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hecateslore · 2 months

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💌

supervisor!Simon

“Well this is awkward.”

“Yeah.” you sigh, grabbing and scanning each Item as fast as you can. “So you work here now?” Simon clears his throat, feeling uneasy at the sight of you.

“Temporarily. 10.83.” you say. Simon pulls out a crisp bill from his pocket, “I need change for the vending machine.” He chuckles, you only stare at him. Taking the money from his hand and putting the amount into the register. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t been sleeping. His shirt wasn’t ironed like it usually is, he looked drained. You hand him the receipt and the exact amount of change. “See you around.” and you give him no response. You need to find another job, quickly.

You let out another sigh. This is way harder than you thought. Simon’s voice kept ringing in your head. “You can always come back,”. You wanted to. Standing on your feet all day was not the business. You miss sitting in the office, goofing off, sometimes doing your makeup. Even though Simon would act like a dick, sometimes you’d just escape to the bathroom, or take a break.

Here you couldn’t sit, someone always needed help, there was a sale that they missed; somehow it was your fault. And now you're scanning 15 bottles of laundry detergent, 5 bars of soap, 10 packs of dish scrubbers, Goddamn couponers.

When you finish your shift, you sit outside on the store's patio, going through on your phone checking emails. Seeing if any of the offices responded to your applications.

For a second, you contemplate going back. The pay’s good, maybe you could apply for a different position? in the front away from his office. Maybe you could apply for a shift lead? but you needed to be there for more than 3 years. God this sucks. So you call johnny.

“How’s it going?” Johnny says still in hush mode. “It’s so stupid.” You whine. “It’s only your first day, “ he amuses quietly, “I know and my feet are killing me.” you continue. “I might just come back.” you say. “You should, we’re missing you around here..”

“You sure it’s not you?” you grin, “I enjoyed your company a bit.” Johnny laughed softly, “that’s a lie. you call me daily.” you poke fun at him and you both laugh, exchanging what happened today in the supermarket and back at your old office. “I saw Simon.” you say casually. “Told you he has an obsession.” he noted. You snort at his comment, “He bought breakfast.” you stated, “I think it was kind of a coincidence.” you shrug. “Probably. But I wouldn’t doubt him actually being obsessed.” Johnny comments. “He’s not.” you chuckle and roll your eyes.

“I’ll call you back, I gotta go.”

Click.

“You busy?” Simon asks cocking a brow at Johnny. “Uh,nah.” Johnny states, only realizing his screw up. Simon only chuckles at his response. “Come to my office.” Simon nods Johnny along.

Entering the room, Johnny looks at your desk noticing all your knick-knacks gone. Your desk was cleaned right off, and in the corner of Simon's office, he could see a box with your name written on it in messy handwriting. “Have a seat.” Simon offers, and Johnny does.“Something wrong?” He asks, “I’ve noticed some things.” Simon explained, Johnny couldn’t keep his eyes off the box of your things, “What’s that?”

“You’re on the phone..A lot.” Johnny’s eye contact on the box breaks and he looks at Simon. “Y’know how people call for insurance-” he says and Simon quickly interjects, “We only answer transfer calls for people who have trouble financing their insurance, so that’s false.”

Johnny’s throat went dry and all he could do was stare at the man across from him. “I’m not going to fire you johnny.” Simon sighs, “If that’s what you're scared of, we’re friends after all, just don’t do it again.” He affirms, Johnny only nods, “Take your lunch.” Simon waves him out of his office. Johnny closes the door behind him and puts his hand over his heart, attempting to soothe it back to its normal, healthy rhythm.

Simon sat in his chair, cackling to himself, slapping his knee. He loved the look on his face, of course He and Johnny weren’t friends, not anymore at least. That snippet he heard on the phone told Simon everything he needed to know about him.

Still in his chair Simon thought of calling you, but you were at work. A devilish thought peeped into his mind, maybe he could go into the supermarket again with the box of your things. It would be an excuse to see what you’re up to. He wondered if you worked full time or part time, he wanted to see you.

Simon blew out a sigh picking up the stress ball on his desk tossing it in the hair. It was weird having you on his mind, sometimes you were all he thought about. Last night he couldn’t sleep, your phone call kept him up. Your reassurance, and the way you stayed on even if you wanted to gouge his eyes out with a plastic spork. If he closed his eyes tight enough he could still see you behind the register. You, acting as if you’ve never heard or seen him in your life.

It’s only been a couple of days. He doesn’t understand where half of these emotions are coming from. He doesn’t know when they came, he doesn’t know why he feels entitled to you everytime Johnny’s around, or whenever he hears you two on the phone. He knows Johnny likes you like that, he’s seen when Johnny’s pining, how he’s soft and attentive, he says whatever and does whatever until you're trapped.

God it was stupid. That’s why Simon packed your things up, to show his appreciation, his efforts. Johnny would’ve let you clean it up all by yourself and lug a heavy box around all day. Simon stared and stared at the phone. He doesn’t know what time you get off, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right? And there Simon was. Sitting at the edge of his seat, letting the phone ring, and holding his breath. “Hello?” You say confused . “Hey.” Simon said, drawing out the “Y”.

“Simon?” He winces at his decision, “Maybe?” cringing even harder than before. “What do you want?” you respond dryly. “How's work?” he asks, mentally smacking himself in the head.“I’m off. Trying to get me fired?” He can hear the ruckus in the background, you're probably home, or eating lunch with johnny. “Not now at least,” he snorts, “I was just calling.” Simon says casually. “Why?” Simon swears he can see the confused look on your face. “Dunno.” he shrugs. “So there’s no reason for this call.” You point out.

“You still coming tomorrow?” You let out a sigh, and Simon smiles. “I need my things..” you emphasize sarcastically. “That you do.” he confirms. There was a beat of silence between you two. “Linda misses you.” He admits, “a lot of people do.” He finishes.

“I miss Linda, too.” you sigh once more. “You know the offer is still here, I would never turn you away.” He confesses. You’re quiet. “I was thinking about that today.” You disclose. “Of coming back?” he chimes in surprised. “Yeah.” you say softly. “You could if you want to.” Simon sits up, “I left for a reason, Simon.”

He knows, that’s why he hasn’t slept correctly or eaten a decent meal. “I know.” he answers. “You’re the reason. You know that, right.” you clarified making simon shut his eyes tightly.

“Johnny misses you most.” he states.

You stand over your stove phone in hand. “I know. We talked about it today.” You respond, “When’d you talk to him?” Simon prods. “His lunch break.” You say. Simon lets out a hum at your response. “I gotta go, I’m kind of busy.” you lie. “I assume, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He asks on the other end. “Yeah.” You say and hang up the phone quickly.

“What the fuck.” you say aloud. You shake your head and decide whether to call Johnny or your best friend. you opted in talking to yourself and going over the conversation you just had. Why does he keep calling? And why is he bothering you about friday?

“What’s happening on friday?” you say assembling your meal. You thought about his offer again, maybe you could come back, and I mean your heels are killing you. “I would never turn you away.” Why was that so attractive? Why is he so attractive?

Is he trying to get you to come back so he can have someone to pick on again? He never apologized. Maybe he’s going to try tomorrow. That's why he’s adamant about you coming. Oh god. Johnny’s gonna be there. You have to get dressed and make yourself look presentable.

You finish your food and head to the bathroom for a quick shower, feet still aching from today. You take some medication for the pain and knock out until you have to get ready for tomorrow.

Friday.

Simon sits in his office, his shirt steamed and ironed, awaiting your arrival. You gave a call to the office letting the people in front know you’ll be stopping by to grab your stuff. On the office floor, Johnny sat in his chair wearing Friday's best, the sweater you told him you liked but in a different color. He waited for your “I’m here” text message, and kept looking at his phone every time he got a notification. Not even 15 minutes later you open the door to the back office. Simon's ears almost perk up like dogs at the sound of the door knob clicking against the hinge.

Simon steps out of his office, first looking for Johnny and thankfully the man is sitting at his chair, eyeballing you from his seat. Johnny gives you a wave and Simon gives the biggest eye roll, he would’ve gagged but it would’ve disturbed the atmosphere. Simon notices the little smile you have on your face, because Linda looks like she’s two seconds away from a meltdown. You give her a little wave and smile at her sympathetically.

“Glad to see you could make it.” Simon smiles, and you barely acknowledge his attempt at roping you back in. You take one good look at your desk and notice your things missing, “They're packed up in my room.” Simon raises his hands, your face relaxing at his words. You follow behind him into the very well known office.

He picks up the cardboard box filled with your belongings, “This is all yours.” you try to refrain from staring at the way his muscles flex as he sets the box down. “Thanks.” you say, grabbing the box. “I kind of wanted to talk to you today.”

You knew it. You only nod and sit in the very familiar chair. “I know this is probably not what you want to hear right now,” he chuckles nervously, and you suck in a harsh breath. “..I’m sorry.”

your eyeballs almost pop out of your head, and you choke on your spit. “Are you okay?” he asks brows furrowing, “Do you need water?” concern on his face. You wave him off, “I’m okay.” He lets out a relieved sigh, “I thought about our conversation after work, and I know I should’ve done this sooner and I should’ve been nicer,”

“Uh, yeah.” you agree sarcastically. “And when I saw you at the supermarket and your face when you quit. I know I can be a bit abrasive,” he rattles on, “Not a bit, you are.” you add.

“Okay, I am,” he corrects himself, “Are you trying to get me to come back here?” you raise a brow, “Johnny doesn’t work when you’re gone.” he lies. “So fire him.” you shrug, “He’s my friend.” another lie. “You can hire someone else..” you say. “I don’t want to hire someone else, I want you back.” He says which leaves you speechless.

“You said you thought about coming back, I told you I’m not going to turn you away. And I know the grocery store doesn't pay a lot.” He leans against his desk,

“If I do, Then you can’t bother me like before.” He nods, “I’m serious, I will tell Hr.”

“I won’t.” he puts his hand out, “I said ‘if’. ” you reiterate. You let out a breath, staring at his hand in front of you, you look up and see those amber eyes on your already. “My feet do hurt,” You say convincing yourself, “And that was only day one.” He urged.

“The job’s all yours. You just have to say when.”

#Supervisor!Simon #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #ghost cod #cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost headcanons #cod 141 #cod mw3 #simon ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 16 days

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The Quiet Ones 3

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, 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: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: I really gotta finish my paper (don't worry I'm like 3/4 done).

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!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The light is there again. Bright, green, searing into your vision as it shines against the wall, weaving in perfectly between the curtains. Every night. Taunting you. And in the morning, gone.

Can you call it a pattern after only three days?

You don’t know what to call it. You don’t know what he wants from you. If he wanted to hurt you, he would by now, wouldn’t he? Or is this a sick game he’s playing? Whatever it is, it’s madness.

You sit up and grab your pillow. You cross the room to the door and close it behind you. You put the pillow on the couch and pull down the folded throw across the back. You don’t expect to sleep out here either but you won’t have to stare at the insufferable dot.

You lay down on your back and sigh at the ceiling. You stare up at the plaster until your eyes close on their own. Your shoulders are tense, your back too, every muscle in you has been knotted for days. You tried a hot shower, even a bath, but both just made you feel vulnerable. You’ve never been overly comfortable being naked but now you feel as if he can see your every movement.

You tried some exercises in an effort to loosen up too. Those only made you dizzy due to your lack of sleep and rationing. Those should be a sign for you to rethink your strategy but your only other option is to face the danger. You know better than that.

You huff as the last gray days pile on you. You open your eyes and bring your hand up to your forehead, trying to rub away the stress. You pause as a gleam flashes over your flesh. You drop your arm back down and raise yourself on your elbows.

Jeez.

Right there in the middle of your chest is the dot, rather a sliver of it. You look up as it glints in between the verticle blinds. You drop back down. Fine, whatever, if he’s going to shoot, he should just get it over with. You hate this limbo. It’s easy when you know what you’re waiting for. This is just torture.

A sudden jarring jingle cuts through the din. You sit up, heart beating. It isn’t the deafening gunshot you expected. The green laser ripples through the darkness as you stagger up to your feet and cover your ears. You follow the blaring noise into the bedroom.

Your phone lights up on your nightstand, flashing as you cross the space. You grab it and quickly silence it, staring at the screen in confusion. You keep your phone on silent, always. You never really use it for more than your banking and emails. On the screen, you see a map of your neighbourhood and a speck pulsing at the centre; your apartment. Huh.

You remember dismissing that feature before. Several times when you got the phone it kept offering to set up the ‘find your phone’ app but you figured you wouldn’t need it. Yet, here it is, chiming and chirping at you. It isn’t a coincidence. It’s him.

You peer over at the window and the green glare pours through. You look down again and find the dot right there. You shake your head and back away, hugging yourself as you flee back into the living room. It’s all so messed up and confusing. You don’t get how this can be happening.

You go into the kitchen. No windows to haunt you there. You put your phone down and lean on the counter as you hold your head. You blow out a breath and you close your eyes.

You try not to let yourself ask the questions but you’re so tired, you can’t keep fighting this hard. Who is he? How did he find you? Was that day at the cafe the first? Were you so obtuse that you never noticed him before? Does any of it matter?

The silence shatters again as your phone erupts in a cacophony once more. You back away and cup your ears. You’ve never done well with noise, especially loud noise, or too much at once. It’s a sort of dissonance that makes your head spin.

You scramble to grasp the phone, eardrums pulsing, and you hit the button again to hush it. You close out of the app and a notification pops up at the top of the screen. For a moment, you’re confused. The only messages you get are obvious scammers or stupid adverts you need to unsubscribe from.

‘Get some beauty sleep.’

You scowl as you stare at the text. What does that even mean? Even if the number is private, you don’t need to guess. You know it’s him. He’s messing with you. You won’t respond, not even in writing. You delete the conversation entirely and shut the phone off.

You leave it on the counter and go back to the couch. The laser awaits you. You lay down under it and resign yourself to your fate. The only comfort is he’s still out there and you’re in here. A ripple of fear courses through you as you wonder how long that can last.

👄

Your mail doesn’t come to your door. It’s left in one of the dozens of metal boxes near the front door. Typically you go down to grab it twice a week. You haven’t gone once in the last six days. You don’t plan on it either. You get digital statements for everything anyhow.

Yet, that doesn’t stop the special delivery from sliding underneath the door. You’re in your kitchen when you hear the soft whoosh. You go to the doorway and stare at the envelope on your floor as you lazily stir your instant coffee. You’re too tired to react with more than a yawn.

You think it could be a notice from the building. They usually leave one when they have to do an inspection. Yet, there’s not sign of the rental companies logo and the envelope is black. You doubt they’ve rebranded.

You sip from your coffee and sit at your desk. You login to the portal and open up a task. You don’t need to worry about all that. You muster all you have left for your daily toil. It’s the one thing you can’t forego; the one thing you share in common with other people, you need money to survive.

You empty the coffee with careless gulps as you key through several tasks. The hours drag by, the clock ticking in the corner of the screen, second by second, minute by grueling minute. The days don’t matter, they all blend together in this hazy purgatory.

You’re drawn from your mindless typing by the agonising growl of your stomach. You’re starving. Those times when you do let yourself eat, it isn’t much. Finally, your humanly needs have overcome your lack of appetite. You can’t deny it any longer.

You return to the kitchen with your empty mug. You go to rinse it and water spurts forth, for just a second, then the pipes grind and run dry. You put the cup in the sink and cross your arm. You march out to the bathroom and try the sink in there with the same result. The faucet in the tub runs a little longer but peters out to a single drip.

Hm, maybe that’s what the letter’s about.

You sweep back out and scoop up the envelope. Just bending down makes you see stars. You put it on the counter and go to the cupboard to take out the salted crackers. You unfurl the top of the sleeve and wiggle one out. You munch on the stale square and slip your thumb under the flap of the envelop and tear.

You put down the crackers and rip open one end of the envelope. You shake out the contents. It isn’t a letter. Just a folded pamphlet with something smaller inside. You unfold the spa booklet to uncover the all-inclusive pass within. You drop both and grip your head.

Is this some sort of bribe? Bait? He’s trying to draw you out and with what? The worst experience you could think of? The smells, the touching, the people...

You put it all back in the envelope. You don’t want it. You don’t even want it in your apartment. Your safe space. He’s invading it little by little. He can’t have it.

You go to the door and shove it back under the bottom. You push it as far as you can and fall back, catching yourself on the wall. Your head hurts, you’re tired, you’re stressed, you’re afraid. You just want everything to go back the way it was. You want to be alone. That’s all you ever wanted.

👄

You use your phone to authorise the two-factor sign-in to your bank account. You set it aside after confirming and wait for the screen to load. Your heart nearly stops as you see the balance. A few times you came too close to the red but this is not what you’re expecting. There’s about fifty thousand dollars extra. It has to be an error.

You click on your chequing and bring up the next screen. There is is ‘50,000’ in bold green letters but it doesn’t say where it’s come from, just ‘authorised payment’ next to it. What the heck does that mean?

Right below it you see your work deposit. That appears as usual. Company name, amount, account number. So what happened?

You click the chat icon at the bottom of the page and wait for an agent to connect. You go through the typical automated questions; what is your issue? Account number? All of that. When you finally have a representative and explain the extra zeros in your account, the response is only three dots.

You shake your head. You don’t need this. You have enough going on. Your water’s still out, you’re almost out of coffee, and you haven’t even started work. Halfway through and it feels like you’ve only just started a new week. You frame your face as you await the response.

‘Hello, miss. Thank you for your patience. We have found no error in this transfer.’

You lean back and whine. That doesn’t make sense.

‘Can I know where the money came from?’ You type.

‘The payee is listed as London Fog LLC. It appears to be a business payment.’

You close your eyes. What? That makes no sense. It... can’t be.

‘Can you reverse the payment, please?’ You input.

‘We can attempt to reverse this. This might take a few days to process. We will keep the ticket open until this is done.’

‘Thank you.’

You close out the chat. That’s as best as you can do. It’s all so weird and you can’t deny the nagging truth. It’s not an error or a coincidence. It’s that stranger. He is playing a very confusing game.

Your phone lights up and your eyes flit down. You lean in to glimpse the notification before it minimises. ‘Happy hump day <3’. You quickly black out the screen and flip it over. Leave me alone!

👄

You almost expect the knock on your door. Deep down, you knew it was coming. Noon, on the dot. It’s Wednesday.

“London Fog express!” He calls through. “Ew, this one’s gone a bit bad.”

You hear him shifting around before the handle turns without give. He wiggles it and sighs. He huffs and you can tell by his shadow he’s leaning on the door.

“Look, jellybean, I came all the way here, even burnt myself on this thing,” he says through the door, “you know, I’ve had some late nights...” he pauses as you sit silent, unmoving at your desk. “You don’t have to do more than open the door and take the cup. Promise, I won’t try nothing. I mean, I’ve been pretty patient, haven’t I?”

You press your fingers to the edge of your desk to keep from shaking.

“Right, I guess... I haven’t even introduced myself. How forgetful. Name’s Lloyd, but you could call me like L or love bear or... snookums. Something sweet like that.”

You can’t. You’re going to pass out from absurdity. This man is psychotic.

“You know, I’m a pretty handsy—handy guy. I could fix that water issue you got going on--”

Holy cow. How does he know—how could he? He wouldn’t be able to just shut off your water. Right?

“See, I get you, baby face, you’re the quiet type. You like to keep to yourself. That’s fair but everyone needs someone. I see that now,” he rambles through the door as it groans against his lean, “I didn’t before. Then I saw you and everything changed. It’s me and you, cupcake.”

You stand and shudder, walking stiffly around the corner and towards the door. You step up and try to see through the peep hole. It’s still black. You exhale and sniff.

“What do you want?” You croak.

Silence. The door shifts as he takes his weight off of it. He soles scuff on the other side.

“Hi,” his voice softens, “how are you, jellybean?”

You close your eyes. You just want an answer. You cross your arms and rocks, a soothing gesture as your nerves bubble up.

“Yeah, that’s okay, I know you’re not much of a talker. We balance each other out like that. I’m doing okay, you know? Cafe was a bit crowded but I got your latte. Foam shouldn’t have fallen yet so if you just want to open--”

“What do you want?” You step closer to the door and raise your voice.

He scoffs into a hum, “isn’t it obvious, babes?”

You open your eyes and bit your upper lip.

“You, baby cakes. Simple as that,” he drawls, “so why don’t you grab your tea and we can have a little sit down.”

“Go away.”

He huffs and clicks his tongue, “don’t be like that, sweetie.”

“I don’t know you--”

“I’m Lloyd, your love bear--”

“Stop. I want you to leave me alone.”

Another sharp exhale from the other side. A lull that prickles across your skin.

“I can’t do that.”

You wince, “please...”

“All you have to do is open the door, jellybean. You know I’m a good guy. I’ve been looking out for you. Every night,” something drags down the door. “You can’t lock yourself away forever.”

You step back and lean on the wall weakly. He’s delusional and you’re so tired. You’re almost tempted to open the door just to get it over with. You sink down onto your butt and hug your knees.

“No.”

That’s all you say. It’s all you can eke out.

He taps on the door lightly and sucks his teeth. “Well, guess I gotta amp up my game.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the gray man #series #the quiet ones

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obsessedvibee · 1 month

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Can't Sleep

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Warnings: lots of dirty talk, m. masturbation, f. masturbation, humping a pillow

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Austin is in Paris promoting Dune part 2 and he can't sleep in his hotel. He calls his girl to chat and things get dirty real fast. Phone sex ensues.

Authors Note: It's been way too long since I've written for Austin. Something about imagining him rubbin' one out just does something to me. So I thought I'd make everyone else suffer too. You're welcome. Comments & reblogs appreciated!

Enjoy!

He tossed the remote to the other side of the bed defeatedly. Flipping through the few channel options on the hotel tv could only entertain him for so long. Looking over at the clock the red number taunted him showing 4am. Being up for the last almost 36 hours would tire out most people but his body wouldn’t let go of consciousness. The jet lag certainly wasn’t helping either. His thoughts flickered to her. Doing the math in his head; she’d only be at 10pm in New York with Paris being six hours ahead. She should be home from work now. Finished with dinner.

He reached for his phone, quickly finding her in his contacts, before pressing it to his ear. The line crackled before it began to ring. His fingers mindlessly played with the string from the waistband of his sweats as he waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounded small and distant through the line and he hated it.

“Y/N, hi,” he rasped.

“Hi.”

A bit of rustling sounded on the other end as she sat up from the couch she was more than likely dosing off on.

“You sound tired,” he said, suddenly feeling guilty, “I should let you sleep.”

“No, no it’s fine,” she assured him, “I think I’m more bored than tired.”

He knew she was lying. She’d fallen asleep on that couch so many times when he’s home with her. Never being able to finish a whole movie without hearing her soft snores as she slept.

He was a little jealous if he was being honest with himself. He was never one of those people that could just pass out as soon as they close their eyes. Even more so if it wasn’t his own bed.

“Have you slept at all since you left?”

He sighed, “no.”

“Aus,” she said sympathetically.

He ran a hand over his face.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He hummed, “tell me about your day.”

And she did. From her drive to work to how much the phone rang, how her boss had gotten on her nerves, what she got for lunch, how her feet hurt from her new heels she bought the other day, her drive home, how she had to go back out to get chicken for dinner from the grocery store that she forgot to get yesterday. Every detail she rambled on about, but he didn’t mind. It made him feel less alone. Less like he was on the other side of the world.

“Hey, Austin?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna set you down for a sec, I gotta pee.”

He chuckled, “m'kay.”

He heard the clank of her setting the phone down, and he pulled his phone away from him for a minute checking the time. 4:30. At least the time was moving a little faster now.

Putting the phone on speaker, he checked a few emails while he waited when his phone chimed, with her name coming across the banner with a new text.

Leave it to her to text the person she’s currently chatting with.

Clicking on the banner, his phone swapped apps to the text.

But it wasn’t a text.

His heart rate rose as his eyes took in the photo.

She was posed in their bathroom mirror with a black lingerie set he’d never seen her in before. Her phone was in one hand snapping the photo while the other had her thumb through the waistband of her panties teasingly tugging them lower down her hip, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. Her breasts were barely contained in the bra, the cups hardly coming up over her nipples, her flesh pushed together creating ample cleavage.

He swallowed thickly as he felt the warmth of blood rush to his groin.

“You still there, Aus?” She asked feigning innocence.

He cleared his throat, “yea- yea.” He took a deep breath. “What are you-?”

He didn’t have a ton of words flying around in his head given the normal amount of blood that was in his brain was now being utilized elsewhere.

She giggled, “you need a little help getting to sleep, yeah? So I thought I’d give ya a little help.”

God, what did he do to deserve such an angel?

“Right now?”

Was this for now or after she hung up? This was new territory for the both of them.

“If you want?”

He felt her back tracking and he scrambled to steer the conversation back to the desired destination.

“Shit, yeah- yeah,” he shifted on the bed propping some pillows to lean back on as he rested his hand over his semi in his pants giving a little squeeze. “Are you- are you touching yourself?”

He heard her inhale before speaking, “should I be?”

“Please,” he almost whispered.

He ground his teeth, waiting for any sound from her. Something to feed his imagination. He lightly ran the back of his fingers over the tent in his pants, keeping his nerves on end.

A small moan sounded into his ear, and he immediately began to work himself with her.

His heart was pounding already, imagining her with her legs open on the couch, her hand working herself over her panties.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he breathed, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweats.

She struggled to find her voice. She took a breath, “you.”

“Yeah?” He worked at tugging down his pants. “What about me?”

“Aus,” she chuckled nervously, “I- I- don’t know if I can do this.”

He situated himself, slowly wrapping his hand around his length, giving her a moment. She always got a little shy with talking filthy.

Not willing to let the mood wane, he chose to take the lead. “I gotcha, just keep your hands busy for me.”

He heard her begin shuffling around before getting settled.

He sighed lazily, beginning to stoke himself, lightly squeezing on his upstroke. His thumb swiped the tip collecting the bead of precum, spreading it around.

“’m so hard for you right now,” he murmured huskily, his voice heavy with arousal watching his tip disappear into his fist.

A little whimper escaped her, rewarding his words, and boosting his ego.

Letting his eyes close, his mind began to tease him with images of her. Her smooth skin, her hair splayed out behind her. Was she starting slow and gentle?

A sharp inhale brought him back to the present.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. A soft moan followed, melting through the phone into his ear. “I just had to take everything off.”

He couldn't help but quicken his strokes as the sudden image of her legs spread, and center bare on their couch overtook his thoughts.

“Wanted to get more comfortable.”

“Fuck-, are you wet?”

She hummed, “so wet.”

Hearing her pleasured sounds were going to be his undoing.

“Put a finger in for me,” he coaxed her.

“Oh-“ she sighed heavily, “Austin.”

His cock throbbed, imagining how warm and tight she must feel. Her glistening folds wrapping around her little finger.

“Keep talking, Aus.”

He bit his lip as a smug smile threatened to appear. He had her right where he needed her.

“Don’t forget about my girls up top,” he spoke, “give ‘em a little attention for me.”

A full moan left her lips, making his cock twitch. He could practically feel her breaths on his ear. His mind kept conjuring up one filthy image after another. One hand in her pussy, the other groping her breast. Forcing his hand to pause, he squeezed at the base as the sudden urge to release overwhelmed him.

As he willed his heart to slow and the pleasured throbbing in his cock to weaken, a bunch of commotion sounded on her line. He listened intently as it quieted and a rhythmic sound started to come through. He reached down to massage his balls, swallowing thickly, “baby?”

A short whine came from her, sounding distant, before she shuffled the phone closer to her panting mouth, “are you close?”

He let his head fall back into the pillows with a huffed laugh, letting his fingers lightly play at the little sensitive spot under the head. “Just waiting on you, darling.”

He began stroking in rhythm with the sounds coming from her, his limbs tightening as the pleasure began to burn in his pelvis once more, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“I got a pillow-” she gasped, “-between my legs.”

His hips jerked, the primal urge to thrust breaking through his conscious.

“”You ridin’ it, like you do me?” He panted.

She couldn't even manage to string a sentence together anymore, a groan being her only reply.

“Cum with me baby, in 3-,” he began counting them down, “2-,”

Her whines were high causing goosebumps to cover his flesh, his fist flying impossibly quick over his shaft. He never thought further than her using her hand to pleasure herself, but imagining her grinding herself onto a pillow would be a fantasy he would be coming back to many times in the future, he was sure of it.

“Aus,” she cried, desperate for him to put an end to the agony.

“Cum for me,” he growled; a white heat flooding his pelvis.

A squeak was all he heard from her as she climaxed, and his cock suddenly became impossibly harder as the buzz in his veins shot through his tip. His head pressed deep into the pillows as his body tensed as his climax took hold. White spurted over his abdomen as he grunted like an animal with every lurch his cock gave, draining his seed, relieving his desire.

Relaxing his body, he quickly was left limp as he tried to catch his breath.

Minutes passed as they both regained a normal breathing rate.

He picked up the phone, taking it off of speaker, “thank you, baby.”

It wasn't long after they hung up that he was able to finally fall into a sweet sleep.

Need some more Austin smut? Check out my other works! > Masterlist

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin x reader

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rottenpumpkin13 · 17 days

Note

For April fools we need Sephiroth pulling pranks

Sephiroth's Prank

• April 1st is a chaotic date at Shinra HQ. Tseng has to call in multiple Turks to his office to discipline them for pranks like supergluing hair on Rude’s head, adding a dirty sock to the VP’s morning coffee, and nearly suffocating the entire board of directors to death with a stink bomb thrown in the confrence room—all three pranks were done by Reno.

• But April 1st is especially anarchic in nature on the 49th floor.

• Director Lazard is quite literally trembling in fear as he steps off the elevator early in the morning.

*Zack intercepts him, stepping out from behind the corner with a grin*

*Lazard screams*

Zack: Good morning, director? Care for a peanut?

*Zack extends a can of peanuts his way*

Lazard: …..Really? A can of colorful worms? I expected more from you.

*He opens the can*

Lazard: I’m pleased that you’re not taking advantage of the date to—-

*The can explodes in his hand, shooting smoke and blue powder all over Lazard’s face*

Lazard:

Zack: I am always two steps ahead.

Lazard:

*Zack begins to slink back into the shadows*

Zack: Two steps. Ahead.

Lazard:

• Meanwhile, Genesis walks into Angeal’s office where he and Sephiroth are. He sets their coffees down on the desk.

Genesis: Here’s your coffee.

*Angeal and Sephiroth pick them up and take sips, Angeal promptly spits his out*

Angeal: EW. DID YOU PUT SALT IN THIS?

Genesis: I’m a mastermind. Happy April fools!

*Sephiroth continues to drink the coffee*

Angeal: Sephiroth how the fuck are you drinking that???

Sephiroth: Oh, I ordered a salted caramel macchiato. I thought they overdid it.

*Genesis smugly takes out his copy of Loveless. He tries to flip it open but is unsuccessful. It’s superglued shut*

Genesis: What the—?

*Angeal starts laughing*

Genesis: Ha-ha. Real funny.

*Genesis tries to put the book down on the desk but it sticks to his hand*

*Angeal laughs harder*

Sephiroth: I don’t see the appeal of April Fools'. It’s just a day where the implications of the date allow people to hurt others with childish pranks.

Genesis: While I adore you as a friend, Sephiroth, I don’t expect you to understand April Fools'. It’s a fun holiday, for fun people to do fun things. Your boring, stick-in-the-mud personality doesn’t quite fit the requirements.

*Sephiroth puts his coffee down*

Sephiroth: I’m offended.

Angeal: What Genesis means is that you’re not really the pranking type, and that’s okay. Lots of people don’t have what it takes to pull pranks.

Sephiroth: You’re insinuating that I’m incapable of pranking people?

Genesis: Darling, we’re saying it to your face.

*Angeal gets an Email from Lazard—“SUBJECT: HELP, EMAIL: GET ZACK OUT OF MY OFFICE HE HAS A FLAMETHROWER” *

Angeal: I gotta go. Gen, don’t you have materia class with the Thirds in ten minutes?

Genesis: I do. See you, Sephiroth. Don’t let the April fool hit you on your way out!

• They leave the office. Sephiroth sits there with his arms crossed, looking more sour than his coffee. And then he veers sly eyes unto Angeal’s laptop and the printer sitting on the desk.

Sephiroth: Hmm.

• A few hours later, Genesis finds himself on his merry way to Sephiroth’s office to grab Sephiroth’s tablet for him. On his way there he passes by Zack (dressed as an evil clown) hiding behind a corner as Lazard approaches (breathing with a paper bag).

• Genesis grabs Sephiroth’s tablet off his desk, but then his eyes fall onto a curious document laying there. He, being the nosy bitch he is, picks it up and behigs flipping through it. His eyes widen, eyebrows creeping higher and higher toward his hairline as he reads. And then he runs out, panicking.

• He passes by Zack again, this time being disciplined by Lazard, who’s sobbing and beating Zack with his own squeaky mallet.

*Genesis grabs Angeal and pulls him aside*

Genesis: YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT I FOUND.

*He shoves the document in Angeal’s hands*

Angeal: What’s this?

Genesis, hyperventilating: It’s a classified report from Professor Hojo detailing the extent of Sephiroth’s condition.

Angeal: His…condition?

Genesis: HE’S PART CAT.

Angeal:

Genesis:

Angeal:

Genesis: I’M SERIOUS.

Angeal: Seriously in need of medication.

Genesis: READ IT.

*Angeal sighs and begins to flip through the papers*

Angeal:

Angeal: OH MY GOD.

Genesis: I KNOW.

Angeal: HE’S HALF CAT? LIKE ACTUALLY HALF CAT.

Genesis: It makes perfect sense! I don’t know how we didn’t see this sooner! His weird eyes, his fangs, the way he consumes 150 pieces of sushi in 10 minutes. HELL, THAT’S WHY HE LOVES THE BEACH. IT’S A GIANT LITTER BOX.

Angeal: Gen, calm down. For his sake, we can’t freak out.

Genesis: Why didn’t he tell us!?

Angeal: Probably out of fear we’d have the same reaction you’re having right now. Oh, that poor thing. He must be so embarassed, so lonely with no one to tell him that he’s special as he is. *Angeal begins to tear up* Or to give him head pats.

Genesis: What do we do now?? How are we supposed to act normally around him knowing he probably PURRS WHEN HE'S HAPPY??

Angeal: I DON’T KNOW! But We have to try! For his sake, we have to be as supportive and accommodating as possible.

Genesis: You’re right.

Angeal: And help him through this without letting him know that we know.

Genesis: You’re right.

Angeal: And be there for him tonight on the full moon when he fully turns into a cat.

Genesis: You’re righ—WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?

Angeal: DID YOU NOT READ THE FINE PRINT?

Genesis: NO!?

*Genesis snatches the report from him and reads through it again*

Genesis: OH GODDESS HE’S A WEREKITTY

Angeal: THIS IS SICK. HOW COULD HOJO DO THIS TO HIM??

Genesis: NO WONDER HE LIKES CATNIP TEA SO MUCH. THAT BASTARD’S BEEN GETTING HIGH OFF HIS KITTY MIND THIS WHOLE TIME.

*There’s a noise from the cabinet beside them, they turn and see Sephiroth crawling out from under it*

Sephiroth: Hello, gentlemen.

*Angeal immediately starts sobbing*

• Later in the day, Genesis is working in his office. Sephiroth sits on the opposite chair playing with a ball of yarn Genesis provided him with.

*Sephiroth sees the glass of water near Genesis. He slowly reaches for it*

Genesis:

*Sephiroth knocks it over*

Genesis:

*sephiroth throws the glass against the wall*

Genesis:

Sephiroth: That was enriching.

• Even later, Angeal finds Sephiroth kneading a couch cushion in the break room.

Angeal: 💡

*Angeal takes out a bowl of bread dough from the fridge*

Angeal: For you!

Sephiroth: Thank you, but I prefer the sensation of fabric to that of bread.

*Sephiroth starts chewing the blanket*

Angeal:

Sephiroth: Meow.

• Much later, Genesis enters the materia room and sees Sephiroth perched on a shelf, reading.

Genesis: H-How did you get up there?

*Sephiroth hisses*

Genesis: !?

• And then Angeal enters his office and finds his leather couch completely torn up. Sephiroth sits in a corner, playing with a piece of the foam.

Sephiroth: You’re not mad, are you?

Angeal, tearing up: Of course not! You poor, sweet thing! Would you like me to bring you Genesis’ leather coats for you to play with?

Sephiroth: That would be delightful.

Angeal: I’m on it!

• Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal walk into the SOLDIER mess hall and see Kunsel and a group of Thirds playing with a laser pointer.

Kunsel: Hey guys! Check out my new laser pointer!

*Kunsel aims it at the wall. Sephiroth’s pupils dilate*

Angeal: NO

Genesis: GRAB HIM

*They tackle Sephiroth to the ground*

• Finally evening comes. Angeal and Genesis lay on the couch in the lounge, both of them exhausted after a long day of dealing with Sephiroth. And then an adorable, gray cat walks in.

Cat: Meow.

Angeal: OH MY GOD! SEPHIROTH!

Genesis: HAS IT HAPPENED ALREADY? HAVE YOU TURNED INTO A CAT!?

*They rush to pick up the cat and immediately start coddling it*

Angeal, sobbing: YOU POOR THING. IS THIS WHAT YOU DEAL WITH EVERY FULL MOON?

Genesis: HE’S SO CUTE! ANGEAL! WE HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF HIM!

Angeal: DON’T WORRY BUDDY! WE’LL PROTECT YOU FROM NOW ON!

*Zack walks in, shirtless, covered in war paint, carrying a shovel*

Zack: The lizard man has banned animals from the 49th floor.

Angeal: What? Why?

Zack: Because I filled his office with 30 angry chocobos, so now he has guards with tranquilizer guns stationed everywhere. Any animal they see, they shoot and take to the pound.

Genesis: WHAT? Oh no…not good!

Zack: Hey, cute cat!

Angeal: IT’S SEPHIROTH.

Zack: Is it? Cool!

Genesis: I know it will be hard to believe, but Sephiroth is half-human, half-cat, and every full moon he turns into a cat! This is him!

Zack: No, no. I believe you.

Angeal: Just like that!?

Zack: Yeah, I mean, I kinda already knew. I’m part of the Sephiroth-is-actually-a-cat conspiracy theory club.

Genesis: the WHAT?

*Zack walks over to a painting on the wall and removes it. Behind it is a white board filled with pictures of Sephiroth, cats and anecdotes*

Angeal: .......

Genesis: .......

Zack: We have an email list and everything.

Angeal: .......

Genesis: .......

Zack: Back to Sephiroth being a cat. We have to get him out of here before Lazard or the guards see him!

Angeal: I know! Come on, if we’re quiet, we can sneak him up to my place.

*They walk towards the door, but then Lazard appears with four guards with tranqulizer guns*

Lazard: A-HA! I KNEW IT! I KNEW I HEARD A CAT IN HERE!

Angeal: Director, wait, we can explain! This isn’t just any cat, it’s Sephiroth!

Genesis: He turns into a cat every full moon!

Angeal: He’s innocent! He just wants to knead blankets and nap and scratch up Genesis’s expensive leather coats!

Genesis: Yeah, he—WHAT?

Angeal, sobbing: You can’t take him away! He may be a cat, but he’s still our best friend! He can’t be taken to the pound! He doesn’t deserve this!

Genesis: If you want to take cat Sephiroth away, you’ll have to get through me!

Angeal: And me!

Zack: And me too!

Lazard:

Lazard: What drugs did you three take?

(simultaneously)

Angeal: WE’RE NOT HIGH

Genesis: WE’RE TELLING THE TRUTH

Zack: The doctor said it would help.

*Everyone turns to look at him*

Zack:

Zack: SEPHIROTH IS A CAT.

Angeal: WE’RE TELLING THE TRUTH!

Genesis: DON’T HURT HIM!

Lazard: You know what? I’ve heard enough. *He turns to the guards* Take the cat.

*The guards aim at the cat in Angeal’s arms, everyone starts screaming, the guards shoot—And then Zack jumps in front of the cat, taking the tranquilizer dart for it*

Angeal: ZACK!

Genesis: ARE YOU OKAY?

*The cat jumps from Angeal’s arm and runs out the door*

Angeal: WAIT, SEPHIROTH!

Genesis: COME BACK!

• That’s when Sephiroth (the real one) appears in the doorway. He whisks the cat off the floor and starts petting it in his arms. Everyone’s jaw is on the floor—except for Zack, who’s whole body is on the floor.

Angeal: Sephiroth….you’re not the cat?

Sephiroth: Never was, never have been.

Genesis: You mean you’re not half-cat?? YOU TRICKED US?

Sephiroth: Tell me, what does eating your own words taste like? I wouldn’t know the sensation.

#storytime #soldier pranks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #crisis core #lazard deusericus #zack fair

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ailithnight · 1 year

Text

A few notes:

I originally planned to have this one have a couple of povs like the first, but then u got carried away writing feral Danny so, just Tim today.

I hope to get the next one out sometime this weekend cause it's harder to write when I have work.

Also, everyone thank @cursedzucchini for writing the comment that gave me the executive function to take these words out of my brain and put them in my phone. Reading that there was someone out there checking the tag for updates every day really motivated me.

Now, without further ado

Chapter 1

A King in Arkham

Chapter 2

Tim sighs, rubbing his temples and attempting to will away the sleep deprivation headache currently pounding on the inside of his skull. Pushing 80 hours awake, the last 38 of which have been spent combing backwards through any and all Arkham documents pertaining to one Daniel James Fenton.

He moved his hands away from his head, placing them on the fresh cup of coffee that had materialized while he was massaging, giving a cursory "Thanks" the retreating body. Normally, Alfred would have cut Tim off from caffeine yesterday. But it seems even the old butler was keen on something being found to justify pulling the kid out of Arkham.

Or maybe that was Jason fueling Tim's addiction. Man had been hovering since Batman called him back at the last break out. At least Dick had been able to reason better with the most volatile of the Wayne siblings.

"Picking him up and running won't do either of you any favors, Little Wing. It'll just put him and Hood on wanted posters. If you want him to have any shot at a life out here, you gotta let Bruce take it through the proper channels."

That had at least prevented Jason from snapping on anyone immediately, though he had seen fit to warn everyone that of they didn't have something by the next break out, he'd be doing it his way.

Which is why Tim had spent the last day and a half poring over every medical record, therapy session, schedule, action report, and discipline slip Arkham had on file that even mentioned Patient 26B.

Meanwhile, Oracle had her hands full trying to find any background information on the young ward. A task which itself was proving challenging because the place the kid came from seemed to have no digital presence at all. None. Not a Facebook or Twitter or MySpace pinging from the area. Not an email address or YouTube account. Not a single god damned website. Not even a .gov! Hell, the only reason they knew the city's name is because it was listed in the CPS paperwork from Chicago.

In other places, small towns and communities in the middle of nowhere, this wouldn't really raise any red flags. But Amity Park was not actually a nowhere town. It certainly wasn't a Gotham or Metropolis. But it was big enough to have formed a conurbation with the nearby city of Elmerton. Which had a perfectly normal digital presence. So Amity Park's lack of digital presence screamed Communications Blackout. A frighteningly strong one to still be giving Oracle the run around almost 2 days later.

Once Tim was finished reviewing Arkham reports, then the 3 weeks of documents from Daniel's stay in Chicago, he'd probably offer to help her. Though she might tell him to go the fuck to sleep instead.

For now. Tim was nearing the beginning of the kid's Arkham stay and; on top of not yet finding any clues as to why the kid was in Arkham, nor anything that could possibly exonerate him; the kid just made no damn sense!

His therapy sessions were all the same dead end.

The therapist would ask he he was feeling. The kid would apparently shrug, or sometimes mumble something the therapists could never quite catch.

They'd ask the standard suicide questions. "Any thoughts of wishing you could go to sleep and not wake up?"

A shrug.

"Any thoughts of wanting to take your own life or wishing someone would take it for you?"

Vehenement refusal bordering on a panic attack.

Move on to the hurting people questions.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm other people?"

"No." According to the doctors, his tone here is immediate, calm, confident. Truthful. If the Arkham psyches are to be believed.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm yourself?"

"No." Slower, quieter, meeker. Noted as a clear lie, citing the injuries as evidence.

"Then why do you, Danny?"

"I don't."

"Then where did your injuries come from."

"The ghosts," said with a sigh

At this point, it seems Daniel shuts down. He says nothing else for the rest of the session. Shows no outward response as the therapist tries to convince him there are no ghosts and Daniel must be giving himself those injuries.

2 and a half months. Daily therapy sessions. And every single one is the exact same script. The only differences are some minor notes as Daniel is passed around between therapists as they all inevitably get frustrated talking to the emotionless block of ice.

Outside of the therapy sessions and medical reports documenting the frankly horrifying amount of injuries Danny accumulates, there's not much in his file. He follows all instructions to the letter; never causes trouble for guards or other inmates; and every single locks malfunction, he has afterward been found lying on his bed in his cell staring at the ceiling. If he was somewhere else when the malfunction happened, security footage catches him walking there himself. If he was already in his cell, footage keeps him there the whole time.

Tim sighs again, clicking out of the medical report detailing the nasty bruise that had appeared on the kid's lower left back, then opens up the next file up without reading the name fully expecting it to be another tedious therapy session report.

Instead, he finds a discipline slip with the relevant security clip embedded at the top. The first frame is of the cafeteria. Daniel is sitting alone at a table in the top right. Tim's breath catches in his throat as he recognizes the demented clown in the center of the frame. Hastily, he plays the clip.

There is no sound but Joker appears to say something to the room. Daniel is suddenly standing, whipped around to face the clown. The Joker turns towards him. Daniel tenses. The Joker tenses.

In the next second, Daniel is on the Joker. He's kicking, scratching, biting. Absolutely feral as he just reigns fury upon the most feared and hated rogue in all of Gotham. Surrounding inmates are fleeing to the sides of the room as the Joker seemingly tries to get away from the kid, only succeeding in moving the "fight" around the room. It's hardly a fight. More like a vicious, brutal assault. Inmates cheer as blood appears on the floor. Guards move in, pulling the feral 15 year old off of the Joker; who stays down, potentially unconscious. 2 guards go to help the one currently attempting to restrain Daniel. 6 more converge on the Joker, blocking him from view. As soon as he can no longer see the Joker, Daniel seems to go limp in the guards hands. Then he tenses again, though not struggling. Tim just catches the beginning stages of what seems to be a panic attack before the clip ends.

Tim stares dumbfounded at the screen for several moments. When he snaps out of it enough to actually read the incident report, it is a basic transcription of what Tim just witnessed with confirmation that Daniel had a panic attack immediately after. The report also notes that other than the panic attack, Daniel seemed to sustain no harm. He was disciplined with 3 days without cafeteria privileges, so his meals were brought to his cell, and 3 days without Crafts room privileges.

A note at the bottom of the report reads "To prevent further incidents, Patient 26B and the Joker are no longer permitted to be in the same room or yard."

This makes Tim click out of the discipline slip -without closing it, just moving it to a different section of the batcomputer's massive screen- and scan the rest of the files. There are 2 more. One from a week prior and one from Daniel's first dat at Arkham. He opens both, placing them at points on the screen so that all 3 are visible.

The one from the week prior shows the Crafts Room. Danny is again in an upper corner. Time plays it. The door opens. Joker walks in. Seems to look at Daniel, then rushes him. Daniel looks up before the Joker makes it half way across the room, then in the next second meets him there. Another feral fight only broken up by the guards when the Joker stops moving. Again, Danny goes limp as soon as the Joker is out of sight. The rest of the report confirming a panic attack but no injuries. 2 days lost privileges.

The report from Daniel's first day again shows the cafeteria. This time, Daniel is center frame. Joker comes up behind him. Daniel tenses but doesn't turn yet. Joker seems to be saying g something, then laughs. Daniel hunches in on himself, seeming to mumble a response. Whatever he said makes the Joker laugh harder. Then he leans down over Daniel's shoulder, talking. Daniel seems frozen for not even half a second before he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat, straight in to the Joker, twisting as he goes to begin the attack. Since it's obviously the first time, the rest of the cafeteria freezes. No one reacts for a solid 6 seconds. Then guards are moving in, hauling the teenager away. The Joker stands unsteadily then takes a knee. He has to be led limping out of the room. Guards struggle to restrain Daniel until the Joker is gone, whereafter Daniel goes boneless, then begins panicking. Report confirms panic attack and no injuries. 1 day lost privileges.

Tim stares at the batcomputer for several minutes, trying very hard to process what he has just learned. His brain feels like soup. He rubs his eyes, looks at his coffee, grabs a comm to put in his ear. His voice is strained as he speaks.

Anyone nearby who can come to the cave for a minute?

Jason responds instantly.

Upstairs. Find something?

I don't... know. I just. Someone come confirm I didn't just hallucinate what I just watched and read.

Red Robin? What did you find?

Not saying until someone else can confirm it.

Red Robin

On my way down.

"What the actual fuck?"

#Tagslist will go in a reblog cause there are #a lot #Dp x DC #A King in Arkham #I'm sure everyone wants to see Red Hood swoop in #And whisk Danny away #I promise we'll get there soon #Next chapter if I don't get careies away again #But for now #I simply could not resist giving Danny clown trauma and making him feral about it #Enjoy!#Mentions of suicide #Mentions of self harm

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ellieluvr420 · 3 months

Text

We meet again, darling pt.13 (detective Abby Anderson x criminal reader)

Synopsis: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

SMUT and violence, brief mention of SA like once btw. Sorry if this is batshit crazy!

You're woken by the throbbing in your face, as you groan you feel Abby's weight shift next to you and she suddenly pops into your eyeline as she leans over you.

"Good, you're up. How are you feeling?" You wince as you start talking.

"I'm fine, thank you for saving my ass yesterday. I thought she was the food so when she rushed me I was so shocked, I'm getting sloppy."

"Because of me?"

You hold the side of her face and smile. "No, I've got cocky, I needed to be humbled." You laughed at yourself and Abby laughed too as she started getting out of bed. "I'm going to leave when you leave because I've got to get ready for my day with Ellie." She scowls in your direction. "It's business, don't give me that look."

"What are you going to make her do?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned with."

"Seriously?"

"I do this to protect myself but I keep the things I have on people a secret. I'll keep what you did a secret."

"How do you manage to make it sound like everything you do is reasonable?"

"That's not me that's doing that." She watches you smile as her stomach drops. She forces out an awkward laugh.

"Whatever, I gotta shower will you be here when I get out?"

"Yes, darling." You wink and she shakes her head while chuckling as she walks away. You message Jeremy and get up to get some more ice for your face. Then you go to your bag and grab 500 dollars and leave it on Abby's dining table to pay for the damages. You amble back to her bed and lay down while you wait for Abby to be done in the shower.

You're sending messages and emails when Abby walks out in her towel. "Take it off1 Take it off!"

"I am already late. Don't start."

"You're no fun."

"How about I come to yours tonight?"

"Yeah I'll call when I'm home."

You both said your goodbyes and within half an hour you were back in your penthouse. You sat for a while just processing everything that happened last night and then you had a shower. You felt a lot better for it and you managed to do a good job covering the worst of the bruises with makeup so you felt okay. You had to admit your little standoff with Ellie made you only more excited for what you had planned.

Ellie stayed glued to her phone all day just waiting for you to ring but the call didn't come until nine pm.

"I'm outside, black jag, come out quickly." You hang up before she can say anything else and within minutes she's climbing into your car. Just as you did with Abby, you simply survey her appearance, her freckle-stained cheeks, the auburn hair and its shaggy cut. You notice the brightness of her eyes and then you notice the bags under them. "How are you feeling Ellie? Not too sore?"

"Are you seriously asking me that? My head hurts, thanks for that."

"Well who's fault is that?"

"If you're suggesting its mine I'll-"

"You'll do what?" You narrow your eyes at her as a warning which you were pleased to see she took.

"Where are we going?"

"If I tell you that it ruins the surprise. Be patient my love, all in good time." Ellie feels how clammy her hands have gotten as she pulls at her fingers in anticipation. You sit in the car silently until you arrive at your destination 45 minutes later. You're so excited you don't even wait for Jeremy to open the door, you just hop out. You rush round to Ellie's side and stand face to face with her as she gets out. You smile at her and she remains completely emotionless. You shrug as you begin walking to the warehouse. "Follow me!" You wait until Ellie catches up to you and you fling the door open with an enthusiastic "Surprise!"

Ellie looked up at your words and felt a chill run down her back that made her skin feel like ice. The warehouse was empty except for a chair that a man was tied to and a table next to it all on top of a plastic tarp. Ellie felt sick. The kind of sick that made her want to run and hide and never move from her bed again, but she couldn't run because you kept walking closer and she could only follow you. As you reach the tarp where the man sits unconscious Ellie takes in the scene in front of her with a hand over her mouth. On the table was a knife and gun and the man was bloody and bruised. He looked almost dead already and she noticed the large pool of blood under him, she followed the blood to find that it started from his crotch. She felt a small sickening grin on her face when she noticed his jeans were unzipped and yanked down.

"Did you-?" She gestures to the origin of the blood while looking at your smug face.

"Yeah I cut it off." Ellie scoffs. "That's why he's here. He was a runner for me, I caught wind of his indiscretions and I have no tolerance for it. I've done most of the work for you, you just need to finish him off."

"You want me to kill him? No way. You're fucking deranged."

"Look he's going to die anyway." You walk over and bend to put your ear to his slumped over head. "Sounds like he's got an hour or two left. If you don't do this you're only prolonging the inevitable. In a way you're doing him a kindness, putting him out of the misery I've caused him. Just shoot him Ellie. One clean shot to the head, that's it."

"How do you rationalise your actions?"

"I don't, you do." You were still kneeled down listening to the man's wheezy shallow breaths, that mischievous grin never once leaving your face. "One shot Ellie, one shot and you feel how Anderson feels, you have what she has. Do you know why I am the way I am?"

"You're immoral."

"I'm powerful. What we're doing here, we're playing God. That power, all you have to do to feel that, is kill him." You stand and walk over to the table holding the weapons to draw her attention to them. You relish in the way she follows you with those dazzling eyes of hers as you feel like you're under a spotlight. "One shot Ellie, that's all it takes."

Without another word Ellie marches to the table and snatches the gun, aiming it for the man. She breathes in and before she even has a chance to second guess herself she shoots the man. "Oh my god." Her ears start ringing as she feels her heart beat all throughout her body. The throbbing in her head reduces her vision to a blur and her mouth suddenly feels dry. As her arm is about to drop from the weight of the gun antagonising the shaking of her limbs she feels your hand enclose around her wrist as the other takes the gun from her.

"Thank you Ellie. That was beautiful. How did it make you feel?" Your voice is soft as you hand her a crisp white handkerchief.

"Powerful."

"Exactly Ellie. I knew you'd understand. Come on, I'll take you home." You both start walking away from the corpse and Ellie finds herself sneaking glances back at the slumped man. As she watches you climb into the drivers side of your car for once she looks around for any sign of the driver. She shrugs her shoulders and gets in beside you. "If you're worried about anyone finding him there are people clearing up as we speak."

"I'm not worried."

"Hm okay good." You continue driving in silence until you reach Ellie's apartment. "You did good tonight Ellie, I'm impressed."

"Thanks. I'll see you soon?" As she questions you she smirks and you notice the change in her eyes: they're brighter and they have that sparkle when they look at you. The same sparkle Abby has.

"You'll be seeing me very soon." You lean in and whisper in her ear. "You're mine now." You pull away and smile angelically, she chuckles back at you before getting out of the car and walking to her home.

"I'm outside, hurry up." It felt like hours before Abby appeared at the car with a puzzled expression as she looks at you in the driver's seat.

"Hey, what's up?"

"That's what you call hurrying up? Put your seatbelt on." The second you hear her seatbelt click into place you take off for yours.

"Fucking hell, do you want to drive any faster?" When you don't reply Abby studies your face only to notice the small blood splatters spotting your appearance. She can't see much as your eyes are planted firmly on the road but she knows something is different. You pull up to your penthouse and practically throw the keys at the valet before dragging Abby through the entrance. Everything was setting your body on fire, you forgot this feeling and how inpatient it made you. The second the doors of the elevator shut you pushed Abby up against the wall, grabbing her by her hoodie and pulling her into an all-consuming kiss. As the doors 'ding' and open you grab her pulling her into the penthouse before locking the doors of the elevator.

Abby looks you up and down taking in your appearance. Your half-lidded eyes with the eyelashes that you bat at her tellingly. The smirk that you get when you know you're winning, it was the same smirk that was plastered on your face the night you and Abby spoke on the balcony. Your clothes, all black but smeared with a shiny substance, the same substance dotted your face giving you dark-red freckles. She realised you were covered in blood the second she noticed the knife in your hand that was surprisingly clean. "I cleaned it off already don't worry. Are you precious about the clothes you're wearing?"

"What?" Abby scoffs and laughs, half in disbelief, half slightly panicked at your off putting behaviour.

"Are you precious about the clothes you're wearing?" You saunter over to her, eyeing her like you're going to devour her.

"No, I guess not."

"Good." You smile menacingly and Abby gasps as she hears the ripping of her hoodie. She winces as the tip of the knife scratches a line up her stomach and past her chest so hard small bubbles of red begin to appear in its trail. You reach the neck of the hoodie and she feels the knife press against her throat as she backs away, she shuts her eyes as she tries to get as far away from the knife as possible although her eyes dart open again as she feels the knife being removed from its place against her neck and sees you are entranced by the cut going up her sternum. You make eye contact as you dart forward and lick away the blood on her skin all the way from the elastic of her sweatpants to her collarbones. "God you taste good."

Abby gasps into your mouth when you catch her lips in a rushed kiss and she tastes her blood on your tongue. You grab her nipples and twist as you smile into the kiss.

"Ow! You're a sadist."

"That makes you a masochist. Get on your knees." She sighs and chuckles as she gets on her knees in front of you.

"Only for you, darling."

"Oh right answer! You are doing things to me." You drag what remains of her hoodie over her head and thread your fingers through her braid until its loosened enough for you to grab a handful of. "I need a favour, love."

She kisses your thigh and feels the sticky sheen of blood coating her lips and chin. "Anything."

"I need you to eat me out so bad. Can you do that?" She doesn't even respond she just starts yanking your bottoms down with your underwear. You kick them off as you ditch your coat too, feeling like your skin is burning to the touch. You immediately feel her lips attach to your throbbing clit and you look down to meet her piercing gaze as your left hand grabs a fistful of her hair pulling her impossibly closer as she lifts your right thigh to wrap around her bare back before dragging her hand back up your leg and squeezing your ass cheek harshly. "Oh fuck, yeah just keep doing that."

Abby continues like this was the first time she had eaten in a week and before long you were groaning as you came so hard your head spun. "Thanks babe, that was amazing. Now go sit on the couch and wait for me. Please." You had your knife at her neck and it moves with her as she nods and rises. You both lock eyes when you hear the pops of her knees as she stands and you giggle as she immediately shakes her head. "Damn you're getting old."

"Shut up, sorry you're a demon that doesn't age."

"I'm gonna let you off for comparing me to a vampire tonight. Don't take my kindness for weakness."

"I love your kindness."

"Shut up, go sit down." You're smiling at her despite the annoyance in your tone and she starts walking backwards looking you up and down as you ogle her muscular chest. You felt like you had won the lottery when you realised she hadn't worn a bra under her sweatshirt and you're still entranced as you watch her walk to your couch. You discard of the rest of your clothes and inspect the red lining of Abby's blood on the point of the knife. You pop the knife into your mouth as you follow Abby and savour the taste of her, you feel invincible, like a god even when the knife nicks your tongue and you taste the iron filling your mouth and when you meet Abby's needy gaze the feeling only intensifies.

You kiss her like you'll die if you don't and as you pull away you stick your thumb in her mouth collecting some of her spit and smearing it across her lips and chin. You hum in satisfaction when you see the pinkey hue of the spit from your blood as you push her down to lay horizontally on the couch.

"Are you wet darling?" You purr at Abby.

"What do you think?"

"Keep giving me that attitude and you get nothing else from me tonight."

"Oh come on, you know you're turning me on so bad, so come here and do something about it."

"Oh that was smooth."

"I know." You laugh as you pull her sweatpants and underwear down so you're both naked and climb on top of her slotting your hips to hers. You throw the knife down on the floor without looking to see where it landed as you place a hand over each of her boobs that pushed back at your touch as her back arches when you roll your hips into hers over and over again. She pulls you down so you're pinned against her chest as you both continue rocking against each other and moans into a passionate, open-mouthed kiss that she caught your lips in. You both finish with screams and grunts and she scratches your trembling back.

"Follow me, I have a surprise for you."

"Jesus your stamina is ridiculous."

"Don't worry you old lady I'll do the work for now and let you catch your breath."

"Well alright then." She jumps up and follows you savouring the curve of your ass and the sway of your hips as you ascend the stairs to your bedroom. She feels like she’s entranced as she follows you, her cheeks heating up when you cast glances over your shoulder at her. As she walks into your room she's reminded of the last time she was here and her pussy throbs. Her attention falls on the box on your bed and she snaps back to reality to immediately inspect what's inside.

"I figured it would make sense for us to have one here as well. Want to put it on?" She nods her head as she rips the box containing the new strap on to shreds. You giggle as she looks like a child on Christmas ripping open the box but you go quiet again as she fits the harness round her hips and meets your eyes. "Go sit down, get comfy." You nod at the bed as you bite your lip.

"You're so hot."

"I know." You straddle her thighs and sink down on the strap, wincing at the size but persevering until you feel her hips under your legs. You grab her by the back of the neck and pull her forward so your bodies are pressed together. She bucks up into you and you pinch her cheek. "Bad girl."

"Who's fault is that?" You gasp as she chuckles and you push her down by her chest and start grinding down onto her. She tries to grab at your hips to guide you but you pin her wrists down.

"No touching." She whines and you smile as you continue moving on top of her. You speed up and only when your thighs feel like they're on fire do you feel her grinding up into you. You gasp and lean down wrapping your arms around her neck allowing her to encase you in her strong arms.

"What happened to know touching huh?"

"Shut up, I changed my mind."

"Thank god." She flips you both over and presses your thighs to her hips and she drags the dick in and out of you slow and deep. As she speeds up she leans down and spits into your mouth that had fallen open. "Swallow." You swallow her spit and groan as you feel your legs begin to shake. Abby looks down and takes in the sight of the strap gliding in and out of you so easily as it gets shinier with each thrust. You dig your nails into her back and she hisses as she slams into you harder as a response and before you can get a word out your orgasm washes over you and you see white as you whole body tenses. You hear Abby groan and feel her weight collapse on top of you as your muscles slowly relax.

"Good day babe?" She laughs as she looks up at you resting her chin on your chest while massaging your side.

"Good doesn't begin to describe it. Ellie was very obedient, I was impressed."

"You have a way of making people bend to your will."

"Yeah I know that's why you're my bitch."

"You are so unpleasant sometimes."

You both laid together for some time catching your breathe until you dragged her to the shower to get clean. You both argued about the temperature until you settled on a warm shower that she jumped out of much quicker. "Do you want me to change the sheets while you finish up in here?"

"Yes that would be amazing thank you. There's fresh sheets in the closet to the left of my room." She kisses you and leaves you to your shower as you turn the heat dial to as hot as it will go. You feel the water washing away all the dirt from today and as you savour the warmth of the shower you notice your skin feeling as though it is buzzing with the indestructible surge of power you haven't been able to shake since Ellie pulled the trigger.

psa: sorry this took a couple days, life got busy and then i got so high last night i slept for 13 hours so there was not much time to write. Hope this lives up to expecations and if it makes no sense im sorry im still super baked rn <33

#abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby anderson fanfic #ellie williams tlou #abby and ellie #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us

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just-some-random-blogger · 10 months

Text

❤For Your Eyes Only❤

Email 2: "Me, bratty? Never." | Masterlist

CC: [email protected]; [email protected]; @pinksirensong; @aralezinspace; @sloanexx; @deniixlovezelda; @targaryenmoony; @risefallrise; @slavyanskiyahui; @hypocritic-trash-baby 🔪DO NOT OPEN THIS EMAIL IN YOUR WORK COMPUTER🔪 Dear Aemma, I was so excited when Daemon told me we were going to a luncheon date in the Highgarden Hotel, but this deceptive, rat-ass cretin bamboozled me into joining one of his boring ass tennis functions like the lying man he is. So obviously, I took things into my own hands (with the help of Director Harwin Stong, hubba-hubba) then bro threw a fit! Men. With Love ❤

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, love/domestic quarrel, jealousy, MDNI smut (hate/angry sex, slight dub con, bdsm themes [dom/sub, ownership], taunting, biting, choking, hair pulling, degradation kink, humiliation kink, vaginal penetration), internet translated high valyrian, sugar daddy themes, annoying man!Daemon, Daemon 'fuck around and find out' Targaryen, fluff, typos, etc.

I cannot believe I was sitting here with my shiny, chunky heels and my cute, little, green sundress all to listen to a bunch of men to my left laugh about stocks, a bunch of ladies to my right laugh about their latest fashion find, and watch my stupid boyfriend win game after fucking game of tennis in front of me.

I was too hot to be around so many cackling rich people. What if I caught their crypto fever?

Daemon grits his teeth excitedly and punches the air as he defeats his opponent, Jason Lannister. He twirls his racket in his hand and jogs up to me, pointing and cheering, "you see that, dollie?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him as he nears the bleachers, most definitely to take a sip of water. The red cheeked oaf pants as he comes over. He topples next to me, throwing a hand onto my lap, getting my skirt damp with his sweat. The ladies swoon. I wrinkle my forehead.

"I swear to the Seven," I shove him off in annoyance, "get off me, you disgusting lizard."

Daemon is too high on his win to even notice I insulted him whatsoever. He hands me his racket. I hand him his third water bottle.

"Thanks, lovie."

I scoff and cross my arms.

The ladies coo at him and glare at me.

Daemon chugs two gulps of water then huffs as he stands. He hands back the bottle and gargles the cool liquid in his mouth before swallowing.

I look at him in detestation as he does this.

Upon catching my expression, while evening his breathing, he places one hand on the the bleachers and leans forward. He reaches a hand to my jaw and swipes my skin with his thumb, "what's with the scowl?"

"Gee," I aimlessly look around before glaring at him, "maybe it's because I didn't expect to watch you play tennis for hours on end."

Daemon pulls away from me, placing his hands on his hips, "bit of a stretch, aye?"

I scoff loudly, "we left the house at 11, Daemon. It's nearly fuckin' 2!"

Daemon raises his brows. I mirror him. He waves his hands around and places a foot between mine, pushing my dress with his knee, hands coming to my thighs. He rubs my skirt back and forth, making it hike up, then mutters, "baby, I'm on a winning streak."

I grab his wrists, "yeah, well you're on my hitlist."

Daemon smirks, pulling his hands out my grip. He then quickly grabs my cheeks and pecks my lips. I growl at him as he recoils, dodging me by a hair as shove him.

"Come on, cutie, what's got your knickers in such a twist?" Daemon calls as he walks back.

I scoff even louder, "maybe the fact you duped me into being your caddie!"

He sniggers as he swipes his racket from me, "that's a golf thing, silly."

"Fuck you," I snap.

Daemon chortles as he jogs back to his side of the court "later! Daddy's gotta win first."

The ladies swoon, the men cheer, and I bristle in my spot.

Daemon readies himself as his next opponent, Arryk Cargyll, comes up.

In my head, I manifest Daemon's defeat. I invoke with all my braincells that he burns out and gets tired enough to throw the game. Alas, the man was built like an athlete, because he was-- he is, and never accepted anything less than victory, which was I rolled my eyes when he scored the first point.

No. I'm done.

I stand from my spot, grab my things, and walk away.

It takes a few moments for Daemon to notice, and when he does, he's flung off his game, allowing Arryk to score. So as the latter basks in his excitement, Daemon grunts, raising a quick hand, then chases after the green stormcloud walking away.

"Keligon," stop he commands as he runs up behind me.

"I'm not a fucking dragon," I hiss.

He huffs, "no, pretty girl?"

I halt and snap at him. He stills as I charge and point a finger, "and I'm not a bitch you can holler tricks to."

Daemon freezes. He grips his tennis racket in both hands, clenching his jaw. I can see the glint in his eye. I can see how he fights it. He tilts his head down and looks up at me. He licks his lips, "... no."

I snarl and shove him away, "I'm going home, Daemon."

He rolls his eyes and huffs, "dont be a brat." He grabs my arm as I march away. I shake his grip off and glare at him. Daemon makes a face, "I drove us here."

I fake gasp, flatly retorting, "how will I ever get home now!?"

"Baby-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"One last round!" he blurts, "baby, please, I-"

"Why did you bring me here in the first place!?" I snap as I turn to him.

He pulls his chin back then barks, "because fucking LANNISTER has the hots for you! And I knew he wouldn't give me time of day had you not been here!"

My jaw slack. His jaw rolls.

Needless to say, if I wasn't already fuming then, boy, was I was now!

Strong and vulgar words were exchanged.

Both of us storm off after a final, "FINE!" I was now cooling down with a drink at the bar.

You wanna know what else was strong? The man who said-

"A little early for a drink, no?"

I down my cocktail like a shot then I look over my shoulder. Why hello dark hair and blue eyes.

I turn to the bartender and motion with my empty glass. I turn back to the man that was now sitting beside me, "not for me, Director Strong."

He chuckles and leans on the bartop counter, "flattered you remember me."

I snort, "only someone with amnesia would forget you, Harwin."

He chuckles again, this time, he swivels in his spot and leans his head on his fist, "flattered me twice. It's only right I compliment how stunning you look in that dress. It's your color, I think."

I giggle and shake my head, "oh, you shouldn't say things like that to me."

"And why ever not?" he feigns an innocent look, though the upturned corners of his lips showed unmistakable amusement.

I hum and pretend to think, "maybe some stupid blonde nepobaby would pull out from your partnerships if he heard."

Harwin purses his lips in thought and leans on both his elbows. He nods. He motions to the bartender, "then I'm glad he's not here."

Multiple drinks in, Harwin and I are giggling like school girls as we talk smack about some of the higher-ups in Targ Corp.

At one point, we begin exchanging ideas, and Harwin is so impressed by my thoughts, he rather seriously handed me his card and told me he'd recruit me, offering to give me twice of what I made now.

I shake my head at his words, " I dunno," I make a face, "I get a pretty generous stipend from Daemon."

Harwin chuckles. He brushes his thick curls back and ties it up in a bun, "I can be generous, sweetheart."

I shake my head again and sigh. I pat his arm, "oh, I don't doubt it," I move to stand as I mentally note how adorable his coiled baby hairs were, "but alas, I'm begrudgingly attached to him to that idiot, no matter how he's used me as bait for the Lannisters today."

Harwin grins then pats the table, "then, milday," he stands, "would you like to even the playing field and use me as bait?

"OH- GROW. UP!" I scream as I storm into our room, limping as I did.

"OH, YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT GROWING UP!?" Daemon counters as he chases after me, slamming the door behind him, "HOW ABOUT PRETENDING A LIMP JUST TO HAVE SOME SLIMY FUCKER ALL OVER YOU."

"I DIDN'T fake a limp!" I snap, turning to him, red in the face. I lean against the wall and remove one shoe, flipping it over and shaking it. A lone pebble falls out. I pull a face as I turn to him, "it's called method acting, baby."

I remove my other shoe as I walk away, no limp whatsoever.

"THAT'S LITERALLY FAKING IT!"

"You know what else I faked," I chuck my shoe at him, "LAST NIGHT!"

Daemon barely dodges the hurtling object. I curse my horrible aim.

I manage to evade him enough to get into the bedroom and slam the door on my way. The idiot was too quick though, and jammed his hand and foot into gap so it wouldn't close. The pained sound he makes causes me to rip the door open.

I gasp, "Daemon, what the fuck!"

He turns to his hand and hisses.

"Are you o-"

"Fucking bitch."

I clamp my mouth shut.

Daemon turns from his palm, up to me, "on your knees."

I clench my jaw as he steps forward and takes his shoes and socks off. I do no such thing. He speaks with more venom as he takes removes sweaty top, "you heard me, bitch."

I grind my teeth. He cricles around me.

"I am not," I word intently, "a bit-"

He shuts me up by yanking my hair back. He rips me into his chest with one arm and releases an irriated sigh, "iksā iā aspo lo vestran iksā." You are a bitch if I say you are.

My breathing grows heavy when he claws my neck to push my hair to the side.

"Let me go!" I growl, pushing his arm off.

"Fucking make me," he mutters lowly against my earlobe. He tightens his arm around me that it actually begins to squeeze air out of my belly. I squeak as I fight him off, but in the end, I get thrown to the bed.

I land on my hands, and once I'm free, I scramble and grab a pillow, yeeting it to his ugly face. This time, it hits him right in his stupid head. Deserve.

Daemon is momentarily deterred, but he is perpetually angered. He loudly growls, "QUIT IT!"

He grabs my ankles and yanks me forward. And though I knew his strength, I go down swinging, unwilling to make it easy for him. Yet no matter how my nails dug into the duvet, and through all my kicking and screaming, I wind up pinned beneath him, arms behind my back, legs trapped between his, face and belly squished on the cushions under his body weight.

Daemon leans his face into mine and whispers, "stupid brat."

"FUCK YOU," I hiss, wrangling beneath him.

It was futile, we both knew it, and in truth, I knew he was only letting me move as much to tire myself out.

But I think the moron is overestimating how long he could keep me pinned down, considering he's just played tennis for hours. Even now, he pulls himself off me in a rather bleary manner.

But of course, he had to read my mind.

Daemon adjusts his grip on me, "don't think for a second, between the two of us, I'll tire first."

Defiant fuck.

"Fuck you."

Daemon keeps one hand on my arms, the other pulls my skirt up, "I don't think you deserve that honestly."

I let out a loud huff when I feel him rub against me.

"It'll calm you down though."

Lizard man is hard. My mouth betrays me when he hits my soft spot. Damned body. I mask my whimper with a grunt and save face by wriggling my hips in defiance.

He makes a sound when I do this. He breaks into a chuckle. "Don't think this looks like you want me to let you go, love."

"Let me go, Daemon," I instantly rebut.

When I cease my squirming, he rubs my rear and hums. "Okay. I'll give you a safe word. If you say it, I'll let you go." My skin stings when he digs his fingers to my side, "understood?"

I sigh through my nose, "yes."

"Good girl."

Daemon, however, does not give me a safe word up until he's had my panties to my ankles and his hand hovering my core.

"Daemon-"

"Harwin."

I freeze.

Daemon's hand works his way to my center.

"W-wh-"

"Safe word: Harwin," he exhales, "and if you fucking say it, I swear to the gods I'll fucking stop and jump out of the window."

Next moment, he releases my arms and frees himself from his shorts. And though I manage to bring my hands to the sides, he captures them once more, pinning them down by my head as he lunges down. He shudders, "say it."

A noise is caught in my throat as I feel his hardened length rub against my bare folds.

"Say you want me off you. Say you'd rather have that daft oaf on top you instead."

His words make me squeeze my thighs together. It does nothing to stop my increasing wetness, nor him humping me from behind. I crane my neck to look at him, "D-Daemo-"

"I want to hear you say it," he quips under his breath.

I do not even breathe.

Before I could think, he's pummeling into me like a billionare pummels a forest for real estate.

I cry into the bed, muffling my mouth as I did so. He does not appreciate it one bit. Daemon grabs my hair and my throat strains. With one hand secured on my waist as he taunts again, "fucking say it, slut. Don't you want to?"

He shoves me into the cushion, hand planted between my shoulder blades. He flicks his hips at a brutal pace and the sound of our skin slapping mutes out my muffled sobs.

"Say it, whore," he spits angrily, "say how you would rather have that bumbling idiot fuck you instead of me. SAY IT!"

"Daemon," I whine, feeling my eyes water, "s-stop it."

He rips my hair back, "you want me to stop?" he hisses, "you know what to say. You know what you need to do."

I whine when he thrashes me to my side and grabs my thigh and hip, positioning me in a way that can further intensify his brutalizing.

I cannot do much, rather than whine and succumb. I quickly feel my belly tightening because of his hips slapping into me.

"Stupid girl," he growls, "greedy gold digger," he grabs my legs and heedlessly turns me me on my back. He rips dangling underwear off my ankles then yanks my top down, exposing my chest to him, "what have I not given you already, you hussy?"

He grabs my sensitive breasts and squeezes them with spite, "do I need to leash you so you don't act up, brat?"

Daemon works one hand on my pearl while his other wraps around my neck, making whatever sound that comes out of me garbled and strained.

"You would like that won't you? Like it if I pulled you around like a bitch," he says breathlessly, thumb brushing my lip, "who's my dumb bitch?"

I squeal.

He thrust particularly harshly, "Answer. Me."

My voice is unstable, but he hears it well enough, "m-me."

"Hmm. Again. What are you?"

"Your dumb bitch."

"Who do you belong to?"

"You," I sigh.

Daemon brings his hands to my thighs, pushing them to my chest. The shift lets him hit a sweet spot but then his quick pace slows, "do brats come on their owner's cocks?"

He leans in after saying this, face sinking to my side, pace shifting into a much slower tempo. I exchange though, he moves much deeper, and I groan and wrap my arms around him, fingers digging into his hair, "Daemon."

He kisses my neck, "that's not an answer." He bites my skin.

I whine, lips quivering, "they don't."

Daemon hums and nips my earlobe, "smart whore." He squeezes my thighs, "you know what you must do then."

I whine. He sighs.

"Please."

He shifts his weight on me and thrusts firmly into a spot that makes my eyes roll back, "please what?"

"Daemon, p l e a s e."

He chuckles softly, "please what?"

"Please let me come."

Daemon nips at my jaw, "I can't hear you."

"PLEASE."

He hums, awfully pleased with the instantaneous reaction. He rasps, "nyke ȳdra daor rhakitegon." I don't understand.

I whine, tears fogging my vision as I frustratedly rack my brain for the slivers of High Valyrian I knew, "k-kostilus."

Daemon then lifts his head and increases his pace. He leans his forehead on mine and pants as he thoroughly fucks me. He breathes against my mouth, as if feeding off the whines I make at his ministrations. I feel the bed shift beneath us as he moves.

It doesn't take much for me to come undone at the rate he was going. And when I do, he does not relent and forces my head back with a hand on my jaw, teeth raking on my throat, "where's your manners, brat?"

My thighs tremble and my voice shakes. My breath strains and my mind fogs. Still, I manage, "t-thank you, thank you, thank you, thank yrou thankreyoue, thaorla eow--"

Daemon squeezes me tightly as his movements grow frantic, erratic, rugged, and eventually sloppy and languid. My body twitches at the feel of his pulsing length inside my sopping folds.

When he stills, he kneads my thighs and nudges my cheek with his nose, "your dumb fucked mind belongs to me. Your dumb fucked body belongs to me. Your dumb fucked pussy belongs to me."

I pant against his shoulder and comb his hair back.

"I'm fucking dropping that Harwin cunt."

I tighten my legs around his waist and sigh, "he was helping me get back at you."

Daemon lifts his head, eyeing me darkly as he growls, "conniving bitch."

I release a breath and furrow my brows, "stop it."

Daemon makes a face, "you're mine."

"Yeah and your angry dick belongs to me. And your credit card."

I cup his cheeks in my hands and smoothen out the lines on his face. Daemon rather begrudgingly softens against my touch.

"I might have to fuck you in the court for that stunt you pulled."

I snort, feeling my lips curve, "maybe then my limping won't be method acting."

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sirfrogsworth · 3 months

Text

My First "Viral" Post

Like, 20 people told me to submit my Brady Bunch GIFset to @world-heritage-posts and hundreds more tagged it #worldheritagepost.

So I was like, "OKAY OKAY, I'll submit it!"

And they never posted it.

Which is completely fine!

WHP, it's cool. We're cool. I don't need World Heritage Post reblogs.

I have reblogs at home.

(my reblogs at home)

I am definitely *NOT* going to do the "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???" thing.

I only do cool and funny "Don't you know who I am?" interactions like Tony Hawk.

But when I submitted the post it reminded me of an even earlier time on Tumblr when there were only a few people who could make a post go viral.

The main one was called @thedailywhat. If something got posted there, it could get HUNDREDS of notes.

HUNDREDS!!!!

Oh, that's another funny thing. Several people commented "Why does this only have 20K notes!!???"

There are currently 135 million active users on Tumblr and the site got roughly 2.4 billion visits in 2023.

In all of 2010 the entire site got 50 million visitors. Not users. Just people who went to a Tumblr address during that entire year.

In any case, if you thought you created something cool and you wanted more than 10 people to see it, you had to submit your cool thing to The Daily What. It was the first Tumblr to reach 100,000 followers which was more than the actual founder of Tumblr had at the time.

It was run by a single person but he was very private and never revealed his name.

His emails were very cryptic.

I'm pretty sure he sold the site and went to live on a beach or something. But whoever bought it did not understand how to run the blog and the final post was in 2013.

I'm not surprised the new owner crashed and burned. Johnny Internets was irreplaceable. He really understood what would connect with people. Nearly everything he posted would gain decent popularity. I'm not sure people realize how much of a skill curating content can be and how hard it is to post popular things with consistency.

He would reject a lot of content outright and was very picky about what went on his Tumblr. But when he actually posted something you made, it was almost guaranteed to go viral.

Well, viral relative to the time period.

I suspect I submitted nearly a hundred things before he finally agreed to reblog me. And I still remember the first thing I submitted that he liked.

I posted this in 2010. How many notes do you think it got?

Probably a million, right?

No less than 100K.

I mean, look at how cute that panda is!

SONOFABITCH!

Back then, that was enough.

But that was just me putting words on something. My ultimate goal was to get him to post one of my original photoshops.

And do you see how he gave proper attribution? That meant a lot during a time when other curators were cropping my watermarks and claiming things as their own.

A real mensch, this Mysterious Stranger was.

These two posts got me enough traction to grow my following and before I knew it, I was The Daily What for other people. I was able to help other artists and content creators get traction and grow their following.

It was a beautiful Tumblr version of paying it forward. Only not as awkward as those weirdos who do it in drive-thru lines.

I ONLY GOT A SODA AND NOW I GOTTA PAY FOR 40 MCNUGGETS?

It's fine.

Enjoy your nugs.

#tumblr history with Froggie

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hecateslore · 3 months

Text

💌

hi childreennn mother had to jot this down while my brain was still going from earlier plz enjoy more supervisor!simon

Wednesday strolled in with ease. You and Simon avoided each other all day on tuesday. You knew you were really pissed when you thought of sending an anonymous complaint to HR.

It was lunchtime and you sat at your desk headphones in watching your comfort tv show and eating your lunch. Simon walked out of his with a thick stack of papers. He walked up to your desk, dropped the papers harshly, “Get these done when you’re finished.” he demanded. You looked up with a mouthful of food, “I’m on my break.” you snap back at him. “There’ll be no break after this ever, if these aren’t half finished by the end of the day.” he barked back only to earn looks from the others (we live in a sassy man apocalypse I fear😣.) You roll your eyes, “And if I see your headphones again, that’s another strike.” he finishes.

It all seemed like too much to behave this way for an office job. You were ready to flip your desk, kick a monitor and slap him in the back of the head. All of the sudden he just became this douche. Not once have you ever given him any problems, have you ever screwed up.

A part of you wanted to ask him what the problem was, so you threw your plate away and went to the bathroom and facetime your best friend.

“Please tell me you sent in a complaint.” Your bestie sighed over the phone. “No I'm scared, online it said your identity might have to be revealed.” You said as you watched your bestfriends face screw up, “Just put in your two weeks, we’re hiring over here,” she suggested , “I’ll see if I can get you a spot, my manager’s really cool.” She gives you a smile. You look at the time and see you have 5 minutes left to chat before you have to get back to work. “I gotta go, but let me know what your manager says.” you bite your cheek, “will do !” she says before hanging up. You let out an exasperated sigh and go back to your desk.

On Thursday you worked the front alone, you were kind of glad because you were out of Simon's sight and you didn’t have to see the problem look so damn good in slacks. You sat and answered calls while listening to some music. It was a pretty peaceful day, not too many people came in so you kind of just sat and waited, you did some crossword puzzles, played some games on your computer, ignoring the get back to work email from Simon. It was lunch time when you and Simon interacted for the first time in a couple of days. You were getting ready to walk to the grocery store in the plaza you worked at (do they have these outside of America? Like shopping malls, or like strip malls?? Plz let me know.).

“Heading out?” he asked, leaning against the wall near the exit. You rolled your eyes, praying he didn’t notice. “I got to go to the market also, maybe I can keep you company?” he offered.

“I don’t care.” you mumbled, obviously very bothered by his presence. You grabbed your bag, and headed towards the door, Simon following behind you closely. “What’re you gonna buy?” he asked, “food.” he let out a sigh, “food’s always good.” he said, swinging his arms back and forth.

Simon felt like a kid who disappointed his mother, he doesn’t know what he did, but it was something that made her angry. In this case, he knew you were angry but you couldn’t still be angry from Monday's quarrel.

When you entered the market you made sure to separate yourself from Simon, you head to the little deli in the back, and got a turkey sandwich (I love turkey sandwiches if anyone cares.)

Somehow Simon ended up finding you, you two stood next to each other silently watching the elder man thinly slice the meat and place it on the bun. “Looks delicious.” he says, and you say nothing. You prance around the store finding some snacks for your desk, picking up a snickers bar for Linda cause those are her favorites. Simon followed you around like a lost puppy , paying for his stuff after you. You walked out before him and sat at the exact table you sat at when he decided he wanted to be a dick for the first time.

Simon walked out of the store and found you sitting alone, eating alone, watching people walk around the shopping mall. “Lost ya.” he smiled, his one dimple showing. You looked at him with a blank face. Simon pursed his lips and sat and ate his lunch quickly.

“Saw you looking for jobs online.” he broke the silence. “Yup.” you hum, “You’re thinking of quitting?” Simon inquired. “I’m looking at jobs so?” you drawled out earning wide eyes from simon. “You know I can fire you for that.” he takes a sip from his water bottle, “you’d fire a wild bear for shitting in the woods if it worked for you.” You scoffed, in return Simon let out a cackle, and you almost smiled at his natural laugh. “I think I've found a job though. So I'll be out of your hair in no time” Simon smile drops, “who said I wanted you out of my hair?” his brows furrow.

You smack your lips together, “let’s not be obtuse.” you sigh.

“You want to quit because of me?” he asked, “If I say yeah, are you gonna speed up the process?” you ribbed. “You really want to quit because of me?” Simon was in disbelief, he seriously couldn’t believe it. Was he too harsh? But that’s how you two were, you’d taunt each other. At least that’s what he thought. “I’m going back.” you say while getting up and throwing your trash.

Simon sat by himself, “let’s not be obtuse.” kept replaying and replaying. Was it the headphone thing, it was just some dumb gag he did for fun. You even joked about it one time, you said you’d shove an air-pod up his nose. Was it the emails? Simon likes your attention, whether it be good or bad. He likes you, the way you look in your work outfits, he’s a grown man, he can appreciate when someone is good looking. Now he was really starting to tweak out.

Simon practically sprinted back to the office, you sat at one of the front desks, you looked up at him in the doorway. “Are you really quitting?” your eyes widen, “Simon hush!” you sputtered.

“Was it something I did,” he asks as he walks towards the desk, “Answer me truthfully.” he demands. “Oh jesus.” you put your head in your hands out of embarrassment. Simon's eyes are on you, you can feel them while you try and bury your head deeper into your palms. “I know you were pissed on monday-” he continues, “Simon leave it alone for fucks sake.” huffing you finally look at him. He nods and walks back into his office, shutting the door avoiding work all day, with you on his mind how could he not?

It’s Friday, you’re scheduled to be back at your desk. You walk into the office earlier as always, listening to your music, you notice Simon was sitting on your desk. Confused, you approach him and tap him on his shoulder, “Your ass is on my desk.” Simon hops off quickly, “Sorry.” you eye him suspiciously.

“I want to talk to you about yesterday.” you groan, “Simon leave it please. That’s all I ask.” you make praying hands pleading, “yesterday you said-”

“UGH Simon please.” you groan even louder than earlier, “you said “If you say yes would I make the process faster” so I am the reason you’re quitting?” you look at him with the most confused face ever. “Are you okay? Genuinely?”

“Are you quitting because of me?” Simon prodded, “I have to heat up my breakfast.” Soon as you went to walk to the break room, Simon grabbed your wrist softly, his brown eyes looking into yours,

“Answer me, is it my fault?”

(well, yes!)

#Supervisor!simon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost simon riley #cod mw2 #task force 141 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #ghost fanfiction #simon my beloved #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 months

Text

Year Two

Part Three of Three Years

Year One | Masterlist | Year Three

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 7.2K

Notes: ….Hi! It’s part three! Huzzah!

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan; slapping; grinding; biting; the next chapter has more spice

Summary: Despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were.

Jenn is.

“We’ve gotta jump, we’ll be late on another call.”

It’s a warning that’s almost never been heeded before, but you say it as firmly as you can. You can feel your team casting a wary glance between you and the landline that you’re crowded around in the otherwise sparsely decorated conference room.

The old conference rooms at Sc(ai)le’s original headquarters could be a little tight for team conference calls, but at least they were comfy. The tables weren’t too big, but could fit most everyone’s laptops, and a drink or two. There had been armchairs, couches—enough space for people to chat, take calls, have a quick huddle—whatever was needed. By contrast, the conference rooms at the new headquarters feel like blank, sterile canvases. They have yet to be outfitted properly. For now, you’re all stuck with the chairs from your desks that you’ve rolled in, sitting around a long, bland, white conference table, with a landline in the middle.

“Move whatever you’re going to back,” Bateman’s order is haughty. “We haven’t finished ironing this out. I still have questions.”

A year and a half ago, you would’ve heeded him. A year and a half ago, you would’ve been afraid to push back, wary of Nathan’s burgeoning relationship with Jenn, and with Sc(ai)le. But now, a year and a half in, you’re far more aware of what you are and aren’t willing to put up with. It’s a gamble, a stupid one, but you roll the fucking dice:

“I hear you, and I’ll be more than happy to answer them. Pop them in an email and send them over at your earliest convenience. Thanks so much for your time, Nathan.”

You can only hope that your using his name softens the blow of how abruptly you hang up on him. You glance down at your computer repeatedly, eyeing the number for the other meeting that you’re dialing into the landline as you punch it in. You glance around, finding your team slack-jawed and stunned.

“I cannot believe you just did that.”

It falls out of Amelia’s open mouth with a shocked laugh. She’s one of the product owners, someone that you’ve been working with since before you brought onto the C-Suite—and has had a front-row ticket to the rapid decline of your giving a fuck. You shrug a shoulder.

“He’ll get it,” You insist. “He knows how these meetings run over. If it’s between cutting him off or being late for our biggest client, the fuck is he gonna do, tell us to lose money?”

A couple of your team members guffaw, and you glance up to see some of them trying to fight back smiles. It makes you grin.

“Alright, c’mon,” You urge, even as you chuckle, yourself. “Button that up, we gotta work.”

You wait for the slap on the wrist from Nathan. When it doesn’t come, you wait for it from Jenn. As your monthly one on one closes out, you expect the question: Why the fuck did you hang up on our biggest backer? Stunningly, it never comes. Maybe Nathan didn't mention it to her, even in passing. Maybe he recognizes that your judgement call was the right one.

The company is in a better place than it was last year. Sc(ai)le is drawing clients and revenue in hand over fucking fist. With the newest burst of AI chatbots coming out, there has been a wave of prospective clients. Companies that used to be too busy for you are now beating down your doors. For the first time, you have a chance to be selective about your clients. They’re chasing you and your tech, not the other way around. The company has swelled from 150 people to 400 in just under a year.

Most of your local workforce is coming into Sc(ai)le’s office at least three times a week. Some opt to come in more days than their contracts necessitate, not because they like it, but because it’s just faster to run over someone’s desk to ask a fucking question than to Slack them and pray that they’re somewhere near their laptop. You’re busy, busier than you’ve ever been. The amount of work that you’ve been hit with in the first six months of your second year is closer to what you’d initially expected when you’d agreed to take on two C-Suite positions.

Are you tired? Yes.

Do you remember what your apartment still looks like in the daylight? Not really.

Do you have personal relationships outside of work anymore? Definitely not.

But you’re staring down the barrel of a year and a half of work for stock options and a job wherever the fuck you want.

There are some moments, rare moments, when you almost want to thank Nathan for strong-arming you into this position. But there are other, far more frequent moments when you want to tell him to take his ego and his backing and cram it up his frighteningly round ass.

“Knock-knock.”

You don’t bother to look up; you know the voice well enough. It sets your teeth on edge. You keep typing, eyes on your computer as your fingers fly across the keyboard.

“You know, there is a door there,” You point out, “Most people actually bother to knock on it.”

“That’s standard procedure for a closed door. Yours is wide-open. Saying knock-knock was just a formality. I could’ve walked right in.”

“If you want, I can get up and shut the door, let you knock like a normal human being.”

“Nothing about me is normal, sweetheart.”

The endearment makes your fingers freeze over your keyboard. It’s not a surprise that he does it so damn easily—but what is surprising is how it seems to just knock your brain offline.

“Are you in my doorway for a reason?” You finally ask. It’s a moment too late; you can hear him lower into a seat across from you.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks. You fight back a sigh.

“I’m assuming I’m having dinner with you.”

“You catch on quick.”

You let your eyes slide to him. “You’re more predictable than you’d like.”

Nathan’s expression flickers with annoyance, but he’s quick to cover it up again.

“That’s something I’ve never been accused of.”

“First time for everything. We going to the diner again?”

He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, head jerking back with it before it tips forward again. You fight back a smile as you turn toward your computer again.

“Just be ready by seven,” He adds.

“Alright.”

“And don’t try to worm out of it,” Bateman warns as he pushes himself to stand and rounds toward the door. “I’ll pull my funding.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

You force yourself to keep typing, even as you hear Nathan’s step hesitate before it fades complete. It’s just a little, just for a second—but to sense that you’ve managed to put a hitch in Bateman’s day and workflow when he’s put such a hitch in your life? Hell, that feels like your birthday came early.

“Too bad Jenn couldn’t join us.”

You’re trying to goad him. From her reaction to your mention of having dinner with Bateman—the way she’d pouted just a little before brightening, telling you to have fun, and to charge it to the company card—you’re fairly certain that he hadn’t mentioned it to her at all. Bateman hardly blinks as he excuses:

“She had a conflict.”

That’s bullshit.

“Besides,” He pushes on before you can argue, “You and I haven’t had a one on one since you came onto the team.”

“There was that time at, uh…Karaoke,” You correct.

“Thanks for the reminder. What are we singing?”

You raise your brows, unimpressed. “Why don't we just pencil that in for my retirement party.”

“You already have that planned?”

“Oh, sure. I’m going to make you rent out that, uh—That palazzo, out in Beverly Hills? I want an ice sculpture, the most VIP of VIPs, a whose-who of the tech industry’s who’s.”

“You make a playlist yet?”

“No, but it’ll be done, don't you worry about that.”

Nathan searches your gaze for a moment, and you see a wrinkle of curious confusion there.

“What are the hang ups?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You, in this position. You’re pushing the processes forward, you developed a uniform product release cadence and communications workflow. The efficiency is through the roof, but you’re still unsatisfied.”

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. You let your gaze drift over the decor of the restaurant, rather than hold Nathan’s eye, and let him find a hundred little faults in you. The restaurant that he’s chosen is startlingly intimate—it has a short bar, with just two seats, and only a handful of tables and chairs. The recessed lighting has been dimmed for the evening, and if the table between you and Nathan had been just a little bit longer, you might’ve had to squint to get a better look at him. As it is, your knees are brushing under the table, and if you make one wrong move reaching for the drinks menu, you’re going to make even more contact with the guy than you’ve ever wanted.

“Is it the pay?" He presses into your silence. "Because frankly, you’re being paid more than you’re worth."

“Really? I’ve been offered more to do less.”

He bristles, and you bite back a smile. He doesn’t like that—and he doesn’t need to know that it’s a bluff. You’re sure he’ll make inquiries, now that you’ve said it, and you’re sure that every one of them will tell him the truth: that you’ve never been approached by any one of them. He won’t trust it. It’s just an added little bit of discord. Hell, you’re almost proud of it.

“What is it?” He presses.

“This wasn’t a choice for me,” You shale your head, “It was a negotiation tactic. Actually, you know what, let’s just call it what it really was: it was a fucking emotional blackmail.”

He rolls his eyes openly. “Emphasis on emotional.”

“Oh, fuck off,” You scoff, “As if you’d ever take this shit lying down.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Exactly, so—”

“I wouldn’t have signed on in the first place.”

The fact makes you go quiet for a moment.

“Because you don’t have anyone like Jenn?”

“Because even if I had someone like Jenn, I’d leave them to sort out their own shit.”

“Well, I’ll just add that to the ever-growing list of differences between you and I.”

“It’s not that long.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not so different, you and I.”

“Did you watch Austin Powers on the plane?”

“Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Isn’t that, uh…Our methods are not so different as you pretend?”

“I paraphrased. And do I really look like someone that watches Austin Powers in his free time?”

“No comment.”

“I think we’re more similar than you’d like to believe. I think that pisses you off.”

He’s right—and it pisses you off even more. You fight to keep from fidgeting in front of him, giving him the satisfaction of your open annoyance. You finally shake your head slowly, keeping your gaze on Nathan’s.

“I’m nothing like you. And I never wanna be.”

You wanna slap the widening smile off of his face.

“Wouldn’t take much,” He goads. “I’d say you’re already halfway there. Start missing a few dinners because you’re working, start keeping a change of clothes at the office, sleeping in one of the conference rooms because you realize it’s four in the morning and you won’t have time to get back to yours, shower, change, and not fall asleep on your couch while you wait for your leftovers to heat up in your microwave.”

You feel your face going hot. You don’t want to admit that you’ve already started doing every single one of those things—that you’ve done two of those things in the last forty-eight hours.

“You know where you go from there?” Nathan folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and holding your gaze with a smiling smugness. “You stop giving a fuck what other people think. Like it or not, that’s going to include Jenn. The only voice that starts to matter is yours.”

“I told you,” You press, “I’m nothing like you.”

“And if you realize that you are?”

“I’ll shave my head, start wearing polo shirts, and move to the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“The commute would be a nightmare.”

“You might look cute bald.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you fall quiet as the server sets your drinks down. You gaze at yours, wondering if you can drain it and run, feign illness, or snipe that you have to join Jenn at her meeting. Maybe you can tell Nathan that you just don’t want to be there—but maybe that’s exactly what he would do. So you obligingly knock your glass against his, take a measured sip, and resolve yourself to sit through this.

“Alright,” Nathan finally relents as he sets his glass down, “We’ll move off of work. Talk about something else.”

“Like what.”

“You ever think about starting your own company?”

Your brows raise.

“This is how you talk about something other than work?”

��You hate having a boss.”

“You really like to talk in absolutes, don’t you,” You comment dryly. “I don’t mind having a boss.”

“You never just wanted to break off, strike out on your own?”

You consider bullshitting him, but this drink is still pretty damn full, and if you have it too fast, you’re almost certain he’ll insist on your having another. So you consider for a moment, then shrug.

“I guess I did, once. When we’d just gotten out of here. Jenn was working on getting Sc(ai)le going.”

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing ‘happened’. One of us had to keep things afloat until she had her foot in the door.”

“You resent her for it?”

“Of course not.”

“I would.”

“Well, I already told you. We’re not the same.”

“What was it?”

“The idea?”

“Mhm.”

“A consulting firm, crisis-response specific.”

“You could do it, you know. Once your contract is done—as long as you can resist the urge to stay.”

“I’m not going to stay.”

“Not even if Jenn asks you to? I know how much she values your opinion. Almost as highly as she values mine.”

You used to think that Jenn valued your opinion twice as much as Nathan’s, but these days, you’re dismayed to say that you’re not so sure about that.

“She won’t ask me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If I tell her I’m happy to serve my three years and move on, she’ll be fine with it.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“She’ll learn to be fine with it.”

“You wouldn’t take her wishes into consideration?”

“The last time I did, I wound up working for you.”

“So the only voice that matters on this subject is yours.”

He’s smiling like the cat that got the goddamn cream. You fight off a groan of irritation. You hadn’t been expecting it—why the hell weren’t you expecting it? You’re mad that he caught you out like that.

Worse, you sort of admire it.

Nathan’s little visits begin increasing in frequency. You don’t question it. Maybe it’s BlueBook business; maybe it’s Sc(ai)le; maybe he’s looking into investing with another company and he just happens to be in town more these days. Whatever the fuck it is, you don’t care. You just care that Nathan is now sitting in on your meetings with various departments, with the C-Suite, with you and Jenn. It’s like you can’t swing your laptop without whacking the guy these days.

But despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were.

Jenn is.

Jenn is soaking up this time with Nathan like a goddamn sponge. You haven’t seen her this bright, this engaged in some kind of personal relationship in a long time, since way before Sc(ai)le.

Look, maybe you’re being a little judgemental, you’re almost certain that Jenn has a crush on Nathan. And that is…A little alarming. For one, it means putting even more of her time and interest into the guy. Beyond that, it means that she may be pinning her romantic hopes on the guy who the company’s financial hopes are resting on. Sure, Sc(ai)le is getting bigger, doing better, but the cash flow into the company is still coming from Bateman.

You think of that as you see Jenn throw her head back in a giggle, her hand landing on Bateman’s forearm. He grins, glancing toward you. If you knew less, you’d think he was trying to get you to laugh, too. But it’s Nathan, and you know better. He’s showing off. He’s showing off how likable he is to your best friend. He’s showing off the fact that he’s making her laugh, not you. He’s showing you that your place in your best friend’s life is being usurped.

Asshat.

You look down at your food as Jenn’s laughter quiets to giggles, then tapers entirely. You can feel both of them watching you, and you make a point of poking through your food, just to have something to do. You hadn’t even planned on joining the two of them for dinner, but they’d happened to catch you on your way to the parking lot and insisted.

Grabbing a meal with Jenn is fine. You can sort of tolerate grabbing a meal with Nathan. But the two of them, together? Cripes, you don’t think you can take much more of this. You can only hope this place doesn’t have a damn dessert menu. Jenn can’t resist a piece of cheesecake, and you’re dying to get the hell out of here. You’re not sure you can take much more of her simping and grinning over a man that you find moderately repugnant, and mildly attractive.

You frown, putting your fork down in favor of taking up your wine and drawing in a deep sip.

Mildly attrac—Where the fuck did that come from? Whatever it was, it’s left a bad taste in your mouth.

“You alright over there?” Nathan asks.

“Great,” You answer flatly once you’ve swallowed, “Thanks.”

“Food not to your liking? We’ll get you something else.”

You shake your head, gaze flickering to Nathan’s. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“We’ll go somewhere else.”

“That is even less necessary than getting me something else to eat.”

“So!” Jenn chirps, breaking into your and Bateman’s bickering, “We should go somewhere after this, right?”

“You know what, I actually can’t,” You give what you hope is a regretful smile, “I’ve got a call.”

“This late?” Nathan looks down at his watch, “Who with?”

“Brickandbound, the SaaS company down in Sydney. It’s only about two in the afternoon over there. And, actually,” You push your chair back, “I did not realize how late it is. I should get back to my office, prep with the team. Thanks for dinner, Nathan.” You glance toward Jenn, warming at the grateful smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you later, Jenn. Bateman, let me know how much to Venmo you.” You offer him a pat on the shoulder, then round him, dropping a kiss to Jenn’s head before heading out. You don’t bother to give them a second look, you just go.

Mildly attractive. Mildly attractive? When the fuck did that happen?

Maybe it’s because you’ve been around him so much, and because, well…He is. He’s still an irritating little worm, of course, the most annoying person on the fucking planet (after Elon), but he’s sort of…Hot. His eyes are dark, and when he’s worked up, his gaze can be intense. His lips seem far more pink and plump these days, but that could be the increasing growth of his beard, which he only seems to trim every week or so. And his smile, which you seem to be privy to more and more these days, can be kinda nice—when it’s not smug, or slick, which is fairly rare. Still, you’re certain you’ve gotten a true smile from him a couple of times. They’re in the minority, and maybe that’s why they seem so much more special when you do get them.

You lean back in your seat in the conference room, listening to the sales and acquisitions team as they prep around you, volleying pitch lines back and forth, tweaking wording. You can only hope that Jenn’s getting those smiles from him—legitimate smiles, the kinds that’ll turn her insides to goo. She better fucking thank you for your hasty retreat later.

You glance over as you hear the team beginning to dial in. You draw in a deep breath, pushing it out quietly through your lips. You’ve been on tons of these, but they still make you a little nervous. You sort of hate it. If you’re still nervous, it means that a small part of you still gives so much of a shit that you’re afraid to make a mistake. You glance around as you hear everyone introduce themselves on the call, and open your mouth to add your name, but freeze as you see the door open.

He shouldn’t be there. He should be in some dim bar with Jenn. She should be batting her fucking eyelashes, playing with the hair that she just got done today because Bateman had emailed to let the two of you know that he would be in town—

“Hey, you’ve got Bateman on the line.” He’s waving the person in the seat next to you over one before he sits down, turning your laptop toward him to get a good look at the deck, your notes. You watch, lips parted, absolutely gobsmacked. There’s just a pause before you manage to give your name on the call, to fill in the blank—and then sales and acquisitions push on.

You hardly speak on the call. You don’t have to. The team has it handled. Luckily for you, Nathan keeps his damn mouth shut, too, save to lean over and murmur the odd question in your ear. The brush of his warm breath against your ear makes your stomach flip. You’re horrified at the feeling—at the fact that the man is there with you, and not out somewhere with Jenn; at the fact that you’re feeling something other than utter disdain for Nathan.

Is it petty jealousy? The idea that Jenn’s interest is becoming your interest? Like a little girl, jealous of the toy that her friend is playing with? Or is your disdain curdling in the oddest of ways? And what’s his fucking excuse? Is he chasing you down to piss you off? Is he chasing you down because he knows he’s pissing you off? Or did he clock the heat that you’d eyed him with over dinner, and is he after answers?

You can’t imagine Nathan chasing anyone for anything but answers.

You practically run out of the room once the meeting is up after thanking everyone. You nearly snap your laptop shut on Nathan’s questing fingers as you push yourself up, dropping your laptop into your bag, and going. You make it down the hall and around one corner before you feel fingers close around your wrist, his fingers tugging you to slow, “Hey, where the fuck’s the fire—”

You whirl around, yanking your wrist away from him.

“What the fuck, Nathan!”

His surprise splits to smugness.

“Is something wrong?”

“You know something is,” You spit. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here?”

“I was told there was a meeting.”

“You didn’t need to be here for it. You should be out.”

“Out? Doing what?”

“Out doing anything but pissing me the fuck off.” You whirl away from him, striding down the hall, and foolishly hoping that he’ll let it go. He follows you, and you hope that he’ll stop at the elevator, but he keeps right up with you. You nearly manage to slam your door in his face, but he just pushes it open, chiming, “Knock knock.”

“Please leave.”

“Why are you so pissed off?”

“Why are you here?”

“In the building? In this business?”

“In my office, why are you here right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Well, my purpose is manifold.”

“Oh, for fuckssake.”

“But I’m mostly here to piss you off.”

“Well, mission accomplished, asshat.”

You drop your things on your desk, then glance up, doing a double-take at the sight of Nathan. He has his hands braced on the back of a chair, a wide grin pulling his lips.

“Stop that,” You grit out.

“Stop what?”

“Smiling at me. Looking at me, just cut it out.”

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to crack.”

“Crack?”

“You have been dying to snap at me since the day we met.”

“That is not true.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Since when, then?”

“Since you locked me into that dumb fucking contract.”

“I only offered you the contract. You locked yourself into it. Admit it, you hate it. You hate this, you hate me, you hate Jenn.”

The accusation spears through you like a hot, sharp knife.

“That’s not true,” You hiss, rounding your desk.

“You do, you resent her for needing you. You resent her for needing me, too. If she could just get her shit together by herself, neither of us would be here.”

“Fuck you.”

“And if you’d trusted her ability to get shit done, you wouldn’t have taken this job.”

“I thought you would be good for Jenn—You have been good for Jenn, and for the company—”

“But not for you. Nothing I’ve done has been good for you, has it—Not the raise, not the titles, not the work.”

“Shut up.”

“Am I wrong about that, too? Do you secretly like what you do? Or are you just going along to get along, biding your time until you can get out of here?”

“Get out.”

“I paid for this office, I’ll stay here as long as I want.”

“Get. Out.”

“Hell, I paid for you, I’ll talk to you as long as I—”

The slap is louder than his smug pronouncements. You’re certain it stings your hand and his cheek in equal measures. Your gut swoops. Oh—Fuck. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounds; your chest heaves. You swallow thickly as the room falls into complete silence. Nathan’s pupils are blown wide, the darkness nearly fully obscuring the brown you’ve come to know. You see his mouth move, but what he says doesn’t land on your ears the way it should.

“...What?” You ask warily.

“I said, do that again.”

Your stomach churns. He’s got to be kidding.

“No.”

“C’mon,” He urges. “I’ve been pissing you off for a year and a half now, that’s all you’ve got in you? One slap? A half-decent one at that.”

Half-decent? There’s no way. Your palm is still stinging.

“Do it,” He urges, taking a step closer. “Do it again.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hit me.”

“Fuck you—”

“You want me to turn the other cheek?” He asks, tipping his head from one way to the other. You balk at the sight of his red cheek. “Hm?”

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“You think I’m mad?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You should be.”

“Why’s that?” Nathan shakes his head. “You just showed me who you are the first time—who you really are.”

“This isn’t who I am,” You hiss, shaking, "No matter how badly you want to be right, I'll never be you."

“You’re right. If someone I hated offered to let me hit them again, I would’ve done it by now.”

You raise your arm, winding up for a slap, but Nathan catches hold of your wrist before the blow can land. Panic flares in your chest, and you pull in a nervous breath as he yanks you closer. Your feet stumble, leaden weights keeping your unsteady legs nearly locked into place. Nathan keeps his grip on your wrist, his eyes darting over your face.

“You do hate me, don’t you,” He murmurs, breath brushing your lips, fanning the embers of your anger.

“With my entire being, you pompous piece of sh—”

Nathan’s mouth covers yours with fierce harshness before you can get the rest out. You twist in his grasp, wrenching your wrist away from him. He lets go obligingly, but neither of you get far. You cup his cheeks, sinking your teeth into his lower lip and giving it a harsh tug. His growl snaps you out of it, and you draw back.

“Fuck,” You hiss, drawing back, “I can’t, I—” You shake your head.

“Can’t do what?” Nathan goads, hands grasping your hips.

This.

You can’t do this to Jenn. You can’t give in to the man that’s been waiting for you to fall from the moment he met you. You meet Nathan’s eye. You take in the heat lingering there, the still-pink tinge of his cheek.

“I can’t do this here.”

The trip to your apartment is taken in separate cars. It gives you time to change your mind, to clear your head. But you're still just as pissed, just as turned on. The sight of Nathan’s expectant face as he climbs out of his car makes both of those feelings so much worse. He doesn’t ask any questions as he follows you inside, as he stands almost menacingly close in the elevator, as he slouches against the wall as you unlock your door. You toss the keys into the basket by the front door, setting your work bag down.

“Take your shoes off,” You order, nodding to Nathan’s feet as you lean against the wall, kicking yours off. Nathan follows suit as you walk deeper into your apartment, flicking on the light for the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask.

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

“Drop the fucking Fight Club schtick, alright? I told you I was sorry.”

“Were you?”

“I was trying to be.”

“I don’t want you to be.” He leans against your counter, watching you root around in your fridge. “You lose the fire already?”

“Fuck you.” You grumble it, with only half of the heat that you felt in the office. Nathan laughs, shaking his head.

“I knew I should’ve fucked you over your desk.”

The comment makes heat flare in your stomach.

“I wouldn’t have let you fuck me in there,” You shake your head. “That place is a fucking fishtank.”

“You’ll let me fuck you here?”

“I might have to slap you again, get back in the mood.”

“I’d be alright with that.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Nathan chuckles.

“You really are a glutton for punishment.”

“Little bit.”

You gasp as he wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you back toward him. You whirl around, hands balled into fists, and find Nathan waiting for you, eyes bright with intrigue. You shake your head, lowering your hands to rest on his arms—his thick arms.

This is bad. This is awful. Jenn wants this man, has the worst crush you’ve ever seen her have—she needs him for work, for funding, for—

Nathan’s lips catch yours, and all thoughts of Jenn are pushed from your mind. You sigh softly, fingers curling into fists again.

“Fucking hate you,” You mumble against his lips.

“I know,” He laughs, even as you pound one of your fists against his bicep.

“Do you hate me?”

Nathan hums, grasping your hips and steering you back toward your counter.

“I have no strong feelings one way or the other.”

“Oh—You know what, get off of me—” You protest, squirming, but Nathan’s laughing again, and you’re hardly pushing at his chest with any meaning, any force. He sucks a kiss to your neck, and your pushing hands take to grasping and pulling. You turn your head, catching Nathan’s lips with yours, whimpering as his hands push you into the harsh ridge of the counter. You rest your hands on Nathan’s shoulder’s, giving him a shove. You hardly move him. In fact, he leans more heavily against you, practically crushing you into the marble. He draws back from the kiss with a sucking sound, and a groan.

“I like that,” He murmurs.

“What?”

“You know what.”

You hesitate before you give his shoulders another shove, then pound your fist against his arm. When Nathan doesn’t budge, you raise a hand, smoothing it over his cheek, then giving it a little tap.

“C’mon,” He murmurs, “You can do better than that. Make it hurt a little.”

You sweep your tongue across your lip, giving Nathan another tap, just a touch harder this time. Nathan grunts, and it’s all the warning you have before he’s turning you around. You shiver, bracing your hands on the counter. You twist, raising your hands as he draws your shirt up and off. You can’t get your hands out of the sleeves, and Nathan grasps the slack fabric, using the grasp of your shirt to keep your arms behind your back. You whimper, twisting as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. You wriggle against him, pressing your hips back. Nathan groans, pressing his face into your neck as he grinds up against you. Your clit pulses as you squeeze your thighs together, drawing in a shuddering breath.

Nathan opens his mouth, panting hotly against your skin as his hands smooth up your sides and across your front, groping your breasts through your bra. You groan in frustration, your grinding turning to wriggling.

“You gonna fuck around, or are you gonna fuck me?”

You feel Nathan smile before a sharp sting digs into your skin. You hiss at the bite, throwing an elbow back against his gut. Nathan grunts at the contact, jerking away from you. He gives you a harsher shove against the counter, grasping the back of your neck roughly. You suck in a breath as he shoves your pants down around your knees.

“This is the best you can do?” You snip. “Bending me over a counter?”

Nathan chuckles low in your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“This is where we’re going to start,” He murmurs, “And by the time we’re finished, you won’t be able to stand.”

“Get out of my bed.”

“We aren’t going to cuddle?”

You don’t have to look at Nathan to know that there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. You’ve only spilled into your bedroom about an hour ago, and since you have, he’s drawn three more aching, slow orgasms out of you, and you’ve drawn two out of him. Now, you push yourself up and away from him, clammy hands flexing in the fabric of your sheets before you get up. You suddenly feel a wave of self-conscious nerves, naked in front of him. It didn’t matter to you a few minutes ago, when Nathan had been fucking you roughly from behind, his hands grasping greedily your shoulders, pressing with a force that’ll likely bruise you in just a couple of hours.

“Get out,” You repeat. “You know where the door is.”

You hurry into your bathroom, cranking on the shower. You force yourself inside before the water warms, wincing as the cool drops practically sting your heated flesh. You strain your ears over the sound of the water, biting your lip. You only stop when you hear the retreating thud of Nathan’s feet, and the subsequent sound of your front door closing. Once he’s out, you feel yourself relax marginally, bracing your hands against the wall and tipping your head under the warming water. You take painstaking care to clean yourself, doing your best to wipe his touch, skin, sweat, and cum from every inch of your body.

Fuck, you can’t believe what you’ve done. Nathan is the company’s biggest backer. He helped you gain your footing; he helped you create a proper place for yourself in the market. He’s Jenn’s mentor—he’s Jenn’s crush for christsakes. And you just fucked him.

Repeatedly.

When you finally pull yourself out of the bathroom, the sky is still dark, and the apartment is quiet. You glance down the hall, trying to decide your best plan of action. You hesitate before you ultimately head to your bedroom. For all of your financial growth in the last couple of years, you still only have one set of sheets. Of all of the things that you made it a point to get when you moved into a newer, bigger place, bedding was never really a priority, and your late nights at the office have lessened the need further. Still, you can’t sleep in them tonight, not until you’ve washed them. You yank them off of the bed, balling them up and striding back into the hall, shoving them into the washer with an excess of laundry detergent and scent beads before turning the water setting to hot and the cycle to deep wash.

You turn toward the kitchen next, already bracing for the sight of your discarded clothing, and the items scattered during your first frantic coupling with Nathan. You bite your lip as you come to the doorway, looking around. Cups, papers, a likely shattered BlueBook tablet. You almost want to walk away, to curl up on your bare mattress and ignore the aching in your muscles and core. But you grudgingly walk over and tidy the area, stacking them items and setting them on the counter. You take up the tablet last, wincing at the cracked screen. Yep. Bummer. You ought to expense it, just to spite him. Your lips quirk with a mean smile. Yeah, that’s what you’ll do—at least to annoy him. You’ll send him a repair invoice. Fuck it—you’ll send him an invoice for a whole new one.

“How was last night?”

You nearly choke on your coffee at Jenn’s question, but you just manage to swallow thickly and give her a smile.

“Fine! Good,” You nod. “I think we’re close to a deal.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. They just want to iron out some things contract-wise, but we should get the signatures just in time to onboard them next quarter.”

“Awesome,” Jenn nods, smiling. She hesitates before adding, “Nathan said he was going to listen in on the call.”

“He did.”

“Did he say anything?”

“On the call? No.”

“Afterward?”

“Nnn…Nope.”

“Because a few people said that they heard arguing.”

You bite your lip. You can keep digging the hole that you’ve started, or you can come clean.

“It wasn’t an argument, it was…A spirited discussion.”

Halfway clean.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“Because, I know that you want me and Nathan to get along. And I know about the creepy little crush you have on Silicon Valley’s former boy-genius, so—”

“Shut up,” Jenn whines, covering her face with her hands, “Oh my god! Am I that obvious?”

“Probably just to me. I know you, hon. Bateman’s a smart guy, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t really get what the hair-tossing was meant to invoke last night.”

Jenn groans again, resting her arms on her desk, and setting her head on her arms. You force a smile through the rotten feeling beginning to curdle in your gut. Jenn stays there for a moment before she lifts her head, resting her chin on her arms.

“So I should be more upfront about my interest.”

It’s not a question, which is concerning.

“Jenn, I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s our biggest backer, and besides you, he has the largest share of the company.”

“It’s not a controlling interest.”

“No, but…If things go sour, are you prepared for the business relationship to go sour?”

“Nathan wouldn’t do that.”

“You sure? He’s, like, the king of emotional blackmail.”

“Maybe, but this has turned out alright, right?” Jenn waves her finger between the two of you. You consider for a moment before you nod.

“Yeah,” You agree, “So far. But you and I aren’t fucking, Jenn. And I don’t have the industry pull and capital to bring the building down if I decide that I don’t like one of us anymore.”

Jenn pouts, dropping her gaze to the desk and drawing in a deep breath.

“Okay,” She mumbles.

“I’m not saying never. I just think you should consider the ramifications.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Jenn pushes herself to sit up. “What was the spirited argument over, anyway?”

“Just…” You flounder. “How he operates, how I operate. We don’t see eye to eye on most things outside of the business, you know that.”

“You seemed to be better last night. At least, you didn’t spend the evening biting each other’s heads off.”

Your palm tingles with the memory of Nathan’s cheek against your palm; you can see the snap of his head turning at the impact, the flash of hot intrigue in his eyes. You turn your gaze down to your notes in your lap, giving a small shrug.

“We’re getting better.”

“Could you sign for this, please?”

You look up from the email you’re proofreading, nodding when you see one of the people from the mail room holding a slim package.

“Sure thing.” You stand, rounding your desk and taking the proffered signature pad, scrawling it out and then passing it back with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good one.”

"You, too."

You take the package, turning away and rounding your desk and opening it. Your brow furrows as you draw out a receipt and eye the Item Description column—

BlueBookTab - x1

Engrave

Your brows rise, a laugh escaping you. There’s no way. You only sent that invoice this morning, how the hell did Bateman get you a new one already? And engraved? You draw the tablet out of the box, turning it over in your hands and eyeing the etching:

For two years of work

And one night of service

Your jaw drops in shock, a stunned huff leaving you as you shake your head, fingers tightening around the tablet. Oh, you’re tempted to throw it at the wall just to spite him, and invoice him for another—but who knows that nasty shit he’d put on that one?

You consider for a moment before you pitch it at the wall. It hits the floor with a satisfying thud. You pick your phone up, zooming in on the cracked tablet screen on the floor and taking a picture. You drop it into your current text thread with Nathan, sending it, along with one word:

Whoops.

Before you can even close the text messages, you see Nathan typing on the other end. Your stomach flips as you wait. Then—

you can’t keep anything nice can you

Send me another one and let’s find out.

did you like my little message?

Oh, there was a message? I don’t think I saw anything

But then, the things that you do don’t tend to leave an impression

keep it up sweetheart

You bite your lip, trying to fight back the smile pulling your lips. It fails when his next text pops up:

im delivering the next one myself. make sure you don’t miss a thing.

Next part

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#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Three Years

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beautifulhigh · 2 months

Text

Wanna get angry on this Saturday? Cool. Come join me on this.

I think Miguel hacked Alex's emails way before the leak.

Alex wouldn't be able to just "drop by" somewhere for coffee. It would have to be cleared, vetted, all the usual stuff. So he will have a routine that he follows, a routine which includes (at least) one Secret Service member. And when you have a routine and protection like that, schedules will be sent out confirming who is with Alex and what the plan is for the day. Sent out by email. And OH LOOK he's in the coffee shop...

Alex tells Zahra that he "emailed senior campaign staff" three weeks ago with his Texas memo. A memo that Miguel has read by the State DInner. He says he "quite literally has his sources" and... well.

The email leak. Miguel has his article written and published within hours of them being put on Reddit and he is called out on how quick that is.

So when did Miguel hack Alex's email?

"We made out once, on the campaign..."

Ellen Claremont was on the verge of making history (huh). The first female president, in a mixed race marriage with a biracial, bilingual son. The Lometa Longshot going all the way to the White House. Getting the inside track on that would have been one hell of a scoop and when you have her son, desperate to do more, be more in this world, then that's an in you can manage. Get some details about the campaign, how things are going. But also finding out about the people behind it - film!Oscar and his own political campaigns. Alex, the up and coming law student.

Little flirting, little making out "fully naked, in a hot tub"... You gotta wonder where Alex's phone was at that time and whether Miguel got his hands on it.

From day one, the central mission of POLITICO has been to help sustain and vastly expand nonpartisan political and policy journalism by winning the audience. (From Politco's "About" page)

Alex talks about how he's good for "photo ops and New Year's parties and stupid shit like that" and so there is an interest in Alex, the First Son. He's good looking - the party is filled with the "who's who of eligible young women" and we know from Henry's first text that he attends events with a plus one. And Miguel has a line into that, to win the audience for Politico with updates about Alex doing more, being more, working as part of his mother's campaign.

So yeah. I think Miguel got access to Alex's emails back on the first campaign trial which makes it all the more horrible as he watched those emails come through in real time. He knew what was going on when he was in New York, making comments about them being in the same hotel.

"Do you really think we're ever hooking up again?" "Well I don't anymore"

is his reply in a lovely bit of equivocation because Alex is clearly shutting him down this time... but maybe he also knows about Henry. The Henry who walks in through the door moments later. Miguel knows he won't be hooking up with Alex because someone else is, and maybe the comment was a way to test the water. Would Alex turn him down and say or suggest he was seeing someone?

In the book more emails are exchanged following the storming of Kensington: there is no clear timeline in the movie: Labor Day is at the start of September (Lake House), it's a week before Alex flies to London (so mid-September), and the election is at the start of November. They are outed the week before polling (Zahra says "we'll find out next week" following Alex's speech) which makes it around mid to end of October when they're outed. That's about one month in which they would have been in touch, likely through emails, fully committed to this relationship and making it work.

Dropping the bomb before the election is one way to get traction because all eyes are on the White House at that time. Plus a month to pull off the emails, to get them sorted, make a plan for Reddit, start working on your article...? Taking each new message as it comes in?

Miguel hacked Alex's emails WAY before the leak and I'm pretty sure I'm willing to die on this hill.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #overthinking jen is overthinking #sorry about this #but when Alex said he emailed the campaign team #and knowing Miguel read it #and leaked the emails #it just made sense #and I got mad #so now I want to make y'all mad too #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales

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rosewaterandivy · 3 months

Text

Teaser 🖊️

A series of vignettes following President Owen's senior personnel as they navigate just another day working in the White House.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world,” Steve Harrington croons softly before taking a sip from his now empty glass. The bartender nods to him as he readies the next round.

“Two old fashioneds, coming up.”

The sound of cocktail shakers and lulled conversation surrounds them as he traces an idle finger through the water rings on the bar top.

Clearing his throat, he begins, “I don’t think we’re gonna run the table, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His companion chuckles, “It’s deep background. I won’t even come close to using your name.”

He scoffs, "You’re not gonna come close to getting a quote, either." He nods his thanks to the bartender and grabs his drink.

“Then why are we sitting here?” His companion, the reporter, grouses. And yeah, that is the question, isn’t it?

Well, for one, this may be a Capitol Hill bar but damn if they don’t make a decent old fashioned. He wanted a drink, maybe didn’t think twice about the press crawling all over the Hill today, and well, here he is sat next to some reporter angling for a quote.

“You sat down!” He fires back indignantly, setting down the drink.

Christ, the gall of these guys.

“Is she on the way out?” He presses.

He rolls his eyes, “No.”

“Seriously?” The guys turns, trying to level with him, “Look Harrington, I know you’re colleagues… But did Caldwell say-”

“That’s a generous term.” He takes another sip, “You realize this conversation won’t end well for you, yeah?”

This guy will not let up, “Who do I gotta call, huh?”

“Well, you could call 1-800-BITE ME.”

“Harrington!”

Steve chuckles lowly, fingering the glass, “Look, she’s not going anywhere. It’s a non-story and you know that. Or you would, if you had any sense.”

The reporter admonishes him with a pointed finger, “Okay, you’re lying low, aren’t you? I get it.”

“Aw, that hurts. Why would I lie to the free press of all people?” He polishes off the drink, glancing over the guy’s shoulder.

Huh. Well, ain’t that something?

“Okay,” he allows, drumming his fingers on the bar top. “Then why do you keep looking over my shoulder?”

Steve raises a solitary brow. “Because Hillary Clinton just walked in with her emails.” Can this guy just fuck off already?

“Wait, what?” He turns to look. Steve places a hand on his shoulder to stop him before his cover is blown.

“There’s a woman over there. I think she’s lookin’ at me.”

“Really?”

“Gotten pretty good at sensing this kinda thing,” He reassures him with a smile.

And this reporter, the fuck, slowly and obviously turns to look, to corroborate Steve’s story before turning back. “Yeah, I think she was.”

Steve forcefully claps him on the shoulder, “I wanna thank you for the real casual way you did that just now. She probably didn’t notice that.” He shifts in his seat and drops his hand from the guy to get a better look at the woman in question. She smiles at him and raises her glass.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The soft cadence of the morning news plays dully in the background as Jim Hopper glances through the headlines. He pauses at the crossword section before offering, “17 across is wrong. Can you believe that?”

“What else is new?” Joyce replies, handing him a cup of coffee. “You should file a complaint.”

Jim, lost in plotting his revenge against the New York Times crossword editor, doesn’t hear the phone. “Y’know, I think I will.”

Joyce takes the call as Jim settles himself on the couch, papers still in hand. “Hop there’s a-”

“I’m in the shower!” he calls, nearly spilling his coffee to grab his paper.

“It’s POTUS.”

With an exasperated sigh, Jim drops the morning paper and motions for Joyce to patch the call through.

The New York Times can wait… for now.

The vacuum runs in the office as you fitfully attempt to sleep, arms crossed, hair mussed and face pulled in a grimace. Turns out, your desk isn’t as comfortable as you remembered. A lamp remains on, casting a soft glow on the surface; papers scattered, pens uncapped, and cell phone nearly dead.

Beep-beep-beep…beep-beep-beep…beep-beep-beep.

The alarm blearily wakes you; scrubbing a hand across your face and blinking wearily before swiping across the screen of your cell to unlock it. Quickly, you read the message and grab the phone on your desk, keying in a four-digit code.

“Hey,” you croak, voice laden with sleep, “Got the message. Now, what the fuck going on?”

“Sir,” The flight attendant urges, “Sir, I’m going to need you to put away your phone.”

The man in question continues the lazy perusal of emails, ignoring her.

She sighs, “Sir, please put your phone away. It interferes with our navigational systems.”

He smiles, “You know when you say that, it sounds pretty ridiculous, right?” He chuckles before continuing his task.

Another flight attendant comes down the aisle from the cockpit. She leans over the empty seat in front of him, “Mr. Munson? A message was just patched up to the cockpit for you. I’m not sure I’ve got it right.” She reads from the scrap of paper in her hand, “POTUS in a roller skating accident?”

He glances up at her, “You got it right sugar, thank you.” And drops his attention back to the phone, quickly typing out a message.

“Again, you cannot use your phone until we land, sir.”

He scoffs. “We’re flying in a Lockheed Eagle series L-1011. It came off the line 20 months ago. It carries a SIM-5 transponder tracking system. Are you telling me I can still flummox this thing with the latest IOS update?”

This poor woman.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, “You can call once we land, sir.” And takes her leave of him.

“Hey sugar,” he calls after her, “I never got my peanuts.”

“How ya doin’ Steve?” she calls snuffing a joint out on an ashtray.

“Let me tell ya somethin’ doll,” his voice echoes from the bathroom, “I am envious of this water pressure you have here.”

She giggles before settling back against the pillows, “I know.”

“Ya consider running hydraulics in there?” He moves from the hall back into the bedroom, scrubbing a towel through his hair, clothed in his boxer briefs. He makes a cursory search for his pants and shirt from last night until she perks up from the bed.

“Oh!” she moves to the nightstand to find their phones, “I’m sorry, your message--your phone went off when you were showering. I grabbed it, thinking it was mine. ‘POTUS in a roller skating accident. Come to the office.’ And I memorized it, just in case.”

Steve makes quick work of his clothes while she rattles on about… well, something or other.

“Hey, I’m sorry but I have to go.”

She stops rambling, “But it’s 5:30 in the morning.”

He sighs, “I know this doesn’t look good.”

“Not really, no,” she pouts.

He sits back on the bed, “But I really like you and if you give me your number, I can call you.”

She scrambles toward him across the duvet, “Why don’t you stay here yourself and save yourself the call.”

He huffs a laugh, “It’s not that I don’t see the logic in that, but-”

“POTUS was in a roller skating accident.”

He hums in agreement as she airdrops her contact to him. “Hmm..” she hums passing Steve his phone and drawing him toward her for a lazy goodbye kiss. “Tell your friend POTUS he’s got a funny name, and he needs to learn how to roller skate.”

Steve pulls back, securing a tie around his collar. “Well, I would, but he’s not my friend, he’s my boss. And it’s not his name, it’s his title.” He grabs the rest of his belongings and makes toward the door to leave.

“POTUS?”

He pauses at the door, “Yeah, President of the United States.” He opens the door and walks down the hallway, “I’ll call ya!”

Jim Hopper makes his way into the White House, tossing his belongings to the security officers and stepping through the metal detector. It goes off every time. Flashing his badge and keying in his code, he quickly walks across the corridor and into the bullpen. Greetings fly by as he maneuvers through the desks and filing cabinets.

“Hey Franz,” he offers, avoiding yet another file being handed to him. He turns against the corner of a desk and keeps walking.

“It’s Frank!” someone corrects from the filing cabinets.

“Whatever!” Hopper replies as he descends on Erica’s desk. “Morning, Sinclair. Is she in?”

Erica smiles and greets, “Morning Hop. She’s back in her office.” Then continues to type away on her computer.

Hopper rolls his eyes and clears his throat, waiting. He fiddles with some papers as the minutes trickle by. Erica continues with her work, seemingly oblivious. “Can you go get her?”

“Oh, sure.” She replies, “You alive back there?” she yells down the small hallway.

Hopper smiles, ears still ringing from her caterwaul, “Wonderful job, top-notch, really.”

Instead of returning to her work, Erica rests her chin upon her hand and glances up at Hopper, “I heard it’s broken.”

He scoffs, “You heard wrong, Shortstop. It’s not broken, it’s a mild sprain. He’ll be back later today.”

Erica processes the new information. “What caused the accident?”

Hopper shoves the papers under his arm, “What are you, State Farm?” He crosses her desk admonishing, “Go, do a job, would ya?” He waits until clearing her desk completely before rapping his knuckles against the surface and mumbling, “He was swerving to avoid a pothole.”

Robin Buckley steps into Hop’s office first, balancing a binder precariously in the crook of her elbow trying to dodge the numerous people flitting in and out of the room. She spies Hopper rounding the corner of his desk and beelines for him.

“Is there anything other I can say than the President skated himself into a tree?” Her tone is resigned with the hint of a whine because only something this ridiculous would happen after she’s finally gotten the Press Corps to somewhat respect her.

“He hopes to never do it again,” Hop supplies, kicking his feet up on his desk and sending a stack of papers careening to the floor.

“Seriously Hop, they’re laughing pretty hard.”

“He skated into a tree Rob, whaddya want me— ‘The President while roller skating on his vacation in California came to a sudden arboreal stop.’ The fuck you want from me?”

Robin scoffs and jots down a few notes, “A little compassion would do a world of good Chief.”

Steve joins her soon after, prompting Hop’s attention as he scribbles furiously at his crossword.

“Harrington, what’s the word on the migrants?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “The intel you got from the deputy is the same as mine. 1,200 migrants embarked from a fishing village in Cuba 30 miles south of Havana.”

One of the aides pipes up, “Where are they headed?”

Eddie settles into a worn club chair and tosses a dossier on the floor, “Vegas, duh.”

“Miami,” You correct kicking the door closed behind you. “Though the navigational equipment is severely lacking.” Typing out a message on your phone, you press send and pocket it. “Y’know if one of these guys could throw a split-fingered fastball—”

“Kid,” Hop warns.

“We’d send in the U.S.S. Eisenhower,” You continue, voice brokering no argument.

“Okay," Robin allows, "That’s not entirely true.”

“For fuck’s sake, forget about the journey,” Eddie grouses from his seat, “The voyage is not our problem.”

Robin turns, craning her neck to look back at him. “Then what’s our problem genius?”

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and beleagueredly rubs at his eyes. “Our problem is what we do when the Nina, the Pinta, and the Get Me the Hell Outta Here hit the port of Miami.”

“Harrington,” Hop prompts, not glancing up from his paper.

The Communications Director straightens up. “Can’t send ‘em back. They’d go to jail at best and at worst—”

“We’ll get spanked in what?” Hop hypothesizes, “Three districts? Dade county—”

“Kiss those seats goodbye,” Eddie agrees. “Texas—”

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about Texas right now," Robin advises.

“Not to mention that it’s wrong? Like, morally wrong?” You say to no one, since they’re all seemingly ignoring your very valid and correct talking points.

“Harrington, keep the Kid in the loop on this throughout the day.”

“And normally, I’d be happy to,” Steve attempts to needle his way out of it, “But my day’s a little tight and isn’t this more of a military area?”

Hop drops his pen and heaves a sigh. Eddie looks at him like he’s spouted two more heads. Robin barks a laugh and then coughs to cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” You begin, with one of those smiles that tells Steve you’re about to eviscerate him publically and ruin his day. “Do you think the United States is under attack from 1,200 migrants in row boats?”

“I’m not saying I don’t like our chances,” He hedges.

Eddie scoffs, “Mind boggling to me that we ever won an election.”

“Who’s getting trigger-happy— Conroy?”

“Yeah, wants to send in the National Guard.”

Which prompts a bit of cross-talking. First from you, who says, “He shouldn’t.” Then from Steve with a “He’s right.” And lastly from Robin: “It’d create a panic situation.”

Eddie chuckles to himself, “I agree with the Kid, Steve, and Robin. And you know how that makes me crazy Chief?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” Hop says shuffling some papers around on his desk.

“They’re running for their lives. You don’t fuckin’ start a game of red rover with Cuba, and you don’t send in the National Guard.” He eyes you, and can hear you thinking from across the room.

“Right.” You nod, “Because you send in food and doctors.”

Steve has inched his way closer to the door by this point, he’d much rather be dealing with the new aides in the Communications office than spend another minute being delegated responsibilities for the day.

“Harrington,” You call out, “See that I.N.S. works with the Red Cross and Centers for Disease Control.”

“Sure.” He sighs, “Lemme get my C.D.C. guy on the phone.”

“Jesus!” Hop drawls, “Go— talk to him!”

“Uh, yep.” He unearths his phone, “Calling him now.” Steps out of the office and makes his escape just as Hop sighs.

“Okay, now let’s talk about you and your dressing down of the Christian right on public prime-time television, Kid.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #the west wing au #fic: wn?

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