logan's and bucky's mistress

18+ Only.

[shybluebirdninja]

MASTERLIST

James 'Logan' Howlett (The Wolverine)

Bucky Barnes (The Winter Soldier)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 7

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

“You sure you don’t want the window?” Peter asks as you settle into your seat.

“I’m good. You know, I could’ve booked you first class.” You stop yourself from pushing his arm off the rest between you.

“But you didn’t want first class.” He argues.

“That’s fine. I always ride coach.”

“I don’t like flying alone.” He pouts. “And Aunt May is off on her girls trip. Which is totally cool because she deserves it but… yeah.”

“It’s gonna be fine. We have everything sorted. We have a full agenda so you won’t have much time to think anyway.” You tease.

“Oh boy,” he taps his index with his thumb.

“Your friend, Mr. Stark, has been especially helpful. Quite the acquaintance.” You remark. You recall Bucky rarely had a good word for the producer; smarmy, sleezy, psychotic…

“Oh, Mr. Stark is awesome. He was super helpful when I first moved out here. Or… to LA.” He explains. “But he kinda scares me. Like Nick.” He shows his teeth sheepishly. “Ugh, what if I mess this up? It’s a big deal.”

“I don’t think they would have called you if they didn’t believe in you, Peter.” You assure him as you dig out your sudoku book. The battered old thing has got you through a lot of travel. It’s almost time for a new one.

“Yeah, I know. Have you read the script?” He asks.

“Not that one.” You sniff as you find the last puzzle you did and click the pen. “What is it called again?”

“Um, here, I got it here. I was gonna go over it during the flight.” He jostles around in his carry-on. “An– An– Animosis?”

You glance over at the strange word; one of those made up ones to make a film sound so sophisticated. You swallow as it rings a bell. You squint. How did you not connect the dots before? You’ve been so tied up trying to untangle Peter’s mess and so avoidant of your old employer, that you didn’t dare put them together in the same thought.

“Wait…” you breathe.

“I heard Bucky is the lead.” Peter says. “It will be like a reunion.”

“Bucky,” you utter hoarsely. “Of course.” You picked up a similar script from Fowler’s second assistant months ago. “Well, you know how these things go. Ships passing in the night.”

“Maybe he can give me some advice. I wish I could do that thing he does, you know, the little squint…” Peter flips through the pages.

Your stomach flips. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky will no show again. Just like before. He doesn’t even know who you’re working for so he definitely wouldn’t know you’d be headed for the same set…

You try to focus on the numbers. You can’t. You’re too aware. When at last the seatbelt light flips off, you get up to go to the bathroom. You lock yourself inside and stare at your reflection in the tiny mirror.

It’s fine. You won’t have to hang around too much. Make sure Peter has his script, some food, water, and you can get him to text if he needs anything else. Yeah, you can avoid any sort of interaction with Bucky, you just have to plan ahead and you’re great at that.

It’s going to be okay. This is a job. You told Peter the same thing so you better take your own advice.

You exhale and calm yourself enough to leave the claustrophobic restroom. As you step out, the curtain for first class flutters. A figure waits outside and sucks their teeth as the door slides shut behind you.

“Huh. I thought I saw you skittering around.” Bucky smirks. You gulp and step back against the door. You glance down the aisle of coach to see if anyone is waiting for the bathroom.

“Um, there’s separate restrooms for first class…” you murmur.

He scoffs and his eyes flick up and down. “You’re working for the kid. Parker.” He pauses and rolls his tongue under his bottom lip. “Makes sense. Seems dumb enough to hire you.”

He reaches over and tugs the curtain between you and coach completely shut.

“Bucky.” You flatten yourself to the door. “I won’t bother you, alright? Let’s just stay away from each other.”

“Girl,” he growls as he crosses his arms. “You always thought you could tell me what to do.”

“No. I only ever tried to do my work–”

“Fuck off with the professionality bullshit. You walked the fuck out after midnight and hid like a rodent in a hole.” He snarls. “Nothing professional about being a sensitive little girl.”

“Stop.” You plead with him. “I only did what you told me–”

He steps close and extends an arm toward you, planting his hand next to your head as he pens you into the small space. He looms over you as his eyes swallow you up. He curls his lip.

“I told you to come back. To do your fucking job.” He snarls.

“You told me to go–”

“I was drunk. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you what I really wanted.” He twitches and his lashes flutter. “I never said fired. I said go away… before I did something stupid.”

“You… you said you don’t remember,” you breath and flinch as his other hand grazes your hip.

He stares at you. His thumb presses into you. You wince and grab his wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you try to push him away.

You whimper and put your other hand on his chest. He snickers.

“Stop me,” he whispers. “I want you to try.”

“Bucky, I’ll scream–”

“No…” he smirks. “You won’t.”

All at once, he brings his hand up around your mouth. He smothers you as his other hand brushes off your side and he hooks his fingers into the handle of the bathroom door. He unlatches it and it slides on the track so you stumble backward.

He pushes you in and follows. He just as quickly snaps the door shut and twists the lock. His hand slips and you take a breath. Before you can cry out, his hands are on your neck. He squeezes so only a wheeze puffs through your lips.

“I told you you’d regret fucking with me,” he sneers.

[blue-eyes-in-august]

I binged all six prior parts just so I could read this. I've had some demanding bosses in my time, but damn, Bucky is next level entitled. You can only mistreat a good employee for so long before they finally leave for greener pastures. He even gave her the permission to go by firing her, whether he "remembers" doing so or not.

I think he was being pissy and wanted her to beg him to keep her job. He wanted her desperate. When she took the firing at face value and landed on her feet within twenty-four hours, he was enraged that she didn't need him as much as he needs her.

Can he admit that though? Can he apologize and beg her to come back? Offer to make some changes other than a raise? No, of course not. Stallking, insults, and violence are clearly the best methods here.

That damn cliffhanger, though! Yikes! I hope someone heard the scuffle and they're interrupted before Bucky can hurt her further.

That last scene is giving:

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

He really can't admit that he screwed this up and he's trying to make himself the victim while also being outright aggressive.

But dang, I really wanna rewatch Red Eye now ahah

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 5

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

Your phone dings as you pull into the high-rise parking lot. Your new employer lives a bit more modestly than your previous one, though you suspect it might be less his intent and more a consequence of his inherent chaos. You don’t mind it so much, he keeps you busy, not guessing.

You pick up your phone and check the notification. You tap the link Bob sent and read the headline: Barnes Causes Furor on Set After No Show. You cringe but it’s not your problem anymore. The less you hear about him, the better.

‘Is that karma?’ Bob texts.

‘Smh’ you respond.

‘Guy’s a jerk. Deserves worse.’

You send a laugh emoji and lock the screen. As much as you’d love to bask in the misfortune of your former boss, it doesn’t feel right. You never wanted anything bad for him, just maybe a bit better communication.

You grab the thirty dollar smoothie and the counter-intuitive donut with a full smore on top and head up to Peter’s apartment. You have his spare fob already and his very, very cluttered agenda. You ride the elevator up and feel a moment of calm. There’s no anxiety, no frustration. You know what needs to be done and you don’t have anyone constantly sabotaging it.

You knock on Peter’s door before you enter. He doesn’t answer. You put his breakfast on the counter and walk through the apartment. You don’t go into the bedroom, instead setting yourself up at the bar and opening up your laptop. He has a presser at noon. He has time.

The door opens and closes. You hear him exclaim at the slam. “Oops.”

He appears by the island and you crane to see him. He grins and grabs the bright blue smoothie. “Morning,” he beams, his hair glistening with sweat, his forehead too. He wears a loose muscle shirt as a sweat towel hangs over his shoulder. “You’re a life saver. It was leg day.”

“Ah. I’m just going through everything. So uh, which one of these is your stylist because there are three names listed here.”

“Oh, Maria quit when I fired Harry. I think there was something going on. Gina quit before her because I wouldn’t let her buzz my hair. And uh, May is my aunt. She was just helping me out for a while.” His cheek dimples and he snorts. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“No worries. Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.” You say. “I’ll find you someone new. Do you have a budget?”

“What?” He blinks.

“Or any sort of statements? Do you have an accountant I can talk to? I need to figure out what is affordable for you.”

“Accountant? Oh sure, that’s also my Aunt May. I’ll get you her number.” He grabs his cell and comes around. He slurps from the straw in the smoothie then sets it on the bar. You keep it from tipping as he’s looking at his phone and it teeters right on the edge. “So, you said before, about messes,” he scrolls. “Is Bucky Barnes that much of a disaster? Kinda makes me feel better about myself.”

“In his own way.” You shrug. “I don’t think it’s necessary to get into details.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry, I’m just curious. I love his movies. You see Onyx? That was great.”

“Uh huh, I was on set for that.” You chuckle. “Definitely a lot of hard work.”

“Wow, really? How long were you with him?”

“Three… four years? It all blends together.”

“Really? Why’d you leave?” He puts his phone down next to your computer. “That’s May’s number.”

You type in the number and the name in your address book. “Ah, you know, we just went our separate ways. He has a lot going on.”

“Right,” he swipes up his phone again. “Can you remind me what’s happening today?”

“Sure thing, Peter,” you expand the calendar once more. “Presser for The Honey Moon at noon. Then you have a panel at three. Dinner with Fowler at six…”

You hesitate. Fowler? That’s a big deal.

“Nick? Gosh, that guy scares me.”

“He’s a pretty busy director.” You say. “I think he scares everyone.”

“You know him?”

“Not really. I doubt he’d recognise me from the sea of PAs out there. I hear he has three of his own.” You scoff.

“Three. Cripeys.” Peter drones. “I’m starting to rethink this whole acting thing. I didn’t think it’d be so… hectic.”

“It’s all good, right? I’m here. I’ll get you a stylist and you won’t have to wear a drag queen’s shoes again.”

“Drag– you said you knew people.”

“I do! Maybe you can come see her show sometime.” You smirk.

✨

Peter is a different breed of needy, but not the kind that makes you want to tear your hair out. He needs reassurance, maybe a bit of praise, but it doesn’t take much to keep him on track. The day is successful; presser, panel, then dinner. He let you go before the latter, though you could see his nerves rattling.

You got in touch with May. She was nice enough and surprisingly, kept a tight record of her nephew’s finances. It was enough to get him a stylist and few other things to tidy up his life. A food service to get him his meals prepped and ready for the week and a dry cleaning pick up for the clothes stacked on his couch.

As you pull up to your building, you feel a sense of relief. No more late night. No more 3 AM wakeups.

You park in your space and head to the front of the building. The side door sticks and you nearly broke your key last time. Your building hasn’t upgraded since Liz Taylor was at her peak.

Your keys jingle loudly as the sky maintains a soft blue. LA evenings are never very abrupt. You push the key into the slot and a sigh raises your hackles. You must be holding someone up.

You pull the door open and it’s just as quickly pushed back into the frame. You flinch away from the figure standing right beside you. You gasp as they grit your name.

Bucky leans on his arm, his other hand on his hip, as he snarls down at you. “Been calling.”

“Oh, hey,” you look around. “How did you know–”

“I’ve paid your bills for the last five years. You think I can’t figure it out.”

“Three and a half–”

“Doesn’t matter. What the hell? You just ghost me? That’s not very professional.” He sneers.

“You fired me,” you utter. “I’m still waiting on my severance.”

“Fired you? When?”

You stare at him. Was he really that drunk? You half suspected he was playing it up to act out, but maybe you were wrong.

“You know, the night you threw a bottle of scotch at me.”

“Oh come on. You caught it. It wasn’t like I whipped it at you,” he rolls his eyes.

“Look, you said it. You told me to get out and not come back.”

“Alright, well, you know I was drinking. Is it in writing? Did I issue you a notice of termination? No. So start answering my calls. I got a shoot in Venice coming up so I need you to book that–”

“Bucky, I don’t work for you anymore. I have a new job.” You interrupt. “I’m sorry, but you said you didn’t need me.”

“I was drunk,” he retorts.

“Fine, you didn’t fire me. I quit. You’re welcome. Now you don’t need to pay me out,” you say. “Like you said, there are a dozen other PAs who can take my place.”

“No, you work for me–” He points in your face.

“I don’t.”

He huffs and hits the doorframe with his fist. “Come on. I’ll give you a raise. You can fly out to Venice first class–”

“Bucky. Look, I can find you someone else. How about that? And we’ll just go our separate ways–”

“I don’t want someone else,” he pushes off the door frame and steps up to loom over you. “Stop being so damn stubborn.”

You bristle and slip your hand along the zipper of your purse. “You need to go.”

“You win. I’m begging you, doll.” He looks down at your hand. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll call the cops. You don’t want that in the tabloids too, do you?” You close your hand in your purse.

He growls and brings his hands up, in a gesture right in front of your neck that makes you wince. Like he might strangle you. He curls his fingers and throws up his hands.

“Goddamnit. It was one bad night.” He snarls. He backs off and shakes his head.

“It wasn’t just one bad night.” You say.

He punches his open hand and kicks the pavement. “Whatever. Whoever you’re working for, trust me, it won’t be for long. I’ll make sure of it.”

He spins and waves you off over his shoulder. You watch him stomp away and shudder. You pull your hand out of your purse and look down at the can of mace. You’re just happy you didn’t need to use it.

[toozmanykids]

Oh shit! This guy is nuts! Fucking terrifying!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

This man is famous and successful and he is using his time to threaten a former employee bc he had a drunken tantrum. Definitely unhinged.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 4

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

Bob sits, spilling tea over the side of his cup as the tag dangles on the little string slung over the side. He hisses as he sets it down and shakes off his fingers. You offer him a napkin.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, I don’t usually go out in daylight,” he mutters. He wears a pair of nearly black sunglasses as he slumps his shoulders and takes the napkin. He sops up the errant drops.

“You look like you had a worse night than me,” you scoff.

“Doubt it. I just…” he shrugs. “Don’t sleep much. So, what happened? You seem… well, no one really calls me, you know?”

“Got fired,” you give a sour smile. His brows rise and his forehead lines. “Yeah, really. After all that, the jerk decided to cut me loose.”

“Oh… so you want a job at the theatre? That’s why you called.”

“Well, I was going to ask but that’s not the only reason. Now I can go to the poetry circle. You in?”

“Hm, right.” He blows over his tea and tries to taste it, only to recoil and touch his upper lip. “Ouch.”

It would be cruel to laugh. “I’m serious. Look, I don’t know if the theatre is the right fit so… you don’t gotta ask if you don’t want to. The agency that sent me to Barnes is decent enough. Being on my contract so long, they’ll probably take me back just for another commission.”

“I wanna,” he insists. “Why’d he fire you?”

You snort. “Ask me why he does anything. I don’t know. To be honest, I’m kinda relieved. I don’t have to guess anymore.”

Your phone lights up. You look down. It’s him. You turn it over and apologise to Bob.

“Where was I?”

“You said the guy’s a pain in the ass.” He snickers.

“Did I?” You tap your fingers on the side of your cup.

“Sure,” he grins. “How many times has he called?”

“I’m not counting. I’ll give him till noon then I’m blocking his number.”

✨

You stand outside the studio. It’s not exactly your idea of a job interview but in the last few years, you’ve learned that Hollywood doesn’t have rules. The buff security guard in his black tee shirt marked ‘staff’ bears down on you as you show him the text.

“Really, he told me to meet him here.” You argue again. “Just get to come out. I promise.”

“Lady, you know how many times I’ve heard that?”

“Well… yeah, it sounds kinda shady.” You cringe. “Let me just… call him.”

“You do that,” he scoffs and shakes his head.

You back up and hit the phone icon in the corner. You put your cell to your ear and pace away. There’s paparazzi waiting for the eventual departure of the late night guests, the same who nearly blinded you as the main guest arrived.

“Hey? Uh… is this that guy with the heavy breathing again?” The strange greeting almost makes you laugh.

“Uh, no. Peter. Parker? Hi. You texted me today about a job.” You explain.

“Oh, duh!” He exclaims. “I’m sorry. Something happened and now my clothes are on the other end of town and I have two left shoes. And my hair is… not cooperating.” He sighs. Or is that a whimper?

“Wow, sounds like you’ve had a hell of a night already,” you say.

“Yeah, I’m only on in an hour. I don’t think I can wear a tee shirt out there.” He huffs.

“One hour? I can do that.” You say.

“What?”

“Sure. You said you wanted to see if I was a good fit. That’s what a good PA does. I know a guy around here, he does late night work. I’m just gonna need to throw your name around, if that’s cool with you?”

“Really?” He asks again.

“Mr. Parker, do you know your measurements?” You return.

He exhales. “If you can do this, you’re totally hired. Oh, and it’s Peter. Mr. Parker makes me feel like a school teacher.”

“On it. You just need to make sure they let me in when I get back.”

“Shit!” He hisses. “I forgot that too. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. Gotta run.” You hang up and lower your phone. You really hope LaTonya isn’t performing tonight. A drag queen has something for every occasion.

✨

“You’re a miracle worker,” Peter says as he looks in the mirror. It’s nothing special. The least flashy outfit LaTony owns. She called it her Amish Thanksgiving outfit. Black button-up and slacks. It helps that she’s close to Peter’s size. 

“I do what I can,” you say. “I know it’s nothing special.”

“Are you kidding? These shoes are pretty killer. And they match.”

That’s the only thing with flash. The sparkly red shoes are a bit much but hopefully no one notices.

“Just don’t scuff them. It’s a rental and the place has a pretty strict return policy.” You warn.

“Oh, sure. I’ll be super careful.” He checks his hair again. “And you fixed this mop.”

“Yeah…” you suppress a yawn. 

There’s a knock at the door. “Five minutes.”

Peter backs up from the mirror. “I should go.”

“Uh, yeah. You want me to stay here or–”

“Please. Stay. They put all this food in here but my stomach’s flipping.”

“Cool,” you nod.

“Um, you’re hired by the way. Don’t think I said that.”

You smile, “wow, thanks.”

“You kidding me? I don’t think I’d survive another night without you. Everyone warned me not to fire my agent…” He frowns. “Anyway, I gotta go.”

He leaves you and you finally let out a yawn. You look down at your phone. Thirty-eight missed calls. Yikes. And almost as many voicemails. It’s too bad you need to listen to them to get rid of them all.

Another call flashes and you black the screen, dismissing it. You have no idea why Bucky is still bothering. He’s the one who cut ties. After all, he said he could replace you in a heartbeat. It’s been a day already, he must have found someone else to torment by now.

[thezombieprostitute]

I love that you have her working for Peter now. Bucky is going to be extra pissed that she's working for someone younger. 😆

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bucky: wow can't you take a joke?

Reader: you're the only joke here (jk)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Things 3

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

“Where are you?” Bucky’s voice demands angrily from your phone.

“Uhhh, headed home?” You answer.

“Why?” He growls.

You pause. You’re not quite sure how to answer without coming off sarcastic.

“Is everything okay? I thought you were on your way home yourself–”

“I’m fucking home.” He grits. “My stomach is on fire. Where’s the damn antacid?”

You almost roll your eyes but don’t want to risk veering off the road. Of course he has heartburn. Every time. You think at his big old age he would know better.

“Upstairs bathroom. The one with the blue tile, behind the mirror,” you instruct. 

You hear him moving around, the speaker scuffing. There’s the subtle slide of the cabinet door and the rattle of bottles. You grip the steering wheel.

“Anyway, I hope you feel better–”

“Why aren’t you here?” He asks.

How much champagne did he drink? You really didn’t think he was going to down the whole bottle. You also didn’t bother keeping track. You were too busy figuring out everything else in his life.

“It’s after 1am. I’m headed home so I can meet you on set tomorrow–”

“I’m not going,” he snips.

“What? No, you have to. It’s in the contract.”

“What are you? My lawyer? Tell them I’m sick,” he huffs.

You’re silent. It’s not as simple as that. You don’t just call off the shoot for one person. Even Bucky Barnes. The other actors, the crew, the equipment. It’s much more than one man’s ego.

“I can’t find the damn tablets,” he snarls.

“Alright, how about I come find them and you go to sleep and go to work tomorrow?” You suggest.

“Whatever.”

He hangs up. You sigh. You don’t quite believe he’s drunk, only spiteful. One unintentional slip and now you’ll be atoning for days. He wanted the scotch. How would you know what Natasha drinks? She hasn’t been around in over a year.

You reroute and stop at a corner store. You grab antacids, just in case, a bottle of bright pink Pepto, and ginger ale. You set off without an end in sight. You don’t think you’ll make it home. Sleeping on the damn couch always leaves you stiff too.

You get to the large mansion and key in through the gates. You roll up behind the luxury car worth almost as much as the immense home before you. You grab the paper bag and head inside. You disable the alarm as you enter.

The house is silent. So silent your ears ring. You go to the stairs and listen. “Bucky?” You call up.

No answer. You climb the stairs and check the bathroom where you told him to find the antacid. They’re in the open cabinet, right on the centre shelf. You sigh and swipe them up.

You go back into the hall and nearly jump out of your skin as Bucky exits a doorway further down. He’s still got his pants on but his shirt and undershirt is gone. His chest flexes as his thick stomach pokes out over his belt.

“About time,” he rubs his chest. “I’m dying here.”

He marches up to you. You hold out the bottle to him. You don’t mention that they were right in front of his face. He pours out a handful and tosses them in his mouth. He chews and shoves the bottle back at you.

“I brought ginger ale–”

He swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No thanks. The last thing you fed me set my guts on fire.”

“The ginger will help–”

“Sure.” He scoffs and spins on his heel.

He strides away as you roll your tongue in your mouth. Hopefully he just goes to bed and you can escape. He stomps back into his bedroom, leaving the left door open. You wait a moment then slowly tiptoe the hallway.

You go downstairs and leave the pepto and ginger ale in the fridge. You put the spare bottle of antacid in the cupboard and fold up the paper bag for recycling. The intercom clicks.

“Get up here. Now.”

You close your eyes and grimace. You want to scream at him to go to sleep. You’re so flipping tired.

You go back upstairs and to his bedroom door. You cautiously peek inside. He’s sitting in one of the velvet chairs, legs wide, shoulders broad, his hand on his stomach.

“I’m getting fat,” he growls. You don’t say anything. “Well?” He slaps his stomach. You wouldn’t sat fat. There’s still lines in his stomach, showing obvious muscle, but he is thicker than before.

“Sir, you… aren’t.”

“You hesitated,” he points at you, his elbow planted on the armrest.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He chuckles darkly. You cross your arms. “Is there anything else I can do? I gotta get up early and so do you–”

“Tell me the truth, that’s what you can do,” he pushes himself up and turns, grabbing a glass of dark alcohol off the small round table. He drains it. “I’m fucking fat. It’s why they didn’t give me the Milan job. I didn’t think my stomach had anything to fucking do with showing off watches.”

“Bucky,” you utter. “Maybe just… no more mozzarella sticks?”

“So you agree,” he saunters toward you. His pants are open, showing off the top of his briefs.

“No, but if it’s bothering you–”

He snorts and stops right in front of you. He blinks slowly. Something about the flick of his lashes and the glassiness in his eyes assures you he’s drunk.

“I’m bothering you,” he pokes your shoulder.

“No.”

He laughs and shoves your shoulder harder. “Sure I am. I see it,” He splays his hand and covers your face. You recoil. “You got that little dimple in your cheek–” He taps your cheek with two fingers. “You don’t wanna be here, go.”

“Alright, just, you should lay down–”

“You should shut up,” he slurs. “I mean it. Get out.” 

He spins and staggers to the bed. He stops and slips his thumbs in the top of his pants. He pulls them down with his briefs and you quickly avert your eyes. The bed frame groans as he flops onto the bed.

“I’ll find someone else. How much I pay you, it won’t be hard.” He growls.

You wince. “Are you–Are you firing me?”

“Goodbye,” he lifts his hand to wave at you. “And good luck.”

You frown. You’re not sure if he means it in his state but you don’t care. If that’s what he wants, then that’s how it will be. It’s shitty. You’ll have to dip into your savings until you find something else, but he isn’t wrong. He pays you enough that you have something to fall back on.

At least until you can ask Bob for his manager’s number.

[honeybee-reads]

He’ll probably wake up in the morning and not even remember firing her. Good. Let him suffer. Bucky treats his assistant so badly and she works really hard. I hope she finds a great job and Bucky has to work hard to get her back. I loved this, Bucky really is insufferable and rude too.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't wait till he doesn't hear from her or get an answer. Pay our severance honey.

He will work hard but I don't know that I trust his methods.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 2

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

The constant flash of cameras is blinding. You almost empathise with Bucky as he faces them without fear. He’s all too lucky that his resting bitch face is naturally modelesque. It takes an expert eye to see the way he clenches his jaw. He just wants this done and over with.

You wonder at times how he got so far in his line of work. He doesn’t enjoy it. Or at least, not all the bells and whistles. He’s not one for questions and yet PR is all about answering the same thing over and over again. Despite his agitation, he does it well. He is a very talented actor, though he can’t get an award for his best performances.

As he leaves the shuttering red carpet and passes the last of the microphone bobbing desperately for his attention, you hurry behind the photographers to catch up with him. Your foot hits a thick cord and you go tumbling. You land on your elbows and bounce up without a beat. No one notices the PAs in a mad scramble to attend to their employers.

“Bucky,” you gasp after him. A man in all black raises his hand to block you from the satin drapes hung to welcome the VIP into the venue. “I’m… his assistant,” you feel around and lift up the badge on your lanyard. “See!”

The man drops his hand and nods sideways. You quickly flit out of the way of an actress as she bears down on you, several assistants holding up the train of her dress. You push through the satin and run to catch up with Bucky.

“Hey,” you walk at his elbow.

“I need a drink,” he sneers.

“Sure, I’ll find the food services–”

“Something hard. Like whiskey or turpentine,” he growls.

“Oh, well, they’ll have wine when you get to the theatre–”

“They water that shit down. Cheapskates,” he grumbles. “Find me. And it better be with something good.”

You sigh. “Alright.”

Now you get to go beg the bar for some liquor. That’s always fun. They don’t care who you work for when all the other PAs are getting in their way.

You head down the front counter and stop. You know that guy! You run up to the server in the black vest and white shirt. He blends in with the rest well enough but you’re always happy to see a familiar face.

“Bob!” You call his name. “Hey Bob, it’s me! I thought you were working at the arcade.”

He turns and smiles. He has sad eyes. His shoulders ease as he recognises you.

“Yeah, on the weekends. This is my new gig.” He explains. “You want some champagne?” He offers the tray of one glass. “I dropped the others.”

“No, no. Um, actually, my boss is in a really bad mood. Kinda always is. He wants something stronger. Maybe you can help me siphon some gas out of one of the limos,” you chuckle.

He frowns.

“Kidding,” you say. “Just some scotch. If you know how to hook a gal up.”

He looks around and hums flatly. “Sure. If I break any more crystal, they’re gonna fire me.”

He grabs the champagne flute and searches around. He drains it then hides it behind a statue. He waves you after him as he lowers the tray and hurries away.

He takes you around the bar into the back room. No one notices him. You feel bad at the fact but you know what that’s like.

“What does the guy like?” He asks as he points you to a shelf.

“I have no idea,” you snort. “That’s half the problem. He never says what he likes. Or changes his mind.”

“Wow, sounds like you need a new job. We’re hiring…” he offers.

“I’m tempted,” you pluck up a bottle with a label you recognise.

“It’s that Greg guy… the one from that new movie. The stupid one.” He says.

“Nah, I heard that guy’s chill. Just likes his assistants too much. And the makeup artists. And whoever else.” You roll your eyes. “Not that I believe everything I hear. No, it’s Bucky.”

“Rightttt,” he draws out. “Duh, I shoulda guess since his move is the one playing.”

“Pfft, I don’t care,” you shrug. “He doesn’t need the ego stroke.”

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah, well… it was nice to see you.”

“Sure! You coming to poetry circle next week?”

“Are you?” He counters.

“Ah, got me,” you grin. “Maybe the boss will let me if I get him this scotch.”

You spin and scurry out. You go out into the crowded corridor. Jeez. You won’t be able to get in, all the actors and crew are going in that way. You circle around and find your way to the control room.

“Woah, you can’t be in here–”

“I just need to get by the stage,” you tell the tech. “My boss is in there. Bucky Barnes?”

“Oh shit. Okay.” The guy points you to another door. “That way.”

You thank him and hurry through the door. You trip as you come out and search the theatre. Bucky’s sitting with his feet up on the seat in front of him. He has sunglasses on. Where did he get those.

You near and poke his red sole with the bottle cap. “Bucky.”

He opens one eye. You wiggle the bottle at him. He stares at you. Slowly, he sits up and reaches for the bottle. He reads the label and his cheeks tug. His blue irises flash at you. You wince at his dark glare and the mention of his ex.

“Nat likes this shit.” He sneers and chucks it at you. You barely catch it as it hits your stomach heavily. “Thanks for the fucking reminder.”

“Sorry. I’ll go find something else–”

“Just get me some champagne. A whole damn bottle.” He orders.

[thezombieprostitute]

Ah fuck. 🤦

You know, Bucky, if you actually told your assistant what you like, maybe you wouldn't have the reminder.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Um the job description says she needs to read his mind

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 6

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

“Hey, uh, I just got a weird call.” Peter says as he comes back in from the balcony.

“I told you to hang up on those ones,” you reply without looking away from the laptop.

He laughs. “No, not one of those. It was Fowler’s assistant. One of them, anyway. They’re gearing up to start production in Venice. One of the actors dropped out and they offered me the role.”

“Really?” You turn on the tall stool along the bar, the command centre you’ve established over the last few days. “You said yes?”

“I did. I figured I could always change my mind if you think it’s a bad idea.” He chews his lip.

“I’m not an agent, Peter. I don’t know. I mean, the number one rule is you don’t say no to Fowler.” You shrug. “So, you should do it.”

“Oh, cool. I did something right.”

“You did a lot of things right to get this far,” you assure him. “So when is this shoot? I’ll need to book tickets. And accommodations. Did you get the assistant’s name? I might need to try to get in contact–”

“Are you coming?” He interjects.

“If you want me to. I can go or hold down the fort here.”

“Well, what would you usually do?” He asks.

“I’d be on the redeye the day before to make sure there were chocolate truffles waiting in the room and a full rack of clothes pressed and ready. Then I’d go to the set and make certain Bucky’s chair was clearly marked and his trailer meets his standards.” You say. “And it was never good enough.”

Peter frowns, “oh… he didn’t like you?”

“I was his assistant. Doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t like him?” He prompts.

“It doesn’t matter. I did the work I was paid to do.” You sniff. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Can that new girl you hired come? The one that does my hair?” He asks.

“They’ll have stylists on set but I guess if you need to make any appearances… Have you looked at any of the agents I suggested?” You ask.

“No. Do I need one? Harry was such a jerk. And he was my best friend, figure.” He pouts.

“Well, Peter, I can’t really do everything. I’ll try but that sort of stuff, I don’t have the connections. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I’m doing fine. I got a call from Fowler.” He argues.

“And are you going to call the Venetian studios? The talk shows? It’s pretty expected that you would try to get a little press while overseas.” You say.

“Oh…” he frowns. “Well, I know a guy. Not really an agent, but… he knows some people.” He looks down at his phone and flicks around the screen. He puts it to his ear and backs up. He coughs. “Uh, Mr. Stark.” He cringes as he hits the balcony door. “No, I know. You said only call if it’s and emergency.”

Stark? No fucking way.

He fumbles to open the door and stumbles back out, closing it behind him. You sigh. Well, if it is or isn’t Tony Stark, you just hope they can do something. As demanding as Bucky could be, at least he had his shit together. The problem was never the work or the details; it was just him.

💫

Your phone buzzes on your night table. Groggily you roll over, flicking the side switch to silent. You rarely go Do Not Disturb. It’s a violation of your employment to ignore calls but goddamn it’s 2 in the morning. Isn’t it?

You check the screen; 2:31 to be exact. Another call flashes over the screen. You stare at the number. You should block him already. You dismiss Bucky’s call and drop the phone. Your alarm is set, you’ll be awake when needed.

You yawn as the alarm chimes to drag you back into the world of the living. You’ve never been the type to hit snooze, there’s always been too much to do. You get up, shower, dress, make yourself human enough to face the world.

You put your phone back to vibrate. There’s a few more missed calls but no voicemails. You still haven’t delved into the backlog of messages. And you have a message from Bob. He’s just checking in and you’re happy to tell him you’re tired and not ready to face the day. He shares a similar sentiment.

You head off to start your daily task list. You finally cleared off the chair stacked with clothes at Peter’s apartment. Now you just have to pick it all up from the cleaner. Then he needs his overpriced smoothie and he has a haircut you need to get him to. Fowler sent over very specific instructions for the look.

As you come out of the cleaners, you stop short of your car. The old thing has gotten you through a lot. The bumper is still dinged from that guy who lost his mind at the red light…

Bucky stands, arms crossed, leaning against the side, dark shades over his eyes. His long hair is tucked behind his ears, his beard thicker than the last time you saw him. Patches of grey dust his chin.

“He pay you better?” He asks. “That it?”

“Bucky,” you sigh as you shift the hangers over your shoulder. “Can you just… quit.”

“You sure can,” he retorts.

“You fired me.”

“So you keep saying but I really have no memory of it.” He pushes his shoulders wider. He really is a big guy. “It’s all sour grapes. I said something, you got your tail all in a bunch, now you’re tryna teach me a lesson.”

“You told me to go away.” You shake your head. “Why are you still bothering me?”

He tilts his head and stands up. You nearly cower as he steps closer. “Why are you being so damn stubborn?”

“If you’re looking for a replacement, I can give you some names–”

“I don’t want a replacement, doll,” he growls as he puts his hands on his hips, bending his neck to loom over you. “I got some idiot who spills coffee in my lap. I got another and she was digging through my sock drawer.” His blue eyes blaze over you. 

You stare back at him then peer around. “People could be watching.”

“So the fuck what? You’re my assistant.”

“I’m not–”

He laughs. The kind of laugh that makes you want to shrink down. He keeps his expression soft but his voice is gritty as it rises from his tight throat.

“You’re going to regret it, doll. I fucking promise you that,” he sneers as he holds an eerie smile. “Secrets don’t last around here. I’ll figure out who it is.” He reaches to touch one of the garment bags and you flinch. “You’ll come crawling back. I know you will.”

He spins on his heels and struts off. You hurry to your car and shove the hangers in the back seat. As you lock yourself into the driver’s seat, your heart races and your hands shake.

For as long as you worked for Bucky, you never saw this side of him. He could be grumpy, unapproachable, and downright demanding. But never this. He’s fully deranged and you can’t understand why. You’re just an assistant. There’s hundreds of those in this god forsaken city.

[honeybee-reads]

Ooh that made me tingle. He sounded like a jealous ex “He pay you better?” Sounds to me a lot like “He fuck you better than me?” No way Bucky and you should prove it RIGHT NOW.

That man is possessive over his girl and we love to see it. Now Peter… what’s up with the stylist huh? Leave that woman alone ya nasty. But also, don’t? Hehe I’m having so much fun here.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I bet Peter could fuck me better so maybe Bucky should prove me wrong 🫦

All these men are deviants

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 1

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

You burst in through the front door and the alarm goes off, wailing at your abrupt entrance. Shoot! Your hands are full, you barely even got door open. You angle around awkwardly, the takeout bag in hand, the garment bag over your shoulder, and a script under the other.

You give up trying to jab it in blindly as you try to see behind you and turn to put in the code with your nose. You sure are glad no one can witness this absurdity. The alarm quiets but echoes in your head in the silence that follows. You sigh and kick off your loafers, mindful of the cleaner's earlier visit.

You cross the large entryway, balancing everything tenuously as you make a path past the staircase to the kitchen. You angle around to set down the food, the smell is making your mouth water, and you flip the script up to land beside it. Ugh, thank god.

Oh no! You hang the garment bag from a cupboard handle and turn back to try to smooth the bend in the cover. Ugh, maybe he won't notice.

“Alexa, intercom to the upstairs office." You command. The smart assistant is the only one that really listens to you.

The chirp confirms the Echo's acquiescence. “Bucky, I got your jacket.” You announce. There's no response. “Alexa, intercom, main bedroom." 

The device beeps again. “Bucky, you in there?" 

Still nothing. You check the time on the microwave. No, no, no. He's not going to be late. Again.

You go to the high archway. “Bucky!" You holler into the monstrous mansion. “Your jacket!" 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you," he mutters from behind you.

You spin to find him entering from the back hallway. You hate when he does that. He can't just say he's on his way?

He’s in his half his tux already; undershirt, dress shirt unbuttoned, pants. You have to admit he’s further along than you expected. He slides the bag of takeout closer and opens it. He takes out the square white container and pops the lid.

“Buffalo?” He asks.

“You said barbecue,” you counter. “Script is there. Jacket…” You point to the garment bag. “I’ll go get your tie. And belt. Armani sent that watch–”

“I got time,” he says as he picks up a wing.

“Wait, there’s napkins,” you hurry around the island and peek in the bag.

He grabs the script and flips around the cover, the spine creaking audibly. He holds it in one hand as he brings a wing up with the other. You snatch up a handful of napkins but before you can save his pressed shirt, there’s sauce dripping all down the front.

“Bucky!” You squeal. “You’re shirt!”

He bites into the chicken and chews. He holds out the wing and looks down, rumbling at the sight of his shirt. He shrugs. “Oops,” he garbles through his mouthful.

“I told you wings wasn’t a good choice–”

“I didn’t ask.” He rebuffs as he keeps eating, unbothered by the mess he’s made.

“You can’t miss tonight.” You insist as you tug at his shirt. “I’ll get you a clean one.”

He pulls away and uses his elbow to herd you away from him. You back up and put your hands on your hips. He arches a brow. “Typically, I finish my dinner before I got a girl ripping my clothes off.”

“Bucky,” you blush.

“Go find another shirt. I can undress myself.” He sniffs. “I’m not as helpless as you make me seem.”

“I don’t–” You stop yourself. Arguing is pointless. The best thing you can do is keep him pliable so he actually goes to the premiere. “Alright, I’ll find something.”

He drops the script and opts to eat with two hands, smearing sauce all over his fingers, a smudge across his beard. You flit off, trying not to twitch in irritation. You take the stairs two at a time and find your way to the walk-in closet. 

You pull down a white shirt and double-check for wrinkles. It will do. You find a bowtie and a belt, and the pair of velvet blue loafers sent by the stylist. 

You return to the kitchen. He’s in his undershirt, leaning forward as he digs into the last wing. You put the loafers on a stool and set the tie and belt on the counter. You unfold the white shirt from over your arm and shake it out.

“Did you eat anything else today?” You ask.

“I had a protein shake.” He grumbles as he closes up the box. He reaches into the bag and takes out the parmesan garlic fingers. “Intermittent fasting or whatever.”

“Sure,” you shake your head.

“I don’t like that tie.” He says.

“What?”

He swallows down the mouthful of garlicy bread. “Uh huh. Don’t like it.”

“It’s a black tie?” You hold it up.

“Yeah, I don’t like it.”

“Okay… I’ll go get a different one. What colour?”

“Black,” he says.

You blink. “This one is black.”

“But I don’t like it.”

You pause. “Are you messing with me, right now?”

“What do you think of no tie?” He asks. “It’s a good look.”

“It’s a premiere. Black tie.” You insist.

He clucks and pops another bready bite in his mouth. You purse your lips. “Fine, no tie.”

“You’re a doll,” he grins and grabs a napkin, wiping his mouth and fingers. He crumples it up and drops it on the counter. He shakes his head as a shank of dark hair falls forward and he growls. “They couldn’t do a damn wig…” he mutters as he reaches to tuck it back behind his ear. “Had to grow it out…”

“Didn’t Luis do your hair? She texted me…” You slip your phone out of your pocket.

“She did.” He frowns.

“Wait? Where’s Estelle? She should be dealing with this whole suit monstrosity.”

“I told her to take the night off.” He says.

“You did?”

“Sure. I can dress myself.” He rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s always nattering at me. Tugging at me.”

You tilt your head, “everyone?”

“Yes,” he narrows his eyes. “Everyone.”

He goes around the counter and unzips the garment bag. He looks inside then lets it go. “I don’t want to wear this one.”

“It’s a black jacket–”

“I want the red velvet.” He insists.

“But… you said earlier… the whole reason I got that cleaned–”

“I changed my mind,” he unhook the hanger from the cupboard handle and carries it to you. “Red velvet is better but it won’t go with those shoes.”

You take the suit bag and nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, doll. You always got my back.” He grins and turns back. “Tell me you didn’t forget the mozzarella sticks.”

[thedragonlab]

I feel like he’s being contrary on purpose

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Oh he's power tripping hard. He likes having someone run around at his whim.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 10

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You rinse off the plates and take your time drying them. You hear Nick behind you as he gulps down the last of his scotch. He stole a bottle out of a cabinet. You turn back and cross to the island where he sits.

“Should I wash that too?” You offer.

He smirks.

“You don’t have to be the maid here,” he girds. “Chill.”

“I am… chill.” You insist. “I’m still a guest and it’s not right to leave a mess.”

He clucks and looks at the glass in his hand. “I’m not done.” He puts it down and pours some more of the brown liquor. You reach for your wine glass but he swipes it first. He adds some of the scotch to it. More than you would.

“Oh, sir, I think the wine was enough–”

“Drink.” He insists as he puts the cap back on the bottle.

“Sir–”

“Ma’am,” he counters as he lifts his glass.

“Nick,” you correct yourself. “I think it’s been a long day.”

“Sure has,” he pauses to swig then pulls the glass away. He wipes a dribble from his bottom lip then clinks his glass on yours. “Shouldn’t waste the good stuff. Not that I mind blowing Hansen’s money.”

You pinch the stem and draw the glass closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

He scoffs. “You really care or you just asking?”

You squint at him. “Well, of course I care.”

“You do?” He raises his glass again then gestures to yours.

You lift it and take a drink. You make a face at the taste. You really don’t like scotch. Too smoky.

“It’s not my brand,” he sniffs. “Too much zest.”

“Mhm,” you cover your mouth as you make yourself swallow.

“It gets better the more you have,” he snickers. “And I need more.”

He tosses back the last of his and reaches for the bottle again. You catch the top of the bottle. “Nick.”

“Hm?” He looks at you.

“Maybe you should slow down,” you suggest gently.

“Maybe you should keep up,” he lets go and grabs your glass, swishing it before you.

You purse your lips. He chuckles again.

“Well, if you’re not going to help, I’ll finish the bottle myself,” he arches a brow.

“Maybe it’s time for bed.”

“Maybe…” he drawls. “Come on. We got the night. Might as well enjoy it.” He holds the glass in front of you. “It will help you sleep.”

“Mmm,” you hum and patiently take the glass.

He watches you. You take a slow sip, steadily letting more through your lips. He taps the bottom of the glass and you nearly choke. You pull the rim away from your mouth and gently push his hand away.

“Well,” he swipes the bottle and flicks the cap off. It pings off the counter and rolls away. “I’m going to finish this in this hot tub then.”

He gets up and spins away. He stops to take a deep gulp from the bottle. You lurch to your feet and put the glass down. Your vision pulses and you shake your head. There isn’t much left in your glass and the scotch is mixing with the chardonnay in your belly.

“Sir– Nick.” You follow after him. “It’s late.”

“Night is young,” he insists as he marches into the hall.

You stop at the doorway. You could let him go. Find the room and just sleep through his chaos. As he takes another swig, you have a vision of him falling in the hot tub and smashing his head in. It might be that maternal instinct or just general anxiety but you wouldn’t sleep with him like this.

“Nick,” you flit after him.

“You know, the water would help your hips.” He tosses over his shoulder as he struts on.

“My hips?” You echo as you follow him outside.

“I see you rubbing them every time you stand up. Hard to miss…” he intones.

The back yard is lit by soft lights, the rippling grotto style hot tub steaming beneath the glare and moonlight. Nick stomps across the deck and down to the water’s edge. He puts the bottle on a stone ledge jutting out of the wall and stretches his neck with a loud crack.

He unbuttons his shirt as you sneak down after him. He strips off the linen and tosses it. You grab the neck of the bottle and he catches your hand. He squeezes it and you gasp.

He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks. You frown. He pops his mouth off then directs the scotch toward you. You lean away.

“Sir,” you push on his shoulder with your other hand.

“You should hop in with me.” He purrs.

“I think you should lay down.”

“We can do that too,” he grabs the back of your head and forces the bottle to your lips. You grunt in surprise as he pours the scotch so it leaks across your mouth and down your chin.

You slip your hand over his chest and push harder. He pulls the bottle away and frees it from your grasp. He turns and flings it away. It shatters somewhere in the dark.

“Consider this your day off, honey.” He faces you as you wipe your mouth.

You finch as he grabs the jacket still around your shoulders and drags it down your arms. You bend your elbows as you try to stop him.

“Woah, I’m– I don’t feel like going in. I’m just going to keep an eye on you,” you argue.

“Why? You like what you see?” He chortles.

You shake your head. “Because you’re drunk.”

“How do you know?” He challenges.

“Because you’re being like this,” you try to wrench away. He’s too strong. He rips the sleeves down and drops the jacket.

“Like what?” He asks.

You blink and shiver in the night breeze. “Nick, please. It’s slippery out here–”

“Won’t be if we get in,” he grabs the front of your dress and pulls sideways. You catch your tits before they can spill out, screeching in horror.

“Stop!” You try to back away and the fabric tears. He continues to tug the dress down your arms as you struggle to contain your chest. “Nick–”

“It’s fun! We’ll both get naked.”

He lets go and grabs the top of his pants. You gasp and cross your arms. You back away as he shoves his belt down and you flick your eyes up.

“I– No,” you spin to march away. “This isn’t–”

His pants land on the ground in a heap with the clink of the buckle. He kicks a shoe past you, then his other. You get to the edge of the stone tile but not much further. He picks you up from behind and you cry out.

“Nicholas! Let me go!” You demand.

He chuckles and hauls you backward. “Nicholas?” He growls.

“Let me–” You struggle with him and he spins you around.

You stagger and try to pull up the dress. He grabs the back and breaks the zipper, renting it apart and exposing your panties and thighs. He lets go so it falls to your feet. You hug your chest and face him, tripping as the alcohol stirs in your gut.

“Sir,” you bluster. “What–”

“You need a soak,” he winks and charges at you.

You shriek as he scoops you up easily. You kick your legs as they bend over his arm but think better of it as the world seems to tilt. He staggers to the side of the tub and descends the built-in steps. You feel as if you’ll fall right out of his arms.

You hook your arm around him and turn to cling, your chest presses to his. He angles around and sits on the bench, keeping you in his lap. You gasp and pull back, covering your tits once more.

“This isn’t… right,” you hiss as the steam adds to the fog in your vision.

“Feels right to me,” he wiggles around. “Doesn’t it?”

You feel him poking you from beneath and you hiss. You smack his shoulder with the back of your hand as you keep your other arm over your chest. He purrs and bows his head. He brings his hand up your stomach and you suck in.

“Sir–”

“Mmmm,” he bends further and you try to lean away, only until you fear he might tip you under the water. “I like them–”

He buries his face in the cushion of your tits. You squeal and push on the top of his head, shocked by the sudden shift in the night. You’ve seen him drunk before, seen him in the aftermath, but this is an animal you’ve never witnessed.

“You are… forgetting yourself. I’m– no–” You tug his short hair. “This is not–” you wriggles as he hooks an arm around you to keep you in place. “You’re too drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m going to suck em,” he slurs as he nips the top of your tit.

“What?!” You exclaim. “No.”

“Mmm,” He slips his hand up and slides it under your arm. He gropes you and kisses your flesh. “Yesssss.”

“No,” you have no choice but to expose yourself.

You pull your arm away and bat his shoulder. You wrestle with him as he leans in and kisses between your tits and growls. You tilt back as you try to escape him and he only pushes you across the water. He urges you back against the opposite wall as you kick helplessly, feet slipping over the bottom of the tub.

He pins you there as you shove his thick arms. You whine and writhe.

“Nick. I’m not… it’s me. What are you doing?” You hiss.

“I’m…” he nuzzles along your neck and snarls. “I’m taking what you owe me.”

“I– what?”

He purrs and frames your waist. He holds you against the wall of the tub as he eases back through the water. He drags his nose down your tit and flicks his tongue around your nipple. You squeak.

“What would’ve happened to Josephine…” he growls. “If I wasn’t around to rescue her…” He wraps his lips around your bud and hums. He swirls his tongue around and unlatches, teething your flesh before resting his chin on your pillow chest to look up at you. “What would’ve happened to your baby girl?”

You gape down at him in horror. “Sir?”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes you and turns his face down again. “I just want a little taste.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 9

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stir from your brief delve into unconsciousness. You yawn as the motion of the car threatens to lull you back under. You bring your hand up to rub your eye, an unfamiliar voice giving you a start. 

“Nicky, you know I got lots of space. Besides, you owe me.” 

You sit up as your eyes flick open. You look around, it’s only you and Nick. The touchscreen in the dash shows a call in progress. You sit back and relax. Nick glances over subtly before looking back to the road. 

“I wasn’t planning on it--” 

“I know you’re in the area,” the other man insists over the speaker. 

Nick sighs, “it’s not really...” he pauses. “Give me a minute.” 

He taps the mute icon and rests his hand on the shifter. He flutters his fingers in agitation, his other hand firmly gripping the wheel. He exhales as he keeps up with the rush of the highway. 

“Last night I called in a favour. Sort of. Wasn’t expecting to pay it back so soon but...” he sucks his teeth and drags his free hand up to the wheel. “Work, you know?” 

“Right, uh, where are we? I’m sure there’s a train or bus--” 

“Nicky! Hey! Answer me!” The man on the call interjects, ignored by the other. 

“Couple hours this way or that. Longer than it will take to get to his place,” he twists his hand around the wheel. “I know you weren’t planning on this but I don’t think you’ll lose your job over it.” 

You meet his gaze in the rearview as his cheek dimples. You nod. You don’t have much going on, do you? 

“I... guess it would be fine, sir. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your job,” you say. 

He hums, “thanks, honey. You always take care of me.” He unmutes the call. “On my way.” 

Honey. He’s said it a few times. You suppose you shouldn’t think much of it. You do the same quite absent mindedly to cashiers and the like. 

“Keep me in the fucking lurch, why don’t ya--” The caller snarls. 

“See ya then.” Nick hangs up, not letting the man gripe further. 

You figure a brief detour isn’t too much. Considering he rushed all this way for your daughter, you can wait in the car while he deals with it. Those last few chapters can wait. 

“Sleep okay?” He asks. 

“Um, sure. Was I out long?” 

You shift and feel pressure on the edge of your nipple. You look down and try not to draw attention. You tug the jacket snugger and cover your chest as it threatens to spill out. 

“Bout an hour?” He shrugs. “Again, I’m sorry about this. In my line of work, you get a lot of pushy jerks.” 

“Oh, sure,” you nod and watch the traffic through the windshield. “The CIA, right?” 

“Yep,” he replies casually. “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it seems.” 

“Bloody,” you say. 

He tilts his head, “sometimes.” 

You’re quiet as you think. It makes a lot of sense. The bruises, the private calls, the nameless guests, and last night. You wonder what would have happened to Barber if you hadn’t stopped him... 

“I’ll try to make it a quick stop,” Nick intones. “Sorry in advance for this. Hansen is... a bit of a character.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it. Messes are my specialty after all,” you kid. 

“I don’t doubt it. I just don’t think you should have to. Not this guy,” he scoffs. 

🔹

Nick shuts off the engine and lets out a sonorous breath. You lean forward to look up at the house. Some fancy second or third property one might call a chateau to sound fancy. It reminds you of a novel you never finished. It was just a bit too silly for your tastes. 

“Nice house,” you remark, sensing Nick’s reticence. 

“He knows how to spend money,” he scoffs as he undoes his seat belt. 

“You should’ve let me take the train,” you gently unbuckle your belt and ease it gently back behind the seat. “I do hate to be in the way.” 

“Not your fault. He’s a stubborn—guy,” he shakes his head. “He gives you any trouble, just ignore him. Or tell me. I know how to deal with him. Hell, give him a smack if you feel like it.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll make myself sparse,” you assure as you slip your feet into the heels, a twinge pinching in your arch. 

He makes a face and pulls the handle on his door. He pushes it out and climbs off the seat. You open your door and stifle a groan as your hip pangs. As nice as the car is, sitting for so long always settles right in that spot. 

You shut the door and the jacket hangs precariously from your shoulders. You look down and adjust your chest, trying to hide your cleavage under the deep vee as best you can. You lift your chin and tug the lapels together. You wince as you find Nick watching you. 

“Sorry, I’m not meaning to drag my feet,” you say. 

He shrugs. “We’ll just get this over with.” 

He comes around the hood and you meet him there. You walk in tandem up the steps, long slabs of stone arranged between a trickling grotto and trimmed hedges. You can’t help but try to tally up the expense of the decor, let alone the property tax on it all. 

The door opens before you can reach it. A man struts through and booms, “Nicky! ‘Bout time.” 

He charges toward your boss with arms open. Nick catches his hands and keeps him at bay with a growl. “Hansen.” 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Nicky,” the man snickers. 

“I’m here. Now what do you want?” Nick retorts. 

The man keeps laughing and rips his hands free. He glances over at you and his blue eyes flash. He sports shaved sides and longer strands combed back on top. His lip is dressed with a thick line of bristly fur to match the chest hair peeking out from under his satin shirt, only a few buttons to hold it closed. He’s not the sort you would associate with your boss. Nick has his moments but maintains a certain standard. 

“And who is this busty babe?” He approaches in a saunter. “Name’s Lloyd but you can call me ‘daddy’." 

“Hansen,” Nick grabs his upper arm before he can get to you. “Reel it in.” 

“Huh? Oh come on. You bring this--” 

“You better choose your next words wisely,” Nick shoves him back. 

“Holy balls,” the man, Lloyd, staggers back and catches his balance. “Fine, fine. I didn’t know you were with someone.” 

Nick scratches behind his ear in agitation as the tension weaves through the air. 

“I’m just his maid,” you explain. “You can just ignore me. He's giving me a ride home.” 

“Huh? You make your maids dress like that?” Lloyd snorts. 

“Been a night,” Nick shakes his head, hands on his hips. “Would you focus? What the hell did I drive all the way out here for?” 

“Alright, Nicky, chill,” Lloyd reaches and rubs Nick’s chest only to be swatted away. “I got a job for you.” 

Nick glances over at you. “Confidential,” he comments. 

“Right, I’ll find her a quiet place and we can discuss. Hey, baby cakes,” Lloyd turns to you, “you like wine?” 

“Oh, I’m fine. I can stay out here and watch the birds,” you offer. 

“Look, I’m a jackass but I’m not a bad host,” he offers his arm, almost gallantly. “I’m gonna get you in that den, all settled with a glass, and then I’ll sort out this grump ass.” 

Your lips twitch. He’s so absurd it’s almost amusing. He’s not the kind of person you’d ever want to be alone with but it’s rare that you ever see anyone fluster your boss. It’s quite the feat. 

You hook your arm through Lloyd’s and let him turn you around. He leads you inside. The interior is just as elaborate as the facade. There’s a sort of wildlife theme going on. Animal prints and polished wood. 

“My shoes,” you try to stop on the mat. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Nicky’s not the only guy with cleaners. Mine come early so I don’t gotta deal with them.” 

Cleaners? All the way out here? You don’t know you could be paid enough for that. 

“Just in here,” he points you through a set of open french doors with some exotic animal horns as handles. Please don’t be real. “Red or white? Sparkling?” 

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist. Nick sighs loudly. He’s getting impatient. You just want to sit. “If you don’t mind, I might just close my eyes until you two are done.” 

“Fine with me,” Lloyd unhooks his arm, dragging his touch down yours before he backs up. 

“Hansen,” Nick grits. 

“Oh Nicky, I’m coming,” Lloyd turns and shows his palm. “You are always so demanding. Dom energy.” 

You scrunch up your nose and Nick meets your eyes with exasperation. He’s usually more stoic. He must be as tired as you are. You offer a gentle smile then retreat. 

They head for the door as you sit on the edge of the couch, a silken blanket hangs over the back and pillows in zebra print are piled against the armrests. You lean into the corner and yawn. It’s a lost cozier than the car seat. 

🔹

“Hey,” the gentle squeeze on your shoulder brings you too.  

Your lashes flick open and you flinch as Nick looks down into your eyes. His irises are like hewn azure. You sit up with a gasp. 

“Sorry, sir, I must’ve...” you blink and look around. The large tall window panes are swathed in shades of black and blue, a speckle of lights shining through. “It’s late.” 

“Mm, well, he talks a lot,” Nick withdraws his hand from your shoulder and crosses his arms. “Look, I hate to do this to ya but I’m beat. Last night, driving all day, it wouldn’t be safe to go now.” 

“I could drive, sir,” you offer. 

“You’ve had as much sleep as me. No, don’t worry about it. Hansen, says we can have a room. Get ourselves sorted before we head off.” 

“Sure. Uh, that’s very generous of him,” you stand and grunt, rubbing your lower back as it tightens. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m great, Mr—Nick,” you catch yourself. “At my age, a few aches are nothing.” 

He stares at you. “You’re not that old.” 

You smile, “sir, you really don’t have to say that. I’m not upset. It’s a nice house.” You look around even as the heat of his gaze lingers on you. “I’ve had jobs where I’ve put up with worse.” 

“What’re you? Forty-five?” He wonders. 

You look at him and your cheeks pinch. “Anyone ever tell you not to ask a woman her age?” 

He smirks crookedly. “I know how old you are. I was trying to compliment you. Fifty-two. Not too bad.” 

You bite your tongue. He’s playing with you. Why? 

“Give it fifteen years then tell me how good it is,” you chide. 

He chuckles. “Fourteen, actually.” 

“Uh huh,” you grumble. 

There’s a lull. Long and roiling. You shift around on your heels. 

“Hungry?” He offers. “Hansen had the sense to offer us something.” 

“Now that you say it...” 

“Starving,” he says as he turns and ushers you across the room. “Better not be a protein shake or I might snap.” 

You hum in agreement. Your stomach is clenching. You walk beside him and stiffen as you feel his hand behind you, hovering along your lower back. His proximity is almost suffocating. You’re overthinking; it’s the lack of sleep and the change in routine. Surely. 

“Hansen,” he hollers as you come out into the hallway, “where’d ya go?” 

He stops and listens. The footfalls come a moment later and slap down the stairs. You look up to watch Hansen descend. You look away as soon as you see what he’s wearing; a cheetah-print speedo and slides. 

“I’m hopping in the hot tub. Food’s in the fridge. Labeled. Mabel has it all sorted,” he explains. “When you finish, you’re more than welcome to soak.” 

“I don’t think so,” Nick snips. 

“No swimsuit required,” Lloyd barters. 

“Just go.” Nick barks. 

Lloyd stomps down the last few stairs, “you know, Nicky, you always are such a gracious guest.” He continues past you, his slides slapping loudly. You shift as Nick lets out another irritated huff. 

“If I don’t eat or sleep soon, I’m going to kill him,” he mutters. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 8

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The hotel room is nice. Two beds, a couch and chairs, a bar, a large TV mounted on the wall, balcony, full bath... every amenity you could never afford. You're sure Nick will expect a big thank you. Or at least many. 

Joey goes to the bar as you feel along the lapels of Nick's jacket. You forgot you were wearing it. You lower yourself into a clam shell armchair. You sigh as the adrenaline drips from you. She clucks as she nears and puts down two glasses. 

"Looks like you need a drink," she sits in the other chair and pops the cork of the mini wine bottle. "Hell, so do I." 

You lean your head on your hand as you watch her, "I don't think--" 

"Long night," she insists as she pours, nudging a glass closer to you. You lean forward to take it. You pinch the stem and stare into the golden nectar. 

"Honey," you begin. 

"I'm okay," she assures you. "Mom, it could've been worse. So much worse but..." she pauses to drain half the glass, "you sent in the goon squad." She scoffs as she hunches, leaning her elbows on her thighs, knees wide. "Mom, who the hell do you work for?" 

You chew your cheek and sip. You look around the suite which probably costs as much as your rent for one night. You lean back as the tension racks your back. 

"CIA, I think. I saw his badge once," you say. 

"CIA?" She echoes in awe. 

"Plus, they had it stamped all over that work event," you scoff. You look down at the deep vee of the dress and try to pull it closed. 

"He took you on a date?" She asks. 

You flinch, "no, no," you shake your head and drink again. "He's my boss. And I'm a bit old for that." 

"Never too old, mom," she cooes. 

"He's too young for me," you counter. 

"You know," she sniffs, "dad only ever wanted you to be happy." 

"Joey..." you exhale. 

"I'm just saying. Seems a bit much for a boss to do. Take you somewhere in that dress, then come to my rescue with his CIA henchmen..." she sucks her teeth. "I stick to women because most men, don't put in that much effort." 

You chuckle, "Joey." 

"Or they're creeps. Old creeps," she gives an exaggerated shudder. "Oof. Nasty." 

You frown, "honey." 

"It's over with. I'm moving on," she looks at the glass of wine in her hand. "I gotta find a new placement." 

You nod, "Nick said something about that. Maybe he can help." 

"I wouldn't want that. It's my problem." 

"Sweetheart--" 

"Look, I'm so thankful about everything you did. Him too but... I'm an adult." 

"I know that, honey," you say. 

"So let me figure it out." 

You sit back and nod. You know what she means. Ever since your husband died, you can be a bit much. 

"Mom," she says gently. "You don't need anyone else to take care of. You need to take care of yourself. For once." 

"I do--" 

"No, you work yourself to the bone to look after everyone else. When's the last time you took a vacation?" 

You feel like a scolded child. The reversal of roles has you off-kilter, more so than the rest of the night. You shrug. 

"Right, well, it's been a long day, night, whatever," she yawns behind her hand. "I'm going to crash out. Please try to do the same." 

"Yes, Josephine," you answer meekly. 

"Oh, don't," she points a finger in your direction. 

"Sometimes..." you stand slowly. "You remind me too much of your father." 

"Good. He always did keep you sane," she chuckles. 

🩵

"Hmm, well, I didn't expect all this." You mutter to yourself as you look at your reflection. You turn amd cringe at the wrinkled dress. 

"Still look hot," Joey whistles. 

"Hey." You stick your tongue put at her as she passes, "not exactly dressed for the train. Or bus... I haven't heard from Nick." 

"Huh? Really? I'm sure you will." She slithers.  

"We're not having this conversation again." 

"Fine, but denial isn't that deep of a river. You can't hide forever." She laughs and you shake your head. 

You go into the bathroom, dejected by the full body view. You tame your hair as best you can and pause to examine the wrinkles around your eyes. Age isn't so bad. Lonelier than you expected. 

"Speak of the devil..." Joey appears in the open door and you stand straight. "Looks who's calling." 

You turn to her and grab the phone. You arch a brow at her and answer. She always loves to tease you. Nick? He's your boss. And he's as close to her age as yours. Probably. 

"Hello?" You say. Joey tilts her head as she leans on the door frame. 

"Hey, Nick," you daughter calls out. 

You hush her with a wagging finger. 

"Hi, ladies." He returns smoothly. 

"So," you try to ignore Joey. "I can find my way home--" 

"No need, I'm downstairs." He interrupts. 

"Downstairs?" You echo. 

"Sure. You know. I had some loose ends to tie up so I hung around and got that done. No point driving home in the dark." He drawls. "Figured I'd give you a lift back to town." 

"Right, eh..." you rub the back of your neck. "Sure. Makes sense." 

"I can take care of myself, mom," Joey trills. "You got... 'work'." She gestures with her fingers. You roll your eyes. 

"I'll get myself together," you say. "Won't be lomg at all." 

"Take your time, honey." He says. 

"Alright. Bye." 

You hang up and turn to sneer at Joey. "He's my job-- my boss. It's funny but not that funny." 

"Chill, mom. It's a joke. Come on. I just think it's cute. Thinking of you dating... anyone." 

"Because it will never happen," you approach her. "Now," you put your hands on her arms. "I have to go home. As much as I'd rather stay but... law school ain't cheap." You pull her into a hug. "I'm so so happy you're safe. So happy." You pull back and look her in the face. "And thank you for calling me. You know you can do that always." 

"Yes, mom. Better count on it," she grins. 

"Oh, if you don't. You'll hear from me." You pinch her cheek playfully. "Love you, kiddo." 

She snorts. "Kiddo? Only dad called me that." 

"Well... You've always me my kid. Always will be." 

"Alright, mom." She makes a face. "Love you too." 

"Oh, don't let me keep you from that lovely girlfriend of yours. Hope you two have fun," you chirp.  

"Oh, you too," she counters sharply. 

You sigh and shake your head. You squeeze her hand then make yourself let go. You head for the front room of the sweet and grab Nick's jacket off the back of the chair. You'll use it for cover until you're out of the hotel. 

You groan as you slip into the heels. Your arches are still aching from the night before. You snatch up your purse and look back one last time. Joey winks and waves.  

“You message when you’re back home safe.” You warn. 

“Oh, you too. Can’t have you out riding in cars with boys too late.” 

You scoff and leave her. You definitely raised her right. You head down the hallway on what feels like a walk of shame. The deja vu to the years you were Joey’s age is almost paralysing. 

You stand in the elevator with a family of four. The parents are yawning as the kids can barely keeping from hooting and jumping. You always wondered what it would be like to have more than one but then again, you only wanted what you could handle. Josephine was always enough. 

You smile at the mother as she sends you an apologetic look on ground level. You wait for them to go first before you step off. You can’t imagine that you give off the best impression. Slightly disheveled and worn out. 

You check your phone as you cross the lobby. As you get to the doors, you slow. Nick’s outside; waiting.  He surely got a lot done as you tossed and turned in the hotel room.

Unlike you, he has a fresh set of clothes; dark blue slacks, a lilac button-up. His hair is styled and he hides behind a pair of dark sunglasses. His head tilts as if he's taking in your measure.

“Sir,” you greet him as the automatic doors set your free. He smirks. He must be amused to see you this out of sorts. As his maid, you're typically the one keeping things in order.

“Morning. You look well-rested.” He puts a hand on his hip. 

“Oh, very,” you agree dryly and touch the front of the jacket. “Um, sorry about the jacket. You can take it back.” 

“Suits you better,” he waves you off. 

“I’ll have it drycleaned,” you assure him. 

“Not worried about it, honey. Let’s get home first.” He steps back. “Got us a rental.” 

You nod and step forward. He turns to walk beside you. He points you toward the silver blue car. A two-seater with an oblong hood. The expensive kind. Ostentatious. 

“Here,” he jumps ahead of you. He opens the passenger door. “Got it.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler.” You duck down and sit. 

“What happened to Nick?” He looms above you, his hand on the top of the door. 

“Nick,” you correct yourself. “Habit.” 

“Mr. Fowler makes me sound old,” he tilts his head. 

“Nope, just me,” you chuckle lackadaisically. 

He hums and clucks. He gently shuts the door then round the car to the driver’s side. You sit patiently, content enough to laze away the drive home. If he doesn’t mind, you might even close your eyes. 

He settles in as the faint scent of his cologne wafts off the jacket. You shift around as he gets the motor humming. You pull down the seat belt and peek over at him. You’re surprised to find him watching you. 

“You okay?” You ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He says. 

“Oh?” 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure you and Joey were up all night catching up.” He sets his sights straight and puts the car in gear. “Be a couple hours.” 

“I won’t say I didn’t think of it,” you stifle another yawn. 

You shimmy in the seat as he steers round the lot. You stare through the windshield, your eyes rolling with motion of the car. You let your shoulders relax as your eyelids grow heavier. 

After all the fear, the adrenaline, the panic, and the uncertainty, you’re completely drained. The night kept you awake in disbelief and anxiety. Now, you’re on your way back to normalcy. When did you become so adverse to change? You thought you learned to deal with that a long time ago. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 7

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Wednesday already, my dudes.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Sir, I have to go to her," you yank your arm, trying to escape Nick's grasp.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He hisses as he drags you up the metal stairs. His other hand fishes around in his pocket. 

Your heels catch and you stumble up behind him. He doesn't relent. He's taking the stairs two at a time as you struggle to keep upright. Your heart is racing, your head spinning, as Joey's cries stick in your ears.

"Hansen, yeah, Fowler," he holds his phone to his cheek. "Yeah, shut up, I don't got time for that. Hey, hey, you owe me so listen. I need you to send someone out for me. Right now. Shit," he stops at the top of the stairs by a heavy metal door. 

He faces you as his hand falls from your wrist. He slides out a card and taps it on the pad next to the frame. The lock beeps. He pushes down the handle and nods you through.

"Hey, sweetheart," he follows you out into the night air, "what's the bastard's name?"

"Uh," you spin as the air whips around you and hug yourself. "Barber. Andy Barber. He's--"

"Got that. Barber." He says into the phone, then follows with the exact city where Joey is studying. You falter as he hangs up.

"Nick, sir," you near him, "how do you know where she is?"

"It's part of my job," he dials out as he speaks flatly. "We don't got time for this."

"I-- I know," you babble. Your chest twists as your hands shake around your own phone. The line was muffled minutes ago.

"Yeah, need to go. Get someone up here," He demands into the phone. He shakes his head and puts his phone away.

Your teeth chatter as you stand on the roof tarmac, arms curled around you as you gnash your teeth against the altitude. Your eyes wander to the aircraft in the painted circles. You gulp.

"It's cold," Nick says and startles you as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

"Oh, uh, thanks," you glance at him and pick at your sleeve.

"I got someone headed her way. A whole squad, alright?"

Your brow knits as you eye him warily.

"I know people," he steps closer and stretches his arm over your shoulders. "Trust me when I say the creep isn't going to get away with it. I'll even let you have a go before I dislocate his jaw."

"Nick," you scold.

"Don't tell me you don't wanna hit the guy. Even you," he growls.

You touch his cuff as his hand hangs off your shoulder, "I don't like violence."

"Hm, always the peacekeeper," he chides 

You're silent. Impatient. You chew your lip, forgetting the gloss painted over it.

"So... is that what happened? The old man was... attacked?" He asks.

You flinch, "what?"

"Your husband. That's who you went to see today--"

"It's not...important right now."

"You never mentioned. Just like the kid." He sniffs.

"It's my life," you shift and draw away from his arm. You sigh, "cancer. It just ate away at him. That's it. Nothing spectacular."

He sucks his teeth, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"No need for that. He's at peace. Let's not wake him."

He exhales. The door swings open and cracks the brittle tension.

"About time," Nick snips. "Come on."

You turn as a man in aerial gear marches across the roof. Nick beckons to you. You follow him to a helicopter near the edge.

He helps you in first. He climbs up behind you and checks that you're strapped in before putting a large headset over your ears. His hands linger on them as his eyes meet yours. He nods before he drops into the seat next to you.

The pilot flicks switches and you brace the edge of the seat. You've never been in one of these things. You push against the back rest and clench your jaw.

"You hear me?" Nick's voice sounds in the headset.

You peek over and nod, gulping tightly. He tilts his head, "won't be long." He reaches over and peels your grip from the seat. He holds your hand in his. "Help's already there. Waiting on us."

Your eyes glisten as the propeller spins and the whole compartment quakes. You frown and look ahead. All you can do is trust him. All you can do is hope that Joey's okay.

Why didn't you answer earlier? Why were you so concerned with yourself? It's your fault. All your fault. 

You turn your hand and clasp onto Nick's without thinking. You squeeze and hang your head. You just want her to be safe. That's what you promised.

🔷

The quick car ride isn't fast enough. You don't even bother with your seat belt. As the car brakes before the building with the sign Barber and Associates, you're already opening the door. You search around the building. There aren't any cop cars...

You trip over the curb as Nick calls your name. He catches you before you can crash to your knees. You huff and pull away from him, lifting each foot to shed your heels. You clamour across the sidewalk as he follows.

He opens the door for you and you sprint through. You can't focus as you search for the floor number on the sign. He finds it first. "Third."

You flit onward and slam your fingers into the elevator button. He stands beside you calmly, "she's fine."

"No, she needs me, Nick," you hiss as the doors open and you hurry inside. "You said you had people on their way. Where are the cops?"

"I didn't say they were cops," he hits the three button before you can. He grips your arm firmly, "I'm telling you to calm down. Your daughter doesn't need you like that."

You blanch and look at him, then at your reflection in the doors. He's right. Joey doesn't need you panicking. You take a deep breath and steady yourself.

The doors open and you stride out. Men in black stand right outside the open door with the golden letters etched in the wood. Nick keeps pace with you and approaches.

"Hansen?" He asks.

"Sent us," one of the men confirms. Nick nods and struts through the door. You trail after him.

You peer around him, your chest pounding, and you see Joey drinking from a bottle of water as she sits on a leather chair. More men stand near another door, this one shut. 

You rush to her with arms open, dropping your shoes behind you. "Josephine."

She squeezes the bottle and quickly puts it aside. She stands to meet you as you scoop her into a hug and lock her in as tight as you can. She embraces you just a desperately.

"Baby, are you okay?" You rasp. "Please, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

You rock her and she gently pulls back to look you in the face. Her eyes are glossy. She nods.

"They... stopped him." She peers over your shoulder at the men. "How..." she flicks her lashes and looks at you, "mom, who are they?"

You keep one arm around her and turn around to face Nick. He watches placidly. He bows his chin slightly.

"His friends. My boss," you gesture to him. "I'm so sorry," you turn to her again, "I was at a work thing and I--"

"A work thing?" She eyes you up and down and squints, "wow, mom," her eyes bulge, "you look hot."

You could laugh if you weren't still terrified. You shake your head. "Joey, really, you're okay?"

"Yeah," she exhales, "yeah, I was scared but... when they got here..."

Nick sidles past and speaks lowly with one of the men near the other door. He glances back and clears his throat, "excuse me, Josephine," he says, "do you mind if I borrow your mother for a minute?"

"Sure, uh," she looks slightly distressed as he waits by the door. "I'll... be here."

You caress her arm and leave her reluctantly. You near Nick, "she prefers Joey."

He hums but says nothing. One of the men reaches to open the door for him. He ushers you in ahead of him. You squeal as he snaps the door shut behind you.

A man sits behind the desk, his nose bloodied, a cut on the ridge. You gasp as Nick puts his hand on your back. "What's the matter? He's a fucking creep."

"Nick!" You cover your mouth as the man's wrists are cuffed to the arm rests. It's him. Barber. The man you heard.

"Wasn't us," the only other man in the room comments from behind the lawyer. "He was bloody when we showed up."

Your lips part and you look at Nick. He snickers, "your girl did all that."

"I..." you shake your head and drop your arms. "She used to box with her dad but... that's only exercise."

"Seems like he taught her something," Nick smirks.

"Oh my god," you utter and look at Barber. "You can't... what's going to happen?"

"Well, he's going to be a good boy and pay out her internship, write her a good review, and we're going to keep this little incident to ourselves," Nick walks up to the desk, "aren't we?"

He bends over to glare and Barber nods weakly.

"And if you wanna get a few licks in, I can give you two the room," Nick suggests.

"No, I told you," you murmur. "No violence."

He sniffs, unimpressed but backs up. He spins and approaches you again.

"Go. Spend the night with your daughter. Hell, spend the day. I'll send you a ticket back to town." He says.

"Sir?" You say.

"Look, you've taken care of me more times than I can count. She needs that right now. She needs that soft touch," he tucks his hands in his pockets as he faces you. "I can survive until you get back."

You nod as your skin speckles in relief. You can't help yourself as you throw your arms around him. You're just so happy that your baby is okay. He did that for you. You hug him snugly. He runs his hand up your back.

"Alright," he nudges you away with a chuckle. "Go, before I change my mind."

"Thank you, sir," you clasp your hands together, "thank you! I owe you."

His lips slant and his eyes drift down for just a moment. "I'll get you a room. I'll send the details."

"Sir," you put your hands over your chest. His cheek ticks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Mm, don't thank me yet," he tuts. "You did cause quite the scene at my work party."

You deflate just slightly, "yeah, I'm... I'm sorry."

He nods to the door. You try to smile then turn. You hurry out of the room. Joey has your shoes in her hands as she waits.

"Baby," you latch onto her arm. "Let's get out of here."

"Mom," she leans into you. "I was so scared."

"I know, hun, I know," you usher her out of the room of dangerous men. Goosebumps rise on your skin as you're not entirely certain Nick won't do more than he says. You shake off the thought. "I'm here. I'll always be here for you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 6

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Let's get through Monday yall.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You follow Nick back to his house. It's a long ride. You're so caught up in your anxiety that you don't even turn the radio on. The silence feeds into your nerves. 

When you park, you notice your phone light up. It's Joey. You want to answer but you can't. You're not sure you can keep your cool. 

Nick's cryptic behavior worries you. If you lose this job, you're not sure the next one will be enough to keep Joey in school. You don't put in the long hours because you enjoy scrubbing floors, you want to do the best by your daughter and your husband. 

You get out and catch up to your boss as he struts inside. He has the garment bags over his shoulder.  

"I could take those--"  

"I think I can handle it," he scoffs. 

"Sir, uh, about, er..." you stumble over your words as your thoughts tangle. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. When you sent me home--" 

"We're past that. You're back now." He opens the door and lets you through first. "So do what you're told and stop worrying."  

He shuts the door behind him and strides up to you. He dangles a dress bag on one finger. You take it as the tension strangles out any protest.  

"Go get ready." 

"Ready?" You echo thinly. 

"Big dinner. Pull yourself together." 

He sidesteps you and struts off. You look after him, confused. You sigh and carry the dress to the half-bath behind the staircase. 

You shut the door and hang the garment bag. You put your purse on the counter and sift through it. You have a tube of gloss and some mascara. Oh, some old liner that might do if you wet it. You're good stuff is at home. 

You do your best. You just need to be presentable. It wouldn't matter if you had your BB cream or some blush, you can't get rid of the wrinkles or the spots. 

Your hair. There's a comb but it's not much use. You use your fingers and find some pins in your bag. Again, nothing special, just something. 

The door handle clicks and you spin around. Nick wears his new suit. It's perfect on him. The jacket is perfectly cinched and the pants hemmed just so. 

"Can I get a bit of help?" He smirks and wiggles the paisley tie at you. 

You stare at it and take it. Your cheeks are taut. He steps into the bathroom and unfolds his collar. You loop the tie around his neck and focus on knotting it. 

"I should've asked if you needed anything else." He says. 

"The dress is very nice, it will do," you assure him and tighten the tie. "There. You're all put together." 

"And your not," he challenges. 

You meet his gaze, "I'll be quick." 

His brows flick up and he turns to unzip the garment bag. He takes out the dress and feels the fabric. He faces you again and holds it up. You gently grab it by the sleeves and pull it away. 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Nick. For tonight, call me Nick." He insists. 

"Yes, s-- Nick," you repeat as you turn and examine the velvet. 

You wait and he lingers. Finally he backs out and shuts the door.  

You ignore the mirror as you change. The dress is no better the second time. In fact, it feels tighter. Your chest is compressed beneath the fabric, your cleavage bursting. You wish he'd put an end to this already. 

You find the shoes in the bottom of the garment bag. You sit on the closed toilet and put on the heels. You haven't worn those since Joey's graduation. You don't miss the painful arch. 

You stand and tidy up your clothes. You fold them and stop before the door. You contemplate the other side before you open it. 

You step out and find Nick waiting.  He comes close and you watch him senselessly. He takes the clothes from you and sets them on the bench near the wall. 

He returns and offers his arm. His mouth is slanted in a silent taunt. Your lips pinch and you put your hand in the crook of your arm. 

He guides you down the hall and into the entry way. You feel as if you're making the walk down a plank, about to jump to your fate. Earlier when you pulled up to see your husband, you couldn't predict any of this. 

"You look good, by the way," Nick says as you reach the door. "Really good." 

Your cheek twitches. You get it. You know what he's doing. He's reminding you that he's in charge. 

"Thank you, Nick." 

He opens the door and angles you through. You focus on your feet, on not letting your ankles bend. That small task is much simpler than the unknown you find yourself wandering into. 

🔷

You enter the room of finely dressed people. Despite the new attire, the price tag that made your stomach drop, you feel out of place. The men are in ties and brocade and velvet, the women in satin and silk. The latter are all at least a decade younger than you and many sizes smaller than you. 

Nick touches the middle of your back and drags his hand down. He slips around your hips and pulls you against him, urging you across the room. A man greets him, beckoning him over with a wave of his large hand. 

You catch his stare, the question mark in his forehead as you approach. He's taller than Nick, broader too. His jaw is speckled in dark stubble and a thick line of hair covers his upper lip. He's handsome with his bold blue eyes and cleft chin. 

"Walker," Nick greets him. You glance at the woman with curly black hair on the man's arm. She's gorgeous and sips daintily from a stemmed glass. 

"Fowler. Late. Again." 

"Always here exactly when I'm needed," Nick banters. 

"Sure, we'll see what Pine says about that." 

"Pine's head is so far up his ass, I doubt he'll notice," Nicky rolls his eyes. "Aliana," he turns to the woman, "I still don't see a ring." 

"Fowler," Walker warns. 

"Forgive me. You'll get there, in time. Like me," he winks. "Oh, and this is..." 

He introduces you and reminds you that you're more than just a spectator. You force a smile.  

"Hello, nice to meet you." 

"August," Nick gestures to the larger man the the woman, "Aliana." 

The woman flutters her lashes. You sense the judgement in her gaze. It's nothing cruel, only reality. She no doubt sees your ages and is asking the same questions you would. If this was real... 

"You finally brought a date to one of these things. Might get Abnesti to shut up." 

"I'm not worried about what he has to say. Not as worried as some people should be about leaving their drinks unattended near the guy." 

They laugh and you suppress a frown at the insinuation. You had that talk with Joey. You can never be too safe. 

"He thinks he's playing spy games," August snorts. 

"Anyway, I should make the rounds," Nick says. "Act like I want to be here." 

He ushers you onward. His name comes from your back and you nearly twist your ankle as he pulls you with him. You turn and face a slender blonde man grey slacks and a checkered jacket. His features are sharp but elegant. 

"There you are. I thought you might play hooky, as you American's say." 

"I told you, I had a thing," Nick counters. "Jonathan," he offers his hand and they shake firmly. He pulls free and gestures to you, reciting your name. 

"Nice to meet you," you say and accept his hand as he holds it out. 

"A pleasure," he turns your hand and kisses your knuckles. "I must say that colour is immaculate." 

You look down and nearly flinch at the sight of your bulging bosom. You want to cover up but that would only make it more obvious. Your face burns. You're not the sort for this. You're too old, too boring. You'd rather be at home with your book. That pairs better with wine than whatever this is. 

"Krissalyn is around somewhere. She was unhappy with the rose so likely she's pestering some poor server," he drawls dully. "Stubborn, though she might let some of that go for a bit of grace." He doesn't look away from you even as he speaks to Nick, "I must ask how you met. He never mentioned a lady." 

"Oh, uh..." you peek over at Nick. 

"She likes to read. We met at a bookstore," he lies seamlessly. "She recommended a good book. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a smarty pants." 

"Ah, and what was the recommendation? I can always go for a new addition to my library," Jonathan says. 

You blink as you stare back at his expectant eyes. His irises are somewhere between jade and aquamarine. Are all Nick's acquaintances this perfect?  

"Oh nothing special, I think it was Odd Thomas," you say. You're not as convincing as Nick. 

"Dean Koontz? Yes, I've read that one. Very unique," he praises. "I am disappointed in his more recent publications." 

"Yeah, I stuck with Odd series," you reply, comfortable to stay on a topic you know well. "Did you read all of it?" 

"A few but I think I've lost track of the story," he replies. 

Nick clears his throat, "if you don't mind, I'll just be stealing my date back. I see Turner's here." 

"I didn't think you were fond of him," Jonathan remarks. 

"Not really but who's really fond of who in this room," he leads you away. 

He approaches another man. This one is flustered as he tugs at a lock of his sandy brown hair. His blues eyes rove over the room frantically. 

"Turner," Nick calls to him. "You didn't bring another mole, did you?" 

"She wasn't a mole." 

"She stole your clearance pass," Nick retorts. 

The other man huffs, "please, I don't want to hear it." 

You feel bad for the man. Nick's teasing doesn't seem in good nature.

"Hi," you interject and introduce yourself. "You work with Nick?" 

"Cole," he smooths his hair then fumbles with his suit button before offering his hand. "Uhh, pleased to meet you." 

"Of course. There's so many people here," you peer around. "I don't think I was prepared for this." 

"Me either," his shoulders lose a bit of tension. 

"I'm the kinda person to find a quiet corner, you know?" You say. "Let everyone else get distracted." 

Nick's fingers curl into your hip. Is he trying to rein you in? Well, he didn't really give you guidelines. 

"Yeah, uh, reminds me of a family reunion," he chuckles nervously. 

"Oh, I don't miss those," you smile. "My husband's family was so judgy. I couldn't even make jello without a full critique." 

"We should keep moving," Nick says. 

"Oh, sorry, I don't want to keep you," Cole says apologetically, "Nick, sorry. I didn't mean to." 

Nick grunts and leads you away. You stop and make him do the same. "You're not very nice to your coworkers," you say. 

He snickers, "oh, I'm not." 

"Well, not really, but I hope you don't mind if I try to be." 

"You do whatever you like, sweetheart," he pets your arm and you wince. Your bag vibrates. Again. You've been ignoring the jittering, hoping it's just your nerves. 

"I'd like to know why you brought me here," you say. 

His grin stays firmly in place, "I told you that. You're my plus one." 

You swallow down his reply. He's not going to say it. He's going to draw this out and make you squirm. 

"Nick, might you point me to the ladies?" 

He squints and his cheek dimples. He points past you, "down there. I can show you--" 

"I'm sure I can find my way," you pat his hand as it lingers on your arm and you step out of his reach. 

You turn and walk away. You just need a moment to catch your breath and to figure out why Joey's still calling. It has to be something important. 

You find the restroom and lock the door. You pull out your phone. Another call comes in as you unlock the screen. You answer and quickly put it to your ear. 

"Hi? Josephine?" 

The speaker scuffs, then it sounds like the phone falls. You turn up the volume. You cup your hand over your other ear and listen. 

"Mr. Barber," Joey's voice is shrill and wobbly, "I think I should--" 

"Shh, shh, shh," the low scratching hushes barely reach you. "It's okay, Josie," the deep voice cooes, "you're doing fine. Have I told you that?" 

"Thanks, but I think... sir, please, sir..." she begs as you hear the struggle in her tone. "Can you just..." 

"It's okay. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you," he purrs. "You're a very smart girl, huh?" 

"Mr. Barber," her words crack. 

"Call me Andy, baby," you hear a kissing noise. "It's okay, just relax." 

"No, no," she grits her teeth. "I'm-- don't, please." 

"I'm not hurting you, am I? I'm being nice, baby." 

You stare into your own eyes as you glare at the mirror, in disbelief and horror of what you're hearing. Barber. Andy Barber. That man she told you about from her internship. Her boss. And you don't need to be able to see to know what he's doing. To your daughter. 

"I'm coming, Joey," you hiss and keep the phone to your ear. 

You twist around and storm through the door. You stride out and through the room full of babbling guests and clinking glasses. Your name comes from behind you but you don't turn back. 

"Where are you going?" Nick latches onto your elbow and spins you around. You have to keep from slapping him as your eyes fill with tear. Josephine is crying. She's crying for you. 

"Mom..." 

His eyes search your face and he wraps his hand around yours. He pulls the phone to his ear and listens. He doesn't look away. His jaw ticks. 

He keeps a hold of your hand and forces the phone away from his ear.  He yanks you after him as he charges for the door. 

"Let's go," he snarls. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 5

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, 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 relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: He is a baby, we know it.

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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You were married with a bouquet of sunflowers. Your mother hated them. You didn’t care. Nothing about your wedding was typical or traditional. Just in the backyard with a belly full of Josephine already growing. 

You have a similar bunch of yellow petals in hand that day. As you come to the headstone, you see a bottle cap on the corner. Joey must have come before she left town and had a soda with dad, like old times. You lay the flowers down and groan as you lower yourself to the grass. 

“Hey honey,” you rub your hips, “ugh, getting old sucks.” You sigh and stare at the letters of your husband’s name. “Wish you were around to realise that.” 

You laugh sardonically as a tingle of tears threatens behind your eyes. You sniff but don’t let them free. You still cry for him but now isn’t the time. It was easier to let it all out when he was around to make you laugh. 

“So, did Joey tell you everything? She always gave you more secrets than me. Did she tell you about the girl? Of course she did,” you tut and shake your head. “She won’t even tell me her name.” You look down and twist the blades of grass together. “You would be proud. I know you are. She’s going to be a lawyer.” 

You quiet and let the silence mull. You flick the tips of the green blades and let out another heave. You don’t want to ruin the visit by talking about work. 

“You remember when she decided to show up? I didn’t even know my water broke and you went and slipped in it...” you pause and touch your eyes. Stop. “And the grocery store thought you were going to sue.”

You cackle through the wall of tears, threatening to topple. I had to drive to the hospital because you couldn’t sit or stand straight.” You click your tongue as you remember, “but you were there. You say in that wheel chair and shared my pain. And my joy.” 

Your cheeks wet and you curse your heart. 

“She’s a great girl. No, a great woman. I love her so much,” you mop your face with your sleeves. “I love you.” 

A breeze stirs and ruffles the long petals of the sunflowers. You stare at the brown centres. You’re back standing in the backyard, his hand around yours... Then it’s gone and you’re back in the dirt. 

You sit a little longer. The first year after the funeral, you didn’t come back. You couldn’t. Then it got easier. It was a comfort, not a fear.  

“Well, you know, I'll be back. I always needed you around to keep me accountable, huh,” you get to your knees and your lower back buckles. “I wish you were here to tease me and call me old. My back.” 

You stand and stretch. You touch a kiss to your fingers and touch the headstone. “See ya round, stud.” 

You take your time leaving. The cemetery is beautiful, contrary to its purpose. The grass is green and well kempt, the stones are lined up perfectly, and the paved walkways wind through like a fairytale road. 

You come to the gates and feel the void return. Right there in your chest. You exhale and face the world. Alone. 

You dig in your purse, looking down as you fight to untangle your keys from the cheap wired earbuds you use for your walks. You lift your chin as you come up to your car and stop short. You barely keep a frown from creasing your face. 

Nick leans on your car, arms crossed, watching your approach. How did he find you? Maybe you should have checked your phone. 

“I called,” he says. 

“Sorry, sir, I was busy,” you shrug. He doesn’t seem impressed as his cheeks dimple. 

“Your contract is on-call,” he insists. 

You take another breath. Why is he here? You don’t get how he found you. Well, didn’t he say that’s part of his job? He can know everything if he wants. 

“You dismissed me, sir, so I thought--” 

“I didn’t fire you. I was out of town,” he pushes his shoulders wider. 

“Understood. I’ll go right over--” 

“Did I ask you to?” He unfolds one arm and shows his palm. 

You shake your head. He’s still in a mood. You’ll let him get it out. You do not good assuming his intentions. 

“So, who were we visiting?” He asks. You wince. 

“Sir,” you answer bluntly. 

He huffs, “fine. Doesn’t matter. I don’t got time to argue with a maid.” 

So why are you here? The retort is bitter as it stays on your tongue. You’re not easily flustered, you do your best not to get annoyed, but he’s managed to tweak your nerves. 

“I have a thing. Need a suit.” 

“I brought clean ones the other day, sir--” 

“New suit. It’s work. Big guys are gonna be there.” 

You don’t mention that his last ‘work event’ unfolded like a frat party. It’s not use arguing. You just need to do your job and then you can go home. Just be grateful you aren’t sprucing up your resume. 

“Right. Where would--” 

“There’s a place down the block. You have an eye for detail.” He interject. 

“Oh, okay, sir. I’ll go get you a suit--” 

“You’ll come with me,” he stands straight, dropping his arms. 

“Yes, sir,” you shove your keys back in your purse. 

He stares at you for a moment before he moves. He pivots on one sole and you follow after him. He keeps a lazy pace so you catch up. You walk in silence. 

You glimpse the tailor’s shop. The windows display a group of mannequins dressed in varying states of  work casual to formal. A particularly svelte female form wears a satiny silver gown with a slit to the thigh. 

He steps ahead of you and opens the door. He waits for you to go ahead of him. As he follows, you feel a brush against you and quickly move out of his way. A man with a groomed mustache greets you from behind the counter. 

“Sir, Madame,” he sweeps around in a three-piece suit, the vest cute in elaborate floral, “how can I help you today?” 

“A suit. Work dinner. Black tie.” Nick states. 

“Of course, short notice?” The man asks. 

“Tonight.” 

“Ah, we can meet that deadline, for a fee.” 

“I’m not worried about cost,” Nick turns and browses the mannequin nearest him. “And my date will need something to wear.” 

You stand as you are, glancing around in disinterest. As you turn back, you find the tailor staring at you. Nick continues to peruse the selection. 

“Who’s your date, sir?” You ask, thinking it might be the woman from the other morning. 

His brows arch as he looks at you, “she’ll need her measurements.” He flicks his fingers in a lazy point. You blink and shake your head. You? 

“Of course, madame, would you prefer the privacy of a fitting room?” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll need all that,” you insist. “I have dresses at home.” Buried somewhere in your closet. 

“You do,” Nick insists as he feels a brocade jacket between his thumb and index. 

“Um,” you peer around. You can’t afford any of this. “I could give you my size,” you offer the man. 

“Go with him.” Nick commands, “stop trying to control everything.” 

“Sir?” You look at him in desperate confusion, “I could call that woman--” 

“I don’t need some ditzy barbie, I need someone with maturity,” he sniffs. 

Ah. That’s it. No, that’s not it. It doesn’t make sense. Mature? Sure, but a bit over the hill. 

“Go,” he snips. 

You don’t chance another act of resistance. It’s not in your contract but you’re not worried about the terms and conditions in that moment. You’re worried about a paycheck and keeping your daughter in college. You can’t let her down. Or your husband. 

You follow the man around the counter as he takes you the women’s section. He walks you along a rack and stops to consider you. He smiles and curls the tip of his mustache. 

“You have beautiful colouring,” he praises. That’s sweet. You’re sure he can’t think of anything else to compliment. You’re not built like one of his dress forms. “A plum would look marvelous.” 

He turns and reaches to pull a swath of fabric forward, the hangers clacking together. He shows you the chiffon eagerly. You examine it with dread. It will show all your lumps and bumps. 

“Do you have anything... thicker? Stiffer?” You wonder. “I do like that colour.” 

Are you really going along with this? You glance over your shoulder as the tailor searches the rack. Nick’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head. You stare back for just a moment before he turns to look at his reflection and tug on the lapels of the shiny blue jacket. 

You know what he’s doing. He’s making a point. You overstepped in some way and he’s putting you in your place. He’s showing you that he can make your job harder. He can make you work. Any way he wishes. And he knows, you need the job. 

You understand all the questions now. He was getting leverage. He was doing reconnaissance. 

This will be a lesson. A reminder for you. After tonight, you will know you are just the maid. You will know where you belong. A worn out old woman sweeping in the shadows. 

“Madame, it is velvet,” the tailor draws your attention back to him as he shows you the gown. You can’t see much of the detail but the fabric will bolster you better. 

“I’ll try it,” you agree. 

“Bonne,” he remarks in French. He is an eccentric character. 

He leads you around to the fitting rooms. He hangs the dress for you and steps out to let you shut yourself in. You can’t remember the last time you went dress shopping. There’s not need for it. 

You figure out how to step into the dress. It’s tea length, just above your ankles. You don’t mind the length but oh, the top. You’re about to spill right out. The deep vee shows quite a bit of cleavage, the small strap holding it together rather precarious as your tits swell out. And the back is almost entirely exposed. 

“Madame, are you well?” The tailor calls through. 

“Uh, I think a different neckline--” 

“Get out here,” Nick demands curtly. 

You cringe and look at your reflection. Jesus. This is the lesson here. The humiliation. You are beneath him. 

You face the door and steel yourself. You push back the latch and ease open the door. You step out, keeping your chin set and your gaze distant. 

“Oh, madame, that is wonderful on your figure,” the tailor steps forward, “and it fits you...” he gives a smooch to his fingers. “Look at the hips, sir.” 

Your cheeks burn and you dare to look at Nick. You’re mortified to find him staring back, exactly where the tailor emphasizes your curves. His brows draw up thoughtfully and he tilts his head. You want to cover the vee down your chest as his gaze creeps up. 

“Hm,” Nick hums. “put it on the bill.” 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines Masterlist

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn. (Nick Fowler)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[shybluebirdninja]

Winter Shrink

Summary: When Bucky accidentally gets shrunk to the size of a cat by one of Tony’s gadgets, his girlfriend has to help him navigate life from a dollhouse while avoiding getting squished by her Roomba.

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Girlfriend-Reader Genre             : Fluff

It started like any other day. Well, any other day when you’re dating a super-soldier who constantly gets roped into Stark’s science projects. You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Bucky burst through the door with that serious look on his face — the one that usually meant some weird shit had gone down.

“Hey babe,” he called, his voice sounding... odd. You glanced up, expecting to see him in his usual towering, intimidating form. Except... you didn’t see him.

You blinked. “Bucky?”

“Down here.”

You looked down, and your jaw literally dropped. There he was, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself, but he was no taller than a freaking cat. Maybe even smaller.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, covering your mouth in shock. “What the hell happened to you?”

Bucky, standing on your hardwood floor in his tiny combat boots, crossed his arms over his mini vibranium arm like he was still the most badass thing in the room. “Stark happened. Dumbass was messing with some size-reduction tech. Next thing I know, I’m fun-sized.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Like, full-on hysterics.

Bucky’s tiny face twitched. “It’s not that funny.”

“Bucky, you’re like... like a doll!” you choked between giggles. “Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he muttered, looking thoroughly unimpressed as he stomped over to the leg of the coffee table. Which, at his current size, was basically the height of a damn tree.

You wiped away a tear, trying to regain your composure. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But seriously, how long are you gonna be like this?”

Bucky glanced up at you, his tiny hands on his hips. “Tony said a few hours, maybe more.”

“Oh great,” you said, trying not to laugh again. “So what, I just have to babysit mini-Bucky until he figures it out?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbled. “I’m still the Winter Soldier, doll. Just… compact.”

You snorted. “Right, right. You’re so scary right now.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened, but before he could say anything else, you heard a low hum from the other room. Your eyes widened in realization. The Roomba.

“Shit, Bucky, move!”

“What—?”

You darted forward just as the Roomba rounded the corner like a robot assassin, heading straight for Tiny Bucky. He turned, eyes going wide as the thing came barreling toward him.

“Seriously? A fucking Roomba?!” Bucky yelped, diving out of the way just in time.

You snatched him up in one hand, clutching him to your chest like an action figure while the Roomba buzzed past. “Holy crap, you almost got squished.”

Bucky’s tiny heart was pounding against your fingers, but he quickly brushed it off, trying to act like he hadn’t just narrowly avoided death by robot vacuum. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” you teased, still holding him in your hand like a living GI Joe. “Should I get you a dollhouse or something? You know, so you have a safe base of operations.”

Bucky shot you a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But the idea of him living in a dollhouse was just too good to pass up. You carried him over to the coffee table and gently set him down, making sure to keep him out of Roomba’s range.

“So,” you said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, “what’s the plan, Mini Barnes? Just hang out and hope Tony doesn’t take his sweet time fixing you?”

Bucky, who had climbed onto a nearby book to avoid feeling like a speck on the table, shrugged. “Guess so. But if that thing—” he nodded toward the Roomba, still mindlessly circling the living room, “—comes near me again, I’m taking it out.”

You grinned. “I’d love to see that. You, taking down a Roomba with your tiny fists.”

Bucky flexed his mini vibranium arm like it was still the deadliest weapon in the world. “Don’t underestimate me just ‘cause I’m fun-sized.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not,” you said, smirking. “You’re still pretty intimidating... you know, for a dude who’s shorter than my coffee mug.”

He sighed, running a hand through his shrunken hair. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“Come on, Bucky, it’s kinda cute.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and if looks could kill, well, you’d probably still be alive because it was hard to take him seriously when he was that size. “Cute?”

You nodded, grinning. “Yep. Cute. Like a little tough-guy action figure.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully. “I’m taking pictures later, too.”

He glared at you again. “If you do, I’ll—”

“What? Glare at my ankles?”

“Doll.”

You giggled, leaning down so you were eye level with him, his tiny face practically vibrating with frustration. “Okay, okay, I’ll cut you some slack… for now.”

Bucky, finally giving up on the idea of intimidating you, collapsed onto the table like a dramatic action figure who just lost his day job. “This better wear off soon. I’m not built for this.”

“Well, you are built small now,” you teased, earning yourself another mini-death-glare.

You were still laughing to yourself when the Roomba buzzed by again, and Bucky, from his spot on the table, narrowed his eyes. “That thing’s mocking me.”

You had to physically hold yourself back from laughing again. “Maybe it is. Maybe the Roomba’s the real enemy here.”

Bucky crossed his arms, staring the Roomba down like he was ready to declare war. “First Stark, then the Roomba. Everyone’s out to get me.”

“Well, at least you’ve still got me, soldier.” You winked at him, leaning back on your hands. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad vacuum.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sure, doll. Whatever you say.”

[shybluebirdninja]

MASTERLIST

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

One-Shots

Fury

Dominate

Sleep Striker

Primal Claim

Ownership

Forbidden Alliance

Control Room

Winter Shrink

The Wrong Wedding