#bitchwork

[flaskoflethe]

Today I got to hear someone, who is paid SO MUCH MORE than me, say the following:

"I think we should (do policy) because the data supports it! I should know, when I got my MBA they taught us that a correlation equal to ke greater than 0.06 is significant, and this is a 0.11!"

Unironically I might end up captioning slides where the data says there's no correlation "the data does not support ANY action. Do not argue it does"

[bielobog-kun]

i like dt a lot ftr but i really need the scions to retire for real for real. what i think would be the most fun is if they threw the wol into some place they had NEVER been before where no one knew them like norvrandt except none of our friends are there at all and we have to put together a team from totally new characters who may not like us trust us or be kind to us at first. erenville and hades are proof you can have characters be prickly toward the wol and still be beloved. and it'd be so much more interesting than everyone equitably divvying up menial tasks at the end of every cutscene. let wol get saddled with the bitchwork, let wol get assigned to something they're not good at, let wol try and fail to solve some aetherial sciency problem that's going on because they're short their usual panel of graduate students, let trust npcs whine and blame us for the aoe they just ate of their own gods-given free will. i am weary of these phd havers standing around being wise after everything that happens. i need someone to be rude and stupid to me in 8.0 before eventually becoming my friend or else im going to die. which is to say. thank you wuk lamat for being an orange cat with one braincell

[royaltyspeaking]

I find it really rude that Charles and William keep sending all the other royals like Anne and Edward on engagements in other countries while they get to stay home and spend time with their family or go on a vacation to Transylvania, Romania. They do all the bitchwork for free.

In fairness, the Foreign Office has the final say on who gets to go abroad. But yeah, for a family so obsessed with optics, you'd think they would try harder not to make those trips feel like an afterthought.

[radio-charlie]

U dont have to worry about it being ridiculous that so many ppl have decided to do bitchwork for that govt. after all, if you barely have the cojones to sort out your dumbass trifling personal problems you 101% do not have what it takes to meaningfully resist your establishments. i loved all the lowercase humor posts though. they do too u_u

[jellybracelet]

The only thing teenagers learn at fast food joints and similar jobs is to be as dishonest as possible to avoid as much bitchwork as they can. If anything, they come out of it more immature.

[saschaederer]

- “Gucci“ (A word I occasionally use instead of ‚good‘)

- “Steve Jobs”

- “Josie Glabach” - “Tyrannical mother” - “Richard Mille” - “Tyrannical father”

- “Molly Jane” - “Mother of my dreams”

- “Tactical”

- “Julian Sens / (“Jordan Peterson”)” - (“Bitchworks” - “Mikhaila Peterson” - “Josie Glabach” - “Kevin (“Spast”) König” - “Fotze” (German: cunt)

- “Lea Pollert”

- “Kristina Schmitt” - “Schmitts”

- “Tanja Wallender”

- “Denise Oppitz”

- “DINK”

- “(I’ve been looking for a) Rothschild (“initial reference (to) me” - “Mikhaila (Peterson)”)” - “(I’ve been looking for a) good child (“Mikhaila Peterson” - “Me”)” (to the lyrics of ‘Kesha - Joyride’)

- Torture “threats” (“insinuations”) (initial reference to me)

- “Kriegen dich hin” (German: We can fix you)

- “(Damn) son / sun”

- “Daniela (Martel)”

- “Lilienthal Berlin” (watch brand)

- “At least 5” - “Richard Mille” - “Hermann Miller”

- “Jordan Fuller”

- “The appirition” - “Gustav Mureau”

- “Manipulate”

- „KaIII (Ederer) / KI (German: AI) / Ka (insinuation towards SRA, sodomy of wounds) / Ihh (German: Urgh)“

- “Partially“ (initial reference to my penis) - „(“imp”)probably“

- „Legendary“ - „I can remember that“

______________________________________________

REPORTS

______________________________________________

PLEASE READ

How I handle threats I receive (Last Update: 12. 9. 2024):

Changed:

- “Every now and then, the system employs a technique where it adheres to things or people I think about”

to:

- “Oftentimes, the system employs a technique where it adheres to things or people I think about or preconditioned OCD”

[cybertron-after-dark]

Aaaand part 2 w the cons bc Tumblr hates me

The Decepticons

Somehow less mentally ill than the Autobots. But not by much.

Megatron is known by most as one of the most fearsome Cybertronian renegades in all the galaxy, a cruel, careless tyrant with no regard for anything but conquest and victory.

To those working with him, he's known as an overprotective, awkward goth that's trying REALLY hard to look intimidating all the time with mixed results.

Megatron is, to be frank, a bit of a bleeding heart softie who's completely convinced he's only good at being a bad person, and very determined to use that image to change Cybertron for the better. He's okay with being public enemy #1 for the rest of his life if it means getting rid of that damn Senate. Not to say Megatron is a pacifist, far from it. He's perfectly willing to defend himself and to defend anyone who's chosen to follow him. Violence is most certainly always on the table. It's just not what he'd prefer.

Megatron also has a particular soft spot for his second in command

Starscream.

Screamer is an interesting con for certain. He's been loyal to the cause since it's inception, but for just as long he's had a reputation for mouthing off to Megatron when most wouldn't dare. He's continued to do this no matter how often it ends in squabbling with his leader because it's better to start an argument than let him be an idiot. As often as they fight, Megs actually really appreciates the criticism sometimes (though he wishes it was more constructive and less MEAN) because Starscream always has about a 50/50 shot of being completely correct. Megs finds himself crushing on the seeker a bit. He's feisty, capable, and brutally honest.

Unfortunately Starscream is completely oblivious to Megatron's attraction and is really just confused as to why he's gotten even stupider than normal around him. Most of his "subtle" advances have been met with pure confusion.

To complicate matters further, Screamer's been planning something of a coupe. As much as he appreciates Megatron's vision, he really just believes the decepticons need a better, more competent leader. And since nobody else seems to be racing to do it, might as well be him!

He would really REALLY prefer it if he didn't have to kill the poor con. Maybe he could conveniently lose his fusion cannon, or blow his vocal components so he can't give orders. Maybe he could just destabilize his equilibrium so he's too dizzy all the time to fight. Whatever gets him out of the picture long enough for Starscream to show off how much better a leader he is and have everyone else choose him over Megs.

But he's gotta keep it subtle. Can't risk the boss man finding out and getting rid of him before he can put any plans into action. With how determined he is to keep it hush hush, he's honestly gotten a little scared that maybe he's onto him. Which means the sad flirting attempts from Megs start getting interpreted as 10000 IQ chess master type threats.

Witnessing this entire trainwreck play out would be Soundwave, who is trying so SO very hard to balance being third in command with keeping the rest of high command functional AND keeping his cassettes safe.

This wouldn't be so hard if two of their best weren't mentally unstable, if starscream could hold his damn tongue, if Lugnut didn't seem to hate him for no apparent reason, and if his cassettes weren't thieving little adrenaline junkies.

Gremlins, the lot of them.

Soundwave also has a particular burning hatred for the Senate, especially Senator Ratbat, who seems to have ruined the lives of more than half of high command. Soundwave was originally Ratbat's secretary, constantly taking care bitchwork paperwork for him and his guard dog, Sentinel Prime. Being overworked for a self important egotistical bastard and his equally insufferable crony was bad on its own, but Soundwave ended up aware of some things he really wasn't supposed to know about.

Namely, the unethical live cybertronian experimentation he was doing to make new, innovative, and disgustingly unstable frame types.

One of which being:

Blitzwing. The only living triple changer on Cybertron, something he sure as slag didn't sign on for. His processor's been pretty thoroughly scrambled, to the point where he can't remember most of his past, and his personality had to be split three ways to control his extra configuration. Though, conveniently, they gave him two extra faces to stabilize each fragment a bit.

Blitzwing is honestly just happy to be here, for the most part. If he's being honest he straight up did not think he'd survive more than a week after he escaped the lab they reformatted him in, let alone be accepted for the level of crazy he displays on a regular basis. He doesn't exactly have much impulse control, but he does his damnedest to follow directions... With mixed results, but A+ for effort anyway.

Generally regarded as the other crazy one, we also have Shockwave.

Shockwave used to be a mech of some standing, but that was all ripped away from him when he was sentenced to empurata and shadowplay for a crime he didn't commit. What's worse, the shadowplay job was entirely botched. They attempted to suppress his emotional componets all together, but his processor quickly rerouted his circuits in a desperate attempt to fix it. Now he feels everything either severely dulled down or way too much all at once, and he gets so overwhelmed navigating it all that his behavior has turned downright erratic.

While he remains a brilliant mind, turning his efforts towards scientific endeavors that may help the Decepticon cause, he's pretty hard to communicate with when he keeps switching between hiding away in his lab and clinging to the other cons like a lost puppy in a desperate bid for friendship.

Lugnut does not much care for most of the other Decepticons. Not because he doesn't believe in the cause. He believes in it wholeheartedly, with every particle in his spark. The trouble is he doesn't see the others as worthy of Megatron's guidance or companionship anywhere near as much as he is, but Megatron chooses to keep them in his company anyway. Lugnut is about as jealous as a con can get, especially around Soundwave and Starscream.

Megatron himself never really knows how to respond to all the positive attention and worship Lugnut showers him with. Especially considering Lugnut has a conjunx.

They're all very stupid, your honor.

what is wayward sparks :0?

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD >:3

This is gonna end up being a long ass post about my very goofy iterations of my blorbos and the unbelievably fucked up version of Cybertron they inhabit, so to spare those of y'all that mostly follow me for the canon tf content, I'll just put all this under the cut

To summarize, wayward sparks is the non-existent tf cartoon I've been Envisioning for a few months that starts off goofy and low-stakes but gets progressively more and more fucked up as it goes. The absolutely BRAINLESS lookin bumblebee I keep posting is supposed to be from this AU, as well as the borderline catgirl skywarp, the really grumpy Optimus, and most of the other tfa-esque redesigns I draw.

The Story

Cybertron's been at war for millennia, everyone's sick and tired of it, especially the Decepticons. They're backed into a corner, being captured and killed left and right, and a loss is just around the corner if they don't do something drastic.

So Megatron does something very drastic indeed.

He steals the Allspark, in a heist that, frankly, should've gotten his entire high command killed (though, very suspiciously, they suffered no casualties and got out unscathed, save for Blitzwing, who clipped a wing), with the intent to ambush the Ark, and finally neutralize the greatest threat to his movement and his people: Optimus Prime. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Allspark doesn't particularly like being used as a weapon and instead decides to put everyone in timeout on an isolated little backwater planet called earth until they can learn to get along and stop trying to kill each other.

Team Prime (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack and Prowl) are all WOEFULLY unprepared to be stranded on an alien planet with only each other, Decepticon High Command (Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave, Blitzwing, and Lugnut), and the very strange, very small, and VERY trigger happy humans populating the tiny rural forest town they managed to crash near.

Meanwhile, back on Cybertron, the remaining Decepticons are trying their damnedest to keep hidden, and survive underground, and the Autobots try to figure out what to do while their leader is missing. While the Autobots are left floundering without Optimus, the other active Primes and their followers (Sentinel Prime, Rodimus Prime and Windblade Convoy (yes I know she's not a prime anywhere else but let her girlboss)) try to garner favor with the Senate by picking up the slack, and taking the Decepticon problem into their own hands.

The Autobots

Aka, Optimus Prime's merry band of dysfunctional freaks.

Optimus had to find out the hard way that being a Prime means a direct connection in his mind and spark to an eldritch, incomprehensible god that likes trolling. So now he has to hear Primus in his head at random saying shit that does not make sense. And now that he's in there it's kind of a no takesies backsies situation

While being a Prime is supposed to grant you a degree of divine power, that power is only made manifest through strong dedication to a bot and to a cause. That intense loyalty is also what allows you to handle the connection in the first place. Primes that become disillusioned with their masters have a track record of going completely mad. Unfortunately for Optimus, pretty soon into his career as a prime, the Senator he swore loyalty to disgraced himself hard enough to be sentenced to shadowplay and empurata. Senator Alpha Trion ended up taking him in so he could keep functioning as a prime. It'd be a shame to lose such a talented bot. And with the whole threat of lovecraftian madness looming over his head, he pours his whole spark into following his every order.

Bumblebee is not a Prime, nor is he even particularly religious (even though his boss has a god that's taken up residence in his head) but for reasons nobody can quite seem to decipher, Primus absolutely loves the little gremlin, which manifests as Bumblebee having impossibly good luck.

There's not a situation he can't fling himself into headfirst and wildly intoxicated that he can't come out of with barely a scratch. It's actually given him a pretty warped perception of the war and hardship in general. He really wants everyone to just stop worrying so damn much. Everything always works out in the end, right? So why does everyone gotta be so grouchy all the time? Especially Prowl.

Prowl cannot fucking stand Bumblebee.

This mostly stems from the fact that the little yellow bastard seems 100% intent on making him "happy" and refuses to leave him the fuck alone. Prowl is, to put it bluntly, really fucking depressed. Originally, his function was law enforcement, but he became quickly disillusioned with the job when he realized just how corrupt the Praxus police force really was. When he quit, he felt he lost his purpose, stuck living with nothing to make of himself. Joining the Autobots was supposed to fix him, but even though he's started to turn his life around, he can't say he feels much better. He spends most of his time holed up in his quarters, either maintaining the team's weaponry or just binging old datatrax on teletraan-1.

Oh, and ever since he got to Earth and found out about anime, he's gotten to be a bit of a weeb

Taking care of the team's medical affairs is Ratchet, and even if he wasn't a massive perfectionist he'd have his work cut out for him. His entire team is prone to making stupid, reckless decisions that end in somebody getting disassembled somehow. Their erratic, chaotic behavior makes his processor ache just thinking about it. Unfortunately Ratchet is pretty paranoid, and generally unable to think about anything other than how wrong everything can go all the time.

He typically tries to put forward a very straight laced, very orderly image of himself, but it's a bit difficult to keep up that demeanor when the overthinking spiral takes him. And nobody makes him spiral quite like Wheeljack.

Wheeljack is generally just here to blow shit up and do some Weird Science. Typically this results in Jackie himself getting blown apart with whatever he's trying to explode, but he had a blocker installed for most of his pain sensors ages ago, so he doesn't mind too much. Especially not when there's a top notch medic he loves to annoy that can put him back together when that happens.

And when the good doctor gets completely tired of his shit, he's got his good buddy and lab partner Bulkhead to help him out too.

Bulkhead is a sensitive type, and largely considered to be the voice of reason on the team. Unfortunately, he often has trouble making his voice heard to begin with. He tends to be pretty quiet and really bad at voicing his thoughts, especially when those thoughts are about something that stresses him out. Given he works with Wheeljack, it's a miracle he isn't nonverbal entirely.

He loves his friend, he really does, but it gets frustrating seeing him get blown apart so often Bulkhead worries for his safety because Wheeljack seems to be incapable of worrying about his own. It's pretty easy for him to get caught up in Ratchet's overthinking episodes with his own anxiety until someone snaps them both out of it

How all of them have managed to survive this long, let alone nearly win the war, is anyone's guess.

[Apparently I just hit the image limit so I'll do the cons in a reblog lmao]

[todd--chavez]

I guess assistant jobs don’t really change. Just like when PC was an assistant.

[death-by-sexiness]

Working bitch. #bitchworking #honestlivingcausebitcheslovehonestlivings https://www.instagram.com/p/BqqaOHtHflN/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1wzmmc052tpio

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

My ask was sent prematurely: it was a freebie prompt for fluff or spice with Gentle Giant Jason

Jason hefted himself up on a barstool and accepted a beer with a smile of thanks- if he were here any other time, he might think you were mad at him but, he was here while you're closing up.

You're busy. And the reason you didn't kiss him hello was because you were counting a drawer and getting things ready to go to the safe. And Charlie expected the count to be correct and if it wasn't, things had to be accounted for.

"You're here early," you observe, finishing the count and leaning over the bar to kiss him hello.

"Wanted to see you," he hummed, nipping your lip. "I missed you."

When you smile and your eyes warm, he feels his heart stutter. "Well, I'll never say 'no' to the company of my night in leather armor."

"At your service, my lady," he said, grinning when you let your feet touch the ground again and flounce off to go finish your cleaning. Watching you huck bags closer to the door to make them easier to take out, Jason slips off the stol and lopes over, "Is this all of it, Beautiful?"

"Yeah," you call, "Thank you- be careful. Skippy is out there again and pissy."

"Skippy?"

"The raccoon that kept getting stuck in the dumpster last summer."

"You named him?"

"Of course I did- he's cute."

Jason watched you walk into a store room and chuckled, picking up the bags and taking them outside, shaking his head when a raccoon chittered at him and bolted into the shadows when he hurled the bags into the dumpster. "Chill out dude," Jason said, "Gotcha some snacks."

More chitters answer him and he shrugs, turning and going back inside to wash his hands, ducking into the men's room for a second. Only to come back out and freeze, smirking a little. "What's this?" he asked, surveying you where you're sitting, blouse unbuttoned, with lime and a bottle of tequila.

"Want a shot?" you ask him, smirking.

"Is the pope catholic?" he asked, smirking as he crossed the floor to lay you back on the bartop. He didn't give a fuck about the tequila, but- he loved licking the salt from your skin and taking the lime from you before the burn of the liquor seared down his throat and only deepened his sense of disorientation. He wanted the giggling, flustered kisses- he wanted you. And he wanted to taste you. To feel you squirming when he licked just below your navel slowly. And you don't disappoint. You never do. He definitely didn't mind doing your bitchwork if it meant he got his beer and a shot.

_____________

"No Jason?" Clark asked, looking around at the assembled bats who were eating a late dinner.

"He's getting his beer and a shot while he waits for Y/N to finish closing up," Steph said smirking.

Bruce frowned, "Her brother has her close up by herself?"

"I mean she's got a broadsword under the-" Dick started

"Charlie told her she can't have the broadsword anymore. It's a baseball bat now," Steph corrected.

"Also she's not by herself," Cass said patting Bruce's arm, "Jason keeps her company."

"Beer and a shot?" Clark asked.

"Sure," Steph shrugged, "He does a little bitch work and gets a drink- and a body shot but-"

"Literally didn't want to know that," Bruce sighed.

"Ditto," Clark chuckled, "And I'm not even sure what that is." He crossed the floor and kissed Bruce hello before rubbing the back of his neck sympathetically.

[berzttos]

often   times   ,   carmen   finds   himself   riddled   with   a   thousand   thoughts   at   once   .   the   very   ache   of   being   someone   who   can't   seem   to   keep   it   all   quiet   ,   how   it   all   spills   out   on   old   receipt   paper   or   stained   napkins   .   peculiar   ,   really   ,   considering   he's   a   man   of   few   words   .   speaks   little   ,   though   his   mind   races   .   this   moment   is   no   exception   ,   because   he's   quietly   processing   the   woman   before   him   .   it's   not   at   all   what   he   expects   ,   considering   he's   simply   never   seen   it   before   .   it's   ,   generally   ,   always   some   tightly   wound   asshole   who   nit   picks   at   the   smallest   of   details   .   sure   ,   she   could   easily   be   just   the   same   ,   though   he's   having   some   trouble   believing   that   she   has   the   ego   of   the   men   in   her   line   of   work   .

has   to   come   with   the   territory   .   god   only   knows   he's   seen   it   in   his   line   of   work   ,   as   if   he's   not   ,   like   ,   part   of   the   fucking   problem   .   syd   makes   that   abundantly   clear   whenever   shit   gets   too   hot   .   fuck   ,   it's   just   –   it's   different   ,   and   if   him   being   so   thrown   by   that   is   so   criminal   ,   then   ,   so   be   it   .   she   opens   her   mouth   to   speak   ,   and   he's   sure   the   shock   is   visible   across   his   face   .   his   gaze   flickers   to   sugar   ,   who   is   just   as   thrown   as   he   is   .   releases   the   tension   that   builds   in   his   shoulders   ,   making   an   effort   to   be   as   normal   about   this   as   he   can   be   .   there's   so   much   riding   on   him   ,   being   outwardly   nervous   is   just   a   knee-jerk   reaction   to   the   whole   thing   .

a   breath   released   ,   one   he   hadn't   been   entirely   aware   he'd   been   holding   the   second   she'd   walked   in   .   "   yeah   ,   right   .   sounds   ,   uh   ,   sounds   right   ,   "   he   mutters   .   he   tries   not   to   look   too   closely   at   her   ,   knowing   it'll   only   contribute   to   his   stubborn   nerves   .   he   wishes   ,   now   ,   that   syd   would   have   just   taken   care   of   this   .   she's   better   at   this   part   .   the   talking   .   the   business   aspect   .   she'd   probably   be   ,   like   ,   over   the   moon   about   seeing   a   woman   .   he   smiles   at   the   thought   ,   because   he's   always   been   fond   of   syd's   amusement   at   the   most   trivial   of   things   . 

"   yeah   ,   that's   me   .   and   syd   ,   but   ,   she's   out   .     .     .    being   syd   ,   but   that's   –   it's   fine   ,   "   he   rattles   off   .   his   gaze   takes   her   in   ,   the   bored   look   in   her   eyes   .   this   has   to   be   something   she'd   been   sent   out   to   do   .   the   bitchwork   ,   the   shit   that   nobody   else   wants   to   do   .   feels   for   her   ,   really   ,   'cause   he   gets   it   .    "   guess   you   picked   the   short   straw   ,   huh   ?   this   kinda   stuff   ,   "   he   vaguely   gestures,   "   seems   like   it   should   be   the   least   of   your   worries   .   "

this is some LOW LEVEL SHIT that they have her on today. the sort of grunt work that's meant to be for interns, nor members of office. it burns her, like the way it does to know that she's the youngest there, the only woman in more than a handful of cases. that she's got to maintain a certain sense of cool disinterest at all times, lest anybody judge her as emotional. everyone's a feminist until there's no women in the room, and she's overheard enough to know exactly what the score is here. what they think of her, the british interloper in the office, who couldn't tell the north from the south loop. it's bloody ridiculous. and now they've got her out here, checking over the documents and giving the final checks for an upcoming hopeful restaurant, making changes abound, it seemed, from the papers she read on the ride over. there's licenses to review, final approvals to be made...

and of course, she's the only one who could do it. despite this not being her job, nor her mandate. how she's been elected in as the rest of them, and yet somehow, she's the one who's always being asked to make a morning COFFEE RUN, isn't she? it's fine ( it's fine ), she can grin and bare it, she can push, until she's made enough room. rome wasn't built in a day, and change didn't happen overnight. she's here for a long while, not a good while. and perhaps that's what makes all the difference.

this isn't quite the magnificent mile, and marlene, she stands out, in her navy wool coat, and her blonde hair, pinned from her face. heels crunching, unbothered, over the overly salted grounds, despite the lack of snow out here even if it hasn't snowed for weeks now. better safe than sorry, she supposes, as she wearily cast her gaze upwards, trying to ORIENT HERSELF within new grounds. south side of the street, a sign like - that. there. marlene's taken a breath, files tucked beneath her arm, all too ready for everything to go tits up.

and HERE WE GO.

the door jingles cheerily to announce her arrival, her steps made sure, even if she hadn't the slightest where to move. she was the EPITOME of faking it until you made it, knowing all too well that confidence wore better than anything else. it crackled within her gaze as it turns to meet a taller man in the back, who's frame stooped, ever so slightly, an odd nervousness about him that seemed so counter to that which she seemed cursedly surrounded with at all times. blunted edges. "nice to meet you carmen, i'm marlene mckinnon, from the municipal office." her voice clipped, the undeniable slight of her british accent already setting her at odds with her surroundings. "i believe you've been scheduled for your final tour before all signed off for your grand opening? we're here to check the changes to the structure made, as according to the license applied for, your general business operations license, and your liquor license as well."

they're looking back and forth to one another. televising some kind of odd unspoken conversation between the two of them. but mars isn't here to get her back up about it all, her pen tapping against the edge of the clipboard that she's attached to the files she's brought in with her, already seemingly ready to go, expression caught within that same bored default that she's been CAUGHT UP in maintaining. "i take it you're the business owner? shall we begin?"

- @berzttos

[kpopfanfictrash]

Posting Date: July 8th, 6:00 PM CT (UTC/GMT-05:00)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / College!AU / Humor / Smut (as requested in my fundraising initiative for BLM)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook had messed with you for the last time. That was what you thought when the hockey team – led by the insufferable Jungkook – kicked your dance team out again from your reserved room at the gym. In retaliation, you planned a prank of epic proportions and were caught in the act by none other than Jungkook himself. Before the rift between you could grow any deeper, you accidentally overheard something you were not meant to hear. Something which overshadowed even your heated rivalry. Faced with the choice between obvious wrong and teaming up with your worst enemy – you reluctantly chose the latter. But what will you do when feelings you once thought of as hatred become something decidedly… not?

Estimated WC: 42K

Rating: 18+

Preview: 1,941

The back of Jeon Jungkook’s head was as infuriating as the rest of him.

In the last row of the classroom, you thought this to yourself while typing into your laptop. Notetaking was part of your official duties as Teacher Assistant for Professor Rosenbarr’s class. This, along with grading homework, proctoring exams, and a variety of other bitchwork.

Despite this, the job of a TA was the best-paying on campus, not to mention that Professor Rosenbarr personally wrote the recommendation which landed your upcoming summer internship. Junior year was stressful enough as it was, with everyone turning twenty-one and realizing with some shock they were halfway through University.

Only one summer remained before entering the real world – everyone you spoke to said that this summer internship was crucial. If there was a blank period between Junior and Senior year of University, you might as well type FUCKED AROUND in the blank section of your resume and be done with it. No, this TA role was worth all the bitchwork, if only because it directly led to your upcoming internship.

The presence of Jungkook in your class though, had you seriously considering the merits of quitting.

Glowering at his messy head three rows before you, you wondered if he had even bothered to shower before coming to class. Probably not, based on the state of his hair and clothes. Both were rumpled, with wrinkles permanently stamped into the fabric of his hoodie. You were so consumed by the state of his appearance that when he stretched, turning around, there was no time to look away.

Jungkook’s eyes locked with yours and he blinked, taken aback by your staring. While you watched, his gaze narrowed.

See something you like? he mouthed over the heads of the people between you.

Stomach plummeting, your gaze snapped back to the screen of your laptop. After a long moment of pause, you slowly looked up and found him still looking. Most infuriating of all was the smirk on his lips, as though you had acted exactly as he predicted.

Once again, you remembered why Jungkook was the worst. It gave him no small amount of pleasure to see you embarrassed. Just as it made your own stomach leap to see his brow furrowed with frustration, lips pressed together as he huffed in annoyance.

The two of you had been at each other’s throats since freshman year, a feud of such epic proportion, it was difficult to remember how it had begun. All you knew was that by now, too much blood had been spilled for you to ever go back. Jungkook hated you and you hated him. That much was certain.

Still looking at you, Jungkook arched a brow.

In response to this, you scowled. Pay attention, you mouthed, gesturing at the board.

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder.

Professor Rosenbarr was so absorbed in his lecture, you doubt he would have noticed if the fire alarm and sprinklers went off. There was a zone he reached while lecturing about statistical anomalies in economic theory which not even you could pull him out of.

More importantly, he definitely did not notice Jungkook’s lack of attention. A girl in the front row was buffing her nails, the guy behind her was paying a bill and the guy to his right was scrolling through Tumblr.

At least Jungkook had his notes open, even if he was not looking at the board.

Making a face in his direction, you shooed a hand forward. With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook finally got the hint and turned around to face front. Pulling his hoodie overhead, he slumped low in his seat.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a sigh.

The girl next to you frowned. “Shh,” she said.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sinking even lower.

While stewing in your own embarrassment, a ping sounded from your laptop. Looking down, you scowled again at the familiar email address.

From: jjeon@university.edu

To: y/n@university.edu

Subject: hey TA

Aren’t you supposed to be grading us? Maybe you should pay more attention to the lecture & less to the back of my head

Fury clouding your gaze, it made it difficult to see as you typed.

From: y/n@university.edu

To: jjeon@university.edu

Subject: re: hey TA

Maybe if your head weren’t so big, I would be able to see the slides

Pressing send, you looked up and waited for him to respond. From the last row of class, you watched Jungkook open your email, snort and bend forward.

Professor Rosenbarr cleared his throat from the front of the room.

“Something amusing about economic theory, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up; a deer caught in headlights. “Um. No, sir.”

The Professor arched a brow. “While I appreciate your formal language, perhaps you could extend the same respect to your dress code next class. Hood down,” he said, pointedly glancing at Jungkook’s large sweatshirt.

Dejectedly, Jungkook reached up to lower his hood.

Even from your seat, you could see his ears were bright red. A small pang of sympathy went through you before reminding yourself he deserved it. Jungkook should have been paying attention – just like you should have.

Bending forward, you resumed taking notes. Professor Rosenbarr continued his lecture, the class returned normalcy but still, Jungkook failed to respond to your email.

This did not surprise you. Jungkook had always been flaky – one of the many reasons you two did not get along. You preferred things orderly, with everyone following an agreed set of rules and Jungkook had his own expectations.

A message appeared in the corner of your screen. For a moment, your heart skipped and then you realized it was only your groupchat with Seokjin and Gina, your two best friends.

Seokjin: Y/N, stop ignoring meee [10:41 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, she’s teaching [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: she’s not the one teaching. Rosenblah is [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: Y/N, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! [10:41 AM]

Y/N: his name is Rosenbarr, Seokjin. What’s the emergency? [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: finally [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: there’s a party this weekend. You in? [10:42 AM]

Gina: what night? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: Saturday [10:42 AM]

Gina: okay, cool [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: why? What’re you doing Friday? [10:42 AM]

Gina: nothing [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: so, why did you – oh, never mind. Y/N, you in? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: this was the emergency? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: who’s throwing the party? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: um. A friend [10:42 AM]

Y/N: Seokjin [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine, the friend is Taehyung & the party is at hockey house. But Y/N, listen to me [10:43 AM]

Y/N: pass [10:43 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, you had to have known that would fail [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: I was hoping that by Junior year, we would have all become rational and mature human beings [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: aka, this feud you have with Jungkook is stupid, Y/N [10:44 AM]

Gina: *gasps* he said the name! [10:44 AM]

Gina: a plague upon your house, Seokjin! [10:44 AM]

Y/N: listen. While yes, I am a rational and mature human being [10:44 AM]

Y/N: his royal douchebaggery is not [10:44 AM]

Y/N: ergo, your wish was doomed to fail, Seokjin [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: sigh [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: well, do you at least want to get pizza with Gina and I after? [10:44 AM]

Y/N: that, I can do [10:45 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine. It’s a plan [10:45 AM]

“We’ll pick up at the same place on Wednesday,” said Professor Rosenbarr, interrupting your train of thought. Head jerking up, your fingers fell from the keys. “Please read Chapter 4 of the textbook before then and complete the assignment online.”

As soon as he stopped, the class began to pack up, shoving books into backpacks and standing from their seats.

Rereading your notes, you struggled to recall who had last asked a question. Professor Rosenbarr liked to have that information to grant class participation points, but the conversation with Jungkook had thrown you off your game.

Before you could ask someone around you, a shadow fell over your desk. Looking up, you found Jungkook in the aisle, thumbs hooked lazily beneath the straps of his backpack.

Frowning, you glanced past. “You’re blocking the aisle,” you announced, shutting your laptop. Shoving this in your bag, you attempted to stand and found him still standing there. “Not to mention my way out of class.”

“Just came to see if you needed my notes,” Jungkook said, nonchalant. “You seemed pretty distracted.”

Glancing at him, you scowled. “I’m the TA here, not you, Jeon.”

“I know.” His smile widened and you repressed the sudden desire to smack it from his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that you were staring at me.”

“The only reason I was staring at you was because you look like you haven’t showered in days. Is the hockey team really that hard-up for wins? Resorted to repulsing the competition?”

Instantly, his smile disappeared.

Jungkook had recently been made Captain of the University hockey team and it was an endless source of gossip on campus, since usually only Seniors held the coveted title. Word on the street was Jungkook was just that good – or, the hockey team was that bad.

“I showered after practice,” he said, a bit sulky. “And we’re not that bad this year.”

Despite his words, the furrow between his brow deepened and Jungkook aimlessly shoved a hand through his hair. His fingers instantly became tangled, fighting a minute before he worked through.

Staring at him for a moment, you eventually blinked and tore free.

“Whatever,” you said, glancing past him. “Let me leave.”

Professor Rosenbarr was long gone, but he would expect your notes in his office by the end of day. You still needed to format them the way that he preferred, review them for errors and find the name of the last person who spoke.

Jungkook stepped aside and, pushing past him, you entered the aisle. As you climbed the steps, you heard him follow suit. The impending deadline began to weigh on you and – against all better judgement – you turned around.

“Hey,” you exhaled, coming to a stop on the last step.

Jungkook looked up. “What?”

“Did you… hear who asked the last question in class?”

Surprise flickered over his features, though he quickly composed them. “Uh, it was Nelson.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

You lingered for a moment, then turned around and left the room. Shoving open the door to the hall, you did not bother to wait for him to exit. Disappearing into the crowd, you kept your head low and placed distance between you. He had been startled into being nice to you, but you knew from experience this would not last for long.

Jungkook always found a way to have the last word.

Your theory was proven as soon as you entered the quad, phone dinging loudly to announce a new email. Sliding open the app, you finally found his response to your message.

From: jjeon@university.edu

To: y/n@university.edu

Subject: re: re: hey TA

If you’re still wondering how clean my body is, feel free inspect it yourself. Hate to leave that kind of doubt on your conscience xx

Swallowing, your fingers hovered over the delete button before you gave up and shoved your phone in your pocket. You would not allow Jungkook to get under your skin so easily.

Such a feat was easier said than done, however. Jungkook had nearly two years of practice at pushing your buttons. By this point, you thought he might know your ticks better than your best friends. All it took was a well-placed wink from him to make your blood boil.

Still – you would figure out a way to get Jungkook back. You always did.

After all, you had two years of experience at pressing his buttons as well.

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

Follow my writing / editing process on my Updates Schedule 

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[radio-charlie]

I promise this is the last post on the subject for a good ‘nother hour or so lol but: if you’re wondering whether this is in part your fault, the question’s actually very easy to settle, and that is precisely what you fear underneath it all. Could you have done better? Did you watch an absolute atrocity unfold, shrug, leave the bitchwork to somebody else, and then resort to rationalising and distraction as others bore the brunt of it all? If the answer is yes, then of course this is in part your fault. This is absolutely your fault.

[dancing-cockroaches]

I've been prowling craigslist for side gigs for extra cash since I cant do any delivery app because my phone doesnt send picture texts (i tried, doesnt work out too well) and I came across a listing for writing addresses on envelopes and preparing them to be mailed (put letter in, seal, stamp).

I know this is a bad deal at 20 cents per envelope. It's like 500 envelopes. And that's still like $10, I'm bad at math but that's my estimate. But I'm so desperate for side work/someone to pay me to do bitchwork that its better than nothing.

[saschaederer]

- „Schmitz“ - „Kristina Schmitt“

- „Chu“ (Japanese onamotopoeia for ‚kiss‘)

- „Tungsten“

- „Tactical“ - „Tactics“ - „Possibilities“ - „Pros, cons“ - „Options“

- „Who blows?“

- „Wer heiß?“ (German: Who hot?)

- „Bitchworks“ - „Mikhaila (Peterson)“

- „Marie Klein“

- „Lea Pollert“

- „Denise Oppitz“

- „(Melisa) Lerose“

- „Lisa („Schwegler“) (Mainberg) / Isa (Notstein)“

- „Michael Drüner“ - „Dumm“ (German: Stupid)

- „Boarderliner“ - „Julian Sens“

- „Boarderlineschlampen“ (German: Boarderlinebitches)

- „Versprecher (German: Blooper, ‚promiser‘ in doublespeak) / Verbrecher (German: Felon)“

- Torture insinuations („threats“) (initial reference(„s“) to me)

- „Transpose“

- „Mami“

- „Ascertain“

- „Wegfotzen“ (German neologism used by the system: Beat, fuck) - „Mikhaila (Peterson)“

- „(Julian) Sens“

- „Spam“ - „Spammy“ - „Flooding“

- „Voller (German: („Jordan“) Fuller)

- „Müller“ - „Müll“ (German: trash)

- „Arrogance“ - „scientists“

- „Difficult to read“ - „The situation“

(The threats today were once again perceived as very spammy)

______________________________________________

REPORTS

- Wakes me up several times during the night, since a few days

______________________________________________

PLEASE READ

How I handle threats I receive (Last Update: 4. 9. 2024):

[abbatoirablaze]

Queens Of The Mayans, Nevaeh, Chapter 11

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: overconsumption of alcohol, violence, slapping/punching, mentions of difficult subjects/loss of family/children.

The party was in full swing. A few of the other charters had appeared right after we'd gotten back with the supplies, and the clubhouse was full of kuttes. It looked like everyone was enjoying themselves, especially Kelani and Riz who were off in a corner playing pool with some Stockton guys.

I'd gotten pretty close with the cute new prospect who was doing the bitchwork for me, like cleaning glasses and getting ice.

"Angel, can you put another case in when you get a second," I said as I grabbed another beer for Tranq. I could feel the bass running through the speakers as I fixed a drink for Ramos, “oh and more ice!”

"Yes ma'am," Angel said from behind me. As I bent over to open another case of tequila, I caught Angel checking me out from my peripherals.

"Staring is a sin, Angel."

"One I'll gladly pay for."

"Watch your mouth prospect," Ramos growled, "she ain't one of the whores hanging around. That's Raul Cabrera's baby sis."

"Ramos," I purred to the man, "breathe primo. The baby Mayan don't know shit. I don't mind getting the compliment."

He chuckled then looked to Angel, "treat her respectfully. Her brother was one of the good ones that respected the club."

"Ramos..."

He caught my warning and solemnly nodded, a 'sorry.' That's when Angel came up to me, "you okay mami?"

"Raul died a while back protecting the club," I sighed, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes, “sometimes it’s a little more sensitive than others.”

"Hey, hey. It's okay," he said, turning me towards him and away from the bar, "Imma be right back...you gonna be good for a few minutes?"

I nodded and he walked away from the bar. I fanned my face and put a case of beers in the fridge, trying to make the tears go away. This party was the kind of shit Raul lived for. But he woulda called it a family gathering.

But then Stockton was in a bind, and the Lin's came after them. Raul went up there with his crew and Madison Lin ended up putting a bullet in his head all because he wouldn't give up the port to the Triads without payment.

"Hey," a voice whispered. I looked to the other side of the fridge to see Angel. He had two shots in his hands, "bottom's up."

Not in the mood to fight it, I took both shots from him, and downed them one after the other, "thanks."

"One of those were for me," he laughed, “but if you needed em both, I guess I can’t say nothing, can I?”

I couldn't help but smile as I grabbed a bottle and left the bar. Angel followed me to one of the couches where we took turns downing some and bullshitting.

"You know," he slurred, "they'd kick my ass if they saw me just sitting doing nothing."

"Then play cards with me."

"Really?"

"Say I made you do it," I laughed, feeling very light-headed. He chuckled and we went over to one of the tables where a few of the other charter guys were sitting with some chicks, "hey you guys got room for more?"

"I don't know," the guy drunkenly laughed, "we're planning on playing strip poker."

"Guys v girls?"

"Hell yeah," another one of the guys smirked, "I ain't stripping though. Prospect. Take my chair. Alright, rules. Winning hand counts for the whole team. If your side loses you take the punishment. No rewards for the winner, other than seeing the losers take it."

A few of the guys began howling excitedly, making comments about how well each of us could probably 'take it.'

"Alright," the guy laughed, trying to calm them down, "You can take a shot, or lose an article of clothing, but you can't take more than 2 shots in a row, understood?"

"Yes sir," Angel laughed, saluting him. I sat down with a few other girls and the guy began dealing out the cards. A few rounds in, and the guys were down to their jeans and boxers, and we were in our bras and underwear. All of us very drunk.

I giggled as I stared Angel down. I put my cards down and showed the boys that I'd had a royal flush. The girls cheered as the guys had to strip yet again. I couldn't take my eyes off Angel as the men stood, and he kept his eyes on me as he undid his belt dropped his jeans.

I'd be lying to say I wasn't attracted to him. His confidence made me want to ride him on the fucking table.

"Hey, what the hell is going on here?"

We all looked over to none other than VP Che, and that's when I remembered his little sister Kelani had joined in a few rounds ago.

"Fuck."

"Game's over," he growled, picking up pieces of clothing, "everyone, clear up from the fucking table."

We all scattered, grabbing our individual clothes, and I took Angel's hand. He followed without question as I opened up the first door, I could manage to get open.

Pulling him in, I slammed the door after, and slammed him up against it, connecting our lips. Both of us dropped the clothes we were holding, and his hands began to explore my body. He lifted me up, moving us away from the door, and as my back hit the shelving, I realized I'd pulled us into their stockroom.

"What the fuck is going on here, prospect?"

The lights were harsh, but the only thing harsher was Coco's death glare, boring holes into my soul.

"I asked you a question," he all but yelled. Angel hurriedly put me down and gulped. His intoxication had worn off, and his newly sober self was nervously looking for an answer for his superior, "well, prospect?"

"He's with me, obviously," I growled, “get the fuck out of here, Coco.”

"Get the fuck out," he growled at Angel. Angel didn't even question it, but rather grabbed his stuff and high-tailed it out of the room. That's when he turned his attention to me, "the fuck you think you're doing, Eva?"

"What's it look like?"

"Looks like you're proving me right and whoring around with everything you can."

"You stalking me or something?" I hissed, feeling more angry by the second, "what the fuck is it that you want with me, Johnny, huh? One second you wanna talk. The next you call me a whore. Pick a fucking lane."

He looked at me, taken back, and I huffed. I began putting my clothes back on, and once I'd finished, I grabbed a fresh bottle of liquor. Ripping the bottle open I took a few large drinks before Coco ripped it out of my hands, "what the fuck, Johnny!"

"You don't need this shit," he said gruffly, tossing it back onto the shelf, “so cut it out.”

"If I'm dealing with you, I do."

"Well, if it's based on who we're dealing with," he growled. He ripped it back off the shelf and took a few large chugs and then stared at me, "I better down the whole fucking bottle."

"Why do you have to be so goddamn immature, huh?"

"Immature?" he yelled. He took a few more drinks, and I ripped the bottle out of his hands. Unfortunately, my lack of coordination caused me to drop the bottle, shattering it all over the floor, "oh really good fucking job. Look what you did?"

"What I did?" I yelled back, gesturing to myself, "look at what you did, Johnny."

"The fuck did I do? You dropped the bottle."

"Not the goddamn bottle," I groaned, pushing him, "me. Me, you fucking idiot. You broke me. I can barely function. If it weren't for my son, I'd probably still be sucking dick trying to forget you. Why the fuck did you come here, huh? You say it was for me, but you didn't fucking talk to me for years. You were fucking here for years and ignored me."

"HOW CAN I FUCKING TALK TO YOU?" He screamed at me, "WE'VE ONLY EVER FOUGHT SINCE I LEFT. WE FIGHT. WE FUCK. I LEAVE. THAT'S THE FUCKING PATTERN NEVAEH."

I pushed him hard against the door. He looked at me, pissed off more than ever, but he didn't leave, "leave me the fuck alone."

"No. You're fucking drunk. I'm not gonna let you go fucking everything that's got a dick."

"Fuck you, Johnny."

I pushed him again, and he didn't move nearly as much, "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, well I fucking still love you."

Everything hurt. The sun should have been a godsend, reminding me that I did indeed wake up despite my heavy drinking, but for the life of me I couldn't remember anything. Shifting slightly, I rolled over in bed.

How the fuck did I get into a bed?

Wait. This isn't my bed. It's not Michaels. Pushing the covers down I was in nothing but my cami and my boyshorts. Where's my bra? I sat up and noticed a kutte sitting over a leather chair. I could see the president patch and my eyes went wide.

No.

I looked around the room and noticed a few pictures. He was in every single one of them. Then the bathroom door opened and in walked Bishop Losa in nothing but a towel. It's like he read my thoughts when he reached onto the nightstand, grabbed a cigarette, and lit up, "don't worry sweetheart...you're not my type."

I let out a sigh of relief, "then...wh-"

"Why are you in my bed?" he asked.

I nodded, "yeah."

"Well let's just say that if I didn't, you woulda fucked Ramos on the pool table," he laughed, "you two were drunk off your asses, and neither one of you were backing down from your little game of chicken."

"Game of chicken?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "it was pretty fucking wild, kid. I'll give you that. After Coco chased Angel out of the stockroom, one of the girls said he told you he loved you, and you punched him. After that you danced with any patch that looked at you. Then Ramos told you to cool it. You called out his manhood in front of some of the Stockton guys..."

"Jesus christ," I sighed, putting my head in my hands, "you've gotta be kidding me."

"Nope," he laughed, turning to his closet. He grabbed some boxers, jeans, and his scrap yard shirt then headed back to the bathroom. He left it open just a crack and continued our conversation, "You two got in one another’s faces, and then you started getting hot and heavy on the pool table."

"Oh fuck."

"Made Coco puff pretty angry," he shrugged, coming back into view, fully dressed. He ashed is cigarette in the tray then sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes went from joking to a softer tone, "you know...you two got some real back and forth shit, don't you?"

"You guys have no clue," I admitted to the president, “it never ends with me and him.”

"That why you punched him instead of saying you love him back?"

"Is it easy for you to just judge people up on your little pedestal?" I asked, feeling slightly angered by the fact that he was yet again butting into my life.

"It is when both people are fucking it up."

"Well, I'm sorry we can't all be perfect like Obispo Losa. The man who can't get into a relationship after some fucking loss, so he just fucks up everyone elses...and then gets pissed when he can't fuck it up."

He put his cigarette out and sat up off the bed. I felt guilty as he started packing his wallet and phone into his jeans.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, “I-that crossed a line.”

"Don't be sorry, kid," he said in a huff, "not like your wrong. I push people far the fuck away from me. I protect the ones I love by kicking them to the fucking curb. My position in the club can really fuck someone up. Hell, you see how Che and his old lady are sometimes."

"Why are you even tolerating me right now?" I asked, feeling confused over the fact that he saved me from sleeping with Ramos, and then proceeded to make me feel angry about Johnny, "what's in it for you?"

"Maybe I just feel guilty over the fact that I fucked up your happiness before," he shrugged, shoving the pack of cigarettes into his pocket as well after grabbing another one and lighting up, "Maybe I don't want you ending up like me. You got someone who wants to love you, and you're running away from it..."

"What's so bad about running," I asked, taking his cigarette, "looks like you've done well for yourself. You always run from serious relationships."

"I run from that shit," he admitted, watching me as I took a deep drag, "but I'd give up my place in the club if it let me have a wife and a kid again. I'd trade anything for that shit. I see what Che's got, and it makes me glad...but it also upsets me. Sure Aayana and him are at each other's throats sometimes...but he got his happy ending. I'm proud of my brother."

"But you want yours?"

He nodded, taking his cigarette back, "I'd give anything for it, Nevaeh. To wake up in the morning, an old lady in my arms. Some little pitter patter of feet charging towards us to ruin sleeping in. They would scream about breakfast or some shit, and she'd wanna stay in bed with me, but I'd pick them up and cart them off to keep them busy while she made breakfast."

"Wow Bishop, sounds like there is a romantic buried under that burly man," I playfully chuckled, "do you think about that a lot?"

"From time to time," he admitted with a shrug, "you never think that it won't happen until it's too late. Until you had it and let it slide through your fingers."

"Now you're just being dramatic."

"Just a realist, sweetheart."

"It'll happen one day, Bishop," I said, trying to comfort him, "you may think it won't...but I mean, look at Marcus. He thought his life was over after Esai...then he met Diana...and they had Tessa...and Marcus is older than you, so if he can still have kids, I'm sure you can go and do it again too."

He smirked at me, chuckled to himself, and got up after patting my leg.

"Don't run from your shit," he sighed, "that's the advice I'm gonna give you kid. Because if you do, you'll end up on my path...and I love my brothers, but I'm resigned to the fact that I'll never have the life that I wanted because I was too chickenshit to deal with it."

"We need to talk."

"Famous last words," I laughed, looking up at the man I'd given a black eye and a broken nose to, "You know you really need to get that set or it'll heal like that."

"Fuck if I care," he growled, "this ain't the first time you've broken my nose, ma."

"I break it anymore you'll have more nose jobs than Michael Jackson," I laughed, “sure you can handle that, Coco?”

I got a small smirk from him, and he licked his lips, "well maybe you should stop fuckin hittin me then."

"Stop being so stupid and maybe I will."

He nodded, "all I can do is try."

I laughed and opened the door a little more, letting him into the apartment, "you have fifteen minutes. I just put Johnny down."

"I can work with that," he smiled a little more. I tried to take a deep breath and not think about all the emotions that I felt when I looked at him. He walked past me and observed my apartment, "you got a nice place."

"You wanna spend your time talking about my house, I can deal with that," I laughed, "but is that what you really want?"

"No," he shook his head. I sighed, feeling the light-heartedness of our conversation fade away, "Listen...you're obviously hanging around the club again because of Riz...so we're gonna have to find a way to get along. I don't want that shit affecting me."

"That shit?" I growled, "are you kidding me, Johnny?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "what happened between us-WHAT THE FUCK!"

My stinging hand felt like nothing compared to the already red mark I'd left across his cheek.

"You don't get to say nothing about how 'that shit' was," I growled in the lowest tone I could muster, "I loved you more than life itself. I was going to take Letty and run off to the ends of the earth to find you so we could be together. It's not just 'that shit,' to me."

"Ain't no fuckin reason to keep slapping me," he growled, "damn."

I sighed, trying to compose myself, "You're right...I'm sorry."

He looked at me, half shocked, "really?"

"I'm still a little sensitive about it...if you haven't happened to notice."

He chuckled, "trust me...I have."

I glared at him, which instantly made his hands come up, "come on ma, don't hit me again."

"don't act like a jackass," I said swiftly as I turned back to the rest of the apartment. Grabbing two beers I sat them on the coffee table and sat beside him on the couch.

"I really do want to talk about it though."

"There's nothing to talk about, Coco."

"I had feelings for you too," he said quickly. He stared at the beer for a second then took a large gulp and continued, "I don't want you thinking I didn't...but we both knew that I couldn't handle that shit...hell I got leave to come to the hearing and fight for you. But I didn't have no grounds...took everything to have Celia leave you alone...and then at the motel."

"I don't want to talk about that Johnny," I pleaded, “I don’t want to go back down that road.”

"We got to, ma," he said in a pleading tone. I stood up and made my way over to the kitchenette, reaching for a bottle of tequila.

"Johnny," I groaned, “no.”

He shook his head, getting up, "I know that shit's painful. Fuck, it took everything in me not to go AWOL with you. You know how different shit would be if we ran off with Letty...we'd both be fucked."

Not wanting to listen to it anymore I ripped the cap off the liquor and took a few large swigs. The burning I felt going down was nothing compared to the hurt my heart was reliving.

"Hey," He said, ripping the bottle away from me, "don't do that shit. I'm trying to fucking talk to you. I’m trying to be serious, Eva."

"No, you're just bringing up 'shit that don't matter anymore,' and I don't want to hear it," I groaned, “so stop.”

"Just because you don't want to hear it, don't mean that it isn't real," he sighed. He put the cap back on the liquor and put it on the counter behind me, "come on..."

"Were you being serious when you said you still loved me?" I asked.

He looked at me as if I were the dumbest person on the face of the planet, "Of course I fuckin meant it."

"Johnny I-"

"What?" he asked, "don't tell me you don't feel something too. Fuck, you can act all big and bad, but I see how you are looking at everything. You see why I couldn't come back to you...but you're still wearing my dog tags when I finally did see you...even after having another man's kid."

He wasn't wrong.

I had fought the feelings since I was younger, but I always came back to Johnny. Like a moth to a flame, there was no getting away from one another and I think he knew that.

My eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and that was all it took. It was as if some magical okay had been said, and our lips were locked. It felt like electricity shooting up my body. I felt his arms going along my waist, tracing my hip, as he lifted off my shirt. My hands begun to fumble greedily for his belt.

I wanted him.

I needed to feel him again.

He pushed his jeans to the floor, and I felt him hardening against my thigh as he bit my neck.

"Mommy?"

Chapter 12