#His Personal Assistant

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Cam-Girl!Reader: His Personal Assistant - Part 2[*]

A/N: This one’s pretty light for October, but I wanted to have a bit of fun :)

Warnings: masturbation, sex toys, exhibitionism (?)

Word Count: 3,378

-Part 1-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Your lips part, back bowing off the bed as you tip over the edge.

The small red dot flashes, showing the camera’s still recording, and if you squint, you can see the comments rolling in. Complimenting your form, your body, your moans, everything. Occasionally a critique from a guy who probably hasn’t been within three metres of a woman, but… Well, they brought you to fame. Of course there’s going to be the occasional creep.

Your lipstick’s smudged a little from when you slapped your hand over your mouth, and you run your tongue over your teeth before sitting upright, facing the camera. “Well, that’s it for tonight guys,” you pant, your tits pressing together as you lean closer to the recorder.

“As always, exclusive content will be going up on my private channel, so if you want to see a little more of me…” You give a feline grin, as your spine arches, thighs parting a little wider to serve as a reminder of what sort of content they’ll be getting.

How much is it. why isnt it free

Exclusive contant????

Id fuc u so good bby

The usual assortment of comments roll in, and you scan for a final talking point.

You’re working a job?

Bingo.

You give a wide smile, settling back onto your knees so they have a full view of your pretty nipples and the mess decorating your thighs. “I am working a job, yes! Stuffy corporate business—lots of men who could use a little fun, if you know what I mean,” you purr, winking at the camera, shifting to be comfortable without compromising their view.

You should definitely fuck your boss

Lush shout me out!

Where u working at

The smile widens into a grin, “I should fuck my boss? I did ask you guys that, didn’t I?” You laugh, dipping your head before straightening again, feigning a little embarrassment. Human. Draw them in. “He’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Could really use a night out with a woman—or two,” you grin, tongue flicking out to wet your lips.

“Would you guys watch that? If I get him to fuck me?” You ask, already knowing the answers. Sure enough, the enthusiastic encouragements come spilling up the screen in rapid succession to one another. You laugh again, looking away from the camera, “well, I’m not sure if I can promise that, buuuttt…” Eyes return to the camera, looking up through your lashes, lips lifting into a feline grin. “The office I’ve been given doesn’t have any security cameras in, so… I could accidentally slip over one day… You know, happens to the best of us, sometimes,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe I could record a short little video for you guys.”

More questions spill in, asking for details, but now you’ve whet their appetite, it’s time to pull away. “Well, that’s it for tonight, everyone. Tune in next week for the stream, and get on that private channel for some additional content,” you purr, reaching forward to turn off the recorder. “Maybe I’ll do some personalised videos to someone who tips well.”

And it’s off.

You flop back into your bed, the vibrator bouncing besides you, arousal already drying on the rubbery toy. Excitement sizzles in your belly—filming yourself at work.

It could go so wrong…

————

You lean over his desk, the deep V in the neck of your navy dress showing off just a little too much cleavage as you set the mug of coffee down.

To your utter irritation, he hadn’t shown any appreciation for the last one. Made by a professional! Now, you’ve taken to stopping in at different cafes, just to see if one of them can get it right. So far: nothing. Every single one has been sub-par, and it’s getting on your nerves.

It’s been nearly a full week since your first day, and you’re still no closer to cracking him. He’s almost always submerged in some sort of Matter, dealing with organising files on his computer, or stamping out email after email. Really, you don’t understand how he doesn’t bore himself to tears every day.

The only highlight has been Gabrielle who seems to be the only spark of life to exist on this miserable floor.

You’ve been on the lower ones, too, and it really is just this floor that seems to be completely devoid of any kind of life. Nobody’s talking by the water cooler, no hushed gossiping girls by the photocopier, and not even a single person waiting in the waiting room. It’s ridiculous. The only way you’re saved from insanity is the brief interactions you have with Gabe, and those are still too infrequent for you to consider yourself safe from the madness.

You sigh internally, moving onto the next stack of papers he’d made that need photocopying, swinging your hips subtly as you depart from the office. Not even the slight prickle of hairs rising at the nape of your neck to signal a sneaky peep.

Stick-in-the-mud.

Putting your bad luck aside, you begin formulating a rough outline for when you’ll have the chance to record that sweet, little video you kind of promised. Well. Technically you didn’t promise, so it’s not owed or anything, but…

It’s exciting!

Rhys had specifically told you not to—so you have to. That’s just how these things work, and he’s a fool if he doesn’t understand that appeal.

Either way, you’re looking forward to it. Fuck him if he thinks he’s going to spoil your fun.

————

You slide your phone back into your bag, hastily wiping down the chair and opening the windows. You don’t want the cleaners getting any ideas, nor do you feel it would really fair to subject them to that sort of mess.

A quick sanitisation and few short spritzes of perfume later, and the room seems pretty normal. The small remote is still on the desk, vibrator deep inside your warm, wet cunt. You should probably take it out, but… It’s fun, and you could use a little excitement. Especially working long, boring hours like you currently are.

The door to your office swings open, and you spin on your heel, taking a startled step back, nearly toppling onto the desk as you do so. Your widened eyes flit to the source of the noise, just as Azriel steps over the threshold. He halts, pausing as if he hadn’t been expecting you.

With a hand over your heart, you lean fully against the desk, legs still a little weak from the orgasm. “What are you doing in here?” You ask, too rushed and too breathless to be acceptable. You clear your throat, straightening your dress—hoping you don’t smell of sweat.

Sharp hazel eyes run over your form, and it’s the most he’s looked at you since you arrived here. You’re unaccustomed to being at the centre of his attention, and all of a sudden you find yourself flushing under his scrutinising gaze.

His brow narrows, closing the door behind him, holding up the papers in his hand. “I was going to put these on your desk,” he says, moving silently across the room, aiming for where you’re leaning. “For tomorrow,” he explains.

You stiffen, then dart away—he’ll be able to smell sex on you if he gets too close, so you shift to be the opposite side of the furniture. “I was wondering which demon was sneaking those in,” you joke, bringing your gaze to meet his. It’s so piercing and intent, it’s difficult to maintain. Suddenly struggling to function under his attention. “Looks like it was you,” you smile.

Azriel’s eyes stab into you, raking beneath your skin, and you fight the urge to fidget. Instead you straighten your back, spine curving enough to push your chest out—just a little.

Your attention flicks over his shoulder to the door, which you know you locked. “Say, how did you get in here? I know I locked it so I wouldn’t be disturbed,” you ask, peering at him from across the desk. You’re now leaning the majority of your weight on the spinning chair, legs trembling slightly.

He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder for a dreadful second if he somehow knows. You dismiss the thought quickly. There’s no way he does. You sprayed that perfume, and it’s pretty strong. He can’t have figured it out, there’s not enough evidence to even suggest you’d been doing anything other than flicking through emails and moving files about to the correct Matter.

He pulls something from his pocket, holing it up the metal ring. “Skeleton key,” he answers, simply. You nearly blanch at the information—he could have walked in at any moment. A flicker of arousal licks between your thighs as you imagine him walking in on you like that. How would he react?

He’d probably be pissed off for potentially getting some files dirty. Typical stick-in-the-mud behaviour.

You shift on your feet uncomfortably, “so, you have access to any room in this building?”

“That is how a skeleton key works, yes.” You blink at his tone. Narrow your eyes. The dry tone…the slight tug on his lips, as if suppressing a… “Oh my god you made a— You have humour.”

You stare at him, slightly mortified the thought slipped out, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Simply raises a brow, “I’m loosely acquainted with the concept.” You stare longer, unsure how to react, lips nervously twitching up at the edges. You nod, slowly, blinking—dumbfounded.

His lips curve almost imperceptibly, and you stiffen, for once unsure what to do, how to react. He seems to have difficulty suppressing his smile as he takes in your reaction, “I had no idea humour would have such a profound effect on you.”

You snap back to reality, tightening your grip on the chair. “No, it’s not that,” you explain hurriedly. He raises a brow, lips still slightly quirked in a way that only magnifies his beauty. Classically complimenting his features.

He’s waiting for your explanation.

You flush, realising you don’t have one.

“I just…didn’t expect it, is all,” you try, concealing your wince. But the slight lift of his mouth doesn’t fade, and you realise you should be using the time to make a move on him. Drop a couple of hints. Maybe he’ll be different outside of working hours.

Azriel opens his mouth to respond, and you prepare yourself for whatever quip he’s going to surprise you with, but instead his eyes flick down to your desk. More specifically, the small remote that’s connected to the device inside of you.

Your heart actually stops in your chest for a moment, time slowing as his brow narrows, and—picks it up.

For the few seconds he examines it, you’re paralysed, holding your breath and praying for the love of god he doesn’t recognise it.

“What is this?” He asks, and you have to control the sigh of relief that wants to whoosh from your lungs. You’re saved. “I have no idea,” you lie, unable help the smile that’s graced your lips.

His brow narrows, eyes flicking to yours as he holds the remote in his large hand, making it look tiny. “It’s not yours?” He asks, and you mentally kick yourself for the mistake. You should have said it was some kind of charger!

But you’re stuck now, so you nod stiffly, feigning ignorance.

His brow narrows further, flipping the device over in his hand, making you tense. If he presses one of those buttons… You don’t allow yourself to consider that path. No way.

“Are they for the lights?” He asks, peering closer at the small buttons. Seven in total, all different types of vibration. Labelled with their number, nothing else. You shrug, stepping out from behind your chair, moving to walk over to him, “no idea. I’ll drop it off at reception or something and see if they—”

He presses the the third button.

You stumble but catch yourself, thankful for the whisper-quiet motor. He won’t be able to hear anything, thank god.

Teeth dig into your lip as you halt, fingers pressing onto the hard wood of the desk, a shaky breath exhaling from your lips. Your mind scrambles for an excuse to take it from him, but you come up empty. All you can think about is the high-speed buzzing, how good it feels against your sensitive walls.

“Azriel…” you manage, unsurely, becoming temporarily breathless when those hazel eyes slice into, carving your exterior clean off. “I’m not sure it’s wise to press those if we don’t know what they do,” you argue, fairly soundly considering the situation.

He weighs your point, peering at the remote again. “Maybe if it’s on a different setting we’ll see what it is,” he says instead, and you have no time to prepare as he presses the fourth button. Your thighs tremble, nails digging into your palm.

“I’m really not sure—”

Fifth button.

You stumble backward, knees hitting your chair as you collapse down. The fall pushing the toy deeper inside of you, brushing against that wonderfully delicious spot, switching to a patterned pulse. Your teeth dig into your lip as you shift in the seat, attempting to relieve the pressure, but it only leads to the toy pushing harder into that spot, abusing it continuously as you bite back any reactions that would be off.

His attention switches to you, and you nearly come apart right then and there.

“Are you okay?” He questions, concern shining in his sharp eyes. You manage a nod, fingers digging into the arms of your chair, attempting to sit upright. You need an excuse to leave, to go to the bathroom, or something. If you don’t soon, you’re going to fall apart right before his eyes, and there’ll be no way for you to conceal that.

“Absolutely luscious,” you reply out of habit, mind too preoccupied to sift through each word, switching onto autopilot. His brow quirks, and you could really moan at the sight. Thankfully, you don’t, clamping your teeth together as you dig crescent shapes into the heel of your palm.

“Luscious?” He repeats, the letters dragging appetising from his throat, coated in something dark and syrupy, something that would melt and splash over your skin. He sounds vaguely confused, but you have no time to unpack that.

“Delicious,” you correct, weakly, “I meant delicious.”

Upon seeing his confused look, your mind whirrs and spins for an explanation. A dizzy smile makes its way to your lips, hopefully just appearing a little drowsy from a long day of hard work. “I know it’s a weird phrase. My friend and I used to say it all the time because it made us laugh.” The smile becomes a little too sleepy looking, appearing closer to blissed out. “Guess it stuck.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll believe you. His gaze pierces into you, and you tighten around the vibrator, bringing the sensations…deeper.

“Full of kinks and quirks, aren’t you?” He drawls, attention returning to the device, looking ready to press another button. “Maybe you should stop messing around with that,” you suggest with forced lightness. “What if it’s messing with someone’s computer?” You argue, being dragged closer and closer to the edge with every second. “I can think of at least one Director who would be pissed if someone was messing around after-hours and accidentally deleted some files.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, then says, with a little too much pride, “every single file on my computer is backed up and stored elsewhere. If someone hasn’t taken precautions, that’s their own fault.” And presses the sixth button.

If you had been standing, you would have collapsed.

As it is, your spine arches ever so slightly, and you shift in the chair again, fingers digging into the arms. The pleasure hums between your legs, and for a second you’re worried he’ll be able to see arousal dripping to the floor.

“Either way,” he says, seemingly completely unaware of the hell and heaven he’s putting you through—for better or for worse. “It doesn’t seem to be doing anything.” And sets it down on your desk.

Without thought or explanation, you snatch it up, holding the power button for three second. Blissful reprieve soothes your nerves, even as a small part wishes for her release. At the odd look he’s giving you, eyes gleaming with something you can’t read, you manage to fumble out a vague explanation for your antsy behaviour, “I’m a bit anal about things like that.”

Not your best word choice, but it’ll have to suffice.

“About strange devices and stranger buttons?” He asks, and you could hiss at him. He so nearly— You don’t even bother expending energy on what would have happened if he hadn’t put it down. How you would have come apart right before his eyes. How furious Rhys would be, if it got back to him.

You’re not sure Azriel would be the type of man your usual persuasions would work on.

So you just nod, tiredly. “It’s like with plug sockets,” you manage, albeit a bit breathlessly. “I can’t stand when they’re on but not plugged in. Seems like a waste of some kind. Bothers me.”

Azriel simply hums, making your thighs squeeze together, shifting nervously as you try to relieve the intense buzzing feeling—the memory of those delicious, rapid-fire pulses.

Your breathing begins to even out, and you reach for your bag, hoping to get out of the room as soon as possible. Escape the situation. You must seem a little too out of it, though.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Azriel asks in that usual disinterested, monotone voice. Deep and rich. You manage to nod, “slightly unaccustomed to working a nine to five,” you explain, grabbing the device. “I’ll drop this off at reception on my way out,” you mutter, silently cursing your carelessness.

He shifts, and you realise he’s checking the time, brow raising. “A seven-thirty to half-ten, is more like it,” he corrects. You nearly groan as you realise how long you’ve been in this damn building for. In fact, you do groan, covering your face with your hands.

Heat shoots straight to your cunt when he laughs—actually laughs. Deep and delicious.

Bloody hell.

He’s so…different, outside work hours.

Maybe… No. No way. It wouldn’t work.

Unless…

“How was the coffee today?” You ask, sounding a bit too casual even to your own ears. His lips quirk and that’s it. You’re done for. He’s far too attractive to be working a job like this.

Well, you’re working a job like this, so you suppose it’s not too unbelievable.

Still.

“You can do better,” he replies, a faint smirk on his mouth. Damn him. You narrow your eyes, half teasing, half entirely serious. You take pleasure very seriously, even if it’s not sexual, and it seems his coffee may be the only thing that keeps him from throttling someone in this job.

“I don’t even know what I’m aiming for, Azriel,” you point out, a genuine smile curving your lips. “How do I know you’re not just sending me on a wild goose chase to create this perfect cup, huh?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it and keep trying,” he replies easily, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes.

“Or,” you say, and you can’t believe you’re actually trying this. “You could give me a taste of this heavenly coffee. Firstly, to prove that it actually exists,” —you glare at him— “and secondly, to see if it’s better than the ones I’ve made.” You offer him a challenging smile, “because I’m going to be furious if I have a sip and it’s not even half-decent.”

He regards you silently, features unreadable, but you don’t retract the offer. Stand with a straightened spine, staring him down.

“Okay, then.” He relents, and you blink. Wow. Great.

Where from here?

His lips curve into a quiet smile, “I’ll show you tomorrow. Be ready to leave at five past one.”

Huh.

That settles it, then.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming

His P.A. Taglist: @i-am-infinite @going-through-shit

[canisalbus]

Have you drawn Vittorio before? I'd like to see what he looks like pls.

Vittorio's design has given me more trouble than I expected, I'm still not sure if I'm happy with his looks. He's Machete's trusted personal secretary, a small and modest but resourceful and resilient man. I think he's somewhere in his mid 20's.

[evevsy]

POV hire employees based on their fishy appearance

[egophiliac]

hiii im sure you’ve answered this before but in regards to your twst x Pokémon, how do you choose which Pokémon go give to the cast?? really curious since your choices are unique :O

unique in a good way, I hope? 😅 (jk jk I haven't come across too many pokemon AUs, so I was going in without preconceptions, I guess!) I was sorta aiming somewhere between doing, like, a full AU with internal consistency and everything, and just picking entirely based on theme/character, so maybe that's why! basically I just set some arbitrary rules (no legendaries/no repeats/evo stages based on year) and then went on ~vibes~. a couple were also suggestions (thank you guys!) and last-minute decisions, so it was a bit of a delightful mess of ideas!

my one regret is that I should have given Riddle a Togedemaru after all. ...you know what, he can have one now, why not

[woolysstuff]

look at them go

The scientist dudes but i gave them a redesign

old designs undercut

[actualfrog]

Doodles of a vague modern AU

[frnkiebby]

literally me today~🎃

[ikram1909]

https://x.com/mireiaok/status/1757150447284977795?s=46&t=Y0Md76L8FR9umM1nmCkHnQ

the guy with the glasses’s reaction 😭😭😭

The man was getting first class entertainment I'm jealous 😭😭😭 Gavi's so energetic even as a spectator he can't just sit still and watch I love him 😭😭

[total-drama-brainrot]

Island Assistant Noah AU, Noah stays Chris' Assistant all throughout Island + Action + World Tour... How would this version of Assistant Noah react to Alejandro's flirting?... Would Alejandro be amused, when he later learns that Noah got himself eliminated ON PURPOSE in Season 1, and Noah became 'Chris Mclean's Assistant' as a punishment? 😎

Well, honestly I imagine most versions of Noah would react to flirting with the same level of scepticism and mistrust- he's not exactly a catch, and he's aware of the fact. Having someone as conventionally attractive and evidently conniving as Alejandro display interest in someone as not those things as Noah is would be a major warning flag for anyone with any semblance of sense.

Of course, Alejandro's interest was initially a ploy to try and weasel out information from Chris' personal assistant- someone who's high enough in the pecking order of internship to at least have some rudimentary knowledge on the oncoming challenges, but unimportant enough to fly under the radar when it comes to helping the competitors- but after Noah's initial refusal, Alejandro finds himself genuinely interested in him, at least in the same curious way a scientist regards an outlying factor in their studies. Mostly because Alejandro's very much so not used to being spurned, so Noah's blatant dislike of him is enough to fuel his curiosity (similarly to how Heather's hostility to him piqued Alejandro's interest in canon).

So he goes out of his way to bother Noah at any given opportunity. Not that it's hard; due to Noah's job he's practically always somewhere on the jet, since it'd be pretty hard to, you know, personally assist someone without being in their vicinity. Noah's disgruntlement with the constant flirting isn't quite enough to warrant him putting in the effort to avoid Alejandro, however, so the two of them consequently end up spending a lot of time together. Most of which is Alejandro trying and failing to fluster Noah, or otherwise pry competition-valuable information from him. Or, as their conversations become more frequent, he tries to get Noah to disclose something about himself that isn't already apparent- to very little success. Alejandro does find out that Noah's oddly touchy about his position as Chris' PA, though, and stores away that little tid bit of information to exploit later.

Alejandro inevitably finds himself almost enamoured by Noah's caginess and his dry wit. He's surprised to find that he actually enjoys Noah's company, even when it doesn't offer him any of the advantages he initially sought out the assistant for, which is such a novel concept for him. So of course he resolves to spend more time around Noah, to try and figure out what this feeling is, and if it'll affect his stance in the competition- not at all because he wants to spend more time around the cynic, obviously.

And he inevitably becomes more and more comfortable around Noah's stoic bluntness, so much so that he starts showing hints of his true colours around Noah. To the point where the bookworm's initial distaste for Alejandro begins to thaw under the warmth of his actual personality, instead of the coldness of his "perfect Burromuerto" mask. (This is the part where mutual feelings begin to blossom, if you couldn't tell.)

Alejandro ends up spending more time with the off-screen assistant than he does with the entirety of his actual team, which grates on the producer's nerves since they don't have a lot of non-challenge footage of their main antagonist (outside of his frequent use of the confessional, that is). So, he's asked to spend less time around Know-it-all Noah and more time around his actual team, so they have some footage to work with, as Noah's PA contract prevents them from using "unnecessary footage" of him on the show; since he doesn't interact with anyone during challenges or plot-relevant moments, the editors are practically forbidden from using any of the footage Noah is in. Alejandro reluctantly complies.

And it's during this enforced bonding time with his team that the topic of Noah comes up. Owen's the one who initially comments about Alejandro spending a lot of him with his "little buddy", which absolutely doesn't (does) spark an ember of possessive jealousy within Alejandro, prompting him to ask how Owen's so familiar with Noah if he's not even supposed to interact with the contestants. Owen reveals that Noah was a contestant, at least for a little bit, before he was eliminated early in Island.

Alejandro's interest in Noah and the mysteries around him skyrockets. As a former contestant and, apparently, someone who's familiar with pretty much all of his competitors, Noah has even more potential to supply him with valuable information that would assist him in winning the million. He later chases down the cynic and confronts him about his extremely limited time on the Island, to which Noah is initially evasive about, before he- in a ticked off outburst, since Alejandro just won't drop the subject- admits that he got himself eliminated on purpose and working as Chris' PA is pretty much just his punishment for doing so.

And Alejandro's curiosity turns into confusion. Why would Noah intentionally have himself eliminated from the competition when a million dollars is on the line? Noah quickly corrects him that, in the first season, the prize money was a measly 100k, and then proceeds to explain exactly why and how he got himself booted from Camp Wawanakwa- Alejandro watches the annoyance on Noah's face gradually soften out into a smug sort of pride as he recalls his past endeavours. Then that pride is quickly wiped away by a bitter sourness as Noah recounts how his stunt essentially trapped him under the employment of Total Drama, namely Chris McLean.

But Alejandro's still caught up in the glimpse he got of Noah's scheming potential. The glee he saw in the other's eyes as he explained how easy it was to rile up his former teammates enough to vote him from the island, how just a few carefully worded comments were all it took to grant Noah an extended vacation at a five star resort.

Dots are connected; Alejandro suddenly understands why Noah's so resistant to his manipulative efforts, why Noah always seemed to clock exactly what he was attempting to do and shut it down with cold indifference or a snarky comment. The pessimist before him was his equal, at least in terms of strategy. Though how he applied his trickster mindset was a little unconventional. The archvillain is more than intrigued by now, he's utterly smitten... with the idea of having Noah as his "right hand man". Nothing more.

Alejandro's left to wonder just how much more he could accomplish within the confines of the jet if he had Noah's brilliant mind assisting him in his schemes.

[homoeroticgrappling]

GCWrestling sold out tonight in Rochester. Watch MDKHAUSEN Vs VIF on FiteTV app.

[maskyartist]

okay so "tomorrow" got late BUT heres my goofy ass Clay/Creek idea :)

the entire summery is under the cut but in case ur curious dont worry

Branch eventually finds out :D

more info under the cut!

Once the Putt Putts end up getting moved to Trollstopia (i imagine they have their own sectioned off area, they're not exactly "pop trolls" anymore yknow? they got a lil makeshift spot they're turning into a new mini golf course as we speak), Clay was properly hired as Viva's royal advisor. Aka her assistant :)

He loves doing all his usual serious boy work, but its gotten hard doing it by himself now that it's less "trying to keep a small community from burning down" and more "trying to convince all the other genre's theyre not feral as hell". its a lotta work, along with keeping up with Putt Putts and their wants and needs for their new kingdom

So Clay puts out a flier for an assistant position and after weeks of no luck, he gets a hit and hires the guy as soon as he can!

Creek has been living on the outskirts of Pop Village ever since the "Bergen" incident, too afraid of the consequences of his actions to try and rejoin the Pop Trolls. Instead he ends up watching them build a newer area with Trolls he's never even met before.

Creek begins exploring the Putt Putt Range and is happy to be greeted as a full stranger. This spot might be safe. Social, not too far from his "home" (a tucked away cave in the forest), and no one knows what he did. He can start over!

Even better, there's a job offer for Putt Putt Range specifically. Hes not one for hard work, but after living on his own for long enough, hes sick of having to fight for his own food. He'd rather have a paycheck and something MUCH better then whatever crap he finds lying around. Or has to cook. Even worse.

Clay may be desperate but Creek does do good work. Being his assistant is thankfully rather simple. Creek is in charge of smaller, less important file information, along with manning the front and taking requests for the Putt Putts on what should be done to the Range. All in all? It's peaceful. It really does feel like a fresh start, and even better? Clay is...really nice. Patient, understanding, he listens and Creek has been alone so long it's just nice to be heard.

Things could really take a turn for the better.

...and then he learns who Clay's brothers are and all hell breaks loose :)

(its a lot of back and forth, Clay learning new info and having to just sorta grapple with it, being caught in the middle of a family feud situation. He cant STAY with Creek/keep him on staff if he wants to keep Branch happy, but he also doesnt wanna FIRE Creek because he hasnt hurt the Putt Putts. He has no reason to fire him, family business is just that. Family business. Its not for a professional setting.

Clay's caught between a rock and a hard place, and he's gonna have to squeeze himself out before he breaks.)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Cam-Girl!Reader: His Personal Assistant

A/N: I just— Azriel in a suit and tie? Getting all hot and bothered because he recognises reader from her late-night streams that he spends his evenings watching? How am I supposed to resist that?

Also, apologies to anyone named Kieth :)

Warnings: slight work-place harassment

-Part 2-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Really?”

Helion gives you a smile, “I told you: anything. I can’t imagine why you would want to, but—”

You’ve already launched yourself at him, arms wrapping securely over his wonderfully muscled shoulders, dark skin contrasting gloriously with the crisp white polo he’s wearing that stretches over his chest. The top few buttons are undone in the summer heat, giving a simultaneously tantalising and teasing view. Enough to have your mouth watering, enough to pique your interest, but not enough to reveal anything else. An appetising suggestion.

“Thank-you!” You squeeze him tight and his laugh reverberates through your breasts, nipples peaking in response to the deliciously deep sound. His large hands span your waist, squeezing back and his breath tickles your neck. You press a smacking kiss to his cheekbone, sliding down his body until your flats land on the terrace—warmed by the sun.

“I’m not sure you’ll be thanking me by the end of the month, Luscious,” he chuckles, using your stage name, releasing you as you step away again, still smiling broadly. “I think you’ll be bored to tears by the end of your first day there.”

“Nonsense. I’ve always wanted to see how normal people live their lives,” you counter, grinning confidently. “Besides, how did you manage? It’s not like I have a particularly outstanding CV or anything…” You squint your eyes at him, “what strings did you pull to get me this job?”

Helion smiles, gesturing to continue the walk through his garden. “A good friend from my university days owed me a favour for something in the past,” he explains, eyes twinkling. “One of his directors has a habit of overworking himself—he thinks a personal assistant might do the trick. You’ll be there to give them an extension on finding a suitable fill for the role.”

Your nose crinkles a little, “so…what’ll I be doing? And what sort of job is it? Tell me I’m going to get one of those fancy chairs. You know, all big and executive? That have wheels on the bottom and spin around?” You ask excitedly. You gasp, “will I get a desk, too?” Helion laughs again, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You’ll be filled in on the details when you get there. As far as I know, it’ll be fairly straight forward: photocopying, emailing, getting coffees—general admin tasks.”

Sounds fun—interesting.

“You probably won’t sit in on any meetings, since he runs a pretty prestigious law firm, but hopefully it won’t be too much of a bore.” He winks over his shoulder and you grin broadly. “How big is the building? Is it far from me?”

“Yes, it’s a skyscraper. And about a twenty minute drive—if you avoid rush hour,” he replies, moving toward the fountain. You could whoop with joy, but manage to restrain yourself. “Thanks again, Helion,” you say, still bursting with happiness—you’re going to get to work a real, normal job!

Your boss just grins over his shoulder, eyes gleaming, “don’t thank me yet.”

You don’t really consider his warning, instead launching more questions his way: What will you wear? How long is the work day? Will you get a decent lunch break?

————

Monday morning, you’re up and ready.

You’d selected your clothes the day before, having gone on a mini shopping spree to get in some appropriate attire for a law firm—which was both and arduous and fun task. A law firm…how grown-up!

The week before, you’d poured over the short and concise email you’d been forwarded from Helion, informing you about dress codes, break times, and when you’re expected to be there, accompanied with parking directions. You’d smiled to yourself that night, before stripping off your clothes, hopping in your shower, then switching on the webcam as you settled in your spare bedroom.

Helion hadn’t been lying when he’d told you the building was a skyscraper, complete with large windows and—most impressively—solar panels covering the elevated roof. The sun is out, making you second guess your cardigan, but hopefully there will be AC inside to counteract the heat. Checking your phone for the email, you step inside the building.

Five minutes later, you’re knocking on a looming door that leads to a room overlooking the entire city—he’s on the top floor. When there’s no answer, you peer at your phone, rereading the email. You’re definitely where you’re supposed to be—maybe a little early, but that’s never a bad thing. You perk up when you hear your name, footsteps drawing closer as you turn to greet whoever it is.

You conceal your shock perfectly—he’s so young! He can’t be older than his early-thirties—and so handsome, too! What a pleasant surprise. Your red-painted lips split into a carefully crafted smile, designed to be both alluring and demure, extending your hand before you, “I am expected, aren’t I?”

The man stops before you, eyes flicking to your hand as he grasps it firmly, gaze piercing into you. The shake is firm and assertive, more of a yank on your arm than the polite gesture you had expected. “You were supposed to wait at reception to be escorted to my office,” he says in a stern, but not unkind, voice. “I was expecting to find you there, but it seems you like to take initiative.”

Your smile morphs to a grin, “that I do.”

His lip twitches, but he gestures to his door, walking inside as he moves for his desk, muttering something under his breath: handful, indeed. You shut the door behind yourself, the slightly clouded floor to ceiling windows that separate his office from the hallway registering dimly in the back of your mind.

“You must be Rhys, then. The friend Helion mentioned,” you probe, taking the seat in front of his large desk. The chair is wonderfully comfy, making you want to purr. Somehow, you don’t feel he would appreciate the reaction. “Rhysand, yes. But you will not be addressing me so,” he replies smoothly, opening his suitcase and pulling out his laptop. “How much has Helion told you about your work experience?” He asks without looking up, preoccupied with commencing what is probably his daily routine of work.

“He said something about working as a temporary P.A. to one of your workaholic directors,” you drawl. There’s that lip twitch again. Not too bad, then. First impressions seem to be going okay. “He also mentioned not getting any ideas concerning bringing my prior work experience to your firm,” you say smoothly, offering a polite smile, watching for his reaction.

He doesn’t remove his attention from the laptop, deft fingers already flying over the keys, features a mask of vague amusement as he gives a brief nod. Right, a power play, then. He wants to make it clear that you’re working for him—one step out of line and you’re done. At least, that seems to be the rough message he’s sending.

“Say, did Helion mention anything about that?” You ask, feeling him out a little. “About what?” He asks, absently. Definitely a line in the sand. Helion must have mentioned your attitude. Fine, then. You can play pretty-personal-assistant. You can be a good little corporate slave. That’s your talent, after all: switching your personas to keep people at your feet.

“About my main job. In entertainment?” You ask, the smile turning demure, while keeping your tone polite. “I know his own line of work, yes. And no.” He looks up from his laptop, eyes turning cold and stern, “you are not to indulge in any sort of work that does not relate directly to tasks you have been given by my Director.”

Your smile widens a little, “understood, Mr. Rhysand Sir.”

————

Helion hasn’t prepared you enough.

Why hadn’t he mentioned the man you’d be working for has looks to put your male counterparts to shame? With a face like that, you’re mildly surprised your underwear stays on and doesn’t drop to your ankles. That a puddle of wetness doesn’t seep into the chair you’re currently seated on.

You stand to greet him, holding out your hand, hoping he’ll be a little gentler than Rhys was. But as soon as his eyes settle on you—red lips, pretty pearl earrings, sweet little pencil skirt—nothing. Not even a blink, or a double-take. Not even a roll of his throat. And it seems his eyes have already flicked back to the CEO by the time you’ve realised he is blatantly refusing to shake your hand. Your teeth grind as you bring your arm back to yourself. For a brief moment you wonder if it’s distain for your occupation—but Rhys had made it very clear he’s the only one who knows about your situation, so it can’t be that.

Of course you get stuck with the pissy, entitled Director who probably thinks women still belong solely in the kitchen and are only good for popping out babies one after another. You feel bad for his wife—if he has one. You should have given some thought regarding to the type of men you’ll be dealing within this discipline. Probably grew up with topiary surrounding his father’s estate, with an obscenely long gated driveway to flaunt it. His own house probably came with underfloor heating and bedrooms that are purely decorative. Probably says scone instead of scon.

“This is my Director, Azriel. Azriel, this young lady will be helping relieve your obscene workload,” Rhys introduces, a plain smile on his handsome face that somehow isn’t as interesting now that this classically-carved, marvellously-muscled, entitled ass has entered your world. “This is her?” He asks, keeping his attention off you. Not showing so much as an ounce of respect. He’s getting on your nerves and you’ve known him less than a minute.

Rhys nods his head once, a swift, concise movement, “correct. You will show her around the firm, demonstrate how to use the necessary equipment, and make sure she is working to the overall exceptional degree that is expected within my company.” Internally, you’re trying to keep yourself together—remarkably tricky. Working to not just a satisfying, but an exceptional degree? With this stick in the mud? All too suddenly, Helion’s warnings are making sense.

Azriel barely nods, “understood.”

He turns for the door, a silent dismissal passing between them, not once looking at you as he makes for the exit. It takes less than a second for you to realise he’s expecting you to follow behind him, like an obedient dog, but you manage to make a graceful exit, muttering a relatively polite, thank-you for your time to Rhys before you’re striding to match Azriel’s brisk pace. You’re not sure he’s even doing it intentionally, with those long legs of his—finely muscled, just like the rest of him. Dickhead.

————

The first place he takes you to is his own office, stopping by to drop off his satchel and turn his laptop on, preparing for the long day ahead. Then he’s escorting you out, striding down the hallway, directing you to a new location. It’s all rather terrifying—the speed and precision with which he conducts himself. Brutal efficiency lacing every movement.

You pick up your own pace to match his, having to kick up to a slightly faster walk than usual to keep up with him. He shows you to your temporary office—across the hall from his own—along with how to use the photocopying feature on the chunky block of machinery at the side of the lounge, as well as how to scan documents in. He shows you once how to do everything, then lets you try your hand at it. Unsurprisingly, you stumble the first two times, either forgetting to select an A4 sized piece of paper, or forgetting to make sure the documents are scanned in with colour.

Despite his previously sour attitude, he’s patient with your learning, not snapping at you when you get something wrong. Not encouraging you, either. You can’t tell where you stand, and as a socialite, it unnerves you—you can’t get a read on him. But you can’t let him intimidate you. He seems like the type to go for blood if he detects it.

“We’ll move on to filing,” he says, once you successfully scan, and photocopy a Grant of Probate, and driving licence. “Any questions?” You get the vague impression it’s not a sincere offer, but maybe you’re making unjust inferences based on the assumptions of his character. Maybe that’s also why you ask the first thing that pops into your mind. “Do you think you could slow your pace a little?” You give him a shy smile, aiming for humour as an ice-breaker, “I’m surprised my heels haven’t fallen off with how fast you’re going.”

His features don’t shift. Not even a twitch of the lips, like with Rhys. He only nods curtly, then sets off at a slightly less demanding pace than before, heading to his office. On the way, you pass by a young man who seems to be a similar age to you—perhaps a little younger— with light brown skin, eyes the colour of matcha tea, and lashes you would die for. He gives you a polite, albeit shy, smile as he passes, which you return.

“Who was that?” You ask nosily once the young man has passed.

“That was Gabrielle. He’s doing an apprenticeship under Kieth. You might run into the two of them over your time here; Gabrielle will have similar tasks as you.” Azriel explains in his monotonous voice—strangely pleasant. You wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning. You smile mischievously to yourself as you imagine getting him into your bed. All the ways you could blow his mind. You have a hard time imagining he’s particularly fun in the sheets, with his stick-in-the-mud attitude and stick-in-the-mud character.

“And what about Kieth? Is he also a Director? Like you, Azriel?” His eyes flick briefly to you—light brown—before cutting ahead. “Correct.”

You resist the urge to lick your lips. You already know you’re going to fuck him—it’s just a matter of figuring out what kind of woman he wants. You’re going to break him down, until he’s begging for more. No matter Rhys probably won’t want you sleeping with one of his directors behind his back, but he’s not going to find out.

Azriel won’t even know what hit him until his knees are buckling.

You eye the way his suit seems be perfectly tailored to every round muscle, every bone and fibre of his body. Wrapped to perfection, like a sweet, little Christmas present for you to rip into.

————

As soon as you’re home, you’re stepping into the shower, needing to release the tension from your shoulders.

He’d worked you within an inch of your life.

At first, you’d made his coffee too hot, then it was too sweet, and the third time he seemed to have given up, grunting after the first sip—though it was finished by lunch. Then, he’d had you scan a two-hundred page document to him, which had taken you an hour and five minutes of monotonous lowering the machines lid, allowing the blinding white light to slide beneath the glass, changing the page, lining up the corners, then repeating the whole process. It was a task in itself to not drift off and forget if you’d already scanned in a page. Not to mention the additional half an hour spent waiting for the damn file to send.

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. The entire afternoon had been spent filing: finding papers that needed to be strung into the same file, ordering them chronologically—which sometimes meant removing months worth of documents just to slide one stupid printed email to the back of a Correspondence File.

The upside of the afternoon? It had presented you with many opportunities to bend over a cabinet, leaning on a file draw while you sorted through the papers to find the date you were searching for. You’d switch it around sometimes, too, leaning so you were facing him, flashing him a peak down your shirt every now and then.

The downside of the afternoon? His eyes had never left his computer. It was like you didn’t even exist. What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of fate when a pretty lady is offering a plentiful view of her backside? What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of you when you offer him a chance? It’s insulting…but you suppose it’s only been one day. Maybe he’s shy—you’ll have to step up your game.

Maybe you can spill some coffee between his legs. Or wear one of your more sheer tops with a dark bra. Or un-pop a few buttons on your shirt when he works you too hard. Really, he has no right to be so focused on his work when you’re in the same room as him, in your pretty little heels, and pretty little cardi, and pretty little skirt.

Maybe he doesn’t want pretty and little, though. Maybe you should try to be a little more “executive”, like him.

You fall asleep pretty promptly that night, schemes for how to ruffle Azriel’s feathers playing through your devious, sex-addled brain.

You still have a whole month to get him addicted to you. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

————

When you get in the next morning—a whole half an hour before you’re required—you head straight to your office. Only to see Azriel already sat at his desk, deft fingers flying over the keys, looking as stern as yesterday. Why is he in at 7:30 in the morning? From the look of it, he’s been there for a while already.

His dark eyes flick over the lid of his sleek laptop, catching you watching. Without so much as a word of greeting, he returns his attention to his computer, “you aren’t due for another half an hour.” Even if it isn’t a direct invitation, you step into his office, moving to be a few steps from his large desk. “I was planning on secretly sneaking in a couple of practice runs for coffee this morning, but it seems you’ve caught me,” you reply, gently.

Nonsense. You’re supposed to be mirroring him today. People like others who operate in similar styles to them, so you’ll act like a calmer counterpart—more feminine. Softer at the edges. So you straighten a little, standing with elegant poise, raising your chin ever so slightly. “You don’t need thirty minutes to make a good cup of coffee,” he says, eyes remaining on the screen of his computer. “Come back in half an hour when the work day commences.”

“No filing you want me to do? Get me warmed up for the work day?” You ask casually, as if remarking on the weather. His brow dips almost imperceptibly, “come back at Eight.”

“Just eager to help with your workload, Azriel.” You nearly smack yourself as the habitual lilt honeys your tongue. Executive. Not flirtatious. You clear your throat, trying again. “Eight it is, then. I’ll be here on the dot.”

You close the door behind you, heading across the hallway to your office, settling down into your chair—that has wheels. If everything else is miserable, at least you can roll across the floor with ease. You tap your desk restlessly, before logging onto the computer. As soon as you lay eyes on the digital scans from yesterday in your emails, you spin to the side and pull out your phone. Time for an update, anyway.

Undoing enough buttons to easily reveal your tits, hiking up your skirt, you snap a pretty picture, uploading it with a few taps of your fingers. The light is catching on your shiny red lips, making them appear plump, and Luscious. The image loads quickly, followed by a short caption. Getting a little handsy at work. Think I should fuck my boss? xxx

Deciding to be productive, you set yourself straight, and make for your door. You’d passed a coffee house on the way in, and just because you can’t make the bitter liquid in a way to satisfy him, doesn’t mean somebody else can’t be called in. Surely a barista will be a suitable improvement.

————

When you return, you decant the coffee into a nondescript white mug, careful not to burn yourself while handling the hot liquid. Maybe you undo an extra button, too, so he’ll have a little treat when you lean down to place the mug on his desk.

It’s eight on the dot when you knock on his door before before entering. Your plans are fucked sideways when you spot another man stood in his office. Legs in the usual man-spread, a little wider than shoulder width apart, with his hands in his pockets. Someone who’s used to feeling at ease in most spaces, who’s confident in his ability to own and dominate any room he’s in. He reeks of entitlement.

However, you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns at the sound of the door opening, eyes running appreciatively up and down your body, resting for an inappropriate moment on your chest—the undone button. He’s blandly handsome, with a hard jaw and slightly wavy brown hair that’s pushed back from his face. A slight shadow of stubble is already darkening his chin, not enough to look raggedy—more rugged masculinity. It suits him.

“And who’s this little lady?” The man asks, interest sparking in his chocolatey brown eyes. You smile, extending the hand that’s not holding his coffee, “I’m his Personal Assistant—”

“Secretary.” Your attention flicks to Azriel, but he’s eyeing the man before you, sternly. “She’s filling the role of my secretary, until a permanent replacement is found.” You fight the urge to furrow your brow, instead returning your attention to the man before you, who’s still regarding you with male interest.

“There you go then,” you smile, red lips parting enough to lift into a small grin, “I’m his secretary.” His large hand grips yours roughly—demandingly—as he shakes it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Secretary,” he replies, mouth lifting into a charming grin. “I’m another Director here.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper as he leans in, breath smelling faintly of mint, “the better one, that is.” He winks then stands straighter, and you release a soft laugh. “I don’t suppose you have a role open for a secretary, do you?” You tease back, noting the way his eyes flicker with approval.

“If one ever opens up, you’ll be the first one I contact. Personally,” the man drawls, eyes again dipping to your chest, and you can practically see the fantasies in his gaze. Maybe you’re wasting your time on Azriel.

But then the man turns away from you, “how come you’re treated to a Personal Assistant? Where’s my pretty lady to get me coffee in the morning?” You smile dutifully at the flattery, but Azriel looks mildly pissed off. “She’s my secretary, and she does a lot more than get me coffee in the morning,” he says sharply.

You take the chance to walk round to Azriel’s side of the desk, leaning over slightly as you place the coffee beside him. You intentionally angle your body away from the man, showing the discreet view to Azriel, but his eyes aren’t on you. You don’t really have the time to be frustrated with his lack of attention. “I’m sure she does.”

Woah. That has to be some sort of HR violation.

“Kieth.” Azriel barks, breaking you out of your stare. Thunderclouds have gathered in his eyes, and you can’t help the way your spine straightens. “She’s on work experience. That is not appropriate.” The man—Keith—isn’t deterred, instead flashing you a panty-dropping grin, “not even making him pay?”

You take a step back from Azriel, leaving an appropriate distance between your bodies as you turn to face Kieth. A feline smile slices your lips, eyes flicking to Azriel, making a show of looking him up and down, then back to Kieth. “With a pretty face like that? Never.”

You know Kieth gets the message—how you’ve stood yourself at his side, the opposing end of the desk that serves as a metaphorical wall. You’re aligning yourself with Azriel, and you can practically see Kieth marking the invisible leash you’ve silently suggested is connecting you to him.

If Kieth wants you, he’s going to have to go through Azriel.

———

Despite the seemingly clear alliance formed earlier that day, all traces of camaraderie had dissipated the moment Kieth removed himself from Azriel’s office. It seemed apparent that it was something about the opposing Director that got his panties in a twist, and you needed to investigate.

That being said, even after the team-up, nothing changed between the two of you. He was just as quiet as usual—almost sullen—not even sparing you a glance. You can’t figure out what’s not clicking for him. He has a woman all to himself for most hours of the working day, yet that’s all he seems to be doing: working.

What’s wrong with him?

The only time he’d paid you an ounce of attention was this morning, and since then—nothing.

You flop into bed, tired and frustrated. It’s proving more difficult than anticipated. It’s not like you haven’t had men who’ve taken a while to warm up to you before, but this is unreasonable. He seems completely uninterested. Utterly unbelievable.

The only logical conclusion you can come to is that it must be intentional. Any normal person would make eye contact with someone entering their space, or at least look up. And you’ve been in his office when other people have come in—Gabrielle popped in to ask after a particular file that Kieth had been after—and he’d functioned reasonably then.

It’s iron will that’s walling him off from you. And how are you supposed to break through a self-imposed barrier?

Easy.

You ware him down until the walls turn to dust, then you sweep in, and dominate. Crush down and obliterate.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[canisalbus]

Trying to imagine if the Pope in Machette's universe is, like, a Pomeranian, and thus shrinks down to a fraction of his original size when wet. Like it rains and everyone is like 'oh, Your Holiness. Oh no'

.

[pansyfemme]

my family used to have a vet who had like 20 pets and came into a bit of money and bought a house that was divided into several apartments and instead of being a landlord she just decided to live in one of them and let the animals who got on the best each share an apartment so she’d have like an apartment for like. one cat if it didnt get on with the rest of them. or like 3 dogs and a bird because they all got along. she also slipped my dad horse antibiotics one time because he got bit by our cat when he was trying to get her in the carrier. i miss her

[hephaestuscrew]

Sometimes I think about Dominik Koudelka's assistant who takes Minkowski's call in Ep43 Persuasion...

In the moment, dismissing the voice on the other end of the phone feels like the right thing to do. She can't just put any random person who calls through to Mr. Koudelka immediately; if she did, there would be no point in him having an assistant at all. And when that random caller is claiming to be Mr. Koudelka's dead wife, of course it would be wrong to subject him to that. (Cont. below cut)

She's seen Mr. Koudelka in the denial stage of grief, if only from a professional distance. She knows that the only time he took off after he heard the news was the day of his wife's funeral. She knows he started working days so long it was a wonder he got any sleep at all. She's heard rumours that he tried to insist that The Times' coverage of the shuttle crash ought to use the word 'allegedly' more. Apparently he ignored every sensitively-worded inquiry about whether he wanted to have any input on his wife's obituary.

Mr. Koudelka certainly doesn't need some cruel joke reopening emotional wounds. It's better not to mention it to him. His assistant knows that she did the right thing. 

Or at least, she thinks she did. But she still can't stop thinking about that voice on the other end of phone, its desperation, its sense of urgency, its bizarre impossible claim.

So maybe she finds herself looking up Renée Minkowski, just to set her mind at ease. And there's surprisingly little information out there, but she eventually finds a clip of an interview from just before the launch of the Hephaestus mission. And that's when her stomach drops. She recognises the voice in the video. It's the same voice as the one she heard on the end of the phone. She's sure it's the same voice.

And what is she supposed to do then? Go to her boss and tell him that his wife is alive? Tell him that she lost him potentially his one chance to talk to his presumed dead wife? Admit that she didn't tell him about that call straight away? She's got no proof, just her memory. What if she's wrong about it being the same voice? Maybe it was a good impersonator, or a technological trick, or the power of suggestion. Is telling him the truth worth risking her job for? Is it worth risking giving false hope to a widower who has only just begun to move on? What if he doesn't believe her? What if he does?

[tomwambsgays]

the argestes seminars were boring