#results boardroom

[violant-apologia]

one thing i only recently learned (because i wasn't active during the relevant election) is that the viscountess of the viric jungle is only a big cat in parabola?

she uses that image everywhere but in the is she's just... normal house cat-sized???

this, unsurprisingly, has made me wildly more predisposed to her

[kaelmcdonald]

Imagine reading a line as stone-cold as "I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it" and letting the brainworms win to dare imply Teaboot hasn't given more critical thought to Shitlick McSnowdumpstercapitalism's existence than they ever wanted to or should have suffered

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

[too-much-tma-stuff]

As Long as we can Hold On (Part 20)

Previous | Masterpost | Next

tw: descriptions of violence, gun violence, gore

It was bitter sweet to return home after the week away, mostly to return to the Gotham weather and constant overcast skies. Danny would miss the stars, even though he was very glad to be home and to hit the streets and patrol their haunt again making sure that everything had gone alright in their absence. Everything seemed calm but Danny had a bad feeling and his gut instincts were usually pretty good, something was off. Whatever it was he was sure he would find out soon since they had a meeting scheduled with their various lieutenants and  other people of note the next day just in case them being missing for a week had inspired any… ideas. 

The next monthly meeting with their lieutenants and dealers was in two days so there was no point bumping it up. That gave them a couple of nights to settle in and to do a couple more low-key patrols to sooth Danny’s anxiety about potential issues in their haunt that always reared its head when they were away for more than an overnight. It soothed his restless spirit to confirm their haunt and nest were still as they had left them. The first night back in their bed, after a patrol, Danny just couldn’t stop purring snuggled against Jason’s chest, feeling the very edge of responding hum even as Jason teased him about it.

Danny slept well tucked in his own bed and his lover's arms, and by the time they had to meet with their subordinates Danny felt settled in his own skin again though something still itched at the back of his mind. He and Jason got to the meeting location, one of the warehouses that had been set up as a sort of boardroom, first and were there to greet people as they came in. Once everyone was settled in their assigned seats, in various stages of ready for a professional meeting with a folder of papers, and sulking with their feet on the table, Red Hood and Hyena went to stand at the head of the table. 

“Alright I want everyone’s reports,” Red Hood said, his voice distorted and almost inhuman through the modulator. “And don’t leave anything out, I have eyes everywhere so I probably already know.” 

Before the first person stood up to give their report Danny’s ears twitched at the sound of a small click. Years ago he would have thought nothing of the sound, but being with Hood he had become intimately familiar with the sound of the safety being taken off a gun. His head turned sharply, just in time to see a man they had thought was loyal level a gun at Red Hood.

“Look out!” Hyena yelped and jumped in front of Hood, there was a bang and everything went dark. 

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

The executioner shots weren’t perfect since they hadn’t been meant for Danny, the shot to the forehead took out one of Hyena’s eyes and the shot meant for the heart went through a lung. But the result was the same, Hyena was dead, and not the intended target. He collapsed to the ground in a puddle of blood, one remaining eye vague and unseeing as the room was filled with gasps and at least one scream. The would-be assassin tried to flee, stumbling away from the table and knocking over his chair before Red Hood’s bullet found him, shattering his knee and sending him to the floor, howling in pain.

“You and you, bring him up here,” Hood said, his voice cold and flat as he pointed to two of his other subordinates who scrambled to obey. After just being betrayed and losing his partner they were sure any hint of disobedience or hesitancy would earn them the same slow, painful death Red Hood surely had planned for the turncoat. “You, bring up the chair,” he ordered a third, who obeyed as well.

Everyone sat in nervous silence as Hood tied the assassin to his chair and then just… waited. And waited, the tension in the room rising and rising the longer the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and the injured man’s whimpering.

“Um, Boss? What are you going to do to him?” Someone spoke up hesitantly when the silence became too oppressive. 

“Me? Nothing, Hyena will want to handle this,” Hood said calmly. 

Around the table various gangsters and outlaws gave each other nervous looks, it seemed like Hood really couldn’t process the loss of his lover. Neither of them had seemed entirely sane, but he couldn’t believe that Hyena was still alive with part of his head missing?!

“Boss, I don’t think he can do that. I think he’s-” Someone started, as gently as possible, before being cut off by a fucking horrifying rattling breath. 

“God damn it,” Hyena wheezed, blood dribbling from his lips with his words as he pushed himself up. His one eye was still missing but the other was bright with life and rage again as he glared at the man who’d shot him. “Do you know how long eyes take to regenerate? And that fucking hurt!” 

Someone fainted, but Hyena seemed completely unaware of the wave of horror that spread through the room as he stood with injuries clearly incompatible with life. His attention was fixed on his would-be (Should be) murderer as he stumbled forward towards them. He whimpered and shrunk even further back in his chair but couldn’t get away as Hyena slumped into his lap. 

“I’ve worked so hard to keep this a secret and act like a normal human and you fucking ruined it!” Hyena snarled, clapping his hands together with a crackle of electricity before pressing them against his attacker’s chest, who screamed as electricity surged around both of them before fading into sparks. 

“Welcome back My Love,” Hood laughed, stepping forward and running his fingers through Hyena’s hair without fear even before all the sparks had faded. 

Hyena grinned under his muzzle and leaned into Red Hood’s hand, before turning his head away from their audience to hide his face as he lifted his muzzle to spit out a mouthful of blood and something that glowed green. “Right,” He practically gargled looking back at their captive. “Who put you up to this?”

“I-I was working on my own-” He started before Hyena electrocuted him again, cutting off his words. 

“Wrong answer,” Hyena snarled. “You’re not imaginative enough to have thought of this on your own,” He said with a horrifyingly wet laugh. 

“I-I-” He stuttered, eyes flicking around frantically, looking to their audience, as if any of them were going to save him! Hood and Hyena had been terrifying enough before they found out Hyena was apparently a meta! And surely a powerful one at that if he could survive a fetal injury like that, and regeneration clearly wasn’t even his only power!

“Cat got your tongue? Here, let me help you loosen it,” Hyena cackled, starting to rub his hands together and generate sparks again. 

“No!” He yelped, shrinking back in the chair he was tied to. “It was Penguin! He said he’d make me a millionaire, and even if I died he’d give the money to my family. My girl is pregnant, I just wanted a good life for them.” 

“Save it with the excuses,” Hood snapped before resting both hands on Hyena’s shoulders, causing him to shake his hands dispelling the sparks. “Penguin huh? Ballsy of him, didn’t expect that to be honest. I thought he was more soft power then trying to make moves on other crime bosses like that these days,” He hummed. 

“We’re going to have to teach him a lesson aren’t we Boo?” Hyena nearly purred as the hole in his head finally started to fill back in. 

“Oh absolutely~ We’ll make him regret messing with us. Now what about this one? Should I kill him or do you want the honour?” Hood asked Hyena. 

“You go ahead,” Hyena shrugged, sliding off off the other man’s lap and rolling his shoulder to stretch out the brand new flesh and chunk of lung his body had finished generating. 

“No nonono please I’ll be a double agent! I can get you info, Please don’t-” He begged, though he should have known better after hurting Hood’s partner. Honestly he couldn’t have been very bright to think that there was ever any way that he was going to make it out of this alive. Even if he had managed to kill Hood, Hyena would have ripped him apart for it too. His pleas were cut off in a gurgle as Hood shot him through the throat, silencing his voice and making him gurgle on his own blood. 

“Get him out of the way please Beloved,” Hood asked Hyena, who stepped forward and easily picked up the man, who was significantly larger than him and tossed him into a corner to slowly bleed out or drown on his own blood. “Right, moving on, I want to hear your reports.” Red Hood said matter of factually, gently ushering Hyena into a chair and standing behind him with his hands on Hyena’s shoulders.  

They watching intently as everyone took a turn standing on shaking legs to deliver their reports, trying to ignore the gurgling breaths of the man dying in the corner, and not look at Hyena’s slowly regenerating eye. By the time Hood was satisfied everyone was still loyal, and suitably scared, and dismissed them Hyena was completely healed and the wet gasping from the corner had faded into silence. 

“No one speaks about what happened in this meeting. At least not until after we have dealt with Penguin,” Hood ordered as everyone stood up and gathered their things. “If he has warning that we’re coming there aren’t so many of you that we can’t follow up with each of you… individually,” He warned darkly, watching intently as they all filed out. 

Once they were alone he felt Hyena’s shoulders relax a little under his hands. Jason relaxed too, that was the first attempt on his life he had gotten in a while and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t say he was strictly surprised, attempted murder was sort of part of the crime lord gig after all, but he was still affected by it. And Danny even more so he was sure, since he had come dangerously close to losing Jason.

“How do you feel, Moonlight?” Jason asked gently, sitting down and drawing Danny onto his lap. 

“Like I want to bring Penguin's precious tacky empire down around his traitorous ears,” Danny hissed, pressing his face into Jason’s chest. 

Jason ignored the blood being smeared onto his shirt in favour of holding Danny and combing his hands through his lover’s dark hair. “Are you sure? Regenerating that much must have taken a lot out of you, especially in your human form. If you’re tired revenge can wait till tomorrow.”

“No! I want to do it now. Unless you want to think of a more subtle plan then just storming into the club where he is and confronting him head on?” Danny asked looking up at Jason curiously, deferring to him as usual. He wanted revenge, but he would control that if Jason wanted o be diplomatic. 

“Oh no, a full on assault sounds perfect to me,” Jason assured with a distorted laugh. “But that would mean exposing most, if not all of the powers that you have access to in this form and you’ve been so adamant about keeping them secret. Are you sure you want to do this? Wait, don’t answer that now. Whether we do it or not we have to go home first to get cleaned up, change clothes, and pick up some more weapons. Answer me once you’ve had a shower and you’re in some clean clothes without holes in them.”

“Alright,” Danny sighed and got up from Jason’s lap, offering him a hand up. “Let’s go home now then. Do we want to do anything with that body?” 

“No, no point. Someone will probably come clean it up later and if it is found all the witnesses know better hen to say anything if they value their fucking skin.” Jason chuckled, getting a slightly shaky smile from Danny in return as he led the way out of the warehouse and to his bike. 

The drive home passed in silence but when they got home Jason could see that the set of Danny’s jaw had only gotten more stubborn. As he headed into the bathroom he grabbed a spare Hyena suit instead of normal clothes. Alright so they really were doing this tonight. 

As the shower ran Jason rushed around their apartment gathering weapons and his suit with extra armour, but also the engagement rings he’d picked out and the new gloves he’d been working on in secret. He had a feeling this would be the perfect opportunity, something true to them while they were protecting what was important to them. And a political move as well, once Penguin rebuilt they could claim his club as a place important to them as well so they could spend more time there keeping an eye on the slimy little fucker. 

By the time Danny was back in costume and back out of the bathroom Jason was ready to go. He didn’t bother reminding Danny to grab any weapons since he knew very well his lover was perfectly capable of ripping through an army with his bare hands, and they left again without having to say a single word and they were on their way to the Iceberg Lounge. 

Jason skidded to a halt outside the lounge and Danny dismounted first, stalking towards the entrance. The bouncers tried to intercept of course, telling him to wait, but Danny froze them in their tracks and broke one of their arms when they tried to reach for their weapon. Then they were in, Jason drawing his guns as Danny pushed open the doors and shot two of the speakers with blasts of ice cutting the volume of the music in half. 

“We have business with Penguin,” Jason announced loudly to the room.

“If any of you don’t want a part in this fight please file out in an orderly fashion,” Danny said, taking a half step to the side and mockingly bowing people towards the door. There was a quick exodus after that, which was a relief, they didn’t want any collateral damage to innocents if they could help it. 

“Red Hood, what is the meaning  of this?” It wasn’t Penguin, it was one of his lieutenants, they did not want to talk to her. 

“Did you know about the Penguin's attempt on my life? I assume not or you would damn well know while we’re here,” Red Hood snarled at her, sending a ripple of gasps through the people who were left. 

“No he did not!” Harley gasped slamming her hands on the table and standing making Danny jump. He hadn’t realized that Harley and Ivy were here tonight. But hey, having some friends to pack them up just in case, and to make them seem like more of a threat, could only be for the better.

“Yes he fucking did! We got it out of the attempted assassin before we killed him. So we have a bone to pick with Penguin, get him out here or we will tear down this entire building,” Danny snarled. 

“And we’ll help,” Ivy said, rising gracefully from their table and going to stand behind Jason and Danny, with Harley stomping along at her heels. 

“Actually I think we should bring the building down whether he comes out or not, just to send a message,” Red Hood said dryly. 

“What a good idea Boo~” Hyena cackled, before grabbing one of the metal stools and throwing it through one of the windows. He picked up a chair and ripped the leg off, and handing it to Harley to use as a bat so she could start her own path of destruction. 

It seemed that was as much unfettered destruction as they were going to be allowed as a well trained looking troupe of bouncers came rushing in and Jason locked on to them. He was sure they were wearing bullet proof vests so he didn’t bother with body shots, he was perfectly capable of disabling them without killing them, and they were just doing their jobs. Hyena threw up a shield of ice around them, leaving Jason a window to fire through. 

“Damn I didn’t know you could do that,” Harley muttered to Hyena. 

“I can do a lot more than that,” Hyena laughed. 

“Focus please both of you,” Ivy said as she sent a wave of plants out, cracking the tiles as they rushed towards the people shooting at them and soon the room was filled with the screams of those Jason had shot and the silence of those unfortunate enough to have been dealt with by Ivy instead. 

Danny dropped the shields of ice freeing him and Harley again to cause more visceral and hands on chaos. It was amazing to see them work as Hyena practically flew over the bar to start smashing bottles of alcohol and Harley rushed off to smash whatever she could get her hands on with her makeshift bat. 

“Come on out Penguin, answer for what you’ve done,” Hood called as he reloaded his guns. He knew there would be at least one more attempt to force them out first, maybe he even had some metas on payroll, but they were not going anywhere. “We’re not going to kill you. We just want to talk, make sure you know what you did was wrong. The longer you take the more you’re going to have to replace, the more people you send out after us the more medical bills you’re going to have to pay.” He was sure Penguin was watching on the cameras from whatever nuke proof bunker he had squirreled himself away in. Hopefully he had his listening ears on. 

Apparently not because instead of Penguin the people who came through the doors next were a group of metas, and it seemed like Hyena had lost his patience. He was the one to leap into action, jumping from the ground floor up to balcony where they had entered, skipping the stairs entirely to get at them. They weren’t expecting him to come in so quickly and one was down before they had the chance to respond and Hyena had blood on his claws, his eyes glowing green as he snarled inhumanly. The remaining metas fell back a little, looking nervous and unsure, whatever confidence they’d had before rattled in the face of his ferocity. 

“Alright that’s enough,” Penguin’s voice rang out, he was trying very hard not to sound or look rattled, but he was out of breath and his hair was ruffled like he had run there. “I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about, I would have never gotten involved in underground politics like that and shame on you for-” he yelped as Hyena grabbed him and jumped down from the balcony again, ripping his cane out of his hand and tossing it aside as he dragged the offending villain back to Hood like a hunting dog with a hare. 

“Is that so? Nothing to do with it?” Hood drawled, the projected eyes on his helmet narrowing as Hyena held Penguin in front of him. 

“Yes! Nothing at all!” Penguin insisted, though there was nervous sweat visible on his brow, matting his bangs to his forehead already. He tried to shrug off Hyena’s grip but he wouldn’t budge. “Unhand me you, Ow!” He yelped as Hyena tightened his grip to the point the boned in Penguin's arms creaked ominous. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve given Hyena permission to go all out with his powers tonight, and I’m sure you understand an attempt on my life already has him very upset,” Hood drawled curiously. “If you didn’t send him, why would he have said your name under torture?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know! You and I both have plenty of enemies who might have made a play against both of us simultaneously,” Penguin simpered. “It would be win win for them, either he killed you or you killed me and either way there would be a player taken off the board right? Surely there are plenty of people you can think of who might want that?”

Hood didn’t believe it, but he couldn’t deny it, and he didn’t want to kill Penguin if he could help it because that would leave a power vacuum in the underground that he wasn’t actually interested in filling. He sighed and subsided back a bit, which was Hyena’s queue to lessen, though not release, his grip on Penguin. “Well that’s a little disappointing, here we were planning to make an example of you,” He said, his gaze sweeping over the entirely ruined lounge, broken and stained with blood. “Though I suppose in a way we did, and I hope you’ll remember this too, if you ever do get any stupid ideas.”

“Yes of course! But this is going to cost so much to repair! Coming barging in here without any proof-” Penguin started to fuss. 

“Pengoo!” Hood interrupted with false friendliness. “Be glad we’re letting you leave with your life, and shut the fuck up.”

Penguin looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, but he did shut up, and when Hyena let him go he darted away quickly. 

“Good, with that out of the way. Hyena I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and here after watching how fiercely you defend me and defend out home, in the presence of a couple of our best friends, and romantic role models,” He winked at Harley and Ivy. “I just can’t think of a better time to ask. So,” He got down on one knee and pulled out the ring box from his bag. “Will you marry me?”

Danny gasped and covered his muzzle with both hands, next to them Ivy smiles softly and Harley bounced on her toes and tried not to squeal. Tears gathered in Danny’s eyes and Jason barely had time to brace himself before Danny was diving into his arms. “Yes!” He yelped enthusiastically. “Yes yes of course I’ll marry you! Yes of course!” He said before finally backed up so Jason could take off one of his glove and slide the ring onto his finger and then dove back into Jason’s arms making him laugh as he picked Danny up and spun him around. 

“HELL YA!!” Harley screeched and practically tackled both of them.

“Darling let the young lovers have their moment,” Ivy chided affectionately though she made no attempt to pry her away from Hood and Hyena since they were both laughing as well. 

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Penguin butted in bitterly. “Now get out of my club, feel free to come by for a complimentary drink to celebrate, whenever I get this place open again.” He huffed, but this time they were willing to leave and go find somewhere better, and more private, to celebrate.

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

By the time they got home they were both exhausted, and just a little bit tipsy since Harley had insisted they had to get some drinks to celebrate. They tumbled into bed together, giggling and almost deliriously happy to finally have the masks off and be able to kiss each other properly, and they did, for a long time. Finally they just lay together, legs tangled together as Danny purred tiredly. It had been a very long day, but there was one more emotional thing they needed to get through. 

“Danny?” Jason asked. Danny responded with a questioning hum. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after I die?” He asked, and backtracked when Danny immediately tensed. “Not any time soon! I’m certainly not planning on dying any time soon! But you said you're functionally immortal right? So you’re going to outlive me. What are you going to do?” 

Danny relaxed again slowly and then sighed softly. “I’ll stay with you,” He said softly, nuzzling against Jason’s chest. 

“You can’t-!”

“Not like that! But I’m half dead, I have access to the afterlife. And you’ve been around me enough, and I give off enough death energy that I can feel you becoming a little bit liminal. It won’t affect you much, but it pretty much guarantees you’ll become a ghost when you die, and a decently powerful one at that. You'll be with me in the Infinite Realms so unless you want death to do us part, it doesn't have to.” 

“What's a liminal?” Jason asked, he understood what most of Danny said meant but he needed a little clarification. 

“It basically means that your living soul inside your body is starting to develop a ghost core before death. If it happens early enough in development people tend to get some ghostly traits in their living bodies but it doesn't affect adults as much,” Danny explained willingly. 

“Huh,” Jason sounded, taking a moment to process all the new information before smiling slightly. “I guess we'll have to change our wedding vows won't we?” 

“Ya, from death do us part to ‘as long as we can stand each other’,” Danny joked, though Jason could hear the insecurity under his words. The silent ‘as long as you can stand me.’

“How about, as long as we can hold on to each other,” Jason suggested instead and Danny's smile softened and became more sincere. 

“Ya, I like the sound of that.”

[nylpad]

IN THESE MOMENTS I REALISE

Warnings: Jeong Gu-won's cuteness overload

In the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, Y/N stirred awake to find Jeong Gu-won's gaze fixed on her. His eyes, usually so strong and determined, held a gentle plea that was rare to see. From the moment she opened her eyes, he was there, a persistent shadow fueled by an uncharacteristic need for her attention.

"Please, just stay with me today," he begged, his voice a soft murmur that seemed out of place in the mouth of a man who rarely asked for anything.

Y/N tried to resist, to remind him of the mountain of work awaiting her attention, but Gu-won was relentless. He followed her like a second shadow, his pleas growing more endearing with each passing moment. It was unusual for him to be so vulnerable, so openly in need of her company. After all, he was her husband, the one who had promised to stand by her side, but never to impede her path.

As the hours ticked by, Y/N found her resolve weakening under the weight of his cuteness. Gu-won, the man who had faced down boardrooms and business rivals without a hint of hesitation, was now using every adorable trick in the book to keep her from her work.

Finally, with a laugh and a shake of her head at his antics, Y/N surrendered to his charm. "Alright, you win," she conceded, and Gu-won's face lit up with the victory of a child granted his heart's desire.

They spent the day wrapped up in each other, doing all the little things that couples do when the world outside ceases to exist. They cooked together, the kitchen filled with laughter and the delicious scents of their joint efforts. They walked hand in hand through the park, basking in the simple joy of each other's company. They watched old movies, curled up on the couch under a shared blanket, their laughter mingling with the on-screen dialogue.

And all the while, Mrs. Shin, the ever-reliable annoyed secretary, took care of Y/N's work. She handled the calls, the emails, the paperwork with a practiced hand, ensuring that Y/N's day of indulgence wouldn't result in a disaster tomorrow.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the world, Y/N and Gu-won sat side by side, a pair of contented silhouettes against the fading light. In the quiet of the evening, Y/N leaned her head on Gu-won's shoulder, a silent thank you for a day she hadn't known she needed, a day of love, laughter, and the sweet surrender to her husband's rare and irresistible begging.

[ltash]

The Bodyguard pt-1

Part 2 & 3 link in the end.

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

The boardroom was sleek, modern, and imposing, with dark wood panelling and a sprawling glass table. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp shadows across the faces of the people who had slowly filed in, each flashing rehearsed smiles in your direction. You leaned back in your chair, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a sleek silver pen, your eyes sharp, taking in every movement, every fake expression.

Five guards stood silently behind you, their presence a subtle but unmistakable reminder of your authority. You were untouchable here, or at least, that's what you needed them to believe. As the CEO and heiress of Aventis Pharmaceuticals, a company built on generational influence, you knew there were black sheep lurking within your empire. You could feel it in the way certain board members avoided your gaze, shifting uncomfortably under your silent scrutiny.

"Let's get started," you said, your voice calm but unyielding as you set the pen down, giving each person a measured look. "I need the details on the latest antinarcotic project we're working on."

There was a pause before the head of R&D, Dr. Marcus Lewin cleared his throat. He looked pale, though you couldn't tell if it was the lighting or nerves. "Ah... of course, Miss Aventis," he began, shuffling some papers before him. "We're in the third phase of clinical trials now. The formula has shown promising results, minimal side effects, with a faster recovery rate compared to the last version."

You raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm slightly. "Minimal side effects?" you repeated. "We're aiming for a groundbreaking product, Dr. Lewin. I expect 'minimal' to be an understatement."

"Yes, of course," he stammered, nodding vigorously. "I, uh, apologize. We're working on further improvements. There's also some data regarding efficacy rates in the latest testing group. I can forward the specifics to you."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze hardening. "Forward them to me? Dr. Lewin, I'd prefer a comprehensive update now from you. Or are there... issues you'd rather not discuss here?"

A few other board members shifted uncomfortably, casting sidelong glances at one another. But Dr. Lewin managed a stiff smile. "No issues, Miss Aventis. We've been gathering the results carefully. We're confident we can meet the expected deadline and provide a full report for you to review."

You nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch. "Good. I expect nothing less. And, just to be clear," you said, glancing around the table at the assembled members, "I don't tolerate surprises. If there are any... discrepancies, now is the time to disclose them. Otherwise, I expect total transparency."

A hush fell over the room.

Your gaze shifted to Martin Hayes, the company's CFO, a man known for his sharp financial acumen and, at times, slippery ethics. He sat across the table, his fingers tapping nervously against his folder. He offered a tight, polite smile as he looked up to meet your eyes.

"And about our deal with that company?" you asked, your voice cool, with just a hint of impatience.

Martin cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Yes, of course, Miss Aventis. The partnership with Arcadia Biotech is progressing as planned. We've secured favourable terms for both manufacturing and distribution, ensuring a significant reduction in costs while increasing production capabilities."

You tilted your head, studying him. "And Arcadia is still unaware of our... competitive projects?"

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but you didn't miss it. "They're completely in the dark," he assured quickly. "We've kept all sensitive projects under strict confidentiality clauses. As far as Arcadia is concerned, they're our exclusive partners in the development and distribution of the existing narcotic treatments."

You tapped your fingers against the table. "Good. I'd like a written assurance from you that our proprietary research won't leak. If Arcadia or any other competitor even hints at knowing about our new product, I'll know who to turn to, won't I, Martin?"

The colour drained slightly from his face. "Absolutely, Miss Aventis. You have my word; I'll have our legal team draft an ironclad document."

"See that you do." You leaned back, giving him a faint smile as if to relieve the tension just slightly. "And remember, gentlemen and ladies," you added, letting your gaze roam around the table, "we're here to lead the industry-not to compete in petty games. I expect only the highest standards of loyalty and discretion."

A murmur of agreement filled the room, the board members nodding.

You leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, and fixed each board member with a piercing stare. The boardroom fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

"Also, remember this," you said, your voice low but unwavering. "I am more than capable of running my father's company. Each of you is here because you're shareholders, yes, but let's not mistake that for immunity."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed a few faces, and you didn't miss a beat.

"If I find out that anyone here has tampered with our formulas, compromised our products, or made any attempt to sabotage the reputation of Aventis Pharma..." You let the threat hang in the air for a moment, letting them feel the weight of your words. "Then you'll all be sinking with me. I won't hesitate to bring down every last one of you along with this company if it comes to that."

Martin Hayes shifted uncomfortably, his collar suddenly seeming a little too tight. Dr. Lewin was looking down at his notes, his jaw clenched, while a few others exchanged uneasy glances.

"Now," you continued, sitting back but keeping your gaze sharp, "let's ensure that it never comes to that. We are all on the same side, or we should be. Our success is your success. I expect complete loyalty to the vision my father built and entrusted me to lead."

You let the silence settle, watching them absorb your message. Finally, you smiled, but it was a smile of steel. "Any questions?"

No one spoke up, and you nodded in satisfaction. The boardroom felt smaller, suddenly less crowded with ambition and more attuned to your authority.

The boardroom cleared, and with a curt nod, you dismissed the meeting. Rising from your seat, you walked out with purposeful strides, your five bodyguards falling in line behind you, each scanning the area, their presence, an unspoken wall of security. You exited the building and moved toward the parking lot, where the air was still and quiet, almost eerily so.

Your eyes drifted to a Hummer parked discreetly in the far corner. It felt out of place, like a shadow that didn't belong. You slipped into your sleek sports car, the engine purring to life, but an uneasy feeling gnawed at you. Suddenly, figures emerged from the darkness, men with sharp eyes and cold expressions, each one wielding M14 rifles. Diego Garcia's assassins. The Hummer door stayed shut, but you caught a glimpse of Garcia himself watching from within, his gaze locked on you.

Before you could react, a hail of bullets erupted. Your heart thundered as your bodyguards sprang into action, returning fire, but the assassins moved with ruthless precision. In moments, one by one, your guards went down, each man fighting until his last breath but hopelessly outnumbered. You watched in horror, paralyzed as they fell, each life extinguished in seconds. You barely registered your own scream, choked by terror and fury, as the sounds of gunfire faded, leaving only silence and blood.

Your hands fumbled, trying to unlock the doors, but they were stuck, trapping you in the vehicle like a helpless bystander in a nightmare. You felt your pulse race as the shadows closed in, and then Diego was there, standing right outside your window, his face illuminated in the dim parking lot light. He smiled, a dark, twisted smile that sent chills through you.

"Mine," he whispered through the glass, his voice laced with malice and satisfaction.

A wave of dizziness overtook you, and everything spun. His words echoed in your mind as your vision blurred. Helpless and horrified, you slipped into unconsciousness, the last image seared into your memory: Diego's face, and that sinister smile that promised nothing but darkness.

A week had passed since the attack, but the memory of it still haunted you, flickering at the edge of your thoughts as you sat on the plush velvet sofa in your expansive drawing room. Sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a warm glow over the gleaming marble floors and the breathtaking view of the Los Angeles skyline stretched beyond, grounding you in the opulence of your mansion. The faint hum of a helicopter faded as it settled on the rooftop, carrying with it your new bodyguard: Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, a man whose reputation preceded him.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the hallways, each step precise and deliberate, growing closer until the double doors swung open. You rose from the sofa, instinctively straightening your posture as the figure of Ghost entered the room, his presence consuming it instantly. He was massive, towering over you at 6'4", his muscular frame stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt, every inch of him exuding strength and danger. His broad chest and shoulders were carved with the kind of power that comes only from a life on the battlefield, and his thick, muscular thighs tested the seams of his black cargo pants. A holstered firearm rested against his leg, a stark reminder of the deadly world you were stepping into.

But it was his eyes that struck you the hardest. Deep brown and unwavering, they locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost physical, as if they could see straight through every secret you held. A skull-patterned bandana covered most of his face, concealing his expression, but his gaze was enough, it was fierce, calculating, and unyielding. His buzz-cut hair, a dirty blonde, caught a hint of sunlight, and a jagged scar traced down his left temple, the brutal souvenir of battles fought and survived.

The contrast between the two of you felt almost surreal, his raw, masculine power against your delicate, fragile beauty. At just five feet tall, your frame seemed almost dainty by comparison, a striking contrast of elegance and strength. The soft material of your dress hugged your figure, emphasizing the curve of your waist and your petite, curvy form, while your brown, doe-like eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"This is Ghost, ma'am," he nodded, his voice low, gravelly, resonant. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, filling the room as thoroughly as his presence did.

You hesitated, caught off guard by his intensity, before extending your hand. "Lieutenant Riley," you greeted, your voice steady even as you took in every detail of the man before you. "I've heard a lot about you."

He accepted your hand, his grip firm and respectful, but his eyes stayed sharp and assessing, as if already calculating every risk, every angle of protection.

"Welcome to my mansion. How was your journey?" you asked, settling yourself elegantly on the velvet couch, your posture flawless.

"The journey was fine, ma'am," he replied, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He took a step closer, crossing his arms, his gaze intense and assessing. "The view from the landing pad is quite something, too."

You felt his eyes linger, moving over you, taking in the details of your petite frame and the way your bodycon dress clung to your curves. He tried to keep his focus professional, but it was hard not to notice the finer details.

"Tea, coffee, or whiskey?" you offered.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Whiskey," he replied without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on you.

With a small nod, you rose from the sofa and moved to the bar across the room, reaching for the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. His eyes tracked your every movement, lingering on the bare skin between the thin straps of your dress. The dress hugged your form perfectly, and though he kept his face stoic, his attention remained unwavering as you poured the amber liquid into a glass.

You turned, holding the glass in your hand, and extended it to him. He stepped forward, his calloused fingers wrapping around the glass, brushing lightly against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt up your arm, but his face revealed nothing, not a hint of reaction. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip, all the while keeping his gaze steady on you.

You leaned back onto the plush sofa, crossing your legs elegantly, watching as he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. The slight tension in the room was palpable, each of you sizing up the other, feeling out the boundaries of this unfamiliar relationship.

"So," you murmured, a faint hint of curiosity in your tone, "you wear the skull mask, Ghost..."

His eyes narrowed slightly above the edge of his mask, a flicker of irritation passing through them. He lowered the glass, studying you in silence for a moment before he replied, his tone even. "It's part of the job," he said. "Helps me keep things... impersonal. No one gets to see my face."

You tilted your head, not breaking his gaze. "Not even me?" you asked softly, a subtle challenge in your voice. "Not even the person you're here to protect?"

There was a beat of silence, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the mask. For a moment, you thought he might look away or ignore the question altogether. But then he spoke, his tone a shade more guarded. "Protection is about distance, ma'am. Masks help with that. It's not personal, just how I keep a clear line between my duty and... everything else."

You took a slow breath, absorbing his words. "Clear lines, huh?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him, his formidable frame, his stoic face, the shadows that clung to him. "Is that what works best for you, Lieutenant? No attachments, no faces, just the mission?"

He held your gaze, unflinching. "It's what's kept me alive." His answer was calm, unwavering, as though he'd thought it through many times before.

You nodded, acknowledging the harsh reality he lived by. "Well, I suppose I can respect that," you replied, your voice soft but thoughtful. "But you should know, Ghost, this won't be a typical mission. There are things at play here that... don't fit within clear lines."

He didn't respond, but his intense gaze on you seemed to deepen, like he was silently bracing himself for the unknown. Finally, he gave a slight nod, the barest hint of understanding in his eyes.

"Understood," he said, his tone low and resolute. And in that moment, you realized that, for all the distance he wanted to maintain, his presence, steady and unyielding, was exactly what you needed.

"Diego Garcia," you said, your voice quiet but resolute. "The Santiago Cartel."

Ghost's expression darkened. The name carried weight, a reputation steeped in violence. "Diego Garcia," he repeated, his tone grim. "Powerful, ruthless, no ordinary drug lord."

"He's bigger than Valeria Garza. More dangerous than El Sin Nombre."

Ghost's gaze was sharp, intense. "I know. Santiago Cartel is one of the deadliest in Mexico, and Garcia's the head of the snake."

"He's after me," you admitted, feeling the weight of the words as they left your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"My company produces anti-narcotics," you explained. "We sell the cure. He sells the poison."

Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're cutting into his profits," he said, understanding dawning. "You make him look weak."

"We're about to launch a new antidote," you continued. "One that blocks the effects of drugs like cocaine, fentanyl. It's still in testing, but it'll be on the market soon."

He nodded slowly, processing it. "The cartel won't let that happen. They'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

You felt a shiver at his words but pushed on. "He's already killed for it. My bodyguards... I watched them die, right in front of me."

A muscle tightened in Ghost's jaw. "He killed them in front of you," he said, his voice low, edged with anger. "Bastard doesn't play by any rules."

"He sent his men. They were armed with M14 rifles. My men didn't stand a chance."

His expression grew grim. "M14s. No wonder your guards didn't make it."

"Laswell suggested you," you continued, watching him closely. "She said if anyone could handle Garcia, it'd be you."

He met your gaze, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "She's not wrong. I've dealt with men like him before." His voice was calm, unshaken. "And I'll take him down.

"Let me show you around," you said, motioning for him to follow.

Ghost nodded. "Lead the way."

The mansion was sleek and modern, blending luxury with privacy. As you walked through the marble driveway, you passed the tall, solid wooden door into the living room, its polished granite floors gleaming in the light. To the left, a door opened to the swimming pool area, surrounded by greenery. Above, a glass skywalk connected the house, offering a view of the water below.

A spiral staircase led to the second floor where your master bedroom and its luxurious bathroom were located, complete with a Jacuzzi and a high-tech shower. The back lawn opened up to the underground parking area.

As you walked, Ghost took in everything with a sharp, calculating gaze. The mansion wasn't just a home, it was a fortress. Every detail, from the barbed wire to the strategic location, was a reminder of the protection it offered.

"Like what you see?" you asked, watching his reaction.

Ghost's expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. "It's secure," he said, eyes flicking over the property. "More than most would need."

"It's still smaller than other mansions here," you countered.

"Smaller, yes. But more secure," he said. "Most billionaires settle for an alarm system. You went further."

"The reason I don't go bigger is security," you replied. "I know Diego could breach it, but it's L.A. He'd think twice."

Ghost nodded. "Smart. L.A.'s dangerous, but Garcia would hesitate."

"Good. Let him be intimidated. Makes my job easier."

He shifted his attention back to you. "What about inside? Armed guards?"

"Outside," you said. "The perimeter's covered."

He raised an eyebrow. "Inside?"

"You..." you trailed off, letting him fill in the rest.

Part 2

Part 3

Pic credit: VhenanVirabelasan

https://www.instagram.com/vhenan_virabelasan?igsh=MWpmdnVzaXN5czYyZg==

[daydreamtofiction]

Malicious Compliance // Surgeon Strange x Reader

Masterlist | Request a Fic

Summary: After a brief meeting with the world renowned neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange, he plans to make you his latest conquest. He’s only interested in one thing, but that’s okay, because so are you. (female reader)

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: Strong language, explicit sexual content, pre-sorcerer Strange (arrogant, cocky). Smut: no strings attached, dominance & praise, oral sex (receiving), light choking, unprotected sex (sort of?). Readers must be 18+

A/N: Just a quick lil oneshot for you all. I literally thought of this today and the whole thing poured out of me in one sitting lmao. I like it though, hope you guys do too!

His eyes are glaciers. Cold, hard, yet always moving. They flit towards the window, sunlight turning them the crispest blue, then back down to the notebook on the table in front of him. They warm slightly when he looks over to Doctor Palmer, roll languidly whenever Doctor West speaks. But in the end, they always seem to settle back on you.

He’s as hubristic as you’d expected; leant back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, taking up as much space as his body will allow. He corrects a colleague when they call him Stephen. It’s Doctor Strange, he says, voice so deep and rich it’s almost tangible. 

He watches as you press your finger to the inner corner of your eye, trying to rub away the tired itch beginning to take root there. You wonder how offended he’d be if he knew you fell asleep reading one of his published papers last night, how you woke up in your hotel room this morning with your cheek pressed to page seventeen of The Strange Palmer Method. It would make his blood boil, you think, to know his work had been used as a pillow. You resist the urge to tell him. 

Coffee burns the roof of your mouth. You wince and place the cup back down on the boardroom table, sift through the pile of papers in front of you as the room waits for you to speak again.

“Honey,” says Doctor Strange. 

“I’m sorry?” you reply. 

He points to your mouth. “It’ll help with that burn.” 

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh I didn’t- It was just a little warmer than I expected. Thanks, though.” 

The corner of his mouth curls and he turns to look down the length of the table, the flecks of silver at his temple catching in the light.

You clear your throat as you find the document you were looking for. “So, pending approval from the ABMS, we would like to roll out training for the Strange Palmer Method in all of our hospitals.”

“What about my new technique for stent placement?” asks Doctor West. 

“Oh please, Nic,” Strange scoffs. “We’re talking about actual revolutionary surgical procedures here.” 

Doctor West’s back straightens, you open your mouth to speak but he gets there first.

“Excuse me, my stent technique could drastically cut down the amount of time a patient’s brain is open on the table! Do you even realise-” 

“Mhm, why don’t you go win some awards and make national news, then maybe we can talk.” 

Doctor Palmer’s head falls into her hands as the other surgeons groan and shift uncomfortably in their seats. You’ve met your fair share of asshole surgeons in this job; travelling up and down the country stroking egos and exalting god complexes. But this man sitting across from you is, without a doubt, the victor of them all. 

“The stent technique is very interesting,” you say, easing the tension in the room. “But we would need to see the results of a study or trial of some kind before taking it any further.” 

“Very diplomatic of you,” says Strange. 

“Not diplomatic. I just know a promising procedure when I see it.”

“Hm. Are you a doctor?”

Your gaze turns to a glare. “I am.” 

“Where do you practice?”

“I don’t anymore. My job is to keep other doctors at the top of their game. Hence why I’m here right now with all of you.”

He’s almost smirking, head cocked slightly, twiddling a pen between his fingers. It’s fitting, you think, to see a surgeon take such pleasure in getting under people’s skin. 

You hate that you find him attractive. That you’ve managed to fall victim to a charm buried so deep beneath layers of pure arrogance that you have to dig to find it. If he wasn’t so beautiful on the outside, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t bother fighting to find something redeemable within. But the way your body reacts to him; the warmth, the buzzing deep in your belly, it must be there. 

The meeting finishes and you remain at the table, straightening the wad of papers in front of you and slotting them back into your binder as everyone filters out of the room. When you’re alone, you stand and walk to the large window, taking a moment to gaze out at the view. Your eyes skim New York City, admiring the blend of old and new; small stone buildings wedged between tall skyscrapers, the late afternoon sun glinting across metal and glass, pockets of green peppered amongst brick and mortar. You wish you got to come here more often. 

You pick up your briefcase and drape your jacket over your arm as you make your way out of the boardroom. The corridor is bright and quiet, but the bustling of the hospital is a low hum. You close the door behind you and begin to walk, unfazed by the sight of a figure leaning against the wall up ahead. 

His arms are folded over his broad chest, dark blue scrubs doing little for his tall, robust frame. His legs are crossed at the ankles as he rests his weight back against the wall, head stooped slightly, but his eyes are on you. 

“Doctor Strange,” you say with a polite nod as you continue past him.

He smiles, allows you to pass, but you feel him move behind you. 

“You don’t really think Doctor West’s procedure holds any merit?” he asks, catching up to walk at your side. 

“I do.” You furrow your brow. “You don’t think there’s merit in improving the efficiency of existing surgeries?” 

He shrugs. “Just not all that exciting when you compare it to what I’m doing.” 

“You mean what you and Doctor Palmer are doing…” 

There’s a chuckle deep in his throat, like he enjoys the back and forth, watching his opponents fight for their lives while to him it’s just a sparring match. He quickens his pace to slip in front of you, turning to face you and forcing you to halt in the middle of the corridor. 

“Be honest,” he says. “You’re impressed.” 

“Of course we’re impressed. Why else would the board have sent me here?” 

“No I mean you, specifically.” 

You glare up at him, hiding your amusement with an eye roll. “Yes, Doctor,” you say slowly, your words empty and biting. “I am very impressed.” 

His cupid’s bow deepens as his lips curve into a self satisfied smile, lines forming in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He knows you find him infuriating, but it only seems to encourage him. There’s a moment of silence, long enough for his gaze to trail the length of you, just once. 

“You know, I’d love to talk more with you about it,” he says, looking down at his obviously expensive watch. “Maybe over dinner. Have you eaten?” 

You draw in a deep breath through your nose, letting it out in a sigh as you begin to speak. “I don’t need your superficial attempts to woo me, Doctor.” You reach into your briefcase and pull out a pen and a business card, scrawling on the back of it and handing it to him. “This is where I’m staying. Come by around eight.” 

You’re certain he’s going to protest, pretend he actually wants to go to dinner, talk, that he was ever interested in anything that didn’t involve the removal of your clothes. You wait in suspense as his eyes flit down to the card in his hand, then back up to your face.

“I prefer to fuck in my own bed,” he says bluntly. 

A wave crashes in your stomach, rushing down into your core, the sensation so strong and unexpected that your knees almost buckle. This isn’t the first time one of your work trips has ended in you going home with a surgeon, but the way this one doesn’t try to feign the ‘nice guy’, doesn’t pretend to want anything more from you than your body, that’s new.  

“Unless I’m on vacation, of course,” he adds with a cocky smile. 

“Of course…” 

He flips the card over and plucks the pen from your hand. You watch as he scribbles on it and hands it back to you. 

“So this is where I’ll be tonight,” he says. “You said eight works for you?”  

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek, unsure if you’ve ever met anyone as imperious as this. You slip the card into your pocket and move to walk past him, stopping as your shoulders brush and looking up at him. 

“I hope your dick is as inflated as your ego.”

He smirks to himself, remaining quiet as you continue to walk away. 

Your skirt is riding up your backside. You reach back to yank it down for the hundredth time before pressing the buzzer on the wall of the apartment building. The setting sun is just a glow beneath the horizon but the streets are still busy, the air warm with a pleasant breeze. You lean back to stare up at the building, the mirrored windows stretching so high you can’t see an end to them. You wonder which one is his. 

There’s a scratching sound on the intercom, followed by a deep voice. “Yeah?” 

“It’s me,” you say, glancing over your shoulders as if you’re on some kind of secret mission, scared of being seen. 

He doesn’t speak again, instead there’s a quick buzz followed by the click of the heavy front door. You let yourself inside, heels clacking against the glossy marble floor as you hurry towards the elevators. When the doors slide open, you pull out your business card, punch in the floor number he’d scrawled in the bottom corner. It begins to ascend, making your already swirling stomach turn. 

You pull down the back of your skirt again as you step out into the hall, peering down the length of it in search of his apartment. The door is tall and wide, dark timber and a heavy metallic handle. You knock but your knuckles barely make a sound, the dense wood swallowing the echo. 

Still, he comes. You regard him quietly as you step inside, the snug sweater and tailored jeans, a pair of sneakers making you feel entirely overdressed. He’s already grinning; a smug, confident smile that reignites the ire in your chest. You ignore him and walk further in, eyes wide in awe at the vast, industrial space.

You walk over to the window that stretches the length of the apartment, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, framing a perfect snapshot of the city. 

“Now I understand why you make the women come to you,” you say. 

“Hm?” 

“This place. It’s impressive.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “That’s the point, right? You like to impress. To show off.”  

He laughs quietly and makes his way to the kitchen area, opening the extensive liquor cabinet. “You want something to drink?” 

“I have rules,” you say abruptly, turning around to face him from across the echoey room.

He straightens. “Go on…” 

“Nothing that happens here can be used for any type of professional leverage, good or bad, by either of us.” 

“Of course-”

“This isn’t a date. I don’t spend the night, I don’t keep in touch, I don’t call when I’m back in town so we can do this again. This is just tonight. And it’s just sex. Understood?” 

“Understood.” He returns to the cabinet and takes out a bottle. “So, about that drink…”

You’re already gone, wandering off through a door at the rear of the apartment in search of the bedroom. 

You find it. It’s a dark, cave-like space, large curtains draped across another huge window, only the faintest glow of the sunset fighting through the fabric. It’s clinical, just as you’d expect from a surgeon; sleek furniture void of any clutter or knick knacks, exposed brick walls with the occasional piece of art - no photographs. There’s a full length mirror, a small couch, and a bed so large you could sink into it and disappear. You wonder just how many women have delved beneath those sheets before you. 

He appears in the doorway, looking you up and down. “You’re eager, little one,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, watching as he closes the door behind him and approaches you. You reach up to touch him, to kiss him, but instead he takes your wrists in his hands and lowers them back to your sides. 

“Mm, not yet.” 

You scoff in dispute, eyes following him as he strolls across the room and switches on the wall sconces, illuminating the area above the bed in a dim, warm light. 

“Look,” you say. “If you’re just going to mess with me then-”

“Well actually, after you left the hospital this afternoon, I got called to consult on a patient and ended up having to stay late. I just got home around fifteen minutes before you knocked on my door. So if you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower first. Is that alright with you?” he finishes sarcastically. 

You settle down, composing yourself and relaxing your shoulders. “Of course.” 

“Make yourself comfortable.” 

He pushes open a door to the right and you catch a glimpse of the luxurious, marbled master bathroom as he steps inside. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone again. You stand there for a moment, listening to him whistling to himself, his belt buckle unfastening and hitting the floor. Water bursts from the shower, the sound like soft static, and you immediately rush over to the mirror. 

You examine yourself carefully; fix your hair, press your nose to your skin and clothes, shift your underwear so it sits smoothly and undetectable beneath your skirt. Then you sit down at the foot of the bed, knee bouncing impatiently. You change your mind shortly after, moving to the small couch opposite the bed instead. 

Ten minutes or so pass, but it feels like an eternity. You picture him drawing it out on purpose, working the lather into his skin one section at a time, scrubbing at his hair for much longer than necessary, just to make you sweat. The water shuts off and you listen to him singing to himself, the hum of his voice through the door. When the door finally opens, steam escapes into the bedroom, the rich smell of citrus and cedar filling the air as he walks out, still humming quietly. 

You glance over at him, mouth falling open slightly to find him completely naked, your gaze falling immediately to the pronounced length hanging from his body as he pads across the room. You look away quickly, rolling your eyes and huffing with indignation. Of course he’s naked, you think, he likes to spar, and you’ve willingly stepped into the ring.

Droplets sit on his shoulders and roll down his torso as he moves around the bed. He climbs on and lays down right in the middle, hands resting behind his head, propped up slightly on the headboard. His hair is still damp, half-coiffed, the grey at his temples darker than it was before. His body is solid, the mystery beneath the scrubs now revealed to you in all its glory. His arms are thick as they flex either side of his head, divots of muscle creating shadows across his torso, cock resting proudly on his thigh as he parts his legs in wait. He’s exquisite, and you can’t help but bask in the sight. 

“So,” he says casually. “Are you just going to stay over there looking at me? Or are you going to come and sit on my face?” 

You glare at him, unamused. 

“What?” he shrugs gently. “You’re the one that said this was strictly sex. Forgive me for abiding by your rules.” 

“There’s a word for that, you know,” you reply. “Malicious compliance.”

“Mm, is it really malicious if I’m offering to eat you out?”

“Depends how good you are at it.” 

“Come here and find out.”  There’s no humour in his tone, but it’s still playful, like he’s goading you. 

You stand up and take a step towards the bed. 

“Clothes,” he demands. 

You stop, pressing your lips together tightly. His eyes never leave you, remaining locked on yours as you kick off your shoes and untuck your top from the waistband of your skirt. 

“They should study you,” you say. 

“Study me?” 

“Yeah.” You lift your top over your head and throw it to the floor, reaching down to unzip your skirt. “Look into how one singular person could possibly be such an ass.” 

“Clearly there’s a part of you that likes it, y’know, since you’re here… taking your clothes off for me.”

“What can I say? I’m partial to a surgeon. Think it’s the hands.” 

The skirt pools at your feet and you step out of it, extending your arms as if to say ‘ta da’. He smiles. 

No one has ever looked at you like this. So intense, like he’s studying every inch; relishing in every freckle and blemish, every curve and crease, mapping out the places he plans to touch, taste, explore. 

You continue towards him but he raises his palm, halting you again. “You haven’t finished,” he says. 

You glance down at yourself, then back up to him, letting out a grumbling sigh as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. It pops open, the release of pressure on your skin as soothing as a deep breath. His gaze darkens as you slide the straps off your shoulders, watching your nipples harden as you reveal your bare breasts to him. 

“These too?” you ask, hooking your thumbs into the waistline of your underwear. 

“Mhm.” 

You take them off as gracefully as you can, shimmying them over your hips and thighs and kicking them away. His cock is hardening, swelling and rising towards his stomach. Your mouth twitches with a triumphant smile, but you suppress it as you climb onto the bed, crawling up to meet him. 

You lean down and press your lips to his, feeling your skin prick, arousal kindling in your core. His mouth is smart, but it’s also divine. The feeling intensifies, spreading through your belly and pounding between your legs as you sweep your tongue into his open mouth, feel his restraint wavering as your hot breaths mingle. You let your chest press against his, the feeling of skin on skin making you burn with need. 

You bring a hand up to his face, he brings his to your throat, bracketing it gently and peeling his mouth from yours. 

“I didn’t tell you to kiss me,” he says quietly. “I told you to sit on my face.” 

You pull back a little more, making eye contact, breathless as a million comebacks shutter through your mind. But in the end you say nothing, letting out a soft huff and slowly shifting your body up the bed.

You hold the top of the extravagant headboard with both hands and swing one leg over him, straddling his shoulders as his fingers reach up behind you to the small of your back. His touch is electric, lips searing as they plant a kiss on your inner thigh. A soft whimper escapes you in a breath, as though anticipation is its own foreplay. 

He wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth. Your grip tightens on the headboard, fingernails digging into the soft, cushiony fabric as he parts his lips against your centre, sucking softly on your already throbbing clit. Your head falls back when his tongue drags up the length of your slit, moulding itself to every pucker and groove, lapping you up like he adores you, and you wonder how many women have fallen for him in these moments. 

You groan quietly, closing your eyes as you focus on the flicks and strokes of his tongue, the sucking and swirling, the hums deep in his throat and he devours you. Your clit is sensitive, making you shudder, the pleasure so intense you can barely stand it. Your body raises up instinctively, but he tightens his hold on you, spitting on your clit and returning his mouth to the place that both aches and sings, somehow at the same time. 

You gasp in response, eyelids fluttering as you swear under your breath. He releases one of your thighs and you glance over your shoulder to see his hand wrapping around his cock. He begins to stroke it forcefully, working himself to the rhythm of his mouth, and you almost fall to pieces. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, slumping forward and pressing your forehead to the headboard. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, but it only spurs him on, making him bury his face deeper, and you can’t remember the last time he came up for air.

“I can’t,” you whisper. 

The nerves in your clit are screaming, dancing on the precipice between pain and pleasure. He continues to lap at your centre, pushing you to the edge until you’re clinging on for dear life. Pressure swells in your core, flooding you with a tingling heat that softens your bones and turns you to liquid. Until finally you’re there, falling, melting. 

He growls as your body begins to shake, working his tongue over you one last time before releasing you from his grasp. You collapse next to him, sliding down the pillows until you’re lying at his side. You’re breathless, chest rising and falling heavily as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He rolls onto his side to face you. “You’re quiet when you come,” he says, placing a kiss into the crook of your neck, another at the dip of your collarbone.  

“I’ve spent the past two years practically living in hotel rooms,” you reply. “I’ve learned to be inconspicuous.” 

“Hm.” He props himself up on his forearm and leans over you, his other hand trailing softly down the side of your body. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.” 

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you. His mouth is slick, it tastes of you. Your body is spent, limbs heavy, yet still you find it responding to his touch. He shifts further onto you, spreading your legs with his hands and settling himself between them. You can feel his cock nudging your centre as he rocks his hips, sliding along the soaking wet mess he left there and brushing his head over your clit. It’s sensitive, raw, makes you gasp. But he swallows the sound with a heady kiss.

He’s big. Thick. Hard. Maybe that’s where he stores his arrogance. He continues to tease you, soaking himself in the mix of spit and slick as he wraps his hands around your neck, kisses you so deeply you can feel him drawing a moan from your throat.

He pulls away and looks down at you for a moment. “Condom?” he asks casually.

You’re on the pill. Have been since you were seventeen. But still, you know you should say yes. Yesterday, this man was a stranger; a face you only knew from TV and the medical articles you’d read.

“No.” You shake your head and reach down, gripping his cock and directing it into you.

He chuckles, the sound deep and low. “What a good girl.” 

You sigh as he teases at your entrance, pushing the head of his cock in and out but never breaking all the way through. 

“Were you thinking about this today in the meeting?” he taunts softly. 

You groan and buck your hips, desperate for him to take you. 

He eases back slightly and tuts. “I saw you squirming in your seat. How hot and flustered you got when I looked at you. Tell me how much you wanted this.” 

“What I wanted,” you begin quietly. “Was to wring your neck.” 

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Really…” 

“Really.” 

He squeezes his fingers gently around your throat and you exhale softly. The desire is almost painful, your core throbbing, pussy aching. 

“Funny how things work out,” he says. 

You let out a stifled moan as he sinks into you, filling you so completely you’re certain you can’t take it.

“That’s it,” he mutters as he looks down, watching his cock disappear all the way to the hilt. 

You whimper and tighten around him. He sucks the air in through his teeth, returning his gaze to your eyes with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m gonna need you to not do that,” he says. “You’ll have me finishing in seconds.” 

“Are you telling me the great Doctor Stephen Strange lacks self discipline?” You contract your walls again, this time on purpose.

He bows, forehead resting on your chest, and growls deep in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, without warning, he draws his hips back and buries himself in you again. You gasp, fingers digging into the blades of his shoulders as he repeats his thrusts, building to a firm, steady rhythm. 

A small cry escapes you; a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. He hums in response, keeping you pinned to the bed with his hands around your neck as he snaps his hips, punishing you from the inside out. 

“Wrap those legs around my back,” he demands. 

You do as you’re told, locking your ankles and gasping as he sinks further, the head of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you and sending jolts of pure electricity through your stomach. 

“You’re going to break me,” you whisper.

“Not this time. Maybe later,” he replies, still so arrogant it makes you want to reach up and slap him. 

But your hands are stuck to his back, nails digging into the smooth, taut flesh. Another unfamiliar sound falls from your lips, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. He likes it, you can tell in the way he closes his eyes to compose himself.

“Jesus,” he hisses.

His movements begin to stutter and he rests his forehead against yours. You feel his cock throbbing, your pussy growing wetter until it’s dripping. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and begins to slow down, every rock of his hips like the promise of another climax. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper desperately. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but still he obliges; continuing to stroke into you as you squirm beneath him.

“Oh god,” you groan. “Harder. I need- harder.” 

He grunts, screwing his eyes shut tightly, and begins pounding his cock into you with such force you can feel your body shifting up the mattress. You know he already came, you know how sensitive he must be. But somehow, knowing that makes this all the more delicious.

The electricity builds again, every thrust like a lightning strike through your core. Your legs begin to shake and you finally let go, giving in to the current and letting it course through you. Your orgasm is intense, sharp and tingly, making you shudder, body stiffening until it passes. 

He slows to a stop, resting his full weight on top of you. You welcome the pressure, like a weighted blanket; warm and grounding, soothing the ache beginning to settle in your limbs. 

After a few moments, he slides out of you carefully, rolling over to lie at your side. “You want that drink now?” he asks. 

Hair sticks to your forehead with sweat, you brush it back, sucking in deep breaths as you stare up at the ceiling. “No, I’m good.” 

Silence envelops you, neither one of you speaking again until your hearts stop thumping. 

“So… I guess this means you’re going to approve the training for my method,” he says. 

You turn your head, glaring at him in stunned silence. 

“I’m kidding,” he says with a smile, greatly amusing himself. 

“God, surgeons are assholes,” you mutter.

[subliminalbo]

The Pleasure Method

This is a continuation of Return to Office

It was simply dumb luck that Futurum had stumbled upon their newest tech. The Conditioning Initiative was a success, but its limitations were beginning to show. If the goal was to create the perfect workplace free from distractions or inefficiencies, they needed their employees to embrace the Initiative in every phase of their lives. This was how R&D shifted to The Pleasure Method.

The Pleasure Method was reversed engineered from hardware discovered in the basement of a sorority house near the campus of Carpenter State University. The program was a sophisticated set of stimulants delivered through a pair of noise canceling headphones and a VR headset. Futurum recovered a treasure trove of hypnotic audio and video files from a hard drive in the basement, but the files themselves weren't fundamentally different from what Futurum had achieved with The Conditioning Initiative. What really fascinated researchers were the testimonies culled from members of that sorority.

The power of sexual stimulation in subverting a subject's will had been documented in the past, but Futurum's interest was in testing its absolute limits. In their deprogramming, the sorority sisters who were rescued from the Alphas house recalled being hypnotized and fucked senselessly. Deprived of sight and sound from the headphones and visor, there was nothing left to focus on but the feeling of hands on flesh, teeth grazing nipples, tongues rolling along clits, and slick, thick silicone cocks penetrating as deep as they could go. The sorority sisters were programmed to desire only this feeling, and after several hours of unceasing stimulation they would do everything in their waking minds to feel that level of pleasure again. They would even obey.

Futurum built their own program from the Alphas' testimonies. The Pleasure Method was a more sophisticated apparatus than the crude setup recovered in the Alphas basement. R&D had long rooms filled with rows of examination chairs where subjects were strapped in and treated to days—not simply hours, but days—worth of sexual stimulation. Mechanical arms loomed above every chair in these R&D rooms. The whole area was called a Pleasure Station. The arms were bolted to the ceiling and were fitted with long, motorized silicone rods for vaginal or anal penetration. Regular electric shocks were delivered through a subject's nipples to maximize the body's capacity for pleasure.

All of this was conducted under deep hypnosis. Audio files droned reinforcing messages of submission in a subject's ears while a visor lowered over the eyes ensured that the subject remained entranced with synchronized light displays. Subjects were fed intravenously so that they could remain under The Pleasure Method for days.

The end results were a monumental step forward from the simple subliminal messaging of the first phase of The Conditioning Initiative. The Pleasure Method had been one hundred percent successful in shaping Futurum employees into re-writable worker drones.

The applications were endless. The efficiency crisis that had plagued workplaces since the pandemic wouldn't just be solved, Futurum could guarantee that no energy would ever be wasted in an office or a factory or a boardroom ever again. The future of work was mental conditioning, and the key was sexual pleasure.

You would be hard pressed to find a better example of this than No. 14. Formerly known as Shelby Irving, No. 14 was a graduate student at Carpenter State University who had worked on the initial stages of The Conditioning Initiative as part of a summer job program. When No. 14 returned the following year, she dutifully submitted herself for processing at a Pleasure Station. Though technically still a student at CSU, No. 14 accepted a full time job as a researcher in Futurum R&D, assisting in the processing of new subjects. Despite balancing two full time jobs, the new perspective afforded to No. 14 by her conditioning made her exceedingly efficient and she felt no difficulty in transitioning between both worlds every day.

Sometimes No. 14's worlds would collide, like when she was tasked with processing a new recruit who studied in the same rhetoric program at the school. On Shelby's recommendation, Josie had applied for the summer work program. By the time she stood naked before a Pleasure Station, she had undergone hypnotic conditioning through Futurum's new on-boarding program. That conditioning began to slip when Josie was strapped into the chair and No. 14 inserted the IV into her arm.

"Shelby?" Josie squeaked. She awoke to the sound of a dozen subjects undergoing their own processing. The subjects' thoughtless moans filled her ears like a ghoulish chant.

It wasn't uncommon for a subject's conditioning to fail during preparation. This only proved the need for a more permanent solution to The Conditioning Initiative.

"Shelby, please!" Josie begged, but there was no recognition in No. 14's eyes. "Oh, god!" she cried as the mechanical arm dropped down from the ceiling. The longest dildo she had seen in her life was just inches from her pussy. "What is that?"

"It is advisable that you remain relaxed through the preparation process," No. 14 instructed. As her glassy eyes floated from the terrified expression on Josie's face to the mechanical arm in front of her, they lingered on Josie's soft, round tits jiggling with each sob. A subtle, nearly imperceptible twitch of No. 14's eye displayed a potential hiccup in The Pleasure Method: that subjects could be molded and trained, but an increased desire for sexual satisfaction could take them at any minute. This time, however, the desire passed, and No. 14 continued with her programmed duties.

"Subjects find the pleasure distributor to be extremely arousing," No. 14 explained. "It will be a pleasant experience for you."

"Fuck you, Shelby!" Josie cried. She pulled hard at her restraints, but she couldn't shake the straps free.

When Josie knew that she couldn't find her way out, she tried to appeal to the friend that she knew from school.

"Shelby, please," she pleaded again. "You have to fight this! Whatever they've done to you. I know you're in there. I know you're still you."

But No. 14 was unmoved by Josie's pleas. She slipped the noise cancelling headphones over her ears and lowered the visor plate over her eyes, a neon glow illuminating along the rim of the visor as the program took effect. Josie released a sharp, surprised gasp when the pleasure distributor entered her pussy. It started with slow thrusts and picked up speed as her pussy responded with more lubrication.

Josie's pleas quickly softened until there was nothing left but a hungry moan that was indistinguishable from the rest of the noise in the R&D room, Josie's voice becoming another part of the chant.

No. 14 was practically dripping as she watched Josie become No. 500. With that same little twitch of the eye, she came. It washed over her so silently that an observer would never know the level of pleasure firing off all over No. 14's body.

If No. 14 had a thought left in her head, it may have been that she fucking loved this job.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Generative AI was always unsustainable, always dependent on reams of training data that necessitated stealing from millions of people, its utility vague and its ubiquity overstated. The media and the markets have tolerated a technology that, while not inherently bad, was implemented in a way so nefariously and wastefully that it necessitated theft, billions of dollars in cash, and double-digit percent increases in hyper scalers’ emissions. The desperation for the tech industry to “have something new” has led to such ruinous excess, and if this bubble collapses, it will be a result of a shared myopia in both big tech dimwits like Satya Nadella and Sundar Pichai, and Silicon Valley power players like Reid Hoffman, Sam Altman, Brian Chesky, and Marc Andreessen. The people propping this bubble up no longer experience human problems, and thus can no longer be trusted to solve them. This is a story of waste, ignorance and greed. Of being so desperate to own the future but so disconnected from actually building anything. This arms race is a monument to the lack of curiosity rife in the highest ranks of the tech industry. They refuse to do the hard work — to create, to be curious, to be excited about the things you build and the people they serve — and so they spent billions to eliminate the risk they even might have to do any of those things.  Had Sundar Pichai looked at Microsoft’s investment in OpenAI and said “no thanks” — as he did with the metaverse — it’s likely that none of this would’ve happened. But a combined hunger for growth and a lack of any natural predators means that big tech no longer knows how to make competitive, useful products, and thus can only see what their competitors are doing and say “uhhh, yeah! That’s what the big thing is!”  Mark Zuckerberg was once so disconnected from Meta’s work on AI that he literally had no idea of the AI breakthrough Sundar Pichai complimented him about in a meeting mere months before Meta’s own obsession with AI truly began. None of these guys have any idea what’s going on! And why are they having these chummy meetings? These aren’t competitors! They’re co-conspirators!  These companies are too large, too unwieldy, too disconnected, and do too much. They lack the focus that makes a truly competitive business, and lack a cohesive culture built on solving real human or business problems. These are not companies built for anything other than growth — and none of them, not even Apple, have built something truly innovative and life-changing in the best part of a decade, with the exception, perhaps, of contactless payments. These companies are run by rot economists and have disconnected, chaotic cultures full of petty fiefdoms where established technologists are ratfucked by management goons when they refuse to make their products worse for a profit. There is a world where these companies just make a billion dollars a quarter and they don't have to fire people every quarter, one where these companies actually solve real problems, and make incredibly large amounts of money for doing so. The problem is that they’re greedy, and addicted to growth, and incapable of doing anything other than following the last guy who had anything approaching a monetizable idea, the stench of Jack Welch wafting through every boardroom.

5 August 2024

[wannaeatramyeon]

omg can you write for samuel where he realizes that he misses/likes the reader when they stopped pestering and annoying him,,,, then the reader revealing that they did that on purpose to see how he reacts and feels abt them 😎 #mastermind

Oh. ok. That is good. I love it. When that moment of peace and silence is a bit too silent? Like something's missing? Lol or foreboding.

Samuel Seo x Reader: Too much peace

Samuel hasn't seen you all morning. Sorta sequel to Another work day

Samuel checks the time. A whole morning of peace has passed.

Well, he couldn't quite call it peace. He has no idea why Eugene chooses to employ morons and idiots that create messes Samuel has to tidy up. The politics and networking and schmoozing makes him want to rip someone's throat out. Maybe Eugene's. He chuckles at the thought.

Hmm. Something does trouble him though. Something is amiss. Samuel taps his fingers impatiently on the desk, scanning over his emails, calendar, notifications. Nothing.

No missed calls, no inappropriate 'wuu2' messages on the company chat, not even bizarre selfies sent to his phone.

No one casually walking by his office, knocking, then flipping him off after getting his attention. No one walking back the other way and blowing kisses at him. No one poking in their head with the whiniest "Sammy~" they could muster. No one lying on his sofa, playing on their phone. And definitely no one bringing him mid-morning coffees accompanied with a "looking sexy, babe!".

How strange.

Samuel can't admit to himself that he misses your presence, but he can admit that he has become accustomed to a certain routine.

What have you been up to?

Grabbing his phone, he fires off a text to you, arranging your usual lunch together. A minute passes, then five, then ten. Usually you respond instantly. He frowns.

Scrolling to his contacts "BABY GIRL'S BABY GIRL 🥰💖🍆" (a result of you snatching Samuel's phone and saving it yourself), he gives you a call. It rings out. He tries again and nothing.

Definitely unusual.

Samuel wonders if he should go and look for you, when his phone buzzes:

"STUCK IN MEETING SEND HELP 😫"

You've been in a meeting all morning? Surely it can't be that important. Eugene and the presidents are otherwise engaged today. And Samuel is, well - he's waiting for you. He grabs his jacket immediately, and heads off to the boardroom. Can't say Samuel never does anything for you.

As soon as he barges in, without even a knock, he finds you sitting on your lonesome; head resting on the table and looking at him with a cheshire cat grin.

"...Y/N. Care to explain?"

"Sammy! You're interrupting my important meeting without even knocking?!"

"What is going on?"

"Did someone miss their girlfriend?"

"Have you been here doing nothing all morning?"

"Yep," you announce without shame, popping the p. "Did someone miss me?"

"..."

"Did someone get worried?"

"..."

"Did someone try to rescue me from this boring, dull, corporate life?"

"..."

Samuel closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels the start of a headache.

Suddenly his eyes snap open at the yank of his tie, with you holding onto the other end. You pull him close and give him a kiss, "Cmon then, let's go for lunch."

Even now, with your self-satisfied smile, and your ridiculous time-wasting, he couldn't help thinking you're cute.

Fine. Samuel will admit you got him good.

[kisskissbanggang]

Disavowed - pt. 2

[5.5k Words/20min. Read - Priest!Chris x Reader - NSFW/Smut - Church, Your Mind is Playing Tricks on You, Confrontations, Something Feels Off, Catholic Guilt, Priest Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Truck Sex, I Swear This is a Halloween Series]

[a/n: finally time to get halloween cranked up to speed 💕 ty to @magicficwriting and @therhythmafterthesummer for beta reading 💗]

[Part 1 | Come Say Hi!]

It felt forbidden to be in a room full of people and be the only one to know that Christopher, Father Bang, was a disgusting hypocrite. 

The day of your realization had been Sunday, obviously. It was now Thursday, after school, and you were all crowded into the modest boardroom next door to the faculty lounge of Pinewood Falls Prep. The walls were probably supposed to be white, if it weren’t for decades of wear and cigarette smoke. Even if the smell didn’t persist, the resulting hue of curdled cream lingered.

“So that settles it. It is generous of you to step up, dear… Dear?”

An elbow gently dug into your own at the conference table. You were so distracted. 

Your gaze swung to your side to identify who just nudged you, when you recalled that Jisung was the one who so politely saved you a seat. Reverend Han, you had learned, was the other young man that helped Father James serve mass alongside Chris.

That creep.

Chris, that is. Not Jisung… although you had to admit that you weren’t exactly in love with how polite the deacon was. 

“Dear…?”

You finally snapped out of your brooding then, finding Sister Judith rolling her eyes at the front of the room.

“Poor lamb must be sleeping with her eyes open,” Father James chuckled. To your chagrin, Chris laughed along. You wanted to shout it out at the whole room right then, just what a liar and a fraud the deceptively handsome priest was.

“I was saying,” Sister Judith reiterated, “that I know there’s a litany of work left in the wake of Jacqueline’s sudden departure, but that it’s generous of you to volunteer and step up to take it on, dear.”

“I did…?” you murmured out loud, stricken with disbelief. Jisung patiently nodded to confirm it for you.

To say that Sister Judith’s assistant left suddenly was an understatement. When you arrived at work early on Monday morning, her desk behind yours, in front of the Sister’s office, was empty. Every notepad, pen, and paperclip was gone, as if no one had ever occupied the space in the first place. Sister Judith wouldn’t tell you why Jacqueline left, but you supposed it was none of your business. At the beginning of today’s meeting, Father James had simply said it was a shame, but you were surprised that no one at all seemed to particularly care that the young woman had vanished so abruptly.

“You won’t take on everything, of course,” Sister Judith clarified. “You’ll be taking care of Jacqueline’s filing duties and backing up the receptionist when Roberta is unavailable. That’s all.”

“What about the lunchtime study group in the library?” Jisung suddenly asked. “Jacqueline was running it.”

“You can take that on if you have the time, Reverend,” suggested Sister Judith.

Jisung slouched back in his chair, as though he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. “Oh, uh,” he scrambled shyly, “that’s no problem, I guess. I just don’t know if the kids will take a liking to me–”

“Not like Christopher, you mean,” Father James laughed heartily, clapping a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “They practically flock to him.”

Chris humbly waved him off. “I hardly have anything worthwhile to teach; it’s just gym,” he denied. “I make myself available; that’s all. You have plenty to teach! Make yourself available, Jisung, and they’ll flock to you, too.”

The staff all but fawned over the platitude. Your pen’s barrel creaked in your hand, you were so close to snapping it in half. That pretty boy golden child had everyone wrapped around his little finger and it made you livid.

You left the staff meeting in a daze, trying to figure out why on Earth Chris refused to acknowledge you with any ounce of recognition. The whole ordeal felt like he was taunting you, and it was on the verge of working. There was no way it wasn’t him that you’d slept with. You remembered far too much of the whole night.

Maybe it was because your pride was admittedly hurt. You weren’t typically one for one-night stands like the one you were positive you engaged in, but the idea had intrigued you enough to want it. Now it just felt like you were being punished, some cosmic joke at your expense because you acted on your desires for once and now you couldn’t get it out of your head.

Indeed, even though you’d gone to your interview and mass with only an inkling of what exactly had transpired on Friday night, that fuzzy recollection had since turned high definition and was currently blasting at full volume in a maddening loop in your head. You had tried a divey little bar in Briar Bay, only a thirty minute drive away. There were no bars in Pinewood Falls from what you could tell, so the short trip seemed worth it. The bar had been a dank hole in the wall, a cozy hangout popular with the boat crews and mussel farmers that worked the bay. You’d noticed Chris before he ever saw you. He wasn’t wearing his clerical collar that night, obviously. Instead, you were drawn to this man sitting alone at a table in the corner, with the brim of his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. You had left him alone and minded your own business at the bar…

Until a beer appeared in front of you before you could even start a tab. The bartender pointed at the sender.

Right at Chris.

Here, now, today, you were feeling self-conscious and self-righteous all at once while you grabbed your bag from where you’d stowed it in your desk, back in the main office. It had been a long day of school, and the weekly staff meeting made this one feel even longer. Chris had shared one single flash of recognition with you at mass on Sunday, but never again in the days since. He had to be too ashamed, you were positive. Grouchy was an understatement for how you were feeling. You were on edge. All week, you strained to make pointed eye contact with this man, see if you could catch him replicating that explicitly guilty glint in his eye that he had during church, and he was staunchly refusing.

Even over dinner, you drifted, like a wraith, into the dining room of the boarding house and barely paid attention to your perfectly charming and sweet housemates. Seungmin and one of your fellow boarders, Felix, had worked so hard on making a gorgeous dinner, but you were so plainly pissed to the point that you couldn’t properly taste food. The worst part, honestly, was that you weren’t solely thinking of outing this disgusting man.

You were plagued by how much you couldn’t stop thinking of your night together. Not only were you burdened with this miserable secret, but you were the only one who knew what this man looked like under his clothes, the way he acted in bed. He was horrendously attractive. He was regretfully skilled. Those juvenile little hickeys he left all over you took days to vanish. In fact, most of them finally faded just the previous morning–something you’d never experienced before. The longest a love bite had ever stuck around on your skin was maybe three, four days, but five felt like a ridiculously long time. It was only adding to the way you couldn’t get the picture of Chris’ bare chest or carved hips out of your head, couldn’t shake the feeling of his soft lips or his rough stubble. 

One stupid hickey remained–angry and red and framed with teeth marks–right between your cleavage. More like a bite than anything.

This was going on far too long. 

It was Friday. Your housemates probably thought you were sick in the head. They’d been so cordial and polite, trying as much as they reasonably could to get you to open up and share a little, maybe unload some of the burden you were clearly carrying. The previous week, before you’d ever slept with Chris by accident, you were gladly chatting and helping with housework, staying up late to wash dishes with the boys and sip iced tea on the porch, wrapped up in sweaters when the breeze picked up.

You almost felt ill. More than the guilt, more than the shame, more than the way you were convinced everyone knew you were complicit in Father Chris’ sin, you hated that you wanted to be right. The way he ignored you was too practiced, too aloof. What hurt more than him not showing any guilt was him not even showing any hint of knowing you existed in any capacity outside of school. You tried like hell to keep your head down, get your work done, try to confront the pile of Jacqueline’s filing left unfinished.

It was the damned filing that did you in, ultimately. An approved stack of staff schedules now sat at the top of the pile, unearthed after you made some progress in your fastidious sorting and storing. Fr. Bang, Christopher was staring right at you, begging you to glance at the piece of paper. Planning: 2nd Period.

You wished you would move on and let it go, but you peeked at the clock on the wall. It was almost a quarter after 9 o’clock. There was plenty of time. 

You would do it.

No, you wouldn’t. You would work through the mountain of filing.

Yes, you would. You would confront this asshole once and for all and get him to admit that he recognized you, that he was disgusting and immoral.

The hallway was crushingly empty as you walked to the gym. Your shoes clicked loud on the aged linoleum floor. It was disarming, being this hyper-aware and critical of your own actions. Something resembling embarrassment clung to you like static.

Why were you so obsessed with doing this?

Walking into the gym, you almost chickened out when you found it empty, even though that was the entire point of catching him during his planning period in the first place. You scanned the basketball court and the stands extended from the wall, finding no sign of life and abashedly turning right back around to leave.

“Wait, I’m here!” rang out a voice behind you. “Can I help you with something?”

You warily turned back to face the voice, finding it to belong to no other than Father Chris. 

He smiled softly, kindly attempting to keep you from running off. “That’s right,” he nodded with recollection. Your gut twisted. “You’re the new office manager, right?”

That was it. This was your breaking point. “You’re kidding, right?” you scoffed. Chris’ eyes widened in bewilderment.

“I’m… what?” he asked. “Are you alright, dear?” He stepped closer, and flinched when you smacked away his outstretched hand.

“That’s rich!” you cackled. “How long are you going to keep lying? How long until you stop pretending you don't know me?”

Chris shook his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, dear,” he said. “What are you telling me? I’m afraid I don’t understand–”

“Seriously?!” you balked. “You’re going to act like we’ve never met?!”

“We met before?” the priest blinked at you, maybe even a little bashful. Flattered, even. “Maybe in a dream, but I don’t think so.”

You huffed so hard, so affronted by the response, that it could’ve been mistaken for smoke spilling out of you. “That is some nerve you have, asshole–”

“Hey,” Chris said sternly. “Calm down.”

And you did. God, you hated that you did. Worse yet, you weren’t even sure why you calmed down at all. The energy from your outburst was simply sapped out of you in its entirety.

“Do you want to talk?” Father Chris offered. “It seems you have a lot on your mind.”

Unsure what else to do, you indignantly folded your arms. “Fine. Yes. I’d like to talk.”

He nodded seriously. “Okay, I’ll be more than glad to. I have a meeting about a baptism here in ten minutes, but how about tonight? Somewhere we can have some privacy.”

“Oh? And where’s that?” you impatiently asked. If he suggested the Trawler, you’d scream right there and then.

“I live in Briar Bay for a couple more weeks,” he explained. As if you didn’t already know this. As if he didn’t tell you on Friday night. “How about Reflections? It’s a nice little cafe I like.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, unsure. All the energy you originally had to pursue this issue was gone, vanished and leaving a vacuum in its wake that made it difficult to proceed. However, the idea of getting that confession was still too sweet.

“Fine,” you agreed, almost defiant, like you weren’t giving him exactly what he wanted. “Okay.”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Not okay. 

The worst part of Briar Bay being a “short” 30-minute drive away meant that every five minutes, you were wondering what the hell you were hoping to achieve. What, Chris would admit what he did and you would be satisfied? You would simply leave? Were you going to turn him in and humiliate him, really punish him for being so terrible? What exactly did you want here?

And still you were thinking about how gorgeous he was in bed. This still weirded you out. You explicitly recalled hardly being able to remember anything during your interview with Sister Judith earlier that week, but days later and now you could perfectly recall the cute way he scrunched his eyes shut when he climaxed? That queasy feeling settled in your gut again. By the time you turned off the small highway into Briar Bay, you almost felt feverish. Nauseous and everything. You were nervous trying to pick out each business. The Trawler passed by on your left down the main road, but finally you caught it. Reflections was apparently a sweet little coffee shop at the end of the main street, the last business next to the main route down to the bay. And out front, sipping from a paper cup in a cardboard sleeve on the patio? 

Father Chris had the audacity to be the picture of serenity. His shitty powder blue truck was parked out front. He was dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a sweater. A ball cap was pushed low over his brow, just like the week before. 

Fucking creep.

You nervously pinched at the hem of your top. In a move of pure desperation to hold any power you had left, you put on the exact outfit you’d been wearing Friday night last week. A crop top of reasonable length, a belted pair of cute jeans, some casual sneakers, and a cardigan because it was getting a bit chilly out. You weren’t totally sure what you were looking to get here, but maybe this would be the element that finally got that look of recollection you were so hungry for.

As you should’ve predicted, he wasn’t even outwardly excited to see you when you approached. Just a glance and a soft smile before he motioned to the chair across from him. You stiffly took a seat, when Chris pointed out toward the cliffs looking over the bay, up the hill from the cafe. “So you’re new, right? You just moved to town?”

He waited patiently until you silently nodded before continuing. “That’s Barrett Bluffs. There used to be a church there until it burnt down a hundred years ago. I just noticed that there’s actually a square patch of dirt up there. Maybe it really did burn down, except the story is it spontaneously combusted. The local kids used to dare each other to look over the edge.”

“Why?” you asked, attempting to remain nonplussed. 

Chris laughed into his drink. “I guess there’s a cave on the cliff face or something. The local legend is that a vengeful spirit lives in it. I dunno. Kids are wild.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, distant while your gaze was still fixed on the square patch of earth at the top of the bluff. “They’re pretty imaginative.”

“What’d you want to talk about?” he suddenly asked. You snapped out of it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re pretending you don’t remember me,” you simply stated.

Chris shrugged helplessly. “Because I don’t? Would you like me to get you something? Their chai here is delicious.”

You felt like your face was about to crack into a thousand tiny pieces. Every single option ran through your mind at once, tripping over each other. Really, you could argue this some more, or just leave it alone… but you did neither of these things. Instead, you got out of your chair and simply walked back up the street. Chris hopped to his feet and jogged after you, finishing his drink in the process and tossing it in a garbage can.

“Where are you going?!” he frantically asked you.

He followed you all the way to the Trawler, where the bartender waved hello to you, driving you even more mad than you already were. You grabbed Chris by the elbow and practically threw him into the chair in the back corner. He watched, bewildered, as you pointed at the bar.

“I was there,” you heatedly explained, “you were here. You bought me a drink and I came over to sit down. You said you liked my perfume and I said I liked your cologne, and we had a great time, and you kissed me in the back parking lot out there in front of your truck before you offered to give me a ride back to your place!”

How you remembered all these finer, non-explicit details, you had no idea, but they were all clear as day all of a sudden. Chris, meanwhile, was beet red in the face. 

“Uh, er,” he floundered. 

And there it was.

That tiny, miniscule little flex of muscles in his face, his eyes widening a millimeter.

A fucking confession of guilt if you ever saw one, you were convinced.

Was this what it was like to go crazy?

Except he doubled down. Chris squared his shoulders and smiled that same humble smile. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I really have no clue what you’re talking about. But for what it’s worth, I’m having a nice time. You pretty much tricked me into a date. Smart play, too, since it’s the only way I can enjoy one.”

One final option lay in front of you, one you were finally angry enough to use it. You bluntly yanked the neckline of your blouse down, exposing that one last hickey, the one that looked more like you were attacked by some animal. Chris’ eyebrows raised in surprise, his focus darting to where the mark was and away. 

“Still insisting I’m crazy? You're a real piece of work, Father,” you scowled. “Hope you're pleased with what you got.”

You let go of your top, grabbed your bag, and stormed out of the bar through the back door, the nearest entrance and into the small parking lot there just so you could get some fresh air. An uncomfortable heat surged up your back and radiated through your chest like a fever. You were nearly on the verge of furious tears. Squeezing between two pickups, you were so distracted that the rearview mirror of one of the vehicles smacked your shoulder. Fuck Chris. You would turn him in, maybe even before mass on Sunday–

Rushed footfalls on the gravel of the parking lot startled you, and you turned with only enough time to gasp when you found Chris there, his hands already cupping your face and pulling you in for a heated kiss. You barely had time to register all of this between the priest panting hot, desperate in your mouth, his cologne and aftershave making your olfactory senses tingle. His lips were still so soft. And then you remembered that this was disgusting.

The force of your slap against Chris’ cheek was more of a shove, getting him the hell off of you. You found yourself leaning back against the bumper of the truck you’d squeezed past, still holding your hand out to keep him back. 

Chris massaged his cheek and jaw where you’d hit him. He was still panting. “I hate this,” he said with a firm shake of his head. He wasn’t even looking at you. “I hate this so fucking much.”

The cursing would’ve surprised you if you weren’t already plagued with memories of him cursing over and over again the previous week.

“What?” you rhetorically asked. “What do you hate, exactly? I thought you didn’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Would you knock it off?” Chris snapped at you. You leaned back against the bumper of the truck, as much as the metal surface would allow. “We both know I’m fucking lying, I’m lying through my goddamn teeth!” he brokenly ranted. “But what I want to know is how the hell do you remember so much?!”

“Am I not supposed to?” you asked, uneasy.

Father Chris shook his head again. “No, because I barely remember anything. All I know is… is–”

“What?” you prodded. You stood up straight and took a tentative step closer. “What is it?”

“I want you, and I fucking hate it,” he spat. “I shouldn’t be tested like this. I don’t deserve this! I’m stronger than this.”

These were more admissions than you were even hoping to achieve. Yes, Chris remembered sleeping together. Yes, Chris was disgusting and immoral, and wanted more.

You didn’t feel triumphant. You didn’t feel victorious.

You felt smug. A craving erupted inside you, swallowing you whole.

You wanted to punish him. You wanted him to live in that fraught feeling of deplorable desire.

“Are you?” you questioned him. A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth. “Are you stronger than that?”

Chris glared at you, brows furrowed as he digested the fact that you were blatantly mocking him now. It was difficult to assess his next move, but you didn’t have to wait long for another hint, because he simply took that option away and flatly answered you. Chris reached for you again, grabbing at your sleeve and pulling you close so he could kiss you again.

And this time, you let him.

When you weren’t almost gagging on his tongue in your throat, you adored how pissed he looked just kissing you. By now, you were dealing with his hands, too, desperately grabbing and squeezing you. He even began kissing your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin and nipping at you until you pushed him off again. You both caught your breath for a moment, but Chris nonetheless grabbed at your hips again.

“I’m not letting you mark me up again,” you scolded him.

He nodded obediently, despite already kissing your neck some more. “Sorry,” he panted against you, “I just, I need more– We’ll get in my truck, okay? And–”

“What,” you grinned, taking a chance to softly place intermittent kisses of your own on his throat. “You going to be a coward and hide me away at your place again?” From this vantage point, you could see he was wearing a small, golden crucifix just under his sweater. Cute. 

“Don’t want to?” he asked, fumbling in his pockets while he let you kiss him. “That’s fine, it’s dark enough, just in the truck is fine–”

You raised an eyebrow in questioning. “But you parked back at the–”

“What? No,” he interrupted. “It’s right here; come on.”

That made no sense. Chris’ wreck of a truck was back at Reflections–

But the metallic clatter of a keyring stopped your line of thinking in its tracks. Chris backed you up to the passenger side door and unlocked it before he scooped his hands under your ass, eagerly hoisting you up onto the bench seat. He was already working your belt until you grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled him into the truck with you. You refused to let him lead here. If he was questioning his fortitude, you’d make it exponentially worse. 

Chris wrestled with you a bit to get comfortable in the cab of his truck, ending up sitting in the passenger seat with you straddling his lap. He was incredibly hard between your legs. When you worked your hips down against his, the friction drew the deepest, most regretful moans out of him that you’d ever heard. His strong hands clutched at your hips until you finally unbuckled your belt yourself. He leapt at the opportunity, still kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck, but now his starving touch drifted down from where it’d moved to your breast, down to slip under your panties and between your legs. You gasped and sighed in pleasure, his long fingers rubbing your sensitive clit before dipping into your wetness. 

“Fuck,” Chris gruffly cursed again, “you feel so good.”

“You still hate it?” you teased, almost laughing when he nodded pathetically.

“You’re so bad for me,” he whined. “I just want more.”

You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

Chris watched in the dim of his truck, only illuminated by a couple security lights behind the old bar as you knelt up so you could shimmy your jeans down, and off one leg. You sat back down on his lap, your damp heat resting back against him but going no further. He looked up at you expectantly.

“Well?” you grinned. “Go on. Make your decision.”

A hesitance sank in between both of you while he considered this, his eyes glazed over and shining. You didn’t blame him. Truth be told, you were surprised with yourself, too. You weren’t typically one for such intensity, but there was something about holding this much control that you were getting satisfaction from in an unexpected way. You scolded yourself for a moment for coming on too strong.

Until Chris warily removed his hat and lifted his sweater off along with his undershirt, revealing his crucifix sitting on his bare collarbones. He set these on the driver seat beside you both, before his hands now wavered at his belt buckle. Father Chris quietly sucked in a breath, as if it were a long, drawn out gasp, astounded at his own actions when he unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans. You could feel the velvety, smooth head of his erection up against you. He paused again.

You pressed your lips to his temple, a tender little reprieve in the middle of this regrettable tryst. “Did you make your decision?”

Chris could be felt nodding before his hands pushed your hips down against his own. You both groaned then, his gorgeous cock slowly stretching you around him. He sucked a breath in between his teeth. “Fuck, baby,” he gritted out. “Feel how you’re opening up for me, it’s so goddamn good–”

You loved the way blasphemy sounded coming from him while you adjusted to him inside you, enough that you immediately took over and began riding him, never giving him a chance to suggest it or try taking the lead. Again, if he was going to decide to be immoral, you were going to really throw that into perspective. 

Chris cried out loud in pleasure when you dropped your hips down onto him and began working his erection into your depths, trying to search out that good angle while the priest was lost in the moment. He was so fucking hot like this, whimpering under you while his thrusts met yours, with no one to blame but himself by this point.

Right?

There was one second where you began to doubt yourself, maybe wondering if you were taking this too far, but Chris interrupted you. Even though you were hellbent on not letting him take control, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist when he grabbed onto your thighs and helped you grind into him instead of riding him, helping you climb that high you were chasing. Worse yet, he pulled down the neckline of your blouse like you’d brazenly done back at the bar, except he went further by pulling your breast to his mouth. His tongue lewdly ran over the bite mark you never managed to get rid of, but he kept his teeth off of you, opting instead to wrap his lips around your hardened nipple, overstimulating you just long enough to coax an orgasm out of you. It hit you hard and suddenly, a sharp gasp punctuating that blissful release as you shuddered around his erection still grinding into you. Chris’ actions got a bit more desperate now, goaded on by how you swept your fingers through his hair before clutching on, reeling his head back onto the back of the bench seat and riding him harder, your rhythm relentless and pushing him closer and closer over the edge.

“It’s good, right?” you sweetly asked. “You gonna cum for me, Chris?”

“Fuck, hold on,” he croaked, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy before you gently pulled his hair again. “Gimme a second, we can’t–” he pleaded, all pouty and doe-eyed, “goddamn, hold on, I can’t–”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

But he did.

At least, you thought he did.

Because, as if nothing had happened at all, the next thing you knew you were waking up in a bed that wasn’t yours. It was his again. The way you seemed to know this instantaneously didn’t ring as odd to you when it probably should have, but there was far too much to be confused by going on at once. How did you even get here?

You blearily sat up, the crust in your eyes making it even more difficult to see, along with how dark it was. The bed was empty but you knew it was his. You tried to make out the rest of the room, get further confirmation of this fact you already knew, until you found your bag on the floor. Your phone was on the brink of death when you fished it out, but it was still able to report that it was five in the morning. 

The weird thing, at least in your mind, was that you were clothed and alone. You did just fuck Chris in the parking lot behind the Trawler, didn’t you?

… Didn’t you?

It felt like you did. But, even now, fully clothed in this veritable stranger’s bed…

It felt like it’d been a vivid dream. 

You slipped out of the bed, not even covered in a blanket. Your shoes were still on your feet. The room was a bit cold, enough to wake you up a bit faster. Judging by the view out the window, Chris lived in an upper floor unit, likely a private walk-up like many of the old houses in the area seemed to be updated into. This house was old indeed, listening to the creak of the floorboards as you warily walked out of the bedroom and found yourself in a small kitchen. A frayed cord hung from the ceiling. Following it upward, it was attached to an old attic door.

“I wouldn’t pull that if I were you,” came a voice, bringing you back to the oddity at hand. There was Chris, sitting at his tiny kitchen table. He almost looked sick, his cheeks pale. You were certain if you felt his forehead, it’d be clammy. A mug with three tea bag strings hanging out of it was clutched in his hand, shaking the smallest bit for you to see. “The attic door is broken,” he explained, not looking at you. “The super is supposed to take care of it.”

You looked up at the door again. It didn’t appear broken, but you left it alone.

Chris grimaced into his mug. “Did you and I… Did we hook up again?”

You nodded, a gesture you weren’t sure Chris saw but he nodded back nonetheless. 

“I shouldn’t be wanting this,” he frowned. 

You were at a loss of what to say. Instead, you comfortingly ran your fingers through his hair. Truth be told, the fact that neither of you were freaking out over not concretely remembering this was probably the least weird aspect of it all. You both had your own, much bigger concerns.

Chris took a sip of his tea. His hand twitched, making him sloppy. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m better than this. I’m not supposed to want you.”

“I’m sorry,” you weakly attempted.

The young priest raised an eyebrow at you. His eyes were bagged and red, bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days. “No, you’re not.”

It wasn’t a denial. It was a diagnosis. 

And he was right. 

Chris betraying his vows and giving into you was the most potent adrenaline rush you’d ever experienced. That was the case the first time, and it was the case now. 

And if he didn’t stop you, you’d make his life a living hell until he repented.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 15

You're a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

A/N: The angst and tension is going to go up in the next few chapters, before we come back into orbit... so be warned now.

2.6K Word Count

Ch 15: The Only Thing You Brought is Psychological Warfare

It had been a week since Jim was hit. A week, since you had messed up. At least, in your mind. Everyone in the office, even Cliff, told you that it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done. But you knew different. It should have been you. The taunting texts and voicemails from Waters even confirmed your thoughts. Jim had been knocked unconscious during the accident, likely a result of the full barrel roll the SUV had endured. But he was alive. You had been in and out of the hospital all week, checking on him until he woke up after the hospital induced a coma to allow him to heal. He had sustained multiple broken ribs, a concussion, fractured arm and a nice goose egg above his left eye. But he was alive. Your team had tightened up security around Scarlett as a result, the fact that Steven was getting more brazen in his attempts to harm a direct result. You hadn’t spoke to Scarlett since she called you out on the balcony of her friends home. You hadn’t performed any lead work on security for her under the recommendation of your boss.  It was uncalled for. She didn’t have the right to say that shit. She doesn’t even know you. You kept telling yourself that. But you knew she had a valid point. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to let someone in, for once. 

But not today. You were filling out paperwork in one of the boardrooms, a quiet knock on the door rousing you from your thoughts. 

“Busy.” You respond, not even looking up to see who was at the door. You thought they went away, but someone knocked again. “I’m busy.”

“Y/N.” The familiar dulcet tone of your assistant rang through the cracked door. You leaned back in the leather office chair, not even sparing the woman a glance. 

“What, Kris? I’m in the middle of something, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m not in my office so I won’t be bothered.”

“Cliff and Paul need you. Something about Johansson.” You lean your head back onto the headrest of the chair, and stare at the ceiling. 

“I’ll be there in 5.”

“They’re in your office, waiting. I’ll tell them you’re on your way.” With that, she shut the door behind her, a deafening click of the latch echoing through the silence of the boardroom. You gathered your files, your pen, and your notebook, tucking them under your arm as you skipped the elevator, opting to choose the stairs to go up the two flights to your office. You had been using the stairs more frequently of late- using it as a way to clear your head, seeing as how most everyone chose the elevator. When you pushed open the door to your floor, the click alerted Kris to your arrival. She sent you a questioning glance as you walked past, stepping foot in your office.

“Gentleman. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked as you set the files onto your desk, perching yourself onto the corner of your desk and facing the two men in the arm chairs of your office. Rolling the sleeves of your satin black dress shirt up your arms, you crossed them over your chest, as if they needed another reminder that you didn't want to be having a conversation. 

“Y/L/N, this is about the detail for Scarlett.” Paul states dryly. 

“Okay?” You respond.

“I think with what happened last week, we need to reevaluate. Clearly, Waters has a step ahead on us.” Cliff chimes in. 

“That’s what we’ve been working through this week, has it not, Paul?” You turn to your supervisor, the tone of your voice almost daring him to say otherwise. 

“Y/L/N, we think that maybe one of the other agents should head things up, let you run things from the office. At least for a while.” Paul continued. “That way, it can be seen that there is a rotation, keep Waters on his toes.” You sneered at Paul.

“Clearly, you all need to do some more homework, then.” You fire back.

“Y/L/N…” Cliff responds with a warning tone. 

“NO! You don’t fucking get it!” You fire back, your tone now adamant as you stand at the head of your desk. “Waters is a trained bloodhound. He is NEVER on his fucking toes. He is programmed to always be two steps ahead. Removing me does nothing! He is fully anticipating that, along with a changing of the guard. As much as it pains me to admit, he isn’t fucking stupid.”

“I never said he was, Y/N. But we need to get ahead of him, for once. He has been ahead of us this entire time.” Cliff responds cooly. 

“I fucking understand that, but first and foremost, we have to protect Johansson. She is the priority. I can try and shuffle her around some, break up her routine. That should buy us some time to figure out a way to get Waters backtracking.” You respond, walking behind your desk to sit in the large executives chair. “But I am warning you right now, if we change things too much, and he feels like his control is slipping, he becomes reactive. Nuclear. He WILL go scorched earth on everything in a means to destroy who he is after. And that is the last fucking thing we need.”

“Mmm. Sounds like you know more about Waters than what is in his file, Y/L/N.” Cliff looks up at you, trying to gauge your reaction. 

“Oh, believe me, sir. I know him better than anyone.” You respond, leaning forward in the chair, keeping a stern glare on your boss. 

***

After the debacle that was called a “meeting” to question your tactics with the protection detail, you decided you needed to step out, clear your head. Your head hadn’t exactly been on a swivel the past two weeks, but more a like being perched atop a rusty pole seized into place, looking at one singular thing. That was allowing Waters to run amuck in your peripheral, while you were focused too much in the past. You had to figure this out, so someone else wasn’t subjected to the torture you knew this man could dish out. 

“Kris, I will be out of the office for the rest of the day, possibly tomorrow. I have some things to attend to. You know what to do.” You normally go into her office and tell her what you need of her while you’re out, but you decided to just call her desk line. You hung up immediately after, not leaving room for her to question or offer a rebuttal. You send an email to Paul and Cliff, telling them that you will be reachable for emergencies, but you need to re-evaluate the detail for Scarlett. And in order to do that to your standard, you cannot be bothered. You packed up your things, and made your way to the parking garage. This time, you had your black Challenger sitting in your parking spot, and you popped the trunk as you approached, throwing your bag in the back before climbing inside, pressing the clutch and letting the car rumble to life. 

You were currently stuck in traffic on the way to your apartment, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel to the song stuck in your head. You wanted to get home, change, and go see Jim for a little bit before you sat down to figure out what the hell Waters angle is on Scarlett. Just as the traffic started to loosen back up, you heard your phone alert. It wasn’t your normal text tone. No- it was the tone that you had set for your security alerts. You looked over at your phone, gripping your phone tighter when you saw that the alarm at your apartment had been disabled. You knew exactly what was going on. 

You waited for a brief second,  before depressing the clutch and mashing the accelerator to the floor, veering yourself to the shoulder of the highway, and flying up the side, dangerously close to other vehicles. All it would take is one person to decide they didn’t like your tactic, and pull onto the side of the highway as well, and you would smash right into them. You were thankful as the exit you needed was approaching, and you cut off multiple people, causing a symphony of horns and yelling to come from those behind you as you cut completely across the highway, flying down the off ramp, and turning down the main thoroughfare that led you to your apartment. You continued to bob and weave your way through traffic, cutting through side streets, before arriving to your parking spot. You put the car in neutral, mashing the e-brake to the floor before killing the engine and getting out of your car as quickly as possible. You were glad you didn’t remove your shoulder holster, so you pulled your gun, approaching the door to your home away from home. You observed the blinds were drawn tight, which was unusual. You typically left them cracked so light could get in. The front door was shut, but not latched. Fuck. You quickly sent out a warning text, letting Kris know something isn’t right. 

09:23 AM  YOU- “Kris, something isn’t right. Make sure that they bump security for Johansson. Things aren’t adding up.”

09:25 AM  Kris- “Y/L/N, what the hell are you talking about? I need reason to bring to Cliff and Paul, not just a hunch. You know that.”

09:26 AM   YOU- “If I don’t call you in under an hour, then he’s here. At my apartment. And something went wrong.”

09:26 AM  Kris- “So help me whatever god there is, Y/N, quit being fucking cryptic and tell me what the fuck is going on!”

09:28 AM  Kris- “Y/N?”

09:32 AM  Kris- “Answer your fucking phone!”

You had silenced your phone, putting it in airplane mode so no alerts you disrupt what may happen. You hoped to god that nothing would happen. As you began to reach for the door knob, the door swung open, revealing a very Chesire Cat, malicious smile. Your stomach dropped, but to say it wasn’t expected would be a lie. Steven.

“Well, well, well, Y/L/N. I was just making myself at home. How nice of you to join me so much earlier than anticipated. I appreciate it.” He motioned towards the living room, your living room, quickly following behind you. “Make your self at home, Y/L/N.” He leaned down, whispering in your ear, you could feel the disgusting trace of his hot breath on your ear, causing you to speed up to get as far away from him as possible, as you tried to keep your churning stomach from evacuating all of its contents on your rug. Finally steeling your emotions, you allowed yourself to talk. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Waters?” A cynical laugh erupted from behind you as you spun on your heel.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t be rude to your guests.” He snarled, lunging in your direction, coming to a stop just before you. You could see his dull grey eyes, the scars adorning his cheekbones, and the addition of the wrinkles, smile lines and crows feet that are now adorning his face with the passage of time since you had last seen him. 

“Guests? That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who made yourself at home. I would hardly. Call. You. A. Guest.” You snarled back, equally leaning in, your faces almost touching. “But I understand that someone willingly being in your presence is a foreign concept for you, Waters.” Something in his eyes changed, but his expression did not. 

“Oh, Y/L/N. That mouth of yours always gets you into trouble, doesn’t it? That’s why you’re here now, instead of doing your job, isn’t it? They want you off the lead for that pathetic client of yours.” Your expression faltered- he wasn’t entirely wrong, but you were here because you needed the day off to clear your mind. So far, that idea was going swimmingly.  “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t been hanging around with your new client, per usual. Did she get sick of you already?” You left a stoic expression on your face, not wanting to give this man any advantage. He was already in your apartment, that was enough of one. You watched as he now paced your living room, while you remained on one side of your sofa, leaning over so your arms were straight and you rested against the armrest. 

“What’s your angle here, Steven? This is a lot of extra curricular for one target of yours…” he scoffed at this, turning on his heel to face you. 

“DO NOT USE…MY NAME!!!” He yelled in your direction, you grimaced as you could see the spray come from his mouth in the remaining daylight. “It’s Waters to you, Y/L/N. Or do I need to remind you?” He stepped closer, and you could see how erratic he was being, and how close he seemed to be to loosing it completely. 

“Waters. What are you playing at here? There’s a ton of extra bullshit going on here.” You try to calm the man pacing your living room, so he doesn’t completely fly off the cuff. 

“I’m not playing at anything. You just so happen to be a pleasant surprise in this assignment. Now, I have two people I get to ruin… both of which I will take great pride in doing so.” He seemed to harden his features, turning to face you so he could gauge your reaction. “One of these people, just so happened to ruin EVERYTHING… and I mean EVERYTHING for me. You took my wife, my family, my freedom… all for what? So you could whore yourself out, and continue to walk this earth being the fucking abomination that you are? I wouldn’t be surprised if you slept with my ex-wife while you were ruining my fucking life!” He was now within an arms length of you- something that you did not care for. 

You tried to step away, to give yourself more space, but he quickly reacted by grabbing your shirt and tie, pulling you closer. 

“Do NOT pull away from me! You’re going to take your fucking punishment. I’m going to ruin you, just the same you did to me…” he growled in your face. You wanted to interject, tell him you were ruined just the same- but someone like him would never see it that way.  “We are going to play a little game, Y/L/N… but it will probably be more fun for me, than it will be for you.” He used the grip he currently had on your shirt, pushing you to the high top chair that you just now realized he had placed in the middle of your kitchen. You were forced to sit, as he began to use some rope he had tucked away to tie you down. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Waters?!” Your voice was filled with anger, pent up frustration, and you were trying to compartmentalize the fear of what may be coming. 

“Now, aren’t you glad that you moved into these luxury apartments, that have… Every. Unit. Soundproofed?” He punctuated each word by cinching the knots on your hands and feet tighter, before he tied your waist down to the chairs base. “I’m not even going to bother trying to keep you quiet, no one will hear you anyways.”

CHAPTER 16

[avissapiens]

How to be a Bull Ch 7: Work

((FINALLY got to this one. Sorry yall.)) (Model is Elton Mota)

A prejudiced view might find it strange to see a Bull at such lofty heights in the corporate ladder. The uninitiated would see their size and assume that they have nothing to offer but eye-candy.

But our market research has shown that a large percentage of bulls actually thrive in high-achieving positions. Advertising, PR, R&D. Skilled professionals from doctors and lawyers to esteemed academics often get bit by the bull bug.

There is a clear set of transferable skills acquired when you spend your non-working hours totally gym obsessed. Discipline, Patience, Self-direction. Being able to work yourself, withstand the strain of constant progressive overload and always come back the next day ready for more.

Couple that with the bull lifestyle being more expensive than one would expect; with tons of protein, supplements and something’s extra. With specially tailored apparel because normal stores can’t contain your bulk any longer. With hyper-exclusive gym memberships and competition fee’s because that unending lust for growth requires constant improvement of facilities and community who shares your addiction.

The end result for the company is a driven, growth obsessed highly skilled worker who excels in handling large, well defined projects well ahead of the deadline because they know their muscle is at stake if they don’t.

*insert abyssal chanting*

Elton is the go-to guy for those big accounts at the Avis Athletics Agency. The look of absolute focus and fire in his eyes is sometimes frightening. Total dedication given to both sides of his life. They synthesize so naturally for him. It's like he puts every muscle and sinew into his work, and lets his work fuel every inch of growth. 

The gym at Agency HQ is state of the art, an obvious requirement given our team. But for Elton it basically functions as a secondary office space. On the phone talking with clients while he reps out a new PB on company time. He says his mind works best and is clearest when pumping iron. That pure euphoria of the mind-muscle connection truly boosting his performance through the roof. It’s such a potent addiction that when the gym was closed for maintenance for a month, the CFO offered to let Elton use his private suite just to keep his numbers high.

Company meetings with Elton are likewise a key to his productivity. The tight business attire straining around his form does end up distracting and reducing the overall work done by anyone else in the room, yes. But something about the attention drives our highest earning bull into a frenzy. Like his own personal audience. Intimately aware of how he outsizes every single man in the room. Going through the plan for an acquisition or a partnership deal that’ll PUMP PUMP PUMP the stock prices through the roof. Unconsciously flexing every time he gestures for a prop, veins visible beneath the sheer fabric of his dress shirt. Excitement palpable in the air as sweat trickles down that massive back, the fabric of his slacks starting to tighten even more. The rest of the boardroom doesn’t even need to speak. They know he’s got it.

In one wild 9-5 he gets the project that was slated to take 2 weeks on the CEO’s desk. Without a word he packed up and headed straight to the gym to unleash all that pent up energy. The CEO made a mental note to schedule more board meetings with Elton, and to make sure that his Holiday bonus was more than enough to ensure he came back from vacation 20lbs of pure muscle heavier 

To find resources to help embody your Bull Journey you can check out the Bull Archetype guide on my Patreon for free .If you’d like to support the creation of files like the one in this story, or you’d like access to exclusive files and files earlier than the rest of the world, then please, Support me on Patreon, And go and follow me on Youtube for more files. Also, be sure to join me and my community on Discord. 

[spiteless-xo]

╰┈➤ finally, a night alone (e) - tbaw. ⋙ an alternate version of eren and reader's last night together before visiting the kirsteins

why was it deleted. literally so much of the story changed so this chapter doesn't fit anymore with what's going on. what changed. eren, jean, reader, and pieck were all sharing a room together. also there was no mental-health subplot and reader was actually good at her job! pieck wasn't so bitchy. eren is a little meaner during sex. ft. fem!reader, eren, jean, pieck. cw. unedited, fem!reader, explicit language, explicit sexual content (mutual masturbation, blowjob, dirty talk, thigh riding, edging, fingering, creampie, squirting), degradation (whore, bitch). 6,300 words.

Please remember that this scene was deleted for a reason and that nothing that happens here occurs in the actual story posted on AO3. This is just fun bonus content for people who are interested in reading more.

context. none needed? eren makes a promise to you at some point prior to this chapter that he wants to wait for the weekend to have sex with you.

In the evenings, Eren and Jean go to the gym together while you and Pieck stay up at the hotel, separately watching Netflix shows on your laptops before bed. You had joined the two boys at the gym for the first day, deciding that a little non-sexual cardio wouldn’t hurt. You realized the error of your choice almost immediately when Eren and Jean both pulled off their shirts as they did their exercises.

Although they didn’t get along, the two tolerated each other’s presence. At the gym, it was more like competitive cooperation. Each boy challenging the other to lift more, work harder, sweat more. You had to leave after a quick 10-minute run because you were getting so hot watching them work out. Since then, you haven't been back. 

You and Eren have been keeping a distance from one another for once. It’s difficult to find opportunities to be alone and he seems to be serious about his promise to wait until the weekend, so you find it easier to just ignore him completely, but in the mornings when you go into the shower after him it’s intoxicating. You’ve definitely touched yourself there to thoughts of him, surrounded by the thick scent of his vanilla cologne. You wonder if he ever does the same.

On Friday afternoon, it’s hard to focus on work when the excitement of the weekend looms near. Petra and Oluo are satisfied with the amount of work everyone has completed so far, so they are allowing you all to take this weekend off from work. As a result, there is more chatter in the boardroom than there has been all week.

“We should all do something together this weekend,” Pieck suggests, clapping her hands.

“We’ve been working together all week and you want us to spend more time together?” Eren asks with a scoff.

Petra sighs, “You kids can go do something this weekend if you want. Oluo and I still have a lot to work on still for some other clients.” Petra and Oluo have been ghosts of their typical selves. You get the impression that, while your workload is heavy, theirs is even worse.

“I actually kind of want to go visit my mom while we’re here,” Jean says sheepishly. You forgot he grew up here in Trost.

Pieck looks between you and Eren, “I guess it’ll just be the three of us then!”

You meet Eren’s eyes and watch as they darken under your gaze. His eyes trail down slowly from your mouth to your chest before slowly climbing back to meet your eyes. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip seductively, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. You purse your lips as you feel a heat pooling between your legs. Finally, your chance to be alone together.

“... Or not,” Pieck says quietly, interrupting your eyefucking with Eren.

Jean clears his throat, “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to see my mom.”

You turn away from Eren to look over at Jean, noticing that he’s staring at you expectantly. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “We’ve been friends for years and she’s never met you, she always gives me a hard time about it.”

Your heart swells with happiness, he talked about you to his mom? “Yeah, totally! I would love to,” you say, grinning.

You turn back to Eren to give him an apologetic look but see his eyes narrowed a Jean, biting his cheek. “You really wanna hang out with him this weekend?” he asks.

Yes, desperately. But you don’t say that. “We can leave sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggest, turning back to Jean.

He shrugs, “Yeah, that’ll work. I can get her to come pick us up in the morning.”

“Then we’ll have tonight together,” Pieck says happily. “What if we bought some drinks and played games?”

“That… actually sounds kind of fun,” you say, surprising yourself. After a tough week of only working, eating, and sleeping, a fun distraction with your coworkers could be nice.

“Ok, enough chatter,” Petra says sharply. “We can clock out in three hours, try and stay somewhat focused until then.”

The four of you all turn back to your computers, but you have a hard time staying on task. Jean talked about you to his mom! Jean wants you to meet her! It looks like your jealousy tactic with Eren is working.

---

Since it’s Pieck’s idea, she volunteers to go pick up food and alcohol for the evening when you all get back to the room, borrowing the keys to one of the rental cars from Oluo. “Does anyone want to come with me?”

“Jean does,” Eren says quickly, shooting a look his way. “Right?”

Jean holds his hands up defensively, “You didn’t have to volunteer me, I would’ve gone anyway.” He looks over at you, “Any special requests?”

“Wine?” you suggest, setting your work bag down to flop onto the bed. “And maybe pizza or something easy for food?”

Pieck nods, locking arms with Jean much to your disdain. “You got it! See you guys later, we’ll be back in…” she looks down at the watch, “Probably an hour or so?”

Eren crawls onto the bed and overtop of you, caging you between his arms. “Take your time,” he says, eyes locked on yours. You’re not happy about Pieck and Jean running off alone together, but the ache between your thighs when Eren’s eyes meet yours overrides your jealousy.

You hear Pieck squeak in surprise before she drags Jean out of the room, the room door slamming shut behind them. You keep your eyes on Eren as he drinks in your body, already breathing hard.

“Are you sure you want to go hang out with Jean this weekend?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your neck. “We could have sooo much fun together.”

You hum in response, tilting your head to lengthen your neck for Eren. He starts to unbutton your blouse, mouth trailing lower to the tops of your breasts. “Are you jealous?” you ask as he pulls down your bra to expose your nipple.

At this, he pinches your nipple gently, causing you to arch your back up into him. “What did you say?” he dares as he reaches his hand behind your back to undo your bra completely.

“I said,” you pause, smirking down at him as he looks up at you, mouth hovering over the sensitive nub. “Are you jealous?” you repeat.

He closes his mouth around your nipple, teeth gently digging into the soft skin as you gasp. With one hand, he pushes your open blouse and bra off your shoulders, tossing them off to the side and leaving you topless in front of him. “Brat,” he says as he moves his mouth from one nipple to the other.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, pulling it free from his half-up do and allowing his dark strands to fall down on your chest as he tongues your nipple. You mewl and gasp at his touch as his hands grip around your waist tightly, his large hands enveloping you completely.

“You haven’t been fucked properly in a while,” he says, voice slow and deep. “You must’ve forgotten how good I am to you.”

“You think you’re good?” you challenge. He lifts his head up to yours, eyes dark and half-lidded.

“Let’s see if you can keep this attitude up.”

You bite down on your lip to stop from moaning as his tongue moves along your neck while his one hand works on unbuttoning your work pants. His hand slides down across your underwear, palming at your clit. You gasp from the touch of his warm hand against your clothed pussy — you did forget how good he was to you. His hand is so much bigger and warmer than yours, you can’t wait to have him inside of you.

Eren sits up on his knees to pull off your pants and underwear completely, leaving you naked on the bed below him. He undoes his tie slowly before working on his dress shirt, looking down at you with predatory eyes.

You lower your hands to grab at your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples as he removes his shirt. You can see the imprint of his dick straining against his work pants as he starts to work on his belt, pulling it completely free from his pants before unbuttoning and unzipping them to alleviate some of the strain. 

You drag a hand down your stomach to play with yourself, fingers trailing up and down along your slit, spreading the wetness across your folds. Eren reaches down into his underwear, pulling his cock free to stroke it infront of you. 

“Keep going,” he says. “If you’re so fucking good at it, why don’t you make yourself cum for me.”

You lick your lower lip, eyes darkening as you look up at Eren. “Sure, I’ve been doing this all week.” You use your finger to swirl some of your wetness over your clit before you start to rub at it gently, gasping softly as you feel heat pooling in your core. 

Eren’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your words, still lazily stroking himself as he watches your hand. “Oh yeah? When?”

“In the shower,” you say, voice breathy as you dip a finger down to tease at your hole. “When I go in after you.”

“Really,” Eren says, his voice almost a growl as he watches you slowly slide a single finger inside of yourself. “Tell me more.”

“I think -- about you,” you say, voice stuttering as you start to pump your finger in and out of your wet cunt. With your other hand you keep squeezing and pinching your nipple, eyes fixed on Eren’s thick cock, heavy in his hand. “I think about… your cock inside of me,” you continue, “Filling me up, fucking me good,” you gasp as you slide a second finger inside of yourself.

Your fingers are small and thin and they don’t stretch you out the way Eren’s do, but you keep fucking yourself, mouth falling open as you gasp in pleasure. You watch the tendons in Eren’s hand flex as he grips himself harder, but still maintains a slow pace while he watches you.

Watching Eren jerking himself off while he watches you touch yourself is hotter than you could imagine. His eyes trail down from your flushed face to your heaving chest before settling down to watch your fingers pump in and out of your wet heat. He’s breathing hard above you, muscles tense as he slowly strokes his length, swirling his leaking precum around his tip. 

You can get yourself off quickly -- a practiced skill from sneaking orgasms in the morning all week, so you can already feel the coil tightening in your chest as you play with yourself. You reach a hand up towards Eren’s abs, running your nails down them as your fingers continue to work you toward an orgasm. “Eren,” you gasp, hips bucking up into your hand. Your eyes shut and your head falls back against the pillow, fingers pumping harder into your cunt as your heel grinds against your clit. “Eren — feels so good —“

You picture Eren’s cock buried inside of you, fucking deep into you as he pants and sweats on top of you. You imagine his mouth sucking around your nipple as his fingers swirl around your clit, egging you on as your orgasm builds.

The real Eren leans down over your body, one hand pressed against the mattress while the other pumps along the length of his cock. He presses his open mouth against your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses. “Cum for me, baby,” he growls. 

His deep voice vibrates straight into your core, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as you lose yourself in an orgasm. You gasp out his name, arching your back up into him while your pussy clenches rhythmically against your fingers. 

He groans into your neck as you shake against him, “Good girl.” His words make you whimper, pulling your slick fingers from your cunt to rub against your sensitive clit. Eyes opening, you’re met with Eren’s flushed face, biting his lip hard from watching you orgasm to the thought of him. “I can’t believe you cum all over your fingers like this every morning when we’re all just sitting right outside.”

Removing his hand from his cock, he wraps your legs around his waist, lifting you up off the bed with him. “Since you like thinking about me in the shower, why don’t I fuck you in there?” he says, kicking off his pants as he carries you with him into the bathroom. 

You grab hard at his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you suck and kiss along his neck. Eren sets you down on the counter in the bathroom, hands roaming up your thighs as he ravages your neck. “I missed your body,” he groans, teeth sinking into the soft skin of your shoulder.

“I missed you too,” you admit, feeling a burn of embarrassment despite having just masturbated in front of him. “Eren, let me taste you,” you pull his face away from your shoulder by his chin, looking deeply into his eyes.

“Ok,” he says with a shuddering breath, stepping away from you just enough for you to hop off the counter.

You grab his hips and guide him to lean back on the counter while you get down on your knees in front of him. He pulls your hair back with a shaky hand, his thick, dripping cock aching and desperate to be swallowed.

Looking up at him, you wrap your hand around his length, licking your lips. “I missed you so much, Eren,” you whine, hand gliding along his cock, thumb swirling across his slit to smear his precum across his head.

He exhales heavily, biting his lip as he watches you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you respond, pressing a soft kiss on the head of his cock. “Did you miss me?”

“I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

It feels like the two of you haven’t seen each other in months when really you’ve been no less than six feet apart from one another all week -- but it was torture. You suffered through watching him get dressed: thick thighs straining against the stretch of his dress pants (wishing you could grind your clit against the firm muscle) and fingers working expertly on his tie each morning (imagining those fingers buried deep inside of you). Anytime the two of you even so much as brushed past each other in the office, you could feel desire pooling in your core. You were so grateful for Pieck’s suggestion today to go get food and drinks.

You press your tongue flat against the base of his cock, trailing up to his head before swirling your tongue around his tip. You watch as he hisses a sharp intake of breath, one hand clutched desperately onto the counter as you wrap your lips around him.

You take him into your mouth, slowly, at first. Pushing him in slightly and then pulling back before taking slightly more of him again, trying to coat his cock in your saliva. His grip on your hair tightens when you flick your tongue across his head before lowering yourself further along his length.

“Yeah, babe -- you’re so good, so fucking good,” he whines, voice high and airy.

When you and Eren fuck it’s always a battle of dominance, you love to piss him off and he loves turning you into a sobbing, drooling mess. But when you’re on your knees for him with his cock in your mouth, you can easily turn this arrogant asshole desperate and needy and you love it.

You finally take his full length down your throat, eyes watering as you press your nose into the small bundle of dark curls at the base of his cock. Eren is breathing hard above you, eyes wide as you flatten your tongue along his length. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he sighs, thumbing away the tear that falls from your eye.

After you finish showing off, you pull off of him completely, his cock achingly hard and glistening from your spit. “Do you like that?” you ask, smirking as you stroke along his length.

“I love it, babe,” he says, “I love -- ahh, fuck,” you cut him off by taking his cock into your mouth again, working on it rhythmically with your mouth and hand. His hand grips your hair tighter as his hips start to buck into your mouth.

Your cheeks hollow around his cock as you suck his length, tonguing his tip with every pass as you twist your wrist in time with your mouth. Eren throws his head back, moaning out your name as you suck his dick. “Such a good girl,” he pants, “You’re so fucking good to me.”

The praise eggs you on. Clenching your thighs together to tame the heat burning in your core, you let your tongue lay flat against the bottom of his cock as your head bobs on his length. He groans in approval, hips bucking gently into your mouth. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

He’s gritting his teeth now, staring down at you as his hips buck harder into your mouth, the head of his cock pushing into your throat with every movement -- he’s close, you can tell -- but he doesn’t want to cum, he’s still holding back.

You use the salvia building around his base to work your hand along his cock, moving your hand and your mouth in time with one another as you pull him closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he whimpers, no conviction behind his voice as you throat his cock. “You gotta stop, you gotta -- fuck.”

Whimpering and whining like a needy mess, Eren bites his lip hard. You stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes, daring him to cum. Do it. Cum in my throat. You can see in his eyes that he wants to -- but you know he also wants to fuck you.

With a strangled moan, he jerks your head back by the hair, pulling you completely off of him and letting his cock slap up against his stomach, hard, heavy, and red. He grips the swollen head of his cock tightly as his chest heaves, body almost trembling from the sensation. “I said stop,” he gasps, “I was so close.”

You pout, upset that you weren’t able to make him unravel in your mouth. You wanted to taste him so badly. “You never let me swallow,” you whine.

Eren’s too exhausted to give you a snarky comment back, still reeling from your mouth on him. “No,” he says, “I don’t.” He pulls you up to your feet, his mouth crashing against yours. Wrapping both arms around your waist, he spins the two of you around until your ass is pressed against the edge of the counter. He squeezes you hard against his body and you can feel his cock throbbing against your stomach. “I’m gonna make you regret that,” he says against your lips. 

Eren kisses you like he can’t get enough. His lips move hard against yours, his tongue snaking out from his mouth to play with yours as you try to devour him. He nudges his thigh between your legs and presses it against your soaking pussy. You moan into his mouth, unable to stop your hips from grinding down onto the strong muscle of his thigh, just like you imagined.

“What else do you think about,” he asks, hands trailing down from your waist to your hips to help you grind harder against him. “When you’re thinking about me?”

Looking up into his eyes you can see how much it excites him that you told him that. That you make yourself cum to thoughts of him every morning — he’s obsessed. You want to laugh but when his hands roll your hips against his thigh you moan instead. 

“Fuck —“

“Tell me, I wanna know.”

You grab his biceps for stability as you grind down on him, his cock still leaking precum and leaving a mess on your stomach. “Your hands,” you gasp, “All over me — touching me — inside of me.”

His fingers dig harder into your skin as you speak, a glint shining in his eyes. He can tell your arousal is making it difficult for you to speak, so he helps you. “Yeah? You like it when I grab you?”

“Yes, Eren!”

“Like it when I fuck you with my fingers? Stretch that pretty little pussy out and make you squeeze and cum all over my hand?”

Your hips build speed against his thigh, coating it in your slick wetness as you chase an orgasm. “Eren, yes — fuck.”

“Tell me more,” he commands, slowing your grinding by grabbing your hips tightly in his hands. “Use your words, baby.”

Your face is hot and you can’t tell if it’s from your growing arousal or your embarrassment as you say, “I think about your head between my thighs… and your mouth on my pussy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and your tongue on my clit —“ It’s definitely from embarrassment, you realize, as you duck your gaze away from Eren’s amused smirk. He’s loving this. You love to tease him but you’ve never been so vulgar before, he’s usually the one whispering lewd things in your ear when he stuffs you with his cock. “I think about the way you eat me out, and how quickly you can make me cum on your tongue.”

Like a reward, his hands move your hips faster back and forth on his leg. Your nails dig hard into his arms as you feel your orgasm rapidly building from the sensation.

“Fuck — Eren, that feels so good,” you whine, throwing your head back and letting him move your hips against his leg. 

“Yeah? You like grinding on my leg like a lil whore?” He presses his thigh against you harder and you let out a deep, gutteral groan.

“Yes, Eren!”

“You’re such a needy little bitch,” he growls, “Can’t even wait for my cock, have to grind you clit on my thigh.”

You just let out a strangled moan in response. He is right, you are needy little bitch.

“You’re making such a fuckin mess of my leg,” he says, leaning down to lick and suck on your neck. “Are you close?”

“‘M right there, baby —“

You can feel him smirk against you skin for a moment before he says, “Good.” Eren holds your hips still and removes the pressure of his thigh against your leg, leaving you shocked and aching. 

“Fuck you,” you whine. You try to reach a hand between your legs to finish yourself off but he grabs your wrist before you can make contact. 

“Not yet, babe,” he tsks, “I’m not finished with you.” Grabbing the backs of your thighs, he lifts you up onto the counter, legs spread wide. He brushes his fingers against your dripping cunt, moving softly against your folds and teasing your hole.

You lean back on the counter, shoulders pressed against the mirror as you watch Eren’s eyes hungrily dance across your body. He is going to punish you for trying to make him cum earlier — he is going to tease you and edge you until you can’t take it anymore and you are so fucking excited.

“Look at you, you’re dripping,” he laughs, deep from his chest as his fingers ghost against your pussy. “I love how fuckin messy you get.” You can’t control the way your hips move with his hand, desperate to have him inside of you. Your pussy clenches around nothing, so swollen and needy to be fucked. 

He slides one finger inside of you at first. It goes in easily from the slickness of your cunt, and you already feel some relief. You gasp out a breathy moan as you grind your hips down into his hand for more stimulation. 

“So fuckin needy,” he whispers. Eren holds your hips down with his other hand while he moves his finger in and out of your pussy. Slowly, so agonizingly slow, you’re whining and desperate for more. “I love it when you’re so fucked out like this for me,” he groans, teasing your entrance before pushing another finger inside of you. 

His two fingers are so much thicker than yours and it feels so good. You whimper as he moves his fingers slowly, scissoring them inside of you but never quite hitting you where you need him most.

You try to grind your hips down onto his hand for more stimulation but his hold on you is too strong. “You can’t even fuckin control yourself around me -- you want me so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, Eren -- please!” you’re practically crying.

“Baby, you’re so wet. I bet I could --” you feel another finger press gently against your entrance before sliding inside of you. You shudder at the feeling of three of Eren’s thick fingers pumping in your pussy. “Such a good girl,” he sigh, throwing his head back and letting his eyes fall shut as he enjoys the feeling of you squeezing around his fingers.

You can hear the slick wet sucking sounds of your pussy clenching around his digits as he fingers you. It feels so good to be stretched out like this, but it’s nothing compared to his cock. You bite your lip and moan as he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit.

“Please,” you sigh, no weight to your voice as he lazily finger fucks you. 

“Mhmm?” he hums, slowly beginning to curl his fingers up inside of you, just brushing your sweet spot. “Right there?” he asks when you gasp and twitch at his touch. “Is that the spot?”

“Eren!” You’re going to lose your mind. It feels like he’s been teasing you for hours and when he looks down at you, you can tell from the look on his face that he isn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. “Eren, fuck me — please!”

He bites his lip, breathing hard as he picks up his pace. You’re already clenching hard around his fingers, lewd, wet noises bouncing off the walls of the bathroom as your pussy leaks from your arousal all over the bathroom counter. 

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, “Keep saying my name like that and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

You instantly start chanting his name like a prayer, “Eren — Eren — Eren!” and he picks up his pace, thumb swirling over your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. 

“You like that?”

“Yes — fuck, Eren!”

“Are you gonna cum, baby? All over my hand?”

“So close, so fucking close, Eren!”

He pulls his fingers out from inside of you and you almost cry.

“No, Eren! Baby, please — please, I wanna cum so bad,” you’re practically sobbing as his hands reach for your wrists, already anticipating you to try to finish yourself off. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, desperately needing to be filled and satisfied. You’re so horny you’re practically shaking.

“Not yet,” he says, chest heaving from arousal. His thick, hard cock is pressed against your thigh and you think if you move your hips just right you might be able to slide him in. You dig your knees into his sides and roll your hips, only managing to ghost his head across your pussy. 

Eren quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re so fucking needy.”

“Eren, please — I can’t take it anymore,” you whine. “Please, baby, I want your cock — I need you to fuck me, Eren,” your words are choppy and slurred, so fucking cock drunk for him that you can hardly think. 

Your desperation must stir something inside of him because he grabs your thighs, lifting you up off the counter and back onto your feet before spinning you around to face the mirror, his achingly hard cock pressed against your ass.

“Please, Eren,” you bend forward, hands bracing yourself against the mirror. “Please!” You’re almost in pain from how horny you are, so desperate for release and he’s still teasing you. You bounce your hips back against his, jerking his dick off with your thighs and finding pleasure in the way his cock rubs against your clit. You could cum just from this, you think, if he’d let you.

The head of his cock catches against your entrance and you squeeze hard around him, trying to suck him inside of you and fill you up. He groans loudly behind you, his eyes catching yours in the reflection of the mirror.

“You’re lucky I’m fucking needy too,” he growls, slowly pushing his hips forward and burying his cock inside of you. 

It’s intense -- so intense. After edging you and teasing you for so long, the feeling of his cock filling you has you gasping and crying out. You almost collapse forward into the mirror but Eren tugs on your hair with his hand, keeping your head upright and facing the mirror.

“Does that feel good?” his voice is just a rumble down your spine.

All you can do is nod in response as he starts to grind his hips against your ass. Every slight movement causing you to whine and shudder as his thick, hard cock massages against the walls of your cunt. You are already so close and he’s barely moving inside of you. 

“Fuck, I wish you could see the way your pussy’s grabbing my cock right now,” he says, eyes dark as he looks down. “You’re so fucking wet, baby, so fuckin wet.” Eren’s face is flushed, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. You don’t want to take your eyes off of him but it feels too good.

You can’t wait anymore, you need to cum. You thrust your hips back into his, fucking yourself on his cock to find your release. He grips you harder as your ass bounces against his hips, his dark green eyes focusing up on yours in the mirror.

“Fuck, such a good girl,” he moans as you squeeze around him. He pulls you by the hair until your shoulder blades are touching his chest, moving his hand from your hip to swirl around your clit. Fuck. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby, lemme feel you cum.”

It all happens so suddenly. One moment you’re on the edge and gasping and the next you’re exploding in pleasure. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire as you cum around Eren’s cock, clenching and squeezing him as wetness coats your thighs. You legs tremble beneath you and your eyes roll back into your head -- fuck, you’re crying from how good it feels.

You can feel Eren’s cock twitching inside of you as he fucks his cum deep inside of you. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, whimpering and whining out your name as your pussy milks his cock for every drop of his release.

When he finally stops moving he lets go of your hair and you almost collapse -- you can’t feel your legs. You fall forward onto the counter, legs still shaking as he pulls himself out of you. You’re both breathing hard and shaky.

Eren spreads you open with his thumbs to watch his cum and your own silky wetness slide down your thighs. You can see him smiling in the reflection of the mirror in satisfaction before he spanks you.

“Hey,” you whine weakly, your voice just a whisper from how hoarse your throat is -- a combination of deep throating Eren and your screaming moans.

“How are you doing, babe?”

“I think I blacked out for a minute there,” you confess.

“You made quite the mess,” he says, looking down at the puddle between your legs.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, voice soft and breathy. You close your eyes, “I need a nap.”

---

The four of you sit on pillows on the floor while you share a box of pizza and a bottle of wine. The hotel room doesn’t have any cups, surprisingly, so rather than call the front desk and ask for some, you all decide to pass around the bottle. It doesn’t take long to finish two of the bottles, with all of you buzzing from the alcohol by the time Jean opens the third.

“So, how did you meet everyone, and what was your first impression?” Pieck asks around a mouthful of pizza. You are playing the Question Game, each person got to ask a question to someone in the group, and they had to answer or chug the wine.

“Well, I met you through Jean when we started working at Titan together,” you say, gesturing toward Pieck. “A mutual friend, Sasha, introduced me to Jean because we were in the same program together and…” you pause, thinking. “I don’t actually remember how we met,” you say, looking over at Eren.

Eren takes a drink from the wine bottle and cocks a brow. “Really?”

You shrug. “I’ve always known who you were because of the hockey team, but I don’t remember ever actually meeting you, y’know? I think the first time we talked was at the bar that one night.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he says, passing you the bottle, but his tone is off.

“And what about first impressions?” Pieck presses as you take a sip.

“Oh, right! Um…” you tap on your chin in thought as you pass the bottle to Jean with your other hand. “Pieck, I thought you seemed nice, but really quiet until we played that drinking game together at the icebreaker.”

“And Jean…” You normally wouldn’t be so bold, but the burn of liquid courage in your stomach spurs you into saying, “I thought you were really cute when I first met you… until I realized you were dating Pieck,” you add quickly.

Pieck giggles as Jean looks away with a shy smile. “Oh, I didn’t know,” he says quietly, taking a sip from the bottle.

“What about me?” Eren asks, nudging you gently.

“Eren…” you pause for a moment as you look over at him. Eren looks at you and it almost seems like he’s a little nervous, but you think you’re just imagining things from the alcohol. “I wondered what it was about you that made all the girls at school go so crazy over you.

“And?” Eren asks, smirking. “Did you figure it out?”

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “You’re just a fuck boy.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Jean laughs, sharp and cruel.

“She nailed me, actually,” Eren corrects, placing a possessive hand on your thigh as he flips off Jean. Jean rolls his eyes, “Ok, my turn.” Eren looks around the room, trying to decide who to question. “Pieck, would you trade beds with me?”

“This isn’t truth or dare -- you have to ask a question,” Jean says quickly as a heat grows across your chest.

“Was that not a question?” Eren asks, feigning confusion. “I thought I said, would you trade beds with me? That sounds like a question to me,” he turns to you, “Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod but keep your eyes down and away from Eren in embarrassment. He gives you a soft, comforting squeeze on your thigh before leaning into your ear, whispering, “If that’s ok.”

You nod again. “Totally ok.”

“Sure,” Pieck says with a bright smile. She turns to Jean, “Just no funny business, ok? Pock will flip out,” she says.

“Who’s Pock?” you ask, looking up at Pieck in confusion. That wasn’t the name of anyone you were familiar with from Titan.

When she looks over at you, her smile is almost impossibly brighter as she says, “He’s my boyfriend.”

You purse your lips in shock, eyes darting towards Jean but he masks his expression by taking a long drink from the bottle. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” you say.

“Yeah, we actually live together,” she says happily. You can almost feel Jean crumbling next to her -- did he not know either? “We’ve been together for a couple of years now.”

Even Eren can sense the subtle shift in Jean’s attitude and he tries to move on. “Ok, whose turn is it next?”

Jean finishes the bottle and stands up abruptly. “I think we should all get to bed now. We’re out of alcohol and it’s late.” He nods towards you, “And we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Eren blows a raspberry at Jean. “You’re such a buzz-kill.” He wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling deeply against your skin. “But, that’s ok. We can go to bed.”

You’re almost giddy with excitement as you and Eren crawl into bed together. Although the two of you were sleeping together, you had never actually slept together outside of little naps in the back of his car. Your bodies mold together effortlessly with Eren’s arms wrapping you tight against his chest and your legs tangling against one another. Despite his solid, muscular build, he is a good cuddler and the perfect temperature.

You nuzzle your face into his chest as Jean and Pieck shuffle behind you in their shared bed. You can feel Eren’s laugh deep in his chest before he says, “They’re building a pillow wall.”

You giggle against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow in his neck. “How silly.”

He strokes the back of your head gently as your eyes flutter shut, the weight of the alcohol making you drowsy. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

[kittiesarecuter]

I hate the modern internet, I'm getting a fucking headache. I hate trying to find art archives or complete comics and everything is linked back to a dead mega upload or imgr file. I hate trying to find a specific artist from 10's deviantart or tumblr but the search functions and purges have made it near impossible to find anything. I hate having pintrest be one of the most reliable sources for finding tagged archived art even though it's always posted with zero sources or the ability to find more than one from a set.

Every day I miss how open and easy and creative and energetic those years were. Most of the time when I talk to someone about the fan culture of 2004 - 2018 they immediately start talking about how cutthroat the social scene was as if that was entirely unique to the time and place and as if it was unavoidable. I don't know where to find anything on the internet anymore and it kind of feels like the infrastructure that allowed that amount of art and writing to flow just doesn't exist anymore.

It was bittersweet to look through forums that had only a handful of new posts since 2012 but at least I could still read them. Some of them I even joined and talked with the last few old guard that still checked it every week. But when it comes to art, writing, and comics of the era I can barely find the abandoned accounts. Other people have put the whole "dead internet" talk in better words with the whole funneling the whole of internet activity through a handful of app services but this is personal to me. It is genuinely depressing to see things get so much worse in so many ways in such a short amount of time.

I genuinely think I need to start building a server and learning how to mass archive & then host data for others because I'm in part terrified of how many gigabytes of work we've already lost to the either. It might be fan work and silly oc's but people poured their heart & soul, skills & hours into these things that shouldn't be deleted or made inaccessible because a boardroom decided making internal search engines pull up weighted results from a fixed time frame instead of just a list of all results was somehow better for revenue.

[battle-facility-zine]

Happy Valentine's Day, Challengers! We are proud to present to you—straight from the boardroom of the Facility Heads over here at In Pursuit of Victory!—the results of the Interest Check we held!

We are ever so grateful to everyone who filled one out, seriously we were blown away by how much enthusiasm and interest for the project you all showed! And we are even more excited to remind you all that our Contributor Applications open in less than a week on February 20th! Guidelines for what is expected of each role will be released on the 16th, so check back in in two days! See you all then!

For more information on the project please check out our CARRD or Neocities!

[phroyd]

‘The Apprentice’ and the creation of Leader Donald Trump

In 2024, Donald Trump no longer relies on his TV celebrity — and has warped reality so that he is no longer an exception.

Bill Pruitt’s description of his time producing the NBC show “The Apprentice” reads like a confessional.

Newly released from his nondisclosure agreement, Pruitt wrote an essay for Slate that frames his efforts steering the reality show explicitly in terms of a con artist running a con. Pruitt describes choices about scripts and editing and challenges as efforts to present a particular, inaccurate image: the show’s star, Donald Trump, as an omniscient business leader. Looking back across the decades since the first season of the show was filmed, Pruitt clearly regrets having helped foster that perception.

He describes feedback from the network demanding that Trump appear more frequently in the episodes (given how much he was being paid). So the show added segments in which Trump presented his assessment of how the challenges might go for the contestants vying for a position with his organization — assessments taped after the challenges were completed.

“The net effect is not only that Trump appears once more in each episode but that he also now seems prophetic in how he just knows the way things will go right or wrong with each individual task,” Pruitt writes. “He comes off as all-seeing and all-knowing. We are led to believe that Donald Trump is a natural-born leader.”

At the same time, to foster the perception that Trump was the pinnacle of success, his flaws were kept off-screen. Taping a Jessica Simpson concert at his branded casino in New Jersey, for example, posed particular challenges, according to Pruitt: “The lights in the casino’s sign are out. Hong Kong investors actually own the place — Trump merely lends his name. The carpet stinks, and the surroundings for Simpson’s concert are ramshackle at best.”

The solution: “We shoot around all that.”

Trump’s initial awkwardness in the final, dramatic boardroom scenes of each show was smoothed out as taping progressed. But a new problem arose, according to Pruitt.

“Trump made raucous comments he found funny or amusing — some of them misogynistic as well as racist,” he claims in the essay. “We cut those comments. Go to one of his rallies today, and you can hear many of them.”

He also alleges Trump used a racist slur in a planning session for one episode, a comment recorded by other participants in the meeting. In a statement to The Washington Post, Trump’s campaign spokesman Steven Cheung, without providing evidence, called Pruitt’s essay “fabricated” and “fake news.”

Pruitt suggests that all this — the creation of the infallible Trump, the perfect leader — aided Trump’s 2016 election. He notes that Trump parlayed his new success into “Trump University,” real estate classes that were announced soon after the second season of the show aired and resulted in multiple claims of fraud. (Trump settled those cases soon after the 2016 election.) If Trump’s new persona could persuade people to hand over money, why wouldn’t we assume it could persuade people to hand over votes?

As it happens, there is new research strongly suggesting that it did. A paper from Columbia University’s Eunji Kim and Shawn Patterson Jr. of the University of Pennsylvania’s Annenberg Public Policy Center uses statistical tools and analyses to assess the effects of the show on Republican primary voters.

“As most voters lack personal interactions with politicians, the candidate-voter connections are primarily parasocial,” they write, referring to a phenomenon in which people build perceived, one-way relationships with celebrities. The research notes that early seasons of “The Apprentice” earned more viewers than NBC’s nightly news broadcast, which reinforces the scale at which Pruitt’s deceptions were consumed by Americans.

“Using a survey of white voters conducted before the 2016 presidential election, we find that regular viewers of the program were more likely to trust Trump, feel a personal connection to him, and reject information critical of his candidacy,” Kim and Patterson write. “Open-ended answers further reveal that avid Apprentice viewers were explicitly relying on aspects of his television persona, such as his business experience and leadership potential, to explain their support. In contrast, non-viewers supporting Trump were more likely to evaluate his campaign along more typical partisan dimensions.”

This is partly a function of the media; news reports about Trump regularly featured — and reinforced — his role on “The Apprentice.” Trump’s candidacy quickly centered around immigration; Kim and Patterson’s research determined that there was one article mentioning his show for every three that mentioned Trump and immigration.

That Trump emerged from the world of reality television, they argue, also helps explain his politics.

“Relying on public support unmediated by traditional political institutions,” they write, leaders who emerged as Trump did “can drive dramatic, heterodox shifts in mass opinion and public policy.”

Trump’s success in 2016 was not solely a function of that show. He also had a recurring gig on Fox News, appearing as a commentator on its morning show each week for years before announcing his candidacy in 2015. That focus on immigration, first presented during his presidential campaign announcement, spurred enormous news coverage and a backlash that raised his profile with Republican voters. But Pruitt and the researchers offer convincing arguments that the show played a significant role: Pruitt in how it presented Trump and the research in how that presentation was received.

“The presumption is that reality TV is scripted,” Pruitt writes. “What actually happens is the illusion of reality by staging situations against an authentic backdrop.”

In the case of “The Apprentice,” that illusion convinced a lot of people, helping to propelTrump to the Republican nomination. Then he became president and sloughed off the perceptions created by the TV show. A constructed reality elevated him to the point that he could change actual reality. Trump was once the outsider viewed as unusually capable, thanks to his public persona. Now he is an insider who defines what being an insider on the right means. He’s no longer the exception; he’s made his exception the norm.

Pruitt, very clearly, regrets whatever role he might have had in making that possible.

{Source}

Republican Voters are so gullible and ignorant, that so many of them voted tor Trump because of the False Persona created for him on "The Apprentice", a persona that did not, in any way, reflect both his business acumen and his leadership potential.

It's the Trump version of The Truman Show!

This is horrific!

Phroyd