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universecorp · 4 months

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Hearbeat pt.2 Teaser

Summary: After starting a situationship with your best friend from high school, things start to become complicated. Especially when you start to catch feelings.

Jaehyun x Reader Haechan x Reader (In pt2 and 3 )

w.c.: 2.3k

Genre: Comedy, smut, and angst

Warnings: Sexual themes, small argument

PLAYLIST: ♡

Sitting in a Dennys at 2:00 AM is not how you expected your night to end. You and Donghyuck had spent the better part of an hour talking and getting to know each other. He was easy to talk to, and funny, you didn’t feel like you were forcing any of your reactions which made you feel a lot more at ease than usual.

“Wait, you're Haechan? The streamer?” Donghyuck nodded, shoveling a scoop of hash browns into his mouth. “That’s so fucking crazy, my best friend loves your streams. We used to fuck and I remember one time he got the notification for your stream and stopped mid fuck to watch you.” Donghyuck nearly choked on the strip of bacon he was munching on.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You shook your head. “That’s so sick, did he at least like pick up where he left off while watching?” Another shake.

“I had to push him on his back and ride him.” Donghyuck laughed loudly, catching the attention of most of the other late night eaters, but it was clear he didn’t care.

“Now that I think about it, there was this one time I read a comment and it deadass said ‘I was fucking my girl and stopped to watch.’ I thought it was probably a troll, but that might’ve been him.”

You scoffed, shaking your head once again. “There’s no way that was him, he would never refer to me as ‘his girl’ it would be kind of funny if that was him though.” Donghyuck hummed in agreement, it was all he could do since he didn’t even know Jaehyun.

There was a small awkward silence filled only with the sounds of plates clinking and light chatter from the other patrons. Donghyuck looked like he was having a debate with himself befofe hr finally opened his mouth. “Look, uhm, I don’t usually do this, I honestly don’t usually take my hookups to pre-breakfast either, but I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You were a bit shocked. You thought maybe this was normal and Donghyuck was just one of those nice guys who treated his fucks to post coiatal meals. Hearing otherwise brought a bit of heat to your cheeks.

“So uh… is that a no? Don’t leave me hanging here.”

“Oh no, wait no, I mean yes! Yes… you can have my number.”

“You’ve been smiling at your phone a lot lately. You and big head aren’t fucking again right?” Minjeong was doing your nails on the floor of your dorm, and you were definitely making it hard since you were texting Donghyuck with the hand she was trying to get you to dry.

“Of course not. I’m texting a new guy, I met him at that party me and Jae went to.” Minjeong perked up at the mention of a new guy. Talks like these reminded you of being a teenager, but they were always relaxing. You seriously owed Minjeong some girl time anyway with how far up Jaehyun’s ass you had been for the past year.

“So what’s his name?”

“Donghyuck, he goes here obviously, also get this, ” Minjeong leaned in “he’s that streamer that Jae likes a lot.”

“No way!?” Minjeong gasped, she accidentally swiped a little polish on your finger, but you didn’t mind.

You nodded, smiling basically ear to ear. “Yes way, and he’s so cute. He’s telling me how he wants to take me on a date this weekend!” You closed your phone to give Minjeong your undivided attention while she swiped acetone over her previous mistake.

“I’m happy for you, I know I was kind of an ass with all the ‘I told you so’, but I really just wanted you to be with someone who treats you for what you’re worth.” You knew that, but hearing it felt really good. You always knew Minjeong was just looking out for you, but she also knew that whatever you felt for Jaehyun wasn’t going away like magic. Even now you sometimes felt a twinge of what you used to when he did certain things, but it wasn’t as strong as it was a month ago.

“It’s ok Minnie, I know you only had my best interest.” You brought your nails hand up to blow on the wet polish. “Look on the bright side though, I went through all that and now I've learned my lesson. No more wasting time or energy on people who don’t deserve it.”

Minjeong jostled your shoulder, “That’s my girl.”

A week later you were with Donghyuck in his apartment, playing a co-op game called “it takes two” that he specifically bought for the date. He turned on his twitch to stream, but he left his mic off to enjoy the moment with you. He was ticking so many boxes and even Minjeong gave him the stamp of approval when he met her a couple hours ago. Everything today was perfect, he bought you flowers, ordered from your favorite takeout place and even surprised you with slippers for you to wear around the apartment. You had been seeing each other for about a month now so you figured he would be asking you to be his girlfriend soon, but you were in no rush. His gestures meant the world to you and even then just his presence was enough for you to feel satisfied.

Now the two of you were snuggled up side by side, controllers in hand and your head on his shoulder. Nothing could ruin this moment, nothing except your phone which had been buzzing on the nightstand for a good two minutes. “Hey babe, I can pause if you wanna get that?” You looked up at Donghyuck with a small pout before shaking your head. You felt bad that whoever was calling you clearly didn’t get the memo that you were busy.

“We can keep playing, I’ll talk and play, m’sorry.” Donghyuck waved it off as he waited for you to answer your phone. You rolled your eyes slightly when you saw Jaehyun’s photo, but still answered the facetime call. “What’s up loser?” You sounded less than enthused, but he should’ve expected that since you ignored his calls for two minutes.

“God what crawled up your ass and died weirdo and why aren’t you showing your face?” Jaehyun scoffed as if his facetime screen wasn’t paused.

“Just the fact that you’ve been calling me for two minutes. What the fuck did you want? I’m kinda busy.” You cursed under your breath since you and Donghyuck failed the game stage for the fifth time.

“First of all, I wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner and come watch a movie, I’ll buy obviously. Second of all, if you’re gonna lie about being busy at least make it believable, I can hear you playing a game in the background.” Jaehyun had some fucking nerve assuming you would lie to him about being busy, but you weren’t gonna fight about it. You were gonna be civil. Even though Donghyuck had heard the way you and Jaehyun talked to each other before, he was a little annoyed that the other man was accusing you of lying.

“Jae, I’m on a date and we’re playing a game, so I actually am very busy.

“Wait… are you playing ‘it takes two’?” Jaehyun didn’t know about Donghyuck. He knew you had been on dates, but since he didn’t ask who with, you didn’t bother telling him it was Donghyuck A.K.A. his favorite streamer.

“Yeah, with my date.” You knew you sounded like a bitch, but you didn’t care. Jaehyun had barely been hanging out with you and even then it seemed like he only wanted to when he was bored. You were trying to follow Minjeong’s and your own advice and stop wasting time on people that don’t deserve it.

“If you’re actually playing a game with your date, show your face and his, then show the tv.” You were so close to hanging up on Jaehyun, but when you saw the screen pause and suddenly your phone was being held up by Donghyuck.

Donghyuck didn’t look happy. All of the irritation must have been building up to a point where even Jaehyun looked concerned. “Look, Jaehyun, I get it, you’re bored. I’m sure you miss having Y/N at your beck and call because you knew she would drop anything for you before.” Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, but one glare from Donghyuck had him closing it immediately. “Those times are past and whatever sick game you’re playing at needs to stop. Got it?” The silence on the line was loud, Donghyuck knew he made his point. “Good. Now I’m going to go back to playing games with my girlfriend, enjoy the stream Jaehyun.” With that he pressed the end call button with a sigh and immediately after you were straddling the man.

“Girlfriend huh?”

Donghyuck set his controller down and placed his hands on your hips, it was all he could do to look cool despite the blush rushing his face. “Yeah uhm… I was going to ask you later during pillow talk after some earth shattering sex, but this is cool too I guess.”

You giggled, placing a kiss on his cheek. “This is cool too, don’t worry. We can still have earth shattering sex but now as boyfriend and girlfriend.” It was Donghyuck’s turn to giggle now. “Do you want to keep playing, we could even turn on the mic?”

Haechan shook his head, “No I think it’s time for that earth shattering sex we were talking about.” You bit your lip trying to suppress a laugh, he was so goofy and hot at the same time, you didn’t understand how anyone could be capable of that.

“I think that can be arranged…boyfriend.”

“He told you off?” Mark nearly yelled, catching the attention of several of the other students in the library.

“Dude keep it down, we’re in a library.” Johnny reminded before focusing back on his music theory assignment.

“Sorry, he told you off?” Mark asked again this time in a more suitable whisper.

“Yes, and she didn’t say shit bro, she just let him.” Jaehyun grumbled, taking a chip from the bag Johnny had managed to smuggle in.

Johnny was pretty unamused with the entire situation, given that he asked if the two men wanted to study in the library, but had basically been talking the whole time. “Have you ever thought that maybe she’s over how you treat her. I know you think you’re like bestie of the year, but you literally evaded her feelings for at least 6 months just so you would have an easy fuck.”

Jaehyun scoffed, “Remind me to stop telling you about my problems.” Johnny simply rolled his eyes before training them back on the score in front of him.

“I mean he has a point. You knew she caught feelings a while ago, and your agreement was to break it off, but you kept everything up. Plus you were the one who kept fucking with her and being all domestic, she’s probably traumatized.” Jaehyun shot a glare at Mark; he did not come here to be ganged up on.

“She can’t be but so traumatized since she spends all her time with Haechan, or Donghyuck, whatever the fuck his name is.” Mark and Johnny looked ready to hit their heads against the table, but clearly this was a delicate situation that needed to be nurtured and cared for so that Jaehyun would actually get some sense.

“Jae, buddy, pal, old friend if you will.”

“Get to the point Johnathan.”

Johnny sighed, “See the point is, she’s in a relationship now. You had your 15 minutes of fame where she basically avoided getting into something because she was holding out hope for you. Now, she’s tired of waiting. She wants something that makes her feel loved and worth it and frankly, your bare minimum effort of taking her back to your place to watch a movie and then fuck, isn’t cutting it.”

“Bars.” Mark fist bumped Johnny, adding an explosion sound effect at the end.

“You guys are losers. She didn’t seem to be complaining about the movie and fuck a couple months ago.” Mark cringed and Johnny simply shook his head at the way their friend could so shamelessly talk about you like that.

“Jaehyun, listen to yourself, you sound delusional. She may not have been complaining, but that’s also because if she did you would’ve had to break all of that off. You’re acting like she broke up with you when the two of you weren’t even together in the first place.” Johnny’s volume was starting to increase, but he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t the closest to you, but he refused to let Jaehyun disrespect you like this. “Also you literally only text or call her now when we can’t hang out. Do you think that makes her feel good?” Jaehyun opened his mouth, but Johnny cut him off. “Don’t answer that because I know you’re about to say some bullshit. You need to get with the program and stop treating her like some play thing that you decide to pick up everytime your other toys are broken!” Johnny finished closing his laptop and packing up his belongings.

“Dude, where are you going?” Jaehyun groaned before looking at Mark who was following in Johnny’s actions. “You too? Come on!”

Mark just shook his head, slinging his backpack over his shoulder before speaking again. “Dude, you have some serious soul searching to do. We don’t mind if you vent, but the way you talk about and treat her is sick.” Jaehyun just clicked his teeth in response to the younger man.

“Whatever.” Jaehyun stood up from the table and stormed out of the library.

“He needs to get laid.”

“Totally.” Mark agreed.

Taglist: @snapcracklen, @peachesmilk

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tru-3-beauty · 1 year

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Misfortune Chapter 2

I did not want to get up, but I had to pay bills to have a place to live.

I stripped off the pajamas and headed for the shower. I cringe as I look around the disgusting, stain-covered shower walls. Of course, that supposed wife I should have would have it cleaned up yesterday before bed. Too bad for me, then. Maybe I'll try to clean it after work if I'm up for it. I still go into the shower, for I need to be clean and fresh to initiate my plan on that tramp. She needs to learn her lesson.

A woman is not qualified to work, nor should she steal a promotion that is rightfully mine. All of my coworkers think so, too. They will back me up and help with the plan to sabotage the little wench. She will mismanage and be ineffective. Either way, the company will shorten an employee by one month.

ONE MONTH LATER

It is inconceivable that I got fired. HR claims that it was under harassment, workplace bullying, and somehow embezzlement. I will never know how they found out about me sneaking amounts of company money into my bank account. All I know is that I must pay compensation for all I did to impact the company negatively.

My colleagues can go to hell. They did not help once during my endeavor to get rid of that harpy for stealing my promotion. That hussy brainwashed them into believing she was more qualified for the job than I am so they could backstab me in the worst possible way. I thought they would have my back, but I have a toxic personality.

What am I going to do now? I had to empty my account to pay them all back. I hoped to retire early with all the money I squandered over the years. I don't believe it is my fault that they were too stupid to think of it. Those morons should be thanking me for showing them how easy it was.

They must be in a cult or an alien race to treat me like this. I mean, why was I fired and not the stupid hussy? It just makes no sense. She can't do her job, and I don't care what everyone else believes. She is not competent enough to take on those responsibilities. No female can do a man's job in this working world. It is just not possible.

Let's see if I can find a fast way to get money and, hopefully, authority over those beneath me. It is a good thing that I am so incredible that companies will start begging me to join their team. Maybe even be head of a vital department. After that, I will brown-nose my way through the higher-ups to become the next CEO of the company.

"Just you wait, world. Baethan Roberts will be on top and a trillionaire." I said in determination. I will do anything to make all my dreams and desires a reality.

A flier instantly hits me in the face. I pull it off and grumble at how unfair the wind is for letting trash blow into my face. I was about to throw it back on the ground where it belonged, but a phrase caught my eye. Something about dreams coming true: I took a better look at it.

"Feel Like Your Life Is Going Nowhere. Call This Number, And All Your Dreams Will Come True In An Instant." It reads. Maybe this is the answer I was looking for. I stick the flier in my pocket and rush home. I know that this will turn my life around. Maybe whoever I call will get me out of this mess.

I finally got home to the almost condemned apartment. I pulled out the flier and my phone. As I looked at the number on the flier, I entered it and waited. It starts ringing, and I can already feel my breath caught in my throat. I hope that this will answer all my prayers.

"Hello, Making Dreams come true one day at a time. My name is Plutus. How can I help you?" I hear a male voice on the other end. He sounds very customer-friendly and ready to help out however he can.

"Hi; my name is Baethan Roberts, and I saw your flier. It says to call this number, and you will make all my dreams come true. Is that right?" I said with a very questioning tone in my voice. I refuse to waste my time on false advertising.

"Indeed I can and will." He says as he somehow is right behind me in the apartment. I whip around to see an older man who looks like he is in his sixties. His white suit is clean as freshly fallen snow, with a black tie to help add some color. Dust surrounds him, threatening to dirty the clean suit, yet it disappears and remains pristine. His slicked-back hair is crisp white, yet he has no product to keep it back. The eyes in his head were such a rich shade of gold that one could think that gold coins were his eyes.

"Who are you? And how did you get in here?" I ask, looking around, believing I would have noticed my door opening or someone coming in.

"To answer your first question, if you paid attention to my greeting, you would know that my name is Plutus." The voice that comes out of his mouth is raspy while using so much air—nothing like how he answered the phone earlier.

"To the second question, I came in through your fire escape. You left the window open." I looked over, and sure enough, I did leave it open.

"Okay, makes sense. So why are you here anyway?" I ask in confusion.

"You must not have an excellent memory, boy. Remember that you called me here to 'make your dreams come true." He states matter of factly. I can already tell I do not like this guy. I am not a moron. Everyone else is a moron, even this old geezer before me. I don’t care if he looks like a younger version of Kernel Sanders. He is supposed to serve me, not mock me.

"Okay, I want to speak to your manager. You are terrible at customer service." I said in annoyance.

"Sorry, but I am the highest authority." He says with a lot of smug in his voice.

"Well, you are not very good at your job?" I said with conviction.

"I guess you don't want your dreams to come true then if you are going to be like this." He says as he is getting ready to leave.

"Okay, fine. What do I have to do to get this over with already?" I said in annoyance that I have to humble myself to this servant.

"All you have to do is sign this contract here," Plutus says as he pulls a sheet of paper from out of nowhere. He hands me a quill of a peacock feather. It must be some fancy-looking pen.

I write my name on the dotted line in what appears to be red ink. Then, the man in white pulled out a needle.

"To seal this deal, I need a small DNA sample." He says and proceeds to prick my finger with the needle. It stung, and he squeezed my finger to get a drop of my blood onto the paper. This deal is by far the weirdest I have participated in.

"Now, in the next few minutes, you will fall asleep. When you wake up again, you will live your best dream." Plutus says and blows what I hope is dust in my face.

I cough a little and look around, seeing I am alone in my shabby apartment again. That is just great. I was hallucinating the whole thing. I had a long day. Maybe a nap would help me relax a bit. It has been a tiresome day, after all. It will do wonders for my brain to rest well before I figure out how to get money again.

I head over to my pathetic-looking bed and lay down on it. I can already feel myself falling asleep before my head hits the pillow. I am sucked deep into the abyss of my subconscious that I can no longer tell what reality is.

Read more of this:

Misfortune: original

Misfortune Chapter 1

Misfortune Chapter 3

Misfortune Chapter 4

Misfortune Chapter 5

#greedy bastards #demon #deal with the devil #misfortune #misogynistic #misfortune chapter 2 #scary stories #selling your soul #multiple chapters #hate sink #fiction #narssisist

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artloaf8 · 2 years

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exosmutfactory · 2 years

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I'm There 002

originally posted by exo-stentialism

Maybe—just maybe—saying yes to Baekhyun’s endearing confession 5 years ago was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

2022 Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Story Masterlist | Part 2✓

networks — @/superm-net @/bbh-net @/exowritersnet

word count — 2.6k

genre — r&b singer! baekhyun, boyfriend! baekhyun, lovers!au, romance, angst, smut (in part 2), and fluff

[ This chapter contains: angst, hurt&comfort, and smut 💞 ]

A/N: This smut scene never happened 😳😳 goodbye!

The voice of the woman you despise more than anything calls your name. You clench your jaw, typing up the last couple of sentences in your important email before spinning around in your office chair with a fake smile plastered on your face. “Veronica, what pleasure do I owe your visit today?”

You’ve greeted her with this question for the past year and a half. Not by your wants either. After she took up your supposedly “unwelcoming behavior” with HR, you have made a point to be as sickeningly polite as possible with her.

“I lost the reports.” Her grave words have an immediate impact on you.

It’s Monday morning, you are running low on sleep and high on adrenaline thanks to accompanying Baekhyun to another one of his shows last night, and here comes the worst news you could receive at the beginning of another week. Another hell week—because you know shit is about to hit the fan when the director hears about this.

You blink slowly, taking a deep breath. There will be hell to pay, and you aren’t in any shape to deal with it today. “Can you repeat that for me, please?”

“I lost them,” she examines her nails, leaning her hip against the wall of your cubicle. Must be nice to not have to worry about your boss turning red in the face and spewing insults at you. Just the thought of the screaming you will receive later has your blood pressure spiking. Your temples throb and you know it is only the first of many headaches that will hammer away at your head soon.

“We’re doing inventory this week.” You try not to panic, digging your nails into the leather of your seat with a vice-like grip. “Have you tried asking IT about it? Maybe you can restore-”

“They are gone.” She looks you dead in the eye, a smirk playing at her red-painted lips. “You can’t find them even if you wanted to.”

You set your jaw, straightening up in an instant. “I will contact IT just in case.” You swivel around in your chair, starting a group email with her, IT, and other coworkers while she walks away. The clicks of her high heels pound away at your head like the bad feeling forming in your gut.

Your work phone rings; you don’t need to see the number to know who it is. You pick it up with a shaky sigh, an encounter with your boss is evident.

💋💋💋

You step through the front door, accidentally slamming it behind you. The loud sound echoes across the silent apartment. You roll your eyes at the faint flashes of light in the hallway, tugging off your annoying heels. Your feet are killing you. You spent the rest of your first shift running up and down the stairs all over the factory. Taking an elevator was out of the question because “only executives” are allowed to use them.

The latch of your heel has a tear in it from you ripping them off, and the two-inch heel itself is breaking off of the rest of the shoe. Frustrated tears fill your eyes. Nothing is going right today. The moment your foot touches the cold wooden floor, it cramps up. You wince, having to lean onto the wall for support. The back of your foot is throbbing, you know a blister is forming there. If not, it will soon.

Yeah. This is so not your day, and you can’t wait for it to end.

You limp into the kitchen, going to get a cup of water to soothe your parched throat before you lose your mind, when your eyes fall on the sink instead. Filled to the brim with dirty dishes.

Your eye twitches when you hear Baekhyun shuffle into the room. “I guess you expect me to be your maid now.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “What?...”

You turn to him with a cruel smile. “I pay the bills, keep the lights on, buy the groceries,” you show off the room, noticing that the tap is dripping as well, “and you can’t even clean after yourself.” You scoff. “The bare fucking minimum.”

“I was going to-”

“When? When were you ‘going to’ Baekhyun?”

“I’ve been out all day!”

“Oh yeah?” You laugh bitterly. “Doing what? Securing a gig at some rundown bar for your little shows?”

Baekhyun turns red in the face. He lowers his head for a moment, puts his hands on his hips, and takes a deep breath. His jaw clenches, brown eyes flickering back up to meet yours. “Are you done?”

“No-”

“Since you must know.” He interrupts, fire burning bright in his brown eyes. “I was out looking for a better job. For you.”

His words snap you out of your rage mode at once. You freeze, watching him step closer.

“There’s a publishing house downtown that has a position worthy to have you.” He shuffles through his pockets, handing you a business card. “I was checking it out for you.”

Now as he stands fully under the bright kitchen lights, you notice his styled hair. Half of it ruined by him continuously running his hands through it, but the hair gel is still there. Your anger vanished completely, leaving you with a painful ache in your chest. You just went off on him because you had a horrible day, and he didn’t deserve that at all. You can’t believe he went out on the town for you after the amazing show he pulled off last night at an upscale club either.

Tears sting your eyes. You duck your head and rush past him to grab your shoes. Baekhyun is hot on heels while you struggle to pick up your broken shoes with your shaking hands. Big water drops land on the wooden floor, your salty tears roll down your trembling lips. You can’t break down. Not here. And he doesn’t make leaving easy for you.

You give up on your shoes entirely and head straight for the door, opening it only to jump back when Baekhyun beats you to it, slamming it closed. Your heart races in sync with the one pressed against your back. “Baekhyun…” you swallow, blinking back tears. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Baekhyun-”

He wraps his arms around you. “Stop running from me,” he whispers, his breath stuttering in his chest. “Stop running away.”

“I-”

“Come back home.” He rests his forehead against the back of your neck, hugging you to his chest. “Come back to me.” His voice sounds more broken by the minute. “I miss you.”

You sob, trying to shake him off. He can’t see you—not like this. Not after you spent months holding everything together while everything was slowly killing you. Just the thought of going back to that place tomorrow has dread squeezing the life out of your heart.

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” he murmurs over your sniffles, holding you securely in his arms. “Whatever problem, worry, or trouble comes your way.” He presses a kiss to your teary cheek, the ends of his hair tickling your chin. “I’m there.” He nuzzles his face in your neck, hugging you tighter, his heart racing with yours. “Right here with you.” His lips brush over your heated skin. “I love you.”

You sniffle one last time, blinking a few times before turning around in his arms to look at him with your blurry eyes. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with his soft brown eyes. You cup his cheeks in your hands, relishing in the familiarity of his minty breath before he presses his lips to yours.

Your salty tears mix with the taste of him on your tongue, but you don’t care. You pull him closer, melting into his passionate kiss and cinnamon scent.

He walks you back to your bedroom, not breaking the kiss for a second. Stripping off your clothes along the way. Your coat lands on the floor, your shirt falls onto a lampshade, and your bra goes flying off to who knows where by the time you cross over the threshold.

Baekhyun backs you up against the nearest wall, pressing his body to yours. His bulge pressing against your stomach makes you gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as he takes your breath away. He takes your face into his hands, kissing along your jaw and slowly down your neck. Swirling his tongue around a sensitive spot on your collarbone that sets your whole body on fire.

His hands caress your hips and waist while you tighten your grip on his hair as his lips travel lower. He slides his hands up your body to cup your breasts in his hands, leaning down to press a kiss over your beating heart racing in your chest. He licks his lips before gliding them over your chest, his soft lips and wet tongue don’t leave a single spot untouched. You’re panting by the time he reaches one of your perked nipples.

He smiles up at you, taking in your every pleasured expression with his warm eyes, sparkled with love, and darkened in want. The lower his lips go, the more your thighs clench together. He has to gently push them open by the time his mouth reaches your navel.

You breathe shakily when he kisses your wet mound, flickering his tongue against you. It makes you shiver, leaning back onto the wall while his warm hands tighten their grip on your hips. You tug on his hair after a few minutes. You love his mouth, but you want his body against yours.

Baekhyun stands up, stealing your breath with another kiss and taking you into his arms. He lifts you up, swallowing your gasp with his unrelenting kiss. He walks you over to the bed and lays you down on the satin sheets. You slip your hands under his shirt, helping him pull it off before he joins you. He chuckles at your hurry to remove his jeans, stripping himself bare and tangling his legs with yours in the sheets.

His hand interlocks with yours, lost amongst the pillows under you. You wrap your thighs around his waist, arching your back when he slides inside of you. Baekhyun smiles, tucking his head in your neck.

You could spend forever like this. Skin to skin. No space in between, and wild hearts racing in sync.

[ gif credit: same as above ]

You clock into work a minute before 7:00 am the next morning, taking a swig of your coffee. You make your way to your cubicle, ignoring the burning stares and weird atmosphere in the room. Whatever has everyone up in arms and buzzing with conflicting energy today, you don’t care. You had enough drama yesterday to last you 2 years.

Sighing softly, you plop yourself down in your leather chair, rolling it closer to your desk. The moment you log into the company desktop computer, your work phone rings. You clear your throat, hoping your lingering drowsiness won’t make itself known. “Hello?”

“Come to my office.”

The call disconnects before you can even say a word.

A bad feeling forms in your gut as you put the phone back down. This isn’t good news. You gulp down your nerves, clenching your sweaty palms. Whatever is going on, you can’t freak out here. You’ve cried enough this week and don’t plan on doing it again anytime soon.

Steeling your emotions, you push yourself out of the false safety of your cubicle, slowly making your way down the long, executive hallway. You knock on the director’s door and smooth down the fabric of your pencil skirt while waiting to be allowed entry. When he tells you to come in, you take a deep breath and open the door. Your stomach drops to the floor when you find Veronica and two other workers in the room. You have a feeling that you know what you are here for.

Veronica’s smirk widens the further you walk into the room. You do your best to ignore her haughty sneer and focus on your boss instead, “you called for me, sir?”

He grunts, checking his watch. “Have a seat.”

You slowly sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, growing weary at all the cold stares focused on you. Your eyes snap over to your boss when he calls your name in a patronizing tone.

“It has come to my attention that the inventory reports,” his beady eyes zero in on yours, “were deleted by you.”

What? Your mind draws a blank, these four walls seeming to zoom in around you. “Sir?” Sweat breaks out on your back as you watch him cross his arms and lean back in his chair.

“Veronica here has informed me of the incident.” His eyes flicker to the smut woman resting her hand on his shoulder before shifting back to you. “You yelled at her when she came to you for help and deleted all the reports.”

Your feathers bristle. Your jaw clenches shut as your hands shake and blood boils. That is not what happened at all, and now, the other two men in the room are smirking at you too. You take a deep breath to compose yourself before speaking again. “That is not what happened, sir,” you start in your calmest of tones. “Veronica informed me that she lost the reports-”

“And no one else witnessed this?” he raises a brow, turning to the raven in the room. “Did you hear this, Sunghoo?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously, smiling evilly at you.

“I sent a group email,” you shake your head, eyes wide in panic. Why would Sunghoo lie? He works in the cubicle next to you! He’s always eavesdropping on what you do. “I contacted IT, Sunghoo, and Hyunwoo.” You have no idea why the guy literally in charge of counting each product isn’t in this room with all of you.

Your boss hums, turning to the last man in the room. “Did you receive an email, Jihoon?”

Jihoon flicks dust off of his expensive three piece suit, dragging his sly eyes over to you. “I have received no such thing, sir.”

Your hands quiver in suppressed anger. Jihoon doesn’t even work in IT. He doesn’t work in your department at all. You turn back to your boss as he delivers his final words to you:

“You’re fired.”

You don’t cause a scene. You don’t go off or plead for another chance like they expect you to do. With a polite smile, you take off your work ID and set it on the desk, stand up, and walk out of the room without a word. Not a single tear drops from your eye until you make it through the building and down to your car in the underground parking lot.

When you manage to return home in one piece and wash the unfairness of the short day off of you, Baekhyun sits on the couch and welcomes you into his arms. You rub your cheek with the sleeve of one of his stolen shirts and curl up in his lap, shutting out the rest of the world.

Part 3 |

A/N: Screw everyone OC worked with (>.<) one more chapter to go~~ <3

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun romance #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun ff #baekhyun #baekhyun x you #exo smut #kpop smut #kpop romance #exo romance #I'm There

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Falling for you ( Falling from grace)

Read Chapter 1 here

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other. Fair warning this has no plot. its just them being idiots .

Chapter 2

I woke up to a pounding headache and seventeen missed calls from one Jeon Jungkook. Glaring at my innocent phone I contemplated just going back to bed and calling in sick. But I couldn’t. As Hobi oppa’s assistant in the HR department, I had a shit-ton of work to do on any normal day and if I skipped work today, I would just be screwing myself over for tomorrow.

As fate would have it Jungkook and I worked in the same company. Although work was a very generous word for what he did there , which was basically foist his entire workload on his poor besotted secretary who was too head over heels in love with him to realize that the bastard was taking advantage of her. The girl was young, probably twenty one or twenty and like an eager to please, easily excited chihuahua puppy.

But Jungkook’s designation in the company was nothing to scoff at : He was the HOD of the creative design department and I knew that the fucker was just unfairly good at digital art. it’s hard to imagine a brute like Jungkook with a Tablet , drawing easy strokes of visually appealing masterpieces but that was literally what he did, during the three days a week that he spent at the office. But although he was good at it, he was mostly only there because his dad had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t show up at least thrice a week.

The remaining four days though, that was the interesting part.

Jungkook was a boxer.

A professional street fighter , to be exact and he absolutely pulverized his opponents in the fighting ring. Affectionately called the golden maknae, because he was literally the youngest there and so far he had always won gold in nearly every fight he took part in.

I didn’t really talk to Jungkook in the office and no one knew about us. But this was less by design and more because our paths didn’t cross.

But I had a feeling that today would be different. Jungkook was pissed last night. I wouldn’t put it past him to show up at my cubicle and make a huge scene. And well, seeing as his dad owned the damn company I was pretty sure , he wouldn’t be the one getting fired if that were to happen.

So I called Hoseok up just to be sure.

“He’s not coming in today is he?” I whined, desperately , voice a little muffled around my toothbrush.

“I have no idea, Areum.... The guy doesn’t have me on speed dial...”

I groaned.

I would just have to roll the dice, it seemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You little bitch.” Jungkook’s voice, right next to my ear, was so unexpected that I sloshed the scalding hot water from the coffee pot all over my arm.

“Fuck... Jeez, give a girl some warning will , you?” I hissed, grabbing a wad of napkins to soak up the mess on my arm and the counter. Before I could fully finish, he gripped my elbow and yanked hard, swinging me around so fast, I lost my footing, crashing into his chest.

I stared up at him, furious.

He was dressed in a fucking suit. I took in the broad , broad shoulders encased in a slightly sparkly black suit, the drool-worthy pecs straining against the fitted black shirt and the perfect knot of his tie and felt my mouth water.

But it was the hair that did it for me. Gelled but un-styled, his long hair was a mess, falling into his eyes and he looked so much like a beast that had been forced to look civilized.

“What the fuck do you want?” I hissed, annoyed and just a little aroused. Could someone’s fucking face be a kink? Like looking at Jungkook should not be a turn on, right? Where was the justice?

His hand snapped up , wrapping around my jaw with enough force to bruise and I felt my eyes widen in disbelief. I gripped his wrist, clawing at it trying to get him off but he grabbed both my wrists together with his free hand, squeezing till i winced.

I closed my eyes when he bent low, teeth closing over my lower lip and biting down hard enough to hurt.

“Please..” I whispered, terrified because the break room door was open. Anyone could walk in and i’d be forced to file a sexual harassment charge against myself.

“You think its fucking funny. playing with my brother’s heart?”

My pulse sped up at that.

“I wasn’t..... What do you mean, heart?” I stared at him, genuinely scared.

“You know he fucking likes you, Areum.... He asked you out for dinner.... You think its fair, making him think he has a chance just because you want to be a petty little , whining bitch?”

Regret pulsed inside me, my throat going dry in genuine guilt.

“I didn’t mean-” The fingers around my jaw tightened and this time the pain was enough to make my eyes water.

“ I think, this thing between us needs to end. I don’t think you’re nearly a good enough lay for me to risk hurting my family.” He said softly and I felt my anger rise.

“Good. Let’s end things then. You think I can’t find someone else to fuck?” I challenged him and he smiled.

“Oh, baby I know you can find any number of dicks to take that slutty pussy for a ride but the question is , do any of those men actually know how to fuck you right?”

I stayed quiet because he was right. I’d had enough bed partners to know that no one, no one came even close to Jungkook. He had probably wrung out more orgasms from me in a single week than all the other men in my life combined. The idea of not having him in my bed was..... terrible. We had gone through this before, some petty ass fight leading to us refusing to touch each other and I had only lasted five days before having a mental breakdown from sheer horniness. Granted he had been the one to cave in on day 6 but still, it wasn’t an experience I wanted to relive.

I stared at his gorgeous face and swallowed my dignity.

“Fine... “ I gritted out. “ I’m sorry.” The last came out as a whisper, my pride refusing to let me say it any louder.

His fingers slipped down to tilt my chin up.

“Didn’t catch that, dollface.....” He was smirking now.

I stared at him.

“I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have played with your brother you’re right. But you shouldn’t have handcuffed me to the fucking bed...”

Jungkook hummed.

“Still with the passing blame.... I’m not certain you’re nearly sorry enough. Maybe us taking a break is a good idea and-”

I reached out and clutched the lapels of his suit jacket pressing a desperate kiss to his mouth to cut him off.

“No... Stop it.. I... I’m not faking it, okay? I did feel like shit after sleeping with him, its true and you’re right... he didn’t... he didn’t make me feel as good as you usually do. It’s true. Just... I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s eyes flashed , his pupils dilating and I gulped.

“Not here.” I said sternly, knowing exactly what he was thinking and his arm came around me, hands dripping down to grip my ass, lifting me up till I was pressed right up against his crotch. He rolled his hips into mine and I felt the hardness of his erection as it pressed into my center.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance, like I was being unreasonable by refusing to fuck him in the very public break room in his dad’s company on a monday morning.

“So where? And it better be someplace we can get to in the next two minutes because I’m gonna stick my cock in your mouth in two minutes, regardless of where we are.” He said quietly , reaching up to hook his thumb into my mouth till my lips parted, and then pushing his fore and middle finger inside.

Fuck.

#Jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jeon jungkook #bts fanfics #bts #bts smut #bts fics #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts fanfic

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

------

Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

--------

He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

--------

He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

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

It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

----------

Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

-------

The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

--------

He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

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

There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

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tngrace · 3 years

Text

Hoodies are for Comfort

Based off the promo for 2.08 & helped along by @moviegeek03 . Girl your support means everything & I hope this fic delivers everything you want

GTHB Masterlist; Read on A03

Carlos was currently holding his boyfriend on the couch with the TV playing quietly in the background. TK was currently wearing his favorite grey hoodie and over top of that was Carlos’s zip-up APD hoodie with sweats and two pairs of socks. TK always insisted he likes Carlos’s hoodies better because they always provided more comfort. So Carlos had done his best to find one that would fit over the one TK was currently wearing, even though his hoodies usually swallowed TK whole. TK also had every blanket from the living room laid over him, and he was still shivering a little. Carlos hated it; he just wanted to warm TK up.

“Hey, you still awake?” he murmurs as he cards a hand through TK’s hair being as careful as possible of the stitches in the back of his head.

"Mmmm," TK hums softly as he leans back on Carlos more.

"Mmm is not good enough," Carlos teases as he kisses the back of TK's neck.

"Babe," TK whines softly as he burrows further in the covers and hoodies.

"I know. I'm sorry. But I can't let you sleep yet. That's what we promised the doctor when he released you. Otherwise you'd still be there."

"I know," TK sighs. "But I just wanna sleep and it's too cold."

Carlos runs a hand to TK's forehead. "You're pretty warm mi amor." Hr reaches for the thermometer on the side table beside him. He holds it to TK's ear and watches the numbers rise filling him with more relief. "You're right below normal," Carlos tells him, showing him the thermometer.

TK nods as he relaxes more into Carlos. "Can probably sleep for a little bit," TK murmurs.

Carlos let's out a soft sigh. "Ok short nap. I'm waking you in an hour," he says as TK gets comfy, being careful of the bruises and stitches. Carlos tucks the blankets around him more, and sets an alarm to wake TK in an hour. He softly keeps his hand moving through TK's hair as TK falls right to sleep.

Carlos softly kisses his head as he thinks back over the most stressful twenty-four hours of his life.

When he'd gotten the call from Owen that the entire paramedic team was not responding and appeared off grid going on an hour and half, he'd felt worried. When he'd broken away from his dad with the excuse of a case even though he'd just clocked out, he thought they'd find them quickly. Only he discovered the empty parking garage, and TK wasn't answering his calls, texts or SOS messages.

They reported it like they were supposed to, Grace having already alerted her supervisors the paramedics weren't responding. His entire precinct was on the case, even some of his off duty friends coming in to help. The 126 team still descended on the parking garage as one unit, but split off into pairs to looks for their missing members not wanting to be left out of the search for their family. Judd declared he was going with Carlos, having taken on the captain role for Owen who was equally distressed he couldn't reach his son. Paul took Owen leaving Marjan and Mateo to team up.

Carlos nods knowing Judd is right, so they stop for coffee and a sandwich. Judd makes the comment trying to fill the silence and distract Carlos about wrapping TK in bubble wrap and never letting him leave the station again, and Carlos can't help but agree. He thought the medic job would be safer and he wouldn't have to worry about grey hair just yet. But TK, as always, is proving him wrong. "Hey, isn't your dad a Ranger?" Judd asks.

After three hours of looking and tracing every step they could think of with no luck, Carlos was at his wits in. Judd was making him take a coffee break, despite his instance to keep going. "Carlos, you're not gonna be any good to him if you don't take a minute for yourself. Believe me I wanna find him just as bad, but he's gonna need you in top shape."

"Yea. Why?" Carlos asks confused at the change in direction of conversation.

"Just thinking he might have some pull somewhere we could use."

Carlos nods as he thinks it over. It doesn't take him long and he's pulling out his phone making the call. He gives his dad the short version and agrees to wait for him at the coffee shop. "He doesn't know about us," Carlos tells Judd quietly not meeting his eyes.

"I know. TK told me. I won't tell your secret Reyes, but I hate to be the one to break it to ya. If your dad is anywhere as smart as I image he is, he's going to figure it out. You're not gonna be able to hide that emotion," Judd says gesturing to his face.

Carlos nods knowing Judd is right. They sit in silence for a few more minutes before he sees his dad's truck pull up behind Judd's. "Could you give me a minute with him? I'll tell him, then we can go."

"Course," Judd nods as he heads out to his truck, nodding at Carlos's dad as he goes. Carlos tells his dad the truth, that one of the missing paramedics is his boyfriend and that he'll explain more on that later, before he tells his dad all the case facts they know. "We'll find him," Gabriel says squeezing Carlos's shoulder. Carlos does his best to hold back the tears, but one does escape.

They leave the little coffee shop in Gabriel's truck as Gabriel makes some calls. As they drive around Carlos explains things to his dad, Judd having decided to follow them so Carlos could speak freely. He hates the pained look on his dad's face when he explains why he lied and how long he and TK had been a couple, but thankfully he doesn't press Carlos for more than he's willing to share just yet.

It takes another 2 hours before TK's phone location comes back on; it takes another 30 minutes for them to get to the location. Carlos and his dad go in guns drawn not waiting for backup having gotten a text Nancy covertly sent from TK's phone because his was the only one not busted. The rest of the 126 arrive not long after them. Tommy and Nancy appear unhurt, but shook up and terrified. When Nancy told Carlos that TK was in the freezer, he panicked. He opened the door and saw TK slumped against the wall passed out with blood on the back of his head. Thankfully he hadn't been in there too long Tommy informed them, but long enough his body temperature had dropped, and he had stopped shaking despite the cold.

Gabriel shooed Carlos into the back of the ambulance with the promise to talk to Andrea for him and to check on them soon. "Thanks Dad" Carlos says trying to hold back his tears as he climbed in the back with his boy. It took several hours in the ER for TK to get stitched up from being pistol whipped Carlos learned, and for his temperature to come up enough for them to be released. He had a concussion, six stitches and several bruises on top of almost severe hypothermia. They're discharged about eight am with strict instructions to take it easy and return if TK's symptoms worsen.

Carlos let's out another soft sigh as he kisses the top of TK's head glad his boy is safe in his arms once more. Today, well yesterday at this point, had been one of the scariest of his life. He didn't know what he'd do if he ever really lost TK. He knows he needs to call his parents too; needs to properly talk to them about the new bomb he just dropped on them, but he can't bring himself to do it just yet. He feels emotionally drained, but he can't sleep either, fearing something will happen to TK while he's asleep.

"You're thinking too much," he hears murmured as TK tries to burrow closer. Even though his temperature is almost back to normal, he can't shake the cold feeling.

"Sorry cariño," Carlos whispers as he adjusts to TK's wiggling. He tucks the blankets around him more, and before he can ask TK if he's ok, there is a knock at his door making him furrow his brow. He silences his alarm to wake TK, even though TK woke on his own, thankfully.

"Who the?" He questions not happy about the interruption.

"Probably dad," TK sighs knowing Owen has asked for hourly updates, which he thought was a little ridiculous. He knows his dad wants to talk about his and his mom's previous behavior, and try to make amends, but TK just isn't ready to deal with his parents’ problems yet.

Carlos rearranges TK on the couch before he goes to open the door. Carlos is extremely shocked when he opens it to see his parents standing there. Gabriel is holding a crock pot that Carlos is almost positive is full by the smell, and Andrea is holding a rather large bag.

"Mamì? Dad?" Carlos greets as he opens the door wider at Andrea's expectant look.

"Carlitos," she smiles patting his cheek as she walks by.

"Don't try and argue with her mijo," Gabriel says heading for the kitchen when he sees the argument forming on the tip of Carlos’s tongue.

"Don't you dare," Andrea says to TK when she sees him trying to sit up and uncover. "I hear you've had a rather rough day TK. So please stay put," she says as Carlos stares on with the most adorably confused face.

She turns to her son next, "Well Carlitos not even a hug again?" She questions with a grin reminding them of the farmer's market day.

"Mamì," he groans but he does hug her. "What are you doing here?" He finally asks.

"Manners mijo! I raised you better than that," she scolds making TK giggle a little as Carlos blushes. He does finally make his way back to the couch to help TK prop up more as Andrea pushes him that way. He sits beside him, TK understanding Carlos is not comfortable with a lap full of boyfriend in front of his parents.

"Your dad explained everything that happened," Andrea starts as Gabriel joins them, and they finally sit across from the boys. "So I made your favorite Chile Verde for you two and brought a surprise," she says with a large grin as she finally digs into the bag she carried in.

"You really didn't have to go through all this trouble mam," TK says as Andrea starts pulling out a gorgeous quilt. He sees Carlos's eyes go wide and is slightly confused.

"Nonsense," Andrea says carrying the quilt over to the couch. “And you don’t have to ‘mam’ me even though it’s sweet,” she grins at him. Carlos still hasn't said anything, and it's really stressing TK out. "Besides I wanted to. Chile Verde is Carlos's favorite soup, and it will warm you right up. This will too," she says tucking the quilt around TK atop his mound of blankets. "This was Carlos's favorite, especially when he was sick. His Abuela made it when Gabriel and I got married. Carlos always told me he wanted it when he was older. His sisters all have one picked out as well, and I figured now would be a good time to give it to him."

"Mamì," Carlos finally chokes out his eyes filled with tears. TK sneaks a hand out from under all the blankets and lays it on Carlos's knee giving it a squeeze.

Andrea moves over and cups Carlos's cheek before kissing his forehead. "Shhh mijo," she whispers as she wipes his tears, hearing everything he can't say just yet. "We love you, and that's all that needs to be said right now," she whispers hearing her husband agree.

Carlos nods and let’s his mama hug him tight. He feels TK squeezing his knee. “Gracìas Mamì,” he murmurs as she moves back to sit by Gabriel.

They stay a little longer, getting to know TK, which helps Carlos keep him awake a while longer. The soup is absolutely delicious, and TK praises Andrea for passing her culinary skills on to Carlos. When they see both boys on the verge of crashing from exhaustion, they decide to head back to the ranch. Andrea makes them promise to come out for Sunday dinner soon as well as call if they were to need anything in the coming days. Carlos promises they will, and promises to have dinner even sooner with just his parents so they can talk like they need to.

Once he sees them out, he helps TK up off the couch to go to bed. TK insists on taking the quilt because it is super warm and will look amazing on their bed. They curl up together, TK finally feeling warm and happy and Carlos feeling exhausted enough to sleep. Things might not always be perfect, but they'll always have each other and their family.

#911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #gthb #good things happen bingo #writers life

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muyurei · 3 years

Text

Cultural Relics Are Not To Be Messed With – Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Guanghe Underworld Criminal Organization

sorry for the slow pace of translations 🙇‍♀️ here’s chapter two!

There is a high chance that Dong Mingbo’s already heard of the demon knife Qi Chen had spoken about, probably because despite being the middle-aged man he is, his heart is yet to be diminished and is still full of desire for thrill and vitality, so he looked for and then collected a knife that looked demonic enough in itself and even named it as such. Besides this possibility, this knife could have also been commissioned with the purpose of replicating Long Ya, or the Dragon Tooth knife, and in the need to make it look as realistic as possible, it was also broken and made to look as though it was the real deal with how it’s being restored.

Of course, it wasn’t as though Qi Chen was silly enough to go ahead and ask these questions, so he left his inner thoughts alone and went out of the office, not forgetting to heed to Dong Mingbo’s request of closing the door. He then went downstairs and returned to his workshop.

Guanghe Company’s number of employees was very limited in number. In the two days Qi Chen has spent working here, he’s only seen around a dozen to twenty people, most of them gathered in the large, open office room located on the second floor of Building A. On one side of the office, there were floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the room a lot of light. There were even potted plants arranged near them in an organized manner. Up ahead, there was a semi-open office room only separated from the outside by a translucent glass door, only a little smaller in size. This was the place where the leaders of each team and department in the office stayed in, in which around seven or eight office tables were placed inside.

When Qi Chen came to report in the first say he went here, it was very fortunate for him that the tables in that office were labeled with name plates indicating who occupied that spot, making it easier to navigate around, all of which were likely put up by the respective owners of those office tables. However, there was one unoccupied table among those. It was empty, and it didn’t have a name plate.

Conveniently, at that moment, there was a girl who was a member of the company’s human resources personnel. She pointed at the empty table and told him: “Originally, this was supposed to be where the deputy leader of the executive team sits, but he had been heavily injured the last time he was out on a business trip. He’s been stuck in a comatose for about two or three years now, so the table was emptied and the computer was restarted. It’s very much alright to occupy the table now, though, so don’t worry too much about anything regarding transferring to a new work place.”

Qi Chen: “...Wait just a moment! What do you mean by ‘heavily injured on a business trip and was rendered comatose for two to three years’? What exactly...?”

The girl thought about it for a moment, then replied: “You call it... vegetative state, was it? The word’s vegetative, right? Ah, whatever. He just doesn’t respond or move anymore, like this–” She then rolled her eyes back and tilted her head, showing him an expression of someone who had hemiplegia for a few seconds.

Qi Chen: “...”

“You get that?” The girl returned to her normal appearance. She patted Qi Chen’s shoulder and then added: “That’s not the main point I have here, though. Honestly speaking, you seem all delicate skin and tender flesh there, so I’d kindly like to remind you of something... do you see that desk behind you?”

Qi Chen really wanted to know how the quiet-looking, small-staff girl managed to speak with the atmosphere like that of a White-Bone Demon*, but he pushed this thought down and turned behind him to look at the desk as she told him to. He was greeted with the sight of a frosted acrylic name plate attached to the desk – Executive Team Leader • Long.

(*t/n: white-bone demon, a character from journey to the west. see: https://villains.fandom.com/wiki/Baigujing. in modern business terms though, it refers to women in powerful positions. think of it as though hr girl is speaking with the voice of someone who you’d expect would be the ceo of the place)

“...Ah, a code name?” His mouth twitched as he looked at the single Chinese character that literally meant ‘dragon’.

HR girl shook her head. “No, he really is surnamed Long.”

In the company, workers often had name plates on their desks, usually containing their position, the team or section that they work in, and their full name for easy and convenient identification. For instance, this table in front of Qi Chen had a name plate with Supervisory Team Leader • Hu Yi engraved on it, just like how the usual pattern of name plates in the company go. This person, however, only had their surname engraved on their name plate, which was rather unusual, but other than that, there didn’t seem to be anything else on the desk that seemed strange. Because of this, Qi Chen wondered: Is there something wrong with this team leader?

It was lunchtime, which meant there weren’t any people in the office, so the HR girl didn’t hold back at all in her talking. She pinched her thumb and index finger together, leaving just a little bit of space between them, and said: “Executive Team Leader Long has a... slightly bad temper, so to say. Don’t try to make any mistakes that might provoke him, alright?”

However, despite two days having passed since he first worked here, Qi Chen was unable to see this slightly bad-tempered executive team leader. It was said that he had gone on a business trip, and his return date hasn’t been determined yet. Qi Chen didn’t take the warning too seriously – the executive team and the logistics team are, after all, different from each other. He’ll just have to be careful when it comes to interacting with other teams, especially with their leaders.

He recorded today’s work – the restoration of the Dragon Tooth knife earlier in the morning – into the work log, then looked at the time, only to see that it was time for lunch. Qi Chen had just clicked save when he felt as though the computer screen suddenly bugged out, and a quick, blinding glare from outside the window flashed before his eyes. He blinked, then turned his head to look at the glass of water on the table. It was half-full, and the water inside of it seemed to be shaking, though it wasn’t very obvious unless it was looked at closely. Soon, it stopped, returning back to normal.

“Earthquake...?” Qi Chen muttered below his breath. He couldn’t help but look up – he felt as though there was some slight movement coming from upstairs just now.

Regardless of whether it was an earthquake or something that was being heavily moved upstairs, it had gone by in the blink of an eye. Qi Chen glanced at the ceiling for a second time and then withdrew his gaze, not thinking much of it.

The people in the company was very precise with their mealtimes – they were never too early or too late when it comes to coming and going about with their food. Naturally, Qi Chen always felt that eating was a delight, so after cleaning up his work table, he took out his phone and his wallet, and then he walked out. Behind him, a small, thin, dark-skinned man also proceeded to walk out, looking down at his phone at the same time.

Because of this, the following events happened:

As they walked out of the building, Qi Chen saw a tall figure emerging from the side, who was just about to enter through the door. Before they could accidentally bump into each other, Qi Chen and the tall man were able to stop walking for a moment.

Qi Chen was secretly celebrating in his heart that he managed to avoid an ‘accident gone bad’ when the man who was fiddling with his phone behind him suddenly ran into Qi Chen.

Thump! Qi Chen was then knocked forward and his forehead hit the tall man’s chin.

Qi Chen: “...”

The man hissed and took a step back, holding his jaw in his hand. “Do you even know how to walk?! Just going around with your eyes closed, aren’t you?”

“Sorry.” Qi Chen rubbed his forehead, thinking to himself, I really did just get shot while I was lying down, didn’t I.

(t/n: to get shot at while lying down = to get berated/scolded despite having done nothing on purpose)

He stepped aside to move out of the man’s way, and only then did he notice that the man was holding a cup of coffee in his other hand. However, he probably had to dispose of it soon, considering that the coffee had splashed out just a bit. Not on Qi Chen’s body, though – on the man’s hand, and his iron gray trousers.

“Lao, Lao, Lao– Boss?! Why are you here?!” The little dark-skinned man poked out his head from behind Qi Chen. Seeing the person who they had bumped into, he couldn’t help but stutter and call out weakly, only to end up shrinking back behind Qi Chen.

Qi Chen, who had somehow became a human-shaped shield: “...”

The man was wearing a light gray dress shirt, very akin to the color of smoke, and it looked as though it had been carefully tailored to fit his body – broad-shouldered and long-legged, tall and lean; it made him look very respectable and serious*. If he didn’t have that annoyed expression on his face, he would’ve definitely left an excellent impression on Qi Chen, 100% at that. He couldn’t see the man who was cowering behind Qi Chen, so Qi Chen had to bear the brunt of his scowl. “Am I not allowed here? Would you rather that I’m not?”

(t/n: literally, he looked like a dog. someone who looks upright and dignified but actually has an unpleasant attitude)

The little man paused and thought back to what he said. After thinking about it, he felt as though he really did just sound rather rude earlier, so he poked his head out from behind Qi Chen again and said, “Boss, why come back just now! We missed you to death!”

Qi Chen: “...” What an ever-loyal dog!

(t/n: literally, what a big dog leg. refers to disciples who’d follow their masters around. may or may not be a reference to the “looked like a dog” part in the previous sentences)

However, the man ignored the little man’s buttery words. Instead, he turned to Qi Chen and sized him up with a disdainful expression on his face. He muttered a few words, though because his voice was too low and quiet, Qi Chen only caught wind of the word ‘knife’ and nothing else.

“Ah, by the way boss, just earlier, my head was lowered down because I was scrolling through Weibo... I wasn’t able to see where I was going, so I knocked into him, which resulted to the two of you bumping into each other...” The little man’s voice kept getting quieter and quieter, and while it was evident he was scared, he didn’t forget to clear Qi Chen’s name to his boss.

Qi Chen didn’t mind too much, in all honesty, but he felt around his pockets for a pack of tissues, took one out and handed it to the man: “I’ll get you another cup. Please wipe your hands.”

“No need!” Despite his temperament, the man has profoundly handsome features, and was born with good and smooth skin. At this moment, though, he had a deep frown on his face, looking as though everyone around him owed him eight million in cash, and his voice was full of impatience. He didn’t even glare at the real cause of their accident – he continued to look menacingly at Qi Chen, turning over the sleeves of his light gray dress shirt over his wrists twice so the coffee doesn’t seep into the fabric, and he ignored the tissue in Qi Chen’s hand. He passed by Qi Chen’s outstretched arm, taking a long step forward, and continued to walk to the office room meant for the team and department leaders in the company. Before he left, though, he snorted coldly and said: “Is your head made of granite?”

Qi Chen: “...”

How come he’s the only one here getting blown up by this person’s gunpowder?!

(t/n: gunpowder = anger, annoyance, like how ‘exploding in anger’ goes.)

Qi Chen turned his head and saw that the real-life powder keg had already strode in to the small office room, walking straight to the desk that Qi Chen had stood in front of not too long ago, and put down his coffee cup on the table...

This was obviously the company’s legendary “slightly bad-tempered” Executive Team Leader Long.

Slightly... bad-tempered...

Haha.

Qi Chen looked away, putting the tissue paper he took out earlier into the little man’s hand. “Let’s just go eat now.”

The little man froze for a moment, and up and about he went, trailing after Qi Chen.

“Qi Chen?” The little man looked at the ID that Qi Chen had on him, and then warmly said, “Eh? Xiao Chen, I’m so sorry... I really was just fiddling around with my phone and didn’t look at where I was going... I ended up even getting you disciplined... Because of this, let me treat you to lunch to make up for it! What do you want to eat? Do you want to go to the underground–“

“Underground what?” Qi Chen wasn’t very familiar with this particular area in the business district, so he didn’t know where the nice places to eat in were. However, he does remember that just beyond the traffic light by the company’s gate, there was an underground shopping mall nearby. He thought that that was what the little man had been telling him about, so he nodded and said: “Alright, let’s eat there. I don’t really know my way around here just yet, so I’ll just go with whatever you recommend. Though, it’s really not necessary to treat me. I won’t break or lose anything just by getting scolded by Executive Team Leader Long, so don’t worry about it.”

“About the executive team leader... he sure does have quite the temper, but most of those in business are like that, you know. It’s normal to find someone here who’s that fierce, and it’s not an understatement to say that we’re all pretty afraid of them. I mean, even Supervisory Team Leader Hu doesn’t look very approachable, always standing there with that menacing face... it’s scary. It does make sense, though, given his position in the supervision team.” He followed Qi Chen, telling him the things he knew while gesturing around. “And Ming-jie, you don’t just get to talk to her whenever you want. Most of the time, she gives everyone that glare overflowing with a k*ller’s aura. If the person on the receiving end isn’t used to it, they might just piss their pants out of fear.”

(t/n: jie, literally, sister. sister ming. used to address girls who are older than you.)

Qi Chen: “...”

He walked out of the company area and looked back at the building’s sign with confusion. He asked the little man: “I still know how to read, right?”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen: “You were talking about the people working in Guanghe Cultural Heritage Conservation Co., Ltd., right?”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen: “For a moment, I really thought we worked at Guanghe Underworld Criminal Organization.”

The little man: “Sh... Is something not right?”

Qi Chen nodded. “I don’t think anything here is right.”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen continued to walk towards the underground shopping mall near the traffic light with a solemn expression on his face. The little man immediately caught up to him in two steps, slapping Qi Chen’s back and said: “Wait a moment!”

F*ck! Can a human being even be this strong?!

Qi Chen, who had been ‘patted’ on the back, almost vomited out his kidneys. He looked back at the other man dejectedly and asked: “What?”

The little man replied, “Why are we stepping out of the company?”

“Aren’t we going to the underground mall to eat?” Qi Chen looked puzzled.

The little man took a look at the entrance to the underground mall near them and suddenly remembered that there was indeed a food court inside. “Ah! So you want to eat human food today?”

Qi Chen: “...” What are you even saying!

“Then... what was that underground thing you mentioned earlier?” Qi Chen asked exasperatedly.

The little man turned his head and pointed at the company building. “There’s a cafeteria in the basement floor of our building. You can enter just by swiping your ID.”

“...” The corners of Qi Chen’s mouth twitched. “Do you... usually eat non-human food?”

The little man’s face brightened. “Yes!”

Qi Chen decisively crossed the road. “...No thank you. I think I’ll pass on the company cafeteria for now...”

The little man stood on one side of the road and looked at Qi Chen’s back, muttering to himself: “There’s something wrong here...”

He followed the rope tied to his ID while crossing the road and caught up to Qi Chen in three steps.

The midday sun reflected on the glass windows of the high-rise buildings, the light felt more of a glare to the eyes, blinding anyone who looks. Behind him, there was a heavy traffic, and pedestrians bustled in a stream. When Qi Chen was about to step on the escalator to go to the underground mall, he heard the little man behind him mumble something, and asked him: “Xiao Chen, you wouldn’t happen to be human, would y–“

“AH–!”

Someone let out a shrill shriek not too far from behind them, interrupting the little man’s words. They were both startled, stopping in their tracks and looking back at the commotion. A crowd had formed by the road. Qi Chen didn’t know what happened, only that nothing happened in the road just then. He could vaguely hear a woman crying out loud, and the onlookers let out worried noises.

“I’m not... I... I don’t know how I...”

The words were said rather irregularly in broken stutters, until it didn’t even sound coherent at all.

The author has something to say:

Little theater: Qi Chen: The moment I met you, it felt like eating ☐☐ do you have a grudge against me →_→ Long Ya: You literally filed me all over! Qi Chen: Obviously I had to, it’s not on purpose, but glaring at me and only me, aren’t you afraid that your eyes might fall out →_→ Long Ya: You actually used something so ordinary and stupid as a metal file on me! Qi Chen: File and weld gently my &ss! Long Ya: Now that you’ve mentioned it, you actually f*cking welded me with a welding gun too! Qi Chen: No way to talk properly now [bye bye (t/n: literally, 【手动拜拜. refers to the bye bye hand emoticon on weibo and qq that moves)

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(As of 04/13/21: Edited.)

#cultural relics are not to be messed with #danmei

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 years

Text

Sugar Bunny 2/3

Summary: Meeting August Walker, CEO one of the most successfull real estate agencys in the states in a coffee shop of all places, turned into one of the best things that could have happened to you. You became his sugar bunny and against all your willpower you fell in love with him. Oh if only everything would be so easy, and if only August was really only a CEO of a company…

Pairing: August Walker / Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut (dirty talk; unprotected sex, anal play), Angst

Masterlist

previous chapter

2 years later

“August we can’t. It’s my first day at the new job.” You wiggled out of his arms.

A lot had changed in the last couple of years. He still was your sugar daddy and took care of you, but he was around more often and this unspoken affection had grown between you two.

“I only need 15 minutes.” He hummed as you finally sat on the bed. Looking over your shoulder you saw him pouting at you. The soft sunrise diving his handsome face in pink light.

“You never need only 15 minutes.” You winked at him, getting up from the bed.

“And this is your office. Since our leading interior designer is about to leave the company, you will spend most of your time with her in here.” Robert from HR explained to you.

Sitting down at your new desk you smiled.

“Thank you so much. I’m gonna get settled in.”

“You’re welcome. If you have any questions just drop me a message.”

“Will do.”

He was about to walk out when he turned around again.

“Oh, before I forget, Boss wants to see you.”

Looking up, you nodded and when Robert was out, you dialed August’ number.

“Hey Bunny.” His deep voice welcomed you.

“Hey. Do you have any idea why the boss wants to see me?” You asked.

“Well he didn’t get the blowjob he wanted this morning…”

“You’re unbelievable.” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Stop rolling your eyes or I will make sure you remember what the consequences are.” He growled.

“Yes, Sir.” You whispered back.

“Good girl. Well, come see me when you have time. I’d like to take you to one of the estates we are going to sell in the next few weeks.”

“Only me?”

“Only you. You are going to be the new leading interior designer. Have to get to know you better, don’t you think?”

“I think you probably know me very well already.” You grinned. “When are you leaving for New York?”

“After dinner. Be in my office in an hour so we can leave?”

“First day, and already taking time off.”

“You’re with the boss. You have to be a good girl for him or he will be disappointed.” You could see August’ grin in front of you.

“Well then boss. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“This is breathtaking.” You said in awe, leaning with your back against August’s chest as you stood at the balcony of the master bedroom. You could overlook the whole estate, even the small lake.

“It should be. It’s around 15 million.” August said. His arms crossed in front of you, his nose in your hair. “How would you change it?” He asked.

“I would tear down all the walls downstairs, make it more open. Only the most expensive materials, marble or hardwood floors. I have to see the floor plan first.”

“Sounds good. Do it.”

“What?” You turned in his arms.

“Take this as your first project. The house should be sold by the end of the year, so you have around 2 months before we have to put it on the market.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. I trust you.” He said.

“You do?”

“Bunny…” He smiled, one of his hands brushing your cheek.

“You have no idea what you mean to me.” August leaned down, kissing you softly at first, but it grew more demanding until both of you had to part for some air. “Take your clothes off.” He whispered.

Without arguing, you pushed your skirt down and pulled off your top, leaving you in only the white sheer underwear he had seen you put on this morning. He pulled his shirt off.

“I want you to ride me…” He hummed, pulling his pants down. “Right here.”

He sat down on the balcony, reaching for your hands. Sucking your bottom lip in, you smiled, taking his hand.

“But first lemme get a taste.”

He leaned back, motioned for you to stand over his head. He kissed up your thighs and the thin lace over your pussy. Looking down you saw him look up at you, as you felt his fingers pulling your panties down. As you stepped out of it, he grinned up at you, his eyes on you as his skilled tongue got to work. Your hands flew into this soft hair, holding on as he ate you out. You noticed that he loved to be in charge, but sometimes… Sometimes August Walker wanted to just please you.

“Tell me what you want bunny?” He whispered.

“I…” You sighed. “I want to cum on your tongue. And…”

“And?”

“And I want your finger in….” You bit your lip and felt him smirk against you, one of his hands sneaking up your ass, one of his fingers massaging your other hole.

“You want my finger in your ass, bunny?” He asked. You nodded, moaning when his finger slowly pushed in.

“Oh my god….” You whimpered. His lips closed around your clit, sucking. He knew exactly what he had to do to make you fall apart.

“Yes… Just like that…” You moaned looking into his eyes. His finger pushed deeper and that was your undoing. With a cry of his name you came, holding on to him, struggling to keep yourself standing.

“What a cute little bunny you are…” He hummed. His tongue licking up your juices, until you felt him pull you down to straddle his lap. You were still in your high, barely aware of how painfully hard he must have been, when he made you sit down on his cock, earning a cry from your lips.

“Fuck. So wet.” He groaned, while you fell down on top of him.

“Fuck me August.” You whispered against his ear, your arms crossing behind his neck. You felt his hands on your ass as he began to thrust into you.

“You have to come to visit me in New York next weekend…” He groaned, thrusting faster. You nodded, not even arguing.

“I want you to be mine.” He growled, slapping your ass.

“I am yours.” You whimpered. One of his hands spread your cheeks, one of his fingers pushing into your ass as his thrusts got harder.

“Fuck.” You moaned. With all strength you pulled your head up so you could look at him.

“Harder.” You pleaded. Kissing him he swallowed your moans, pumping into you like a machine while his finger was buried deep in your ass.

“I’m gonna….” You sighed, leaning your forehead against his as your orgasam took your body over, melting into August.

He followed you only seconds later, buried deep inside of you as he spilled his seed. You looked at him, the words I love you on the tip of your tongue, instead you kissed him, before you could say them.

“You’re so fucking perfect. More than I ever dreamed of.” He whispered against your lips.

Almost two months had gone by since the day he first showed you this house. He was stunned with your plans and gave you his okay to do whatever you wanted. He had been gone for almost a month, but would be back this evening.

“What are you doing?” He asked. He was on the phone while you were about to open the house for the last inspection. You wanted it to be perfect when you showed the end product August tomorrow.

“Just checking the house so it’s ready for you tomorrow.” You smiled.

“I saw the pictures, it’s gorgeous.” He said.

“You only say that because you want to get into my panties.”

“Is it working?”

“Hmm… I bet it would be if I would be wearing some.” You grinned, hearing him curse.

“You’re picking me up from the airport, so I can fuck you on the side of the road?”

“Sounds perfect.” You said, moving deeper into the house and frowning as you heard voices. “August, I think someone’s here. I didn’t see a car or anything…”

“What? Get out of there.” He said. Looking around she could see guns stored around the room.

“There are guns all around here. August, I…”

“Get out of there, bunny. I’m gonna send someone.”

You could hear him talking to someone on the plane as you were about to turn around, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“And who do we have here?” A man asked and you screamed, letting your phone fall to the ground.

Tied up to a chair, you didn’t know how much time had passed until you woke up. You didn’t know what had happened. You only knew that your head hurt, and that August would have to explain a whole fucking lot.

One of the guys joked about Walker now sending whores to secure a deal. He had slapped you across the face when you had dared to ask if they were talking about August Walker.

“Who else did you think we’re talking about, slut. He’s our biggest business partner.”

You jumped when the door was shut with a bang. Looking up you could see a furious August walk in.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” He asked looking around the room, until he found your eyes.

“We got your whore. Not sure what to do with her. She seems a little feisty.”

“Did you lay a hand on her?” He asked, already walking over to you.

“No boss.” One of the guys said. August kneeled down in front of you, his fingers tilting your chin up. You turned your head away from him, too angry to look at him.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked quietly.

“Take these handcuffs off of me.” You whispered, feeling hurt and cheated. The gentleness of how his fingers opened the fetter, nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Are you okay bunny?” He asked, when he freed you. Finally you looked at him, your eyes hard.

“Fuck you, August.” You growled quietly before you pushed yourself up and pushed him away. You weren’t even out of the door, when you felt his hand on your wrist. Turning around you slapped his cheek, catching him by surprise.

“You lied to me. From the beginning. What are you? A mob boss?” You asked, tears running down your cheeks.

“I can explain…” He said, taking a step towards you. You took a step back.

“What can you explain? The weapons? Your employees assuming you send me as a whore?” You screamed and he looked at you like you had slapped him again.

“I’m….” He began. You shook your head.

“You should have told me from the beginning.” You looked up at him. “Because I desperately searched for a reason not to fall in love with you, and that would have helped.” Silent tears ran over your cheek.

“Bunny…” He pleaded.

“I’ll grab my stuff when you’re gone for Europe next week.” You said, looking up at him. Unshed tears were in his eyes.

“If you just would have to be honest with me…” You shook your head, looking for one last time at him, before you turned around and went to your car.

He had called you hundreds of times in the next few days. You had ignored him every single time. After a couple of days the tears had stopped. You had put the last of your cash in a hotel room and you hadn’t left it. Until today. You knew August would be away, because there was a meeting with a company in Madrid he couldn’t miss.

Opening the door of the place you had called home for the last years you felt like crying again. Everything seemed to be the same. But it wasn’t. Walking in you saw the flowers on the kitchen counter. A huge arrangement of sunflowers. Your favorites.

Sitting down in front of it you sighed. He really had been too perfect to be true. Grabbing the letter that was propped up in front of the flowers, you let your thumb brush over the envelope that only read your name.

Bunny,

I should have told you. I know I should have, but I’m a coward. I didn’t want to lose the best thing that ever happened to me. You are not only beautiful, you are the most intelligent and caring woman I have ever met. You are only 24 years old and you are so much more grown up than I ever will be.

I am no mob boss. I started out with a dream. And when the dream came true I wanted more. More money. More power. More… I don’t even know.

But then I met you. You are so much better than I ever could be. And that’s why I have to let you go.

This penthouse is officially yours, and I signed over all the company rights to you. You are now the CEO of Walker Real Estates.

I tried to reach you, to tell you this in person, but you didn’t pick up the phone. I probably wouldn’t have either. I was working with the FBI for a long time to give them the real mastermind behind every weapon deal in the States. For my help I will only have to serve 10 years in prison, instead of a lifetime.

Just do me one favor. Be happy. You will never have to think about money ever again. That’s the least I could do for you.

I never told you that, at least not when you were awake, but…. I love you, bunny. And I always will.

I hope one day you can forgive me

August

Even after reading the letter three times, seeing the contracts and reading your name in them you still couldn’t believe it.

Looking up at the sunflowers, you sobbed.

You fell asleep in the middle of the king size bed you shared with August, hugging his favorite sweater.

#fanfiction #fanfic #august walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill #august walker smut #august walker au #sugar daddy august walker

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

For @thatesqcrush’s Holiday Bingo! Filling the Grinch/Scrooge square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. No smut, just a... situation in which Bryan has zero sense of shame. Honestly it’s straight-up workplace sexual harassment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

1,576 words

Festive lights were strung around the offices of STR Laurie, but their merry glow added no holiday cheer to the hearts of all of those forced to come into work on Christmas Eve. Everyone was supposed to have the day off, or at least get a half-day. However, the sun was setting over the Chicago skyline, and at least a dozen paralegals were still frantically toiling over the enormous workload dumped on them last minute by one Bryan Kneef.

It didn’t seem like a particularly important case or a particularly critical motion, but according to Mr. Kneef, it was worthy of an all-hands-on-deck situation that would make as many employees as possible miss dinner with their families.

In fact, as you glared over the top of your monitor at his office—the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed within—you were pretty sure he wasn’t even working on this “important” case. He was probably fucking napping. This was all some sadistic Scrooge-like tactic to make everyone miserable just because he didn’t have anywhere to be tonight.

As the angled light streaming in through the window turned dusky orange with no end to the work in sight, you’d had enough. You stood up, marched across the office, and barged through Mr. Kneef’s door without knocking, certain you were going to catch him with his eyes closed on the couch.

Instead, you caught him behind his desk, furiously masturbating to porn.

He stopped, but unlike a decent human being who would yelp in surprise and frantically sputter apologies for being caught dick-in-hand, he wasn’t startled by your entrance and made no particular hurry to cover himself. He clicked a button on the keyboard, and the rhythmic sounds of moaning stopped.

His eyebrows raised at you impatiently as if you’d interrupted him on a phone call.

You slammed the door behind you—the rest of the office didn’t need to hear this.

“What the fuck, Mr. Kneef? This case is so important we have to work through fucking Christmas, and you’re in here jerking off?”

“Your point?”

“Fuck you!”

His lips pushed up into an excessive frown that made his beard bristle, and he raised his brows, not disagreeing and seemingly impressed with your audacity.

“Fine. Come here.” He patted his lap, smirking, legs spread wide in his leather chair. His semi-hard cock was still sitting naked and pink outside his deep navy dress pants.

Now he’d crossed the line into making your skin crawl.

“OK, I’m calling HR.”

He scoffed and tucked himself back into his pants. “You said fuck me.”

He wasn’t swayed by your threat to report him—what was important was that you had been the first to blink. You didn’t really look offended, anyway. If you had blushed like a nun and hidden your eyes when you walked in on him, he wouldn’t have been so provocative (he wasn’t a complete monster). If you had fucking knocked, you wouldn’t have walked in on anything. But you had the balls to barge in and dress down your superior. The number-one asshole of the firm was not about to let you challenge him and win.

You closed your eyes and tried to compose yourself, ignoring the flush of heat surging behind your ribs and pooling between your legs from his sleazy request. Ew—body, what? Don’t be gross.

“So. You have a problem with the work I’ve assigned you?” He set his elbow on the table and rested his beard in his hand. His voice was as casually mocking as ever, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal.

“Yeah. It’s bullshit. We’d all like to go home if this motion isn’t so vitally pressing it can’t wait until Monday.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

There was a twitch in his face at that. He tried to remain as callous and inscrutable as ever, but the question revealed a tension that wasn’t obvious before. Beside his computer was a bottle of Scotch and an almost-empty glass. Next to that was a small rectangular box, neatly wrapped with shiny silver paper and a gold bow. He glanced down at it, and he looked, for a brief instant, sad.

He wasn’t so intimidating when his cold eyes turned pitiful like that. Almost like he was human.

In contrast to his distasteful personality, his eyes were a beautiful, delicate green even in the dim light. It was enough to make you admit how handsome the lawyer was—the dark beard, the flecks of silver streaking through his flawlessly-styled hair. If he turned out to have actual human feelings beneath the swagger, you might even like him.

You sat down in the small chair opposite him at his desk. His eyes had already retaken their cold, mocking air, but you tried appealing to the hypothetical inner-human in him anyway. “Do you have any Christmas traditions? A family you want to see? You must at least remember being a kid—how special the holidays are at that age. Dana has two kids waiting at home, and this is the only time of year Paul gets to see his nephews.”

“You think I give a shit about sob stories? They have a job to do. If they don’t like it, they can quit.”

“Fine”—Screw playing nice—“How about this: I can call HR about the porn on your work computer.”

He glowered back at you, appraising the sincerity of your threat. “The whole HR department is eating turkey right now. So, you can file a complaint on Monday. Maybe I get a warning? Won’t help you tonight. Sorry, sweetheart. Finish the motion, you can go home.” His piercing eyes stared at you, waiting. “Will that be all?”

Instead of retreating in an indignant huff as he full-well expected you to do, you shoved aside a handful of papers and the Scotch bottle to clear a spot on his desk, and sat on it so you were looking down on him, thoroughly invading his personal space. “What do you want? Why are you doing this? Don’t pretend it isn’t out of spite. Let me guess… you didn’t want to spend another Christmas alone getting sad-drunk on expensive whisky, so you decided to do this instead of pick up a hooker?”

He glared harshly but otherwise didn’t react.

“How about this? I’ll take one for the team and go drinking with you—just tell everyone else they can go home, Ebenezer.”

He rolled his eyes contemptuously and explained in no uncertain terms that that was not going to happen. But maybe it was your flirtatious body language, or the stubborn way you refused to back down, or that you weren’t intimidated by him like every other subordinate around here. Maybe he was just lonely. But you were irritating in a way he liked. And just desperate enough to do him a favor.

“If we left together, we would not be going out drinking,” he growled.

You rightly mistook it for an invitation to bed—because he deliberately intoned it as such to rile you up, so when you spat, “Fuck you!” he could feign innocent victimhood.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I do have somewhere to be tonight—a family dinner. If you are serious about wanting to get me out of here, that’s where we’d go.” Of course, if you’d jumped at the offer to fuck him, he would have accepted that, too.

Now you were just confused. “You want… to take me to meet your parents? Why…?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already kicking himself for what he was about to tell you. But fuck it. You would have to find out if you were going to help, and he could use you and your massive balls to solve his little dilemma. Ovaries? Yeah. Your big brass ovaries.

“My parents are expecting me to show up with my long-term girlfriend. They have been... annoyingly eager to meet her tonight, and she just fucking dumped me.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Being dumped sucked. Not that you’d ever take it out on a dozen coworkers, but assholes grieve differently. “How long were you together?”

“Three months.”

You blinked. “Oh my god, that is not a long-term relationship. Jesus, what standard are you going by? One-night stands?”

He bristled at the question, and you had a distinct impression that—yeah—the comparison was one-night stands.

“Irrelevant. I don’t want to spend the entire night fielding questions about what happened, sitting through my dad’s relationship advice, and dodging pitying glances.”

“So you invented a work emergency. Classy. Never thought I’d see the great Bryan Kneef, lady killer, on his knees over someone he dated for three months.

“I am not broken up about it,” he snapped. “I just don’t want to deal with the bullshit from my family. So, you want to get out of here? Pretend to be my date for a few hours. You don’t have a problem lying, do you? We can break up after New Year’s. Deal?”

“You’ll let everyone else go home?”

He protested and made a counter-offer, but after much bargaining and negotiation, he finally gave in and agreed to your terms.

And that was how you saved Christmas and became the unsung hero of the entire office. None of your coworkers would know the sacrifice you made for them, the awkward dinner you had to endure, or all of the illuminating secrets you would learn that night about the biggest asshole at the firm.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:

@beccabarba / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind

#Bryan Kneef #bryan kneef x reader #Raúl Esparza #thatesqcrush holiday bingo #my writing

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janeykath318 · 3 years

Text

Prompt Fic: Skinny! Steve (Romanogers)

For @marshunter06

5 times Natasha thought Steve was adorable and one time he was downright irresistible

1.The first time Natasha Romanoff met Steve Rogers was when she was teaching firearm techniques to the group of newbie shield agents, which included the scrawny blonde man. She didn’t expect much from him, but he was very polite and attentive, and quickly picked up in her instructions. A lot of his fellow IT people were quite literally very gunshy and required much patient handling, but surprisingly Steve, who was the nerdiest looking of them all, turned out to be by far the best learner. (His only fault was he said “ma’am” too much.)

The glee on his face when he succeeded in hitting the target was the cutest thing she’d seen all day. Maybe she wouldn’t kill Clint for shoving the training on her.

2. The second time she met Steve was when she and Clint and James were going out to celebrate a very successful mission and James asked if he could bring his good friend and fellow Shield employee along.

“Kid never gets out much. He needs some socializing and a break from his computer screen.”

Clint of course agreed right away, the big softie, and it didn’t take Natasha long to be convinced. She trusted James.

Her eyebrows rose into her hairline when James’s friend turned out to be Steve from Cyber. He looked very out of his element and she wondered if the guy had ever been in a bar before.

“Steve, this is Agent Natasha Romanoff, one of the best in the business,” James introduced. “Natasha, this punk here is Steve Rogers, my best friend and skilled computer geek.”

“We meet again, Steve,” Natasha said, smiling at the flushed looking Steve. She noticed he had very pretty, soulful blue eyes and striking cheekbones in his thin face.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Steve blurted out awkwardly as he shook her hand. He looked so cute when his face went all red.

3. “Rogers! What happened to you?” Natasha asked in astonishment, seeing a bloody faced Steve being hauled down to medical by an exasperated looking Barnes.

“Yes, tell her, Steve,” Barnes said, earning himself an annoyed look.

“One of the guys from Alpha made a gross sexist comment and I called him out on it,” Steve mumbled through a bloody nose, eyes fixed on the floor.

“And….” Barnes prompted.

“And he wouldn’t apologize, so I punched him,” Steve muttered, giving his friend another glare.

“Oh, Steve, you precious idiot,” she sighed, shaking her head. “He could have snapped you in half. Report him to HR instead. We’d much prefer having you in one piece.”

“I’ve tried that before,” Steve sighed. “They’re always likely to take the big badass agent’s word over hers or mine.”

Now Bucky was frowning as well.

“Sounds like HR needs investigating too,” he said.

“They do,” Natasha confirmed. “I’ll mention it to Hill today. Those guys from Alpha need attitude adjustments.”

Later, when she was watching tape of the incident with Hill, she saw the look of pure rage on Steve’s face as he clocked the offending agent who was twice his size and her heart melted a little inside. He may be reckless, but his heart was in the right place.

4. Natasha returned from a mission in Russia in a very dark place emotionally. All of Clint’s attempts to comfort fell flat and and as soon as the grueling debriefing was over, she high-tailed it to the comfort of her apartment. She’d told Fury she was taking the next few days off and for once he understood.

She’d worked so hard to move beyond her past, but sometimes it smacked her right in the face, bringing back the old traumas she’d hoped she’d left behind years ago. The faces of her targets and trainers swam unendingly through her mind, and not even alcohol was working.

On day two post mission, she collected her mail, noticing it was pretty much all junk, except for a brown manilla envelope that had Rogers in the return address.

Curious, she opened it up and pulled out a thick piece of paper and a smaller one with writing on it.

“Agent Romanoff,

I heard you had a rough mission and thought this might make you smile.

Steve”

The other piece of paper had several very good sketches on it, one of which portrayed Natasha knocking Steve on his ass, above which he’d written, “You and me if we ever sparred.” That DID make her smile.

Another showed a heavily muscled, taller version of Steve beating up Rollins from Alpha and he’d captioned this one: “If Only.”

The Third was a drawing of Natasha, Clint, and James in full gear, ready for a mission.

“Badass Trio” was what Steve had titled it.

The final sketch was Natasha by herself, giving her trademark half smile. Her breath caught at the detail and skill of the art. She’d seen him doodling at his desk before, but had had no idea how good of an artist he really was.

She looked at the sketches for a long time, then picked up her phone to call James and ask for Steve’s number. It was high time she got to know him better.

5. Steve’s first time being in the field for a mission was a momentous occasion. He was going to be decoding and interpreting data that Natasha, Clint, and James were “borrowing” from a probable Hydra cell. Holed up in the back of an inconspicuous van across the street, Steve could hear and communicate with the main team as he worked on his computer.

Tense as the mission was, it went ten times faster than it would have done without Steve there. Natasha overheard him through the comms muttering things like, “Got Ya, Sons of bitches!” and “You’ll rue the day you joined a Nazi group, pal.”

Clint’s eyes raised when he heard it and he whispered to James “Is he always like this?”

James nodded, a fond grin on his face.

“Yep. Don’t let his innocent looks fool ya. Steve is one hundred percent ready to throw down with evildoers at all times. He’s fueled by coffee and rage.”

“Accurate,” Natasha agreed, smiling as Steve swore again over the comms. She’d developed quite a fondness for the feisty fellow and was contemplating asking him out on a date.

+1 “You want to go out with m-me?”

Steve’s blue eyes were round as saucers as he processed the question Natasha had just asked him.

“Yes, Steve, I do,” she told him, lounging against his desk.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You really LIKE me like me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed again. “And I strongly suspect the feeling is mutual.”

Steve blushed bright red and smiled rather shyly.

“I was content to admire from afar,” he admitted. “I’m in this league,” he held his palm very low, “and you’re in this league,” he raised his hand above his head. “So I was pretty happy that you would even be friends with me.”

“The world might see it that way, but, Steve, you are a good man with a big heart who is honest and sincere and hates bullies and Nazis and is an incredibly talented agent. Oh, did I mention your pretty eyes and handsome face?”

Steve’s blush deepened and he was speechless for several moments, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What do you say, Rogers? Friday night work for you?”

The shyness melted away and A slow grin spread across his face, the type of grin Natasha had never seen on him before, but it DID things to her. Normal Steve’s smile was adorable. Flirty Steve’s smile? Irresistible.

“Abso-freaking-lutely.” He declared.

#Romanogers #prompt fic #skinny! Steve Rogers #modern Brooklyn boys #natasha romanoff

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rexisnotyourwriter · 3 years

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by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

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Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab

Chapter 2: Feeling Like a Loner

The bell rang. The class full of children emptied in a flurry of squeals. The teacher breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped when she noticed she wasn’t alone. A pair of mousy braids sat by the window watching her peers spill out into the playground like ants under a log. They scattered, dispersing themselves amongst the jungle gym, the hopscotch marked concrete, and the small patch of grass they called a field.

The teacher softly called her name.

They’d had this conversation before, usually ending with her forfeiting her smoke break to stay in the classroom.

The girl didn’t turn around.

“You have to go outside today,” she added. “It’s a beautiful day. And look at those clouds. I think that one looks like a cow.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Sweetie.” The teacher put a hand on her shoulder. The girl finally turned to face her. “Why don’t you go outside, hmm?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s fun. Look. Look at all the fun they’re having.”

The girl looked back out the window and contemplated.

“That doesn’t look fun to me,” she concluded, matter-of-factly.

“You need to go outside today.”

“Why?”

“Because teachers need a break, too, and I can’t supervise you in here,” she responded bluntly.

“Oh,” the girl replied. “Okay.”

She got up from her seat and grabbed her neatly folded cardigan from the cubby.

Once outside, she found a good vantage point - a mostly flat rock at the edge of the field where she can see most of the schoolyard.

A group of boys were playing jacks. They’d made it to foursies, from what she could tell. Another boy hovered around them asking to join, but they ignored him.

The girl turned away from them and took a rubber ball out of the front pocket of her overalls. She bounced it against the ground on her own. Then, she turned back to the boys, still steadily bouncing her ball. She watched. When the time was right, she launched her ball into their game, knocking the jacks out of a boy’s hand. They yelled. She caught her ball without missing a beat.

The girl smiled, then turned her attention to the jungle gym. Almost ten children were winding their bodies between the bars, some resting on levels, others climbing to the highest perch. The few children in the center looked like they were imprisoned. An acrobatic cage. One boy made it to the top, or rather almost. His feet were on the second highest bars, his hands on the highest. He put one foot up on the high bar and tested his balance, releasing the pressure on his other grounded foot. His hand slipped, but he got his grip in time to only suffer a minor embarrassment (one of his friends saw, and proceeded to laugh). The boy climbed down after that.

She looked down at her cream colored Mary Janes and tapped her toes together. In the corner of her eye, inching toward her, was a remarkably fuzzy caterpillar. It bobbed up and down like a wave, growing closer and closer to the shore of her shoe.

“I got it,” someone yelled.

Then thud.

The caterpillar disappeared under a grass stained sneaker belonging to the boy who “got it”. “It” was a rubber ball, and the boy she recognized as the one whose turn at jacks was interrupted.

He ran back to his friends, taking no notice of her or his victim. The insect, upon inspection, hadn’t been entirely crushed, and was still wriggling. She gingerly scooped it up with a sturdy leaf and rested it in one hand while she cupped her other around it like a shield. She watched it writhe with increasing intensity, then intermittently, then not at all.

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On the following Monday morning, Bill was surprised to see that he had beat Holden in to work.

He poked his head in Wendy’s office.

“Captain America not in yet?”

“No,” she replied, barely looking up from the page in front of her.

“Maybe he finally got lucky,” Bill joked.

He got a smirk out of her that time.

Bill turned around and, seeing that Gregg was preoccupied with a phone call, didn’t bother closing the door.

“I’m going up to talk to Gunn,” he said softly.

“Good.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Marital problems.”

Wendy nodded her approval.

Gregg’s voice got louder from the hallway.

“Is he still on the phone?” Wendy asked.

Bill turned to confirm. “Yup.”

Wendy closed her file.

“This is ridiculous. We can’t be expected to assist in every single murder case across the country. We can’t even keep up with the inquiries.”

“What did Gunn say?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t really mentioned it, not explicitly. He’s not exactly receptive to my ideas. Knowing him, he would probably ask why Gregg was the one dealing with it and suggest I take over secretarial duties.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

Wendy’s eyes flicked up at him. Her look said it all.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bill decided. “Tell him we need to hire someone.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Holden speed walked into the office, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted.

Wendy got up from her desk and joined Bill in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Holden muttered breathlessly.

“Is everything alright?” Wendy asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. I had to take the bus, but I forgot my wallet at home and…It’s been a morning.”

“How’s your car?”

“What happened to your car?” Bill interjected.

Holden, still exasperated, dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud.

“It wouldn’t start when I went to leave the bar on Friday, so Wendy gave me a ride home.”

Bill threw a side-eyed glance at Wendy who wrinkled her nose in subtle disgust.

No, Bill.

“I got it towed to the shop on Saturday,” Holden continued, “but it wasn’t a dead battery. Turns out I need a new timing belt, and they couldn’t get one in until today. I have to pick it up in a couple hours because they close early, and when I called this morning it still wasn’t ready, which is why I had to take the bus. Hence…” He gestured to his state of disarray and exhaled.

“Happy Monday,” Wendy said before disappearing back into her office.

Bill got roped into a case that delayed his plan to talk to Gunn. It was almost 11am before he was finally able to go upstairs. Nearly 23 minutes later, Bill returned to the basement where Holden and Wendy appeared to be waiting for him. The pair looked at him expectantly.

“It went fine,” Bill admitted. “He gave me some sympathy about ‘the old ball and chain’ and poured me a finger of whiskey. As long as we stay on track and deliver, we’re good.”

“That’s great, Bill,” Holden said.

“And Gunn agreed about hiring an assistant,” Bill added, to Wendy’s relief. “A non-agent, but someone who can deal with the sensitive matter. He said he would talk to you about it.”

Wendy’s face dropped.

“Why me?”

Bill opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. He couldn’t find the right words.

She understood.

“Of course,” she added bitterly. Because I’m the woman.

Sometimes she missed Boston.

“Oh, shoot,” Holden exclaimed, noticing the time. “I gotta go.”

“Did you send that profile to Osborn?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I just faxed it over,” he replied, already halfway out the door.

“Kids,” Bill joked, shaking his head.

“So, how’d it really go?” Wendy inquired.

“It really did go fine,” he replied sincerely. “Better than expected, honestly.”

“But?”

Bill sat on the edge of the desk.

“I guess I still feel…uneasy about the situation with Brian. How would it look if the FBI found out my kid was involved in a murder.”

“But he wasn’t, Bill. They concluded he wasn’t responsible. It’s on the record.”

“I know. And I know that logically he thought the cross was a good idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t feel good about it. And now I can’t even keep an eye on him. I don’t know if he’s still wetting the bed. Or if he’s started sucking his thumb again, or if he’s spoken at all.”

Wendy offered him a sympathetic smile.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems likely that the regressions are a result of the traumatic experience. Nothing more.”

“I just feel so helpless.”

They sat in silence, neither knowing what else to say.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Wendy offered.

“Thanks. Really. I’m glad you’re around.”

Bill got up to leave.

Wendy passed by the fax machine on the way back to her office and picked up the pages of the profile Holden faxed to Alaska. She scanned the page, then stopped.

That little-

There was a knock.

“All by your lonesome, Dr. Carr?”

“Not anymore,” Wendy muttered under her breath.

She turned around to see Gunn standing in the doorway.

“I don’t know if Bill had a chance to mention it to you,” he said, making his way over to her.

“He did.”

“Good. HR has a standard secretary job posting. I’ll have them send it your way and you can let them know if there’s anything to be added. I trust you to select the applicants and conduct the interviews, but I need to sign off on the hire.”

“Isn’t this something that HR can handle on their own?”

“They don’t know what it’s like in the BSU. The intricacies of your operations. You’re the expert on that.”

She straightened her posture and folded her arms.

“You were involved in hiring Agent Smith, weren’t you?” he added, taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Yes, but that was different,” she explained. “He’s actively involved in our work.”

“And so will the woman you hire.” She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I thought you’d want to have a hand in who joins this team, Dr. Carr.”

“That’s -” she started, then stopped.

She took a breath.

“I feel that my time would be better spent focusing on our research,” she explained.

“And this is part of that,” Gunn stated confidently. “Everything that happens in this basement is. And beyond. All the cogs in the machine have to be well oiled and working together.”

His tone was final and his feet were already headed towards the door.

“Let me know if you haven’t gotten anything by the end of the week,” he added, already halfway out the door.

The phone rang, as if on cue.

She walked away, letting the sound echo in the empty room.

Wendy was in the break room getting her third coffee of the day when Holden returned from his errand.

“Hey, is there enough left for me?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a paper cup.

Wendy continued pouring coffee into her cup until the pot was empty. Holden looked at her cup, full to the brim. She picked it up carefully and took a sip from the top, looking Holden square in the eyes, before walking past him back to the office.

He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, before following her.

“Hey,” he called, just as she was about to enter her office.

Wendy turned around, unimpressed.

“Did I miss something?” Holden asked.

She was amused by his question, but not happy.

“Yes, Holden,” she said with more than a hint of condescension. “You missed a significant portion of my professional opinion in the Alaska profile.”

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could have been referring to.

“The military thing?” Her look confirmed his guess. “I thought we agreed he didn’t fit the military description.”

“I very clearly stated that it was very likely he did work at the air base.”

“Yes, but then I said I disagreed and you dropped it, so-”

“So, you took that to mean I conceded.”

“Well…”

She’d had it.

Gregg, who took notice of their dispute, removed his headphones to spectate properly, albeit discreetly.

“Look,” Holden said in a softer voice. “I don’t want to argue.”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rational discussion and an argument-”

“Do you want me to call them?” he interrupted. “Tell them we made a mistake and we’ll send a new assessment?”

Wendy weighed this option briefly.

“No,” she concluded. “The damage is done. It won’t look good if we change our mind unless we’ve been presented with new information.”

Holden exhaled loudly. She stared him down. It didn’t appear that he’d learned this lesson.

“What’s done is done,” she added.

She retired to her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Gregg looked up at Holden. Holden stared back, trying to think of something to say. His mind drew a blank, and he walked away, shaking his head.

The first thing Wendy did when she got home was pour herself the remainder of her bottle of Pinot Gris. It filled her glass well past the acceptable half-way point, but who was there to judge her.

The second thing she did was check her answering machine. She always tried to do it casually - just a quick glance - as if someone might be watching and think she was neurotic. The little red bulb was dark, as it always was. It seemed like a silly purchase now, slowly gathering dust like her love life.

She took a large sip of wine and opened the fridge. It was sparse. There was half a carton of eggs, an opened container of hummus, a three inch block of cheddar, and a nearly empty carton of milk next to a half full carton of orange juice. The crisper contained a bruised apple, two oranges, and a few stalks of celery.

Unmoved by her options, Wendy opened the cupboard only to find a bag of dried apricots where there would normally be cans of tuna. She once again opened the fridge and took out the cheese, an orange, and two of the celery stalks. From the cupboard, she took out the dried apricots as well as a box of crackers from the one next to it. She sliced the cheese and arranged it carefully on a plate next to a matching number of crackers. Next to the crackers was the celery, cut into sticks, followed by orange wedges and a handful of dried apricots completing the circle. She scribbled down “tuna” and “milk” on the notepad pinned to the fridge before bringing her dinner to the living room.

Wendy settled into her usual chair, curled her feet up, and turned on the television. It was quarter to the hour, right in the middle of any half-hour show and too near the end of a full hour program. She flicked channels through twice before stopping on an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which promptly went to a commercial break.

She took a bite of one of the celery sticks only to find it bitter. It hadn’t looked spoiled from the outside, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tossed the stick back onto her plate and grabbed an apricot to cleanse her palate. Much better.

A man from Sarasota made it to the final round, but couldn’t guess the puzzle. Wendy got it in four seconds. When the episode ended, she turned off the television and brought her briefcase back to her chair. She pulled out the file she brought home on John Wayne Gacy. The Killer Clown.

Gacy’s mug shot was more unique than most. He was looking away from the camera, off to the side, and smiling. It was as if he was having a pleasant conversation with one of the officers when they snapped his picture. He didn’t look nice per se, however he wasn’t glistening with sweat. This wasn’t surprising though, considering he admitted he knew he was going to be arrested. And he confessed willingly, although it was only after police had found the remains in his crawl space.

Wendy read through the details of the first convicted murder, Timothy McCoy - formerly known as the “Greyhound Bus Boy”. Gacy had left a family party to go look at a display of ice sculptures, then decided to lure the 16-year-old to his car from the Chicago Greyhound Bus Terminal. He was on his way to Omaha from Nebraska. Gacy drove him around Chicago, showed him the sights, then back to his house where he told McCoy he could stay the night. He even offered him a ride to the station in the morning in time to catch his next bus. According to Gacy, he woke up early in the morning to see McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife. Gacy got out of bed and charged at McCoy, who raised his hands in surrender, still holding the knife. It cut Gacy’s arm in the panic. Gacy, who was much larger than McCoy, wrestled the knife from him and banged his head against the wall. Gacy kicked him multiple times. He wrestled him to the ground, straddled him, and stabbed him repeatedly. Then, Gacy claims he cleaned the knife in the bathroom. When he went into the kitchen, he found an open carton of eggs and a slab of bacon, unsliced, on the table, which was set for two.

This poor boy just wanted to make him breakfast, as a thank you, and he died for it. All because he didn’t leave the knife in the kitchen.

Wendy swirled the remainder of her drink in her glass, then held her hand steady and watched the wine continue to swirl and splash around the curves, briefly gaining momentum before slowing to a soft ripple.

Maybe Gacy would have killed him anyways. Maybe he never meant to drive him to the station that morning. Maybe McCoy was always meant to end up in Gacy’s crawl space, covered in concrete.

She took a sip and turned the page.

#op*#mindhunter #mindhunteredit #mindhunter fic #a tide in a city #wendy carr #bill tench #holden ford #ted gunn #gregg smith

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theblogtini · 3 years

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The differ variations of the “suicide” is extremely disturbing. First it was mention, no help offered... Where were her doctors? And yet to HR? Really? NOW she it was she didn’t want to kill herself because it would hurt him? For all these “tell-all’s” there’s no transparency or clarity. Just a jumble of isolated situations and stories with nothing but holes and disassociation from each other.

I think Meghan was - as she always is - very careful during the Oprah interview. To quote her exactly, she said: I was ashamed to say it at the time and ashamed to have to admit it to Harry, especially because I know how much loss he's suffered. But I knew that if I didn't say it, then I would do it. I just didn't want to be alive anymore. That was clear and real and frightening and constant thought."

She never said she was suicidal. She never said she was having suicidal ideations. She said she "didn't want to be alive anymore" and that "she would do it." And I don't want to speak for everyone in the world, but many, many people in dark moments say "God I just wish I wasn't alive right now" or have a fleeting thought of "maybe this would be easier for everyone else if i I wasn't here." Now, Meghan says that it was a "constant" thought that she says.

She implied she was suicidal on international television but she never explicitly said it. She knew people would interpret that as what she meant - there's only so many ways you possibly could. She knew that telling her husband she didn't want to be alive would be interpreted as being suicidal. But at this point - and I feel disgusting for saying this - but at this point I genuinely wonder if she was truly depressed and suicidal or if she was just feeling overwhelmed and stressed and like she needed a TEMPORARY way out.......

Listen - to be 100% transparent after my first son was born it was REALLY ROUGH for me. I was diagnosed with PTSD due to the traumatic circumstances of his birth and I had very bad anxiety and OCD (diagnosed, which I have been seeing a therapist and psychiatrist for since 2012). I used to sit in my closet on the floor crying so that my husband couldn't hear me and think of what I would do to just be done with it all. (This went on until he was about 12 weeks old.) I had a little plan in my head. But I NEVER EVER WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY EVER KILLED MYSELF. And I would never describe myself - in that moment or now - as suicidal. Some days were so hard and so difficult that I would just sit there and think "I need a way out of this." That it would just be better for everyone else if I was just out of the way so they could carry on being normal humans without worrying about the idiot crying in her closet because she couldn't handle taking care of a 6lb baby that slept most of the time. I used to feel awful because my husband - who had never even been around kids - was trying to figure out how to be a dad AND how to take care of me and just making it work every day while all I did was make it harder for him. But I never ACTUALLY wanted to kill myself. I just wanted - in those moments - to not have to deal with the shit in my head and in my world.

And I kind of wonder if that's where Meghan was. She was stressed and tired and hormonal and she just wanted to be DONE with it all. And she told Harry that... and nearly 2 years later they decided to run with it in an internationally televised interview.

Because again - Meghan and Harry said they went to *human resources* for help. Then they called a journalist (Bryony Gordon) to do an interview about it. They never... called her doctor? I was in my psychiatrists office 3 days after coming home from the hospital b/c I told my husband I was losing it and he was like "Well, let's go get you help." We left my EIGHT DAY OLD BABY home with my mother so that I could go get help - and my psychiatrist diagnosed me with PTSD, said my anxiety and OCD were getting the best of me, upped my prescriptions of things, and then sent me to the hospital for some testing (b/c of the pregnancy complications I was actually sick in addition to feeling like I was losing my mind).

Things my husband did NOT do in that moment: tell me that he had somewhere else to be or tell me that I had to get over it and get dressed. HE TOOK ME TO A FUCKING DOCTOR. We didn't have an appointment - mind you. He picked up my cell phone and found my doctors number and called her and was like "I need you to see her immediately. She is not okay." And my doctor - being A GOOD DOCTOR - did.

So - I don't know. Nothing they say EVER makes sense and - IMO - that's because nothing they say happened actually happened... or happed in the way they want us to believe it did. They aren't taking notes on the lies and embellishments they're telling. They keep contradicting themselves and each other.

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charismaandcashmere · 4 years

Link

In the modern world, it often seems like it’s harder than ever to accomplish your goals.

It seems like everyone has already done the thing you want to do — that your idea is already out there, that your niche is beyond saturated.

Want to start a blog? You’re up against a million rivals. Thinking about starting a podcast? So is everyone else and their mom. Hoping to write a book? With the advent of self-publishing, you’re not only up against authors approved by major publishing houses, but anyone, anywhere, with a laptop. Want to become a YouTube star? Better hope you get noticed next to the thousands of other folks uploading new videos every day.

There’s seemingly a million graphic designers, a million wannabe filmmakers, a million other, probably more qualified candidates gunning for the same job you want.

And that’s just in the marketplace. In your personal life, the competition can feel equally fierce. In the days of yore, you were just competing against people in your college or church to win the attention of a lady. Now you’re up against every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Tinder. The dating marketplace hypothetically stretches beyond your community to encompass your whole state, maybe even the whole country.

Yes, in both economic and personal spheres, demand seems high, and resources seem scarce. It’s enough to make you decide to give up and not try in the first place.

Yet this feeling of scarcity is just an illusion, a myth.

In truth, there’s never been a more opportune time to live. Not only because it’s never been cheaper and easier to write a book, share your art, or start a business, but because the average person’s ability to execute on the basics has never been in such short supply.

While opportunities to achieve your goals aren’t as scarce as you think, there are areas where true scarcity does exist: in common sense, in social skills, in manners, in reliability. There’s a dearth of people who know, or have the will, to do the stupidly easy stuff to be charming and successful.

Let me give you just one example. Both off the air and on, guests of my podcast will tell me, “I can tell you actually read my book before this interview and I really appreciate that. It’s so rare.” I don’t bring this up to toot my own horn, but rather to point out how ridiculous it is that this might even be something worthy of mention! An interviewer reading someone’s work before asking them questions about it would seem like the barest of bare minimum job requirements — a prerequisite rather than something above and beyond. And yet the majority of podcasters aren’t even taking care of this most basic of basics.

There are tons of people doing what you want to do, but how are they executing? In 90% of cases, not as well as they could be.

That’s your opening. And such openings are absolutely everywhere.

To take advantage of opportunities, people typically concentrate on stuff like building up their resume — going to the best school or getting the right internship. And certainly, these things can help.

But what’s missed is that it’s often doing stupidly easy stuff that’s going to allow you to make friends and land your dream job. It’s doing the stupidly easy stuff that almost no one else is doing that can most readily set you apart from the pack, and up for success.

What is some of that stupidly easy stuff? Below you’ll find a (non-exhaustive) list of the things it’s hard to believe people don’t do more often, and which have a huge ROI because most people can’t be bothered.

1. Send a thank you text when you get home from a nice party/date. In my opinion, this is the #1 easiest and best way to be a more charming texter. Yet almost no one does it. When someone has you over for dinner, or you take someone out on a date, once you part ways, they typically worry a bit as to whether or not you had a good time. And a party host wants to know their effort to throw the shindig was appreciated. So even if you thank your date/host in person at the end of the evening, once you get home, shoot them a confirming text saying, “Thanks again for the delicious dinner. We had such a good time!” Trust me on this, it’s stupidly, stupidly charming.

2. Write handwritten thank you notes, always and often. When an occasion was especially nice, instead of sending a text, write the person a handwritten thank you note and stick it in the mail. And send handwritten thank you notes for anything and everything else. Received a gift? Thank you note. Job interview? Thank you note. Someone helped you move? Thank you note. Someone went to bat for you at work? Thank you note.

Thank you note writing has become such a lost art, and receiving snail mail is so delightful, that sending handwritten appreciation has become one of the most effective ways to set yourself apart from the pack.

3. Edit your emails/texts before sending. No one ever catches all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes contained within their communications, but giving your texts and emails a couple reads before you hit send will tighten things up. These “clean” missives significantly contribute to making a winning digital impression.

4. Know how to make small talk. We spend so much time behind screens, that when we finally meet people face-to-face, our conversation can often be awkward and stilted. But being comfortable with small talk opens a tremendous amount of doors; sure, it starts out with the superficial, but it’s the on-ramp to deeper discussions — the pathway to relationships with potential lovers, new friends, and future employers. Fortunately, once you know the simple methodology that makes small talk flow, it’s easy to master.

5. Don’t be a conversational narcissist. Related to the above. The only kind of talk many people know how to make these days, is about themselves. Someone who knows how to listen and ask good questions comes off as stupidly charming.

6. Don’t look at your phone during a conversation. In an age of scattered attention, a person who can concentrate their attention on you, and fight the urge to look at their phone while you eat or talk — someone who can make you feel like the most important person in the room — is a charmer par excellence.

Can’t seem to pry yourself away? Check out our complete guide to breaking your smartphone habit.

7. Dress well for a job interview. You don’t have to show up to a job interview in a three-piece suit (unless the position calls for it); overdressing can make as poor a first impression as under-dressing. But showing up dressed just one notch above what current employees at the company wear will immediately set you apart from many other candidates. Well-shined shoes, a pressed shirt, and good hygiene will help too.

8. Come to a job interview prepared to ask questions of the interviewer. Whenever we post this article on “10 Questions to Ask in a Job Interview,” HR folks always weigh in with how “amazed” they are at the number of candidates who stare blankly when asked at the end of an interview, “Do you have any questions for us?” Know some questions to ask going in.

9. Take a woman on a real date. In a landscape of “What’s up”? texts and non-committal hang outs, taking a lady on a real date puts you head and shoulders above other suitors. What constitutes a real date? Watch this video and remember the 3 P’s: Planned, Paired Off, and Paid For.

10. Offer a sincere apology when you mess up. My generation seems to struggle with saying “I’m sorry” when they make a mistake. Numerous times I’ve had my order messed up at a restaurant, and when I bring it to the attention of the waiter or manager, they just shrug, say “Okay,” and fix it, without saying, “I’m sorry about that.” Then the other day an order of mine got messed up, and the manager took a totally different tack — comping my whole meal and bringing me a free dessert. That kind of treatment is so rare, it was unbelievably winning. I even found the manager after my meal to tell her so, and let her know I would specifically make an effort to return because of her gesture.

As it goes in the restaurant biz, so it goes with everything else. Most of your fellow employees will just say “Okay” when an error is brought to their attention. Offering a sincere apology that demonstrates you take responsibility and understand where you messed up and how it affects the company, will easily set you apart (so will immediately trying to make it right and preventing it from happening again).

And in your personal life, apologizing when you stumble is stupidly endearing. You’ll probably mess up again, and often with the same issue, but even when you can’t completely overcome your flaws, showing you’re at least completely aware of them goes a long, long way.

11. Follow through. I get a lot of emails from guys who want to do something with the Art of Manliness, like write a guest article or strike up a business partnership. They are excited! They are passionate! They are…MIA. They never follow-up or follow-through on their idea. I’ve often wondered what happens between their excited initial email, and their descent into silence. But whatever it is, it can easily be avoided by those committed to following through.

12. Be reliable. No quality today can more readily set you apart from your peers than reliability. Doing the follow-through just mentioned. Showing up on time (and just plain showing up). Meeting deadlines. Managing expectations and not overpromising. Promptly responding to emails. Keeping your word.

Are freelance graphic designers, artists, video/audio editors, app developers, programmers, contractors, etc. a dime a dozen? Surely. But a reliable creative professional or handyman? A pink unicorn. If you couple talent and skill with reliability, it’s stupidly easy to dominate your competition and your niche.

When you survey the economic and dating markets, they can seem incredibly oversaturated. Demand seems high and resources seem scarce. But when you take a closer look, you’ll find that while there are plenty of people all grasping after the same thing, there are only a few executing well on the attempt. Setting yourself apart isn’t complicated or hard; it often involves simply doing the stupidly easy stuff that everyone else overlooks.

Their obtusity is your gain; see through the myth of scarcity, take care of the basics, and the world is your oyster.

#my links #art of manliness #etiquette #the myth of scarcity

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 73 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Courtney committed a fireable offense when she lost Miss Fame’s sketches.

This Chapter: Bianca rides in on a white horse, and Violet says yes to cake.

***

BIANCA: I need Courtney’s address

ADORE: Why

BIANCA: Because she seems upset and she’s not answering and I’m worried

ADORE: What did you do?

BIANCA: NOTHING

BIANCA: I don’t think

BIANCA: Something probably happened at work

BIANCA: ADORE. SEND THE ADDRESS FOR FUCK’S SAKE

BIANCA: I WILL CUT YOU OFF BITCH

BIANCA: Adore, please.

ADORE: Fine! But if she’s mad, that’s on you

BIANCA: ACCEPTED

ADORE: Just to warn you, it’s a real shithole

BIANCA: Alright, alright, just please send the address

Even though Bianca felt like a little bit of a stalker just showing up at her place like this, she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. Courtney had cancelled with those few cryptic messages and then gone radio silent. Bianca knew her well enough by now to be certain that something had gone wrong, since just hours earlier, she was sending sweet messages about how much she couldn’t wait for them to be together.

She tried calling her a few more times from the car, but there was no answer. Finally, standing in front of the crumbling brownstone, she had to come clean.

BIANCA: Look, I’m sorry for taking drastic measures, but I was really worried…

BIANCA: I’m outside your building

Seconds later, her phone rang. She answered, heart filling with relief. “Hi baby-”

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice sounded broken and raw, and it was immediately clear that she’d been crying. Bianca could feel her heart in her throat, head suddenly racing with all the possibilities of things she may actually have done wrong. Had she really fucked this up so quickly?

“I was worried about you, so I thought…” Bianca bit her lip, afraid to even ask if she was the one who had upset Courtney like this. “Are you gonna let me inside?”

There was a pause, a few beats, the sound of sniffling.

“I just...I kind of don’t want you to...see it.” She sounded choked up again, voice small and soft.

“Angel…” Bianca couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It didn’t sound like she was angry, at least not with Bianca--just ashamed of where she lived, which Bianca could understand. “Do you think I’ve always lived in a penthouse?”

“No,” Courtney admitted after a pause.

“No,” Bianca repeated. “Not by a longshot. Please let me in, I need to see you. I just want to talk.”

A few minutes later, Courtney appeared, opening the door from the basement level. Bianca raced down the narrow steps and swept her into a hug, trying not to fret too much about the way she hung limply in her arms.

She followed her inside, and while she’d been prepared for something small and substandard, based on everything she’d heard so far, this was far worse than her fears. A tiny basement unit, dank and dark with exposed pipes and what looked like the world’s oldest sofa bed. It was also clearly an illegal sublet with no kitchen--only a metal, industrial sink with an electric kettle and micro-fridge below.

Besides the bed, there was little furniture. Her closet appeared to be two wardrobe boxes, and a few other boxes were stacked next to the bed to create a makeshift side table. Bianca took it all in, wondering exactly how she ended up in such a dismal place.

But now was not the time to ask about that, not when Courtney looked so utterly miserable. Even in the dim lighting, Bianca could see that her eyes were red and swollen. She followed her to the sofa bed, sitting down gingerly beside her (and holy shit was that thing uncomfortable) and taking one of her hands into her lap.

“Tell me why you’re so upset, angel, please.”

Courtney took a shaky breath, fresh tears filling her eyes. “I did something...really terrible today.”

“Did you kill someone? Do you need me to get a shovel?” Bianca asked, and she was rewarded with a hint of a smile as Courtney shook her head.

“No, but…” Every trace of smile disappeared from her face as she said, “I bet Miss Fame is gonna think this is worse.”

“What happened?”

“I accidentally left an envelope with a bunch of her sketches in a cab.” A tear rolled down her reddened cheek.

Bianca’s eyes went wide, understanding why Courtney was so distraught. Fame rarely sketched anymore, but when she did, she was as attached to the original work as if it was a piece of her own body. She immediately went into problem-solving mode, trying to think of things to mitigate the damage.

“Have you tried calling the cab company-”

“I don’t know which cab company it was, I didn’t get a receipt and I can’t remember no matter how hard I try,” Courtney cried. “But I did call, I must have called a hundred different companies, but...I think they might be gone.”

“Okay-”

“It’s not okay! Her sketches, her original sketches! How could I have done that, I’m so dumb, I’m so bad at that stupid job!” More tears poured down her cheeks, sobs heaving her chest.

“Hey, come here…” Bianca pulled her in, hushing her softly, a hand rubbing circles into her back. “I know, I get what a big deal it is, but it sounds like you did everything you could. And I promise you, it’ll be okay-”

“How?! How will it be okay?! I’m gonna get fired!” Courtney exclaimed, and Bianca had to bite her tongue, the word ‘so?’ nearly slipping from her lips.

“Okay, well...let’s say you do get fired,” Bianca said slowly. “I don’t think you will, but if you do...would that be so bad? It’s clearly not your dream job.”

“But I need it. I can’t get my new work visa without it. It’s been months and I still don’t have the answer and-”

“You don’t have a work visa?”

“Not after March. I have an attorney who’s working on it, but he keeps running into problems and he’s already charged me so much and I don’t know-”

“Hold up. Galactica hired you, but they’re not handling your immigration issues?” Bianca asked.

“Well...Violet told me not to tell Miss Fame, so I...I was afraid to bring it up with HR. But I got the number of an immigration lawyer from Miss Fame’s contacts, and...it’s all just so expensive. He keeps asking for more money, and I can’t-”

“Wait a second.”

Bianca was no immigration expert, but she knew two things: 1, getting a work visa for an entry level administrative job was nearly impossible and 2, it was actually impossible without the full support of a sponsor company.

“Whoever that lawyer is, they’re a total fraud. Don’t give them any more money, okay?”

“Oh god.” Courtney moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why can’t I do anything right?!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Bianca assured her. “You trusted a professional and they took advantage of you. They could be disbarred for that. And as for the sketches...stop beating yourself up. Yes, she’s going to be angry, and upset, but things happen. People make mistakes. I’ve made plenty, believe me.”

“Like this?” Courtney asked, eyes skeptical.

“I once dropped my boss’s wife’s passport off a subway platform.”

“Did you get fired?” Courtney asked.

“No. But I did get yelled at for a solid hour. Maybe two. It wasn’t a good day. But...I got through it. And you’ll get through this.”

“Maybe. But I just know I’m gonna fuck up again. Everything is...I don’t think it should still be this hard, not after 4 months. Miss Fame even said that, earlier today. I’m not new anymore, I should know better. I should be better. What’s wrong with me?!”

At first, Bianca said nothing, simply wrapping her in an embrace. She knew that Courtney was finding the job stressful--anyone in their right mind would find that job stressful. But the fact that it was this bad...Bianca felt guilty for not noticing sooner. She rocked Courtney slowly, letting her fall apart in her arms, whispering comfort into her ear.

After a while, when she sensed that Courtney was cried out, sobs slowing down and some of the tension finally melting away, Bianca pulled back and took her by the shoulders. She paused, considering for a minute if she really wanted to get involved before saying, “Maybe this isn’t the right job for you.”

“Well, I don't have another offer, so...oh, god, what am I gonna do? Is the visa thing really bad? Am I gonna get deported?”

“No,” Bianca said with a smile, shaking her head decisively. “I’ll take care of your visa. Don’t worry about it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet, but there are options. I promise, okay?” Bianca kissed her cheek softly, up near her ear, lips lingering on her tear-stained skin. “I’ve gotten pretty attached to you, so you leaving the country would be a huge bummer.”

Courtney finally seemed to relax, letting out a small chuckle, resting her head on Bianca’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to leave you either. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, angel.” Bianca squeezed her hand tighter, lacing their fingers together. “Does that mean you want to come home with me?”

Courtney nodded slowly, squeezing Bianca’s hand back. “Yes please.”

“Good.” Bianca tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And, um...okay so, remember when you said that Christmas music makes you want to go to the beach?”

“Yeah…” Courtney tilted her head, puzzled.

“Well I may have booked us a little...getaway. Just for a few days. So you can have some sun and relax and get away from this dreary weather.”

“Where?” Courtney asked, eyes wide.

“Puerto Rico. It’s not that long of a flight, so-”

“But I thought you had to stay and work!”

“I can work from there.” Bianca flashed her a charming smile, adding, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. I’m…” Courtney took a deep breath, clearly overwhelmed, and then glanced over to where a beaten-up duffel bag lay on the floor. “I guess I need to pack some other clothes, although I’m not sure I have the right stuff here...”

“There are stores in San Juan.”

Courtney laughed, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. “I’m never gonna get used to the way you live.”

“You will. And that’s a promise,” Bianca said. “So will you come with me? Our flight leaves tomorrow at 2.”

“Yeah, of course! I just need like 20 minutes or so to pack.” Courtney’s mood already seemed to brighten as she began pulling boxes out of a stack against the brick wall.

“Of course, take your time. Mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Oh. Uh...yeah, sure. It’s uh...out that door and down the hall, on the right. I share with Fred, but I think he’s at work right now, so-”

“Who’s Fred?”

“Um-”

“You know what, I can hold it,” Bianca assured her, crossing her legs.

“I’ll be fast, I promise,” Courtney said, pulling a pair of sandals out of the box and tossing them to the floor. “And B...thank you.”

“For what, sunshine?”

“Everything.”

***

“I’ll get to the dishes in a minute, mom!” Gigi closed the door behind her, looking around her bedroom in an attempt to remember where she had put her earpods. She crouched down, digging through her backpack. Symone had made her a playlist of music she had to listen to over the holidays, and if she was gonna be put on Cinderella duty, she might as well make it productive.

It felt strange to be home; the smells, sights and sounds were all exactly the same, while she couldn’t help but feel different, like she had grown up in the weeks she was away.

Some of her friends had reached out when they had seen on Instagram that she had returned to L.A, but she hadn’t responded yet. She was an adult now, with a real job, not a college kid that could mess around and do all the things she used to, hanging out in the skate park suddenly so lame and childish compared to all the things she was doing in New York.

She had spent the day in her mom’s studio, watching her work like she had done so many times before, her mom excitedly asking about what clothes she should make her, and showing her all of the sketches she had done while Gigi was away based on the pictures she had sent.

Gigi couldn’t wait to wear her mom's creations, the outfits more chic than anything she had seen in the multiple designer stores she had now been in. Sutan’s words that her style was her edge ones she had really taken to heart.

“There!” Gigi exclaimed triumphantly, pulling her earpods out of her backpack. She grabbed her phone, and was just about to get to the kitchen to do the dishes, when she saw that she had gotten a message from Symone, a massive grin spreading on her face as she slid back down to the floor, leaning against her bed to respond, her chores completely forgotten.

***

JINKX: Hey honey. Just want to make sure you made it home from the airport okay.

JINKX: I read it was snowing a ton.

JINKX: Plus you know, I haven’t heard from you in almost 4 hours so I miss you like crazy.

JINKX: ;-P

ALASKA: Haha, I’m fine. At a bar right now catching up with the bro.

JINKX: Tell him hi for me

JINKX: xoxo

ALASKA: <3

***

It was Christmas Eve Day, barely past dawn, but Courtney was already awake. She’d slipped from the bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Bianca, padding over to the big picture window to watch the golden sunlight reflecting off the buildings, admire the light dusting of snow on the trees in the park. She wasn’t used to thinking of New York as pretty, but from up here, it really was.

“Hey...good morning…” Bianca said, her voice rough with sleep, just the way Courtney loved most.

“Good morning.” She turned around, giving her a slightly apologetic smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nahh...I guess my body just doesn’t want to sleep without you.”

“I love it when you’re cheesy,” Courtney giggled.

“Oh yeah? Plenty more where that came from. What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Just...checking out the view. It’s pretty amazing.” Courtney turned and headed back to the bed, suddenly missing Bianca’s warmth beside her.

“The view over here isn’t half bad either,” Bianca told her with a wink.

Courtney giggled some more, crawling toward her across the mattress. “Happy Christmas Eve…”

Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss, Bianca’s hands cradling her face.

“Speaking of which...how do you feel about opening one of your presents now?”

“Really? Already?” Courtney asked, eyes lighting up.

“Well, it’s kind of useful, so I think it makes sense.” Bianca got up out of the bed, pulling a huge box wrapped in silver from her closet.

Courtney sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly as she ripped open the paper to reveal a gorgeous pink Fendi suitcase, covered in what had to be custom crystals. Her mouth fell open.

“I figured you could use it for our trip. You know. I’m all about practical gifts.”

Courtney couldn’t help laughing. The suitcase was anything but practical...but it was perfect, like it was designed from Courtney’s wildest daydreams.

“I don’t know if I have enough to fill this,” Courtney said, running her fingers over it, watching the way the stones glittered in the light.

“Well...that’s cool, I could use the extra space myself.”

Courtney raised her eyebrows. She’d seen Bianca’s packed suitcases, two giant Louis Vuittons and a large, matching carry-on, nearly ready to go.

“You need more space? We’re going for a week...what are you even taking?!”

“More presents,” Bianca said, dimples deepening.

“Oh my god…”

***

Violet chewed on her lip; sorting through Google images really not where she excelled. She was looking for pictures of Raja at the Met Ball, slowly combing through what she could find since her emails to Max and Pearl had gone unanswered. It was annoying, but expected. Pearl never missed out on the chance of ignoring her emails, and Max was british so he completely ignored both phone and computer the minute he left the office, so she was on her own.

“Violet?”

Violet looked up from her station at the living room table to see Sutan head peek in through the kitchen door, his phone against his shoulder, the glasses in his hair betraying that he had been working as well even though it was Christmas Eve. “My mom’s asking if you like klappertaart?”

“... Excuse me what?” Klappertaart? Violet had no idea what that was. It wasn’t unusual for either Raja or Sutan to get a bit confused when they bounced between Indonesian and English, their sentences sometimes mixed up, but that didn’t sound Indonesian at all. “Is that German?”

“Dutch, actually,” Sutan smiled. “Remind me to educate you on the thrilling saga of Indonesia's colonial history some day.”

“Ah,” Violet felt a brief stab of shame, that information seeming like something she should have known, though she had barely even been aware that Indonesia existed before she had met her boyfriend.

“So?” Sutan walked fully into the room, leaning against the doorframe, his black pants tight in the waist, and Violet couldn’t help but admire him for a second. “Klappertaart?”

“I still don’t know what it is.”

“Oh fuck, right” Sutan’s eyes widened, and Violet laughed as she heard a noise from the phone, Murni clearly picking up on her son’s swearing, Sutan quickly putting the phone against his ear.

“Ya Bunda, ya ya, maaf,” Sutan grinned, walking over to the table before putting the phone down so he could continue talking.

“Klappertaart is… It’s a cake, that’s…” Sutan paused, clearly looking for his words. “There’s coconut and… Know what, excuse me.” Sutan held the phone up again, Indonesian falling from his lips as he talked to his mom and Violet had to hide a smile, Sutan clearly never considering what was in this mysterious klappertaart.

“There,” Sutan pulled away, “It’s a coconut cake with almonds and raisins, and we usually have it for Christmas.”

“Huh,” Violet ran over the ingredients in her head. It was incredibly nice of Sutan’s mom to ask if she liked the menu, and there weren’t any of the ingredients that she hated, though warm raisins were disgusting, but she was pretty sure she could get away with picking them off, so there was no reason to create a scene. “That sounds lovely.”

“Great,” Sutan smiled, bending down to give her a quick kiss before he returned to his phone call.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #bitney #jalaska #vitan #bianca del rio #adore delano #courtney act #gigi goode #jinkx monsoon #alaska thunderfuck #violet chachki #raja gemini #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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