Warning: this fic will include some dark elements so be wary.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Summary: you're good at your job because you're invisible, but what happens when your boss starts to take notice.
Note: I'll get some angry asks about another series going up but I was talking to people about this a while ago and figured I might as well share while I feel like it.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Lloyd huffs and stomps across the office. He doesn't see you as you flit across to set down a whiskey and soda. Right there next to his phone as a voice rises from the speaker.
Your boss faces his desk and plants his palms, leaning on it as he glares at the device. He makes a fist with one hand and slides it over, unclenching his fingers only to grip the glass. He slurps and hums at Fowler.
You go to the other side of his desk and move the wireless charger under the phone as the icon flashes in the corner. He sets down the half-empty glass.
"You know what, Nicky, I don't think I need you telling me how to do my work. Mr. CIA Cuck. Get back to all that red tape you keep bitching about." He snips and slaps the phone.
A hum and snort comes from the other side as he fails to end the call. He taps furiously with fingertips. You calmly press the red button and adjust the phone on the charger.
"Fucker," he spins and strides around the desk. He drops into the chair and it tilts back beneath his weight. "Bailed his ass out in Bali and what do I get..."
He brushes his thick fingertips along his mustache as he leans his chin in his hand. He's talking to himself. He tends to do that. He's the sort to ward off the silence.
You retreat and check your watch. Your pulse is unusually high. You feel a bit more fatigued than usual but nothing worrying. It doesn't matter. You have stuff to do.
You go down and start prepping his dinner. You keep an eye on the clock. Everything is precise. You don't, and can't, miss a beat.
He’s not in his office. You take the tray onto the balcony where he leans on the railing. He stares out at the immense lawn. You set everything out on the table and pour him a glass of scotch, neat. It pairs well with the steak.
You leave him. You pick up the tablet and review the itinerary for the next week. He didn’t tell you about the flight in two days. Must be whatever he was on the phone about. You book the pilot and the plane and start a packing list.
When you look through the glass doors of the balcony, you find him chewing on the steak and twiddling his fingers. He stares off at the setting sky. He’s having some internal conversation. He rarely holds back from putting his thoughts to words.
You go to his desk and take out the box of cigars. You prep one for his evening smoke, setting it beside the clean ash tray with his gold lighter. You tidy up the clutter while you’re there.
You set off to start packing. Better to start sooner than later. You get his tactical gear in the black leather duffle. He deals with the guns.
When you see him again, he’s pacing in the hall. He has his phone in his hand. He stops by the table near the front door and flicks the empty key tray. “The fuck!”
You quickly swipe the keys out of the pocket of the jacket he wore that morning and dump them in the tray. He picks them up and checks his phone again. You hold out a different jacket and he takes that too before leaving you without further acknowledgement.
It doesn’t bother you. Your invisibility makes your job easy. It makes the whole thing work. You don’t have to perform for him. Don’t need to smile and preen. You just need to make sure he has everything he needs exactly when he needs it.
You do a once over of the house. You’ll have the maid back in the morning for another clean. No food prep if he’s flying out in two days. You’ll wait until he’s gone to get the dry cleaning sent out.
As you set out, your head swims. You blink and slow as you reach your car. The small used Dodge hidden behind the house. The compact vehicle doesn’t go with the elaborate mansion or your boss’ array of luxury rides.
You open the door and lean before you angle yourself around to sit. You grab the bottle you keep in the center holder and sip. Your throat is scratchy but you’ve been running around all day. You turn in the seat and pull the door shut.
You check your phone. No messages. With the mood he was in, you don’t expect Lloyd to be back any time soon.
You pull around the mansion and down the long driveway. You swipe your pass to get through the gate and steer lazily onto the road. Your phone chirps. You cautiously glance down. You already know who it is. There’s no one else texting you.
You pull over and read the message. ‘Bottle. Sapphire Room.’
You drive away from the apron and continue, your foot heavier on the pedal. There’s a specialty bottle shop in a house fashioned after a vintage stone cottage. You drive down the long driveway that curves around the back of the walkup.
Silvio meets you at the door. He hands over the bottle and puts it on Lloyd’s bill. You set off to the club with another sway in your vision. Tired. You’re not much of a sleeper.
The flashing lights of the club add to your bleariness. You hug the bottle in one arm as you climb the stairs to the private room. The sapphire room is at the end. You enter to find your boss sat on the curved couch with three women in short skirts. You put the bottle on the glass table in front of them. The women look at you, curious, but Lloyd doesn’t notice you as he reaches for the costly crystal bottle.
“I promised you a treat, ladies. And I don’t just mean me,” he winks as he twists the heavy glass cap on the bottle.
You retreat without a word. The women share a look among each other but don’t hesitate to accept the proffered drinks. You shut the door as you go.
You don’t leave. You go to the bar and ask for a glass of water. The bar tender, Mila, gets you one and lets you into the backroom. No point in going home. He’ll need something else.
You sit on the stiff chair between a stack of boxes and some kegs and empty half the glass. You put your phone on your chest, keeping your hand around it, and lean your head back. You close your eyes and wait.
You drift into a trance. Your brain ripples and your eyelids tingle. The buzz of your phone wakes you up. You sit up. He’s leaving.
You call a car. You watch from against the outside wall as Lloyd piles in with his guests. When the tail lights disappear, you call it a day. You drive home in silence.
You park in front of your building and lean forward until your head touches the steering wheel. You groan into a cough as your eyes droop. You grip the wheel as you search for the energy to go inside. Your body slumps before you can and you sink into a stiff sleep.
Warning: This will include dark elements such as obsession, stalking, and possible violence and abuse.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Loki, plus reader
Note: Based on this. I tweaked it a bit but hopefully it’s good.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Loki is not in the habit of feeling stupid. Yet, he feels that scalding sear in his cheeks and nape. The first day he ventures down to the store, he feels entirely overdressed for the venue. Nonsense, it is that lazy cashiers and the cheap customers who are underdressed.
The next day, he dresses down. A collared shirt and jacket with no tie. Very casual. He isn’t one to lower his standards for the comfort of others.
Yet, she still does not appear. Perhaps she would not. He has no guarantee that she frequents the shop. It could only have been a convenient stop over in her scramble to… wherever she was off too.
His frustration mounts as the days pass. Why is he still coming here? Why is he wasting his time?
Her? So unassuming and average. He is well above her.
Yet, she haunts his mind. No matter how he tries to deny it or to distract himself, his thoughts stray back to her. The way her soft body collided with his, the peek of her stomach, and that inclination to nip at it. He bites his lips at the thought.
Three, four, five, six days and nights. Nights spent trying to dig into the pages of a novel but spent battling the errant fantasies of her body next to his. Of those gleaming eyes looking up at him, her voice weaving his name.
Loki growls and turns in the aisle. An elder gentleman sends him a look. All these people and she remains elusive. He can’t help but feel she does it on purpose.
The way she fled from him that day, leaving him dripping in lobster and confusion. He turns on his heel as he replays it in his head, as if he might catch her this time. As he does, a box drops in front of him from a shelf.
There she is, right in front of him. She murmurs as she bends to pick up the box of discount rice. The corner is dented and a red stick proclaims 50% off the shelf price.
“‘Scuse me,” she puts the box in her basket. “I didn’t mean to…” Her apology drifts off and she looks down meekly. “Sorry, sir.”
He stares at her. He can’t move. His mind isn’t working and the only thing he can feel is below his belt, slowly swelling against his trousers. His brain is at it again, painting her in positions that make his knees buckle.
Her sweater droops down one shoulder and shows the strap of the tank top underneath. Her jeans are torn at the right thigh and the knee. He cannot tell if it is fashionable or accidental. She sways and peruses the shelf, sidling away as she peeks from the corner of her eyes.
She’s nervous. He can tell in how she slumps her shoulders and reaches to rub her neck. He makes her sweat. Well, he is always a fan of reciprocity.
She slowly turns and shuffles down the aisle. She stops at the end to check the wrinkled list in her hand. He stands, stuck to the floor, as she disappears down the next aisle.
Does she remember him? She doesn’t seem to. He clears his throat and tugs at his belt. The old man harrumphs as he passes. Loki sends him a sneer. Old bugger.
Loki traipses down the opposite way and pretends to browse the tortilla chips at the end of the aisle. He leans subtly to his right and peers around the shelves. Her basket is on the floor as she stands on her toes and reaches for something high up.
He watches how she sticks her bottom out in her efforts. Her sweat rides up and her tummy pillows over her jeans in a way that makes him want to grab it… from behind as he–
Mind over matter, sir. Keep yourself in check. He swallows tightly and struts down the aisle.
He suavely reaches up and takes down the coveted bag of… chickpeas? Well, you must have you staples. Chickpeas and rice. Simple.
He holds it out to her. She doesn’t look above his collar. She speaks to his chest as she takes the bag. Her fingertips brush his.
“Thank you, sir. Very nice of you.”
He notices how she speaks in stunted sentences. As if every word is a bother; not to her, but to him. As if he might take offense at any extra syllable. Her voice tickles something in his guts that makes him squirm.
And hurt. He’s aching right at the base of his dick. He just wants to grab onto it to make it stop. No, it would be better if she did.
Would you focus?
“Not at all.” He intones. “Anyhing else I might do for the lady?”
She gulps and shakes her head. She still doesn’t look at him. “No thank you, sir. Very kind.”
She lowers her head and puts the chickpeas in her basket. Before she evades him again, he takes stock of her bounty. Not very much at all. Bread, rice, chickpeas, beans. Food that will go a far way for less.
He spins and sweeps away. He can’t be too obvious but even if he were, he’s not certain she would notice. He drags his feet down the aisle as he shoves his hands in his pockets. The knuckle of his thumb presses against his dick. He groans.
He lingers at the end of the next aisle. She bends down to read a can on the bottom shelf. She grips her hips as she stands and her chest bounces with the velocity.
He pushes his fist against his dick and exhales. He leans on a discount basket of candy. Other shoppers take no notice as they fill their carts.
He moves his hand slowly, rubbing his length through the layers of fabric. She bends down again, this time her ass is on full display for him. Her jeans are well worn and hug her perfectly. She checks the contents of her basket and adds the can after all.
She stands as he presses more firmly against his turgid length. He snarls under his breath. He bites down as the heat roils up his stomach and chest and ice forms around his spine. He’s going to ruin his trousers and he can’t stop himself.
His muscles clench down to his pelvis and he shudders as he wiggles just enough for his tip to slip under his belt. The pressure pulses through him. Mercy!
He turns and grabs a bag of chocolate covered almonds and pretends to read the label. His eyes roll back as he rubs himself on the basket. That’s it. He’s done. He feels it cording out along his pantline and in his shirt. He just had it cleaned too.
He grips the edge of the basket and drops the bag of sweets. He hangs his head and puffs out through his nose. Did he really just do all that? Just at the sight of her.
Perhaps he should’ve let off some steam with… what was her name?
Well, he can’t just stand her and drip in his shame. But he can’t just let her get away again either.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: your mom signs you up for a matchmaking service but you're not too sure about your match.
Characters: Lee Bodecker
Note: I'm also thinking of a few more bachelors for this one hehe. Open to suggestion.
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
"It'll be good for you, honey." Your mom's voice echoes in your head. It never really leaves. Whether it's something she's said or something you know she'll say, she never leaves. It's hard enough with your own constant overthinking.
You watch her drive away, stranding you to face the restaurant alone. She gave you her card for a taxi and in case of incidentals. There better be no incidents as you'll be going through a full audit of their necessity.
You shakily lift up your phone. It’s an older model. No data. You search for a network but nice places like these don’t have open wifi. You sigh. Alright, guess this is it.
You walk up to the front doors but quickly back up as they open from the other side. A man in a nice suit holds it for a woman in a pretty plum dress. It’s a halter style with a little scarf thing around her neck. The fabric hugs her slender figure as her chignon is framed by a few perfect loose waves.
You catch the door before it can close and scurry inside, completely unnoticed. The lights are low, a violet hue cast by long bulbs set into the walls. The hostess scrolls on the tablet propped up on the tall desk, unaware of your arrival.
You look down at yourself. Your mom said it was a nice dress. She sewed it herself. The floral print is cut in a dated-style; the bloused sleeves to your elbows and the skirt to your calves. Even the hostess looks more stylish than you.
You clutch the strap of your borrowed purse and approach. Your mother warned you not to get anything on the bag. It’s real leather… well, it doesn’t really match the dainty print of the dress.
“Um, excuse me?” Your voice piques slightly.
“Oh, hi!” The dirty blonde flicks her hair back in surprise. “How are you today, hun?”
Hun. Your mom calls you that when she’s angry. You bounce in your flats.
“I have a date… reservation.” You declare. “Um, I… under… Lee?”
“Lee… is that their last name or first name, hun?” She glances down at the tablet.
“First… I can’t remember his last name…” You check your phone. Still no wifi available.
“Bodecker? I don’t see anyone else–”
“That’s it.” The name tweaks your memory. “Yeah.”
“For two?”
“Yes, that must be…”
“This way.” She gestures you after her.
You follow her past the bar, glasses clinking and voices flowing, and into the dining room. She leads you to one of the tables sat in the pool of light beneath a coned light shade. The aura lends an intimate tint to each seating.
You sit and hug your purse on your lap. The hostess promises a server soon and your eyes skim the dining room. You can barely make out more than shadows. The low din tickles your ears as you squirm on the cushioned seat of the booth.
You look one last time for a connection. Nothing. You put your phone away. It wouldn’t be a good impression to have your nose in your phone. There’s your mom’s voice again. Twenty-three years and you don’t know that it will ever go away.
Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe she really is doing you a favour. This might be your chance to be your own person. Away from her.
You shudder. But who are you? You wouldn’t even know where to start.
“Ah, thanks, miss,” a drawl crawls through the low hum of the restaurant. “It’sa nice place.”
You twist in your seat as you sense the approach. The hostess guides a man between the tables, right to you. You sit up, your nerves clustering and scattering in an instant. You wring your hands around the straps of the bag.
You panic as you realise that must be him. Lee. The man from the website your mom showed you. She showed you the profile she made for you too. You hope you weren’t a disappointment.
You sidle over and try to stand.
“No, don’t you get up for me, honey,” the man waves you off gently. “Forgive me for not bein’ here to greet ya.” He pauses and grins at the hostess. He reaches in his pocket and slides out a folded bill, handing it to her with a squeeze of her hand. “Thank ya, miss.”
“Of course,” she preens. “Someone will be over to get your drinks.”
He nods and waits until she’s gone. He turns his attention to you. His lips slant and he slowly angles himself onto the bench across from you. He tilts his head and clucks. He leans his elbows on the table as he ogles you.
“Hey, sugar,” he growls. “Ya know, you look even more delicious than your picture.”
You blanch and wiggle on the cushion. His words set your cheeks and chest on fire. You bite your lip and release it from under your teeth. His eyes follow the movement.
“Um, thank you, sir.”
“Sir?” His cheek dimples. “Ya call me Lee, sugar.” He stares you down.
You take a deep breath and let it out little by little. He looks different than his profile. Older. He has the same blue eyes but a bit more flesh around his cheeks and jaw, silver streaks in his brown hair. His shoulders are just as broad but so is the rest of him. It must have been an older photo.
“I’m sorry. Lee.” You correct yourself.
His brows rise slightly. “Ain’t you sweet.”
“Mm, I guess.” You murmur.
“Ah, sugar, are you nervous? You just relax.” His eyes rove all over you. “Why don’t you put that bag down and stay a while?”
“Er, sorry.” You quickly shove your bag beside. “I’m not meaning to–”
“That’s a pretty dress, ain’t it?” He interrupts. You don’t mind. You don’t know what to say.
“Thank you…Lee.”
“Mm mm mm.” He smirks. “Pretty as you.”
You smile sheepishly.
“Don’t gotta be so shy. We’re here to get to know each other, ain’t we?”
“Yes, sir. Lee.”
He chuckles. “I like that. Respectful.”
He sits up as a server approaches. He doesn’t even look at a menu.
“Rum and soda for me. Lady will have one of them fancy cocktails. The one with the strawberry.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.” The server nods and marches off.
You don’t counter his order or say anything about him doing so on your behalf. You sit and squirm. He pushes one of the menus toward you.
“Whatcha like to eat, sugar?” He asks.
“I’m not picky.” You assure him. “I usually eat what–” Whatever mom tells me to. “Whatever.”
“Hm, me neither. I love to eat though.” He laughs.
You nod and open the menu only when he does. You mirror him perfectly. You look down and peruse the listings. Shrimp? Crab? Things you can’t pronounce. Oh, pasta. You know what that is.
“Well, anything catching your eye?”
You look up at him and shrug then shrink down. “Sorry. I know shrugging’s rude.”
“Don’t bother me. Don’t think nothing you do could.” He assures. “I’m thinking a nice thick steak. You like steak?”
“Mom… I don’t eat a lot of red meat.”
“Mm. Course. You probably like dessert better, huh?”
“Mo–” you stop yourself again. “I don’t usually have it.”
“Naw? Well then, we’ll be sure to get you something sweet tonight.” He taps his fingers on the menu.
The server returns and sets down the drinks. Yours is in a tall glass with strawberry slices and sparkling carbonation. Lee sits up again.
“Are you ready to order?” The server prompts.
“Are we?” Lee looks to you.
“Mm hmm. Yes.” You say.
“Yes, we’re ready. She’ll have the seared and glazed chicken with roasted potatoes. I’ll do a T-bone with the same.” He folds up his menu then takes yours and hands them over. Again, you don’t argue. It’s not that hard since your mom usually does all the talking.
“Thank you,” you squeak at the server.
You look at Lee as he watches you. You pinch your thumb. His eyes are pulled towards the anxious gesture.
“You gonna try that cocktail?” He asks as he reaches for his glass of dark liquor.
“Oh… yes. Sorry.”
You take your glass and sip from the straw. The carbonation hits your throat with something sour. It’s sweet but not as much as you expected. You put the drink down and cough, covering your mouth.
“Go slow, sugar.” He girds.
“There’s… alcohol…” you say.
“Course there is, sugar. You’re old enough.”
“I know. I just–” Mom doesn’t let me drink and she told me to order water. “I don’t drink a lot.”
“That’s a good girl.” He praises. “So… you like reading?”
“Yes.” You answer.
“And you play sports.”
You blink and frown. “Sports?”
“Said on your profile you was athletic.” He drawls.
“Oh… no. Not really. I…” You cringe and sink down again. “I’m sorry. I don’t think any of that was true.” You rub your arm. “I can’t lie. I’m bad at it. But my mom… she made it. She signed me up. She told me to come.”
He nods as his face turns thoughtful. “Ah, so you ain’t wanna be here?”
Your lips part. “Well… not exactly. I just… I’ve never done something like this before. And I don’t know what she put on the profile. Not everything. She didn’t ask me… well, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Sounds like she’s just tryna help you out.” He says. “I ain’t gonna hold it against ya. Be a good girl and all. Listening all nice.”
You nod and take a breath. “Okay…”
“So, whatcha do like? Tell me the truth.”
You look at him. It’s difficult. His gaze is so intense. And he’s so much older. He has to be.
“Well… I sometimes… I read books about fairies. I think they’re pretty. Sometimes I draw some and… I sit in the garden and watch the flowers. It’s not very exciting.”
“Garden? Well, you know, I got a nice one myself. Rose bushes and all.” He twines his thick fingers together. “Yeah, I just bought a house, you know? But I moved in and realised it’s empty.” He tuts and shakes his head. “So I’m here, with a pretty lady, hopin’ to make it full.”
“Oh, uh… that’s… nice.” You flutter your fingers and look around. The silence creeps over your neck. “What kinda house? Um, I mean… does it have a lot of rooms?”
“More ‘n enough space,” he says. “Got a little window seat upstairs, ya know? Perfect place to read… or draw.”
💘
The server sets down the final dish. A chocolate mousse cake drizzled in a criss cross of dark syrup. You thank him and sense a shift. The server leaves as Lee slides around the curved bench and reaches for you. He tugs your arm gently and urges you closer.
You twitch as you let him pull you around. He slides his arm over your shoulders, his thick fingers rubbing through your sleeve. With his other hand, he offers you a fork.
“Dig in, sugar.”
You hesitate then take the utensil. You examine the tines then hover it over the round cake. You look at him.
“It feels wrong. It’s so… pretty.”
“Ah, pretty things are meant to enjoy.” He intones and puts his hand on yours. He guides the side of the fork through the layers then lets you go.
You scoop up the forkful and hold it up. You lean in slightly to taste it. It’s rich and delectable. The most sugar you get are strawberries and sorbet on your birthday.
“Can I try some?” He asks.
“Oh, um…” you offer him the fork.
“You go on. Gimme some.” He winks.
Your heart thumps. Oh?
You turn and wriggle against him. His hand slips down your arm and crawls beneath your elbow. He squeezes your side. You carve out another piece of cake.
“That really is a nice dress.” He says.
“Thank you.” You raise the fork and twist towards him. You wait and he leans forward to take it between his lips. He cleans the tines with his tongue.
He chews and swallows. He squeezes you and pats his belly. “Now that… is tasty.” He turns and nuzzles your head. You flinch. “But I bet you’re tastier.”
“Sir?” You gasp.
“Forgive me, sugar. You’re just too sweet.” He says. “But I’ll behave.” He brushes up and down your side. “We can’t let this go to waste, can we?”
💘
Lee pays for dinner quicker than you could offer your mother’s card. She said to let him but you just didn’t feel right sitting back and letting him. Again, you stymie and protest.
He hooks his arm through yours as he leads you through the restaurant. His steps are certain and his head high. When you go out with your mom, you walk behind her with your head down.
He opens the door for you and takes you outside. You peer around the street, light poles glowing over cars parked nearby and passing down the road. Lee’s arm stays hooked in yours as you search for a yellow cab.
“You in a hurry to leave me?” He challenges.
“Um no, but… mom gave me money to get a taxi.”
“A taxi? No, no. Sugar, what kinda man lets a lady go off alone like that?”
“Uh. I’ll be okay. It’s not far.” You say.
“And what kinda lady goes arguin’ with her man?” He tisks.
You pout. “I’m not. I… I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way.”
“It ain’t outta my way.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’ll drive ya, sugar. I couldn’t think of ya gettin’ lost or worse.” He insists as he drags you away from the restaurant. “Especially after that cocktail. You never know about strangers, do ya?”
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. 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: A typical work assignment turns into something less than usual.
Characters: Walter Marshall, Curtis Everett
Note: blame @stargazingfangirl18
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
'No signal'.
Out in the farmlands, it isn't too rare to see those two dire words. You always keep a map in the car just in case. As it is, you've never quite got lost. These rural roads don't have many turn offs to do so.
The farmhouse is just ahead at the end of the dirt path curling to the left. The owner said something about a red post and you're fairly sure the one with the peeling coat you just passed is the one. You idle right before the branching lead off to check the map one last time.
The fields are so endless and the back roads so empty that you hear the car coming before you see it. You lower the map and look in the rearview. An iron grey truck spits up dust as it follows the subtle up and down of the unpaved lanes.
You wait for them to pass but they don't. Instead, they signal and pull up behind you. A large hand signals through the windshield. You squint and check the locks on the door.
The driver gets out and approaches. You roll the window down and inch before he can tap on the glass. You lean over to peer up at him.
Dark curls, a dark beard, some silver laced through both, and two bold blue eyes above the thick bridge of his nose. He wears a long-sleeved cotton pullover with sweat around the collar. His forearms are exposed under the rolled sleeves as he grips his hips and bends to see you.
"Lost?" He asks.
"Not really," you crinkly the map.
"You sure?"
"Um, yep. Pretty sure the farm I'm looking for is that one right over there." You nod to the north east.
He scoffs. "Hard Top."
"That's the one." You fold up the map.
"Uh huh. Well you just follow me on." He reaches to tap the roof of your car. "It's mine."
You flick your brows and his mouth slants.
"Walter Marshall. You were talking with my partner, Curtis." He explains.
"I was."
"No use keeping him waiting." He drags his hand away. "He's a bit of a grump."
He turns and struts away. You watch him in the mirror as you roll up the window all the way. That's lucky.
You wait for him to get in his truck and pass you. You follow him slowly, crawling along the curve and the subtle incline of the road. You glance over at the fields as you let your foot hover on the brake.
He leads you to the dusty clearing in front of the farmhouse. You park next to him and get out. You open your back door to take out your bag, your water bottle clinking against a buckle as it hangs from a carabiner on the strap.
“Curt!” Walter cups his hand around his mouth as he booms toward the house.
You uncap your bottle and drink as you wait. He turns to you as you twist the top back on. You let it dangle again and rest your hand on your bag.
“I told him to wait outside for you. I had to run into town and get some wire.” He clucks.
“No problem.” You assure him as you turn to take in the expanse.
“We bought this place off a family. Been passed down for decades.” He explained. “We’re thinking vegetables, herbs, some fruits. Buddy has an organic juice business….”
“Hey.” The front door snaps on its hinges.
You turn to the man that stands in front of it. His black shirt is smeared with dirt, the emblem of some metal band mostly obscured. His thick arms and sides are completely exposed by the cut of the fabric. His dark hair is buzzed short, his beard only slightly longer. More stubble than anything.
“I was dealing with the pipes.” He says as he wipes his hands on a rag. His attention darts between Walter and you. “You must be… I’m Curtis.”
“That’s me.” You assure him. “I got everything ready to go.”
“Cool. So, we’re thinking veggie patches—”
“Already gave her the breakdown, bud. Maybe next time, you won’t be late,” Walter interjects.
“I was here.” Curtis growls.
You shift awkwardly.
“What was planted before?”
“Wheat? Grains. There’s a few pear and apple trees still around and healthy strawberry patches we’ve kept going.” Curtis comes down the steps of the porch and tucks the rag in his pocket.
“Mm. Well, today I can do a quick test. I have a few kits in my bag. I’ll need to take samples back for more intensive testing and compare to the topology of the fields. Do you have a map of the plots that belong to you?”
“Huh, she’s thorough,” Walter comments.
You barely twitch. This is your work. You know what you’re doing. If you really wanted to be complicated, you’d speak like you do at the lab.
“Have to be. You’re paying for it.” You assure him without a look.
“Well, let us show you around. It’s a pretty big place so no use wasting time.” Curtis says and gets a snort from Walter. “I can get you a map of the plots. Might have to draw it out but I’ve got the deed here. There’s some coordinates on there…”
“No problem.” You nod.
“Here, it’s a bit of a walk,” Walter startles you as he grabs the strap of your bag.
“Oh, I got it.”
“Looks heavy.” He tugs and you cling for just a moment before you let go. “Come on. It’s only gonna get hotter out here.”
You repress your irritation. It wouldn’t be the first time the old-fashioned type treated you like ‘a lady’. Sometimes it can be endearing, mostly it’s demeaning.
Walter waves you ahead of him as Curtis points to the east. “We’ll start over here.”
You follow him around the house and along the strips between the patches of turned soils. When you come to the border of their holding, you turn to Walter and ask for your bag. His hand twitches on your water bottle then slides up the strap. He hands it over.
You dig inside for a quick kit. You put on some gloves and start the process. You’re overly aware of them watching, standing side by side just to your right.
“This will mostly check the PH of the soil,” you explain. “It’s typically easy enough to balance it out or at least plant according to the results. Once I have the lab results back for my other tests, we can determine anything that isn’t viable this season. Unfortunately, it can take a lot of time to revive arable land.”
Curtis hums. Walter shifts in his boots.
“You been doing this a long time?”
“Almost fifteen years.” You put in the neutralizer and wait for the results.
“Fifteen? You don’t look that old…” He muses.
You ignore that. Comments like that also aren’t unusual. You’re surprised he hasn’t commented that he expected a man but then again, you think your name might have spoiled the surprise.
You continue around the farmland. It’s tedious work. Quick tests then scooping up soil to deposit in your labeled vials. At points, you dig down deep into the sediment.
You pause to grab your water bottle and gulp. Sweat stains your scalp and dampens the insides of your gloves. You put the cap on and press on.
“More water in the house if you need it,” Curtis offers.
“Thanks. It’s a big bottle.” You counter.
As you make your way around the strips of land, the sun beats down, ringing in your vision. You try to blink away the glare as even your lashes feel sweaty. You squat down to get another sample but as you stand, you sway and stumble.
“Woah, you good?” Walter asks.
You flick your lashes and look at him. “Fine.”
You fumble to seal the sample and tuck it in your bag. You take another swig from your bottle. It’s empty. You put the cap on again and sigh. You’re almost done.
You try to lift the bag and the weight tips you over before you can stand. You fall onto it and groan. You shake your head. Something’s not right.
“Hey, you okay?” Walter asks as you’re pulled back.
Curtis lets you fall onto your back in the dirt. You grumble as your arms fall limp at your sides. You can’t move. What the hell is going on?
Curtis stares at you, touching your cheek then your forehead. Your eyelids flutter and he holds his fingers under your nose to check your breathing.
“How much did you put in?”
“Enough.” Walter answers as he unclips your bottle and shakes it. “I didn’t think she’d drink it all.”
Curtis sighs.
“We need to get her out of the sun.”
🌼
Black lightens to grey. Your mind slowly grinds back into motion as your body comes back into being. You climb out of the pit of your unconscious up into the gloom of your current predicament.
Your finger twitches. That effort alone aches. You bend two, then three, then curl up a whole fist. You raise your hand and let it fall as the weight thrums in your forearm.
You smell dirt and sweat. Your mind flashes with your last memories. Laying in the dirt, writhing and weak, the sun beating down, two shadows looming above.
You open your eyes and quickly close them again. It’s not real. It has to be a dream. These things don’t happen like this. It was a job, not…
No, it was a trap.
You look again. You stare at the wooden slats of the wall. The dark stain is faded and a few scratches mark the passage of time. You turn your head. The space is typical of an old farmhouse, but not airy as you would expect. The small room is stagnant and damp.
You know that scent too. A basement. You shudder as your chest locks up. Breathe.
You press your hands down and sit up with a grunt. The effort is enough to make you dizzy. You fall onto one elbow before you can keel over the side of the bed.
You take in the space. A wooden wardrobe, the bed, a night table with a lamp on top, a threadbare rug. There’s a small sink in the corner and a mirror. It’s all very simple.
You push yourself up again and angle your legs one by one over the edge. You’re not stupid enough to stand. You hunch forward and hug your middle.
You remember Walter taking your bag, walking behind you. You never heard a thing. He was quick.
But why? Why all of this?
You don’t see any chains or torture devices but maybe they’ll bring those out later. You doubt these things are as dramatic as those dismal Netflix miniseries. It’s not all aesthetic, it’s just a woman locked in a sad room in a basement.
You wallow in the silence. Your breath is the only sound until the grind of metal scrapes from the door. You wince and peek over as the hinges whine.
You grip the edge of the mattress. Walter tuts and shuts the door.
“Try to stand up and see what happens.”
You lift your chin and scowl at him. There’s no point in asking what or why. You look at his hands. No knife, nothing. Well, he’s big enough to kill you with his own strength.
He closes the door. You watch him. He faces you and stares.
“Well? Questions?” He prompts.
You glare at him. He waits. You don’t say a word.
“Alright, well, I suppose we’ve all waited long enough.”
He turns and goes to the wardrobe. He opens it. He takes out a dress with a dandelion pattern. It’s cut in an old farm style with buttons down the front.
He offers it to you as you stare. You don’t move. He steps closer.
“You’re in no shape to fight.” He warns.
You tilt your head up and grimace. “What is wrong with you?”
His lips curve slightly.
“I’m just like every other man. I’m just honest about it. I know what I want and need.” He bends and places the dress on your lap. His nose almost touches yours. “You can deny it in yourself but you’re a woman and women need men.”
You swallow tightly. His hands spread over the dress and feel your thighs through the fabric. He leans in to drag the tip of his nose up yours.
“I’m the nice one, sweetheart, so do yourself a favour and get changed.”
He squeezes then pushes away. He turns and marches to the door, not looking back as he leaves. You huff and bite the insides of your cheeks.
You drop your head and touch the dress. Your hands hurt. Your veins are tight but hollow, tendons strained. You feel the cotton and shiver. You know he’s right. You don’t have a choice; well, you have one. To make it worse for yourself.
You slowly unfold the dress. The effort alone is enough to make you shake. Or maybe that’s the fear.
You put the dress aside and undress. Your boots are already gone; your jacket too. You strip down to your plain cupless bra and high-rise panties. You take a deep breath and let it out as you stand.
You sway and remind yourself not to lock your knees. You grab the dress and unbutton it. You pull it on and pull through each button one by one. It’s tight and the buttons pull against the holes. When you finish, you sit again.
What do you do now but wait? You feel useless and helpless and stupid. Are you just accepting this? Everyone has a plan but how do you really plan for this?
When the door opens again, you don’t react. The shadow approaches you and grabs your arm. Walter sighs.
“You need help?” He asks.
You shake your head and stand. You try to shrug him off but he clings to you. He takes you through the door.
It’s brighter in the next room. The aromas in the air make your stomach grumble. You’re hungry. Something’s cooking.
There’s a dining table on a patterned rug; a kitchenette along one wall; fridge, stove, sink, cupboards. You notice the locks on all of them. Curtis has his back to you as he uses a spatula to transfer food from a skillet to a plate. Walter makes you sit in one of the wooden chairs and stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders.
The details start to tweak in your head. Curtis wears a black button up and slacks. Walter has changed too; a grey button-up and dark shade of pants. They’ve both cleaned themselves up.
Curtis turns and brings over two plates. He places one before you on a crochet dish mat and another at another seat with the same setting. Walter lets go of you and sits. Curtis returns and takes the third plate. He joins you at the table, his hands framing his plate as he looks at you.
“That dress is nice on you.” He says.
“Bit small.” Walter remarks. “Tight.”
You grit your teeth.
“Bit older than I expected too…” Walter adds.
Curtis sniffs. “Shut up. She’s… beautiful.”
You look away. Stolid silence roils around you. Walter is the first to move. He picks up his fork and stirs the penne on his plate. Curtis taps his fingers on the table.
“Eat,” he commands.
Your eyes meet his. His jaw is set. Walter eats without pretense.
“I’m not hungry–”
“I can hear your stomach. Eat.” He demands. “No use drugging you again, is there?”
You stare at him and take your fork. You poke a piece of zucchini and lean forward slightly. You push it into your mouth. He picks up his own fork.
“You really do look good,” he snarls as his eyes narrow, his lip twitching. “Doesn’t she?”
Walter hums and swallows. “Tits are nice.”
Curtis sighs. “Jesus.”
🌼
Your hunger is replaced with unease. Your stomach churns around the meal as you remain in the chair. Curtis gets up and gathers the empty plates. Walter stands and slaps his stomach. He nudges you.
“Come on.”
You hesitate then stand. He takes you back to the small room and shoves you inside. The door shuts heavily behind you.
You go back to the bed and sit. You climb up into the corner and fold your arms over your knees. You slump and close your eyes.
You stay like that until the door opens again. It’s Curtis. He has a zip-up bag in his hand.
“You need to get ready for bed.” He says as he shuts the door.
You stare. He goes to the sink. He puts the bag down beside the faucet and unzips it.
“Get over here.”
You stay. You’re annoyed. You’re not a dog. He speaks to you like one.
He sighs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You don’t move.
He pulls his hand out of the bag and marches over to the bed. He grabs your ankles and drags you across, the blankets rumpling beneath you. You cry out as you try to kick free.
“One last chance to get on your feet or I will drop you on your ass.”
He lets you go. Your ankles throb. You let your feet dangle and stand.
He grips your shoulder and walks you to the sink. He pulls out a tooth brush and tooth paste. He wets the bristles then puts the paste on. You reach for it and he slaps your hand down.
“Open.”
Your lip curls before you force yourself to obey. It’s so strange. He brushes your teeth as you try not to gag. He finishes and fills a plastic cup and tells you to rinse. You do.
Next, he pulls out a jar of face scrub. He tells you to wet your face. Then he applies the exfoliant. You flinch. His large hands linger on your cheeks. His eyes dip.
“You really do look… good.”
You avert your gaze. He rinses his hands then grabs the back of your neck. He bends you over the sink and splashes water over your face. He rinses off the beaded wash and hands you a towel. You pat dry as he squeezes moisturiser from a tube.
He rubs his into your skin and down your neck. His hands circle your throat and linger loosely, he hums. He exhales a hot breath over you.
“Change.”
He lets go and crosses to the wardrobe. He opens it and pulls out a linen night gown. It’s about long enough to reach your knees; plain white with straps.
He brings it to you. You reach for it and he shakes his head. “Take the dress off.”
You swallow and look around. “I can do it–”
“Stop. Do it.”
His voice sinks into like an anchor pulling you to a halt that nearly upends you. You lower your chin and close your eyes. Your hands shake as you unbutton the dress. It falls open and reveals the cushion of your chest, stomach, hips, and thighs.
You twitch as his fingertips brush down your neck to your chest and trace the top of your bra.
“Everything.”
You gulp as he takes the dress away. You unhook your bra and he tugs it off your arms. Then you push down your underwear until they fall to your ankles. He bends to snatch them away too.
He looms close then throws the night gown over your head. You bring your arms up to poke through the holes. You open your eyes as he pulls the sheath down your body. It’s tight too, hugging your tits and ass.
His breath scrapes audibly. His hands hover around your sides then drop. He gathers up your clothes and heads for the door.
“Lay down.”
He slams the door behind him.
🌼
You lay in bed but don’t sleep. The lamp is on. You can’t bring yourself to face the dark.
You watch the door. Reality skews as time passes without notice. No tick of the clock, no numbers to count, only those walls and your fear.
The door jars then opens. You sit up. A figure fills the frame.
You stare at Curtis as he tilts his head. He’s naked. You brace yourself.
“Please…”
“Hey…” another voice comes from behind him. “Starting without me?”
Curtis winces and turns. You look away from his naked ass as he faces Walter. The other man snickers.
“Couldn’t sleep, big boy?” Walter taunts.
Curtis shakes his head and turns back. He enters the room. Walter follows and sheds his tee shirt. The door shuts with a loud click.
You push yourself against the wall, curled up as you hold up a hand in defense.
“Please, don’t–”
“Shh,” Walter hushes you as he shoves his flannel pants down his thick legs. His dick bobs up shamelessly as he stands and stretches.
Curtis approaches the bed and latches onto your ankle. You whine as he jerks you away from the wall. You flail as he drags you to the edge. The night gown rolls up above your thighs, exposing you.
“She looks good,” Walter praises as he strokes himself. “Give me her mouth.”
“Take it.” Curtis says as he drops to his knees and pushes yours apart.
You whimper. He grips your knees then slowly kneads up your thighs. Walter climbs up from the foot of the bed and strokes your cheek. You sway him away and he catches your hand. He snickers as he pulls it toward his pelvis.
“Stop! Please–”
“It’s not going to hurt if you’re good,” Walter chides.
You gasp as Curtis’ touch crawls between your thighs. His breath grazes your pelvis and you flinch. You reach down to stop him but once more, you’re slapped away.
Walter pumps himself with one hand as his other grasps your chin. He turns your head and you lock your jaw. He squeezes until your entire skull pulses.
“Don’t be bad.” He warns.
Curtis frames your pelvis, his thumbs stretched down the creases of your thighs.
“Listen.” Curtis growls. He leans in and his breath plumes against your cunt. He nuzzles you and purrs.
Walter presses his tip to your lips as his grip gets even tighter. You open your mouth and whine. He pushes inside and you close your eyes.
Curtis’ tongue grazes along your lips and you shiver. You sink into yourself as he tastes between your folds. The coolness of his mouth flows through your veins.
You tell yourself, beg yourself not too feel. But you feel it all. As Walter dips deeper into your mouth, smothering you, sliding down to your throat. As Curtis flicks his tongue up and down, swiping circles around your clit.
Your body vibrates as they violate you. Curtis reaches up your body, groping and grabbing at your stomach, then your chest. He fondles one tit as Walter grabs the other, still guiding your mouth up and down his length.
Your muscles spasm as you gag. Curtis tickles along your cunt with his fingers and teases your entrance. Walter pushes past your reflex and your eyes water as drool stains your lips and cheeks. Curtis pushes two fingers into you and you squeeze both of them as they invade your body.
They work in tandem, licking, lapping, tugging, thrusting. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t do anything but let them use you. For all that you can’t do, you feel it all.
Your insides twist and tie up. The tension coils around and around. You press on Walter’s thigh as he dips deeper and deeper and Curtis’ tongue swirls around and around.
You arch your back, toes curling, and the pressure bursts. You whine around Walter as you spasm and cum. Your orgasm dominates you, conquers you, and shatters the last of your resistance.
Neither stop. Walter fists your hair as he fucks your mouth and Curtis rams his fingers in deeper and hard. He sucks on your clit as you clasp at the tangled blanket and choke. You cum again.
He eases you through and drags his wet mouth across your pelvis and hip. He growls.
“Get her up.” He snarls.
Walter pushes in one last time then slides out of your mouth. He pulls you up by your neck and moves you off the bed. Curtis angles around to sit on the edge as Walter guides you onto his lap.
You push back against Walter and he grabs your hip. He leads you down as Curtis’ hand grips your other side. They force you onto Curtis’ dick as he groans. His hand slips to your rear as your walls clench him and you push on his chest.
Walter shoves you down until you cry out. He chuckles and moves your hips. You whine again.
“Is she tight?” Walter growls.
Curtis groans. He leans forward as the night gown droops below your chest and he takes a nipple in his mouth. Walter moves his hand up your back and pushes lightly. Curtis lays back, taking you with him.
Walter keeps your motion. He rubs your ass as guides you up and down Curtis’ length. He steps closer and bends over you.
Curtis reaches down as he nibbles at your chest. He frames his intrusion with his fingers, opening you up as Walter presses against your entrance. You twitch and try to move away.
They hold you in place as Walter pushes into you. He stretches you so much it burns. Just his tip has you trembling and pleading. Curtis hushes you and pets your head.
Walter inches into you, crowding your cunt as it strains around both of them. He presses against your back as he plants his knees between Curtis’ to kneel on the bed. He bends over you and snaps his hips, bottoming out.
You squeal and Curtis grunts. He hisses. “Fuck, she’s… fuck…”
“You’re right,” Walter rolls his hips and kisses the back of your head. “She’s fucking perfect.”
My red flags were pinging as soon as Walter took her bag but I still wasn't expecting them to work that fast. And that basement seemed especially dismal. Will she ever see the sun again??? 😬
They did not hesitate. Walter might not have got what he expected but he didn't mind really hehehe. Oof. I don't know if she'll ever get past those two.
When you're a woman doing STEM work but two muscle bound misogynists just see
Like dude, they ate one meal and were ready to DINE OUT on our poor professional. I know Walter definitely ditched her car somewhere and probably complained to the company that she never showed up meanwhile Curt is on Amazon looking for even more slightly too small dresses.
Warning: this fic will include some dark elements so be wary.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Summary: you’re good at your job because you’re invisible, but what happens when your boss starts to take notice.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Another late one. Lloyd doesn’t learn a lesson long but he forgoes the club that night. Even so, you don’t get away until after twelve.
As you drive up to your building, you see a shadow on the other side of the pickup truck often filling the spot next to yours. You get out as Marshall, your neighbour gives you a nod. You give a lazy two fingered salute as your head pounds.
“Everything okay?” He asks before you can flee up the walk to your door.
You pause and cringe. You might be reserved but you’re not rude. You back up and face him.
“Everything’s fine.” You say flatly.
“Mhm.” He puts his hand on the corner of the truck bed. “I saw you last night. Sleeping in your car. Lose your keys or something?”
You stare at him. “Or something.”
He nods and clucks. “Right, well… if you need anything.”
“I won’t. Thank you, Marshall.”
You turn again, silver stars speckling with the motion. You take a breath and steady yourself. He snorts.
You glance over your shoulder.
“My name’s Walter. Marshall’s my last name.”
“Noted,” you rasp.
You continue up the walk and pull out your keys. You turn the lock and grip the handle. You lean on the door, barely stopping it as you nearly fall inward. You enter and don’t look back as Marshall, correction, Walter, calls good night.
The lock grinds back into place and you hang your keys. You ignore the pile of mail on the floor, envelopes stuffed through your slot endlessly. There’s a stack of clothes in the chair in the front room and more hanging over the back of the couch. There’s a few wrappers from frantically eaten protein bars scattered on the table beside the lamp and another pair of shoes trips you as you lumber down the hall.
You shower. The humidity clogs your chest and makes your nose run. It does little to soothe your head. You groan and rub your temples, water slaking over your dry skin.
You sleep. Heavily but wake groggy. Your ears feel full as you dress, brush your teeth, and wrestle your hair. You leave your dirty clothes on top of the overflowing basket and rush out with a green tea and dry granola bar.
As you open your car door, balancing your phone in one hand, thermos under your arm, and keys in the other, the large black pick up pulls in beside you. You don’t acknowledge Walter as you use your knee to push your door all the way open.
“Morning, neighbour,” he grits out.
You sit in the driver’s seat and drop the thermos into the holder. “Morning.”
You close the door before he can attempt further conversation. Lloyd flies out that night. You need to make sure he isn’t roofied in his bathroom.
As you reverse, your eyes catch Walter’s as he watches. You ignore him and focus on the road as you crank the wheel. You open the top of the thermos to let the steam out and use your teeth to tear through the crinkly wrapper of the granola bar.
It’s bland and dry. The peanuts taste old and the berries are like gum. You give up halfway through. Your throat is dry enough as it is.
You stop for the usual order; cappuccino with of cinnamon and cocoa, and a cheese Danish. No danishes today, something about a delivery. You get him a croissant instead. He won’t be happy.
You sip the tea as you drive up to Lloyd’s overzealous abode. Everything he is does is excessive; well, everything but take care of himself. You roll through the gates and hide your car in the usual spot.
Routine takes over. You suppress a cough that tugs in your chest as you enter. The house is quiet. You open the curtains then climb the stairs to deliver his breakfast.
You knock to no avail. You can hear him inside. You let yourself in. He’s on the balcony talking on the phone. You sneak in with his coffee and the second choice of pastry and set it down. He turns and inhales. He’s in his black robe with the tiger embroidered into the left side.
“Mmm, caffeine.” He declares into the phone. “Nicky, hold your dick, alright? I got everything in order. I’ll be heading out in a couple hours.”
You can hear the retort on the other end but can’t make out the words. Lloyd chuckles.
“Don’t be such a fucking prude. I know what you were doing with Priyanka.”
There’s more shouting on the other end and more laughter on his. You retreat into the bedroom and check his go-bag one last time. You open the dress and bend to pull out some clothes but as you stand, you waver and stagger around.
You blink as your head spins. It’s getting annoying. You wish it would stop. Maybe you should’ve finished that granola bar.
You lay out his attire as he growls. A crinkle fills the air before the paper bag flies through and the chocolate croissant slides out across the floor, leaving a dusting of pastry. You sigh.
You know better than to apologise and give an excuse. You clean it up and continue your work. He holds a grudge which means he’ll be sure to spill as much as he can on the table before he finishes his coffee.
You bring him his tablet. He sits and pores over the briefing and maps. You flee to the kitchen to prep a proper breakfast. He comes down and eats, still thumbing at the tablet.
He pulls out his phone again. He dials out as he hums at the bigger screen of the tablet. “Tianaaaaa.” He sings. “Got time for a morning quickie?”
You back out and distract yourself with other things. Patches of time blow by without recollection until you find yourself bracing the wall, staring at the plaster, clueless. The gate buzzes.
You let Tiana in and she disappears with your boss. You put his devices on the charger and clean up his dishes. As you shut the cupboard, you slump over the counter, drifting until you barely keep from crashing to the floor.
You set your feet and grunt. You’re fine. He just needs to get out of town and you’ll go home and sleep this off.
Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber
Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it’s not much better than your home life.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
“Mr. Walker.” You enter the office only after he calls for you to.
You approach carefully and set down the coffee cup in front of him. He squints at it and narrows his eyes. He points at the logo and tilts his head.
“I was grabbing one for myself. I figured… wouldn’t have to make a mess here.” You explain.
You didn’t think twice about it. As you sat in the drive through, the extra three bucks for a second coffee was instinct. You felt wrong showing up with only one for yourself.
He sits back. He glances at your empty hands. You look down.
“I left it in the kitchen. Didn’t wanna spill in here.” You put your hands behind you. Oh no. You feel your pants squeezing around your stomach. “Is there anything I can do to get the day started, sir?”
He looks down and clucks. He shakes his head. He rolls his chair closer to his desk and leans on his elbow, then jolts and sits up. He rubs his shoulder and snarls at his large monitor.
You back up and resume your vigil against the wall. You look down at the floor and shift, trying to cover the scuffed toes of your brown flats with the wide legs of your trousers. You hold in a sigh.
You hoped this job would help you feel more useful. It just feels like you’re just as unwanted here as at home. Despite every effort, you just can’t find a place for yourself.
Mr. Walker groans and shifts in his seat. He winces, thick neck straining, jaw tensing. He moves his arm gingerly and leans on the other. You look away before you can get caught staring.
Once he finishes the coffee, you clear away the cup. As you go to throw it away, you sip your own lukewarm drink waiting in the kitchen. You don’t take too long but as you come back to the office, the door is open and your boss is gone.
You stand by the wall and sway nervously. Maybe he’s going to talk to HR and get you tossed out. No one wants a shadow looming around and doing nothing.
A strange noise tickles your nerves. You turn and watch Mr. Walker push a chair through the door. He turns it toward you and rolls it up right beside you. He doesn’t look at you or say a word. He just points to the seat and marches back to his own.
He sits. You do too. Cautiously.
“Thank you, sir.” You say.
He doesn’t answer. You fold your hands and tap your toe anxiously. Silence fills the space and scrapes in your ears. You can hear his stomach growl and he clears his throat as he taps on his mouse.
He finally says something as the clock hits twelve. He tells you to take a break. You finish your cold coffee as you wander outside of the oppressive confidential hallways.
You don’t know this area well. There’s a familiar logo down at the corner. You head down to the pharmacy and drop your empty cup in a bin near the door. You stroll through the bright white aisles as 80s music drones around you.
Not much of a selection. You grab what you can find and pay at the counter. You can only imagine why the ridiculous thing is on clearance.
You head back to work. Hopefully you’re not so early that you infringe on Mr. Walker’s time.
You wait out the hour as you unpack your purchase and heat it up in the microwave. You take it out as the hot beans sewn into the soft sheath warm your hand. You return to Mr. Walker’s office and knock. He grunts.
You let yourself in as he stays behind his monitor. Your stomach swirls. You slowly lower the stuffed oxen with its fuzzy mane and try to hide it behind your back. This was stupid.
“What’re you hiding?” He asks without looking up.
You clear your throat and jerk in surprise. You cross the office and slowly reveal the heat bag in the form of the furry muskox. Your lips slant.
“For your shoulder.”
He slowly tears his eyes from the monitor and stares at the creature. “My shoulder?”
You bite your lip and nod. “Sorry, sir. I saw the way… you’re favouring it. I thought heat might help.”
He’s silent as he considers the animal. “Why?”
“No one should be in pain and… I guess I need something to do. I’m here to help you.” You look down and turn over the ox. “Unless you don’t want it. If I’m… I can hand in my resignation if I’m in the way. I thought…” you shake your head. “Sorry, sir.”
He taps his fingers lightly on the space bar without pressing it. He reaches over and puts his hand under yours. He touches the ox with his thumb and slowly slides it from your grasp. He looks it over then lays it on his shoulder; balancing it there.
He sits back and his shoulder slackens, just a little. He hums.
“Appreciated.” He turns his attention back to the screen.
“It’s… nothing.” You go back to the chair and sit.
It’s quiet again. You swivel a few times then stop yourself before you can annoy him. Your eyes wander around the office and you twiddles your thumbs.
“Barber,” he calls you by your married name.
“Sir?”
“If you’re… not too busy, another coffee?”
“Yes, sir.” You stand. “Anything else I can get you? Have you eaten?”
He doesn’t answer. You wince.
“I… I should mind my business. Habit.” You correct yourself and head for the door.
You leave and exhale as the door shuts. It’s something. Just a little bit of progress.
Coffee. As small as that is, it’s not nothing. If he can’t find a use for you, you’ll just need to find it for yourself.
Your small town has been invaded by a biker club. They want a peaceful takeover but they can twist your arm if needed.
Holy shnikes, I spent so much time working on this! I almost had to make it a two part story! I've barely been able to work on anything else because I needed to get this story written up instead. I honestly think I've never written anything like this before.
Word Count: ~3.6k
Warnings: Choking, Dub/non consent, Implied violence, Knife play (mild). Please let me know if I missed any!
Next Part
Sheriff Lee Bodecker and Mayor John Walker caved to the bikers pretty quickly. Part of you could understand why; only a handful of officers in the entire county compared to a full biker gang? They'd never stand a chance. Better to be allowed to live without having to worry about ending up in the hospital. The Mayor didn't care so long as he got to keep his job, which now meant making the bikers happy.
Which meant paying the bikers with money from the city budget. Your library's budget in particular.
When you'd tried to argue about it, Mayor Walker hit back with "well we can't take any more from the school! Besides, no one needs the library anymore. They've all got their home computers and Internet. You'll be fine with the new budget."
In the end you'd had to let go all but one very part-time employee, relying on two or three volunteers instead. You were already working long hours but now they felt endless. With the budget cut, you had to reduce the purchases of new books in favor of maintaining the Internet connection several of older patrons relied on. Almost half of your day was spent working on applying for grants for additional funding for after-school programs and free-lunch programs for during the summer breaks.
Looking over everything, you were certain you'd have to dip into your own meager savings if you were going to meet the needs of your community. Mayor Walker really didn't seem to understand what the people of his city actually needed, but he didn't seem to care so long as he was in charge.
During an after-school reading time with the Kindergartners you're surprised by the entrance of one of the bikers. You think he's the second-in-command, but you're not sure. He's definitely not the blond in charge; "Cap" you think they call their leader. Still, you have kids to take care of, and this newcomer is a grown man. He can take care of himself.
When the story is done it's time for a nap for the kids. This is very likely the longest they've ever been away from home, away from family, and the sleep helps keep them from getting overstimulated. It was another thing Mayor Walker just didn't understand. All of these kids had parents that worked full time and couldn't afford a babysitter. There were no daycare options, either. Decades ago the kids could be left with a grandparent or a cousin, but they're all working as well or moved out of town. That left the library as a haven for the kids who didn't have access to the limited after-school activities as an option.
If there's anything good about working in such a tiny library it's that you can keep an eye on the kids and the biker while going about your other duties. Thankfully you'd gotten some WD-40 for the book carts so they wouldn't squeak and wake anyone up while you re-shelve books.
You also get a better look at the biker. He's sitting in one of the chairs reading The Hobbit. You hate to admit it but he does look handsome. Longish dark hair, steely blue eyes. For some reason he's still wearing his gloves. If only his arrival hadn't heralded such troubles for you. Well, at least he wasn't causing trouble.
Shelving the books gets you a bit of stretching and some impromptu squat exercises. You spend so much of your time at a desk that this is the closest thing you get to a workout. Given how your body continually snaps, crackles and pops, you could probably use more.
Your exercise is cut short by Ruth's entry and you have to fight the urge to let out a groan. Ruth is one of the older ladies in town who refused to get a computer for her home. Unfortunately that means each time she visits, you have to walk her through even the most basic elements of using a computer so she can send an email to her granddaughter. The entire time she complains to you about how much she hates computers and how much she wishes her daughter would've raised her own daughter correctly and been happy to just accept a phone call, and on, and on, and on.
"Hello Ruth," you quietly say, customer service smile on. "Let me go ahead and log you in to one of our computers?"
"I'm not an invalid!" she loudly complains. You try to quiet her, pointing to the sleeping children but she isn't having it. "All you youngsters thinking an old lady can't do anything for herself! How dare you imply I can't log on to a computer? I'll do it my own self."
You take a breath to steady yourself before looking over at the little ones. They seem largely undisturbed but, knowing Ruth, they'll be awake sooner rather than later. Sighing you go ahead and get their after nap snacks ready. Just another hour or so until their parents start coming by to pick them up. It doesn't take long before Ruth is yelling at the computer, complaining to you that "it's clearly broken" and "why can't we just write letters" along with her forever complaint of "wouldn't have to do this if she'd just pick up the damn phone!"
The kids start waking up and you quickly have to balance keeping them from being upset by the angry lady while also knowing any attempts to placate the angry lady will be met with more anger. Thankfully the snacks are a good distraction for most.
"Would you like some help on a different computer, Ruth?" you ask through gritted teeth, knowing the answer.
"Oh stop treating me like one of those brats," she snaps back. "What kind of library is this where computers are more important than books? Shouldn't even have these monstrosities here!"
"Excuse me, Ruth, is it? I'm Bucky." You'd been so distracted going between Ruth and the kids you didn't notice the biker had put down his book and walked over.
"Oh don't get me started on you and yours!" Ruth retorts. "Town was so much better before you hooligans came along! Now I can't even call the police to help me out when then those teenagers are loitering in my yard!"
"Well Ruth, let me give you my number so the next time you can call me instead of the police," he offers. You're surprised at how calm he's sounding despite being yelled at.
Ruth huffs, "you no-good-beatniks! How dare you insult me! You should get out of our town and leave us good folk alone!"
The biker, Bucky, smiles, "seems to me 'good folk' don't go harassing people who are just trying to do their job." You have to bite back a laugh at that comment. It's no good riling her up even more.
Ruth storms out, letting you focus on the kids who are looking unsure if they should be upset or not. You give the biker a quick "thank you" before giving the little ones all of your attention. He nods and goes back to his reading.
Soon enough the parents start coming in and picking up their kids. Several of them stick around long enough to check out a book or movie and you have to balance taking care of the remaining children with getting the families out on their way. It's always such an ado that makes you really wish you could hire some extra help. A few parents complain about the snacks you gave their kids and you remind them, yet again, that they are free to donate snacks they consider appropriate. All the while you keep your customer service smile up, despite how much you're internally screaming and crying.
Things finally calm down and you're able to sit and take a breather. You desperately want to quit but this community needs a library, even if the Mayor doesn't think so. And goodness knows they'd never be able to hire anyone else to work these conditions. You look over to where the biker is sitting, still reading. If his gang hadn't shown up, you'd be in a much better position. Maybe even able to take a vacation.
Checking the time you decide to keep your professionalism and head over to the man. "Sir, excuse me?" He looks up at you, bright blue eyes momentarily startled. "Sir, we're going to be closing in about a half hour."
"Oh, yeah, sure thing," he nods as he closes the book. "Also, please call me Bucky."
"Sure thing, Bucky," you nod, too tired to argue.
"Gotta say, you do a lot of work for a librarian."
"What do you mean by that?" You don't hold back the bite in your tone and cross your arms.
He chuckles, "I didn't mean to offend. Just, I thought librarians were just supposed to check out the books, y'know? Maybe answer questions? Didn't expect you to also be a daycare, IT person and all that."
"And that's just the work that you saw," you snap at him.
"Don't you have anyone helping you out?"
"I did, before your gang came along!" You're unable to hold back any longer. "Because of you the Mayor cut my budget! I had to fire pretty much all my staff! I can't get the half the books the people of this community want! I have to beg the state government for funds to make sure kids have food when they don't school meals! Do you know how much cleaning I have to do because there's no room in the budget for professionals?! Do you have any idea how many of the things around here I have to pay for out of my own pocket?! You bikers demanded protection money and it came out of my budget!"
Bucky's gloved hand grabs neck, stopping you from talking. You try to fight but his arm is stronger than expected. Surprisingly he doesn't look angry so much as amused. "You know, I never thought I could go for the librarian type but this fire of yours does something to me." Your nostrils flare and he chuckles. "I've been yelled at twice today, Doll. A man can only take so much."
"I'm sorry," you grumble as best you can.
His hand loosens, "what was that, Doll?"
"I'm sorry," you repeat. "While you are the reason my budget was cut, you're not the one who made the decision. I'm sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you."
"That's more like it," he snickers. He pulls you uncomfortably close to himself. "And I'm more than happy to reward that better behavior." You look at him, confusion written all over your face, as the leather of his glove caresses your cheek. "Like I said, I never thought a librarian would rouse my interest, but you're something else." You roll your eyes and try to pull away, but he isn't having it. His grip tightens around your throat again, even as his smile widens, baring his teeth. "I can be very good to you, Doll, so long as you're good for me."
His implication is clear and you really don't have any options.
"I need to close the library," you grumble.
Bucky removes his hand from around your throat, "good idea. Don't want to get caught now, do we?"
Your body is shaking as you go about the routine for closing the library. Your brain is working overtime to try to figure out some kind of way out of this. Running isn't an option. Even if you made it to your car, where could you go? Calling for help definitely wouldn't do anything. You seriously doubt he would hesitate to make an example of you if you ran.
With the last of the doors locked and the blinds closed you return the biker and almost whimper, "my office?"
"Oh Doll," he cups your chin. "You don't need to be scared of me. I'll be good to you."
"Do...do you...do you have a condom?"
He chuckles, "don't worry, we're not going that far tonight. But I love that you're ready for it."
Without warning he grabs you and pulls you in for a suffocating, forceful kiss. His tongue quickly pushing its way past your lips. Mentally reminding yourself to do what he wants, you open your mouth to give him access and he moans. One of his hands moves down to your breast and you have to will yourself to not flinch away from the touch.
"Take off the cardigan. And the top," he orders.
You back up just a bit so you can oblige. "The bra as well?"
"Nah, that'll be for me to remove." His voice sounds rougher than before and his eyes are definitely darker. He seems amused by the fact that you maintain eye contact while removing your clothes. "You're so pretty when you're defiant," he teases. "But I'm sure I'll have you pleading for more in no time."
Willing your eyes not to roll you instead snipe back, "don't make promises you can't keep. Wouldn't be the first disappointment I've had."
He has the nerve to laugh at that. "I'll make a believer out of you, Doll."
Walking to your office, he sits in your chair, gesturing for you to get on his lap. "Make me think you want this," he commands.
Taking a deep breath, eyes never leaving his, you move to straddle him. He's surprised when you grab the back of his head and turn his face up before shoving your tongue down his throat. He moans in appreciation and his arms wrap around you as he returns your fervor. You bite his lower lip and start grinding against his crotch.
He removes his right glove before undoing your bra faster than you expected. You pull apart from him just long enough to remove the bra and he takes the opportunity to latch himself to your breast. His ungloved hand moves to fondle your other breast while his surprisingly strong left arm holds you up. His ministrations have you gasping as your body instinctively continues to grind against him. His slow, languid movements are in direct contrast to the speed your hips have set and the difference is affecting you.
Suddenly you're on your back on the desk. Bucky had managed to move his left hand to prevent your head from banging on the desk. Your eyes widened from more than just surprise at the realization of how fast and strong he was.
"Sorry, Doll, you were getting me too worked up already," he smirks at you. He moves his hands so they're on each side of your head, hovering over you. "It really is the quiet ones, huh?" You can't help roll your eyes and he chuckles. "Let's see how loud you can get."
He quickly unbuttons your pants and pulls them off of you before getting out a knife. Your breath hitches and he chuckles as he takes the blade to your panties, cutting them off of you. He puts the panties to his nose, "you smell so good. How long's it been, Doll? Months? Can't imagine you get a lotta action in this town."
"It's been a while," you confess, heat burning your cheeks at how turned on you are. You can't bring yourself to look at him.
He stuffs your panties into his pocket and taps your thighs with the knife so you spread them open. "You look so pretty like this," he snickers, clearly amused by your discomfort.
He slams the knife into the desk by your head, making you yelp in surprise. Using his left arm to hover over you, he whispers into your ear, "such a pretty scream," as his fingers start playing with your pussy. He groans at how wet you are, "fuck, Doll, I should'a known you'd be into the rough play."
You squeal as he mercilessly jams two of his fingers into you, all the way to the knuckle. As you involuntarily arch your back he alternates licking, sucking and nibbling your nipples. He adds a third finger and mercilessly drives his hand in and out of your soaked pussy. He pushes himself up and uses his now free arm to start choking you. You try to push his arm away, but it's impossibly strong. You're shocked to feel your orgasm building as your gasping for air.
He must sense it too because he grins and starts ordering you to "give me what I want, Doll. Cum around my fingers. I can feel how close you are." He gives your nipple a sharp bite that pushes you over the edge and cum with a hoarse scream, his fingers never slowing down, his grip never letting up.
It's only after you've stopped cumming that he eases up. "That was fucking gorgeous," he taunts before pulling his fingers out of you and licking them. He closes his eyes and moans at your flavor, making you burn with embarrassment. You start to get up but his left hand keeps you pressed to the desk. "I'm not done, Doll."
"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have assumed."
"God you're a good, smart girl. Keep those legs spread for me." You do as he says while trying to look anywhere but him. He pulls the knife out of your desk and flips it so that the hilt is pointed towards you. "Look at me, Doll. I want you to watch." You struggle to look and he rubs the hilt of the knife against your oversensitive clit, making you jump. "I said, look. At. Me. Doll." You're quick to follow his orders this time.
He puts the knife away before undoing his belt and pants. As much as you could feel when you were grinding against him, as much as you could see the his bulge, you weren't expecting his cock to be so big. Your eyes widen and he chuckles, "like I said, we're not going that far tonight. Now be good and don't move unless I tell you."
Grabbing your legs he pulls you so your ass is a little off the desk and runs his cock over your pussy, gathering up your slick and rubbing over your clit, making you whimper. He starts groaning in pleasure, "god you're so wet from just one orgasm. Can't wait to see how soaked you get after a full night with me." He positions your thighs so that you're squeezing his cock between them and he gives a few thrusts, spreading your own juices all your thighs.
"Gonna mark you up with my cum," he growls as he picks up his pace, squeezing your thighs even tighter. His hands are hurting you but his cock keeps rubbing against your clit and it's feeling so damn good you don't register his words. You moan and whine as you barrel towards your next orgasm. "That's it, Doll. You make the prettiest faces. Can't wait to see you covered in my cum. Gonna look so damn pretty with my seed all over you."
He squeezes your thighs impossibly tight and you cum so hard from the pain and pleasure combination you don't notice him ejaculating all over your stomach and chest.
When he finally catches his breath he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone to take a photo. You try to protest but he gives you a warning look. You drop your face, trying to not cry from how dirty you feel. He puts the phone away and lifts your chin, "don't worry, Doll. That photo is just for me." He kisses the top of your head and you try not to wince. "And because you were so good to me, made me feel so good, I'll be good to you. Now get your clothes back on and I'll escort you home."
"Can I clean up?"
"Not until you get home," he growls. "You don't get rid of my marks until I give you permission."
"Yes, Bucky," you sniffle.
"Aw, don't be like that, Doll," he gently chides. "I take care of what's mine."
The next morning you wake up from a nightmare riddled sleep, feeling more tired than ever. After your morning routine you step outside to head to the library but stop short when you see Bucky on his motorcycle, waiting for you. Wordlessly he hands you a helmet and you don't even try to question or talk him out of whatever he has planned, you just put the helmet on and get on the bike behind him, holding him incredibly tight so you don't fall off.
He stops in front of City Hall and helps you off the bike before walking you in. He doesn't stop until he's led you to the Mayor's office. Your shocked to see Cap, the leader of the biker gang, sitting next to Mayor Walker, whose nose has recently been broken. You gasp and try to turn away but Bucky grabs you and keeps you facing the Mayor.
Cap pats Walker's shoulder, "now what did I tell you?"
Walker shudders a little before looking at you and shakily saying, "I'm so sorry for cutting your budget so much. I will amend that today, making sure to take the money out of my own salary."
Your shaking, unable to respond. Bucky whispers into your ear, "what do you say, Doll?"
"Th-thank you, Mayor Walker," you stutter. "I...I really appreciate that you've ch-changed your mind."
"That's my girl," Bucky whispers before guiding you out of the office.
