#Linkedin Profile followers

[sociocosmos]

Dominate LinkedIn with a Real and Active Network

[lazaruspiss]

done w social media aus where they all have that [name] [sexuality] [age] [pronouns] format. need 2 make my own parody pages for them. diversify bio styles

[stupid-lemon-eater]

i swear i don't know what i've done to so thoroughly curate my internet experiences but it seriously feels like i live in a world without fandom drama until someone i follow vagueblogs about it and i get yet another i was clearly not at the devil's sacrament, what the fuck moment

[alexiroflife]

sukuna would kill for you….

just a thought, mentions of assault, violence, but also fluff if you squint

… and not just in the cutesy, romantic way that held no weight to the promise. no, sukuna will plot and execute someone’s death for you over and over again. as easy as it has been to kill for centuries, it only becomes easier when he’s killing for the sake of your protection

it doesn’t take much to get sukuna riled up on your behalf. he’s quick to jot down names and addresses when you approach him with tears in your lashes, upset over harsh, misogynistic words from your boss or frustrated over an acquaintance who constantly antagonizes you for no reason. it takes one look into your sad eyes and he’s off on a manhunt

you normally advise sukuna not to kill people who have done little things to push your buttons, but that doesn’t stop him from rousing them up a little bit for good measure. he’ll track a rude encounter down, corner them in a secluded area, and beat their ass to a pulp until they’re begging for mercy. only then, when they plead for their life, does sukuna decide he is done and returns home to you. though the fools are beaten so badly they can hardly see out of their swollen eyes by the time he is done, he hasn’t technically killed them so it’s fair game

there is a time, however, when sukuna ignores your wishes and acts on his own accord, and that is when any guy decides to hit on you and not take no for an answer

you’re fuming when you march into his room, face red and fists clenched tightly at your sides. sukuna looks at you with a cocked brow, asking what the hell happened to get you all worked up. you tell him that on your way to his place from work, a man stopped you in your path to ask for your number. you had politely declined, but when you tried to walk past you could feel his hand grope your backside. you were quick to spin on your heel and land a stinging slap to his face that sent his had snapping into the other direction, and then you ran off to sukuna

the king of curses stares ahead and says nothing for moments that feel like hours, then stands abruptly. “what did he look like?” “where was he going?” “where was he coming from?” you barely get the chance to detail his features and the area the interaction occurred in when he’s cutting you off and telling you that he will take care of it. you catch his arm, eyes glossy as you plead him to stay with you and not get himself caught up in too much trouble. he can only promise the former, as he lets you take him to bed for the night

the next day, sukuna finds your assaulter with uraume’s assistance within twenty minutes. your description of his face in addition to the location you saw him hanging around allowed him to discover his LinkedIn profile, which took him to his place of work. sukuna waits outside of the building all day in dark sweats until he sees the culprit leave. he follows silently from afar until he arrives at his nearby apartment. he watches from an alley as the man disappears into the building and minutes later a light flicks on in the third room to the right on the second floor. sukuna knows he’s got him when his face appears in the window to close the blinds

sukuna waits for him to leave his apartment again to go out to grab food, then seizes his opportunity. he scales the building and climbs silently into the home through the window, then waits for his return in the dark. when the front door swings open, it takes your assaulter moments of shifting through the darkness before he finds sukuna’s shadowy figure sitting in his chair, red eyes aglow. he yelps in fear, reaching frantically to flick on the light. sukuna’s teeth grind together, the sight of this scum before him making his skin crawl

“w-who are you?! what are you doing in my house?” sukuna stands and the man stumbles back, cowardice revealing itself. he presses himself against his now locked door as sukuna approaches with a blank face and dark eyes, glaring down at him over his nose. “please! is it money you want? you can have it all, just- just don’t hurt me!”

christ, how pathetic. sukuna watches him tremble, eyes wide and lips quivering as he shivers in the corner of his own home. sukuna clicks his teeth. “what I want is for you to keep your fucking hands to yourself.” he snatches the man’s wrist up in his tight grasp, claws sinking into his skin. the man writhes in horror upon seeing the blood drawn from sukuna’s fingers digging into him. “why don’t we start by getting rid of them, hm?”

sukuna leaves the now blood spattered apartment unit the same way he came, brushing a gunk of brain matter from his sweatshirt with gritted teeth. he wants to come home to you, annoyed with his day out

when he shows up at your door, he lets you wrap your arms tightly around him in relief. his cheek rests on your shoulder boredly as he 'tolerates' your affection. when you ask him where he has been all day, he shrugs and says: “out” and leaves it at that

sukuna would kill for you any day with no hesitation but bides by the one rule you have to keep his hands clean when it comes to insignificant matters. yet when it comes to someone threatening your safety, comfortability, and body all in one, sukuna thinks it’s only right for him to break his promise to you and slaughter the pathetic lowlifes who even so much as think about laying a finger on you

sukuna’s love language is violence. while he may be poor at refraining from making you mad or gaging when to give you verbal affection, he will put somebody in the ground for you in a heartbeat

[theambitiouswoman]

How To Network 🤝📱💬

Have a Plan: Because everyone is important, it's really important to know what you're good at. Before you go to any networking event, figure out what you're good at – like things you can do well, what you know, and the people you know. Plan what you want to talk about, especially how you can help others, either now or later on.

Start with Who You Know: Talk to people you already know, like friends and colleagues. Ask if they can introduce you to others.

Go to Events: Attend conferences, seminars, workshops, industry meetups, and social gatherings related to your field of interest.

Use Social Media: Make profiles on websites like LinkedIn or Instagram to meet people in your niche online.

Elevator Pitch: Create a concise and engaging intro that highlights who you are, what you do, and what you're seeking. This way you can make a strong first impression.

Ask Good Questions: When you talk to someone, ask questions that show you're interested in what they're saying.

Provide Value: Networking is a two-way street. Offer your expertise, assistance, or connections to others whenever possible. When you start paying attention to what people can do, you might see that one person could help another person. Try to introduce people who you think have something valuable to share. When you make these good connections, you're helping the networking event go well. This will help you establish a good reputation and create strong relationships.

Say Thank You: After meeting, send a message to say you enjoyed the talk.

Follow up & Follow Through: If you said you would talk to someone later, make sure you actually do it and let them know you're still happy to help. If you promised to introduce one person to another, take a moment to make that introduction.These small things really matter to people, and just one introduction could make someone's life better.

Meet Different People: Don't just talk to the same kind of people. Meet people from different jobs and places.

Never dismiss anyone as unimportant: Don't think someone is not important just because of their job title. They could know important things or have helpful friends you wouldn't know about if you didn't give them a chance.

Join Groups: Be part of clubs or groups related to your work. You can meet more people there.

Be Yourself: Just be you. Don't pretend to be someone else.

Learn New Things: Keep learning about your interests. It helps you have better conversations.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

What sort of proof would you need to believe that a fundraiser was real?

I actually put in the legwork to verify one of these fundraisers today (I wanted to see how hard it was to actually vet one of these posts). It took about an hour, but I was satisfied by the end of it that the person in question exists, is who they are claiming to be, has a GoFundMe, and that the GoFundMe being spread around is probably the same one being linked to (I wasn't 100% satisfied by what I could find on that count? but I ended up in a place where I was reasonably confident). I'm happy to share my work, and have added it below.

I've gotten a lot of nasty messages since making that post accusing me of being anti-Palestine. My heart and money is 100% with Palestine, and I've given as much as I can afford, to reputable aid organizations. I believe both in a free Palestine, and doing your own research on the recipients of your money when you decide to financially contribute to a cause.

Anyway, this is the GoFundMe that I think is legit, and below is the legwork I did to reach that conclusion. While I still think it is better to give to a relief organization if your goal is improving the lot of the people in Gaza, I don't think this one is a scam.

This is the fundraiser for Eman Zaqout, who - first of all - is a real person! This is very easy to verify: Googling her name returns a LinkedIn with a complete work history (she is a molecular biologist), her profile with Unesco, and her profile with the Palestine Academy for Science & Technology. You know, the kind of stuff you'd expect to see when you Google someone. Great start.

Next step: Is the person running this GoFundMe the real Dr. Zaqout? (While I have some sources which say she is in a PhD fellowship and does not yet have her doctorate, she is listed as Dr. Zaqout at the Palestine Academy for Science & Technology, and I'd prefer to use the honorific in case it may in fact be more appropriate.)

So. Dr. Zaqout joined LinkedIn in 2014. And she does link to her Instagram from her LinkedIn, and her Instagram links to the GoFundMe. That's a great start!

However, it's worth mentioning that her contact information on LinkedIn was updated less than 3 months ago (which includes the link to her Instagram). Given the number of Palestinians whose accounts have been hacked or spoofed by scammers in order to lend their scams legitimacy, I don't love that change. That coincides with the surge in scam activity following the All Eyes on Rafah movement gaining momentum. Plenty of Palestinians have had their entire social media presences stolen by scammers.

However again - her LinkedIn (which, as established, may be compromised) also links to a TikTok account! And the TikTok account has video! And that sure looks to me like Dr. Zaqout in the video! While the photo of her on LinkedIn is no longer trustworthy since we know her account has been updated in the past 3 months, there is also a photo of her here at Palast.ps, which is a legitimate scientific organization. And yeah, sure, a dedicated scammer could have hacked that too, but there are also photos of her on LinkedIn that look like this:

It's not the best photo in the world, but it's identifiably her. Fabricating this kind of ephemera is more than I would expect of your typical charity scammer.

And in the most recent TikTok video of her, she's even talking about a GoFundMe, on 7/17! And she posted another video on 7/21 in which she is not seen, but you can hear her voice, and it does sound like her.

Today is August 2nd. The last two videos uploaded to Dr. Zaqout's TikTok are just photo collages, so they can't be used to verify that she still has control of her social media accounts. But for now, I'm prepared to say with some confidence that that woman is Dr. Eman Zaqout, that Dr. Zaqout is legitimately a Palestinian scientist, she did actually start a GoFundMe, and that she was posting about it as recently as 12 days ago.

All right all right, we are cooking folks. The last questions we need to answer: is this actually Dr. Zaqout's GoFundMe? The last scenario we need to rule out is that her social media presence was stolen in the last 12 days.

Let's start with that GoFundMe.

First of all, it's not being run by Dr. Zaqout. That's normal: GoFundMe isn't supported in Palestine, and all Palestinians will have to rely on friends or family abroad to set up their campaigns and collect donations on their behalf. This campaign is being run by a Mazin Fakak. I think that's supposed to be this Mazin Fakak, which makes sense; he is based in Quebec, and Dr. Zaqout either studied at or is in close affiliation with McGill University, which is in Quebec. He also lists Arabic as one of his spoken languages. So far this is a plausible connection for Dr. Zaqout to have. His LinkedIn profile also hasn't been updated in over a year, which makes me disinclined to think this is a recently-stolen scam account.

My one issue here is that when I Google Fakak, this is all that comes up. A LinkedIn profile created in 2014 that hasn't been touched in over a year, and two GoFundMe fundraisers for Palestinian families. And Dr. Zaqout never mentions Fakak anywhere. I would feel 100% confident of this fundraiser if she did.

But while my investigation into Fakak didn't turn up anything that confirms the connection to Zaqout, it also does nothing to disprove it, and the circumstantial evidence available to me lends credibility to the claim. So while I land somewhere around 80% on the verifiable credibility of this GoFundMe, please balance that against my 95%+ confidence in Zaqout's legitimacy, and the fact that she appears to still have control of her socials as of 12 days ago. If she posts on TikTok with another live video again (and not a photo slideshow, which can't be considered verification of anything), then I'd say this one is completely safe.

[manicpixiefelix]

just a few modern!Saltburn social media headcanons from the oxford era

venetia is obviously trying her hand at being an influencer

she has more followers than felix and brags about it constantly but refuses to unblock him

oliver's only on linkedin at first because his high school guidance councillor told him he should be on it.

felix's oxford friends group chat is wild but nowhere near as bad as their snapchat group

their snapchat group is Feral and half the things they send while shitfaced would get them cancelled

current group chat name is SOCIALIST SLUTS INCORPERATED

felix's current name in the chat is Sir Oral Fixation 👅💦 

half the group blocked ollie when he tried to add them because only got proper social media after getting to oxford. he has a generic user name and no profile picture at first and they thought he was a bot.

farleigh gave Oliver the nickname 'WDE' in the chat but admitted that it stands for Weird Dick Energy. Felix changed Oliver's nickname to just Ollie and no-one's changed it since.

there is a second gc that felix and oliver don't know about :(

half of Oxford University Confessions on facebook are about Felix

annabel and india both follow a felix catton fan account on instagram but will say they got hacked if anyone points it out

farleigh runs the felix catton fan account and finds it hilarious that anyone follows it because he dedicates the entire thing to posting the most unflattering, blurry, up close, bizarre photos of felix he can manage to capture.

[roosterforme]

The Intern Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Five minutes into an interview with you, and Bradley knew he was in trouble. You were attractive, funny and smart, and now the summer was stretching out before him like an obstacle course he would have to navigate carefully. At least a visit from an old friend should be enough to help him work through his frustrations.

Warnings: Language, mentions of smut and masturbation (eventually 18+)

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

When Bradley got to the Avio headquarters the following morning, he rode the elevator up to his office. He'd already eaten breakfast, gone for a long run and taken a shower, and he was still one of the first ones here. Except for Judy. He smiled when her desk came into view as he turned toward his office door. She was sweet, and it scared him a little bit how much she reminded him of his mom. She was a widow with one son in college, and Bradley would be lost without her. 

"Morning," she said, handing him his mail as he walked past without her even looking up at him. "You have a very busy day, and I already turned on your coffee maker."

He really needed to give her another raise. "Thanks, Judy. Hey, what time is that interview I have?" he asked, flipping through the stack of envelopes in his hand. 

Now she looked up from her computer and met his eyes. "Nine o'clock. And it's Ted's daughter."

"I know," he replied with a small smile. 

"Do you really think she would be a good fit? You'll be working on the yacht for weeks, and all she has is a graduate degree and a daddy with a bankroll." She handed him your résumé with a concerned look.

He shrugged as he skimmed the page again. "She has some related work experience. She volunteered to run the finances for a handful of Philadelphia based charities every year. Her references include the Philadelphia deputy mayor. But you're right, she's pretty green. I'll take this with me," he said as he held the résumé up and headed for his door. "Let me know when she arrives."

"Will do," Judy muttered. 

Bradley made himself another cup of coffee before he settled into his seat. His office had a fantastic view of the Pacific Ocean in the distance along with the Naval base at North Island where he'd spent several years working. Sometimes he missed it, other times he didn't. Flying was in his blood, but after five air-to-air kills, it seemed like he'd given up enough of his soul to the Navy. Now he was helping oversee the design of software components that would help keep aviators safer in the air. 

He turned his gaze from the view outside back to your resume. Your name at the top made him smile, and the more he read about you, the more he liked. None of the other people begging him for a job in his department had the same level of academic chops or philanthropic endeavors you did. And he couldn't imagine you begging for a single damn thing, ever. He tapped his keyboard, wondering what your LinkedIn profile looked like. 

Well. Your photo was gorgeous. It was professional looking without a doubt, but he knew better now that the way your smile tilted a little higher on one side meant you were about to deliver a line that would make him laugh. He wondered if you'd had the photographer smiling nonstop, too. 

Bradley paused with his fingers on his keyboard, but he couldn't help it. He typed your full name into the search bar and sorted it by images. There were more headshots of you from academic articles and a few newspapers, but when he scrolled he almost spit his coffee out. There was one of you wearing that same bikini you had on yesterday. When he clicked it for more, it took him to your private instagram page. 

He stared at that tiny thumbnail before he closed his eyes. Really, the way you looked wasn't why he asked you to come here today, and he'd spent a good portion of last evening trying to focus on anything other than how it felt to have your body pressed against his while he held you.

"Fuck," he grunted. He really needed to get laid. He made another mental note next to the one about Judy's raise. He would call one of his friends with benefits and get that taken care of, because if you agreed to join him for a couple months on the company yacht, he'd probably see that bikini again and again. And there was no way he could touch Ted's daughter. Not like that. Even if he wanted to.

And that thought brought him back to the main reason you would be here in the next few minutes. What kind of information could he get out of you? Bradley noticed that the profit and loss sheets from several departments didn't seem to add up. That had been the case for two quarters in a row. When he mentioned it to one of the harried looking accountants one floor down, he told Bradley they wouldn't have time to run an unnecessary audit before next quarter started. 

Someone in this company was doing something shady, and Bradley wanted to know who it was and why. He'd gone over those numbers for days, double checking his math. He knew he wasn't crazy, but he didn't know who he could safely take this information to, especially when the specs on the software they were creating was considered top secret. 

"Your interview is here," Judy's voice suddenly announced through his intercom.

Bradley quickly closed out of the photo of you in a bathing suit that was still on his screen and slammed his laptop shut. "Send her in."

A few seconds later, Judy was holding the door open for you, and you thanked her as you strolled in like you owned the company. Your hair was styled in some sort of clip, and you were wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. Bradley shook his head; it was rich that you called him out for his proclivity for Armani when yours was probably worth three times as much. His gaze drifted down your legs. Your black and white heels were the kinds of things he would love to have thrown over his shoulders in bed, and the bit of white silk peeking out above your jacket buttons reminded him of your skimpy pajamas. 

Inviting you here was a terrible idea. 

You smirked as you ran your right index finger along the charm from Tiffany's that hung from your necklace, and then you reached out to shake his hand over his desk. "Mr. Bradshaw. So lovely to see you again today." Your voice was playful, and Bradley gestured for you to take a seat while he tried his best to gather his thoughts. 

"I was a little afraid you'd show up in your bathing suit," he said, and you nodded as you crossed your legs and set your leather portfolio on your lap. 

"I can certainly understand the cause for that concern," you replied, not missing a beat. "However, I promise you'll see nothing but Armani suits from here on out if I end up coming to the office every day. Now what would you have me do for you all summer? Fetch your coffee? Give you the abridged version of the Wall Street Journal? Sit in on pointless meetings in the conference room across the hallway?"

"That's just it," he said, tilting his head to the side and taking in your neutral expression. He hardly knew what to do with the fact that you made him feel warm and slightly uncomfortable when you were being sassy. "We wouldn't be here at all. And actually, you could wear your bathing suit and swim half the time for all I cared."

Your eyes lit up immediately as you leaned closer to his desk. "This sounds like a trap, but please, carry on. Tell me more."

He chuckled as he moved a little closer to you as well. "I'm being tasked with taking a few weeks to a couple months on the company yacht in the Mediterranean. I have the technical knowledge as well as the access to arrange meetings with members of Avio's European sales team to close some deals. This is all top secret information, but since you've got the right connections, I'll go ahead and tell you that the US government has given us the greenlight to sell our software to a select list of countries."

You licked your lips, and Bradley could barely focus as you said, "So you'll be the one calling all the shots. And you need to have access to some of these countries to schedule meetings and dinners and cocktail parties. You'll be working from the yacht in much the same capacity you are currently working from your office, still expected to head the research department here. But you'll have the added workload of trying to answer questions and sell the software in Europe? Did I miss anything?"

Bradley's eyes went a little wide as he chuckled. "No. Not really."

You were smiling now. "This sounds like half work and half sorority party, and let me tell you, I am more than capable of making both of those things go as smoothly for you as possible."

"Yeah," he said, his voice a little raspy now. "But you'll have to put up with me. And some of these clients have been known to be a little difficult in... a variety of different ways." Bradley's mind drifted to last summer when he'd been on the yacht for a week as well as the summer before that. The wealthier a man becomes, the more he seems to think he could have whatever he wants, and Bradley had seen some wild shit. "But I'll do my best to keep you comfortable and safe. The workload will be intense, to say the least. But it'll all be happening on a one hundred and thirty foot superyacht." 

You eyed him carefully. "This sounds like it was custom made for me, so you either want me or you don't, Mr. Bradshaw." 

Bradley smiled, and his gaze followed your hand as you touched that pretty charm again. "Oh... I want you plenty. Something tells me yachts and Mediterranean vacations are something you simply grew up with. I'm just trying to sell myself now."

The way you laughed reminded him once again of that night in December when you asked him if he wanted to share a bottle of wine with you. "You're very persuasive, Mr. Bradshaw. I can practically smell the sunblock and taste the pasta from here." You bit your lip and considered him, and it felt to Bradley like you could see every flaw and indiscretion inside of him. "Where did you go to school anyway? Yale? Brown? No wait... you look like a Princeton boy to me."

He shook his head as he pointed to his college diploma on the wall. "I went to a state school." 

You gasped, and your eyes went wide as you muttered, "Jesus," while you read it. "Political science? At the University of Virginia? Oh... you should be lying to people. I mean, at least say you went to Dartmouth."

Bradley tried and failed to hold in his laughter, because you truly looked scandalized by this turn of events. "Aww, come on, Ivy League. It's not so bad."

You sputtered with laughter, too. "Did you just call me Ivy League?"

"I sure did," he told you, still laughing. "It's about ten times nicer than what I was going to say."

Your soft gasp as your eyes positively lit up made Bradley's heart beat a little faster. "Well, what were you going to say?" you asked before biting your lip. 

Shit. You were trouble, and you knew it. "Never mind. My lips are sealed. Can't say that to Ted's daughter."

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "You're no fun right now, but I'm sure as soon as I get you loosened up in some Armani swim trunks on the yacht, you'll be an absolute pleasure for me to deal with."

The way Bradley's cock was twitching should have been warning enough. He was about to get in over his head. But all he could say was, "Does that mean you want the internship?"

Your smile tilted up a little higher on the one side. "Oh, absolutely." Then you stood before him looking like the cat who got the cream, and Bradley had to hope for the best as he stood as well. He could mark this as the first time he'd ever become slightly aroused during an interview, a sign that he desperately needed to get laid. 

He shook your hand and said, "We leave in a few days. Judy will help you get your visas in order. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect, Mr. Bradshaw." 

The way you here still holding his hand and calling him Mr. Bradshaw left his voice barely louder than a rasp. "Judy and I will be in touch."

You turned and shot him a smile over your shoulder as you headed for his office door, and Bradley dropped back down in his chair. He'd call Callie about getting together to hook up before he left for Europe, but he had another more important call to make first. He cleared his throat as he opened his contacts and then put his phone on speaker. He was greeted with a familiar voice filled with laughter.

"Rooster! When are you going to get that yacht warmed up for me?"

Bradley just shook his head and said, "Hangman. You're not going to believe who my summer intern is."

------------------------------

You were floating on a raft in the pool wearing your second favorite bathing suit when you were greeted by the sound of your father's voice. "I sincerely hope you know what you're doing by wasting your time right now."

"Daddy," you greeted with a smile. "My day was a complete and utter success."

He checked his watch as he said, "Please, elaborate."

You had the trump card, but you knew all too well what it would be like if you didn't. Instead of lecturing you like you could tell he wanted to, he smiled when you said, "I have a job."

"Where?" 

"Avio."

He nodded in appreciation as he said, "I am actually impressed right now. You managed to secure an internship at the company I've spent decades with, and you did so without me knowing anything about it. Which department?"

"Research and development," you replied smoothly.

His eyes went wider. "With Bradley Bradshaw?"

Your tummy swooped, and you sucked in a breath at the mere mention of his name. Spending weeks working with him and entertaining guests with him was going to be... well, something. "Yes. With Bradley Bradshaw."

"Sweetheart," your father said. "He had a career in the Navy."

"Yes. He was an aviator," you recalled from his Avio bio.

"That means he's not going to put up with any nonsense. You don't make him repeat himself, and you don't give him attitude. I'll know immediately if he's displeased with you, I'm sure."

Bradley didn't seem stuffy. He'd already encouraged you to pack your bathing suits. Hell, you were determined to get him to join you in some fun. "Well maybe not immediately as he and I will be on the Avio yacht in the Mediterranean."

Your father stared at you, speechless. Finally he said, "I really don't know how you managed to get exactly what you wanted, but I applaud you, Sweetheart. Well done. I know it sounds fun, but you'll be kept very busy. I hope you know what you're in for."

When he finally wandered back inside after you promised to join him for dinner, you soaked up the last few rays of the dying sunlight. Then you made a mental list of everything you needed to spend the next few days packing as you brushed up on your French and Italian.  "J'adore mon travail. Amo il mio lavoro. I love my job."

--------------------------

Bradley was still chuckling as he got off the phone with Ted a few days later. Your father tried to warn him that you could be a bit of a handful. Like Bradley wasn't fully aware of that fact. As if he hadn't known since December. He could practically hear your disdain for his alma mater and your delight in international travel from his condo.

He was stacking his suits up in his extra bedroom along with several pairs of shoes, and he shook his head as he looked down at his swim trunks in his hands. They actually were all Armani, and you'd have a field day when you realized it. Or perhaps skinny dipping would become a thing?

Fuck. He needed to stop thinking about you like that. Callie Bassett was on her way over, so that should help alleviate some of this tension. He'd been friends with Halo for over a decade, and she had slowly and naturally turned into a friend with benefits over time. She was still in the Navy, and she was discreet. It was easier than having a girlfriend. It was all he had time for. 

As he organized his suits, he remembered you told him he looked like a Princeton boy. He could just picture you with a parade of preppy assholes following you around, and he wondered if you ever slummed it with anyone like him before. It made him want to pack some of his casual clothes including his Virgina baseball cap and his worn out golf shorts. So he did. 

Then his doorbell buzzed, and he went to let Callie in. He needed this taken care of right now. She smelled good, and she looked cute. She always did. And she wore something a little skimpy just for him. The kiss on his cheek in greeting quickly turned to her lips brushing his as she said, "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"Been busy," he replied, taking her by the hand and heading for his bedroom. "And I'm leaving for Portugal on Saturday."

"How long?" she asked, pouting a little bit as Bradley reached for the hem of her dress and eased it up and over her head in one fluid motion. 

"Couple months," he whispered, taking in her soft, naked body with his gaze. 

"Months?" she whined as he wrapped his hands around her waist and smirked at her. 

"Don't even act like we are anything close to exclusive, Cal. Now... how do you want it?"

She licked her lips and looked up at him with those familiar dark eyes just as his phone rang in his pocket. He didn't hesitate or check the number; he never did. "Bradshaw."

"Hey, State School. I have a few questions for you."

Bradley froze with your voice in his ear and Callie's fingers on his zipper. He grunted softly as she eased it down and touched him. He just knew if he closed his eyes and listened to your voice, he'd probably finish in her hand within two minutes. 

"Ivy League," he rasped, taking a step back away from Halo who was now standing before him completely naked and rolling her eyes.

"Are you busy?" you asked, and Bradley looked Halo in the eyes without remorse as he answered you.

"No. I'm not busy. I can talk." He held up one finger and zipped himself up as he left his bedroom in favor of his office. "As long as you tell me how you got this number."

You laughed as he sank down into his desk chair. "You think it's exclusive or something? Judy gave it to me. And it's probably listed on the company website."

Brat. He narrowed his eyes, adding a note to his mental list to make sure it was not listed on the company website. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I'm packing and hoping for a little input from you."

"On Thursday night at nine?" he asked. "And don't you have a butler to help you with that?"

"Like you have anything else going on?"

Bradley thought about Callie waiting in his bedroom, but instead of ushering this call along, he asked, "What did you pack so far?"

You sighed. "Sixteen bathing suits, piles of lingerie, and sunglasses. And I'm only kind of kidding."

Fighting the urge to ask for more details, he said, "Unfortunately I can't let you wear any of that in front of potential clients. So throw in some suits and dresses."

"Some suits and dresses? You'll need to be a little bit more specific, Sir." 

Sir.

That one word was echoing through his mind along with your bratty tone, and he had to take a deep breath. "Why don't you bring the suit you wore when I interviewed you? That looked good. And so did the dress you wore to your father's holiday party. The dark green one."

There was a pause before you said, "You remember what I wore to the party?"

"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. "It looked nice. Pack some cocktail dresses, too."

"How many should I pack?"

"How many do you have?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Bradley laughed. "I'm sure you know better than I do what you should wear."

You scoffed. "You're acting like you've never spent a summer on the Avio yacht before."

"I haven't," he replied easily. "Just a few days here and there. I'm sure I'll be learning things from you."

"Then you'll be learning from the best."

He bit back a groan as he said, "That's what I'm counting on. That's why I hired you."

"I won't let you down," you promised, and Bradley believed you. "I'll see you at the airport on Saturday morning. Don't forget your swim trunks."

You ended the call before he could say another word, and now he was convinced you had called him simply because you could. If he was frustrated before, it was nothing compared to the way he felt now. Spending weeks on end with Ted's daughter was supposed to help him get to the bottom of the messy business with Avio, not cause other issues to arise. 

He unzipped his pants, intent on touching himself,  before jolting to his feet. "Shit," he muttered as he left his office and went back to his bedroom. "Cal?" he called out. "Sorry. It was a work call." But he was completely alone. He laughed as his phone vibrated in his hand with a text from her.

Have a great time in Europe. Don't bother calling me when you get back.

Bradley was sure he'd hear about this from his old friend Natasha when Callie bitched about him at work. But it didn't really matter. After she had a few weeks to cool off, she'd come back when he needed her again. For now, he'd take matters into his own hands and hope that would be enough.

----------------------

Your father insisted upon seeing you off on Saturday morning which gave Bradley a few minutes alone with him. He was listening to Ted as he watched you struggle with your seven pieces of Dior luggage on the tarmac next to the chartered airplane. 

"Bradley, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into," your father told him with a laugh. "She's tenacious though. And whip smart. Make sure you challenge her, because she will certainly challenge you."

Now Bradley laughed as he shook Ted's hand. "I'll do my best."

"If she gets to be too much, just leave her in one of the marinas with her passport."

He would never do that to you. He doubted it would ever come to that. In fact, he was already impressed by the way you took care of things for yourself. Sure, you looked like you belonged in an ad for designer gym clothes with your leggings and soft hoodie zipped over your sports bra. But you were also taking your luggage from the back of the black Mercedes-Benz G-Class yourself.

"I can assure you that she and I will be just fine, Sir."

"What have I told you about calling me Ted?" Bradley received a friendly cuff on the shoulder before shaking his hand and turning toward you. 

He picked up the last two pieces of your luggage at the same time and carried them to the cargo hold while you trailed after him. "I don't need help," you told him as he stowed them away. Then you added, "You look weird out of your Armani."

"I look weird?" he asked with a laugh as he glanced down at his chinos and Oxford shirt.

"A good kind of weird. Like when you wore that Fair Isle sweater last year."

Bradley examined your pretty face, and you didn't look away. He remembered the dress you wore to Ted's holiday party, and you remembered his sweater. Right now he was wishing he'd joined you for that bottle of French wine that night, something he'd remedy on the yacht. A flood of bad decisions just waiting to happen filled his mind as he said, "Go say goodbye to your father. It's almost time to go."

"Yes, Sir," you told him with your chin held high and a smirk gracing your lips. Bradley stood at the bottom of the stairs while you flung your arms around Ted and kissed him on the cheek. Then you came strolling his way once again, and he followed you closely up the stairs as you turned back and softly said, "I'm all yours."

--------------------------

Ivy League spells trouble for Bradley, but at least he knows it. And he didn't get an ounce of relief before getting on that plane. What could possibly go wrong? Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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[senselessviolets]

being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him. 

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs. 

That person just so happened to be you. 

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him. 

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body. 

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes. 

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him. 

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw. 

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you. 

You don’t know how to feel.  

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties. 

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him. 

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal. 

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch; 

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

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[mcytblrsexymen]

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[alittlebitofsainz]

a place in this world - ch1

a dream come true. you, a race engineer in formula one, having built your way up through the ranks. sure, the 2020 season hadn’t exactly gone the way that everyone had expected, but this was your chance, your moment to prove to the world of racing what you and your driver, carlos, were made of. but carlos isn’t staying at mclaren forever, and eventually, you’ll have a decision to make…

pairing: carlos sainz x f! reader. slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers (please, from my own experience, don’t follow this pipeline)

info: reader lives in the uk due to working at mclaren, and is somewhat implied to be british. it is also implied that they listen to bbc radio 2 and support leicester city football club. this may or may not be because these things are true of me and I wasn’t planning on publishing this, sorry!

warnings: cursing, a lil’ bit of angst, very infrequent use of y/n, one (1) google translated spanish sentence, a dry british writing style xoxo a/n: hello! welcome to a little passion project I never thought I’d share with the internet. this will eventually become a sort of ‘choose your own adventure’ type series, where you can make decisions about your career that can eventually lead you to different teams and drivers. will be posting a masterlist soon with more info so bare with me! any feedback / comments are always welcome

Masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter One: … Ready for It?

it had started out like any other wednesday. except it hadn’t, not really. the nature of your job meant that there was no ‘any other wednesday’. most wednesdays meant that you were jetting off to some new country, your wide eyed face in the window seat, reflecting back off the pane of glass separating you from the dancing lights of some exciting new city, 5,000 feet below. race engineer to mclaren-renault formula one driver number 55, carlos sainz, wasn’t exactly what you had listed as what you wanted to be when you grew up, but you were far from disappointed that that’s what your linkedin profile now read, a metaphorical middle finger to everyone who’d said you’d never amount to anything in motorsports.

but by all accounts it had been a relatively uneventful wednesday in your life, in fact even more so than usual compared to the early morning check ins at Stansted airport that you’d grown accustomed to. this week was silverstone, your home race, if race engineers could call it that, and that meant no early mornings, no check ins, no flights, no decanting your liquids into tiny bottles and zipping them into a plastic bag to take through security. this wednesday was a stop at sainsburys to fill up the tank of your vw polo with petrol, and an 80 mile drive west towards silverstone circuit. the most exciting part of your morning was getting stuck in half an hour of traffic on the m25; you didn’t even need the dulcet tones of Richie Anderson on radio 2 to tell you there’d be traffic at Potters Bar. as a native southerner, you could just feel it in your bones.

still, only fifteen minutes late to track wasn’t too bad, considering your lengthy journey, and you were by far the last member of the team to arrive. you would’ve been even less late, but for the fact that you’d sat for the best part of five minutes in your car, engine off, staring at the notification on your phone. there were so many questions running around in your head, first and foremost of which was why on earth did dan from engineering have your number? but the second question, which was possibly the more important one, was why did carlos ask him for it? he said that it ‘might be useful to contact each other.’ if the current expression on your face could be summed up in a noise, it would be a very confused and very emphatic ‘huh?’.

sure, you and carlos interacted a lot during race weekends, that much was a given. you were forever catching up to discuss data, strategies, the car setup, the sandwich options at the hospitality, why the leicester city football team would beat real madrid in a fist fight. so okay, your conversations weren’t allstrictly work related, and you could’t deny that the two of you got on well and seemed to really understand each other, but that was all part of being a driver and race engineer duo; you had to be on the same wavelength. it was non-negotiable. but swapping phone numbers? you couldn’t imagine why the two of you would need to text or call each outside of work hours, and you had work phones for that. which led you to your third and fourth questions: number three, why did you suddenly feel so nervous and giddy with excitement when you re-read his message for the seventh time? (question three point five was why did you re-read his message seven times?) and number four, what the hell were you supposed to message back in reply?

you typed in a thumbs up emoji and then immediately deleted it. how fucking old were you, 65? what next, start talking to him about the cold war? no, you had to keep it fun and casual, not too overfamiliar but not too weirdly distant and cold. god, why was this so difficult? you felt like a schoolgirl with a teenage crush, constantly typing various replies and deleting them again, letter by letter. eventually you settled on a cool, calm and collected response, typing it out and shoving your phone into your pocket before you had time to overanalyse what you’d just sent. quickly gathering up your stuff from the boot of your car, you spammed the lock button on your car keys, just in case the first five times didn’t stick, and trotted off towards the entrance to the paddock.

as it was approaching the hour mark since he’d sent his text, carlos had been starting to worry that he’d overstepped an unwritten boundary. why had he even asked dan from engineering for her number in the first place? it just felt like something that he should have. lando had will’s number, he’d already asked him that. but once he’d sent the message he realised that he couldn’t really come up with an excuse as to why he’d needed it, why he couldn’t have waited until he’d seen her this weekend and ask for her number from herself. like a normal person. deep down he knew why, though he was in some sort of state of denial about it, and it was the same reason that he hadn’t asked for her number two weeks ago in Hungary, or at the previous race in Austria, or when he’d first met her at the start of the season. 

he breathed a sigh of relief when her reply came through, 57 minutes after he’d sent his message. well, the first one that is. the second message came two minutes after the first; god, he couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget to include who he was at the end of the text the first time around.

but it didn’t matter now, because she’d replied, and her words on the screen made him smile to himself, her voice in his head as he read them through three, now four times over. his fingers hovered over the keypad, contemplating a reply. he checked the time - it wouldn’t be long until she arrived at track anyway and they could chat in person, so he closed the messages app on his phone and tucked it away in his pocket, deciding against committing any words to the everlasting aether which was the iPhone messages app.

it was nearing the end of a lengthy strategy department meeting when your phone went off, a few pair of eyes glancing your way as you apologised profusely, eyes scanning over the text before sheepishly putting your phone on do not disturb and placing it back on the table face down. shit, this meeting wouldn’t be finished for another ten minutes at least, and by that time all the bacon and brie toasties would be gone (everyone knew they were the best lunch option). worse still, you hated the fact that you had to leave carlos hanging; pausing the strategy meeting to send off a quick text was equivalent to a cardinal sin, even if it was to carlos sainz. your eyes were flicking increasingly often down to the time on your laptop, the seconds crawling by as the time approached one o’clock. it felt like whichever godlike entity governed the laws of time was toying with you; surely it wasn’t possible for time to move this slowly? the head of strategy wrapped the meeting at 13:04, and you were out of your seat like a rocket.

amy, one of the strategists, fell into step beside you as you paced it down the corridor.

“you’ve heard about the brie and bacon being back on?” she asked; you only had to reply with a grin to give her the answer that she needed. she eyed you up, as much as anyone power walking down a busy corridor could whilst still maintaining maximum straight line speed.

“everyone from strategy and engineering has been in meetings. so who’s your source?” came her second question. you picked up your pace, under the guise of trying to get to the canteen quicker.

she had a habit of taking just enough time to respond to carlos’ messages to keep him guessing whether she actually would respond at all. it wasn’t entirely her fault, carlos realised; she’d apologised for earlier, explaining that she was busy driving. of course she was, how could he be such an idiot? maybe a part of him was hoping that she’d been acting coy, teasing him by waiting, purposefully trying to keep him on the edge of his seat.

carlos saw her enter the canteen, watched with a small, self satisfied smirk as her face fell, the rattan shelf where the brie and bacon toasties had been, now depressingly empty. he left it just long enough so that she was forced to consider which disappointing option to go for instead, before finally calling her over.

“Y/N!” carlos called, watching as her head whipped round, and he had to stifle a laugh at her confusion. he waved her over.

“sorry, I was stuck in a meeting.” she sighed, her voice slightly breathless. had she ran here? he fought back the urge to tease her about it, shaking his head slightly.

“don’t worry about it.” he replied, gesturing to the seat beside him as he spoke. her eyes lit up when her gaze fell on the plate on the table, in just the way he’d pictured in his head. god, he’d never get over the way the simple things pleased her, and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. over the past couple of months that he’d known her, carlos had learned that the little things really mattered, in a way that was almost rare in this environment. she looked upon a brie and bacon sandwich like it was the sun that shined, and if she’d have looked up at carlos in that moment, she’d have seen that he was looking at her in the exact same way.

“is that for me?”

“no.” carlos replied, deadpan. she shot him a look, her face screwed up in a pout that he’d grown more accustomed to the more he teased her like this. eventually he let out a soft chuckle, as a way to say I’m only joking, of course it’s for you, and she sat down in the seat next to him with a playful scowl, which only caused him to laugh more.

“thanks, carlos. you’re the best.” she told him through a mouthful of brie, bacon and toasted bread.

“I know.” he replied, a cheeky grin dancing across his face. “it was the last one as well.”

“amy’s gonna be pissed.” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her colleague was forced to settle for regular ham and cheese.

a podium finish to p13. was it worse to fail because of your own shortcomings or because of something that was out of your control? if you’d asked carlos sainz right now, he would think about it for a moment, and then tell you to vete a la mierda.*

his phone screen lighting up in the darkness was the only thing that brought his attention to how dark it had become in his hotel room. christ, how long had he been sat there, staring at the wall, trying to process how frustrated and angry and upset he was? he’d put his phone on silent, tired of all the commiseratory messages that had been coming through, but apparently his bedtime reminder didn’t obey the laws of do not disturb. sighing, he unlocked the device, and quickly scanned down the many notifications he had been ignoring for the past few hours. one stood out above all the rest, because of course it did. he felt guilt clutch him as he noticed the message from well over an hour ago. from her.not only guilty at the fact that he’d not seen her message, but for some reason guilty for perceiving that he’d let her down at her home race. it was stupid, he knew, to feel that way - it wasn’t his fault that his tyre had blown out with just a few laps to go, but he knew how excited she’d been for her first ever british gp, and it had all ended in disappointment. his fingers hovered over the keyboard at the bottom of his phone for a moment, a million different emotions whizzing round in his head, bouncing off the sides like a demented pinball machine. no wonder he had a headache. he drew in a sharp breath before typing out his reply.

*I’m hoping this means somewhat akin to ‘fuck off’

you’d almost forgotten that you’d sent carlos sainz a message of commiseration, which was shocking considering how long you’d been deliberating over it only a mere hour ago. you were back in your own bed in your hometown, seeing no need to stick around seeing as there would be no celebrations this weekend, and carlos had disappeared as soon as the team debrief had ended, making it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. which made it all the more surprising when you leaned over to your bedside table, bleary eyes blinking back sleep as your vision adjusted to the pitch black of your room, to pick up the phone which had woken you from your sleep.

your eyes blinked again against the harsh light of the phone, taking a moment to focus on the big bold numbers on your lockscreen. 01:03? who was texting you at this time? eyebrows knitted together in an increasingly deep frown, you scanned carlos’ message. as was becoming customary, you read it several times over, this time to check whether you’d read it right. why would he want to ring you, at this time of night as well? your mind started to reach for wild possibilities - was he in trouble? hurt? worse?

before he changed his mind, carlos hit the telephone symbol next to her contact details.

“Carlos, are you okay?” her voice came through almost immediately, sounding equal parts panicked yet somehow sleepy. shit, not only had he caused her to worry, he’d probably just woken her up in the middle of the night as well. what kind of dickhead rings a colleague that he’s only known for a few months at 1am? he cleared his throat.

“fuck, sorry, I woke you up.”

“don’t worry about it, I was awake.” she replied. a blatant lie, but carlos appreciated the attempt to make him feel better. 

“can I help you with something?” she continued, still sounding concerned. he shook his head even though she couldn’t see.

“yes, no. fuck, I don’t know.” he growled at himself for being so confused, so confusing, for not even really knowing why he’d called her. was he going insane, or did he just hear a soft sigh on the other end of the line? he squeezed his eyes shut, collecting himself to try again, but she beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry about today, carlos, it must be tough to deal with.”

sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. he dragged a hand down his face.

“yeah, I’m- it’s not great.” he stumbled over his words slightly, his voice catching in his throat. usually he’d be reluctant to show this vulnerability, embarrassed even, but something about the late hour combined with how oh-so-soft her voice was… it made him forget his pride for just that moment. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, feeling a ramble coming on but equally feeling powerless to stop it. “I know that it was a problem with the tyre, I know that it wasn’t my fault, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. and then there’s always a part of me that wonders whether there was anything that I could’ve done. like, maybe if I’d driven less aggressively or something, or changed the way I braked around a certain corner. I still feel like I’ve let myself down, let the team down, let you dow-“

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” her abrupt reply broke him from his monologue, stopping him in his tracks and allowing him to fill his lungs with air, not realising how out of breath he was becoming with his run-on sentences.

“what?” came his soft reply. he’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said the first time. but a part of him needed to hear it again.

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” she repeated, with the same clarity, the same sincerity, the same low tone that he’d never heard from her before that made her sound so wise beyond her years.

“you didn’t let anyone down. this wasn’t your fault. I know it doesn’t make it any less frustrating or easier to deal with - there’s nothing I can say that will change that. but please, please don’t blame yourself for any part of it.”

there was silence on both ends for a moment, before carlos let out a long sigh.

“I- yeah, I guess you’re right.” there was something still on his mind, something that one am carlosknew that one pm carlos would never want to talk about, least of all burden his race engineer with it. but that was all the more reason to say it now.

“I just feel so much pressure to perform, now that I have the ferrari contract.” his voice dropped even lower as he spoke, as if whispering it quietly enough could make it not be true. “I feel like I have to earn my place there, you know?”

“carlos, you were P-fucking-3.” 

something about the way she stressed the syllables made carlos chuckle despite himself, and from the way she let out a small giggle on the other end of the phone, he guessed that that had been her intention all along. 

“anyone can see that you’ve earned that seat at ferrari. you’ve proved that time and time again already. this isn’t about anyone else, this is about you, and what you believe you deserve. the only person you need to convince is yourself.”

carlos chuckled again, feeling some sort of playful nature already coming back to him. maybe he’d finally figured out why he wanted to call her in the middle of the night, maybe it was even the reason he wanted her number in the first place. maybe it was because he knew that no matter how crappy he was feeling, talking to her always seemed to turn the day around. she always seemed to make him smile.

“very inspirational.” he replied, his tone almost teasing over her ‘believing in yourself’ speech. the corners of his lips curved upwards as he could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end.

“this is what I get for trying to be nice.” she muttered, but her tone was light, reciprocating the teasing. carlos smiled, his first genuine smile in several hours. probably since the last time he’d seen her.

“thank you, really. talking to you it… it always puts me in a better mood.” carlos confessed, glad that this was a phone call so she couldn’t see the way his cheeks lit up a soft shade of pink.

“anytime, carlos.” 

when they eventually hung up the call, carlos felt lighter than he had in weeks, like she’d melted all his problems away with her soft voice and warm heart. he slept easy that night. meanwhile, she was now wide awake.

you groaned when the sound of your phone pinging dragged you from your admittedly tumultuous sleep. it had been difficult to drift off again after that call with carlos, a million thoughts buzzing around your brain like a swarm of bees on cocaine. you felt bad for carlos, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep you awake on its own. there was another feeling there; if you were to flip through an oxford english dictionary until you found a word that summed it up you might settle for ‘intrigued’. 

you were intrigued that carlos that had decided to ring you of all people last night; surely he had family, or at the very least close friends, that he would rather turn to? but you were also intrigued by your own reaction - why were you feeling so warm and fuzzy that carlos had chosen you, the knowledge that when he was feeling low you were the one he wanted to hear on the other end of the line creating some sort of feeling in your heart, like someone was squeezing it not-quite-too tightly?

it was these questions, and an incessant amount of bin lorries driving past at 5am, that kept you from falling back asleep, and were the reason that you were grumbling now, as you reached over to pick up your phone. the grumbling ceased the moment you read the message and saw who it was from, replaced by a softly murmured ‘oh’, and that strange feeling in your chest again.

as always feedback and comments are welcomed with massive appreciation and open arms! a second part is written and will be out soonish! much love, Katie x

[kamyru]

Them posting Candy on social media after they start dating (MCL: NG x Candy) (Headcanons)

Roy Aquino

Roy started posting Candy on social media before they even started dating.

He had some followers who were sure they were together before they officially were.

After that, there's nothing that can stop him.

He won't make embarrassing posts with Candy. However, it doesn't mean he won't make close friends stories with some funny candids of her, like barely awake or laughing till crying.

This meany also posts Candy being breathless after an intense gym "date".

Amanda de Lavienne

Amanda's first post with Candy will probably be about their engagement or something.

The people who are not close to her won't even know that she has someone.

Except for those who are attentive enough to see that she likes romantic and cheesy posts from time to time.

Candy also won't post Amanda because she asked her not to.

However, if they ever have a wedding, both will have matching profile pictures from their wedding for a while, maybe even a few years.

Then, Amanda will allow Candy to post cute videos from the special day, but who knows?

Jason Mendal

Jason is struggling between wanting to tease the hell out of Candy and wanting to show a perfect life.

If we imagine he has friends, he probably does the same thing as Roy and posts embarrassing photos of Candy only on close friends.

But as posts, there are only photos in which both look 120%.

He has the type of social media you will want to show your parents, with photos from all the celebrations with him and Candy standing properly and stiff but with smiles worth some toothpaste commercials.

However, he lets Candy tag him in her posts, and in them, everything is way, way more natural and cute. Jason smiles genuinely and has a lovestruck face while looking at Candy.

Roy probably did a fake account to like them because he couldn't let himself like them from the main one. 

Devon Okere

Devon is the most chill about it. He will sometimes post cute photos or allow Candy to do it if she wants to.

He won't bother to post candids only for close friends. If they are cute and not embarrassing, he will post them for everyone to see.

However, he has Roy to post strange photos of him and Candy, and tag them with some cheesy comment underneath. Devon made sure that Candy didn't mind and just moved on.

Some of his business partners ask him about Candy from time to time because they saw her on his page and are surprised to see her working at Devenementiel too.

If Candy tried hard enough, she may even convince Devon to match profile photos with her, but soon, he will change it to a more professional one.

Thomas Rheault

Thomas is aware of how easily you can find someone's personal information from their social media.

So, don't expect this man to be very active. His main "social media" is probably Linkedin.

Jokes aside, people will probably find out he has someone only after talking with him in person.

He's that person who dated for like 10 years, got married 3 years ago, and some of his friends still think he is single.

However, from time to time, he gets into photos of his friends or from Devenementiel's page, and everyone who has access to the photos can see how he softly looks at Candy and understands that there has to be something between them.

[lhoandbehold]

You end up spending a lot of time on LinkedIn when your whole career is hopping from project to project, you always have to keep an eye out for who is making what, who needs people etc -

And in the process you figure out that there are people who like, actively build followings on that site. There are LinkedIn influencers. There are people who post black and white pictures of themselves holding handwritten vague motivational quotes, daily. You come across 'how to I got to 10k followers' guides. People coming up with new LinkedIn creator trends. I promise you, the place has honest to god discourse (should you or should you not use the 'open to work' label on your profile, and whether or not you shold have a pfp of anything other than yourself in a suit on a white background amongst them).

Anyway, I just figured I would let you know. Reporting from the corporate trenches.

[slocumjoe]

Companions on social media

Cait; Posts gym thirst traps and videos of her working out or getting into fistfights. Can be found in the comments and DMs of women, gay or otherwise. Lots of activity in sobriety and self-help communities. Doesn’t have a lot of followers, but does fundraiser streams for a week every three months she's sober. The money goes to child abuse prevention foundations. Her most recent charity streams had her trying to get all achievements on Just Dance after someone donated 10k requesting it.

Codsworth; self-help videos for people struggling to take care of themselves. How to tidy up, how to take effective breaks, what needs to be cleaned in a house and what supplies you need...very useful, very popular with college students and teens. Once posted a video of him going at wasps with a chainsaw and gained a million subs overnight.

Curie; children's educational YouTube channel that's, somehow, more popular with young adults. Science experiments gone wrong. Think Jackass and Mythbusters hosted by a tiny French woman who approaches everything with the joy and whimsy of My Little Pony. Her most popular videos are her 100k subscriber specials, a series where she goes ghost and cryptid hunting to disprove them and demonstrate the fraudulence you can find behind such things.

Danse; has a Facebook for work purposes. It has a profile photo only because Haylen insisted. Fears the internet deeply, thinks its the closest humanity can get to staring into the void and seeing something blink. Unbeknownst to him, there's a viral video of him teaching a workout regimen to trainees. The comment sections are pure thirst. All of his coworkers know and made an oath to never speak of it.

Deacon; Is the one who snuck into training and got that video. Posted it to r/NextFuckingLevel with 🥵🥵🥵 for a caption. Owns several large meme accounts, all with distinct personalities and lives. Someone tried to dox him after suspicions, but found all accounts had different IPs and info. He's just that good. His Facebook changes profile photo every. Single. Day. He consumes an absurd amount of audio books. Drops CRAZY money on charity streams to make the host do weird shit, like 100% Just Dance. Probably sells feet pics.

Dogmeat; The internet's darling. Nick Valentine's dog who doesn't help with catching bad guys, but with far more important things; Dogmeat cuddles and plays with victims at the scene or in court. Also trained in search and rescue. Much of Dogmeat's page is just Nick sharing important information (hotlines, self-defense, survival tips, et cetera) while petting or playing with Dogmeat. Kind of a McGruff the Crime Dog vibe.

Gage; Facebook that he uses to cyberbully cop pages and Craigslist to offer his...unconventional services (pretending to be your boyfriend at family gatherings to cause drama). His pet lizard, an Argentine Tegu, has an Instagram with 3k followers. The Tegu often wins pet competitions and Gage posts the awards captioned with 🖕🏻💚🦎💚🖕🏻. Works at an amusement park, posts tell-all confessions on Reddit.

MacCready; Facebook with friends and family, posts a lot of Duncan. His YouTube history is videos for Duncan. Lots of Curie's videos. Mac has a Craigslist and LinkedIn, does odd jobs when he isn't working as a security guard at a shooting range. Activite in communities about comics, shows, and video games. Sometimes he'll post a theory about a show or comic and he's usually right. Really enjoys the meltdowns of fandoms when the media takes a nasty turn, even if he's also betrayed.

Nick; Ellie runs Dogmeat's page, Nick just does the talking. As for Nick himself, has some pages for his work (that Ellie also manages) and a Facebook profile to stay in touch with friends and family. Much like Danse, consumes media offline—except for poetry. Most of his screen time is spent on Poetry.com, one of those people that leave comments. He likes how the internet makes information and art accessible. Very peaceful and wholesome internet time.

Hancock; The void that Danse is scared of. Also does streams, but not only for fundraisers. Streams high. Streams himself trying to find his way back to his apartment late at night. Always end up in a fast food joint, trying to convince the workers to unionize. Twitter shitposter until a politician needs cyberbullying. Organizes protests. Extremely active in Massachusetts' political scene, his fans are a force to be reckoned with. Has fistfought his own fans before. Occasionally cancels himself to prove a point. Makes mock apology videos whenever another celeb/influencer fucks up.

Preston; Park ranger and community organizer. Uses Facebook and TikTok to appeal to all ages. Is unfairly good at TikTok dances. Posts safety tips, upcoming event information, etc. Does a lot of work with Dogmeat and Nick. Posts bodycam footage of him arresting people, like shutting down fire-themed gender reveal parties, or poachers. Not a lot of followers, but the bodycam footage goes viral on subreddits like r/Instant_Karma.

Piper; a journalist and blogger. Posts videos of her political rants and makeup/hair routine. Joins Hancock in politician cyberbullying. Makes commentary essays and videos, sometimes book reviews. Appears on podcasts. Her media presence is decently known, but mild. She tries to keep herself distant from it. Despite this, has a good-sized following who appreciate the lack of parasociality. Her most famous video is her trying to find the best coffee spots in Boston.

X6-88; security guard for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology who got stuck running the Twitter when the last guy got arrested on weed charges. Piper keeps DMing for an interview and he keeps blocking her accounts. He has LinkedIn for work. Half of it is redacted and involves NDAs. No other media presence except for one thing; he's an infamous esports cryptid. Across a few different shooter games, a high-rank player called X6-88 (its just his first initial and the numbers on his security badge) fucking curbstomps everyone in the match. He has never died or missed a shot. Never speaks in chat, never in team chat. He's a legend among gamers. For him, he's just relaxing on a Friday night, keeping his senses sharp. Doesn't realize there are compilation videos of streamers raging at him.

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Limelight |Jake Kiszka x Reader | Prologue

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm back at it..you know me, ideas pop into my head out of the blue and occasionally we go on a journey together. Please note that while this follows the band and Jake closely this is a fictional story. I currently do not have a posting schedule or a plan on how many parts this will be so bare with me !! As always, I appreciate alllll the feedback and love chatting about stories with you all ! I cannot wait to see where yet another enemies to lovers trope takes us! A very special shout out to @joshym for hyping me up over this story and being a beta reader for this upcoming series (I appreciate you so so much!!). This is just a little prologue to start us off on our journey. MINORS DNI this series !!! This will contain smut at one point!

Summary: Jake Kiszka is a pain in the ass to put it in simple terms. But you loved your job, you actually needed this job more than anything. However, shining shoes, refilling water, folding towels, applying eyeliner, etc. was not exactly on your agenda. Neither was falling in love with the type of man you usually steered far, far away from but yet here we are. Being Jake Kiszka's personal assistant has brought trials and tribulations beyond belief but maybe, just maybe, they were worth it all in the end.

Prologue Warnings: None. Unless you want to count swearing?

Limelight. 

Between both aspiring artists and fans alike, the chase and the thrill of the limelight could not be beat. 

You craved the limelight personally, more than the average fan of music. You wanted a taste of it for yourself ever since you were young but being the center of public attention? Well, scared the hell out of you. So you settled for a different type of “Limelight”. The type of limelight that brought along all of the green rooms, the thrills, the music so loud and close you wouldn’t be able to hear for days following the concert. You craved to just be close to your favorite musicians without having to pay a pretty penny. You craved the backstage limelight. 

You had applied at ReverbPR for a simple assistant job to navigate your way through the music industry to make a name for yourself. You went to college to be a producer of music but found it hard as a young girl fresh out of college with little to no experience to have anyone take you seriously in Nashville. So you settled to be an executive assistant for frontmen, guitar and bass players and drummers alike in hopes to market yourself to these artists to then eventually work with them one on one with their new albums. 

You were working away at your profile on LinkedIn in a little coffee shop early on a Monday morning when you got the call from your boss Brian. 

“Pack your bags, I found a new client for you.” 

Your heart raced from excitement. Things with your previous client did not work out well for you. You had been paired up with an up and coming rock band who’s misogynistic ways both on stage and off made it a very uncomfortable work situation for yourself that was taking a toll on you mentally. You had called Brian after a month and begged him to pair you with someone else. To your surprise he agreed and sent your replacement to the band and thankfully, that was the last you heard of them. 

So when you heard from Brian you were now paired yet again with an up and coming rock band of young men, your heart sank and your blood pulsed in your ears.  But Brian had assured you that this band was different and you wouldn’t be working with all of the band members, just one this time. 

Higher following on social media and a good reputation. 

So you agreed but had a mind to keep your guard up just in case. 

That night, following a few glasses of wine, you lifted your roommate's cat off of your lap. You ignored the soft protests that sweet little Isabel made and reached out for your laptop sitting on the coffee table. You typed ‘GRETA VAN FLEET’ into your browser and fell into a deep dive on the quartet from Michigan and their rise to fame. 

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away from you, a young guitarist was preparing for a night of revelry. 

“Why do you always have to be such a dick dude?!” Jake exasperated, shooting a glare across the room to his better half. Actually, lesser half in the eyes of Jake at this given moment. 

Jake's arms were crossed against his chest and he was leaning against a table. His hands were preoccupied with a cup of wine and a little black eyeliner pencil that was about to go to waste. 

“Because brother Jake,” Josh paused and closed his eyes as his assistant, Rose, spread silver glitter across his eyelids. “Beauty like mine takes time! My rhinestones aren’t even done yet.” 

He closed his eyes again, avoiding the sharp glare from Jake. 

“It's not going to take long to do two little black lines under my eyelids.” Jake threw a hand in the air. 

He could tell Josh was getting irritated quickly as Jake was interfering with his “Quiet Time” pre stage ritual bullshit. “Exactly. You can do it yourself.” 

“Josh,'' Rose protested softly. “It really won’t take me that long.” Josh’s eyes popped open in a warning his sweet assistant Rose then back to Jake as if to say ‘Get the fuck out of my dressing room’.

Jake rolled his eyes. “What fucking ever. I’ll get my own damn assistant then and you won’t be able to steal them.” 

As he walked back to his own dressing room clad in his silver stage suit, the faint sounds of fans chanting “GRETA! GRETA! GRETA!” filled his ears. His senses were heightened. No matter how many times he’s been on stage. No matter how many pep talks he has given himself before, he will never shake the butterflies. 

Now to add to the butterflies was pure rage. A sense of frustration with his twin and he didn’t even have time to do his goddamn eyeliner. 

He made a plan in his head to talk to his manager about it tomorrow. It was time he had his own damn help around here.