#boardroom suggestion
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jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist
wc. 2k
tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, in an alleyway, exhibitionism + getting caught, jealousy, rough sex, biting, crying
thursdays at a nightclub – most would expect a half-alive sort of creature, mostly empty and a little dull. but the nights never sleep and neither do its people, and the building is warm with electric bodies and the sweet, heady scent of spilt alcohol.
jungkook squeezes out of the crowd on the dance floor, releasing a lungful of thick air as he meanders towards the bar. he'd lost you a few minutes ago, and nothing was as fun as grinding on his boyfriend in a dark room full of strangers. he takes a seat and orders a drink.
not a second later, a presence slides up behind him. "what's a looker like you doin' all alone?"
his welcoming smile vanishes. that's not you. he glances over his shoulder at the young man, who looks so generically attractive that jungkook feels as if he's an instagram filter become reality.
he turns away, disinterested. he scans the crowds. "i'm not alone. here with my boyfriend."
"really? where?"
there's a grating smugness to his words. he's probably never had anyone say no to him before. "we got separated. this place is pretty big."
the guy hums, leaning against the bar next to jungkook. "that's true. he probably won't find you for ten minutes, maybe more. not thinking of spending all that time sittin' alone at the bar with just a whiskey to warm you, are you?"
"i am, actually."
"well, maybe i could interest you in something else," he suggests, "to pass the time."
jungkook lifts the glass to his lips, throwing it back. he hisses at the pleasant burn. "yeah, no. i'd rather watch paint dry."
"oh, i'm not that bad," he jests. his fingers slide over jungkook's bicep, gorgeously accentuated by the neckline of his black racerback tank. it's fitted and cropped – he did it himself – and shows off his tight stomach and defined apollo's belt. "you wouldn't even have to look at me, y'know. those hands of yours would make a nice necklace, don't you think?"
he glances down at his many silver rings and bracelets. "oh. oh. uh, i don't think you're reading me right. um, i don't swing that way."
the man's brows furrow. "what? you said you had a boyfriend."
"i do." jungkook clears his throat, carefully sliding off of the barstool. the other man's eyes follow him up; jungkook has a few inches over him. "i, uh..."
"there you are, baby. thought i'd never see your face again."
jungkook positively lights up at the sound of your voice, smooth and pleasant. it's the kind of voice that cuts through boardroom chatter like a hot knife through butter, carrying with it a natural, easy assertiveness that ceos wish they had.
"hyung," he coos, giggling as you drape an arm over his shoulder and tangle that hand in his long, messy curls, tugging slightly to press your lips to his cheek. he lets you move him around like a doll, grinning up at you adoringly. "hi."
"hi," you reply, amused. your eyes flicker over to the other man, whose face is slowly turning red. your eyes narrow slightly. "sorry, i don't think we've met. i'll be stealing him for a minute."
you're usually so polite – but this time, you didn't even add an 'if you don't mind' to that second sentence. jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. are you angry? are you angry at him?
"hyung?" he asks when you lead him outside into the alley, the cool breeze soothing his hot skin. "what's up?"
you turn on him. his eyes widen. "he was flirting with you, wasn't he?"
"what?" he fumbles. "w-well, i mean, yeah, but you know i wasn't gonna do anything if that's what you're worried about—"
"i don't care about that." something in the back of jungkook's mind swoons at the knowledge that you're so secure in his affections for you that it doesn't bother you in the slightest. you lean in, pressing a hand against the rough brick wall and pinning him in. his heart begins to race. "i care that he thought you were available. all this skin you're showing and not a single mark defining you as mine?" a slight growl marks that last word. jungkook gasps softly. "we'll have to fix that."
"now?" jungkook stammers, glancing around. the alley's dark, and the streets on either side are mostly quiet. a few haggard-looking youths stumble by every so often. "but what if someone sees? my dignity, hyung, you're gonna rip it to shreds."
"i'm 'gonna'?" you lift a brow, eyes glittering. "you sound as if you want this."
he swallows. "i – i do, i always do, but i don't want anyone getting an eyeful of my ass..." he hooks his fingers through your belt loops. "that's just for you, hyung-ah."
you hum, leaning in. you press your lips against his and he moans softly, tugging your hips flush against his. "that's right, baby. you're just for me. all this..." you squeeze his ass roughly over his black cargo pants and he whimpers out a moan, arching his spine into your touch. "all mine. why?"
"'cause you fuck me the best," he gasps, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as your hot kisses travel down his jaw and collar. his cock stirs. "you fuck me so well, baby. i could never want anyone else when i have you. i belong to you – hey!"
you yank his teasingly tight pants down over his thighs, pinning him in place easily with your own body. he's already half-hard – has been for the last hour in the club – and you hum appreciatively, gently turning him over. he obliges, arching his spine as he gazes watchfully over his shoulder, pink lips parted and palms pressed against the wall.
your hand runs over the tight silver-ringed harness that cradles his chest and shoulders and emphasises his tiny little waist. you nearly growl at the sight, nails digging into his skin.
he presses his ass into the front of your pants, round eyes sparkling with anticipation. "you're being so rough," he breathes as you nip at his neck just below his ear, tugging the fitted neck of his top down to reveal more of him. "did that really touch something tender? ah!"
he jerks as your teeth clip his soft skin, indenting the shape of your teeth as a red bruise. his heartbeat thuds faster as your palms glide over the mounds of his chest, perfectly sculpted by his tight shirt and harness, and dance over his cock to stroke his sensitive inner thighs. they tense under your touch.
he's wearing a pair of tiny black jocks with a rainbow elastic that cups his ass. you stifle a laugh, trying not to break character.
"what?" he mumbles, blushing. "shut the fuck up. they're cute."
"oh, i agree." you give them a light smack and he moans sharply at the impact. "wonder what that guy would think if he saw you in these – if he saw how pretty you are, spreading your legs for me..." one hand strokes his taut stomach, passing below his hips to cup the cute bubble in his jocks. he whines softly as you squeeze. "be a good boy and keep quiet for me, yeah?"
he nods feebly, gnawing on his lower lip. you've barely done anything and yet he already feels ragged, his skin scorching and tight.
something hot and thick prods his asshole. he slaps a hand over his mouth as you snap your hips forward, burying yourself so deep in him that he sees stars, the burning stretch achingly good. "mmph—!"
you hush him softly, holding him steady as he trembles in your arms. the hot weight of your body pinning his into the rough, cold alley wall is almost mind-numbing. "that's my good boy... halfway there. my good boy takes cock so well, doesn't he?"
whining softly, he nods fiercely, gasping out a shaky moan as you press your hips tight against his ass. "mhm, mhm, i do – ah! you're just s-so big, 'm close, so close—"
"already?" your hips smack quick and rough against his ass, the lube making things wet and messy. he shoves his hand between his teeth and claws at the wall, the thick head of your cock grinding into his prostate and gliding against it with each thrust. "i just put it in, baby."
"s-sorry," he squeaks, his breathing haggard as his eyes dart between the ends of the alleyway. the headlights of a car rumble by and he clenches around you, eliciting a deep groan that rattles his spine and echoes in his head. "s-someone's gonna see – fuck, right there – h-hyung, they're gonna see—!"
"they will if you keep squealing your pretty head off," you grunt, gaze trained on the join between your bodies. his ass ripples, bouncing off of your hips with wet smacks, and arousal flames through your veins. you grab his wrists and pin them to the wall beside his head. "but you're so much tighter than usual – s'almost hard to fuck ya," you chuckle breathlessly. "you like this, don't you, my good boy? do you want someone to see the way you're crying on my cock?"
tears prick his eyes. you're right. his heart threatens to pound out of his ribs. he sniffles, moans high and airy. "n-no, i don't, 'm your good boy – please, sir, s-slow down—!"
his hips snap forward with a sharp cry as your cock slams into his guts. his vision whites out and his head spins, his body hot and sweaty even in the cool night, and he melts.
he arches his spine, throwing himself roughly back onto your cock and babbling for more. his hair bounces quickly, sticking to his temples, and his thighs shake violently as he comes into his jocks, sniffling and whimpering with hot tears streaking down his cheeks.
he's so messy. so embarrassed. he's acting like a slut. he squeezes his eyes shut and gulps back his loud moans, turning them into gasped whines and heavy pants as your dick scrapes his insides so wonderfully, filling him up like no one else ever could.
"sir – hyung," he babbles, melting into your hot kisses a little more with each harsh thrust, "hyung, hyung! please—!"
in the alleyway, the indent of the doorway you're hiding yourself in swings open. a familiar sleek face greets you, a cigarette between the lips.
it falls to the ground.
you yank jungkook's hips back onto your cock and he squeals, whimpering in shock and embarrassment as you fill him up right then and there. his huge, teary eyes stare back at you, his shaky hands pushing meekly at your stomach in an effort to get you to pull out, but you just step closer, forcing his body still as cum drips down his inner thigh from his jockstrap.
you tilt your head at the man who once, not too long ago, threw himself at jungkook, expecting to walk away in the morning with a satisfying ache between his legs. a tug on jungkook's long hair reveals the collar of dark, bruising hickeys littering his neck and shoulders.
jungkook moans your name, exhausted, and slumps against the wall, his hands trembling as he tries to steady himself against the cold bricks. you give one final thrust and jungkook keens, practically collapsing into your arms as his knees buckle.
you turn away from the stranger at last, dropping a chaste kiss to the nape of jungkook's neck. he shivers and whines softly, gripping your hips for dear life. you're the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the ground like a stringless marionette.
rapid footsteps. the door slams shut. you hush jungkook, nibbling another hickey into his flushed skin as you slide his pants over his ass.
"such a good boy," you whisper, wiping his tears away with the pad of your thumb. "my good boy, isn't that right?"
after a minute, he nods once, sucking in lungfuls of air as his head gradually clears of the thick fog. he leans back against you, tucking his warm face into the crook of your neck. your arms wrap securely around his waist. "yeah," he whispers vacantly, the tingle of pleasure still zinging through his nerves. "'m hyung's good boy... his..."
he's so cute like this, you think as you stroke his cheek and press a lingering kiss to his bitten lips. walking out of the alley, he grips your hand as if he'll die otherwise, but he decides that it's not close enough and hooks his arm over your shoulder, keeping yours around his bare waist. you help him keep steady on his shaking legs. his rosary of dark hickeys is a public announcement: he is yours, and you are his.
#top male reader#x male reader#male reader#dom male reader#bts x male reader#dom reader#top reader#bottom bts#bottom jungkook#jungkook x male reader#kpop x male reader#bts x reader#kpop x reader#bts smut#jungkook smut
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Bruce Wayne's kids rarely visit him in the office at Wayne Enterprises. except: when they need him for something very important that it couldn't wait to be discussed at home, or when they surprise him for a special occasion.
so he gets a little suspicious when his kids show themselves to the office, popping by to the boardroom's door, either waving at the distance, or offering him a smile, just to let him know they're present in the building. Father's Day is still due for a couple of months and so is his birthday. so why?
when Bruce goes to his office room, there's a cake being held by Dick. Bruce doesn't miss the nervous smiles the kids have on their faces, and the fidgeting and whispering between siblings.
Dick: Just a little cake for you, B.
Cass, signs: Hope you like it.
and how can Bruce not be in awe at that?
his suspicion fades once he enjoys the cake with his kids.
but it strikes back when he enters an oddly quiet Wayne Manor. the kids nowhere to be seen as he checks a few of the rooms. when he goes down to the batcave, he finds an explanation as to why the kids have visited him in a random day at the office.
(the batcomputer's screen is shattered!!!)
somewhere in the Manor, Bruce's kids all hide in Dick's room, like tiny ants crouched on the floor, with a table and a few chairs blocking the door, as if that would help when Bruce goes Batman mode. not to mention the large windows.
Dick: He's here, he's here!
Jason: Fuck, fuck. Why did I choose today to visit the Manor?
Steph: We should have found ways to repair it.
Damian: That would be impossible given the hours we have.
Duke: We should have gotten a new one, or something.
Tim: We should have snuck in at Wayne Enterprises to get the equipment we need. Instead of the surprise plan.
Cass, signs: At least B was happy about that.
they all hold their breaths, when they hear the Grandfather clock chime.
Damian: This is ridiculous. We should have ran off.
Steph: For goodness sake! Someone start ideas to build a secret safe house somewhere for our sanity.
Tim: Good suggestion, Steph. I'll keep that in mind.
Duke: Speaking of suggestion, whose suggestion was it to play soccer at the cave in the first place?
Dick: Clearly none of us are sports material.
Cass points at Jason, remembering it was his idea.
Jason: I-Fuck. It was easier for us to go to patrol after we played. Plus, it's not my fucking fault the screen shattered.
Tim: It's still on us, cus everyone was present.
Steph: Clearly, none of us are going patrol now.
Duke: It's still my first few months, but now I'm benched.
Damian: Father is gonna cut off our heads.
Tim: He's gonna display our heads in the cases, instead of our suits-
Jason: Fucking not helping, Timbers!
Dick: Shush now. We should start strategizing.
Steph: No. We should start digging our graves.
Damian: Next to Todd's.
Jason: Shut up, brat.
Tim: I should have gone to the office. Fucking finals.
Duke: Dick, you're the eldest, please tell us what to do.
even Cass, signs: Please.
Dick, sighs: Maybe we should go out and apologize. I'm sure he'll understand. We have broken a lot of things in this house for years now.
Jason: Yeah, but never the batcomputer.
Dick: Dammit.
Cass, signs: Wait, stop talking.
and everyone stopped talking.
Duke: I don't hear B.
Steph: Is this a good sign?
Jason: Maybe he's off to patrol.
Damian: Father would not let an issue like this slide without lecturing us.
Dick: Come on. It's time for patrol anyways. We have to apologize.
together, they all exit the room, watch every corner and silently go down to the Batcave.
and alas, the batcomputer's screen has already been fixed. good as new.
Jason: What the fuck.
Steph: Wow.
Duke: Bruce works fast.
before anyone else could add a comment, Bruce clears his throat behind his kids, already suited up for patrol, which makes them jump except for Cass and Damian. they all wait for the lecturing.
Batman: Why is no one else ready?
Tim begins to speak, but Damian cuts him off: Right away, Father.
Dick, claps his hands together: Let's go, everyone.
and they scurry off to their lockers.
Batman shakes his head with a light smile on his lips, turning the batcomputer on, and starts to dig on the latest case in Gotham.
Kids.
#quite a long one but it's fun to write#dc quotes#dc incorrect quotes#incorrect dc quotes#batfamily incorrect quotes#incorrect batfamily quotes#batfamily#batkids#batdad#batman#bruce wayne adores his kids#he's not even upset#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#cassandra cain#duke thomas#stephanie brown#dc comics
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DD pt 3 part 2 of 2
Fem reader x Miguel O'Hara who is your Uber driver
This art was commissioned to accompany this chapter by the incredibly talented @/ejpuki on Instagram. Please go support the original artist!
Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3 1 , Part 4 , Part 5
Synopsis- fem reader drinks too much and the bartender calls a random Uber for her which happens to be Miguel O'Hara himself. Her friends suck and ditch her. There's a lot of tension on the ride home...
TW: MINORS DNI, some blood, little.violence, suggestive content ,age gap (reader 26, Miguel 34), this one is a sad one, inspired by the original comic
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Over the next few days you two text back and forth and talk on the phone. You feel so happy and excited about this budding romance between you two. It's been so long since you felt safe enough to let yourself catch feelings for a guy. You flood his phone while he's at work. Miguel isn't used to someone texting him so often but it's kind of cute how you update him on every little thing that's happening in your day and he has to try not to burst out laughing in the break room at some of the Instagram reels you send him.
Your text convo:
Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️) : Why tf would you send me a video of a banana cat with that sad music 😂😐🤨 and who is that white guy that's always randomly showing up at the end of videos with that whistle tune playing?
You(amor ❤️): it's a meme babe you don't get it😂😂😂 it's supposed to be random, that's what makes it funny af. And that's Josh Hutcherson. You've never seen or read Hunger Games?!
Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): no, I haven't. Your sense of humor is a little broken I'm afraid. 🤨 You kids and your memes.
You(amor ❤️): my sense of humor is just fine 😂LMAO you're only like 8 years older than me. 😂 we're watching it immediately! And we're going to Barnes and Noble to get you a copy. 😇
Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): hmmm fine.😌 When would you like to, cutie? ❤️
You(amor ❤️): This weekend please? ❤️❤️❤️
Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): I'm so sorry, I'll have Gabi with me. But she'll be at her mom's next weekend. Can we do it then? ❤️
You(amor ❤️): that's okay I totally understand! ❤️ Yes please! I'm so excited ❤️ I miss you...
Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): perfect. I miss you more. ❤️
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Next Friday
Miguel drives to work, his heart like a dead weight in his chest and his mind racing with different scenarios on how he's going to tell his boss he's had enough. This isn't what he signed up for. The project he was overseeing at work was trying to create these "special abilities"in humans. One of the test subjects passed away this week and he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't messing with his head. He had nightmares about her. She couldn't have been older than 19. Her blue eyes frantic as she realized she might not make it off the lab table alive. Her horrified screams ringing in his eardrums. Miguel's fist clamped tighter around the steering wheel as he choked back a sob. He felt this was his burden to shoulder alone. He knew he was falling for you steadily now, and he didn't want you to go crazy worrying about him. He knows you love to try and fix people, a lot of times to your detriment and couldn't stand to see you in that position or live with the fact that he put you there.
He really didn't care for his boss, Tyler Stone either. Tyler Stone was the 6'3, blonde haired, blue eyed, egotistical vice president over Research and Development at Alchemax. He and the other higher ups just spent all day figuratively (and possibly literally) sucking each other off in boardroom meetings for the hard work everyone underneath them was doing. He was a businessman, not a scientist, and it became clear to Miguel that profit came first for him over scientific discovery and advancement, and his cronies shared the same philosophy.
Miguel faced the man now, sitting in his office. Tyler sighed and walked over to his decanter set that sat in the corner of his office on top of a polished mahogany drink cabinet.
"Care for some bourbon?" He asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment.
"It pains me to hear that you're wanting to leave, it really does." Tyler says as he pours the bourbon in two short, square glasses.
"I chose you because I believed you could handle it. Your track record doesn't lie, Miguel. You were top of your class at Columbia University. I've seen your research and read your thesis that you did with them. You know Dain was actually the one that submitted your nomination to me when I was looking for someone to promote?" Tyler hands the glass of bourbon to Miguel who murmurs a low thank you.
"My point is, if you leave, I got no one to replace you, and that makes my job even more tough." Tyler takes a sip of his bourbon and makes a small face. "I'm going to bat for your little science project every time I meet with the board of directors. I'll be honest with you, they're ready to trim the fat." Tyler's blue eyes bore into Miguel's over the rim of his glass. "But I tell them that this process, is worth the wait. We won't have these superhuman abilities lined up for purchase on shelves tomorrow. But give or take a few years we will be the first to break 100 bil in quarterly revenue when we roll this out to the public. My point is, I'm willing to do whatever I gotta do to keep this project afloat because I've ran the numbers, I've seen what guys like you and Dain can do. It's a worthwhile investment."
Miguel takes a sip of his bourbon and winces. Fuck it, he downs the rest of the whiskey, his throat on fire. He holds out his empty glass to Tyler who takes it and goes to refill it, his back turned to Miguel.
"I'm sorry...." Miguel finally says. "I've made up my mind. I'm flattered that you think I'm the right person for this job, but I'm telling you, I don't want to be the guy who all of this is riding on anymore. I'm not gonna gamble if people's lives are the chips."
Tyler's face went dark and he started tapping the side of his glass, his back still turned to Miguel.
Since when did this fucker grow a conscience? He knows he wouldn't be doing this job if he wasn't getting paid for it either right? He'd given Miguel and his team resources that any group of scientists would give their left kidney for. It was thanks to him in those board meetings that those ungrateful bastards even still had a job. And now their hang up is human test subjects?
Tyler handed Miguel back another glass and said nothing as he watched Miguel down it. Miguel winced again as he finished his liquor, throat still on fire and cheeks starting to flush.
Tyler turned back around, looking at the now setting sun on the horizon. "I'm afraid I can't let you go." He said calmly.
Miguel raised an eyebrow, then suddenly his face turned white when Tyler held up an empty vial of Rapture, his back still turned to him. Tyler spoke again, his back still facing Miguel. "Alchemax is the only distributor of Rapture. Leave if you want, but I'm going to have to be forced to let the board know and involve law enforcement when they realize one of their silly little scientists couldn't keep his hands out of the cookie jar and became a needy little addict." He took a long sip.
"You're not gonna make me look like a weak little bitch in front of the whole board. I don't lose, Miguel. You're not gonna fuck this up for me."
Enraged, Miguel shot up, shattering the shot glass in his hand, blood gushing out of his fingers. "You fucking piece of shit!"
Tyler remained calm. "You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead. I used your sign in to get this vial from the lab. The access history and empty vial next to my dead body will just deepen the hole you dug yourself. Either do as I say, or throw away your freedom right now and kill me before you even had a chance to see your little girl go to Prom."
Miguel paused. This fucker was playing chess with him. Tyler took another sip. "It'd be a damn shame if you did. Especially about that new slutty girlfriend of yours. Did you even get to find out what her pussy feels like?"
That was it. Miguel threw his chair against the wall, the wooden legs splintering into the cabinet Tyler was leaning up against, a neutral expression on his prick face as he sipped more bourbon.
Miguel turned and left the office, and slammed the door so hard the receptionist let out a small squeak of terror as Miguel tore down the hallway, rage seething out of his ears.
"Aaron?" Tyler asked in his cold expressionless voice.
A short, balding man in his mid-thirties with green eyes and thick black rimmed glasses stepped out from behind a two way mirror in the corner of Tyler's office.
"You rewrote the code in Machine A-2099 in sector 8, right?"
"Yes boss."
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You hummed happily as you lit a few of your favorite vanilla almond scented candles on your coffee table. You went all out with a smorgasbord of treats for your movie date night with Miguel including popcorn, gummy worms, Milk Duds, Pretzels, M&Ms, beef jerky, and root beer floats. As soon as you got off work, you cleaned the whole apartment top to bottom and put fresh sheets on the bed. You checked your phone anxiously.
Text convo:
Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️): Good morning beautiful ❤️ how'd you sleep? Have a great day, I'll be at your apartment at 8 pm.
You(amor ❤️): you just made my whole morning!🥰🥰 Good morning handsome! I slept great! I'm so looking forward to movie night tonight. I have a bunch of treats and goodies for us to snack on too. 😇
Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️): that sounds wonderful, baby. ❤️ Driving to work now, I'll text you when I get there but I'm not going to be able to talk much today. I have a meeting with the boss and a bunch of other stuff related to the project I'm overseeing. Just wanted to let you know not to worry ❤️ I'll call you at 6!
6 pm came and went and you felt sick to your stomach.
You(amor ❤️): Babe? Everything okay, I tried you twice.
Nothing.
You (amor ❤️): Miguel? It's 9 pm. Are you okay? Please just call or text me to let me know everything's okay...
It was now 10 pm. He wasn't coming. Your stomach lay in knots. You had called him 28 times with no answer.
What's happening? Is he cheating on me? Did he get into an accident? Is he dead on the side of the road while I'm hundreds of miles away and can't do anything?
He gets busy at work but he always, always checks in with you. You can't help but fight back tears at his untouched root beer float sitting next to yours. You knew going into this that you had to jump, knowing you were gonna fall and he might not be there to catch you. Well, here you were with a small dagger in your heart on what was supposed to be your second date. You couldn't help but let yourself get in your head. His rejection of you this time confirmed everything you feared about yourself. You laid down on the couch and sobbed quietly to sleep.
------
That same night at Alchemax
Miguel's painful screams reverberated off the tiled floor of the genetics lab at Alchemax. The tall powerful man he was, was writhing on the floor in agony. It was as though his blood had turned to acid. His whole body felt on fire. Please God, if I'm supposed to die right now just take me already. He hadn't felt pain this intense ever before in his life. His eyes turned bloodshot, foaming at the mouth as his saliva bubbled and splurted out in incoherent gasps.
Aside from his screams, the machine responsible for his pain let out a low beep. Miguel knew that a copy of his original DNA sample was logged into one of the gene altering machines that he set up when he was first put in charge of Tyler's superhuman project. He knew that as long as he had a drop of Rapture in him, he'd remain an addict defenseless against his new dependency Tyler forced on him. He had tried in vain to rewrite his current biology back to the original, but Tyler was one step ahead. Tyler knew nothing about science or how DNA worked, but it didn't take much to convince Miguel's bitter, jealous subordinate, Aaron Delgado to sabotage the machine. Very little was known about what type of effect that might have on a human, so there was a good chance he'd just die. Just what they wanted. Aaron and Tyler's smug faces entered the lab, watching Miguel suffer and taunting him, even pouring up another round of bourbon while they waited for the show to end. Yep, he'd be dead in just a few more minutes. They had an alibi and a cover up ready to go. They'd post his job opening by Monday and then they could pretend like this never happened. Miguel suddenly became still, his chest seeming to freeze in place, no longer rising and falling with his normal breathes.
Gabriella, my little girl...I'm so sorry....I love you more than anything
His eyes became glassy with tears. He was on his way to finding happiness with you too, only to have the rug pulled out from under him, now he was going to die here, alone. And those who killed him would never know justice behind their corporate wall of privilege and greed that would surely protect them. He uttered your name, his lips barely moving before his eyes fell closed and saw only black..
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Pt 4 coming soon! Thanks for the support 🖤
@mysteris-things
#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel atsv#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#across the spiderverse#fanfic#Spotify
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Stepping Up
Stepdad!Clark Kent headcanons about him stepping up to the plate when it comes to Bruce’s kids.
Inspired by this post:
In order to appeal to Damian, he showed him all the pictures of the farm animals back at home. He saw the small smile on Damian’s face even though he insisted that there wasn't any. After Damian warmed up to him, Clark always gives him updates on the well-being of the animals whenever he gets home.
Lex had made a rather underhand comment on Tim’s handling of the company. Something about how a child has no place in a boardroom controlling men twice his age. And him being Lex also took a dig at Bruce (that man is so miserable). Tim ensured Clark that he didn't have to do anything and that things were being handled which was code for “drag this sorry excuse of a man through the mud and back as salt for the emotional wound he’s about to inflict upon him.”
While Tim was ripping Lex into strides about his empty promises to improve Metropolis, to how he’s a supervillain bc it was obvious he wasn't hugged much as a child, to yelling about his failures as a father to Kon. At the end told him to pick a struggle.
Clark was like, bet. So after Tim’s speech, Clark posts his exposé about the mistreatment of Lex’s workers and how they’ve been going on endless strikes to fight for their rights and to unionize. Let’s just say, Lex had to suspend his Twitter account for 3 months as his PR team scrambled to fix his image.
Clark learned how much Dick is trying to reconnect to his Romani culture: re-learning the language, cooking the food, singing the songs. Clark could relate to that, being one of the last Kryptoians ever. So in solidarity, he asks Dick if he could learn with him. So every Wednesday, Dick and Clark cooked a Romani dish for the family. This week was Mămăligă.
Clark and Duke understood each other. Their powers might’ve been different but the sentiment all the same. They feel different, the odd one out from their family. Clark feels honored that Duke feels comfortable telling him this. He knows how much the bats and birds love their secrets.
There was a practice at Cass’s dance class that was optional but basically, all the parents and guardians attended and participated in. Unfortunately, Bruce took a hard hit as Batman and was unable to attend, which sucks since they’ve both been looking forward to it. Clark, who knows absolutely nothing about ballet, went into it nonetheless. Cass was unsure about this but Clark looked really excited to join so she said yes. He was terrible at it, as expected. Cass was smiling because he tried anyway. He was clumsy and stiff, and probably embarrassed but he still showed up and did all of their moves anyway.
Once they were done, they both recounted the experience all while laughing over greasy food and soda. Cass didn't have to say a word either all was in sign language, something she greatly appreciated.
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#superbat#clark kent#batkids#bruce wayne#dick grayson#tim drake#damian wayne#duke thomas#cassandra wayne#stepdad!clark kent
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Pretend (1) - GOJOXF!READER
A/N:// Okay- So new series! I have started to write the second chapter of this one but wanted to see the interest around it ^^ Any feedback would be great but in the meantime enjoy this one <;3
WORD COUNT : 2.4k
TAGS: Fake dating, CEO Gojo, JJK AU, fluff/angst, arguments, reader is an actor, many characters from main story will show up.
Part one. / Part.two
“Are you listening, Gojo?” Satoru’s blue eyes blinked a few times before he looked at who was speaking to him. It was a business partner for his company. The old man was red in the face from anger, he couldn’t believe he was spacing out in such an important meeting.
“What did you say?” Satoru says boredly, not bothering to adjust his tone. He leans back in his leather seat at the head of the table and taps his fingers against the table. No matter if the directors find Satoru childish or improper, his presence was undoubtedly intimidating.
“You must fix your public image, with all these talks our business can-”
“Again with this image problem. I don’t believe this has an impact on MY company.” Satoru interrupts. This has been the talking point in every meeting for the past month. Satoru has grown bored of this topic, seeing it as insignificant in the grander scheme. However the board of directors see this as a different issue.
The tabloids have had a field day with the Gojo name due to Satoru’s most recent scandal. ‘Gojo Satoru, the nation's playboy; are our young stars at risk!?’ or ‘The likely collapse of the Gojo empire!!’. All Satoru did was attend Shoko’s graduation party and ended up being snapped with Rosa, a movie star who was way too drunk to be alone. Satoru had simply escorted her home and left in the same car that drove them there. The pictures outside her house look bad but he swears that’s the truth. He wouldn’t be in this mess if Suguru didn’t dare him to drink. He can’t handle his drinks but it was a call for celebration for his dear Doctor.
“We are already seeing a rise in agencies being less willing to collaborate with us. They want to protect their stars from your reputation and many of Rosa’s fans are calling out to sabotage our future projects until the issue is addressed.” Yaga, one of Satoru’s closest partners, advises. He has a tendency to scold Satoru, regardless of hierarchy which is why Satoru keeps him around. If Yaga is suggesting that this could be an issue, then maybe he should listen?
“If we solely relied on their opinions and patronage, we wouldn’t be here.” Satoru waves him off. Yaga looks at him with wide eyes, shock written all over his face. He throws a look to Mei Mei for help.
“Speaking honestly Gojo, you are at risk. Many of the other board members would agree you are acting too recklessly as our leader. You do not hold just your future in your hands. You hold all of ours too and we do not want to see that spoiled.” Mei Mei’s red lips quirk up into a sly smirk. She looks at Gojo, straight into his eyes as she pulls out some documents. She doesn’t let the others see as she stands up and hands it to Gojo. The click of her heels as she walks back to her seat fades away in Satoru’s mind as he reads the document in front of him.
The plans to remove Satoru as CEO and elect a new leader, one less problematic. It must have been one they had been scheming for a while and they were banking on the fact that Satoru was stubborn. There’s silence in the boardroom as Satoru flicks through the pages of the document. Some of the members shifted uncomfortably at the dragging silence. He easily came to the conclusion this ‘problem’ was planned by his people. The paparazzi being at Rosa’s house, the models at his resort holiday… They have backed him into a corner. One Satoru was so blind to his arrogance.
When Satoru looked back up, gone was the bored look. His blue eyes were cold as steel and his smug grin now became more of an ominous smile.
“So what do you propose we do to resolve my image?”
It was almost midnight in the gym as the last few groups left, all glowing in their post workout sweat. But there was only one who lingered in the gym, spacing out as she ran on the treadmill. The last notes of her workout song was playing out as she came down from her inclined sprint. She panted heavily, resting her hands on the machine in front of her. Her mind was a mess and the run had only emptied her mind for so long. There was so much to do and such little time to do it all.
Once she regained her breath, she grabbed her water bottle to take a sip and loosen one of her earphones. Just in time to hear the footsteps storming towards her. She turned around to see her manager close in on her. She was holding her phone to her ear as she thanked the person on the call. There was a face splitting smile that honestly unnerved the girl.
“Thank you so much! I will speak to her right now and we can arrange the meeting!” Her manager bows even if the other person couldn’t see. Once the girl is standing in front of her manager, her manager hangs up the phone and cheers happily.
“Utahime? What happened?” She asks confused, not used to seeing her manager so cheerful. She’s used to the dejected look as rejection after rejection comes her way.
“Oh (Y/N)! Great news, so the movie lead was taken but you are still in contention if there are any issues with scheduling.” Utahime says, her smile dims a little when she delivers the news to her. It was hard getting bad news but delivering it to her baby talent hurt more. Especially how frequent the rejections were. People didn’t see the potential in her little star like she did! (Y/N)’s heart does squeeze a little at the news but at least it wasn’t a rejection!
(Y/N) was a new talent to the market. She was classically trained as an actor and had undergone many, many singing classes to become a perfect start. She had a late start to her acting career but she always told herself, better late than never. Though the rejections seriously have her considering the never part. She has had tons of minor roles, most recent being the side character in a romantic comedy which started Rosa! She was a popular movie star and (Y/N) couldn’t help but be in awe to see how different A-lists were. It was like a whole different level, one (Y/N) couldn’t see herself on. Yet.
“Oh really? That’s great!” (Y/N) tried to hide her disappointment. She thought with Utahime’s excitement there would have been bigger news. Utahime sees right through her and smiles mischievously.
“Did you really think that was the only news I had! How low do you think of my amazing management skills!” Utahime scolds, putting her hands on her hips as she puffs out her chest. (Y/N) laughs at her manager, she knows she couldn’t have made it this far without her.
“Okay then, oh amazing manager, what is the other news?” Utahime rolls her eyes at the nickname and claps her hands excitedly.
“(Y/N), you have been invited to Infinite to discuss a talent contract.”
“Who is she?” Satoru was sitting behind his desk, his hands crossed in front of him. Suguru could easily see the bags under his eyes. Ever since the board meeting, Satoru had thrown himself into work and became more like a tyrant for perfection. He may have set the most projects rejected in one day with a whopping 5 major projects too. Many have seen the danger to approach him this week and decided against disturbing the white haired CEO.
“(Y/F/N), she is a minor actress with nothing of significance in her connections or past. The perfect blank slate.” Suguru walks towards Satoru, placing her file on his desk. Tutting his lips at all the expensive coffee cups that sat around him. “Excuse me, could you clean this all up for this slob.” Suguru asks politely to the assistant who loomed next to Satoru. He’s a little shocked as he is addressed and immediately jumps into action. As he walks out, he doesn’t see the sharp glare on Suguru’s face.
“Was it needed to send him out?” Satoru as.Suguru locks the door behind the poor assistant. The file in front of him remains untouched for now.
“The meeting only proved you had a traitor amongst your ranks, sue a man for being careful.” Suguru shrugs and takes a seat on Satoru’s desk. He studies his friend before sighing deeply.
“You look like a wreck, Satoru. You have become a nightmare to our poor staff, locking yourself away and-” Suguru stops to sniff the air, “Have you been eating instant noodles again?” He scolds his friend, like a mother would. He was truthfully worried, usually his friend would snap back to his teasing remarks and swat at him for sitting on his desk. But Satoru doesn’t. He looks up at Suguru with tired eyes and Suguru could almost laugh at how much Satoru looks like a kicked puppy.
“Those old bastards pissed me off last week. I’m supposed to be a prodigy but get backed into a corner by those small fries.” Satoru whines, pouting slightly as he rants. His ego was bruised quite a bit which didn’t happen often for a man like him. Everyone was so used to seeing his cheeky side, suave side or devil boss but only his best friend could see his truly childish side.
“Satoru, you know you can’t linger on this issue. All we can do is move forward and improve so it doesn’t happen again,” Suguru shakes his head and picks up the file he previously presented to Satoru. “We’re going to get rid of those old fuckers but only with a plan...”
“And this is the start of the plan.” Satoru finishes and takes the file being held out to him. He opens up to the headshot of this rising actress. His eyes study the girl in front of him. She was pretty, no doubt about it. There was an innocence in her eyes, a bright spark and naivety. She was an untouched star, not yet burned out like many in the entertainment industry.
“Is it wise to have a rookie take this on?” Satoru has his reservations, it isn’t easy to have this many eyes on him and he has dealt with it since he was baby. How would a nobody even react to something like this?
“You can take a look at her tapes, her acting is great and with enough coaching it’ll be flawless. At the end of the contract, you gain a cleaner image, the company gains a new talent and she kick starts her career.” Satoru hums in acknowledgement, it’d be a win for everyone and the public would be none the wiser.
Suguru leaves Satoru to watch some of the girl’s audition tapes. As he steps out of the room, he bumps into the assistant who was clearly trying to listen in. He glares down frighteningly to the man, and pointedly closes the door to Satrou’s office behind him. A warning to not disturb the man.
The assistant ignores Suguru’s warning once the tall man was out of sight, walking in to see Satoru watching his screen with undivided attention. He quite brazenly moves to see what Satoru is watching but is stopped halfway by the CEO.
“Don’t bother. You’re fired.” Is all he says, ignoring the man’s protests and the commotion of the security having to drag the assistant out. His eyes were locked onto the girl in front of him. She had a wide smile with rosy cheeks, holding onto her sun hat as the wind blew around her. Her white sun dress blew around her, making her look like she was gliding through the air.
(Y/F/N) was the perfect blank slate.
‘Is this really happening? I’m about to meet THE Gojo Satoru!’ (Y/N) thought to herself, watching as the number on the elevator ticked up. Slowly counting her up to her future, what she was dreaming of. The swelling in her stomach from anticipation felt too much so she tried to distract herself. She watched as Utahime stood in front of her, reading through some paperwork. Then she glanced at her reflection in the walls of the elevator. Her eyes scanned the pale blue dress she wore, the simple gold chain that rested on her collarbones perfectly. She didn’t have many jewels to dress herself up so she hoped this was enough to impress him. Feeling slightly self conscious she tugged at the bottom of her skirt, fearing the dress was too short to be business appropriate. Utahime wasn’t much help in picking out her clothes, proudly claiming her actress was so beautiful anything she wore would be perfect.
(Y/N) spaces out as she scrutinises her outfit that she doesn’t notice the ding of the elevator. The signal of her final chance before her life changes. Utahime holds open the door when she notices (Y/N) was not following her.
“(Y/N), hello? Earth to little star.” She calls out, snapping her out of her stupor.
“Oh-! Sorry.” She rushes out of the lift, her matching blue heels clacking against the lift. She cringed at the loud noise but had no time to say anything as they both were ushered into a conference room.
Utahime glanced at her, worried that this might be too much for her. When they were outside the door, Utahime turned to (Y/N).
“We can do this, this is our best chance for you. Are you sure you want to do this?” She asks, giving her one last out.
“Utahime. I’m…” She hesitates, just behind the door is her potential fake partner for the next year. This move could quite literally define her career. But she couldn’t back down, she couldn’t let down Utahime or her childhood friend. “I’m ready.”
With one final nod in confirmation, Utahime reaches to open the door when it is flung open. Out comes a tuft of white hair and the scent of sandalwood fills the air. That’s where (Y/N) and Satoru meet for the first time. Her cheeks were flushed red from her previous embarrassment and his eyes were curious as he studied the girl in front of him.
So this was THE Gojo Satoru. (Y/N)’s words were caught in her throat as his handsomeness had struck her a little. ‘No wonder he is a playboy, with looks like that I would be showing it off too!’ He looks amazing, she couldn’t believe a man like him was single and needed a fake partner. Surely he could treat a woman well?
“And here I thought the country bumpkin may have gotten lost in the big city.” He says condescendingly and immediately the image (Y/N) had of him shattered.
#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x y/n#female reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk satoru#pretend#fluff#jjk au
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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.
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Private and Confidential I
Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Rating: M (for now). This blog is 18+. MDNI.
Word Count: 2.8k
Summary: You're less than enthusiastic about being assigned to a new case without any forewarning. Maybe your new partner could change your mind?
Chapter summary: Already upset at the idea of switching divisions, you're forced to recall a memory from last summer.
Chapter warnings: No use of y/n, no physical description of reader (wearing of heels mentioned), swearing, mention of food and alcohol consumption, my spelling and grammar probably.
A/N: I have absolutely taken liberties with this despite research but it's fiction right? Lets see where this takes us. Setting the scene here and it's likely to be the longest chapter.
“The briefing starts in five minutes. I suggest you get to boardroom C”
“Sir, I-“ you start but can’t get your words out.
You stay seated as your director stands from his own large leather chair, cutting off any attempt at defence you might try to make. The decision had been made and deep down you knew it. There had been no prior consultation, no emails, no phone calls to discuss. You had just been assigned to this case whether you liked it or not. He walks to hold the door to his office open for your impending exit before dismissing you with a flat “good day agent”.
It’s a hurried dash back to your desk to pick up a notepad and a pen before starting the short walk to the boardroom. Even if you weren’t, you thought it wise to make it look like you were interested despite being far from it. Art crime wasn’t your area. You thought it to be too slow. Rarely is someone in immediate danger, there’s no adrenaline high or satisfaction from potentially saving a life.
Regardless, you take a seat in the dimly lit boardroom at the long oval table, another director on one side, you and three other agents on the other. A large flat screen hangs on the wall at one end of the table with slides ready to be presented along with the case number. Seeing slide 1/52 in the bottom left of the screen slashes away the enthusiasm you walked into the building with this morning.
The sudden opening and closing of the glass door steals your attentions away from jotting down the reference number. A final agent quickly enters and takes a seat at the very end of the mahogany table and apologises for his late arrival.
The director begins to get into the specifics of the case. Art fraud…or forgery, you’re not sure because it’s only seconds before you find yourself tuning out. All of your fellow agents are busy writing down details. Especially the one who barely made it. Even in the darkened room, the slides behind him illuminate his familiar side profile. He’s completely enthralled, his hands can’t write fast enough as he eagerly nods along to lists of suspects, places, and times with a frown and pursed lips.
Fuck.
There it is. The same guilt that bubbled underneath your skin last summer starts to stir again and you soothe your brow at the feeling before being thrown back to that day.
Everyone else had physically clocked out at five but mentally clocked out at around two. There was a buzz throughout the entire floor since the morning. Excitement to close cases and relax for an evening - to remind yourself that it’s just work.
Most of your colleagues left to go home and change out of blazers and ties, swapping them for flowy sun dresses and polo shirts. You managed to change your heels for a pair of sneakers that you kept under your desk. When you were locking your drawer, Marcus was still hunched over his own, three rows over from yours, chewing on his fingers and practically begging his computer monitor to make two plus two equal four. But you let him and his multitude of empty coffee cups be and went to celebrate with everyone else. He hadn’t so much as touched the pastry you left on his desk that morning as you passed by.
You didn’t bother going home, you rode the bus the couple of miles to your co-worker’s house and a glass of homemade sangria was placed in your hand before you even had time to say hello.
As the sun set, your plate kept being piled high with all sorts of meat and side dishes and your glass continued to be refilled. Each time, it pulled the smile higher on your cheeks. Somewhere between glass two and three, Marcus finally showed up. You were the only two still in office attire though he chose to remove his tie and badge. He kept a close circle with some of the other art crime agents, sipping on a Coke as the people around him knocked back bottles of beer. You only caught some “this is good man’s” while he patted your host on the back for their efforts. Meanwhile you were stuck with your own small crowd discussing salad dressings.
You remained separate from one another the entire time that you were there. You never did get to ask about what kept him so late. Around 8.30 you decided to call it a night. You weren’t young enough to survive a sugar induced hangover anymore, so you said your goodbyes and turned down any more replenishments and intended on getting back on the bus.
That’s when he caught you walking cautiously down the gravel covered driveway.
“Leaving?” he asked.
“I am” you grinned at him, giddy on sun and sangria.
“I can give you a ride?” he offered, holding up his car keys.
“No, no. I got this” you tried to assure him but subconsciously, you were holding onto the gate for support and he noticed.
“Please. I insist. I was leaving myself”
He convinced you in the end and drove you to your apartment building. Fumbling to get out with your purse and belongings, he lent you a hand, held the door open for you and made sure you had everything. Before he closed it, he reached to get something from the glovebox and handed you a small bottle of Advil.
“You’re too much, Pike. Too soft” you giggled.
His head fell to look at his feet. You were still sober enough to realise he was crestfallen instantly.
“Okay, well. You get inside safe. Should probably keep those by your bed. You never know, y’know?” he chuckled half heartedly.
You never said goodnight. Never said thank you. You lost all your manners because you were too busy insulting the nice guy before turning on your heels to leave him on the curb.
You intended on apologising. It was top of your to-do list on Monday but the pills he gave you couldn’t do anything for the guilt that had plagued you over the weekend.
An office reshuffle the following week put you over the other side of the building. Instead of being a few cubicles away from him and art crime you were planted right beside international terrorism. There, you were walls and windows apart rather than a few feet. The most you saw of him was a passing glance on the way to separate meetings, but he still smiled politely despite your inebriated words.
Your own cases ramped up to the point you were out of the office more than you were in it, rounding up confidential informants took up most of your days. The next thing you knew he left for California, and it seemed like the moment was gone. You thought he might have stayed there because you hadn’t seen him until now.
And he looks different. Sitting feet away from you once again. Lit from behind by the white slides wiping across the screen, he’s let his facial hair grow out and his hair isn’t quite as neat as you remember but he still wears the same excitement about a fresh case as he did when they came his way.
Regret follows the guilt; it drowns out everything that’s being discussed around you. The distance made it easier to stave off the memory. You could have sent an email, left a note in his cubby, scheduled a meeting in his calendar – anything. Except, selfishly, you didn’t.
The harsh fluorescent lights in the boardroom illuminate, pulling you from your thoughts and the slideshow ends. You do a quick scan of the notebooks to your left and they’re bursting with bullet points compared to your empty pages.
“Agent?” another assistant director speaks in your direction. “I hear you’re taking this case with Agent Pike?”
You clear your throat before nodding a silent yes. You can almost feel Marcus’s eyes boring into the side of your head, but you pay him no mind. It feels like an age before your director calls an end to the briefing and the second he does, you bolt back to your desk, the tips of your heels clacking furiously underneath you.
There, your teeth gnash into your bottom lip, as you weigh up potential outcomes though you didn’t have a beginning point. It would be career development, you think. On the other hand, it could be boring and everlasting. You saw how much time Marcus spent at his desk, hardly ever leaving the building. Your heart sinks at the thought of being deskbound.
There’s chatter about spikes in organized crime happening around you. Some of your old colleagues are giving updates on their current cases, others are hammering keyboards typing up their recent notes – ones you wish your fingers were writing. You can easily muster up some suggestions for them but not for yourself. Should they ask what you’re working on, you have exactly nothing to tell them. And it’s that that raises you from your chair on a mission to find your new partner.
The level you both call home, is all gray-coloured marble, stainless steel and glass. The only pops of colour come from the muted blue partitions that separate white lacquer desks. You wander aimlessly for a few minutes, around mazes of bullpens and corridors, squinting at individual office doors in an attempt to find him. Eventually you stop someone and ask where he might be but all you get as a response is a thumb thrown over their shoulder.
It’s vague but it helps. The last corridor has his name written in white font across some black plastic that’s stuck to the door. He’s upgraded to his own office. The lights inside are off but you knock anyway. There’s no answer.
After a deep breath, you start the journey back to your own desk again. It’s not the Monday or even the case you’d hoped to be given – you’ve fallen at the first hurdle in being unable to locate your partner.
Back at your desk, there’s a pink Post-It with three reference numbers. Underneath, a note that reads; Try these – Pike.
It’s cryptic but it’s a start you didn’t previously have. Loading up the database on your computer to pull up the associated file, you type the first into the index field and hit search. Value: Not found. You frown, puzzled by the error message.
You try the second reference. Value: Not found. The same thing happens on the third one. With a sigh, you try each one once more in case they’re case sensitive. Unsurprisingly they’re not and the error appears another three times. In your experience, that error message meant one thing; the files relating to the reference numbers hadn’t been scanned and digitized.
After lunch and armed with Marcus’s sticky note along with some writing of your own of box and file barcodes you’d found on an old spreadsheet, you head down to the archive in search of the physical copies.
The archive is cold, kept at a certain temperature to preserve and prevent moisture damage but instantly covers your skin in goosebumps. It’s a sprawling room and you're alone in it, not many agents had a reason to visit anymore.
The racks stand tall around you, holding shelves of green banker’s boxes, all of them full to their 55-pound capacity with paper files. Each is clearly marked with a barcode. Going along every shelf is painstaking, trying to match the ten-digit barcodes to the numbers on your pink post it.
The first is on the middle shelf. Pulling it out by its cardboard handle, you heave it out onto the ground and kneel to trawl through the contents to find what you came for. The file itself is heavy, beaten and battered. Up in the top left corner it says 1993 scribbled in ballpoint. Probably one of the first cases of its kind. That still left over ten years for it to be scanned and it wasn’t.
After placing it on the floor, it was onto the next. This one is on the top shelf, and it’s a stretch to reach. Digging it out of the box once it’s on the floor, it’s smaller, fifty pages or less and in worse condition than its predecessor yet there’s a charm in the splashes of coffee on its corners.
Squatting over the box to put the lid back on, the handle of the door slams down and footsteps follow making you jump back to your feet with the file in hand. Being down here by yourself is a health and safety nightmare and to be called out on it is the last thing to add onto an already tougher than expected day.
“Thought I’d find you here” a joyful face appears from behind a rack and he comes to stand beside you.
“Agent Pike” you sigh, relieved that it’s your new partner and not a superior. “You knew these weren’t scanned?”
“I didn’t” he holds his hands up. “It’s luck of the draw, really. They’re in the works, though. Other units have been prioritised” he explains.
“You just knew these cases off hand?”
“Yeah. Guess so” he admits, sheepishly.
An uncomfortable silence creeps into the room. Your thumb flits over the already worn edges of the file you’re still holding, suddenly torn like some of the pages over whether to leave the past behind or to finally apologise.
“Have I done something?” he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dark slacks.
“No, I’m sorry. This just isn’t me” you tell him a half truth.
“You ran out earlier and I couldn’t find you“
“I know, I know” you sigh. “Look, Agent-“
“For what it’s worth, I asked your director to let you work this case with me. I saw how you worked with Agent Hill a while back and I thought-“
“What?” you scowl.
“It’s admirable, your work. I thought that we could work well together” he says, eyes soft and honest.
Your own eyes narrow at his words but he’s earnest in what he says. You did work with Agent Hill but he was close to retiring and he let you take the reins. He listened to you, trusted your decisions. He would have no reason not to give you a good review after closing the case as quick as you did. And yet there is a tiny pang of anger that was gearing itself towards Agent Pike - you’re not his to take.
“But if you don’t agree, I won’t hold it against you” he crosses his arms and leans back against the edge of one of the racks, the light pinstripe of his suit distorting across his shoulders before continuing.
“You know, I thought about what you said”
You stare at him confused. You hadn’t broken breath to him since that night; the night you never really forgave yourself for.
“What did I say?” you ask with a shaky voice. The small space you both occupy between the shelving feels as though it's become tiny.
His gaze falls to his shoes, just like it did the night he dropped you off.
“That I should toughen up”
Your eyes shut at his words. In all the days and nights afterwards, you hoped he might have forgotten. But why should he have? Because you still remember every time someone had been condescending towards you from the moment you stepped foot into the academy.
“That isn’t what I meant, Agent Pike. I was…drunk” you whisper.
“No. You were right. I’m better for it. I think” he says and nods, a stern expression paints itself onto his face similar to the one he wore in the boardroom.
“Really, I didn’t mean anything by it. Actually I’ve-”
“What is it?” he cuts you off after coming so close to uttering the words that have been on your mind for so long.
“You don’t think this will be exciting enough for you? I know our filing system isn’t as sophisticated as what you’re used to but-”
“Work doesn’t need to be exciting. Sometimes you just need to get the job done and move on” you tell him hoping that maybe if you said it out loud, you’d start to believe it.
His head tilts to the side and a smirk tugs at his lips.
“What if we can do both of those things? Here. Let me get these” he says, scooping up the file you left on the floor and then striding towards you to take the one from your hand. “I’ll scan them and email you when they’re done. We can start from there”
All you can do is watch as he slowly starts his retreat out of the archive and the cool air that hit you when entered has disappeared. The goosebumps have been replaced by a heat creeping up your back at his musings.
“Think about it” he winks. “I’m sure we both have things we can learn from each other”
#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike fanfic#marcus pike fanfiction#the mentalist#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic#marcus pike
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malevolent enterprise ch. 3
ceo au series. sukuna and yuji are brothers. gojo x f!reader are endgame. reader is a lawyer and our freshly introduced journalist and sukuna are hooking up which leads to a tense discussion. cw: suggestive discussions. wc 1.4k.
divider thanks to @/cafekitsune | masterlist
Tasked once again with cleaning up Sukuna’s messes, you wiggle your foot impatiently and glance at your watch, shifting your gaze from there to around the crowded cafe, looking for the woman of the hour who was supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.
You were early, of course, as is your overly accommodating nature. After spending time scoping out tables for any potential eavesdroppers or hired corporate espionage, you were satisfied with your inspection of people less than interested by you clicking across the floor and ordering a cup of Earl Gray. No one here gives a shit what’s happening at Ryomen Industries except for you and the little pink princess you’re so desperately trying to legally bind to keep her mouth shut on Ryomen Industries behalf.
Jiggling your ankle, you narrow your eyes and search again, pursed lips curling into a demure smile as you stand and wave the journalist in your direction. She’s pretty, something you already knew to be true despite only seeing her in passing a couple of times, even more so in casual pants and a sweater. A half wave is her response and she makes her way through the people moving from the counter to the tables across the cafe.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I apologize for being late, the train ran slightly off schedule today.”
You try to hide your surprise at the lack of warmth in her voice but given the task she’s here to do, you can hardly blame her. Nobody wants to meet with a lawyer in broad daylight to sign paperwork, much less something that could jeopardize the integrity of an investigation she has invested months into.
“I understand. Some things end up being truly out of your control no matter who you are.” Your smile is so measured she fights the urge to shiver, unsurprised that someone like you is heading up the legal department at Sukuna’s new company.
The journalist has a perspective you lack about the man, though, and that’s who he is when the lights are low. She knows him intimately and this is dangerous knowledge to have about a man who is known for being as ruthless in a boardroom as he is devilish at a nightclub. He’s a wildcard in every sense of the word and that’s why you have to protect not simply the company that employs you but him, too.
The things we do for our friends.
She pulls out the chair opposite you and you offer another tight smile, clasping your fingers and placing your hands on the table in front of you.
“I just have a few things I want to go over and then you will be able to have your day back.” She nods and looks around, waiting for a waitress to pass to order a drink.
“I know you had some questions so allow me to clarify.” You pick up a dark colored folder, tapping your nails against the cover. “These documents have no impact on the things you’ve discovered through traditional journalistic means about Sukuna and anything he has told you on the record is fair game.”
She turns her gaze back to you, eyes so pretty you understand immediately what your boss sees in her. Nodding her response, you wrap your fingers around your teacup and lift it from the plate in front of you, holding it inches from your mouth.
“We know what kind of man he is when it comes to his personal life. He’s a serial philanderer, he has destroyed every hotel room he has ever stayed in, he…”
You trail off when her gaze turns icy and remains locked on you.
“If he’s so horrible, how can you stomach working for him?”
Tendrils of steam rise from your tea cup and you blow on them, pursing your lips and sniffing the lavender note in the tea itself to calm yourself before you really show your ass in front of everyone in this cafe. You exhale sharply through your nose, amused, and meet her glance with a flat glare of your own.
“Well, only one of us is here to sign legal documents promising not to publish his tip color and girth in whatever newspaper you work for so I could ask you the same question.”
Lifting the mug to your mouth, you blow and the steam dissipates but does little to cover the evident offense on the other woman’s face. Immediately, you feel bad and sip your tea quickly and swallow even faster, setting the cup back down in front of you. The journalist plays with her silverware, tracing the curves of the handle of a spoon with her index finger, attempting to avoid making eye contact with you. She’s an impressive woman in her own right, an award winner in her field, and you feel like your boss is rubbing off on you too much these days. He’s an asshole but he hired you specifically not to be so you humbly clear your throat and rub your thumb over the tip of your nose.
“I’m sorry, that was not a very nice thing to say and I’m not here to judge you about who you bed.”
She nods in disbelief and you know you have it coming. That wasn’t exactly your best moment as a person.
“I need you to sign this to protect yourself,” you clarify. “If we don’t get this figured out, anything you say that he doesn’t like could come back to bite you and he changes his mind quickly.”
This is of course an offensive way to tell someone that he will eventually grow tired of them but you know it’s the truth and mincing words will only prolong her trepidation in getting this over with. You can’t sugarcoat the truth any further and looking into the earnest and sweet face of the woman across from you, you soften further and slump forward with a sigh.
“I want to make sure nothing happens to you in all of this. Your career is too valuable to risk it over him.”
She looks at you, searching your face for hints of further deception or malice and finds none. Leaning back into her chair, she folds her arms over her chest and chews the inside of her cheek, the waitress she has been searching for still tending to the tables around the two of you.
“I’d like to have my own legal counsel review the document before signing it.”
It’s a loss as far as completing the task Sukuna commanded goes but it’s a win otherwise as far as you’re concerned and you pass the folder across the table in her direction. She unfolds her arms and grabs the edge of the folder, dragging it toward her body and looking around the room as if she’s concerned more of his goons will approach her.
With the document passed off, you lift your tea to your mouth and sip once again, stomach turning slightly despite the warm wash over your tongue. You swallow and force another tight lipped smile.
“Thank you again. I know this is weird but I’m not your enemy.”
You don’t know why you feel the need to tell her that but something tells you, a gut feeling perhaps, that this is far from the last time the two of you will be seeing each other. She nods and rises from her seat, quietly shoving it out behind her. You stop her before she walks away and tap the cover of the folder.
“My card is in there. Call me if you have questions, day or night.”
The offer is a peace offering above all and it has to be obvious. She raises her brow curiously, nodding with a smile.
“We’ll see if I have to take you up on it. Take care.”
Offering a half wave, you watch as she rounds the table and heads toward the door. Finally you release your caught breath, the air enough to rustle the napkins on the table in front of you. Picking your phone up from the table, you groan when you’re greeted with three missed calls and ten new messages in the chat between you and your personal assistant.
Toge: hi come back he’s rampaging and no one knows why he broke a chair
Toge: also u have flowers at my desk…whose 🐓 have u been sucking
Toge: damn these rnt even roses these r nice flowers 🪻🌸🌷
You scroll through the next several messages, rolling your eyes until you look at the one most recently sent and you freeze in place.
Toge: LOL GOJOS HEREEEEEE!!!!!!! come get ur man!!!!
Closing your phone, you lift your tea cup and sip for another luxurious few seconds before packing up and heading back to whatever hell awaits you at Ryomen Industries.
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Y'know, when I was a teenager getting into IT shit, it always struck me as odd, the way the old guys insisted on getting me into Linux. It just seemed like such a pain in the ass, and I never really picked it up. Its selling points weren't something that were a problem for me. I could get a Windows machine to do anything I wanted. Any reason to fuck around with Linux was like a junior high computer class training you on Excel. In theory that's a good idea but the reality is you are years away from needing this shit and it will be different by the time you do.
And now I'm an old geek who feels, I imagine, like the last guys hanging on to the cars they could maintain themselves. I couldn't rebuild a carburetor but I could swap spark plugs, change the oil and filters, etc. Because the iOS-ification of desktop computers is driving me fucking insane. Not just the petty shit like changing "click" to "tap" and "program" to "app," but the way everything is buried ever further behind an increasingly minimalist, dogshit UI.
My work computer "upgraded" to a version of Windows where you hit what used to be the start button and it brings up a menu of what used to be your desktop shortcuts. You still have desktop shortcuts though. The alphabetized start menu is gone. If you don't see it, you have to type a search term for it. Also it takes double-clicking on icons as a suggestion to run the program rather than a command.
This is the sort of enshittification you can only get away with when you have a monopoly and your boardroom is full of perverts who fantasize about being Steve Jobs while trying to give his portrait a rimjob.
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by Tim Karr
Common Dreams
Nov. 16, 2023
Democracy suffers when a commercial media system showcases fascist demagogues for profit.
There is no bottom for MAGA’s top man. At a speech delivered on Veterans Day, Donald Trump used rhetoric nearly identical to that used by Adolf Hitler 80 years earlier.
Rather than honoring veterans as one might expect of a political speech on this day, Trump used the occasion to label his adversaries “vermin” — promising that, if elected, he would use his power to “root out” all his political enemies.
The Washington Post’s Aaron Blake found the parallels: Hitler frequently used vermin references to justify the murder of Jews and others across Europe, while “Trump has used it more broadly to suggest that his opponents are subhuman” and deserve punishment.
Without calling themselves to account for the damage they've done, media executives will never quit their Trump habit
Parroting Hitler should not be considered normal behavior in any election cycle. But the media have grown used to covering Trump’s extremism as if it’s standard political fare. This time, though, some journalists rightly saw his Veterans Day speech as very dangerous.
“It’s important to emphasize that Trump’s rhetorical excesses are not new. To know anything about the Republican is to know that he, on a nearly daily basis, finds new and needlessly provocative ways to shock, offend, insult, and degrade,” wrote Steve Benen for MSNBC.
What is new, however, is the growing number of reporters and commentators being more explicit in their use of the term “fascist” to describe Trump’s beliefs — and “dictatorship” to describe what his return to power would represent for the future of U.S. democracy.
The media aren’t sounding these sorts of alarms enough, according to Margaret Sullivan, who wrote about the mounting evidence that Trump is indeed a fascist. “The press generally is not doing an adequate job of communicating those realities,” she said. “Instead, journalists have emphasized Joe Biden’s age and Trump’s ‘freewheeling’ style. They blame the public’s attitudes on ‘polarization,’ as if they themselves have no role.”
Sullivan urges more members of the press to report on the dark prospect of a second Trump presidency. They should “ask voters directly whether they are comfortable with [Trump’s] plans, and report on that. Display these stories prominently, and then do it again soon,” she wrote.
The ‘F’ word
Sullivan is right, of course. The media need to report more on the rise of fascism in America, and they also need to reflect on their role in enabling this.
For decades the former president has capitalized on the media’s obsessive attention to paint an alternative vision of himself — one in which he features not as a twice-impeached, criminally indicted sexual abuser who sought to overthrow a democratic election that he lost, but as a decisive and winning strongman, the only person with the power and charisma to make America great again.
Media execs have played along with Trump’s charade, aware that his tele-presence is a boon for ratings and revenues.
In 2016, then-CBS CEO Les Moonves said that devoting so much airtime to then-candidate Trump “may not be good for America, but it’s damn good for CBS.” At the time, Moonves was praising Trump for the bumper crop of political-ad dollars brought in during the contentious 2016 election, but he was not alone.
Former media executive Jeff Zucker has arguably done more than any single person to burnish the 21st-century caricature of Donald Trump. While an executive at NBC, he greenlit The Apprentice, which remade Trump from a bankruptcy-spawning loser into a boardroom genius with impeccable business savvy.
When Trump entered the political fray in 2015, he did so with an Apprentice tailwind. Zucker, who by then had transitioned to the top job at CNN, trained the network’s cameras on his celebrity candidate while denying equal time to Trump’s Republican opponents. Ratings were also Zucker’s rationale for keeping Trump center stage in 2016.
The media chose Trump in 2016 well before most Republican voters had a chance to vote for any of the other GOP candidates in the race.
And it didn’t end there. In 2020, Mathias Döpfner, head of German media giant Axel Springer, sent a message asking the company’s executives if they wanted to “get together for an hour on the morning on Nov. 3 and pray that Donald Trump will again become President of the United States of America?” Döpfner justified this question by praising the Trump administration for supporting issues, like corporate tax breaks and reining in big tech, that benefitted Axel Springer.
The profit incentive
If you’re noticing a pattern, it's this: Democracy suffers when a commercial media system showcases fascist demagogues for profit.
That seems obvious enough, but it’s worth repeating: News media companies rely on ratings and related advertising revenues to survive. In other words, the news business is about putting on a show that will draw the largest numbers of viewers. And Trump — like Hitler and Mussolini before him — is a camera-ready showman.
More important matters like correcting Trump’s many falsehoods or reporting on the troubling consequences of a second Trump presidency are secondary for those who just want to draw more attention to their primetime offerings.
Former executives, like Moonves and Zucker (who for a variety of unsavory reasons have since left their companies), and existing ones, like Döpfner, were saying that as long as Trump’s autocratic extremism makes them richer, there’s no need to worry about the consequences. Never mind that, if elected, he’d likely use his power to undermine media freedom and silence dissenting voices.
The commercial U.S. media system needs to undergo deep reckoning for accommodating the rise of Trumpism. This atonement should be reflected in a shift in the ways large outlets report on Trump, but also by recognizing the commercial incentives that drive media to lead with the Trump Show, damn the far-right repercussions.
Without calling themselves to account for the damage they've done, media executives will never quit their Trump habit — not in 2024, nor at any point after.
Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.
#corporate media#news media#fascism#journalism#2024 presidential election#adolf hitler#donald trump#corporate greed
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(okay, lets try to translate)
My thoughts about Captain Laserhawk (maybe part 1)
In general, I thought for a long time about how the Laserhawk activated its bomb on Sarah's left hand, if she always activates the bomb on her right...
Okay, I was thinking about who sent Rayman the message "If you want to know the truth, talk to the frog." The most stupid and at the same time the most ingenious option - The Board of Directors the most Rayfrog shippers!
But seriously, there is a version that it was Sarah, or rather, that cyborg spider in the finale, speaking in Sarah's voice. He has exactly the same mathematical symbol on his head as on an empty chair in the boardroom.
And then, how did he manage to send a message without revealing himself, for example, by voice? I couldn't watch the whole scene in the original, so I don't know if the Board of Directors speaks in the voice of one of the Director during the conversation, or if another voice is used so that none of the Board of Directors members will give themselves away just because of the voice. In any case, spider didn't use his real voice. hacked the system???
Perhaps he is a traitor among them (run "Among Us flashback.exe "), who wants to destroy Eden from the inside. It can be said that he was waiting for the moment when Rayman would be replaced on television in order to show the truth to the real Ray and destroy the Board of Directors with his help.
Based on the theory that the whole universe of "Captain Laserhawk" is a game, I'm already starting to talk some nonsense I assume that this cyborg spider (I'll call him that because I'm not sure if it's Sarah, I'll explain later) knows the whole plot (or at least knows the main plot twists that need to happen). That is, perhaps he knows that in this story the hero is not Eden, but the rebels, that the story does not come from the top of power, but from those who must destroy and defeat it.
Well, why does it seem to me that that spider (and therefore the character we followed all 6 episodes) is not the real Sarah Fisher? I'm not talking about the appearance that is different in flashbacks and the present tense (although this could be my argument in any way). Here I again rely on that theory (perhaps I confuse two different publications and mix them into one, who knows). It also said (or rather, summarized) that it was possible that the Laserhawk would be revived in the second season. I have a suggestion that one day Sarah died, and her consciousness was transferred to a certain database of deceased users of people (I'm sure it could well be in the cyberpunk world) and was used by the same traitor to cover up. I'm just not sure that Sarah could change her mind after seeing on TV almost the same underside that she sees when working in a maximum security prison
(I watched last episode, and Sarah's flesh was visible at the moment of the explosion, so this is a real person, albeit with cybernetic legs, so my theory is interesting, but unreal. Although her consciousness could indeed move into the cyborg's body after the destruction of her body. Or is there just an artificial intelligence in the cyborg spider's body based on the consciousness of the real Sarah)
#captain laserhawk#rayman#bullfrog#fan theory#fan thoughts#what if#im crazy#sarah fisher#dolph laserhawk#my thoughts#laserhawk spoilers#captain laserhawk blood dragon remix
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Daddy's Little Princess
Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (One-Shot)
Description: You get home after a long day at the office to near silence. It warms your heart when you walk into your living room to see your husband Bradley Bradshaw playing with your eldest and making her laugh as she combs his mustache with a doll's comb.
Disclaimers: AFAB!Reader, Tooth-rotting fluff, Babies, Bronco, Bradley
Word Count: 1167
A/N: Hi, Star here! The Top Gun Brain-Rot still has me by the throat. This was inspired by this post which suggested, Play with his mustache use barbie hair brushes on it. Obviously, the minute I saw it, my brain immediately went yup, that's a Bradshaw and so this fic was born. This is un-beta'd and un-edited by anyone other than me, so forgive any glaring errors.
AO3: Cross-posted here!
My Masterlist
It's been a long, horrendous day. You'd had to go into the office for an important meeting and dress formally for it, too. The worst part was having to leave your husband and children at home alone. Thankfully, it had been one of his few days off-duty from NAS North Island. You'd kissed your babies on their foreheads as you left early in the morning and spent far too long pressed against your husband’s chest before leaving. Traffic in San Diego was no worse than it usually was, so all in all, your morning was typical. It was during your meeting that your day rattled off the rails. Your proposal was not well received. It had been ripped to shreds by every member of the C-Suite present in the boardroom that day. You'd spent the remainder of the day with your team reviewing every inch of the proposal with a fine-toothed comb and writing and re-writing pieces for the follow-up meeting in one week.
After your day, you were flagging as you got into your Jeep that evening to drive home. The one highlight of your day had been the giggle-filled voicemail you'd received during your lunch break. Your daughter's voice had been so sweet with the baby's babbling and your husband's deep tones in the background. It was apparent your mischievous little princess had stolen your husband's phone and called you accidentally. It brought much-needed energy to you and an impetus to finish work as soon as possible.
All the streetlights are coming to life and illuminating the road with a golden glow as you turn onto your street and finally breathe a sigh of relief. Your husband's bright blue Ford Bronco sits in your driveway as you pull in behind it. It's only a few minutes before you're unlocking the door and finally stepping out of your heels. Rather than the giggling stampede you expect, the house is nearly silent. Sure, there is the ever-present low hum of Bluey pouring out of your living room, but the undercurrent of chaos usually present in your home with a 3-year-old, an 8-month-old, and not one but two dogs isn't there at all. You place your bag on the side table and stretch your tense muscles before padding silently to the living room and peeking in. Your son, Arden, rocks in his swing seat on the floor, suckling happily on a pacifier. Surrounding him lies the residue of what looks to be a war zone of dinosaurs versus Barbies, your daughter Maria's favorite game at the moment. You can't see her yet, but boy, can you hear her now.
"Daddy, Daddy! The dinoswars won! I twout the Barbies were gonna win. You tolded me they would win!" Her little voice pipes on and on about how sad it was that the Barbies lost. Interspersed with her chatter, your husband hums inquisitively to keep the conversation going. Your grin grows at your husband's voice when the little miss runs out of steam.
"Baby, maybe the Barbies didn't win because you forgot something?"
"What, Daddy?"
"What magic spell did Daddy tell you the Barbies needed to beat the big bad dinosaurs so you could save Ardy?"
"I hadda brush all their hairs and kiss them."
"That's right, baby. But you forgot one thing." Maria makes a little confused hum, and your husband continues, "You forgot to comb your hair and Daddy's!"
"Oh!" Her little squeal of realization is too cute. "Daddy, help!"
"Gimme the comb, Princess. Gonna make you look all pretty so we can save Arden from the big bad dinosaurs."
You step a little bit closer. The kids are entirely occupied with the game, and the dogs, Tramp and Falcon, are curled up in one of the dog beds. The only person to notice you is your husband, who winks at you from his spot in the war zone of toys your living room floor has become.
"All done!" He proclaims, "Don't you look beautiful?!" He smacks a loud wet kiss against her cheek as she giggles loudly.
"Daddy, wait!" Maria's all bossy now, "We forgot one thing!"
"What's that?" Your husband is the best.
"Your moostach, Daddy!" She's smiling proudly at pronouncing the word mostly correctly.
"Alright, baby girl. C'mere. Let's comb my mustache and defeat these dinosaurs before mama gets home."
He tugs Maria to stand in between his legs and hands her the bright pink doll's comb. He sits there with unerring patience as your baby carefully runs the comb through his mustache, wiggling his upper lip occasionally to make her laugh. It's absolutely adorable to see. Bradley Bradshaw had confided to you early on in your relationship that he was afraid to have children. As he’d lost his father at a young age, he didn't know what it meant to be a good dad. All that fear turned into uncontrollable love the minute he held Maria in his arms, and he'd proven what a fantastic father he was every day since. You’re unbelievably in love with this man. That love only swells in your chest when you see the glittery butterfly clips nestled in his curls and the love in his eyes as he devotes all of his attention to your little princess.
Unsurprisingly, of your two kids, Arden sees you first, giving you a gummy smile and squealing as he wiggles his little body to catch your attention. You step into the warzone willingly, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the toys, and heft your youngest into your arms. He’s warm and baby-soft in your arms as you snuggle him close, breathing in the scent of his baby shampoo and the special detergent you use on his clothes. Hurricane Maria is not to be deterred, though, as she wraps herself around your leg and kisses your thigh.
“Princess, princess, c’mere.” Bradley sounds so fond as he tries to free your daughter from her limpet-like grasp of your leg. “Let Mama and Ardy sit down, baby girl. Then you can cuddle her all you want!” He coaxes her away and pulls her into his lap as he sits on the sofa. You join them, letting the soft cushions conform to your body. Maria joins Arden in your arms, and you finally let yourself decompress.
"Hey, Mama," Bradley murmurs.
"Hi, B," Your voice is soft as you turn your head to kiss him.
"How was your day?"
"Terrible. But it's better now. It’s always better when I have you and our babies in it."
You smile into the kiss he gives you, relishing in your husband's taste before focusing all of your attention on your children in your arms. Maria chatters about everything she'd done during the day, and you converse happily with her. Arden babbles at breaks in the conversation, and you love seeing Maria interact with him. It'll soon be time for dinner, baths, and bed, but for the next few moments, you can rejoice at the feeling of having everything you love at your fingertips.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.
#star writes#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster imagine#top gun imagine#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#this is purely indulgent fluff
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OKAY! You asked for it ahah.
So this is, as always, a combo of what I think they actually smell like, and then I go looking for those notes, and go by vibes. I have these in mind for all my Blorbot Prime, and most second tier characters as well. I've smelled every one of the perfumes I've put on these ladies, with the exception of one, which will be pretty obvious why when I talk about it.
Minako. So I always think of her as smelling like peaches, which is rough in the perfume world, because, most perfume is made of of what's called absolutes, think of these as like, the building blocks of a perfume, and there is no such thing as a peach absolute. So, I love rose, and there is more than one rose absolute, so this is pretty easy. Peach, you mostly have to go off something that suggests peach to your nose. For a long time I had her in Bitter Peach by Tom Ford, but a couple months ago I smelled:
Oh Ma Biche by Lolita Lempicka and this is the one. It invokes the scent of a bellini, which is perfect because it pulls in that peachiness without being oversweet, because it doesn't have vanilla in the structure of it. It has that vaguely intoxicating, light quality, so it smells more of like what I think of when I think of Mina, that juicy sweetness but it's edged with something you can't quite pin down (and she likes it that way)
Michiru. I will never smell Michiru's perfume because we all know she has a house in paris mix it for her custom. This is a thing that absolutely exists, if you have a great deal of money. I put her in rose and white florals (like jasmine) with a classic and old school musk and vetiver base, maybe with a light dosing of wine lees. I think it would smell very classic or old, depending on your point of view. Don't get me wrong, I do want this perfume. There's two or three I've layered to get an IDEA of it, but I've never found one perfume I think made it up.
Rei as we all know, is in actuality too fucking cheap to buy perfume, and if she wears any at all, it's a dupe, but in my world that's not any fun, so let's pick out what she likes enough to have someone buy her. I see deep, commanding notes for her, I actually think she would wear ~Men's perfume~* some of the time especially when she was convinced she needed to be a Boardroom Broad and I don't think Rei is immune to some fucked up ideas about power and gender ANYWAY. For most times:
Ebene Fume by Tom Ford. I think this choice is a little boring (full disclosure: I own a decant of this perfume and really do love it) in that it's Tom fucking Ford and everyone has heard of it, but I think I'm going a bit xkcd comic on that one, if you know what I mean. But it's smoky and deep and powerful, it's like a men's perfume with softer edge to it. It's also a great night perfume, which is when I think she would mostly wear it, and it doesn't have any sweetness to it, really.
Haruka. Going outside the idea of Michiru having a perfume made for her, which I believe she would, let's talk about what I think she would buy for herself (and also a defense of the perfume I'm about to mention)
Dior Sauvage. This one is so common that even non-perfume people have heard of it. Do you know why? It smells good on almost fucking everyone. There's so much snooty ass disdain for this perfume in the weird world of perfume lovers, but honestly? This and Versace Eros are the two I recommend for folks wanting a masc-leaning perfume. (I also like to wear it, especially when I'm hyperfemme) It just smells good on people. It is so well crafted that it is mass appealing. Whenever we have men going, "What perfume can I buy that women love" they're so annoyed when I say "Dior Sauvage" but whenever I crack out the suit and wear this with it, a woman always asks me what my cologne** is. Haruka would smell amazing in it, and she would get compliments from women, and that would reineforce the behavior.
OKAY WELL SORRY ABOUT ALL THAT
*all perfume is gender neutral if you're not a little bitch about it. Women wearing men's perfume is not super duper uncommon, but men should really throw on a floral sometimes, but of course going toward masculinity is understandable, going toward femininity is weak blah blah blah you're all so fucking boring.
**Cologne is not just "men's perfume" it's a whole other category this post is long enough and I've spent too much time on it already and you are tired of reading it but please know this
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Consider This an Early Retirement
The day is finally here. The dreaded shareholders meeting. Gideon is seated with the other members of the board. His father and grandfather are seated across from him looking smug and proud. It's only a matter of minutes. "We'll get things started"
Viktor: The most important part of this meeting is to discuss my grandson Gideon who is expected to be next in line. He will take over with the expectation that he marries Miss Wagner bringing both families together, which will benefit everyone's pockets
There is silence in the boardroom. The Wagner family is small but they have access to a lot of prime land in Windenburg. Being able to have access to those lands would lead to fatter wallets for everyone involved. Everyone has their own thoughts.
Viktor: If everyone agrees for Gideon to take over his father say aye so we can continue with the meeting.
Of the 6 people seated in the boardroom, only 1 voiced their agreement. Victor's jaw tenses in anger and glares at the remaining members whose silence infuriates Viktor
Viktor: What's the meaning of this? I thought we all want the same thing?
The silence is deafening, no one answers or looks directly at Victor there is nothing to say. They know what the real issue is. Viktor heart drops, something isn't right and he looks straight at Gideon.
Gideon stares right back at him, cold and confident. That little shit did something and Victor has no idea what is happening. Gideon finally speaks up
Gideon: I'm going to have to disagree. I'm not a pawn that can be used and what gives you the ability to make that decision?
Viktor: I'm your grandfather and a major shareholder of course I have the power to do what needs to be done
Gideon: I don't think that statement is accurate"
At that moment Ren steps in and places a file in front of Viktor. "According to that file, you don't have the majority of the shares"
Viktor: What are you talking about?? Our family built this company from the ground up. What did you do?"
Gideon stays silent and Ren sends out a message, in a moment Daisuke steps into the boardroom. Viktor eyes snap up to Daisuke and barks out "Who the hell are you?"
Gideon gets up from his seat and Daisuke takes over and adjusts his suit, once comfortable he addresses Viktor
Daisuke: If you read the file in front of you, my name is listed as a board member with the most shares
Viktor: What the hell did you say?
Daisuke: Ren please explain
Ren: Mr. Takahashi has accumulated the shares of Gideon, his mother and a few members of the board have also sold their shares to Mr. Takahashi. meaning he has a total of 52% of the shares, making him have controlling power
Viktor's head is buzzing, ears ringing "Gideon?"
Gideon: We don't have controlling power anymore, if we combine all the remaining shares in the Williams name it's nothing. Daisuke has a few changes he plans on making
Daisuke: Gideon is right, whatever merger with the Wanger family is dissolved. We won't be needing their assistance. Secondly, your obsession with your grandson's marriage partner along with your son's (Emerson) inability to make any impact makes me question if you still need your positions. With that being said my first suggestion would be to remove you and Mr. Emerson from your positions effectively immediately and Gideon will be your replacement. All in favour say please raise your hands"
The remaining members in the board room silently raise their hands
Daisuke: Perfect. I appreciate all the effort you have put into the company so far. I will make sure to take it even further. If anyone has any questions please direct them to Ren as we get everything in order. This meeting is over" Dasiuke adjusts his suit and leaves the meeting.
The boardroom is left in an awkward silence the Williams family imploded in such a quick and ruthless manner. There are no words of comfort or assurance for Emerson and Viktor, as everyone slowly leaves the meeting.
Viktor: Gideon you little shit, how dare you
Gideon: I made it clear to drop your obsession with my marriage. I told you if you keep pushing there will be consequences
Emerson: Is Grayson worth all this? You ruined us, what are we going to do now
Gideon: Mom and I will be fine. I hope you and Grandad can figure something out. Consider this an early retirement, maybe you can enjoy your final days in Tomorang.
Gideon leaves them alone in the boardroom still in shock about what happened. They were fired?
#my sims#sims 4#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 gameplay#sims#sims 4 creator#sims 4 legacy#sims 4 maxis match#thereevesfamily#black sims 4#black simblr#black simmer#sims 4 storytelling#black sims of color#blacksimmer#blacksims#Listen. I love Gideon so fucking much he really stands on BID NESS
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╰┈➤ 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.”
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