping him happy. I appreciate you. May your love span a thousand years. I will you see you for the festivities tomorrow; good night my dear,” she sighed, squeezing your hand.

“Good night, queen-mother.”

***

You heard Erik’s alarm go off at 6am and groaned. You felt him stir beneath you and you held on to him tighter.

“Baby, I gotta go check the food,” he yawned, rubbing your back.

“It can wait,” you said, yawning in response.

“I’ll bring you back a taste,” Erik bribed.

And with that, you rolled off of him with a quickness, causing him to chuckle. You drifted back to sleep for what felt like 5 seconds before Erik shook you awake. Once you sat up, he handed you a plate of dressing, a small piece of slow cooked pork, and a fork. You practically went to heaven as you took your first bite.

“Damn.. I still got it,” you moaned, silently congratulating yourself on how well seasoned the dressing was. Erik walked around to his side of the bed and shuffled through his drawer.

“If you’re looking for your kimoyo beads, you left them on the bathroom counter,” you informed him with your mouth full of dressing. You looked up to see him staring at you with his hands behind his back. He shuffled side to side and rolled his shoulders; it was telling. Erik usually did this when he was nervous. Or if he was about to ask you a favor.

“Alright, what you want?” you asked him.

“Damn, y/n, why you always think I want something? Why you gotta be like that?” He was stalling. But for what?

“Boy, stop playing and tell me what you want!” You watched as he knelt before you with a small black box in his hand.

“Aight then, cakes, I’ma tell you what I want. I want to spend every Thanksgiving and Christmas with you. I want to wake up knowing you’ll be next to me every morning. I want you to mother my children and help me put them in they place when they fuck up. I want to love you until the end of my days and that’s all I wanted since I first laid eyes on you in that record store; with your pretty brown eyes lighting up at the sight of that old ass Earth, Wind, & Fire vinyl. I want you, y/n, and only you. Forever.”

You watched with teary eyes as he opened the tiny black velvet box that held a black opal ring; lined with diamonds and vibranium scalloping. You placed your plate of food on the end table and reached forward to hold Erik’s face in your hands.

“I need to hear it. I need you to ask me, E,” you cried softly.

“Y/N, will you be my wife?” Erik asked, searching your eyes for an answer.

“Yes, N’Jadaka; I will be your wife til the end of time!” You were full on crying now, kissing all over his face as he struggled to hold in his emotions.

“Cakes, you gone let this stay in the box or..,” he trailed off, chuckling as you showered him with kisses. You held out your hand and he slid the ring onto your finger.

“There you are, Mrs. Stevens,” he smirked, wiping the tears that had fell on his face. You kissed his full lips passionately, wanting to savor every moment.

“I love you, N’Jadaka,” you hummed.

“I love you more, cakes,” Erik said, kissing from your cheek to your neck. You heard a knock and the door cracked open to reveal Shuri smiling giddly.

“Good, she said yes! I was beginning to think you had chickened out,” Shuri noted, clapping her hands.

“Nigga, you couldn’t have waited like I told you to? I’m tryna have a moment here, damn,” Erik berated.

“Aye, be glad I kept your secret til now; you were taking too long! I almost told her!” Shuri yelled in her defense. You laughed as you kissed your fiance’s cheek; taking in the banter of your soon to be family.

Best Thanksgiving ever.

[goldensunshines]

Just Like Animals 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, free use, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you're taken by a man with an insatiable appetite.

Characters: Curtis Everett.

Author’s Note: This is in the same universe as Partners in Crime.

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“You don’t have to be afraid,” the grizzly voice rises in the darkness. “I don’t want you to be... scared.” 

You flinch and tug on your arms, wrists bound behind you, your ankles similarly bound together. You sit in the corner of the black space, knees drawn to your chest, arms crushed into the wall. You whimper as footsteps echo in the void. You blink, trying to see through the layers of shadows. 

You can’t speak. There’s something in your mouth. Dry and coarse. Fabric of some sort. 

“I’m not a monster...” the statement sends a shiver up your spine. 

You turn your head back and forth, dizzy as each scuff of your sneaker, each rustle of fabric, every syllable rolls off the walls you can’t see. You can’t remember how you go here. You don’t remember anything. You just went to bed and woke up in this place. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He’s closer, his voice clearer. He’s not long pacing. “You can protect them. From me.” 

A sudden bloom of light blinds you. You squint against the harsh glare of a lantern as it floats closer. It hovers over you and descends slowly. The man behind it holds it just below his face so you can barely make him out. 

“I just need... something to keep me under control.” He clunks the base of the lantern down. “I won’t hurt you either, not if you’re good.” 

You wince and shudder as he reaches for you. He curls his fingers and brushes his knuckles against your cheek. You shy away and he opens his hand, grabbing your head and pulling you forward. His icy blue eyes turn your blood cold. 

“You just have to do what I say. What I want. If you don’t...” he looks away and shakes his head slightly. “You have a sister. Two. They’re pretty, like you. I could find them. They’d just be two more. There would be others along the way.” He brings his other hand up and grips your head between his large hands. “I can’t stop it. I tried.” 

He searches your terrified face and closes his eyes. You feel him quake. “You can stop it. You can stop me. Without you, I won’t be able to control it.” 

You’re heart pounds in your ears. You don’t know who he is or why you’re here. More terrifyingly, how does he know about your sisters? How did he find you? The questions blow through you like a chill. 

“Will you help me?” He squeezes your skull until it aches. He’s strong. So strong. You can only see his face but you can tell he’s bigger than you. 

You bat your lashes as tears bobble on the brims of your eyes. Whatever he wants, you know it’s not good. You know he’s going to hurt you whether you say yes or no. He just might have a bit of mercy if you agree. 

You try to nod. You can only wiggle a little in his grasp. He lightens his hold on your and swirls his broad thumbs against your temples. He leans closer. His dark stumble sharpens his jawline and his brows arch. 

“Yes?” He wonders. 

You nod, this time harder. You can’t stop. You rock towards him and garble around the gag. 

He hushes you and stills your head. He lets you go and hooks his thumb under the strip tied around your mouth. He pulls it down then digs out the wad from between your teeth. You cough and lean into the corner. 

“I...Thank you.” 

He crumples the fabric in his hand and snatches up the lantern. He stands and shuts it off. His treads scrape on the floor as he walks into the darkness and your left in the blotchy black nothingness, the ring of light still burnt in your retina. 

A door opens, letting in a gust, then closes with a deafening clang. You whimper and sink back. Your wrists and ankles ache from constriction and your jaw feels loose without the cloth to bite down on. Your tears overflow at last and you devolve into helpless sobs. 

What is this? 

You huddle as you try to stave off the cold creeping from the cement beneath you and the dingy walls. You think you’re underground but you could be wrong. It hardly matters where you are. 

Hinges squeal and you flinch again, hitting your head off the hard wall. The footsteps approach again and you cower. Something clunks down in front of you and you hold your breath. The man walks through the darkness and the lantern glows once more, further away. He hangs it from a hook and approaches you again. 

You sniff back your tears as your cheeks are left raw and cold with the wet sheen. 

You look down at the metal tray. With the light out of your face, you can see better. Not clearer, but more of him. He’s tall and burly. He gets down on his knees and sits back on his heels. He takes the thick metal spoon from the tray and stirs around the creamed corn. 

“Eat,” he orders. 

He raises the spoon and you open your mouth. The corn is sweat and gooey. You swallow it down even as the texture repulses you. He feeds you a spoonful at a time, no time for you to resist or taste. Next, he scoops up the mashed potato. 

“Wait,” you say and cough again, your throat dry. “Wait, who are you?” 

“Finish.” He drags out the last letters. 

You nod and look down at the spoon. You lean forward and open your mouth. You eat as diligently as he feeds you, eager for an answer. The turkey is coated in gravy but its bland. You swallow down the last bite and he offers the cup of water. You drink it down greedily until you choke. 

He pulls away as you catch your breath. You slump against the wall again and flutter your lashes at him. 

“Please, tell me who you are,” you murmur. 

He takes the cutlery in his hand as he lifts the tray, holding the cup steady with his fingers. He sighs, “my name’s Curtis. I already know yours.” He stands as you gape at him. “But you shouldn’t care who I am, you should’ve asked what I am.” 

[goldensunshines]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your desk, shaken as the sound of the mug shattering repeats in your head. You can smell the dark roast as you stare fuzzily at your monitor. You hadn’t even taken the coffee you brewed. You can see it in your mind, forgotten on the counter, lonely, going cold. 

You have no thirst for the maple shortbread roast. You rub your fingers together, the feeling of the shards, the incessant jitter that won’t leave you. You tried to play it cool but now you’re really scared. 

You open your Teams and type out a message to your manager. You’re spending half a sick day and going home. Her curt response betrays her agitation. She’s not impressed but you don’t care. Work isn’t as important as taking care of yourself. 

You shut down and pack up your bag. You slide your chair under your desk and keep your head down as you head for the stairs. You avoid the elevators to evade any notice. It feels like admitting defeat but you’re not sure there’s any victory to be had with that man. 

As you exit the building, the weight lifts from your chest and the slouch eases in your shoulders. Maybe you can ask to change desks. That would be a start. You can get a bigger thermos and bring lots of coffee so you never need to venture into the breakroom. This could work. 

Oh boy. You think you’re going to have to quit. You really don’t want to, you feel like you’ve barely begun. And he isn’t the only person there, it isn’t his company, so why should you have to run away? 

Dana can be… decent and there’s that woman with the vintage blouse you met in the breakroom. Somehow, you never managed to spill her coveted hot chocolates in your carelessness. It’s as if the universe put you on the path of this angry man, but why? 

Screw the universe. It can’t tell you how to live. You’ve never really worried about fitting into its machinations and you won’t start now. 

You don’t want to go home right away. You veer around and head down to the cafe a few blocks down. It’s a bit of a trek but you’ve heard good things. You go inside and wait your turn, ordering an iced fruity tea and a lemon scone. 

As you turn to go, you see that woman through the window. The one from the office in her thrifted clothes. You love her style. A braid red belt with brown tweed pants and a bell sleeved button up. She doesn’t see you wave as she turns away and carries on, earbuds tucked into her ears. 

You claim a table by the window and as you unwrap your scone, a man marches by, raising your hackles as you see the determination in his step. He heads in the same direction as that woman, intent and unbothered by his surroundings. You’ve seen him too, he works in one of the fancy offices. 

You pick at the scone and nibble on the corner before sliding it away again. You’re still addled by your breakroom run-in. You thought this would be a distraction. Or hoped it would. 

You leave, unsatisfied. Home it is. Alone, but safe. 

You take the bus halfway then walk a few blocks to your apartment. As you get inside, you’re restless. You do your best to settle in.  

Gaming doesn’t calm you down, even as you go around to say hello to your villagers. You shut that off and grab your half-done crochet project but the hippo is too much of a challenge to ease your nerves. So you get up and run yourself a hot bath. 

You undress with the door open. You bask in your newfound solace. It took you a while to get out of your parents’ place but now you’re on your own, you don’t have to worry. 

You slip into the water with a sigh. A playlist drones from your phone on the counter and you mix in scented epsom salts. You start to feel a bit bed as you recline and close your eyes. You stay like that until the water is lukewarm. 

You get out and pull on your fluff rope with the pink cheetah print. You feel renewed and ready to relax. Just don’t think about the inevitable. Tomorrow you’ll have to be back in office. 

You shuffle around you apartment lazily and turn on the television. You curl up in the corner of the couch as Sailor Moon transforms in the intro sequence. The music fills your small space. You’re comforted by the childhood favourite. 

You ease into the cushions and feel yourself starting to doze. You’d still be at work if you didn’t take the half-day. You shouldn’t be falling asleep already but you can’t resist the nap. 

You close your eyes and something scratches down ear canal. Some sort of friction. You don’t pay it much mind. There’s always noise from the hallway or the street. But it happens again and again, then you feel something. 

You sit up in fright and turn to the figure sat next to you. You’re so stunned, you can’t find your voice to scream. You take a deep breath and Curtis raises his index fingers. 

“If you scream, I’m going to have be bad,” he warns. “So let’s not do that.” 

“How’d you get in here?” 

He tilts his head as he watches the television. You peek over. You like this episode too—but that’s not the point! 

“Curtis--” 

He hushes you and sits back. “You don’t make it hard to follow you. You’re so oblivious, you have no clue what’s going on right in front of your face.” 

“I...” 

He shushes you again and looks at you. “You’re going to get real hurt one of these days.” He crosses his arms and puts his head straight again. “It’s up to you. Is today that day?” 

[goldensunshines]

Meet the Family 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. 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 boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Today is my friday bc I booked time off to go see my grammy!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You don’t dare enter the suite again until you hear snoring. You’re cautious as you move around in the low rhythm of Lloyd’s slumber. It begins to dawn on you slowly what you’ve agreed to. You’re used to controlled doses of him. You go to work, do his bidding, then clock out. There might be a few late nights but this is too much. 

One million dollars. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. With that money you can but your way free of this man once and for all. Hell, you might go back to school so you can be an insufferable boss one day. That might actually make your mother proud. 

You shut yourself in the bathroom and try to wake yourself with a shower. It’s nice but your fatigue is even more obvious as you emerge. Your coffee sits cold and forgotten next to scraps of bacon and an empty cup. 

You go back down to the dining hall and sit to enjoy your coffee without the threat of another awkward moment. You rub your forehead as you lean your elbow on the table and sip. Not bad for hotel brand. 

You return to the room and knock before you let yourself in. You hear stirring in the bed as you do but nothing as lewd as last time. Lloyd groans and whimpers. 

“My head,” he moans. 

“It’s almost ten,” you say. “What time is this brunch at?” 

He whines again and drags a pillow over his head. You open your carry-on and pull out your travel tube of pain killers. You cross to him and grab his hand, shoving the capsules into his palm. 

“Get up,” you say, “what time?” 

He clasps onto your fist and rips the pillow off. He tugs on you as he sits up. His eyes are blood shot and his forehead creased with agony. You want to laugh in his face. Serves him right. 

“Twelve,” he pouts. 

You wrench your hand free and go to the mini fridge. You grab him a bottle of water and toss it onto his lap. He catches it with a flinch. 

“Woah, watch the gems,” he warns. 

“I gotta go get my luggage. Find something appropriate,” you look down at the grey sweatshirt and leggings meant for the flight home. “Get yourself together.” 

You turn and grab your jacket. You’re really not looking forward to this. You agreed to it, though, and you won’t be Lloyd. You’re not going to gripe about a decision you made. One million, one million, one million... 

You go out to your car and grab your bag. You haul it back up and after another cautious tap on the door, you push your way into the room. The bathroom door is open as the shower thrums and Lloyd’s groans underline the hum. You shut it and prop your bag up on the chair. 

You pick out the cashmere cream blouse with the twisted neckline and a pair of soft beige wool trousers. Presentable but not high effort. These people are not going to stress, not any more than he already has. 

You change and search your toiletry bag. You use the wall mirror to get ready as you hear the shower crank off. Lloyd’s clumsy steps slap the tile and he crashes into the door from the inside. You make no effort to check on his as you blend in your blush. 

“Urghhhhh,” he appears like a yeti from a snow drift, staggering with his head nearly beneath his shoulders. “I feel like a sorority girl after rush week.” 

“That’s gross,” you reprimand as you put the blush stick away. “I think maybe this is a good lesson. Take it easy on the mimosas at brunch, huh?” 

“Hair of the dog,” he insists as he clutches the top of the towel and stumbles to the bed. “You wanna get out my Gucci suit. You can iron the jacket--” 

“Excuse me?” You turn. 

“Please, my beloved,” he whines. 

“N. O.” You say. 

“I’m paying you--” 

“That wasn’t what we discussed.” 

“Wives iron suits,” he retorts. 

“In 1952.” You bounce back. “Lloyd. This is business. We sell this thing to your family so you can get your money, and I can get mine, and that’s that. This is a shell. Okay?” 

“Hmph,” he grunts. He sucks his teeth as he thinks and you turn back to the mirror. You see his reflection. You don’t like that twinkle in his eyes. “Well, if we really want to sell this thing, we gotta make it seem natural.” He stands up and wobbles as he braces his forehead. He takes a breath and lumbers towards you, “you gotta act like you’re into me.” 

He brings his hand down and squeezes your ass. It’s more painful than you expect. You’re reminded of that unceremonious pinch issued by another of his bloodline. 

You spin to face him and slap his hand down, “ow. Don’t do that.” 

“Like I said, you’re not going to be engaged to guy you can’t stand. Okay? So you gotta get into it,” he reaches around you with both arms and cups your ass, pulling you flush to him. You drop your mascara and smack his upper stomach. 

“Lloyd,” you growl. 

“Put a little honey in it,” he kneads your ass as you squirm. 

“Let go--” 

“You know I’m right,” he wiggles his hips and the towel slips off. 

“Oh, god!” You push on him harder. 

“Mm, you know, I never realised how tiny you are. I could just...” He bends his knees as he slides one hand down your thigh and the other up your back. He angles to scoop you up. You squeal in surprise. “Ah, easy as pie. Just like me, Pixie stick. 

“Lloyd, put me down,” you writhe in his grasp. “This isn’t okay!” 

“Should we consummate now--” 

“Ew, oh, no.” 

“Ew?” He echoes. “What’s ew about it? I’m rich, I’m attractive--” He pauses as he turns and tosses you toward the bed. You land in a heap with a yelp. “And I’m strong.” 

You don’t have a chance to recover before he’s on top of you. He catches your hands before you can swipe at his face and he pins them above your head. He straddles you, shamelessly naked, and snickers. 

“Trust me, my thrust game is on point,” he rolls his hips and you close your eyes. 

“Lloyd, off. Now.” 

“I’m tryna get off, Pixie, trust,” he leans over you until you feel his breath. “We could have lots of fun. After three years of tension, you know it’s inevitable.” 

“Tension?” You hiss, “oh, I don’t think it’s the kind you think.” 

“You’re stressed. I’m offering you relief. A little extra bang for your buck, here.” 

“No,” you grit out between your teeth, twisting your wrists in his grip and you kick your legs. You don’t like the way it makes the whole bed jostle. “Just get off of me. Please.” 

“I’m trying to get in you,” he snarls. 

Your eyes snap open as his nose comes down next to yours. He leers down at you as his irises no longer sparkle. His features are sinister as he puffs down at you like a wild beast. Your heart jumps into your throat. He’s no longer just a nuisance, he’s a danger. 

You open and close your fingers, “we’ll be late if you don’t.” 

He stares down at you. You feel him breathing, shallow and rabid, as your own heartbeat thumps in your chest. He doesn’t have to stop and there’s really nothing you can do to make him. 

“Mom’s already mad at me,” he grumbles and pushes himself up. He slowly drags himself off and turns his back to you. You watch the muscles tauten and bring yourself up on your elbows. 

“I’ll iron your suit,” you relent. “Just put some underwear one.” 

He scoffs as you carefully roll away from him. You move as if any sudden motion might antagonize him. He gets up and grabs his phone from the night stand. He huffs as he lights up the screen. 

“This licks ass,” he growls. 

You go to his suitcase and open it. You search out the label with the G on it and hold up the red blazer. “Is this the one?” 

He looks at you as he chews his cheek. He nods and quickly goes back to his phone, tapping on it with his thumb. You roll your eyes and find a pair of black slacks to match. You take it all out and unfold the ironing board from the wall. 

You nearly wince as he approaches. He passes you and goes to his bag, bending to sift through it. “You know, I usually like to hang free.” He rips something from the suitcase, “but for you, I’ll tie the hog down.” He stands and steps into the briefs one leg at a time. He snaps the band and puts his hands on his hips. “Happy?” 

“Not really,” you mutter. 

“Yeah, me neither,” he sighs. 

❄️

In the daylight, the Hansen’s mansion appears even more pristine. As you come up the long walk with the elaborate set stone, Lloyd neatens his mustache with a small mother of pearl comb. You give him a side glance but say nothing. He hasn’t stopped fidgeting since you got in the car. 

You get to the front door and prepare yourself for another encounter with the worst people you’ve met. For all your time working for the man next to you, you should be perfectly honed for the task. Still, you’re not sure you can be ready for that bunch. 

Lloyd lets himself in and you follow. As you unzip your booties, he clears his throat. “Hey, mom, we’re here.” 

He receives no answer but you can hear the din humming from another room. He takes off his jacket and hangs it. You put yours next to his. His cheek ticks with dread and he forces his chin up. 

You follow him to the dining room and as he enters, he receives no welcome. A few stray looks are aimed at you but no one acknowledges your arrival. Lloyd clears his throat and sits. You claim the seat next to him and peer around. How jolly of a holiday. 

As your boss shifts beside you, you hold back a yawn. You haven’t got enough sleep for this nonsense. Lloyd sits forward and reaches for the jug of orange juice. Another hand reaches out to catch the crystal decanter. 

“Let us get the formalities out of the way, son,” William snarls. “You owe your mother an apology.” 

Lloyd rescinds his reach and flinches, “an apology?” 

“Yes, you humiliated her last night, storming off like that.” 

Lloyd blinks, as genuinely confused as you’ve ever seen him. His throat bobs and his eyes brows arch, “Mom,” he looks at Gwenyth as she puts her posture as straight as she can. “I’m sorry.” 

“Are you? And what about this one? I’d say she started all this trouble,” she accuses as she points at you with a red acrylic. 

You nearly scoff. Instead, you match her energy. “I have nothing to apologise for.” 

“Pixie,” Lloyd hisses. 

“No, why should I apologise? Tell me exactly what I did and I’ll let you know if I’m sorry.” 

“Pix, what are you doing?” Lloyd murmurs. 

“Well, you...” Gwenyth begins. “You said—You--” 

“You accused me of being out for money. I’m not. You insulted him,” you gesture carelessly to Lloyd, “repeatedly. So, I’m not entirely sure what I did that offended you so much. I’ve been pleasant but it doesn’t mean you can walk all over me.” 

“You are defiant,” she yaps shrilly. 

“I’m being honest. And to apologise wouldn’t be honest,” you shrug. “Now, if you would rather we leave, I’m more than happy to pack up. Obviously, I can’t meet your high standards.” 

“Pixie,” Lloyd whispers. 

The table is silent as you stare across it. You feel the fire burning under your skin. You’re not sure where that came from. Maybe it’s because none of this really matters. You don’t need to impress them. You just need to get that courthouse contract signed and you can be on your merry way. This is all just pretense. 

“Hm,” William pushes the jug toward Lloyd, “you hold onto that one. She’s clever.” 

“William,” Gwenyth yowls and swats her husband’s arm. 

“She has a point,” he says. 

“But--” 

“Suppose we are a bit hard on the boy,” he argues. 

“Or maybe he’s just a disappointment,” Lillian preens. “Daddy, please. He waited forty-three years to meet expectations.” 

“Better late than never,” Benson snorts. “I’d prefer never.” 

There’s a bit of laughter, though Gwenyth and Lillian continue to glare across at you. You would be intimidated if you were concerned about their opinions. But they are nothing compared to your grandmother’s eternal glower or your mother’s grim sighs. You might be better prepared for this than you thought. 

“Exactly what she said,” Lloyd swipes up the jug and stops himself, reaching for your glass instead of his. He fills it and presents it to you with a smirk. “We didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“All this waiting and for what,” Gwenyth fans herself and sniffles. “And he chooses this prissy little--” 

“Gwen,” William warns curtly. “Please, do not spoil another meal.” 

“Me? Spoil? I never.” She whines. 

“Hm, yes, we will not mention Easter then,” William tuts. “Let us just enjoy today. After all, I’m sure she could be at home with her own family.” 

You could and you would rather be. Yet, that is one thing you can blame on Lloyd. The more you think of it, you can blame every single snipe and jab on him. After all, he snared you into this. You might have been easily bought but that doesn’t excuse his machinations. 

You look at him with no effort to conceal the revelation. He meets your eye and his brows twitch. He bares his teeth sheepishly. Your eyes narrow as you center every ounce of exhaustion, chagrin, and general distaste in his direction.  

“You okay, honey pie?” He asks softly. 

You reach for your glass and examine it, “is there prosecco in this? If not, could I request some?” You turn back to the table. You hear Lloyd gulp and feel him shift before he reaches to touch your arm. It’s your turn to indulge. 

[goldensunshines]

[goldensunshines]

Black women.

Black men.

Black people.

🖤🤎

[goldensunshines]

Meet the Family 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. 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 boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Hi.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You drift into that sort of sleep that makes your head hurt. Even as you detach from consciousness, you feel the tempo in your skull driven by the pulse of your fatigue. The void behind your eyelids is painted in dull hues in splotches and smears. 

The residue of stress from your waking hours remains. It coils your muscles and knots under your shoulder blade. Just behind the curtain of sleep, it waits for you. A flight, your family, all that mess. 

You groan as you wake slowly. You shift as the blankets lay heavily over you, almost holding you down as you try to stretch out the stiffness. You arch your back and stop as you feel a firm prodding against your ass. 

You slap your hand down on the arm hooked around your middle. No way. Lloyd squeezes you and draws himself flush until you know exactly what he’s pushing against you. Ew! 

You jar away from him, ripping his arm off as you bounce and sit up in disgust. As you do, the blankets slip off his torso and he grumbles. His naked arm and shoulder bulge.

You huff and clutch your head. “Jesus, Lloyd, what are you doing?” 

“Mmm,” he curls his arm over his head, “shhhhh.” 

“Are you drunk?” You accuses. 

He giggles, “a lil.” 

You roll your eyes and reach for your phone. Your hand hovers over the night table and you frown. It’s gone. 

“Where the hell is my phone?” You hiss. 

“I unno,” he babbles. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you poke him, “where the heck is my phone? It was right here, now--”  

Your eyes skim to his side of the bed and pinpoint on the digital clock. Your heart drops. What the hell? You leap out of bed in a panic and rush around to the table, grabbing the clock as you whine. 

“No, no, it’s-- I missed my flight! Lloyd,” you slam down the clock, “what did you do with my phone?” 

“If you must know, I plugged it in. For you.” He raises a hand groggily, his eyes still closed. “I was being nice.” 

“Nice?” You spin and search around. 

You spot the cord plugged in beside the television. You don’t fail to notice the empty samplers of whiskey either. You storm across the room and pick up your phone. You tap the home button and it stays black. You gnash your teeth and push the power button on the side. The boot screen flashes on. 

“What-- you shut it off! You made me miss my alarm and my trip out. Everything else is booked up!” 

“Family sucks,” he gurgles. “You’re not missing much.” 

“That’s not fair,” you snap. “You don’t know my family, okay? Not everyone came from a cult of spoiled rich kids.” 

“I’m not spoiled,” he argues and stretches, the blankets slipping further down. 

“Oh, because that’s what’s important right now,” your anger spikes and you shake. You aren’t emotional. You do your best to repress everything, for your own good as much as his, but you’re at the end of your rope. After last night and now this, how can you not be enraged? “Ugh, are you naked?” 

“Can’t sleep in clothes. Gotta let it breathe,” he spreads over the bed with a yawn. 

You stand speechless, staring at him, helpless to the flurry of emotions coursing through you. Disgust, rage, disappointment, frustration, every last stitch holding you together snaps. You drop your head and sigh. 

“Fine, I’m just going to go home.” You surrender, “I give up.” 

You shake your head and traipse away. You go into the bathroom and shut the door. Before you resign yourself to the long journey back, you just need a moment. 

You sit on the edge of the tub and stare at the tile. You feel foolish. You don’t know why you came all this way for such an ungrateful brat. He might be your boss, you might need your job, but you deserve better.

Well, you don’t always get what you want, do you? No, it's people like Lloyd and his clan that do.

The handle turns and before you can react, the door swings open slowly. You look up and gasp as you raise your hand to block out Lloyd’s lower half. He shamelessly stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame. 

“Hey, Pixie Puff, it’s okay. How about we drive up to see the family? Me and you? We could make a road trip of it.” 

“Drive? You mean me? You’re still tipsy. Plus, you are not invited,” you snarl and look down. You don’t know how you forgot, or how you managed to sleep in it, but the ring still clings to your finger. You tear it off as you stand. You stomp up to him and shove it into his chest. “It’s all just a joke. Or maybe I’m the joke.” 

“No, Pix, you saved me,” he slurs. “Really. Last night... was amazing. I’ve never seen you like that. Fiery.” He reaches to touch your cheek and you dodge him. You grab his hand instead and put the ring in it. 

“I wasted my time,” you let him go. 

He watches you silently, swaying on his feet as you turn to the sink. You unwrap the sample-sized toothbrush and uncap the mini tube of toothpaste. You try ignore him as he looms in the door. 

“Please don’t leave,” he says. “You can’t Pixie pie. Please,” he staggers forward and you turn your face away before you can see everything. “Look, there’s Christmas brunch today and I can’t go alone.” 

You spit a mouthful into the sink and rinse it away, “well, you’re going to.” 

“No way,” he argues. “Mom’s been blowing up my phone and dad left me a long voicemail. I’m in trouble.” 

“It’s not my problem.” 

“But, but—you're my assistant. I’m your boss.” 

“And I’m not your fiancee.” You counter. 

“I demand it, I—I--” he blusters as he braces the sink. “I’m in trouble, Pix. I’ve been a bad boy.” 

The words make your insides crawl. How can he be so pathetic in both the most revolting and most pitiable way? You've never seen him like this and you never really wanted to. It’s embarrassing. 

“Like I said--” 

“No, no,” he grabs your wrist and you flick foamy paste onto him. “I’m not asking. You do this or—or you’re fired!” 

You stare at him. You weigh the consequences. It might be nice to be free, yet then again, you’ve been applying for jobs since you started working for him and haven’t gotten anything better. Only jobs with lower pay and menial work. 

“You want me to beg? I can beg,” he says. 

“Can you put some pants on?” You tear away from him and grab a towel. You throw it at him and go back to brushing your teeth. 

“Pixie,” he pouts. 

“I want a raise.” 

“Fifty cents.” 

“Fifty-- Five dollars at least. And a Christmas bonus. And vacation days,” you rinse the brush then your mouth. You use the hand towel to dry off. “And I want it in writing.” 

“What? You don’t trust me?” He challenges. 

“You lied to get me here. Then you sabotaged my alarm.” 

“I was helping--” 

“You know what you did.” 

“Christ, Pix, when did you get so mouthy? It’s making my balls hurt.” 

“That’s gross,” you avert your eyes to the ceiling, “cover up. I can’t focus.” 

“Ugh, fine,” he wraps the towel around his waist. “I’m sure you’ve seen one before. Probably not any as big but--” 

“I want to know why you’re doing this.” 

“You met my family, you know they’re a handful,” he crosses his arms and shrugs. His chest bulges and the thick hair brushes against that on his arms. 

“There’s another reason.” 

“No,” he denies unconvincingly. 

“I’m not going to go along with this dumb play if you don’t tell me. Don’t you think I deserve to know? If you keep me ignorant, than how can I be convincing, huh?” 

“You’re smart. Sneaky even,” he unfolds one arm and points at you. “Alright, cards on the table.” He drops his other arms and adjusts the towel around his waist as he grimaces. “That inheritance my sister mentioned. It’s... substantial. And I want it.” 

“Okay, but... wouldn’t that mean someone needs to die?” 

“Nah, the old bat’s been dead forever,” he sneers. “I get it when I get married. Well, a portion of it. Then the rest is all mine once I pop out a mini Lloyd.” 

You squint as you take in his explanation. It still doesn’t make sense. 

“Right, but you’d have to present legal papers. And a child. That’ll be harder to fake.” 

“Yeah, almost impossible.” He agrees and flutters his fingers over his mustache. He stares at you. Intently. 

Heat creeps up your back and across your shoulders. It curls around your nap and crawls up your cheeks. He can’t mean-- 

“Absolutely not,” you yipe. “You really are out of your mind. We are not getting married and I’m definitely not.... not doing that other thing.” 

“It’s just a piece of paper,” he says. 

“Just-- no way. No!” You wave your arms vehemently. “Not in a million years.” 

“Ouch,” he frowns, “you know, that hurts my feelings.” 

“You’re my boss, alright? It's just... deranged.” 

“I can be,” he shrugs. 

“Lloyd! Mr. Hansen,” you have to calm yourself before you continue, “I’m not going to sell myself because you want some trust fund--” 

“I’ll give you a cut,” he says suddenly. “How about it? Then you won’t even need a raise because you’ll be rich.” 

You go quiet. It’s fishy. You know you can’t trust him. He already lied to you a dozen times over. Besides, giving you a fair share means cutting you loose. Is it that much money? 

“How much?” You ask. 

“Ten thousand.” 

“All this for ten thousand? Sure. It’s more. I know it. So you give me at least a million or I’m going to fill up my tank and go home, right now.” 

“A million--” he coughs. “You drive a hard bargain for someone making less than 100k.” 

“And who’s fault is that?” You retort. “I want a million and I want that notarized.” 

“Notarized?” He whines. 

“Fine, can’t lose what I never had--” 

“Fine, fine, you can have it. I’ll get it notarized,” he nears and offers his hand, “but it’s Christmas and I think everything’s closed so... shake on it?” 

“I’m not having a kid. We’re going to a courthouse then I’m getting mine and going.” 

“We can do a surrogate--” 

“No kid.” 

“Adopt--” 

“Don’t push it,” you grab his hand and shake. “One million and I will suffer until the New Year.” 

He grins triumphantly, “you know, Pix, I always appreciated that about you. You always got my back.” 

“Go. You need to sleep off the Jack Daniels,” you retract your hand sharply. 

“And I’ll dream of all that money we’re going to get,” he giggles and rubs his palms together. “We’re going to be rich, baby.” 

“Lay down before I change my mind.” 

“Too late, we shook on it,” he winks and backs up. The towel catches on the rod next to the door and you quickly turn as it slackens. He lets out an oops as it falls off and you avoid looking back. “This show’s for free, baby, don’t worry.” 

“Get out,” you say. “I’m gonna need some coffee if I’m going to deal with you all day.” 

“Grab me some too, pookie? Pweez,” he taunts, “oh, and if they’re serving bacon, I’ll have at least a dozen strips. The grease is good for my hangover and once that hits, I’m gonna be a baby.” 

“That’s great,” you mutter dryly, “coffee and bacon. Now please, give me some space.” 

“It won’t be that bad, Pixie stick. Trust me. You got me.” 

“Not making it better,” you turn to the sink and lean on it. “Please.” 

“Right, okay, I’m going,” he picks up the towel and slowly pulls on the door. You sigh. “I’ll be in bed if you need me.” 

You shake your head. The door clicks and you look at your reflection. Are you really doing this? It feels like you’re selling your soul. You should’ve asked for more. 

You finally find your strength. You go out into the suite and grab your bag. You pull out your sweater and throw it over your head. You ignore Lloyd as he lays on the bed. 

You take your wallet and the room key. You don’t bother with your phone. You might just leave it there for the day because once your mother finds out you missed your flight, you’ll be in for an earful. You already feel rotten enough. 

As you find your way down to the dining hall, your anger returns. He did that on purpose. He spoiled your plans all for his stupid selfish ploy. The payout might be hefty but you’re already regretting this. Still, he as good as backed you into a corner...right? 

You get the coffee, two cups on a tray, and some muffins, and a greedy handful of bacon. You’re not hungry, you just need caffeine. You head back up to the room, basking in the silence of the mostly empty hotel. Everyone else did what you should have and hit the road by now. 

You make a sluggish return. The only thing you have to look forward to is the coffee and you’re sure that hotel fare is not gourmet roast. You balance the tray and slide the card in the lock. You enter the room, roiling in your thoughts. 

You’re too distracted to notice the noise before you get too far. You put the tray down as your ears prick at the dulcet groan. You glance over at Lloyd as something moves beneath the blankets. Is he-- 

“Oh god!” You exclaim and spin on your heel. “Jesus!” 

You race out of the room and slam the door as you enter the hall. You lean against and stifle a scream. What is wrong with him? Well, you know exactly what’s wrong with him. Daddy issues, mommy issues, sister issues, and maybe even uncle issues. He’s entirely corrupt and you just made a deal with him. 

This is going to be a nightmare. 

[goldensunshines]

Black Girl Hairstyles | French Roll

[goldensunshines]

Iron Man: I’m the richest and possess the most advanced technology on the planet

Black Panther:

[goldensunshines]

Meet the Family 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. 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 boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I love writing toxic people.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“Mr. Hansen--” You begin, choking on your error, “Lloyd, my flight--” 

“Christ, I told you, cancel it. I’ll add the difference to your next check,” he grits under his breath. 

You plant your feet, shifting despite your effort as he keeps his grip on your hand. He turns back with a grunt. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks. 

“No, what are you doing?” You throw back. “What the hell is going on?” 

“First, watch that sweet mouth of yours. Second, we’ve been through this, Pixie pie. You just need to play along,” he keeps his voice low and peeks over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit.” He loosens his hold on you and runs his hand up your sleeve. “Hm, I guess I shoulda told you to dress up a bit.” 

“What?” You look down at your black cotton tea-length dress. You chose it for comfort but it’s not entirely frumpy. The ribbed stockings might not add much to the attire however. 

“Just...” He grabs your shoulders and nudges them back, “push the chest out a bit.” 

“Ugh,” you clasp onto his wrists, “stop. Okay. I’ll stay for dinner but I can’t miss my flight--” 

“You have to,” he argues. 

“You realise this is wildly inappropriate,” you say. 

“Do you really expect anything different?” He tweaks a brow. “You’re staying. I’m not doing this alone. I put it off for a decade already--” 

“Jesus--” 

“No blasphemy either,” he lets go of you and presses his finger to your lips. You growl and shove his hand away. 

“I want a bonus, a big bonus--” 

He hushes you and waves his hands. He leans back and once more looks over his shoulders. “Later. We’ll deal with numbers in private. Right now, you need to come meet your in-laws.” 

You squint at him. It’s an act, you remind yourself, but something about his commitment to it makes you uneasy. You know better than to believe a word that comes out of his mouth but there’s a degree of earnestness in him that’s unsettling. 

“Baby, please, don’t look at me like that,” he steps closer, “I need you to look at me like I’m the second coming, okay? We’re madly in love, you and I.” Your eyes widen and he sighs, “okay, you’re not scared of me.” 

You neutralise your expression and blow out a long breath. You shake away the tension and shrug. It’s as good as you can do. 

“Here,” he grabs your wrist and turns, guiding your arm through his, “just smile pretty for me.” 

He hooks your elbow with his and urges you onward. You steel yourself for the room of strangers as their voices drift through the archway.  

You enter the front room and quickly scan the space; there’s a large-mouthed hearth, lit and draped in evergreen and berries; a long cream sectional, a matching duo of armchairs, and a chaise in the same shade; a low glass coffee table with a golden perch and a console table in a similar style along the wall crowded with bottles and crystal; an area rug in a smooth white with patterns in dulcet beige and rich butterscotch; and the low din is cast by tea lights daintily set around the space in glass holders and candelabra. 

More pressing than the decor are the bodies that fill the room. You recognise Ransom as he speaks with an older woman with short white hair and thick-framed glasses. She wears a red pantsuit with a gold blouse. Very festive. 

You glance over at Lloyd and take him in fully. You hadn’t paid much attention for the whirlwind all around. He wears a pair of evergreen slacks and a sweater with a reindeer's face on the front. He wouldn’t even let you put tinsel on your desk but now he’s dressed like a kid in a holiday parade. 

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” a tall blonde woman approaches with a glass of pale wine in hand. You try not to look with concern at her rounded middle; it sticks out starkly as her long limbs are thin and lithe. “A very grim Christmas indeed.” 

“Lillian,” Lloyd faces the woman about his own height. She has his eyes and his lips. You assume their relation before he declares it. “My sister, Pixie,” he gestures to her carelessly. 

“Older sister,” she preens and rests her hand on her swollen stomach. Your eyes flick away from the crystal in her hand. 

“By about thirty-one seconds,” Lloyd scoffs. 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s non-alcoholic,” she swirls the wine in her glass, “she’s so tiny and quiet.” 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “it’s nice to meet you.” 

She laughs, “oh, so polite. Entirely not his type.” 

You try not to react. You agree. You know the women that Lloyd really likes. You’ve screened their calls until they just give up on getting a second date. 

“Believe it or not, Lil, you’re not everyone’s type,” Lloyd retorts. “I think your ex-husband would agree. The second one too.” Lloyd lifts his chin and looks around, “is the third here or are we on number four?” 

“Lovely,” she spits. “Love you too, brother.” 

He shakes his head and draws you away from her. She raises her brows and her glass and sips. You let him take you away. You already despise most of these people. The room radiates with derision. Your family might have some grudges but there’s a general air of good will. 

“I need a drink,” he mutters. 

You gladly follow him to the table. He pours himself a tumbler from the boxy decanter. He sighs as he picks it up but stops himself from drinking. 

“Well, help yourself,” he says. 

You hesitate but not for long. You need something if you’re going to get through this. You pour yourself some chardonnay and sidle away from the table. You check your watch as you raise your glass. 

“Don’t fucking worry about your flight,” he hisses under his breath. “If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either.” 

“But why?” You ask behind the glass. 

“Not right now,” he warns and nods at another figure as they approach. “Uncle Benson.” 

“Junior,” the man returns. You drink your wine and don’t comment on the epithet. “Where’s the old man?” 

“Where he always is,” Lloyd replies. 

“Mm, and this is...” the older man looks at you pointedly, dipping his chin to do so. 

“Pixie. My fiancee,” Lloyd answers dully, almost deflating. 

“Benson,” the man offers his hand, “but a pretty girl like you can call me Benny.” 

“Benny,” Lloyd repeats to himself in confusion. 

You shake Benson’s hand, “um, thanks, nice to meet you.” 

“Mm, very nice to meet you,” he lifts your hand and smushes his lips to your knuckles. He clings to you, petting your hand. “You’re gorgeous, what’re you doing with this lump?” 

“Uncle,” Lloyd drones. 

“Adorable,” Benson inches closer, “my inheritance is bigger than his, among other things.” 

“Alright,” Lloyd snatches your hand away from him, “go have some water, Benson,” he growls, “think you’ve been into the brandy.” 

“I’d like to get into something else,” Benson snickers. 

You almost laugh, despite your disgust. You’ve heard that line before. Lloyd puts himself between you and the older man. “I think that’s why Carolyn filed the papers, huh.” 

“Oh, you little twat,” Benson snarls. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to disappoint her on your own.” 

Lloyd tuts and shakes his head as the man lumbers off. He turns around and drains his glass. It’s strange, seeing him in his natural habitat; he’s not so ‘alpha’ here. 

“Let’s get the rounds over with.” He grumbles. 

Your wine lasts you through the introductions. Two more uncles; Carter and Linus, along with their wives, Andrea and Angela. Then the full-blooded aunts; four of them, Raquel, Shanna, Beatrice, and Lana. All of them tall, blonde, and bold in their own way. Then a batch of cousins you can’t keep sorted; Ransom and his mother Linda, among them, with no explanation as to the rest of their tribe. 

Lloyd pours himself more whiskey. You abstain from a refill and stand near the wall, observing the wilderness of entitled trust-funders. It explains so much yet inspires so many more questions. You never expected Lloyd to be the dark horse. 

“Lonely?” The timbre startles you along with the twisting pinch on your ass.  

You yipe and snag the attention of several sets of eyes around the room, not least of all Benson, drooling over another snifter of dark alcohol. You swat Ransom’s hand away and face him amid the row of laughter. Despite the airs they put on, your audience is more amused than appalled. 

“Where’s your prince, huh?” Ransom asks. “All that whiskey and...” He holds up his index then lets it go limp, “don’t think it’ll be a very peppy after party, sweetheart.” 

You sniff and cross your arms. These people are at least consistent, grossly so. It makes you wonder why Lloyd was so insistent that you watch your mouth, especially when you’ve never stooped to his level before. 

“Is it much of a party if there’s only one attendee?” You counter. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “what?” 

“Nothing,” you shake our head. You don’t need to explain the joke. Besides, this is all fake. Don’t let it get to you. 

“So, how long did he wait to put that ugly thing on your finger?” Ransom asks. 

You shrug, “long enough.” 

“Did he do the whole schtick? Get down on one knee? Put the ring in your wine glass?” He prods. 

“I’ll let him tell the story,” you say. 

“Hm, never knew a woman so unexcited about a wedding,” he snorts. 

“Maybe I’m just unexcited by my company,” you back away as his hand jiggles at his side. You eye his fingers, wary of another pinch. 

“Fine, marriage is boring anyways. What’s his favourite position? I always figured he lets the ladies do all the work,” he snickers. 

You stare at him. Not quite as offended as annoyed. You could ask him which hand he uses but you are not letting Lloyd drag you that low. Why are you even letting him put your through this? 

“Hugh,” Lloyd appears and slides his arm over your shoulders. 

“Little L,” Ransom retorts dryly. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd sneers as you resist the urge to shrug him off of you. 

“Where were you then? Leaving your woman all on her lonesome,” Ransom rubs his fingers together subtly and you scowl at him. 

“Broke the seal,” Lloyd deflects. “What do you care? You wanna hold it next time? 

“Hands are too big,” Ransom cackles. 

“Speaking of,” you pipe up. “The bathroom, where would that be?” 

Lloyd clucks and looks down at you, “down the hall, opposite the kitchen.” 

“Thanks,” you carefully slip away from him, “I’ll be back.” 

“Wait,” Lloyd catches your arm and pulls you back. “Not without this.” 

He leans in before you can react. He bends to press his lips to yours and you can’t repress a surprised squeak. He purrs and the vibration makes your skin crawl. What on earth?! 

You part and ignore the stares you can feel all around. Not just from Ransom but the rest of the room. What is he doing? That’s so embarrassing. 

You force a smile, “uh, be back.” 

You spin and scurry away. That room, those people, are suffocating, and Lloyd, not least of all. You hide in the bathroom, locking the door, and you take the moment of stillness to think. Big mistake as it all starts to set in. 

You drove all the way here under false pretenses. It’s believable that Lloyd would forget to bring the gifts. That tracks but this? The whole pretending to be engaged? What is his game? Is he really trying to impress anyone or is he torturing you? Why? 

You can’t figure any of it out. You gave up trying to understand your boss ages ago, you suppose you should do the same with these people and just get through this. For all your trouble, the food better be fucking delicious. 

You let yourself out of the bathroom and flatten against the door as you nearly collide with another person. Lillian nearly stomps right over you as she holds her stomach and rushes down the hallway. She lets out a sigh. 

“Oh, are you done in there? I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Um, yeah, all done,” you sidle away from the door. 

“Could I trouble you for some help?” She asks. “This thing,” she pats her stomach, “I can get down but I can’t get up.” 

“Hm?” You furrow your brow in confusion, “help?” 

“We’re both girls,” she giggles. “And we’ll be sisters soon enough, won’t we?” 

“Um.” 

“You know, a pregnancy at my age, I really can’t strain myself,” she explains. 

“Oh, er, I guess--” 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she nudges you back into the bathroom. You have no choice as she heard you through. 

You stare at the wall as she slams the door and hustles over to the toilet. She pulls up her white dress and turns to sit, her silhouette a blur in your peripheral. You flick your eyes to the ceiling and bounce on your heels. 

Her stream flows out and fills the tense silence. She sighs. 

“Thank the lord,” she groans. “I swear, the little twerp is right on my bladder right now.” 

“Mm,” you nod and glance at the door. 

“I knew we should’ve gone with a surrogate,” she sniffs. “A piece of advice, when he puts one in you, make him suffer.” 

“Puts one...” you blink. “Um, I don’t...” 

“I mean, he’ll have to start trying as soon as the wedding night,” she laughs. “He’s getting up there. His swimmers won’t be as fast, will they? And the way he drinks, they’ll be too groggy to know which way is which.” 

“Um, we’ll worry about the wedding first--” 

“Enjoy it. Once you’re tied down, it’s not very much fun,” she says as she tears of tissue. “Alright then, darling, I need you.” 

You do your best not to see all of her. She reaches for you and you get close. You pull her up to her feet and she squeezes past you to the sink. You look at the toilet and shut the lid, flushing it with a push of the button. She washes her hands with a hum. 

“You’ll be so adorable when you’re big. Like an overstuffed teddy bear,” she chimes. “He’ll love that. He always did hate feeling small.” She twists off the faucet and dries her hands. “You must make him feel like the man he wishes he was.” 

You just look at her. You have no true reason to defend Lloyd, but because she’s so smug it irks you. You look her in the face, even if you feel ridiculous having to look up. 

“Well, he can piss on his own, so I think he’s just fine,” you step around her and swing open the door. The silence that follows you is the only satisfying thing about that night. 

[goldensunshines]

Meet the Family 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. 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 boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: um I woke up to this in my head. Sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You honk your horn as another driver slowly veers toward the line. You’re not letting them in. If they can’t weave in, then they aren’t fast enough to leave the slow lane. You sigh and gesture at them as kindly as you can in that instant. You have enough going on. 

Your phone starts to ring. Again. You tap the button on your steering wheel to answer. You would know who it is even without his custom ringtone. Your boss allows no space for breathing, even on a call. 

“How far out are you, pixie?” Lloyd asks as you growl and lean on the gas pedal. You hate driving on the highway, especially at night, and the sky is steadily dimming. 

“Close,” you assure him. “Next exit,” you flip your blinker on. 

“Thank god. You got everything?” 

Yeah, everything you forgot. You don’t give the dry retort aloud. You know better. Where your boss has no filter to be found, you find yourself often censoring yourself. As much for his ego as for others’. Arguing never gets you anywhere. 

“I believe so--” 

“You believe or you do?” He asks impatiently. 

“Mr. Hansen, I got everything on the list,” you assure him. “All with a bow on top.” 

“A life saver, pix, I swear,” he praises, but a compliment from him is rarely genuine, more transactional. You did him a favour so he’ll give you a treat. 

“Alright, I need to get over, ramp’s coming up. So--” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his ends rustles and you hear a muffled female voice, “I got shit going on too. You got the address, text me.” 

He hangs up first. You can never be the first to end the call. He has to make the decisions. You just know how to guide him to the right one. You merge into the exit lane and follow the ramp away from the whirring stream of headlight. Finally. 

You’re less than pleased to be within minutes of your destination. This isn’t how you envisioned your holiday. A last-minute itinerary change to fix yet another of Mr. Hansen’s oversights. It’s never a mistake, he’s just a man with so much going on that it slipped his radar. Another bandage for his ego. 

The slower pace feeds your agitation. At least on the highway, you felt like you were getting somewhere. The lazy roll of the cars in the town tweaks at the nape of your neck. You just want to be in one place and that won’t happen even when you get to Mr. Hansen. 

You’ll be lucky to have two hours of sleep before you have to catch your rebooked flight. Yep. You’ll play Santa and drop off your lot before hiding at the hotel long enough to dread the airport jungle. Then it’s off to your own familial obligations. Those are rarely enjoyable and being a day later than promised will hardly please your mother. 

Your phone announces your arrival at the destination. The long drive of the over-sized suburban mansion is full. You park on the street and turn on the interior light. You get out and open the back seat. The whole medley of shiny paper and quaffed bows stares back at you. 

You text Mr. Hansen and wait, huffing and puffing with impatience. Of course, you have to upheave your plans to meet his deadlines, but he’s taking his time. It’s not a surprise, not even a disappointment, you expected as much. 

“Pixieee,” Lloyd drags out the last syllable, “there you are, pretty pixie.” 

Pretty Pixie? He’s drunk or he’s going to ask for something else. You brace yourself as his shadow struts up the long driveway and passes beneath the cone cast by the tall street lights. Coloured lights glimmer over him from the eaves of the surrounding facades. 

“Mr. Hansen, wrapped, labelled, everything you requested,” you gesture to the backseat. 

“An angel. A true saviour, pixie,” he surprises you as he grabs your head, his palms pressing to your cheeks as he bends to kiss your forehead, “did I ever tell you you’re immaculate?” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you gently pull his wrists until he drops his hands. You smell the alcohol radiating off of him. 

“It’s the holiday, call me Lloyd, sweet cake,” he insists. 

“Right,” you tut and turn to drag out the largest gift bag, “here, you better just take all this, I have to check-in--” 

“About that,” he ignores the gift as you hold it out. “We’re just about to start dinner, you should pop in, have a bite.” 

“I can’t, Mr. Hansen--” 

“Of course you can,” he insists. You look up at him. His eyes gleam in the spectrum of lights shining from your car, the houses, and the tall poles. You sniff. He’s only tipsy, there’s still the hint of authoritarianism firmly implanted in his tone. “I told everyone you would.” 

“Everyone?” You echo anxiously. 

“The family,” he exclaims as if it should be obvious. 

“Okay, I can come say hello but--” you wiggle the bag at him. 

“Damn right you can,” he catches your hand and takes the bag. He drops it on the ground carelessly. 

“Mr. Hansen, that’s fragile,” you say. 

“Shhhh,” he grabs your hand and you curl and unfurl your fingers desperately, “Lloyd, remember?” He feels around in his pocket as he keeps you in his vice, “now, you just need to slip this on.” 

He struggles to line up the ring with your finger as you squirm in confusion. What is he doing? 

“Mr. Han--” 

“Lloyd,” he growls, all humour trickling away. He squeezes until you whimper. “Look, I just need you to smile and bat those long lashes of yours, alright?” 

“What’s going on?” 

“As far as anyone knows, I proposed to you on Thanksgiving,” he says. 

“Proposed?!” You nearly shriek. 

He hushes you again and finally rams the ring down to your knuckle. “Look, pixie, mommy’s being a real pain in my ass so you just need to play along.” 

“Mr.--” 

“If I have to tell you one more time--” 

“Lloyd,” you gulp, “please. I... this is... strange. What? Why? I have a flight in eight hours.” 

“Cancel it,” he sneers. “Double time and a half for holiday overtime. See the family in the New Year.” 

“What? That’s-- This is insane--” 

“This is your job, honey,” he clings to your hand. “To do what I say or you can spend your January trawling the job boards.” He squeezes until the band digs into your flesh. “Now, I know Mr. Walker thinks you’re darling and he offered you a role last year but once I tell him about your little defiance issue, I don’t think he’ll be interested--” 

“Huh?” 

“I know a lot more than you think,” he grits. “Alright? So let’s start getting this shit inside. That’ll give you a chance to get yourself together.” 

“Lloyd,” you gasp. “Why--” 

“No more fucking question. Since when did you get so uppity,” he barks. 

“Sir--” 

“Ah, none of that, either,” he lets you go and waggles his finger in your face. “Relax. Have some eggnog when we get inside and take the edge off.” 

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. 

“It’s fucking happening, alright?” He picks up the bag off the ground. “I keep you around ‘cause you’re quick on your feet, Pix, so let’s get to it.” 

“Oh god,” you utter. 

“Keep it to yourself,” he warns. 

Your disbelief has you a bit dumb. You’re panicking. He knows you have an insurance policy with Walker and you have no doubt he’ll do all he can to spoil your future if you fuck around with his present. You’ve worked long enough for him to believe his threats, even when everything else is dubious. 

You turn and grab several gifts from the backseat. You move out of his way and he gathers some more himself. He backs up and uses his knee to close the door. He nods you toward the house. 

“Smile, act like you’re excited,” he commands. 

You pass him and stare up at the blaze of holiday lights. The lawn is decorated with a Santa and sleigh, complete with all his reindeer. You make the march up the walk and towards the glowing windows that trim the front door.  

Lloyd comes up next to you and kicks it, “open up.” 

It isn’t long before obedience appears from the other side. You do a double take at the man who answers the door. He looks a lot like Lloyd but not. He doesn’t sport the same bristly stache and his hair neatly combed, the sides unshaved but tidy. He rolls his eyes. 

“Was hoping you got lost in the snow,” the man scoffs. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd shoulders through, “always a fucking prick, Hugh.” 

The other man snarls, “don’t fucking call me that.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby boy,” Lloyd puts the gifts on the bench against the wall, under the large mirror with an elaborate frame. “Why don’t you go suck on mommy’s teat?” 

“You’re disgusting,” the other man, Hugh, hisses. 

“Speak for yourself. We’re the OnlyFans thot? She not joining us?” 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, fuck me, we already did this, remember?” Lloyd faces him. 

“And who’s this slut?” The man tosses you a sharp glare.  

“Woah, man, that’s my future wife,” Lloyd lies so easily it startles you. He sounds almost genuine and you’ve never heard him sound like that. “Not a slut, so keep your eyes and your hands to yourself.” 

“Huh, I didn’t believe it,” the man puts his hand on his hip as he looks you up and down, “she’s tiny.” 

You narrow your eyes, speechless as they talk about you like a new lamp. 

“Ransom,” Lloyd gestures to him derisively, “Pixie. Now you’ve met so you can skedaddle back to the liquor cabinet.” 

The man, Ransom, snickers, “good luck, sweetheart,” he scoffs. “If you need a drink, just look for me. You probably will. At least for the next forty years.” 

He struts off through the archway behind him and you look at Lloyd. He takes the armful of gifts from you and grumbles. He stops and crosses his arms.  

“Well, get your boots off. Mom will kill you if you’re tracking salt all over her freshly polished floors,” he shakes his head. “And a bit of advice, stay away from my cousin. Ransom’s a fucking pest.” 

“Right, sir.” 

He tilts his head and you show your palms, “Lloyd.” 

“Good girl,” he says and slips free of his loafers. “Now, you’re going to have to meet my parents before anyone else or I won’t hear the end of it. I’ve already got an earful. I know I shoulda booked that resort...” 

You unzip your boots and set them aside on the rack. You stand and he beckons you past the open archway and down the hallway. You take in the decor; gold on beige on ivory. It’s all very luxurious. 

He pushes through a white birch door and warmth enshrines you along with the smell of turkey. There’s a clattering beneath a shrill voice snapping out orders, “oh, not mashed, whipped!” 

A tall blonde woman crosses her arms as she hovers like a vulture over the aproned staff crowded around the large marble island. Lloyd grabs your hand and drags you after him. Your socks slip on the tile as dread coils up your limbs. 

“Mom, she’s here,” he announces as he gets close to her. 

“Ugh, about time, they already set the table and I was dreading the empty plate,” she slithers. She turns her chin down to see you, “Oh, look at her. She’s so... petite.” She levels her hand with the top of your head, “much different than I envisioned.” 

You look at Lloyd as he pushes his shoulders back. You’ve never heard anyone talk to him like that and you’ve never seen him so uptight. You turn your attention back to the woman. 

“Hello, Mrs. Hansen, it’s nice to meet you,” you offer your hand. 

She considers it then grabs it, turning the ring up. You examine the jewel as she does the same, your first glimpse at the thing. She harrumphs, “that’s the ring?” 

“Mom,” Lloyd utters. 

“Mm, very well. Dear, you may call me Gwenyth, not Mrs. Hansen,” she lets you go. “Now, dear son, out of my way. I’m trying to get dinner done.” 

Lloyd stares at her, almost expectantly, the takes your hand again and leads you away. He pulls you back through the door. You don’t dare say a word. He leads you away from the kitchen and the wall of voices buzzing from the front room. He guides you through the archway opposite and around to another door. 

He knocks and there’s a lull as you wait. He taps again. There’s coughing from the other side. “What do you want?” 

“Just me, Dad,” Lloyd answers. 

“Ugh, get in here then,” the timbre calls back. 

Lloyd twists the knob and urges you in ahead of him. The smell of cigar smoke blows in with the cold wind. A gray-haired man puffs by the window, his efforts to puff through the opening sabotaged by the wintry gusts. 

“Close the door. I don’t need the banshee sniffing me out,” he growls. 

“Sure,” Lloyd shuts the door. “Dad, uh, this is her. The woman I told you about. My fiance.” 

“Took you long enough,” the man sneers. You flinch and his grey eyes soften, “him, I mean. Forty-three years--” 

“Dad,” Lloyd rasps. 

“Well,” his father looks you over, “she’s young. Bit small...” 

You do your best not to let your annoyance show. So you’re a little shorter than average. 

“William,” he introduces himself, “and you are?” 

“Pixie,” Lloyd answers for you. 

“Didn’t ask you, boy,” William rebukes and keeps his eyes on you. “You smoke?” 

You mull his question and sigh, “never tried it but I guess it’s never too late to start.” 

William snorts, “truer words.” He puffs, “I don’t recommend it. Horrible habit.” He tamps out the stogie in a copper tray. “Well then, is the food ready, or did you just come to show me your woman?” 

Lloyd stiffens and touches your lower back, “guess I just came to do that.” He mutters, “come on, let’s go get something to drink.” He turns and opens the door. 

“Don’t let the smoke out,” William snips as you spin around. 

[goldensunshines]

gotta love the mics