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Deal With It

Nathan Bateman x reader, fluff no smut, bickering, Nathan being an ass but cute about it, cuddles

genderless reader, no description

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

All day, you'd been pestering.

In the morning, after you'd dragged yourself out of bed a comfortable 2 hours after your alarm, you'd immediately gone to find him. Asking inane questions about the newest project, peeking over his shoulder at his newest website. He gruffly told you to fuck off, read the email I sent, but you preferred to listen to his voice.

After milking that opportunity dry, you lingered around his doorway or found excuses to enter his office. The first couple of times, he raised his eyebrows over the rims of his glasses, but now he merely sighed irritably.

You knew you were pissing him off, but you couldn't help it. Knowing that if you were lucky, he might give you a half-smile or a kiss on the cheek was enough for you to keep pushing for attention.

You caught the hint when he placed an extra desk in front of his door so you couldn't enter.

Instead, you wandered down the halls surrounding his office, laptop in hand. He caught glimpses of your quick pace out of the corner of his eye. He liked knowing where you were, always. Which wall you leaned against, how often you peeked through the glass to watch him work.

He understood your blind devotion. Few people get to witness a god at work, why wouldn't you take every opportunity?

Eventually you settled in the Pollock lounge. Bothering your favorite person had gotten tiring, and you'd become absorbed in your coding. It was soothing, poring over scads of green code and figuring out the puzzle, getting the little aha! rush of adrenaline when you cracked it. It was 'busy work', Nathan called it, easy for him, but too tedious to warrant his effort. So he shoved it all to you.

You didn't mind. Probably because your usefulness was the only thing stopping him from abandoning you in the woods.

Realizing you hadn't scampered past his windows in a while, Nathan's jaw ticked. He didn't like you poking and prodding him while he was in the zone, but he liked knowing you were there. You couldn't disappear that way.

He grunted and flicked through his camera feed, trying to find you in his maze of hallways and secret rooms. Rembrandt? nope. Bedrooms empty, kitchen empty...gym locked. Pollock...also no.

Had you gone outside?

Huffing, Nathan pushed away his tinkering and stalked out, shoving aside the desk he'd put up to block your efforts. He hated when you played these games. Why couldn't you pick an office and stay there, so he could watch you when he got bored? Pesky, pesky, pesky.

You were enjoying this. Of course you hadn't gone outside, it was raining like a bitch and you were dressed in a t-shirt. You'd curled behind the grey couch in the Pollock lounge, one of the few dead spots where the camera couldn't see. It was cozy; you'd pulled a decorative afghan around your shoulders and your music was playing gently. Still, it was fun to watch your genius get outmaneuvered by a camera placement.

Nathan was jogging in circles. This is stupid, just go back to work. He had hours of backlog to work through, a result of the last time you got under his skin. Can't say he didn't enjoy that, though.

But the game was starting to lose its fun. His eyebrows were pulled low and bushy over his glasses, his pace determined and strong. Where the fuck did you wander off to? You couldn't have left him cold turkey, he had way too much fun with you.

"Hey," he barked to the cold, fluorescent silence, "come on out now, it's not fucking funny."

Nothing.

Seething, Nathan scrubbed his hand over his scalp. Were you mad at him? Nah. Couldn't be. You weren't a snowflake, him rejecting your attention wouldn't drive you to isolation. He was too enigmatic, too intriguing for you to ignore.

Right?

Fuck, this was making him insecure.

"Fucking bullshit," he muttered, stomping back to his office. He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of giving in. He wasn't a lovesick pussy, he could go an afternoon without seeing you.

So he went back to his glass emporium and sat. And sat. His brain whirred, but your absence was heavy in his mind. Focus. But he'd had found a new thought to toy with; all the reasons you'd be ignoring him.

He was too mean. Did he yell at you? Maybe he'd forgotten to make you a snack in the fridge.

Hunching lower in his seat, Nathan glared at his reflection in the front window. Insecurity was for losers, idiots without the brainpower to thing about anything better. He was above this.

you were probably so mad at him.

He growled in annoyance and flung his coffee cup across the floor. It shattered, and he pursed his lips. That was one of the mugs you'd bought him.

Fuck.

☆☆☆☆

Still in your cozy cave, you'd begun to nod off. The repetitive clicking of your keys, soothing classical and the softest blanket ever was a lethal combination. a distant crash! made you stir, but you giggled quietly, imagining whatever tech Nathan got pissed at on the floor in a heap.

You closed your laptop and curled into your blanket. You'd crunched a good day's worth of code in an hour, you deserved a nap.

Apparently God Nathan had other plans.

Your slumber was rudely interrupted at a sharp tug, your drowsy mind spinning as you were hoisted into the air.

"Found you," a gravelly voice growled in your ear. You blinked, irritated that your nap had been stolen.

"Go 'way, I'm sleepin," you grumbled, pushing away his bushy face.

He held you tighter, forearms braced like a cage around you. You squirmed, feet tucked too tight under his biceps.

"Yeah? Does my attention bother you?" His sneer was audible. "Funny, you didn't have the same courtesy when I was actually trying to work-"

"I was working-"

"Shut up." He strode out of the lounge, your cheek bouncing gently on his shoulder. The way you were grasped to his chest was crushing your hands, and you fought to get away. He didn't budge.

"You want down? Is that it? Wanna break? Too fucking bad, you wanted attention, now deal with it." His grip did loosen a little, allowing you to comfortably nestle against him.

He meandered around the kitchen, grabbing another coffee mug and humming Beethoven while the espresso poured. Shifting you to his hip, he mindlessly rocked you as he waited. You nudged your nose into his sternum and he begrudgingly allowed you a sip, but not too much, because he needed to be in top performing condition.

Which, apparently included carrying you back to his office and sitting down for the next three hours, clutching you tight. You weren't complaining, you dozed right off.

☆☆☆☆☆

"Nathan."

"Hush."

You poked his cheek, wriggling away from where you'd been napping against his shoulder. He pulled you right back, smushing your cheek onto his rough beard.

"I need to piss, Nathan, lemme up."

He was quiet for a minute, and you were preparing to jab him in the groin, but he finally stood, still carrying you like a baby. The working out was paying off, evidently, because he showed now sign of weariness. You weren't the smallest person ever.

You rolled your eyes. "Nathan, I can walk myself to the bathroom, chrissakes-"

"Shut. It."

Dropping you in the restroom, he shut the door and waited outside, foot tapping impatiently. His chest was cold without you bundled up tight, and he told himself he didn't miss it. As soon as you peeked out of the stall, he swept you back into his arms and made his way back to his office.

"Nate-"

"Deal with it, baby."

Patient

part one of my fifteen minute fic series - where I set a timer for fifteen minutes and write a blurb based off a prompt and a genre.

Today's pick: Nathan Bateman x Reader, fluff, denial of feelings

three...two...one...go!

Go away, he'd spit as you showed up at his door with a cup of tea and his breakfast.

I don't want to, he'd grunt when you suggested he take a day off.

Leave me alone, was scrawled in black text over his locked office door.

Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, you'd smile patiently in response, what a stubborn mule you are. He'd get riled up even farther, egging you to raise your voice. He'd prod and poke your weak points to start a shouting match, only to be shot down with a pat on the shoulder.

He wanted you to get mad. He wanted you to sneer at him, to watch you march off, bags in hand, never returning. He wanted you to leave.

More than anything, he wanted his chest to stop squeezing.

It's okay, you whispered when he angrily destroyed a laptop after a coding mishap.

You'll be alright, you soothed, rubbing ointment into his bruised knuckles.

Don't worry, you assured, hastily fixing the hole in his schedule that was driving him to panic.

Every punch he threw, every barb he spat, every cruelty he flung at you would dissolve in your gentle glances, your unwavering appreciation. He didn't know how anyone could put up with him like this. Give in, he'd glare when you deflected his spite again. But alas, you shone bright and refused to let him in.

Okay, he'd cede when you brought him lunch.

In a minute, he'd mutter when you reminded him of his sleep.

Door's open, he'd throw over his shoulder, hoping to see your face flit by.

Like Newton's Cradle, you fed off each other's energy, slowly taming to a comfortable neutrality. No more fights, no more shouting. Nathan resisted a knee-jerk insult and you gained confidence in your reminders. I care, you'd explain when he questioned your motives for the umpteenth time. It's not in my nature to watch someone suffer.

Come in, you offered when he showed up in a fit of terror.

I'm sorry, you said genuinely, listening to his scattering thoughts and crippling fear.

I won't leave, you laughed after he shyly brought up your absence.

How could you leave, when he'd finally opened his walls? His garden was growing, slowly, yes, but soon the flowers would bloom and he'd be okay. You would never miss out on such beauty. It was slow, careful, tedious, the way he warmed up. A brush on the back of your hand, then a strong grasp on your wrist. He'd let you whisper your lips across his cheek if he thought nobody was looking.

Come here, he'd plead when you shifted across the mattress.

More, please, he'd mumble when your hands rubbed his soft skin.

Don't go, he'd yearn when you mentioned a job in New York.

He was fragile still, a new leaf unfurling. You knew to be gentle, to hug him gently and murmur soft things in his ear. You never yelled, afraid his eyes would mist and he'd shun you with an angry huff.

your chest warmed when his hands would clutch you, finally brave enough to reach for what he wanted. His face was slack with sleep, lips twitching in a serene smile. It had been a good day; his work was finished and you'd made his favorite dish for dinner. He'd told you so after your lips were too kiss-numb to respond.

Love you, his heart thrummed when you settled back beside him.

I know, yours thumped, beating together in the cradle of your bed.

??? the style kinda came out of nowhere but we ballin

let me know if you wanna be on my taglist!

i 👏love👏this👏so👏much!!!!!!!!! i screamed when i saw the notif thank u thank u thank uuuuuu

sweet nathan is the best nathan 😌

xoxoxox love u fen!!

Need You

Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader • Rating: PG •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Nathan wants to go to sleep.

A/N: Guess who's being all sappy againnnn.

Warnings: fluffy fluff fluff, self-indulgent as HECK, swearing, Nathan being a little shit, reader being a little shit too, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 758

You hear Nathan before you see him, practically stomping down the corridor. Most of the time he was surprisingly light footed and took a perverse glee in sneaking up on you at any available opportunity. So that fact that he was being so obvious about where he was now was most certainly to send you a message. 

The message of: hurry the fuck up and come to bed. 

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips. 

As the office door opened you pretended to ignore it, not even looking up from your screen as you typed. 

Out of the corner of your vision, you could see Nathan’s outline in the doorway, his hands on his hips as he watched you, the air of unimpressed rolling off him in waves. 

You count the seconds in your head, one, two, three, four…

“What the fuck are you doing?” He grumbled, padding into the room and standing next to you. 

“Working.” 

“It’s late.”

You don’t look up from your screen. “So?” 

“So?” 

“So?”

He groans. “Fucking turn that off.” 

You school your face into a scowl, despite the fact you want to giggle, and glare at him. “I’m working, you’re always working weird hours.”

“You were working five minutes ago, you were looking at lego sets.” He crosses his arms.

“Monitoring my computer?” You smirk.

“Always.”

“It’s research.” You stress.

“No, it’s not.” 

You turn back to your computer screen, but don’t even bother to pretend to hit the keys. 

Nathan lets out a humph. 

“Why do you want me to stop looking at Lego sets?” You ask as innocently as you can, looking back up at him. 

Nathan swallows, still scowling. 

You smile, sickenly sweet as glee runs through your veins. Slowly, you move to go back to what you were doing, purposefully moving languidly to drag the seconds out.

He breaks sooner than you thought he would.

“Fine, I’ll buy you every fucking Lego set that has ever been made, hell, I’ll buy you three. One to build, one to keep and one to burn-”

“That’s a waste, Nathan.”

He ignores your interjection, but he rolls his eyes at you, “if you just turn off the computer.”

“Why?” You don’t look at him. 

He grumbles again.

“Why Nathan?” You ask in a sing-song voice. 

“Don’t make me say it.” He mutters.

“Sorry?” You cup your hand to your ear in an over the top fashion just to tease him, “I didn’t catch that?” 

He groans, flopping his hands to his sides, looking momentarily like a toddler about to throw themselves on the floor for not getting their own way. 

“I want to go to sleep.” He huffs out.

“Sorry?” You can’t help but push him.

“I want to go to sleep.” He repeats, louder and clearer, and definitely with more exasperation.

You look up at him, giving him your full and undivided attention. “So?” 

He glares at you, a storm brewing on his forehead. But instead of saying something rude or marching off, he takes a deep breath. “I would like to go to sleep with you in bed next to me,” he pauses for half a second, pushing the frown from his face before he adds, “please.”

Surprisingly the word isn’t said begrudgingly. 

He catches the small flicker of shock on your face and he kneels down next to you, battering his eyes dramatically and putting his hands on your knees. 

“Please come to bed with me?” He says in an awful baby voice. 

You burst out laughing. “Stop, don’t ever do that fucking voice again.”

“Why?” He blinks harder, continuing the voice and somehow making it worse. 

You playfully go to push his cheek softly away, but he catches your wrist in his hand lightening fast as he kisses your wrist. 

“Please?” He repeats, still babyfied. 

“Will you stop that voice if I say yes?” You giggle. 

And he nods looking up at you softly, still battering his eyes. 

You snort. “Alright. You’re so silly.”

“No?” He grins and kisses your palm.

“Yes. All you needed to do was admit you’d like me to come to bed with you.” 

“Hmm,” he snuffles closer on his knees, pushing your legs lightly apart. “Need me to tell you I need you, huh? You that pathetic?” He teases.

“Yes.” You say bluntly, smiling, knowing that’s not what he expects.

There’s a flicker of surprise for a second before a soft smile pulls at his lips. “I need you, baby,” he says silkily, knowing that’s not what you expect either.

Thank you for reading!

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

One Fish, Two Fish

Nathan Bateman x reader fluff (idk what nathan + fluff is doing to me but the brainrot is REAL)

for @chaithetics in her time of need xox

cw: nothing!

song inspo - you look like you can't swim by Matilda Mann and Orange Juice by Alfie Jukes

You sat in the corner of your office, discreetly observing your coworkers. A small pink sticky note was hidden in your clammy hands. You could be patient, waiting for a clear path to the other side of the building. Where he was.

Yes, it was you, the supposed sticky-note bandit that had been slyly tucking them all over the building. Inspirational messages, jokes, dirty secrets, anything to keep the moods high and people chatting. There was a rumor of who it was, and you had surprisingly kept your cover.

Although recently, some had noted the surprising change in the sticky note bandit's habits. Pink sticky notes, specifically written for one "Nathan" with little rhymes and haikus followed by a little goldfish. Someone's got a crush, the secretaries would titter excitedly. Or, surprisedly, as Nathan Bateman wasn't exactly office-crush material.

He would hole up in his office, scowling at those who walked by. He commandeered a coffee maker all to himself, stating that 'once the rest of these plebians earn their right to caffeine,' he'd be hoarding the brain juice to himself.

A real charmer.

But you'd found yourself blushing at eye contact and looking forward to project conferences with him. Your unfortunate propensity towards stuttering led you to share this quiet attention in the form of little notes, handwritten in a red ink pen.

some were teasing -

Your henley looks nice today, Nathan. Or is that yesterday's?

some were sweet -

Thank you for what you do for us <3

But all of them could be found tucked into files, on the underside of his laptop, stuck to his chair. Nobody knew how they got there, and how the culprit had never been caught.

Another one. The little pink monstrosity was strategically placed over his laptop camera, a doodled caricature of him frowning comically. Nathan plucked it off and studied it. It was pretty damn accurate, even if he detested the size of his glasses. He didn't look like Dahmer, he preferred an academic round-frame to accentuate his eyes.

Grunting a laugh, he dropped it into his desk drawer, where it fluttered to join its brethren.

Of course he knew who it was. But you'd clearly be too shy to do anything but gawk from behind your computer, so he didn't blow your cover. Besides, it was funny, listening to the rumor mill churn in thought while you sad back unassumedly, smiling to yourself.

He resumed working, opening his inbox to find a progress report from you. Leaning forward, he leisurely scrolled through the lines of notes, lips twitching when he saw the anecdotes and sarcastic comments typed in the margins. You were a funny thing, having so much to say but keeping your lips shut tight.

Nathan didn't mind your little game.

You'd woken up with a terrible migraine. Every flashing light splintered your skull, the pulse of your heart like a war drum behind your eyes. You'd swallowed twice the recommended dose of Advil and nothing was working.

All the lights in your office were off, earning you a few puzzled looks from your coworkers. You didn't have the energy to play your game today, barely able to type with your jittery fingers. You pondered calling out sick, but the shame from Nathan made you shiver. He didn't take kindly to missing work, no matter the trouble. Hell, Nancy's daughter broke her leg and he wouldn't let her take a day off.

"Your kid's fuckup shouldn't affect the productivity of this company," he said crisply.

Today, thankfully, wasn't too busy. You had emails to respond to, but other than that your schedule was clear.

Half an hour till clock-out. You could do half an hour. It would be grisly, but you had it in you.

A knock at your doorframe jolted you from your stupor. Wincing at the gesture, you sloppily waved at the visitor to come in.

It was Henry, one of the interns. He stumbled a bit in the dim light, but made it to your desk, where dropped a thick file on your keyboard.

"Bateman," he said apologetically, then stepped out.

No. You gotta be fucking kidding me. Less than an hour from the end of your workday, and he has the audacity to drop the biggest project file you've ever seen on your desk?

A pitiful groan escaped you as you flicked open the huge stack. The file was as thick as your arm, no doubt filled with tedious code that your aching mind could barely process on a good day.

"Fuck you, dude," you slurred to yourself, rubbing your forehead. Something caught your eye and you blinked.

Your sticky note with the caricature of his truly.

How-

Fuck.

Hot shame singed your ears. He knew. He totally knew, oh god that's so embarrassing-

A second note was stapled to it, with his messy black scrawl.

Nice sketch, though I wouldn't say art is your calling. A little too Dahmer-ish, Goldie.

Goldie - a moniker after the little fish you'd sign your notes with. You groaned louder, dropping your head in your hands. How could you look at him? His smug grin made your cheeks burn brighter. This was supposed to be a stupid little way for you to- uggghhhhhh.

You shoved the folder into your bag and elected to work on it at home. You couldn't stand to be on the same floor as him.

His gaze followed you out.

For the next few days, your stack of pink notes remained untouched. You still sprinkled your yellow ones around but avoided Bateman's office like the plague.

Maybe he'd forget.

Throwing yourself into Bateman's newest brainchild; a website designed specifically to resemble a notebook, complete with 'rippable' pages and a light scratching sound while typing, you whole-heartedly tried to pretend your embarrassing unveiling hadn't happened.

Until one morning, a small bottle of Excedrin was placed on your desk with a small, blue sticky note on top.

Didn't mean to scare you off, it read, with a poorly drawn fish underneath. Blinking, you read the note again. Definitely Nathan's scrawl, but the sudden kindness threw you for a loop.

One part of you was screaming with joy, and the other was angstily throwing rocks at it. Leave him alone, stop it, pretend it never happened.

But...

The little bottle of migraine medication made you smile. You tucked it into your desk. A second message was written on the side:

Now you don't have an excuse to skip my meetings.

Despite the teasing nature, your heart warmed. From his lair in the far hallway, it seemed so strange that Nathan would notice your frequent headaches.

He was being...nice.

Taking out your pen, you scribbled a thank you. This time, you signed it with two fish.

I'll have to get more creative, then.

An invitation.

He tried to ignore the triumphant swell in his chest when a pink flash caught his eye. A new note. His hands grabbed greedily at it. Of course he hadn't missed your little notes, that would imply he had feelings.

Which he didn't.

Obviously.

Realizing how pathetically giddy he was, Nathan crumpled the note and returned to his desk, a mask of stoicism in place once more. He only got through half a line of code before guilt started nibbling his conscience. The crumpled piece of you looked so lonely on the floor, tossed away like a piece of trash.

Making sure nobody was looking, he retrieved it and smoothed out the wrinkles, gently placing it in view of his keyboard.

You'd drawn two fish this time. It made him happier than he'd like to admit.

He tried to replicate your skilled doodle, but he resorted to a squiggle after a few failed attempts.

Maybe if you applied that creativity to your work, I'd be more inclined to approve your vacation.

Touche, came the reply, with a wink face and one of the fish dressed in a pair of glasses.

It became a daily habit, pulling out the little colored pads and finding times to sneak them into folders or under coffee cups or on desktop monitors.

Nathan ignored the tingly warmth in his chest as long as he could. In his mind, shoved somewhere in the dusty archives, he knew it was a crush. But a small fear kept him from saying anything. What if he did scare you off? Were you trying to catch his heart, or was this just a fun game? He didn't want to ruin the one pseudo-connection he'd had with another human being in the last five years.

He scowled at himself in the reflection of his screen. This was what he hated about other people. The feelings. Others were so complicated, lines of code he didn't know the solution to. He got tangled so easily in the web of relationships that he avoided them all together.

Like always, he didn't realize how stuck he was until it was too late.

His eyes were drawn to you now, every time he saw you flit by his window. He wanted you to look at him, to acknowledge the little connection you had. But your eyes remained glued to the floor, never flicking his way. Nathan fell just short of storming into your office to get your attention.

You noticed the increase in notes.

The pastel blue ones Nathan had claimed were littered everywhere now. Some didn't even have anything meaningful, just doodles or random questions.

Your favorite color?

How do you take your Thai, spicy or not?

You answered them all, sending them back without much of a second thought. It didn't click that he just wanted to talk to you until a single blue note was placed in the middle of your screen.

Please don't ignore me.

You frowned. You weren't ignoring him; every note he sent you had replied to. But then...you never looked at him, though you felt his gaze burning against your face. You could sense his agitation every time you ignored him in a meeting. He wasn't very direct either, but you and him both knew what he was itching for.

Please don't ignore me.

That familiar wave of anxiety washed over you. That knowing how every time you opened your mouth, a stuttering mess would fall out and you'd be embarrassed past fixing. He was expecting of you, now. He wanted to talk to you - the very thing you'd been hoping to avoid.

Nathan smacked the edge of his desk. The smarting sting in his hand distracted from the wailing of his mind. He'd fucked it up. You gave him an inch and he took a mile. That web was tangling him deeper and deeper. He just wanted to play your game and he'd take nthe fun away.

It had been days since his last note. His last, desperate, pathetic, whiny note. He'd scared you off for the second time, and this time he wouldn't get you back.

He rifled through the ones he'd saved. They were precious, the tiny pieces of you that you'd shared. He had one framed on his desk - the first little doodle you'd sent. It was, admittedly, the best part of his day.

And now it was gone.

That anxiety circled the drain for days as you wrestled with yourself. Obviously, if you said anything, it would crash and burn. But you didn't want to end the little game.

He'd signed the note with one, very lonely looking goldfish.

Aw, fuck.

It was late. Most everybody had left, but you knew he'd still be there, typing furiously. You almost ran to his office before you lost the nerve. I'm not ignoring you, you rehearsed in your head, over and over. You mouthed the words, swerving around a stray office chair. You couldn't fuck this up.

Strangely, his office door was locked. The faint glow of his computer shone underneath the door, but the knob was firm.

You swallowed down any anxiety and knocked. Silence.

Was he being spiteful? Your heart felt crushed with the quiet. You knocked again, louder.

Nathan? His name was on the tip of your tongue, but your dignity clamped your lips closed. A third knock would be too far. Did he want to be left alone? Maybe he had a meeting. At 8 pm? He was probably busy.

Maybe he didn't want to talk to you anymore.

Guilt curled in your stomach. You felt terrible. Biting your lip, you began to turn away. Stopped. Grabbed a pen and scribbled on a nearby sheet of paper.

Nathan?

Crouching, you shoved it with all your might under the door. You sat, drumming the pen on your fingertips. It had been several minutes now. The bitter sting of rejection made your throat hurt. Don't cry. All things end, don't waste your salt.

A rustle, and the corner of a leaflet brushed your calf. You snatched it up, sniffling back the waterworks.

A small fish with a question mark. You laughed a watery laugh, wiping your eyes.

Carefully, you sketched a small fish next to it. A speech bubble, filled with I missed you.

Your hands shook as you passed it back. Was it too forward? Your heart was pounding like a racehorse as the feeling of dread crawled over you.

The gentle whirring of the air conditioning was the only movement in the office. You couldn't see him; he must have been pressed up against the door.

The question mark had been erased, this time replaced with a sad face.

You scribbled a note below. I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't want to ruin it.

An exclamation mark.

I'm not good at words.

His fish swam closer to your fish, a fin reached out for comfort.

ok? was scrawled above it.

You drew a smiley face in response.

His response took longer this time, and you wished you could see him. He hadn't opened the door, but he knew you were there. Maybe he wasn't good with words either.

Nathan's fish held a small flower, messily sketched into a bouquet. It was clear he'd drawn and redrawn. Hence the pause.

You better not be allergic.

You laughed surprisedly.

Ironically, I have a seafood allergy.

The fish returned with a face mask.

Another giggle.

Nathan's ear was pressed as hard as he could against the door, drinking in your quiet laugh. Sharpie stained his fingers, and he so badly wanted to open the door. But then you'd see his red eyes and quivering lip. The toll of your attention had gotten too much, and he'd hidden under his desk until he was sure you'd left.

But.

The paper sparked hope. Your familiar red ink eased the tears, and he could hear your pacing outside. Maybe you weren't mad. He could fix it.

You slipped the paper back. He was shit at drawing, but your willingness to play along made his heart swell.

Your fish was alone again. A single heart was drawn above it, carefully colored in.

Did I ruin it?

His hands were shaking as he drew another, smaller heart beside it. His sketch was messy and the ink was running, but his heart hurt so bad he thought he would die. He didn't ruin it. It's okay, this was gonna work out.

A soft knock sounded above his ear. He shakily reached for the knob and unlatched it. Your soft eyes peeked out from the crack. Nathan nudged the door open some more, hesitant to meet your gaze.

"H..Hi," you whispered.

The biggest fucking grin of his life split his face in two.

The two of you sat in the dark of the cubicle farm, grinning like lovesick fools in your respective piles of sticky notes.

so soft - fem reader

he clings like a koala. your oversized wardrobe pays off: there's enough room for him to wriggle under your soft sweaters and latch onto your skin. his hands paw at your soft sides, stroking and petting the velvety skin. his beard is ticklish against your tummy as he mouths gently over your tits.

Nathan can be so soft sometimes, as his eyes droop, syrupy with sleep and contentment. he'll suckle and nuzzle your chest, melting into your warmth. You'll pull a blanket over him and swaddle him tight, like a baby opossum. His quiet mewls of gratitude prompt your hand to gently scratch his prickly scalp.

There isn't a solid bone in his body; lovesick goop is all that's left. your boobs are soft as silk on his cheek, squishing pleasantly under his rough hands.

so soft, he coos, so pretty. so different from the cold, hard androids he surrounds himself with.

you kiss him softly and begin to rock gently, side to side.

here, kitty kitty

getting nathan to do any kind of physical contact would be...a struggle, to say the least. I don't think he'd be a very touchy-touchy kinda guy, just cause he's not used to it. But I bet he'd warm up eventually.

blurb/ficlet thingy

----------

Baby steps. Touches to the back of the hand, a palm on his shoulder while he worked. He would violently flinch away, looking like you'd slapped his mother. Upon seeing you, Nathan would relax marginally. Despite his prickly disposition, you could tell he craved attention.

His gaze would follow you desperately around the compound, and he would sit as close as possible on the sofa without touching you. If you paid attention, you'd see his hands fidgeting in his lap. A war was raging in hid head - he wanted to touch you but he didn't know how.

You took it slowly, like soothing a frightened barn cat. Yes, he knew he was allowed to touch you, but he still didn't know how. You were such a godlike figure in his mind, the thought of something so mundane seemed wrong.

Not that you didn't try. You picked up on his nervousness, as well-hidden as it was, gently reaching for his hand on the couch. Your gaze was locked on the movie, but your firm hold prevented him from sliding away. Every part of him was tense. You stroked your finger up and down, loosening the nervousness ringing through his body.

He shifted closer, clearing his throat. Nathan's face betrayed nothing of the mentally wagging tail he was currently feeling; gaze focused on the movie in front of you. A small smile tickled your cheeks when you felt his warm shoulder tentatively press against yours.

As tempted as you were to wrap him in a hug, you knew it would scare him off. He rumbled appreciatively when your chin ducked to rest on his shoulder.

The movie concluded but neither of you made a move to get up. Nathan's beard tickled your forehead and your leg was falling asleep, but you didn't want to end the small moment of intimacy.

"You gonna move?" he asked gruffly, hands twitching in yours. You leaned back slightly.

"Do you want me to?"

His gaze didn't meet yours, but you could see it in the pink of his ears. No.

Smiling, you coaxed him back against your chest. His back was stiff until you began stroking his head, fingers scratching lightly over the stubble. You could feel him shiver. Slowly, you paused, letting him adjust.

Nathan huffed impatiently, hands tucking against your waist. You tried to look at his face and gauge his reaction.

"More?"

Another huff. Laughing quietly, you resumed the scalp massage, humming gently as his breathing slowed. He was out like a light before five minutes had passed.

-

A slow drumming gently roused him from the deepest sleep of his light. It was incredibly warm - warmer than he'd ever felt in the compound. Something soft was surrounding him in a way that sucked the energy from his bones. He blinked awake, hazily rousing from the syrupy blanket of slumber.

His glasses were folded at the edge of the coffee table. He was still on the couch. Vaguely, Nathan remembered your fingers on his scalp as he was blissfully rocked to sleep. His chest warmed as he realized the gentle drumming was your slow heartbeat against his cheek.

A thick throw blanket was pulled tight to his chin, and your arms bracketed his shoulders protectively.

Nathan burrowed back under the blanket, nosing into the warmth of your tummy. It would be a pain to wake you, he reasoned, contentedly snuggling back to sleep.

reboot

nathan bateman x reader, fluff (are we surprised? no? good.)

Inspired by this edit by my-secret-shame

You'd been watching Nathan slowly stop working, resulting in the current picture: him, eyes glazed, hand frozen over his keyboard. he'd been stuck like this for a few minutes.

Sighing, you smiled and walked over, tapping his shoulder.

"Looks like you're due for a motherboard reboot," you teased, gently rubbing his arm.

Nathan snapped to attention, scowling. "For the last fuckin time, it's the software that's rebooted, not the hardware. Fuck off," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. "Oookay, firecracker, calm down."

He sighed again, throwing up his arms. "Telling someone to calm down statistically has the opposite effect, you know." His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He'd been working on his new software for about eighteen hours, if your watch was right. His side of the bed was neat and untouched.

"Take a break, honey," you soothed, leaning across him to close his monitor. Hissing like a feral cat, he batted your arms away and hunched over his computer. Nathan glowered protectively, not moving an inch.

You folded your arms, raising an eyebrow. "Your brain is shot, baby, you need a nap or something."

"If I take a nap, I'll sleep for hours and lose all the progress I've made," he countered, "and then I'll be in a worse mood."

"If you need sleep that bad, you'll die."

"Not true, as seen in this moment."

"It will be true if you don't get some rest."

Nathan, too exhausted to respond intelligently, stuck out his tongue and slid down in his chair.

"How about an iced coffee? I just made some," you offered. He grunted.

"I don't think any amount of iced beverages can save me."

You hummed, swaying closer. "Okay," you acquiesced, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"That's it?" He was shocked. "Wow, I thought I'd be doing verbal WWE to get you to back off."

You hummed in response, softly kissing his neck. Your hands traced comforting circles on his chest.

Nathan shifted, subtly trying to nudge closer. You let him, climbing into his lap and curling up. "Well, if you're not gonna nap, I will," you yawned.

The soft rise and fall of your chest and whatever shampoo you had on was softening the edges of his focus. Nathan was trying to pay attention to the string of numbers he'd been working on, but he was having difficulty. Your cheek was smushed against his ribs, and he could feel his heartbeat through your soft skin.

You were very soft, he observed listlessly, leaning his cheek on your head. And his eyelids were very heavy. It was a nice feeling, to have your weight on his chest. Like a big weighted blanket. Snuffling a yawn into your hair, he leaned his head back.

Maybe he needed a quick cat nap. A short reboot, just for a minute.

Four hours later, he was out like a light and your coffee had melted into a watery ring on his coffee table.

comment if you wanna join my taglist, or my nathan specific taglist. xox love you (thank you for the inspo secret-shame)

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

i wrote a fic about it thank you for the inspo

this

lovely i love this the sticky note was so cute

The Bunny

7.1k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Nathan Bateman Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, soft(ish) Nathan, mild smut, alcohol, drunk Nathan being horny, emotionally repressed idiots in love Summary: When you’re distressed over something very personal, Nathan shows you a side of himself that you haven’t seen before. A/N: This story can be read alone or together with my other Nathan fics. In my mind, this is the same reader as in predator & prey, in control, Fleshlight and smile, baby—but it doesn't have to be. Happy reading & let me know what you think! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @/cafekitsune.

Your life with Nathan is an exercise in contradiction. 

It’s like orbiting a distant star—searing heat one moment, icy indifference the next. 

You hate that you find him attractive, hate that his arrogance somehow draws you in, but you can’t help it. He has an irresistible pull on you. You don’t understand him, and that’s part of the problem.

One minute, he’s a brilliant visionary; the next, a drunken, whiny mess. And somehow, amidst the confusion, you’ve found yourself craving his touch more than anything else in the world.

You’re not dating, not in any traditional sense. The boundaries of your relationship blur after dark, but you’ve seemingly found a rhythm that works for both of you. And that rhythm entails staying out of each other’s personal business. 

What you have is casual. At least, you’ve convinced yourself it is.

Sometimes, when he’s being particularly infuriating, you wonder if it’s just stress relief for both of you; fucking your frustrations into each other simply because you’re both there. Other times, you catch yourself overthinking every little detail, wondering if you’re falling for him, and if so, whether it’s the man or the enigma you’re falling for.

You try not to think about it too much.

He has this way of getting under your skin though. It could be the way he lazily sprawls across a couch, his eyes half-lidded but alert, or how he dismisses your concerns with a casual wave of his hand, expecting you to move on as if nothing he says or does affects you. But you do care. It does affect you.

And it annoys you how much.

Tonight, after a long day of work, you retreat to your room, needing space for yourself. Nathan’s house is a labyrinth of technology and luxury you’ve come to really love and appreciate for its unique design and remoteness, but there’s a particular, strange comfort in the sterile, minimalistic walls leading to your bedroom. They don’t judge, don’t ask questions. They don’t look at you with the unsettling intensity that Nathan sometimes does.

You close your door, leaning against it as you exhale. Your room is your sanctuary, cluttered with things that feel out of place in Nathan’s stark, clinical world. Books, trinkets, and your beloved bunny plushie resting against your pillow, a remnant of simpler times. A remnant of that wide-eyed girl with ambitions and a thirst for adventure who vowed to get the hell out of that miserable town.

Well, that girl is grown up now. And she’s exhausted, more mentally than physically.

You’re struggling to keep up with your deadlines, rationalizing your work, and the overwhelming feeling that you don’t deserve to be here, that Nathan made a mistake when he selected you, that you’re simply not cut out for this life. 

You take a deep breath and decide to put on your comfiest pants and a soft shirt, get into bed and read a bit while sipping on a warm cup of tea. Yeah. That’s what your soul needs right now. No Nathan, no androids, no computers, no nothing. Just you and your favorite Kazuo Ishiguro book.

But then, as you reach for the mug on your nightstand to empty the leftover coffee from this morning, your hand slips. The coffee spills, soaking the sheets, and worst of all, your bunny. The dark liquid seeps into his white fur, staining the once soft, clean fabric.

You freeze and a moment of pure, unfiltered horror grips you. You don’t hear the mug shattering on the floor over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. The sight of the plushie, now a soggy mess, tugs at something deep inside you as you stare at it through watery eyes. It’s not rational, you know that, but emotions seldom are. It feels as though a part of your childhood has just been desecrated.

You’re devastated. 

The kind of devastation that tightens your chest, that makes everything inside you twist until you’re sure you’re going to break. You try to swallow it down, to contain the storm brewing inside, but it spills over before you can stop it.

And before you know it, you’re screaming. 

It’s a scream born of frustration, from the sudden surge of emotion that you can’t quite name, let alone control. It’s raw, primal, echoing off the cold, sterile walls outside and traveling through every inch of the house. The kind of scream that demands attention, that insists the world recognize your pain, even if you don’t fully understand it yourself.

You barely register the thudding of footsteps—heavy, quick, purposeful. Nathan. Of course it’s him. He’s always watching, always listening, probably heard you through one of his countless surveillance cameras. In a place like this, your privacy is an illusion, your every move monitored, recorded, dissected.

And now, your pain has become just another blip on his radar.

He’s probably annoyed, you think bitterly. Annoyed that he had to stop whatever important work he was doing in his lab because he can’t have you screaming and crying and possibly bleeding out in his house.

Nathan doesn’t tolerate messes, especially not emotional ones. And with the hangover he’s likely nursing, his patience is probably thinner than usual. You imagine him wincing at the sound, the way it cuts through the quiet, sharp and unrelenting, aggravating his already pounding head.

The door rattles as he reaches it, and you can almost picture the irritated expression on his face, the way his brow furrows, his jaw tightening. In that moment, you hate him for it, hate him for the way he can reduce you to a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be managed.

But there’s a part of you, the part that’s still trembling from the force of your own scream, that’s also desperate for him to come in, to see you, to make it better, even though you know he won’t.

Because Nathan Bateman doesn’t do comfort. He does control. And in this moment, you’re the one thing in his world that’s slipping out of it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice is a mixture of concern and impatience.

You don’t answer, your heart still pounding, your hands shaking as you hold your bunny close, trying to assess the damage. It feels ridiculous, absurd even, but the sight of your beloved plushie, soaked and stained, has shattered something fragile inside you. You can’t explain it, don’t want to explain it, especially not to him.

Nathan knocks again, harder this time, more insistent. “Open up. Now.”

“I’m fine!” you shout back, but the words catch in your throat, betraying you with their shaky delivery. You try to sound convincing, but you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“Sure doesn’t sound like it,” he retorts. “Let me in.”

You glance at the door, knowing that if he wanted to, he could override the lock. But you also know he won’t—at least not yet. He respects boundaries, in his own twisted way.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, and there’s a softer edge to his voice now, an undercurrent of genuine worry that catches you off guard. The knot in your chest tightens.

“What? No, I’m– I said I’m fine, Nathan. Just...leave me alone.” The plea slips out, your voice trembling, betraying how much you just want to be left in peace, to sort yourself out without being interrogated.

“I’m not doing that until you tell me what’s wrong. You can’t scream bloody murder and expect me not to–”

“I’m sorry.”

Nathan pauses for a moment, stumped. This isn’t good. This isn’t like you. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says, his tone calmer now, almost coaxing. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry.” The words come out rushed, panicked, like you’re trying to escape from the truth that’s threatening to spill over. But you know you’re not convincing him; you’re not even convincing yourself.

There’s a heavy silence on the other side of the door, and you can almost feel Nathan grappling with how to handle this. Then, he says your name—softly, but with a depth that pierces right through your defenses. It’s a tone of voice you’ve only ever heard a couple of times after some particularly demanding play sessions.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You close your eyes and take a shaky breath before responding. “I’m okay, Nathan. Just please…leave.”

You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable, but you’re too overwhelmed to care anymore. You just need him to go, to give you space to fall apart in peace.

There’s a pause, a silence so thick you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind. You almost think he’s left, but then you hear the sound of him leaning against the door, the quiet sigh that follows.

“Fine,” he says finally, his voice lower now. “I’m, uh, in the lab if you...I’m working on Lana’s muscle tissue if you wanna help.”

His words hang in the air, an unexpected offer, awkwardly delivered. You can picture him on the other side, running a hand through his beard, trying to figure out how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

Nathan Bateman, the genius, the mastermind, suddenly uncertain.

After a moment of continued silence, he steps back, respecting your wish. The concern, however, doesn’t leave his mind. His footsteps fade, leaving you alone with the mess you’ve made. The room feels colder, emptier, as if the walls themselves have drawn back in silent judgment. You slump down onto the bed, staring at your poor bunny, your fingers tracing the wet patches on his fur. 

For a second, you could swear you see disappointment in his glassy, button eyes.

The digital alarm clock on your nightstand blinks back at you as you wake up from your nap, showing that it’s well into the evening, the sky outside already swallowed by darkness.

The adrenaline that had surged through you earlier has long since dissipated, leaving behind a hollow, drained feeling in its wake. It’s as if the very act of screaming, of letting that raw emotion pour out of you, has stripped you of energy, leaving you brittle, fragile.

You know you should take a shower and change the sheets, but the thought of moving feels overwhelming. So you sit there, numb, your mind replaying the events of the past few days on a loop.

Eventually, it’s not resolve or determination that drives you to get up, but hunger. A dull, persistent gnawing that you can’t ignore. You drag yourself out of bed, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way to the bathroom to clean up at least a little bit.

The house is quiet as you make your way to the kitchen, the usual hum of activity subdued, as if it too is holding its breath.

When you enter the living room, Nathan is already there, seated at the table, a glass of red wine in hand. The rich burgundy liquid swirls lazily in the glass as he tilts it, the glow of the ceiling lamps casting a soft, golden light that highlights the curve of his nose.

His expression is unreadable at first, his usual mask of casual detachment firmly in place. But as his eyes land on you, taking in your disheveled appearance—your eyes red-rimmed and swollen, your gaze fixed on anything but him—something in his demeanor shifts. He’s never seen you cry outside of sex, and the sight unsettles him more than he’s willing to admit.

Nathan isn’t a man who deals well with vulnerability, especially not when it comes from someone like you, someone he’s come to rely on for your sharp mind and quick wit. But now, seeing you like this, raw and exposed, something inside him stirs—a protective instinct he didn’t know he had, and isn’t sure he wants.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he remarks, his tone light, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—concern, maybe? It’s hard to tell with him.

You shrug, avoiding his gaze as you grab a plate from the counter and start dishing up whatever’s left from dinner. You’re not really hungry, but the act of eating feels like something normal, something grounding.

Nathan watches you in silence, his gaze heavy. You can feel it, like a weight on your shoulders. You sit down at the table, focusing intently on your food, though it might as well be cardboard for all the flavor it has. You avoid eye contact, keeping your gaze fixed on your plate or the glass in front of you, anything to avoid meeting those piercing eyes that seem to see too much. The fork in your hand feels foreign, and every bite is a chore. You down three glasses of red wine in quick succession, the warmth spreading through you in an attempt to numb the edge of your anxiety.

But even the wine can’t drown out the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Nathan starts talking, his voice filling the space between you. He launches into a detailed explanation of the progress he’s made with his newest creation, his words laced with the usual excitement he reserves for his work.

Normally, you’d be right there with him, diving into the technicalities, challenging his ideas, offering your own insights. It’s what you do—it’s what makes you a great team. But tonight, it’s different. Occasionally, you nod or murmur a soft “hmm,” but it’s clear that your heart isn’t in it.

You’re not there with him—not really—and it’s obvious.

“...so close to healing itself, I’m telling you. The polymers have shown to be extremely resilient–” he hesitates mid-sentence, as if waiting for you to jump in, to offer the insight that usually comes so naturally to you. But when you don’t, when the silence stretches on longer than it should, he falters.

He looks at you, then at Kyoko standing obediently in the background, then back at you.

“Kyoko, leave us alone,” he instructs the mute android, his eyes tracking her as she leaves the room. Once the door clicks shut behind her, he doesn’t waste a second. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t look at him, poking at your food with a deliberate slowness, hoping he’ll drop it. “No–”

“Don’t say nothing, this isn’t nothing,” he interrupts, his voice firm, leaving no room for evasion.

You stiffen, your fork clattering against your plate as you glare at him. “Why do you care?”

He raises an eyebrow, unfazed by your sharp tone. “Because you screamed like someone was murdering you. And now you’re sitting here looking like a kicked puppy. So yeah, I care.”

“I don’t wanna tell you. How about that?” You lift your head, forcing a condescending smile that feels like a shield, one you hope will keep him at bay.

Nathan’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t back down. “And I can’t have you crying and moping around. It’s…distracting.”

“Well, I’m sorry for distracting you, Nathan,” you bite back, the sarcasm dripping from your words. “It won’t happen again.”

A beat passes, and in that moment, you can see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to piece together what he could have done to upset you this time. His thoughts race, quickly scanning through recent interactions, searching for any sign, any clue that might explain why you’re so distant, so...off.

Nothing stands out. You’ve always been able to hold your own, not easily shaken by his brusque nature or single-minded dedication to his projects. But then, his mind lands on a familiar concern—something that’s come up before. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“You’re not jealous ‘cause of Lana, are you?”

You snort, the sound more bitter than amused. The idea is so absurd that it doesn’t even warrant a full laugh.

But Nathan isn’t laughing. His eyes narrow slightly, his usual sharp gaze honing in on you with unsettling precision. He studies you carefully, analyzing every microexpression, every subtle twitch of muscle that might give away what you’re really feeling.

His gaze travels slowly, deliberately, from your face down to your neck, lingering there for a moment before moving to your arms. You have a couple of visible bruises from last night, but that’s to be expected given the way you and Nathan play. 

But now…now he’s wondering if he might have crossed a line without realizing it, if he pushed too far and you’re too proud to speak up.

“Was I too rough yesterday?” he asks suddenly, his voice low.

“Huh?” The question throws you off, the abrupt shift in his tone catching you by surprise.

“Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?” There’s a faint line of guilt etched across his brow, a rare sight.

You stare at him, your eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and weariness. Shaking your head, you let out a sigh, the exasperation clear in your voice.

“I know this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but the universe actually doesn’t revolve around you,” you say, your tone resigned, almost tired. “There’s more to life than androids, having sex with androids, having sex with me, or even you and me as people. It’s all meaningless bullshit, Nathan.”

Nathan blinks, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of your words. He tilts his head slightly, studying you as if trying to decipher whether you’re serious or if this is just another one of your biting remarks. “Are you okay?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The irony of your own dramatic outburst isn’t lost on you, and you can’t help but shake your head at the absurdity of it all. As you down the rest of your wine in one quick gulp, the warmth of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of your emotions.

“No. No, I’m not.”

Nathan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then tell me what happened. Might help.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up again. “I can’t. It’s dumb.”

You brace yourself for the inevitable snide remark, for Nathan to dismiss your feelings with some cynical observation about the meaningless nature of the universe, to reduce your pain to just another inconsequential blip in the grand scheme of things.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he surprises you.

He leans back further, his posture more relaxed, his gaze steady as it locks onto yours. “Not if it makes you this sad. Come on, talk to me.”

There’s no condescension, no sarcasm, just an unexpected patience that catches you off guard. For a moment, you just stare at him, searching his face for the usual smugness, the mask of indifference he wears so well. But it’s not there. Instead, there’s something else, something gentler, and it stirs something inside you that you’ve been trying to suppress for some time now.

You sigh, feeling the fight drain out of you as the weight of the day catches up. “It’s stupid, Nathan. You’ll think it’s stupid.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rush you. “Try me.”

You absentmindedly play with your napkin as you decide to rip the bandaid off. “I spilled coffee on my bunny.”

“You spilled coffee on your bunny,” he repeats slowly, as if trying to understand.

“Yeah.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like you don’t have other vibr–”

You roll your eyes, secretly amused by his thought process. “It’s not a fucking vibrator.”

“Okay, but unless you’ve been secretly building an AI rabbit, I don’t–”

“It’s a plushie.”

“A plushie.”

“Yeah, my bunny Cinnamon. I’ve had him since I was fourteen and he’s been with me through school and my whole adult life and through everything. I’ve always taken care of him, making sure he doesn’t get dirty, and today I spilled my stupid fucking coffee that I don’t even like ‘cause you buy these stupid beans no normal human would ever like, and I spilled it on him and it soaked into his fur, and now he’s ruined ‘cause I’m a clumsy fucking loser who can’t even take care of an inanimate object.”

You finish your rant, raising an eyebrow. “Happy?”

Nathan looks at you with a furrowed brow, clearly taken aback. For a moment, you think he’s going to laugh, and you hold his gaze, ready for the ridicule you’re sure is coming.

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stares at you, a mixture of confusion and...something else in his eyes. “Why don’t you just clean it?”

You push your chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor, and stand up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Forget it. This was stupid. I’m going to bed.”

You turn to leave, but before you can take a step, Nathan’s hand is on your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Wait.”

You stop, not turning around, not trusting yourself to face him.

“Hey,” he says, softer this time. “I’m not...I’m not making fun of you, okay? I just...didn’t expect that.”

You glance back at him, and the look on his face is so uncharacteristically sincere that you actually believe him. He looks almost...concerned. Genuinely concerned.

“It’s just a plushie,” you mutter, feeling foolish for letting him see you like this. But Nathan doesn’t let go of your arm.

“Maybe. But it obviously means something to you.” He hesitates, then adds, “Let me help.”

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. This is new territory—Nathan offering to help with something so personal, something so seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t part of your job description, nor is it part of your usual dynamic. You’re not sure how to feel. 

“What do you mean ‘help’?”

Nathan smirks, that familiar cocky edge returning. “I could make Cardamom or whatever his name is–”

“It’s Cinnamon,” you interject, your tone flat but with a trace of amusement that you can’t quite suppress.

“–play the piano or explain particle physics to you if I wanted to,” he continues without missing a beat. “You think I can’t clean him up?”

You sigh. Can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “But you can’t be too rough with him. His fur is very delicate.” The words come out more vulnerable than you intended, and you can feel the weight of what you’re entrusting him with.

“That’s why I’ve avoided washing him—I’m scared he’ll get damaged in the process. And be extra careful with his right ear. My grandma had to sew it back on a couple of times, and it’s barely hanging on.”

You pause, looking deeply into his eyes before you add, “And I know you probably think there’s no way I’d ever figure out you replaced him, but I swear I will. And I swear I’ll smother you with a pillow in your sleep if you do.”

Nathan’s smirk fades slowly, replaced by an expression that’s surprisingly serious. He nods, meeting your gaze with a sincerity that’s rare for him. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Then, you pull your arm from his grip, feeling the warmth of his touch linger even after you’ve stepped away. You nod towards the hallway. “I’ll go get him.”

Nathan nods, his eyes following you as you leave the kitchen. Once you’re out of sight, he exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders releasing slightly. He pours himself another glass of wine, the liquid sloshing into the glass, and without hesitation, he chugs it down in one go.

The quiet of the night wraps around you, a stark contrast to the tension that has filled the kitchen just moments ago. The sound of your footsteps crunching on the gravel path is the only thing that breaks the silence as you start walking, letting the night sky and the crisp air clear your mind.

The stars above are faint, blurred by the ambient light of the house, but their presence is calming. You shove your hands into your pockets, trying to steady your breathing, to let the chaos in your head dissipate with each step you take.

The trees rustle softly in the wind, their branches swaying gently, and you find a rhythm in their movement, letting it guide you further away from the house, from Nathan, from everything.

As you walk, the tension in your chest begins to ease. The cool air feels like a balm on your frayed nerves, each breath you take helping to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside you. The doubts, the worries, the unexpected tenderness of Nathan’s promise—all of it seems to drift away, carried off by the breeze.

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky. The vastness of it makes your concerns feel small, insignificant, like a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. And yet, your feelings of inadequacy still weigh on you, lingering in the back of your mind.

The walk brings a sense of clarity, a chance to distance yourself from the intensity of your worries, your stress, your fears. You needed this—to step away, to breathe, to remind yourself of who you are outside of everything that’s been happening. The steady rhythm of your footsteps, the coolness of the air, and the quiet solitude of the night slowly bring you back to yourself.

As you step inside, the house is cloaked in a quiet stillness, the dimmed lights casting soft shadows across the sleek decor. There’s a warmth to it that you hadn’t noticed before, a subtle comfort in the way everything is arranged, each detail meticulously chosen. It feels like home. It sounds strange, even to yourself, but it does.

This is your home.

You find Nathan lounging on the couch in his sweatpants, a beer in hand, the television on but muted, the flickering images washing his features in soft, rhythmic light. There’s a stillness to him, a calm that contrasts sharply with the man you’re used to—a man of constant motion, always thinking, always creating.

The scene is oddly serene, almost peaceful, and you take a moment to just look at him, to take in the man who has become such a pivotal part of your world.

It’s strange to think about how much has changed in the past year. How this man, with all his brilliance and flaws, has shown you a life you couldn’t have dreamed of before.

Empty bottles litter the table, evidence that he’s been going at it since you left an hour ago, either lost in his thoughts or deliberately trying to drown them. It’s hard to tell with Nathan.

You sit down beside him, feeling the tension in your body ease further as you settle into the familiar proximity.

Nathan glances at you, his eyes briefly scanning your face before he wordlessly offers you the bottle. You take it, the cold glass a comforting weight in your palm, and bring it to your lips. The cool liquid slides down your throat, its familiar taste bringing a sense of comfort.

“Feeling better?” Nathan asks, his voice rough around the edges.

“Yeah,” you nod, handing him the bottle. 

You shrug off your jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch, and you catch the way Nathan’s eyes immediately track the movement. His gaze lingers on the way your tight shirt clings to your curves, the fabric accentuating every line, every contour of your body.

It’s a work of art, and Nathan knows a thing or two about art—about bodies, creating bodies, perfecting them in ways that only a mind like his can. But as he looks at you, he’s aware that no creation of his, no flawless android, could ever compare to the real thing. To you.

There’s something different in his gaze tonight, a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch. He shifts beside you, setting the bottle aside as he turns to face you more fully. “Come here,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you hesitate. But the pull between you is irresistible, a magnetic force that’s seemingly always been there, drawing you together. You move over, straddling his lap as his hands find their way to your back, sliding down to your ass, pulling you in until every inch of you is pressed against him.

His touch is familiar, but tonight it feels different—deliberate, meaningful, loaded with intent.

He inhales deeply, his nose tracing the delicate line of your neck, his beard tickling you, his breath warm against your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but sigh softly, your hips moving instinctively against him, seeking relief from the growing heat pooling low in your belly. The hardness of his erection pressing against you only intensifies the need building inside you, the ache that demands to be satisfied.

Nathan’s hands roam your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine with a touch that’s both soothing and electrifying. When his lips find yours, the kiss is soft at first, tentative, but the hesitation doesn’t last long. The kiss deepens quickly, becoming more insistent, more demanding, making your head spin.

You’re both growing impatient quickly, the need for each other driving you to the brink. Hips bucking, teeth biting, lips sucking—you’re lost in the all-consuming sensation that is Nathan, in the desperate hunger that consumes you both. 

He grips the fabric of your shirt and pushes it up over your breasts, leaning in immediately to suck on your nipples, teasing, flicking, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, while his hands knead your flesh, pinching, groping, biting with a fervor that sends jolts of intense pleasure coursing through you. 

Unable to hold back any longer, he releases your breast with a wet pop, his breath ragged as he crashes his lips against yours again in a desperate, heated kiss. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you so close that there’s no space left between you, his need for you palpable. He holds you as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, as if letting go isn’t an option.

One hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin as he deepens the kiss, while the other hand is splayed across your back, pressing you tighter against him. Every moan that escapes your lips is met with a hungry response, as if your sounds are the only thing anchoring him in this moment, the only thing that matters.

You’re close, so close, but it’s not enough. Nathan wants more—needs more. He wants to have you, feel you, own you, swallow you whole. He wants to lose himself in you, to find solace in the way your bodies fit together, to forget everything else in the world except for the way you make him feel.

You feel the same, more than ready for him to fuck your brains out and make it all right. But as much as you want him, need him, you can’t ignore the way your lungs are burning for air. Unlike the perfect creations in his lab, you do need to breathe. 

You pull back slightly, your lips parting from his as you gasp for air. But when you look into Nathan’s eyes, you’re struck by what you see there—something you’ve never seen before, something that reaches out and wraps around your heart, squeezing it in a way that almost hurts.

Something you’re not sure either of you are ready to face.

“I’m, uh...I’m tired,” you mumble, breaking eye contact as you clumsily slide off his lap and tug your shirt down, the movement awkward and hurried. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, and your hands tremble slightly as you adjust your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I’m going to bed.”

Nathan lets out a deep sigh, his hands falling to his sides as he watches you retreat, the space between you growing with every step you take.

There’s a sense of resignation in his posture, a silent acknowledgment that the moment, whatever it was, is slipping away. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if trying to wipe away what just happened, as if trying to regain the control that he’s always prided himself on.

He reaches for his beer bottle on the table, lifting it to his lips and taking a long, slow swig. The familiar taste does little to ease the frustration gnawing at him, but it gives his hands something to do, a way to distract himself from the thoughts spinning in his mind and the persistent throb of his painfully hard cock twitching in his pants.

As he sets the bottle back down with a muted clink, movement catches the corner of his eye. Kyoko appears, her presence as silent and seamless as ever, slipping into the room like a shadow. She moves with that same fluid grace, her expression blank, her purpose clear. Nathan’s eyes flicker to her, and for a moment, his gaze lingers, examining the beautiful android.

Nathan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to.

As you fumble with your key card, hands trembling slightly, you manage to swipe it through the reader and push the door open to the hallway. But something tugs at you, a nagging curiosity or perhaps a sense of masochism that makes you pause. You glance back over your shoulder, hesitating just long enough to let that impulse take hold. Quietly, you turn and peer around the corner.

Kyoko kneels between Nathan’s spread legs, her movements fluid and precise. Her head dips lower, and Nathan’s hands tighten on the edge of the couch, his knuckles white. His head falls back against the cushion, his eyes closing as a groan slips from his lips—low, guttural, filled with a raw need that makes your stomach twist and your clit twitch.

The heavy door hisses shut behind you as you step into the hallway, but the noise doesn’t drown out the scene you’ve just witnessed. You walk, move away from the door, but halfway to your room, you hear it—his voice, needy and rough, reverberating through the corridor.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

The words are drawn out, dripping with a mix of pleasure and arrogance. You can almost see the smirk on his lips, feel the way his eyes might flicker with satisfaction, knowing full well you can hear him. He’s doing it on purpose, pushing your buttons with calculated precision, reveling in the power it gives him—the sense that he’s back in control.

It’s only when you’re finally under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in the stillness of your room, that you allow yourself to process what just happened. The events replay in your mind, sharp and vivid, but the more you think about it, the more surreal it seems. 

Maybe you were just imagining things. What you thought you saw in his eyes…it can’t have been real. It’s easier to dismiss it, to chalk it up to your own wishful thinking rather than confront the complexity of what it might mean.

You know Nathan too well. He gets needy when he’s loaded, it’s a pattern you’ve seen countless times before.

Sometimes that neediness manifests in long, rambling monologues about the futility of human existence and the inevitability of death, his voice heavy with cynicism and a touch of despair. Other times, it manifests in something more primal, a desperate hunger for a body to fuck, a way to drown out the noise in his head, and someone to make him feel like he’s still doing something right in a world he so often views as chaotic and meaningless.

Tonight was no different, was it? Just another of his drunken nights where he needs to either pour out his soul or lose himself in the physical, grasping at anything—or anyone—to stave off the emptiness that gnaws at him when he’s left alone with his thoughts.

The idea of it being anything more feels almost ridiculous.

You wake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee sitting on your nightstand and the sight of Cinnamon, clean and dry, resting beside you on the bed. You blink, still groggy, as you reach out to touch him, half expecting it to be a dream. But he’s real, his fur soft under your fingers, the stains gone as if they were never there.

You sit up and scan him carefully, trace the little scratches on his eyes, examine the stitches on his ear, and determine that this is in fact him. You smell him, but can’t detect any detergent or other substance that Nathan could have used to clean him. 

You decide no to ask him how he did it.

A smile tugs at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest as you hold the plushie close. Nathan actually did it. He took care of him, just like he promised. For you.

Sliding out of bed, you grab the coffee from the nightstand and head to the bathroom, savoring the warmth of the cup in your hands. As you take a sip, you’re surprised to find that it tastes better, smoother. You pause, raising an eyebrow. Did he really switch the beans? Must’ve hit a nerve when you complained about them last night. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror and sigh. The past few days have taken a toll, and it shows. Dark circles, dry skin—definitely time to stop moping and do something about it. You take another sip of the coffee, the rich, new flavor lingering pleasantly on your tongue, and as you lower the cup, something catches your eye.

Sticking to the bottom of the cup is a small, folded post-it note. You pluck it off, unfolding it with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

good as new, no need to murder me in my sleep

also, his name should be Cinnabun

he’s a bunny

You smile to yourself, carefully stick the note on the inside of your mirror cabinet, and take a moment to make yourself look halfway presentable before heading to the kitchen.

Nathan isn’t there, but the used blender and the bandages lying next to the punching bag on the deck tell you he’s already been up and about. You think of what you’re going to say to him on your way to the lab.

When you enter, you find him leaning against a glass table, a disgustingly healthy green smoothie in hand as he reads something on his tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but you know he’s aware of you.

“Morning,” you say, your voice soft, tentative.

“Morning,” he replies, not looking up from the screen.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, you settle on the simplest thing, the thing that’s been on your mind since you woke up.

“Thank you, Nathan. He looks great.”

Nathan finally looks up, his gaze meeting yours. He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, though you catch the slightest tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his tone casual, like it’s nothing at all.

But it is something. It’s everything, really, and you can’t hold back anymore. Before you can think better of it, you close the distance between you and wrap your arms around him in a tight, impulsive hug. It’s most definitely not what you planned on doing, not at all, but it feels right.

Nathan stiffens at first, clearly not expecting the gesture, but then he puts down the smoothie and tablet, and his arms come up to return the embrace, hesitantly at first, then more firmly. It’s strange, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat against you like this, but it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

You stay like that for a moment, neither of you saying anything, just holding onto each other. When you finally pull back, Nathan’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes your heart ache. You want to say something, but the words don’t come.

Instead, it’s Nathan who breaks the silence. “You wanna see something cool?”

You smile at him, nodding. “Sure.”

He leads you over to another table where he’s been working on Lana’s thigh muscles. The intricate work is laid out in front of you, a testament to the hours he’s poured into perfecting every detail. He points to a small, precise incision. “You see this cut? It was a centimeter deep. Now look at it.”

You lean in, examining the area closely. The wound is almost completely healed, the synthetic tissue knitting itself back together seamlessly. “It’s almost healed. Incredible,” you say, marveling at the rapid regeneration.

Nathan observes your reaction with satisfaction, but there’s a slight furrow in his brow, a sign that he’s not completely pleased with his work. “It is. But I feel like I’m hitting a wall with these new polymers I’ve been testing.”

“Yeah?” You glance up at him, curious.

“Yeah,” he continues, his gaze shifting to you. “I’ve been meaning to get your input. See if you can spot something I’ve missed.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re stunned. The acknowledgment, the unexpected validation, it takes a second to sink in. Despite your best efforts, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. It’s small, but the warmth it brings spreads through you, impossible to hide.

All you manage is a quick nod before turning swiftly toward the disinfectant dispenser next to the door.

As you methodically disinfect your hands, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the warmth blooming inside you, and then pull on the nitrile gloves, you’re too focused on controlling your own emotions to notice the way Nathan’s eyes are fixed on you. His gaze lingers, taking in every small movement, every detail of your response.

His thoughts are a tangled mess, caught between admiration for your skill and the quiet way you’ve earned his respect, confusion at the intensity of his own feelings, and something dangerously close to longing.

Thank you for reading! Nathan Bateman Masterlist

Tag List: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @pattwtf

pride - nathan bateman

seven sins series

so this is a little different...I thought of pride like control? like d/s stuff. there is subdrop in this but it is dealt with positively and there is aftercare. just letting you know xox

Nathan had mastered this. It was his favorite study he'd conducted - the frailty of the human mind. To see just how far he could push until it fell apart. He'd delighted in coaxing your mind away from your body, keeping it stable in some distant, floaty headspace.

Currently, he was watching you intently, searching your face for tells. He'd chosen today to troubleshoot something, but he needed you submissive.

It starts with tone. His voice would smooth over, dark and deep like a polished river stone. Nathan would touch you subtly while he spoke; a hand on your elbow or a gentle caress of your shoulder. Once you had relaxed, knowing he was calm, he'd slip in a pet name.

Get me a pen, will you, doll?

Thank you, honey.

It took about an hour of constantly repeating the steps for you to begin the descent. Nathan could tell when your eyes would soften and you had a light smile hung over your cheeks. Then he'd start casual intimacy; pulling you into his lap, kissing your cheek, petting your hair. Once your cheeks were rosy and warm he knew you were steadily slipping.

Currently, you were knelt between his legs, head draped on his strong thigh. Nathan was reading something, hand absently stroking your head. A desk fan was whirring quietly in the background, the ambient noise punctuated by the shffing of the pages flipping.

Though Nathan seemed distracted, he was carefully analyzing your reactions. You were slack-jawed and happy, hungry for whatever he'd give you. It made his ego glow proudly.

Nathan let his hand wander to your cheek, stroking circles while scratching beneath your ear. It sent shivers down your back and you purred, nosing into his sweatpants. The soft cotton smelled of him - clean and warm, with a bite of something earthy. It soothed you further into the clouds, melting your mind into a pool of nothing.

He kept up the firm, even strokes until you'd sunk to his liking. Carefully setting the book down, he tapped his leg.

"Warm me, honey?"

You blinked slowly, lashes fluttering, before sliding forward and pulling down his waistband. He'd foregone underwear and you drooled, leaning forward to press a kiss at his semi-hard length. Nathan grunted, shifting to let you fit between his thighs.

Feeling a blanket of comfort fall over you, you began to suckle at him, tongue teasing his slit and the thickness. His cock rested heavy and grounding in your mouth. You were comforted by the feeling. A pleasant ache throbbed in your throat as you took him all the way, breathing in his salty musk.

Nathan tapped his thigh again and you stopped sucking, letting the warm heat of your mouth do the rest. You fluttered your lashes again, gazing up at him in adoration. He kept his breaths measured with difficulty, groaning at the sight of you so ready for him.

The tightness of your throat was heavenly. Your cheeks pulsed with the blush spreading across your face, the hot wetness thrumming like a vibrator around his length.

Nathan felt the blood rushing and he twitched, hardening. You whined and shifted, opening wider to accommodate. He sighed low and gravelly, reaching down to thumb your cheek.

"There's a good girl, fuckin' beautiful," he breathed, sitting further forward. Like a good pet you didn't move back, instead leaned forward, nuzzling into his hip.

Nathan wasn't gonna last. With a long hiss he pulled you off of him, saliva glistening on his throbbing red tip. You licked your lips, pouting with need. He cooed, pulling you up and to his lap.

"I have something for you," he whispered in your ear, massaging your backside. You rolled your hips at the feeling, eyes bright with intrigue.

"Something?"

He nodded, kissing your neck gently. He had to breach this very carefully, so not to break the fragile cage he had your mind in. Usually he was rougher by now, taking what he wanted with unfaltering determination. You were unused to his gentleness, but accepted it willingly.

"Go upstairs," he murmured, hand slipping to cup your breasts, "and lay on the bed. Take these off." He tugged at the elastic of your panties, punctuating the request with a sudden squeeze of your nipple. Dripping with anticipation, you scampered away.

He took a minute to stave off his pulsing cock before standing. Your obedience was the most arousing thing he'd ever seen. To know that he'd gotten you there with nothing but some words...

Made him feel like a fucking god.

Retrieving the wrapped bundle from his desk, he stalked after you.

Just as he asked, you were lying on the bed, naked save for your bra. He could see a small pool of slick at your entrance, folds glistening with anticipation. Your hands were clean - this was just for him.

Nathan leaned down and kissed you, hands stroking your waist. You moaned into his mouth, hips undulating slowly, greedy for friction. He let you hump the air for a moment before swiftly smacking your thigh.

"Knock it off," he said firmly. You felt the change in tone, whimpering and squirming away. Nathan ran a hand through his beard and unwrapped the gift he'd brought.

You sat up curiously.

"What's that?"

He laid it between you with a flourish. It was a harness, with a small black disk and a metal cage on one end. Nathan's hand rested on your thigh.

"Listen carefully." His tone was authoritative. You shivered at the dominance, squeezing your thighs together. The slick leaking from your core was sticky and smelled strongly of lust, making his head swim.

"I'm going to get you ready, and then you're going to put this on." Nathan pointed to the chair in the corner of the room. "I'm going to sit right there and watch you get off. Your safeword-"

"Blue."

"Good."

Setting the toy aside, Nathan grabbed your legs and wrenched them apart, latching onto your clit. You moaned, louder, desperate for his attention.

Sheets twisted in your strong grip as his beard dragged coarsely along your inner thighs, adding a delicious sensation to the hot, broad strokes of his tongue.

Nathan was shuddering against the bed, groaning with pleasure. Your folds were velvety and soaking in your delectable scent, making a buzzing high flood his veins. Within moments you were gushing over his tongue. He lapped greedily, making sure to leave some for the toy.

Wrenching himself away took effort. He sucked your juices from his beard, fisting his cock to relieve the pressure. You mewled and reached out to feel him.

"Don't be bad," he snapped, swatting your hand away. You keened, eyes round with lust.

Nathan began to slip the harness around your hips. The black disk rested against your entrance, cool and hard. The cold shell was stark against your hot cunt, the aftershocks intensified.

He beckoned you to roll your hips, ensuring the cage or harness wasn't too tight.

"Color?"

"G-green," you breathed, squirming with anticipation. He slipped a small remote into his hand and backed against the chair, hand immediately going to his cock. He couldn't wait to watch you fall apart, collapsing into his hands like a doll. Like something he could control.

A small click, and your breath hitched.

The disk had begun to grow, swelling and pushing against your needy hole. You whimpered, sending a terrified look at Nathan. He watched, enraptured, as the artificial cock grew and sucked into your messy center.

"Fuck..." he groaned, hardening in his hand, "look at you, so wet for me, huh?"

Your chest heaved and you bucked, whining loudly as the remote dildo began plundering in and out, thick silicone hammering your insides. The first orgasm was of pure shock, like a dousing of ice water to your depraved system.

The added slick made the dildo slide faster, stroking every inch of your insides. It swelled more, making you choke. Your thighs trembled with the force of the thrusts. Gaze blurring with tears, you grabbed onto the bedpost for dear life, rutting hard against the wood, trying to regain control.

"N-Nathan," you sobbed, a wail tearing the thought to shreds. Hot pleasure soared through you again, dripping cum down your legs and onto the sheets.

"That's okay," he gritted out, tugging at his cock, "that's j-just right baby, ah.." His own pleasure roiled at your debauched expression.

The black rubber was rocking your pelvis with its strength, rendering your legs useless. You fell back onto the mattress, hips arching. He got the best view of his life - your puffy pink folds glistening creamily with arousal, fluttering and sucking around his prototype.

'F-fuck me," he groaned to himself, panting with need. His hips rocked of their own accord, wrist tightening.

You whined high again, a throaty sob wracking your ribs as another wave of slick coursed out of you. Your clit was dying from the constant stimulation.

Time slowed. The air felt thick and hot and damp on your shivering skin, melting every conscious thought in your head. The rhythmic punches of the cock in your stomach were all you could focus on. The feel of bedsheets beneath you was distant, unfocused.

Your body was drifting away, a blade slicing the trembling connection. Another orgasm crested, soaking you further. You shuddered as feverish pleasure rocketed up your spine.

Nathan was humping himself into his hand, groaning and huffing.

"G-good girl, baby," he growled, "doing so g-goohshitffuck-" he gasped and choked as his release punched him in the gut, spurting over the pristine floors.

You heard Nathan's cry, suddenly reminded of his presence. Raising a hand, you shakily reached for him, struggling to sit up through the strong aftershocks. Your thighs had gone numb, and you slid off the bed into a tangled heap.

The cold floor made you mewl, arching away from the freezing linoleum. Nathan grabbed you, pulling you close to his chest. The dildo scissored harder, now twisting in a figure eight. You keened and moaned, bucking your hips against his, trying to escape the mechanical pleasure.

"No more," you blubbered, whining into his shoulder, "n-no more please ah-" It seized you again and you began to cry, fisting your hands into his shirt. Nathan watched, slack-jawed with awe.

His creation was perfect. It had reduced you to a state in minutes that would have taken him hours. You were a mess and still reached for him, craved his attention.

"Perfect," he breathed. He was a genius.

Your hand grabbed at his neck and you pulled him in for a kiss, teeth clashing and tongues lapping at each other. Arousal gripped him again, and he felt his sensitive length begin to harden.

Nathan inhaled deeply and fumbled at your harness.

"Enough, enough, no more," he gritted out, "my turn now, princess." He yanked out the dildo, squelching obscenely. The suddenness made you throb, pussy clenching and unclenching in the emptiness.

Spiking, achy pleasure pulsed under your skin. You felt feverish and on the verge of passing out. Your tongue lapped at Nathan's salty sweat, needing him.

He growled, pinning you to the soiled sheets. You thrashed away from him, aching for a break.

"Be good," he barked, smacking your ass, "ass up, baby, you know how this goes. There we go," he grinned when you complied, struggling to keep yourself upright. Your thighs trembled.

He watched your pussy quiver in anticipation, clit stiff and swollen. "Pretty thing's tired, huh? Too bad."

With one, hard push he was fully seated in you. You collapsed forward, twitching and screaming with overstimulation.

His cock was thicker than the fake one, and throbbing with need. It pulsed hot and strong inside you, pushing your already exhausted nerves to beyond the max. As he began a fast, shallow pace, you shook limply.

Like a ragdoll, you leaned into every touch, eyes empty and mouth slack, drooling over the pillows. A whine had begun to buzz in your ear, and you felt a sudden rush of vertigo. Nathan's fast thrusts and pumping hips slapped against yours, rattling your fucked-out brain.

The warm haze of earlier now felt too hot. You sucked your lip, trying to keep from crying. Something...something was wrong. It felt like you were falling in a dream, that quick rushing terror from something? Nothing? You didn't know.

Blearily, you reached for Nathan, wanting comfort. He took your hand and pressed it close to his chest, still rutting into your abused cunt.

too...too much. too much, too much, too far, we need to-

Your chest gripped with terror as you struggled to remember the safe word. uh oh, uh oh uh oh.

"Nathan," you whimpered through a moan. "N-nathan, w-wait-"

"I know, pet, I know," he growled, "taking me so well, taking it all so w-well f-fuck." His length pulsed again, and the panic gripped you tighter.

Your torn mind flailed and scrabbled at anything to focus, to think through the oppressive haze of subspace that choked you. Achy heat slurred your thoughts into a mush, but the tears were real.

Hot, bubbling and torrential tears flooded your cheeks as you urged away from his harsh grip on your thighs. Nathan hissed and yanked you closer, flipping you to face him.

He hesitated at your hiccupping sobs and wrecked expression.

The brief slowing of his hips allowed for one, shimmering moment of clarity.

Blue. Blue, blue-

"Blue," you whispered hoarsely, shuddering at another punch of nausea.

Nathan wrenched himself out of you, swearing rapidly. "Okay, okay, okay," he muttered, pulling you up and off of the wet sheets. You continued blubbering, your entire lower half throbbing in pain.

A combination of his and your slick dripped steadily out of you, puddling on the bathroom floor.

"I got you," he cooed frantically, rubbing a hand up and down your sweat-sticky back. You heaved and twitched, still spinning down from the clutches of your headspace.

Nathan turned on the shower to a warm temperature and stripped off your bra and his pants, pulling you in beside him. As you clung to him desperately, he opened a bottle of lavender shampoo and let the calming scent flood the bathroom.

it's over, it's over, good girl was pressed into your hair. His beard tickled, you thought deliriously, searching for anything to calm yourself. A cool rag passed over your shoulders and down your chest, soothing the harsh bites he'd left behind.

Nathan's heart pounded, searching your face with a stricken expression. Your eyes were still foggy, but the tears had stopped. okay, okay. go slow. she needs slow. Giving you room to breathe, he lathered up the cloth again and knelt.

"Spread, honey," he said gently, tapping your legs. "Just gonna clean up, teasing is over, but you need to budge up."

Timidly you obeyed, revealing your overused cunt. He wiped as gently as he could, glasses fogging in the steam. Your folds still wept release, swollen so hot he could feel the heat radiating.

"You went far, hm?" He murmured, standing to pull you into his chest. You shivered and nodded, clutching at his wet shoulders. The clean cottony smell of his skin soothed the raw edges of your mind slightly.

Nathan shut off the water and wrapped you in a towel. "Drink," he instructed firmly, lifting a glass of water to your lips.

trying not to choke, you took a swallow and settled back against him.

Nathan picked up the cue. you needed grounding. He held you, wrapped in a thick towel. Maybe tighter than you'd usually like, but the slight squeeze helped cajole your mind into a stabler position.

"That's it," he muttered, "did so fuckin' good for me, honey. Just take a breather. In and out."

You rocked slightly, exhaustion creeping in. His chest rose and fell exaggeratedly, coaxing you to follow. A heavy quiet had fallen, drowning out the echoes of screams in your head.

The sheets were changed and lights off. Nathan drew you up onto his lap, eyes serious.

"I won't make you do that again, okay?" His tone was paced and intentional. You nodded, nibbling your lower lip. Gently, he pried it from your teeth and stroked your mouth.

'This," he gestured between you, "this is a game. I'm winning, because I'm in control, and you're tagging along. But when you think you're losing," he said, softening his eyes, "that's when the game stops. Understand?"

you nodded, eyes gentle. He slipped his thumb in your mouth, which you gladly accepted. You were still drifting in subspace, but close enough to the real world that your breath was grounded. Suckling gently on the warm pad of his finger, you drifted off, held tight against his chest.

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine

tags! comment to join! xox

nice

flufftober prompt - scent (day 3)

summary: You've got a very specific perfume that Nathan loves. He'd like to be around it all the time, but he struggles when you leave.

cw: none

This was the most frustrating project of his career? This, this stupid little pet project that was stupidly sentimental and not even something he cared about. Well, he did, a lot, but it was stupid.

Nathan sat crossly on the floor, an array of glass bottles around his feet. They were all open; floral, woodsy, spicy and aromas emanating from them in a powerful wave. It make the room feel almost humid, and a raging headache was pulsing behind his eyes.

He sighed, picking up the next one and taking a whiff. Woah.

Too much sandalwood.

The headache pounded, blood sloshing achingly around his sinuses. This better be worth it.

He'd tried literally everything. His android skin had a new capability for an artificial pheromone, of which could be scented with anything. The obvious choice would be your perfume. He'd snuck the bottle from your bathroom and jotted down every ingredient. Coding it had been a bitch but he got it done.

It still wasn't right.

You were out at some stupid gathering for a baby shower, so he couldn't smush his face into your neck and take a big whiff. If he could make Ava smell that way, maybe you not being here wouldn't bother him so much.

Nathan tossed down the clipboard and stalked out of his lab, snatching his boxing gloves on the way out. He needed fresh air if he hoped to get anything done.

Fuckin' impossible, he griped, sweat pooling under his chin. The thud thud thud of his gloves on the sandbag sent a satisfying ache through his shoulders. He ran through the algorithm over and over, timing the different inputs with his punches. It should have worked. He'd done a trial with some random combination of peppermint and it smelled identical.

Nathan slammed his shoulder into the bag. As he re-adjusted his stance, he got a whiff of-

hey. Whipping around, he searched the surrounding room, rubbing the condensation from his glasses. His gaze darted around the compound, hands at his sides.

Where- he knew you were there. Why weren't you coming to say hello? Scowling, he turned back to the bag and shrieked.

You grinned at him, a huge pink bear in your arms. Heart pounding, he scowled.

"Coulda fuckin' said something," he grumbled, stripping off the sweaty gloves. You wiggled your eyebrows.

"And miss that display of manliness? No way." Leaning forward, you pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Go shower, I wanna hug you."

Nathan ignored you, crushing you against his chest anyway. You groaned at the feeling of his damp shirt against your dress, attempting to shove him off playfully. He took the opportunity to mouth at your neck, drinking in the delicate smell.

Giggling, you pushed past him and nodded to the hall.

"What have you been working on?"

Nathan averted his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "Algo," he said vaguely, rubbing his beard. You rolled your eyes.

"Duh, Einstein, I didn't expect you to take up knitting."

His lips quirked and he followed you to the kitchen. Your perfume hung everywhere, flooding his nose like a warm breeze. He loved that smell. A feeling of relief and comfort was undeniably tied to it; he'd felt soothed the moment he caught a trace.

While you prepared a snack, you chattered about the shower, discussing women he'd never met and the horrendous roster of baby names. It went all in one ear and out the other. Nathan kept his nose stuck in your neck, breathing slowly and steadily. The migraine had dulled to a mild ache, and he was content to fall asleep.

He didn't realize he'd stopped moving until you waved your hand in front of his face.

You cocked your head, poking his cheek. "Earth to Nathan? You there, baby?"

His eyes were dilated and soft, hand caught on the hem of his shirt. After a moment he nodded absently, kissing your cheek.

You watched him go quizzically. Before he reached the door to his office, he turned. "I need you for something real quick, come here."

Wiping your hands on a towel, you peeked in and saw the mess on the floor. Your eyebrows quirked. "Starting a perfumery?" You coughed at the strong odor.

He gave you a cross look and gestured to sit down. A tablet was open to a long list of code, cursor blinking. Nathan fiddled with something, humming absentmindedly. You took a moment to look around, smiling at the few pictures he had on his wall beside prototypes and old monitors. Sap, you thought fondly. Your favorite picture, the two of you on a hike, was centered on the wall with a nice oak frame.

He tugged your hair gently to get your attention.

"I need you to tell me every product you use," he said, pulling up a document on his device. "Makeup, shower, perfume, everything."

You stared.

"Why?" It was such a left-field question, so utterly out of character.

His dark gaze leveled with yours. "Shampoo?"

Wrinkling your nose at his stubbornness, you sighed. "Coconut vanilla. My conditioner has lavender and shea butter...uh, I dunno about shaving cream." He nodded, typing your answer. You shifted closer.

"What are y-"

"Next," he interrupted, blinking expectantly. Mildly affronted, you continued.

"Almond hair oil, sometimes I add dry shampoo, sometimes I don't..."

He frowned. "You smell the same every day, you always use that."

Your mouth was set to continue, but his comment made you pause. He was...huh?

"What the hell are you doing, Nathan?" your tone shifted, firmer and a little less silly. He caught it, the tips of his ears reddening.

"It's for a project," he muttered, shifting so you couldn't see his screen. Eyes narrowed in curiosity, you crept up behind him and nosed into his shoulder. He leaned in for a moment, then caught on to your plan and wriggled away. Your fingers danced under his shirt, digging into the sensitive skin of his sides.

Nathan swore around a huffing laugh, trying to escape your smothering affection. Laughing, you crept after him, fumbling to grab the tablet.

"Hey hey hey hey," he protested, tucking it under his shirt. Your hands were shaking as you cackled, flopping into his lap. The look on his face was attempting to be upset, but the glimmer in his eye was pure amusement.

"C'mon," you said softly, coming down from your fit, "what is it?"

He huffed and looked down, pretending that the floor had suddenly become interesting.

'Ava," he started, then cleared his throat. His tone shifted professionally, back into Genius mode. "Ava's chemical receptors can have...an artificial pheromone and I thought," he frowned, clearly trying not to blush, "I thought your perfume would be...nice."

"Nice."

"Yep."

He huffed again and tried to get up, but you wrapped your arms around his middle. Nathan grumbled but still buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply. A smile tickled your lips. You petted his head, feeling the raspy smoothness of his scalp.

Nathan realized he didn't want Ava to smell like you. He had you forever, he didn't need some shoddy replacement. That familiar drunk feel was churning in his chest, warming him from the inside. You met his lips in a sweet kiss, staring at him with such raw adoration that he had to duck away.

"If you miss me you can just say," you teased into his shirt, scruffing his beard with your fingers.

Fighting a smile, Nathan stuck out his tongue. "Shush, you."

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m comment to join the tags!

HI!!!! I found you through ex machina!!! I would sell my bones for more of it. It is SO GOOD. i understand if you dont plan on writing more of homestead, but please, tell us what was gonna happen next !!!!! (If you had an outline already, if not its ok)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa that's a pretty huge compliment, thank you!!!

Homestead, Homestead, Homestead. It isn't that I don't want to write it, really. It's just that the tf2 fixation is dormant at the moment, and has been for a while. And at the time I didn't like writing Melissa lol. I do wanna write more of it, but the issue is that right now I have stuff I wanna do MORE, and that list is always growing. My creative process is kinda just. You know. Hoarding WIPs that I'll "work on later." 😂

I was an even less disciplined writer back then than I am now, so I kind of just had some loosely connected ideas that I would write whenever I ended up feeling like it. So, seeing as at this point the most likely way I'll get back to Homestead is after an Ex Machina rewrite (and who knows if/when I'll get to that), sure, I'll share some ideas I had for Homestead under the readmore. Hypothetical spoilers below.

For starters, Engie is sterile. He and Melissa wanted children, but didn't find out until later that Engie couldn't have kids. It's why there was a room in the house that didn't match the rest, it's why Engie immediately latched onto the idea of caring for Mal (and partially why he didn't always have the best instincts even when his intentions were good; no practice), and it's why Melissa was initially REALLY uncomfortable with the fact that he'd "built a son in all but name."

Speaking of Melissa, she definitely didn't like Mal. She's seen enough of Engie's craft to know it's sound. But this is the first time he's (as far as she knows the situation) BUILT A GUY. Inspired by a coworker or not, that's weird. That might even make it weirder. It doesn't help that she barely gets to see her husband, and now he's brought home what might as well be his artificial kid, and barely pays her any mind because he's so set on advancing the robot's AI and teaching it ABCs. Melissa wouldn't resort to outright sabotage, because she loves her husband more than life itself, but she DOES inadvertently start a petty rivalry with Mal (if a slightly lopsided one) because frankly, she WOULD prefer that darned robot gone. Even if she wouldn't overtly say so.

I was kind of hoping for her and Mal to eventually warm up to each other, but considering Melissa's visceral distrust, and Mal's tendency to be either terrified or vindictive when wronged, to this day I'm not sure what would have spurred them to make up. I think I was just gonna keep writing as I go until an idea came up that kinda felt right.

I'm pretty sure that was it for actual plot stuff. There wasn't a whole bunch, seeing as Homestead was meant as a sort of drabble collection anyway, with a string of AU canon to tie them together. But here's some other random ideas I had for themes and chapters and stuff!

Mal really would find a horse. It wouldn't be HIS horse, but it would be a big enough horse for him to hop on and then IMMEDIATELY realize he didn't know how to ride one. No horses would be harmed in the making of that chapter.

Mal learning about sign language, and wanting to learn it. It would be difficult, seeing as he has three fused fingers and a face that can't emote, but it's close enough to what he and M-146 did that he would want to try.

Engie upgrading Mal's pattern recognition software so that it could run fast enough for him to enjoyably watch cartoons, simply because it bothered Mal that he couldn't make anything out in animated material. He would immediately swear off almost all of it for a variety of reasons (he ends up not really liking slapstick or fantasy violence, for starters), but he would quickly become hooked on shows like Scooby Doo whenever his cooking show wasn't on.

Engie would also work on de-noising his speaker system because Scout would call sometimes, and talking to a robot whose voice is 80% grain is a nightmare over the phone.

Speaking of Scout calling, Engie tended to always get surprised immediately after a call because Mal would have learned like 20 new words, and would have more varied intonation for words he already had. By the time the fic ended, Mal would have been capable of nearly flawless speech, and his intonation and even accent would become startlingly different from Scout's. And no, Engie would never fully get used to it. XD

There was gonna be a chapter of July 4th. That was uhhhhhhhhh gonna be how Engie learned Mal had pretty severe PTSD. This would have led to some newfound understanding of Mal's prior behavior, and that awareness would have in turn led to better management of— and workarounds to— Mal's anxiety. Not using certain power tools in his vicinity, for example, or slowly introducing him to stimuli that he found stressful in other contexts. (I'm no expert in how PTSD is managed, and at that age I DEFINITELY wasn't, so like, I would inform readers not to take my approach as like, a PTSD tutorial fjdkdjddhdj)

Once Mal had the words for it, he would reveal his favorite colors were yellow and green. He wouldn't want to be repainted, but he WOULD start occasionally wearing clothes about it.

Mal likes watching Engie work, but should NEVER be expected to help beyond handing him tools. (Engie learns why after the July 4th incident, when Mal has the words to share some of his backstory. Which got loosely addressed in a side fic because I literally retconned his origin like halfway through Ex Machina lol whoops)

I toyed with the idea of Mal making friends so that he wasn't 100% dependent on Engie at all times forever and ever. But I never came up with anyone, nor the circumstances for how he would even meet them when he barely gets to leave the house.

Mal eventually learns he likes to draw. He's not good at it by any stretch of the word, but he likes it.

Anything else I could put here would be me coming up with modern ideas, but these were some of the thoughts and themes I had in mind when I was first writing Homestead. Or at least the ones I could remember; there's a notebook somewhere that had a few ideas listed, but I have no clue where that is lol.

My new obsession

A quick Oscar Isaac Doodles

You’re telling me that Alex Garland’s movie Civil War… is using AI generated movie posters.

Yknow.

Alex Garland.

Who directed Ex Machina.

Thats… literally about AI takeover… and how AI will overthrow humanity if handled wrong.

Huh.

Ex Machina (2015), dir. Alex Garland

One day the AIs are going to look back on us the same way we look at fossil skeletons on the plains of Africa. An upright ape living in dust with crude language and tools, all set for extinction.

I am become death, The Destroyer of Worlds.

Ex Machina (2015), dir. Alex Garland

OSCAR ISAAC in Ex Machina (2014) dir. Alex Garland