Power Hungry 1
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as power imbalance age gap, and noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your new job brings you into the crosshairs of the CEO.
Characters: CEO Steve Rogers, plus!reader
Note: I'm not sure what I'm doing rn. I am subtly working on what I hope can be a little festive fun in a few days.
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Your second week in the office is much calmer than the first. You’re past all the awkward intro meetings and most of the training for office procedure and policy. A lot of what you need to know is writ up in that diploma that took far too long to get.
It’s not your dream job. Far from it but about what you expected. Your hopes of getting into game design are still there but for now, you’ll just have to muddle through as an IT scrub. It could be worse; you could still be working retail, trying not to cry when the customers raised their voices.
The atmosphere is less hectic, quieter but not silent. The clacking of keys, the clicking of mice, the low mutters between desk neighbours fills the void of concentration. You check your Slack and work through your tasks, eager to show your skills.
Your tea steams from your open thermos as your fingers flit over the keyboard. Your eyes glaze over as several tickets pop up, claimed before you can even react. Jake stands on the other side of the cubicle wall and cracks his neck.
“I got this one,” he grins. “I saw the skirt Mia was wearing…”
You keep your head down. It’s not the first comment of the like. You’re the only woman on the team. So far, you hope. It’s a small group; three men, now you.
More tickets come up. Issues that can be solved from the comfort of the IT dungeon. You get one for a Microsoft Suite error. An easy resolution; user error. Sign in and use the multifactor authentication. Simple, predictable. It’s exactly what you need after years of customer service chaos.
A sudden groan rolls over the room. You push your glasses up your nose and check the new ticket. It stays there. Jake’s still gone, Sy’s scratching his buzzed head, and Jack is lazily swiveling in his chair.
“I got a good idea,” Jack snickers. “Send the new girl.”
Girl. The word tickles in your ear. You try not to latch onto it. It’s not intentional, it doesn’t mean anything.
“Naw, that’s just not nice,” Syverson tosses back.
“Well, I don’t see you snatching it up,” Jack scoffs and crosses his arms. “I’ve got a firewall bug to fix. Won’t be me.”
Sy huffs and scratches his beard. You look around. The ticket is still there.
“Sure, I can handle it.” You say. “Let me just see.”
You drag the ticket into your tray and open it up. The request is all in caps. Oh boy.
“SUPPORT NEEDED NOW. ROGERS.’
You purse your lips and rub them together. You take a sip of the tea as you try to unravel the riddle. Sy gets up and comes around to check your screen. He exhales heavily again. It’s making you nervous.
“What is it?” You turn your chair to look up at him.
“CEO.” He growls as he points to the screen. “He don’t do virtual chat. You gotta go up.”
“Oh, uh… I do?”
“God speed,” Jack chortles.
You teethe your lip. “Is that… that bad?”
Sy shrugs and backs up. “Usually nothing complicated but… you should probably hurry. You don’t wanna keep him waitin’.”
You furrow your brow. They’re being so cryptic. You put your mug down and stand up. Sy retreats and you glance at Jack. He twirls a pen between his fingers as his eyes stay glued to his screen.
Alright, well, the last thing you need is to set a bad impression with the big boss. Besides, if it’s so simple, you don’t need to be worried. You can handle it. This is just you showing your mettle.
You stop at the door. “Er… where is the CEO?”
Jack laughs again. “Top floor, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out.”
You blow out between your lips. His eyes glimmer at you. You’ve dealt with that smugness before. It’s common in the field.
You turn and head into the hall. You go to the elevator and bounce on your toes. The anxiety is starting to bubble up.
You don’t mind running around, that’s expected, it’s just… the CEO. That’s a big deal, isn’t it? The reaction of your coworkers adds to the weight on your chest.
The dread follows you into the elevator. The ascent is a slow torment that has you twiddling your fingers. It’s not that bad. If anything, he won’t pay you much mind. You’re just a basement grunt. No one important.
You get to the top floor and step off into the static intensity. The woman behind the big circle desk doesn’t give you a second glance as she keeps her fingers moving over the keyboard. You look down at the lanyard around your neck.
You’re too intimidated to approach her. You pass her desk to the hallways of offices beyond. She clucks her tongue but says nothing.
You read the names mounted to each door; CFO, COO, Marketing Director…
Finally, the corner office. Steve Rogers, CEO. You can’t help but shiver. You glance around. There's no one there to witness your calamity.
You turn back and knock on the door. There’s no answer. You hear a voice inside, low and rigid. You wait, too nervous to knock again. You wouldn't want to interrupt.
You back up and content yourself to wait until he’s not busy. The timbre continues, getting louder, closer. The door opens.
A tall blonde man in a sleek black suit glares at you. He grabs the ID hanging around your neck then flicks it away. He points you into the office.
You gulp and step inside. He snaps the door shut and spins on his heel. He keeps the phone to his ear as he hums.
“I didn’t approve that trip to have you messing around–” he sneers as he stops by his desk. He jabs his finger again.
You cross the office and step around the desk. You look over the monitor and stay standing, not daring to even think of sitting in the lofty leather chair. He pivots and marches the large windows that look out onto the urban sprawl.
You look over his desk. An iMac with two other screens lined up with it. There’s spreadsheets on the centre one but the others aren’t on.
That must be the issue. You feel around the bottom of the monitors and wiggle the cords. The monitors come to life.
You step back. That’s easy.
“Barnes, it’s company money. Don’t waste it or you will pay it back.” He snips.
He marches back to the desk, startling you. You turn to face him. “I think I fixed the problem, sir.”
He puts the phone down gruffly and peers at the screens. He tuts and his eyes drift to you. The bright blue eyes are darkened by the tension in his face. You take a step back.
“That…” he points to your sweater. “Isn’t very work appropriate.”
You look down at your orange sweater. There’s a black cat on it. It’s cute. Jake said it was fine.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir–”
“Mr. Rogers,” he corrects you. “You’re new. Where’s Jensen?”
You gnaw your cheek. “He… he had another ticket.”
He hums. He turns to grab the chair and rolls it closer. You back up.
“Well, I should–”
“That’s not the issue,” he sits as he rolls himself up to the desk. “Come here.”
You stop and approach him. You stand beside him and wring your hands. He clicks around and opens another Excel sheet. It’s blank as a warning floats over it, proclaiming and error.
“This won’t open.” He says.
You nod. That’s not good.
“May I, sir? Mr. Rogers?” You motion to his large hands on the mouse.
He peels it away and sits back but keeps the chair close. The proximity has you sweating. Your hip presses against the armrest as you lean in exit the error.
“This file?” You swirl the cursor in the explorer.
“Yep,” he huffs. “It’s important.”
You open up the information window for the file.
“It’s not on SharePoint?” You ask.
“It’s there,” he insists.
“Okay, uh, yes, sorry.” You click out. “I should be able to recover it. It’s corrupted but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“Just hurry up. This is high-level.” He snips.
“Of course. Sorry… Mr. Rogers.”
His chair groans slightly as he turns it on the axel. His knee bounces and he slaps his hand on his thigh to still his impatience. You work awkwardly as he stays planted as he is. You lean further and further over him.
“This information is all confidential. Your contract includes an NDA,” he tuts.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rogers. I understand. All confidential.” You assure him as your fingers flit over the keys. Alright, you think you got it. A simple recovery. Alright, just got to draw an earlier version out of the cache.
He slides his sole over the floor and sucks his teeth. “You’re in the basement?” He frightens you with the sudden question.
“Yes, Mr. Rogers.” You answer.
“You just started?”
“Yes,” you tap the mouse.
“Must be awkward… isn’t it all men?” He wonders as he pinches the fabric of his pants.
“Um, I didn’t… think about it.” You say. “Almost there, Mr. Rogers. I just gotta…”
You trail off and bite the tip of your tongue. He leans forward. He must be watching the screen. You keep your focus until heat creeps up your cheeks.
You look over. He’s watching you. You blink.
“You like all this stuff? Computers?” He intones.
You swallow. “Um, yeah, sure. Mr. Rogers.”
He nods and tilts his head. You feel the hem of your skirt twitch. You ignore it and turn back to the screen. He doesn’t lean back, staying close as you open the Excel successfully.
“Got it!” You proclaim, “uh, Mr. Rogers. Sir.”
“Good job, sweetie.” He praises.
Something brushes up the back of your skirt and you squeak as he spreads his large hand across one side of your ass. He squeezes your cheek and hums. You flinch but don’t pull away. Your heart is racing.
You stand straight, frozen in place. Two fingers delve between your cheeks and wiggle. You jump and pull away.
“You be careful down there.” He keeps his hand up, rubbing his fingertips together.
You face him as he stills them and rests his elbow on the armrest. He cups his chin as he smirks at you.
“Those kind of men don’t know how to be around girls,” his cheek dimples.
You cross your arms and nod, “okay, Mr. Rogers.”
“Another thing in your contract. Interoffice relationships are a firing offence,” he shifts his fingers to rub his low lip.
“I understand,” you croak as you slowly back away.
“But you know how gossip goes…” he drops his hand and sits back. “You never know what to believe.”
You shiver and stare at him. He looks at the monitor and one corner of his mouth curves. His leg sways back and forth.
“Well, you did your job. That’s great,” he says dryly. “I’m sure you have a lot more to tend to… down in the basement.”
You sniff, “yes, Mr. Rogers.
You turn and rush for the door. You nearly trip right before you grasp onto the handle. He clucks.
“Lots of time to review the dress code,” he sneers.
“Yes, Mr. Rogers, I will.” You eke over your shoulder before you pull open the door.
As you shut it behind you, you nearly topple over. Disbelief has you reeling as you wobble your way down the hall. It’s not until you reach the elevator doors that it sinks in. You can still feel his grip on your bottom, tender like a bruise.
