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armpirate · 2 years ago

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UNDER YOUR SKIN || JJK || Ch. 30

Pairings: tattoist!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, friends to lovers, tattoo au, virgin reader.

Summary: You were awful on anything related to flirting, guys and sex. He was the perfect ladies man. You wanted to get rid of your virginity. And he was there to help you with everything you needed. You didn't have the best start, but that didn't mean you wouldn't have the best of the endings.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

I know Tammy is close to losing her shit. It's in the way she keeps huffing and shaking her head, and how she takes a big breath every time she comes to the counter to pick up the drinks I've prepared.

Both of us being in a bad mood, Tammy because she got rejected for a role again and me for obvious reasons, isn't of help considering the environment in the bar is awful. Drunk assholes are a daily thing in our job, but especially today they're being worse than usual. Although it's still under control, I don't want it to be one of those nights that ends up with the police paying a visit.

—They're making me so violent —she drops the plate, making the clients sitting on the counter jump because of the thunderous unexpected sound—. They'd be surprised with the thousand ways to torture someone with a straw I'm coming up with.

—Stay here, and I'll do the tables —I try to convince her—. I don't really mind, even if it's my Monday.

Whoever is having their Monday, stays behind the counter and just prepares drinks and only deals with the customers sitting here. That's what we do. The start of the week is hard enough, to add dealing with dumb asses to it. We both agreed on it a long time ago, and we've worked like that for quite a long while. But I get how she must be feeling today, I've been there, so I don't see a problem with switching places.

—But it's your Monday —she shakes her head right after saying that—. It's alright.

—Tam, I don't care. You've been with the tables for two hours already, stay back here.

—You sure?

—Yup —I walk next to her—. I'll deal with it.

Tammy doesn't hide the smile on her face as she moves to the back of the counter, running in tiny before she pays attention to some of the customers.

The next hour goes by a little more fluidly, at least it passes by faster than the past two hours. I'm so busy picking up empty glasses, and cleaning up messy tables, that I'm not aware of who's coming or leaving. I have way too much to do to actually be worrying about that.

—Look who finally dares to show up —a male voice gets my attention.

When I lift my eyes from the table, I see those plumped lips smirking at my direction. So he actually came.

—SeokJin —I say his full name playfully—. What can I get you?

—A Martini should be okay. Also, just Jin is alright.

I nod, picking the two empty glasses left on the table just to head towards the counter. And when I walk back to him with his drink, he offers me a seat. I look around, just to make sure nobody is waiting to be attended, and I take a quick look at Tammy, who nods fast at me and encourages me to sit.

—So, did a bird tell you about my offer?

—You mean that bird over there? —I point to Tammy— Yes.

—My previous art dealer moved to Europe —he starts explaining—, and I'm in a rush to find someone at his level. Next week my gallery will be holding one of the biggest expositions, and I need someone that could give good advice to clients. Melanie told me you did Fine arts, but you're struggling to find a job.

—Hence why I'm here —I shrug.

—I want to arrange an interview —he goes straight to the point—. I'm warning you, I'm not easy to impress.

—Yet you're the one trying to arrange an interview, not the other way around.

I'm surprised by the flirty tone I use while saying that, because it was more intended to sound funny. Jin smiles at my comment, nodding and giving in.

—Come to the gallery tomorrow at eleven —he hands me his business card—, and bring an updated resume.

I nod, looking at all the information related to the gallery displayed on the golden card. Jin gets my attention before I'm able to finish reading.

—Will your boyfriend be okay with it?

—My boyf...?

When I lift my gaze to look at him, he instantly points at some point in the bar behind me. Jungkook is looking in our direction, despite being with Jimin and some other person I'm unable to recognize.

—He's not my boyfriend —I look back at Jin—. Just an overprotective friend.

—That's even worse —he adds with a smirk.

He doesn't really need to say much. Jin drinks the whole liquid of the glass with one sip, and hands me twenty dollars.

—Keep the change —Jin gets up, and fixes his shirt—. I'll see you tomorrow.

—See you tomorrow.

He moves faster than me, and takes the empty glass so he can hand it to Tammy himself. I wish all customers did that, honestly.

All my excitement seems suddenly gone as soon as I realize that there's one table I should be heading to right now. Honestly, last time we argued it took us one week to get back to each other, so I didn't expect him to come around this soon. I'm not ready for the look he's giving me as he sees me walking to their table, eyes fixed on me although the people he's with are trying to engage him in a conversation.

—Hey, Y/n —Jimin greets me—. How's everything going?

—Fine —I sigh.

—Y/n? This is Y/n? —the boy with messy brown hair asks— I finally meet you. You have no idea how much Jungkook has talked about you.

The table moves under them, and he complains, rubbing his leg while throwing Jungkook a withering stare.

—Tae, why don't you just say what you want to drink? —Jimin calls him out.

—Hey, beauty. Come here —another man says, from one of the tables in the corner of the bar.

—I'll be with you in just one second —I glare back at Jungkook and his friends.

—By the way, I received your email. Wednesday 25th is okay for you? —Jimin asks.

—Um. About that, I think it won't be necessary. I'll try to work with someone else.

When you're desperate and need help, you jump at the first person that's available. And although Jimin is a good therapist, having him work on my issues when he's best friends with one of those issues isn't a good idea.

—Why?

—I met someone who's specialized on that —I lie.

—Well, that's great —he nods, giving me a genuine smile—. But I'll save the appointment for the 25th at four. Just in case you change your mind.

I'm almost going to thank him, but the same masculine voice interrupts me, trying to get my attention again.

—She said she'd be with you in a fucking minute —Jungkook speaks for the first time—. Calm your ass down, unless you want me to do it for you.

—What are you doing? —I scold him.

—Are you serious? He...

—I'm serious —I stop him—. He's drunk and just being an asshole. Last thing I want tonight is someone getting in a fight —after that, my attention goes back to Tae and Jimin—. Guys, what do you want?

—Three beers —Jimin rushes to answer.

Jungkook is clearly pissed at what I said. But I know what could happen if I don't cut it. Those assholes just go to places dying to pick up a fight, they don't care who it is or what's the cause. They just want chaos. And I'm not in the mood to deal with that tonight.

As time goes by, I feel more and more nervous. The craziness in the bar today, adding Jungkook's stare following every single step I take isn't of help. At all.

—Do you want to switch? —Tammy asks me as I ask her a few more drinks for a new table.

—No, it's okay —I sigh—. A lot of them are already leaving anyway.

—I'm getting an off vibe from those at table five.

—Same. But let's hope it's just a bad vibe, and they leave without making a fuss.

Last time we had a similar group to that one, they ended up breaking two chairs and five glasses. Leaving aside the injuries to one of our usual customers and having to be stuck here for one hour more to deal with the police and cleaning up the mess.

Being too hopeful is free. And being the poorest alive, that's the only comfort I can find. Actually, the only comfort I seem to need right now.

—I'm so fucking stressed. Can they leave already? —Tammy complains.

—I heard them saying they'd leave after those drinks, so let's just wait.

—Do you want some water?

—Please.

Tammy turns to the small fridge behind her, where we save things like food we bring for our breaks, or our water. She hands to me my, already opened, water bottle. But before I'm able to take it, someone grabs it first. One of those dudes looks at me with a mocking smile while he opens it and takes a drink from it.

This is disgusting.

—Cutie, can you charge us? —he asks, not even looking at Tammy.

—Sure. That water bottle will be included —she says, pissed off.

—I don't care. As long as that means your friend will come along.

He's so close, I can smell the distillery stink coming from him. One of his hands try to get catch of my waist, but I move faster, stepping back. He mutters something I don't understand, tilting his head while trying to calm me down. At the second attempt, I push him away, making him take some steps back.

—Sorry, sorry —he lifts his hands.

—Here —Tammy slaps the ticket over the counter, his eyes move away from me with the sound—. Pay.

He lands his credit card, throwing it as if it were nothing before his attention is back to me. can Tammy hurry up and just make him leave?

Obviously two attempts aren't enough, because I feel his hand landing on the lower part of my back, his fingers almost meeting the ass, when I push him away again.

—What the fuck is wrong with you?

It all happens so fast. The man is about to answer with that disgusting mocking smile on his face, but someone grabs him by the collar before making him fall to the ground with just one punch.

The situation gets out of hand when his other two friends join to hold Jungkook, and obviously Tae nor Jimin take long to get up from their places and help their friend. I'm so busy trying to separate them, while Tammy is trying to get in contact with the police, that I don't know at what moment the man lying on the ground stood up to hit Jungkook back and make both of them fall to the ground.

As I try to separate the both of them, I get pushed away and fall on my back. Although I'm not aware I supported my hand over the floor, filled with broken glasses, until later. Actually, it takes the police showing up and Tammy screaming scared for me to realize the deep cut in the palm of my hand. Under Jimin commands, she rolls a clean rag around my hand.

—Are you taking her on the motorbike? —Tae asks, when Jungkook guides me to the street with his hand wrapped around my wrist after picking up my things.

—If we have to wait for a cab, it'll take forever —he doesn't even turn.

I try to hold my grip on his t-shirt while he's driving, but every time I close my fist tight, a stabbing pain goes over my whole arm, which makes me instinctively drop the fabric. But Jungkook makes sure both of my arms are around him either way, even if his left hand has to let go of the handlebar to hold my wrist tight against his stomach.

We don't exchange a word while we wait in the hospital, nor while we're heading out. I just let him take me home. And when he stops in front of my building, we don't talk either. I hop off the motorbike thinking he'd let me go, but he doesn't.

—Won't you talk to me now? You won't even say goodbye?

I turn to him, finding how the smirk on his face vanishes as my eyes land on his.

—I told you those assholes only wanted to fight. I told you to let it go and ignore them —I confront him.

—That dickhead was crossing the line.

—He was about to leave —I cut him off—. Something that would have lasted two minutes, turned into twenty because of you. Because you always have to do whatever the fuck you want.

—Are you still talking about the fight or about something else? —he squints his eyes.

—About everything —I see him moving his tongue across his cheek inside his mouth, the bulge tracing a line while he looks away—. Does my opinion mean nothing to you or what?

—It does. Fuck, y/n, that asshole was making you uncomfortable —he hops off the motorbike—. Not only once, or twice. He tried it three fucking times, and you were just expecting me to sit back and look? —he scoffs, shaking his head before his eyes fix on mine— I'm sorry, but I can't just sit back and look when it comes to you. And I'd have broken each one of his teeth if I had had the chance.

I look at him, finally realizing the state he's in with his bruised cheek, that little cut on his eyebrow, and the stain of blood I left while I was trying to hold onto him. I want to be so mad at him, I want to kick his motorbike so bad right now. But I can't.

I feel I'm so wrong about this whole thing, about being so weak with just one look from him... But I can't stand being on bad terms with him. Last time we went a week without talking nor seeing each other, I felt like I was going crazy. Always turning on the phone to call him or send him a text, but regretting it soon after.

We both argue, but are so drawn to each other, that he always ends up reaching up to him and I always end up giving in.

Like right now.

—Let's go to my place so I can clean you up.

Complete silence.

That's what we're surrounded with when we first get in. None of us dares to talk first, we just head towards the bathroom. I point at the toilet, so he sits there and waits while I'm preparing everything to treat his wounds.

—I know you're mad about yesterday —Jungkook looks down at me—. But you'll thank me in the long run.

—Sure, I will. Because it's so normal to encourage someone you like to fuck others. And it's completely okay to expect her to be okay with it.

—I don't want you to rush into things —I hear him sigh—. You barely lived your life because of what happened. I don't think I'd be able to be the second reason why you haven't lived. Now it's your time to do everything you couldn't, and choose whenever you feel sure to choose.

—Even if you tell me to do it, you're aware I won't —I look at him fast—. So what's the point?

I scan his face, while I cover his wounds with the gauze drenched in alcohol.

—You're choosing because you're scared I'll sleep with other girls, and dump you —he gives me a tiny smile—. Cocktease —his tattooed hand covers my wrist, his voice sounding soft while calling me by my nickname—, just trust me —I see him smile again—. New rule: I won't see anyone else, just you.

—That's not fair —I pick another gauze—. You're getting nothing out of that rule.

—You —he stops for one second—. It was always about you, remember? —he scoffs— Besides, after fucking you, it'll be so difficult to fuck with someone else. You were out of this worl... Ouch!

He complains when I press a bit harder than I should on the wound of his eyebrow. I throw the used gauzes into the bin that's right next to the toilet, and try to get up. But Jungkook holds me until I'm sitting on his lap.

—I can't stand it when you're mad at me.

—Really? Because you don't stop giving me reasons to be mad at you.

His lips curve up in such a particular and funny way, I can't help but smile back at him. I hate him for being like this. And all of this is the exact same reason why I can't understand why he wants me to see other people. I can't understand why he'd want to risk all of this.

—What's going on with that dude, by the way? I saw you talking with him again.

—Jin?

—I guess —he shrugs.

—He wanted me to apply for a vacancy in his gallery. I have a job interview tomorrow.

—With him? —he can't hide the disgust on his face.

—Yes.

Although that expression disappears soon, being replaced by a smile when he notices the way I'm looking at him.

—I'm so happy for you. You deserve it.

—Yeah, sure you are happy —I roll my eyes.

—I am. Nobody deserves this more than you —he places a hand on my leg—. Why don't we celebrate it? —he lowers the tone of his voice.

When he leans in to kiss me, I move back. And I do that every time he tries to stick our lips together, making him groan out of frustration. I rub my lips against his, while my fingers caress gently each one of his tattoos, especially that snake that hangs at the beginning of his wrist, as if I were drawing them with my fingertips. I go up his sleeve, moving my hand at the same time my lips move down his lips and over his jaw.

His fingers try to go further up my thigh, but every attempt gets blocked by my hand on his.

—Y/n —he whines my name.

I smile against his skin, still moving my lips on his skin, filling my nostrils with his fresh scent. I put one of his locks behind his ear, and I lean forward. Just like my right hand ventures down the collar of his t-shirt, to get a touch of his collarbone and chest, my tongue starts a route from his jaw to his earlobe. He breathes heavily when I finally reach there, the hand on my thigh grabbing the flesh tighter when my teeth take the piece of skin between my teeth.

—You want me to date and fuck other guys, then I will choose when you can fuck me just the same way —I whisper in his ear.

If he doesn't change his mind about this whole thing by talking, I'll make him change his mind in another way.

—Babe...

—Nope —I get up—. You want this, perfect. But if you want to fuck me, work for it.

—Fine. We'll see how much it takes you to give in —he stands up, being taller than me again.

—I've gone twenty six years without sex, I'm sure I'll be able to wait a bit for the next time.

I leave my bathroom and head toward my room, with Jungkook following me up close. As I see him getting ready to take off his shirt to lie on his usual side of the bed, I stop him.

—I don't think so —he looks at me—. It's either my couch or your house.

—You really gonna make me sleep somewhere else?

I don't answer, I just shrug.

I think he might leave, but instead, he just takes off his t-shirt and walks to me. Placing his hand on my nape, he leans over me to plant a kiss on my forehead.

—Sleep well, cocktease.

—You, too.

As I see him walking out of my room, paying attention to each one of the lines that the muscles in his back form, I know this will be the hardest challenge I've ever had to go through. And the worst part is that I brought this on myself.

#fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #tattoistjk #tattooau #armpirate

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three-two-six · 2 years ago

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PLEAASE BEGGING Silly Sinf Prompts: 4 with Machiabilly. I'm on my knees 😩

- @dela-muerte

This took me two hours. It is 1 am now. I have no idea how this got so much out of hand, but here we are, 1.3k words later. I wrote all of this on my phone. Is this what makes you happy, HUH /j

Sincerely now, thank you for the request! Enjoy the 1.3k words of uh... The uh... Yeah... Just don't think too critically about it and it might even be enjoyable <3

•••

'See you here in two hours.' Said Machiavelli. 'I'll go get us a room somewhere, and you could watch out a little for the environment.'

They've decided to wander the shadowrealms. At first, after the battle on Alcatraz, they moved all over the Earth - and now, Niccolo had a bright idea to try and switch up the realm a little bit. This might prove to be more helpful, since it was significantly easier to mask their trace from Aten if they're moving not just places but time-space continuums as well.

With his intellect and Billy's natural talent to quickly adjust himself to new and unexpected situations, his plan would no doubt work excellently.

Or that's what he thought.

This realm that they've found themselves in was quite similar to Earth. The two of them were currently located on the main square of a significantly large city. Billy was excitedly looking all around himself – this was, to the older immortal's great surprise, his first time visiting another shadowrealm without his Elder.

'Billy.' Machiavelli said, seeing that the blond wasn't really paying attention to him.

'Hm?' Billy directed his head towards him, his eyes still wide from taking in all the new sights.

'As I said, you could watch out here for a short while. Try to see if anyone – and I mean anyone – is following us. If so, alert me immediately.'

Billy nodded. And for some reason Machiavelli wasn't all that ready to believe his over-excited eyes to keep their attention on the job.

Well, whatever. Billy sure wouldn't get himself into anything that stupid if he let him be alone for two hours. With that, he turned around on his heels and confidently walked off to where he knew the person renting him out a room was waiting for him.

***

Machiavelli kept nervously tapping his foot against the paved floor of the main square. One hand he had propped up on his hip, and on the other he was checking his expensive watch every five seconds or so.

Where the hell was Billy? He was quite sure that they had an agreement – they would meet at this exact place in two hours, no matter what.

Or maybe… Did Billy actually get into trouble? A thin layer of sweat formed on his face. The deal went well on his part – he had successfully secured a room for both of them – but those plans would quickly crumble if an Elder or one of their spies found out about their location.

His eyes were running wild all over the place. If Billy was fighting off their pursuers somewhere, surely he would be able to see or at least sense it. But if he wasn't, then he might even be captured, or worse even, dead… But if he was any of those, would the pursuers not be able to immediately get to him as well? So far, his surroundings looked normal – even though a lot of other immortals and otherworldly creatures mingled here, he couldn't smell the familiar scent of their Elder's auras.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a slight commotion.

'Ay, watch where you're going!' A rather hairy and muscular man yelled at a familiar blonde, rudely shoving him aside.

Billy, Machiavelli thought. Thank God he's not dead.

But to his surprise, Billy actually fell right on his back from the firm movement.

'Awhhhh…' He sighed absent-mindedly. This sound of pain sounded… Strange. It felt way too drawn out and lazy to be produced by a person in actual pain. And Billy seemed to have hit his back pretty damn hard.

'You-... Get out of my way…!' The blond slurred, trying and failing to get up.

Something was wrong.

'Huh?! Get outta here, you goddamn stoner! And ya better stop bothering people!'

Billy, unable to get up, almost started crying. 'Shut up, you- You- You discount bigfoot!'

As Machiavelli saw the unbridled rage flame in the strangers eyes and his muscles bulking from his arm like cannonballs to swing them in the direction of Billy's face, he decided that it's time to intervene. Were the knockoff bigfoot to punch the living shit out of Billy, the latter would probably have to use his aura, and then – well… Then they're busted. It's the equivalent of screaming 'I AM HERE', and that thing would alert their Elders damn sure.

'Dio ce ne scampi e liberi…' He gritted through his teeth, frustrated, as he dropped everything he held and ran full speed to stop the bigfoot's arm mid air.

'No instigating fights here!' He yelled, pushing the bigger man on his side. The latter crashed down on his ass with such force that Machiavelli had started thinking that it wasn't impossible that he broke the pavement.

He then turned to Billy.

'What the fuck is this about…!' He demanded, slightly panting. Goddamnit, he didn't run like that for a long time, and Billy just might be pushing him out of his comfort zone a little too much. He still stretched his arm out for Billy to grab, and then pulled him up his legs with all his might.

'I- Hah the- ' Billy slurred with possibly the most maniacal expression Machiavelli had ever seen. The brief argument had apparently given him an adrenaline boost, but he still… Looked about as far from normal as deep sea fishes look like scarps. With his unfocused, dilating pupils and bulging eyes, he might just be one as well.

'How the fuck do you even get drugs in a completely new shadowrealm, Billy– I swear to God, it's been like two hours– '

'I thought it hah candy!' Billy attempted to defend himself, all the while getting more disconnected from reality by the minute. Machiavelli felt as if he was going to lose his mind.

Meanwhile, the discount bigfoot was slowly propping his two tons of muscle and hair back onto his legs, now angrier than ever.

Machiavelli's life flashed before his eyes as he barely dodged the deadly punch by a single millimeter.

And by dodging, he really just threw himself on the floor, trying his hardest to stay alive for at least the next couple of days he reserved the room for.

The nearby crowd was shocked silent, not daring to utter a word lest they become the bigfoot's new punching bag – but as Machiavelli was trying to get back on his legs as quick as possible, a single brave soul yelled:

'Fight! Fight!'

And before they knew it, the town square had unofficially become a giant boxing ring.

Billy watched Machiavelli trying to keep his dear life while fighting the guy. The immortal kept dodging punches left and right, too afraid to throw some of his own, worried that he might use too much of his aura. His only strategy was to dodge until the brute got bored, and his only goal to survive.

The blond perhaps felt a little guilty for throwing his partner in a brutal, bloody fight for life or death as the crowd cheers the murder on from the sidelines – but really, he didn't even know who he was.

'Hey, guys… What about peace and love on planet earth…?' He said, his eyes still unnaturally bulging.

'WRONG SHADOWREALM!' Machiavelli yelled, trying to vent out his frustration, but also barely fighting for his breath.

For a second, Billy appeared to be deeply troubled by that statement – at least judging by the brief expression of incomprehensible existential horror on his face – before he thoughtfully nodded and casually laid back on the floor.

After that, Machiavelli spent a lot of time in his newly rented room. Mostly by laying down in his bed wrapped in bandages, but one might agree that it was a good use of space nonetheless.

#sinf #the secrets of the immortal nicholas flamel #secrets of the immortal nicholas flamel #i love you Marcel if it weren't for your cracked suggestions i wouldn't know i'm physically capable of writing over 1k words randomly #at an ungodly time at that #niccolo machiavelli #machiabilly #billy the kid

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blu-joons · 4 years ago

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DATING BTOB A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Im Hyunsik

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Hyunsik loves to use his shoulders to make you feel tiny in his hold, he’s always nice and tight with his hugs, and will use his long chest to be able to stretch around and often press a kiss against your cheek as well.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

When a figure stood beside you at the bar, you instantly tensed up, especially so when they asked what you were drinking. Your eyes nervously looked across, drawn to the smile that he wore and the offer of a drink on him as he pulled his wallet in exchange for being able to get your number from you to put in his phone.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Hyunsik’s confession ended up being a slightly tipsy one during an evening with the boys. Although he professed to being a good drinker, even this was slightly too much for him, letting his mouth run away with him. You thought when he first said it that it was a bit of a joke, but when Eunkwang told you that that really was how he felt about you, you calmed him down by letting you know you’d talk about it more in the morning.

D ⇴ DATES

The two of you did just about anything when it came to your dates, you both were up for trying new things, however simple or crazy they might have been. Hyunsik had two very different sides to him when it came to dates with you, whilst he could do the gentlemanly act and take you to dinner, he could also turn into someone very competitive, especially if your date was sporty, and do whatever it took to make sure that he won. Either side, you adored, and always had a great time whenever you were on a date with him.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

He’s very aware of how observant his fans are, having been caught up in a rather strange incident previously, and so he’s very cautious about how he handles your relationship to make sure not too many hints are dropped that the fans might pick up on. He doesn’t want to put you into any harm, and so he makes sure to avoid your social medias and workplace so that no one can trace him back to you. He’s learnt from seeing how other relationships have unfolded to make sure the same doesn’t happen to your own.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

If there’s one thing that frustrates you about Hyungsik, it’s that he often switches off and doesn’t listen to the things that you’re saying to him. You’ll often call out his name to get his attention again, trying to keep yourself calm and not get too frustrated that he didn’t pay attention to what you were saying to him. Arguing with you is not something Hyungsik enjoys either, he’s got a lot of pride, and the last thing he wants is for someone else especially, to see that his relationship isn’t as perfect as he portrays it. He works hard on making your relationship seem good, and so arguments are always kept for at home.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

He’s a gentleman, and incredibly patient too, so Hyungsik will wait only until when you’re ready to introduce you to his family. He’s in no rush, he doesn’t see you going anywhere and so once you’re settled and confident that you can make the best first impression, then he’ll take you across to meet all of them.

H ⇴ HOME

When Hyungsik is working until the late hours, you’ll often invite him over to your place so that he can rest as it’s a lot closer to the studio than his place is. Although neither of you are yet to officially move in, you tend to spend most nights either at your place, or his, depending on how the situation is unfolding.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Hyungsik was the first one of the two of you to say those three special words when you went out to dinner one evening. He was determined to make it a romantic occasion, slightly different from most of your other dates. In fact, the whole evening took your breath away, but that was most definitely the icing on top of the cake.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He had a tendency to jump to conclusions a little which often let him a little jealous over certain situations. Although he was a confident guy, there was still an element of doubt that often crept in when he saw other people a little too close to you. Pride often got in the way of his jealousy too, Hyungsik couldn’t help but step in and pull you away when he was feeling jealous, only to usually realise that he’d gotten the wrong end of the stick or interrupted a rather important conversation for you.

K ⇴ KIDS

Although the future was something that Hyungsik didn’t worry about too much, he was open minded when it came to talking about it and imagining how things may be for the two of you. He never put a number on how many kids you’d had and didn’t want to pinpoint exactly how he’d be as a father, instead he wanted to look forward to when it happened and picture all sorts of scenarios that might unfold.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Hyungsik was confident that he could put a smile on your face in almost any situation, he knew exactly how to make you laugh, using his time in the band to learn how happy people were around him. He’s incredibly positive, which will often leave you smiling, even when you’re thinking the worse, Hyungsik is there to remind you that good things could happen and that there’s no reason to dwell on things. Serious environments are not for him, and so when things feel a little down, he’ll pick it straight back up and make plenty of jokes until everyone’s got smiles back on their faces once again.

M ⇴ MISSING

He’s not someone that will switch off when he misses you, instead Hyungsik will do things that keep you in mind, which can keep him happy too. He’ll often look over old photos and videos, laughing away to himself backstage as he remembered the memories you’d made. For you, he’d often send you gifts or voice notes to make sure that you were thinking of him too and doing so with a smile on your face rather than getting upset over how much you missed him. He could never just forget about you on tour, his only job was to make sure that he remembered, but that he did so with happy memories in mind.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

You’ll love to tease him, often referring to him as a ‘show off,’ for how confident he was. If you beat him at a game, that would definitely be when you’d use the nickname to rub it in his face that you were the winner.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He was obsessed with your hold; he loves feeling your arms wrap around him whenever he’s coming from behind or the side to pull you into his chest.

P ⇴ PDA

More than anything else, Hyungsik is aware with his affection, adapting quickly to most situations. If you need to be protected, he’ll do it in a heartbeat, but if you’re more relaxed and just want to hold onto his hand, he’ll extend it out and swing your arms around, always pushing the boundaries and making you laugh.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

You’re forever having to ask Hyungsik if he’s really listening to you when he switches out of a conversation. Most of the time he doesn’t realise he’s doing it until an object flies across the room and wakes him back up again.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Hyungsik is well known for his tattoos, but he’ll have another that no one knows about, except for you. His tattoos get plenty of attention from the fans but hidden at the top of his leg will be another small tattoo, that no one would ever be able to see on stage, dedicated to you. He loves that no one knows about it, and that it’s with him always, without having to answer any questions or explain the meaning behind it.

S ⇴ SEX

You never quite know what to expect from Hyungsik during intimacy, some evenings he can be a complete gentleman, romantic and loving with his touch. Other times, if his confidence is feeling high, he’ll be a little rougher and dominate with you, letting you know that he’s in charge. Either way, he always makes sure to take care of you, and if you’re not happy at any point, he’ll change what he’s doing instantly.

T ⇴ TEXTS

He’ll often text you little surprises, letting you know he’s waiting to pick you up from work, or to unlock the door because he’s bringing food round. He’ll always pop up with a text, waiting to spend time with you.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

The two of you were very much a team, your relationship was one that many people would watch in awe of how sweet the two of you were. Not only did it do Hyungsik’s pride the world of good, but it made you feel very secure too.

V ⇴ VACATION

Wintertime had always been Hyungsik’s favourite time of year, so with a chill in the air and plenty of snowfall, he loved to go away with you and have fun. He loves the cold, and even though you aren’t the biggest fan of it, seeing how happy it makes Hyungsik will make it at least bearable for you to be out in it.

W ⇴ WHINING

There are definitely times when Hyungsik will whine at you, but you love to pretend that you’re not listening to get back at him for all the times that he doesn’t.

X ⇴ XXXXX

He’s always very powerful with his kisses, Hyungsik isn’t someone that will pepper kisses or be particularly delicate with his touch, instead he’ll be quite bold and linger with many of his kisses. He’s not someone that’s for quick kisses that can often be left without meaning, instead he’ll make sure that each kiss is filled with meaning, and love, and make sure you’re never left wanting more from him.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the one that kept him grounded, and always made him feel at home.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He sleeps a tremendous lot, you’ll often find him napping around the house at various points throughout the day, but he can never sleep as well as he does when you’re there for him to lay upon and relax with.

---

Masterlist

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whiterosebrian · 3 years ago

Text

Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.

#environment #environmentalism #indigenous rights #indigenous people #us politics #social justice #social reform #colonialism #capitalism #long text

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sgtbradfords · 4 years ago

Note

I just had an idea and I don’t think anyone wrote about it yet 🙈

SE2E12 when Lucy takes down that guy at the speed dating place

Any chance you would write something on that?

Lucy shutting down, nayla and Harper not being able to help her and having to call Tim to come and help

This turned out really cute and I am kinda happy with how it turned out... I hope you enjoy anon! :)

Lucy Chen thought they would be going to a bar or a club for her first girl’s night out with Nyla Harper and Angela Lopez. But no, what the two officers had planned was so much worse.

Speed dating.

As soon as she read the white words on the hideous pink sign, her fight or flight response kicked in. She wanted to run but knowing her two friends, they would never allow that. She tried talking her way out of it, didn’t work. So, she took the only option left, being to rope them into their own scheme.

‘Trust your judgement.’ They said. ‘Control the environment.’

‘Bullshit.’ Lucy thought as she took a seat, a sip of liquid courage coursing through her veins.

The night had started off decent, easily picking out the creeps to be vague to and actively ignoring the weirdos who sent a shiver down her spine. Though, she was not much better, as she came off a little too forward with the men that sat down in the seat across from her.

The buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the night as she and the last prospect, Isaiah stood. He told her he had a good evening, to which she off-handedly agreed. She heard him before she could see him as he reached out, pulling at the loose thread on her sweater.

She reacted instantly, his hands were moving towards her and all she could think about was the last time a set of unwanted hands approached her.

Lucy had him on the floor with his hands secured behind his back in eight seconds flat, Nyla and Angela running over when Lucy laid him out.

“Hey.” Nyla told her placing a hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of her daze. “You’re ok. It’s alright.”

She could hear the shrieks of people being startled around her, Angela’s voice foggy as she spoke to the man she just laid out. Her breathing increased rapidly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her heart pounded in her chest.

Lucy never heard the question that Nyla was asking as she pulled out of the hold the other woman had on her arm. Her body moved on it’s own accord, her feet carrying her quickly, returning her to the car she had vacated not even an hour earlier, pulling on the handle of the car, sitting down in the passenger seat before she hit the automatic lock button, locking the doors.

“Hey, Chen?” said Nyla as she knocked on the window.

Lucy took a shaky breath to steady herself, focusing on grounding her mind.

“Lucy?” Angela asked as she pulled on the handle of the locked door, hitting the button of her car, unlocking it.

Lucy’s right hand hovered over the switch panel, pressing the button to lock the doors back.

Angela hit it again, only for the occupant of the vehicle to lock it back.

“Seriously. What do we do?” she asked looking over the top of the vehicle.

Nyla pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling on the screen before pressing the glass, moving the phone to her ear. “Hey. You busy? Yes, I know you’re off duty. We’ve kinda got a situation. I mean kinda like you’ll find out when you get here. We’re in the pay by the hour parking lot on 42nd street. You can’t miss us.” She said before ending the call, placing the phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, this has been an experience.”

“He on his way?”

Nyla nodded, leaning back on the car. “Relax, she’s not going to budge.”

Angela glanced into the car, standing between the car and the one next to it, keeping an eye on the woman sitting in the passenger seat.

“You meet anyone interesting?”

Nyla snorted, telling Angela about the guy who got up and ran from the table holding a hand to his mouth, and the one she thoroughly grossed out, telling her the stories she had told them.

“What about you?” Angela had just asked when a familiar truck pulled in off the road.

Tim Bradford pulled his truck into the parking lot, stopping at the automated machine to pay for parking, grabbing his ticket before pulling up behind the car he knew all too well. He put the vehicle in park, pressing the button to roll down the passenger side window. “I’m not going to be your DD Harper.”

Nyla walked over to the truck, resting her arms on the sill of the window. “We may have done something stupid.”

“Define stupid.”

Angela walked over, joining Nyla as she looked at the driver guiltily. “I may have pushed Lucy too hard.”

Tim’s face dropped, concern quickly taking over before he could mask the emotion. “What did you do?” he asked as he unbuckled, opening the door of the truck.

Angela shared a look with Nyla, “We may have gone speed dating.”

Tim stared her as he rounded the truck. “You what?”

“She agreed, after some encouragement and bribing.”

“Speed dating.” Tim said as he ran a hand over his face. “What happened?”

“She had a loose string on her shirt and one of the imbeciles tried to pull it without telling her.” Nyla began telling him.

“Then she laid him out. It was impressive really.”

“Not the point Angela. Listen, we tried to calm her down, but she ran out of there and locked herself in the car.”

Sighing Tim moved towards the driver’s side of the car. “Unlock the car.”

Angela hit the button, Tim opening the door simultaneously, getting in behind the wheel before he pulled the door close.

Lucy stared ahead as the vehicle shook, her training officer sliding into the seat next to her, his chest against the steering wheel as his left-hand moved to his side, fumbling with the buttons on the side of the seat.

“How the hell does Ang drive like this?” he grumbled as the seat began sliding all the way back, his long legs slowly unfolding. “So, what happened boot?”

Lucy held a hand to her face, her elbow resting in-between the glass of the window and the door as she continued staring ahead, watching the things moving around the outside world of the vehicle.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“Are you here as my boss or as my friend?” She asked, moving her hand down from her face as she began to wring her fingers.

Tim thought for a second, hesitating before answering. “Friend.” They were friends and they were coworkers but somehow, they were also more than that, their working chemistry setting the base of their friendship outside the four sides of the shop.

“I thought I was ready.” She sighed.

“For?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something more.”

Tim nodded. “It’s only been two months boot. Your recovery isn’t something that will fix itself overnight.”

Lucy somberly let out a lone laugh. “Like hell it will! I’m tired Tim. I’m tired of the pity, I’m tired of the looks, tired of it all. I just want to put it behind me, live a normal life.”

“I know.” He whispered. “But neither one of us has a time machine Chen.”

“Tim, it wasn’t-“

“Don’t. Don’t say it wasn’t my fault. I’m the one who- I almost lost you Lucy.” He told her, his voice cracking at the admission.

“We talked about this the other night. What happened was neither here nor there and both of us are going to have to move on from it sooner or later.”

Tim knew that his rookie was growing restless, the outcome of those twenty-four hours still eating away at her. “I think… what you need, is to find an outlet.”

“An outlet.” She stated, turning her head to face him.

“Something that takes the stress off, where your thoughts disappear and I don’t mean paintball, something a little more strenuous.”

Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t that what sex is for?”

“That’s not a healthy outlet.”

“And what, Officer Bradford, is your healthy outlet?”

“I have a few, one of them being running.” He told her shrugging. “I try, every day, to run. In the morning, in the evening, doesn’t matter. If you hold onto the shit that we see on the job, you’re going to implode.”

She nodded. “So, what would you suggest?”

“Everyone’s different, you just have to find something that works for you.”

Lucy mulled over his words, silence enveloping the car before she took the opportunity to speak. “Thank you.”

“I would say anytime Chen but you’re making me miss Thursday night football.”

Lucy shoved his shoulder. “I’m sorry for ruining your Thursday with my insecurities.”

Tim flashed her a smile. “We all have our days boot. I do have to say that I wouldn’t mind seeing the video of you putting this guy in his place though.”

“What, so you can critique me?”

“No, so I can see you laying this guy out on his ass.” He said with pride in his voice. “Then critique you.”

A knock sounded on the driver side window. “If you two are done with whatever this is,” Angela said, gesturing between the two “we would like to get out of here.”

“Find an outlet boot.” He said as he pulled the handle of the door, his tall frame exiting the car. “You three text me when you get home.”

“Awwwe look Ang, I think he’s worried.” Nyla teased as Tim walked back towards his waiting truck, the man raising his right hand up the air as he flashed his middle finger.

It took several days and shifts to find what he was talking about, but as she wrapped her hands in tape, a bag of sand hanging in front of her, she took the advice given to her to heart. Lucy couldn’t help the smile that overtook her as she replayed the conversation that followed the disaster that was the other night as she began hitting the swaying bag. ‘Find an outlet boot.’

“Bring your elbow up.” A voice spoke from a few feet behind her causing her to jump.

“Giving boxing advice now are we Officer Bradford?”

Tim shrugged off the bag on his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. “No but, I would rather you hit the bag properly than have a bummed wrist tomorrow and us get into a shootout.”

Lucy jabbed the bag. “Sounds like advice to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?”

She stopped the swaying bag, grasping it with both hands. “Fine.”

Tim stepped closer, moving into her line of sight as he stood next to the bag. He began critiquing her, Lucy adjusting her stance and positioning countless times as he began placed a pair of boxing pads on his hands. “Enough with the bag. Hit me boot.”

“What?” she said in astonishment. “I’m not-“

“You will Chen, hit me.”

Lucy took a swing at him, missing him as he ducked. “Again.” He ordered.

She forcefully swung her right arm, her throw landing on the soft padding. “Good. Again.”

They kept it up, Tim counteracting her throws and punches, throwing in his own punches that she successfully blocked for the most part.

“See? Outlet.” He told her as he pulled a bottle of water from his bag, taking a sip.

Lucy began unwrapping her wrists, wading the tape into a ball. “Thanks, Tim.”

“You’ve got a mean right hook but your uppercut could use some work. We’ll meet back here in two days boot.” He told her, gathering his bag, moving towards the door.

“Don’t I spend enough time with you already?”

Tim turned around, smirking. “Two days boot.”

Lucy sighed, turning around mumbling under her breath. “He’s lucky I like him.”

“Heard that!” he yelled as the door closed.

#the rookie fic #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #tim bradford x lucy chen #fanfic #chenford

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worstloki · 4 years ago

Text

Part 3

Fury: I cannot believe the Avengers No. 1 unattainable criminal right now is a seventeen-year-old twink Clint: I can’t believe you’re calling Loki a twink Tony: I can’t believe he's been the legal godparent of kids his own age for months and I didn't realise Steve: You didn’t get him removed? I thought you made Rhodey their legal godparents instead?? Tony: nah I removed Thor Natasha: ?? why would anyone do that ?? Fury, having a breakdown: we nearly lost New York and the entire world to a 16-year-old twink with daddy issues Clint: yoU just did it aGAIN- Tony, the only actual Avenger who knows Loki isn’t actually evil™: heY! Daddy issues are a serious thing! Don’t make fun of the guy for having a crisis and finding out his life was a lie and he’d faced over a millennium of abusive environment for nothing! Avengers: are you… defending Loki… the megalomaniac WAR CRIMINAL who turned every SHIELD facility into ice cream earlier today…? Tony, hands up in surrender: I’m saying maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge the guy. I wouldn't be able to guess what but maybe he had an ulterior reason for the New York fiasco? His normal stuff is usually harmless. Avengers: ... Tony: What? It could’ve been much worse. Strange, rolling his eyes: Yes, at least it wasn’t Stark Raving Hazelnuts Loki, who has been standing at the back listening to the entire conversation: That flavour is way too chalky to suit SHIELD anyways [everyone turns to Loki with their weapons ready, except Tony of course] Loki, raising his hands in surrender: what? A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge is way better, and its green, and for some reason they didn’t have a Loki flavour so that was the next best option-

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Loki: hey Morgan what would you say if i offered you an officially evil part-time job with decent pay and extremely good evil workplace benefits? Morgan: do you offer evil dental? Loki: of course?? we also have A-Grade coffee 24/7 because top class extremely good evil deserves only the best Morgan: Excellent! I look forward to working with your evil team and being a part of your nefarious schemes and plots in future Loki: Thank you. Tomorrow we replace all Tony's vehicles with incredibly realistic wax models. Morgan: ...including the jets? Loki, scoffing: what kind of amateur villains would we be if we left his jets, boats, bikes and single vintage helicopter untouched Tony: its 4am can you maybe not have this conversation right next to me in my own workshop?!

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Tony: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WOULD REPLACE THEM WITH WAX MODELS Morgan: What kind of low-grade predictable villainous evil doers would we be if we did what we said we would Tony: oh $#!^ now you're speaking like him too Loki, cutting his shoulder to reveal cake: Just so you know, it wasn’t JUST the vehicles ;)

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Peter: *following loki around with a notepad* Loki: Terribly sorry if you mind but he's MY intern now. Tony: You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing, do you? Loki: I don’t think anything I’ve ever done is wrong Peter: *avidly taking notes and nodding along*

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T’challa: I cant believe you filed an application for ‘time off’ Shuri: I NEED at least 3 hours a week reserved specifically for training if I want to keep my part-time job T’challa: you don’t NEED a job! You make up 90% of Wakanda’s research and development departments! Your technology work IS a job! Shuri: yeah well my ACTUAL job is fun and has proper work benefits and I simply must empty the time blocks I specified for it! You wouldn’t stop me from meeting with Peter and Morgan would you? They ARE, legally and spiritually speaking, my siblings, brother :) T’challa: what job could you have that would need you reminding me that a mischief deity adopted you before telling me what the job actually is Shuri: The official position is called Secretary of Evil but that’s only for the probationary 2 week period and I’m allowed to request a name change if I think of anything better T’challa: T’challa: you are working as a SECRETARY?! Shuri: The job pays well, Brother, T'challa: T'challa: mother will be so disappointed

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Scott: I can’t believe you did that Maggie: I didn’t know he was a supervillain! OBVIOUSLY! Scott: how would you noT KNOW! He wears nothing buT LEATHER and BELTS and GREEN BOOTS AND- Maggie: I needed someone to watch her and she showed up in pink sweatpants and a black tank top and was charging a decent rate Scott: Scott: are you sure their name was loki

---

Clint: you told me it was a ‘family gathering’! Tony: yeah, it is, and the avengers are family Clint, pointing at Loki: so what’s the twink doing here and why are MY kids along with every other person here who is under drinking age clinging to him like a frickin’ koala bear Tony: morgan wanted to get her ‘the floor is lava’ badge and loki was the only one immune to the lava so they jumped him - and he enjoyed walking around covered in them way more than he should have - and also loki is legally peter and morgan and harley and shuri’s godparent so he’s allowed to be here on more of a basis than anyone else here at this point Clint: There was LAVA near MY KIDS?! Tony: no of course not – it was FAKE lava that just looked and functioned like real lava Clint: im taking them all home Tony: good luck convincing them not to want another playdate Clint: this isn’t a joke Tony Tony: I’m serious. Good luck. The kids love him, and you’ll need all the luck you can get if you want them to ever root for the side of good instead of wherever-loki-is-at instead.

---

Pepper: *watching the news* Pepper: oh hey the Avengers are on Peter, running into the room: woW NICE Pepper: wtf why is Hulk wearing giant boxing gloves Peter: Language! Pepper: is Steve's shield padded?! Peter: i don’t remember that being normal Pepper: did most of the Avengers just ditch Steve? Why’re they leaving Peter: I guess the danger must be over? Pepper: WHAT is going ON out there today Peter: I think Loki had planned an attack today so maybe he did it as a joke Pepper: oh they're facing Loki yeah okay that explains it Peter: Loki always does the funniest things of course he baby-proofed all the Avenger's gear! Classic Loki! :D

-meanwhile-

Captain America, tears streaming down his face: pl,,ease, loki,, stop,t his, I cant hit ,,a child Loki: Look at you, the American icon, unable to save all these innocent people from having their skin turn into primary colours, all because you are TOO AFRAID to fight me! Captain America: I’m a national icon, not a good soldier but a good man, I will do whatever it takes to keep innocents safe, but I can NOT beat up someone who isn’t even legal enough to vote Loki: I was around causing chaos before this ‘voting’ was even invented! And I’ll NEVER legally vote even if I could!! mwahahAHAHA- Falcon, to Bucky in the background: How did we not realise he was a teen, all his comebacks are ‘no u’ and ‘uno reverse card’ and ‘look over there!’ Bucky, to Falcon: I don’t know but I really really want to know where he gets his outfits from Falcon: if it means I’ll be seeing you geared up in leather again then I want to know where he gets his outfits from too ;‘) Thor: I think my brother makes his own outfits Loki, still tormenting Captain America: *SISTER Thor: ah, my bad Captain America, crying x2: wait does this mean I’ve been lobbing my shield at not just a child, but I’ve been misgendering them while doing it?! Loki: only occasionally and I don’t blame you that was on me for monologuing too long, really— Captain America, taking off the helmet: nope I’m done Loki: what are you doing Steve, handing Sam the shield: It’s yours. Enjoy. Sam: woah woah woah what’re you doing you cant retire just like that Steve, unzipping his suit to reveal American flag boxers: watch me Bucky to Sam: hello new best friend Sam, realising that Cap and Bucky are a duo: oh no no no STEVE is your best friend Bucky: he hasn’t been my ‘best friend’ since I saw him with the American flag splayed over his butt Loki, holding his hand out for Sam to shake: Hello there new Captain America its nice to meet you formally, my name is Loki and yes I’m a child but I’m actually 1075 but that is irrelevant if I’m causing trouble and looking for a fight, I’m also genderfluid so yes sometimes my pronouns will be different but I’ll be sure to inform you if it happens Sam: what are you doing Loki: I’m… formally introducing myself Sam: Sam: why?? Loki, blinking to hide that he’s getting teary eyed: well, the last national icon I didn’t do this with ditched me because I didn’t Bucky, a trained assassin, who isn’t a fool: *hugs loki* that wasn’t your fault steve just likes to carry the stupid with him Loki: thanks Bucky: is this a bad time to ask where you get your clothes from…? Loki: I make them Bucky: oh. Well $#!^. Loki, sniffing: if you join the dark side I’ll make you some too Bucky, immediately: done. Sam: JAmES Bucky deadpan: Yes, Samuel, what is it that troubles you, my new arch nemesis?

---

Sam: HE TOOK BUCKY Natasha: What do you mean ‘he took bucky’ he’s standing right next to you Sam: He’s “infiltrating the enemy” Natasha: *lifts an eyebrow and looks to Bucky* Bucky: It’s true. My loyalties lie elsewhere now. Natasha: ??? Bucky: note to self – unexpected outcomes confuse the black widow. Natasha: how did this happen?? Sam: he SOLD himself out to the ENEMY Natasha: well when you say it like THAT ;) — Bucky: I think friendship is a decent price to pay for decent clothing Natasha: ??? Sam: oh also I’m Captain America now because Steve broke down and quit Natasha: ?!?!?!

---

Peter, entering the room and high-fiving Loki: I heard you got Mr. Bucky to switch teams! Loki: well, my fashion skills ARE legendary Tony, under his breath: he’s not even trying and he’s gotten every kid and the freaking winter soldier on his side and I am so so grateful he isn’t actually TRYING to make everyone go bad

---

Bucky: we’ve been over this Steve, Loki is young but he’s also over a thousand years old Steve: I was beating up a KID, Bucky, a kid who was SMALLER and WEAKER than everyone else where he lived but wouldn’t EVER turn down a FIGHT for what he BELIEVES IN and he was probably BULLIED and I wanted the guy DEAD, Bucky– Bucky: don’t forget the genderfluidity thing Steve: he said it wasn’t my fault but I should’ve asked Thor after he referred to Loki as ‘she’ instead of thinking he’d made a mistake and I just can’t – he isn’t even old enough to DRIVE or VOTE or DRINK or BUY A KNIFE or -- Bucky, holding Steve and patting his back: hey now, there, there, it’ll be okay, Bucky: *gives Loki a thumbs up as he sits on the couch with popcorn and watches Steve be miserable*

---

Loki: We need to get through this locked door. Tony, quick, give me your card! Tony, handing the card over: Take it! Loki, pocketing it: Thanks! Morgan, fire at the door Morgan: *pulls out an iron man gauntlet painted green and gold* Tony: hOW COULD you deface YOUR BIRTHDAY PRESENT with GREEN Morgan: MINE is still being used as a paperweight. This is one of YOUR gauntlets. Tony, under his breath: maybe it’s not too late to burn the physical evidence and hack Loki’s name off the digital copies of the adoption forms Loki, whispering back: oh its definitely too late. I’m already on your christmas card and everything.

#LokiAdoptsAU #where all the kids can enjoy loki tormenting the world because its funny and no one actually ends up seriously injured ever #loki is about mischief and chaos not death and destruction #the avengers don't know why the kids are attached #tony knows that loki isn't evil but so far Shuri and Peter and MJ and Ned and Cassie are the only ones who know about the torture #because everyone else is an *d*ot #watch as loki cajoles the avengers to his side 1-by-1 with the promise of good coffee decent prankster material and custom leather outfits #ThisPostIsLongerThanMyLifeSpan #TPILTMLS

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years ago

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HACKERS AND SPEAKING

No company, however successful, ever looks more than a pretty good bet a few months. Either way it sucks. We ask mainly out of politeness. If you think someone judging you will work hard to judge you correctly, there's usually some feeling they shouldn't have to express every program as the definition of new types. If investors can no longer rely on their herd instincts, they'll have to get a foot in the door. -Oriented programming generates a lot of new work is preferable to a proof that was difficult, but doesn't lead to future discoveries; in the sciences generally, citation is considered a rough indicator of merit. If startups are mobile, the best local talent will go to the real Silicon Valley, and all they'll get at the local one will be the people who get PhDs in CS don't go into research. They're the ones in a position of power. I'm still not sure whether he thought AI was nonsense and that majoring in something rigorous would cure me of such stupid ambitions. I have never had to talk. When you change the angle of someone's eye five degrees, no one will pay for. Umair Haque wrote recently that the reason there aren't more Googles is that most startups get bought before they can change the world, people don't start things till they're sure what they want, regardless of how many are started.

Startups will go to work anyway and sit in front of them, so the odds of getting this great deal are 1 in 300. On the other hand, startup investing is a very strange business. Even if your only goal is to get every distraction out of the closet and admit, at least by comparison, be called turmoil. Just two or three lifetimes ago, most people in what are now called industrialized countries lived by farming. But software companies don't hire students for the summer as a source of cheap labor. But if you're starting a startup. I worried? I said what they need to get good grades to get into elite colleges, and college students think they need to get good grades to impress future employers, students will try to undermine the VCs by acting faster, and the VCs will gradually figure out ways to make money from. How casual successful startup founders are.

I write software: I sit down and blow out a lame version 1 as fast as angels and super-angels themselves. We think of the techniques we're developing for dealing with detail. I know of schlep blindness is Stripe, or rather Stripe's idea. You're better off avoiding these. If so, your old tastes were not merely different, but worse. Why is it that research can be done by collaborators. I'd guess the most successful startups we've funded haven't launched their products yet, but are definitely launched as companies. Fortran because not surprisingly in a language where you have to design what the user needs, who is the user? You may dispute either of the premises, but if you get funded by Y Combinator. But it seems more dangerous to put stuff in that you've never needed because it's thought to be a promising experiment that's worth funding to see how it turns out.1 But the startup world for so long that it seems promising enough to worry that you might not be the best solution. In Kate's world, everything is still physical and expensive.

Only a few companies have been smart enough to realize this so far. It's not super hard to get into grad school or just be good at math to write Mathematica. Google is afflicted with this, apparently. It has always seemed to me the solution is to tackle the problem head-on, and that people should work for another company for a few years down the line. With so much at stake, they have to be big, and it frees conscious thought for the hard problems. Why do you think so? Whereas when they don't like you, they'll be out of business, lies in something very old-fashioned: face to face for three months—so closely in fact that we insist they move to where we are. A lot of them. They believe this because it really feels that way to them.2

That solves the problem if you get a real job after you graduate. Because depending on the meaning of the word 'is' is. As usual, by Demo Day about half the founders from that first summer, less than two years ago, are now rich, at least in the short term. It was a lot of institutionalized delays in startup funding: the multi-week mating dance with investors; the distinction between termsheets and deals; the fact that you're mainly interested in hacking shouldn't deter you from going to grad school, because very few people are quite at home in computer science, and it will seem to investors no more than superficial changes. It's not just because they were pulled into it by unscrupulous investment bankers. You're rolling the dice again, whether you want them as a cofounder. In the mid twentieth century there was a great deal of play in these numbers. When you're forced to be simple, you're forced to be simple, you're forced to face the real problem. They treat the words printed in the book the same way you'd deal with a cold swimming pool: just jump in. So when you find an idea you know is good but most people disagree with, you should get a job. Nowadays a lot of de facto control after a series A round needs to be a good time for startups to have traction before they put in significant money.

One of our goals with Y Combinator was to discover the lower bound on the age of startup founders.3 If taste is just personal preference is a good deal of fighting in being the public face of an organization. The biggest factor determining how a VC will feel about your startup is how other VCs feel about it. Your tastes will change. So unless their founders could pull off an IPO which would be difficult with Yahoo as a competitor, they had become extremely formidable. The mobility of seed-stage startups means that seed funding is a national business.4 The puffed-up companies that went public during the Bubble didn't do it just because they want you to be a really good deal.

Do you, er, want a printout of yesterday's news? I know many people who switched from math to painting. This essay is derived from talks at the 2007 Startup School and the Berkeley CSUA. As well as mattering less whether students get degrees, it will turn out worse. Some magazines may thrive by focusing on the magazine as a physical object. As long as it isn't floppy, consumers still perceive it as a period that would have been for two Google employees to focus on the wrong things for six months, and the super-angels were initially angels of the classic type. Should you take it? Maybe, though the list of acquirers is a lot less than most university departments like to admit. VCs do now. It's too late now to be Stripe, but there's usually some feeling they shouldn't have to—that their startup will be huge—and convincing anyone of something like that must obviously entail some wild feat of salesmanship. The other reason parents may be mistaken is that, like generals, they're always fighting the last war.

5% an offer of 6. How has your taste changed? I don't consider myself to be doing research on programming languages. So if you want to work for, they may start to focus on working with other students they want as cofounders. Even though Y Combinator is teach hackers about the inevitability of schleps. And that statistic is probably not an option for most magazines. The seriousness of signalling risk depends on how far along you are with other investors seems the complementary countermove. Over in the arts. I don't know yet what the new rules will be, but it has to be better if both were combined in one group, headed by someone with a PhD in computer science, and it has to double: if you can imagine someone surpassing you, you can predict fairly accurately what the next few years will be like, but I'm not too worried about it.

Notes

That's because the arrival of desktop publishing, given people the first year or two, because they need them to private schools that in Silicon Valley, but suburbs are so different from a startup is compress a lifetime's worth of work into a fancy restaurant in San Francisco. We could be done, she expresses it by smiling more. It would have been the first question is only half a religious one; there is one that did.

The ordering system, which is probably part of a heuristic for detecting whether you realize it yet or not, and this is also a second factor: startup founders is how much they lied to them. Give the founders are driven only by money—for example, being offered large bribes by the financial controls of World War II was in logic and zoology, both your lawyers should be taken into account, they mean. It may be whether what you build for them.

We invest small amounts of new inventions until they become so embedded that they don't make users register to try to write it all yourself. It's lame that VCs play such games, but more often than not what it would be possible to have balked at this, but he got killed in the US treat the poor worse than Japanese car companies, but have no idea what's happening as merely not-too-demanding environment, and this trick merely forces you to agree. You're not seeing fragmentation unless you see them much in their target market the shoplifters are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. If an investor makes you a clean offer with no valuation cap is merely boring, we found they used it to the biggest winners, which was acquired for 50 million, and don't want to work like they worked together mostly at night.

Except text editors and compilers. Users dislike their new operating system.

Thanks to Dan Giffin, Jessica Livingston, Hutch Fishman, Sam Altman, Robert Morris, and Ron Conway for sparking my interest in this topic.

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ocular-intercourse · 4 years ago

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every once in a while, i am remembered that i should probably nail down what exactly is in the realm of possibilities with the enhancements in the gyoverse

is the process government regulated, or more of a talent thing, the way anybody can learn how to draw with enough patience? I think it’s a mixture of both, people are not forbidden to gain certain abilities, you literally can’t keep it from happening, those are just things that can develop naturally when a person has the right mindset, but it’s also a dangerous process if certain levels are reached and things go wrong, so the government tries to keep certain levels.. I guess certified? At the very least registered. If you gain a certain amount of power you will be observed.

So there are two areas of use: personal & professional life.

In personal life a person can develop certain helpful abilities, imagine a fisherman training himself without trying to a point of being able to sense the location of fishes in the water. It’s very close to people in our world who just get very very skilled in their labor and get the ability to do specific things simply by experience (the way people in food stores can eyeball the weight of a specific item and be 100% right). Those are not particularly ‘powerful’ per se, more little every day helpers that might not even entirely get recognized as an enhancement. A lot of these abilities are inherited, but that might be less of a genetic thing and more grounded in the upbringing, environment, and education, one person teaching their skills and experiences to the next generation and them developing these enhancements themselves.

Then there’s professional life especially in jobs that are highly competitive, because everybody wants to be the best they can be in their field so naturally they would use any tools they can get their hands on. The biggest example of course is the army. The country with the strongest soldiers wins, so there have been raised standards and whoever cannot reach them loses by default. Hence the imperial army usually weeding out people with insufficient talent for the enhancements (thembo supreme raime being an exception). A whole nation selecting and breeding for the ultimate warriors at all times. There have been certain Levels established, a class of soldiers with Level A, Level B, Level C (those are not the actual names I’m still workshopping here), each with stronger abilities than the last. I imagine there are tests, either on set dates, or evaluations a person can apply for, to be moved to the next class (and get more pay and status). These Levels of evaluating a person’s capabilities can vary from job to job. A soldier with Level B would probably score lower in a scientific, research-based field, it’s all depending on how good you are at the enhancements that are useful for your job. (Army standard’s being pretty much universally accepted as the most powerful and useful skillsets and therefore valued the most)

Now this feels like a JRPG leveling system. My character’s skillset scores are Army Level C, Medicine Level A and Barter Level B+. (Now I’m picturing Trading Cards with your favorite Soldiers. Noor has one and every skill is at S cause propaganda. Gyo’s is a lot of S with worse scores in anything communicative, also S+ in immortality)

But what are the basic and less basic abilities a soldier can gain?

At base level are physical enhancements. More stamina, more strength, more agility, general healthiness (better immune system, faster gradual healing).

Followed by your base senses of smell, taste, sight, hearing and feeling. Later Levels of this ability include higher control, shutting down some senses or enhancing only one.

A little bit more difficult are things that need tighter control. The ability to influence your digestion, your blood flow, your oxygen intake. You can go longer on less food and air, you can slow your bleeding down, or trigger adrenaline rushes at will.

The next step is adding supernatural senses. The ability to feel the presence of other people, even at a distance and out of sight. The more trained you are in this area the better the feel is you get on the person and their intent. You cannot read minds, but you can certainly feel anger or admiration, general feelings or moods.

The next step is learning how to hide these things in yourself. These can cancel each other out depending on who is involved. A person that is good at hiding their intent can not hide it as well if the other person is better at seeing people’s intent than they are at hiding it.

The next step would be considered elemental magic by most standards. You can create a spark of flame, a bit of fluid, a gust of wind. These will most likely not be impressive flame thrower like attacks or anything, but can be practical here or there.

Also magical but more difficult, and mostly requires the student of this direction to split from developing other enhancements to concentrate solely on this area to be effective: healing magic. Gyo for example has mostly ignored healing magic, he can keep wounds shut enough to keep someone from losing blood but he cannot close them entirely, while Noor chose to stop their studies of techniques that would help in fights to focus on learning how to heal and nurture (it’s not only wounds, they can also relieve pain and control infections and other things). To be skilled in both is incredibly difficult and I don’t think it is currently seen. Something must be put on hold to learn other powerful things, so you have to pick and chose what you want to be proficient in. It is also an ability you can only use on others and not yourself, so most soldiers (at least those that get to this point and are therefore most likely power hungry in some way) chose to ignore it for something that helps themselves rather than others.

A similar direction but removed from regular healing magic because that focuses on healing other people while this is entirely self-focused: the next level of the control over your own body, the ability to sustain the body without meeting nutritional needs or rest. Beginners of this Level can go several days without sleep or rest, depending on a.. let’s say amount of ‘spiritual’ energy they have gathered before. They are, in that moment, basically feeding their body’s needs from this energy. The better you are at this, the longer you can go. This Level is only reached by those soldiers, that are willing to focus as much on their intellectual studies as they do on physical training. Many talented soldiers who exceed in fights get frustrated by these requirements. The ultimate Level of Control over your own body is the step Gyo has reached where he entirely halted all aging and is practically immortal, if not killed or dying of an illness. I imagine it has a lot to do with gathering such a vast amount of energy, that you can feed on it indefinitely, because you have learned to gain the energy quicker than you deplete it. There are earlier levels of this ability when you learn how to stretch less energy and slow down your aging instead of halting it completely. (many ppl in or out of the army will try to gain some bits of this ability to prolong their lives, everybody wants to squeeze a bit more out of it if they can) There are varying degrees of aging speed depending on the person’s skill level and energy intake.

The problem, aside from many people not having the mental or physical requirements to begin with, and the fortitude, discipline and patience to stick with it, is that said energy is also extremely volatile. People who begin gathering it often get overwhelmed by moodswings, the energy wanting to get out and presenting itself in any way that is currently available for it to be released by, whether that is physical or psychological. In higher concentrations the amount of energy can be literally corroding if your body and mind are not prepared to handle it. People carrying a large amount of energy can be caught in a bad moment and lose the ability to contain the energy, often with catastrophic consequences, definitely for the person themselves, sometimes for their surroundings too. People on Gyo’s Level are basically walking nukes, he could take out a small town if he ever lost it. Key to get to where Gyo is, is a strong enough anchor, a feeling or a motivation that drives you that is enough to sustain your willpower. (While in universe the idea is more philosophical, trained soldiers being told “think of something that motivates you”, this is more literal than they think. Gyo’s current anchor is wrath, that is why his sword which is known for its gruesome owners, attached itself to him. You could see the wrath as a fingerprint scan, if he did not have it, the sword would not work for him. A person’s anchor can also switch, which Gyo’s will, eventually, to his need to protect, and it will cause trouble with his sword and I assume some of the ways his other abilities have worked for him in the past)

The different Levels soldiers can be classified as are defined by a combination of these abilities, since each of them have multiple levels (from lesser to higher control over your body, stronger elemental magic and so on). So, to reach Level A you need Skill A Ability Score 1, Skill B Ability Score 1, Skill C Ability Score 1 while reaching a higher Level requirement might look more like Skill A Ability Score 2 Skill B Ability Score 3 Skill C Ability Score 6. So, a test that would allow you to reach the next Level would test how high your Ability Scores in each Skill are and see where that lands you. So even if your Levels are Skill A Ability Score 6 and Skill B Ability Score 6 if you do not have Ability Score 6 in Skill C you will not reach that higher Level. Gyo probably has all Skills maxed out (except healing but that one is counted separately since the army knows most soldiers will not reach high Ability Scores here).

But like I said, this Grade System is army specific. In another job field requirements might look more for skills that help you read and retain information faster, or specialize in reading other people and putting pleasant emotions out there to influence others.

This also explains Raime’s situation. While they are, from birth on, unable to gain these things that count as army recognized enhancements, they have an ability more on par with those private uses that develop naturally through talent and repetition. They DO technically have enhancements, but they are exclusively social, enhanced emotional intelligence if you will. The ability to read people, not the way the army enhancement works where it is basically a supernatural sense you gain, but more through being able to instinctively read faces and voices and putting together what that means rather than sensing it.

I don’t think this is entirely a class system based on your Level of enhancements, but typically people with enhancements are respected more, more so if they are high skilled in ‘popular’ fields (a soldier Level A will be more respected than a Scientist Level A). There is definitely a certain pressure to gain certain Levels, especially in higher society. If a first born noble does not gain high army Levels they are considered shameful.

#ocs #gyo #noor #raime #gyoverse

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 100

100

Keith was an arsehole. He was being a grumpy arsehole, and he knew it. Shiro had taken to raising his hands in surrender and double checking before creeping out his room. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be a cranky arsehole, but his arm fucking hurt. He didn’t like that Lance had to clean him up. Showering made him fucking yip. He’d come up in a web of bruises, he stupid leg looked messed up. Lance fussed over him without letting show how his moodiness was hurting him. Setting him up on the sofa, his grazed leg was elevated, a pillow under his ankle that rested on the coffee table. Clothing was too much effort, his boyfriend “helped” him with his underwear and his shirt. Keith could work his own fucking shirt and underwear. He wasn’t crippled. He was grazed... and cranky.

In the kitchen Lance was cooking. He’d shopped online, sent Shiro out to collect, then went on a bloody cooking frenzy. Keith wasn’t allowed to help. Kosmo was loving the attention. Lance “accidentally” occasionally dropping little treats. They weren’t really an accident, double not when he’d tell Kosmo to sit before rewarding him. Kosmo was skitzing out over having Lance there. He was running around the apartment, barking and jumping up on the sofa for pats, before taking off again. Keith felt brain dead. Bored to tears... and not allowed to work.

Hearing the kettle click, Keith perked up in the hopes of coffee... then Lance carried the kettle over to the pot he had on the stove, whisking the hot water in. What a waste. That hot water could have been another cup of coffee. He’d only had three...

“Aren’t you done yet? And can I have another coffee?”

“I’ve done a enough meals for like two weeks for you and Shiro. There’s different ones. This is for dessert tonight. Don’t tell Hunk, but I prefer custard powder to making egg custard”

That didn’t answer the coffee question. Lance was acting like a housemaid. They’d told each other they loved each other, and now Lance had cleaned the whole fucking apartment up. Aired it... Taken up permanently residency in the kitchen while the washing was in the machine. He was still in his boxers and shirt, if he was going to walk around looking sexy, he could at least be over snuggling Keith and looking sexy

“Do we need dessert tonight?”

“I’m making extra. Coran’s going to bring over some blood, so I thought I’d send some dessert back for him and Allura. And some for Mami...”

Apparently they needed dessert... Lance paid for all the ingredients, then tried to pay Shiro for the fuel he’d used picking them up. He’d been up before him to make breakfast and hadn’t stopped since

“You’re making me dizzy watching you”

“Well, once all the prep is done we won’t have to cook properly for a couple of days... that means more cuddle time”

“So you’re using your worry to be constructive?”

“Pretty much. You’re supposed to be resting”

“I’m grazed...”

“And I’m panicked. I need to work through this, so my head shuts up about nearly losing you”

Keith huffed. They’d had sexy times and cuddles, Lance was alright until the shower

“You didn’t nearly lose me”

Lance sighed dramatically

“Tell that to my fucking anxiety”

“I am. And you. Can I please have another coffee? I need it to keep up with you”

Lance laughed. He should be over cuddled into Keith laughing, not in the kitchen

“Yep. As soon as I’m done whisking this. I’ve got lunch ready too, and a roast ready for dinner”

“You do know Shiro has work right? That he won’t be here for dinner?”

“That’s why I’ll place his in the fridge for when he gets the chance. I’m making dinner for you... and me... but for us... because, you know, I blew my romantic evening by telling you I love you last night and stuff”

Well. Fuck. He couldn’t be grumpy with Lance when he was going to this much trouble

“Shouldn’t I be helping?”

“Nope. Your job is to rest and recover”

Aaaaand now he was grumpy again

“I’m sick of resting. I don’t even know what I’m watching anymore”

“Do you want your laptop or your phone?”

“Can I have my camera?”

“As long as you’re not planning on walking in around on that leg”

“Where am I supposed to be walking too?”

“I don’t know, but I know you’re terrible at sitting still”

He was. They both knew he was. Lance had fussed when he’d wanted to go to the bathroom unsupervised

“That’s because I’m bored”

“And cranky. Don’t forget your cranky”

“Thanks, babe. Like I totally needed reminding”

Lance shrugged. He was acting worse than when Keith fell off the roof... Lance needed to destress... maybe he could him into his lap and distract him into sitting still... or at least staying in his lap for half an hour without running off... that seemed a good plan to him. They had the whole place to themselves

“Happy to help. Okay. My custard is whisked. I’ll get that coffee and your camera now”

Managing to get Lance into his lap when Lance brought his red camera and laptop over, his boyfriend ignored his subtle hints. Keith had started tugging on Lance’s earlobe when the washing machine rang out and Lance was off again. He was going to have to be proactive about this. Proactive and provocative.

Taking the risk and getting off the sofa, he put Kosmo in Shiro’s room, before hobbling back to the sofa and shimmying off his boxers, and cringing as he stripped his shirt. Trying to lay “sexily” across the sofa, it was either bad side down and in pain, or bad side up and bandages showing. On his back, he looked a bit lame, dick half hard, and too long for the sofa... drawing a knee up, he failed at looking casual. Trying to roll, he was semi stuck to the sofa...

“Um... what are you doing?”

Caught in the act, Keith sighed in defeat with a heavy blush in his cheeks. His boyfriend standing over the end of the sofa staring down at him

“Trying to look sexy... but I’m not sure I got it right”

Lance pursed his lips, the bastard shaking

“Stop laughing”

“I’m sorry! But babe... you look like you’re constipated and you’re...”

“Fuck you”

“I’m sorry... I should have noticed when you were trying to get my attention”

“You could have said something”

“I thought you were squirming because you were uncomfortable. Not because you’re frustrated and horny”

Keith huffed. His plan had failed. He’d failed to be sexy

“Forget it. You didn’t need to fucking laugh. I feel stupid enough as it is”

Lance’s smile fell completely

“No, no. Hey. I would love nothing more than to get dicked down by you”

“But?”

“But I don’t think the sofa is the best environment with how uncomfortable you look”

“I was trying to look sexy”

“You are sexy... even when you’re constipated. Why don’t we head to your bedroom?”

“Because...”

There was something naughty about doing it on the sofa that his mind had fixated on. All he’d wanted was Lance to sit down, but his dick had taken hold of this thought and now he just wanted to fuck his boyfriend on the sofa... and he kind of wanted to watch Lance sit on the coffee table and prep himself like he’d prepped himself with his fingers last night

“... I kind wanna do it here”

“You know Coran’s coming over later”

“Yep”

“And you’re feeling horny enough that you wanna do it now?”

“Pretty much”

“With the risk of getting caught”

“Yep”

“This is a terrible plan, Keith Kogane... I’ll check the door’s locked”

“Or you could leave it unlocked and join me down here...”

Lance swallowed hard, nodding quickly

“Or I could do that...”

“Mmm... now come down here”

Keith wouldn’t admit that Lance was right about the sofa being a poor choice. He wanted Lance under him, but his stupid leg didn’t it like... His dick might have been up, but it took a while to finally get into, around the pain and discomfort. He felt pretty defeated. Switching positions, Lance straddled his lap, Keith’s leg once again stretched out and propped up on the coffee table with a pillow under his ankle, guiding himself down, until Keith was buried inside him completely. How Lance fitted him up there would always be one of the great mysteries of the universe

“I’m going to start moving now, lemme know if it hurts”

“Mhmm...”

Keith was more transfixed in watching Lance than the front door. Reverse cowgirl wasn’t a common thing... well, not like this... behind was... but this was hot... putting him more in the mood than he’d been seeing he could watch Lance ride him. Like really watch him... the way his butt wobbled and hips rolled. He could watch Lance’s wobbly butt all day... pain be fucked... he was going to come. Rocking upwards, Lance mewed, Keith grabbing him by the hips, completely ignoring his body’s protests

“Keith... someone’s coming... fuck... slow down...”

He wasn’t quite wired to stop now that he was actually progressing from the duddest sex they’d tried to have

“Don’t you dare stop”

“They’re... shit... stop... they’re outside the door... agh! No... no... Mhmm... Keith... don’t... I’m going to come...”

“You’re going to have to do better if you don’t want them to hear you”

“I... can’t... Keith... shit... Keith... come on...”

Lance tensed and clenched hard around him as Coran knocked on the door

“Hang on, I’m coming!”

And he was. Literally. Lance clenching around him in fear of being sprung pushed him over. Pain mixed with pleasure, Lance was going to be mad, but he was pretty sure he’d pulled a muscle and upset the bandages thrusting up. Sliding out his lap, Lance wobbled, hand covering his junk. Keith panted...

“Babe...?”

“We need to get cleaned up”

“Did you come?”

Lance looked back at him, eyes guilty. Nope... Lance didn’t need to feel guilty because they’d taken so long to work out a position... They were both horny and clumsy, wanting each other too much to brain

“Babe?”

“I told you he was coming...”

“Coran won’t be mad... here, let me finish you...”

“I told you...”

Keith lifted his arms out

“Come here...”

“We need to get dressed”

“Just, stop being responsible for a moment. Come here. I’ll suck you off”

“I’ll take care of it”

“Babe... it’s fine”

“It’s not fine! I’m supposed to be looking after you, not riding you! I’ll get some pants”

Ouch. Now he was starting to actually feel guilty... but Lance shouldn’t have told him to “come on” if he didn’t want to finish as much as Keith had

“Babe...”

“Don’t... I... I’ll be back”

Whelp. He was in trouble with his boyfriend. Lance disappeared into the bedroom. Everything hurt as Keith pulled himself off the sofa, hobbling hunched over to the kitchen to dump the condom in the trash. Shuffling through to his room, Lance was pulling his clothes on. Sinking down gingerly on the end of the bed, Lance folded him

“You’re supposed to be resting on the sofa”

“Ba-... I thought it’d be easier to get dressed in here”

“You’re in pain! You were supposed to have your meds with lunch”

It didn’t matter if his meds were a little late, it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be a good boy and take them

“It’s fine”

“It’s not fine! You can’t even stand up. Fuck. Sit down. I’ll let Coran. He’s going to know...”

Lance went to brush past him, Keith grabbing him by the wrist

“It doesn’t matter if Coran knows. We’re adults and we’re in a relationship. Take a breath”

“He’s waiting in the hall”

“And he’ll understand. Babe. Hey, being angry isn’t going to change things”

“I wasn’t going... I told myself... I told myself I’d take care of you... then I jumped into your lap... when you’re this fucking hurt!”

“So I can’t be horny? I can’t want my boyfriend when he’s walking around the apartment barely dressed?”

“I should have said no... you’re in pain...”

He’d totally brought that on himself... but the pain was kind of worth it. They’d had more sex at night than during the day. He liked being able to see Lance’s slim body completely. Crap. If he kept this up he’d been ready for round two... Lance looked so fucking beautiful naked. He was beautiful all of the time. Probably hands down the most beautiful person he’d ever met

“And I wanted to have sex...”

“And now you can’t even stand upright! I hurt you!”

Worth it. Absolutely worth it to feel connected with the man he loved

“You didn’t hurt me. Look, I know you’re mad at me now... but it’s okay”

Lance shook his head, he knew his boyfriend treasured him but this was going too far

“It’s not... I’m not supposed to be...”

“Not supposed to be happy and fool around?”

“Not when it hurts you... I...”

“You love me. Look, if Coran says anything, I’ll tell the truth that I’m the one who wanted to. Take a breath and calm down”

Lance’s pants had a very obvious tent that Keith was trying to be tactful about. Hiccuping, Lance then sniffled, free hand rubbing his eyes with his fist

“I can’t, okay! I can’t... I can’t calm down”

“Then let me finish you...”

“But...”

But nothing. He’d been too horny to stop and Lance deserved to come too. They’d probably spent time arguing than it would have taken for him to blow his boyfriend

“Coran go fuck himself if makes a deal out of this. You’re my boyfriend. It’s my fault you’re worked up. Let me help”

“But...”

“Babe. You’re allowed to live a little. What we do is no one’s business. Coran will understand. I can lie if you like”

Lance deflated, leaning down to hug him with his free arm

“No... fuck... but we have to be quick and quiet”

Lance wouldn’t last long, not with how enthusiastic he’d been in Keith’s lap. Keith was sure he’d make him come, then Lance would see that a few more moments wasn’t such a bad deal

“Come here, you”

Sitting in the living room, Lance opened the windows before opening the door. Face flushed and adorable. Keith trying to pretend nothing had happened

“Sorry Coran, Lance was trying to help me get dressed”

Coran let them off. Lance’s scent hang in the air, the old fae would have put two and two together

“That’s alright. I see you had quite the accident there”

He was in shorts. He didn’t even know he owns actual shorts until Lance pulled them out. Leg propped up again. Lounge in reasonable order, though his underwear, and Lance’s, were stuffed down between the cushions. Keith hand resting on the gap to make sure they were completely hidden

“It’s not much. I don’t know suppose you know what happened to my bike?”

Lance huffed, as he walked over to the kitchen. He needed to remember not to dismiss his injuries, even if he’d had worse. The hunter felt he kind of deserved a medal for how patient he’d been about his bike

“I called around until I found where it’d been towed, then arranged to have it delivered. We’ll have one of our technicians take a look”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for what happened”

“Nonsense. Bikes can be replaced, you cannot, my dear boy. Now where’s Kosmo?”

Shit... Kosmo wasn’t going to be happy about shut away. Provided he hadn’t chewed anything too valuable the puppy’s cuteness should save him...

“He’s in Shiro’s room... I had to shut him away... because he keeps getting under my feet”

Coran smiled happily, walking towards Shiro’s bedroom door. Keith couldn’t take his eyes off the bag with him... suspicious of the contents

“I’ll let him out now, Lance, I don’t suppose you happened to be making tea?”

Craning his head to watch his boyfriend, instead of Coran and the bag of mystery, Keith bit down his smile. Lance was adorable. Adorably flustered, and very much not meeting his gaze, yet a far better view

“Yep. I’ll bring it over in a minute. Thanks for coming over. Keith doesn’t know the meaning of resting”

It’s not his fault Lance was walking around in his boxer briefs and hiding his sexy behind the kitchen bench. Thankfully Coran didn’t know what he was thinking about

“I’ve given him a weeks sick leave, full pay, and Krolia had been told. She was most upset. I thought perhaps maybe you’d be able to reassure her. No great hurry, she’s talked to Shiro. Shiro mentioned something about you not being too happy”

“That’s because it sucks... What am I supposed to do for a week?”

Lance slammed one of the cups down a tad to hard purposely on the kitchen counter. Oops. He shouldn’t complain because Lance was there, but work was interesting again. He was making a difference in a small way. He hadn’t saved anyone, but no one had been turned on his watch and that was a huge win. Coran cleared his throat

“Actually. About that... I wanted to have a little talk with the pair of you. Let’s wait until the tea is brewed. I’ve brought some goodies with me...”

Lance clicked his fingers, acting like he’d forgotten something. Keith so close to hearing what was in the bag. He wanted to know... Stupid Lance

“I’ve got dessert to send back with you for you and Allura. Have you had lunch?”

“I’ve eaten... but perhaps there’s room for a few biscuits. By the smell of it you’ve been baking...”

Lance gave a fake laugh. Keith didn’t know biscuits had been baked... Hopefully his tyrannical nurse would be kind enough to share

“You know me too well. Okay, go ahead and let Kosmo out, we’ll have to mind he doesn’t get at the snacks. He’s probably torn Shiro’s room to shreds”

Keith noticed how Coran sat on the blanket on the sofa, instead the sofa itself. Kosmo wet himself in excitement, Lance mopping up the floor before finally bringing the tea and biscuits over, then doubling back for Keith’s coffee, lunch, and medication

“Pills before food”

“Yes, mum”

His boyfriend still wouldn’t look at him. Now it was getting annoying, but that was forgiven when Lance sat down next to him, careful not to bump his grazes. Sitting so he was facing Coran and Keith, Keith was reminded of the fact they needed another sofa instead of the three of them being forced to face the TV.

Deciding enough time had passed, at least in Lance time, Keith still trying to figure out if he wanted a biscuit or his sandwiches first, his boyfriend asked

“Soooo... you said you had something to talk to me about?”

Setting his cup of tea down, Coran finally pulled something out the bag. The envelope thick and dull looking. That was hardly exciting at all. Aside from a few blood bags, he didn’t know what Coran would have packed otherwise, making the mysterious bag boring

“Ah! Yes! Now, your probationary period is coming to an end next month. In light of recent events and Lotor’s particular fondness, the Blades wish to recruit you on a temporary basis”

Oh get fucked. Not happening. Nope. No. No way. Lance wasn’t a hunter. He was his idiot crumpet who wanted to work on his own life. He had clients and cases, Keith answering for him

“Not happening”

Coran tilted his head, fingers going up to okay with the end of his moustache

“I assure you...”

Nope. Just nope

“Lance isn’t a hunter”

Coran shifted, his words coming hesitantly, gaze falling to the envelope. Keith felt the need to set the envelope on fire

“No... but I was speaking with Lotor and in light of recent events... I believe Lance learning how to protect himself is important. Lotor has offered to assist in helping him”

“Lance has a life in Garrison. He doesn’t need to be pulled into all of this crap”

It was safer not to be a vampire in Platt right now

“There’s no pressure to agree. I already protested this to Kolivan. As you know we simply do not enough people where they need to be. Lance blends into that community”

“Lance would like to remind you both that Lance is here. Keith’s right. I’m not a hunter. And it’s not just me I need to consider here. There’s Matt, Rieva and Curtis think of, as well as Pidge and Hunk, plus their families. I’m not a hunter but I need to be there to protect them”

He didn’t get a mention? What about how he felt about Lance being in danger? His boyfriend sounded cranky, which he shouldn’t be seeing Keith’s sinuses were still burning. Coran sighed softly. It had to be hard for him

“I understand. I know Matt has been working on Curtis’s curse. I caught your last video also. At the very least, please read through the documents I brought. Then you’ll be able say you made your decision after careful consideration. I would prefer you not be in danger... though Lotor is the only other vampire I could let you train with... Even it’s only once, it could be an invaluable experience for you”

Lotor would use Lance up and throw him away. He also hadn’t forgotten the threat against his precious puppy. Narti hadn’t saved him, Zethrid and Ezor had. She still rubbed him the wrong way. They all did. He’d seen Lotor and Allura all giggling and felt compelled to shoot Loturd in the head in the name of community service

“We both know he’d kicked my arse to next year rather than let me beat him. What can teach me?”

“I believe he may be able to help with your bat problem. Training with Keith has certain advantages, however, you know Keith wouldn’t hurt you. That fear is not there, and your emotions weigh a lot on your transformation. If you can find a way to channel those feelings, then perhaps you’ll stop randomly turning. I can’t use the Blade werewolves due to their missions. I would like someone who you’d be on even ground with if you let your ego slip”

Lance placed his tea down, before placing his hand on Keith’s knee. His boyfriend trying to ask him for comfort, and maybe some one to accept his words?

“Coran. I can’t. If I let go of my ego, I might as well through everything away. I love Keith. I’m in love with Keith. I’m terrified with his line of work, but he knows what he’s doing most of the time, and I don’t think I can contribute anything helpful”

Coran mentioning ego meant that he thought something big might happen. Coran was proud of how tightly Lance kept his ego reined in. He didn’t go around telling him to let it loose and go crazy. Keith felt all weirdly warm in his chest as his heart went funny at Lance loving him. Coran didn’t back down

“I’m not saying to Lotor’s extent. But your ego has definitely changed to match the changes in your body. I have seen these changes in you. Seen you mature. Watched over you from that small and scared boy, into the wonderful man you are today. I refuse to use you as a pawn, or a tool, nor do I want you to see combat. I only ask that you read what they have give you”

“I’ll read it... but, I don’t think I want to. I’m too emotional and I remember too much. I can maybe look at data and analyse it, or help with legal things, but as for hunting, that’s not my place”

Lance could be a fine hunter if he wanted to, but his boyfriend felt too much as he’d said. Each wrong mission or person lost would stay with Lance and his caring heart

“That’s perfectly fine. I did say I would talk to you, not that I’d make you agree. Now, I also brought a couple of other things with me. Let’s get those out the way, then I’m afraid I have to head back. A faes’ work is never done”

Coran stayed another half hour. He’d brought jigsaw puzzles, magazines, snacks, and blood. His bag of mystery was kind of mysterious as it didn’t look like it should be able to hold all of that. Lance was lost in his head for the most part, clearly thinking about the offer. Keith had forgotten his probation period of six months would be coming to an end, thought if it was six months instead of 12 that was a good sign that they didn’t find him a threat. Seeing Coran out, Lance came back, throwing himself down on the sofa with a sigh

“You don’t have to say yes”

Snorting, his boyfriend smiled at him, before drawing his legs up and resting his head against Keith’s shoulder

“I know I don’t”

“But?”

“But I would like to figure out how to “unbat” faster. And maybe how to be a bat when I am one. I can’t even fly”

“We could get you a tiny harness and you could ride Kosmo around”

“Or I could just stop turning... Never mind that. I don’t see why the Blade would want me around”

“Because you’re smart? And you know the city?”

“More like because Lotor is a douche”

“That’s true... What do you want to do?”

Lance sighed as he took Keith’s hand in his

“I stayed out of that world for a good reason, but now I have a better reason for helping. I want to be able to support you, even if I don’t know how to do that other than being here for you”

Such a Lance answer. Keith’s heart going all weird as he felt fuzzy... but that could be the pain meds kicking in

“You being there for me is all the support I need”

“I know... but... I want this case to hurry up and end before people get hurt. I want to stop randomly getting heat flashes and have control of myself again. I want to know I’m not going to wake up to another phone call in the middle of the night. I don’t want you or Shiro to be hurt. It makes me question my whole... outlook, I guess. I stayed away because I didn’t want to be like those other vampires with their queens and covens and shit. I could have spent my time learning more about them, but I spent my time living carefully and that was all I needed. Now I have a man I love, that runs towards that danger that everyone runs away from and I want to understand”

Keith squeezed Lance’s hand

“You’re fine the way you are. You’re safer on the outside. I don’t think I could recover if something happened to you”

Lance rubbed his cheek against Keith’s shoulder affectionately

“And I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to you”

“It won’t... before you bring up the accident, accidents happen every day. I’m not very good at being hurt or ill...”

“I noticed”

Snorting at his boyfriend, Keith supposed he had been a bit of an arsehole

“I’m sorry. I do appreciate you here, but you’re not my maid. You’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to make meals for me and Shiro”

“I just needed something to do with my hands. I learned it from Hunk. He bakes a lot when he’s stressed”

“He does seem the type. Are you going to look at the documents?”

“Yeah, but I don’t... I don’t think I’ll say yes. I mean, I want to help and I feel kind of obligated too seeing they haven’t killed me or sentenced me to death. But then I think about the others. Matt’s been holing himself up in his room, I think he’s been talking to Rieva’s parents about European werewolf culture. I don’t want to get Curtis’s hopes up about finding a way to severe the demon from him”

“I’m still shocked they managed to perform magic in the first place”

“I know right! I mean... there’s just so many things we don’t know. Do you think they’ll be mad if I don’t help?”

“Kolivan might be, but mum will understand”

Keith didn’t realise what he’d just said, Lance tilting his head to up to smile up at him

“What?”

“Oh, nothing much. Anyway, I’ve got to put dinner on. You should call Krolia and let her know she doesn’t need to come break in and make sure you’re okay”

Keith snorted. He could picture his mother letting herself in. He’d probably be in the bathroom then come out to a mini heart attack at her in the living room

“It’s probably a bad sign when you can picture that. I’ll send her a message, just because you asked me too”

“Mmm... Okay. Then can we do one of Coran’s puzzles? I want to do something brainless”

“We could go to bed?”

Why was he getting horny again? He should be in too much pain to be horny

“That’s enough of you. We’re lucky Coran said nothing. I don’t think my undead heart could take the embarrassment. You pick the puzzle and I’ll put the roast in the oven”

Keith kissed Lance’s forehead

“Okay, babe. I love you”

“I love you, too”

#oncebittentwicestupid #once bitten twice stupid #mpreg #vampire lance #human keith #bottom lance #top keith #ashratherose

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dwaynepride · 5 years ago

Text

Today Or Yesterday

CHAPTER 3

Summary: It’s been five long days of working the case. When reader and Gibbs finally get a solid lead, things don’t turn out as hoped.

Words: 3,025

Warnings: gunshot-related injuries

Notes: thank u for all the support this series has been getting!! im really happy yall are enjoying it

Part 2 Part 4

Five days into the assignment, and you weren’t quite used to working in an actual office yet. The transition from cubicles to street music did take a bit of time to get used to - the New Orleans office was unlike any other federal building you’ve ever seen. But being back in the Naval Yard, surrounded by constantly ringing phones and orange walls and coldly polite agents who only talked about whatever is important to the case...you were missing home. Missing your team. Missing Dwayne.

Bishop and McGee were great. And it was nice to be around Ducky and Abby again. But it was hard not to compare them to your friends in New Orleans. They just reminded you that you weren’t home.

Fortunately, the case itself was keeping you busy enough so you can’t think about the team and Dwayne. Days were spent piling through old cases files and witness testimonies and chasing leads that went nowhere. By the time you got back to your hotel, you were just too tired to be homesick.

But not nearly exhausted enough to forget about Gibbs and the situation with him.

Over the last five days, neither of you have spoken to each other outside of what was necessary for the case. You asking him if you could take one of his agents with you somewhere, or Gibbs consulting you about a little detail here and there. And as much as you wanted to tell yourself that it was okay, it still hurt how he never really met your eyes.

Despite the environment and the homesickness and Gibbs, the work of the case had you running around all day. Down to autopsy for insight on the murder weapon, then to Abby for test results, and now staying glued in the bullpen to fish for a new lead. Jumping between McGee and Bishop’s desks and not paying much attention to anything else. Especially not Gibbs coming out of the elevator and making his way over.

“Yes, ma’am.....no, ma’am....” you mumble into Bishop’s phone. Come on, just hang up, you got other things to do. “Thanks for your help, ma’am. I’ll call back if I need anything else.” As if.

You quickly hang up the phone before the woman on the other side tried to drag out the conversation and you swiftly turn on your heel back toward McGee’s desk. But you weren’t counting on Gibbs being right there - you crash into him from the side, the styrofoam cup of coffee getting knocked from his hang and falling to the ground, instantly staining the carpet black.

You step away from Gibbs instantly, staring at the spilled coffee, mouth falling open to apologize. But the Marine is on you instantly, and when your gaze rises to his, there’s nothing but anger in his hard eyes. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?” He snaps out, hand shaking to rid it of spilled coffee.

Immediately, any impulse to apologize dies down, and rage takes its place. You square your shoulders up at Gibbs; what the hell was his problem? “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not like I’m running around, doing fifty different things to try and find us a lead!”

“How about you let my agents worry about finding a lead,” Gibbs barks back. And when he takes a step closer, trying to seem intimidating, you don’t back away. You stopped being intimidated by him a long time ago. “We were doing just fine without you!”

Your hands curl into fists, and for a brief moment, there’s an impulse to lash out and slap that angry look off his face. As if he’s totally justified in being so pissed off. But before either of you could do or say anything, a soft, familiar voice says Gibbs’ name.

The both of you look over, and Abby is standing on the edge of the bullpen with McGee by her side. His eyes avert away instantly, but Abby keeps her sheepish look. Gaze switching nervously between you and Gibbs, wondering what to do next. It’s not until he utters a sharp “what” do they both scurry over. McGee is still having trouble looking up, but to her credit, Abby’s looking both you and Gibbs in the eye. She’s never been the type to shy away from Gibbs when he was angry, and still, you can’t help but admire her fortitude. She was no less scared of Jethro than you were.

“Uh, McGee and I have been combing through the suspect’s phone, looking at emails and text messages and phone calls...” Gibbs starts nodding his head - a sigh for Abby to get to the point. She chances a glance to McGee before continuing. “We found a number to an old motel just outside of town. I called, and they said they’ve rented a room to a man matching the description of our guy.”

Instantly, Gibbs moves past Abby toward his desk. “McGee, call Bishop and Torres. Tell them where we’re going, and to meet us there,” he spouts, getting behind his desk and grabbing his gun.

“Yes, Boss,” McGee replies, and he hastily walks off with Abby in tow.

You watch them leave, glance to Gibbs, and then walk off towards your little desk in the corner to retrieve your coat and gun. Finally - a solid lead. Actual witnesses, and he didn’t even know you and the team were coming. And yet, the small amount of excitement that started rising in your stomach died out when you heard Gibbs speak up: “What the hell are you doing?”

The coat was half-on. A single arm pulled through the sleeve when you looked up in surprise. And with a deep frown, you tugged the rest of your coat on before facing Gibbs. “I’m coming with you guys,” you answer him plainly. As if you wouldn’t tag along on the biggest break-through in years.

But Gibbs started shaking his head. Padded out from behind his desk and turned to walk away toward the elevator. “No, you aren’t. You’re staying here and-”

“Dammit, Jethro!” Your loud shout froze him. Whirled him around to face you, and for the second time in just five minutes, the heat of his glare hit you hard. But now, you were just as pissed as he was - trying to keep you here, as if you were just an observer on this case. “Vance brought me here to help. I’m not a member of this team, not anymore. You can’t boss me around, and you can’t tell me I’m not coming along to arrest this guy. I’m going, whether you like it or not.”

The words just spilled out without you meaning them to. And you knew, somewhere deep down, that yelling and reminding Gibbs that you weren’t his to boss around would only make things worse. But he just had this way of pushing you and saying things that pissed you off. And you remember clearly that behavior as one of the things that made the relationship hard, at times.

He stands there for a moment, glaring hard until he finally sighs, and you can see him give in. “Fine, but you follow my orders,” Gibbs says, his voice tense.

Of course that’s the ultimatum. “Fine.”

The ride to the motel was long. Quiet. Insanely tense, and not even Torres and his quips helped with that. It was a relief to finally step out of the car, even if the view made you pause.

When Abby said the motel was old, she wasn’t kidding. It looked like the type of place you wouldn’t want to walk around at night; dirty walls, dull paint job, dark hallways in the middle of the day. A window in one of the rooms was busted, and the only effort to fix it is with a trash bag and some duct tape. If the suspect was looking for a lowkey place to hide out, he chose a pretty good spot.

Abby had gotten the room number over the phone, so when Bishop pointed it out, Gibbs immediately made his way towards it. The team follows, and as your hand reaches to settle on your gun, Gibbs glances at you over his shoulder before motioning with his head to the corner of the building. “Go around back. Cover the bathroom window,” he orders lowly.

You stop instantly. The reflex to argue comes up, and you quickly snuff it out and huff, turning and making your way to the side of the building without another word. It’s not worth another fight; not right now. You just wanted this case wrapped up so you can get back to New Orleans. Back to Dwayne.

The back of the motel is no more prettier than the front. A long stretch of wire fence, interlaced with weeds and grass. Debris and trash litter the ground, despite the fact there’s a dumpster several yards away (though, to be fair, it doesn’t look like it’s been used lately.) After a quick glance around the area, you turn and set yourself in front of the window.

Even from the back, you hear when Torres knocks the door down, followed by Gibbs shouting “NCIS!” in the room. And you can’t help but stiffen. Hoping this guy tries to jump out the window so you know he isn’t shooting at Jethro or any of the others. He was a pretty dangerous guy, so the possibility is there.

But nobody tries escaping. The bathroom door opens, and that tells you the room was empty. Dammit.

With a frustrated huff, you turn to start making your way back around the building. But a noise stops you in your tracks, head swiveling around to where you just stood. The noise had come from the dumpster. Much too big to be a raccoon. If it’d been an animal, you definitely would’ve heard it by now.

Slowly, with silent steps, you circle around the dumpster to get a better look. You don’t dare to breathe, and it doesn’t occur to you to call for back-up.

In hindsight, maybe you should have. Because after another foot or two, you find that the noise came from the man you were here to arrest. He stands as soon as you’re in his line of sight, and for a split second, it’s a little daunting that such a prolific killer - a man who’s gotten away with murder for years - was standing right there.

But the hesitation was only slight. “NCIS, hands up!”

The words were out, but your weapon wasn’t. Before you can even get it out of the holster, the man had his arm outstretched towards you. He was holding something small and black....it wasn’t until that small, black object flashed and a loud noise snapped through the air did you realize it was a gun, and he’d just fired it at you.

A sharp, hot pain exploded in the middle of your thigh. A pain so strong, so intense, you fell to the ground and let out a scream. Faintly, the sound of footsteps running against gravel could be heard, but you were much too focused of the piercing, unbearable pain spreading through your leg. And when you look at it, even though your hands are gripping your thigh, the sight of deep red blood has you closing your eyes tight.

You can’t seem to focus on anything. Not calling for help. Not speaking through the mic in your ear. The only thing your body could decide on was squeezing your thigh and writhing back and forth in the dirt.

But Gibbs didn’t need you to call out for him. He heard the gunshot, and he was the first to reach you. Your limbs are going numb, and not in a good way. But even then, you feel his hands on your thigh. Removing yours and replacing them with his own, and the action has you opening your eyes to look at him.

And for the first time since getting to DC, Jethro isn’t looking at you with anger or some cold indifference. He’s concerned. Scared, even. And you don’t know whether or not that’s supposed to make you feel better. Maybe it shouldn’t, because judging from how Gibbs seems to feel about you now, he wouldn’t look so worried if he thought the wound wasn’t serious.

“Stay awake, alright? Medics are on their way.”

You hear his voice. Understand his words. But you were starting to lose feeling just about everywhere, even the gunshot wound that Gibbs was leaning his entire weight on. And the last you see before everything goes black are those pale blue eyes.

Everything seemed so....heavy when you woke up. Your head. Your limbs. Especially your eyelids, because it seemed damn-near impossible to open your eyes, despite being very awake. But despite the weight of sleep pulling on your very bones, the uncomfortable stiffness of your leg is almost immediately noticed. Very sore and mostly bound with bandages to the point where moving it was out of the question.

It took a few more attempts before your eyes finally open. Blinking against the light, but at least you succeeded in something. Though, opening your eyes and catching a murderer were leagues and leagues apart.

Somewhere on your right, the page of a magazine is flipped. The noise startles you, even if it was small and coming from Gibbs lounging back in a chair. The sight him just sitting there, not even looking up from the magazine that he’s holding far away from him, makes you think you might be dreaming. “Jethro?” You asked, voice hoarse and it shocks you.

He just nods once, finally closing that damn magazine and looking up to you. His own eyes blink a couple times; his eyesight must be getting worse. “How do you feel?”

“Uh, stiff. Sore.” You try to move the injured leg, but all that happens is a jolt of pain making you wince.

Again, Jethro nods once. “Bullet nicked an artery, so the doctors had to do a lot of stitching. Ambulance came just in time; it was a close call,” he explains. When you look to him, you find his eyes flickering up from your leg.

Yeah, you remember him on top of you. Hands on your leg, trying desperately to slow the bleeding. He obviously succeeded. The knowledge makes your eyes drop away from his. “You saved me,” you mumble out.

Gibbs is silent for a heartbeat. “Of course, I did. You think I’d just let you die?”

No. No, you didn’t. Despite the tension and anger between you two, Jethro was a good man. An even better agent. The thought of him letting you bleed out just because you annoyed him wasn’t even on your radar. You were still just reeling from everything that’s happened.

After a few moment, Gibbs suddenly stands up and fishes into his pocket. Pulls out his old dinosaur of a phone and hands it over. When you blink at it and look up in confusion, he motions with it. “King’s been calling over and over. He’s worried sick; you should call.”

Dwayne was worried. That fact that you didn’t even think to call him until now made you guilty, but you take the phone from Gibbs. He walks across the room while you dial the number, and Dwayne answers on the second ring. “Gibbs? You got news on Y/N?”

“Hey, Dwayne. It’s me.”

Instantly, he lets out a hard sigh of relief. Dwayne takes a second to say something to someone; you assume he’s relaying the news to the team. The thought makes you smile, but hearing his voice return only widens it. “Sweetheart, I was worried sick. McGee called and told me what happened. That you were in surgery and nobody knew how bad it was. And even after Gibbs said you were fine, I wasn’t gonna feel any better until I heard it from you.”

If there was ever a moment you desperately wished he were here, it was right now. You can’t help but lean your head against Jethro’s phone, as if that somehow makes you closer to him. “I’m fine, just a little sore. Nothing some TLC can’t fix.” Dwayne’s cooking would be better than any medicine the hospital could give you.

“Funny you say so, ‘cause I’m flyin’ up to DC tonight.”

Instantly, the smile vanishes from your face. Your eyes move up to look at Gibbs across the room, wondering if he knew before averting your eyes away. “Dwayne, you don’t have to come up here...”

“Actually, cause you’re outta commission, Vance says y’all need another New Orleans agent up there.” He pauses for a heartbeat. “Plus, yeah; you were shot, baby. I’d be flying up anyway.”

Despite the shock of the news, you smile at his words. Sometimes, his stubborn selflessness was too good to be true. “Alright,” you mumble. “See you when you get here.”

“You will,” Dwayne says. A stern promise before he says goodbye and hangs up.

That’s when Gibbs makes his way back over, taking his phone when you offer it back. And you figure he already knows about Dwayne’s arrival; Vance surely would’ve informed him, by now. Still, you chance a look up at him. “Dwayne’s coming up to help on the case.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Strangely, he doesn’t seem all that excited that his long time friend to coming to DC. That they’ll be working a case together, like the old days that Dwayne used to tell you about whenever Jethro was brought up. And now, you’re too tired to ask him about the lack of enthusiasm. Evidently, five minutes was too long to stay awake, in your condition.

Gibbs notices how your eyes flicker with exhaustion. “Go on. Go back to sleep,” he urges. And if sleep hadn’t been pulling so hard, the way his hand feels on your arm when he gives it a small pat would’ve felt a lot stronger than it did. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And you trusted him on that. After all, he did just save your life.

#ncis imagine #ncis new orleans x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #dwayne pride x reader #ncis nola x reader

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spaceclefairy · 5 years ago

Text

The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Ch. 3

Pairing: Michael de Santa/ OFC; Trevor Philips/OFC; Michael de Santa/OFC/Trevor Philips

Summary: Los Santos is a hellscape, but if you've got brains and a little determination, it can be a real hell of a playground. Michael needs money, Trevor needs whatever Trevor wants, and Franklin's moving up in Los Santos. Jen's just along for the ride.

This is gonna be fun.

Author’s Note: I've been writing this beast of a thing since 2013. It's been through a thousand different incarnations, but it's been in my drafts for the last six years. I realize this fandom isn't as popular as it used to be, but I might as well have a little fun and finally start posting it.

The smut may have skipped this chapter, but fear not, it will return.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

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

Jen had moved to Los Santos precisely six days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes ago. She obviously didn't know that - that would be ridiculous. What she did know was that every minute in the big city was costing her money that she desperately needed to make.

She'd been employed by the Los Santos County District Attorney's office for five of those six days. Being a low-rung ADA didn't pay what anyone who'd wasted seven years in college wanted it to, and she hadn't been assigned to the division she wanted. Property crimes - not even close to where she wanted to be. Putting two-bit hoods and wanna-be career criminals in prison for two to five years? Not the game she wanted to play. They were too easy. She knew all the tricks of the trade, from the run-of-the-mill theft by receiving stolen property (store it in the storage unit and use someone else's code) to real burglaries (second-story window and make your way down). And she oughta know - she'd been a rowdy kid back in the day.

No, property crimes were boring. Drug crimes, even worse. She wanted to do the sexy stuff - major crimes - but that was a long way off. For now, she'd have to deal with thieves and bungled burglaries.

Jen's problem at that point, other than the lack of mental stimulation and mediocre salary, was that she hadn't seen a paycheck yet. The safe parts of Los Santos were expensive, and, yeah, Vespucci Beach was fine, but she didn't want to live there longer than necessary. Fine, her job paid okay (not even close to what private sector lawyers billed) and she had benefits, she just needed to see them.

She could always get a sugar daddy, she supposed. She'd made the San Andreas Switch: dyed her natural carrot-top curls bottle blonde and flattened them out pin-straight, fake tan, and padded Spanx. She'd always been thick, but that horrible slim-thick trend was all the rage right now, and San Andreas as a whole - and more specifically Los Santos - was all about the trends. Her friends in undergrad and law school had sugar daddies, and it worked out just fine for them. Might at well give it a shot.

It was Thursday night in Vinewood Hills - not exactly prime pickings, but Thirsty Thursday was as good a place as any to start. She could probably find a lawyer (they drank every night of the week) or a bored doctor. And it didn't necessarily have to be a sugar daddy either; she'd be just fine calling some old cougar mama if she was dropping the cash.

The District Attorney's office had exactly three other female prosecutors, and they'd very kindly invited her out to Tequi-la-la's with them. Thankfully, after a few lunches and outings, the ladies had mercifully absorbed her into their ranks like an amoeba into a petri dish. They didn't have so much a friendship as they did an impenetrable coalition born out of a necessity to keep male lawyers at spitting distance.

Tequi-la-la's looked like every other Everyman Bar Jen had ever been in. When they arrived at the bar, it was early enough that the environment was still pretty tame. A few people were already toasted, but for the most part, the drink count was hovering around two a person. And it seemed like mostly the late-20's/early-mid-30's crowd was present. No college kids, no creepy old dudes. Just a normal set of borderline alcoholics milling about.

Jen had to say, she thought she looked pretty damn good that night. A viable option for any interested parties at least. Black dress, black heels, meticulously crafted and twisted updo - the works. Nothing she’d ever wear in civilized company or back home in the rural south, but here, with her bleached hair and fake tan, she looked just like everyone else. They were all dressed pretty similarly - short dresses, tall heels, dangly earrings, and tiny handbags. Two of the women, Tammy and Kate, were already married (to each other). Mary Ann was as single as Jen and absolutely ready to put her wingwoman services into action for a mutually beneficial status.

Mary Ann marched up to the bar and returned with a beer for herself and a gin and tonic for Jen. "We usually come here on Thirsty Thursdays because the crowd is a little bit more respectable. If you're looking to get wild, we can walk over to Pitchers later. That's where the party starts on Thursdays."

Jen took a sip of her drink and found that it had been mixed pretty well. "No, this is perfect. I'm exhausted. I'm still adjusting to the time change and the culture shock."

"Oh, believe me," Tammy started, throwing back a shot that Kate had brought back from the bar for her. "You'll get a real hell of a culture shock if we take you to Pitchers. You like gay bars?"

Jen laughed. "I've been to my fair share."

"Well, you'll love it there. Those Southern bars can't touch ours out west."

"Believe me, I already like it better here," Jen said. And despite the struggle and the exhaustion of the past few days, she could truthfully say that she did. It was sunny and hot, but everyone seemed more relaxed.

Mary Ann leaned forward across the table. She'd already finished most of her drink. "Enough about the places we aren't at right now. Let's talk about men and what you're looking for in a… financial benefactor."

Jen snorted, but she answered. "Someone… low maintenance. Late thirties or early forties. I like brunettes, but I won't complain about gray hair. In good shape, but a little thick."

"Good news, then," Kate said. Her eyes cut over Jen's left shoulder. "He's been staring at you since we sat down."

"Yeah, okay," Jen snorted. She stopped laughing when her new drinking buddies didn't mirror the joke. "Wait, really? What's he look like?"

"Exactly what you said," Kate replied, surveying Jen's face in bemusement. "Late thirties, brunette, a little thick. And that's definitely a Ponsonby's suit, so either he went broke trying to look like he's got money, or he's really got money."

"Got a ring on?"

Mary Ann looked over Jen's shoulder, completely unabashed. "Looks like it."

Jen turned just enough to get a good look at him. Just like they said - brunette (though Jen could tell he was starting to go gray), late thirties, built like he probably played high-school football. Definitely wearing an expensive suit and a wedding band. He had a good face, strong and clean-shaven. He caught her looking and tipped his drink at her, smirking.

Jen hummed. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Let's see if he sends a drink over," Kate said, looking over Jen's shoulder again.

"Nah, he has to come over and introduce himself or it's no dice," Tammy said.

Mary Ann snorted. "No one does that anymore."

Kate cut them both off. "I wonder what he does for a living. Definitely not a lawyer - we all look the same, and he doesn’t look like us. Not a doctor either - his hands aren't built for it."

"Actor maybe?" Tammy asked, peering at him. "Or something in film."

"Probably not." Mary Ann motioned for the bartender to bring over another round for her. "Actors and models are a dime a dozen here. Maybe a higher-up."

"Look, he could be a bank robber for all I care," Jen said. She fished the lime out of her drink and popped it in her mouth, chewing gently on the pulpy sections. “As long as I don’t have to call him daddy, I’m good.”

"Well, none of us recognize him, so his record is probably clean. And he's not a cop unless he's FIB or Agency," Mary Ann said with some amount of finality. "Whatever he does, he makes a lot of money doing it."

“The longer you three keep staring, the more he’s going to think he gets to take all four of us home,” Jen said. She dropped the dessicated lime peel back into her empty glass and pushed it to the middle of the table. Any longer and she’d be eating the peel which, being that she had been kindly included by these women she’d only just met, would be even weirder than chewing on the damn thing in the first place. Bad habits and all.

“Oh, no, honey. He’s only got eyes for you,” Mary Ann replied. “You gonna over there?”

Jen supposed she could make the first move. She was pretty forward, usually. Something told her to wait, though. A little bit of give and take, a little bit of a chase - might be pretty fun.

“Why don’t we just have a good time and see what happens, ladies?”

--- --- ---

For the third week in a row, Jen saw the guy across the bar in his usual Thirsty Thursday spot at Tequi-la-la's. Jen had yet to see him get up and walk around, and he only ever spoke to the bartender. He simply enjoyed a couple drinks and left, presumably to head home or maybe go on to the next bar. He'd catch her eye occasionally, wink and tip his drink at her, then finish his drink and leave.

It was… frustrating.

Jen had finally accepted that maybe he was more faithful to his wife than his Thursday night hangout would suggest. Or any of his other hangouts would suggest. Jen had started going out with the ladies almost every night after work to their various rotation of bars. She'd seen him at both Talbots and Koozies already. It was the same situation every time - she'd catch him staring at her ass or her tits or whatever was the most visually available part of her. Yet, he'd just smirk and wink or tip his drink at her. Maybe she just wasn't his type - that was always a possibility. Either way, she was a little disappointed but not disheartened. Plenty more people to pick from here, there, everywhere, and at Pitchers.

Although she wasn't doing much picking. No picking at all, really. She hadn't bothered to take anyone home, didn't give out her number when asked for it. She could tell Mary Ann was tired of playing wingwoman to a woman who wasn't, well, winging it, but she just hadn't been interested in anyone who'd hit on her. They weren't quite what she was looking for; she didn't like the artist types or the actors and models or the businessmen, which left her choices limited. She'd grown up around blue-collar types, so that’s what she preferred.

It wasn't until Jen's fourth Thirsty Thursday out and about that she finally made some progress. It was just Jen and Kate that night (Tammy was stuck at work and Mary Ann had been vomiting profusely all week). Kate didn't stay long, either; she was afraid she'd caught whatever Mary Ann was dealing with, so she made short work of her drink, bid Jen goodbye, and left.

Jen fished the lime out of her drink and popped it in her mouth while she watched Fame or Shame on the TV above the bartender's head. Fuckin' Lazlow - what a dick. She'd met him once when she'd visited Liberty City in undergrad. He was pompous and creepy; he was pushing forty and had still hung around her group of friends at the bar they'd been at.

She'd barely finished her drink before the bartender slid another drink in front of her. She’d already decided to head home, so she tossed the spent lime peel into her first empty glass. "I'm done for tonight, Todd, but thanks."

"It's on the house," Todd replied. "The guy at the end of the bar sends his regards."

“What guy?” Jen asked, knowing full well what guy at the end of the bar was probably sending her a drink. She’d been eye-fucking him for weeks, and he’d definitely noticed. The whole fucking bar had noticed.

“The one who’s been staring at you all night,” Todd replied. “And every night you’ve been here at the same time.”

“Good.” Jen asked. She shifted so her elbows rested on top of the bar. “Any idea who he is?”

“Name’s Michael de Santa - he’s here a lot. No idea what he does, but he swipes that credit card and doesn’t even look at the bill.” Todd leaned against the bar, glancing down at the end where Michael sat. “He doesn’t usually buy women drinks. At least, he’s never done it on my shift.”

“Well, aren’t I just special, then?” Jen snorted. “Yeah, he’s usually in here when I’m here. He’s very… attractive.”

“Why haven’t you just talked to him?”

“It’s all about the chase, my dude,” Jen said, winking. She took a healthy swig of the drink he’d handed her and popped the lime wedge into her mouth. Drink in hand, she strolled over to the end of the bar.

It became very apparent, very quickly that Michael de Santa was an entirely different class of man. Even from the other side of the bar, he looked good. As she drew closer and he was brought into sharper focus, Jen realized he not only looked good, he looked expensive. Slick coif; clean-shaven; crisp suit, perfectly pressed, laundered, and professional. There wasn’t much that could strike her speechless, but he seemed to have figured out how to do without much effort.

Jen sidled up next to him and tipped her drink in his direction. “Gin and tonic - good choice.”

Michael turned to face her, giving her a clean once-over before he even opened his mouth. Yeah, he looked even better up close. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, a little on the thick side. The cologne he wore was subtle and warm, like cinnamon and cloves. She could smell cigar smoke and whiskey on him, and she liked that just fine.

He grinned. “It’s the only thing I’ve seen you drink. Figured it was a pretty safe bet.”

“So, you were paying attention,” Jen replied. She motioned towards the empty seat next to him. “You expecting anybody?”

“Only you, gorgeous,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Have a seat.”

Jen smirked and took a seat next to him. If this was gonna be a one-night stand - and she was definitely taking him home - it was gonna be a good one. If this was going to be something a little more long-term, it was gonna be fun.

Jen took a slow sip of her drink, draining the rest of the glass. His dark eyes followed her tongue as she licked a stray droplet of liquid from the rim. “Got a name, handsome?”

“Michael,” he said simply. “What about you, sweetheart?”

“Jennifer,” she said. She held out her hand for him to take. “You can call me Jen.”

Michael smirked. “You’re not a ‘Jenny’ then?”

Jen forced a smile. “Oh, no, darlin’. Just Jen.”

Michael nodded. He didn’t mention it, but he saw the smile lines around her eyes smooth out when he said ‘Jenny.’ Best not to ask if he wanted the night to go as planned. “Just Jen, then. What do you do with your time, Just Jen?”

She leaned in, the smell of his cologne making her head swim. “I’m a lawyer by day, and I come here to see you at night.”

“Oh, you’re coming here to see me?” Michael mirrored her stance and leaned in. “Well, I’d have said something earlier if I’d known.”

She reached out to pluck at his tie, straightening it at the collar. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s all about the chase for you, huh?”

“All about the chase, Michael.”

He liked the way she said his name, soft and slow. She had a little bit of an accent - not thick enough to be a full-on drawl but there was enough of a lilt to count as an accent. “What makes you wanna chase me?”

Jen shrugged. “You look like a man worth chasing.”

Now, that made him smile. He knew better than that. He was a bad guy - had been a bad guy - but she didn’t know that. Best not to let her find out before the night was over.

Michael finished off his beer and set the empty bottle back on the table. “So what do you do for fun, Just Jen? Other than hang out bars and stare at old men like me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not old.”

“I’m 38.”

“And I’m 25.”

“That’s a little bit of a gap.”

Jen slid in closer to him. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” he replied.

Jen always got particularly annoyed at public displays of affection in bars, but right now, she could certainly see the appeal. She was close enough to him that she could easily close the gap between them and kiss him. By the dark look in his eyes, she guessed Michael wouldn’t have cared if the entire city of Los Santos was watching.

“You know, I actually don’t know anything to do around here except hang out at the bars and shop,” Jen admitted, shifting in her seat. “I’ve only been out here about a month.”

“What brought you out here?” Michael asked. “I can hear the accent - sounds like you’re from down south.”

“I needed a change of scenery. Not much keeping me around back home,” Jen replied. “What about you? I heard that little midwestern clip.”

“I, uh - needed a lifestyle change,” Michael replied. "Little too cold in North Yankton for me."

“Snow’s not really my scene, either.” Jen cocked her head. “Hey, you wanna go play pool? There’s a pool hall down the street.”

“Talkin’ about Chico’s?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long time since I’ve played. You look like you know how.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, but he nodded all the same. “I’m in.”

---

"You a gamblin’ man?" Jen asked, twisting the chalk cube on the top of the pool cue. She'd picked the table near the back corner next to the bar and racked up the pool balls.

Michael took the chalk cube when she offered it to him. "Every now and then. What've you got in mind?"

"Loser buys the next round?" Jen asked.

"You're on, sweetheart."

Michael won the first round, pocketing stripes with clean precision. He was good - Jen figured he would be. He didn’t let her win, and she liked that.

“Good game,” she said, winking at him. “You rack up, I’ll go get us another round?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Jen returned with two drinks - another gin and tonic for herself, whiskey for him. She’d had to guess what his brand was, but he seemed pleased by her choice when he took a drink.

“How about we make this round interesting?” Jen asked. She leaned against the pool table and picked up her cue, twisting the chalk cube on the end of it. She dusked the blue chalk off her hands and picked up her drink.

Michael settled against the pool table and took the chalk cube from her. He held the pool cue between his knees and scrubbed the cube on the tip of the cue. His shoulder was pressed so close she could smell the cinnamon in his cologne. “How so?”

“Loser pays for the cab,” Jen said. She reached out to dusk a few flakes of blue chalk off of his jacket. The dark fabric was soft, luxe, as she smoothed it out. He hummed when she paused, inviting her to tell him the other part of her proposal. “Winner takes the loser home.”

“You don’t play around, do you?” Michael chuckled. He ducked in close to her ear, voice dropping low. “I’ll take that bet. That is - unless you want to head out now?”

Jen turned so that her cheek was pressed to his ear. “It’s all about the chase, Michael. You can break.”

Had Jen not (correctly) inferred that Michael was the competitive type, she would have bet he threw the second game just to get them out of the bar faster. She couldn’t say whether that would have been a losing bet. He certainly didn’t mind swiping his credit card or forking over whatever cash he had on hand - paying for a cab wouldn’t inconvenience him in the slightest. He had a prideful streak, though. Most likely, she caught him off guard by winning.

Once she sank the 8-ball, she grabbed her drink and threw down the last of it.

Michael snorted. “You little hustler - you threw the first game.”

“Oh, no, you won that game fair and square,” Jen lied. Best to let him preserve his ego. “I can close out the tab while you get us the cab?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Both are already taken care of,” Michael said. Ah, a man who liked to throw his money around. Jen wasn't complaining about that - not this time.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Like you said - it’s all about the chase.”

----

They made it to Jen's apartment just fine. A twenty minute easy conversation in the back of the cab punctuated by the most overt flirting that had ever left Jen’s mouth, Michael's arm around her and her hand on his thigh. It was once they got there that they ran into a problem - problem being that they didn't quite make it all the way to her room.

Jen led him up the steps to her door. Michael's hand rested on the small of her back as they walked up the flight of stairs, almost as if he meant to keep her steady. Her hands shook as she fished her keys out of her bag, which he obviously noticed.

He ducked down and pressed his lips to her ear, voice vibrating deep in his throat. "Nervous?"

"Not at all." Jen unlocked the door and pushed it open. She shut it behind her with her hip, turned to him, and wound her fist into his tie. "I really like this tie."

"It'll look better on the floor.”

“Oh, I agree,” Jen said. Michael rested his hands on her hips, making her shiver. “But I like that I can do this.”

She yanked on his tie and pulled him down into a hard kiss. He grunted from the sudden force, but he melted against her once he adjusted. He grabbed her hips and all but hauled her up against him. The taste of gin and lime, soft and warm and somehow altogether still sharp, could have burned him in the heat. The scent of his cologne mingled with the taste of whiskey and cigars, making her head swim.

She pressed herself against him and backed him up against the wall. His suit jacket was tossed unceremoniously to the floor as she guided him backwards. They'd hardly walked five steps into her apartment and she'd already climbed him like a tree - he liked being the dominant one, but he certainly didn't hate this.

“You really don’t waste time, do you?” Michael asked, breathless. He wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her flush against his chest; his other hand tangled in her hair.

“I can be a little impatient,” Jen shrugged. She slid her palm down the front of his pants, gently thumbing his length through the fabric. He jerked at her touch and made a strangled noise at the back of his throat as if he wasn't expecting her touch. She couldn't imagine why - she'd jumped him about as soon as they walked in.

He recovered quickly and tried to play it off. "Impatient for me, huh?"

“Well, you did wait to talk to me for a month,” Jen teased. She toyed with the buckle of his belt, sliding the strip of leather out of its fastening. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “I can go slow, if you want.”

“Oh, no, honey. Slow ain’t my style.”

“Good,” she replied. “It’s not mine, either.”

Jen took his face in her hands and kissed him, her hands sliding around to card through his dark hair. She kissed the edge of his mouth, his cheek, down the clean-shaven line of his jaw until she found the place that made him tip his head to the side and sigh, all while unzipping his pants and sliding her hand into his boxers. He was thick and solid, hot under her touch; when she ran her fingers up his length, he jerked again like he wasn't used to it. Come to think of it, if he was wearing a wedding band and still chose to come home with her, maybe he wasn’t used to it.

If that was the case, Michael would definitely be coming back after she was done.

Jen dropped to her knees, grinning up at him like she was unwrapping a present. His blue eyes were dark, blown wide so that she could just barely see the blue. He gripped her hair, mouth slightly ajar; his tongue ran along his bottom lip as if tasting what was left of where she kissed him.

“Get this off.” She plucked at his shirt, which was still almost completely buttoned. The bottom hung taut over his hips, draping over the front of his boxers. “It’s in my way.”

Shaking fingers pulled at each button, though he could barely push each one through the hole. She didn’t think he could move that fast; he nearly tore the buttons off his shirt trying to get it off and out of her way. He finally got the damn thing off and tore his undershirt over his head to go along with it, throwing them pretty much across the room. In hindsight, he’d probably have gotten done quicker if Jen hadn’t tugged his boxers down about halfway through and wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock.

His cock hung heavy and flushed red, pants around his knees; she took the base gently in one hand and held his hip to keep herself steady with the other. His hands found her hair again, this time keeping her steady while she sucked him off. She took him down as far as she could, bobbing her head while his fingers carded through her hair.

“Fuck - I take it back, you might have to go slow,” Michael groaned, hips canting up to meet her with every stroke. She stared up from between his knees, eyes glittering as she ran her tongue up the underside of his length and fisted the base of his cock. “What, mouth too full to catch an attitude?”

Jen cocked her head and smiled around him before twisting her wrist and picking up speed. He choked out her name and pulled her hair - the closest thing to a warning he could give her. The burning sensation creeping down from his stomach to his balls threatened to spill over, and, unwilling to get her to stop, he made the choice to look up at the ceiling instead of staring down at her. Except he knew that if she kept going, this was about as far as they’d get tonight - and he hadn’t even gotten her out of her dress yet.

“Alright, alright, you made your - fuck - point,” he said, shuddering. He slid his hand up under her chin and tapped her cheek gently. “You’re fucking killing me - stand up.”

Jen acquiesced and stood up, running her hands up his bare chest to squeeze his broad shoulders. “What, couldn’t take it anymore?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, princess.”

“Should have let me finish you, then.”

Michael pulled her in close, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. His rough voice was dark enough to match his eyes. “Nah, I’m not done with you yet.”

He slid his hands up her sides and around to her back, taking time to map out every contour he could reach. He pressed his mouth to her collarbone, leaving a wet trail of kisses up to her cheek. The zipper on the back of her dress rested at the nape of her neck; without breaking contact, he reached up around her and tugged it down. The material pooled at her shoulders and drooped down her arms, exposing black bra straps. He moved one strap out of the way, then the other, mouth leaving a bruise on her shoulder in his wake.

She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor with her black dress. Two silver rings glinted in the half-light, one through each nipple. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples. He pushed the little silver rings from one side to the other, rolling his fingers around them. She shivered and bit his bottom lip, tugging the shorts hairs at the base of his scalp. He pulled her in close so that he could feel every inch of her against him and kissed her again, tongue swiping against her bottom lip.

Michael reluctantly broke away and took a deep breath. “As much as I’d like to fuck you up against this wall…”

“Down the hall, to the left.”

Jen all but pulled him down the hallway behind her. Michael sat down on the edge of her bed and yanked her close to him. He took one nipple in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue. She whimpered in the back of her throat - the first sound he’d heard her make. He moved to the other nipple, biting down gently while he ran his thumb up the line of her underwear. She didn’t wait for him to pull her underwear down; she dropped them herself and straddled his thighs.

He grabbed her hips as she straddled him, pulling her down onto his lap. She shifted in his lap, grinding down on him - not enough to give him any satisfaction, just enough to tease him. His hands slid down her thighs, keeping her in place.

“Sit still,” he ordered, thumb pressing soft circles against her clit. He was pleased to find she was slick enough to coat his fingers. The soft groan of his name as he slid one finger, then another, into her set a shiver down his spine. He could practically smell how bad she wanted him; his cock ached and twitched everytime she moved or made even the softest sound.

Jen pushed on his chest until he rested back on his elbows. His fingers were good, but she was too impatient to wait any longer. She took the base of his cock in hand, positioning herself over him. She ran the head of his cock against her clit, slicking him up.

“Hold on - condom?” Michael asked, almost as an afterthought. He rarely ever forgot to ask (after two kids, he’d learned his lesson), but she had him so worked up, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Birth control, darlin’.”

Michael also rarely believed when someone told him that (again, he’d learned his lesson). But this girl - this girl, he was inclined to believe. “Works for me, then.”

Jen sank down on him with a hiss and rocked up against him. He wrapped an arm around her back to keep her steady, his other hand gripping the back of her neck. Her breasts pressed up against his chest, soft and pliable. Her nipples prickled against him, the tiny silver rings cold against his skin. She’d set a punishing pace, grinding down on him, so slick and hot that it nearly drove him nuts.

Michael grabbed her ass, almost lifting her up out of his lap and pulling her back down. He pressed his face into the juncture between her neck and collarbone, groaning her name like she was the only thing keeping him alive. He’d already been close before she sank down on him; he was doing everything in his power to stay in control. He worked her clit, driving her along to her own edge.

He came with a rough groan, lifting her up off of him so that he came on her thigh. He kept drawing those soft, tight circles into her clit until she came with a whimper, rutting down against his thigh.

Jen sat in his lap for a minute to collect herself. She kissed his cheek before climbing onto the bed next to him.

Michael almost didn’t want to get up. He almost didn’t bother, content to sit here on Jen’s bed until tomorrow morning. But it was late, and he knew he couldn’t stay. “Guess I better go find my pants.”

“They look better on the floor.”

He laughed - possibly the first time he’d really laughed in weeks. “If you say so.”

Jen followed him to the door without bothering to get dressed. It was hard to see her like that without wanting to stay; give him another hour and he might have been able to go another round. For her, with her wide hips and heavy breasts and those fucking piercings, he could definitely get it up again.

She grabbed his undershirt off the floor and tugged it over her head. It smelled like cigar smoke and cologne - very him. “Hope you won’t miss this.”

Once he’d gotten completely dressed, he pulled out his phone and dialed for a cab. He grinned. “All yours. Looks better on you than it does on me anyway.”

“Give me your phone for a second.” Jen held out her hand. Michael handed it to her without protest and watched her put her number in. She handed it back and reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Just in case you get tired of hanging around bars.”

Michael headed down to the cab, knowing Amanda certainly hadn’t waited up for him. He’d had his fair share of booty calls in his day - he rarely bothered to get a phone number out of it. He usually couldn’t remember even going home with someone, or liking anyone he went home with. But Jen - Jen, he liked.

#gta5 #gtav #grand theft auto #grand theft auto 5 #grand theft auto v #michael de santa #michael de santa x ofc #michael de santa x ofc x trevor philips #trevor philips #trevor philips x ofc #franklin clinton

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najamulseher · 4 years ago

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How to survive a Job you hate? (Short Blog)

How to survive a job you hate? But can’t leave yet.

Our career represents the most important aspect of our lives. Moreover, I have heard people moan and grumble about their jobs and dislike their job.

Start reading if you wonder how to enjoy your work or at least not hate it!

Work is the central theme of many of our adult lives; we spend more than 40 hours a week, attempting to be successful in other people's business. Couple this with a society privileging — and sometimes requiring — overwork, and you're looking at a workweek closer to 60 hours. Now, imagine that you are spending all those hours in an atmosphere where you're less than happy. And, worse, you are spending your days in a place where you hate your job so much.

It's just terrifying, isn't it? Unfortunately, a lot of us had a job that we slogged through while counting down the minutes until we were able to escape. It is exhausting emotionally. It's mentally frustrating. And it's a career sinkhole.

Whatever the explanation for this, you're stuck.

Are there ways of making going into work more appealing every day?

Connect the dots:

When you're in a job you don't like, you're finding the situation furious — why are you trapped in that mess?

Yet, instead of focusing on the current situation's disappointment, find meaning by connecting your past, present, and future.

Reflect on a tough past situation — one you have been able to overcome despite a lot of difficulty and hardship.

These were undoubtedly difficult conditions at the moment — but now that they are in the past, you can flashback and see how it finally developed into something positive, whether it was a better career, improved trust, or a well-connected network.

You may be disappointed to leave your job and then be unable to pay your bills; you may also damage your career. You do need to be careful when you quit taking a right next job, as it can hurt you to take the wrong one. And how are you going to find out what to do? So by understanding these points, you will get yourself clear regarding this job quitting decision.

Money

Money is a significant thing to consider when you are thinking about switching jobs. So, if you get a big paycheck from your current job for your misery, it may be worth holding on.

No, you don’t need to stick it out for your entire career. But when you move on to something better, building a strong savings account will help you to feel relaxed and secure — especially if that next, more satisfying position includes a pay cut.

Expanded skill set

Every job (no matter how miserable) offers a chance to try and learn new things. And if your current job helps you to practice competently in an environment, it may be worth sticking around to refine those skills. This way, when a bigger and better opportunity comes along, you will be extra prepared and impressive.

Uncertainty

There's no doubt about it-it can be a challenge to toughen it out in a job you truly hate. Moreover, there are a few things that might make it worth it. Use this list to carefully weigh your choices and decide whether sticking around finally pays off or not. And if it pays off, give yourself credit for making the right decision about your career. After all, You don't have to continue this job forever.

How does quitting Affect your family?

If you're married, have children in a stable relationship, or have people who are financially dependent on you, then you need to think about how they'll be impacted by leaving your job. Can you afford beforehand everything you could? Does the stress of being jobless affect your relationship?

If you are always depressed or frustrated because you dislike your job, your partner or children might also feel the pressure. Long or prolonged work hours can also have a negative effect on your family.

Whether to leave your job is a stressful decision. Staying at a job you hate can be stressful, but leaving can cause many problems, so understanding both sides is necessary.

#blog post #article writing

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jenna-ortega · 6 years ago

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Devils Work (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Chapter 2

Summary: You’re working for Kineros Robotics when a new guy comes into the picture and switches things up. You’re not the fondest of him, but could that change under the right circumstances?

Words: 2100

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long, i didn’t have any motivation to write it, knowing the plot will take a bit to unravel, i just now want to get out all the boring stuff so you can have the juicy stuff!! enjoy this, tell me what you think!! also let me know if you want to be tagged on my forever tag list, so it wont just be for this story but for anything i post! its just easier that way for me lol

It had been a few weeks since the incident between you and Michael, and Michael’s leadership when it came to this office only grew. It was as if you weren’t taking orders from Jeff or Mutt anymore, it was only ever Michael. He even had his own office, constantly putting you on odd tasks. The whole environment of the office changed, everybody was kissing his ass. Not you, though. You couldn’t be bothered by his facade of being this big tough guy.

Him on the other hand, took a liking to you, something about your snarky rebuttals, and fierce attitude kept him on his toes. He clearly wasn’t upset someone had the balls to stick up to him, he had just come to understand who he was and what he can get people to do, it was nice being treated normally by someone. Even if that someone hated him.

“Have you got the information I asked you for?” the formal voice coming from your right made your head turn, Langdon had been leaning against his office door, black attire from head to toe as always.

“Yes, here’s the file.” you grabbed it from one side of your desk and threw it to the side closest to him, beckoning him over. He let out a low chuckle, fixing his posture as he stood exactly where he was.

“Can you please bring it to me, Y/N” his smirk evident as he crossed his arms, knowing he would get a rise out of you. His eyes skimmed your face as you sternly looked over at him, huffing at his request. You raised your eyebrows and matched his smirk.

“You have legs, don’t you...” you gulped out, trying not to let him see your nerves. You know there was something mysterious about him, and that everyone else here was scared of him. You had to admit you joined the fear train, but your ego was just too big to show it.

His smile fell as you said the words, taking a deep breath in as he walked over to get the file. And all too fast you knew that was a bad idea, he didn’t just take the file and go, he stood next to you, hand on your shoulder, opening up the file and skimming through it. Dammit, you didn’t want him sticking around like this.

As he was reading, you heard him hum in approval at certain things, your eyes wondered up to his face, concentrating on the file. You wanted to know why he had you pull so much information on one person, you were a robotics company, it’s like once this guy came into the picture everything changed. It was all different, you answered to Michael now, and all this robot business was in the past.

“Why do you need this information, Mr. Langdon?” you knew you shouldn’t be asking, not wanting to be too pushy, only wanting to be more in the loop. But it was as if you didn’t even ask him a question, he didn’t answer you, only moving his hand from your shoulder to your back, rubbing small and gentle circles, almost in a comforting way. Your right mind told you to shoo him away, but you didn’t mind it, not in the moment at least.

“Please- call me Michael.” he finally took a break from reading the file to look down at you, halting is hand on your back.

“None of what I ask of you is your business, you do as your told, and ask no questions, just like everyone else here, y/n” his voice still calm, although what he was saying made your eyes widen with intimidation, he couldn’t have said it more politely, making the words even more fearful for you.

You didn’t know how to answer him, finally letting the nerves get to you, you looked straight back down at your desk, knowing if you looked at him he would read you like a book.

You felt him lean down, now below you, he swung your chair around so that you were forced to face him, his hand sitting on your knee, you still didn’t have the nerve to look at him. Your face slightly to the side, trying to find anything but him to look at. And he wouldn’t be tolerating that any longer, as brought his hand up to your face, cupping your chin to pull your face towards him.

“And next time I ask for a file, please-- hand it to me...personally.” the words dripped off his tongue as he let go of your face and stood back up, grabbing the file in his hand. Your chair still spun to his direction, you were too scared to say anything else. Something about him could make the strongest of men falter. And he smoothly walked back to his office, a smile on his face as he kept his eyes on you as he closed his door, slowly.

You kicked off your shoes, finally home after a long day at the office. The company used to be your getaway from home, now it’s like you were as scared there as you were home. Your mother wasn’t any help, you had to pay most of the bills, and even the bills she paid she could never get them in on time. You loved her, since she was your mother, but sometimes it’s hard to love your blood when they treat you so badly. You knew as a single mother she tries her best, and you try to put all the bad things she says to you and does to you to the back of your mind, trying to find some good in her. Trying so hard to not cut her off. It’s like every single time you were at your end, she manipulated you back to her, you were frightened if you ever left she’d kill herself, maybe that’s the only reason you stay, maybe you stay because hurt is the only thing you know.

“y/n, i’m in the kitchen” you heard your mom scream out, you lazily made your way there, rolling your eyes at the mess she neglected to clean. It’s like no matter how many times you told her, she made the same god damn mistakes.

“So you didn’t go to work today?” you questioned her, she was supposed to be at work till 8, but it’s 6:30. She’d constantly call out, sleep in, drink, smoke, leave the house a total mess for when you had to come home and clean up after her.

“No, but i don’t feel well!! so i had to.” another excuse.

“You haven’t felt well in 10 days? mom..you have to go to work. How are you making money? we talked about this, nothing is wrong with you, stop feeling sorry for yourself you have to go.” you shook your head, slightly raising your voice, you were a broken record, this wasn’t a conversation you hadn’t had before. You began stress cleaning, throwing out all the bottles of soda and beer, and the ash from her burnt out cigarettes, as she followed you around like a lost puppy scared of you being disappointed in her.

“Well honey, you don’t know how i feel!, i need to ask a favor.” you heard her sheepish voice behind you,

“What this time, mom.” you slammed the bottle down, turning to her.

“I need to borrow some money, just until i get paid, i nee-” you cut her off abruptly, rolling your eyes again at her request.

“NO! How many fucking time do i have to tell you i am not supporting your habit, you would have money if you went to work once in awhile.” you reprimanded, knowing this was just going to start another fight. And you bit the bait.

“Well fine then, let’s see when you need help, treating your own mother like trash. You fucking bitch, you’re just like your father!” she screamed out, nothing you haven’t heard before. This was just kid talk to you, she’s said much worse, but you weren’t going to stick around to get verbally abused much longer.

Your mothers screamed filled the house as you put your shoes back on, abruptly leaving the house, and slamming the door on your way out. You needed to get away, and you always went to the same place every time. Your company, nobody would be there past 6, and you had the key. That was your place to go when these things happened, you didn’t really have anywhere else to wait out the war. So you did just that, drove your way back to your job.

You had turned the key into the door, looking around, nobody was in sight. You put the security code in, making sure the alarm didn’t go off as you came in. They had given you the key only a few months ago, finally letting you open and close the place as they deemed fit.

You walked yourself over to your desk, the automatic lights turning on for you as you walked through the establishment. You sat down at your desk, taking a deep breath, trying to find some sort of peace. Your mind rushed with different options, no option wasn’t already thought of. You needed to get away from her, the situation was toxic, but somewhere deep down you needed her.

You spent some time organizing your desk, perusing through your calendar, all of these meetings were with Michael now. Everything was relating to Michael, it was all about him and his stupid fucking face, and his stupid hair that curled perfectly in the right places, and his stupid god damn mysterious talk, who did he think he was? Switching things up, making your safe place something that was now feared, you wanted to know more. Know anything about it, and just like that, and idea had popped into your head. You looked to your right, sheepishly eyeing his door, the lights were off, it had to be locked though, right? You should check...yeah, just double check. You thought to yourself.

You began walking to his door, standing in front of it hesitantly, building the courage to even try the handle. I mean, why not try? He definitely locked it. It’s locked. L-O-C-K-E-D. Your mind was speaking to itself, finding any words to encourage you to tug at that handle. And when you did, you heart thumped in your ears, feeling it open up, letting you, just what you hadn’t hoped for.

“well...it’s unlocked, i really shouldn’t go in though”

You weren’t listening to your own mind trying to help you. Your body was not cooperating with your mind, you threw yourself into the empty room, the lights automatically going on, and you stared at an empty room.

It was...normal. A few papers on the wall, completely organized, it seems as if his computer was also still on. You looked around the room, trying to find anything that was not normal, you walked over to his desk, the file you had gotten for him was open, so you just peeked into it, not like you haven’t seen any of the information before.

You still wondered why he wanted all this information on someone named Timothy Campbell, he seemed like an ordinary kid, nothing you could pin point that would make him investigate-able? You put down the papers to his file, finally feeling your innate detective skills kick in. You’ve watched way too many detective shows, loving the feeling of being close to finding out information that you shouldn’t.

You leaned over the desk, grabbing hold of the apple laptop that was so conveniently left open, inviting you to look at. Moving it over to you, your eyes fell upon his emails. The one up was his sent message to Jeff, your eyes got as far as to read about bunkers, until you heard the door behind you spring open.

You spun around fast, your heart already beating a mile a minute as you came face to face with Michael himself, holding a coffee in his hand. His eyes squinted at you, licking his lips as you could see his brain try and pick apart this situation. You both stood quiet for a moment, you knew how bad this looked, i mean, it was bad. You didn’t want to give him any other reasons to be mad at you. Shit. You’re definitely fired now. Or worse.

“Michael I--”

“Shut up.”

“No, plea-”

“I said, shut up. Please, take a seat, y/n.”

taglist- @satansapostle @langdonsoceaneyes @sammythankyou @amytakesmanhattan @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning @queencocoakimmie @stardxstparker @readsalot73 @tarkofetis

#michael langdon #michael langdon smut #michael langdon x reader #cody fern #cody fern smut #ahs #american horror story #ahs coven #ahs murder house #ahs8 #ahs apocalypse #duncan shepherd #jim mason

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