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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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Who’s the Boss? 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. 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: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Why did I do this? I believe we’ve asked this question before and as ever I do not have an answer for you. So, enjoy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖

It’s your first day in office. In any office. The summer internship spoke to you as an easy way to earn a couple extra bucks before heading back to campus. Now that you’re in the thick of it, it might be a bit more than you bargained for.

You feel out of your depth as you try to decipher the instructions in your welcome email and the endless demands thrown at you by your supervisor, Suzanne. Aside from your general ignorance, you feel like a child playing dress up among the professionals in their tailored blazers lined with silk and their clicking heels. Your soles barely scuff on the floor as you drag your fifteen dollar flats up and down the hallways.

You stand at the copier, still trying to figure out how to clear the jam. The screen tells you to open the bypass tray and the helpful diagram highlights where it should be but you just can’t seem to find the release. The endless drone of typing, ringing phones, and garbled voices wafts in through the open doorway of the printing room and disguises your muttered repartee with the machine.

You pause as there’s a sudden lull. Fingers hover over keyboards, voices hush, and even the phones seem to stop. You glance over as you listen to the muffled holler on the other side of a wall. Steps click softer as several bodies try to ease their footfalls and listen from just outside the copier room. You peer over, confused with a wrinkle in your brow.

You sigh and shake your head, hitting the printer with your fist before jamming the drawer in. The screen shows the blue reset screen for the dozenth time then flicks right back to the error message. Goddammit!

Your last thought is echoed in real time. You pop your head up as the eavesdroppers in the hallway scatter and a set of hinges whisper from down the hall. You cross the small space but don’t break the threshold as the booming voice echoes down the hall.

“Incompetent!” The roar shakes you in your Walmart trousers with the elastic waist, “a dog could take better orders than you!”

A frantic tempo clicks down the hall and a woman in a white blouse and sleek rose pencil skirt blusters by with her hands over her face. Her blonde curls bounce as she lets out a barely smothered sob. Your brows rise and your lips part in shock.

A man marches down behind her, like a bull, nostrils flaring angrily.

“Gotta do more than look pretty, blondie!” He hollers, “fucking hell. Can’t anyone around here do anything right?!”

You blink and pivot stiffly, like a cyborg short-circuiting. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You have no office door or monitor to hide behind. You float back to copier and glance back over as the man shifts back on his heel.

“Good riddance,” he growls beneath his thick mustache, a rather outdated style in your opinion but your grandmother would argue that Tom Selleck is timeless, so who are you to say? He retracts his hand and runs his thumb and index along his furry upper lip, his eyes meet yours and you turn to face the printer, trying to appear intent on its non-functional status, “you! Get me a goddamn coffee. Now!”

You bounce on your feet and look at the wall, playing it cool. His leather shoe clangs off the doorway, “don’t make me tell you again,” he barks as you peek back at him, his glare narrowed in your direction as he points at you through the frame, “or you can join that bitch.”

He spins on his heel and stomps back up the hall. You frown and stare at the empty doorway. As much as you don’t want the job, you need the money. Slowly you tiptoe over the carpet and peer around the doorframe.

“What do you take…” you trail off after him but he’s already gone, a door slamming loudly in his stead.

You huff and shake your head. It’s always you. This is like that party on campus where you were nominated as first up for the keg stand. You never want to be waterboarded with Coors again.

Whatever, you’d rather struggle with the coffee machine than the printer. Maybe by the time you figure that out, you’ll know what excuse to feed Suzanne.

You find your way to the break room and go to the Keurig, spinning the rack of colourful pods and plucking out hazelnut. Everyone likes hazelnut, right? You don’t know but he seems like he could use something sweet to calm down.

You look around for a cup, searching the cupboards and taking down a company branded black mug with golden letters on it; The Hansen Agency. You put it under the spout and hit brew. You sway and wait mindlessly for the nozzle to spit up its offerings.

Finally, three-quarters full, you take the mug and scoop up a handful of sugar packets. You don’t know about dairy but he doesn’t seem the type. What do you know? He seems like the hard-to-please type and you don’t see this going well.

You stroll back out to the hallway and see that guy, Carmichael, standing at the corner near the bullpen. He doesn’t acknowledge you as you emerge, instead giving a dark look to the other end of the hall before dipping into an office. His name flashing on the door plaque as he swings it shut behind him.

Everyone here is so welcoming. Not.

You get to the door at the end and read the gold plate across the mahogany. Well, fuck you. Lloyd Hansen, CEO. You really don’t want to piss this asshole off.

You knock and no answer comes. You lean in and listen. You hear him talking but not to you. Fuck, he must be on the phone. Busy body. You juggle the mug and the handful of sugar and push down the handle with your elbow, pushing through with your hip.

You enter, keeping your head down as you find him standing behind his desk, hands on the leather mat across it as he speaks over the fancy speaker phone. You keep your footsteps light and set down the mug and your handful of packets.

As he bends over his desk, he lifts his chin and your eyes meet over it. You gulp as his brows arch and a line forms above his nose, “I’m putting you on hold,” he declares and hits a button. He stands up and you take a step back.

“Um, I didn’t know what you took so–”

He grabs the mug and looks inside. He curls his lip and whips it past you, a spray of brown across the room as it hits the wall and shatters.

“Go to fucking Starbucks!” He yells, “fucking Christ, don’t bring me that toilet water again.”

“Er, sorry, uh, sir. Mr. Hansen. But I’m an intern. I work for Su–”

“Venti Americano. No fucking sugar, sweetheart,” he dashes away the sugar packets, “get this right, if you’re in this building, you work for me.”

“I… understand but Suzanne said–”

“Go get the fucking coffee,” he grabs you by the arm and turns you forcibly, dragging you to the door and shoving you into the hall. You fall out of your flats and he kicks them out after you, “ten minutes or you can go the fuck home.”

He shuts the door so hard it rattles in the frame. You gasp and look around. You find no witnesses but you’re dead sure those nosy nancys are all listening. You heave and slip back into your shoes.

You turn and slink down the hallway. You suppose you have to pay for this yourself, too. Starbucks? Come on. If the dude doesn’t want toilet water, he’d go somewhere local. Again, what do you know? You’re an intern.

🖇️

Eight minutes and fifty-six seconds. You get back in just the nick of time but you don’t really think he’s counting down. You scurry down the hall, balancing the tall cardboard cup, and knock. You wait, checking your phone again for the time.

You knock a second time and an impatient ‘get in here’ comes from the other side. You let yourself through the door and raise the cup proudly. Mr. Hansen sits in his chair, tilted back to its limit, with his feet propped up on the desk.

You cross to the desk and set it down, almost nervous he’ll toss it back at you. Again. You glance over your shoulder at the stained wall and the glass littered across the floor among the pools of coffee. You cringe and return your attention to the mustachioed man perched like a cartoon villain behind the desk.

His chair squeaks as he drops his feet and leans forward. He swipes up the cup and his blue eyes bore into you.

“Right, well, enjoy,” you say.

“Clean that up,” he orders as he nods to the mess behind you.

“Oh, uh, I could find a custodian. Again, I’m just an intern.”

“Well, intern, go get a wet cloth and clean up your fucking mess before I drag you through it,” he warns.

You clamp your lips shut and nod. This guy. You turn slowly and walk away, letting your breath out as you get to the hall.

You search up and down for a broom closet but don’t find much. You go into the bathroom and reel out half a roll of paper towel, wetting some of it before returning to the CEO’s vaunted office.

He sits and sips as he scrolls on his phone and you go about wiping the wall with a length of the thin paper towel. You sigh and shake your head at the task. You’re really not surprised. You kind of imagined yourself being a janitor one day and your expectations for your first day weren’t really that high.

You finish sopping up the coffee and start gathering up the shards of glass. He sucks his teeth loudly and clears his throat as you nearly cut yourself on a thick sliver. You pile the pieces on top of a folded stretch of the remaining paper towel.

“What are you wearing?” He sneers as he leans over his desk, his phone still in hand.

“Um,” you look down, “a blouse…” you touch the little tie around the collar, “I think they call this a pussy bow.”

“A pussy bow?” He repeats.

“Uh huh,” you say as you lift the paper towel and glass and near the bin at the end of his desk.

“Ah, don’t leave that in here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you take a step back.

He inhales through his nose and puts his phone down. He reaches under his jacket and slides out a leather wallet. He unfolds it and slips out several bills; hundreds. He tosses them at you before tucking away the rest.

“Go get a skirt or something before you come back here again.”

“Um, that’s nice but I really have to go get those copies–”

“Go buy yourself a fucking skirt and get back here on the double,” he snaps.

“Sir, I’m an intern–”

“Say that one more fucking time,” he hisses.

You stop yourself and nod. You shift the wet pile to one hand and collect the money with the other.

“Yes, sir.”

“Something tight,” he snips, “those pants look awful on you.”

“Well, they were on sale–”

“Go away,” he shoos you away with his fingers.

You obey without further comment. You really need to put a cork in it. Your mouth tends to run faster than your head. You shut his door behind you and continue down the hall, dumping the trash into the bin inside the copy machine.

Well, where can you buy a skirt around here?

🖇️

The sales lady pointed you to a nice powder blue skirt that went with your blouse. You’re happy with the choice because you put exactly zero effort or thought into it. Or expense. You pay with the crumpled bills and shove the change in your purse before you leave, your pants in the shopping bag.

You’re only a block away from the building and it takes just a few minutes to get back. It’s been more than an hour since you were sent off to make copies. Suzanne isn’t going to be happy and probably won’t believe your story. Well, you’ll be fired either way, you suppose.

You take the elevator up and find your way back to your tiny desk in the corner, tucking the bag under it. You pick out the change from the side pocket of your purse to give back to Mr. Hansen and a stack of papers thwaps onto your desk. You stand up straight and stare at Suzanne as she fumes.

“Copies,” she sneers, “don’t worry, I had them collated and stapled. Good job, me.”

“Suzanne,” you gasp, “I’m sorry, but–”

“Did you change?” She scoffs, “what in the world–”

“Intern!” The call comes down the hall before Mr. Hansen appears. Your eyes nearly pop out as you glance past Suzanne, “where the hell is that little–” He sees you and stomps over, “there you are. I need more coffee. I got a call in twenty minutes.”

“Lloyd? What the fuck? This is my intern, she doesn’t have time to get you coffee–”

“Shut up, Suzanne,” he shoulders past her and snaps his fingers in your direction, “now, sunshine, it’s rush hour and I need my fix.”

“Uh, yes, sir?” You say tenuously as you peek at Suzanne nervously, “I got your change—”

“Fuck off with it and get my coffee,” he waves off your reach.

“Lloyd, you just got a new assistant–”

“She was useless. Dead weight. This one did a speed run in nine minutes.” He nudges her with his elbows, “chop chop,” he claps at you, “let’s see if you can break your record.”

“Sir,” you say as you round the desk but Suzanne steps into your path.

“You stay,” she throws over her shoulder, “Hansen, go find a different–”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear about your promotion,” he says dryly, “when did they make you CEO?”

“Don’t do this–”

“You, out of my way,” he demands as he jabs his thick finger in her face before bulldozing through her, “and you,” he snaps his fingers again, “americano, asap.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #who's the boss?#fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #boss au #series #the gray man

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Who’s the Boss? 26

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, bullying, coercion, anger, yelling, Lloyd being Lloyd. 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: You’re just an intern but that doesn’t matter to the demanding CEO of The Hansen Agency.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I’m about to go on vacay next week, woohoo. Well, time off.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like Lloyd loves needlessly gross jokes. Take care. 💖

Lloyd vetoes several outfits before you settle on a baby blue dress with a keyhole over your cleavage. The skirt is shorter than you like, especially without panties. It doesn't matter, all that matters is whether he's happy.

Each step reminds you of the pressure in your ass. Lloyd does too as he keeps his hand on your skirt, walking you into the restaurant with triumph in his gait. You don't expect the night to go any better than the one before.

The hostess leads you onward. You're surprised as she takes you up a set of steps to a booth secluded from the rest of the restaurant. You can see over the edge to the tables beneath but it's private enough that you can't be seen in turn.

Court is already there. That isn't unusual. Lloyd takes his time. He sits without pretense, ordering a whiskey for himself before adding on a sparkling water for you.

"Can't have you getting out of hand," Lloyd squeezes your thigh as the server walks away.

Court clears his throat, a drink weeping on the table by his hand. You stare at his silver rings, too ashamed to meet his eyes. He leans forward as he slips his fingers between each other.

"Thanks for coming," he says at last, "let's start off on a new foot, huh? Dinner's on me."

"Least you can do," Lloyd scoffs as his hand crawls up your back, "if you weren't such a thorn in my fucking ass, we'd work well together."

"I'm trying," Court rebuffs, "so why don't you?"

Lloyd clucks as he plays with the strap of your dress. He leans in and nips your ear with a growl. Court sighs and says nothing.

"So, I'll take the same deal as before… minus a few percent," Lloyd declares.

"One percent," Court counters.

"Come on, you can't come up acting like a big shot then play cheap ass."

Court scoffs and shakes his head. You know he's looking at you. You feel it. His disappointment. His judgment. He can't think worse of you than you think of yourself.

"Speak for yourself. I'm extending the olive branch, stop tryna light it on fire."

"Seems like you're butthurt, Gentry," Lloyd slings his arm over your shoulders, sidling close, "you could do better. Even I'll admit that. So why the fuck do you care so much?"

"You seem to care more than I do. I came here to make a deal, you're the one dragging the poor girl around like a beaten dog–"

"Aw, you actually feel bad for her. That's adorable."

Court says nothing. Instead he takes a drink from the tall glass before him. The server returns and places another set of glasses before you and Lloyd. You thank them quietly as you distract yourself with a menu.

"If it sweetens the pot, I'll let you try her mouth," Lloyd snickers.

"Stop," Court orders, "I won't sit here as you demean her. Or myself. Be professional, for once in your career."

"Oh there he goes," Lloyd draws circles on your shoulder, "see, he's not so dreamy, bumblebee, he's getting mad. You think I'm bad, wait till you see him go off."

Court doesn't reply. He grabs the menu from the table and focuses on it. You don't think he's actually reading it. You're not either. You're not even hungry.

"Never could take a fucking joke," Lloyd mutters as he picks up his menu, "two percent. Take or leave it."

🐝

You’re sober for a reason. Lloyd wants you to be painfully aware of everything. And for the first time in your life, you have a genuine thirst. You just want to drink away the tension, escape the worries that needle away at your nerves.

You pick away at your entree, deaf and blind to the world around you. You’re in your bubble. The one that your parents loved to burst and give you trouble about. People could just never let you be, they could never let you do anything on your own, and what they did let you do, was never to their standards.

Pop! The nudge along your side brings you back to the world. You glance over at Lloyd as he points you off the seat. You get up and smooth the back of your skirt.

“Try to keep your hands off each other,” Lloyd winks at Court as he sidles across the bench, “but if you wanna get her warmed up for me–”

He slaps your ass as he steps past you. The force of it shifts the plug and makes you squirm. You watch Lloyd as he struts away, one hand in his pocket as you linger by the table. Your attention is drawn back by the clink of Court’s fork against the plate.

You slowly sit, careful not to put too much weight on the silicone. You drag your hands down your cheek and cup your chin as you stare at the table. You poke your tongue out and wet your lips. What can you say? Even if he believes the truth, it would only put him in danger too.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text. My phone broke,” you murmur at the table.

“Mmm,” Court hums and swallows loudly. He sets the fork down and takes a sip from his glass. “Did it? Or did he break it?”

You shake your head. You’re no good at lying. As hopeless at that as anything else.

“He found out, didn’t he?”

“I… tried to quit. He doesn’t know why,” you slowly look at him, “I didn’t tell him you offered me a job.”

He nods and his cheek ticks with quiet thought. He rubs his stubbly chin and sits up. He doesn’t look as mad.

“I can help you. You know, he’s not the boss of everyone. I can get you out. Get you money, get–”

“It’s more than that, I…” you frown and stop yourself, “I can’t leave. That’s it. I just can’t.”

He narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue, “you hate him. I can see it. Every time he touches you–”

“And what happens if I go with you?” You utter, “you’ll want the same thing. I’ll be just the same as I am, just in a different place.”

“No, that’s not what I want. You’re a pretty girl, funny, amusing, but… you’re more than that. It was never that. I meant it. You deserve to enjoy your summer and your life.” He takes a breath and arches a brow, “you deserve better. Than either of us.”

You cover your mouth and lower your gaze back to the table. Your eyes sting and your vision blurs. Your chest lurches and you hiccup to keep the sob from escaping. You press a hand against the dark wood and stand shakily.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you whisper just before your voice cracks, “sorry.”

You rush away from the table without looking back. You keep your head down as you march by the other booths, fists balled, arms straight, body racked as you fight the grief boiling in your gut. You end up at the end of a hall, doors shut and marked employees only.

You spin and lean against the wall. You sink down inch by inch and hang your head as you dissolve into pieces. You’re cornered, alone, and afraid.

🐝

There is no retreat. Your return to the hotel room does not offer you freedom. Lloyd lurks, following you inside with another tap on your ass. He stops you before you can get far, pulling you to face him, forcing you flush against his body.

The door shuts behind him and he growls and feels along the hem of your dress, his fingers fluttering beneath the fabric. He kneads your ass, pinching harshly before delving between your cheeks. He touches the stem of the plug and wiggles it until you whimper.

“Where are you tryna buzz off to, bumble bee?” He snarls, “hmm. Did you have fun?”

You press your hands to his chest as he walks you backwards.

“Did you see the way he was staring at your tits? Think we might just get a buck out of this,” he intones, “can you fucking believe it? You’re worth more than an easy fuck.”

You bite down on your cheeks, staring at his neck as you wilt. Humiliation scalds over your skin and bubbles in your stomach. You can do this. You can get through this. It’s just another night. With him. Keep him happy and you might find a sliver of content.

“Thinking about you sitting there with your ass full,” he gropes your ass as he continues his advance. You stagger on your heels, legs shaking as your feet tangle together, “can’t believe I’m goddamn jealous of a toy.”

He drags his other hand up your side and cups your chest. He squeezes and his breath gristles in his throat. He hooks his thumb beneath the strap of your dress and slides it down your shoulder. The fabric slumps beneath your chest as you stare past him. Don’t think. You’re in your bubble.

He bends as he fondles your tit. He rolls a thumb around your nipple before putting his lips around it. He sucks until you feel a twinge lower down. You shiver and grasp his shoulder as he purrs, flicking the tip of his tongue against the hard bud.

You inhale sharply as he growls and urges you further back. You stumble but he keeps you from falling. He unlatches his mouth from you and spins you against the sofa. You cry out and catch yourself against the white leather. He slaps your ass and you squeak, clenching around the plug as you brace yourself against the straight back.

Lloyd steps up behind you, petting your head roughly, trailing his hands down to circle your neck. He eases you forward until your chest meets the leather. You shudder and clutch the cushion tight, the straps of your dress hooked over your elbows.

He flips up your skirt, running his nails up and down your ass until hot lines singe on your flesh. He pinches you so you yelp and he chuckle. He pushes your cheeks apart and presses a fingertip against the plug, wiggling it again.

He draws back one hand, gripping the stem of the plug and tugs. You gulp as he doesn’t let up, pulling until you feel yourself stretching. You whimper at the strain, gritting your teeth until suddenly a looseness eases your hole.

“That’s it,” Lloyd praises, “mmm, mmm,” he tosses the plug beside you, “you’ve been waiting for this, huh?”

He shoves his fingers against your ass, tickling your hole and slowly sliding inside. You hold your breath as the pressure fills you once more. He inches, further and further, to his knuckles. You squeeze around him and quiver.

“You ready for me, baby?” He teases as he dips his fingers in and out.

You groan, letting the air out from your lungs little by little. It still burns but doesn’t hurt as bad as the plug. He shifts closer as his other hand fumbles behind you. You tense at the subtle noise of his zipper. No…

He pulls his fingers out and drags his fingers around your ass, gripping your hip to tilt your pelvis. You bow your head down and grip the couch. He steps closer as the buckle of his belt tinks. It will be over soon.

He prods along the curve of your ass as his hand spreads across one cheek. He pokes against your tight ring and your eyes wet. You squeeze them shut and bite down on your cheeks.

He pushes against your hole, rocking his hips until he stretches you around him. He pulls back out then in again, a steady rhythm that has him opening you up, over and over, more and more. He delves into you, bracing your shoulder as he forces past your resistance.

He sinks in until you're rigid and shaking. He meets his limit and you whine, letting out a heave as the pain thrums in your muscles. You blow out through clenched teeth, huffing and puffing as you try to find some relief. Your ass contracts around him, agony echoing from your core.

“Fuck, you’re so tight? Dirty fucking slut like you, huh?” Lloyd moves his hand to the back of your neck, his other hand around your hip as he slides out then in again, “look at you taking all of me in your ass. I can feel how much you want it.”

You murmur and rest your head against the couch. You bury your face under your arm and groan. You don’t know what’s worse. The humiliation or the pain.

“Dirty fucking whore, aren’t you?” He taunts, “hmm? Say it, bee, say you’re my dirty fucking whore.”

You grind your teeth and roll your eyes back. You sniff and try to summon a degree of strength. You’re weak. Defeated.

“I…” your voice quavers, “I’m… a dirty whore.”

“Who’s whore?” He demands.

“Yours,” you eke out, “I’m… your—” you grunt as he slams into you hard, “your dirty whore.”

“Damn– fucking– right,” he ruts between each words, hammering into your ass harshly, “I’m gonna fucking use you just like the whore you are.”

#who's the boss?#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #au #fic #boss au #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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