Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon and coercion and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 2nd’s fic!
Lee Bodecker + “Just relax and it will be so much easier."
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Hopper gives you lift across town. You barely hear him chattering about his jumpy engine or the no good youngins as they stand on the corner. You're too fraught over what's behind you and what awaits you.
You thank him as you get out, promising him some eggs from the hen the next time she lays. He says it's no worry. You head down the street as dread scales up your spine.
You sigh and stare at the metal star hammered onto the wood sign. The sheriff's office is one of the few buildings that isn't ramshackle and leaning. And it is unfortunately not so unfamiliar to you.
You hitch your hand bag from your elbow to your shoulder and scurry forward. Your hands shake as you balance the baking dish, the smell of cinnamon and blueberry wafting up. All it does is curdle your stomach.
As you enter, you greet Carrington, a junior officer sitting by a metal fan and sweating. You know him from the days he used to play with your son, Dale. It's too bad they didn't stick together.
"Cary," you greet him out of habit, then correct yourself. "Private."
"Ma'am," he dabs his pale forehead wothia handkerchief.
You give soft smile, nerves tied up in your cheeks.
"How much this time?" You ask as you clutch the dish tighter.
"Ain't got no bond yet." Carrington explains as his eyes dip down to ridged white porcelain.
You nod and your lips straighten. "What was it this time?"
"Ah, Mrs...." A drawl answers your question.
The sheriff appears behind the private, sauntering up with a coffee in hand. He stops by Carrington and pats his shoulder. "Ain't I tell ya to let me know when she got here?"
"Sir, she just--"
"Ain't no thing." Sheriff Bodecker tuts and slurps from his cup. "What we got today?"
You look down at the baking dish. "Blueberry crumble with a buttered crust, Sheriff."
"Always so sweet," he purrs and tosses the empty paper cup on the bin under the front desk. "Ya come back. There's talkin' to be done.”
“Alright, Sheriff.”
Carrington gets up to lift the door between the front and back of the sheriff’s office. He lets you through with a ‘nice ta see ya ‘gain, ma’am.’ Sheriff Bodecker waves you on with his arm and leads you from the side, walking so close his sleeve brushes yours and your wide hip presses against him briefly.
“You sure do know how to soften a man,” he reaches over to peek under the cloth over the dessert in your hands. “Too bad the mister up and ran like that on ya.”
“You know, I barely remember what his voice sounds like at this point.” You scoff.
“Mm, yeah. You’re a good mother. Specially to a boy like the one you got.” He stops to open his door. You hesitate. “Missus,” he leans in. “I figure this conversation is best done privately.”
“Oh,” you blink in alarm. “Is Dale okay? Is he hurt?”
“Now let’s talk. Just you and me,” he nudges you gently.
You nod and swallow. You step into his office and he follows, closing the door behind you. He twists the small plastic rod to close the blinds then turns to you.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He insists.
You set the pie dish on his desk and rub your palms together. You shift on your low heels then make yourself sit. He paces as you stare at the files stacked on his desk.
“I know how hard you been tryin’ with the boy and for so long.” He intones.
“Oh, Sheriff, what did he do this time? Is it bad? Is anyone hurt?”
“Ah, ya see. You’re such a sweet woman. Minding everyone but yerself.” He rounds his desk and faces you. He leans on hand on the edge and reaches to slide the crumble across. “Your boy’s well past grown by now.” He tugs the cloth off the dish and sucks his teeth. “He needs to take care of himself. Ya know, one day someone’s gonna get him that don’t like home baking so much as me.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’m trying. I really am. I got him that job down at the hospital. I check in on him on my shifts, ‘tween folding sheets but… I don’t know.” You lean forward, clutching your handbag in your lap.
“How long we known each other, huh? You call me Lee.” He says.
“Sir, I… Lee,” you snivel. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”
“How many times have you said that to me?” He challenges with a tilt of his head. His thick fingers trace the edge of the dish.
“Too many,” you mope and sit back and defeat. “How long do ya think he’ll get?”
“Mm, now, we ain’t beyond bargaining,” he looks down at the pie. “Thing is…” He pushes his fingers through the crumbled top and down into the berry filling. “Pies and tarts and gonna pay his bond no more.” He moves his fingers up and down, coating them in the blue juice and jam. “Man gets hungry for more’n that.”
He pulls his fingers out completely and lifts them. He watches you as raises them in front of his mouth and sticks out his wide tongue. He licks the berry off slowly and pushes his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. The whole time, his eyes are on you.
You squirm and hug your purse tighter.
“I don’t got much from workin’ down the laundries, but Edwina said I could help in the field–”
“Mm mm,” he hums and licks his lips. “Money ain’t do much. I got ‘nough. You know, Howard Hewitt pays me ‘nough not to go in his shed.”
He chuckles and stands straight. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down. You follow his gaze down his stomach to the front of his khaki pants. The tenting is obvious as he wiggles his pelvis. You gasp.
“Sheriff.”
“Lee,” he insists as he grabs the back of his chair and rolls it out. He lowers himself down and sits with a sigh. He drapes his arms over the wooden rests. “Even with your hips, you can fit underneath.” He taps his toe under the desk.
“You can’t…”
“How long since you touched a man?” He asks.
You look down, lip trembling. “You can’t mean it, sir.”
“Why? Ya still a woman. Still got a pretty face, a pretty mouth.”
You wince and peek up at him. He runs his hand down his tie and smirks. “You love your son, don’t ya?”
You bat your lashes and nod, “of course.”
“And you’ll do anything for him?”
“I would,” you whisper.
“Then do it.” He demands.
You flinch. You sniff and look down. You grip the purse tight and slowly lift it. You shake as you stand and turn to put it on the empty seat.
The sheriff hums again. “That’s a nice skirt on ya.”
You close your eyes as your body goes rigid. “Thank you, sir.”
He clears his throat.
“Lee,” you correct yourself.
“Mmm, good girl.” He praises.
You shudder. You don’t think even in your youth anyone called you that. You keep your head down and turn with stiff shoulders. You near him cautiously. He rolls his chair back slightly and swivels to you.
He stops you with his hands on your waist. You quiver. He squeezes your soft sides and his thumbs press into the pillow of your stomach.
“You got a lot to offer a man,” he drags his hands up to your chest. “A lot…” he gropes you. “Unbutton your shirt.”
You keep your eyes down as tears tingle along the brims. You start at the top and pick free each button. You reveal the faded silk bra underneath. Your nipples poke at the seams.
“Woah, now… you do got a nice set on ya.”
He bounces your tits in his large hands. You close your eyes and shiver. His thumbs hook around the edges and pull the cups under your chest. He hooks his hand around your back and guides you to bend. He takes a nipple in his mouth and you gasp. He teases with his tongue and sucks. He pops his lips off.
“Tastes as good as your baking.” He growls and teeths your flesh.
Your body locks up as you swallow down your fear and shame. You open your eyes as you hear the chair creak. He sits back and purrs.
“Alright, you don’t touch a thing. You leave yourself just as you is and you get to work.” He reclines and puts his hands behind his head. “I know it’s been a long time but you don’t forget how.”
You brace the desk to keep yourself steady. You get down, one knee at a time. You stare at the khaki along his calves. He pushes his legs wide.
“Undo me. I’m startin’ to hurt real bad.” He commands.
You get closer and reach for his belt. His large stomach rises and falls with a gritty breath. You unbuckle his belt, fumbling to get it apart.
“Just relax and it will be so much easier.” He drawls as he reaches to pet your head.
You don’t look up. You can’t. You’re burning up in a pool of humiliation. You open his fly and stop to shake the tremble from your hands. It has been a very long time and your husband when he was around was never patient.
He lifts himself and helps you get his pants down. Then you roll down the elastic of his briefs and his dick springs free. You let go as he lowers himself back to the seat and you gasp. He chuckles as your eyes round. He’s a lot thicker than your husband. Longer too.
His length is lined with veins and twitching as you stare dumbly. He moves it with just a flex of his muscles and your lashes flutter. You lick your dry lips.
“All these times you brought me something sweet to eat and I never offered to feed ya, huh?” He leans forward and takes your head between his large hands. “Well, I got more’n enough to fill ya up, honey.”
Fuck the Police taking on the literal meaning! She's such a kind and humble woman who the sheriff FULLY understands how vulnerable she is. I wonder if she's the first person he's pulled this on, he's got no shame about bribes and treats so you wonder how long he thought on it before trapping this woman.
I just know her kid isn't going to suddenly be a good citizen so now she's trapped with indefinite "private conversations" with the sheriff. 💀
Scary and hot as usual. Bodecker is my favorite scumbag.
Prompt: Joy To The World - Three Dog Night / “I never understood a single word he said”
Character: Lee Bodecker
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
“He didn’t say anything?” Officer Bodecker flashes his light around your apartment.
“I never understood a single word he said.” You press your hands to the side of your neck, shoulders tight and tense. “I just woke up and… he pinned me down…”
Your voice cracks and you gulp before another sob can break. You sniffle as the Sheriff finds the light switch. He turns back and examines the door.
“No sign of forced entry.” He clucks.
“I don’t know how…”
“And where did he go after?” The sheriff asks.
“I don’t… I was scared… crying.”
“Come on. Show me the bed.” He commands.
“Yes, sir.” You shiver and hug yourself.
You lead him to the bedroom. The blankets are on the floor, the pillows are scattered, and the lamp on the night table is overturned. He stands in the doorway as you cower against the wall.
“This is why young things shouldn’t live alone.” He tuts.
“I locked the door, I know I did.”
“And you screamed?” He ignores your explanation.
“I… I tried. I couldn’t. He was so heavy on top of me.” You quiver and shake your head. “I didn’t want it…”
He’s quiet as he nears the bed, flashing his light over it, bending to inspect the sheets. He hums and it slowly climbs, crawling into a chuckle. He stands with a smirk.
“Nah, sugar. I know you didn’t scream. Just laid there and whined as he got up all in you. Stretched you all out.” He tilts his head. “Thick, wasn’t it?”
Your lips trembles. “What?”
“Most girls can’t take it all the first time.” He winks.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: A typical work assignment turns into something less than usual.
Characters: Walter Marshall, Curtis Everett
Note: blame @stargazingfangirl18
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
'No signal'.
Out in the farmlands, it isn't too rare to see those two dire words. You always keep a map in the car just in case. As it is, you've never quite got lost. These rural roads don't have many turn offs to do so.
The farmhouse is just ahead at the end of the dirt path curling to the left. The owner said something about a red post and you're fairly sure the one with the peeling coat you just passed is the one. You idle right before the branching lead off to check the map one last time.
The fields are so endless and the back roads so empty that you hear the car coming before you see it. You lower the map and look in the rearview. An iron grey truck spits up dust as it follows the subtle up and down of the unpaved lanes.
You wait for them to pass but they don't. Instead, they signal and pull up behind you. A large hand signals through the windshield. You squint and check the locks on the door.
The driver gets out and approaches. You roll the window down and inch before he can tap on the glass. You lean over to peer up at him.
Dark curls, a dark beard, some silver laced through both, and two bold blue eyes above the thick bridge of his nose. He wears a long-sleeved cotton pullover with sweat around the collar. His forearms are exposed under the rolled sleeves as he grips his hips and bends to see you.
"Lost?" He asks.
"Not really," you crinkly the map.
"You sure?"
"Um, yep. Pretty sure the farm I'm looking for is that one right over there." You nod to the north east.
He scoffs. "Hard Top."
"That's the one." You fold up the map.
"Uh huh. Well you just follow me on." He reaches to tap the roof of your car. "It's mine."
You flick your brows and his mouth slants.
"Walter Marshall. You were talking with my partner, Curtis." He explains.
"I was."
"No use keeping him waiting." He drags his hand away. "He's a bit of a grump."
He turns and struts away. You watch him in the mirror as you roll up the window all the way. That's lucky.
You wait for him to get in his truck and pass you. You follow him slowly, crawling along the curve and the subtle incline of the road. You glance over at the fields as you let your foot hover on the brake.
He leads you to the dusty clearing in front of the farmhouse. You park next to him and get out. You open your back door to take out your bag, your water bottle clinking against a buckle as it hangs from a carabiner on the strap.
“Curt!” Walter cups his hand around his mouth as he booms toward the house.
You uncap your bottle and drink as you wait. He turns to you as you twist the top back on. You let it dangle again and rest your hand on your bag.
“I told him to wait outside for you. I had to run into town and get some wire.” He clucks.
“No problem.” You assure him as you turn to take in the expanse.
“We bought this place off a family. Been passed down for decades.” He explained. “We’re thinking vegetables, herbs, some fruits. Buddy has an organic juice business….”
“Hey.” The front door snaps on its hinges.
You turn to the man that stands in front of it. His black shirt is smeared with dirt, the emblem of some metal band mostly obscured. His thick arms and sides are completely exposed by the cut of the fabric. His dark hair is buzzed short, his beard only slightly longer. More stubble than anything.
“I was dealing with the pipes.” He says as he wipes his hands on a rag. His attention darts between Walter and you. “You must be… I’m Curtis.”
“That’s me.” You assure him. “I got everything ready to go.”
“Cool. So, we’re thinking veggie patches—”
“Already gave her the breakdown, bud. Maybe next time, you won’t be late,” Walter interjects.
“I was here.” Curtis growls.
You shift awkwardly.
“What was planted before?”
“Wheat? Grains. There’s a few pear and apple trees still around and healthy strawberry patches we’ve kept going.” Curtis comes down the steps of the porch and tucks the rag in his pocket.
“Mm. Well, today I can do a quick test. I have a few kits in my bag. I’ll need to take samples back for more intensive testing and compare to the topology of the fields. Do you have a map of the plots that belong to you?”
“Huh, she’s thorough,” Walter comments.
You barely twitch. This is your work. You know what you’re doing. If you really wanted to be complicated, you’d speak like you do at the lab.
“Have to be. You’re paying for it.” You assure him without a look.
“Well, let us show you around. It’s a pretty big place so no use wasting time.” Curtis says and gets a snort from Walter. “I can get you a map of the plots. Might have to draw it out but I’ve got the deed here. There’s some coordinates on there…”
“No problem.” You nod.
“Here, it’s a bit of a walk,” Walter startles you as he grabs the strap of your bag.
“Oh, I got it.”
“Looks heavy.” He tugs and you cling for just a moment before you let go. “Come on. It’s only gonna get hotter out here.”
You repress your irritation. It wouldn’t be the first time the old-fashioned type treated you like ‘a lady’. Sometimes it can be endearing, mostly it’s demeaning.
Walter waves you ahead of him as Curtis points to the east. “We’ll start over here.”
You follow him around the house and along the strips between the patches of turned soils. When you come to the border of their holding, you turn to Walter and ask for your bag. His hand twitches on your water bottle then slides up the strap. He hands it over.
You dig inside for a quick kit. You put on some gloves and start the process. You’re overly aware of them watching, standing side by side just to your right.
“This will mostly check the PH of the soil,” you explain. “It’s typically easy enough to balance it out or at least plant according to the results. Once I have the lab results back for my other tests, we can determine anything that isn’t viable this season. Unfortunately, it can take a lot of time to revive arable land.”
Curtis hums. Walter shifts in his boots.
“You been doing this a long time?”
“Almost fifteen years.” You put in the neutralizer and wait for the results.
“Fifteen? You don’t look that old…” He muses.
You ignore that. Comments like that also aren’t unusual. You’re surprised he hasn’t commented that he expected a man but then again, you think your name might have spoiled the surprise.
You continue around the farmland. It’s tedious work. Quick tests then scooping up soil to deposit in your labeled vials. At points, you dig down deep into the sediment.
You pause to grab your water bottle and gulp. Sweat stains your scalp and dampens the insides of your gloves. You put the cap on and press on.
“More water in the house if you need it,” Curtis offers.
“Thanks. It’s a big bottle.” You counter.
As you make your way around the strips of land, the sun beats down, ringing in your vision. You try to blink away the glare as even your lashes feel sweaty. You squat down to get another sample but as you stand, you sway and stumble.
“Woah, you good?” Walter asks.
You flick your lashes and look at him. “Fine.”
You fumble to seal the sample and tuck it in your bag. You take another swig from your bottle. It’s empty. You put the cap on again and sigh. You’re almost done.
You try to lift the bag and the weight tips you over before you can stand. You fall onto it and groan. You shake your head. Something’s not right.
“Hey, you okay?” Walter asks as you’re pulled back.
Curtis lets you fall onto your back in the dirt. You grumble as your arms fall limp at your sides. You can’t move. What the hell is going on?
Curtis stares at you, touching your cheek then your forehead. Your eyelids flutter and he holds his fingers under your nose to check your breathing.
“How much did you put in?”
“Enough.” Walter answers as he unclips your bottle and shakes it. “I didn’t think she’d drink it all.”
Curtis sighs.
“We need to get her out of the sun.”
🌼
Black lightens to grey. Your mind slowly grinds back into motion as your body comes back into being. You climb out of the pit of your unconscious up into the gloom of your current predicament.
Your finger twitches. That effort alone aches. You bend two, then three, then curl up a whole fist. You raise your hand and let it fall as the weight thrums in your forearm.
You smell dirt and sweat. Your mind flashes with your last memories. Laying in the dirt, writhing and weak, the sun beating down, two shadows looming above.
You open your eyes and quickly close them again. It’s not real. It has to be a dream. These things don’t happen like this. It was a job, not…
No, it was a trap.
You look again. You stare at the wooden slats of the wall. The dark stain is faded and a few scratches mark the passage of time. You turn your head. The space is typical of an old farmhouse, but not airy as you would expect. The small room is stagnant and damp.
You know that scent too. A basement. You shudder as your chest locks up. Breathe.
You press your hands down and sit up with a grunt. The effort is enough to make you dizzy. You fall onto one elbow before you can keel over the side of the bed.
You take in the space. A wooden wardrobe, the bed, a night table with a lamp on top, a threadbare rug. There’s a small sink in the corner and a mirror. It’s all very simple.
You push yourself up again and angle your legs one by one over the edge. You’re not stupid enough to stand. You hunch forward and hug your middle.
You remember Walter taking your bag, walking behind you. You never heard a thing. He was quick.
But why? Why all of this?
You don’t see any chains or torture devices but maybe they’ll bring those out later. You doubt these things are as dramatic as those dismal Netflix miniseries. It’s not all aesthetic, it’s just a woman locked in a sad room in a basement.
You wallow in the silence. Your breath is the only sound until the grind of metal scrapes from the door. You wince and peek over as the hinges whine.
You grip the edge of the mattress. Walter tuts and shuts the door.
“Try to stand up and see what happens.”
You lift your chin and scowl at him. There’s no point in asking what or why. You look at his hands. No knife, nothing. Well, he’s big enough to kill you with his own strength.
He closes the door. You watch him. He faces you and stares.
“Well? Questions?” He prompts.
You glare at him. He waits. You don’t say a word.
“Alright, well, I suppose we’ve all waited long enough.”
He turns and goes to the wardrobe. He opens it. He takes out a dress with a dandelion pattern. It’s cut in an old farm style with buttons down the front.
He offers it to you as you stare. You don’t move. He steps closer.
“You’re in no shape to fight.” He warns.
You tilt your head up and grimace. “What is wrong with you?”
His lips curve slightly.
“I’m just like every other man. I’m just honest about it. I know what I want and need.” He bends and places the dress on your lap. His nose almost touches yours. “You can deny it in yourself but you’re a woman and women need men.”
You swallow tightly. His hands spread over the dress and feel your thighs through the fabric. He leans in to drag the tip of his nose up yours.
“I’m the nice one, sweetheart, so do yourself a favour and get changed.”
He squeezes then pushes away. He turns and marches to the door, not looking back as he leaves. You huff and bite the insides of your cheeks.
You drop your head and touch the dress. Your hands hurt. Your veins are tight but hollow, tendons strained. You feel the cotton and shiver. You know he’s right. You don’t have a choice; well, you have one. To make it worse for yourself.
You slowly unfold the dress. The effort alone is enough to make you shake. Or maybe that’s the fear.
You put the dress aside and undress. Your boots are already gone; your jacket too. You strip down to your plain cupless bra and high-rise panties. You take a deep breath and let it out as you stand.
You sway and remind yourself not to lock your knees. You grab the dress and unbutton it. You pull it on and pull through each button one by one. It’s tight and the buttons pull against the holes. When you finish, you sit again.
What do you do now but wait? You feel useless and helpless and stupid. Are you just accepting this? Everyone has a plan but how do you really plan for this?
When the door opens again, you don’t react. The shadow approaches you and grabs your arm. Walter sighs.
“You need help?” He asks.
You shake your head and stand. You try to shrug him off but he clings to you. He takes you through the door.
It’s brighter in the next room. The aromas in the air make your stomach grumble. You’re hungry. Something’s cooking.
There’s a dining table on a patterned rug; a kitchenette along one wall; fridge, stove, sink, cupboards. You notice the locks on all of them. Curtis has his back to you as he uses a spatula to transfer food from a skillet to a plate. Walter makes you sit in one of the wooden chairs and stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders.
The details start to tweak in your head. Curtis wears a black button up and slacks. Walter has changed too; a grey button-up and dark shade of pants. They’ve both cleaned themselves up.
Curtis turns and brings over two plates. He places one before you on a crochet dish mat and another at another seat with the same setting. Walter lets go of you and sits. Curtis returns and takes the third plate. He joins you at the table, his hands framing his plate as he looks at you.
“That dress is nice on you.” He says.
“Bit small.” Walter remarks. “Tight.”
You grit your teeth.
“Bit older than I expected too…” Walter adds.
Curtis sniffs. “Shut up. She’s… beautiful.”
You look away. Stolid silence roils around you. Walter is the first to move. He picks up his fork and stirs the penne on his plate. Curtis taps his fingers on the table.
“Eat,” he commands.
Your eyes meet his. His jaw is set. Walter eats without pretense.
“I’m not hungry–”
“I can hear your stomach. Eat.” He demands. “No use drugging you again, is there?”
You stare at him and take your fork. You poke a piece of zucchini and lean forward slightly. You push it into your mouth. He picks up his own fork.
“You really do look good,” he snarls as his eyes narrow, his lip twitching. “Doesn’t she?”
Walter hums and swallows. “Tits are nice.”
Curtis sighs. “Jesus.”
🌼
Your hunger is replaced with unease. Your stomach churns around the meal as you remain in the chair. Curtis gets up and gathers the empty plates. Walter stands and slaps his stomach. He nudges you.
“Come on.”
You hesitate then stand. He takes you back to the small room and shoves you inside. The door shuts heavily behind you.
You go back to the bed and sit. You climb up into the corner and fold your arms over your knees. You slump and close your eyes.
You stay like that until the door opens again. It’s Curtis. He has a zip-up bag in his hand.
“You need to get ready for bed.” He says as he shuts the door.
You stare. He goes to the sink. He puts the bag down beside the faucet and unzips it.
“Get over here.”
You stay. You’re annoyed. You’re not a dog. He speaks to you like one.
He sighs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You don’t move.
He pulls his hand out of the bag and marches over to the bed. He grabs your ankles and drags you across, the blankets rumpling beneath you. You cry out as you try to kick free.
“One last chance to get on your feet or I will drop you on your ass.”
He lets you go. Your ankles throb. You let your feet dangle and stand.
He grips your shoulder and walks you to the sink. He pulls out a tooth brush and tooth paste. He wets the bristles then puts the paste on. You reach for it and he slaps your hand down.
“Open.”
Your lip curls before you force yourself to obey. It’s so strange. He brushes your teeth as you try not to gag. He finishes and fills a plastic cup and tells you to rinse. You do.
Next, he pulls out a jar of face scrub. He tells you to wet your face. Then he applies the exfoliant. You flinch. His large hands linger on your cheeks. His eyes dip.
“You really do look… good.”
You avert your gaze. He rinses his hands then grabs the back of your neck. He bends you over the sink and splashes water over your face. He rinses off the beaded wash and hands you a towel. You pat dry as he squeezes moisturiser from a tube.
He rubs his into your skin and down your neck. His hands circle your throat and linger loosely, he hums. He exhales a hot breath over you.
“Change.”
He lets go and crosses to the wardrobe. He opens it and pulls out a linen night gown. It’s about long enough to reach your knees; plain white with straps.
He brings it to you. You reach for it and he shakes his head. “Take the dress off.”
You swallow and look around. “I can do it–”
“Stop. Do it.”
His voice sinks into like an anchor pulling you to a halt that nearly upends you. You lower your chin and close your eyes. Your hands shake as you unbutton the dress. It falls open and reveals the cushion of your chest, stomach, hips, and thighs.
You twitch as his fingertips brush down your neck to your chest and trace the top of your bra.
“Everything.”
You gulp as he takes the dress away. You unhook your bra and he tugs it off your arms. Then you push down your underwear until they fall to your ankles. He bends to snatch them away too.
He looms close then throws the night gown over your head. You bring your arms up to poke through the holes. You open your eyes as he pulls the sheath down your body. It’s tight too, hugging your tits and ass.
His breath scrapes audibly. His hands hover around your sides then drop. He gathers up your clothes and heads for the door.
“Lay down.”
He slams the door behind him.
🌼
You lay in bed but don’t sleep. The lamp is on. You can’t bring yourself to face the dark.
You watch the door. Reality skews as time passes without notice. No tick of the clock, no numbers to count, only those walls and your fear.
The door jars then opens. You sit up. A figure fills the frame.
You stare at Curtis as he tilts his head. He’s naked. You brace yourself.
“Please…”
“Hey…” another voice comes from behind him. “Starting without me?”
Curtis winces and turns. You look away from his naked ass as he faces Walter. The other man snickers.
“Couldn’t sleep, big boy?” Walter taunts.
Curtis shakes his head and turns back. He enters the room. Walter follows and sheds his tee shirt. The door shuts with a loud click.
You push yourself against the wall, curled up as you hold up a hand in defense.
“Please, don’t–”
“Shh,” Walter hushes you as he shoves his flannel pants down his thick legs. His dick bobs up shamelessly as he stands and stretches.
Curtis approaches the bed and latches onto your ankle. You whine as he jerks you away from the wall. You flail as he drags you to the edge. The night gown rolls up above your thighs, exposing you.
“She looks good,” Walter praises as he strokes himself. “Give me her mouth.”
“Take it.” Curtis says as he drops to his knees and pushes yours apart.
You whimper. He grips your knees then slowly kneads up your thighs. Walter climbs up from the foot of the bed and strokes your cheek. You sway him away and he catches your hand. He snickers as he pulls it toward his pelvis.
“Stop! Please–”
“It’s not going to hurt if you’re good,” Walter chides.
You gasp as Curtis’ touch crawls between your thighs. His breath grazes your pelvis and you flinch. You reach down to stop him but once more, you’re slapped away.
Walter pumps himself with one hand as his other grasps your chin. He turns your head and you lock your jaw. He squeezes until your entire skull pulses.
“Don’t be bad.” He warns.
Curtis frames your pelvis, his thumbs stretched down the creases of your thighs.
“Listen.” Curtis growls. He leans in and his breath plumes against your cunt. He nuzzles you and purrs.
Walter presses his tip to your lips as his grip gets even tighter. You open your mouth and whine. He pushes inside and you close your eyes.
Curtis’ tongue grazes along your lips and you shiver. You sink into yourself as he tastes between your folds. The coolness of his mouth flows through your veins.
You tell yourself, beg yourself not too feel. But you feel it all. As Walter dips deeper into your mouth, smothering you, sliding down to your throat. As Curtis flicks his tongue up and down, swiping circles around your clit.
Your body vibrates as they violate you. Curtis reaches up your body, groping and grabbing at your stomach, then your chest. He fondles one tit as Walter grabs the other, still guiding your mouth up and down his length.
Your muscles spasm as you gag. Curtis tickles along your cunt with his fingers and teases your entrance. Walter pushes past your reflex and your eyes water as drool stains your lips and cheeks. Curtis pushes two fingers into you and you squeeze both of them as they invade your body.
They work in tandem, licking, lapping, tugging, thrusting. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t do anything but let them use you. For all that you can’t do, you feel it all.
Your insides twist and tie up. The tension coils around and around. You press on Walter’s thigh as he dips deeper and deeper and Curtis’ tongue swirls around and around.
You arch your back, toes curling, and the pressure bursts. You whine around Walter as you spasm and cum. Your orgasm dominates you, conquers you, and shatters the last of your resistance.
Neither stop. Walter fists your hair as he fucks your mouth and Curtis rams his fingers in deeper and hard. He sucks on your clit as you clasp at the tangled blanket and choke. You cum again.
He eases you through and drags his wet mouth across your pelvis and hip. He growls.
“Get her up.” He snarls.
Walter pushes in one last time then slides out of your mouth. He pulls you up by your neck and moves you off the bed. Curtis angles around to sit on the edge as Walter guides you onto his lap.
You push back against Walter and he grabs your hip. He leads you down as Curtis’ hand grips your other side. They force you onto Curtis’ dick as he groans. His hand slips to your rear as your walls clench him and you push on his chest.
Walter shoves you down until you cry out. He chuckles and moves your hips. You whine again.
“Is she tight?” Walter growls.
Curtis groans. He leans forward as the night gown droops below your chest and he takes a nipple in his mouth. Walter moves his hand up your back and pushes lightly. Curtis lays back, taking you with him.
Walter keeps your motion. He rubs your ass as guides you up and down Curtis’ length. He steps closer and bends over you.
Curtis reaches down as he nibbles at your chest. He frames his intrusion with his fingers, opening you up as Walter presses against your entrance. You twitch and try to move away.
They hold you in place as Walter pushes into you. He stretches you so much it burns. Just his tip has you trembling and pleading. Curtis hushes you and pets your head.
Walter inches into you, crowding your cunt as it strains around both of them. He presses against your back as he plants his knees between Curtis’ to kneel on the bed. He bends over you and snaps his hips, bottoming out.
You squeal and Curtis grunts. He hisses. “Fuck, she’s… fuck…”
“You’re right,” Walter rolls his hips and kisses the back of your head. “She’s fucking perfect.”
My red flags were pinging as soon as Walter took her bag but I still wasn't expecting them to work that fast. And that basement seemed especially dismal. Will she ever see the sun again??? 😬
They did not hesitate. Walter might not have got what he expected but he didn't mind really hehehe. Oof. I don't know if she'll ever get past those two.
When you're a woman doing STEM work but two muscle bound misogynists just see
Like dude, they ate one meal and were ready to DINE OUT on our poor professional. I know Walter definitely ditched her car somewhere and probably complained to the company that she never showed up meanwhile Curt is on Amazon looking for even more slightly too small dresses.
**Voldemort Won AU ** A humble muggle servant in the proud House of Malfoy only wishes to accomplish the chore in front of her nose. Arrogant and messy members of the staff draw the attention of their master and leave her to clean up their messes. Soon it becomes all too apparent Master Lucius demands more than loyalty.
Dark Lucius Malfoy, Plus Size Reader, 30+ year old reader, power imbalance, physical, emotional, magical and sexual violence.
Faithful Servant
You have floors to scrub. That's all there is right now, the bucket is heavy, the water is scalding. The texture of the hard bristles working against the stone floor puts your teeth on edge. It feels good on your back right now even though you know it'll be an ache soon. But at this moment you stretch out your arms and push your weight into the brush as you drag it back towards your knees.
It's a bright but chilly day with glaring light streaming through the tall windows at your back. Even the mudroom is opulent. Thick wool robes hang on copper hooks. Dark polished wood seats conceal boots for walks through the estate grounds.
Blue works beside you. Her large eyes flick up at the sound of the door swinging open. You steadfast keep your head down. They will tell you if they want your attention but Blue is young and audacious. She leans into her scouring, pushing her bosom between her arms as she works. You resist rolling your eyes as you hear the footsteps hesitate. By all means, Master, take a gander. You hear a gulp and he trods quickly over your clean stones.
As quickly as he appeared, the young master disappears through the hall.
“You know,” whispers Blue, “Master Draco is actually surprisingly kind.”
You grunt and inch away, that patch needs to dry and there's plenty of floor to work on.
“I saw him stack his plates in anticipation of a House Elf. Can you imagine? Having manners for such a creature? Oh I do wish he resided instead of just visiting.”
“One less bed to make, one less pair of boots to shine. I'll take his fleeting kindness over a permanent bother.”
“Oh, you're the bother.” Blue huffed at you and scrubbed with renewed vigor. Part of you regretted always being so short with her. You supposed you were younger than the master and mistress of the home but you could feel in your cynical bones that you weren't a pup like Blue. The looking glasses provided no information. These were the features of an adult certainly but your exhausted eyes spoke more to your circumstance.
Still you were just as new to the world as she. Whatever wisdom you'd gained in your years had been blanched and bleached away before you were brought into your master's employ. The two of you and many others on staff are muggles. Something human shaped but so much less. They take the memories to discourage malcontent ideations. Who would run away without a name? Without knowing where you came from? To leave the manor, you'd been assured, was death. Perhaps dying as a beggar, perhaps stolen away to a less reputable home without cots and boundaries. Here you are safe and fed.
You and Blue are both supposed to simply answer to Maid. But servants talk, you listen to gossip, you have jokers, layabouts, suck-ups, and Blue was the beauty among you. Lithe and clear skinned. Her long healthy hair glistened even in low light. Blue's big shiny eyes earned her the moniker. As a heavier woman with eyes that didn't inspire, no name had naturally come about. “The other one” seemed to be your official identity. Lucky, you aren't the competitive type.
After a full day of scrubbing and dusting and polishing, your shared cot with Blue calls to you. Her small frame is already twisted in the linen by the time you begin to unbutton your dress. A high pitched ring startles your fingers still. You look up and see the enchanted bell hanging from the ceiling shaking itself back and forth. Your eyes dart down to Blue who gives no acknowledgement. This summons must be for you personally. With a heavy puff through your nose you rebutton yourself back in, pulling your apron back from its hook. Why should you get any rest? Obviously the masters are owed their money's worth.
Upstairs in the kitchen, Rook the house elf passes along a rag soaked in hot water and a fresh pot of tea.
“Master had a spill in his office. Master says it's a small spill but Rook’s work is no good. Gotta be a maid. Bring him the fat maid to clean up and replace his tea. Well, off you go. Sop up the mess and give the man his drink. Don't embarrass Rook now, in and out you go.”
“Yes, Rook. I'm more than eager to return to bed. I'll get out of his hair quickly.”
“Best be. Now up you go, fat one.”
There's no dignity in this life and no point in denying the description that's evident. You go quickly, the tea cools by the moment and you want this done as much as anyone. You bound up the stairs and stride towards his office. You have to keep your chin up as you ignore the curses and catcalls of the paintings of elderly men. The days you have to dust their frames are the worst. They swear at you in old English you can hardly understand.
“Excuse me, master…” you call out as you knock. He bids you enter and you slip in.
Master Lucius sits at his desk hunched over parchment. Your master's hair is pooled over one shoulder falling out of the way of scratching quill. He doesn't bother to look up as you hesitantly approach.
“Tea here. Then clean up.” He taps the feather of his quill to the empty space on his desk. You deposit the pot and round the table. The puddle is nearly under his chair, just under his wide spread knee. You feel your lips thin. He's not going to move, he would have stood already if he intended to. You swallow your protest and drop to your knees. You're pleased to find this rag has elf magic, Rook was looking out for you despite the master's sleight against his work. As you swirl the warm rag across the hardwood, the tea is absorbed nicely. You swirl it once more. Done and done.
You lean back on your heels and begin to pull yourself up when his low voice breaks the silence, “You're not finished.”
You flick your eyes up to his angular face. Master Lucius continues his work, his eerie light eyes focused. You hunch back over and wipe the spot again. The spill was contained. The dim space under the table is completely dry, perhaps even a little dusty. There's nothing more to mop up.
Once again you sit back and pull the rag into your lap. His quill stops.
“Is there anything else, master?”
He pushes his chair back and peers down at you. From here you have to stare up at him between his legs. The scene feels lurid and your heart begins to hammer. It's not that. Certainly. It can't be.
“You can finish cleaning up the tea. I'm not sure why you need explicit instructions. Clean. The. Spill,” he grits out.
“Yes sir.” You feel crazy. You feel helpless. Something is happening here but it's beyond you. All you can do is drop back to your hands. The rag stays warm and just as wet as you wipe and wipe and wipe. The minutes begin ticking by and your back begins to twinge. It was already a labor intensive day and you'd been so close to bed. He's fully watching you work at this point. At last, he finally reaches across the desk to fill up his tea cup. He sips and watches.
You've begun to shake.
Finally, “Mm, rise.”
You unfurl and stagger to your feet. Lucius rises with you. Your nose nearly touches his chest before you stumble back a step. He steps forward with you. Your face burns. You try desperately to not dwell on his masculine scent filling your nose. It occurs to you in that moment that you've never touched a man. At least not in this life.
“You do just as you're told, don't you?”
“Sir.”
He lets out a pleased growl, “Yes, I did get that feeling. I've been watching you for some time. You are diligent in your work. It seems you are passionate about serving your betters.”
His statement hung there filling the space with more of this strange energy. Another affirming “Sir,” fell from your lips.
“So I command you to be transparent with me. Is that girl attempting to seduce my son?”
You're startled by the question.
“You mean…?”
“Yes, Blue. The little tart in your bed. Does she have designs on Draco?”
You blink rapidly attempting to reorient yourself to all of this. He knows about the nickname, he knows about Blue's crush. He claims he's been watching. You can think of nothing but the truth. This damn empty head.
“Sir…sir, it's only a crush. She's young and bored…”
And his hand is around your throat as your head knocks against the bookshelf at your back.
“Do I not give you enough labor?” he hisses in your face.
“She's just a girl!” you clutch at his wrist, “It's not real.” With a snarl he whips you away from the shelf, you land hard on your hip with a pained grunt.
“I said finish cleaning that spill!” His wand is out and you're shrieking in pain. The burning fades but the throbbing of your hip remains as you flip over and start impotently running the rag in circles again.
“We are obviously too lenient with you lot. Do you realize what happened out there in the world? There was a war. You are at the feet of your better. A muggle has no right to look on a pure blood wizard like he's some toy to be casually lusted after. Imagine if she were to succeed? A half blood under my roof? Made with a nameless cow!”
He was all but yelling at this point. You scrub vigorously.
“It's a shame,” he's suddenly very quiet, “what has to happen now.”
“...sir?” You dare to look up. He's staring at you but he's looking through you. He's already picturing his next move.
“Sir, master. Please. Before you make a decision, let me educate her on our status. She's fickle. I can redirect her!”
He's still as he considers you. At this point you know you must be staring at him with wild eyes. It occurs to you that you don't even like Blue much. But you're both the maids. You've shivered together in drafty servants’ quarters, your fingers cracked and bled from the same deep cleaning. It has to mean something in a world where these men can steal your identity from your very head. Comradery is still some sort of connection. And it's one of the few you have.
“Do you think this outburst of yours is in service to the manor or are you being rebellious to the face of the very man who leads this entire estate?”
“It's all for you. I am yours. I am a tool. Don't trouble yourself with a silly girl. I'll put an end to this,” you plead.
He slowly nods, “Very well. I'll call upon you soon. Now, why don't you get to your feet? You're obviously done.”
"...Father who art in heaven, I pray the lord my soul to keep. NO! No. No. nononono. Damnit. Damnit.
"S'wrong. You fucked up again. If y-you don't say the words right...the words to work...God can't hear you. Just-just say it right. Oh, Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name to-to to k-keep me safe while I sleep. Goddamn! I'm sorry I can't remember. Too many pills swimming in my head. Its all a mess..."
The girl balled her hands into fists at her temples. She shook her head violently. They had her on so many pills she couldn't think straight, not even by the skewed standard she once knew. If she couldn't get this right, she knew he would come again. She'd been practicing the words the old priest who came by had offered to teach her. She had told him about the monster. The one who feeds on fear. He drinks it up and swallows your soul along with it. The old priest smiled sadly at her, patting her knee. He pitied her, but she suspected even a supposed man of God didn't believe her about the sneaking demon. That's probably how demons prefer it.
She couldn't say how long it had been since she was remanded here for "her own safety" but things had been getting worse lately. The monster had found her and crept into her room and filled her head with nightmares. When the big men came to lead her out to breakfast they would find her hiding under her bed, claw makes striping her face and arms and chest, clumps of bloody hair scattered around the room.
"The monster came again, last night." She tried to explain, "he vomited spiders on face and snakes sprang out of my hair. Stay with me. Please don't leave me alone again. He'll come. I know he'll come." With their eyes devoid of pity they had dragged her out and carried her to the infirmary. That was where she had been for the last week. They told her they were going to trust her in her own room. She should be grateful.
But she wasn't.
She knew the monster liked her. She was a treat he ate as often as he could but he never came when others were around. Other people must be what he fears. If she could convince or beg someone to stay with her in the night, she just knew he wouldn't come for her.
Her doctor, her beautiful icy doctor had visited before lights out. He was very kind but stayed so far away. His face was all angles and hardness except his full lips. She dreamed of touching them someday. Not even a kiss, she just wanted to know if they were truly soft or if it was just an illusion and they would be as hard as stone. She imagined that they would be.
"How do you feel, tonight?" he'd asked her.
"I...I'm really scared, honestly. Please let me go back and sleep in the infirmary or maybe share a room with another lad-"
"That won't lead to any progress." he harshly shut her down. She dropped her eyes and fidgeted with her hands anxiously.
"We want you to be able to leave here someday. If you can't even sleep behind a safely locked door, how are we ever going to get you home? Don't you miss your home? Your family? Do you want to be here forever?"
She looked up at him then, tears spilling from her eyes. She could hardly even remember why she was here in the first place. Everything seemed so much more confusing once she was on the inside. She remembered her life before as if it was someone else's. She remembered taking comfort in books. Hadn't she once been crafty? Somewhere in her mind she remembered her hands busied with beads.
"I don't want that. I don't want this place anymore." she managed.
He tutted, "Yes, that's what I thought. Tonight, you're going to be brave. You're going to lay in bed and fall asleep. In the morning, we'll have a session and you can tell me all about your night." he deigned to grace her with a smile, "How does that sound?"
"S'good." she replied, meekly. He stood then and gave her a curt nod.
"Sweet dreams." he said, slipping out the door.
Now here she was in bed, being choked by the darkness. The tiny barred window near the ceiling permitted her a bit of light but all she could think about was the things hiding in the shadows.
"Be strong." she commanded herself. She twisted on to her side, away from the door, "Father wants you to be strong, Doc wants you to brave. You can do it. Fall asleep and he can't get to you. J-just need to run away into tomorrow." So she squeezed her eyes shut. One last attempt at the prayer fell from her lips as the pills finally pushed her over the edge into oblivion.
.
.
.
Oh god, no.
She could feel the presence before she even opened her eyes. Her lips pulled into a thin line as she strained to hold still. If he thinks you're asleep, she reasoned, he'll see there's nothing here for him and go find someone else to snack on. So she breathed as smoothly and slowly as she could.
She heard him growl as fingers gripped her shoulder and forced her from her side to her back. She whipped her head to the side, trying not to see him.
"Open your eyes." he commanded. She shook her head, her lips still in thinned tightly. Another hand came down on her other shoulder. He dug his fingers in painfully.
"You WILL open your eyes, now."
A whimper.
"Do you want your medicine? Are you so eager to make me mad?"
She started muttering, her eyes still squeezed shut.
"What are you saying?" he demanded, "Are you begging? Huh? I can't be...merciful if you don't ask nice and loud so I can hear you." his voice smoothing to an almost affable tone. He leaned in close, his horrible scratchy face brushing against hers.
"...thy kingdom come, forgive us our trespasses and deliver us f-from evil. Our father who art..."
He let out a small chuckle, and wrapped his long thin fingers around her jaw pulling her face forward, "I don't think you're going to find much help from him. There's no one here but you and me. Well, not for long..." he pulled his hand away, "What do you think is going to fall out of your head tonight? Spiders, again? Shadows with claws? Do you think you'll find yourself at the top of Wayne Tower, staring down...knowing you're going to jump? Try to remain articulate if you can."
Her hands were violently trembling at her sides. She couldn't go through it again but there was no one to save her. She's said the words wrong again, she knew. God couldn't hear her.
Here, she was trapped with the devil.
She opened her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her.
"Please," was all she said.
He stood, unfolding away from her to his full height. Shadowed against the darkness, she couldn't make out the creature's face that had menaced her mind so many times before, just the odd outline of long thin limbs and a stout lumpy head. But even in the dark, she knew his eyes as the impossibly black empty abysses. They held no mercy, no empathy. Just nothing.
She watched as he raised his hand, palm out to her, in a familiar gesture.
NOT AGAIN!
Her body responded without her. She pushed her hand against the wall rocketing herself forward, she tumbled on to the ground, watching a white ploom of dust swirl over her pillow. She whipped her head up as he stared at her in surprise for a moment. Immediately she began to scramble away from him, crawling desperately toward the door.
It only took him a moment to catch up to her. He reached down, snatching a handful of hair and pulling her back to him. She moaned and kicked out. Her foot made contact with his stomach and he let out a loud oomph as he doubled over. With her hair free from his grasp, she scrambled over the wall. Half climbing it, half using it for support. She spun around to face him. She'd never stood before in the presence of the demon. He always caught her while she was in bed and she had never realized how small he was.
He was by no means tiny, but when he loomed over her bed he may as well have been a giant. He stood there, bent at the middle holding his gut and wheezing. How little power he seemed to have at that moment.
She felt a bubbling of emotion fill her all at once. Her anger and frustration and fear all boiled out of her core, spilling out and erupting as a fierce scream. He'd hurt her so much and she knew she had to be mad to take on a monster but being mad was why she was there in the first place. She ran at him then, he twisted around at the sound of her cry. She was on him before he could react and shoved him with both her palms.
He fell into a bony heap on the floor and she jumped on him.
"YOU BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD!" she screamed bringing her fists down. He jerked around trying to cover his sack cloth face, his arms taking the brunt of the blows. He cried out and protested but she didn't listen.
"I DON'T WANT YOU HERE! Y'HEAR ME! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" He snatched her wrist in the air and she fell, losing her balance. He twisted their bodies, shifting his weight on hers, trapping her beneath him.
"GE'OFF! GE' OFF! GETOFFME!" she slurred, twisting and bucking her hips. The creature fumbled to catch her wrists but could do nothing about her wildly swinging legs. She bounced around under him, his legs and back catching blow after blow from erratic kicks. He grunted in pain losing his hold on her wrist.
She snarled and wildly struck out at his face with her free hand.
Then something odd happened. She pulled at his twisted face and it came away easily. The scratchy fabric was in her hand instead of over his shoulders and for reasons she couldn't comprehend Doctor Crane was on top of her.
"Doctor?" She asked, all the fight in her gone. Her heart was still thundering loudly in her ears but reality seemed to have slipped away in that moment. She still clutched the monster's face in her hand but the sack cloth suddenly felt alien and she held it tight.
"Doctor Crane, what are you doing here?"
He seemed as confused as her. His features were startled and she was surprised to see someone had hurt the doctor. His lip was bloodied and his hair mussed. After a moment his shock faded as he seemed to piece something together.
"You're having a bad dream." he said simply.
Her eyes moved around the room and to the sack in her hand.
"So I didn't beat the monster...?"
"No." he said snatching the bag from her grasp. She stared up at him then, still feeling perplexed.
"But I thought I'd finally... Did he hurt you, too?" she asked, suddenly.
Fingers gently reached up and brushed his lips. They were soft and warmer than she could have imagined. The blood smeared under touch. He flinched.
"Not made of stone." she muttered. He gently took her wrist and lowered her hand.
"No, not stone. Or straw." he muttered the last bit to himself.
"Its time for you to get back in bed now." He said curtly and removed himself her from with only minimal staggering and pained stiffness. She gingerly got to her feet as well, an ache already spreading through her body.
The cheap asylum pillow felt soft under her head for once.
"I can't tell if this was a dream or a nightmare." she said closing her eyes, feeling comforted that Crane had showed up to chase away the demon.
"Nightmare." he replied, icily.
But then he was gone. She appreciated the realism in her dream going to far as to have the door click so loudly in place.
.
.
.
In the morning she woke with a weariness in her body but her spirits felt lifted. She was excited to tell Dr. Crane all about her dreams. This time she had managed to chase the monster away and she wondered if he would be flattered that she had dreamed of him helping her. She sat in bed smiling to herself. Someday, when the monster came again, she'd do just the same as she did in the dream. Next time she'd fight tooth and nail and the creature would scurry back the hell scape he's come from.
Unfortunately she would not get to tell Dr. Crane of her dreams that day. It would seem he had come down with something in the night and could not come to work. She hoped he wasn't feeling too unwell. When he appeared again he was still hobbling and immediately disappeared into his office.
She was disappointed that they didn't have a session that day, either. She knew she was being crazy but for some reason, she had the feeling her doctor was angry with her. She couldn't imagine why.
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!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’re tired but you would hate to let Nick down. And you know better than to do so after what happened to Kayla. You still can’t figure out how you haven’t yet met the Mr. Fowler that everyone is so afraid of and that adds to the latent anxiety.
You approach his trailer and cover a yawn in your hand. Before you can get to the steps, your name comes from further down the lot. It’s him. He falls into a half-sprint to meet you.
“I was reviewing the day’s film.” He explains. “Thought I might miss you.”
You smile at him and hug yourself. “That’s okay. If you gotta do that, we don’t have to watch the movie tonight.”
“No. I said we would,” he insists and gestures to his trailer. “When I say something, it gets done.”
“Oh, of course, sir. Nick.” You rock sheepishly. “I just wouldn’t want to interfere with the set.”
“Hm.” He hums and drops his hand. His eyes narrow. “You tryna get outta this?”
You blanch and shake your head, squeezing your apron and purse tighter to your stomach. “Oh, no, no. Do you think that? Oh gosh. No. I was… you’re a very important person so… I just serve food.”
He nods and glances over at the trailer. You take his cue and climb the steps ahead of him. As you get to the top, he surprises you as he reaches around you to open the door himself. He’s right up against you. You can’t help but squirm, brushing against him.
“Thank you,” you eke out as you angle out of the door’s path and shuffle inside.
He follows you in and the door snaps shut behind him. A single light is on over the table where you served his dinner. The dim is a soft amber; warm and welcoming.
“You can put your things down.” He touches your elbow softly. “Make yourself at home.”
He sidles past you. You turn and put your purse and apron on the little table near the door. He crosses the trailer and removes his jacket. He stretches his neck with a low, long groan.
You slip off your shoes as he turns to face you. You push them to the side with your foot. “Got all the kitchen guck on them.”
“Come on in,” he urges again.
He beckons you over and you follow the gesture to the leather sofa against the wall. He goes to the flatscreen mounted on the opposite wall, wires stretching down to the DVD players below. He slips the movie into the tray.
“Had to send Enid to dig this thing up.” He explains as it closes and he nears the couch. You sit and he does the same, his thigh right against you. “You good? Need anything? I had Jeanette get some snacks. Some soda. Wine?”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Hm. Well, things won’t be so messy once I get another assistant. Turnover’s awful.” He sniffs as he leans back, pushing his shoulders wide so his arm is flush to you. You can smell his cologne.
“Oh, it must be… a lot of responsibility,” you fidget with your hands as the DVD starts. “Oh, I’ll be quiet!”
You lean forward as the intro begins. The title card and credits skim over. You can sense him beside you even as you try to focus on the screen.
His fingers tap on his knee then he pulls his hand back. He touches his throat or something. You don’t look. Soon enough, you sink into the world of the film. The misty fields and masterfully framed shadows. The store is a blend of whimsy and brutality. A man trying to escape a cycle of violence through the fantasy of a Hollywood escape.
Your eyes are dry and raw. You’re tired but don’t dare yawn. You want to take it all in. It would be disrespectful not to pay attention, or forbid, fall asleep.
“You good?” He whispers.
You nod and look over at him. The top button of his shirt is undone. His hair is slightly tussled. “All good. It’s so… interesting.” You turn back to the screen. “You can see the dew on the flowers…”
He leans forward with you. He leans an elbow on his leg and his other hand settles on the cushion just behind you.
“We sat and watched the sunrise that day. We got that too but it didn’t make it in. But we had to switch setups pretty quickly to get the flowers. That little caterpillar there… sometimes you just can’t pass up the right shot.”
“Wow. It must be so… fun to create things.” You say and rest your chin in your hands, beaming at the screen. “To be good at it.” You drone.
He’s quiet for a moment. You don’t know if he’s watching the movie or you as heat blooms in your cheeks. There’s a tickle along your back. You squirm.
“Better to have someone to share it with.” He says, fingers tracing along your side before he recoils. He shifts and clears his throat. “I don’t know. Not as fun as it was before. You get all these people telling you what will sell instead of what makes sense. It’s a constant fight with men in suits who don’t even know what art is.” He scoffs. “I must sound like an old grouch.”
“It’s a big job. Must be stressful.” You say as you tear your eyes away from the movie. “Did you ever think… well, jeez, it might be a silly idea because I don’t really know about things and all.”
“Think about what?” He leans in slightly.
“Well,” you glance back at the screen. “They do that re-release thingy. With all the classics. Remastered. Could you… re-edit or maybe like… I don’t know what they do for all that. But… people know who you are so…”
“Hm, I guess I could. Execs always tell me people like ‘deep cuts’ or whatever. It’s an idea.”
“You don’t have to lie,” you insist. “I just… was thinking out loud, you know? I just think it’s so wonderful… so far. I like it.”
“Uh huh,” he hums. “Well, I don’t wanna ruin it for you. I’ll let you finish.”
You smile at him and turn back to the screen. He sits back and his knee leans heavier on yours. You make yourself sit back too, feeling awkward from hunching. You flick your thumb around your knuckle nervously as you try to focus on the film. It’s hard to do when he’s right against you.
He's so smitten and she's so sweet! This feels like a romcom waiting to happen. And he's been a gentleman. Most guys can't keep their hands to themselves five minutes into a flick, he's enjoying her enjoying his art.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as 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 landlord can fix anything, even you.
Characters: Jonathan Pine
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Lavender wafts off your skin as you wrap yourself in the plush robe. It was your housewarming gift to yourself. Your mother only sent her disapproval that you would be leasing and not letting and your siblings were all too busy with their broods to be bothered. Not that you expected much but none even so much as came to see the place.
Along with the robe, you treated yourself to some epsom salts, a nice chamomile lemon candle, and some under eye masks. The latter weren’t exactly a treat, more of a precaution. Though you might have waited too late. Wouldn’t that be so typically you?
You place the curved gels pads under your eyes. You step into your slippers and shuffle out to the kitchen for your nightly tea. You’re stopped by the chime of the doorbell.
It’s rather late. You detour past the kettle and all that tension winds around your neck. So much for a relaxing Friday night.
You dread a first meeting with your neighbours. Did you forget your bins? Or commit some other faux pas? The grass can’t be too long, the frost has it wilted and flat.
You only wish the dang app on your phone would work. You followed the instructions to a T; several times over. You open the door an inch as you brace yourself for an awkward encounter.
It’s Mr. Pine. Jonathan, as he prefers.
“Oh, hi,” your eyes round and you’re suddenly aware of the bright blue pads under them.
He’s in a grey plaid overcoat and a sea green scarf. The shade brings out the blue in his eyes, little specks of yellow near the pupil. His cheeks and nose are red again. He is in desperate need of a hat. Though it does little to detract from his austerity.
“I’ve interrupted?” He intones.
“Um, well, I didn’t expect… I don’t know what I was expecting.” You cringe. “Did something happen? I checked me account, the money transferred–”
“Oh, I apologise. I didn’t mean to unsettle you. No, I’ve only come to check on the window.” He leans back to admire the brand new panes. “No issues? No air seeping through?”
“Nope. I’ve been a bit too afraid to touch it much but it’s held up.”
“Mm, yes. Well, the branch was kindling at best. I’ve decided to have the tree removed entirely so two birds, one stone. Come to check the repair and inform you of work.” He explains. “I’ve the permit from the city for it to be unrooted.”
“Oh, right.”
“And I understand it isn’t quiet work so I thought it might be… of good will to offer some recompense for the disturbance. I’ll cut twenty percent of next month’s rent.” He says.
“Twenty… oh, well, how could I say no?”
“Mm, take the good when it comes.” He agrees.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate the thought. It’s… very nice.” You say. “And for taking the trouble to come tell me.”
His lips curve slightly. “I do suppose it could’ve been a phone call.”
You shift awkwardly. He stares at you. Now you feel guilty. He came all the way here and all to tell you good news. Your mother’s voice needles in your brain. Don’t be rude. I raised you better.
“I was going to have some tea… you look cold.”
His brows pop up and he tilts his head. “Well, it’s been a dastardly winter thus far.”
You almost laugh at his response. His way of speaking is so posh.
“Wouldn’t mind a warm tea, thank you.” He lilts.
“Sure, uh… I’ll just get the kettle going and…” You pause looking down at your robe. “Some clothes.”
You let him in and leave him to hang his jacket. You hurry off to the kitchen and flick the switch on the glass kettle. You hook around and nearly collide with him as he comes down the hall. He catches you, hands gripping your arms tightly through the thick fleece.
“My oh my, that could’ve been calamity,” he grins.
“Sorry, I… was only going to… get dressed,” you nod past him.
“Yes, of course. I would offer to assist with the tea.”
“Please, I’ll take care of it. You’re the guest.”
“Ah, yes, a guest,” he muses coyly. He drags his hands down the soft sleeves and draws away. “Then I shall be a polite one and await you patiently.”
He nods and steps aside. You pass him and swiftly swoop around the banister and hurry upstairs. The short hallway contains the bedroom, a closet which could easily be another room, and a half-bath. You flit into your room, a set of pajamas waiting on the foot of the bed.
You pull on the flannel; plain, boring. Grey with a white trim. Boring isn’t that bad. You’ve had enough of surprises.
You go downstairs. As you pass the living room, you peek in to see Jonathan standing by the bookshelf. You do need to organise that better.
You go into the kitchen and flick the switch on the kettle. Your phone lights up on the counter and you stare at it as the call flashes silently. Your mom’s number disappears and you grab the cell. She’s called three times. If you let it go again, you’ll never hear the end of it.
She calls again. You answer on the third read.
“Mum,” you greet. “Sorry, I was getting out of the tub.”
“Mm,” she clucks. “I was calling to remind you about this weekend.”
“I didn’t forget,” you assure her.
“You’re bringing dessert, aren’t you? The caterers are all booked up.”
“Uh, yeah, I can do some pies.”
“Cake. The children do not like crust.” She insists.
“Sure, cake,” you agree. If you had suggested that first, she would’ve said it was much too sweet. “Any preferred flavours?”
“I’m certain you can come up with something,” she returns. “Oh, and do you mind showing up early? Your sister and brother will likely be late with the kids and all. They’ve got enough going on–”
“Did you need any–” Jonathan startles you and you spin to face him. He blanches as he stands in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were on a call.”
You show your palm and give a weak smile. You move to the cupboard and pull down two mugs. He nods and slowly backs out. You sigh and shake your head as the kettle bubbles and steams, clicking off.
“Dear…” Your mother interrupts herself. “Who was that?”
“No one, mother. I’m just making tea.” You pluck up two tea bags, hesitating. You didn’t ask which he preferred. Well, it’s too late for a black tea.
“For who?”
“Mum,” you warn.
“Ugh, why must you always hide things? Are we so shameful that you would hide us away–”
“Mum. Really. It’s not that. Just the landlord.”
“Just the landlord?” She retorts doubtfully. “You know, you are getting older and after all that time you wasted on Steve–”
“I am aware, mother.” You sniff. “He is the landlord.” You repeat. “And I’m not looking.”
“Hm, if he turns out to be more, he’s more than welcome to come.”
“Alright, mum. Well, I’ve got to go.” You rub your temple. “I’ll see you Sunday. Love you.”
“Don’t forget dessert.”
She hangs up. You shake your head and shove your phone across the counter. The twenty-first century cursed you with constant connection.
You take the mugs and go into the front room. Jonathan sits patiently, shoulders straight, hands folded. You set down a cup on the round end table nearest him.
“Thank you kindly,” he says as he lifts the cup. He admires it. “Bone China.”
“Tea tastes best in it,” you blow over the top of your cup. “Thanks again for stopping by. It’s very thoughtful.”
“And yet I so rudely interrupted your night. That sounded like an important call.” He prompts.
“My mother. You know, parents.”
“Ah,” he grins and nods. “Oh, yes, I do have a terribly overbearing duo on my shoulders.”
“It’s… lavender chamomile. I hope that doesn’t put you off.”
He inhales the scent of the tea. “Interesting. Suppose it’s good for nerves.” He blows away the steam and tastes it. “Ah, not bad. I do have a yen for black tea but it is rather late. This English heart is too fond of a breakfast blend.”
You smile and nod. “You don’t have to lie. Lavender is easily overwhelming. I reduced the balance though. Think I just got it right.”
“You made the tea?”
“No. I bought plain chamomile and blended it with the off-the-shelf leaves.” You explain. “Simple fix.”
“Creative,” he muses.
“It’s just tea.” You say.
“Hm, yes, just tea but it is wonderful,” he sips again. He looks up at you. “Please sit, I do feel rather like an imposition.”
“Uh, oh, sorry,” you step around the arm chair. “I wasn’t expecting…” You touch the lapel of your pajamas. “Well…”
“You look cozy.” He praises and peers around. “I’m happy to see this place doing you well.”
“I’m sure you’re happier that there aren’t any dents in the wall.” You scoff.
“That too, I suppose,” he agrees. “Though I must say I envy the… comfort of this place. You’ve made it rather welcoming.”
You look around. There’s a few candles set out; Christmas presents. Everyone got you the same thing. And you hung that set of still-lifes you’ve had since college. Small square frames around delicately painted pieces of fruit. You draped a throw over the couch, more so because your toes get cold, and the fake flows on the mantle almost look real.
“Didn’t want to change too much. Won’t be here forever.”
“No? Big things coming?” He wonders.
“I don’t know.” You shrug.
He nods and peers thoughtfully into his mug. “Would it be too intrusive to ask about… before? Are you new to the city?”
You roll your tongue and bite down. You don’t like to talk about before. You hate even thinking about it.
“No. I lived in Old South Village. A small townhouse.” You keep it vague. The details don’t need to be parsed out.
“Oh, that’s a rather nice area. I spent a year there then converted that property into a lease. I’ve since relocated to Culbert.”
“Culbert? That’s an upgrade.”
“I would hardly know. I don’t see the place much. I always find myself up to something,” he chuckles softly. “My mother always had a time keeping me still and it seems I never outgrew it.”
“Good to keep busy,” you say.
“Yes, but it would be nice to be still.” He intones. “A hot bath and tea… simple but delightful.”
“Boring,” you assure him.
He hums and sit back as he drinks deeply. He pulls the cup away as his eyes scan the room. “The boring seems rather enviable. Warm and calm.”
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as 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 landlord can fix anything, even you.
Characters: Jonathan Pine
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
It’s the days you want to forget that never end. You clutch your forehead as you drop your work bag by the mat. Can it just be over?
You pinch your nose and take a deep breath. This isn’t good. Very bad, actually. Extremely, entirely, fucked.
You go outside and pull the branch through the window. You hear a few more shards scatter on the floor. You drag it out onto the lawn and leave it there. You’ll figure out what to do with that later.
You go inside as the wind whistles through the broken window. There’s a few ragged pieces still clinging to the frame. As much as you’d love to take your shoes off, you can’t.
You hurry through the house in search of anything to keep the chill out. You break down a box and grab the packing tape. The roll is almost done. You used most of it when you boxed up what was left of your previous life.
You do your best. Somehow, that’s never enough. You seal the edges of the cardboard along the frame and set to cleaning up the hazard on the hardwood. You gather up the remnants of the window into the dustpan and dump it in another box.
You set that aside as you hear the wind about to tear through the cardboard and tape. It won’t last the night. You’ll be lucky if the landlord answers and why should they. It’s after dinner time. You’re not in much of a mood to do anything.
Life doesn’t always give you a choice.
You find the contact in your phone. You so kindly labelled it ‘Landlord’. Things have been a bit much. You don’t have the brain space for names.
You dial out and put the phone to your ear. You cross one arm across your chest and stare at the cardboard as it strains with the wind. The line rings and rings and rings. You’re ready to give up. You learned the hard way that sometimes, you just should.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end surprises you. “Hello?” You weren’t expecting an answer. “Ah, missed it–”
“Hello.” You blurt out. “Uh, hi. Is this…” you search your mind. The name at the top of your rent statement flashes. “Mr. Pine?”
“Mr. Pine?” He echoes. “Jonathan’s just fine. You sound familiar. Oh, yes, Creighton Boulevard.”
“That’s the one. Um… I don’t suppose you’re busy?”
“Well, not painfully. I was hoping to pop by the chippie but… it seems you might have something more pressing for me.”
“Uh huh, you could say that.” You bring your hand up to the side of your neck. “It’s breezy today.”
“It is rather windy,” he agrees.
“Mmhm. Well, half a tree’s blown through the window.” You say.
“Oh my,” he intones. “I suppose it is a bit of a maelstrom out here.”
“Yeah, I just got in. It’s just in the front. The one beside the door.”
“The one I only just replaced before you moved in. Of course. That’s how those things go.” He tuts. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“When you can. I don’t mean to spoil your supper.” You say.
“Not much of one. Should probably eat at home more often,” he chuckles. “Well then, on my way. Hold tight.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pine.”
“Jonathan,” he corrects once more and the line clicks.
You feel bad already. You tell yourself it’s just conditioning. When you ask for something, even if genuinely, it’s so often treated as a burden. You suppose you could’ve insulated a blanket and waited until morning. Yes, probably. You just have to be a bother, don’t you?
It’s as if your mother could sense her own voice in your head. Your phone rings. You stare at the caller ID, debating what’s more worth it? Her rebuke on the voicemail or her passive aggressive questions about what you’ve been doing at work and how things are going since you decided to make a change. Yes, never say anything forthright; it can’t hurt as much when the dagger thrust from behind the curtain.
“Hello, mother,” you answer.
“Oh, dear, I was afraid you stayed late again.” She chimes. “I always said to my employees, if you have to stay late, you aren’t working hard enough. Yes, you should be able to fit into eight hours if you’re doing it right.”
You suppress a growl. You know she’s always said that; she’s repeated in anon.
“No, I’m home.”
“Home? You mean that rental?:
“Yes, the rental,” you confirm. “It’s a roof and four walls.”
“I suppose better than nothing,” she chides. “Well, darling, I know you’ve much to do so let me not waste your precious free time. Your sister’s coming with her children. Your brother too. I think we should have a proper family thing. It’s been some time.”
You nod. “Oh, when?”
“End of next week. I know you’ve not much of a heart for young ones–”
“Mother, I never said so. I only decided I don’t want any. It doesn’t mean–” You stop yourself and stretch your fingers wide as you snarl at the wall. “I can bear them. For you. So, I’ll be there. Don’t fret.”
“You’re the only one that makes me fret,” she hums. “I’m sure you’ll get it together one day, though, you are running out of time.”
“Yes, mother, you remind me. All the time.”
“I’m only looking out for you.”
“Uh huh. Thanks for that. I do have to let you go. Dinner’s in the oven and I’ve a date for one.”
“You know, Darla, she has a nephew…”
“Love you, mum. Goodbye.”
She harrumphs. “Love you, dear.”
You hang up. That was just the boost you needed. You are assured things could certainly be worse. You could be in the same room as your mother.
You check the time. No use in wasting any more time. It will likely be a while before Jonathan arrives.
You move your work bag from beside the door and hang your coat. You trade your shoes for slippers and mop up the mess you left down the hall.
You set to cooking. You could probably skip the meal that night but you need leftovers for your lunch. That batch of berries you were so excited for were moldy when you went to add them to your parfait. It really does feel like the universe is really out for you.
The scent of sauteed garlic and onion fills the air. That alone stirs your appetite from the depths. The noodles boil and you add cream and butter, adding seasoning to cap off the quick alfredo sauce. As you stir the pan, the doorbell rings.
It’s one of those fancy ones that’s supposed to hook to your phone. Just another thing that isn’t as it should be. You turn down the heat and shuffle in your slippers to the front door.
Jonathan greets you with a breathless smile. His nose is kissed red from the cold, his ears too. His blonde hair is windswept.
“Hi.” You greet awkwardly.
“Evening,” he rocks on his heels. “May I?”
“Oh, yeah, erm.” You back up. “It’s this window…”
You point then cringe He can see. Duh.
He enters and gently shuts the door. He steps up to the window and examines it. The tape blows loose on one side and the wind squeals through. He presses the adhesive down to quiet it.
“Much too cold for that,” he clucks. He turns to you and rubs his ears. “I should know.”
“Ha, yeah, it’s… freezing.”
“I stopped at the hardware shop. Got a board that should fit.” He explains. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of noise.”
“It’s… I really appreciate you coming. Really sorry that you had to.” You say.
“Eh? Unless you put the branch through the window yourself, don’t be,” he waves you off and pauses. He lifts his chin and inhales. “Something smells delectable.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m just cooking dinner,” you say.
“Mm, you’ve a very lucky family.”
You stop from rolling your eyes. “Just me.”
He tilts his head, “even better. You can thoroughly indulge.”
He turns and pulls open the door. You stare after him for a moment. It would be rude not to offer, wouldn’t it?
You go back to the kitchen and contemplate. You’re not sure why just the thought of being polite makes you anxious. That’s the thing about you. You can turn anything into an impossible feat.
You hear him come back in. You busy yourself by draining the noodles and checking that the sauce hasn’t burned. For once, all is perfect.
You linger in the kitchen. You slowly venture back down the hall. Jonathan secures the board into place with insulating tape.
“Should do,” he says as he slides his fingers down the length. “I’ll have a window in tomorrow. I’ll have it done during the day.”
“I’ll be at work.” You say.
“Would it be trouble to have it done while you are?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Actually, it’d be nice to come home to a window.” You scratch the back of your neck. “Um, if… you like linguine, I’ve got some extra. For your trouble.”
“Alfredo?” He wonders. You nod. “I’d love to. Might I wash my hands?”
“Sure. It’s just right down here. Which… you would know since you own this place.” You purse your lips. “I’ll get you a plate.”
He unbuttons his jacket as you spin and head down the hall. You enter the kitchen and pull out two plates. You serve up the noodles and sauce. He comes out and flips on the faucet. As he rinses his hands, you set the dishes on the square island.
“Anything to drink?” You offer. “I’ve got water and grapefruit juice.”
“Water will do. Thank you kindly.”
He dries his hands and goes to the island. You fill two glasses. You put one by his plate as he sits and you claim the seat across from him. You usually eat standing at the island, fork in hand, eyes on a book.
You twirl noodles around your fork. He leans forward to take a bite. You taste it. Not bad for a lazy meal.
“Mm, wonderful,” he praises. “You’re a masterful cook.”
“Not really. It’s a really simple recipe.”
“For some,” he grins. “I’m afraid if it isn’t steak or mash, I’m hopeless.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t help when your tenants have you running all over.” You scoff.
“I bought the property. I leased it. I knew what I was getting into.” He rebuffs. “Albeit, I didn’t expect such tasty alfredo.”
You give a wry smile. “You’re too kind.”
“Only honest. Though I confess, I’ve only had chips as late so I’ve not much to compare it to.”
“Now that sounds good.” You say. “Chips. Bit of gravy.”
“Ah, maybe next time.”
“Hopefully not.” You say. “I mean, hopefully not a next time. I really don’t intend on doing much more damage to this place.”
“Act of nature.” He shrugs. “Only a window. Most fortunate no one was on the other side of it.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Well, it’s in how you look at it, isn’t it?” He twists more noodles around his fork. “You see a hassle coming across town to fix a window; I see a lovely meal for a very simple task.” He scoops up the forkful. “I’d say I’ve won this round.”
You look down and push around the pasta. He’s right. It’s not so bad and really it is lucky that he could come fix it so quickly. You might even have time left for a nice soak in the tub with your masala-stained novella.
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.
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
“Well, doll, that was a bust,” Barnes keeps his hands on you. One behind your back, the other around your hip. “But I’ve seen him worse.”
“Um…” You try to pull away and his hand slips down. He lightly taps your ass.
“Don’t worry about it too much. You did your best,” He presses his hand to your skirt, cupping your bottom. “I’ll be in touch. He’s probably gonna need some more… stress relief.”
You recoil and face him, shielding your rear with your hands in horror. He chuckles as he leans on his desk. He grips the edge lightly as he kicks one foot out. The front of his pants twitch.
“Better go before I get in any more trouble,” he tuts. “Unless that’s what you’re looking for.”
He winks and you shake your head. You back up and spin. You flee out the door into the hall. Before you head for the elevator, you glance at Mr. Rogers’ door then down at your sweater. Hopefully, they can focus on each other and not you.
You flit away and nearly dive into the elevator. You’re going back to the basement and never coming out again. One of the guys can deal with all this.
You get to the bottom floor and cross your arms. You keep your head down as you scurry to the office they call the dungeon and sit at your desk. You hunch your shoulders and plant an elbow on the desk. You cup your chin and wake up your computer with your mouse.
“You couldn’t do shit without fast travel and that means you’re shit at the game,” Jack hisses.
“If fast travel was cheating, why would it be in the game?” Jensen retorts.
“For noobs like you,” Jack cackles. “I can mod the game to make everyone a teletubby. Doesn’t mean that isn’t stupid as fuck.”
“You’re stupid,” Jake hurls back and growls.
“Oh, damn, you got me,” Jack sneers dryly. “You got a way with words, don’t you?”
“Do you ever do anything but talk too much?” Jensen growls.
“Eh, you too,” Sy barks. “Both of ya, do some dang work.”
“And who made you boss?” Jack snaps.
“I’m about to knock your heads together if you don’t hush up, that’s who,” Sy snarls.
You click around the screen as you shrink in the tension. At least they’re too distracted by each other to bother you. You don’t know anything about whatever game they’re talking about and you don’t want to. All you ever wanted was to have a job and get through each day.
Jensen mutters, Jack snickers, and Sy huffs as he drags his hands around his shaved head and down to his thick beard. You ignore them all as you search for an easy task. Your heart is still racing.
“Hm,” Jensen hums.
You type with one hand as you keep your head down. He stands and looks at you over the divider between your desks. You peer up at him.
“Hi,” you squeak.
“So… what exactly was the issue with Rogers?” He asks.
You gulp. “His power supply. He might need a new surge protector.”
“Uh huh,” he narrows his eyes. “Do you wanna step out in the hall?”
“Ooooooh,” Jack taunts like a bully in a classroom. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“Jack,” Jensen waves him off. “Come on.”
Jensen sighs and steps out from behind his desk. He goes into the hall and you frown. You stand up stiffly and follow him. Out in the hall, the fluorescent lights flicker ominously. He crosses his arms as his shoulders nearly touch his ears.
“Look, I don’t like to be the messenger in these situations but seems I get to be the bad guy today,” he grips his biceps as he clicks his tongue. “I just got an email from up top.” He pauses and hisses through his teeth. “What happened up there?”
“What?” You pout and shake your head, heat blooming across your chest. You can’t tell him. He’d think you wanted it. Or that you even did that because you wanted to.
“I know, Rogers can be a dick. Uh, sorry, about the language but, he is and well, whatever it is, he’s ticked off.” He squirms and drops his arms, showing his palms. “You’re suspended. Without pay. I’m sorry.”
“What?” You say again.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been working hard but those elitist… jerks don’t see what we do. We’re just like insects to them.” He chews the inside of his lip. “I gotta print out the paperwork. Once you sign it, you need to go home.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“I know but the CEO filed the complaint. No arguing with him.” He tuts. “You gotta take it on the chin.”
You just stare at him. It’s not like you don’t believe it. He’s right, Mr. Rogers is mean but you don’t get this. Why would he go to all that trouble to have you suspended? Why would he do what he did and act like you are in the wrong?
None of this is ever going to make sense. Well, you’ll take the suspension and you’ll find something new. You have no other choice.
Jensen says your name. You sniff and stand straight.
“Fine.” You shrug. “Get the papers.”
You turn and stomp back into the office. You sit at your desk and close the current ticket. A little red dot floats over your inbox. You open it and find a new message; Steve Rogers, CEO. No subject. Great. There’s only an attachment. Maybe that’s the paperwork.
You click on the email. Jensen isn’t CC’d. There’s no body text, just the CEO’s signature and a file. You tap the file and it opens a PDF with a QR code at the centre. You squint as you read the text below.
‘Itinerary:
Departure: 4:15am
Arrival: 4:45 pm
Layover at Singapore’
You skim over the baggage information and notices to arrive ahead of the flight time. You don’t understand. You reread the ticket. You notice that departure and arrival are separate days. You never truly factored how long it would take to travel so far, and why would you?
The phone beside your desk rings as Jensen stands by the printer and waits for it to stop beeping. You answer.
“Hello?” You murmur.
“Don’t be late,” the crisp command comes from the other end before the line clicks.
You put the receiver down and go into the recent calls log. The dreaded letters, CEO, stare back at you. You get it now. This is another one of his tricks.
🏢
You don’t waste any time. On your commute home, you scroll through the job bank and submit applications to whatever you can find. There’s a small startup closer to your place. You could even walk there.
By the time you get to your stop, you’ve sent in three resumes. Even so, your heart is in your stomach. Hiring is never quick and you need to figure out how to get through your suspension without a pay check.
As you enter your apartment and put down your bag, your phone jitters in your pocket. You pull it out as you examine the stain on your sweater. You’re just going to trash it.
“Hi?” You answer your phone mindlessly.
“Neon Glow Developers,” the voice on the other end slithers. “Sounds like an exciting opportunity.”
You go rigid and blink. You gulp. “Mr. Rogers?”
“You know, I invest in startups. My buddy’s been working on this one for a while. I remember when he slapped the proposal down on my desk,” he intones. “So when he let me know he got an application from someone in my company…”
“I… you suspended me–”
“I get read receipts on my email.” He interrupts you. “A flight to Sydney is expensive. Don’t waste my time or money.”
“Sir–”
“You should start packing. It’s an early flight.”
Before you can argue, not that you really can, he hangs up. You look at the screen. He really has never been told no.
You swipe through to your email. There it is, a rejection from the startup. You’ve never received feedback that quickly. And another from the IT call centre. Really? They hire students to sit and run surveys for tech companies. You don’t even need a degree.
This is bad. Very bad. Mr. Rogers doesn’t just have control over his company, his reach is expansive, his wrath endless. So what do you do? Stay and hope it doesn’t all implode or go and walk right into certain doom?
🏢
Your bag is small enough that you don’t need to check it. You are avoiding any excess expenses. You sit with your luggage as you wait for boarding, trying not to doze off despite your addled nerves. You’ve never flown before and you are in no way looking forward to your destination.
You looked it up on the way to the airport. It’s a full-day flight, sometimes more; two days technically due to the time difference.
You still can’t believe you’re doing this. You really can’t fathom why Rogers is doing all this. If he has to suffer, he has to make sure someone else does? Why you? Why has he decided to put you through hell?
The pit sinks deep in your chest. You can hate him for this but you’re going along with it. You’re this weak and this afraid. Maybe that’s why. It has to be. You’re an easy target. There’s nothing special about you, only that you’re well below him.
Your departure is announced. You get up and join the short queue. It’s not a very big flight and how many people would be lining up to suffer a whole day in a hurtling cabin.
You board and put your bag in the compartment. You take your assigned seat. Your luck is as good as it ever was. You’re beside a young man reeking of pot and BO. You look around at the empty seats.
You stop a flight attendant as she passes to check that the compartments are firmly shut. “Hi, uh, is it possible to move?” You ask her, the young guy beside you ignorant to anything but his handheld game.
“I’m sorry, miss, flight policy. All seats are assigned. Bar upgrades. You can move to business class for one-fifty.”
Your eyes round and you shake your head, “never mind.”
You sit back as the guy beside you kicks off his crocks. Oh his socks are crusty. He elbows you as he jams on the buttons of his game. You close your eyes and try to rein in your nerves. It’s only an entire day of this. Oh, well, maybe with the stopover, you won’t be sat together the whole way.
Still, your arrival promises no relief. What awaits you is much more troublesome than a smelly neighbour.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME, HE'S GOING AFTER HER REPUTATION?
What an unbelievable slimeball. He's the CEO, he could have used company resources and scheduled her off. But instead he's closing the noose around her between the suspension and locking her out of the industry.
Choosing not to get her a first class or business ticket for one of the longest flights in the world is pure sadism. Like this guy might make a coat out of puppies, he's just that evil.
Warning: Lloyd being lloyd, dark content, and all around horniness.
Summary: Lloyd tries to revive the man he used to be, excuse you, still is. (plus! short! Reader)
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
That’s all well and good but there’s nothing about Lloyd Hansen that needs to change. He’s fucking perfect. It’s the world that needs to change. This stupid fucking world.
The rules don’t apply to him. Fuck those things. He’ll break them just as easily as he does people. No one ever got shit done by listening to the word ‘no’.
He growls and ruffles his sweaty hair around again. He presses along his hairline and his lip curls as he uses his phone to check that he saw what he fucking saw. No fucking way is that real. He pinches the silver strand between his thick fingers and tugs. He grunts as he pulls the hair free of the follicle.
He turns it between his fingertips. Fuck you, time. You’re not getting me.
He flicks away the hair. This isn’t going to fuck up his night. He’s going out and he’s doing what Lloyd fucking Hansen does. He’s beat up and bloody and he just needs someone to lick his wounds.
He puts the phone down on the counter and rinses his face. The break in the bridge of his nose is tender. Jackass. Well, he wasn’t so smug when Lloyd took his eye out of his skull, was he?
Shitttt. He wipes the cut through his eyebrow with an alcohol swab. That fucking sucks ass. If he hadn’t been so quick, it’d be a lot deeper. Now stitched, just some glue to close it up.
He splashes more water over his face and grips the sink. He looks at himself. His eye is going to be fucked tomorrow. Fucker. He’s too handsome to be taking shots to the face but his team can’t take orders to save their lives. Literally.
He huffs and stands straight. He moves the gold medallion on the chain under his bloodied shirt and strips off the cotton. He flexes at his reflection. His arms and chest are fucking spectacular. He works hard on that. He brushes his fingers over the hair across his pecs and bounces them. He needs a pair of soft hands to claw at him. The thought makes him hard.
It’s New Fucking Year and he doesn’t have someone to fuck. What’s gotten into him? It’s been months. Not deliberately. He’s just been… stressed. He picked up a blonde down in Miami but his balls got so backed up it hurt too much to even try. Plus, she whined a bit too fucking much and would put her mouth on his dick. Lazy pillow princess.
He grips his hips and looks down. His stomach. Oh, he does his crunches, his burpies, his squats. He lifts. He does every fucking thing but that little softness at the bottom is being a fucking bitch. What the fuck is that? Lean meats only and lots of greens. Still, it’s hanging around like a needy ex.
He drops his head back and lets his arms hang straight. The streets are a furor of pre-midnight anticipation. It’s easier to work on holidays. Everyone’s too busy to find the bodies. Lots of time for clean up. His crew should already be done.
He checks the mirror again. Ladies love a rugged man but they aren’t into a frankensteined fucker. He touches the cut from forehead to cheek. He doesn’t want to go to the club anyway. That’s been a fucking waste, lately. He’s also not into fighting cucks. He’s done enough of that today.
He undresses completely and bags up his clothes. The rundown apartment will be cleared once he’s gone. He’s not staying the night.
He puts on a fresh set of clothes. A black Under Armor shirt, a zip-up in the same brand and colour, and black pants. He slides his feet into the leather loafers and rolls his shoulders. He combs his hair, trying to tidy it as best he can. A fucking grey. Can you believe it?
He cracks his neck and slides the comb into his pocket. Behind the black plastic taped across the windows, he can see the shadow of snow. New fucking year, same fucking shit. Why couldn’t he get a job somewhere warm?
He stomps out of the apartment as he sends notice to his teams. Scrub it. He heads down the hall, hands in his pocket, listless. Fucking private jet and for what? Bitch ass pilot won’t fly in this shit.
God his head hurts. He needs some fucking advil and a bottle of champagne. And something to fuck, goddammit. Not his hand, not the fleshlight he broke, or that silicon ass he ordered while dumb with dickstration, and not some whiny bitch from the club. He can hear those sluts out on the street squealing.
As he heads for the stairs, the door opens ahead of him. A woman huffs as she stumbles through and slams down a bucket of clothes. She’s breathless as she grips the rope handles.
He slows and looks her over. He wouldn’t give her a second look in a crowd. As she bends, he notices the roundness of her bottom, even from the front, and her robe catches in the crease of her side, and the tank top beneath dips over her cleavage.
She braces herself and lifts the heavy tub of clothes. All his blood drops below his waist. He’s right in front of her in an instant. He grips the handles as she gasps in surprise and looks up at him.
“Oh!” She blinks at him.
He almost smirks as he sees the fear in her. Living in a place like this, she would be smart not to talk to strangers. Especially one with his face fucked to hell. Well, good thing about Lloyd, he’s easy to get to know.
“Let me get that, sweet pea,” he lifts it easily. “Don’t wanna be hurtin’ yourself.”
“Um, that’s okay,” she insists and tugs on the handles. Oh, she’s no match for him. It’s cute that she’d try.
He pulls the bucket away from her as he stands completely straight. He towers over her plump figure. And damn, what a figure. Her cotton tank clings to her tits and stomach and her robe splits to expose the dimples on her thighs.
“I got this, sweet pea, you just show me the way,” he insists.
Her throat constricts as she swallows. She’s afraid. It’s okay, he’ll show her she don’t need to be. She just needs to bend over again, this time, right in front of him. Just put that as up and let him go to work.
“Um, you can just put it at my door. There.” She points past him. And there ya go, the power of yes… or close enough.
His eye twitches and his cheek ticks. He could cackle as his dick throbs against his pants. New Year, Old Lloyd. He’s back baby.
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.
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You hurry out of the CEO’s office, mortified and praying you don’t run into anyone in your state. You near the end of the hall and stop. That woman at the front… she could see.
You search around you. There’s a bathroom further back. Do you reverse course or flee and keep your head down? The stickiness on your neck and face is too much. You have to get it off.
You spin and scurry down to the single person bathroom. You lock the door with your clean hand and the lights flick on automatically. You turn and face the room. It’s much nicer than the one in the basement.
A floating marble counter with a porcelain sink and silver white faucets. A long slender light trims the top of the mirror that reflects most of the space. The smell of the lily air freshener tickles your allergies.
You twist on the water and shove your hands beneath. You wash the mess off your hand then grab a soft-plied paper towel from the dispenser. You wipe it off your glasses, face, and neck and dab at your sweater. Too late. It’s sunk into the fabric and it’s not coming out. You can smell it…
You feel sick. Your stomach swirls and you bend instinctively. You spit up bile into the sink and let it wash down the drain. You rinse your mouth next and shut off the water. That’s as good as it gets. Maybe Jensen will let you go early if you tell him you’re not feeling good. Then again, you don’t need to draw any attention to yourself.
You cross the tile and let yourself out into the hall. You squeak and press your back into the door in surprise. There’s someone out there. Oh no.
It’s him. The COO. Bucky.
“Mr. Barnes,” you gulp. “Er, sorry…” you go to flit of his way but he blocks you with his arm as he plants his hand on the wall. “I should–”
“Fancy seeing you again, doll.” He purrs. “I was just having some trouble with my computer.”
“Oh, uh–”
“Mhmm,” he hums under your sputtering voice. “You know, it’s not really part of my job to deal with the tiny details like that. I got bigger deals.” He smirks and looks you up and down. “Aw, what happened?”
You flinch and swallow tightly. “Spilled… coffee.”
“Oh? Must’ve been a latte.” He intones. “Foamy.”
“Um, yeah, it’s… fine.” You lie. It’s not fine and neither are you.
“So, you wanna come have a look at my setup?” He aaks.
“Er…”
“You’re already up here and my computer’s not letting me file the ticket. And you know, I’ve never done one of those things before,” he coaxes. “Bet it’s a real easy fix. Won’t take long at all.”
You purse your lips and nod. Arguing will only keep you longer, even get you in trouble. You don’t need any more executive villains.
“Okay,” you croak.
“Doll, you’re so sweet. Helping a guy out like this,” he reaches to pet your cheek. You wince. “Let me show you the way.”
He turns on his heel. You follow stiffly. He opens the office closest to Mr. Rogers. You feel ill just looking at his name plate. You enter and Barnes follows. He brushes against you and you twitch, nearly jumping away from him.
“I make you nervous?” He wonders as he shuts the door.
“Sorry, sir, no, I just–”
“Maybe too much coffee, huh?” He teases. “Computer’s right there,” he points to his desk.
His monitors float above his black desk, mounted on a single mount with arms. It’s quite the setup. Versatile.
“Oh, right,” you keep your arms straight and walk awkwardly around the desk. He doesn’t follow. He takes his phone out of his pocket and flicks his thumb over it.
As you stand in front of his screens, you nearly cry out. There’s a spreadsheet on one, the second has a luxury car schematic on it, and the third… you want to be sick. What is wrong with everyone in this building? You suspect the porn with a dozen flashing banners advertising erectile enhancements might be his issue.
You cough and exit out of that page; the title sticking in your eyes: ‘Big Boss Fuck Intern HARD’. You shudder and hesitate. You don’t really want to touch the mouse or the keyboard. Too late for that.
You bring up the internal security service and run a scan; then another. You click around and run a system test. You tap your fingers beside the mouse.
“You figure it out?” Barnes approaches from behind. You didn’t even realise he’d circled around.
You cough and shake your head. “There’s no issues detected.”
“Ah, really? Think maybe it’s the wi-fi? Was taking forever to load.” He suggests.
“Maybe. I can check the servers.” You reply and inch away as he strides around the desk.
“Hm,” he wiggles his phone in his hand then sets it down. “You’re so smart.”
“Um, well… I have a… diploma… or whatever,” you eke out. “I gotta get back–”
“Doll, what am I gonna do if it happens again?” He slithers.
You look at him. He puts his hand on the desk and leans in, looming over you. His other hand goes to his hip.
“Um, well, you could put in a ticket–”
“I’m a bit too important for that.” He drawls. “How about you put your number in my phone. Just so I got you on speed dial.”
“Er, sir, there, er… is other techs–”
“They aren’t cute like you, are they? Don’t wear those cute sweaters?” He clucks. “Too bad it got ruined, huh?”
You shrug. “Alright, uh…”
“Go ahead,” he nods to his phone.
You bite your lip and take the cell phone off the desk. It’s locked. He snorts.
“Face lock,” he winks.
You face the phone to him and it makes a soft clicking noise as it unlocks. You turn it back to you and freeze. His photos are open. One of your back facing him as you stand at his desk. Does he know he left that open? Why would he take that?
You swipe it away and find his contacts. Just get out of here, that’s the goal. You key in your phone number. You hit save but before you can correct yourself and put in your desk extension instead of your personal number, he has his hand on the phone. Shoot.
“Thanks, doll,” he wiggles the cell then slides it into his pocket. “What’s that body spray? The coconut one?”
You rub your lips together. “It’s… I don’t know. I get it from the drug store…”
“Hmm, I like it. Wanted to spray some around here. But I guess then I’d just be distracted, huh?” He pats his pocket. “Thinking of you…”
Your brows lift and your lashes flick. You look away. “Sir, can I go back to work?”
“What do you mean? This is work.” He chuckles.
You clear your throat and nod. “Yes, but… well…”
“I do make you nervous.” He says. “I don’t mean to.”
“Sir, I–”
“Call me Bucky.”
“Erm, Mr–”
“Come on, I bet it sounds so sweet. Say it.”
You inhale and stare at the knot of his tie. “Bucky.”
“Mm, that’s good,” he purrs and reaches to run his fingertips up your sleeve. “Alright, doll, go on. Be a good girl and get back to work.”
“Thank you, sir,” you squeak. He hums. “Bucky,” you correct yourself.
You back away and retreat around the desk. He follows you. As you get to the door, he reaches past you to grab the handle. You stop as you’re penned between him and your escape.
“Maybe next time I should use incognito for my private viewing, huh?” He chortles.
You shake your head and can’t speak. You cringe and shrink down. He opens the door and taps your ass as he ushers you into the hallway.
“I’m sure I’ll need you real bad soon, doll. I do tend to get into all sorts of trouble,” he says.
“Okay, uh–”
“Buck,” Mr. Rogers’ timbre startles you.
You trip over your feet as you stagger between flight and fright. Do you go before you can further annoy the CEO or would that be disrespectful? Bucky shifts to lean on the doorway and faces his colleague.
“Steve, what’s going on?”
“I thought we had a meeting,” Rogers sneers. You slowly inch away. “What’s the inmate doing here?”
You flinch. You’ve heard that term, a reference to the IT dungeon in the basement, but it’s never been aimed at you. And never felt more apt.
“Had some technical difficulties.” Bucky says casually. “And she’s so damn helpful.”
You stop before you can get any further. You turn to face them. Rogers jaw squares as he crosses his arms and glares at Barnes. The COO beckons you closer.
“Doll, come ‘ere.”
You reticently obey. You get closer and Barnes reaches to put his large hand on your back and draws you closer. “Look at my buddy. He look stressed to you?”
“Erm,” you gulp. “I don’t… know.”
“Don’t be shy. I’m just saying, he’s all wound up, isn’t he?” Barnes goads. “Ever since the divorce, he’s been work, work, work. He won’t even come over to watch a game, you believe that? Pals since childhood and he don’t got the time–”
“We have a meeting,” Rogers insists tersely.
“Meeting,” Barnes says sharply as his fingers swirl against your sweater. “Business. I got my business sorted, Rogers. Now, Steve, look at her. Come on. She’s sweet, isn’t she?”
You blink and look down. Rogers growls. “We need to go over the Sydney proposal. Now.”
“You need to chill the fuck out.” Barnes insists. “But fine, let’s do the meeting. In my office.”
Rogers rolls his eyes and his brows arch. He drops his arms and stomps through the office door. You exhale and sidle away. Barnes catches your sleeve. You whimper.
“I didn’t say you could go,” he drawls and tugs you back into the office. “Doll, you’re gonna help my buddy relax.”
He drags you inside and snaps the door shut. Mr. Rogers sits in the chair across from the desk. His leg bounces impatiently. Barnes guides you up to him.
“Here, you sit in his lap, keep him nice and calm,” He angles you around and pushes on your shoulders.
Rogers snarls, “what the hell are you doing–”
“Shhh, Steve, you need this. She’s just gonna have a seat. Help you recenter.” He grabs your hips and forces you in Rogers’ lap. “Now, doll, you be nice to him. He’s got a lot going on.” He backs up as you squirm and Rogers sighs. “I also got some bad news so you’re gonna need to keep him from knocking my block off.”
“Bad news,” Rogers snarls.
“Look, it’s not a big deal,” Barnes backs up and leans on his desk, tilting one foot on its heel. “It’s about Judith.”
Rogers huffs. “What?”
“Well, we won’t be working with her anymore.”
“What?” Rogers hisses, harsher than before. His hand claps onto your thigh and he squeezes until his nails dig into you.
“You’re doing good, doll,” Barnes praises before he looks back to Rogers. “She caught me with her assistant… about twenty minutes after she left my suite herself. Things got messy.”
“What the–” Rogers grips you until you whine.
“Woah, bud, be gentle with her,” Barnes warns. “Doll, give him a pet. He just needs to calm down.”
“I don’t need to calm–” Rogers growls as he shoves you out of his lap and stands. “You’re a jackass.”
“Woah! I’m your best friend,” Barnes retorts as he catches you before you can fall. “I got you a sweet little thing to squeeze on and you’re calling me a jackass?”
“You are,” Rogers barks. “And you’re not going to Sydney.” He shakes his head and marches to the door. He pauses. “I’ll go my goddamn self.”
Bucky seems to be game for any game. 😅 He wants to twist and tease both Steve and Reader. And mean Steve is already wound up again. He seems both possessive (five minutes after an assault) and business minded. I don't know what to make of this man other than the fact that he's an obvious mess.
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