Dark!

She/31/desi/Mostly MCU Dark! NON-CON fics of Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Stephen Strange Requests are CLOSED! ONLY 18 + 🔞 NO MINOR

[ironlady1993]

Ironlady1993′s Masterlist part 2

Part 1 you find here

MCU Characters:

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Stephen Strange

Loki Laufeyson

I love you 3000 dark writing challenge 2022

I love you 3000 dark writing challenge entries

NON-MCU / OTHER MCU Characters:

Lloyd Hansen (The Gray men)

Namor

[ironlady1993]

Just had to pop in with hugs to wish you a day filled with love, laughter and all the little things that remind you of just how wonderful you truly are. lyl always Ari💕💕💕

Omg Christy!

I just saw your post!!! I'm speechless!! THANK YOU SO SO MUCH! AND I wasn't expecting a whole fic! So exctied to read it! I know I wasn't really active this year (i'm so sorry!) , life was really though but i hope i can manage to go back into writing and reading for the new year! That was so sweet of you!

With that i hope you had a wonderful christmas with your family!

Love Ari 🥰

[thehydraethereal-deactivated202]

ও ɪ ᴀᴍ sᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ʟɪɴᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴏɴᴏᴜʀ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ, ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ AU ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs/ᴋɪɴᴋs ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ! ♡

.ᐟ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ sᴍᴜᴛᴛʏ. ᴅɴɪ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ!

ও ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs:

1. " ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ"

2. "ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ sᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, sᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ"

3. "sʜᴜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴏʀ ɪ'ʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ"

4. "ᴏʜ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ sᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ. ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ...ᴍᴜᴄʜ."

5. "ɪ sᴀʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴏʙᴇʏ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ."

6. "sᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ, ɪᴛ'ʟʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʟᴇss.".

7. " ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ."

8. "ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ sʟᴜᴛ. ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɪᴛ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ"

9. "ᴏʜ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪsɪᴏɴ, sᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ."

10. "ɴᴏᴛ sᴏ ᴅɪsʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟ ɴᴏᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴄᴋ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ, ᴇʜ?"

11. "ɴᴏᴡ...ʟᴇᴛ's ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ"

12. "ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴅɪᴄᴋ."

13. "ᴏʜ, ʙᴀʙʏ. ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ɢᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ"

14. "ʟᴇᴛ's sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ."

15. " ᴏʜ, sᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴜғғᴇʀ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴡᴏʀsᴇ."

16. " ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ."

17. "ᴀʜ, ᴀʜ...ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ...ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴ' sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ ғᴜɴ."

18. " ᴄ'ᴍᴏɴ...ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ,"

19. "ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇs. ɴᴏᴡ."

20. "ɪ-ᴜᴍ-ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ sᴍᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ.

ও sɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴs:

ʙᴀsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪғᴇ; ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ/sʟᴀᴠᴇ; ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ; ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ (ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄ); ᴄʜᴀsɪɴɢ; ᴄᴀᴘᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ (ᴡɪᴛɴᴇssɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ); ʙᴇɪɴɢ "sᴀᴠᴇᴅ" ʙᴜᴛ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ; ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ; ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ (ᴀs ᴀ sʟᴀᴠᴇ) ʙʏ ᴏᴄ; ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs (ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ)

ও ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇs:

ᴍᴇᴅɪᴇᴠᴀʟ ᴀᴜ

ʙɪᴋᴇʀ ᴀᴜ

ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴀᴜ

ও ᴋɪɴᴋs:

ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ; ʀᴇsᴛʀᴀɪɴᴛs; ᴄʜᴀsɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ; ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ; sɪʀ ᴋɪɴᴋ; ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ (ʙᴇʟᴛ; ʙɪᴄᴇᴘ; ʜᴀɴᴅs); ᴅᴠ; ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs (ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ)

ও ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs:

ʚ ʟʟᴏʏᴅ ʜᴀɴsᴇɴ

ʚ ʙʀᴏᴄᴋ ʀᴜᴍʟᴏᴡ

ʚ sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀᴏɢᴇʀs

ʚ ʙɪʟʟʏ ʟᴇᴇ (ᴄʜʀɪs ʜᴇᴍsᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪɴ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴀᴛ ᴇʟ ʀᴏʏᴀʟᴇ)

ʚ ᴛʜᴏʀ ᴏᴅɪɴsᴏɴ

ʚ ᴛʏʟᴇʀ ʀᴀᴋᴇ

ʚ sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ᴀʙɴᴇsᴛɪ

ʚ ᴀɴᴅʏ ʙᴀʀʙᴇʀ

ʚ ʟᴏᴋɪ ʟᴀᴜғᴇʏsᴏɴ

ʚ ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs

ʚ ʀᴀɴsᴏᴍ ᴅʀʏsᴅᴀʟᴇ

ʚ ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ ᴏғ ʀɪᴠɪᴀ

ʚ sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ᴋᴇɴᴛ (sᴜᴘᴇʀᴍᴀɴ)

ʚ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ sʏʟᴠᴇʀsᴏɴ

ʚ ᴍᴀssɪᴍᴏ ᴛᴏʀʀɪᴄᴇʟʟɪ

ғɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ᴘʟs!! (ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɪɴsᴘᴏ sᴏ ʙᴀᴅᴅᴅ)

[ethereal--muse-deactivated20240]

𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘜𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 <3

𝘗.𝘚: 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘋𝘈𝘙𝘒, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 (𝙙𝙣𝙞 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚)

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘐: "𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥"

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘐𝘐: "𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳"

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐: "𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵..."

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘐𝘝: "𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘵!"

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘝: "𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯? 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵"

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘝𝘐: "𝘐 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦"

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐: "𝘢𝘸𝘸𝘸, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥"

𝐀𝐔𝐬

• 𝘣𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘜

• 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘈𝘜

• 𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘜

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

• 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘳

• 𝘓𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯

• 𝘛𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘢𝘬𝘦

• 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪

• 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴

• 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

• 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳

• 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘳

• 𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘮 𝘋𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘦

• 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝙄 𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝙂𝙀𝙏 𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙎 <3 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐!!

[griefpersevering]

the ripples they cause

Read on AO3 🕷 Playlist 🕷 Buy me a cup of tea ☕

Rating: Teen

Characters: Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Kate Bishop, Yelena Belova

Relationships: MJ/Peter, Matt/Foggy, Peter & Tony, Nat & Tony

Tags: No Way Home Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

There is exactly one person who remembers the name Peter Parker, and that’s Spider-Man. Although the spell prevented the multiverse from tearing itself apart, Peter’s problems are far from over. The number of people calling for his arrest grows every day, and it’s not easy to live your life when you no longer exist.

Luckily for him, the apartment above him belongs to two really good lawyers, and they know every vigilante in the city. With their help — and the assistance of two Avengers intent on rising from the dead — Peter may just be able to find his way in this strange new world.

Notes:

It's been a whole year since I finished this!! I'm still so proud of myself and so thankful for everyone who read it and left lovely comments or kudos - every single one means so much to me. I never dreamed a silly little nwh fix it fic I wrote could get so much love and I really appreciate all of you <33

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pick Me 1

Warnings: this is a dark fic which may contain noncon, violence, and other dark elements. Please keep in mind that all events and characters are fictional. Be mindful of the content you consume and pay heed to the warnings given.

Character: Tony Stark

This is a sister series to One

Note: Please feel free to leave a comment in the replies, a reblog, or my ask. I appreciate likes but I enjoy discussing with you all even more. Your time and feedback are truly appreciated 💞.

You sit in the front row, like you do in every lecture. Just like you’re top of the class in every course. You don’t miss a class or a reading or a due date. Unlike the rest of your peers, you’re not here for the party life, you are here for an education’; for a future.

As your fellow pupils type their notes on their laptops, if they’re even bothering too, you’re writing each word by hand. You listen intently, eyes stuck to Professor Stark as he speaks with his hands, curling his fingers to emphasize his points. His voice carries effortlessly around the airy space, echoing in your ears.

You watch him just as rapaciously as you cling to his every word. His dark hair is laced with gray and his handsome features are lined perfectly with age. A man seasoned just right by the passage of time.

And he isn’t unaware of the effect he has, even on girls barely half his age, though there are few among his audience. Engineering tends to be inhospitable to the quote ‘fairer’ sex.

Yet his first-year physics is overcrowded with girls agog at his devilish smirk. It’s not lost on you how a wink could make one feel something or another. But you remind yourself that this is an academic setting and you shouldn’t be thinking of your professor in that light.

Besides, you’re not his type, are you?

You grimace as you pull your thoughts back to your slanted writing. Ugh, focus. You don’t need to watch Julie twirl her hair as she tries to snare Stark’s attention or notice how Lydia shifts in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. These girls are there for an elective, but this is a core course. You can’t mess this up.

As the three-hour slot comes to an end, a sigh of relief ripples through the rows of students. Lap desks are folded down and laptops snapped shut. A chatter buzzes through the lecture hall but you take your time packing up.

You close your notebook and pull your messenger bag into your lap. Lydia stands, hooking her purse on her shoulder as she fixes her skirt deliberately. She’s brazen enough to spend the lecture beaming up at Dr. Stark without taking a single word down. He doesn’t even seem to mind as she takes obvious selfies and pouts out her lips. It’s like a game to her. Not everyone has a rich daddy to buy their degree.

Julie gives a moping look but is dragged off by her sole companion. You spoke to them once on the first day but quickly realised they are too vapid to stomach. You curl your lip as you glance over at the steady tide of fleeing students. 

Lydia takes her chance to approach the podium. She leans on it as Stark powers down the projector. You can’t hear her churlish whispers but he chuckles in return. As he looks at her, a gleam in his dark eyes, you stare. It’s like you don’t even exist.

She reaches to touch his sleeve and he leans in. His silty tone rolls through the silence but his words are indiscernible. You bite the inside of your lip. You’re right there. How could he want those dumb girls and their overglossed lips? You have a brain, you have substance.

Uh, but aren’t you just as stupid? Thinking about it at all. Wandering off in your mind when you should be studying? Spending those moments before your staggered sleep picturing Dr. Stark and his trimmed goatee, wondering if his silvered hair is as soft as it looks.

Pathetic. You sling your bag on your shoulder and march to the door. You grab the handle and pull it open, the hinges whining. You cringe and glance back. You’re a ghost, you are air, you are nothing to them. How can that be?

Neither of them notice you. They are close, so close. You could stay and watch them and they wouldn’t even know. Professor Stark shamelessly reaches to hook his finger down the front of Lydia’s shirt, given a tug as he leers at her cleavage. She giggles and you leave before your stomach turns.

You don’t want to be like Lydia. Or Julie. Or the countless other girls who’ve passed over his office desk. You don’t want to be another tick mark. You don’t know what you want. You just want that knot in your chest to come undone. It’s a distraction you don’t need.

You could never be jealous of those girls. With their short skirts and crackly trills. You could never fawn over a man with that dumb look on your face. You don’t want to simper to Dr. Stark, you want to have a discussion with him, to learn from him, to witness his genius. Those girls signed up because they needed to fill a box and because they knew his reputation. You sat on the waitlist for a month because you want to be the best so you need to learn from the best.

No, you are not like them.

Your fists ball so tight your nails jab into your palms and your jaw aches from gritting your teeth. It isn’t envy, it’s indignity. They don’t deserve to sit in those seats, they don’t deserve to take in his brilliance all the while it slips in one ear and leaks out the other. 

You just don’t get why he humours them. You don’t get how they are his type. They are empty. They are dull. You might not have the experience but you highly doubt they offer much more on their backs.

Well, you’ll be there next semester, in Physics II and they’ll be off to their arts classes, learning verbs and writing redundant papers on the meaning of the colour blue. He doesn’t see you now but he will. How could he not? You are not like the other girls.

[ironlady1993]

I absolutely enjoy the way you write Tony! Very excited where this will be going😏

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: You're the winner of the First Quarter Quell and you awaken in the hospital to Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your bedside.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Mentions of death, Mentions of planning murder, Mentions of cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Mentions of poison, Large age gap/difference (Coriolanus is 33 while reader is 18), Manipulation, um...trying to think of anything else.

I plan on expanding this story into a multi chapter one, but got this written first and couldn't wait to post it. This is my first Coriolanus Snow fanfiction, so enjoy.

When the Head Gamemaker’s baritone blared out overhead, naming you the victor of the First Quarter Quell, you literally collapsed into a heap on the blood soaked ground from a mix of exhaustion and happiness. Your eyelids drooped and the last thing you saw before you passed out was a pair of peacekeepers coming towards you.

When you woke up, you were in a sterile white room. A hospital room. You had drips and IVs connected to you along with some monitor that made beeping noises. Blinking to readjust your eyes to the brightness of the artificial light, you surveyed the room only to notice that sitting in a chair right next to your bed was none other then the head gamemaker himself. Coriolanus Snow.

“What are you doing here, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You curiously asked. Surely he had better things to do then be at your bedside. Like being home with his wife. Oh and you knew he was married because 1.) He was wearing a gold band on his ring finger and 2.) You've seen a dirty blonde woman his age on his arm in a few pictures of Victor's balls and such in the cheap Capitol rag mags that get circulated around District 12 to be used as tp by the poor and destitute. 

Staring you down with his icy blue eyes, he said, “I'm making sure that District 12’s first victor in 15 years survives.”

His words made a shiver run up your spine. It was common knowledge that District 12’s first and only victor (until now) had mysteriously vanished into thin air a few months after winning her games and returning home. Nobody dared talk about her. Her name was lost to the wind; she was a ghost that nobody paid any mind too. The fact that the head gamemaker wanted to make sure that you didn't die unnerved you. 

Surely you weren't in that bad of shape, were you? Swallowing a lump in your dry throat, you croaked out, “How bad of shape am I in, Head Gamemaker Snow?”

“Please, darling, call me Coriolanus or Coryo, if you'd like.” The platinum blonde, who looked a bit sleep deprived in his wrinkled button up (as if he'd slept in it) told you. “I insist.” He smiled. 

Him calling you darling and insisting that you call him Coriolanus or Coryo made your insides churn. It wasn't right. Why would he be so informal with you. He was the head gamemaker, a 33-year-old man from the Capitol, and you were just a victor, an 18-year-old girl from District 12. You two shouldn't be informal with each other.

“Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Let me get you some water.” Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow lightly chastised himself while rising from his chair.

Crossing the room to a counter where a tray with a pitcher and glass were, he explained, “When the peacekeepers pulled you out of the arena you had collapsed from dehydration.” Pouring you a glass of water, he further explained, “Your vitals were very low and, in fact, you died once on your way here, but the medics brought you back.”

“What the hell? I died?...” You gasped, struggling to comprehend what you just heard. 

Head Gamemaker Snow appeared by your side and placed the water glass into your hand. A hand much smaller and weaker than his large calloused one. “Yea, but you were revived.” Sitting on the edge of your bed, causing it to dip, he motioned for you to drink. “I must have my Victor alive and well, so that's why I've been keeping watch over you, Y/N.”

His words should've made you see a red flag waving in the air, but it didn't. Maybe you were too young and naive to catch onto the true meaning of his words. Maybe they went right over your head because you were still weak, or maybe since you had a stalker back in 12 that you had convinced yourself was just a weird neighbor boy you didn't realize the true possessive meaning of Coriolanus’ words.

“Are you going to stay here now that I'm awake or?...”

“Unfortunately, I have to leave you here and go home.” He pouted. What the hell, he actually pouted? You had to admit that his plush lips looked very kissable when he pouted. Petting your hair, he gave you a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, darling, I've made sure that you'll be well taken care of by the best nurses that money can buy in the Capitol.”

What he didn't tell you was that he threatened the lives of the nursing staff’s loved ones if you so much as had a hair out of place. That was something you didn't need to know. Just like you didn't need to know that when he first laid eyes on you, in your best cotton floral dress; your hair pulled back with a ribbon for Reaping Day, he found you the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on and just had to claim you as his. Reason why, as the head gamemaker, he might or might not have screwed around with other tributes’ sponsor gifts and made sure you got a few things here and there that would ensure your survival. You had an innocence to you that he had the primal urge to consume. An innocence that was absent in the Capitol. An innocence and a beauty that he carved to have all to himself.

You just being you consumed him with a passionate obsession. One that he would act on soon. Very, very soon. He just needed to take care of his wife, Livia, so that he'd be free to make you his forever. But that wouldn't be hard, considering he was a master at making people drop dead from sudden food poisoning. 

Pressing a kiss to your hair, Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow, promised, “I'll be back in the morning to check up on you before I'm needed at the Citadel.”

“You have to wrap up the game stuff don't you, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You asked, even though you were sure he'd say yes. In fact you didn't even know why you asked that. Maybe as a replacement for goodbye since you hated that word. 

Last time you said goodbye to somebody it was your mother and she took off with some officer, leaving you with your older half-brother Rein to take care of you both. He was 15 at the time and you were 5. Safe to say, you never used the word goodbye again in your life. 

“I told you, call me Coriolanus or Coryo.” He reminded you, not liking that you were still calling him by his title. “Yes, my darling rose, I must make sure that all the paperwork is in proper order for your prize money and the construction of your house in Victor's Village.” The platinum blonde man, who you just noticed has bags under his eyes, tiredly told you before pressing another kiss to your hair. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he said, “You need to be a good girl and rest for me.”

You blinked at him. What? Be a good girl? And rest for him? Say what? Your brain was short circuiting at his words. Not just his words, but the way his baritone was both dominant and soft as he spoke them.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he simply said, “We'll talk more tomorrow. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded numbly, unable to comprehend what the hell was happening. You went like your head was spinning, as if you had too much moonshine. Hell, what had your time in the arena done to you?

Coriolanus gave you a pleased smile before rising from his spot on your bed and walking out of your room; making sure to close the door behind him. It was only after he was gone that you realized you were in a private room.

Coriolanus was fucking exhausted when he got home. He could barely keep his eyes open as he stepped out of his black sedan. After you were admitted to the hospital, he dismissed his driver and drove himself there. He didn't want the man to be waiting around on him while he stayed steadfast at your bedside, plus he was more than capable of driving himself home once he saw you open your beautiful eyes. What he wasn't expecting was for you to be asleep for over 24-hours. 

So, sleep deprived, Coriolanus walked into the townhouse he shared with his wife, Livia. The townhouse was a gift he received from Strabo and Ma Plinth once he announced his engagement, but he planned on putting it up on the market once he took care of Livia. He didn't want to bring you to this house that held nothing but hatred and misery in it.

No, he was going to bring you to his penthouse on the Corso. Now that's a proper place for you to live with him. In fact, he'd be telling you about your new residence tomorrow morning during your visit. Oh, he was so excited to tell you that you'd be staying in the Capitol with him. Of course, he'd use the excuse that since District 12 doesn't have a Victor’s Village and it must be constructed that he's arranged for you to use his Corso penthouse during the construction period.

It was a great plan. One that was foolproof. He just knew that you, being so young and innocent, would view his offer as one of help instead of one of ownership. Or, dare he say, love? Yes, love. He was sure that he was obsessively in love with you. It was a feeling he swore to never feel again, but yet again one just can't help who they fall in love with.

He always thought that marrying for hate instead of love or even tolerability would give him power, but truthfully all it gave him was a headache and a bad case of blueballs. Livia was a heinous bitch and was a cold fish in bed. She didn't like to fuck. What the fuck? Who doesn't like to fuck? Coriolanus thought that was absurd, unnatural even.

That's why he had to have affairs here and there; then turn the whores into avoxes to keep their mouths shut when he was done with them. What? He was a man after all and had needs. Needs that he knew you'd fulfill without any problems. With you he'd be faithful because you'd be his mind, body, and soul and would do anything for his love since you were so young. All he had to do was show you how in love *cough* obsessed *cough* he was with you and you'd be his forever.

Unknown to Coriolanus, the object of his marital hatred (Livia) was having an ongoing affair with one of the male avoxes in their household. An avox that had once been an equal of theirs in the Academy and the University, but crossed Snow the wrong way with a question about the songbird from 12. 

Coriolanus wasn't even to the stairs yet when he heard Livia’s screeching coming from the front sitting room. Great…seems like the bitch was waiting up for him. 

“Coriolanus, where have you been? The games ended and you never came home!” Livia demanded in a high pitch scream as her fuzzy heeled skippers clicked loudly against the hardwood floor as she ran out of the sitting room and into the main hall.

“Don't worry about where I was, Livia.” Coriolanus venomously gritted out as he made his way to the staircase.

“You're my husband, Coriolanus. I'm supposed to worry about where you've been.” Livia shrieked while following her husband. 

“I'm your husband when I don't come home, but when I'm home we have separate bedrooms and you come up with every excuse under the sun not to fuck me.” Coriolanus spat back as he tiredly trudged upstairs, feeling a migraine coming on from his wife's nagging. Oh, how he needed to poison that bitch yesterday.

“Your tastes in bed are not the same as mine, husband.” Livia said, placing special emphasis on the word husband, while following him upstairs. “You're too harsh for my taste, but that doesn't mean you can stay out for days on end with some whore.” 

All Coriolanus could see was red, like a raging bull, after hearing her remark. How dare she insult his prowess in bed? He knew how to fuck a woman and how to fuck her good; he never had any complaints either until he tied the knot with Livia. Damn bitch, won't fuck him and then insults his ability to fuck. Oh, yes, it was time for her to go. 

She outlived her usefulness. Livia couldn't give him the one thing he most desperately needed. An heir. What use did Coriolanus have for a woman that refuses to have his child? After a decade of hell with his wife, he was ready to cut his losses. He had control of her family's bank and the Plinths fortune, plus his status as Head Gamemaker and Senator along with his position on the War Council was more then enough to make him a successful candidate for president once the elder President Ravenstill kicked the bucket. He didn't need her for an heir anymore, not when he had you (you were young and fertile enough to give him litters of heirs).

Oh, Coriolanus knew exactly how to make up for never coming home after the games ended with Livia. Oh, yes, he did. 

“The victor, Y/N, from 12 was in bad shape and I had extra paperwork to do.” He smoothly lied to his dirty blonde wife as he set foot onto the second floor of his townhouse. Turning to look at her, he gave her a fake smile full of fake sympathy and offered, “How about I take you out to your favorite restaurant for dinner? The one that has that red wine you can't get enough of.”

“Yes, I accept your apology and dinner invitation. Just don't do this to me again, Coriolanus. We might hate each other, but I'm still your wife and deserve respect.” Livia told Coriolanus before taking off to her room, her robe billowing behind her.

Coriolanus smiled wickedly as he retired to his room. Oh, after tomorrow night he'd never have to deal with Livia ever again. He'd be free to have you all to himself, forever and always.

You were walking in the plains, tall prairie grass blowing in the wind. The deeper you walked in it, the more dread you felt. You couldn't describe the feeling, but you just knew that something was wrong. Then, suddenly, you heard a crunching sound behind you. Turning around, you saw the last tribute, a girl from 2, with a knife in her hand running towards you. 

You were exhausted and thirsty. The water you had been gifted from a sponsor had run out nearly a day ago, so you were feeling the effects of dehydration. You didn't know if you either didn't have a lot of sponsors or weren't getting any more water bottles because a water source was nearby somewhere, but you did know that it sucked you were dying of thirst.

But your thirst didn't matter now. Surviving the girl from District 2 did and you knew you wouldn't be able to fight her in the tall grasses. So you ran. You ran as hard and fast as your lightheaded feet would carry you.

It didn't take long until you were out of the tall grasses and on a barren field of cracked soil. You had a small pocket knife that was gifted to you, something you were sure cost a hefty penny since sponsor weapons were always pricey according to Lucky Flickerman’s game commentary.

Flipping the switchblade open, you turned around and headed straight towards the girl that had tripped and fell at the edge of the plains grasses and the dry bed of field soil. Lifting up your knife, you made to plunge it into her, only for her to look up at you with a sinister smirk and plunge her knife right into your neck.

Your eyes flew open as you screamed bloody murder. You died! You had died in your nightmare instead of being victorious. That nightmare shook you to your core. It frightened you so much that you screamed yourself hoarse, until your vocal cords were stripped. You were so frightened that you huddled in the corner of your room in a fetal position.

Nurses and other hospital staff tried to tend to you; get you out of the corner, but you just struggled and fought with them. You couldn't let them near you. What if they wanted to kill you? What if they hurt you? Your dream had shaken you up so bad that you weren't quite with it yet. You weren't in reality, you were stuck in your own head and afraid that somebody or something was going to get you. You were scared out of your wits. You were so scared that you cried. You weren't aware that you were crying, but the tear stains marred your hollowed cheeks like scars.

Coriolanus had only been asleep for an hour or so whenever he was awakened by a call from Capitol General Hospital. What the charge nurse told him made his heart clutch painfully. His victor, his darling rose, woke up terrified out of her mind and curled herself into a corner, screaming and crying her head off.

“She's having a nightmare about her time in the arena. Aren't you giving her anything to calm her down?” Coriolanus asked the nurse  he was on the phone with as he sat up in bed, flipping on his bedside lamp to softly illuminate his pitch black room in a golden glow of light.

“She won't let anyone near her and you did say to call you with any updates on her condition, sir “ The nurse hesitantly told him.

“I’ll be right there to sign her out since your hospital staff are incompetent and can't properly take care of a victor.” He told the nurse before hanging up on her.

It only took a few minutes for Coriolanus to dress and rush to the hospital. Despite being exhausted, you needed him and he wasn't going to let you down. You were his and he was going to take good care of you. He always took good care of his things. He did like his things to be perfect and if they weren't then he'd make sure that his favorite things were mended until they were perfect. You were his and he'd make sure that he made you perfect once more. Perfect for him, to be by his side as not just his Victor, but as his First Lady. His darling rose.

Dressed simply in a fitted white shirt and black pants, Coriolanus ran up the stairs to your floor and rushed into your room. The site of you curled up, tear tracks staining your cheeks, wide-eyed and afraid pulled at what little heartstrings were in his too small blackened heart. You looked like a wounded animal and he hates it. You were his victor, his darling rose, his future First Lady and he wanted you to recover your senses so that you could regain your strength; be all that he knew you were to him.

He slowly approached you with his hands out in a show of peace. “It's me, my darling rose. It's Coryo.” Coriolanus softy told you in an attempt to let him near you.

Your eyes blinked at hearing his nickname and for some reason you nodded at him. As he crouched down next to you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder, you clutched the middle of his pristine white shit and sobbed, “I died, Coryo. I dreamed that I died instead of her.”

Your words gutted him. A world without you was no world at all. Wrapping his arms around you: letting you bury your head in his chest, he strokes your hair while offering you the comforting words of, “Oh, my darling, you're alive. You're alive and I won't let anything bad ever happen to you again, Y/N.” You shook in his arms, causing him to simply ask, “You hear me, my darling rose?”

“Mhm…” You mumbled out, too afraid to talk for fear that you'd start crying again. 

“Shh…” Coriolanus shushed you like one would do a small, frightened child. “I'm here. Your Coryo’s here and you're safe. You'll always be safe with me, darling.”

If you were of sound mind instead of scared out of it (from the horrors he designed and put into the damn games) you would've ran far far away from Coriolanus. But, sadly, you were too scared and on the verge of a mental breakdown to understand how twisted the man holding you really was. How obsessessive he was; how wrong letting him hold you was. No, you were too afraid to realize that you were letting the creator of your nightmares comfort you.

Once your sobs subsided and you quieted down, Coriolanus pulled back from you so that he could tilt your chin up in order to have your eyes on his. “I was going to wait til morning to tell you this, but you’ll be staying in a luxurious penthouse while the Victor’s Village is constructed in your district.”

You nodded, only to squeakily ask, “How long am I staying here?”

“Oh, just long enough to build your victor's house. I suppose it'll be done by time your victory tour rolls around; maybe even sooner.” He smoothly lied. He had no intentions whatsoever to let you go back to District 12. You deserved more then the mud and poverty stained streets of the coal district. You deserved to be bathed in rose scented oils and salts, dressed in the finest fashions, fed the best foods, and fucked on the best silk sheets that his money could buy. 

“Okay.” You nodded, naively believing the lies of the head gamemaker. 

“How about we get you out of here and over to the penthouse? Hmm? I'll even call Tigris to come over and spend the day with you, how'd you like that?”

“I like Tigris. She’s nice and was my stylist. Always talked to me like she cared.”

Coriolanus knew that his cousin was your stylist. He's the one that assigned her to you after all. But neither you nor her needed to know that. No…. It wasn't important. What was important was that you two got along, especially since in a short while you'll be family.

“Tigris is my cousin; I'm glad to hear that you like her.” Coriolanus told you while helping you to stand up. “And she does care about you, Y/N.” He told you while leading you over to your bed. “Never forget that the Snows care about you. And that snow lands on top.” He whispered into your ear while helping you sit on your bed. 

You just blinked at him, trying to process what he meant. You were so tired and mentally weak from your nightmare that you had no idea that his remark was one of possession. Your throat hurts from all the crying and screaming that you did, so you weren't thinking straight. Infact, your throat hurts so much that you grab the glass of water from your bedside table, quickly gulping it down.

“Be careful, you don't want to make yourself sick.” Coriolanus warned, much like a parent would to a child, while snatching the glass away from you.

“My throat’s dry and hurts. I need water.” You said in a pained whisper, side eying the glass in Coriolanus’ hand.

“Yes, well, that tends to happen when you scream and cry yourself hoarse.” He stated a bit coldly before lifting the glass to your lips and ordering, “Be a good girl and take small sips for me.”

You obeyed since your throat was aching. The small sips of the cool water seemed to soothe your damaged throat just enough to keep your mind off the pain. When Coriolanus felt you had enough to drink, he put the glass down on your side table. 

Petting your hair, he said, “I need to go sign you out at the front desk, but I'll be back soon to take you with me to the penthouse. Where you'll be safe.”

“Thank you.” You weakly smiled at the man that was now both your salvation and your damnation.

If only you knew what life awaited for you at that penthouse. Would you still be thanking him if you did?

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: No more work but we gonna werk.

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 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Ransom pushes you back, slipping free from between your tits. He catches you by the back of the neck as he grabs his dick, pumping himself as he groans. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as his voice gets louder.

He finishes in hot spurts string across your face that make your skin crawl. You scrunch your nose as the chlorine-like smell tinges your nose. Your entire body threatens to revolt. It’s more than the act itself, it’s the humiliation.

He sighs and lets you go. You want to wipe your face off but you can’t bear to touch it. You lean back on your heels and hover your hand in front of you, trying to breath through the swell of nausea. A hand clasps around your wrist, tugging it away as you’re dragged back towards the tree. You stumble on your knees, flicking your lashes as the sticky glaze cools on your skin.

“Next,” Lloyd insists as a growl rises from behind you.

“Be nice,” Andy girds. His words mean nothing. He could stop this but he won’t. He won’t because he’s just like them. He wants this.

“Please, I don’t want–”

“I didn’t want a face full of Gucci garbage,” Lloyd bends over you with a snicker, “too fucking bad, isn’t it?”

You wince and lean away from him. Your first meeting flashes in your mind. You recall a similar state, being sprayed in the face unceremoniously. You shudder as he lets you go, a small shove on the back of your head.

You extend your arm as Ransom’s soft groans continue between mellowing breaths. This is deranged. These men are twisted and, as pathetic as they are, terrifying. You grab a small box from the pile and shakily lean back.

Lloyd hovers behind you as you sense the gazes of the others. You have no hope. Whoever it is doesn’t matter. You slide the bow off and tear the paper away. Your hands work on instinct as you try to prepare yourself, try to shut down any emotion.

You shake as you reveal a strangely curved piece of pink silicone visible through the transparent window of the box. Lloyd chuckles and bends to take the disposed bow from beside you. He looks at the tag. 

“Well, well, well, looks like I’m up, but you know what, pussy cat,” he looms over you, “that one’s for you. I got it fully charged so why don’t you pop that in?”

You turn and look at him from the corner of your eye, not straight on. You consider the box again and the toy. It’s one of those hands free vibrators designed for couples. The woman wears it as the man controls it.  The box buzzes and you drop it. It stops when it hits the floor.

You gasp and look above you as Lloyd has his phone in hand, “you’re getting off easy. Literally.” He smirks down at you, “what’s the matter, you need help?”

You gulp and shake your head, “n-no.”

You swipe up the box, picking open the cardboard box and slides out the plastic insert. The little instruction pamphlet is missing, confirming that he’s already gone in and opened it. You roll the toy in your hand, the flimsier part wobbling back and forth.

You lower your head and raise yourself on your knees. You pull the elastic of your panties as you angle the toy down the front. You bite down as you widen your legs, pushing your ass out as you lean forward slightly. It’s awkward as the men elicit snarling noises in response.

You find yourself wet. That startles you. It eases the insertion as the full part glides into you and settles snugly inside. You fix the curved stem and rest the little round nub against your clit. With your hand still down your panties, the toy vibes, just once and makes you squeak.

“Works,” Lloyd snorts.

You quiver and inhale, tenderly sitting back on your heels as you grip your thighs. Your eyes sting. You won’t cry. 

“Next,” Lloyd demands before the silence can sink in. 

He nudges you with his velvet loafer and you flinch. You shuffle on your knees again and grab a gift bag. The men behind you shift eagerly. You don’t even open the present and just read the tag. Fuck.

“Lloyd,” you croak.

“Ha,” Lloyd claps, “luck’s on my side,” he taunts, “looks like fate wants me to fuck that throat.”

“The present…” Andy suggests.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lloyd spins on his heel and struts away, sitting at the edge of the couch, “open it then get your butt over here, sweet stuff.”

You shake your head and reach into the gift bag. You pull out a medallion necklace set into the red box. It has diamonds encrusted around the edge. You know it’s not cheap.

“You can put that on too,” Lloyd sneers as you hear his zipper slice through the tension.

You pull free the necklace and hook it around your neck. You push the packaging away and fall forward onto your hands. You can barely keep yourself moving as your mind hazes. The surrealness threatens to paralyse you.

You turn and crawl across the carpet.

“Mmm, yeah, pussy cat, come to me,” Lloyd teases.

You ignore the scalding wave that flows over you. You try to block out the room, the watching eyes, and the man who orders you around like an animal. The animal you crawl around like. 

You approach him as he pulls his dick out above his parents, knees wide as he gives a crooked grin. He lets his hard length flop back against his stomach as he sits back and bends his arm behind his head. He winks and looks down as he bites his lip.

“I think I owe you a taste, pussy cat,” he says, “Merry Christmas to me.”

You lift yourself up. Ransom’s silhouette moves in your peripheral as the armchair creaks out of your sight. The twitch of Lloyd’s dick makes your stomach curdle as he proudly repeats the trick. You put your hand around him and close your eyes, inching closer.

Your lips stop just over the tip of his dick. His hard, thick length bulges in your grip. You press your mouth to him and swallow back another tide of revulsion. You want it over with but given the amount of presents waiting under the tree, it might never end.

You open up to him slowly, coaxing yourself through the act. The salty trick that smears on your tongue threatens to flip your insides. You squeeze him and he groans, slapping the cushion beside him.

“Fuck, the grip on her,” he rasps and your eyes flick open.

His hand slides down as you urge your mouth down halfway, then back again. You’re not sure you can take all of him. He retrieves his phone from beside him. A sudden rumble awakens inside of you. The toy rattles you completely as you nearly choke.

Your teeth graze him and you still, trying to set yourself straight, dangling on your worst intentions. You could sink right in and listen to him scream. He swats the side of your head and ramps up the vibe.

“You fucking bite me and I promise you’ll be sorry,” he growls. You believe him. You’re not just being good for yourself but in that moment, you have to focus on you.

You push back down, your reflex threatening to trigger. Back up and you take a breath. The vibrator shakes you, adding to the torment, splitting you between pleasure and disgust. You slide back down and a weight spreads across your skull. Lloyd pushes you until you gag around him. He groans as your throat constricts.

“Mmm, you’re getting close, aren’t you?” He purrs, guiding your rhythm as he fists your hair. “I’m not feeding you ‘til you cum.”

Your eyes round and you let them roll back and close as they wet. You focus on your breath, not what you’re doing, not what you’re feeling. His hand slows your motion on him as you squeeze your legs together. The pulse intensifies, the small nub against your clit stirring your nerves. Come on, come on, almost there.

You moan, once, twice, again. Your body starts to quiver, you can’t help it. Even as he laughs, even as he rams you back down on his dick and nearly suffocates you. You’re swept up in the swirl of sensations.

Your body spasms as your orgasm flows over. You drool down his dick as he pulls you back then forces you back down. Fuck, it shouldn’t feel good. You hate it but the release is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. The release of pressure leaks out of your, soaking your thighs as you keep them taut.

“Oh fuck, you like tasting me,” he purrs, “hm, you want more? Huh?’

You’re weak as he uses you, rocking your head as he grips it between his large hands. The wet noises of your mouth deafen you as you taste his anticipation. Feel it throbbing in him.

He grunts and slips a hand down to cradle his sack. You groan as he stills you, thrusting from below again as he leans his shoulders back into the couch. He fucks your mouth as he lets out a long rumble, cumming down your throat as he quakes. 

He keeps going until your mouth is sloppy and your saliva mingles with his cum as it smears around your lips. He pulls you off him and you cough, covering your mouth as you spit up into it. He purrs and sways his leg in bliss as he rubs his chest.

“Fuck,” he growls as he looks down at himself and you blink away the haze, “these are designer.”

The fabric around the open fly of his pants is wet with your excess. You wipe your mouth, the filth across your face and pasty in your throat once more sickening you. Reality seeps back in as your head lolls and the tree lights blur in your vision.

“Next…” Andy prompts in a hoarse mutter.

You lean back until you fall onto your ass. You’re dizzy. You don’t know how much more you can take. Ransom gets up and you watch him snatch up two presents from under the tree. He drops them into your lap.

“Let’s turn things up,” Ransom declares as he stands over you, pants hanging slack from his hips.

You can hardly think. You just look down and set to opening the presents; another pair of earrings; rose gold hoops, and a bracelet with pearls. The tags tangle together and you read the names in a shaky squeak; Lloyd, Ransom. A long sigh from the armchair.

“Let’s start with these,” Lloyd pushes your shoulder so you fall onto your hands. He grabs your hips and lifts them, tearing your panties down your thighs. “I didn’t get to finish my breakfast.”

You’re guided around senselessly by the pair. Lloyd gets down on his back, a couch pillow under his head as he brings you down to straddle him. He moves the stem of the toy to the crease of your leg and slides his tongue between your folds. The vibrator continues to buzz as he adds to the overwhelming thrum.

Ransom pulls off his woolly sweater, tossing it onto the couch before he nears. He grabs your chin and forces your head up. His dick hangs out of his pants, limp but subtly twitching.

“Tell you what, you don’t even have to get me off,” he snickers, “just get me going.”

He mashes your face into his crotch. You open your mouth and your spit leaks out onto his soft dick. You reach for him, moving his tip between your lips. Your tongue works thoughtlessly, mimicking the one on your clit, swirling and flicking as weak moans escape you.

Ransom hardens in your grip, little by little until you can get a firm grasp. You suck on his tip until he purrs. Lloyd wiggles his head under you, pulling your down by his hips as he laps and a suckles. 

Your hips buck as your climax takes over. You cum again, heart racing, breath hitching as your head spins. Every muscle aches as your lungs burn. You don’t know if you can keep up. The thought that this is only the beginning is enough to exhaust you.

There’s a rustle beyond your purview. Your eyes search but you can’t see past Ransom. A shadow appears at your side. Andy stands over you and rips wrapping paper away from a box. He shows you the Coach gift set, the same one you sold him. 

“Me,” he proclaims, voice edged with frustration.

“That’s cheating,” Ransom puffs out as he frames your head between his hands.

“I don’t fucking care,” Andy snarls and snatches your hand, bringing it up to the front of his pants. Lloyd chuckles into your cunt from below. 

Another zipper descends and your hand encircles thick flesh. Hard veins press into your palm as your arm is pumped, a tight grip on your wrist. You shut your eyes and dissolve into the madness of the moment.

The heat of their bodies storms around you, roiling with that radiating off of you. Your throat turns raw from the rampant intrusion, your cunt pulses with overstimulation, and your hand chafes on the hard dry flesh. All control slips beyond you as the men take over, each guiding you to their whim.

Your gulping, gagging moans rise into the air, lost amid their groans and grunts. Hands pawing at you, hips rocking, mouths moving. Bodies tangle together in the throes of depravity, dissembling the last of your reticence, trapping you in a helpless apathy.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Almost to the holiday.

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 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Well,” Ransom stops in the doorway as you stand on the tile, Ernie at your heels, “grab a bowl for the damn dog.”

You look at him but say nothing. Ernie isn’t mean without reason so you hardly feel bad for him. He must’ve done something really bad to make the giant sweetheart into such a beast.

You go to the counter and reach to the cupboard. He doesn’t offer any direction as you find only glasses and mugs inside. You move to the next; dry goods and cans. You shift back the other way and pop open another door; there’s a stack of bowls inside. A bit small but it’ll have to do.

As you clasp the edge of the bowl, you feel a sudden presence behind you. Before you can react, Ransom is against you, his arms hooking under yours as he cups your tits in his hands. He rocks with you as Ernie snarls.

“Get the dog to shut up,” he squeezes. “Or I’ll feed it bleach.”

You call Ernie’s name. He gives one last rumble but quiets. You set the bowl on the counter as Ransom leans into you, nuzzling your head as he fondles you. You hope he can’t feel your heart pounding.

“Mmm, they feel just as nice as they look. Why don’t you slip that sweater off so I can get a taste,” he pushes you against the counter, “you give that fuzzy-lipped bastard the good stuff–”

“Goddamnit,” Andy’s hiss cuts through the tension. Ransom sighs onto your hair, giving a tweak through the wool before reluctantly parting, “keep your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, come on,” Ransom spins and stomps his foot, “what are we even waiting for? We do all this–” He gestures with his hand, “and you’re bossing me around like a child.”

“You are,” Andy accuses as he approaches and puts down the bag of kibble on the counter, “I salvaged what I can,” he says to you directly.

“Um, thank you,” you swallow. He smiles before he faces the other man again, “we haven’t even opened our presents.”

Ransom narrows his eyes as his cheek ticks. He arches a brow and shrugs, “fine. So why don’t we get it over with?”

“Breakfast first,” Andy insists. “It’s tradition.”

“Who’s fucking tradition?”

“They have to start somewhere, don’t they?” Andy challenges. 

You frown. Tradition. You really hope you don’t have time to build any of those.

“Honey, you stay, help me with breakfast,” Andy turns his back on Ransom, “the other two can get the table ready…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “you can handle that, can’t you?”

Ransom’s nostrils flare and he bares his teeth. He kind of reminds you of Ernie when he does that. The dog tilts his head curiously as he watches the scene, ignorant of the words but sensing the vibes.

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of,” Ransom growls. “Have fun playing fucking house.”

He storms off, his shoulder hitting the door frame in his anger and drawing a grunt from him. You flinch and bring your hands up to wring. Andy tuts and faces the counter, glancing over at you.

“Are you alright, honey?” He asks, letting his hand fingers flutter to the edge of your cuff.

“Yeah,” you answer smally. That’s what he wants. For you to be helpless, to need him. And you do, just not the way he intends. “He… he isn’t nice like you.”

The corners of his lips curve just a little as his eyes search you, “you think so?”

You nod and slide the bowl off the counter, “I’m going to feed Ernie.”

“Alright,” he relents and takes a step back, “uh, yeah, he’s probably starving.”

You move around Andy and dip the bowl into the bag of kibble. He clears his throat and goes to work, pulling down ingredients. Nothing fancy. He sets a box of pancake batter as he pulls the waffle maker away from the wall. Your stomach growls loudly and Andy grins in your direction.

“You too, huh?”

You smile over the bowl of kibble in your hands, “a little, yeah.” You turn to Ernie as he sniffs the air and drools. You go to him and bend your knees to put the bowl on the floor. You know he’s watching. Good, he’s just as simple as the others.

🎀

You’re the only one who seems interested in the meal. Only because it gives you something to focus on to keep your imagination from straying too far. Of course, you’re not as stupid as these men think. You know all too well their intent. Yet there efforts continue to confound you.

You offer to clean up. Another excuse to keep yourself busy. Away from them. Andy insists that he does that task and sends you off the other two to the front room. You’re less than eager to walk between them as they get closer and closer, nearly squishing you as you reach your destination.

You flit away from them and claim a spot in the lone armchair. Ernie follows and sits at your feet. He keeps his head up, panting as he watches the men and you avoid looking at them altogether. Lloyd strolls along the mantle and sucks his teeth as Ransom sits on the extension of the sectional.

“Fucking lame…” Lloyd mutters.

“Tell me about it,” Ransom agrees, the clink of dishes sounding from the kitchen.

You hate to admit it so you won’t, but they’re right. 

Your eyes drift along and settle on the tree. There are a slew of wrapped gifts underneath. They weren’t there the day before.

The awkward silence doesn’t last long as Andy emerges. He looks around, tucking his hands in his pockets as he takes in the room. He’s not in his typical suit. You didn’t take time to notice before but he looks cozy. He wears a blue sweater and a pair of jeans a shade darker. It makes him look softer than usual.

You check the other men. They’re not very festive. They wear what you can only assume is their usual look. Lloyd in a tight black tee which does little to conceal the buds of his nipples. Your gaze wants to fixate there but you resist that odd temptation. He’s paired the dark top with a pair of pine striped ankle pants and velvet loafers. You call it douche formal. The customers who dress like that usually don’t even understand how to check the website.

Then Ransom. Not too dissimilar to Andy but still himself. An ivory sweater with brown pants, a locket peeking out below his collar from the slim gold chain around his neck. It screams rich prick trying too hard to look like he’s not trying.

The one thing these men have in common is their ignorance. They don’t know, they never considered that you can read them. You spent years in retail, you know people. A little more than you like. They took your demeanour as innocent and naive, they don’t consider it as defensive.

“Alright, finally, let’s open some presents,” Andy claps his hands together.

“Before we start,” Lloyd leans beside the mantle, “I have a question?”

Andy looks at him, waiting.

“Shouldn't you be doing this with your family–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andy snaps but stops himself, showing his palm, “that’s not for you to worry about.”

“I’m looking out for you–”

“I know what you’re doing,” Andy points at him.

Lloyd snickers.

“I’d like to make a suggestion,” Ransom stands, Ernie tense as he does. They look at each other. “Can we put the dog away?

All three men look at Ernie. You look back at them as you reach to pet the dog’s broad head.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” you plead.

“Not yet,” Ransom scoffs.

“Look, pussy cat, you’re lucky that thing’s even here.”

You want to scowl and bite back. They knew you had a dog when they took you. You mentioned him several times. It’s not exactly your fault they didn’t factor him into the equation.

“We don’t want him to get worked up,” Andy assuages, “why don’t you take him to your room for now? We wouldn’t want him to ruin any of your gifts.”

“He won’t,” you argue, not quick enough to stop yourself. “He’s trained.

“I know, honey, but just for a little. He can come back out later.”

“Yeah, or I can drive him out to the highway,” Lloyd snorts.

You furrow your brow at him. He snickers as your anger amuses him. You quickly wipe it away. You can’t lose your cool yet. You slowly get up, stepping over Ernie and exposing a bit too much thigh. You call the dog’s name but he doesn’t move. He knows something’s wrong.

You bend and grab his collar, “come on, buddy, please.”

At first he doesn’t budge but relents as you coax him with quiet whispers. He lets you lead him out, dragging his large paws with your less than urgent pace. You get to the open bedroom and look inside.

“Sorry, Ern,” you say as you nudge him ahead, “it’ll be okay, I promise. Mama take care of you.”

He goes into the room and turns to stare back at you with his doe eyes. You want to melt into a puddle. He’s so cute and sweet. He doesn’t deserve all this. If it was just you, you’d fight, but you have to worry about him. 

You shut the door and go back to the living room. The men seem anxious as you enter. Ransom pinches the locket around his neck between his fingers, Andy smooths the front of his sweater with his large hand, and Lloyd digs his heel into the floor as he picks his fingernail.

“Alright,” Andy exhales as he faces you, “so, honey, you start.”

You blink at him and cross your arms. You don’t know what he means. You glance around, between each of them.

“Open a gift,” Andy steps back and gestures to the tree, “they’re all for you.”

Your stomach churns and your heart flips. Something about this is off. Not just that you’ve been abducted or this weird house with locks on the doors and deafening walls. More than these men and their incessant leers. There’s more than a dozen presents, for you alone, but why?

“Me?” You pull your arms apart and force them down to your sides, clutching the weave of the sweater dress.

“Go on,” Lloyd encourages with a wink.

You restrain yourself as best you can. Fear courses through you as you try to unravel their riddle. What are they up to? They’re watching you like wolves, prowling, ready to pounce, so why don’t they?

You tiptoe forward and as you near Andy, he stays exactly where he is. You brush against him and feel his breath fan over you. You pass Ransom as he once more sits on the foot of the sectional. 

You stop before the tree and consider the array of gifts; boxes, bags, and wrapped bundles. It’s the sort of haul any child dreams of. You remember the Christmas Eves you lay awake sleepless hoping for just this. Waking to only a new pair of socks and a couple toiletries from the group home. You didn’t often get what you wanted, but you could get by with what you needed.

You bend your knees, the hem of the sweater rising up your thighs as you reach for a small box. You stand and turn to the men, staring down at the red box with a gold bow on top. You gulp and peek up at them. They all just watch. 

You wiggle the lid until it pops off. You reveal a pair of dangling pearl earrings. They’re pretty. Probably real but you don’t have the eye to tell. You peer up again, confused. It’s actually a very nice gift.

“Who’s it from?” Andy asks.

You flinch and check the tag. You should’ve done that first. You pull it straight as it hides under the tail of the bow, “Ransom,” you read.

“Ha!” He claps his hands, together then on his knees, “fuck yeah.”

“Huh?” You utter dumbly.

“Shit,” Lloyd mutters and Andy lets his disappointment flow out heavily.

“What…” you can’t finish the question.

“Pretty nice gift, huh?” Ransom taunts, “so, uh, what’s my gift, sweetheart?”

You grimace and examine the wall behind him, “I don’t… have anything…”

“Actually,” he interjects, “I think you do. Why don’t you pop those on, then pop your tits out?”

You gape at him. He bites his lip as you stand dumbfounded and humiliated. Lloyd chuckles and Andy growls as he paces, sitting in the armchair.

“I don’t…”

“It’s an exchange, not free for all, you got yours. I get mine,” he tilts his head, “so put those on and let me fuck your tits.”

You close your mouth. You’re not surprised but you’re not ready either. You didn’t expect them to hold out forever but you need more time. The problem is they’re not playing by your schedule, you have to adjust to yours. That means, you’ll be working from behind.

“I’m waiting,” Ransom huffs, “you know, you’re being pretty ungrateful there, sweetheart.”

Andy plants his elbow on the armrest as you look at him, “do it.”

“But…” you pout, “you said…”

“He gave you a gift,” Andy said. “He won’t hurt you. I’m here.”

You nearly drop the box. What does he mean he won’t hurt you? You don’t want to do that.

Well…

You don’t have a choice. As rotten as it is, it will only be worse if you refuse. You lower your chin and nod. You turn to set the box down on the small table just beside the couch, too close to Ransom. He snickers as you hear his zipper whisper down. Oh god.

You pull out your plain gold hoops and replace them with the teardrop pearls. You feel them dangle between your fingertips and raise your head. Worse than what you’re about to do is the audience. This isn’t just you being violated, this is that violation being witnessed.

You walk along the sectional and Ransom catches your wrist, pulling you forward impatiently. He turns you to face him. Your eyes widen as you try not to look lower than you need to. His cock bobs at the edge of your vision.

“Take this off,” he touches the hem of the dress.

You spread your sweaty palms over the wool. Slowly, you tug it upwards. Your skin speckles with goosebumps as you reveal your nakedness to the room. You stand only in the knee highs and panties.

“Damn,” Lloyd clucks, “an ass on this one.”

Andy doesn’t comment, he only hums as the chair creaks under his weight.

“Get down,” he orders.

You hold your breath and obey. You get to your knees as Ransom plays with himself. You can’t look him in the face and you definitely don’t want to look down. You stare instead at his sweater.

“Push your tits together,” he demands.

Again, you listen. It’s like you’re in a trance. The room is fuzzy and your body is hollow. He laughs again and taps his tip against your tits.

“Fuck, those are some nice tits,” he remarks, grabbing your shoulder to urge your closer.

He slips his dick between your cleavage. His throbbing head pokes up above the swell of flesh. He dips down and back up, rocking you by your shoulder as he guides you. You move with him, fighting back the tide of repulsion.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “come on and give it a kiss, sweetheart.”

You flinch. He squeezes your shoulder. A warning. You bend your head and kiss his tip as it once more pokes above your cleavage. He groans and his hand moves to cover one of yours, making you grope yourself tighter.

“Fuck,” he rasp, “you know what…” he turns to Andy, reminding you of the others, of them watching you, “I think I get it now.” He winks at you as you fuck his length with your tits, “good fucking choice, Barber.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Tis the sleazins

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 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You keep the small lamp next to the bed on through the night. You slip into a shallow doze, aware of Ernie’s deep breaths and your ears' thrum in the silence of the room. After hours of this, you finally dip beneath the threshold of true sleep. The deep sort that blocks out even dreams. You are thoughtless in the void.

A swirling sensation comes over you. A subconscious dizziness that weighs down your body. The achy paralysis of an all consuming fatigue.

The layers of your unconscious slake away one by one. Your breathing picks up, your eyes roll beneath their lids, your body tingles as your senses return to you. Little by little, you float towards reality.

It’s as if you’re being tugged between two forces. The dregs of your exhaustion battle with a sharp plucking you can’t place. Your voice tickles your ears, bringing you closer to the world. Your lashes flutter as you moan, a tremor between your thighs as heat brews in your pelvis.

Your eyes snap open and your head pops up. You choke as your dry throat catches the scream that rises from your lungs. First at the memory of where you are, then at the sight of the body between your thighs. The shoulders that keep you splayed as he man bows his head to your cunt.

You try to holler but again it shrivels to a pathetic whine. His tongue smothers your resistance as he laps at your clit, swiping and suckling, playing with you expertly. You fall back and grasp the pillow, back arching instinctively into him.

He chuckles, the noise rippling into you as his fingertips brush up your thigh. Rubbing and tracing along the flesh, closer and closer to their price. Your gasp as he feels along your folds, gliding between them as he hums and tastes, drinking up the pleasure slickens your lips. 

He rolls your bud between his teeth playful as he prods at your entrance. He pushes, threatening to slide inside, then pulls back, roving up between your folds and down again. He does this again and again, each time sending a tide rattling through you.

He snickers and pushes a single finger into you. Easily sliding into his lowest knuckle, curling his finger as he tests your limits. He extends his finger again, measuring your depth and eases it out. This time, he aligns two thick digits and shoves them into you, a fiery stretch radiating into your stomach.

There’s that stubborn voice telling you to push him away, to kick and hit, to do anything but let him keep going. You can’t. It’s delectable. The short trim of hair on his lip adds just enough friction to make you writhe. How can someone so repugnant make you feel so good? Almost as good as your pulse vibrator.

You swing your hand down and latch onto his hair. You fist the strands as you put your other palm to the shave sides. You buck your hips, trying to control his rhythm as he slides in and out of you. He snarls as he wiggles his head, purring as he laps you up.

You feel your orgasm twisting and twisting. The tension knots in your muscles and curls your toes. It has you quiver as you shove his head down and moan. Your walls squeeze his fingers as a gush flows out around his knuckles.

He snickers and keeps going. You puff and push on his head as his tending grows overbearing. You try to roll him away from you but he pins you flat. He rams in as deep as he can, pressing against the sensitive ridge just behind your entrance.

You squeal and shake. Oh god, it’s too much. You don’t even think it’s him. It’s just the effort. It’s been a while since you were with a man who did more than wander aimlessly around your cunt.

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks. The pressure is immaculate. It swells and your climax spills over again. You drag your hands away from his head and brace the bed. You get lost in the whirlwind of your own pleasure.

He pops his mouth off of you. You spasm as your head lolls. You look down at him, unable to close your legs as he stays nestled between them. His mustache glistens from your stolen delight.

“Like that, kitten?” He winks.

“Wha…” you garble and push yourself up on your elbows. He keeps his fingers in you, wiggle them until you squeak.

“Those other dicks won’t treat you like a nine course buffet,” he rocks his hand at an easy tempo, “mmmm,” his eyes flick down to your cunt as he watches himself finger you, “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”

“Wh- where–” you can hardly think straight. Something’s off, something’s missing. Is this some demented dream?

You flinch as a beep comes from the other side of the door. He doesn’t react or stop. The mechanism whirs back and the door opens. You drop your head and hide under your arm in shame before you can see who it is.

“What the fuck?” The other man exclaims, “Lloyd, get off her–”

“Breakfast, most important meal of the day,” he chuckles as his breath dances over your cunt and he leans in again. Before he can meet your cunt, he’s pulled away, his hand ripped unceremoniously from between your legs.

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Andy snarls.

“Keep saying it and I might fucking care,” Lloyd retorts.

You close your legs and bend them as you pull down your skirt. You push yourself up against the pillows, folding yourself as small as you can as you stare at the men’s shoulders. Andy has Lloyd by the front of his black turtleneck as Lloyd grips his forearms in turn.

Andy inhales deeply and lets it out through his nose. He peeks over at you as you put your palms to your cheeks. You give a sheepish look, averting your eyes to the bedspread.

“Outside.”

Andy tries to move Lloyd. He can’t. The men stare each other down. The latter scoffs and shoves the other’s hands off his collar. The part, squaring their shoulders and posturing like animals.

Not a word passes between them as Lloyd raises his two fingers, “let me just get cleaned up.”

He sucks his fingers clean and you grimace, turning your head to hide behind your eyelids. He snickers again and a sole scuff before footfalls trail out the door. Another deep breath and another pair of steps pace away. The door closes and you’re left to silent confusion.

You look around the room as more of the previous night pieces together. You bounce to the edge of the bed in a sudden panic as you look around. Ernie!

You hear a scratch, then another, and a puff of nostrils. You spin to face the small door on the opposite side of the room. You round the bed and turn the handle, finding both your dog and an en suite bathroom.

“Oh, Ern, thank god,” you bend to hug him around the neck. He smells like bacon. You stand as you pat his head; he must’ve been lured in by the delicious cured meat. “Silly.”

You drag your hand away and turn to the room. You look around as you consider your options. There aren’t many. That door is locked and the walls are soundproof. You’re not going to be saved by some miracle hero. You’re also not going to fight off three men for much longer. Not through brute strength.

Give a little, get a lot. This isn’t a typical fight. It’s three against one. You’re outnumbered. You can’t win alone, but you also won’t gain any allies. There is something they say about that; the enemy of my enemy…

You go to the tall wardrobe and open the door. You pick out a red sweater dress with bell sleeves that ends just across your thighs. With it, you take a pair of similarly coloured panties; a thong but the least skimpy of the collection. You also grab a pair of black knee socks to keep your toes warm.

Ernie goes to the door and lays down in front of it. He’s always your little guard. Wherever you are, he puts himself between you and any entrance. He’s like a furry knight.

You go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You flip on the light and take in the space. A typical bathroom; a shower with a completely transparent wall, shining counters, and a porcelain toilet beneath a silver set of shelves.

There’s a towel on the bar. You put the clothes on the closed toilet and undress. You crank on the shower and wait for the booth to fog up. You step inside and let the heat soak into you. It’s almost comforting, as much peace as you’ll find in this place.

You use that moment to think. You don’t have a clear plan. You can’t have one but you have an idea. As much as you can barely stand those men, they would say the same of each other. You can use that.

You use the body soap in the bottle with the cupcake as a cap. You smell like a candle as you rinse off. You turn off the flow of water and turn to the door. You push it open and step onto the mat, stopping short as you find someone waiting on the other side.

Andy sputters as his eyes rove up and down your body. You cross your arms, and hand over your pelvis as you gasp and shy away. He clears his throat and snatches the towel off the bar, holding it out as his eyes skim the ceiling.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to scare you–”

“It’s fine,” you assure him as you accept the towel and cover yourself. You gotta get your shit together. You have to let them think they have you cornered but you can’t really get yourself stuck. “I was just cleaning up, I’m sorry. I… I should’ve asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures you, “I should be sorry. About Lloyd. He shouldn’t have… just barged in.”

“Oh, uh…” you look away. You’re genuinely embarrassed.

“He likes to do whatever he wants. Not anymore. I’ll make sure of that, honey. If he pulls anything, I want you to tell me, can you do that?”

You turn back to him. You meet his eyes. You see the strain around them. He’s fighting not to look down. 

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Good,” he says, “I…” He glances around, “I should let you get dressed. When you’re ready, you can come out and join us.”

“Okay,” you smile and sway back and forth, “Andy?”

He looks at you, his eyes alight, “yes, honey?”

“You said you won’t let them hurt me, right?”

He nods, his face softening, “I won’t.”

You let your lips tremble and squeeze the top of the towel, “promise?”

“I promise,” he assures you. “You’re precious to me. I…” he swallows, “I wouldn’t have done all this if you weren’t.”

“I… you’re right, it is a lot,” you go to the sink and look in the mirror before taking a bottle of expensive cream from the shelf over the toilet. You read the label, “you know, I could never afford this on my own. Ninety-five dollars an ounce.”

“I know,” he drones, “it’s why I got it for you.”

“You?” You hold onto the small tube as you peek at him.

“The others… they helped me get you. That’s it. Everything else, I did. For you.”

“That’s so sweet,” a tremor breaks through your voice, an unintended affect.

“Let me know if I missed anything,” he inches back slowly, “if you need… anything.”

“I will,” you turn back to your reflection. You know he doesn’t mean anything. If you asked him to take you home, you don’t think he’d listen.

You wait for him to go. You only realise when he’s gone that you really are shaking. You’re afraid. Even if these men are dumb, they scare you. You have to be very careful.

🎀

When you’re dressed, you find the door open, waiting for you. You go down the hall as you hear a commotion. Ernie’s paws tap on the floor as he wiggles in his pre-meal dance. He must be so hungry!

He drools as he threatens to jump up at Ransom who holds the open bag of kibble in his arms. You know by the torn top that it’s the very same from your cupboard. He fights to keep from spilling as he’s corned by the Saint Bernard.

“He’s going to bite me!” He yells.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Lloyd appears in the doorway, “you got one job, the dog food. So feed the damn dog.”

“You feed it,” Ransom slams the bag down on the table against the wall, “just watch your fingers.”

Ransom holds up his bandaged hand; Ernie’s work. You almost laugh. You’re proud of your boy.

“Ah, hello, pussy cat,” Lloyd turns his attention on you, “look who’s up from her cat nap.”

You blink at him dumbly. He smirks smugly and winks, pointing at you with two fingers. Those two fingers. You shudder.

“I can feed him,” you offer. “He needs a bowl.”

You head for the front room but Lloyd is quick to block you as he stretches his arm across the expanse of the hallway, “I’m still a bit peckish, can I get something to eat?”

You cringe and back up. Ransom comes closer as Ernie’s distracted by the bag of kibble, his nose pressed to the side. You gulp as the men zero in on you.

“She tastes like honey,” Lloyd comments, “you want some? I’ll bend her over and you can go through the back, huh?”

Ransom snickers as he steps up next to Lloyd, “how do you know?”

Lloyd growls and tilts his head, “how do you think?”

“How the fuck did you get away with that?”

“I didn’t,” Lloyd sneers, “Mr. Bossy Pants spoiled the meal.”

“Uh, oh, please, I… it’s Christmas,” you show your palms, “so I think we should, er–”

“It’s Christmas so why don’t you give us a present?” Ransom grins, “got a couple I can think of under that sweater.”

“I– but Andy–”

A sudden crash and scatter makes you all flinch. The men turn and you look between them to find Ernie tearing into the bag of kibble. You rush forward, elbowing the men as you race towards him. You pull him back by the collar, barely able to keep him from pigging out.

“Please, he needs a bowl,” you plead, “he’s on a controlled diet.”

“He’s a dog,” Lloyd sniffs.

“Yeah? And you gave him bacon!” You accuse.

“What’s going on?” Andy appears from the front room.

“Great,” Lloyd grumbles.

“Stupid dog,” Ransom snarls, “that’s what’s going on.”

“Honey,” Andy ignores them, rushing to you, “are you okay?”

“No,” you pout, “if he eats too much, he’ll be sick.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” he rubs you back through the sweater. You note how eager he is to touch you. “I’ll clean up, you get him in the kitchen.”

“I’ll go with her,” Lloyd offers, “there’s knives in there.”

“Ransom,” Andy grits and rescinds his hand as he turns to glare at Lloyd, “you can take her.”

The other two men stare each other down, just like before. That argument isn’t over and you’re not sure it ever will be. Whatever their plan is doesn’t seem to be going as they expected. You can only hope that it doesn’t.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: I'm so tireddddd

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 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The keypad beeps and Lloyd quickly flicks the handle, kicking open the door so it hits something solid. You hear a grunt as the man on the other side stumbles back. It all happens so fast you don't get a glimpse of the code. Not much use if they lock you inside.

“What the fuck?” Ransom grabs the door and swings it open, “she got away–”

“Right here, peachy keen,” Lloyd sneers as pressure pinpoints on either side of your neck. You whine and try to loosen his hand, “she got you good, huh?”

“She’s sneaky,” Ransom mutters, “whatever. She can’t get out.”

“But she locked you in,” he snorts.

A growl ripples through the air. You’re turned back to face Ernie as he stands at the end of the hall. His head goes low as his jowls bunch up and he bares his teeth. He snarls as he slowly walks closer.

“Oh fuck,” Ransom puts the door between him and the hall, peeking around it.

“This fucking thing,” the other man utters, “tell it to stop.”

“Ah, ah,” you squeak as Ernie gets closer. “I– you’re hurting me. It’s making him mad.”

“I’m about to hurt him,” Lloyd threatens.

“Ernie,” you yipe and put a hand out, “Ern, please, I’m–” you choke, “okay.”

His thunderous warning grows louder. You reach with your fingers and he touches them with his nose. You caress the rough ridge and hush him, “please, sit. Please.”

His teeth gleam dangerously but he puts his rear down and hides his canines again. His chagrin nestles just above his usually doleful eyes and he looks between the two men; the one hiding behind the door and the one latched onto you.

“We need a fucking cage for that thing,” Ransom comments.

“And here I was thinking we need one for the girl,” Lloyd scoffs.

“Or you know, you could let us both go,” you suggest, writhing on your toes.

“Smart,” Lloyd sneers. “I can’t wait to train that mouth.” You turn your head and show your teeth, snapping them shut. His brows arch at the gesture and he gives an emphatic shiver, “I’m starting to like the feisty thing.”

“You’ve never been picky,” Ransom lets the door fall open, “get her in here.”

“Here,” Lloyd spins and flings you at the other man, “I’ll keep watch, make sure you don’t get locked in again.”

“Shut up,” Ransom grabs your arm and drags you away. He shoves you so you hit the foot of the bed. “Listen, you little bitch,” he keeps his voice low, “don’t fucking embarrass me again, got it?”

You flip your head back and gape at him. What are you supposed to do?

“And dont give me that fucking look,” he points in your face.

Or what? You swallow the words and stand straight. You face him and shrug. He’s not half as scary as the man outside the door, but both together are insurmountable.

You try to wipe away your irritation. You want this night to end. You want to go home. You don’t know how much more you can handle as your anger gives way to something more potent. Fear.

He slowly turns to the open wardrobe, peeking back at you as you cross your arms. You nibble your lip and avert your eyes. Your adrenaline dissolves and fatigue tugs at your muscles. You’re not giving up, you’re only biding your time. It might just take a little longer than you like.

“This,” Ransom tosses a furry white sweater on the bed, “this.”

You consider the outfit. The sweater is cropped and there’s a gold sequin heart on the front. The skirt is almost as short with ruffled tiers. It’s not really your taste but it hardly matters.

He slams the doors of the wardrobe and tosses down a pair of sheer stockings with ribbons wove through the top. These are just a few pieces of a full collection. How long have they been planning this? Had they followed you long or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

You lift your eyes as he stares at you. You frown. He lowers his chin, “well?”

“Well, uh, can I get some privacy?”

He blinks slowly.

“Come on, pussy cat, show us some peach,” Lloyd taunts from the doorway as he peers through.

You gulp. This is getting too real. The only thing keeping you from full panic is the fact of your futility. Freaking out would only play into their game.

“Right, I get it,” you turn to the bed, “you can’t trust me. I ran. I ran and I got pretty far. So I don’t blame you for being paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” Ransom scoffs.

“You didn’t get that far,” Lloyd intones.

You ignore him and pull the clothes to the end of the bed. You put your back to Lloyd but can’t avoid Ransom. You look down at your jacket and slowly unzip it. Your scalp is itchy with sweat as you let the heat out from under the downy layer.

You drop your coat on the bed and bend to unlace your boots. You focus on the little things first. Boots, socks, your favourite red sweater with the white hearts. You lay each piece down deliberately, closer and closer to the inevitable.

You peel off the camisole you wore under the wool layer and take the furry sweater from the bed. There’s clucking from the door. You stiffen and clutch the fluffy fabric.

“Everything,” Lloyd orders. 

You put the sweater back down and shudder. You hear Ransom’s breath catch as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. His eyes bore into you as the floor creaks. You sense the other man breaks the threshold.

“Little help?” The call from down the hall makes you flinch and a hum escapes Ransom. You look at him as his eyes linger on your chest.

“Shit,” Lloyd huffs, “don’t tell him.”

He leaves you alone with the other man. You take a breath and let your bra fall down your arms. You quickly swipe up the furry sweater and pull it on, but not without causing your tits to jiggle one last time.

“Those almost make it worth it,” he snickers.

You undo your pants as you keep to task. It’s so surreal but undeniable. It’s entirely clear what this is. Their intent is written in every glance, every comment. You roll down your jeans and stand in your undies and the fluffy sweater. Your thumbs hook in the elastic of your underwear as you pivot, trying to hide yourself as best you can as you strip the cotton away.

You just as swiftly step into the skirt, pulling it up to cling snugly around your waist. Ransom gets closer, petting the sleeve of your sweater as he does. His breath grits in his throat.

“Wanna close that door again,” he purrs.

You take the stockings, ignoring the proposition. Shit. You bend and roll the first one up to your thigh, the lace speckled with the little hearts. You slip on the other and stand straight.

He looms over you and shifts slowly towards you. His sole drags on the floor. He’s stopped only by a low drone from the doorway.

Ernie stands watching, glaring at that man. Your heart leaps and you do too. You flit forward to the dog and rub his ears.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you glance back at Ransom, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

His eyes narrow. His shoulders drop slightly, the disappointment of your evasion clear. The close call sears down your back.

He trails you down the hall as Ernie walks beside you. You keep your hand in his fur, clinging to him for strength. It’s not about you, it’s about keeping him safe. 

You enter the front room and find Lloyd scowling at a string of lights as Andy kneels in front of a box. It’s a weird scene to come upon. These two villains in such a wholesome position. Their sinister intentions could almost be mistaken.

Andy looks up and pauses as he holds a large red ornament. His lips part as he sees you. Fire blazes across your cheeks at the way his eyes dilate. He clears his throat and holds up the oblong decoration.

“You gonna come help, honey?”

You nod and let go of Ernie. He stays at your heels as you go to the other side of the box. You bend your knees and reach in, plucking out a clear ball with fake snow inside. You feel the eyes on you, waiting for a hint of something more.

Ernie paces behind you, a wall of fur roving back and forth. You want him to calm down, his energy fueling your own. You pause and turn to pet his broad back.

“Ern, it’s okay, boy, relax,” you twine your fingers into the thick strands and scratch him, “lay down… please.”

You nudge him slightly. He resists. His head moves from side to side as he looks at each man. He huffs and flops down, thumping onto the floor beside you.

“That’s cute. He takes care of you,” Andy says, “sweet girl like you, who wouldn’t?”

You make yourself smile. It’s not very difficult. You have extensive training in faking it. You step around the box and take the ornament to the tree. Lloyd is there, trying to wrap lights around the branches. He sidles closer as you reach to hang the decoration.

“Little higher,” he leans back, looking behind you. You don’t know why you listen but you do. 

You stand on your toes and hook the ball over the upper tier. You feel cool air tickle the bottom of your ass, you’re not the only one to notice. Lloyd groans, Ransom chokes, and Andy exhales sharply. You feel like you’re on display, the tree is just secondary.

You put your arms down and tug at the sides of the skirt, cautiously going back to the box. You reach down, bending in your legs not your waist. Your eyes meet Andy’s as you reach for another ornament. His lashes flick hotly.

“Did I tell you how good you look, honey?” He growls.

Lloyd chuckles and Ransom joins in. You’re not sure what’s so funny or how to react. You look around and toy with the decoration in your hand. You stand on the sides of your feet, swaying nervously.

“Lawyers, man. They’ll never say what they want outright,” Lloyd remarks.

“Shut up,” Andy hisses, “I’m being nice.”

“You’re being a fucking simp,” Ransom sniffs.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says to you directly, “I mean it, you look really… pretty.”

“Well, every time she moves, her ass falls out, so I’d say she’s not too bad on the eyes,” Lloyd chortles. “How do you think she is on the dick? That sweater looks soft, let her keep it on, maybe put her in my lap–”

“Hey,” Andy tosses an ornament at him as you back away, mortified. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to get disgusting all over her. What’sa matter? The wife doesn’t put it in her mouth anymore and you can’t get past half-chub–”

“You’re both fucking pathetic,” Ransom comes forward to reach into the box, retracting as Ernie pops his head up and growls. You quiet the dog as the man drops several ornaments onto the floor in his fright.

“Pot, kettle, black as our souls,” Lloyd says.

“Let’s get the tree decorated,” Andy insists, “it’ll be Christmas soon enough…” he plants his foot, straining as he stands, “we’ve wasted enough time.”

He rounds the box, brushing by you. You don’t fail to noise how his fingertips tickle your upper thigh, along with the other men’s gazes as they note the same thing. You turn to trail after Andy and hang your decoration next to his. Another cool flow wafts up your skirt, eliciting another communal hum from the other men.

“Who’s gonna trim my tree?” Lloyd jokes crudely.

He gets only a growl from Andy as you refuse to acknowledge the comment. Ransom hovers at the edge of the room as Ernie stares him down. The large dog doesn’t get up but remains alert. You feel awful to bring him into this. He must be so confused, even more than you are.

🎀

Once the tree is decorated, your energy is completely spent. Your vigilance drains away what’s left and you lower yourself to the floor to sit with Ernie. He lets you lean on him and puts his head on your knee.

“Tired?” Andy asks.

You can only nod.

It’s a strange, almost numb hollowness. That sort of surrender that comes with just not having anything left in you. There’s that voice that tells you not to give up but it can’t drown out the blaring fatigue.

“You should lay down,” he suggests.

“With who?” Lloyd asks as he stretches his neck side to side.

“That’s not the deal,” Andy girds.

“Fucking chill. I’m kidding. Don’t worry,” he shows his palms, “I won’t open my Christmas present early.”

“Can I?” You ask as you drag a hand down Ernie’s side.

“Yeah, come on,” Andy offers his hand.

You should refuse. You should get up on your own but you’re not sure you even can. Before you can reach for the helpful hand, you’re scooped up from behind. You yelp and Ernie barks as he jumps to his feet.

“Woah, woah,” Lloyd dodges him as he holds you in his arms, “tell the mutt to cool it. I’m helping.”

“Ernie,” you eke out, hanging a hand down for him.

“Oh, pussy cat, you’re gettin’ sleepy,” he teases as he carries you past Andy, a defiant look shot in his direction, “let daddy put you to bed.”

Andy follows, Ernie too. Ransom keeps a cautious eye on the latter.

You don’t protest as you’re carried down the hall. He turns into the bedroom and takes you to the bed. As he puts you down, his hand shamelessly stops on your ass and spreads wide.

“Oops,” he feigns embarrassment, “must’ve slipped.”

“Hey,” Andy charges in and rips his arm back, “enough. She needs to sleep.”

“Look, she can sleep and I can do my thing. Multitasking–”

“We agreed–”

“Actually, you just talk at us and assume we do,” Lloyd counters sourly.

“I’m tired,” you mope.

“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Lloyd snaps.

You frown and roll your eyes. You look past him as you pet the bed. Ernie bounds over and hops up, nearly knocking over Lloyd as he leaps onto the bed. He lays down beside you, his fluffy tail stretching past the end. You lay back and pet his head.

“Come on,” Andy inserts himself between the other man and the bed, “we all do our part, we all follow the plan.”

There’s silence. You peek over at the men as they stare each other down. You don’t say a word as you hug Ernie’s large head.

“I had a better one,” Lloyd hisses.

“We agreed,” Andy repeats. “We let her sleep. It’s her first night.”A sigh. Lloyd backs up and Andy looks over his shoulder at you. He gives a small smile and you nestle down into the bed. You close your eyes as your heart pounds in your ribcage. First night? Of how many?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

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 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

If you thought the darkness was torturous, the light proves to be worse. You look at your surroundings. It’s eerie. A room curated for one. For you.

The white fluffy stool in front of a matching vanity. A picture of a woman in white sitting in a meadow, flowers all around and a stream flowing through the lush field. A vanity painted with flowers, the night tables matching; the bedspread under you similar woven with pansies. The trim at the top of the wall is pink petals on white and a soft rug under the foot of the bed.

It’s all very cute but deranged. You’d love to have all this and more but you’d rather your apartment. If the price is those three men then you’d rather a gutter. Most importantly, you want your dog.

You can’t even make your demands. The walls can’t give you what you want. You doubt your captors will either but you can try. You can wear them down. You can be nice sure, you prefer that, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be your own brand of evil.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The noise needles in your ears and you hear the mechanism click. You raise your head to watch the door open and the one with the beard enters. Alan, Arnold? Ugh, you don’t care.

He doesn’t break the threshold. He crosses his arms and stares at you. A ripple in his forehead underlines his thoughts.

“I’m going to bring you out but you have to be good,” he says.

You close your eyes and drop your head. You fill your chest and let out a blasting wail. He grunts and stomps to the bed. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you until you nearly swallow your tongue. You bite the tip as he sits you up and you’re forced to face him.

“No, no more of that. Or you don’t get your first present.”

“I don’t want any of your presents,” you sneer.

“This one, I think you do,” he intones, “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you that this isn’t just for us. This is about you, honey.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you hiss, “why can’t you just let me go?”

He shakes his head, “it’s too late for that.”

“I won’t behave. I swear, I’m going to scream–” you inhale and he quickly covers your mouth, his other hand coming around the back of your skull. 

He hushes you as his blue eyes darken, “honey, I’m being nice right now, so you need to go along with this. If you don’t…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

You furrow your brow. Getting out of this room is one step closer to escape. You can be good. For now.

You let the tension leave your body and soften your expression. He senses it and slowly slides his hand away from your mouth. You flick your lashes, putting on your best pout.

“Okay, Alan, I’ll be good,” you avow.

His brow tweaks and his cheek ticks. His nostrils flare as his chest rise and falls, “it’s Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m really freaked out,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “that other guy… he hurt me.”

“Which one?” He asks.

“Er… stache guy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he huffs, “can I untie you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, honey, I’m asking,” he looks you straight in the face, “you’re not going to try anything, right?”

“I can be good,” you squirm, “my wrists hurt.”

“Alright.”

He lays you back and rolls you over. He pulls the tape away from your arms, then your ankles. You think of the trick from the van. You know his weak spot but it’s too soon for that. Timing, it all comes down to the right opportunity.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand and helps you up.

You get to your feet and let him lead you out. His large hand clings to yours as he pulls you after him like a child. As you go into the hall, you examine every inch of the place. He takes you into the front room, a low din that in any other circumstance would be cozy.

It looks like any other living room. A sectional and an armchair, an artificial fireplace set into the wall, a mantel trimmed in tinsel, a rich carpet spread over the dark hardwood, and shelves of books along with a television mounted to the wall. The tree in the corner stands bare over a red velvet skirt.

“We can decorate the tree tonight and see if Santa leaves anything for tomorrow.”

You hold back a scoff, “um, I know Santa isn’t real.”

He chuckles, “it’s a joke.”

“Is this the surprise?” You deflate. Sounds like work to you. Of course, your apartment is too small for a proper tree but you’re less than excited for a pastime you always longed for.

“No, not the only one,” he lets you go as you tug on your hand. “Honey, we did this all for you.”

You turn on him, “I didn’t ask you too.”

“Hey, hey, why are you acting like this? You’re such a sweet girl.”

You swallow tightly and hear beeping again. Then a clamour that includes a scramble, some scraping and the thump of a door against something else. You try to see past Andy as you feel cold air rush in from outside. You want to race past him but he’d be on you in a moment.

You hear a familiar growl before another voice wafts in from the entryway.

“Ah, he bit me. Again!” One man says.

“You think I’m having fun at the ass end?” The other retorts.

“Woah, oh, shit–”

There’s a duller thump and you hear claws and paws on the floor. Your heart leaps and you look around Alan– Andy as you hear the heavy breaths bounding towards you. 

“Ernie!” You squeal as the Saint Bernard lumbers in, furtively searching before he spots you. “Ernie, my boy. Oh, baby boy.”

He nearly knocks over Andy as he barrels into your arms. You hug him around the neck and inhale the scent of his fur. His collar tinkles and let his warmth ease your fear. You were so worried about him, more than even yourself.

“You said it was a puppy,” the bare-faced man snarls as he shakes his hand.

“I didn’t know…” Andy says.

“He is a puppy,” you insist.

“Who let the pussycat out?” The mustachioed creep asks.

Your eyes shoot darts in his direction and his hand shields his pants, almost instinctively. Ernie drags his large rough tongue up your cheek. He was scared too but now you have each other.

“Surprise,” Andy says, “so now, honey, you’re going to be good, right?”

You look at him and chew your lip. His eyes fall to Ernie and you put your arm in front of the dog. He doesn’t need to put his threat into words.

“Shit, I’m bleeding. That thing got shots?” Scarf asks.

“What about the girl? She got me good,” Mustache snickers.

“No, but maybe I should get checked now,” you snip.

“Woa-ho!” Mr. Caterpillar exclaims, “she’s got a mouth.”

“Honey,” Andy warns, “we’re being good, right?”

You huff and nod.

“So, apologise.”

“What?” You burst out, “he–” You stop and look between all three men. You have Ernie but you’re more worried about him getting hurt than knowing he’d hurt them in an instant. Even then, he has his head low, a steady rumble brewing in him.

“That thing needs to calm down,” the naked faced one whines, still cradling his hand.

“He’s confused,” you defend your son, “okay? And I’m sorry, er, dude, I’m sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

“The fuck? Disease– Alright,” the man steps forward, “that’s it. First she bites me, then she kicks me in the dick and now–”

“Lloyd,” Andy puts his hand up, “no. We’re all just getting used to each other. You’re not exactly easy to be around yourself.”

“Fuck that, I’m funny,” the fuzzy lipped man, Lloyd, argues.

“Everyone just quit,” Andy demands, “alright? Did you get the food?”

“Food?” The bare-faced man shrugs out of his jacket, “what food?”

“For the dog? I told you–” Andy begins.

“Ah, shit, knew we forgot something,” Lloyd chuckles, “he’ll be fine. He can eat chicken, can’t he?”

“He has a sensitive tummy,” you say.

“Jesus,” the third man grumbles as he hangs his scarf over his coat. “I’m not going back. It’s late.”

“Can he have rice? Carrots?” Andy suggests.

“I guess, I don’t know if he’ll eat 'em,” you look at Ernie as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You pet his head to keep him calm. He doesn’t like these men any more than you do.

“Fine,” Andy huffs, “go get the decorations,” he orders the others.

“Why don’t you get the decorations?” Lloyd sneers.

“She needs to change,” Andy explains.

“Like we can’t help her,” the other man challenges.

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right. We’ll get her changed.”

You grimace as your eyes ping pong at the back and forth of their conversation. This isn’t good. You don’t enjoy being talked about like you’re not there.

“How about I get myself changed?” You offer.

The men turn to you. None of them seem impressed. A sudden peel of thunder fills the room and you look at Ernie. His bark echoes in your ears.

“Shut that thing up,” Lloyd snaps.

“He’s quiet,” you say, “he was just saying the same about you.”

“Really?” He goes to take another step forward and the other man stops him, “Ransom, let me go.”

“I’ll take her, you two go get the decorations,” he says.

Andy frames his hips and sighs, “fine. We all know the plan. Let’s stick to it.”

You want to raise your hand and clarify that you do not, in fact, know the plan but you suspect you’re not a part of the collective. You keep your hand on Ernie and gulp. He nuzzles your hip.

You bend and pet behind his ear, “it’s okay.” It’s not. You move to face him, “sit,” you raise your voice, “stay. I’ll be right back.”

As you stand, the dog obeys. He’s a gentle giant, at least with you. You pat his head and turn away. The men watch you.

“That thing listens?” The one they called Ransom asks.

“He can.”

“Come on,” he beckons you with two fingers, a smirk ghosting on his lips.

“This is bullshit,” Lloyd mutters as Andy approaches him.

“We can keep talking all night,” Andy pats his shoulder, “or get things moving.”

“Whatever,” the man smooths his mustache.

You reluctantly move towards the third man, the one with no personality grown out on his lip or jaw. A baby face if you ever saw one. The way he leers makes you uncomfortable. He smells like Armani.

“Not smiling now, are you?” He says under his breath as he ushers you down the hall.

He points you into that same bedroom. You stop just inside and he shoulders past you with a grumble. You watch him go to the wardrobe and open it. You look between him and the door. You could make it.

You wait a few seconds as he pushes hangers over the bar. You take a step. He doesn’t notice. Another and he’s bitching about colours. You didn’t think men were that picky. You get right in the frame of the door and back out. He looks around the open wardrobe.

“Bye,” you wave and pull the door shut.

You know he’s probably swearing at you but you can’t hear him. You hold onto the handle and hit the little lock icon in the corner of the keypad. The deadbolt rolls into place.

This is it. You edge out to the living room. You don’t see anybody. Ernie sits where you left him, sniffing the air. He sees you and perks up. You wave him over and he lifts his rump, taking careful steps across the room.

You grab his collar and take him with you to the front door. You twist the handle, it doesn’t budge. You flip the lock over it, still nothing. You don’t know what to do. What the hell?

You search around you. The windows are barred, you can’t get out that way. There’s a small box right beside the door. You flip it open to reveal another keypad. Fuck.

“And where are we going, pussy cat?” The question nips your ears as a plastic ornament pings off the wall beside you. You spin and face the mustachioed menace. 

“You know, I just need some fresh air.”

Ernie growls and puts himself between you and the man, keeping the distance with his body. He prowls around, snout low as he paces back and forth. Lloyd steps closer and the dog mirrors him.

“Call that thing off,” he demands.

“Why would I do that?” You challenge.

“Well I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I made him stop,” he opens and closes his fist.

“You wouldn’t hurt a puppy–”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he tilts his head.

“Ernie,” you call the dog, “quiet. Sit.”

The dog lets out a wispy boof but listens. He flops his butt down and glares at the man. You put your hands up and step forward.

“You’re mean. How can you threaten an innocent dog?”

“He drooled on my Jimmy Choo’s,” he says, “come on,” he grabs you by the back of the neck, “let’s go get the dumbass out.”

Ernie barks as you whimper. You flutter your hand at him as Lloyd’s fingertips pinch into your tendons, “Ern, it’s okay, I’m okay. Stay.”

He must hear the panic. He remains, restlessly shifting his front paws. You march beside the man back to the hallway. You reach to touch his arm and he only squeezes harder.

“Shouldn’t blame you for trying,” he says, “but I will.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Let's go!

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 &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Two days before Christmas. The store is left in tatters. Shelves strewn with sparse lefftovers and aisles hastily paced by those who left their shopping a bit too late. The frantic shoppers searching for a diamond among the sand grains of untouched product.

You work at arranging the remnants of the season’s beauty advent calendars on a table draped in a bright red cloth. There’s a large tag in a metal stand that marks them as ten percent off. On the other side of the holidays, they will drop to a full eighty percent off. You always believed giftcards were a better prize, not that you got many gifts.

That year, Luanne gave you a new journal and a specialty hot chocolate bomb in the department’s secret santa. You go Michelle and gifted her a copy of your favourite novel and some nail polishes. That is the extent of your shopping and gift exchanges. Except for your puppy, Ernie, who will get a bone and one of those special gourmet dog meals.

You finish your arrangement and step back, admiring your work. It’s close to close and so close to the end of the race that the shop isn’t as busy as usual. The only customers you do see are in a rush and horribly disappointed when that very specific thing isn’t in stock.

“Excuse me,” you’re drawn around the deep voice. A man strolls up the center aisle of the beauty section, the tails of his coat flicking behind him, “hi,” he uses your name as he approaches, “I’m so sorry to bother you again but can you point me to, erm,” he looks down at his phone, “a ring light?”

You hesitate. He seems to know you and you admit, he looks familiar. You’re at that point where the faces all blur together. Your one innate flaw is that you really don’t have a good memory for that, bt you definitely recognise his voice.

“Hello, sir,” you fall short of his name. You want to say Alan but you also don’t want to be wrong. “The ring lights are actually with the cellphone.” You gesture back at electronics, “I know it makes more sense to put them with cameras.”

“Ah, oh, thanks,” he nods but doesn’t move to find his quarry, he lowers his phone, “how’s your holiday going? Thing’s slowing down,” he looks around and you can’t help but do the same.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, most people are all done,” you shrug.

“Ha, wish I could say the same,” he sighs, “I thought we were done but the wife just sent me on a wild goose chase.”

“Hm, oh, well, I’m not very busy, did you need help finding anything else?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my manager’s done for the day so doesn’t really matter if I leave my zone,” you say, “kinda boring around here.”

“You’re too sweet,” he smiles, his blue eyes deep and swirling, “and that sweater is adorable.”

You look down at your dark blue sweater with the white crochet peter pan collar. You wiggle your shoulders and grin back at him, thanking him. You know he bought some perfume for his wife but you’re still blanking on his name.

“Here’s my list,” he tilts his phone towards you and looks down, shifting closer to you as he shows you a text bubble.

“Oh my, right. I’m not sure we’ll have everything,” you teethe your lip as you go through the items, “but we’ll see.”

A message pops up over the top and you try not to read, putting your head up as you try to act like you didn’t see it. It’s not that you meant to decipher the words but your brain quickly skimmed that ‘tomorrow night?’ Not much but just feels a bit personal.

“Alright, we’ll go to electronics first, then work our way forward,” you suggest.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

You set off and he follows at just a step. You have to remember to slow down as often you’re so determined you find yourself leaving your customers far behind you. You bring him to the mobile accessories and point to the ring lights.

He considers them and rubs his chin. He points between two; “what’s the difference?”

“Oh, this one comes with a tripod extension and this one is a full kit with a mic,” you point from one to the other.

“What do you think is better for, uh, streaming?” He sounds unsure of that last word.

“I think that kit would have more to it, especially if whoever it’s for is just starting out. But I’m don’t know too much about these things.”

“I’ll take the kit,” he scoops it off the shelf, “the kid can never have enough.”

“Oh? You have kids?”

“One,” he sounds less than excited, “teenager now so he really can’t stand me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he forces away the shadow across his features, “you know how they can be. What about you? You going to see your parents? Spending the day with someone special?”

“Um, just Ernie,” you answer, “my puppy.”

“Cute,” he remarks, “are you guys open tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yeah, ‘til five,” you try to remember the next thing on his list. 

He seems less concerned with the items than before, instead turn to examine a pop socket, “you have to work on Christmas Eve?”

“Yeah, closing, but I don’t mind.”

“What’s this?” He holds up a pop socket.

“It goes on your phone,” you pull out your phone and show him your daisy one, “see?” You hook your fingers around it, “it’s a grip to help you hold on.”

“Ah, makes sense,” he turns the thin package over, “kid’s always breaking his screen…”

You wait patiently as he makes up the mind to add the grip to his haul.

“What’s next?” You prompt as gently as you can.

“Oh, uh,” he looks at his phone, “video games…” he squints, “V-bucks?”

“Ah, yes, that would be a gift card,” you say, “I can show you the rack.”

He lets you lead him to the large rack of subscription cards. You point out the various currency amounts available and he rubs his brow. His forehead lines as you see the stress needling in his cheek. He’s struck with the late shopper syndrome. He’s start to feel the crush of time.

“So, just your dog?” He wonders as he picks up a $75 card.

“Yeah,” you answer softly.

“No boyfriend? Siblings?”

“Just me,” you assure him, “I don’t mind. I get to choose the dessert!”

He chuckles, “that’s a good way to look at it. Did you buy yourself something special?”

“Not really, I’ve been saving for a vacation so I put most of my overtime into that,” you explain. “You having a big dinner?”

“Last minute change, wife’s parents want to host. Had to figure out travel plans.” He looks at the giftcards again and your eyes fall to the large back curled up in his arm and the card and phone grip balanced between his fingers. He slides free a Netflix card and reads the fine print.

“Do you want a basket, sir?” You offer.

“Oh, well, sure,” he accepts as he looks down, “that’s very considerate.”

“Don’t want you to drop anything,” you smile and turn on your heel.

You go to the stack of rolling baskets beside the electronics desk. Tyler doesn’t acknowledge you as he sorts through game shells to put back on the shelf. You pull the basket behind you, rattling on its wheels as you approach the shopper by the gift cards.

“Here,” you veer it around towards him.

He bends to lower the ringlight inside and drops the smaller items into next to it; he adds the Netflix subscription along with it and holds onto the Kindle card in his hand.

“You got any of these around?” He holds up the card, “the reader?”

“Hmm, we should,” you rub your neck, “I suppose if we didn’t, you can get a tablet and download the app.”

“I guess,” he nods, “can you check?”

“Of course, sir.”

You turn away and call over your headset. Regan tells you there’s a kindle up in return they can sell. You ask them to put it aside.

“There’s one left at checkout. They’re going to have it waiting for you,” you announce proudly.

“That’s great. You like to read?” He asks.

“Oh, sure, my one vice is my book addiction,” you giggle, “how about you?”

“Well, I don’t get much of a chance with work. I’m usually burnt out from all the legal documents,” he drones grimly, “then the kid has extracurriculars or there’s a PTA meeting or the wife needs something done.”

“Sounds busy,” you say empathetically, “I hope you get some time to relax this holiday.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “I almost envy you. I’m sure your dog’s good company.”

“He’s so sweet,” you can’t help but beam at the mention of your boy.

“Big cuddler?” He asks.

“Uh, yeah,” the question is a bit unexpected, “you like dogs?”

“Never really had one. Don’t need the extra work,” he says, “but I don’t mind them.”

“That’s fair. He can be a bit needy.”

He flinches and looks down at his hand. His screen flashes and he gives an apologetic look as he raises his palm, “I’m so sorry. I need to take this.”

“Take your time, sir, I’ll wander,” you point over your shoulder with your thumb.

He mouths a thanks before he answers, “Barber.”

You back up and turn to distract yourself with the shelf of controllers and switch cases. His deep voice carries but you focus on the Sinatra carol playing overhead to drown him out. Still you can’t help but catch a few words.

“Five, yeah…no, she won’t…it’s fine…” He’s quiet for a moment before he raises his voice, “figure it out.”

His stern tone sends a chill through you. It’s a sharp contrast to his previously friendly demeanour. Well, he mentioned he’s a lawyer, you assume he has a lawyer voice, akin to your customer service one.

“Sorry,” he comes back to you, “my wife…” he takes a breath, “you don’t happen to sell wine here?”

You smile. The way he answered, it didn’t sound very affectionate but maybe he hadn’t expected his wife.

“No, sorry, sir.”

“Kidding,” he chuckles, “well, I guess I should get my butt in gear,” he flicks through his phone, “um, I assume toiletries? Face masks?”

“Oh, that’s near me,” you point back towards beauty, “there’s a special for the sheet masks.”

“Great,” he grabs the extended handle of the basket, “thanks so much for this. I’m so lost.”

“That’s fine,” you go ahead of him, “it’s the job.”

🎀

You groan as you put the last empty bin in the stack. You stand and rub your shoulders, traps sore from all the lifting and moving. The night crew will set up for the day after Christmas but in the last hour of work, you and the few others in the store scrambled to get the old displays torn down.

Luanne walks with you to the employee break room. She’s in more of a hurry as she has her three children waiting for her at their grandparents. She goes ahead of you and punches out as you wait and stretch out your arms.

“Have a good Christmas,” she says breathily as she opens her locker and pulls out her purse and jacket, folding the latter over her arm, “I’ll see you after. You’re opening, right?”

“Sure thing,” you say as you punch in your employee number. “Merry Christmas.”

“Give Ernie some pets for me,” she trills as she goes to the door. “Thanks again. You saved my ass today.”

“No problem, “ you shake your head, “Christmas Eve brings out the best.”

“Does it ever. Bye, sweetie,” she waves over her shoulder as he sweeps through the door.

You go to your locket and take out your fluffy pink sherpa coat and purse. You loop your scarf around your neck and slip your earmuffs around your head. You sit to pull on your boots and stand with an ache in your calves. You feel the fatigue finally setting in. It’s not over yet; one day off and you’re right back to the furor.

You yawn as you leave the breakroom and drag your feet across the store. You take out your phone as you pop your earbuds in and choose your holiday mix. You wave goodbye to a few other stragglers and go out the front door, Spencer locking it behind you.

It’s bitterly cold out. You’re surprised by the fresh fall of snow swirling in the air. It gives an extra sparkle to the time of year.

You scroll through your phone. The buses are on holiday hours already. The next one is in an hour. Great. You can just walk, at least until you get to the next stop. More buses stop there and you can get at least ten minutes within your building.

You trod along, kicking through the powder of snow as headlights gleam ahead of you. You walk along the narrow walk beside the hotel on the other side of the intersection and a pair of flashing tail lights blink ahead of you. A dark figure stands beside the white SUV but you can’t make out much more than their silhouette.

You keep going, peeking up curiously as you near. The boot of the car pops up and the stranded driver searches. As you pass, you trip over an unseen shape, the metal clank painfully against your toe. You look down at the small foot jack.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” the man stands straight and turns to you, “I didn’t see you coming. I was just grabbing the iron–”

“That’s okay,” you pick out your earbuds, “I wasn’t looking.”

“Wait,” he stops short and points a gloved finger in your direction, “it’s you. You work at the store just down the way, right?”

You know the man. He’s the one who was in the store just yesterday. There’s a flutter in your chest at the coincidence of your encounter. It happens, especially in the shopping district. Half the city at least passes through her during the holidays.

“Yeah, uh, that’s me. You finish your shopping?”

“Just about,” he tuts and shakes his head, “blew a tire. So, happy holidays to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you look down at the snowy walk.

“Mhmm,” he grumbles, “all this snow, I can’t get the jack to work either.”

“Dang, unfortunately, I’m not help. I don’t know much about cars.”

“That’s fine, I called roadside assistance but they’re taking their damn time,” he checks his watch.

“Oh…” you utter.

“Don’t let me rain on your holiday, honey,” he says, “your toe okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you look down.

“Wait, are you walking home?” He asks.

You nod.

“Wish I could offer you a ride. This weather’s only getting worse,” he bemoans. He slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out his phone, “they should be here shortly so if–”

A set of headlights pull onto the apron and roll towards you. You look over as the man beside you does the same. You stand, somewhat dumbfounded at the unexpected run-in. 

“That’s them,” he declares, “hey, guys.”

He waves as the white van pulls up. You were expecting a tow truck. Oh, well. Not your problem.

“Great, I guess I should get going,” you excuse yourself, “have a happy holi–”

As you step back, your heel catches on something. You don’t realise until your plummeting onto your ass that the man stuck his leg out behind you. You hit the ground with an oomph, barely missing the metal jack half-buried in the snow.

You hear the van door sliding open and a clatter of heavy treads. You can barely catch your breath as the world moves fast around you. The man bends over you as another rushes over, grabbing you off the ground as the two vehicles block out the street from view.

“Be nice,” the first man warns as your arms are seized. “Don’t hurt her.”

You suck in a deep breath. What is happening? You go to let out the shriek as you’re struck by the situation. This can’t be real but you’re being half-carried towards an open vehicle. A hand comes up and stifles your scream, smothering you as you’re yanked harshly forward.

“Careful,” the man girds again.

“Shut the fuck up,” the other grits and pulls you away from the other, spinning you around as he hooks an arm around your neck and covers your mouth, forcing you towards the van. He bends backwards, lifting your feet as you kick and squirm.

“Honey, calm down,” the friendly customer coaxes, “it’s okay.”

You don’t understand. Why are they doing this? Why you?

The man’s hand slips as you grab at his arms and your teeth come over the vee between thumb and index. You bite down and he yowls. Even through his leather glove, you give him a viscous pinch.

“Fuck!” He tosses you forward so your knees hit the side of the van and fall half-inside.

“Hurry the fuck up,” another voice calls from inside the van.

“Trying,” the second man snarls as you stand and let out a shrill note, only for a second before you’re caught from behind and muted again. This time the leather glove seals over your nose. “Fucking bitch.” 

You’re lifted into the van, writhing and kicking as the door slides shut from the outside. You’re pinned on the floor in the seatless rear of the vehicle. You whimper as your eyes glisten with a sudden spring of tears. 

That question rings in your head again; why you? You have no one to look for you, no one to care. It’s only you against them.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

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 &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns. 

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, 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: As a customer service associate, you're used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what's on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Right, this was supposed to be a drabble series but it morphed and not I'm fucked.

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 &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It's the most special time of year! Mistletoe, jingle bells, and holiday cheer! Oh, and hot chocolate. Lots of that.

You hide your thermos under the desk and grab the crystal bottle again, giving a test spritz to the air. Your job isn't very complicated. All you do is say hi and chat about the perfume. Your manager says the job is selling but you don't like to see it that way.

You smile at a family of five as they veer towards the toy section. You don't think the six year old would be into an eau de parfum. It's understandable.

While you spend your hours wandering around expensive makeups and scents, you're filled with a certain hint of longing. For what you're paid to push the merchandise, you can't afford any of it yourself. Well, you've never been very materialistic.

You spin around and see a gentlemen approaching, though he doesn't seem to see you. He looks past you, almost through you. You stop in place and put on your best smile, fixing the red band around your head.

"Hello, sir, would you like to try some Gucci?" You offer and spray the nozzle at him.

He skids to a stop and recoils as if he's been slapped. He holds out his arm as he looks down at his coat, little droplets seeping into the fabric. He takes a whiff, his short mustache wiggling under his nose, and he scoffs as he tries to shake off the cologne.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He snips.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You just go around spray people with that horseshit?"

"Well, sir, with respect, I don't like that sort of language.

"And I don't like being drenched in dog piss," he blusters, "point me to the goddamn trimmers."

"Um, what kind? Nail trimmers? Pet trimmers? Garden trimmers?"

"What the fuck do you think?" He points to his own face.

You hold your smile. There's always that one customer who's having a bad day. Whatever's got him so upset must be worse than dealing with him.

"Personal care," you point to the far corner, "right over there, sir."

"Ugh," he stomps and storms off.

"I hope your day gets better," you call after him, "oh, did you want a store coupon--"

He ignores you as he waves you off over his shoulder. You watch him turn towards men's grooming and you shrug, rocking slightly. You try not to let them get to you. As jolly as you find this time of year, a lot of people don't feel the same.

You shrug off the encounter. You still have a few hours ahead of you and it's starting to bustle with customers. You help a couple find the home wares while keeping the boundary of cosmetics firm. Lucille, the manager, doesn't like you leaving your zone.

You approach a woman looking at the Prada selection and get her checked out with a new fragrance, specially gift-wrapped by yours truly. She leaves happy, a small victory for the day. You celebrate but not too much.

You come around the counter just as you see that man strutting back up. He has an item in his hand and ignores you as he passes. Still you smile at him.

"Annoying," he mutters under his breath.

"Need help finding anything else, sir?" You ask his heels.

He stops and you see the way his spine stiffens. Oh no, you shouldn't have said anything. He slowly turns to face you.

"You can shut up," he marches up to you and grabs the bottle from your hands, "shut." He sprays you in the face, "up." He squirts you several more times before shoving the vial against your chest, "stupid little girl."

You take the bottle, blinking as you use your cuff to wipe the perfume away from your eyes. He continues on his path as you stand dumbfounded, drenched in Gucci cologne. It's hard to breathe through the heavy scent and you can't help but cough.

What a jerk. Just because he's having a bad day, doesn't mean everyone needs to.

Slowly you grow accustomed to the smell of yourself. It’s not too unusual. You go nose blind about halfway through your shift once you spray a few too many samples. You keep your distance from customers, offering them a spritz but trying not to crowd them with the vapors of cologne rippling off of you.

You yawn as the afterwork rush floods in and you make another round, smiling at Sofia as she peeks over at you. She’s with another customer at the counter, ringing them up as she gabs. You spin at the display at the center of the crossway that runs through the beauty department and stagger back before another can run you over.

You apologise to the tall man as he skids to a stop on his soles. You can tell he’s in a hurry by the way he grips his briefcase and squares his jaw. He wears a long dark wool coat as flecks of snow melt into his thick beard.

“Oh, sorry, I er, wasn’t–” He clears his throat, collecting himself, “I… didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay, sir,” you assure him, “would you like to try the new scent?”

You hold up the onyx bottle but don’t spray him. You don’t need another dousing. He looks at the silver letters on the side then at you. The furrow in his brow lightens as his blue eyes swim.

“No thanks, but er, you think you could help me find something?”

“Of course,” you chime and lower the bottle, “are you looking for a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “my mother-in-law is on her way into town, I need a present. Maybe perfume?”

His tone is tinted with frustration as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He lets out a long sigh. He’s one of those shoppers; the last minute scrambler. You grasp the vial in one hand and tug at the front of your thick red sweater, you’re starting to get a bit toasty in the crowded store.

“How old is she?” You ask.

“Um,” he clamps his lips together and thinks, “hmmm, probably seventy-something? I’m sorry, I guess I should know that.”

“That’s okay, I… I would suggest some Liz Taylor,” you turn on your heel and wave him after you as you head off, “it’s a classic. Not so much a me scent but the older crowd likes it. Oh, and it’s on special so your wallet won’t hate it, either.”

You stop by the Diamonds display as you face him again. He follows at a pace and stops before the shelf, perusing the gold caps and crystal caps. He considers the rack in deep thought.

“Here,” you set down your bottle on a nearby table of seasonal decorations and take one from the display. You slip out a strip of cardstock and spray it with the sampler, “this one is gardenia. That was her favourite scent. It’s probably the least pungent.”

You offer him the sample and he eyes it. He slowly bends and sniffs the end of the paper. He wiggles his nose. It makes you sneeze too. As much as you’re a fan of the classic actress, her scents are dated.

“Smells like her,” he grumbles under his breath, “sure, I’ll take that.”

“Great,” you declare and trade the sampler for a boxed bottle, then retrieve your disposed Gucci vial, “would you like me to check you out, sir?”

“Is it faster?” 

“I can be fast,” you promise him, “this way.”

You go around the sparkling counters and he meets you across the till. You type in your log in, taking several tries to get your passcode right. The man places his briefcase on the counter,a hand resting on the edge.

“You know a lot about this stuff?” He prompts.

“Yeah, I guess,” you smile as you scan the perfume and tap the special offer on the screen, “kinda part of the job.”

“Hmm” he hums again, in that thoughtful manner. You look at him but he’s not looking at your face, “that’s a nice sweater.”

You look down at the red wool speckled with pearls. It’s new and one of your favourites already. You can’t help a little wiggle of your shoulders, “thanks!”

“Very… cheerful,” he muses as he takes out his wallet, “wish I could say the same of what awaits me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, it’s that time of year, I guess,” you push the debit machine towards him and he taps his credit card, “I’m sure your mother-in-law will love the perfume.” The transaction approves and the receipt prompts, “would you like an email?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” he tucks his credit card away.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” You offer, “it’s free?”

He hovers his hand over his briefcase as he considers it. His eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples, “alright, yeah, that’s… that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No problem,” you beam back at him, “let me just get some tissue paper…”

You murmur to yourself as you grab some gold tissue paper and a white gift bag with a Christmas tree embossed into the side. You carefully line up the small box on the paper and begin your intensive work. You're a master wrapper, you used to work at the wrapping station in the mall.

“What about you?” He asks before the silence can stretch too far, “you seeing family for the holidays? When you’re not working?”

“Um,” you smile as you look up, “I’m just hanging out with my dog. I bought him a bone.”

“A dog,” he nods, “your family live out of town?”

Usually, you ask the questions. It’s easier that way. It deflects the attention from you. It’s why you like the job; you can hear all about others and not have to think about yourself.

“Yeah, something like that,” you slip the wrapped box into the bag and fluff the tissue paper.

“Eh!” The loud exclamation makes you jump as the man merely turns his head, a tic in his jaw. His eyes narrow as another customer approaches, strutting with hands in his jacket pocket as he calls out, “Barber, what the hell?”

Your customer shifts towards the man, heels squeaking on the floor, “Hugh.”

“Don’t Hugh me, asshole,” the other man retorts, “you said you were busy? What’s the matter, you lose too much money last time?”

“Suzette is in town. Family dinner,” the man, Barber, drones dully.

“Ah, ditched for the old crone, I get it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, wouldn’t you know it, poker night was canceled, something about not enough seats,” the man counters sharply.

“Next week,” the first man growls.

“Hey, you,” the man in the russet coat snaps his fingers in your direction, “you got some of that Acqua di Gio. That dumb girl over there said you’re sold out.”

Your brows pop up and you swallow tightly. He’s another type. The arrogant demander. He doesn’t hear no. He’ll ask everyone the same question in hope of getting a different answer.

“We are out of stock, sir, but I could order it in for you,” you suggest.

“Order in? I can just go on Amazon, thanks for nothing,” he chops his hand at you dismissively.

“Hey,” the other man nudges his chest, “be nice. She’s working.”

“What? I’m here to spend money and they got shit all–”

“It’s December,” the other man reproaches before he turns back to you, “sorry, my friend is a jerk.” He accepts the gift bag as you hold it out, “thank you. You saved me.”

“No problem, but er, I was gonna say,” you turn to the other man, “sir, I have some samples of the Armani. I could give you those while you wait for the order.”

“Samples?” He echoes, “how many?”

“Let me have a look,” you back up and go to the drawer at the back of the checkout.

“I gotta get going, miss,” the first man waves his hand as you peek over your shoulder, “have a happy holiday.”

“You too,” you chirp back and find the last few tubes of Armani. You claim them and prance back to meet the new customer at the counter, “I have five.” You lay out your wares, “if I order in a bottle it’ll be in just before Christmas.”

“Two weeks?” He puffs.

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s the earliest I can do. It’s the last day I can guarantee delivery before Christmas.”

“Talk, talk, talk, order it,” he snaps.

“Right, let me just…” you open the shop and search up the scent. You add it to the cart and proceed. “Alright, got that, did you want it shipped for pick up here or to your address.”

“Here, they can never fucking find my house,” he sniffs.

“Great, so when it arrives, we’ll give you a call. You’ll also get an email to confirm.”

“What’s going on here?” He points at you suddenly. You look down again at your sweater but don’t see anything amiss. You flinch as he reaches to pinch one of the pearls, “what is this?”

“Oh, I… my sweater,” you raise your head, swallowing down the insult. It’s cute!

“Huh, Walmart clearance, huh,” he scoffs, “alright, how much are you robbing me for?”

He reaches into his coat as you hit total. You read out the final amount but he doesn’t pull out a card; he hands you cash. You count the bills, twice over, then give him his change. He looms with impatient huffs.

“Here’s your receipt,” you hand him the strip of paper. “Have a good day, sir.”

“Mmm,” he pokes his tongue into his cheek as he shoves the receipt into his pocket, “actually, while I’m here, I’d like a new sweater. You can help me and I’ll show you what real quality is.”

You almost laugh. Not spitefully, it’s just a bit silly. He’s competing with you, a perfume pusher.

“Well, sir, I can point you towards men’s fashion but I’m not able to leave this department, I’m sorry,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, good girl wouldn’t want to break the rules,” he rolls his eyes, “goody goody and her precious little smile.” He hooks his thumbs in his pockets, “my shit better be in by Christmas.”

He twists and strides away. You watch him go but not for long as you’re quickly distracted by a customer looking at the Britney Spears collection. Those are easy sellers.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You wad up the napkins and turn to stand. As you do, you feel a firm grope on your ass. You nearly yipe as you tear away and spin to face Lloyd. He sways as he sits forward with a sneer, licking his lips as he reaches for you again. You toss the balled up fabric in his face but it hardly deters him.

“Hey, stop,” you swat away his hand, “what is wrong with you?”

“Come on, baby, it's my turn to take care of you,” he slides forward on the cushion, swallowing a hiccup as he grins at you like a doofus.

He swipes his hand between your thighs and you barely keep him from reaching your pelvis. You swing his arm away from you and his other grasps onto the top of your jeans. You grab onto his wrist as you try to untangle yourself.

“Listen, you creep, get off–”

He pulls you forward and buries his face in the front of your jeans. You gasp and smack his crown as hard as you can. He recoils and touches his skull as he sits back with a pout. You can’t help but deliver another blow, right across his cheek as you growl in disgust.

“Ugh, you’re awful,” you step away, palm tingling from the slap, “I… I was being nice, you jackass.”

“And I’m being nice. Come on, I just want a taste–”

“Shut up,” you snatch your purse off the couch, “good luck.”

You turn on your heel and stomp off, letting yourself out with nothing short of slamming the door. That’s the last time the twins do this to you. You are too old for this. You have a relationship and you don’t relish spending your nights out with jerks instead of your boyfriend. Johnny doesn’t appreciate it much either.

🎀

You get home to the glare of the television, colours changing over the sleeping silhouette of your boyfriend. You lock the door and dump your purse on the chair as you pass it. You sit on the edge of the couch and rub Johnny’s shoulder as he snores, the simulated explosions of the action moving bursting from the speakers.

“Hey, hon,” you squeeze gently, “I’m home.”

“Grmmmp,” he snorts himself away, smiling at you as his lashes flutter dreamily, “hey, babe.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you coo and bend over, kissing his temple.

He grumbles and throws his arm over his head, hiding under it as he refuses to move. You huff and grab his arm, forcing him to sit up.

“It’s not that far,” you haul him up and he groggily gurgles, resistantly hobbling with you to the bedroom.

You get him on the mattress and he flops across it with a grunt. You pull the blanket over him as he hugs his pillow with one arm. You go back into the living room and shut off the television. You tidy up the empty chip bag and cans of beer from the coffee table, sure to wipe off the crumbs before you shut off the light.

You wash off your make-up, moisturize, brush your teeth, and go through your nightly routine. It’s just little things that help you unwind. After the night you had, you need the mindless habit to calm your nerves.

You go into the bedroom and undress a piece at a time, dumping each into the hamper. You pull on a tank top and pair of sleep shorts before rolling in next to Johnny. He slings his arm over you and nuzzles your neck. He inhales and gives a growl.

“You smell like cologne…” he mutters.

“Do I?” You wonder.

“Yeah,” he sniffs and draws back, laying flat on his back, “you were dancing with some dude, weren’t you?”

“No,” you turn over and prop yourself up on your elbow, “you know I’m not into that.”

“But you were with some guy, weren’t you?” His voice croaks as the grit of sleep slowly fades, “I told you not to go out with those two sluts.”

“Hey, they’re my friends.”

“And I’m your boyfriend. You shouldn’t be hitting up the club when you got a man at home.”

His anger seethes into you. You chew your lip and reach to rub his chest. He smacks your hand away and turns his back to you.

“You know I wouldn’t do anything, Johnny,” you murmur, “I love you…”

“So you go out dancing and leave me alone,” he scoffs, “you shoulda left me on the fucking couch. I can’t even lay next to you right now.”

“You don’t… you don’t think–”

“You smell like someone else, what am I supposed to think?”

Johnny’s fatal flaw has always been his jealousy. It’s as much as you expected but it still throws you off guard. You hoped he’d be too tired to have the same old argument. But you know how to break through his iciness.

You touch his shoulder daintily, laying a kiss on it, “J, you know I don’t want anyone else, don’t you,” you slide your hand down his arm, “you’re the only man… the only one for me. You know that.”

He says nothing. He’s tense as stone beneath your touch. You lean forward, pressing against his back as you kiss his short hair.

“Johnny,” you soften your voice, “please, let me make it up to you…”

He exhales and you feel him ease, just a little. You lay in the frozen silence. These nights end in two ways; he goes out on the couch or he stays and you… make him happy.

He rolls onto his back, surrendering. He catches your hand and pulls it across his chest. He plays with your fingers.

“Make it up… how?” He slowly guides your palm down his stomach.

Relief washes over you, even as your nerves stir. The night weighs on your eyelids and you can barely keep the yawns from breaking free, but you know you won’t sleep with him mad at you. Besides, it won’t take that long.

“Whatever you want, hon,” you tickle his lower stomach.

He purrs and reaches up to caress the top of your head. He spreads his large hand across your skull and urges you down.

“You know what I like, baby,” he forces you to curl around and you shift as you pull up his ribbed shirt, kissing his stomach as your fingertips dance on the hair that trims his hard stomach, “mmmm, yeah, that’s it, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”

[ironlady1993]

Yeah slap that asshole! What did he think? That she was into him? Hmm idk about u johnny i think his jealousy could be a problem…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 2

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You sit against the arm, one leg hooked over the other as the silent third mirrors you, nursing a gin as you set aside your flat soda. You really just want this to be over. Looking at the twins, neither of them have got very far into their cocktails. This isn’t just going to be an in and out deal. In fact, you’re more than certain they’ve duped you again.

Your best efforts as usual add up to nothing. You’re stuck there, the designated driver, the third wheel, the ugly one, beside a huffy brat ogling the dollish twins from afar. Well, you guess you’ll just have to wait this out.

You take out your phone and pull up your last message from Johnny. The usual; asking if you want him to save some slices for you. You hope it’s not too late to say yes. You reply and lean your phone against your leg as you once more peek over at the girls. They can flirt but you’re all going home together. That’s the agreement. Besides, these dudes are shady.

You check your phone. It’s close to midnight. He’s probably gaming or passed out on the couch. You kind of envy that thought.

“What’s wrong? Too good for me, sweet cheeks?” The voice draws you away from the screen and you hit the lock button.

“No, I’m good,” you assure him, “enjoying the music.”

“Ha, right,” he empties his glass, “you want a drink?” He looks pointedly at your forgotten soda, “a real drink. Might loosen you up.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Ah, geez, you think you’re a real catch. Well, whoever you’re texting doesn’t seem to agree.”

He stands up and strides away. You frown and put your phone back in your purse. Typical loser. You’ve dealt with the kind before. You’ve been in this same position too many times. The twins don’t really learn lessons. Mostly, because you’re there to keep them from any hard ones.

Whatever. Johnny’s at home waiting. That much you know. That guy doesn’t matter. Besides, he’s a bit old to be preying on the regulars here. It’s a bit ridiculous, pathetic if you’re cruel.

He sits back down and slurps loudly. You try to ignore him but can’t as he stretches an arm across the sofa, his hand close to your shoulder. He wiggles on the cushion, as if trying to bother you. You acknowledge him with a terse look.

“Lloyd,” he introduces himself with a wink.

“Wow, it only took you one drink to settle for me,” you tut and roll your eyes, “dude, don’t even. I get it. Let’s just both count our losses.”

“Hey, you got me all wrong. I get shy with the cute ones,” he pokes his tongue out, “aw, come on, let’s have a bit of fun.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? The one ignoring your texts?”

“He’s not– it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, don’t be so uptight. I can play nice. I can be a shoulder to cry on… a lap to sit on.”

You nod and give him a sardonic smirk, “does that usually work?”

“Well, I’ve slept with a lot of married women and I’ve never walked down the aisle,” he boasts.”

“Okay, so you’re scum.”

“Wow, that hurts,” he retracts his hand and touches his chest, “you’re missing out. I would put that extra cushion to good use. With how tight your wound, I can tell the boyfriend isn’t doing much with it.”

“Alright, thank you for your commentary,” you shift and turn so he’s only a blur in your peripheral.

“It’s not an insult, baby, it’s an offer. And it stands… much like something else.”

You shudder in disgust and flick your fingers in his direction. You’ll give the twins thirty more minutes.

🎀

“We should go. I wanna dance,” you say to Selena, “it’s girls’ night. Not girls and some dudes.”

“Alright, I get it,” she leans in, almost condescending and slightly drunk, “but he’s fucking loaded. And so hot. Like girl, there are boys down there, these are men.”

“Right, and I’m sat with the creeper with a broom growing under his nose.”

“Look, if you wanna just go, go.”

“And leave you with a bunch of strange men.”

“I don’t think you need to stick around because I don’t plan on leaving with you.”

“Come on, Selena, you know I can’t just leave you.”

“Well, I’m telling you to.”

“Please–”

“Enough. You’re not my mother.”

“No, but I’m your friend,” you insist.

“I’ll make my own mistakes,” she shrugs, “so, tell that dude to get a life and go home to yours.”

You stare at her. She gets like this and it’s no arguing. You always found that twins always acted like the stereotypical only child. They got their way and would settle for nothing less. She struts off and you look over at Sabrina. Great, she liplocked with the other one.

You go back to the sofa to get your bag. You’re frustrated. You won’t be able to sleep with the pit dipping in your stomach. You’ll be up all night until you get the text telling you they’re okay.

As you stop at the end of the couch, Lloyd stumbles, almost into you, before falling and flopping onto the cushions. His drink splashes over his shirt as he pats the spot beside him.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He invites you in a slur. You can tell by his eyes that he’s bombed.

“No thanks,” you grab your purse but he catches the strap, “hey–”

“Oh,” he reaches to set down his now empty glass, the mess glistening all over his satin shirt and his chest bared beneath it, “let me clear the throne.”

He wipes his mustache with his finger and you cringe. You tug on the strap but he doesn’t let go. He giggles and his head lolls as he does. It’s almost pitiful watching him. Out of his mind and almost helpless to his own vices.

Great. The twins are going to owe you.

You drop your bag and go to the bar. You grab a few of the cloth napkins folded neatly on it and return the man as he grumbles. You wipe off the stray droplets on the couch and sit, focusing on cleaning him up. You can’t just leave him soaked with gin, can you?

“Mmmm, lower,” he purrs as you wipe along his chest.

You say nothing and try to dry off the open collar of his shirt. You feel a tickle along your side and it crawls down to your hip. You stop him, tossing his hand away from you.

“Look, I’m just getting you tidied up, then I’m leaving.”

“Can I come with you?” He snickers.

“Please, no,” you retort.

He pouts and lets his head fall back again. “We’ll see.”

[ironlady1993]

Wow this is getting so good. And I fucking knew that the twins were bitches. Reader should just leave them there and go home honestly, they are no ,real‘ friends. And lloyd already drunk and a creep? Ofc he is. Oh can‘t wait what happens next ;)