Three for One 3
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.
Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale
Note: Let's go!
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Two days before Christmas. The store is left in tatters. Shelves strewn with sparse lefftovers and aisles hastily paced by those who left their shopping a bit too late. The frantic shoppers searching for a diamond among the sand grains of untouched product.
You work at arranging the remnants of the season’s beauty advent calendars on a table draped in a bright red cloth. There’s a large tag in a metal stand that marks them as ten percent off. On the other side of the holidays, they will drop to a full eighty percent off. You always believed giftcards were a better prize, not that you got many gifts.
That year, Luanne gave you a new journal and a specialty hot chocolate bomb in the department’s secret santa. You go Michelle and gifted her a copy of your favourite novel and some nail polishes. That is the extent of your shopping and gift exchanges. Except for your puppy, Ernie, who will get a bone and one of those special gourmet dog meals.
You finish your arrangement and step back, admiring your work. It’s close to close and so close to the end of the race that the shop isn’t as busy as usual. The only customers you do see are in a rush and horribly disappointed when that very specific thing isn’t in stock.
“Excuse me,” you’re drawn around the deep voice. A man strolls up the center aisle of the beauty section, the tails of his coat flicking behind him, “hi,” he uses your name as he approaches, “I’m so sorry to bother you again but can you point me to, erm,” he looks down at his phone, “a ring light?”
You hesitate. He seems to know you and you admit, he looks familiar. You’re at that point where the faces all blur together. Your one innate flaw is that you really don’t have a good memory for that, bt you definitely recognise his voice.
“Hello, sir,” you fall short of his name. You want to say Alan but you also don’t want to be wrong. “The ring lights are actually with the cellphone.” You gesture back at electronics, “I know it makes more sense to put them with cameras.”
“Ah, oh, thanks,” he nods but doesn’t move to find his quarry, he lowers his phone, “how’s your holiday going? Thing’s slowing down,” he looks around and you can’t help but do the same.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, most people are all done,” you shrug.
“Ha, wish I could say the same,” he sighs, “I thought we were done but the wife just sent me on a wild goose chase.”
“Hm, oh, well, I’m not very busy, did you need help finding anything else?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my manager’s done for the day so doesn’t really matter if I leave my zone,” you say, “kinda boring around here.”
“You’re too sweet,” he smiles, his blue eyes deep and swirling, “and that sweater is adorable.”
You look down at your dark blue sweater with the white crochet peter pan collar. You wiggle your shoulders and grin back at him, thanking him. You know he bought some perfume for his wife but you’re still blanking on his name.
“Here’s my list,” he tilts his phone towards you and looks down, shifting closer to you as he shows you a text bubble.
“Oh my, right. I’m not sure we’ll have everything,” you teethe your lip as you go through the items, “but we’ll see.”
A message pops up over the top and you try not to read, putting your head up as you try to act like you didn’t see it. It’s not that you meant to decipher the words but your brain quickly skimmed that ‘tomorrow night?’ Not much but just feels a bit personal.
“Alright, we’ll go to electronics first, then work our way forward,” you suggest.
“Good idea,” he agrees.
You set off and he follows at just a step. You have to remember to slow down as often you’re so determined you find yourself leaving your customers far behind you. You bring him to the mobile accessories and point to the ring lights.
He considers them and rubs his chin. He points between two; “what’s the difference?”
“Oh, this one comes with a tripod extension and this one is a full kit with a mic,” you point from one to the other.
“What do you think is better for, uh, streaming?” He sounds unsure of that last word.
“I think that kit would have more to it, especially if whoever it’s for is just starting out. But I’m don’t know too much about these things.”
“I’ll take the kit,” he scoops it off the shelf, “the kid can never have enough.”
“Oh? You have kids?”
“One,” he sounds less than excited, “teenager now so he really can’t stand me.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to…”
“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he forces away the shadow across his features, “you know how they can be. What about you? You going to see your parents? Spending the day with someone special?”
“Um, just Ernie,” you answer, “my puppy.”
“Cute,” he remarks, “are you guys open tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, yeah, ‘til five,” you try to remember the next thing on his list.
He seems less concerned with the items than before, instead turn to examine a pop socket, “you have to work on Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah, closing, but I don’t mind.”
“What’s this?” He holds up a pop socket.
“It goes on your phone,” you pull out your phone and show him your daisy one, “see?” You hook your fingers around it, “it’s a grip to help you hold on.”
“Ah, makes sense,” he turns the thin package over, “kid’s always breaking his screen…”
You wait patiently as he makes up the mind to add the grip to his haul.
“What’s next?” You prompt as gently as you can.
“Oh, uh,” he looks at his phone, “video games…” he squints, “V-bucks?”
“Ah, yes, that would be a gift card,” you say, “I can show you the rack.”
He lets you lead him to the large rack of subscription cards. You point out the various currency amounts available and he rubs his brow. His forehead lines as you see the stress needling in his cheek. He’s struck with the late shopper syndrome. He’s start to feel the crush of time.
“So, just your dog?” He wonders as he picks up a $75 card.
“Yeah,” you answer softly.
“No boyfriend? Siblings?”
“Just me,” you assure him, “I don’t mind. I get to choose the dessert!”
He chuckles, “that’s a good way to look at it. Did you buy yourself something special?”
“Not really, I’ve been saving for a vacation so I put most of my overtime into that,” you explain. “You having a big dinner?”
“Last minute change, wife’s parents want to host. Had to figure out travel plans.” He looks at the giftcards again and your eyes fall to the large back curled up in his arm and the card and phone grip balanced between his fingers. He slides free a Netflix card and reads the fine print.
“Do you want a basket, sir?” You offer.
“Oh, well, sure,” he accepts as he looks down, “that’s very considerate.”
“Don’t want you to drop anything,” you smile and turn on your heel.
You go to the stack of rolling baskets beside the electronics desk. Tyler doesn’t acknowledge you as he sorts through game shells to put back on the shelf. You pull the basket behind you, rattling on its wheels as you approach the shopper by the gift cards.
“Here,” you veer it around towards him.
He bends to lower the ringlight inside and drops the smaller items into next to it; he adds the Netflix subscription along with it and holds onto the Kindle card in his hand.
“You got any of these around?” He holds up the card, “the reader?”
“Hmm, we should,” you rub your neck, “I suppose if we didn’t, you can get a tablet and download the app.”
“I guess,” he nods, “can you check?”
“Of course, sir.”
You turn away and call over your headset. Regan tells you there’s a kindle up in return they can sell. You ask them to put it aside.
“There’s one left at checkout. They’re going to have it waiting for you,” you announce proudly.
“That’s great. You like to read?” He asks.
“Oh, sure, my one vice is my book addiction,” you giggle, “how about you?”
“Well, I don’t get much of a chance with work. I’m usually burnt out from all the legal documents,” he drones grimly, “then the kid has extracurriculars or there’s a PTA meeting or the wife needs something done.”
“Sounds busy,” you say empathetically, “I hope you get some time to relax this holiday.”
“Me too,” he agrees. “I almost envy you. I’m sure your dog’s good company.”
“He’s so sweet,” you can’t help but beam at the mention of your boy.
“Big cuddler?” He asks.
“Uh, yeah,” the question is a bit unexpected, “you like dogs?”
“Never really had one. Don’t need the extra work,” he says, “but I don’t mind them.”
“That’s fair. He can be a bit needy.”
He flinches and looks down at his hand. His screen flashes and he gives an apologetic look as he raises his palm, “I’m so sorry. I need to take this.”
“Take your time, sir, I’ll wander,” you point over your shoulder with your thumb.
He mouths a thanks before he answers, “Barber.”
You back up and turn to distract yourself with the shelf of controllers and switch cases. His deep voice carries but you focus on the Sinatra carol playing overhead to drown him out. Still you can’t help but catch a few words.
“Five, yeah…no, she won’t…it’s fine…” He’s quiet for a moment before he raises his voice, “figure it out.”
His stern tone sends a chill through you. It’s a sharp contrast to his previously friendly demeanour. Well, he mentioned he’s a lawyer, you assume he has a lawyer voice, akin to your customer service one.
“Sorry,” he comes back to you, “my wife…” he takes a breath, “you don’t happen to sell wine here?”
You smile. The way he answered, it didn’t sound very affectionate but maybe he hadn’t expected his wife.
“No, sorry, sir.”
“Kidding,” he chuckles, “well, I guess I should get my butt in gear,” he flicks through his phone, “um, I assume toiletries? Face masks?”
“Oh, that’s near me,” you point back towards beauty, “there’s a special for the sheet masks.”
“Great,” he grabs the extended handle of the basket, “thanks so much for this. I’m so lost.”
“That’s fine,” you go ahead of him, “it’s the job.”
🎀
You groan as you put the last empty bin in the stack. You stand and rub your shoulders, traps sore from all the lifting and moving. The night crew will set up for the day after Christmas but in the last hour of work, you and the few others in the store scrambled to get the old displays torn down.
Luanne walks with you to the employee break room. She’s in more of a hurry as she has her three children waiting for her at their grandparents. She goes ahead of you and punches out as you wait and stretch out your arms.
“Have a good Christmas,” she says breathily as she opens her locker and pulls out her purse and jacket, folding the latter over her arm, “I’ll see you after. You’re opening, right?”
“Sure thing,” you say as you punch in your employee number. “Merry Christmas.”
“Give Ernie some pets for me,” she trills as she goes to the door. “Thanks again. You saved my ass today.”
“No problem, “ you shake your head, “Christmas Eve brings out the best.”
“Does it ever. Bye, sweetie,” she waves over her shoulder as he sweeps through the door.
You go to your locket and take out your fluffy pink sherpa coat and purse. You loop your scarf around your neck and slip your earmuffs around your head. You sit to pull on your boots and stand with an ache in your calves. You feel the fatigue finally setting in. It’s not over yet; one day off and you’re right back to the furor.
You yawn as you leave the breakroom and drag your feet across the store. You take out your phone as you pop your earbuds in and choose your holiday mix. You wave goodbye to a few other stragglers and go out the front door, Spencer locking it behind you.
It’s bitterly cold out. You’re surprised by the fresh fall of snow swirling in the air. It gives an extra sparkle to the time of year.
You scroll through your phone. The buses are on holiday hours already. The next one is in an hour. Great. You can just walk, at least until you get to the next stop. More buses stop there and you can get at least ten minutes within your building.
You trod along, kicking through the powder of snow as headlights gleam ahead of you. You walk along the narrow walk beside the hotel on the other side of the intersection and a pair of flashing tail lights blink ahead of you. A dark figure stands beside the white SUV but you can’t make out much more than their silhouette.
You keep going, peeking up curiously as you near. The boot of the car pops up and the stranded driver searches. As you pass, you trip over an unseen shape, the metal clank painfully against your toe. You look down at the small foot jack.
“Oh, shoot, sorry,” the man stands straight and turns to you, “I didn’t see you coming. I was just grabbing the iron–”
“That’s okay,” you pick out your earbuds, “I wasn’t looking.”
“Wait,” he stops short and points a gloved finger in your direction, “it’s you. You work at the store just down the way, right?”
You know the man. He’s the one who was in the store just yesterday. There’s a flutter in your chest at the coincidence of your encounter. It happens, especially in the shopping district. Half the city at least passes through her during the holidays.
“Yeah, uh, that’s me. You finish your shopping?”
“Just about,” he tuts and shakes his head, “blew a tire. So, happy holidays to me.”
“I’m so sorry,” you look down at the snowy walk.
“Mhmm,” he grumbles, “all this snow, I can’t get the jack to work either.”
“Dang, unfortunately, I’m not help. I don’t know much about cars.”
“That’s fine, I called roadside assistance but they’re taking their damn time,” he checks his watch.
“Oh…” you utter.
“Don’t let me rain on your holiday, honey,” he says, “your toe okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you look down.
“Wait, are you walking home?” He asks.
You nod.
“Wish I could offer you a ride. This weather’s only getting worse,” he bemoans. He slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out his phone, “they should be here shortly so if–”
A set of headlights pull onto the apron and roll towards you. You look over as the man beside you does the same. You stand, somewhat dumbfounded at the unexpected run-in.
“That’s them,” he declares, “hey, guys.”
He waves as the white van pulls up. You were expecting a tow truck. Oh, well. Not your problem.
“Great, I guess I should get going,” you excuse yourself, “have a happy holi–”
As you step back, your heel catches on something. You don’t realise until your plummeting onto your ass that the man stuck his leg out behind you. You hit the ground with an oomph, barely missing the metal jack half-buried in the snow.
You hear the van door sliding open and a clatter of heavy treads. You can barely catch your breath as the world moves fast around you. The man bends over you as another rushes over, grabbing you off the ground as the two vehicles block out the street from view.
“Be nice,” the first man warns as your arms are seized. “Don’t hurt her.”
You suck in a deep breath. What is happening? You go to let out the shriek as you’re struck by the situation. This can’t be real but you’re being half-carried towards an open vehicle. A hand comes up and stifles your scream, smothering you as you’re yanked harshly forward.
“Careful,” the man girds again.
“Shut the fuck up,” the other grits and pulls you away from the other, spinning you around as he hooks an arm around your neck and covers your mouth, forcing you towards the van. He bends backwards, lifting your feet as you kick and squirm.
“Honey, calm down,” the friendly customer coaxes, “it’s okay.”
You don’t understand. Why are they doing this? Why you?
The man’s hand slips as you grab at his arms and your teeth come over the vee between thumb and index. You bite down and he yowls. Even through his leather glove, you give him a viscous pinch.
“Fuck!” He tosses you forward so your knees hit the side of the van and fall half-inside.
“Hurry the fuck up,” another voice calls from inside the van.
“Trying,” the second man snarls as you stand and let out a shrill note, only for a second before you’re caught from behind and muted again. This time the leather glove seals over your nose. “Fucking bitch.”
You’re lifted into the van, writhing and kicking as the door slides shut from the outside. You’re pinned on the floor in the seatless rear of the vehicle. You whimper as your eyes glisten with a sudden spring of tears.
That question rings in your head again; why you? You have no one to look for you, no one to care. It’s only you against them.
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🩷 February Birthday Advent Calendar ❤️
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So, my birthday is on 22 February, & I don't have anyone to celebrate with. So, I will be celebrating it here on tumblr.
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