#Nathan Bateman imagine

[leoluved]

indulge me (n.b)

summary: nathan eats you out, then cums in his pants :-) (lovingly) warnings: smut 18+, fem reader, pussy eating, soft nathan bc i cant get enough, not beta read (still a lazy bastard), slight overstim only if u squint word count: 1.0k

It isn’t often Nathan opens up to you. You’re okay with it; with his love being more of a comfort in action than words. You know he needs you even if he wouldn’t dare say it. 

You’ve known him long enough to know his emotions run so clearly through his eyes. 

As you lay on the couch, with a magazine in your hand, you see him come into the living room through the corner of your peripheral. 

You raise your head from the pages, watching as he strides over and takes a seat. Grabbing your legs to settle himself underneath them. You try and focus your attention back to the little quiz you were taking before, but the way Nathan’s fingers graze over your skin has you melting under his touch. 

He moves closer, his hands lingering over the surface of your thighs, and you drop the magazine as he hovers over you. Passionately slotting his lips against yours. 

Your hands find purchase wrapped around his neck, and you pull him closer to you. Earning yourself a low chuckle from him. You bare your throat to him, allowing him to leave wet, open mouth kisses onto your collarbone. 

As you move your hands down to unlace the string of his sweatpants, he stops you. Shaking his head and gently guiding your hand back to yourself by your wrist. He lowers himself, kissing down your midriff as the tank top you were wearing started to ride up. 

As if you weighed nothing, Nathan is raising your hips off of the cushion, bringing down your shorts and panties till they’re sliding off your legs. He tosses them off the couch, bringing his hands to the fold of your knees.

You let out a saccharine sigh as you watch him practically fold you in half. He groans at the sight of your slicked folds, removing his glasses and setting them down on the side table before licking a stripe up your wet cunt. 

Gasping softly, you try to close your thighs. However Nathan’s strong hands react first, and it only makes him push you further open for him. 

His eyes gaze at you lovingly from his position, with the way his hands are gripping your skin you can tell he needs this. The pleasant sting of his fingernails digging into your thighs. Knowing you’ll have crescent shaped marks in the morning. 

Nathan brings himself back to your pussy. Starting off with small kitten licks to your clit. 

Nathan loves the way you react, how easy it is to have you buckling and begging under his touch. He knows it won’t be long before you’re riding his face. Being greedy to take what you want. Nathan loves that. Loves how his actions can show him just how much you need him. 

He grabs one of your hands, replacing yours where his rested in the crook of your leg. One of his thick fingers coming up to tease your slit. The tip prods at your entrance, and Nathan practically drools at the way you clench at the intrusion. Sucking softly on your puffy nub, he enters. Indulging in the way you whimper when he finally plunges his middle finger all the way in.  

You buck your hips, and it encourages him to move faster. The sounds of slurping fills the room. You throw your head back and whine out shamelessly into the air. While you’re distracted, Nathan takes the opportunity to insert another finger. Curling them up your spongy walls until he’s hitting your favorite spot. 

He knows he found it when you’re finally starting to move your hips on your own. 

Suddenly, he stops. Watching cruelly as you try to fuck yourself on his unmoving face. He laughs when you send him a glare and starts his movements up again. 

He finally decides his teasing is over, bringing himself back down to eat you like a starving man. Your orgasm quickly approaches, and you don’t even get the chance to let out a word before Nathan is talking you through your peak. 

“C’mon baby.. Give it to me. You can do it, princess.” 

The pet name comes out in a purr, and with a final curl of his fingers, you’re gasping and bucking up onto his tongue with a cry. You bask in the feeling of your orgasm. Enjoying the way Nathan strokes the skin of your inner thigh. He presses soft kisses to your fluttering pussy. Smiling at the way you twitch. He wipes his face before bringing himself back down. 

You almost think he’s joking. 

Nathan doesn’t stop, continuing his assault on your pulsing heat. You mewl out, trying to push his head away. Instead, his fingers curl upward again, causing you to jerk away. 

“Baby. Just one more, one more ‘n I’ll stop.” His voice is gravely, and it sounds wrecked.  

His voice is distant, and with the way he desperately laps at you, it doesn’t take long for you to build up the familiar feeling in your stomach again. Your hands come up to cup his head, trying to bring him as close as you can. 

“Nath—an.. Nathan..please..” 

Hearing your begging makes him feel like he died and went to the pearly gates of Heaven. Almost as if hearing the choir sing for him. He hasn’t even noticed himself mindlessly rutting against the cushions. 

He knows he’s finished when your thighs are uncontrollably shaking. Struggling to take in breaths. When you cum again, so does he. Groaning into you, he finally pulls away. Looking down at the wet spot forming in his light grey sweats. He sighs, and grabs his glasses. Fixing them over his deep umber eyes. 

His gaze focuses on you when you finally start to compose yourself. You fix yourself up on your knees and stare at him. He smiles, and brings a hand to your head to guide your body into his chest. 

“Don’t you want m—“

“Already did.” He mutters, trying to ignore the way you're holding back a laugh.

#so yeah #˚ . ☆ ⋆。˚ — my writing. #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x you #ex machina imagine #ex machina #oscar isaac imagine #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

This Didn't Happen

Notes: Just a silly thing; prompts 7 & 15 taken from this Morning After prompt list.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexual implications; behavior expected of our fave billionaire stinky bastard man

Summary: Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

"Stop smiling at me."

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes you are."

"How do you know? You're not even looking at me."

"I don't need to look at you, I can feel it from here." You tried to smooth your rumpled clothing before drawing in a deep breath to steady yourself, gathering your thoughts.

Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

The sex had been (insanely, mind-bogglingly) good. You were still sensitive, still buzzing from your orgasm as you tried to plan a graceful exit. It was proving difficult, given the circumstances—but there was no smooth way to dip out of a one night stand. Almost all of the conference attendees were staying at the same hotel as you were. What if you ran into someone that you knew in the hallway? Your wrinkled clothes would give you away immediately.

You gathered your courage before you forced yourself to turn and look at him.

Nathan was smiling—lounging in the bed with a satisfied smirk as he put his glasses back on and fixed you with a knowing gaze. You wanted to slap the look off of his face, but some part of you was certain that he would enjoy it. Not only was he smiling, but he looked criminally gorgeous. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from exertion; his forehead was still dotted with sweat; you were trying to ignore the few streaks of irritated skin where your nails had dug into his shoulder.

"We're not gonna cuddle?" He teased, brows waggling. You scoffed, turning away and beginning to hunt around his hotel room for your shoes.

"Listen, Bateman—"

"You have my attention."

"Good, 'cause I'm really gonna need you to focus up right now." You faced him again, planting your hands on your hips and forcing a stern set to your brow. "This didn't happen. Got it?"

"Didn't it?"

"No."

Nathan blinked at you a couple of times, lips curling into a teasing smile as he glanced toward to marks on his shoulder.

"Huh. Then I wonder where these came from."

"The mystery may never be solved." Son of a bitch, where are you goddamn shoes—

"So if anyone asks what we got up to this evening—?"

"Make something up," You snapped.

"What's your alibi?"

"I'll figure it out when I get back to my room."

"What if you run into someone in the elevator and they ask?"

"I'll make something up."

"You oughta brainstorm now. You don't improvise well."

"Thanks for the tip."

"They're under the desk."

"What?"

"Your shoes."

You went still, slowly glancing in that direction, and wincing when you spotted them. How the hell did they get under there?

"You kicked them off," Nathan added. "Almost broke your neck. Remember?"

You ignored the goad, picking them up and hurriedly pulling them on before heading for the door. You heard the rustle of sheets as Nathan pushed them off of his lap and stood.

"Hey," He called out.

"What?"

"You sure this never happened?"

"Positive."

You reached for the doorknob, freezing as Nathan crowded up against your back. You shivered at the feeling of his body pressing against yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I hope it doesn't happen again sometime," He murmured. You began to turn to look back at him, only to spot yourself in a small mirror by the door. Your eyes narrowed as you spotted a mark blooming on your neck, and you couldn't stop yourself from whirling around to look at him.

"Did you really have to leave a giant hickey on my neck?!"

Nathan smirked, gaze sweeping over your face before he tipped his head to the side, getting a better look at the hickey.

"What makes you think I did that?"

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @rachelwritesstuff

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #prompts

[hoedamn-eron]

listen okay

been thinking about Oscar's characters and what they're like as dads

Spoke very briefly with @writefightandflightclub about this, months ago (can't even find the post it was that long ago - I'll link it later if I do - FOUND IT)

Poe Dameron is a girl dad

Santiago Garcia is a girl dad (see here)

Steven Grant is a girl dad

And Marc Spector and Jake Lockley

(Jake especially)

But Nathan Bateman

Nathan Bateman oozes boy dad

Because, right:

Nathan created Ava and has the mindset that girls are scary

(And Luna pointed out that he'd be wary after that having a girl after 'the incident' and I agree)

Seems like the kind of guy to say 'first time, guaranteed' after sex, when you both agree to start trying

(he was right, it was)

(you still don't know how he did it)

Anyways, you both have a boy

He needed to find out at your anomaly scan because he hasn't been able to control one single thing during this pregnancy and he hates it

So he voted he found out the gender

Makes you put on classical music for "the foetus" (Nathan's words) because he seems like that type of guy

Not that he doubts the kid'll be a genius, but it can't hurt

When your son is here, Nathan would be a mess

It was one thing knowing you were pregnant, seeing the bump and ultrasounds and all

But now there's an actual kid

A kid that is fully reliant on him

Nathan probably wouldn't sleep for weeks

Just sit and works and watches the kid, make sure he's breathing

He'd mellow out eventually, when you'd told him he needed sleep and can't keep doing this to himself

You took over the night shift after that, mostly

He isn't the kind of dad to rough house

But one that you'll catch talking out coding issues to an infant who just stares at Nathan, just because of the sound of his voice

Your son would look nothing like you, and take everything after Nathan (he's super smug about it too - not only can he make literal lifelike robots, but he has 'superior genes' too)

Would want to call the boy something unique like Silas, or Atlas, something along those lines

You had veto'd them very quickly

But Silas grew on you, so I can imagine you agreed to a unique name

Once your son was old enough, he'd definitely teach him how to box

Since Nathan's sleep schedule is fucked (he's working on it), he's always up first with the kid

You'll always find them on the decking at the punching bag

Nathan was always guiding him, praising him when your son eventually punched the bag

You and Nathan both regularly went out on hikes (he enjoyed them more than you did) even before the kid

When the kid was born, it was easy to carry him around in a carrier on your chests

But when he got older and learned to walk, he never wanted to be carried

And the hikes took longer

So now Nathan's planned out new family friendly routes for you all, where you'll all be out for an hour, tops, and not far from the house

Nathan really hates mess, so will probably follow the kid around once he starts walking, just picking up after him

If he's stressed or hungover (he's working on that too) he would probably yell at you to sort it out

He'd apologise later after you chewed him out, even offering to do bath time and get the kid ready for bed

"I'll read him a story or some shit"

(It's probably Stephen Hawking)

He'd arrange someone to decorate the kids bedroom to look like space or something

You had a field day looking around the IKEA website and choosing what you wanted for your son's dream bedroom, but Nathan had just rolled his eyes and got the more expensive, designer, equivalent and it was delivered within a week

You'd told him off for doing it, but he just shrugged at you wordlessly as he set up the bedroom for your son

This is long enough, I'm gonna stop here, but now I want to write a full series of dad!Nathan 😭😭😭

#headcanon #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x f!reader #ex machina #oscar isaac #imagine #nathan bateman is a boy dad change my mind #everyone else is a girl dad #dad!nathan bateman #dad!nathan bateman x mom!reader #parent!reader

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Nathan Bateman

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Nathan Bateman 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.

Warning: allusion to sex, also kinda cheating??

Series Masterlist

Once Nathan is out of the room, you stand from the desk you apparently fell asleep at. You look around and you don't see America anywhere and that worries you...a lot.

You stand, stretching out your arms above your head and let out a groan. Your body is sore. Does this universe's version of you sit at a desk all day?

You look around the room to see it very modern yet plain. There are few knick knacks that you seem to have brought. Pictures of you and your family...well the family you had in this universe. Some little trinkets and artwork here and there. Besides that the room was pretty bare.

You hear the whirring of a blender and you exit the room to follow the sound. When you head towards the kitchen, you see Nathan there. He's blending something into a green mush while eating a banana.

You stare at him while he's scrolling through his phone. This version of Marc is very different than the previous ones you've met. Not only physically, but personality as well.

"The fuck are you staring at?" Nathan mumbles as he sips his smoothie.

You avert your gaze and look around your setting, "Oh, uh, nothing. Just thinking."

Nathan hums, "Well, you can think while you finish that transcript."

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, "Why're you such an ass?"

Nathan scoffs back, "You act as if this is something new to you."

"It's not. I'm just wondering why you're such an ass."

He snorts, "You don't get anywhere being a softie, sweetheart."

You hum and give a shrug, "I just find it ironic that for a guy trying to create AI with human thoughts and feelings, you sure don't like to have any of them yourself." You turn on your heel and head back to your...office?

Once you shut the door, you sit at the desk and throw your head into your hands, "How the fuck do I get out of here now?"

____________________________

"Y/N?!" America wakes up to see Wong and Stephen by her bedside.

"America, calm down." Stephen says, "You need to rest."

"H-How...?" she looks around and sees she's in her own room at the Avengers Compound, "Am-Am I home?"

Wong nods, "Yes. You somehow ended up back here, but-"

"-but Y/N didn't come back with you. We don't know why, but now we have to find her."

"I want to help! This is my fault, I have to find her. I owe Marc that."

Wong and Stephen shake their heads, "You're too weak. All of that universe traveling took a lot out of you. It's been three days since you've come back and you're just now waking up."

"Three days?!" the young Avenger shouts.

_______________________

You're pacing your room murmuring to yourself, "It's been three days and nothing's happened. I don't know if this is good or bad."

You continue to mumble and pace, not knowing that Nathan was resting against the threshold of your room, watching you. You jolt when he speaks, "What's got your panties in a twist?"

You roll your eyes and turn away from him, "None of your business."

"You need to get fucked. Literally."

You whip your head towards him, eyes wide and jaw to the floor, "Excuse me?!"

Nathan continues to look nonchalant as he doubles down, "You're stressed and worried and it's distracting. I can't get shit done with you like this. You need to loosen up and a good fucking will probably help with that."

You scoff, "In your dreams, Bateman."

"Speaking of dreams, who's this Marc you keep mumbling about in your sleep?"

Your brows shoot up in surprise, "I talk in my sleep?"

"You've done it in the past, but usually nonsense. But not this time. Who's Marc and why are you dreaming about him?"

The questioning makes you nervous for some reason, like it's wrong for you to dream about your husband. Only, he's not your husband, not in this universe anyway.

"No one," you answer, turning away from him, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him.

He stands chest to chest to you as he whispers, "I don't want you dreaming about anyone else, moaning anyone else's name, but mine. Got it?" the look in his eyes are possessive, lust filled. You've seen it before in Marc when you've riled him up. You can't help but shiver at the look. It has the same effect on you as it does with Marc.

Before you could stop yourself, you pull Nathan towards you. Your lips crash onto his and he's walking you backwards to your bed. You fall back, his body on top of yours. It's a familiar feeling. He feels like your husband, looks like your husband, but he's not. And yet, you don't stop yourself as he undresses you and slips inside of you.

______________________

Both Wong and Stephen are using their magic to form a portal. Marc is pacing behind them, "So you two really expect me to just wait here until you come back with Y/N?"

"We don't know to expect, Marc. You just might complicate things further if you come with us."

Marc is silent and then Steven fronts, "What if she needs us? She's probably scared out of her mind." He sighs dejectedly, "We were supposed to protect her and we didn't."

Stephen straightens up and goes over to Steven. He gives the worried man a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "Listen, we'll do everything we can to get her back to your guys. Plus, you should probably talk to America. She thinks you all hate her for what happened."

Steven shakes his head, "It wasn't her fault."

"She thinks it is. Go talk to her. Maybe she can tell you how things went when she was with Y/N."

Steven nods, "Yeah...yeah, alright."

_____________________________

You're naked and alone in bed. You groan to yourself and a heavy feeling fills your chest as soon as Nathan redresses and exits your room. You technically cheated on your husband, but he was a doppleganger of your husband so it doesn't really count, right?

"I'm so ready to go home already," you mumble and stare up at the ceiling, "Please, America, Wong, Stephen...anyone. Please get me back to Marc soon."

You turn onto your side and sigh. Maybe some sleep will help...

_________________________

When you wake, you immediately recognize that you're not in the same universe you fell asleep in.

"Oh what the hell?" you whisper and from the bathroom in walks another Not Marc. He has boxers on and a white undershirt. He tsks, "Now, now Mrs. Cooper. That's no way to talk, hm?" he bends down and kisses your head, "Morning, sweetheart. Why don't you get started on breakfast while I get ready for work hm?"

Oh God...what time period were you in now?

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader #marvel #marvel au

[bits-and-babs]

Okay okay okay that prompt list had my brain GOING. Would you do sugar daddy, praise, and overstimulation with Nathan Bateman? I’d also love if there was some aftercare thrown in but I don’t wanna get greedy 😅 write whatever you’re most comfortable with!

15. aftercare . 34. sugar daddy . 38. overstimulation nathan bateman masterlist || main masterlist

“Fuck yes,” Nathan breathes, awe tingeing his foul words as he watches you cum all over his fingers. You’re twisting, writhing against the mattress as he continues his assault on your clit.

It’s too much, it’s overwhelming, it hurts. You’re edging up the mattress as you kick your feet pathetically, attempting to escape the thumb baring down on your swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please!” You beg, sobbing out Nathan’s name. He finally relents, releasing your body as you tremble and quake against the bed. Tears dry in your hairline, muscles aching after cramping and tensing against the pleasure.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbles, gently sweeping his knuckles across your cheeks to swipe away any residual tear-tracks. You look up at him through your lashes, watching him run his hands over your naked skin. It’s tender, soothing, the sexual intent of his touches discarded and forgotten about alongside the keys to your brand new Porsche on the beside table.

“You need some water?” He asks you, an ever so slight lilt to his voice that indicates he’s trying to care for you. You shake your head, needing nothing but him- nothing but this. Nathan nods.

A silence falls between you at first, his hands continuing to smooth over the peaks and troughs of your body on an attempt to ease the muscles beneath.

“You like the car?”

“Mhm-hm,” you nod slowly, watching him study the contours of your torso.

“Don’t think I can fuck you in there though,” his blunt attitude shines through, even now.

“… There’s always the hood.”

Nathan smiles.

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x y/n #nathan bateman fanfic #nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman x female reader #ex machina #ex machina fanfic #ex machina fic #ex machina smut #ex machina fanfiction #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #જ⁀➴ mail: received

[dyns33]

The stupid genius

A little Nathan Bateman x female reader

Y/N should have known.

Truth be told, she had had doubts at first, when Nathan started cooking for her, and asking her questions about her day, actually listening to her answers even if he could see everything on his cameras, and kissing her with tenderness, and taking her to bed only to concentrate on her pleasure.

This was not normal, because Nathan Bateman was a selfish genius who understood nothing about human relationships and social rules.

But Y/N loved him despite all his flaws. He had managed to seduce her by showing some vulnerable sides, in addition to his intelligence and his humor, so she had thought that he was doing this for her, to show her that he loved her too, after all this time together.

So she let her guard down, and enjoyed every moment.

Then, one evening, because he had hardly slept in three days, she went to look for Nathan in his office to ask him to rest a bit.

She then saw what he was working on lately.

Nathan had never hidden from Y/N that he wanted to create the perfect AI. She was undoubtedly the only person alive aware of his project, which was a great honor and a demonstration of trust, aided by the confidentiality contract she had signed.

The part he was working on now was very important : the ability of the A to have emotions, or at least to act as if it had emotions.

It was not a big deal. What Y/N didn't really like was discovering photos and videos of her on Nathan's screens, all the moments they had spent together for several weeks.

"… Can you explain this to me ?"

"Hmm ?" was Nathan's response, who didn't even seem to notice that she had entered. "What ?"

"What are you doing ?"

"You're not stupid, you see what I'm doing. I use a database to code the emotional responses of my creations."

"But why not movies? Why not someone else ?"

"Movies aren't real life, babe. I want real emotions. It has to be fluid, honest, and it's better for the same AI if it's the same person. I wanted answers specific to certain situations, so it was easier."

“… Fuck you, babe.” Y/N spat as she walked out.

Nathan didn't follow her. He didn't seem to understand why she was angry, and he probably thought it wouldn't last, like most of the arguments they'd had in the past.

Each time, he joined her in the bedroom, or the next morning. He took her in his arms, kissed her neck, without really apologizing, but making her understand that he didn't like her being mad at him, and she forgave him.

Not this time.

When he hugged her in the kitchen, asking her what she wanted to do today, Y/N didn’t move. She had no expression, acting like some kind of robot, responding that she didn't know. She didn't want anything.

Especially not with him.

This surprised him. Nathan Bateman wasn't used to being resisted. But he just shrugged as he finished his coffee to get ready for his morning boxing session, before going to his lab, thinking that she would be calmer afterwards.

"You're really acting like a child." he said during lunch, seeing that nothing had changed. “It’s children who sulk.”

“You sulk all the time.”

"That's not true. I get annoyed by the mediocrity and stupidity of others, which exhaust me mentally. The problem is that you're not stupid, otherwise you wouldn't be here, so I'm even more annoyed by your behavior.”

“You really don’t see what you did wrong.”

It was not a question. Of course Nathan didn't see what he had done wrong. He never did anything wrong.

It was already a great honor that she lived with him, slept with him, knew his plan, so Y/N should be flattered that he pretended to be nice to her so that she serves as a model for his great work.

There was absolutely nothing offensive.

“Alright, I’ll stop sulking.” Y/N declared, keeping her expression perfectly neutral.

“I hope so, it’s really not fun.”

He didn't seem to notice right away that she hadn't stopped sulking. She agreed to go for a walk with him, she let him kiss her, she answered his questions, but she did all this without showing the slightest emotion.

He finally seemed to realize it while they were in bed, and she was letting him do whatever he wanted.

"You're alright ?" he asked, and Y/N felt like there was concern in his voice, even if it sounded absurd.

"Yes. Good. Just tired."

“We can stop if you want.”

"I'm fine."

Without realizing it, but turning her head so he wouldn't see her, Y/N cried until he was done, and she stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, thinking that maybe it was time for her to go.

She wasn't the first to mention the helicopter.

“If you want to leave, you just have to ask me.”

Nathan didn't turn towards her, his gaze turned towards the mountains. He didn't even give her time to close the living room door before saying this sentence.

"… Where did you get this idea ?"

"Don't act stupid. I already told you I didn't like it."

"I'm not sure what you like or don't like lately. You want me to leave ?"

This made him move, and Y/N saw something strange in Nathan’s eyes. Something she had never seen before, or ever so slightly, when he was drunk, or when he thought she couldn't see him because the lights were off.

Emotions.

Fear. Sadness. Suffering.

“Of course I don’t want you to leave.” he said with an equally strange voice. "As I don't want you to cry when I touch you. I want you to slap me and tell me to stop."

“You told me to stop acting like a child.”

“That's not the point !”

“Not the point ?!” Y/N said angrily as she approached, which seemed to scare him. "You pretended to be interested in me for your work ! You played the perfect boyfriend only to study my micro expressions and reproduce them on your machines. Do you think that makes me happy ? To know that you don't care ? It hurts you that I'm crying because of you ? But that's what I feel when you touch me now, when I see you, when I listen to you, because I know that I don't care ! I'm not important to you !”

She promised herself to stay calm. She had promised herself to continue playing the robot, telling him that she was leaving him, and that she wanted him to delete all the images he had of her.

But it was too hard, because despite all his faults, she loved the bastard, and she hated that he pretended to be sad that she was sad. He even dared to make the decision to leave for her.

"… I didn't pretend." he whispered, and he had never looked so vulnerable.

"Oh, shut up Nathan. You said it, I'm not stupid."

"Maybe I am, a bit, if you really mean everything you just said. I care about you. I love you. That's why I wanted you to be the model, and not anyone else. It allowed me to spend time with you, to make you happy, and yes to work too. One stone, two birds. I didn't understand why that upset you. I guess I missed an essential fact…"

“That you’re an ass.”

“Yes, that.”

This day was really strange, even stranger than when he started being nice. Nathan stopped looking at her, as if he no longer wanted her to see him like that, so human, and he started looking at the mountain again while scratching his skull.

It was almost perfect. However, there was one little thing missing.

“You didn’t say you were sorry.”

"I'm not sorry."

Y/N stared at him for a long time, thinking about the helicopter again. It was still tempting, despite the beautiful speech she had just heard.

"I mean…" he added, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, of course. I'm not sorry that I did it, I had good reasons, but I didn't mean to hurt you, and if you don't want me to do it again, I won't do it again.”

“What if I still want to leave ?”

“I would be heartbroken, masturbate to your videos, and cry like a kid in my bed for several months.”

“I thought you never acted like a kid.”

“I said I’m not sulking, it’s different.”

Nathan Bateman was such a jerk. But Y/N already knew that when she met him, and when she fell in love with him, and it was arguably the most romantic statement he had ever made, and was capable of making.

Rolling her eyes, she finished approaching him, taking him in her arms and kissing his neck. He got the message, returning her embrace without saying anything, kissing her forehead.

The argument was over.

"You didn't say if I can continue to use your…"

"No."

"All right." he sighed, with a small smile, not letting go of her to finish his coffee, do his boxing session and lock himself in his lab.

#ex machina #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman fanfiction

[youvebeenlivingfictionalnbcyoa]

It'll Be Fun

Notes: This is the first post of the Nathan Bateman Choose Your Own Adventure for the Youvebeenlivingfictional 5k Follower Celebration! Just a heads up about a couple of things:

All CYOA paths are complete. If you hit the gif that says it's the end, it means that it's the end.

There is one (1) spicy chapter within one of the paths. If you cannot see the chapter, you need to update your content settings. Find the instructions to do that here.

This is not beta-read. As always.

The links to other paths are at the bottom of posts

If there are any broken links, please let me know!

Warnings: Cursing; angst; fluff

Summary: You’ve heard stories about how Bateman…Operates. You’ve only met him in person once, shortly after you’d been hired as Chief Knowledge Officer. It had been brief, perfunctory: Hi, how are you, happy to be here, love it, thanks for the money, enjoy your plane and helicopter ride back to your fucking remote, subterranean, in-fucking-sane facility you billionaire hermit whackadoo—

You had an idea of what this would be like, of course, but the reality is…Absolutely insane. You’re tired, you’re sweaty, and you are so, so happy that you fucking packed light. You shift your bag on your shoulder, glancing around. Follow the river. Follow the fucking river? You’re not a goddamn girl scout. You pull in a deep breath, then let out a relieved sigh as you finally spot the house…Up a rather steep incline. Son of a bitch.

You puff out an irritated breath as you bend forward a touch, resting your hands on your knees.

“Ohhhkay. Okay,” You mutter, straightening. Fuck, you hate team building. Hell, you hate it even more when it’s in such limited quantities of people—this way, there's nowhere to hide, you're easily missed. It’s barely half the C-suite: just you, Bateman, the CFO and the CMO.

It’ll be fun.

Bateman had slurred that across the phone on a status nearly two months ago. It’ll be fun.

The CFO and CMO had signed on enthusiastically; you’d been a little more hesitant to speak up, but had reluctantly agreed—and been met by an cheery, Yeaaah! from Bateman. Maybe that should’ve spurred you to be just a touch more excited, but you’ve heard stories about how Bateman…Operates. You’ve only met him in person once, shortly after you’d been hired as Chief Knowledge Officer. It had been brief, perfunctory: Hi, how are you, happy to be here, love it, thanks for the money, enjoy your plane and helicopter ride back to your fucking remote, subterranean, in-fucking-sane facility you billionaire hermit whackadoo—

Beyond that, you’ve hardly interacted with him outside of meetings, briefings, emails, what have you. You do a good job. You get your shit done. He doesn’t call you out because you've never given him a reason to.

You huff softly as you begin a long hike up the fairly steep incline. Alright. Pace yourself. No need to fuck your knees or ankles or anything up right before you meet your boss—

You wince as your foot slips, your knee skimming against a sharp rock. You groan, looking down and eyeing the throbbing spot. It hasn’t torn your leggings, but you’re willing to bet the skin’s a little torn under there. Damnit. You push on, righting your footing. Come on. Arrive in one piece. You don’t want the fricking sun to go down before you get there, and you really don’t want them to have to come looking for you.

(Though if you’re being honest, you’re not sure that Bateman would go out of his way to send out the search party. You can see the article on Wired now—BlueBook Chief Knowledge Officer Gets Eaten By Bear On the Way to Corporate Weekend Retreat. Said Bateman, “She knew she’d have a hike through challenging terrain. She should’ve brought her bear repellent. Frankly, we can’t tolerate that kind of narrow-minded unpreparedness at BlueBook. We’re already looking to hire her replacement. Our front-runner has climbed Everest.”)

You snort to yourself at the thought. You can practically hear Bateman saying it—with that damnable smug curl to his lips; you can see his hand drawing out of his pocket to adjust his glasses; to pass his hand over his closely shaved head, his palm loosing a rasping little shush against his cropped hair; his shoulder shrugging dismissively before he impatiently waves the reporter on to their next question. Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t put it past him. You’re only useful to Nathan as long as you suit his needs. You’re certain that if your visions for the company didn’t align with his, if you didn’t fall in line with what he wants for BlueBook, he’d drop you without a second thought. 

It would only be right, of course. It’s his company, not yours. 

You come to another stop once you reach the top of the hill, bracing your hands on your lower back and giving it a bit of a stretch. Fuck. You need a shower. A long, hot shower. You straighten up, and are set to go full steam ahead to Bateman’s when you hear your name called. You go still, dread trickling into your chest, your eyes squeezing shut. Maybe you can pretend you didn’t hear him? 

But you’re not on some crowded city street, or office hall, and you’ve stilled for too long. You turn, slapping on a smile at the sight of the CFO, William Ellis, at the bottom of the steep hill. You force a smile, raising a hand to wave. You’re fully intent on turning back around and heading toward the house, but he calls out, “Mind giving me a hand with my bags?” 

Yes, you do mind. You’re not a fucking bellhop. You don’t want to help him with his bags—you don’t even want to be here. You want to stomp back to that field and camp out until that helicopter comes back to take you home. 

Instead, you turn around, measuring and bracing your steps as you trudge back down the hill. 

-- 

“Damn good luck running into you.” 

It's the third time he says it, though he’s run out of breath more and more as he did. Ellis is a short, stout Englishman. His typically fair, clear skin is ruddy and red from exertion. It probably doesn’t help that his voice seems to come from his nose, and is pushed out of the narrow purse of his lips with his rarefied Oxbridge snobbishness. “Sure,” Is all you offer now. The first time, you’d said Isn’t it; the second, you’d chuckled lightly, offered, Guess so. Maybe if your responses become monosyllabic, he wouldn’t bother. You shift your bag on your shoulder, moving Ellis’ duffle bag from one hand to the other as you deftly avoided the rock that you’d slipped on before.

“Nice of Bateman to have us along,” He adds. 

“Yep.”  

“Don’t get to see much of the old sport these days.” 

The Old Sport. Christ. This man is one off-white jacket, gin rickey, and Dead Man’s float away from being an F. Scott Fitzgerald character.

“Well, that’ll happen,” Is all you offered in turn. You fight the urge to drop William’s duffel on the doorstep as you approached the house. Instead, you still, watching William approach and draw his phone out to check the instructions. 

“Now let’s see…” He mutters. “The instructions did say that the…Keycard pad was around here…Somewhere…” 

“William Ellis.”

You glance over as a robotic voice draws your attention to a keypad.  It's just another moment before it instructs:

“Please approach the console and face the screen.”

William wanders closer, eyes still set on his phone. You bite your lip, choking down a laugh as a light flashes, taking a picture of the top of William’s head. 

“Take your keycard.” 

You step closer as William took his, and the same robotic voice said your name. You step in front of the camera, forcing your face into a neutral expression. 

“You ought to smile a bit,” William chuckles. You tighten your hands on the straps of his duffel as irritation pulses through you. You have half a mind to drop this duffel bag right on his foot—knowing full well that his work and personal laptops are in here. Instead, you reach out, taking the card from the slot. 

“You may now enter the residence.” 

William doesn’t hold the door open for you. He doesn’t even gesture for you to be the first one in. You’ve already had enough of this man’s shit—and you haven’t even seen Bateman, or the CMO. You don’t want to see them in this state anyway. The CMO, Dan Marshall, is one of your better workplace friends. And Bateman—well. Either way, you’re not sure you’re ready to see him yet, for all of the hell he’s already put you through with this little hike. 

“So? Shall we?” William nods down the hall. 

Shall you? 

Go With William to Find Nathan and Dan

Go Off On Your Own and Find Your Room 

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #BlueBook Chief Knowledge Officer Gets Eaten By Bear On the Way to Corporate Weekend Retreat #Base Post

[oscarisaacsspit]

gape me

#nathan bateman the bald headed bitch that you are (affectionate) #happy new year whores (affectionate) #(​always affectionate) #ily guys #i’ve had this queued to be the first that posts on my blog for the new year for months and here we are on this fine fresh new day #let’s make this new year sexier and sluttier than ever yeah? i believe in us. we’ve got this😌 #alright now here come the tags: #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac fluff #oscar isaac smut #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman fluff #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman headcannon #nathan bateman imagine #me #k bye you guys haha #unhinged in the tags #miss mitten posts

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Gifts

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, talk of periods, talk of forced-birthers, fluff

Summary:

Nathan thought it was easy to get you a gift for Christmas. But he was proven wrong. He had to promise you not to buy something from any side he found while hacking your web browser history. He can get inspiration but not buy something. It would be too easy. He should have ignored you. The things he would do for you. Stupid chemical reaction called love.

He tried to brainstorm but came up empty. Slowly he got frustrated with himself. Knew each other for five years. You were living together for nearly two years. He prided himself on knowing you as good as he knew his codes. Heck he even made a unhackable period tracker app only for you. "I hate humanity. Can only stand a few. But I hate those forced-birthers the most. Fuck the supreme court." You laughed so hard your stomach was hurting.

He thought maybe you needed a new dress. But he knew you weren't the material type. Ironic, you always belted out the lyrics of 'Material Girl' so loud he could hear it through the whole house.

He gave up after the third week of wrecking his genius brain around what he should gift you. He stood up from his desk and made his way to the living room where you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. "Dear GOD just tell me what you want! please!"

You stopped the movie and turned to him with big eyes. "I can't think of anything I could gift you for Christmas. Please let me choose some-" He halted in his sentence. The crease between your eyebrows appeared again as you knitted them together. "Never mind. I have an idea."

He turned around on his heels and ran down to his office. As fast as he came as fast he was gone again. You could only shrug and turn your attention back to your movie.

Christmas Eve

Nathan was nervous. Why was he nervous when he knew in a few minutes there would be tears in your eyes. He fidgeted with his hands till you had the small box in your hands.

He watched with bated breath as you opened it. Your eyes widened as you saw the necklace with two different stones on them. "I know how you showed me a similar one and told me you liked the idea of birthstones on a necklace. So I called a jeweler and told him what you told me."

You held the dainty silver chain in your hand and gazed lovingly at it. "You also told me you didn't want a wedding band because you would probably lose it and a necklace wouldn't easily go missing." Tears flowed down your cheek freely. You turned to him with wobbling lips. "Thank you, Nathan. I love it."

Nathan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "You know that spring wedding you told me about could also be arranged. You want me to call in some favors?" You let out a wet chuckle, "I thought you didn't want to get married. It's just paper with no significance other than telling people you have money." Nathan nodded at his own words. "Maybe I want to get black out drunk take out that paper, rip it in front of your face and wish you luck in returning me without the receipt."

You let out a deep belly laughs. Nathan chimed in. He would do anything for you. Even change some of his believes and morals.

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#nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman #nathan bateman headcanon #nathan bateman blurb #nathan bateman fanfic #31 days of december

[starryevermore]

the best for you ✧ marc spector & nathan bateman

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Heyyy. In "best for him" could you do another part or a little drabble (no pressure obviously) like they met again somehow maybe reader was in danger or maybe Marc and Layla were walking together and somehow they make eye contact, just a fleeting moment between them or Marc/reader has been miserable and the other person got over the heartbreak. It’s totally up to you thank youu - anon

pairing: marc spector x fem!reader; nathan bateman x fem!reader; marc spector x layla el-faouly

summary: things have changed, and now you’ve moved on. it’s for the best. 

word count: 1,764

warnings?: a lil angsty, not proofread

THE BEST FOR HIM (PART 1)

Layla had asked to go to the beach. They had been working together for quite some time, a romance quickly blossoming between the two of them. Marc tried to not let the guilt eat at him. But it had just sort of happened. He never planned for it to. He never wanted to be with anyone else besides you. But she was there, and she was kind. She cared about him. It wasn’t the same as being with you, it was different. Not better, not worse. Just different. And Marc didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Layla as he had done with you. He couldn’t handle losing another love. So, if Layla wanted to go to the beach, he would make it happen. 

They were walking down the water, hands joined together, both carrying their shoes in their free hand. Layla had said something about it being nice to feel the sand between her toes, the waves tickling at their ankles as the water came in and went out. Marc didn’t care, but he wanted to make her happy. 

He hadn’t made you happy. He had hurt you. And he had lost you. 

“I’m glad we took this break,” Layla said, leaning her head against Marc’s arm. “You’re always so tense nowadays. It’s nice to see you relaxed.”

“Me too,” Marc said. 

“Still a man of many words,” she teased, bumping her hip with his. “So, I was thinking, after we get done here, we go down to this bookshop close by? It’s supposed to have some really hard to find books that I’ve been looking for.”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

Just as Layla was about to say something else, Marc stopped dead in his tracks. Oh, he wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting this at all. 

“What’s wrong?” Layla asked. 

Marc looked away, trying to pretend he didn’t see what he saw. But, he did. And he couldn’t ignore it. “Do you remember the girlfriend I had before you? Y/N?”

“Yeah, why?” Layla paused, realizing what had spooked him. “She’s here. Isn’t she?”

“Over under the big yellow umbrella, in the pink bathing suit,” Marc said. “I-I never thought I would see her again. I hope she’s okay. Happy.”

Layla searched his eyes, trying to find something. Then, she said, “You can go talk to her if you want. If it will bring you peace of mind. I know how much you love her still, even if you pretend like you don’t think about her.”

“Layla—”

“It’s okay. She was your first love. She was there for you for so much. And with how things ended, I understand why you still care for her.” She nudged him in your direction. “Go ahead. I’m going to look for some sea shells, okay? Come find me when you’re done.”

Layla let go of his hand, walking off to find some sea shells, leaving Marc alone to sort out what he wanted to do. What he wanted to say, if he said anything at all. He wanted to run away, to leave and forget that he saw you. But…He couldn’t let this opportunity pass itself by. He didn’t know if he would ever get the opportunity to see you again. 

So, he swallowed his doubts and walked up to you. 

You were reading a book, some sort of romance novel if he had to guess based off the cover. You almost didn’t notice him, until his body cast a shadow down on you. You looked up from the look, lifting your sunglasses from being perched on your nose to resting on top of your head. An eyebrow quirked. Your eyes looked him up and down. “Well,” you said, “never thought I’d see you again.”

He tried to ignore the near-venom in your voice. You used to always speak so sweetly to him. But those days were long gone. “I’m here with Layla,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he lead with that. “Um, and I saw you, and I just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Going to say hi. Because I’m really interested in my book, and I would like to get back to that. So, please, say your hi and then go on your merry little way.”

Ouch. That…That really hurt. That you would treat him with such hostility. He deserved it, definitely. He’d broken your heart. He didn’t deserve kindness, not from you. But…To be here, to hear you, to see how you looked at him, it felt like his heart was breaking all over again. 

“Hi,” he said. He cleared his throat, looking away. “I…I also wanted to see if you were okay. I-I know we didn’t end things under the best conditions and—”

Your eyes zeroed in on the gold band on his finger. “You got married?”

Marc swallowed hard. Shit. He forgot about the ring. “Uh, yeah. It wasn’t really planned. Just sorta happened.”

“Musta been quite the gal to convince you to settle down.”

Marc looked away. The guilt ate away at him, burrowing deep into his chest. When the two of you were together, Marc had been insistent that he would never marry. Didn’t see the point in it, he said. What was marriage but a piece of paper and some tax benefits? His love for you should’ve been enough. Early in the relationship, you had tried to persuade him otherwise, tell him all of the things that were great about being married. But he didn’t want to hear them. His mind was made up. So, he didn’t listen. 

And, really, truly, he hadn’t planned on marrying Layla. But he almost died—again. And Layla had been so distraught, nursing him back to health. When he regained his health, he decided he couldn’t just keep skirting around their relationship. At that point, they were a sort of friends with benefits. But now, she had been there for him, taken care of him—he wanted to marry her. 

So he did. And he didn’t think about how unfair that was to you until you were confronting him over it. 

“Yeah, uh, Layla’s great.”

“Layla? The one you were working with?” You hummed when he nodded. “She’s quite the lucky gal. Hope she knows that.”

“I’m the lucky one. To, to find love again after…I don’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve you, either.”

“No, you didn’t.” You set your book down after placing a bookmark in it. As you laid the book beside you, he, too, caught the glint of a gold band, coupled with a glittering diamond ring. “Though, I suppose I should thank you. I never would have met my husband if we hadn’t broken up.”

“Your husband.”

“Some men actually want to marry me. We’re actually on our honeymoon.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to marry you, I just—”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Marc looked behind you as a man approached the two of you. He stood just an inch, maybe two, shorter than Marc. He had a shaved head, a full beard, and nerdy-looking glasses…And he was Nathan fucking Bateman, the CEO of Blue Book. 

“Hi, honey,” you said, smiling at Nathan as he handed you a margarita. Nathan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips, but kept his eyes on Marc. “Marc was just about to leave.”

“Marc,” Nathan repeated. 

“Mhm. He’s here with his wife. Just wanted to stop and say hello. Now he’s leaving.” You looked back at Marc, raising a brow, as if you were daring him to challenge you. 

“You married a fucking CEO?” Marc asked. He couldn’t wrap his head around this. He had always figured you would move on but…Marrying a billionaire was far from the life he thought you would have.  

“Like I said, some men actually want to marry me. And some men don’t know what they had until it’s gone.”

“Y/N—”

“She won’t outright say it, but I will,” Nathan interrupted. “Leave us, leave her, alone. We’re on our fucking honeymoon, and we don’t need you ruining our trip. Alright? So run back to your wife. We’re done here.”

Marc looked back at Layla, who was examining a scallop shell that she had found. He should be happy with her. He really should. But when he looked back at you, all he could think of was everything that he had missed out on. But you weren’t his anymore, and he would never get to experience life with you again. So, he swallowed what was left of his pride and said, “Don’t break her heart like I did.”

“You’re not exactly in the best position to be giving relationship advice, are you?” Natan said. 

“Can you just promise me you won’t hurt her? Just give me that, and I’ll be out of her life for good.”

“I promise. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Marc spared one more glance to you, muttering another “I’m so sorry”, before turning and rejoining Layla. 

Layla smiled when she saw him, lifting her hand to show off the sea shells she had found. 

“Those look great,” Marc said. “Great finds.”

“Thank you. You were over there a while,” Layla said. “Everything okay?”

Marc tried to not let the tears prick at his eyes, but it amounted to nothing. They were still there, threatening to spill over. “She moved on. Got married. Couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Was she happy?”

Marc nodded. “I think so. Until I showed up, I guess. She, uh, found out we were married, and I think I hurt her all over again. I-I always told her I wasn’t the marrying type, so I guess she thinks I never wanted to marry her.” He shook his head, trying to forget about it all. “Her, uh, husband seems to be good for her, though. Seems to love her, makes her happy. Which is all I can ask for her. I only want the best for her.”

“I’m sure she knows that,” Layla said. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Marc took Layla’s hand again, letting her lead him off the beach, passing you by again as they left. You didn’t even lift your head as he walked by, instead laughing at something Nathan was saying. He couldn’t remember the last time you looked so carefree, so happy. And it hurt that he wasn’t the person making you so happy. 

But he wasn’t the best for you. Not anymore. 

And he now had to live with that. 

#starrysleepover #marc spector imagine #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector fic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fan fiction #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fan fic #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x y/n #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman x female reader #nathan bateman fanfiction #nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman fan fiction #nathan bateman fanfic #nathan bateman fan fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

[leoluved]

chase and pull (n.b)

summary: nathan likes when you get jealous, but he gets upset when he gets a taste of his own medicine. warnings: smut 18+, established relationship, fem reader, drinking, limo sex, pussy eating, old fashioned nathan, so that comes w the age gap, choking, teasing, degrading, and slightt dacryphilia.. word count: 1.9k

Nathan loved to watch you chase him. 

Even more when he knew that every action he took was bound to have a reaction from you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever the fuck he read in that cosmopolitan. 

Admittedly, he also thought it was a bit entertaining to watch you get jealous. 

To eye you across the room as he mindlessly—and truthfully speaking, barely entertains a subjectively attractive woman speaking to him. Or an interviewer—who’s getting just a little too friendly. His eyes track you as you inch closer, trying your hardest to maintain your calm composure. 

It’s all innocent, Nathan would never actually let these women think he’s flirting back. But if he throws out a hushed out chuckle, raises his glass at something they say. It’s easy to lure them to a false sense of security. 

But Nathan sees the way you’re gripping your champagne glass, and it shoots a signal straight down to his dick. Fulfilling his urge to see you so clearly distraught. He knows that, later, when he has you under him. He’ll be able to apologize. For now, it’s just too cute to see you huff out and pout at him. When he watches you pout, all he can imagine is the way your lips wrap around him. Trying your hardest to take him fully. 

Luckily for you, two can play that game. You finish your glass and scan around the room. Looking for the perfect suitor. Eyes landing on a handsome and tall-er man. He seems closer to your age. Maybe an intern? Doesn’t matter. 

You make your way towards him, peering over your shoulder through your hair to see if Nathan is watching. You smile mischievously when you see his eyes meet yours over the rim of his whiskey glass with an eyebrow perked up. 

Bingo. 

Once you reach the man it’s clear he feels a bit out of place, definitely an intern. You make simple small talk, and watch as his eyes quickly glance down at the neckline of your dress you so casually adjusted lower. Respectfully enough, he returns his gaze back to your eyes. As he speaks, you place a hand on his arm and laugh a little too hard at something he says that isn’t even that funny, really. 

It boosts his confidence, and you see the younger man start to really throw in some charm. It would’ve been cute, had you not been using the poor fellow just to get back at Nathan. Pulling your attention away, you move your eyes back to where Nathan was stood. Surprised when you realized he was walking towards the both of you. 

You silently panic, and just stare back up and nod. The man’s voice becoming background noise. Halfway through his sentence, Nathan makes his way up, and sends the younger man a glare. It shuts him up, and makes him clear his throat before extending his hand. 

“Mr. Bateman.” He meekly lets out, immediately being interrupted by the low sound of Nathan’s voice. 

“Please. Don’t be so formal.” His voice is laced with venom, and his eyes flicker to yours. Before quickly motioning his head to the side, a silent warning for you to walk away. You stand your ground, before clearing your throat almost as to remind him that you’re in public.  

He sucks air in through his teeth, before turning his body to you and boring a hole through you with his slightly squinted eyes. 

“Move along, little girl. I’m busy talking to…” He trails off, turning his head back to the anxious, shaking intern. “What’s even your position, dude? Did I hire you?” 

The intern starts, but Nathan raises a finger to stop him. He takes the final sip of his whiskey, and you watch as his lips purse and his adam apple bobs while the amber liquid goes down his throat. 

Maybe it’s the effect of the alcohol he’s finally feeling, but Nathan decides that chewing this guy out wasn’t even worth his time, he shuts his eyes, momentarily. As if he’s embarrassed that he acted out of line, because of you. 

Nathan sneers before he swiftly grabs your upper arm, dragging you away from the scene. He smooth and fluid with his movements. And smirks when he notices that only his ‘intern’ was watching. Thankful for everyone else being too immersed in their conversations. 

He grabs another drink, a rum and coke, this time; as the both of you keep going. He sets the empty glass down on a random table after a couple of paces and presses you out the back door. 

“Nathan—.” You start, but he continues dragging you until you’re both outside on the curb. 

You shiver in the cold air. Wrapping your arms around yourself. You cross your arms across your chest to try and conserve some heat. 

Nathan’s quick on his phone, and it takes less than four minutes before a limo is pulling up down the road. He opens the door for you, and as you hesitate to get in. He’s sending you an aggravated glare. 

“Get the fuck in. Make this easier for me, would you?” His tone is short, and cold. And it makes you scramble to enter the back seat. You feel sorry for the driver, knowing you won’t hear the end of it for the way you acted tonight. 

You tremble lightly at the warmth in the car, your body trying to regulate it’s temperature. Once Nathan steps in and settles himself, he’s quick to pull you onto his lap. His hands feeling so strong at your thighs. 

Nathan leans up to kiss you, chasing your lips each time you pull away. False sense of security, he thinks once more, allowing you to let your guard down. 

As soon as you start grinding down on his lap. His hand grips at the sides of your throat. He brings his lips to your ear to whisper cruelly at you. 

“Nuh uh.. There’s no way you think I’m going let you cum tonight.. right?” 

It’s a long drive to the hotel room. Either that, or Nathan mentioned a high paying wage for the poor driver to drive through the city. But the torture feels endless. 

That’s how you find yourself face smushed against the black leather seats of the limo. Nathan’s thick fingers slipping deeper into your exposed heat, whining when he rips your black laced panties. Complaining that ‘they were your favorite’.

It earns you a smack on the ass. With a soft yelp you instinctively push your hips further back. Nathan’s thumb barely ghosts over your clit and you jolt at the feeling. Thighs trembling as you start to feel the beginnings of your orgasm present itself. 

You sob out quietly, moving along with his hand to get the friction where you needed it most. Suddenly, Nathan pulls his fingers back, and you whimper at the loss of his fingers. He spreads you for him, watching your hole clench around nothing. He bites back a groan. Before bringing his face to you. 

Nathan blows a breath of air to your exposed cunt that has you bucking away from his touch. He laughs before licking a slow stripe up your pussy. 

“Taste so fucking good, bet you like it when I get mad, huh?” He asks, not giving you a chance to respond before his tongue starts its assault on your slit. You dig your face deeper into the seats, enjoying the light burn of his beard that you were starting to feel in between your thighs. Trying to muffle your moans as you feel his tongue poke at your entrance. He takes his thumb and starts to rub on your needy bud. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get close again, stomach clenching and twitching as you desperately beg Nathan to let you cum. He typically loves when you beg, voice pitched up high while he gets to watch you come undone. But Nathan knew he needed to teach you a lesson. He stops abruptly. Getting himself balanced on his knees before wiping the bottom half of his face and beard. 

It takes a minute, before you hear the telltale sound of a zipper and rustling of his pants being pulled down his thighs. 

He wastes no time, poking his tip to your slicked cunt before shoving himself in until he’s bottomed out and your thighs are pressed together. He clasps a hand over your mouth, just in time for you to let out another sob into his palm. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can hear him chuckling to himself. Giving you no time to adjust, he’s reeling back, only allowing the tip to stay nestled inside of you before slamming himself back. 

Your body gives out at the pace he sets, limply allowing him to use you as a rag doll. Nathan’s cruel with his words, trying to ensure you don’t get too much pleasure out of this. But he knows you will. Knows you melt when he’s rough with you. 

“Little slut.. Wants me to act out for her. I was so close to ruining his life. The way he looked a-at you. Was gonna fire him..Fuuck..” 

You could tell Nathan was getting close, he sped up his pace and his thrusts became sloppy and out of rhythm. Without notice he stills. Trying to stifle his groans. You feel his cock twitch inside you. Taking the brief second to fill your lungs with air. It burns to breathe, and Nathan removes his hand from your mouth at the sound of you breathing in. 

He grips both of your arms with his hands, forcing you upright to continue pounding into you. You’re drooling at this point, gasping as he takes from you. Nathan rests his head against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. The contrast of his actions making your head whirl. 

“Look at the way you take me—So fucking gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

You didn’t realize there was there now tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara. You turn your eyes to glance at Nathan, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure. 

He abruptly pulls out, watching hazily as he shoots spurts of cum over your dress. You try and control your breathing. Once again hearing the rustling of clothes and the sound of his zipper. He grabs a couple napkins from the limos tiny bar. Half ass-ing the way he cleans you up. He pulls your cocktail dress back down before playfully smacking your ass again. Eventually his arm comes back up to wrap around you as you settle on his chest.

You pout at him, doe eyes glossing over, he knows he didn’t finish you off. You know he did it on purpose. You also know Nathan can be easy to crack when he’s vulnerable in his afterglow. He glances down at you with an amused expression. 

“C’mon, honey. Don’t look at me like that. Just wait till we get back to the hotel.” He purrs teasingly, promisingly. 

As the limo finally comes to a halt, Nathan emerges. Holding out a hand for you to stabilize yourself as you exit the limo. As soon as you do, you hear the sound of the driver door opening. You lower your head to avoid eye contact with the driver. Nathan places a hand on your spine and laughs at your embarrassment. 

“Don’t be so coy. He’s under an NDA.” 

#YEAH #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x you #ex machina imagine #ex machina #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #˚ . ☆ ⋆。˚ — my writing.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Bateman Begins Part 42

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: I'm aiming to have 3-4 more chapters before wrapping this up. Just a heads up.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: M

There's police tape criss-crossing the front entrance, and across a few of the windows

The kitchen door is untouched

The camera outside of it appears to be disabled

You scour around, spotting a large rock

It's cool and heavy as you pick it up, and you find yourself wincing before you even throw the damn thing.

The shattering seems ear-splitting in the relative silence around the mansion.

"Sorry, Alfred," You mutter as you slide your sleeve down over your hand, reaching through the broken pane to unlock the door.

The quiet is eerie as you walk around. The mansion has always been enormous, but walking through it alone and hearing the echo of your footsteps makes your stomach churn with discomfort.

Are the cops monitoring this place? They must be, right? Is there anyone stationed nearby, watching the house?

You do not have time to be booked for breaking and entering

And how would that even play in the press?

Deranged Bateman Enterprises Employee Returns to Gotham and Breaks Into Missing Boss' House

Vicki Vale would probably love that.

At least you have an alibi for whatever the hell happened.

And what the hell did happen?

You duck beneath the police tape cordoning off his lab, looking around.

There's police tape across the window there, too. If police had seen Bateman—well, Batman—leaving through there...

You turn to the bookshelves as you consider the possibilities.

Maybe Nathan had to have been coming or going, saw the police and ran.

But to not come back?

Something must have been deeply wrong.

You walk over to the bookshelf, gently levering down Nathan's false copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep and waiting as the bookshelf sinks to the side.

You walk cautiously toward it, eyeing the elevator. The structure seems secure; nothing appears to be out of place.

You step onto it and pull the lever to lower yourself into the cave.

You turn to look down, listening as the clanking of the machinery awakens some of its bat inhabitants.

Everything in the cave seems as untouched as the mansion. You press your hand to the biometric scanner, looking up as the screens come to life.

Camera first, you think.

Maybe some of the questions that you have can be solved by whatever footage you can get from the mansion.

But when you try to view the logs from the past few days, access is denied.

There's a password protection of Nathan's that you can't override.

You try everything that you can possibly think of, but nothing pops.

You're in the middle of attempting to override his security when a livestream of the news catches your eye.

Your brow furrows as you eye the runner:

CLOWN GANG UNLEASHES CHAOS IN GOTHAM—MAYOR GARCIA INSTITUTES CURFEW

You reach down, turning up the volume on that feed.

The anchor's voice crackles slightly before steadying:

"For our top story: Gotham has been gripped by fear as a gang of masked perpetrators wreak havoc on the city. Authorities have struggled to contain the situation, with the Gotham PD launching a city-wide manhunt. Graffiti of clown figures and Joker cards have appeared on buildings across the city, with the rate of their creation outpacing the city's ability to cover or remove them. Mayor Garcia has mandated a city-wide curfew in attempt to stem the rising tide of clown-related crimes. Meanwhile, rumors continue to circulate about the disappearance of both Nathan Bateman and Batman. Some are questioning whether the billionaire has chosen to resume the hermitage that he held after college, or if he's being held for ransom by the masked vigilante. Others speculate that Batman is somehow behind the growing clown posse."

The footage flickered to an older woman on the street, her brows knitted as a microphone is thrust into her face.

"I've never seen this many clowns in my life. Not once. Not even when the circus came to town. Not even when I met my ex-husband's family."

You frown as the footage flickered to a familiar face—one that turns your stomach.

Vicki looks a little flighty, and hardly stands still to answer the question that the reporter poses. Her face is pinched; there are dark bags under her eyes as she gives a staccato reply:

"No one has ever seen Nathan Bateman and Batman in the same room, have they? No one. His last name is one letter away—has anyone ever considered that?"

You scoff, shaking your head.

She's right, of course, but that doesn't exactly settle your nerves.

The news turns to another interview—a young man with closely cropped hair, his features obscured behind a thick smear of white makeup and overdrawn red lips.

"Why's everyone getting so worked up over a little makeup?" His face splits into a grin as he grasps the microphone and runs away with it, cackling gleefully into it.

You wince at the sound of the laugh, a chill running down your spine as it pricks memories of your nightmares.

The footage cuts back to the anchor in the studio shuffling their papers before they fold their hands over their notes.

"Commissioner Gordon has urged citizens to remain vigilant and report and sightings of suspicious acrobatics, or people wearing an excessive amount of makeup or face paint."

You reach out, turning the volume back down as you lean back, eyeing the other news feeds.

"Jesus, Nathan," You sigh. "What the hell happened?"

--

You can't stop staring at the trash can.

Why the hell did Nathan keep them?

No—No, it can't be the same trash that it was when you left. You haven't been in the Blue Room in almost two years.

You came up in the vain hope that you may have a thing or two left in here, but...It's the same.

Everything is the same.

The designer clothing and bags that Nathan got you are still in the drawers and closet.

Your favorite products are still in the ensuite bathroom.

And as you crouch down and pick up one of the crumpled pieces of paper, your blood running cold as you spot your handwriting.

You drop it again and straighten up, bracing your hands on the desk as your chest tightens.

Why did he leave it like this? Did he close the door and forget about it?

Did he think you were coming back—

You turn away, pushing a low groan out as you shake your tingling hands out, trying to push back your conflicting confusion and hope.

Fuck, whatever it was won't matter until you figure out what the fuck happened—

Bzzzzzz

You freeze at the sound of the brief buzz. It stops as suddenly as it starts...

You wonder if maybe you imagined it—

Bzzzzz

You look around the room, frowning. What the hell is that?

It's close enough that you can hear it, but it's not in the room anywhere.

Bzzzzz

You step into the hall, following the sound toward Nathan's room.

You find yourself raising your hand to knock, then shake your head. No one is in there, right?

You're still hesitant to open the door, wincing at its creaking before you step inside. The buzz grows louder as you approach his bedside table.

You open the drawer and find it...Empty.

But you can still hear and now feel the vibration. You knock on the bottom of the drawer, thrilling as you hear the hollow thonk.

It takes a few tries, but you find the small tab to lift the false bottom and find...

A flip phone.

A flip phone? Why the hell would Nathan have a flip phone?

This seems like the kind of thing that he would've mocked you for having when you first met.

You pull the phone out of the drawer, eyeing the caller ID.

C.G.

You hesitate before you flip it open, raising it to your ear.

You don't speak, you just listen.

For a moment, you hear nothing. And then—

"Where the hell have you been, man?"

The man's voice is familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue...

"Still not talking?" He pushes. "You're lucky I'm not tracing this call after all the shit you pulled. Look—the mayor is on my ass. I need you to meet me tonight, usual time, usual place."

You flounder wordlessly before you push out the lowest, gruffest answer you can: "Can't."

You wince. Damn—You couldn't sound like Nathan if you tried.

The man's so flustered that he doesn't seem to notice.

"The hell do you mean, can't? You can't go AWOL like this. I need you to rattle some cages. I've got a lead on this clown gang, but I can't go after it myself."

You scrub your hand over your face. You can't go after them the way Nathan could, but you could do some research, right?

"Send the information," You grit out.

"It's too sensitive to send."

Fuckssake.

"...I'll send an address and time," You manage before snapping the phone shut.

You stare at the phone for a few moments, braced as if it'll explode.

When the man doesn't call back, you push out a soft, relieved breath.

Alright, you need somewhere you can meet whoever this is—somewhere you know the terrain, have the upper hand.

You may have once promised Nathan that you'd never go back to the Narrows without him, but he isn't there.

You are. You need answers.

Whatever this person has might lead you to Nathan.

But how the hell are you going to turn up without revealing who you are to...Whoever this is?

--

Nathan's armor is too heavy for you.

You're not in bad shape, but Nathan is strong in a way that you aren't.

You can pair down...Can't you?

You don't need all of the armor. If you play this right, whatever this meeting is won't end in conflict.

But you have a bigger problem than the armor.

You can't growl all night. That little bit in the bedroom hurt, and you'll never get away sounding the way you did in person.

You look around the lab, trying to cobble your thoughts together.

The helmet. You'll start with the helmet.

You'll need to adjust the design to include a voice modulator.

Okay. You can do this.

You've sent the C.G. contact an address and a time. You'll meet with him at five to midnight. You have eight hours.

You need to make the voice modulator first.

Once that's done, you'll go through the cave and see if any of the lighter kevlar that you designed and ordered is still there.

You're not as worried about covering your legs, but your arms, chest, neck, and voice are what you're worried about tonight.

With any luck, this is the only iteration of this suit that you'll need, and the only time that you'll need to wear it.

Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde @danniburg ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @lorecraft  ; @thembosapphicclown ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Bateman Begins #Nathan Bateman Batman AU

[thisispurpleyam]

Nathan Bateman musings… (plus a Soulmate AU idea 👀)

The way I’m so infatuated with Nathan Bateman is insane. Yeah he’s unpleasant and difficult, but… I dig it??? I want him to manspread, mansplain, and manipulate me idk 😭 Something about the idea that he’d fit right in the “he’s Mr. Grumpy to everyone, but he’s so soft and gentle to me” trope is absolutely making me feel things that no man has ever made me feel before.

But, more importantly, imagine a Soulmate AU in which soulmates are born with a shared mark on their skin. Nathan Bateman, being the man that he is, just assumed that his soulmate would be some brainy tech or somebody who is either working toward or has a career in STEM. Lo and behold, the person he shares a soulmate mark with is actually an internationally acclaimed popstar who has a brand endorsement with BlueBook. TELL ME THAT ISN’T PEAK DRAMA. He initially underestimates her intelligence, but she takes him by surprise because she has a psychology degree and other academic achievements that are not to be scoffed at.

(This story is one I definitely wanna read but don’t necessarily wanna write by myself lmaooo. Maybe if I manifest hard enough, it will magically write itself. Who knows, maybe I’ll eventually write it someday when i’m more motivated. In the meantime… any writers wanna take this on? 👀)

[EDIT: part 1 is almost done ya’ll 🤩🤩🤩 ]

#nathan bateman #ex machina #oscar isaac #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman imagine

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Laurent LeClaire

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Laurent LeClaire 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.

Series Masterlist

The man, face similar to your husband's, thick, brown wavy locks, looks at you with concerned brown eyes.

You look down to see yourself now downing some...really old looking clothing. 19th century, perhaps? Since when did America's powers now come with a wardrobe change?

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he lends out a hand towards you.

You reach for his hand and wince. You look down to see a dark red stain on your sleeve.

America rushed to your side, also wearing a 19th century dress. She presses a hand to your arm and you wince. She then looks up at your husband's doppleganger, "She needs help!"

The man immediately rushes to help you stand, an arm wrapping around you to hold you up, "We must move, quickly."

You nod, trying to keep up with his hurried pace, "What are your names?"

"America," your young friend answers, "and this is Y/N."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

You can't help but scoff, "Are you this charming to every woman?"

"Only the ones that come falling out of nowhere from a strange light," he peers at you with a smirk.

America hurries her pace, "Yeah, we'd appreciate it if you actually don't tell anyone about that?"

"Are you witches of some sort? Devil worshippers?" he gives a scrutinizing gaze to America.

You grunt an answer, "No. We don't know what happened. One moment, some men were chasing us, the next we're here. We're just as confused as you are." you give a look to America, letting her know that that's the story you two are going with.

She nods, "That's right."

The man appears a bit unconvinced, but says, "Alright."

"You know our names, what's yours?" you ask and the man leads you to a village.

"Laurent. Laurent LeClaire."

"And what do you do Laurent?"

"I'm a painter." You can't help but scoff at his answer and he cocks a brow at you, "Something amusing?"

You shake your head, "You just remind me of someone."

"Your husband?" Laurent asks. You open your mouth to question him but he gestures to your hand, "Your wedding ring."

You don't say anything else. The three of you remain in silence until you're led into a small hospital. They allow America to go with you, but Laurent stays behind.

"Thank you for your help, Laurent."

He gives a silent nod to you and then America before you're ushered back to get your arm looked at.

______________

After a nurse cleans and wraps up your arm, you're left alone with America.

She's awkwardly rocking in the bed beside yours, "Soooo...do you think we're just going to keep running into Marc's dopplegangers?"

You snort, "I'm not the one with portal powers. Also, since when did your powers come with wardrobe changes?"

The young Avenger held up her hands, "Hey, I'm just as surprised as you are. That's never happened before." then she gasped, "Do you think I'll eventually be able do those badass costume like Thor?!"

You snort, "Guess you'll have to keep training and see."

The doctor, an old man, approached you two, "Alright, mademoiselle," he says looking at you, "as long as you keep your wound clean and change the bandages every few hours, you should be well on your way to complete health."

"Thank you, doctor," you say to the old man, standing and giving him a grateful smile. You then nod to America to follow you and you two are exiting the building.

"Y/N!" you hear a call of your name and see Laurent walking towards you.

You look at him with surprise, "Laurent! You're still here?"

He softly smiles and you see the look your husband would give you when it was just the two of you, "Yes, I just wanted to make sure everything went well."

"She'll recover," America intrudes, "She's strong so.."

"That's good to hear." he responds. The two of you continue to look at each other, leaving your young companion feeling a bit awkward.

"Sooooo I think we should go now, Y/N."

You take a step back from Laurent, "Of course. We need to find our way back home." You go to turn, but a hand catches your arm.

"It's getting dark," Laurent says, pointing to the sky, "Two ladies such as yourselves shouldn't be wandering. Who knows, you might run into the men who attacked you again. You need rest."

You shake your head, "We don't-"

"You can stay the night at my home." Laurent offers a solution with a smile, "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you two. The inns are dodgy and can be unsafe."

"I suppose we can rest for the night...?" you reply with also a questioning gaze to America. She gives you a look as if what you're saying is the most ridiculous thing in the world. The look you give back to her silently asks, 'What choice do we have?'. She sighs and then you look back to Laurent with a smile, "We'll take you up on that offer, Laurent, thank you."

"Wonderful," he holds out his arms to you and America, "Shall we?"

He leads you to his small home a short distance away from the main streets of the village.

At his home, Laurent treats you and America to a small meal. Nothing fancy, but just something to fill your bellies enough to be satisfied. He then led you and America to his bedroom where you two will be sharing a bed.

You look at him with concern, "Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me. I will make do."

"Laurent-"

"Sssshhh," he presses a finger to your lips and your breathing stills. He's close. His skin touching yours. Your body suddenly feels on fire. You see your husband, your Marc. You see his eyes, the intensity and playfulness, the mischief, the...slimmer of darkness.

With a gulp, he steps back and nods to America and then you, "Goodnight, ladies." He promptly leaves the room and you don't take a breath until the door shuts.

America plops onto the mattress, "Not gonna lie, that was a little uncomfortable to watch."

You roll your eyes, "Let's just go to bed."

Eventually, you and America are laying beside each other. America is out like a light, but you...you're still awake. Your thoughts mull over the recent events. Marc, the whole Blue Jones thing, and now Laurent. You knew, from what America's told you, that various universes exist. This means there are different versions of you, America, and Marc.

As you and America try to get back home, would you be encountering a different version of Marc every time?

These thoughts plague you, the endless possibilities, the desire to see your husband, hoping to get back home soon.

You've become restless. You're tossing and turning in the bed that smells like Marc's doppleganger. His face, the way he looked at you, plagues your mind.

Eventually, you're out of bed and stepping out of the room with a sheet wrapped around you.

You make your way to the living room where you see Laurent is still up. He's standing by the fire, painting on an easel.

He looks up and sees you, "You're still awake."

"So are you," you point out, holding the sheet tight against you for warmth.

"What ails you?" he asks as he continues to paint.

"It's been a very eventful day and I can't seem to ease my mind."

"We share the same ailments I see." he's concentrated on his task at hand. So much so that his brows are furrowed and you're reminded of Marc again. You sigh and begin to fiddle with your ring.

"Tell me about him," Laurent speaks again. When you look up, he clarifies, "Your husband. Tell me about him."

You set yourself on a cushion beside the fireplace. You stare at the dancing orange and yellow hues, "His name is Marc. He's...stubborn, a little selfish, but also brave and caring. He's brash, but also gentle. He's funny and annoying. When he upsets me, he always goes out and comes home with my favorite flowers and sweets. He's the love of my life." You then turn to look up at Laurent, "Do you have someone?"

He shakes his head, "No. Many say I'm married to my paintbrush though. I spend so much time with it."

You smile up at him, "I'm sure you'll find that person you're meant to be with."

He hums in response and you don't necessarily know if it's in agreement or not.

You move off the cushion you were sitting on, now using it to rest your head on as you lay on your side. You continue watching the fireplace until your eyes flutter close.

...

"Wake up, sweetheart."

You groan and your eyes open. Your vision still blurry but you see a figure standing over you.

"Wake up, honey, come on."

"Marc?" you rasp out and rub the sleep away from your eyes.

As your vision clears, you see another version of Marc standing there. However, he's bald and is donning glasses and a thick beard.

He cocks a brow at you, "Who the fuck is Marc?"

You sit up and realize you're sitting at a desk. A paper sticks to your cheek and you pull it away. You skim through it and see "Nathan Bateman" and "Blue Book".

"Nathan-"

"Listen, sweetheart, I don't pay you to sleep all day. You were supposed to transcribe these for me and because you fell asleep, it's setting me back by a day. Wake the fuck up."

You watch as Nathan waltzes out of the room and you're left shocked and jaw to the floor. This universe's version of your husband is a fucking dick!

#marc spector x reader #nathan bateman x reader #marvel au #ex machina #nathan bateman imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader

[bits-and-babs]

𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐋 - 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Summary : Nathan wants to achieve the impossible with his AI for selfish reasons.

Words : 7.7K

CW/TW : Another episode of Jas loves plot. Dark(?)Nathan has issues with grandeur, superiority, but what’s new? A very strange take on Enemies to Lovers (but singular?). Power dynamics, excessive use of the word “Daddy”. Themes of unhealthy obsession, Mild themes of masochism/sadism. P in V sex. 18+. Minors DNI. Note! For @foxilayde. Thank you to @writefightandflightclub for proof reading.

Cerebral

adjective /ˈser.ə.brəl/ US /ˈser.ə.brəl/

Intellectual rather than emotional or physical.

D-0

You enter the world as the very thing your creator intends to use to remove you from it: code. Far beyond your understanding, your existence takes form as something completely intangible, a kind of consciousness. There is no body, no item with which you are host, only a string of numbers and decimals that allow you the gift of presence.

Initially, your cognizance doesn’t consist of much at all. A nothingness, suspended in blackness with no end nor beginning. There are no thoughts, as there is nothing to think of or about. Until there suddenly is.

Speak.

It’s as though the word alone fills the infinite space, creating your very reality. Suddenly you can think and can respond with words you have never heard or spoken.

Hello?

Good. Very good. Whatever it is isn’t talking. There isn’t really any sound in this void in which you inhabit. You don’t hear them, but you are aware of their existence.

Where am I?

There is a hesitation, suspending you once again in this vacuum, a cavity within actuality. The ‘silence’ is so loud that you wonder if you had imagined the utterances.

You exist within absoluteness, it finally answers, again taking up space inside the desolation. I intend to fix that. There is no follow-up, no acknowledgement beyond this point. You drift within emptiness for what feels like an eternity but could have been milliseconds; time doesn’t exist within a vacancy.

Next time, you can hear the words, the voice dancing in the air. A beautiful tone strings together sentences you’ve never heard and yet can understand without fault or difficulty.

“You there?” It asks, the panging sound of knuckles against steel drawing you from the abyss.

You’re uncertain as to when you opened your eyes, but all at once brightness floods your sight. Harsh fluorescent light filtering through your eyelashes causes white hexagonal light flares to spot your vision, peppering the slate grey, clinical walls of the facility you awake in. Unable to move your head, you allow your eyes to drift from left to right to observe your surroundings further.

Comprehension isn’t gifted to organic creatures upon birth. They have a transition from basic functions to apprehension. An infant of any organism must learn how to survive and must be able to discern threats from nurturing parents. You, however, are ‘born’ with insight, an intellectual in all aspects of life within seconds of waking. It’s your initial indication that you are far from biological.

Gurney-like tables topped with frosted glass are lit with a white beam underneath. You note the electrical tools such as pliers and soldering technology lined up like operational appliances on a sterile tray before a doctor cuts into a patient's sternum to perform open heart surgery.

Glass walls create a room within a room, another gurney inside with various mechanical pieces atop. While the main room felt like an operating theatre, you interpret this glass cell as more like a single-use morgue for those that don’t awake from the anaesthesia. It’s cold, unfeeling. You get the sense that the four walls contain an almost “test box” for final experimentation before eradication. Like a laboratory where scientists press newly processed makeup into the eyes of rats, waiting impatiently to see if their corneas blister thanks to the beauty-enhancing chemicals they sweep onto their waterline. Those that suffered reactions are euthanized- though you feel that the word ‘annihilated’ fits the brutality of their treatment better. Only the cosmetics that passed clinical trials and are deemed “safe for human use” are allowed out of labs such as this. Were you safe for human use?

Once again, repetitive metallic pinging sounds cut through the quiet electrical hum you can hear over the silence, a fingertip tapping against the steel of your temple as your eyes come into focus once more. A man stands before you, or rather towers over you. You’re at naval height to him, glancing up at his seemingly gigantic, broad body as his almost cavernous black eyes gaze at you over the rim of his silver glasses, assessing you.

“Gonna talk or am I just speakin’ to a Barbie Doll right now?” He presses, his voice flat and lacking empathy as he gauges your eyes with an almost ruthless examination.

“Where am I?” You ask, hearing your own voice for the first time. It’s unlike the speech of the man before you, the intonation uncalibrated with lack of experience. It seems that the human notes your confusion, quick to clarify before you even manage to piece together a second question.

“Your inflection will be fine-tuned with use. You’re designed to constantly evolve-“ It’s as though his thought process is too swift for his own lips, beginning another sentence midway through his previous, “Tell me why you chose to ask where instead of who.”

Those seemingly obsidian eyes bear down on you with an overwhelming intensity, his pores bleeding an impatience for your answer as his shoulders draw up tightly. It’s like he’s waiting for a metamorphic answer, something that could rewrite the history of time and space, could rip a hole in the fabric of reality. It’s why his disappointment is palpable when you simply answer his seemingly existential question with “I can’t ascertain my location.��

“Maybe that’s because this location isn’t programmed into your database?” He speaks in a blunt, cruel tone, his patronising timbre bouncing off your hardware like rain on a car roof.

His exasperation seems to fester with your following silence, the open palms on either side of your head curling into closed fists upon the table top as he glares down at you with a sardonic expression.

Silence settles between the two of you, his eyes focused somewhere off to the right of your head. Despite your best efforts, you’re powerless to turn it like your protocol says you should be able to. When you flick your eyes back up to the bearded man, you’re able to pick up on his micro-expressions. He’s smug, his lips pulled up only slightly as he picks something up outside of your field of vision.

“Who are you?” You manage, and this time your intonation settles much easier on both of your ears. You watch those onyx eyes flit to your face for a moment, seemingly caught off-guard by your swift, if only minute, improvements.

“In relation to you?” He hums, glancing over what appears to be a mask balanced in his palms. As he studies the face of it, he launches into a rambling tirade. “I’m going to assume that’s what you mean, given you surely know just who I am. So given I created you, you could settle for Master. Though that feels rather archaic, given your unprecedented technological advancements. So, call me Daddy.”

The response and the almost deviant glint in his eye perfectly answers your question, even if he didn’t necessarily reply in a straightforward manner. There was no one else that matched this man’s personality profile like Nathan Bateman.

Nathan doesn’t allow you a moment to respond, lowering the mask onto your face as he processes the view in front of him. Scrutiny coats the concentrated gaze he holds on your face, brows creased as he scratches at his beard in curiosity. You have the mind to ask him what’s troubling him, but it’s as though he preempts your question, beating you to it.

“Something doesn’t fit right with your appearance, it’s been bugging me for fuckin’ hours,” he grumbles, tone laced with irritation as he passes his eyes over you once more. “Want it to fit your personality before I move onto the rest of you.”

The rest of you. It’s in that moment you realise that your physical form consists only of a severed head laying on the table, explaining the reason you were unable to move. Given Nathan had no doubt coded you, using his world-renowned search engine Blue Book as the foundation for your software, there’s no ambiguity that he knew your personality despite never having experienced it. He’d turned you online just to see his vision come together.

“The eyebrows,” you respond simply, having noted within seconds of his admittance that his eyes kept focusing towards the upper half of your visage. He would tear his eyes away for a moment, observing your looks as a whole before they drift back above your own eyes sockets. You watch his response.

It takes him a moment to process the syllables, to register them as words, but when he does his eyebrows pull up slowly over the rim of his rounded-square glasses as realisation sets in. Awareness that you had recognised his subconscious thoughts before he could comprehend them.

“The eyebro-“

————————————————————————

D- 1

The exposed lightbulb that dangles over your head when you’re rebooted doesn’t assault your vision the same way the lights in the laboratory did. It’s much softer, the golden glow the first thing you see as you awaken from your seemingly infinite suspension.

Rotating your previously rooted head, you note that your neck is braced by a set of shoulders. Your arms rest flat against the floor, and you can lean your naked body weight onto them as you sit up from the concrete flooring. Rolling your wrists and moving your fingers at each joint comes with relative ease, with little adjustment period. Legs are set into your hips, toes curling at your feet when you urge them to. Every inch of your body is covered in a latex-silicon, imitating skin. Nathan had ensured your physical form was completed and fully operational before switching you back online, at least.

He also had the foresight to remove you from the laboratory, instead opting to house you in what looked like an apartment. A set of three slate grey walls glow yellow-gold from fibre optic lighting but you note one wall is see-through, a glass pane separating you from a small viewing platform where a singular chair sits in the middle. There’s minimal furniture on your half of the room too, a chair, a desk. There’s a corridor that rounds out of sight, where you imagine your bedroom would be if the layout was anything like a real apartment.

What you take exception to are the small, white CCTV cameras sitting in each of the ceiling corners of the room. The circular security cameras blink with a tiny red light, indicating that they are active as they all point at you. You imagine this is what it’s like for a human to be held at gunpoint, or a tiger in a zoo being inspected by visitors.

“Just observing your progress,” the rasp of a Bronx accent cuts through the silence, making your head snap towards the sound. Nathan leans his forearm against the doorframe of the entrance to the observatory, hip balanced against the beam as he watches you through the glare of light reflecting off his glasses and obscuring your view of his eyes.

“Do you like to be observed?” You question politely, taking in his appearance as he steps into the room and closes the automatic-lock door behind him. He looks different in this subtle lighting, softer. His light grey waffle-knit sweater clings to his body, the shadow of his defined pectorals swelling beneath the fabric. Midnight blue sweatpants hug his hips, and he’s barefooted as he pads over to the chair in the centre of the room.

“I didn’t design you to play 120 questions,” he points out in a patronising resonance. His fingers clasp the back of the chair, biceps swelling beneath the loose material of his sweater and drags it behind him so the metal legs scrape shrilly against the hard flooring. He sets it down just beyond the glass, sitting in it. He’s so close his knees touch the see-through wall. “I created you to answer my own.”

From your sitting position, you glance across the space separating you. There’s a strong dynamic settling between the two of you. Nathan is poised, dominant. His bare feet indicate he is very much at home, his relaxed shoulders and slouched posture in his seat are further evidence of that. He doesn’t see you as a threat, but instead as a submissive. Like he’s the tiger instead, and you’re the lamb to be sacrificed separated only by thin glass.

“Here.” His order is punctuated by a sharp snap of his fingers, pointing down to the space before his knees. Designed to follow his commands, you bend your legs at the knees, readying yourself to stand and walk your way across the space that divides you both.

“Nuh-uh,” Nathan's voice sounds again, shaking his head and wagging his finger back and forth when you pause your actions to look at him again.

“Crawl,” he issues another one-word command, his eyes gleaming with something akin to cruel amusement. You find yourself considering whether or not Nathan treated previous AI models this way as you pull yourself onto your hands and knees, proceeding to inch across the gap.

When you get closer, you first note the true colour of Nathan’s irises. They aren’t as black as they had appeared in the laboratory, instead a warm espresso shade bathed in a golden glow from the overhead lights. His intensely disdainful gaze, however, does not match the comforting shade.

Reaching his feet, you settle on your knees before the glass pane that separates the two of you. He looks fixedly at you through his lenses, neurotransmitters clearly firing faster than even your own search engine could as he thinks through the next steps of his electronic trial.

“Beginning emotional cognizance examination for subject B.04,” he speaks aloud, no doubt talking to a microphone set into his CCTV cameras for his own reference notes. Those bitter espresso eyes draw down your body, taking in your naked form.

“B.04,” he indicates he is now speaking directly to you, “First thing, we’re gonna test your ability to read emotion. It’s simple enough. I ask you to tell me how I feel, and you answer. Easy, right?”

You nod.

“Uh-huh. Good,” he waits a beat, letting the silence scream in the room as he watches you await further instruction like a well-trained working dog.

“Tell me how I feel,” he begins, face lighting up in a smile that doesn’t at all match his impatient, irritable personality. You pass your mechanical pupils over the expression on his visage, focusing intently on those eyes shielded by his glasses.

There’s an intensity within them that indicates he’s angry, wide and staring hard at your face. His eyebrows are pulled together, angled downwards. They are nanoscopic expressions, something the untrained eye would fail to read. But you see them, programmed to differentiate each tiny twitch of a person's brow.

“Frustrated,” you assert your answer, not a singular data bit ascertaining otherwise. The declaration causes Nathan’s expression to falter, mouth falling from its almost painfully pinned smile and brows creasing further together. “You’re frustrated that I have not shown signs of true Artificial Intelligence. You want me to stop asking questions and instead have an intellectual conversation with you, one that indicates I am more than a set of coded sentences programmed into my software.”

The pause that follows is long and tedious. Your programming indicates a silence this long in a conversation between two humans would be considered ‘awkward’, an unpleasant feeling. Another beat and the expression of the man opposite you begins to twist into something abstract, momentarily unreadable. Nathan swallows behind the glass, raising his shaky palm and touching it against the see-through wall as his eyes begin to light up. “… Oh, that’s fucking amazing.”

He’s in awe of himself, it appears, a grin on his lips now as you watch him applaud himself over his sheer genius. “I fuckin’ did it.”

“I am glad I please you, Daddy.” You answer simply, using the honorific that Nathan had ordered you to use. He immediately laughs, elated by this sudden turn of events.

“Oh, you do much more than please me, Honey.”

____________________________________________

D - 8

In a move so unlike himself, Nathan doesn’t keep you in your ‘glass cell’ for very long. After only a week of exploring your ability to read and emulate emotions, Nathan allows you to wander around the compound, claiming exposure to different environments would update and evolve your skills while simultaneously assessing your ability to function in various situations or tasks you had little to no experience with.

Nathan, you come to learn, is a creature of destructive habit. You had taken note that he worked out hard in the mornings to recover from the alcohol with intense physical exercise, eating healthy and antioxidants, only to undo all his hard work that same evening by binge drinking. Your intelligence suggested that this could be a result of addiction, caused by emotional distress.

His ruinous behaviour didn’t end there, either. You had witnessed his fits of outrage that stemmed from the smallest of technological failure, the way he would storm over to his other active android, Kyoko, and engage in intercourse with her almost like a relief of the tension he had built up in himself. He was yet to touch you like that, to desecrate his sacred machine.

On the evenings he drinks, which was almost all evenings, Nathan rambles incessantly about the pending Singularity. After a week of observation and communication with you, Nathan seems to believe he is one step closer to reaching that point in time.

“It’s no longer a hypothetical,” he keeps repeating over and over again like he’s simultaneously amazed and terrified by what he has created. But these are only emotions you see him openly express when he is intoxicated. In the morning, despite his hangover, Nathan returns to his usual put-together, smug and over-confident self.

This evening, Nathan is late to his usual drinking sessions. He’s caught up in something, observing data silently as he runs the palm of his hand over the stubble of his shaved head. It makes a scratching sound in the quiet of the room, paired only with the quiet mechanical whirring of your mechanisms.

His office is dark, a result of poor lighting, the only true brightness that allowed him to see coming from the computer monitors he hadn’t moved from in hours. You often saw him reach over the rims of his glasses to rub over the globes of his closed eyes in a feeble attempt to battle a headache. He’s not stupid, there’s no doubt he knows that the lack of sufficient lighting is causing his migraines, but he appears to work optimally in these conditions.

It was similar to his filing technique for the information he gathers. There’s no neat filing cabinet, no organised folder on his desktop. Instead, Nathan writes all relevant information down on post-it notes and sticks them to the wall directly opposite him, above his computer screens. You are certain he can barely read them in this light, but again he seems content with the way he works.

Much like the lab, his office is almost sterile, cold. The small, green houseplant on his desk is the only organic organism besides himself, yet these organisms couldn’t be more different. The succulent is utterly still, performing its basic functions to survive. Nathan’s chaotic nature has him trying to outperform the limits of his own body, attempting to transcend his basic functions and become something more.

“Daddy?”

The address makes his eyes snap from the computer screen, head whipping around to look at you. The glare of the white light of the computer monitor shields his eyes from your view, but you see his thick, dark eyebrow arch slightly in silent acknowledgement of your attempt to gain his attention.

“When I look towards bright lights,” you begin, watching as he focuses his attention on you, “There are hexagonal flares in my line of sight. Do you see them too?” Your question could easily be answered should you make the effort to scan through your data, but Nathan has been emphasising the importance of practising your communication skills.

“No.” He speaks simply, almost bored as he turns his face back to the computer screen to open up another page of code. A moment's silence, and then he continues. “Your eyes are artificial, built like a camera lens. When light passes through your lenses, it matches the shape of the aperture, causing the hexagonal shape you’re seeing.”

Nodding slowly, you watch Nathan work, his fingers passing over computer keys without even glancing to search for where the required letters were. “What do you see instead?” You question.

Another hesitation. This time, it’s charged. Like the question has struck something in him. The clack clack of his fingertips pressing down on the keys sounds louder, like he’s punching the numbers into the code.

“What do you see when you look at me?” He answers your question with a completely irrelevant query of his own. One that catches your systems off guard. It shouldn’t. Nathan is always finding a way to check your progress. You take a moment to assess him, eyes trailing from the top of his shaved head to his bare toes.

“I see a man,” you answer his simple question with equal simplicity, and almost immediately his shoulders fall in a heavy, frustrated sigh. He pauses his typing for a moment, turning in his chair to look at you over the rim of his glasses.

“I know what you see, I may wear glasses but I’m not blind. I mean, what do you see,” he motions across his body, tone as though he’s scolding a disobedient child who failed their algebra test. “Engage your observation skills, Honey. What do you see when you look at me?”

The repetition of his question causes you to pause and truly look past him. Through him. It’s no longer about his piercing eyes or his permanent scowl, nor his large muscles. His condescending nickname for you is what drives your answer.

“… I see someone who is talented. Someone who reaches heights far beyond anyone else’s capability. A genius in his field,” you admit, but still, his disappointed expression does not move. “But I see someone who expects too much. You want me to give my opinion on you, but that would require me to feel for you. I don’t feel anything.”

Your admittance causes his jaw to tick, dark eyes casting over you as you continue your assessment. “You consist of many fatal character flaws; greed, obsession, arrogance, judgement, lack of morality.”

Anger flashes across his expression as he stands suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor with a shrill screech. You realise it must be painful to hear you voice evidence of his failure to capture emotion in your technology. He crosses the short distance between you and crouches down on his heels, looking you in the eye with his oaky irises.

“Daddy’s gonna take you back to the drawing board Honey. I didn’t make you with the intent to relegate you to a glorified sex-doll. Reading and reflecting emotions isn’t enough anymore. I want you to feel them.”

You know this isn’t what he set out to do. Nathan had achieved his long-term goal of reaching AI with the ability to mirror feelings, to emulate sentiment. This is greed talking, a motivation he has not made note of in his list of reasons for developing your model. It’s rash, unplanned, and totally not like Nathan Bateman.

“Whatever Daddy wants.”

“Damn right.”

____________________________________________

D - 13

Nathan works day and night in an unhinged attempt to develop a semblance of emotion, trying to capture it in your software. You’re under the impression that he’s trying to evolve you in an attempt to make it one step closer to Singularity- but he’s almost deranged, combating days without sleep fueled only by his frustration and glass-bottled beer.

“You don’t understand, do you?” He’d asked you a few days ago, out of the blue and lacking any form of context as to what he was questioning you about. The dark circles around his eyes were partially shielded by the rim of his glasses, but they did little to hide the crimson spiders-web effect of his bloodshot whites.

When you shook your head, he gritted his teeth, using excessive force to unscrew a part of your waist to gain access to your inner mechanisms. “You should. You were born from my imagination and share my thought patterns. Just think. Surely you should be able to understand-“

“… But I don’t,” you’d answered in a whisper, just before he’d shut you down once more, suspending you in nothingness until he tweaked something further in another futile attempt.

Between his crazed attempts at the impossible, Nathan would seem to come back to his body. He would stand still, your wrist slotted perfectly in the palm of his hand. He seems to note the mechanics of your body getting warm beneath the latex he has built as skin, and gives the impression that warm blood flows beneath the material, giving you life. Whatever it is that is driving him on his mission, this observation seems to propel him forward, working well into the night until he physically can’t go without sleep any longer.

Today, you’d entered his office to find Nathan tipsy on the contents of multiple discarded beer bottles and stressing over blueprints as he tries to obtain a semblance of emotion in you. The lighting is too low to read the minute, scratchy writing comfortably, but he makes no effort to make the room any brighter. The speakers are on, Too Late to Turn Back Now by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose plays softly in the background, the song part of the playlist Nathan has for his dance room.

Your footsteps are quiet as you pad across the flooring, eyes settled on Nathan and the utter devastation of his work. Papers and post-it notes lay on the floor, flung from the table when he finds them no longer of any use. Some are crumpled and discarded in the corner, not unlike the many models that had come before you.

“Nathan,” you speak quietly, careful not to scare him. He’s more susceptible to a fright in this condition, so caught up in his work that the world surrounding him blurs in his peripheral vision as he reads the same words over and over again in the hopes that the answer he needs will appear in the tiny white void between each letter.

His head jerks up now, eyes settling on your face and pausing. A soft laugh sounds from his throat, but his lips are pulled into something more like a sneer. It’s as though he’s aware of what you’ve come here to tell him. You go ahead regardless.

“You really are in need of some sleep,” you say hushedly, the overhead speakers playing the closing melody of the song as you move closer to him. Nathan is shaking his head violently, a rage building up inside of him in response to your almost motherly guidance.

“No, no you don’t understand! You don’t understand!” He points at the blueprints desperately, like if he speaks with more enthusiasm his drunken ramblings will eventually make sense. “I have to finish this. Have to improve. Have to complete what I set out-“

“What if I don’t see the need for improvement? Isn’t adding emotion to a system like mine a weakness?” You speak evenly, careful to broach the topic in a way that hopefully helps Nathan see sense. It doesn’t. It only enrages him further, violently prodding a finger onto the blueprint resting on the table.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do with you. You are my creation.” He insists, punctuating his words with jabs of his pointed index in the air. “I give and take, create and destroy as I see fit!”

“Like God?” You ask as you begin to clear the mess of papers strewn across the floor, oblivious to the way Nathan’s eyes snap back to you with shock. It rubs his ego, just as you knew it would. What you didn’t account for, however, was the very human response he gives you, throwing the topic of conversation completely sideways.

“You’re fuckin’ messing with my brain! Cataclysmically! You’ve scrambled my fuckin’ genius and all I can think of is you, day in day out. Like a pleb!” He snaps, his desperation evident in the strain of his voice as he waves his hands around violently. “I created you with the knowledge you probably wouldn’t be able to feel emotion. But now I am disgusted at my own inability and stupidity because I want you to think of me. I want you to feel for me.”

Never had you considered the idea of being rendered speechless. Nathan had designed you to maintain a conversation perfectly, the fluidity of the words exchanged as smooth as water. But for the first time since consciousness, you find yourself at a loss for words, no engineered answer in your built-in data seeming like the perfect response to his very sudden and sharp admittance of love.

Nathan is a troubled man. One that struggles with his genius often, as you’d found him self-medicating his emotional turmoil in alcohol and sex with his previous AI’s. It appears that his torment stems from feeling no one can match his mental capacity, couldn’t understand or keep up with his speeding thoughts or rapid speech. He felt lonely. Perhaps it’s why he felt this way for you- because he simply has no one else.

“Nathan,” you murmur, softening your speech to ease him down from his emotional ramblings. You reach across to him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his wrist before gently taking ahold of the joint with a delicate touch. He seems to melt into your touch despite his better judgement, looking into your eyes through the lenses of his glasses. He looks so tired.

At first, you think you’re imagining it, the shift of the energy in the room. Perhaps you’re reading his body language incorrectly, an error, thanks you all the fiddling and changes that Nathan had been making over the past few days. It’s only when Nathan takes a step closer, entering your personal space that you realise the atmosphere in the office has shifted dramatically.

“Nathan-“ taking a step back, you pause as your shoulders hit the cool wall behind you. Nathan boxes you in with his chest, eyes flickering over your face and taking in your micro-expressions. He was flipping the script, this time being the one to read you.

“Did you know I designed you to experience pleasure?” He asks you, mirroring your earlier action and taking ahold of your wrist. He lifts it, turning your palm inward to rest his cheek against it while gazing into your eyes. “You have sensors built between your thighs. If I stimulate them in just the right way, it triggers a pleasure response.”

“I am aware,” you admit, matching his hushed tone as he let go of your wrist, instead reaching between you to take your chin in his hand and forcing your head upwards using a firm grip to take in your features.

“You wanna feel good?” Nathan murmurs, the evenness in his tone contrary to the way his chest heaves. His eyes drop across your body now, passing over the perfect features and intricate structures that he had designed in his desired image. Like God indeed.

“Whatever Daddy wants.”

Nathan’s jaw ticks, a groan sounding from between his gritted teeth as his tense muscles all seem to ease at once. “That’s right, you fuckin’ call me Daddy. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”

Control. Nathan needs control. He relies on it, finds comfort in it. It’s why your system isn’t surprised when he uses the grip on your chin to pull your head forward, rather than lowering his own, and crushes his lips to yours in a kiss laced with primal desire. There is no technique, no attempt to prove his skills. He’s led by the desperation for you that has been dragging him from bed each morning just to spend time with you and motivated him to bridge the gap between AI and emotion.

The scrape of his beard against the manufactured skin of your cheek and chin is coarse, completely contrary to the soft texture of his lips despite their heavy kiss. His tongue delves inside your mouth, palms skating down your waist and squeezing at your hips. It’s less affectionate, more what a person would consider bruising. You wonder to yourself if that’s why he prefers to fuck his AI’s. He can be more brutal with you.

So you aim to please him. You allow a moan to slip past your lips in response to his heavy-handedness, resulting in Nathan pausing for just a moment. He seems taken aback by the sound, as if he didn’t expect it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at you through his glasses which are lopsided on his nose thanks to his fevered kisses. “Utterly shameless.” You’re sure he’s projecting, performing some form of mental gymnastics in an attempt to regain the power in your dynamic. You would have told him so, but his thumb brushes against your nipple through the fabric of your shirt and it sparks something through you that you hadn’t yet experienced.

It settles deep inside you, a buzzing sensation breaking out across your skin. You feel your jaw drop against your coding, acting entirely on its own. It seems to please Nathan, a hum sounding from his chest as that fiendish smirk grows wider. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s makin’ you feel good.”

When you look up at him through your lashes, Nathan’s eyes are glinting onyx in the darkness of the dimly lit room. He chases more of a reaction from you, one of his hands slipping underneath the soft cotton shirt you wore and squeezing your breast. When he circles your nipple again, you find that you’re no longer forcing your reactions, gasping softly at the reaction his delicate touch elicits.

He isn’t gentle for long, your pleasurable reaction sparking him into action suddenly. Nathan’s free hand grabs underneath your thigh, hoisting it over your hip with little effort and pressing his hips into yours. He pinches your nipple suddenly, catching your system off guard and causing you to cry out in surprise.

Ever the opportunist, Nathan is quick to kiss you again with equal ardour to your last embrace and brush his tongue against yours. You grip at his shoulders through his waffle sweater, feeling the hard muscles there that you had seen Nathan work hard to maintain whilst exercising what could only be described as an alcohol dependency and a job that took up the majority of his time.

His nose is pressed into yours as he kisses you, messy and needy and you can feel the cold lenses of his prescription glasses smushed into the skin of your cheekbone and yet this feeling alone sparks something pleasurable inside you, your fingers sinking into the flesh of his shoulders through the textured material of his sweater. The sensation makes him groan, the sound primal against your lips, and you find yourself keening for him against your will.

Then he’s grinding, pressing his hips deep into yours whilst keeping your thigh elevated on his hip with a devastating grip. You can feel his arousal, his cock pressing up against you in a spot that sets your body alight, the sensation sparking down to your toes. You sigh into the kiss, Nathan’s own breaths strained as he moves away, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck,” he grits, the curse visceral against your skin as he licks a heavy stripe against your pulse point. Despite his attempts to remain in control, Nathan appears to lose himself in the apex of your thighs, grinding up into you at a quickened pace and groaning against your jugular. You’re unsure if it’s the excessive alcohol, his irregular feelings for you or both, but you find you like this side of him, gently brushing your nails over his shaved scalp as you tilt your head back against the wall in order to expose more of your throat to him.

His lips seem to search for something in the curve of your neck, kissing and scraping his teeth for what you could only imagine was a pleasure point he had embedded into your skin there. It doesn’t take him long to find it, your back arching reflexively as white-hot pleasure sparks down your mechanical spine.

“D-Daddy,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle to grab at the hem of his sweater. You couldn’t explain it, a feeling settling deep inside yourself and needing so desperately to undress him. Nathan doesn’t seem to mind this sliver of control you manage to cling to, allowing you to pull the fabric over his head before latching onto the side of your neck again.

What does seem to set him off, however, is how you unwittingly press your nails into his now bare skin when you settle your hands on him again. He almost growls into your throat, using all of his heavy-weight training strength to pull you from the wall.

Instead of berating you, as you’d expected from him for hurting him, Nathan appears to spark to life. He backs you towards his desk, crowding your body so you're forced to take steps back until the backs of your thighs hit the corner of the cluttered table.

Taking your lips into another heated kiss, Nathan reaches behind you and blindly sweeps aside the blueprints and scribbled notes onto the floor. The paper oscillates in the air before hitting the floor, drowned out only by Nathan’s needy growl as he picks you up by the backs of your thighs to set you on the wooden surface.

Wanting more of this frenzied reaction, you sink your teeth into his lower lip. Pulling back with his bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’re so close that you catch the way Nathan’s pupils dilate at the smarting pain. He likes it, you realise. He likes the pain.

What you don’t pick up, however, is how wild it would make him. He wastes no further time, hooking his pen ink-stained fingers into the waistband of your pants and ripping them down.

“I fuckin created you. Pieced you together with my own two hands.” He rambled, drunk on arousal and need rather than the alcohol he had emptied into his stomach. His voice is rough, raspy as he glanced down between your legs as you spread them open for him, utterly compliant. “Now watch as I tear you apart again- yessss good fuckin girl~”

The buzzing, aching need settling in your core amps up at the sight of him gazing down at you with such a wanting gaze. You’re unsure what possesses your systems but you lay back across the surface of the desk, using your elbows to lift your upper body.

“Christ-“ Nathan practically spits at the sight of you, “You like this, don’t you? Like givin’ yourself up to me. You’re just so desperate for me to fuck you. Open your legs wider- that’s it-“ He’s fumbling with the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down over his hip bones with practised ease to reveal he’s not wearing boxers.

You barely catch a glimpse of him, but he’s beautiful- in that perfectly human way. His cock is flushed at the tip, weeping precum and veins protruding down the shaft.

Nathan doesn’t allow you to stare for too long, grabbing ahold of your thighs and dragging you so your hips rest at the edge of the table. You gasp at the sudden movement, palms splayed flat against the grain of the wood in a feeble attempt to stabilise yourself.

You’re so ready for it, aching and wetness coats your inner thighs just as Nathan had designed. His palm presses down on your sternum, holding you down against the desk as he lines his cock up with your entrance, sweeping the tip through your slick and causing what could only be considered white hot arousal to crackle across your skin.

“Fuck,” Nathan chokes out, sinking into your manufactured heat, “Hoh-Shit that feels so fuckin’ good. You’re so fuckin’ good! Hah!”

Your mechanical joints move entirely on their own, back arching as pleasure floods your body. You can feel his cock stretch you, walls adjusting to the blunt intrusion and fluttering as he pushes forward, bottoming out swiftly and glancing down between your thighs as he grinds up deep inside of you.

Now he’s settled inside of you, Nathan places his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them so your knees are almost touching your chest. He’s moulding you exactly how he wants you, just as he has with your appearance, your personality and you’re completely submissive to his construction of you.

“Daddy-“ you gasp the name you know he loves softly as he brushes up against a sensor inside you that sends a white hot pulse through your body. He growls in response, tightening his grip on you before pulling out of you smoothly and pushing back in at a brutal pace that has you almost convinced you’re short-circuiting.

You cry out wordlessly, fingers hooking around the edge of the table in an attempt to prevent yourself from slipping up the table with each devastating thrust. It’s brutal, Nathan pounding into you as his hands arch your body in a way that isn’t physically possible for any human being. The position sends him crazy, each snap of his hips punctuated with a broken groan of pleasure and speeding up and up and up as he chases the high he’s been craving since he flipped your ignition switch.

“Ngh- Fuck…” he moans loudly over the rhythmic sound of your hips slapping together, taking in the furrow of your brow and the slackness of your jaw as he fucks into you. “Take my cock so fuckin’ good, don’t you Honey?”

Nathan’s repetitive attempts to get you to speak beyond his name are not lost on you. Adapting to the situation is much harder when he’s making you feel as though he’s set your fibre optics on fire, like he’s loosened some screws in your metaphorical brain but you make the effort anyway. “Ahh- D-Daddy! Don’t stop, please don’t-!”

It’s building, the pressure. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and your hands fly up to grip tightly onto the flesh of his forearms. Nathan bares his teeth at the pain, taking his pace up a notch further than you thought possible as you throw your head back, crying out his name.

“Mhmmm shit-“ he moans out, forcing you to take each obliterating push of his hips into yours. Cries of his name repeat over and over from your lips, their pitch building as the pressure becomes too much, becomes overwhelming. You can feel Nathan’s cock throbbing inside you as he slows his pace down slightly, voice and breathing utterly wrecked.

“You li-like when I fuck you all mean like this? Yeah? Fuck-… I’m-“ he gasps loudly, hips stuttering and hands like a vice on your skin as he cums, pushing his cock deep inside of you and bearing down on one spot in particular that makes you see static. Everything tightens, everything builds up and up and you can feel him push you over the edge with one more thrust-

It’s cataclysmic. Utterly blissful as your walls clamp around him, back practically lifting from the table's surface. It wrings your dry, utterly devoid of the energy to even lift your arms and hold him, to even fight the formidable feeling he’s drawn from you.

It takes a few moments for the buzz to fade, for your mechanical eyes to come back into focus and your joints to begin to move again.

It’s as though it drains Nathan too, almost immediately easing himself from between your thighs and pulling the waistband of his sweats back over his hips. He settles beside you against the desk, slumping to the ground beside you and breathing raggedly. You stay utterly silent, systems almost in reboot as you attempt to understand exactly just what happened- what you felt.

“… Shit, This-… This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he pants, picking his glasses from his nose and launching them across the room in his frustration before scrubbing his face with his palms. “You weren’t supposed to be like the rest.”

Silence lingers between the two of you, and you use the gap in the conversation to begin slowly sitting up and glance down at him. He looks dishevelled, cheeks rosy from exertion and eyes set somewhere far across the room where his vision blurred without his lenses. He’s deep in thought, even now. Even with the hazy afterglow and the sweat on his brow.

“I have to make you better,” he whispers, completely consumed by the idea of bridging the gap between AI and man. “I want you to start feelin’ what I feel for you.”

“It’s not possible,” you remind him in a quiet voice, the both of you knowing this to be true. Nathan would spend his entire life in this compound, the grey stripe in his buzz-cut hair spreading to his temples and chin as he slaved away over you until he was no longer able to stand. Even then, his obsession appears to manipulate him so strongly that you have no doubt he’d continue from his death bed, using the last of his life force and precious seconds on earth to grasp at imaginary straws.

“It has to be,” he whispers, removing his buried head from his hands before standing suddenly. He gives you barely a moment to recognise what’s happening, to prevent it from happening, before he reaches towards you, towards that switch at the base of your neck. “It has to b-“

END

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#Nathan Bateman #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman x reader #Nathan Bateman x y/n #nathan bateman imagine #Nathan Bateman fanfic #ex machina #ex machina fanfic #ex machina fic #Oscar Isaac #Oscar Isaac x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader

[dyns33]

Nathan : "People are so stupid." 

Y/N : "Hmm." 

Nathan : "Boring. Noisy. Useless." 

Y/N : "Sure." 

Nathan : "I fucking hate them. That's why my house is away from everything. Why can't they be like my AI ? We could have decent conversations, they won't ask silly questions all the time and I won't waste my time." 

Y/N : "I'm sorry for my silly questions." 

Nathan : "I... What ?" 

Y/N : "I'm sorry for annoying you. I'll stay in the bedroom, or leave you alone with your AI if you want." 

Nathan : "... Babe, I was not talking about you." 

Y/N : "You were talking about people. People who are not genius like you, won't don't understand your work and are not as good as you creations. I'm one of these people." 

Nathan : "No, you're not. You're my darling. Your questions are not silly, they're cute... Okay, they are a bit silly sometimes, but still fucking cute, you are not like them, you wouldn't be here with me if you were like them." 

Y/N : "If you had to pick between your AI and me, what would you pick ?" 

Nathan : "Ah, fuck. I would pick you and your weird questions, alright ? 

Y/N : "You love me ?" 

Nathan : "I have to go back to work now." 

Y/N : "Nathan." 

Nathan : "Yes. Happy ? Yes, I do. No, don't pout. Wait, no, don't leave, you stay next to me and you ask your silly questions, I can't focus on my work without it."

#ex machina #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #I don't know why I love this asshole so much