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donatellawritings · 1 month

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smoothing your clammy palms over the curve-hugging fabric of your fitted grey slacks, your quickly redirect your wild strand of hair to the curve behind the shell of your ear, forcing a satisfied smile in the mirror as you frustratedly roll your eyes at the sliver of skin that continued to peek through, courtesy of your one-size too small button up blouse. forcefully tugging down on the hem of your wrinkle-free top, you let out a small huff as you carefully scrape your slightly smudged lipstick off of the outer border of your swollen and meticulously lined lips with the sharp tip of your nail.

taking one last glance over yourself in the crystal clear bathroom mirror, your took a short breath as you reached into your thrifted coach bag, your manila folder grasped firmly in your press-on nail-clad hand as you exited the marble interior of the bathroom.

your slightly worn black kitten heels clicked rhythmically against the tiled flooring of the office lobby as you sauntered over to the receptionist, a nerve and anxiety laced smile now playing on your full lips as she brings her eyes to meet yours, “good afternoon, is there anything that i could assist you with?” she questions politely, donning a robotic, yet somewhat warm grin.

“hi, um, i’m here for an interview with mr. cameron,” you stammer, adjusting your bayonetta glasses to sit comfortably on the bridge of your nose as you nervously tap your nails against the marble countertop, “it was scheduled for two o’clock,” you add, your tapping coming to a slow silence as you quickly grew hyper-aware of yourself at the sight of the receptionist taking a quick, yet elongated glance at your pushed-up breasts that threatened to burst through minuscule buttons of your blouse.

you needed to make a good impression. securing an assistant position at the likeness of cameron developments would do wonders for your resume, as well as significantly increase your finances — especially considering your status as a wet-behind-the-ears and pathetically green young woman who was scarily fresh of out college.

“okay, you will be meeting with mr. cameron on the top floor of the building, you can use the elevator and it’ll be the first door that you see,” the receptionist instructs, maintaining her courteous smile and light cadence as she motions towards the steel elevator doors that stand closed, a few feet away from her freshly polished desk.

with a nod of understanding, you step away from the desk, “thank you!” you spoke softly, pushing your nail into the button, causing it to glow a muted red as the elevator doors soon opened, inviting you to step inside of the warmly lit and mirror-encased interior.

jamming your fingernail into the highest floor, you couldn’t help but watch yourself from every angle, drumming your fingernails against your folder, pulling on the belt loops of your tight slacks, adjusting the waist band to sit a bit higher on your short frame. with each ding indicating the increasing height of the elevator, you grew more and more anxious, letting out a withheld breath once you reached the top floor of the building, “relajate,” you cooed to yourself as you stepped out of the elevator.

approaching the tall door, you took a quick peek through the windows that allowed full vision into the pristine office, watching as a man, who appeared to be no older than mid to late 20s spoke on the phone, his free hand gesturing wildly as he paced around the office. hiding behind the frosty glass of the door, you softly brought your knuckles to knock against the door, taking a step away from the door as you took a breath, silently praying that your cheap lipstick stayed within the lines of your lipliner.

swallowing down the lump of nerves that formed in the back of your throat, you subconsciously dug your nails into the hard folder as the door soundlessly swung open, revealing the staggering height of the man who towered, at least one foot above you, his bright blue eyes stoic as he squared his shoulders, his tailored blazer hugging his frame just right.

“s’a pleasure to finally meet with you, please come in,” he huffs out, standing to the side with his ring and watch clad hands crossed over his front as you offer him a kind smile.

“thank you,” you mutter, your dolly eyes widening at the obsessively neat and pristinely kept environment of the office.

each bookcase was lined meticulously with books and encyclopedias varying in different editions, priceless pieces of art hanging from the sparkling tiled wall panels, and three ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked kildare island, showcasing a picturesque view of the river that glinted against the shining sun.

the sound of the door softly clicking to a close broke you from your entranced gaze as you turned your head to see the slightly older man motioning towards his mahogany wood desk with a knowing smirk on his structured face, “it’s a breathtaking view, isn’t it?” he comments, earning a breathy chuckle from you as you take a seat in the leather chair, directly across from his much larger seat.

“it’s beautiful,” you comment lowly, stealing a quick glance at how his muscles flexed against his button-up shirt as he removed his blazer, slightly rolling up the cuffs of his shirt to rest on his defined forearms, “um, here is my resume, cover letter, as well as letters of recommendations from my professors,” you lightly clear your throat, extending your delicate hand to present the man with your neatly organized folder.

accepting the folder from your grasp, the older man skims his ring-clad finger over the contents of your resume, before letting out a sharp exhale as he visibly relaxes into his seat. you couldn’t help but let your overwhelming nerves get the best of you as you licked over your suddenly dry lips, scratching the tip of your nail against the stitching of your slacks.

rubbing the pad of his index finger over his lips, the eldest cameron lazily flips through the rest of your documents, before returning his eyes to you, catching the way you were biting the skin on the inside of your cheek as your knee lightly bounced.

“before we go any further, i just want to make that y’understand how demanding the position is,” he begins, his voice sultry and thick, as he watched your throat bob with an anxious swallow, “from monday to friday, and sometimes including weekends — i need you to be entirely devoted to every intricacy that goes on in my day to day, whether it be accompanying me to a meeting or answering the phone, i require your full and undivided commitment,” he continues, his legs spread deliciously as he straightens his posture, keeping his hands enclosed over his crotch.

parting your lips to speak, you’re quickly cut off by the man seated before you, “is this a commitment that you’re ready to make? you’re young and i understand if this is … too much to handle,” he feigns concern, internally pleased with himself as your skittish demeanor is quickly replaced with a slightly offended raise of your thinly threaded eyebrows.

“i can assure you, mr. cameron — i’m more than capable of handling this position … efficiently,” you sealed with a smile.

mr. cameron? rafe could get used to hearing you follow his each and every command while maintaining a respectable cadence — it got him off, and you didn’t even realize it.

drumming the tips of his fingers against the hardwood desk, feigning contemplation, rafe tongues the inside of his cheek, “my receptionist will set you up with a new cellphone — that’ll be for you to use, solely for contacting me, and i will have a driver picking you up and returning you home, every day,” rafe stands from his leather swivel chair, keeping his eyes trained on your nervous gaze as he watches you shift in your seat.

a younger girl like you needed to be trained, conditioned to suit a man like rafe cameron — and he’d be happy to do that for you.

“i will personally see that you have any and all necessities needed to keep you up to my standards — and they will be delivered to your home, however …” rafe stops at your side, crouching down to meet your eyeline, a knowing smirk tugging on his lips as he examines the way your fingernails have torn into the threads of your cheap slacks, “we are going to work on those little … quirks of yours, gotta make sure that you are walking with y’chin up high, hm?” he tuts, lightly nudging your busy fingers with his firm knuckle, before lifting your chin.

wordlessly, you nod, splaying your fingers flat against your thigh as your new boss expands his smirk into a stretched-out grin, “perfect — y’start tomorrow,” he breathes out, raising himself to stand tall as he shakes out his long a toned arms, before craning his neck with a crack.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #obx #assistant!reader

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bi-writes · 21 hours

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If you have time I am kindly asking for Simon and the teams POV on the arranged marriage fic!! Like why they put that ad out! I also think they’re silly for doing the whole ceremony in their gear 👉👈

the arrangement prequel

it wasn't much of a choice. ghost knew this was coming, knew this might happen--disciplinary action from the increasingly...unorthodox ways he was coming back from an op.

one too many times, a capture or kill became looking for the pieces of their target scattered across the field. an accident on the way back to interrogation--he doesn't know how his blade ended up embedded in their mark's throat. he misfired his gun--it's too bad it went straight through that prisoner's forehead.

disobeying without saying no. taking matters into his own hands without exactly defying the rules. ghost had been walking along the boundary line for a long while, and he knew eventually someone would realize the risks he was taking.

it was kate's idea. ghost needed something to chew on, something to satiate the hunger in his bones. a companionship, is what she tells price, but even he knew that was a stretch. anything given to ghost would surely be shredded apart on impact. anything that belongs to him ends up tucked underneath layers of shadows, not to be seen again.

but ghost is the best at what he does. all kate needs is for him to fucking listen once in a while.

when they ride back in the humvee, ghost is fiddling with the chamber of his pistol when price speaks up.

"got somethin' new," he says, looking into the rearview mirror. the sergeants shuffle a little closer to hear him. "new program between CIA and SAS. pilot program, not...exactly routine. but they'd like one of you lot to be the first to participate."

"what is it?"

price clears his throat, "the legality is a grey area. but both parties need to be willing."

"spit it out, cap'n."

"an arrangement of sorts," he says finally. "it's...not a secret 's hard to keep a bird with the things we do...always away, hard to reach. but you're the best at what you do, and i think if you take it seriously, it could be good for one of ya."

soap snorts. "cap'n, ye wanna play matchmaker with us? see if we're worthy of little bonnie spies?"

price snorts, rolling his eyes, "i need you to set an example, is what i need. i need one of you to step forward."

ghost looks up when he says that. his eyes flicker, and he looks at his captain, who keeps his eyes on the road as he drives. he hears what price doesn't say. this is your punishment, he imagines. and you will take it and not say a word, like the lieutenant that you are.

in the dark of his room later that evening, he opens the file with your name typed across the front. CONFIDENTIAL it reads, and he flips the manila folder to spread your profile out onto the desk.

you're smiling in the first photo. it's a headshot, from high school maybe, from college, a pretty photo of you beaming at a camera with a nice background. he eyes your height, weight, measurements, the skills they've identified and the answers to your questions about why you want to participate in the program.

Q: What kind of partner are you looking for? A: Resistant. Unmovable. Loyal.

Q: Why do you want to participate in this program? A: I'm tired of being disappointed.

Q: What are some of the qualities you possess you would like your partner to know about you? A: I'm not afraid of what I don't know.

short answers, straight to the point. affirmative and honest, with no room for interpretation. ghost doesn't need interpretation; he knows what it is you're saying.

when he looks back at your picture, he brings it closer, narrowing his eyes as he studies you. the smile you wear, while beautiful, isn't real. it's a persona, a ruse, a costume that you wear to put the outside world at ease. you understand that a smile makes you agreeable, but he knows, somehow he knows, that there must be a tick that you feel that no one is able to quiet, an anger and a lilt to the soft voice you must speak in that carries the weight of your defiance and your disappointment with everything the world is that you thought it wouldn't be.

ghost isn't told that the program is a lie. you aren't an operative for the CIA, you aren't some kind of spy in need of company. when he reads the rest of your file, he is amused because he knows the rest is made-up bullshit that doesn't apply to you. you are as civilian as they come, but with how well you lie, he wonders if you should be recruited just for that.

with just a little training, he thinks perhaps you might be everything your country needs and more. a little blood wouldn't scare you.

it's weeks later when ghost eyes the date on his calendar. he has marked it with an X, black marker haphazardly traced there to indicate the day. he told price he doesn't want bells and whistles--no music, no men, no party. an unmarked room and his bride is all that is necessary.

he steps outside to smoke a cigarette. he sucks on it gently, blowing it out to the side, and he eyes the car that pulls onto base carefully. when price steps out of the drivers' seat, ghost stubs out the cigarette and turns the corner. he catches a glimpse of a lace veil before he disappears.

and when he steps into the room hours later, your back to him, he can't help the way his pupils dilate and the way his body goes rigid with rage. there you are, standing there, in white silk and lace, your back to him but the picture of elegance and the presence of something honestly deserving.

it is only when he lifts the veil off of your face and sees those eyes that he understands what you are, what you wear.

a façade, a beautiful mask of your own, to cover up the ugly you hold on the inside.

he smiles under the mask when you kiss him over the fabric. because fuck, yes...he doesn't care where you have come from. he doesn't care that they lied about who you are, that they didn't tell him the truth, that in all honesty, they have given you to die and you don't know it--he doesn't care because it worked, at least for him. the finest flesh he has ever set his eyes on. he cannot wait to brand you for what you are worth.

if they meant to punish him for the crimes he has committed, he is sorry. because you are his reward, and there is no hell to pay.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #dark!simon #simon thoughts

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theehoneeybee · 7 months

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Talking In Your Sleep. Chapter 1.

Talking in Your Sleep - Blue Monday

The new security hire doesn't realise he's in deep. There's more than just abandoned arcade games and dusty decorations at Freddy Fazbears Pizza.

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: I haven't written in like a year but the fnaf movie altered by brain chemistry. this series is cross posted on my ao3. lmk what you think!

series m.list

next part >

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The halogen lights flickered, lighting up the black grey room, it's peeling walls covered in fake-motivational posters. Dream Big! Work Hard! What bullshit. Mike bounced his leg anxiously. Yet another job gone because of his temper. That was the third one this month. At this point, he had spent more time at the career councillors office than at an actual job.

"Number 27," the receptionist called out drearily.

Mike grabbed his jacket and made his way to the councillors office, already dreading the outcome. This councillor wasn't one he had met before. He swivelled around in his chair, skimming through Mike's file with a less than pleased expression plastered on his face. Amongst his cluttered desk strewn with paperwork from the hundreds of others looking for work was a black and gold name tag. Steve Raglan.

"What is your deal Mike?" he asked, gaze not lifting from the manila folder. "What are you, some kind of headcase?"

Steve reads aloud the incident which landed Mike in his office. It was all a misunderstanding. Mike had seen a confused, lost young boy wandering through the shopping centre, so when a strange man dragged him away, he couldn't sit idle. Of course, he should have talked to the man first instead of immediately brutalising him and traumatising his poor son in the process. He knew that. But at the time, all he could think about was protecting the boy. The loss of Garrett eats away at him. Steve lists out his past jobs. One week. Terminated. Two weeks. Insubordination, terminated.

"It's like you're not even trying, yet you sit before me asking for help," Steve sounded almost amused. "I'm just trying to figure out who you are, Mr Michael Sch-"

Steve's expression changed. He rereads the last name printed on the page, glances up at Mike, staring at him with an unreadable expression. He gets up to pour himself a cup of coffee with shaky hands and a furrowed brow.

"I'm going to be brutally honest with you here Mike. Given your track record, your options are gonna be extremely limited."

"I'll take anything. Any job you've got," Mike bargains but Steve insists it's not that easy. Defeated, Mike gets up to leave before Steve quickly speaks again.

"I have a job for you." Mike sits back down. "It's a security gig. Full disclosure: it's not great. But you only have to worry about one thing, keeping people out. And well, keeping the place tidy but-"

"That's two things," Mike interrupts.

Steve shrugs. "Do you want the job or not?"

"How's the pay?"

"Not great, but the hours are worse," Steve explained with a smile.

Mike's expression fell, rubbing the back of his neck. He muttered out, "I can't do nights."

Steve chuckled. "That's such a shame." As Mike got up to leave, thanking him, Steve gave him his card.

"In case you change your mind."

The roads were always empty at this time of the night. Your car hummed quietly as you made your way to work. 11:48pm, the clock read. These night shifts had really messed up your sleep schedule. You yawned, pulling into the parking lot and stepping outside. The icy breeze ran straight through you, the cheap security vest doing little in the way of warmth. You hugged it tighter to yourself, eager to get inside and escape the cold. Immediately you were hit with the smell of dust and rot, something you had become familiar to over the past weeks. You navigated through the pizzeria, kicking broken glass from the many break-ins out of your way. Even with the curtains drawn shut, as you passed the animatronic show stage you could feel eyes burning into you. The whole place gave off an unsettling vibe. When you had gotten the job, they explained to you the owner was sentimental which is why he kept the place up, rather than demolishing it. You couldn't understand why. As you entered the security office, you grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. It had become routine. Doors would randomly open and more nights than not, footsteps could be heard down the hallway. Yet, you never saw anyone there. You sat down in the cracked leather chair, booting up the monitors to begin yet another long shift.

You swivelled around in your chair, trying to entertain yourself. Every room in the pizzeria was decked head to toe in cheap Freddy Fazbear merchandise. It left a sour taste in your mouth. As a child, you had spent countless hours in the pizzeria against your will. Instead of paying for childcare, or taking time off work, your parents would just dump you at the pizzeria. After school, weekends, whenever. From open to close. On more than one occasion, you had tried running home only to find the house locked. It was only once you started getting older they gave up on the pizzeria, leaving you at home instead. It was almost ironic that you chose this job after all the time you had spent here, but money is money. On the plus side, you never had to deal with annoying co-workers or rude customers. One by one, the hours slowly ticked by. Tonight was quiet. No sounds of footsteps or random clanging. Everyone was right in their place. Some nights you could've swore you had seen Foxy move. The curtains to Pirate's Cove didn't close properly, allowing you to see inside. Maybe you were just sleep deprived, but one night, about a week ago, it looked like foxy had moved and was staring directly down the camera. It was like they knew you were there. But after you had rubbed your eyes, he was back to normal. The second the clock struck six you were out, avoiding staring at the show stage as you rushed out the door.

Mike stared at the phone, idly toying with the business card Steve had given him the day before. He couldn't work nights, that hadn't changed, but he was at a point were that was his only choice. Aunt Jane was trying to take custody of Abby, citing Mike's inability to care for his younger sister and lack of employment. As right as she was, Aunt Jane was a bitch, and there is no way Mike was letting her take custody of Abby. Mike turned around to look at Abby who was sat in front of the TV, drawing as always. Abby didn't talk to Mike much, too absorbed in her drawings and conversations with her imaginary friends. He sighed and dialled in the number, holding the phone up to his ear as he waited for Steve.

"Hello?" The crackled voice through the phone answered.

"Hi Mr Raglan, it's Mike."

"Mr 'I can't work nights'." Mike could hear Steve's smirk through the phone.

"Right. I was just wondering if that job is still available?"

"Oh, it absolutely is. Why? Have you had a change of heart?"

Mike turns around again to look at Abby. "How soon can I start?"

As you were getting ready for work, the phone rings. You answer it, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you struggled to lace up your shoes. "Hello?" you asked.

"Hi, it's Steve Raglan," the man replies. Shocked, you grab the phone properly and sit up.

"Oh, Mr Raglan. What can I do for you?" You prayed to every God in existence that he wasn't firing you. As little as the job paid, you needed every cent.

Almost like he was reading your mind, Steve replied, "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But, we are making some changes to the job." You listened anxiously. "We've hired another security guard. Given how big the place is we thought you could use an extra set of hands. He's starting tonight so you'll have to train him but I'm sure you guys are gonna have no problem." Before you could protest, Steve wishes you a good night and hands up. You groan, leaning back in the chair. The solitude was one of the very few things you enjoyed about this job and now that was taken away from you. You snatched your keys and left, slamming the door behind you.

As you drove the the pizzeria, you wonder what kind of person was desperate enough to take this job. Well, you, but who else? You arrived in the parking lot at the same time as your new co-worker. As soon as he stepped out of the car, you noticed how tired he looked. His dark hair was messy and bags hung heavy under his eyes. He definitely didn't want to be here. The two of you walked silently to the door. You glanced at him and introduced yourself as you unlocked the doors.

"I'm Mike," he replied, barely looking at you. Okay, rude.

You let him inside and began to give him a rundown of the job. "It's not that hard," you explained. "Ninety percent of the time you're just sitting around watching the monitors. Occasionally I'll clean stuff up or go investigate a noise, but there haven't been any break-ins so far."

As you walk past the show stage, Mike peeks behind the curtains. You smirk and decide to give him a fright. You press the big, red Showtime! button next to the stage. Immediately, colourful lights illuminate the room and loud 80's music plays as the curtains draw back. Mike steps back in shock, watching as the animatronics on stage start to sing and move about. He shoots you a look of annoyance for scaring him. The show is cut short by the fuse box tripping, the lights flicker off and the curtain draws.

"Amazing, right?" you say sarcastically. "The power here is pretty shitty. If it goes off, there's a breaker. Just flip it off and on and it should work again."

Mike stayed silent as he followed you to the security office. He watched you curiously as you wedged a chair under the door.

"It's just for safe measure," you explain. He gives you a half-hearted nod and investigates the office. You sighed. It was going to be a long night if this is what he was like.

You turned on the monitors and showed Mike how to use them. The technology was old and half of the buttons were jammed and caked in dust. It didn't take Mike long to figure out how it worked.

"I'm gonna do a check of all the rooms. Just keep and eye on the cameras and give me call if you see anything," you said. Mike gave you a quite okay, keeping his eyes on the screens. You left and wandered through the abandoned pizzeria. As bad as it sounded, you didn't think he would last. Why was he so unfriendly? Nothing you had said or done was mean yet he was so standoff-ish. The building groaned and the old lights flickered. From down the hallway, you heard a hum. It sounded like someone singing. You stopped in your tracks, pointing the flashlight down the hall. You never heard anyone come in, but something about the song didn't sound human. It was familiar, something you had heard before. You slowly walked away and snuck back into the security room.

"You okay?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, yeah..." you trailed off. "Yeah I'm fine. Did you see anything on the cameras?"

Mike shook his head. You sighed and slumped down into the chair. You must just be tired.

It was only 3am. You looked over to Mike who was barely awake. "You can sleep," you offered. "You look really tired."

"I'm fine," Mike insisted but you narrowed your eyes.

"These shifts will ruin your sleep schedule. Try get some while you can."

Mike chuckled. "It's ruined enough thanks."

Your eyes caught onto the book on the table. Dream Theory. Curious, you picked it up and skimmed through the pages. You looked up at Mike with a slight smile. "I didn't expect you to be into this stuff." Mike looked embarrassed.

"Apparently, everything you ever hear or see is stored somewhere in your mind," Mike began to explain. "You can access them through your dreams when you use familiar sights and sounds," he paused. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

That was the most Mike has said all night. You shook your head. "I think it's cool. I don't really get it, but it's cool." He looked surprised by your response.

Slowly, your shift came to an end. The sun was slowly starting to rise. You were ready to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Mike looked like he felt the same. He intrigued you. yes, he was closed off and honestly a bit rude, but there was definitely more to him than he lets on. The metal of the gate was freezing against your hands as you locked up the pizzeria, your breath visible the the cold morning air. Mike tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, squinting as the bright morning sun beams into his eyes. As your make your way to your car, you give Mike a small wave.

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

He nods and you think you almost see him smile. "See you tomorrow."

#mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #william afton

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