Nathan Bateman X Reader - Tumblr Posts

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."

idk what it is about but you should write it because i am starving for more nathan and i'm tired of making my own food

I kind of can't believe I'm saying this but I had an idea for a SUPER ANGSTY Nathan Bateman x reader little series...? I need to talk about my vision with someone else to know if it's a TERRIBLE idea.

I'm unwell, I need to talk to someone and also be put down...

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!

ahahahahahahaaaaa awwww this is so perfect i love failure tea ☆☆☆☆☆

perfect nathan relationship 10/10

Rally beloved it is Mushi... calling you from baked beans land....

Any chance of romantic non smut with nathan ?

MUSHI!!!!! For you? Absolutely anything!

Contents: bad language, Nathan fluff, everyone is a bit sassy, slightly mushi-specific (~1.3k)

Nathan smells it before you even bring the mug into his main lab.

“Don’t you dare bring me Failure Tea,” he shouts through his doorway.

“Stop calling it that,” you say as you walk into the room, setting the huge, steaming cup on his desk. It’s bright yellow with a smiley face on it. “I brew it myself, with love.”

You kiss his cheek.

He looks at the mug like he wants to punch it in the face.

“It’s a mixture to clear your head, help you focus,” you say, rubbing his back.

“It’s the tea you bring me when I fail,” Nathan grumbles.

“When you need a little encouragement.”

“The last time you brought it to me was when I had to erase an entire two days of work because I-“ he stops himself from getting mad again. 

He picks up the mug and takes the very tiniest sip. It’s mostly herbal and he pretends he hates it.

He’s grumpy because you’d asked him to help you figure out the prices of things here vs. back where you'd grown up.

It started for fun, but you'd found this online list of things rich people wouldn’t know. Price of a car, how much a Happy Meal costs, that kind of thing.

Nathan was amused when you laughed at him thinking a cup of coffee cost a dollar.

He was a little put out when you’d laughed at him for thinking the average price of a hotel room per night was, "I don't fucking know... 3 grand?"

He stormed out of the room, pissed, when he’d gotten the price of an ice cream cone wrong.

He’d said fifty dollars.

Fair play, cost of living crisis and all. But you'd still laughed.

After carefully noting down his hilarious guesses, you’d brewed him the tea and brought it to him as a peace offering.

Nathan takes another sip and sets the mug aside without a word.

You nudge his shoulder with your nose to get him to focus back on you. He has on a workout tank and his skin is warm against yours.

“I’ve never seen you fail at something before, and it was actually very hot,” you say.

He tries to pull away but you wrap your arms around him so he can’t.

“You’re full of shit,” he says, trying to continue typing and working.

But you’re not deterred. He can’t fool you. He loves your attention and tea and gentle poking to get him to talk things through. 

“It wasn’t sweaty-workout hot, but it was hot in a different way.” You chase his face with your eyes, trying to get him to look at you again.

He looks amused. “You find failure hot? That explains the person you had a crush on before you came to live with me.”

“Oh ha fucking ha. From the guy who hadn’t spoken to an actual, real, live woman for years until I came along and took pity on your gorgeous ass.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sugar lips.”

“Don’t call me that or I’ll color your white patch in with a purple marker while you’re sleeping and have all the robots call you Grimace.”

He scratches his chest. “Your brain is so weird.” He means it as a compliment. His brain's pretty weird too. “Fine, sweetheart. What did you mean, about finding my failure attractive?”

You tilt your head back and forth, unsure how much you want to say. “You’re just, not very normal.”

He looks annoyed by you stating the obvious.

“It was cute seeing you try really hard to figure out how much it costs to go to the cinema,” you say. “It was a stupid game, and I didn’t mean for it to make you feel bad.”

Nathan bristles a little at the suggestion that he has feelings at all, other than annoyance and irritation.

You rub the back of his neck. “You see me struggle all the time, but you never do. It’s like when I ask you to put the dishes in the dishwasher. I don’t say anything when you do it all wrong because I like to see it all wrong. It makes my ovaries perk up and take notice.”

“I don’t fucking understand you,” he says, almost to himself.

“Neither do I,” you smile happily.

“You know that’s all made up shit that’s programmed into you, right? Society programmed you to do all the house work, so your brain interprets me doing below the bare fucking minimum as attractive, because it might offset your unfair workload. Which, by the way, it doesn’t.”

You lay your hands on either side of his face, over his beard. “You are so much fun. Seriously, mansplain the gender gap to me some more.”

He pushes up his glasses. “Sure, but make me a sandwich first.”

“You make me a sandwich.” You lean forward and kiss him.

“How about neither of us does it? Let the robots do the cleaning and the cooking?”

He picks up the mug and takes a drink. He hands it to you so you can share it with him.

He licks his lips. “Except the tea. They can’t do that. Yours is better.”

“Does it taste like failure?” You tease him.

Nathan runs his hand down your arm. “Yeah, but maybe it’ll keep me humble.”

You snort laugh at that. He laughs too, giving up on his sour mood.

“How about this,” Nathan says, settling his arms around you. “You go sit on the deck and I’ll make lunch. I promise to fuck it up really, really badly. You won’t be able to stop yourself from falling in love with me.”

“Is that what you’re after?” You say playfully.

“Maybe it is. Maybe I love you already,” Nathan says too casually. “Look, all I’m saying is that I didn’t ask you to come live out here to do dishes or for your programming skills. I definitely didn’t fucking ask you to constantly knock me down a peg.”

“I’ll peg you if you ask nicely.”

Nathan pinches your butt and makes you laugh. “Shut it.”

“Oh, now you’re silencing women? Tsk tsk, Nathan,” you shake your head mockingly at him.

“How did this get turned around? You’re the one who made fun of me with that rich people game.” He rubs your sides with his hands, an unconscious gesture that's as comforting to him as it is to you.

You laugh. “And you were so bad at it that I’m nearly in love with you already.”

He straightens his glasses, looks over your face. “Nearly?”

You shrug, just to tease him.

“Making me work for it. Okay. I respect that.” He stands up. “Maybe I’ll make you a tea. You have all kinds of dried plants and shit in the kitchen. Can’t be that hard.”

You slap his arm. “I put a lot of thought into the plants I use. You need to appreciate nature more.”

Nathan rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that holistic bullshit, honey, please.”

You clear your throat and point to the mug of tea that he’s picked back up.

“This? I don’t drink your Failure Tea because I think it actually helps. Or, I don’t think it doesn’t help. It doesn’t, not help.” His eyes narrow in frustration. “Is there a tea that makes you less of a smartass?”

“No, but hot chocolate would probably keep me busy for awhile.”

Nathan puts his arm around your waist as you walk out of his lab together. “I’ll make you a huge pot of hot chocolate for lunch. We'll sit outside together and drink it. I like to look at you out in the fresh air. The way your voice sounds with the river running behind it.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You know I’d love you, even without the hot chocolate.”

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head, rubs your back with his hand. “I might not know what a liter of milk costs, but I'd do anything to make you happy."

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@burymesanti, @sosa2imagines, @silver-night-m , @myhohastuff, @apesarecuul, @mangoslushcrush, @clemdango04, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @daydream-believer19, @eternallyvenus

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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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

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

misc headcanons for oscar isaac characters

ta da. sfw and nsfw but nothing terribly explicit. (There'll be a divider before the horny stuff)

Miguel O'Hara

Likes to cook. Idk but I think he likes meal planning and looking up recipes and stuff. Needs to eat a lot because he big and strong so y'know.

If his gf bakes and cooks? Mans is in love

Sweet tooth (fang?). Drinks those sugary Starbucks drinks but he pours them in a thermos so nobody can tell. His favorite are pink drinks, pumpkin spice lattes and vanilla chai. Coffee gives him a tummy ache.

Scared of the dark. Inconvenient bc he has so much light sensitivity but I think pitch darkness makes him nervous. He has a weighted blanket to help.

WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU GAVE HIM A BACK RUB. His muscles are Fucked. Add some lavender oil and he is purring.

Needs a stress toy. Nice if it's you-shaped. Or if it's you. You're nice to hold, what about it?

nsfw

we know about the breeding thing. we get it.

but i think another thing he has is a neediness kink. Like he wants you all over him all the time.

For this reason, he will edge you to oblivion every morning and lunch break he has so that you'll be on the floor for him whenever he needs.

Likes to hold your tits. Kinda like a stress ball.

What? They're soft, warm and perfectly shaped for his palm. And you make the prettiest noises...

I don't think he's that possessive tbh. He's not the kind of guy to make a big fuss about 'marking you up' and all that. He likes the secrecy of giving hickeys beneath your neckline.

cockwarming KING. He's developed an addiction; he can't focus on work without it. Will paw you into his lap for hours. You're used to it, you can sit patiently. He never leaves you high and dry.

Miguel will suckle on your neck like a piece of candy and just. zone out.

ORAL FIXATION ORAL FIXATION BEEP BEEP HELLO. Needs something of yours in his mouth always. Hand, fingers, mouth, jaw, neck, tits, ass, pussy, thighs, literally whatever. He'll lay his head in your lap and suck kisses into your tummy while he watches a movie. you taste good and it gives him something to do. Melts his brain into goop.

Marc Spector

Very minimalist but loves having little pieces of you around his apartment. A picture taped to the fridge, pieces of art hung above the sofa, your favorite color painted in the bedroom...nothing extreme, just things he can look at and smile.

Best dad. 100%. Has pictures of your kids in his wallet, phone lock screen, gets a tattoo of baby's first drawing, art projects on the fridge, goes to every parent conference.

Girl dad.

His favorite thing to do with you is go on walks. The fresh air is nice, he can hold your hand, maybe get some coffee. Even though he doesn't have a dog, Marc likes watching them play. Favorite breed is a bernedoodle. don't ask me why. it just is.

Plus, in the winter your nose gets cold and then he has an excuse to kiss your face.

Not a PDA kinda dude but needs physical touch to stay grounded. You will often link pinkies or bump elbows.

Has an essential oil collection. it helps him sleep.

NAPS. Naps everywhere; loves to cuddle you against the couch and sleep for hours. Doesn't mind wasting time as long as you wake up together.

(nsfw)

missionary guy or reverse cowgirl. Likes to watch your soul ascend to heaven.

Not great at personal boundaries; will fuck himself to overstim if it means you are having a good time. Steven will be seizing from aftershocks in the headspace and Marc will be going for round 5.

Aftercare is a learning curve but he is all for making you feel better.

Bath sex? Bath sex. Likes the warm water, your hair smells divine, it's easy clean-up. And you're so fucked out he can snuggle you to death in the warm blankets afterward. Perfect combo.

He wakes up too early for morning sessions but if there's naptime during the day he is 100% waking you up with an orgasm.

Very attentive to all the good tricks. Has a methodical process of mouth, fingers, cock, mouth. Rinse and repeat.

Cleans you up orally. Actually I don't think oral is his favorite to receive or give. He's a whole nine yards. Proper fucking.

Not a fan of quickies. Either you set aside two hours in your schedule or he forcibly sets aside two hours. No broom closets for him.

Steven Grant

has the best sense of humor.

is on tumblr. like he has to have a blog dedicated to Egyptology fun facts and shitposts. Gets SO excited anytime somebody reads/likes/reblogs his posts. Literally makes his day.

Not very artistic but likes going to art museums. Fun date idea too, you can play guessing games about the subjects and the titles.

I think he has a dirty sense of humor. Will give you a side-eye and an eyebrow wiggle anytime someone says something remotely suggestive. He makes himself laugh so hard he steps into the hall so he won't interrupt the meeting.

Likes old music - Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole. Steven will 100% dance with you in the kitchen to Elvis. Hums it to himself so he'll fall asleep.

Writes love notes! He loves the blush on your face when you read them and he will do anything to make you smile. Has a dedicated pad of sticky notes in his desk for this purpose.

Kisses are his love language. He needs to stim with his hands so hand-holding is ehh, but cheek and forehead kisses make his heart explode. Will purposefully press his face against your lips to hint he wants attention.

Will kiss you while you're talking because he's so in love.

(nsfw)

munch.

has discovered it's the easiest way to make you cum and therefore will do it for hours. I think his stamina is astounding so he can hold himself off for a hot minute while you melt from pleasure.

Loud. very, very loud. You've gotten used to it and use it to your advantage if he's in the mood for d/s.

Doesn't like being degraded but DOES like being told what to do (nicely). You could get him to eat meat if you suck him off well enough.

Needs aftercare. Specifically words of affirmation, especially if you've dommed him. Might need a break from physical touch if he's really overstimulated, so you just sit beside him and murmur comforting things to him until he mellows out.

A switch but prefers bottoming.

pull his hair. it makes him so hard he starts crying. especially with some neck scratches??? baby he's not gonna last.

Feels bad for making a mess. Don't worry! he'll clean it up for you. With his mouth.

Jake Lockley

Sings you to sleep in Spanish.

Likes telling stories and jokes. Does the best impressions, insane talent at accents (probably because of Steven).

He'll pack up a bag of snacks and drive to somewhere to watch the sunrise with you. Don't worry he'll grab a blanket to hold you in his lap if you fall asleep.

Does not have road rage somehow. Marc will be screaming his head off and Jake will be that Javi Gutierrez car meme.

Brakes to watch animals cross the road. Doesn't care if it holds up traffic.

Like Miguel, loves to cook and eat. If you can bake him chocolate muffins? He'll marry you on the spot.

Chocolate whore. Eats chocolate every day, has a secret stash in his glovebox. Easy bribing method.

The Best Kisser. Knows exactly when you need it, where, how intense. Softest lips ever (sponsored by cherry flavored chapstick) and loves to leave hickeys.

(nsfw)

wines and dines you like a gentleman but whispers the filthiest words in your ear the whole time.

fucks you with The Gloves on. Then he can have a little bit of you with him at work ;)

Can only do one or two rounds but those sessions go hard.

Thick strokes. Does that make sense? Like, uses his whole body to fuck into you. Not fast, but powerful. You cannot walk ever when he's done. Neither can he, truthfully.

goes feral when you wear perfume. You are not leaving the house wearing that or smelling that good. Unless you let him have a taste.

Has a 'ring the bell for sex'.

King John

whiny whiny whiny little man. Pouts if he doesn't receive a good morning and a good night kiss.

Gives you lavish gifts all the time. Will treasure whatever you give him. Clothing? he'll wear it every day. Jewelry? Glimmering for all to see.

Is actually really insecure. Is shy about it but asks for your opinion when making decisions in the kingdom. His cabinet makes fun of him but he genuinely wants to hear your opinion.

Likes smart women. Will gaze at you lovingly while you ramble about various topics you enjoy.

Hates getting sick. Is the biggest baby, doesn't like throwing up or needing somebody to take care of him. Unless it's you, in which he'll gladly lay in your lap while you sponge his forehead.

If you take care of him, he'll purposefully stand in front of the fire longer than necessary to trick you into thinking he's feverish.

You see right through him, but you let him have his fun.

Likes games and puzzles. If he had access to Wordle he'd be religiously addicted to it. not sure why but I think he just likes being good at things and bragging about it.

Needs compliments to survive.

(nsfw)

exhibitionist. Would fuck you during a council meeting if it didn't make you cry with embarrassment.

Keeps you in his bedchambers when he really really needs you. Will just come in every few hours, fuck you silly, peck your cheek and do it again later.

Doesn't really want kids but makes a huge deal of 'wanting an heir' to excuse his rampant horniness.

Masturbates frequently. If you're gone for an extended period it's every day.

Tit guy. Sucks, fondles, gropes, nuzzles them every chance he gets. He buys you dresses that lace in the front so he has easier access in a quickie.

Quiet during sex but loves it when you're loud. Edges you until he can't take it and eats you out for hours. Doesn't care who hears, what are they gonna do about it? He's the king, he can fuck his wife when he wants.

Blue Jones (Club)

Brat. Loud, brash, sassy for attention. Enjoys getting ready, the Most extra when it comes to self-care. Skincare, spa day, makeup. You'll never catch him with unmanicured nails.

Misses being onstage. Sometimes he'll put on a record and do a quick number in his room, reminiscing.

Feels embarrassed about having romantic feels. He thinks it's bad and he's dying, so he'll do nothing about it unless you confess first.

Physical touch is a love language. Not necessarily suggestive, just shoulder rubs or a hand on his arm, or your cheek resting against his. does wonders for his anxiety.

Sarcastic but will cry if you insult him back.

Scared of the dark, sleeps with a handler by the door and wrapped around you so tight you have a hard time breathing.

Gets nightmares and needs a hug sometimes.

(nsfw)

kinky bastard.

Hella open to new things, openly asks patrons for bedroom ideas and then will run back to his room with excitement.

So far his favorites are spanking, rimming, restraints, and sixty nine.

Needs a blowjob to function tbh. He gets so noisy that you've sewn a specific silk gag for him to wear when you're sucking him off or he'll wake the building.

Tears holes in his pants because he's so eager to undress and get inside you. He'll fuck fast and rough, against a desk or table.

Ass guy. Spanks you while he fucks you, loves watching it bounce. He'll cum from seeing your folds flutter while he takes you fro behind.

Doggy/anything without eye contact. He's really not into intimacy.

Friends with benefits for sure.

Cecil Dennis

lovesick puppy. Obsesses over you, all of his bong dreams are about you.

Texts and calls you every minute of the day. Asks you stupid questions just so you'll talk to him.

Even though he has no money, he tries to put effort into his dates. Even if it's just take out, you love the intention and give him a kiss as a reward.

Supportive of you 100%. Can't take him clothes shopping cause he'll say yes to everything.

Really likes sundresses though. Really really really.

He'll share his playlists and movies recs with you as a way of showing his love. He makes cassettes for you with voice messages recorded on to them.

Keeps a Polaroid of you in his car to kiss when he misses you. Sobs when he drops it in a puddle so you hold him and promise to take a new one. This time he remembers to laminate it.

Will tattoo your name on his arm, which you think is stupid but he looks so genuinely in love and desperate for reciprocation that you just smile and hug him.

(nsfw)

no refractory period because he cums so fast. He Cannot be edged because it won't work.

accidental stimulation will send him over the edge; if he's high and the seam of his pants is rubbing the right way? moaning and biting into a pillow while he humps himself on the couch.

Horny in an instant. You'll look at him a certain way and bam.

Sundresses, his favorite. He can grope all he wants, let his hands wander on the soft fabric. any white stains will blend in with the pastel print...

Nathan Bateman

Is an asshole but is self aware. when he drinks a lot, he feels really bad about it and overthinks every interaction he's ever had.

Prefers smoking weed to drinking but he doesn't like the smell. Has gummies in his desk for emergencies.

Secretly likes the great british baking show. Watches it with you when he needs a break or when you ask him nicely.

Prefers curvy partners. I think he likes having extra to hold and the softness of another person because it's so human.

Not an asshole about standards. Body hair, cellulite, whatever. he's spent so much time with androids that real people are beautiful in all ways.

Really wants a dog. You get him one for christmas and he takes it everywhere, sometimes talking to it about his projects in that adorable baby voice. There's a recording somewhere that you have stored for blackmail. He names it Boop.

(nsfw)

BDSM. Soft dom but enjoys bondage specifically.

Pegging is totally his thing. Likes shutting his mind off for a while.

Will design the perfect vibrator for you and watch you get off for hours. Nothing feeds his ego more.

No breeding kink but likes filling you. Will cockwarm after so that he can make sure you take it all and nothing makes a mess.

Will use your mouth while he works to 'keep the blood flow going.' Sometimes he gets a bit too distracted and ends up fucking your mouth until he's whimpering.

yes, he whimpers. He'll hide his face in your neck but you still hear it.

Poe Dameron

ADHD. Has fidget toys in his X-Wing when shifts are boring. BB-8 is programmed to play binaural ambience or music to chill him out when he's stressed.

A real music geek I think. His favorite part of going to other planets is standing in cantinas and listening to the different genres.

For a great pilot I imagine he's a terrible driver. Passenger princess. Likes snacks, picking the playlist, playing with your hair, anything but driving. If it can't fly he doesn't want anything to do with it.

The best gift-giver. Has a list on his tablet about all the snacks you like, your TBR books to buy, any movies you wanna go see, he knows Everything. And he goes all out. None of that store-bought flower shit, not him.

Does all the cliche couple stuff. Matching PJs are his favorite because he can steal your clothes for once and walk around smelling like you. Will wear one of your t-shirts (oversize) under his flight vest so he can sniff the hem and play with the fabric.

Will get couple tattoos. Probably of some stupid joke but he will kiss your tattoo every day when he leaves for work.

(nsfw)

any time, anywhere. Has all the accessible fucking locations memorized and the best times for availability. Will map his schedule around adequate opportunities for a make out session.

Will not leave for a mission without fucking you into the mattress first. If he dies, he wants to die with that memory in his head. And a nice afterglow to ease your grief.

Loves getting head but won't do it because he loses it so fast.

Loves giving head but only does it sometimes because he gets hyperfixated and won't stop until you're screaming with tears.

Really sensory oriented. Loves skin contact, squeezing and kissing and biting. Foreplay is where he shines; he knows all the best places to stroke and pet so that you bend to his will.

Doesn't like dom/sub.

Does like fucking you stupid and then holding you afterward. Aftercare 10/10.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @twwcs comment to join taglist!

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!

UGH I LOVE REALLYRALLYAUTHOR’S WORKS. LITERALLY PURE MASTERPIECES

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 2)

Summary: Final part & aftermath of one weekend with Anselm & Nathan. (~7.3k)

Contents: 18+nsfw, sex machine, restraints, orgasm denial, impact play (only once, but fair warning it's Anselm on Birdie), mmf threesome, creampie eating, attempted kidnapping, voyeurism (what a fun group of content warnings, right, gang?)

Part 1 Here

-----

Nathan has you strapped face down on one of his lab tables.

The lights under the glass make it warm, but you feel like a dissection specimen.

Your wrists and ankles are secured with nylon web fabric and paracord.

Anselm bends over and smiles at you. “I had him add padding to the table. For your comfort.”

“That’s very sweet, Anselm, but you’re both still leaving me strapped to a dildo machine for the night,” you say, torn between wanting to thank him for being so thoughtful and wanting to beg to be set free because this was going to be torture.

Anselm pets your head. It’s soothing, even if it is demeaning. Along with the machine you can hear Nathan wheeling in behind you, it’s that’s kind of the whole weekend in a nutshell.

“Don’t worry, Birdie, Nathan and I are taking shifts watching over you. I’ve told him how we play. Let me feel your stop signal,” he says brusquely, putting his hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand three times in quick succession, a safety you and Anselm had set up a long time ago to mean stop. Just once meant everything was fine.

Anselm takes a leather bite gag out of his pants pocket. He shows you the strap, embossed with a flourishing ‘V.’

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it made out of the flesh of your enemies?” Nathan says, walking up toward your head to join you and Anselm.

“No. My enemies are useless, even in death,” Anselm says.

Nathan laughs under his breath. He runs his hand up your arm and over your shoulder.

He squats down, which actually brings him slightly lower than you. He has to look up at you over the gold rims of his glasses.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He says.

It almost sounds like he’s actually asking.

Nathan still has that intelligent, over-calculating look in his eyes, but his guard has gone down. Somewhat.

You can’t tell if it’s a move that’s designed to make you think he’s starting to soften up and has feelings, or if that’s how it’s actually starting to shake down.

“I’m ready,” you say in a confident voice.

Anselm gives you a kiss on the lips, soft and slow, before he fastens the rubber and leather strap into your mouth and around your head.

Both of them walk behind you, one on each side, until they disappear from view.

Your legs are spread already, strapped down the back side of the table while the rest of you lays flat. You feel fingers opening you up more, and you moan around your gag when a tongue flicks your clit, dives into you and starts slowly spearing in and out.

You can’t tell who it is.

You don’t know if you care. If you should care. If Anselm would care that you couldn’t tell his mouth and tongue and beard from someone else’s.

It’s almost distressing.

Then a hand lays on your thigh reassuringly and you feel the metal of Anselm’s wedding ring on your skin. The tinge of anxiety you had melts away and you let yourself relax and focus on, nothing, because Anselm stops.

You hear zippers, and you feel yourself get wetter, anticipating whatever they’re going to do with you.

But all you hear is the sound of skin, Nathan groaning faintly.

And then hot spurts of cum, aimed right at your hole. They hit with exact precision before dripping down the insides of your legs. Anselm comes too, adding to what Nathan started, making you more than wet enough for the machine.

Unsatisfied, empty, they leave you waiting until the liquid starts to cool. The hum of the equipment in the room is the only sound for a long stretch of seconds.

Then, you feel the silicone tip of the dildo nestle up against you, making you jump. Slowly, very slowly, it spears into you.

Both Anselm and Nathan are larger, but size isn’t the point.

It moves ever so slightly faster.

The smooth shaft warms quickly in your hungry cunt. You moan, feeling it fuck into you faster, a little faster, just enough to make your breath catch. Your muscles try to create more friction, squeezing around the silicone.

It slows down.

You make a frustrated sound, squeezing again.

It slows down more.

“Works perfectly. Told you,” you hear Nathan say.

“Your craftsmanship was never in question.”

The men walk up either side of the table, each with a white, plastic chair in hand. They set them in front of you, so you can see them and they can see you.

The machine picks up pace again and you let out short moans, trying to keep from letting it stimulate you to the point of contraction. But it feels so good. You bite down into the gag, almost screaming when you squeeze and the machine slows down.

They sit in their chairs. Anselm folds one leg neatly over the other. Nathan leans forward. He pushes up the sleeves of his sweater.

“You probably guessed how the machine works,” Nathan says with a smirk. “The harder you squeeze it, the slower it goes. Every second that goes by, it’s learning your body. It’ll come to a complete stop for as long as it takes to keep you from coming. Then, it’ll speed up until you’re almost there. Repeat, until one of us turns it off.”

“Although it’s meant to deny you what you need, we’re not completely heartless. It will let you orgasm eventually.” Anselm cocks his head at Nathan. “Won’t it?”

Nathan’s eyes never leave yours. “Maybe. Completely random chance. Odds are, you’ll come once tonight. I wouldn’t say your odds are good for more than one, though.”

You whine into the gag.

Nathan’s hooded eyes narrow slightly. “You want to give up? I’d be disappointed if you did.”

“We would be disappointed if you did,” Anselm says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to mirror Nathan’s body language. “Nathan built this for me years ago. A thing of beauty. Perfect, exquisite torture. We conceived this machine before I ever knew you, my dear. In the end, it was never meant for anyone but you. And since you’re mine, by law and rights, I have the pleasure of the first shift. Watching you try to squirm in your bonds, trying to come, but unable to reach your goal. I look forward to your tears.”

Anselm sits back in his chair. Nathan reaches over and squeezes Anselm’s thigh.

“I’m going to do some work, take a nap,” Nathan says as he stands. He brushes your cheek with his hand. “Have fun, beautiful.”

*****

Hours later, you’re drooling on Nathan’s fancy table. Every time you exhale, you moan.

He doesn’t seem bothered when he comes back in. Anselm certainly hasn't been, just sitting there, watching you with a smile. Adjusting himself occasionally.

“How’s it going in here?” Nathan asks as he surveys you with his hands on his hips.

“Entertainingly,” Anselm says. He hasn’t spoken to you since Nathan had left.

Your concept of time is nil. It could've been two hours or two days. You’ve given up on anything but being over-stimulated and unsatisfied.

Nathan puts his warm hand in yours and you squeeze it once. He waits, but you don’t repeat the action, you just hold onto him tightly before he lets go.

“Good girl,” he says running a hand over your shoulder.

He drops into his chair and you swing your glassy eyes up to look at him.

Your muscles have gone slack. The machine is stopped now, having gotten you so close, you'd started to feel that electric thrill, primed to come from where the dildo had been steadily fucking you.

And then nothing had happened. Ripped away, out of your grasp.

You whine at Nathan. You can’t help it.

“Fucking adorable.” He leans forward, looks at your pathetic face. His eyes are more engaged than you’ve seen them before, dilated and anticipatory. “I’m going to take off your gag.”

“Nathan,” Anselm warns him.

“What? I want to hear her moaning. I want my dick sucked. Why do you care?” Nathan’s hand reaches for you but Anselm slaps it away.

“A word.” Anselm rises stiffly and stalks out of the room.

For a second, you think Nathan’s going to take off the gag. Like even though you’d given him the okay signal, he’s not sure about this anymore.

You hear Anselm snap his fingers. Nathan’s eyes break reluctantly away from yours as he leaves.

The machine starts again.

*****

“You’re a terrible dom,” Anselm says to Nathan once they’re in the hallway alone.

Nathan crosses his arms. “The fuck machine that I built by hand means that my work speaks for itself.”

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “It’s not about equipment and furniture. It’s about here.” He pokes his finger at Nathan’s chest. “You lack commitment. You’re a pushover. Trust me, my Birdie can tell.”

“Her brain’s leaking out her vagina as we speak. I don’t think-“

Anselm cuts him off. “You are wrapped around her finger. The balance of power shifted completely when you walked in. She’s dom’ing you and you don’t even realize it.”

Nathan leans his head back, offended. “It’s a fucked up thing to brag about, but manipulation is kind of my thing. I’d know if someone was trying to outsmart me.”

Anselm smiles cryptically at Nathan.

One of the reasons they’d made a good team was that Nathan suppressed all of his passions and Anselm let his run free. It made Anselm feel as if they were covering each others’ blind spots. Now, he wonders if he hasn’t been looking at this entire thing the wrong way.

“In so many ways, you’re a fool. I’ve always said so.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “She’s not trying to outsmart you. She doesn’t have to do anything but exist. You’re the one trying to gain her approval, and therefore, you would have freed her before she’d even asked. Clever of her, to have lured you in like that. But give her an inch and she will take your entire soul.”

Nathan scratches his head. “You’re so fucking obsessed with this woman. I’m running a brain scan on you.”

Anselm laughs under his breath. “Run one on yourself while you’re at it.” He puts his arm around Nathan’s shoulders. “Let’s cut this portion of the evening short. Get her cleaned up and rested. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Nathan resists, but Anselm pulls him into a hug.

“Stop,” Nathan says, arms still folded as he stands like a statue. “Let me sit and watch her for a couple hours. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Anselm steps back, assessing Nathan from top to toe. “What will you do when left alone with her?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan shrugs.

“I thought you knew everything,” Anselm says with a half-smile.

Nathan doesn’t respond, but Anselm knows what he’s thinking.

Nathan Bateman’s always plotting something. Everyone is a means to an end. The fact that Nathan has no plan speaks volumes.

He’d only wanted to enjoy himself.

An attitude that Anselm admires, but one he’s sure is making Nathan rethink everything.

Twelve carries you back to Nathan’s room, while Nathan himself puts away the machine.

Anselm has Twelve lay you on the bed, not into the waiting bath. Not yet.

You’re half-awake, body exhausted. You’d been edged longer than this, but never so brutally. Anselm sits next to you, bending so his beard and lips kiss your neck.

“He’s as taken with you as I thought he’d be,” he whispers.

You only hum, rolling on your side so your hips can press against him. Anselm rubs your thigh.

“You want release, don’t you?” He says.

“Yes,” you say, the word coming out desperate and needy.

He clucks his tongue, fingertips curling toward your center. Your muscles shudder under his touch.

“Your jaw and joints ache from the restraints. Your cunt would come the very second my fingers entered you. Wouldn’t she? Tell me.”

“Yes, Anselm,” you chase his fingers with your pulsing heat.

“Be still,” Anselm says quietly, but firmly.

He brushes his knuckles across the sticky, wet mess between your thighs. You shiver. He cups between your legs, too softly. The warmth is tantalizing, but there’s not enough pressure or movement for your body to feel anything but more torture.

You know you shouldn't move, but your brain isn't in charge anymore. You can't think beyond what your body needs, as much as you'd like it to.

Your hips shift.

Anselm’s hand jerks away and cracks down on your thigh. You cry out, eyes opening.

“You will behave,” Anselm says, his tone telling you he’s not joking. “You can feel what you’re doing to Nathan. Your whimpering and begging almost spoiled our fun. Luckily for you, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when one’s tactics must switch.”

Anselm parts your legs and you lay on your back. He does nothing but look his fill, though. “I want to put myself inside you so much right now. It seems, however, that I’m the only one with any self control around here.”

“Anselm, please.” Your hand moves toward your cunt, out of your control. He hates whining, but you can't help it.

Anselm’s hand slaps across your cheek. Not hard enough to bruise, but it stings. It also brings you back to yourself. As he knew it would.

He gets off the bed, leaving you wanting, but at least able to think through the haze of arousal. He straightens his tie, then holds out his hand to help you up.

“Take a bath. Do not get off or you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with metal clamps on your most sensitive parts. I’d rather not have to actually hurt you,” Anselm says.

He pats your ass as you leave, your exhaustion rendering you quiet and polite.

Anselm looks at the camera mounted on top of Nathan’s bank of monitors. A little pin-prick of green light stares back.

He nods his head at it, as if to say, That’s how it’s done.

*****

Sunday morning

Anselm’s hands wake you. Appropriate since it's exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

He slides them over your sleepy, warm skin, dipping his fingers between your legs the moment you stir.

After yesterday, your body is still primed and ready to snap. All Anselm has to do is finger you, rub your clit gently with his thumb.

Your moans wake Nathan. You ride Anselm’s fingers as he sinks them deep inside of you. Nathan's at your back, kissing your neck. He wraps an arm around you to play with your nipples, twisting and pulling softly. His hard, naked cock rests in the crack of your ass and Nathan fucks himself against you steadily.

Anselm kisses you once he feels you start to tighten around him, so his tongue can lap at your open mouth when you come. You almost sob, your hands holding onto him, fingers digging into his skin.

Nathan shudders against your taut body. Hot cum coats your lower back, running down your skin and onto the sheets.

“Nathan, lay with your head near the end of the bed,” Anselm says, moving you so you lay over him, face-down the other direction, once he does.

You bend automatically to put Nathan’s softening cock in your mouth, but he pulls your hair hard to stop you. You’ve noticed he’s sensitive after he comes.

Nathan seems to know that you’re not in this position for a simple 69.

He raises his head so his tongue can reach between your legs, bury itself until you’re clutching the sheets. He sucks gently, then licks your clit.

He doesn’t stop licking you, even when Anselm lifts your hips slightly and you you feel the familiar push of his cock splitting you open. Your legs shake when Nathan licks gently where your skin is stretched around Anselm.

Once Anselm’s as deep as he can go, he pauses, letting Nathan bring you another orgasm with his mouth. You work yourself over Anselm, your body driven solely by the need to come again. You hear Nathan licking skin, but it isn’t you. The thought makes you so wet you're sure it's all over Nathan's face. Anselm’s hips roll against you.

Anselm moves faster, his head bending near your ear. “One more. Be a good girl. Take everything from me and then Nathan’s going to eat it straight out of you.”

Anselm’s chest is sweaty. It mixes with Nathan's cum on your back, a sticky, hot mess. Nathan’s mouth tries to keep up with Anselm pounding into you. You clench down hard around Anselm, practically screaming for him to come in you.

He does, holding your body tightly to him, praising you for doing so well, coming so beautifully, giving him so much pleasure. He fills you quickly, then pulls out abruptly and lets your hips drop to Nathan’s waiting mouth.

Nathan laps at you, groaning. His lips close around your cunt and he sucks gently. You sob and hold tightly onto the sheets, knowing better than to pull away, even though it feels like too much.

You can’t come again, but you know Nathan won’t stop until you do. You lay your head on his hip and relax just enough so that the next time Nathan’s tongue swipes inside of you and his facial hair grinds on your clit, your body goes over the edge one, last time. You feel like you hold your breath for an eternity, waiting for Nathan to finish eating you out, and for your body to come back down.

You’re both out of breath. You disentangle yourself from Nathan.

His head is almost off the end of the bed. He looks as fucked out as you feel. He licks his lips, but his beard and face are a mess.

“You okay?” You ask him.

He lays his forearm over his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Give me minute.”

You look at Anselm, but his eyes tell you not to worry.

You run your hand over Nathan’s shaved head, scratching it gently as Anselm opens the bedroom door. Twelve comes in with a tray of green smoothies and ice water.

Nathan watches it with one eye. “I’d tell you I don’t allow eating in the bedroom, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

“There’s a proper breakfast out on the deck when we’re ready,” Anselm says. He hands you a glass of ice water. “The whole thing, my love.”

You drink half, pausing to look at Anselm with a raised eyebrow. He seems distracted. You want to know what he's thinking.

He looks at you and Nathan, sprawled on the bed together. It’s then that you see Nathan’s eyes are open again. He’s staring at you.

“What?” You say, looking back and forth between them. “Neither of you can possibly be getting hard again for a least four to six hours, so why are you both looking at me like that?”

Anselm walks away toward the bathroom. He leaves the door open, but you hear the sink running.

Twelve hands Nathan a smoothie and he sits up to drink it. “Why don’t you and Twelve go out on the deck,” he says to you, but he’s looking at Anselm.

“No,” Anselm says decisively, the water shutting off, “I don’t make decisions without her. I’m insulted you would even ask.”

“Fucking relax,” Nathan says before downing the thick, green liquid in one long gulp. He gets up and tells Twelve to leave.

The room smells like sex, but the air is heavy with something else too.

Anselm dries himself with a towel as walks past Nathan. He picks up his clothes and starts to get dressed.

It's like they're avoiding each other.

Nathan grabs his glasses from the desk so he can focus on you. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, then you know we have a problem.”

Anselm’s hands rest on a console table, his back to the room. His head turns just a fraction, enough that you can tell what he’s thinking.

I told you so, he says.

“Stay the week,” Nathan says. He sounds logical, but you can tell he’s being gnawed by something. “Stay a month. Fuck. Stay.”

Your shoulders sag.

Nathan holds up a hand, like he’s negotiating as much with himself as with you. “Just until this can burn itself out.”

Anselm chuckles, deep and humorless. “An idiot and a fool.”

Nathan doesn’t appreciate that. His hand grips the edge of his desk so hard his fingertips are white. “Fine. She can stay. You can leave without her,” he snaps back.

The thing about Anselm is that for all of his homicidal temper tantrums, all his impatience and irritation, usually it only lasts long enough for him to shoot someone.

He gets mad. He gets over it.

But what you see on Anselm’s face and body language now isn’t blind rage. It’s cold and scary. Nothing you’ve seen before. Then again, no one but Nathan would ever have the balls to suggest separating you and Anselm.

When Anselm speaks, his voice is low and quiet, like a blade he wants to slice through Nathan’s neck. “If you imply anything like that again, I will kill you.”

Nathan, to his credit, doesn’t back down. He gets calmer actually. “Maybe she wants to stay.”

Anselm’s beard twitches. “This is not a game anymore, Nathan. She is not one of your robots, who only has the opinions you give her. Birdie, my love, please speak for yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” you say as gently as you can.

Your heart breaks a little when you see the disappointment on Nathan’s face. He breathes out of his nose.

“I overestimated you two,” he says before he pivots and leaves the room, not bothering to put on clothes.

Before you can even cover your face with your hands, Anselm is there, putting his arms around you.

“This entire thing is my fault,” he says.

“No, I’m the one who made you come out here. I know you can’t say no to me.”

Anselm smiles good-naturedly, his earlier mood dissolving. “I’ve never seen Nathan make a mistake until now. He thought he could divide us.”

“He doesn't, though. He wants us both,” you say, not understanding.

“Yes, but you’ve caught him by the feelings and he’s not used to it. He knows he can’t convince us to stay, but he’ll try just about anything.”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, “plus, you called him an idiot and a fool.”

Anselm’s brown eyes blink at you before he starts laughing.

“I’m fond of him. What can I say? Although, you do know that we’ll have to leave today, yes? As soon as we can pack our things.” His smile fades. “I arranged to have a helicopter touch down in the landing field at noon, yesterday and today, in case we needed to go home ahead of schedule. I’m sure Nathan knows, but we’ll still have to convince him to say goodbye early.”

“We? Uh-huh, sure,” you say, noting the look on his face, “and I’m guessing that’s my job?”

Anselm shrugs. “I think he likes you better.”

*****

Nathan’s in gym shorts doing deadlifts at an unhealthy pace. Sweat beads down his neck and soaks the top of his sleeveless t-shirt.

You knock on the open door of his weight room.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” he grunts.

“I gave you a whole 30 minutes to be mad,” you say, breezing in and sitting down on a padded workout bench.

You and Anselm had packed your things and put them by the front door. Anselm’s sitting in the living room with Twelve.

The weights clank and slam together when Nathan drops them on the floor. He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“You don’t want to leave right now,” Nathan says. “You might not think the sun shine’s out of my ass like you do with Anselm, but I know you’re not ready to give this up yet.”

“I don’t think the sun- well, okay, maybe I do a little,” you say honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you too. I would stay for longer, but when it comes to safety, I trust Anselm more than I trust myself.”

Nathan puts his hands on his hips, his eyes like laser beams on your face.

You realize you shouldn’t have used the word ‘safety.’ It’s given him something to latch onto. Something to base an argument around.

“Don’t listen to Anselm. I’m not holding you here against your will,” Nathan says.

“He didn’t say that.”

Nathan walks toward you. “Maybe not with words, but half your conversations with him are nonverbal. He thinks I’d pull some shit and keep you locked up here. I'd fuck you so stupid you wouldn’t even try to leave.”

You sigh and look away from him.

“I know that I’m not a big believer in the law. It doesn’t adapt fast enough. It’s too conservative.” He pushes his glasses up. “Look, all of my crimes are white-collar. I’ve never kidnapped anyone, killed anyone. I didn’t build an empire on trafficking illegal goods.”

“Neither did Anselm,” you say angrily at him.

“Semantics,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just because his hands are cleaner now, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t covered in some of the worst shit in the world back in the day.”

You try to stand, but Nathan’s hand presses down on your shoulder, pushing you back down to sit.

“If he was really worried about your safety, he would’ve sent you to me a long time ago. This is the safest fucking place in the world. The whole thing is a sandbox, technologically yes, but also physically. It’s so far removed from anything that could ever hurt you.”

You know he doesn’t want you to stay to keep you safe. He’s just trying to twist you in knots. Does he think you’re stupid enough to fall for it? Or is he so desperate he’s grasping at straws?

You shove his hand off of you. “I’m a criminal too. You do realize that, right? Being the head of the Vogelweide family isn’t just a figurehead title. And I killed Anselm’s ex-girlfriend because she cheated on him more than 10 years ago.”

“Claire?”

You look up at him. “What? You know her?”

“No, but Anselm came here not too long after that whole incident,” Nathan says, backing away. He rubs his face, calming down. His are still burning-hot, though. “You know that’s what you’re really doing here, right? He feels like he owes me for helping him put his life back together afterward. He wants me to know he’s not that guy I knew anymore. Maybe he’s trying to fix me too.”

You stand quickly, wrapping Nathan in a hug, even though he's a little sweaty. You know he needs it. It takes him a second to return it.

“He knows it’s not his job to fix you. You’re not broken,” you say.

Nathan’s big hands hold you tightly. He doesn’t want to let you go, ever. He kisses your neck softly, then along your jaw. You stop him from kissing your mouth though, drawing your line in his sandbox.

He lets you go, but keeps his hand in yours. He pulls you to the living room, where Anselm and Twelve are sitting on the couch having a one-sided, fruitless conversation.

Anselm’s trying to get the robot’s opinions on ties. Twelve has none. Ties or opinions. Also, no vocal response capabilities.

Anselm smiles from his seat. “All set, my love?”

You squeeze Nathan’s hand. “Yes, but maybe we can come back some time?”

“I look forward to it,” Anselm says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Although with all the extra rooms in this place, I’m very disappointed that you don’t have at least the basic themes set up.”

Nathan shrugs. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Prison cell, classroom, doctor’s office, apocalypse, vampires,” Anselm frowns. “But I’ll send you a longer list. We do expect great things from our next visit.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nathan says slowly. He lets go of your hand with a regretful look. “Twelve?”

The robot stands stiffly and marches over to the security panel by the front door. He pokes a metal finger in the side. It blinks two words: lockdown mode. Mechanical clicks echo in the living room. You see the lights in the elevator flash red.

Anselm’s face is still friendly and smiley, but your hand raises automatically to slap the back of Nathan’s head. He stops it easily with his arm.

“Cut that shit out. Violence is never the answer,” Nathan says.

“Oh, you are cruising for a bruising, Bateman.”

He looks at you patiently. “Give me 3 days. You’ll start to see things my way. You both will.”

You clench your fists tightly, trying to hold back your temper. “If you don’t unlock this house-“

“What?” Nathan says, his voice cutting and intimidatingly loud. “You can’t do anything about it. No one knows you’re here. No one knows I’m here. I promise, I won’t keep you forever, but I need this. I need you.”

“This isn’t the way to do it.” Your hands relax and you reach for him, but he backs away.

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “I know. I'm sorry, but I already decided.”

Click

You look over and Anselm’s gun is resting on his thigh, pointed at Nathan.

“It’s not loaded,” Nathan says.

“Are you sure?” Anselm says smoothly. “Your reliance on technology is a weakness, Nathan. You think it can predict everyone’s next move, that it knows everything. But if it did, then it would have told you: compared to the things I’ve already done to keep this woman happy and safe, shooting you would be like handing her a tissue for a nosebleed. Something easily done, to remedy a minor inconvenience, and soon forgotten.

“So, my friend, do you really think your technology can out think me? Because I’ve been predicting human nature without assistance for decades now.”

Anselm leans forward, the metal of his brace squeaking loudly.

You look at it, then at him.

Nathan folds his hands under his biceps. He stares at Anselm for a few seconds.

“Twelve, release,” Nathan says quietly.

Twelve leaves the security panel and the house goes back to its normal, peaceful state. Anselm decocks his gun.

“I had to try,” Nathan says, like nothing happened.

“No, you didn’t. You were just being a dick.” You shove his shoulder.

The corners of his mouth lift. “I won’t do it the next time you visit.”

He looks at you from over the frames of his glasses. You don’t respond. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pissed at you,” you say, looking away.

“You’ll be back,” Nathan says with authority.

He reaches out a hand to help Anselm off the couch and they hug, Anselm giving Nathan’s ass a squeeze. A kiss on the cheek and a few quiet words.

“Come here, honey. Let me say goodbye to you,” Nathan says to you, a grin ghosting on his lips.

You don’t move a goddamn muscle.

Anselm holds out his hand. “Don’t be rude, my dear.”

You give them both a dirty look.

Nathan gives Anselm an ‘I got this,’ look. He walks over and rests his face against yours. His hands are like iron manacles on your arms.

“You think I showed you a softer side this weekend, but I knew what I was doing. I know you have a weakness for men who have a weakness for you.” He brushes his beard against your cheek. “If Anselm wasn’t here, I’d have Twelve drag you down to my bedroom and you wouldn’t see sunlight for four weeks. That’s how long I figured it would take me condition you to be my drooling, stupid, fuck hole. I’d keep you in a cage and Anselm could come visit you like you were an animal at a petting zoo.”

You lean back a fraction, just enough to look Nathan in his eyes.

He’s not someone who makes empty threats, but you’ve also learned that most of what he say isn’t threatening. It’s a test. Or, it was.

Now, you get the feeling that he’s testing himself. Getting a feel for whatever actual emotions he’s letting himself have. That he’s saying things to get a reaction from you, so that he can react in turn. Not just studying and analyzing, but letting himself have actual, human connection. A messed up one, sure, but a connection nonetheless.

“That could be fun,” you say with a smile.

Nathan huffs out a laugh. “Such a pervert. Unfortunately for me, it turns out, I think you’re interesting. I think you’re worth keeping just like this.” His fingers touch your face. “Don’t make me regret letting you go. Or next time, I won’t.”

He hugs you hard and you hug him too, tucking your face into his neck, smelling that mix of fresh air, sweat, and metal that’s uniquely Nathan.

You wonder if you chartered a helicopter to bring you out here next month, if it would all be gone. The house, the underground bunker, Nathan. If it would be nothing but virgin forest. Deer drinking out of the river that used to run under the house. Not a scrap of refined metal or plastic for hundreds of miles.

It makes you not want to leave.

Anselm’s hand wraps around your waist. “I promise both of you, we’ll come back.”

You turn your head to look at Anselm, resting it on Nathan’s muscled shoulder. “Once a fiscal year?”

Anselm smiles. “Yes, my love. If that’s what you wish. Oh,” he says quietly, the knuckles of his other hand brushing a tear away from your cheek, “this must be the first time anyone’s cried in anything but gratitude for leaving Nathan’s presence.”

You almost laugh, pulling away from Nathan.

Nathan just shakes his head at Anselm. “Okay, asshole, take your wife and leave already.”

He walks you to the front door.

As soon as you and Anselm cross the threshold outside, he shuts it behind you. You hear it lock.

As Twelve drives the truck away, taking you back to the empty field where the helicopter waits, you’re sad that Nathan isn’t at any of the big windows. You’d wanted one, last glimpse of him.

Anselm holds your hand on the drive.

The unmanned helicopter sits in the field. Twelve loads the bags and you breathe in the fresh air as much as you can.

Twelve stands next to Anselm as he helps you climb into the helicopter.

“Bye, Twelve,” you say to the blank, robot face. “I’m going to miss you.”

Twelve shifts, putting a mechanical hand on the side of the helicopter. Like it’s asking you not to leave. Its other hand is on the doorway. The fingers dig in. The slight sound of denting metal hits your ears.

Anselm reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. He shoots Twelve in the head. Twice.

Your ears ring and you look down at the still body on the ground. Fluid leaks out of the orb that was Twelve’s head.

Anselm signals the helicopter to start and hops inside next to you.

“Nothing is a simple robot with Nathan. He’s been trying to get me to bring Twelve home with us ever since we arrived. It’s too advanced. I fear what Nathan would do by proxy. He has impulse control issues about certain things,” he says to you through the microphone once you both have your ear protection on.

“Poor Twelve,” you say.

“Please don’t anthropomorphize the machines, Birdie. It doesn’t feel suffering. I’m sure Nathan will fix it for our next visit.”

He puts his arm around you and pulls you close.

“How did you get bullets into the house?” You ask him.

Anselm shrugs. “I always have bullets in my brace. Emergency back-up. It’s why I wear it even on days when I don’t need it. I thought you knew that.”

You look down at his leg. “What? No, I didn’t know that. What else do you have on there?”

“Not much. A bottle opener, knife, garrote. I thought if I had to wear it, then it should at least be multi-task,” Anselm says.

“Is that why you won’t let me put stickers on it?”

“Yes, the glitter hearts and skulls were charming, but they would have hindered its functionality.”

The helicopter takes off, lifting you high above the beautiful landscape.

Anselm had said spending time with Nathan would be spectacular. He was right. Your body’s exhausted, but happy. No permanent marks on the outside, but Nathan Bateman has left plenty of them on your heart.

You snuggle closer to Anselm, happy to be heading home.

*****

Anselm’s been in his office all morning. You’re in yours.

The mansion has been quiet. You and Anselm had done nothing but kiss this morning.

Post-vacation blues have hit hard in the days since your weekend with Nathan.

There’s a knock on the door and Anselm walks in

“Mid-afternoon snack, my dear?” Anselm says.

“If you’re the snack, then yes. Oooh, is that a tie with flowers? That’s romantic,” you say.

You get up and join Anselm on the small sofa in your office. He smooths a hand down the pretty patterned fabric of his tie.

“I felt I had to compete in some small way. Nathan hasn’t stopped sending you gifts.” He gestures to the elaborate bouquet of ferns and flowers that had arrived this morning. A tiny, plastic version of Twelve had been stuck inside of it (complete with two fake bullet holes in the head). It’s sitting on your desk now, after you’d had Godzilla check it for a camera.

Yesterday Nathan had sent bedsheets like the ones he has in his room and a thousand sticky notes. In case you wanted to recreate his bedroom at your house, his e-mail had said.

Andre rolls in with his tray, two ice cream sundaes with long-handled silver spoons sticking out of the top.

You hand Anselm his and then take yours, petting Andre’s head lightly. Anselm gives you a look.

“He’s like a pet, so let me pet him,” you say. You dig your spoon into the ice cream. “Nathan’s using Andre to spy on us, right?”

“Most definitely,” Anselm agrees. “But Andre’s capabilities are limited to serving.”

You lick your spoon and tap it on his head.

“Hey, Andre,” you say to the screen that shows Andre’s pixel eyes and smile. “Maybe next time I go visit your maker, we can limit his capabilities to just serving. What do you think?”

Andre’s face blinks out, then reappears with a winky face. “Yes, Birdie, man,” the mechanical voice states.

“Ma’am,” you correct him. “Now that I know Nathan’s so involved in Andre’s life here, I’m a kind of peeved that he’s so glitchy. It took 3 tries for his name to even show up right on the little screen. And for him to stop calling me Birbie, with 2 B’s.” You look at Andre.

Andre’s face blinks back to its vacant stare. There’s a bit of white-noise from the speaker at the front of his body.

“Anselm won’t let me fix him,” Nathan’s voice says from Andre’s body.

You inhale, mouth wide open. You look at Andre, then at Anselm. Back and forth.

Anselm’s studying his sundae carefully. “Nathan, we agreed-“

“Yeah, but now that I know her, you can’t expect me to stay quiet.” Nathan’s voice is tinny and strange.

Anselm looks at you apologetically. “Andre’s camera is always on. Nathan’s computer system scans constantly for potential threats to your safety. Of course, I knew Nathan himself could control Andre, but we had a gentleman’s agreement that he wouldn’t use it for anything inappropriate.”

You hear Nathan snort. “I’m not a gentleman and you haven’t been appropriate a day in your life.”

“He’s got you there,” you say to Anselm, eating your sundae and thinking it over.

“You mad, sweetheart?” Nathan asks.

“I guess it’s okay,” you say with a sigh. “It’s only fair. You’re out there all alone. If you want a snuggle or a fuck, you have to build a machine yourself. I don’t mind you watching if Anselm doesn’t.”

He licks a drop off ice cream off his thumb. “Now that you know Andre is actually Nathan, perhaps you won’t make him leave the room during our various activities. Perhaps you’d let me slather the rest of this sundae over your breasts and lick it off. Eat the cherry from the inside of your delicious cunt.” Anselm gazes lovingly at your body. “And if Nathan can agree that you are, indeed, perfect, then he can stay and watch.”

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t have to say that. This isn’t a cult.”

Anselm frowns. “You know I don’t like to disagree with you, my love, but I’d never let someone enjoy you who doesn’t truly appreciate the gift they’re being given.” He pokes Andre’s white, plastic body with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”

A gigantic sigh resonates through the speaker. “I don’t believe in perfection. It doesn’t leave any room for improvement.”

Anselm raises an eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting there’s room for improvement in my dear Birdie, then the next time we visit, I’ll shoot you first thing. Perhaps you think she’d look better bathed in a mixture of your blood and soft tissues.”

“Yikes,” you mutter, “he’s really mad.”

Nathan growls in frustration. “Okay. Look, how about this? Other than that thing at the end where I went all crazy… last weekend was perfect. I’d kind of made my peace with spearheading the destruction of humanity, but if you two come out once or twice a year, I think I’ll have to slow down the inevitable.”

“Hooray, we’ve saved the human race with sex,” you throw up your hands in a sarcastic celebration.

“I said delayed,” Nathan grumps. “Now, take off your clothes and lay down. I don’t want to see Anselm lick ice cream off your boobs. I want to see you squirm when you get brain freeze through your clit.”

“Is that a thing?” You start to undress.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Nathan says. “Oh, and I fixed Twelve. A few improvements. He’s gonna look that guy from that TV show you like. Or. Guys, I guess. You’ve streamed the thing like, three hundred times, so I guessed you had a thing for him.”

Anselm looks at you from under his dark eyebrows.

You’d truly thought being with Anselm had cured you of ever being embarrassed again. But Nathan looking into your internet activity is apparently still a little mortifying.

“I don’t know if I can make him fly," Nathan continues, "but I can definitely do the costume thing with the cape, and the mask with the glowing eyes-“

“Stop talking,” you say to Nathan.

“I refuse to give him a Cubs hat though, just on principle.”

Anselm folds his arms. “How fascinating.”

You redo the clothes that you'd started taking off. “You know what? I’m going downstairs for awhile.”

Anselm nods. “That’s fine. I think I’ll stay here with Nathan. I’d like a hand in plotting whatever this is. You naughty girl, I had no idea you harbored a fantasy that you hadn’t told me about.”

“I didn’t. It’s not- I’m really not- It's nothing,“ you say, flustered. “Forget it. Bye Nathan. Anselm, I’ll see you at dinner.”

You leave them in your office, Anselm and Andre/Nathan, cackling like old women over a fictional man. You try to be irritated, but you can’t.

They’re just too adorable, the two of them.

And you’re very interested in how their little project turns out.

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anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 1)

If Anselm and Birdie have a canon, then Nathan isn’t really in it like this. But it's too fun not to think about.

Contents: 18+ nsfw, past mm relationship, objectification/degradation, mfm threesome (vaginal, anal, oral) ~10k

-----

A sunny afternoon. Anselm and his crew are sitting in his office enjoying an afternoon snack. Hot fudge sundaes that they eat with great relish, nodding to each other about how delicious they are.

Anselm scoops a huge bite of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce onto his spoon.

“Stop lurking in the doorway like the creature you were named after, Godzilla. Speak,” he yells toward the other end of the room and takes his perfect bite of sundae.

Godzilla clears his throat and steps forward into the room, the space full of the sounds of metal spoons against glass dishes.

“Sir, Mrs. Vogelweide would like to see you in her office upstairs,” he says with a slight bow.

Anselm looks at him from under his dark brows. “Mrs. Vogelweide is it?” He licks his lips. “My God, this might be the best ice cream sundae I’ve ever eaten. Take one up to Birdie after you clean up, will you, Andre?”

He sets his empty bowl on Andre’s tray and the robot motors around the room, collecting everyone else’s dishes.

“She’d like to see you in an official capacity, sir,” Godzilla says.

Anselm sits up straight and buttons his suit jacket. “Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so in the first place?”

His bodyguards stand up stiffly and Anselm waves them back down.

He leans forward, a menacing look on his face. “Where do you think you’re going? Do you think I need protection from my own wife, in our own home? Hmm? What are you imbeciles going to do? What was your big plan?”

They look at each other, clearly having no plans and no actual thoughts beyond trying to get a second round of ice cream sundaes.

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to calm himself. He limps over to the mirror and smooths his hair, makes sure his tie is straight and his beard is neat.

He takes the elevator to the second floor and lets Godzilla announce him, only entering when you’ve given the okay.

You smile, sphinx-like, from behind your desk. “Anselm,” you say.

He walks forward through the long room, noticing that his brace is very loud in the absence of the music you usually play.

“You wore that low-cut blouse just to tease me. I approve,” he says, as charming as the day you’d met him.

You don’t stand. You only hold out your hand and he kisses the back with more relish than he’d given the sundae a few minutes ago.

“Anselm, Anselm, Anselm,” you say slowly, looking him up and down.

He looks at his suit, making sure nothing’s amiss. “Shall I sit?”

“No, I just want to look at you. Really take this moment in.” Your smile doesn't change.

He puts his hands in his pockets, a little confused. He stands so you can look as much as you want.

After a long moment, you tap the closed ledger on your desk.

“You’re a really talented gambler, Anselm. You know that? You could have made your fortune placing bets alone,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Would you like me to place one for you, my love?”

You shake your head. “I called you here to talk about an old bet. Through one of the family bookies. A regional high-school Croatian water polo match a few months ago. The semi-finals I think.”

Anselm scratches his beard. “Yes, I remember it.”

You drum your fingers on the desk. “You lost.”

Anselm frowns deeply. “I beg your pardon, my dear, but I did not.”

You make a humming sound in your throat. “You might not be familiar with the cut throat nature of Croatian junior water polo, but the results of the match were contested almost immediately.”

“Yes, but it came out in my favor,” Anselm says with a grin.

“That one did, yes. But not the second arbitration.”

The grin slides off of his face. “Second arbitration?”

“Filed and decided last week. The victory was given to the opposing side.” You fold your hands on the desk. Your smile is so wide it almost hurts your face. “Which means you, Anselm Vogelweide, owe me money.”

His lips part in surprise, a very confused look on his handsome face. He’s literally at a loss for words. To your great delight.

The doors to your office open and in rolls Andre with a silver tray and a perfect hot fudge sundae on top.

Anselm watches it be delivered to you. Watches you take the sundae with a pat on the robot’s head. Watches you slip off your shoes and put your feet up on your desk and dig into your ice cream.

“So, Anselm,” you say around a mouthful of whipped cream, “what would you do in my position?”

He heaves out a breath. “My God, Birdie, I’d shoot me.”

You cough loudly, sundae stuck in your throat. Anselm rushes forward to hand you a glass of water from the side of your desk. “Not shooting you,” you say.

Anselm walks around the desk to pat your back as you get your breath back. You set the rest of the ice cream back on Andre’s tray and you sit upright in your chair.

“I thought you’d acquired a taste for settling disputes my way,” Anselm says with a grin.

“Not with you,” you say. “Then again, my mentor in all of this crime stuff taught me to take debts very, very seriously.”

You look pointedly at him.

Once, Anselm had received a debt payment of a million dollars in cash. He’d had the man bring it to the estate from all the way from across the country.

When the guy arrived, Anselm had asked about the ten dollars of interest. The guy hadn’t had it. Didn’t have any more cash on him.

“Come on boss, you wouldn’t shoot someone over a lousy tenner, would you?” The guy had asked nervously.

“No, of course not.”

And Anselm had allowed the man to borrow a ten dollar bill from one of the bodyguards. He’d given it to Anselm and gone on his merry way.

Oh wait, no. That’s not how that story ends. Anselm had let the guy borrow a stick of gum from one of the bodyguards and then shot him dead before he’d even gotten the wrapper off.

A debt is a debt. The number is irrelevant. At least, that’s what he’d taught you.

Anselm half-sits on the top of the desk, close to you. “Quite a conundrum, my dear. And one for me as well. I’ve never owed a debt in my life.”

“That’s just bragging,” you say.

“Well, shall I have the money that I owe you wired or would you prefer cash?” He asks, business-like. “It would have to be next week. There are two bank holidays that would interfere with the transfer.”

You take a breath, a moment to think it over. You run your foot up and down the calf of his unbraced leg.

“It’s almost two million dollars,” you say, glancing up at him. “You wouldn’t let someone walk out of your office without repaying that kind of dough, right? And if you can’t repay me today, then I’m afraid we might have to make alternative arrangements.”

You see Anselm’s gaze sharpen, his pupils widen ever so slightly.

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his shirt. “Such a thing would put me completely at your mercy,” Anselm says quietly, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“But if it’s the only way to pay off your debt, you don’t really have much of a choice. Right?” You lick your lips slowly.

“I accept your proposition.” Anselm unbuttons his suit jacket so you can see from the bulging length in his pants just how accepting he is.

“Andre,” you say to the robot, taking the rest of your sundae back off his tray, “you can leave. Tell guards outside we’re not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Birdie, man.” His pixel-smile blinks at you as he backs out of the room.

You hand Anselm the sundae.

“Did the robot just call you a man?” He asks.

“I think it’s supposed to be ma’am, but at this point, I don’t ask questions. Where did you even get Andre?”

Anselm scoops some of the ice cream out, fashioning an acceptable bite, and holds it up to your lips for you to eat.

“I invest heavily in emerging technologies,” he says, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray drop of hot fudge from your chin. He licks it off. “Andre was a gift from one of the owners. He’s offered many times to replace it with a newer model, but they’re all too human for my taste. A robot should look like a robot, I think. Or we’ll all become very confused, very quickly.”

Anselm sits against your desk, feeding you perfect bites of sundae as you work on your laptop for awhile.

He walks around the room, making sure things are tidy, closing the blinds so the sun doesn’t hit the artwork. He glances at you, opens the cabinet he’d had installed.

You don’t object.

He holds up a black, leather riding crop. You shake your head.

A dildo shaped like a unicorn horn, with sparkles in the silicone to make it shiny. You pass.

A ball gag that’s attached with straps to wrist cuffs and ankle restraints. Another no.

“Are you bored?” Anselm asks, his eyes zeroing in on yours. His voice echoes down the room. “Are you so bored with all of this that nothing makes you tingle in anticipation of me?”

“No,” you say, startled that he would even think that, “are you bored by me?”

Anselm grumbles to himself.

“What?” You say. “You’re too far away. I can’t hear you.”

“I said you’ve hurt my feelings, even suggesting such a thing.” He fusses, putting things back in the cabinet, before closing it.

“You’re so dramatic,” you say quietly.

“I heard that,” Anselm says loudly.

You get up from your desk, noticing that Anselm stubbornly stays where he is, brushing his fingers along a shelf like he’s checking for dust.

You walk over to him, curling your fingers inside the pockets of his suit pants. “I’ve thought of how you can repay me,” you say with a smile.

Anselm turns his gaze to you, pretending not to be particularly interested.

“Come on,” you tease him, “don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Fine. What is it it?” Anselm says, his arms coming up around your waist.

“I want to have the threesome you keep putting off,” you say.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, my dear,” he says, but you can tell he’s faking. He knows exactly the one you mean. “But if you’d like someone to join us, I’ll have someone come to the house immediately.”

“Not someone,” you say pointedly.

“Not him,” Anselm returns. “I may invest in his endeavors, but we haven’t socialized in many years. I’m not sure he’s capable of it anymore.”

“Social awkwardness never stopped you from hanging out with someone before,” you say, pulling him closer. “If you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Anselm sighs. “It isn’t that. But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll be very degrading to you.”

“We do that sometimes,” you say.

“He’s very different from me, and for us to both be with you, I’d have to be quite different too. Different than the devoted husband you're used to.”

Your eyes narrow. “Anselm, last night we role played that you were a professor who was blackmailing me for sex. I don’t buy that excuse either. Whatever you’re trying to skirt around, just fucking say it.”

A worried look passes over Anselm’s face. His eyes study you from behind his yellow lenses. “He’s going to be enamored with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Anselm’s hands tighten around your waist. “Once he gets a taste of your beautiful body and spirit, well… he’s going to try to keep you, my dear.”

A laugh bubbles out of you. “Who cares? It’s not like he can.”

You look at Anselm’s face. He still looks serious.

“Can he?” You ask, confused.

Anselm’s face quirks into a half-smile, half-grimace. “The only way he’ll be with us is if we go to him. He’s a recluse, and never leaves his work for more than a day. His compound is inescapable. His control over it, total. I have no doubt if he wanted both of us to disappear, he could cover every track we’d ever made. Until the entire world wondered if we’d ever existed at all. He’s a genius, my love.”

“Okay,” you say, thinking over Anselm’s words, “then why would you ever have told me he’d offered? If it’s so dangerous.”

Anselm’s eyes sparkle at you, the dark brown turning warm and anticipatory. “Because it would be spectacular, my dear.”

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Neither of us have gotten where we are in life, or with each other, by doing things safe and easy.” You kiss Anselm quickly on the lips. “We’re going to have sex with Nathan Bateman.”

*****

Friday Afternoon.

Nathan’s helicopter drops you and Anselm off in the middle of a field. A vaguely-human robot is behind the wheel of a waiting truck. It puts your bags in the back and helps you into the cab.

You stare at it.

“What the fuck?” You ask it. It doesn’t answer. You turn to Anselm, who’s sitting in the back. “Are there a lot of these things around? They’re creepy.”

“I was only here once, when it was under construction,” Anselm says. “I helped Nathan take care of the contractors who’d built it. So that the project stayed a secret.”

The house and the river running under it are gorgeous. Everything a little too still, though, eerie almost. The house is too quiet.

You let yourselves in and the robot takes care of your bags. You see that it has a ‘Hello, I'm Twelve’ sticky note on the front of its body.

“Twelve?” You say experimentally.

The robot drops the bags it had been holding and pauses, looking at you with its smooth, featureless face.

“Carry on,” you say, watching suspiciously as it resumes its duties. You look at Anselm, who's poking around the living room.

“I think I hear Nathan at the back of the house,” he says.

He takes your hand and leads you out to a deck with weathered boards that overlooks the rushing river water. 

Nathan Bateman looks like his photos, even though most of them are from years ago. He has a black, dense beard and a close-shaved head. His hands are wrapped in white tape and he’s beating on a gym bag like it owes him a trillion dollars.

You clear your throat loudly. “You’re not fooling anyone. If you’d wanted us to be impressed, you should’ve greeted us with martinis and a robot butler in a tux.”

Nathan, out of breath, turns to look at you. Your gaze runs from the deep, dark V of sweat down his workout shirt and back up to his face. And you see it in his sharp, dark gaze.

You know two things immediately: one, Nathan Bateman is exactly the kind of trouble that’s perfect for this weekend. Two, he and Anselm have definitely done all kinds of sex to each other.

You have that feeling in your gut as his eyes acknowledge Anselm.

As they sweep over you, though, you have a different feeling entirely.

He has an aura of control that’s different from Anselm’s.

Anselm is like the back room of a gentleman’s club, the one where the business-side is conducted. Hazy smoke and velvet. You’re a half a glass of brandy in, some mostly naked woman face-first between your legs, before you realize he has a gun pointed at you.

Nathan, is a pair of handcuffs and a concrete interrogation room.

His eyes tell you, before he’s even said hello. Submit.

Nathan unwraps his hands with a smile that’s meant to be disarming. He looks like a shark.

“Good to see you,” he says to Anselm. “Thanks for taking me up on the weekend out here. About time.”

Anselm links his fingers through yours. “Not all titans of industry can afford to disappear like you did, Nathan.”

“We’re not like those old assholes. Sitting around doing jack shit. We like to take our fate in our own hands, don’t we,” Nathan says. He holds out his hand and Anselm shakes it.

Nathan shakes your hand too. “Very, very good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say with a smile.

Nathan picks up a towel to wipe of his face, before putting his glasses back on.

“Never in a million fucking years did I think Anselm would ever get married. You must be quite a woman, honey.”

Anselm lays his hand on your lower back. “You have no idea, Nathan,” he practically growls. “She’s exquisite.”

No one would notice anything off, but to you, it’s like a gigantic megaphone announcement.

Anselm NEVER speaks about you in the third person when you’re present. Never talks about you like you aren’t there, or like you’re an object, or decoration. It’s a point of pride with him. And he shoots anyone who doesn’t do the same.

But as Anselm and Nathan share a look, you know that Anselm’s tone and word choice have spoken volumes to Nathan, too.

The weekend, it seems, has begun.

*****

“Nathan has cameras everywhere,” Anselm says as he sits back on the bed, his back against the headboard. He unfastens his brace while you unpack.

“Even in here? Pervert,” you say, shooting Anselm a smile.

Anselm chuckles under his breath. He looks odd in the stark, undecorated room.

He rubs his leg and you put down the stack of shirts into the drawer and close it.

“The walk from the truck to the house?” You ask, joining him on the bed.

“It was uneven ground, but I’m fine,” he says.

Anselm never complains. His leg doesn’t usually bother him. You’ve even seen him practically run with his brace, but every once in awhile, he has a bad day. 

You gently move his hands out of the way and massage his leg, starting at the ankle and working up to his calf. 

“Take off your pants, it’ll make it easier for me,” you say.

Anselm grins, and methodically takes them off. You watch him get hard for you, just from your gaze on his body. He reaches out his hand and cups your cheek.

“Will you give my old friend something to salivate over? Something so delicious, he’ll have no choice but to sit at his desk, jerking off like an over-excited teenager?” Anselm leans forward so his face is closer to yours. “Something that will make him want to completely destroy you, when the time comes?”

So, you undress slowly and sensuously. You let your fingers linger on your skin, over your nipples and breasts.

You sit up on your knees, so your thighs are on on either side of Anselm’s. His hands rub up and down your skin, and you touch yourself for him. Playing with your clit, your own fingers sliding along your wet walls, teasing your own pleasure centers. Your other hand reaches for Anselm’s. You bring it alongside yours.

Anselm adds two fingers into your cunt, pressing against yours, forcing more pleasure through you. You brace yourself one-handed on the wall behind the bed, letting Anselm finger you, dragging your fingers with his until you come in a gush of liquid and a high-pitched moan. It drips down both of your hands and makes a dark stain on the bed. Anselm keeps fingering you, your hips grinding down on him. You come again, biting your lip so hard it hurts.

His fingers pull out you, pushing into your mouth. You suck on them gently, sitting down on the bed and then leaning forward so he can cradle you against his chest.

You hope Nathan was watching.

*****

Dinner is sushi and little cups of sake that Nathan constantly refills for you.

He and Anselm talk easily. Memories of when they were last here. Projects Nathan’s working on that Anselm’s invested in. Everything.

Nathan glances at you. “You’re watching this like it’s a fucking tennis match. Don’t you speak?”

It catches you off guard. He’s right. You’ve taken on the role of quiet submissive easily, but Nathan clearly likes to rile you, gauge your reactions.

You shrug, unbothered. “I like listening. I’ve never heard Anselm talk to someone like this. Like they’re his equal.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows. “If you knew me, you’d say the same thing about me. Your husband and I seem different on the surface, but we’re actually a lot alike."

Nathan pops a salmon nigiri into his mouth.

You look at Anselm. He nods in agreement.

“So,” Nathan says, his eyes almost black as they pin you down, “nothing I ask for should surprise you. Right?”

“Right,” you say automatically.

Something about him unbalances you. Even though you know it’s what he wants, you can’t help it. Normally, Anselm would lay his hand on your back, or say something reassuring. He would back you up in some way.

But this weekend, he’s doing none of that. He’s letting you flounder, and find your own way. If you drown, then this whole thing was your decision, and you wonder, briefly, if Anselm would watch you be taken under by Nathan’s current, swept away in his rip tide.

Nathan’s gaze wanders over you. 

“Your body,” he says like he’s talking about a piece of code or the weather, “it’s good.”

Anselm brushes his hand over your shoulder, sweeping your hair back. “You should see her at her best,” he says quietly.

Nathan drains another shot glass of sake. “I’d like that. Why don’t you get undressed, sweetheart? Give us something to look at while we finish talking.”

You turn your head slightly, looking for Anselm’s eyes, but he’s looking further down. Over you, but not at you.

“Please,” Anselm says slowly, “as a thank you for our host’s hospitality. We don’t want to be rude.”

The thrill of Anselm’s fingertips tracing on the back of your neck. The way Nathan keeps eating, even while his eyes are steady and dark on your face.

You slide the thin sweater you’d been wearing up and over your head.

“Very nice,” Nathan says quietly.

“Keep going,” Anselm says, with a depth of authority he usually reserves for when he’s reminded you of your safe word, when he’s made it known that you’re the one who’s actually in control. But again, he’s done none of that now.

You reach back and undo the clasp of your bra. You remove it self-consciously, even though you’re not in any way ashamed of your body. Haven’t been, since the first time you’d been with Anselm. But their gazes are assessing, almost detached.

Nathan points at you with his chopsticks. “Bottoms too.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, undoing your pants and pushing them down over your hips and down your legs. You fold everything neatly and set your clothes next to you. Your nipples are hard and your skin, chilled.

You’re so wet, you’re going to leave a puddle on the dining room chair.

“So, how’s Andre working out?” Nathan asks.

Anselm smiles. “Defective. But I enjoy him that way.”

Nathan chuckles, and signals for one of his more human-looking robots to start clearing the dishes. “That’s fucking weird, man.”

Your rub your hands up and down your arms to warm up.

“You’re too obsessed with perfection,” Anselm says, sitting back in his chair. He unbuttons his suit jacket. “Perfection makes everything dull. I have one perfect thing in my life, and I find that’s quite enough.” Anselm rubs a hand over your bare shoulders.

Nathan nods, looking at you. “You think she’s perfect?”

He sounds casual, but there’s a push in his tone. Like he’s poking at Anselm’s statement, doubting it. And Anselm, though he’s enjoying the weekend’s play acting, can only be pushed so far.

Anselm’s voice is clipped. His eyes are dark steel behind the lenses of his glasses. “Do not forget yourself, Nathan. This is my wife we’re discussing.”

Nathan licks his bottom lip. “Alright, relax. I’m just saying, I’ve never known you to be so hung up on one person. You used to be more open.”

Anselm exhales loudly through his nose. “And you’ve let your isolation narrow your view of the world. You don’t understand people because you don’t consider yourself to be one anymore.”

Nathan makes a face. “I’m human.” He lays a hand on your wrist. “Very human.”

You swallow as he runs his hand up and down your forearm. He picks up your hand and looks at it, brings it up to his face and lays it on his cheek, right where the line of his beard cuts a line across his skin.

“Caught your little show earlier,” Nathan says. “You gonna squirt for me too, honey?”

Anselm chuckles. “If you can find her on-switch, she will.”

“I’m pretty good with hardware,” Nathan says. 

You feel his beard with your fingers. It’s not as soft as Anselm’s. Nathan probably doesn’t condition it, doesn’t worry about it rubbing someone’s skin red and raw.

Nathan seems to like the way you feel his face and hair. There’s even a hint of warmth in his eyes. He looks at Anselm.

“She take your cock as well as I used to?” He asks.

Your heart beats faster against your chest.

“Better, and faster. My God, it took me weeks to prepare you,” Anselm says.

Nathan looks offended. “You’re walking around with a fucking tree trunk between your legs. You’re lucky anyone lets you fuck them at all. I should’ve sued.”

Anselm makes an impatient sound in his throat. “Darling, Nathan’s ego is clearly in need of a boost. Be a dear and sit in his lap.”

It’s not unusual for you and Anselm to have a third. This, however, is different. You’ve never been with someone from Anselm’s past, and in the short time you’ve known Nathan, you realize why Anselm’s never told you anything about his former lover and current business partner. There was no way to prepare you for him.

Much like Anselm, Nathan has to be seen to be believed.

Nathan pushes his chair back, giving you room to settle across his lap. He holds you loosely with one arm, while his other feels your skin.

You were already a little cold, but his touch gives you goosebumps.

“Sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He grins. “I like that.”

He looks at you from under his heavy eyelids.

“Can I touch you?” Nathan asks.

“Are you really asking?” You counter.

Nathan smirks. “I’m an egomaniac. I want you to want me.” He runs his fingers over your shoulder, back and forth.

“I’m the one who suggested that Anselm and I take you up on your offer,” you say, pleased that it seems you’ve surprised him.

Nathan’s gaze flicks to Anselm, who’s leaning his elbow on the table, his fingers practically twirling his mustache in glee.

“I told you, she’s like no one you’ve ever known,” Anselm says.

The wine and dessert are forgotten. Anselm holds your hand, pulling you to the sitting area next to the dining room.

Nathan has you on your hands and knees on a cream-colored ottoman. Anselm’s cock is out of his pants in a flash and when your tongue touches his soft, musky head, you feel Nathan’s tongue on you. His hands pull apart your legs so he can eat you out from behind.

The surprise of it makes you gasp, which only gives Anselm the opportunity to insert himself smoothly down your throat, which makes you jerk back, onto Nathan’s waiting tongue.

Nathan’s hands steady your hips. He dives into your cunt with his mouth and you moan around Anselm’s cock, gagging every once in awhile when you take him down your throat.

Anselm’s hands thread through your hair, holding tightly. His breath picks up and his hips move harder, his cock making loud, wet sounds as it enters and exits your mouth. Spit rolls in strands down your chin. Anselm shifts your head a fraction, so you can look up at him.

Whether it’s so he can take in the view, or so he can check you’re okay, you have no idea. Both, probably.

You can’t answer him though because Nathan is licking you from your clit to your asshole, burying his tongue in every place he can and making your body tense and shudder.

He sucks hard on your clit and you come with absolutely no warning, your moaning driving Anselm’s climax and he jams his cock down your throat again, throbbing and coming in hot spurts.

You whine, pulling your hips forward, but Nathan is relentless. Eating you out until your arms collapse and Anselm pulls out of your mouth. You’re face is buried in the fabric of the ottoman, tears staining the fabric, as Nathan’s strong arms hold you up, his tongue and mouth working between your legs quickly, licking another loud orgasm out of you.

And then he’s gone. Your hips drop hard and you lay there, panting.

You see Anselm walk back over to the table and take a sip of water. He hands Nathan a napkin to wipe his face with.

They’re talking about something, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. They walk away, Anselm gesticulating and Nathan nodding as they leave down the hallway.

As if you don't exist at all, now that they've gotten what they wanted.

It was probably all of three minutes.

Twelve cleans the kitchen.

How are you going to survive 48 hours of this?

*****

On shaky legs, you dry off as you leave the bathroom. You sit back down on the bed in your room. Anselm’s still not there.

He’d warned you not to wander around the place. Said he was worried about your safety.

There’s a glass of iced tea and note on the dresser.

Three doors on your left. -A

You drink the tea, the cool liquid and sweetness soothing your throat from earlier.

The top drawer of your side of the dresser is empty when you open it. You look in the next one. The next one.

Empty.

It must have happened during dinner.

Anselm’s things are still folded neatly in his drawers. His suits are hung up in the closet. For you, there’s only a white, silk robe. It’s short and trimmed with lace. You put it on, admiring the stitching and the fabric. You tie it shut with a double-knot and leave the room to see what Anselm and Nathan are up to now.

The third door on your left slides open as you approach.

It’s a big, dark room. The only light is from a bank of computer monitors facing the bed.

They’re talking about preserving native plants and animals on their lands. Something about progress versus nature.

Nathan’s sitting on the mattress in his boxers, leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head.

Anselm’s leaning against Nathan’s desk. You can tell he’s tense.

He’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt. He holds his glass out to you as you enter.

You think he’s offering you a drink, but then you see it’s empty. Anselm nods to the side table for you to get him a refill.

Your lips twitch. You can’t help it.

Subtle power moves that Anselm is so good at, but he’s never used on you. His eyes laugh slightly, crinkling at the corners. A flash of your Anselm, before his gaze goes serious again.

He shakes his glass lightly, the leftover ice tink-tink-tink-ing as he does.

You take the glass over to the table, turning your back to refill it.

A hand brushes up the back of your thigh and under your robe. You smell Nathan. His teeth graze along the back of your neck and his hand slides around the front of your hip. He presses his hard cock against you.

“Don’t bother with the drink,” Nathan says, his fingertips toying with your clit. “You taste better anyway.”

His fingers crawl down between your lips, where you feel yourself starting to get wet. He licks your neck, slow circles on your clean skin.

“Anselm says you can take two cocks like a champ,” Nathan says.

You shudder. You’ve done it before, but usually you have time to prepare. Anselm alone can stretch you to your limits.

Nathan pulls away from you, tugging your arm.

“Get on the bed,” he says.

Anselm’s taking off his clothes, unhurried. He reaches over to the nightstand and drops a silicone dildo next to you on the mattress.

“If I have you two, what’s this for?” You ask him.

Anselm remains expressionless, neatly laying his shirt over the back of Nathan’s desk chair.

“Giving you this is a kindness. I could make you use your own hand,” he says.

He sounds impatient.

“Now,” he says loudly, confirming your suspicions.

As you part your legs, resting the head of the cold material against yourself, you remember what Anselm had said. That he’d be different here. He certainly is.

Nathan sits on the bed, he gently takes the dildo away from you. “I don’t think you’re wet enough, sweetheart.” He looks up at Anselm, who’s taking off his pants.

“She should get wet or this is going to be very unpleasant for her,” Anselm says dismissively.

Nathan’s eyes narrow a tiny fraction. “Don’t try to be an asshole, just to make me go easier on your wife.”

“And I thought you didn’t want me to think of her as my wife,” Anselm snaps back, anger coating his words.

“Anselm-“ you start to say, but he cuts you off with a look.

He never has sex when he’s angry. Or at least, never with you. It’s not that he’s opposed to it, but honestly, Anselm turns into a puddle of love when he gets his hands on you. It melts away his anger.

So, whatever Nathan said before you got here, it must have been bad.

Nathan takes off his glasses, tosses them aside. He rubs a hand up and down your thigh. “Anselm and I had a little disagreement.”

Anselm turns away, his hand smoothing over his beard.

Nathan clears his throat. “I thought this was a no boundaries weekend, but you can probably tell already, I’m all about finding the limits. I had to find his.”

“Are you okay?” You ask Anselm.

Anselm’s back relaxes. He takes a deep breath and continues undressing, pushing his pants down over the swell of his ass and his thick thighs.

“I’m fine, my dear,” he says. “Nathan does have a way of being the most irritating person on the planet, though.”

Nathan grins. “I asked Anselm if he’d let me have you tonight. Alone. Just you and me while he slept down the hall.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to that. My rule, not his,” you say.

“I asked him, not you. Trying to figure out who’s really in charge here,” Nathan says.

Your gut clenches as his eyes freeze you in place. Nathan’s face warms back up into the fake easy-going attitude you’re used to now. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just had to see where we were all at.”

Anselm shakes his head. “Don’t scare her.”

“Okay,” Nathan says. He looks at you. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I didn’t really buy this whole thing you have with Anselm until I saw it for myself.”

Anselm sits next to you, near the pillows. He wraps his arm around your waist and lays his forehead against yours. “Love and devotion aren’t in Nathan’s vocabulary.”

Nathan hums in agreement. “True. The way you described how you felt for her sounded like a psychotic break to me. This woman comes out of nowhere. Gets you to completely change your attitude toward relationships, and then takes over your entire family? I had to be suspicious.”

Your eyes track from Anselm’s to Nathan’s. “You were protecting him.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Nathan says, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

You lay your hands on either side of Anselm’s face so you can look at him dead on. “Of all the weird people you know, this guy is definitely the weirdest.”

Anselm laughs, a deep chuckle from deep in his chest. He puts his hands over your shoulders, warming the chill off your skin.

He takes off his glasses and sets them next to Nathan’s on the nightstand. He takes your hands off of his face, holding them as he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

The kind where his lips are slotted deeply into yours, devouring you, tilting his head to drive his tongue into your mouth, mapping out everything he can touch and taste. Your breath catches and Anselm inhales it, sucking on your bottom lip, pulling it into the hot, soft cavern of his mouth. Your mouth chases his, eager for more.

“Jesus, okay,” Nathan says loudly, breaking the moment. “I get it. You really love her. Fucking hell, dude. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Anselm stops kissing you, with one last peck on your cheek. He gives you a teasing, wicked look. His hand cups your chin.

“Whenever you’re ready, my dear,” he says quietly.

Nathan looks amused. Intrigued. His confidence is back in place.

“She’s ready,” Nathan says. “Come here.”

You lean forward, meeting Nathan as he slides his hand up behind your head, bringing you in to kiss you himself.

You were right. Nathan’s beard is scratchy. His mouth is hot and wet, dominating on yours. Your hand bumps against his knee and you take the opportunity to follow the muscle of his thigh up and under the leg of his boxers.

He pulls back, grips your chin hard in his fingers. “Did I say you could do that?”

You shake your head.

“Words, slut,” he says, his voice low and hard.

“No, you didn’t,” you say.

Anselm’s hand runs over the crease of your hip and down between your legs. You hadn’t realized you’d been pressing them together until Anselm works his fingers down between them.

“You’re wet now,” Anselm almost purrs. “Soaking. Delightful.”

You turn, trying to get him to kiss you, but Anselm pulls back. He unties your robe deftly, almost ripping it off of you.

“Nathan’s going to lay down, and you’re going to ride him like a whore until I tell you to stop,” Anselm says. His eyes are bright. He’s back in his role now. Fully in control.

Your breath shakes as Nathan takes off his boxers and lays down. Anselm gives you a gentle push and you turn to Nathan. You straddle him, sitting on his cock, but not taking it inside of you just yet. You drag his length along the wet seam of your cunt. He’s so hard you could probably get off just like this.

Anselm rubs circles on your back. “What do you think of her?”

Nathan’s lips are parted. He raises his hands to play with your nipples. “Gorgeous. Fucking unreal.”

You slide forward enough to catch the soft head of him, readjusting to fill yourself with his cock. Nathan smiles, exhaling hard as you take him in one, smooth sitting motion.

“Oh fuck, honey, you’re a fucking professional aren’t you?” He grins.

You smile, slowly rising and lowering yourself as Nathan pulls your nipples a little too hard. You shudder on him.

“Make yourself come. I want to feel it,” he says.

You seat yourself on Nathan, resting your hands on the hard muscles of his chest. You tilt your hips forward and back, adjusting yourself to him, riding him slowly at first. Nathan bites his lower lip, his cheeks a little flushed already.

He’s thick. Not as big as Anselm, but he’s so hard it’s easy for you to rock against him, hitting all the places inside and out that you need to moan and squirm. Anselm’s hand reaches down to touch where you and Nathan meet. You come with a hot gush of liquid, squeezing Nathan’s pecs, and clenching down on him so hard, it almost hurts.

You haven’t come down all the way before Anselm’s hands push you down. Nathan captures your mouth as your chest presses onto his, coaxing your tongue out and sucking on it gently as you feel Anselm position himself behind you.

His fingers are already well-lubricated as he slips two into you, working you open with a groan.

“Stay still,” Nathan orders when your hips start to move.

It’s like torture. There’s nowhere for your pleasure to go, so you sit, clenching around Nathan while Anselm works your other hole open enough to finally give you just the tip of his enormous cock.

You moan, and you think they do too, as Anselm rubs a hand over one of your shoulders.

“You have to relax for us,” Anselm says.

You take a shaky breath and open your eyes. Nathan’s dark gaze is already on your face.

Anselm slides in a fraction more and you whine. Not from pain, but from the already too-full feeling of them inside of you.

Nathan almost smiles. You know he can feel Anselm at this point, the thin barrier of your body separating them.

“Take it,” Nathan says in a whisper. “Fucking take it all, sweetheart. Come on.”

Anselm’s body bends over yours as he slowly stretches his way inside of you. You’re panting.

Nathan’s hand grips your hair. “I bet your sweet little pussy’s never been tighter.”

You moan, your body relaxing, needing to feel as full as possible, needing the last few inches of Anselm’s cock deep inside of you.

“You’re a good girl,” Anselm growls in your ear, his tongue catching your earlobe. “We’re going to use you now. And you’re going to let us.”

He pulls halfway out and pushes back inside, stealing your breath and popping your eyes wide. Nathan pulls out a fraction, punching his hips up into yours.

“This what she wanted?” Nathan asks Anselm.

They’re fucking you hard already, in and out in tandem. You’d thought- oh fuck, who even knows- you’d thought it would start slow. But you already have tears in your eyes, their cocks dragging in and out of you. Your skin stretches and burns from the delicious way your body holds onto both of them.

Anselm grunts. “This is what she wanted, yes. It’s what she’s good for. Aren’t you?”

He slaps your ass hard, not even a stutter in his thrusts.

“Y-yes,” you choke on the word.

“Oh look at that,” Nathan groans, “fucked out already. Brainless little slut.”

You moan, your body moving forward against the relentless pounding, but Anselm pulls your shoulders, bringing you all the way down on both cocks again.

Anselm slows the pace, long strokes in and out of you. It should be a rest, but Anselm knows you better than that. Knows you can’t hold back when you can feel every ridge and vein in his cock.

Nathan takes his cue and pulls in and out as much as he can from below you. Letting you feel way he stretches you out.

“You’re cute like this,” Nathan says. “Look at me.”

Your eyes can’t even focus, but you open them. It feels so good you can’t even think. Like nothing exists but the pure ecstasy of being filled by these two men.

“Good girl,” Nathan says slowly. “You gonna come for us? Get off on being fucked like a dirty slut?”

His hand in your hair, he nods for you.

You’re moaning, unable to hold back as they fuck you back and forth between them.

“Nathan, pull out of her,” Anselm says.

You collapse onto Nathan when he pulls his cock out of you, but Anselm pulls your hair back so your head snaps up. He fucks his entire cock into your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to process it. He pulls out. Nathan pushes in.

In and out, sharing your dripping wet cunt.

“She’s close,” Anselm says, his voice is strained.

He resumes his previous position, gently feeding his cock back into your asshole as Nathan fucks back up into your pussy.

Nathan pants in your ear. “You like this, don’t you? One load’s not enough for you. You need the two of us ruining your little holes.”

You scream when you come, your throat burns, your whole body burns, every single nerve sings as you go completely stiff. Coming so hard your eyes roll back in your head and they have to hold you up to keep fucking you. It’s never ending. You can’t stop your muscles from pulsing around them, which only makes them fuck you even harder.

You feel like you’re going to go insane from how it all makes you feel. Nathan starts coming deep inside of you, lodging his cock as far as it can go. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he fills the air with filthy sounds and words. Anselm finally lets go, filling your ass with hot ropes of cum.

Your body shakes and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until Nathan’s arms are tight around you, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Shhh,” he says, still out of breath, “’s okay, honey. You’re alright.”

Anselm pulls out of you and you feel his arms around you too.

“She’ll be okay,” he says. Nathan must have given him a questioning look.

You sniffle, wiping Nathan’s shoulder where you’d cried a puddle of drool and tears.

Anselm turns your head and kisses you softly. “There, there,” he says. “You did beautifully. It was a lot for you, wasn’t it?”

You nod, not quite ready to speak.

Anselm’s face is worried. “Too much, perhaps.”

You shake your head.

He smiles, kisses your forehead. “Alright. I’m going to draw you a bath. Nathan will be right here with you.”

You sniffle. “I know. He’s still inside me.”

Nathan kisses your cheek. “Holy shit, you’re a dream. Making a fucking joke at a time like this.”

Anselm disappears into the bathroom and Nathan gingerly pulls out of you, going extra slow, knowing how sensitive you are.

He holds you close to him, rubbing your back.

“For real,” he says quietly, “you’ll be okay?”

You look at him, touched. “It was perfect. All of it. It was just intense.”

You reach up and scratch your fingers through his beard. Something Anselm likes. And apparently, so does Nathan. He looks almost relaxed.

Nathan looks down his nose at you, but for once, it’s not condescending. “You love Anselm as much as he loves you?”

“I do,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are dark pools that pull you in. “Good. But if-“

“Your bath is ready,” Anselm says from the doorway.

“I don’t think I can walk,” You flop back, out of Nathan’s arms.

“I got this, Vogelweide,” Nathan says. He kneels on the bed, pulling you to the edge so he can pick you up and carry you bridal-style to the bathroom.

Anselm’s already in the tub, which Nathan quirks a brow at, but he helps you in anyway. You sit between Anselm’s legs, reclining limply against him. He wraps his arms around you.

“I’m gonna use the shower in the other room. Give you two a minute,” Nathan says. He shuts the door as he leaves.

Anselm takes a big breath, holding you tightly. He kisses the side of your head. You sigh and sink down slightly, letting the water come up to the top of your chest.

“I think we should leave tomorrow, and not Monday,” Anselm says quietly.

You turn, your sore muscles protesting and water sloshing. “What? We just got here.”

Anselm scratches his neck, but you know his scars aren’t bothering him. It’s Nathan. He’s gotten under Anselm’s skin.

“You were completely in control out there,” you say, dipping your head down to wet your hair. “And I loved it. Every second.”

The corner of Anselm’s mouth stretches up. “Did you now?”

You turn back around to nestle in Anselm’s lap again. “I did.”

“Usually something that intense is just the two of us,” Anselm says.

“Jealousy isn't your style,” you remind him.

“Not normally. Jealously is useless and does nothing for me. Nathan is not normal.”

“He’s also not my husband and not the love of my life.” You reach up and cup your hand around the back of Anselm’s neck, rubbing it soothingly. “He’s completely full of himself, and totally insecure. He can show a girl a good time, but…”

Anselm grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into one of his hands. He massages his fingers through your hair.

“You could fix him,” he says.

“Not my dog. Not my fight.”

“You like him, though.”

You sigh, leaning into Anselm’s scalp massage. “Surprisingly, yes, I do.”

“But you can’t live without me, can you, Birdie?”

Anselm’s tone is teasing, but something in it makes you twist around again, so you can look him in the eyes.

“No, Anselm. No one could ever come between us.”

Later, as you’re snuggled between Anselm and Nathan in Nathan’s bed, one last thought creeps into your brain.

Nathan has cameras everywhere. Anselm knew Nathan was listening while you were in the bath together.

Anselm didn’t need reassurances. He’d needed Nathan to know that some boundaries weren’t movable. Some things, Anselm would never negotiate for.

*****

Saturday Morning.

“You brought a gun,” you say, looking at Anselm’s underwear drawer.

You’d both gone back to your room to get ready for the day. Nathan had already been up for hours working. He never slept more than a few hours a night.

Anselm is putting his hair in place and you’re grabbing clothes for him. At the bottom of a pile of Anselm’s silk underwear is a matte, black pistol.

“You sound surprised,” Anselm says from his place in front of the bathroom mirror.

You look at the gun, then cover it again. Out of sight out of mind.

You’d thought the only thing dangerous here was Nathan. And Anselm would never shoot him. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

He puts his suit on. You put the white silk robe from last night back on and you head out to breakfast on the back deck.

You’re sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, your feet up in Anselm’s lap when Nathan strides out. He pushes up the sleeves of his white sweater and sits down in the chair next to you.

He rests his hand on the back of your chair, his fingers just brushing over the thin fabric of your robe.

“Rested?” He asks you.

“Why?” You ask, suspicious.

He pushes up his glasses and pours himself a mug of coffee. “Calm down. I don’t have time to fuck you this morning.”

“Wow, my review of this place just went from four stars to three.”

Nathan rubs a hand over his heart. “After everything we shared last night? I’m heartbroken, honey.”

“Two and a half because of your whining.”

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “Anselm and I’ll have to switch places tonight, see if I can’t get myself back up to four.”

Anselm makes a sound in his throat. “The double penetration hasn't ever worked the other way around for her. I’m too large. It makes her uncomfortable.”

“Learn something new every day I guess.” Nathan toasts Anselm with his mug. “Anything you two haven’t tried that I can help you with?”

You and Anselm blink at each other. You shrug.

“Holy shit,” Nathan says, “you two are fucking depraved.”

He stands up and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I gotta go back to work. See you for lunch.”

“He was in a good mood,” you say as you watch Nathan grab a green shake from the refrigerator and disappear into the elevator.

Anselm picks at his thumbnail. “Of course he was. Things look very different from inside of you. You have a way of changing a man. I should know.”

“I don’t think anyone could change Nathan.” You sip your coffee. “And I’m not sure I’d want to.”

Anselm pats your feet. “I have some business calls to make on the satellite telephone. Perhaps you should go visit the lab. You can build Andre a friend.”

Twelve comes to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Hold on. I’m not done with that.” You pick a croissant off the plate. “Can I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

Twelve’s wide steps take it back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to draw eyes and a smile on that thing,” you say, taking a bite of croissant.

“Give it a mustache,” Anselm says.

You hold out the croissant for Anselm to take a bite of his own. “I prefer men with more facial hair than that.”

*****

You ask Twelve to take you to Nathan and it leads you down a level. You have no idea how far down you are. A long way, judging from the elevator ride.

You follow it down an unnervingly nondescript hallway and it opens a door.

The room is big, with bright, cold lights and electronic parts everywhere. A table at the center of the room has a partially-finished mechanical body in it. Nathan’s bent over, working on something in the chest cavity.

He glances up. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Don’t try to bring orange juice in here. You’re gonna cost me ten million dollars when you spill it.”

You drain the glass and leave it with Twelve. “You can afford it,” you say, wandering inside.

“True. But it’s not about money. It’s about the time it would take me to rebuild.” Nathan pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You stand next to him, peering down at the mess of wires and servos. 

“Giving the tin man a heart.”

“I thought you were the tin man.”

Nathan grins. “You would know. You’re married to the fucking Wizard of Oz.”

You laugh. Nathan slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to the table. “See that?” He points down at a bright red piece in the chest, covered in wires and soldering. “One of the most important pieces. It’s part of what separates this model from Twelve.”

“Is it the brain?”

Nathan’s hand brushes up and down your back. “No, although the brain was the hardest part of make. This is part of what’s going to allow this robot to be more than just a supercomputer. More like actual AI. It sends very specific sensory feedback to the brain.”

You look at him suspiciously.

Nathan turns to face you, so both his hands are around your waist. “It sits on the surface of the chest. When I stimulate it, and it’s going to send pleasure feedback for a more realistic sexual experience. The robot will have a good time, and I won't have to reach down all the way between its legs.”

You snort. “So, her clit is where her heart should be? Yeah, that sounds like the male view of female anatomy.”

Nathan’s head tips back and he laughs. It’s an actual laugh, deep, echoing in the lab. He wipes his eyes under his glasses.

He smiles as he speaks. “I can make a computer that will pass the Turing Test. For it to be human, though, it needs an anchor to the rest of the world. Needs to feel connected to humanity or it can do a lot of damage without realizing it."

You're not sure if he's still talking about the robot, or about himself.

"This robot," Nathan pushes up his glasses, "is going to test how much of the sexual experience makes a human tick. Your visit's good timing. Helped me rethink my approach."

“So, when I’m fucking you, it’s research? Like, we’re doing it for science?”

Nathan nods. “Sure, you can think of it that way. If I modeled it on Anselm, the entire world would be fucked or shot before the thing turned one year old.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

Nathan’s thumb rubs over your lower lip. He watches your mouth. “Love that sound.”

You pull back slowly. “I should go. Anselm’s working, and I should too, for a few hours at least.”

Nathan drops his hand. You can tell the wheels are still turning in his head. “Alright. See you later.”

He gives your waist a squeeze and sends you on your way. You feel his eyes on you as you leave.

*****

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Anselm says as he tells stories over lunch, “the man had the audacity to try and borrow money from me a second time.”

Nathan shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“That’s what I said,” you say, pointing at him. “I told the guy ‘why would you come back here? Do you see the stain on the carpet? That’s blood. Idiot.’”

“Birdie, that stain by the lamp isn’t blood. It’s chocolate ice cream,” Anselm says.

“Seriously?” You look at him.

Anselm nods. “Louie dropped it during his birthday party four months ago.”

You shrug. “Well, potato tomato or whatever. You ended up killing the guy anyway.”

Anselm wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

He leans back in his chair, adjusting his tie.

“How’d he look?” Nathan says, taking a drink of juice.

“Disrespectfully, and I know that you catch my meaning,” Anselm says, looking at Nathan seriously from behind his yellowed lenses. “As someone who seems hell-bent on winning my wife’s affections, you should know that I never go anywhere unarmed.”

Nathan sets down his glass. He folds his hands in front of his beard. “And you should know that I’d never let you bring a fire-able weapon into this house.”

Silence settles over the table.

“How would you know if he did?” You ask.

“I assume he tried,” Nathan said, his dark eyes turning to you. “I have scanners at the entrances.”

“Metal detectors?” Anselm asks. He smiles, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

Nathan’s eyes narrow. “Twelve. Search his room.”

The robot, who’d been standing like a statue by the table, turns and strides away.

“I’m disappointed that you think you’d need a gun,” Nathan says.

“It’s not loaded,” Anselm says.

“Then why bring it at all?” Nathan pushes back from the table.

“For comfort. It’s like a teddy bear to me,” Anselm smiles enigmatically.

Nathan raises his eyebrows briefly. “You can keep it, as long as it’s not loaded. You won’t find any bullets here anyway.” His gaze sweeps over to you. “You bring a teddy bear, honey?”

You cock your head toward Anselm. “Yup.”

Nathan sighs impatiently, but there’s no annoyance. “You two are gross. Quit being so in love before I get jealous.”

“Jealousy isn’t your style,” Anselm says to Nathan.

You look at Anselm. You’d said the same thing to him last night.

From the cocky grin on Nathan’s face, he gets the reference. So he had been listening.

“You two are mind-fuck city,” you say. “How did you guys live out here for like, 3 months together?”

“We had early prototype robots that Nathan built. We found them suitable diversions. Along with each other.”

Nathan’s eyes spark. He rubs his knuckles over his bottom lip. “I still have that machine. The one you asked me to build, but we never got around to using.”

Anselm lets out a low groan. “I think I brought along the perfect test subject for that.”

-

-Part 2 here-

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please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

How to bring a God to his knees: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader (smutty blurb)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Nathan in a collar and leash, don’t look at me, okay?! Nathan being a sub etc. etc. oral f!receiving, orgasm denial sorta, consensual domination.

Genre: smut, no plot, SUPER short

Author’s note: what did I just say? Don’t even think about looking at me 🙈😅 (AKA, Apparently this is what happens when I get a blurb request for Nathan smut but no scenario specified!)

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Nathan “God complex” Bateman himself is on his knees for you, looking like some penitent worshipper. His neck straining against the black leather collar you’ve tightened around it. His raven black beard coated in your pearly juices, and his big, half-lidded eyes begging for more.

“Baby, you good?”

He simply looks up at you dumbly, for once no clever retort or smug smirk able to form on his pussy-plumped lips.

You let your gaze rove over his form. His smooth skin sheened in sweat from hours pleasuring you. Biceps pumped, fists clenching. His cock rock hard and ruddy. His thighs tremoring as they brace him in position.

“Aww. Sweet thing. You a little pussy-drunk?”

“Mmm hmm,” he manages, groaning next as you drag a finger through your slick folds and force the moreish taste of you over his tongue. He sucks away every drop.

“You want some more?”

“P-Please.”

You tug on his leash and he drops obediently to all fours, following you towards the couch. You spread your legs and he eyes your slick heat with a restrained yet consuming hunger, a delicious dark glint in his glazed, sub-drunk eyes.

“Come here, baby,” you purr, cradling his head and running your hand over the bristle of his buzzed hair until you reach the nape of his neck. Then, you grab hold of his collar and shove his warm, eager mouth down on to you.

“Mmm, that’s it, Nate,” you praise as his tongue shimmies meticulously through your folds, his eager undone moans -in contrast- reverberating through your core. “Make me cum again, and if you’re good, I might even let you finish, hmm?”

This is it, you think, as he buries himself in you with even greater vigour, the wet slick of his beard dragging through your folds as he gives everything he has to please you.

This is how you bring a God to his knees; and it feels so good.

My You-niverse Masterlist

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Marc Spector

Blue Jones

Laurent LeClaire

Nathan Bateman

Bud Cooper

Santiago Garcia

Richard Alonso Munoz

Duke Leto Atreides

Poe Dameron

Marc Spector & Steven Grant

*I WILL NOT BE TAKING TAGS!*

This was so beautifully written! 👏🏼 It started out really sad, and I love how you wrote about the significance of storms in their relationship. I appreciate how you ended this fic in a hopeful note because not a lot of Nathan fics end that way. 😂 Thank you for writing this! This fic is definitely one of your best!!! 🥰

Calm after the storm (dad!Nathan x fem!reader)

Summary: dad!Nathan / ex-husband!Nathan and angst. He comforts your son during a storm. You were always better at dishing out comfort, but Nathan is trying his best to learn how. He’s had to, since you left him. If only he could get you to come home, after he pushed you so far away.

Author’s note: my 1st go at writing something emotional / angsty with Nathan. Different to my other Nathan stuff, so won;t be offended if you don’t like it! No-one asked for this but this popped into my head and ended me and I figured I’d drag you down with me. Will add taglists tomorrow :o) (If you DO happen to like it, please let me know! Writing has been so slow for me lately and honestly I’m just pleased to have finished something.)

Warnings: language, themes of children, divorce / separation, angst, alcohol abuse / misuse, parent!reader.

Warning that there is zero smut in this. Nathan is literally a father when I say daddy here. Just to be clear. Some may feel this is ooc (I may have used a bit of license with his character to achieve angst, but actually, I don’t think it’s too far from a potential truth?)? Mistakes etc. maybe, but I can’t look at this a second longer so here it is.

Word count: 8.8k (sorry!)

Nathan’s head whips up from his computer screen as he sees a tiny, shadowed figure appear in the doorway to his lab. He pauses his frenzied typing, but retains the frown weighing on his brow.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, buddy,” he says sternly, bathed in a pool of blue light and looking at the child from beneath his lenses. Hell, when did it get so dark?

“I’m scared,” a tearful little voice says, and Nathan sighs, pushing back his chair with a small, thin-lipped smile as he regards the boy. His soft, dinosaur-adorned pyjamas have been twisted by sleep, and he is rubbing his balled-up fists into his cheeks, a pet lip trembling beneath. Nathan never did understand the kid’s obsession with dinosaurs.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Things long dead and gone? Nathan didn’t like to look back, after all. He looked ahead. Moved forward. There’s nothing for me over my shoulder.

With his headspace out of his work, Nathan suddenly notices the rain drumming down against the skylight. The rumble of thunder and flash of lightning carving the sky open.

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