#i’m a mess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

http-paprika · 6 months

Text

All American Bitch / Alex Keller

my submission for @glitterypirateduck ‘s Alex Keller Challenge, with the prompts I don’t care what they say, you can do better than that, are you flirting or starting a fight, and is this what you wanted

wc 1260 / pairing alex keller x f!reader / warnings swearing, suggestive content but nothing graphic / reader's digression advised

summary after being snubbed countless times by your supervisor, alex decides to help you alleviate your rage.

notes yes the title and fic are inspired by the olivia rodrigo song. alex refers to reader as boss but she's not his boss. he still works with the CIA in this fic and i have no idea how the CIA works, so, inaccuracies. also, i wrote this on my phone while i had nothing to do at work, so it’s not edited.

It had been a long day, nauseatingly long as you finally managed to escape meeting after meeting, brutal briefings and overall snubbing you received from your supervisor. Your case, the one you’d spent months meticulously gathering intel, fighting tooth and nail to be given the resources needed to get off the ground, had been snatched right from under you. And all in favor of your supervisor’s asshole of a son who had spent the day gloating over the fact that it was now his case, and you would have to answer to him.

You fumed with rage, having forced yourself to hold it all in, you didn’t need to be punished further. The CIA had already beat you up enough, denying you promotions and undermining your work. And were it not for Laswell convincing you to stay, and your pretty boyfriend, you tell yourself you’d leave. It was clear enough that you were replaceable, they might not say it out loud, but your employers make it known. It didn’t matter how long you’d been there or how hard you worked, it was never enough for them.

“Hey! I finally got that report you asked for, was a little difficult, had to use some of my Keller charm but I—“ Alex enters your office— the one you shared with a co-worker who never showed up but still had his job— freezing and dropping his signature grin when he spotted the hot, red anger that painted your face.

“Give the report to Aarons.” You snap back at him, a little too harshly. Quickly, you reel yourself in, apologizing profusely to Alex. Because a girl like you always had to be forgiving and kind, even if you were angry at everything around you.

“Why’d I give it to Aarons? It’s not his case, you’re the leader, he’s just a glorified desk jockey.” Your boyfriend chuckles, dropping the manilla folder down on your desk while he leans against it. “Can’t even speak Arabic, the only reason he’s got a passport is so he can vacation in the Bahamas. The hell would he do in Urzikstan?”

Alex’s points only added fuel to your growing flame, reminding you that it was by name alone at Aarons had been handed over the job. The man was inexperienced, prideful, and would throw anyone under the bus to save his own ass, and with your horrid luck, it would be you if the mission went south.

“What’s wrong, boss? Why do you look like a firecracker that can’t explode?” He sobers up, wanting to find the root of the problem, like always. You’d compared him once to a loyal golden retriever and the image stuck in your mind since. It was almost endearing how eager Alex was to help you and keep you happy.

“Aarons is in charge of the mission from now on, they didn’t even say anything to me until this morning when they announced it to the whole team. I got fucking blindsided!” You exclaim, letting the anger seep into your words before recollecting yourself. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear my complaining.”

If anyone else heard the complaining or the loud, violent anger, you knew you’d get written up. Giving your supervisor even more of a reason to take what you’d fought for and give to his trust fund son. And that pissed you off, you couldn’t have anything anymore it seemed, you couldn’t do anything without it being seen as wrong. Even your relationship with Alex had been criticized by your employers for being unprofessional, despite how many of your other co-workers dated around the office.

“Aren’t you the one who tells me I shouldn’t be making assumptions? So how do you know I don’t want to hear it? Come on, boss. Hit me with it, give me your best shot. I can handle a bit of anger, I’ve seen worse.” The last sentence made you raise an eyebrow, coming to realize that he was purposefully riling you up. Alex wanted to get under your skin, make you kick and scream until you’d blown off enough steam.

“I’m not doing this,” You state, annoyed by his proposition. The antics he could get away with, you didn’t have the luxury of. Alex was the star operative, he could do no wrong in the eyes of your supervisors. And sometimes, it rubbed you wrong.

“Aren’t you sick of being the better man, boss? Letting them walk all over you, taking away your credit? Come on, where’s your backbone? You can do better than that.” Taking deep breaths, you try to ignore him as he starts impersonating Aarons, waiting to see how long it would take you to finally let loose and scream. Alex knows you too well, knows how you swallow back your words and attempt to stay the picture perfect operator. Knows that despite your countless attempts, they wouldn’t see how talented and wonderful you were, not like he would.

“I told you, I’m not doing this.” Still though, you held back even as your anger ebbed away at you. He shook his head, amazed by your stubbornness and moved around the desk so that he was now behind you. His large hands resting on your shoulders, messaging them and loosening your tightened muscles.

“One way or another, I’m gonna get that frustration out of you boss. You’re just gonna decide how you want it.” His voice is like honey, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear before he moves his mouth down, peppering kisses underneath the collar of your shirt, leaving small marks where no one else but him would see.

“Alex—“ You groan, knowing the problems that could arise because of his behavior. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“So? Let them, boss, I don’t care what they say. They’re jealous of you anyway, how smart you are—“ He says, sucking on your tender skin, causing you to reach up and grab onto his hair. “—How talented you are, how fucking gorgeous you look when you’re working. You make me the luckiest man in this whole goddamn place.”

His instant praises continue as he moves his hands to the hem of your shirt, squeezing and running his hands over your soft skin. You can feel the tension easing, your head spinning as he kisses along your jaw. “Feeling better yet, boss? Or do you need more?”

You bite back a moan as his hands grip at the sensitive skin, moving them up under your bra and kneading. His mouth never lets up, staying attached to your neck, alternating from biting and kissing. After you squeeze your eyes shut, you think you’re seeing stars right there in your office, and when he abruptly stops you let out an annoyed huff.

“Is this what you wanted?” You ask him, having come completely undone and turning into a panting, shivering mess. Your body aching for the warmth of his hands.

Cupping your chin, Alex makes you look up at him, his pale blue eyes gleaming along with a smirk on his face. “I don’t know. Did I instill enough confidence in you to go get what’s yours?”

“Is this an attempt at flirting with me, or getting me to start a fight with Aarons?” His smirk manages to grow bigger at your question, and he bends down pressing a kiss on your lips.

“I support women’s rights. And wrongs, boss. Give him fucking hell if you want.”

#alexkellerchallange #alex keller #alex keller cod #alex keller call of duty #oh the things he could do to me #gpd challenge #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mw #alex keller x reader #alex keller x y/n #alex keller x you #i’m a mess #song inspired fanfic #all american bitch #olivia rodrigo inspired

90 notes · View notes

hazbinfallinginaspiral · 4 days

Text

Antique Beauty (Be A Doll Oneshot)

Not canon to the AU! Anyway.

CW: Manipulation, mind control, disassociation, loss of sense of self, delusions, lover obsession, mental breakdowns, Vox being Vox, AU typical events

I think that’s all. Let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: Vox finds an antique doll that is strikingly similar to you, so he buys it and gives it to you as a gift. You see this as an oddly touching gesture, and make it a point to keep the doll around or nearby at nearly all hours of the day, to show your appreciation. This new toy has an unforeseen impact, though. As time goes on, Vox continues to use the trigger phrase on you, and you begin to lose touch with reality. You see yourself as a literal doll, just like the one he got you, and you begin to act as such.

In the heart of Pentagram City, amidst the hustle and bustle of the demon-filled streets, Vox found himself wandering through the labyrinthine aisles of an antique shop. His crimson eyes gleamed with interest as he perused the eclectic collection of curiosities, searching for the perfect gift for you, his significant other.

His gaze landed on a striking antique doll, its porcelain features delicately painted and its attire reminiscent of a bygone era. What caught Vox's attention, however, was the uncanny resemblance the doll bore to you. The same delicate features, the same captivating gaze—it was as if the doll had been crafted in your image.

While Vox usually hated anything that was too reminiscent of the past, he was willing to make an exception for you. He preferred change, and didn’t like to linger on the past nor anything made during the time, he’d rather focus on the present or the future. But, this doll was exactly like you, in practically every sense. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get his favorite doll a doll that looked exactly like them.

Without hesitation, Vox purchased the doll, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he imagined your reaction. With the doll cradled in his arms, Vox made his way back to the sleek confines of his penthouse apartment, anticipation bubbling within him like a dormant volcano awaiting eruption.

As he entered the opulent living space, Vox was greeted by the sight of you, engrossed in a book by the flickering light of a nearby candle. There were plenty of lights, windows, and far more reasonable ways to read, but for some reason, this is what you preferred. Vox vaguely rembered you mentioning your love of simpler things like candles, gardening, crafting, and writing poetry. He thought it was somewhat trivial, especially when it wasn’t even necessary. Why would you do something like grow your own flowers when you could just buy some? It made no sense to him. He thought the time could be better spent working or inventing or doing something to do with change. Your preference for this seemed too repetitive and stagnant for him, too quiet and simple. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to indulge you. You were his favorite doll, after all. Your eyes flicked up to glance at him, curiosity evident.

“Darling,” Vox purred, his tinged with excitement as it echoed through the spacious room, “I have a surprise for you.”

Your eyes brightened with even more curiosity as you regarded Vox with a quizzical expression. “A surprise?” You echoed, setting the book aside and rising to your feet to meet Vox’s gaze.

With a flourish, Vox presented the doll to you, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes. “Ta-da! For you, my doll,” he declared, with a grin. He looked rather proud of himself.

Your breath caught in your throat as you beheld the doll, your eyes widening in astonishment. Its porcelain features bore a striking resemblance to your own, a doll that bore an uncanny resemblance to you? Anyone else would have been unsettled, but you weren’t. In fact, you were oddly touched by the gesture.

Its porcelain visage was strikingly similar to yours, from the gentle curve of the cheeks to the arch of the eyebrows. Dressed in a vintage gown of satin and lace, the doll exuded an aura of elegance and charm that seemed to captivate you. From the hair to the eyes to the soft curve of the lips, you were enchanted by it. You reached out a hand to touch its delicate cheek, a sense of wonder washing over you like a tidal wave.

“Oh, Vox,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “it’s… it’s beautiful.”

Vox beamed with pride at your reaction, his chest swelling with a sense of satisfaction. “I’m glad you like it, doll,” he said softly.

You smiled and gave him a hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “I love it! I love you,” you said with a grin. You sat back down on the couch and went back to looking at the doll, still in awe.

As you continued to admire the doll, Vox couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over him. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes of his affection for you. Or, rather, what he thought to be affection. It was a twisted sort, really. He thought of you as his very own little doll, just like the one he’d just gifted you, except you were alive. He enjoyed playing with you, pulling your strings, puppeting you around… he loved you, yes, but in the same way a child loves their toys. He’d be careful to never let you break, though. He cared for you too much for that- he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he lost his favorite little doll. As he watched you admire the antique doll he’d just gifted you, he knew he’d made the right choice. It was the perfect thing to placate you, keep you distracted and happy for the time being.

It started innocently enough, with Vox using his hypnotic abilities on you during mundane tasks. "Be a doll," he would murmur softly, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. And with each command, your movements became more fluid, more doll-like, as if you were a marionette dancing to Vox's tune. You’d seek solace in the antique doll he’d gifted you, a reminder that he wasn’t all that cruel, but a doll couldn’t fix everything.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, you found yourself ensnared in a web of Vox's making, each passing moment pulling them deeper into the labyrinth of his desires.

You’d be reading with Vox in his study, surrounded by shelves full of books. Quietly reading, happy and content. Vox would lean back in his seat, a smirk on his face. “Be a doll and get me that book on the top shelf,” he’d say, smug. Your eyes would glaze over as you rose from your seat, moving with a sort of fluid grace as you wordlessly get the book and give it to Vox. He’d smile and give you a kiss. “You truly are an obedient little doll.”

It didn’t matter where you were.

It could be late at night, both of you in Vox’s bedroom, Vox in bed and you only just walking in. “Be a doll and come here,” he’d say with a predatory smile and low but commanding voice. You’d falter for a moment then obey, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He’d point to the floor and you’d sink to your knees, at his feet, staring up at him helplessly. “Such a good little doll, always eager to please,” he’d say, running his fingers through your hair.

It could easily happen in public, too.

You’d be attending a lavish gala, Vox standing out in his striking tailored suit, you at his side, fidgeting nervously. He’d lean in close and whisper in your ear, “Be a doll and smile for our guests, won’t you?” And your lips would twitch into a forced smile, your expression wooden and devoid of any true emotion as you plaster on a facade of cheerfulness. “That’s it, doll. Show everyone how much of a nice, obedient little thing you are for me,” he’d say, tightening his grip on your arm. “Show them you belong to me.”

The doll couldn’t stop Vox, but it provided a source of comfort. It was a reminder of how nice he could be.

Your fondness for the doll only seemed to grow. You began to carry it with you wherever you went, treating it as if it were a cherished companion. Vox would watch with amusement as you start to dress in clothes similar to those worn by the doll, your wardrobe gradually transforming to match its vintage style.

You’d stand before the mirror in your bedroom, clad in a delicate lace dress that hugged your figure. You’d tilt your head to the side, studying your reflection with an unnerving intensity. Slowly, you!d raise their hand to your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with delicate fingertips.

Vox would enter the room, his eyes alight with anticipation as he would observe your movements. "Ah, my doll, you look positively radiant," he’d murmur, his voice smooth as velvet. "Such a beautiful little thing."

You’d turn to him, a serene smile gracing your lips, pleased with yourself for earning his praise. It was usually few and far between. "Thank you, Vox," you’d reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel... different, somehow. Like I'm not quite myself anymore."

Vox would step closer, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "That's because you're becoming exactly what you were always meant to be," he’d say, his tone almost reverent. "My perfect little doll."

To Vox's delight, your behavior also began to shift. You moved with a grace and poise reminiscent of the doll, your expressions serene and tranquil. It was as if you had become entranced by the doll's presence, adopting its mannerisms and demeanor as your own. Little did he know, it was because as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you found yourself slipping further and further into a hazy fog of compliance and confusion. Vox's relentless use of the trigger phrase had begun to take its toll, eroding away at your sense of self with each passing command.

In moments of quiet solitude, you found yourself seeking solace in the antique doll that Vox had gifted you. You would sit for hours, cradling the doll in your arms, its porcelain features a stark reflection of your own. With trembling fingers, you would brush the doll's hair and dress it in delicate finery, whispering words of comfort and affection as if it were a living being. Tonight was one of those nights.

As the world outside grows quiet, you sat alone in the dimly lit room, cradling the antique doll in your arms. You stroked its porcelain face with gentle fingers, your touch reverent and tender.

"I wish I could be like you," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "So serene, so perfect. No worries, no fears. Just... blissful ignorance."

Vox enters the room, his eyes dark and hungry as he surveys the scene before him. "You already are like her," he says, his voice almost soft. Almost caring. Almost. "You're my little doll, and nothing could ever change that."

You look up at him, your eyes wide and unblinking, like those of a porcelain doll. "I know, Vox," you reply, your voice hollow and empty. "I belong to you. I’m yours.”

The doll provided more comfort than Vox did.

Sometimes you would even find yourself engaging in childlike play, pretending that the doll could feel and respond to your touch. You would make it laugh and smile, pouring all of your pent-up longing and loneliness into the tiny figure in your hands, hoping against hope that somehow, some way, the doll would bring you the comfort and companionship you so desperately craved.

Alone in your room, you’d sit on the edge of your bed, a sense of unease gnawing at your insides. You’d clutch the antique doll tightly to your chest, seeking solace in its familiar presence. But no matter how hard you’d try, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that lingers within you.

Vox's voice echoed in your mind, his command to "be a doll" ringing like a relentless refrain. With each passing day, it became harder to distinguish between reality and illusion, between your own thoughts and Vox's whispered commands.

Tears would stream down your cheeks as you’d clutch the doll tighter, your chest constricted with a suffocating sense of dread. "I can't do this anymore," you’d whisper to yourself, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

In a moment of desperation, you’d hurl the doll across the room, watching as it crashes against the wall with a hollow thud. But instead of feeling relief, you’d be overcome with a profound sense of loss, as if a part of yourself had been torn away.

The line between reality and fantasy began to blur for you. You would catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror and see not a person staring back at you, but a doll with glassy eyes and porcelain skin. You would hear Vox's voice echoing in your mind, commanding you to "be a doll" and obey without question.

Alone in your room, you’d sit huddled in the corner, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you’d clutch your head in agony. Images flash before your eyes, fragmented memories twisted and distorted by Vox's relentless influence.

"I can't escape," you’d whisper to yourself, your voice a desperate plea for salvation. But no matter how hard you’d try, you couldn’t break free from the chains that bound you to Vox's will.

In a moment of ‘clarity’, you’d reach out for the antique doll, your fingers trembling as you trace its delicate features. "Help me," you’d whisper, your voice barely audible over the roar of your own despair.

But the doll would remain silent, its glass eyes staring back at you emptily. Offering no comfort. You’d be left alone with the realization that you were stuck in this endless nightmare of your own making, with no escape.

With each passing day, you felt yourself slipping further away from who you once were, lost in a sea of Vox's control and manipulation. And as you gazed into the unblinking eyes of the antique doll, you couldn't help but wonder if you were truly any different. Perhaps, in the end, you were nothing more than Vox's plaything, a doll to be toyed with at his whim.

As time passed, your sense of self seemed to fade away completely, replaced by a serene acceptance of your role as Vox's little doll. You no longer spoke or acted like your former self, your personality and individuality erased by the allure of being a perfect little doll.

No longer did you question Vox's orders or assert your own desires. Instead, you moved through your days with the mechanical precision of a well-oiled machine, your actions dictated by Vox's whims and desires. It was as if you were merely a puppet, dancing on strings pulled by Vox's invisible hand.

And as he watched you, now little more than a porcelain doll come to life, Vox knew that he had finally achieved the ultimate conquest—possession of you, in your entirety.

For Vox, it was a dream come true. With your transformation complete, he felt a sense of absolute control and dominance unlike anything he had experienced before. You had become his perfect, obedient doll, ready to fulfill his every desire without question or hesitation.

39 notes · View notes