#Is figure out how the hell to take out a personal loan from a bank

[solardee]

Guess who finally got some quotes for a roof replacement and bathroom plumbing!!

Gonna be about 10 grand all together which, yes sucks a bit but is far better than I was expecting! I will have two whole functioning bathrooms in this house for the first time since I bought it finally c:

[theabstruseone]

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.

Edit to add further developments:

Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.

Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.

The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.

The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.

The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.

TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).

This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".

This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")

X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.

Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.

The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.

One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.

Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[bqstqnbruin]

Priceless

Ok so here I am somehow with a second fic in a matter of, what, two ish days? Anyway, this is one that I wrote and posted last year but I reread it and it sucked so I took it down and rewrote it. Hope you like it!

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: none? swearing? Typos for sure.

_______________

You loved him with your whole heart; there was nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, and you knew that he felt the same about you. At least, that’s what you used to believe.

Ever the one for dramatics, a three am alarm was what made you question not only your whole relationship but your whole existence. The witching hour was an ungodly time to be waking up and getting ready, no matter what the reason was. Even when it involved flying off to Europe for a destination wedding that involved Jake’s entire team.

“Babe?” you call to him, the shower just turning off. He pokes his head out, hair wet, droplets of water rolling down his face as he waited for you to answer, “We’re going to have time to stop at a Dunkin’, right?” you whine, doing everything in your power to not pass out then and there instead of finishing your packing.

“Maybe?” he says, ducking back into the bathroom before coming out with just a towel on, hanging on his waist. If you weren’t so exhausted, the things you could be doing right now, your mind wanders as he continues talking, “We have to get through TSA and I don’t think they would allow you to bring that through security, would they?”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, throwing the last of what you needed into your suitcase, trying to find anything of Jake’s lying around that you knew he would forget. “What if I finish it in the car before we go through security?” you beg, hoping he’ll cave.

“Y/N,” he sings, “then you’re going to have to use the bathroom a million times and it’s going to be my fault.”

“Do I have to be pleasant before I get coffee in me?”

You hear him laugh from the bathroom as you lean back on the bed and close your eyes. “You wouldn’t be you if you were pleasant before your coffee, babe.” You do everything in your power to try to stay awake while he gets ready, him saying random things as he runs around getting dressed, you murmuring weak responses in return. “Hey, come on, sleepyhead,” he says, pulling you off the bed, “We’ve gotta get to Logan.”

You drive there in silence, praying for the moment you get coffee in you as you still struggle to stay awake while Jake keeps talking. The car stops, Jake pulling down the window when you finally open your eyes, seeing that you were sitting in the drive-thru line at Dunkin. “God, I love you,” you say, leaning over and kissing his cheek, a smile covering his face.

“Who’s paying, you or me?” he asks, not letting you answer due to the voice of the cashier inside coming through the speaker to take your order. Two small coffees, enough to hold you over for the drive to the airport before you get more coffee once you’re through the gate. He looks at you as you stare down at your phone, having to check your bank account to see if you even had the money to begin with. “I’ll pay for both,” he says, a calm tone covering her voice.

Money for you was tight. You had never really struggled to pay your bills and your share of the utilities, but you definitely didn’t have the amount of extra cash that Jake did because of the seemingly never-ending student loan payments you were making. “I’m sorry,” you say, taking the coffee from him so he can get to driving again. You hated having the money conversation; no matter who you talked to, they always seemed to bring up the fact that your NHL player boyfriend made more money in a single season than you had seen in your entire life. It always left things awkward, as the implication of you being a gold digger hung in the air between you and the person you were having a conversation with. “I can probably transfer some money from my savings for extra stuff, but I had really only planned on buying a few meals and a few other trinkets for my family,” you admit, staring at the low number that showed in your checking account.

“Hey,” he says, resting his hand on your thigh, not taking his eyes off the road, “It’s fine. Anything you want, I’ll pay for it.” You smile at him, hoping he couldn’t tell from the corner of his eye that it wasn’t sincere. That was another thing you hated: other people covering for you. You grew up being taught that if you didn’t have money for it, you either didn’t pay for it until you had the money yourself, or you forewent it entirely. Having to worry about paying someone back was unnecessary stress in your life. Or, if they were like Jake, then they would insist it was their treat, not taking the money you owed them no matter how much it was.

You look out the window, the empty, tree-lined highway lighting up as the sun rose over it, the sky turning from the dark purple night to a brilliant orange right in front of you. You had never been one to wake up for the sunrise, taking in the sight for what was probably the first time in your life. “It’s so beautiful,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this calm and quiet before.”

“I’ve seen one thing more beautiful than this,” he says, a huge smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, bracing him for the cheesy comment you knew he was going to make.

“You,” he says, proudly, trying to find your hand without looking away from the road, bringing it to his lips before connecting his back to the wheel.

“God,” you moan, both of you laughing, “That was so corny.”

“Well, they call me Chef JD, gotta have some corn sometimes,” he says, resulting in you screaming.

“I will in fact leave you if you say something like that again,” you tell him.

“Yeah? Where would you live, then?” he teases, immediately regretting his words, “Fuck, sorry.”

“I’d figure something out,” you tell him, trying to match his teasing tone so that he doesn’t think you took it the way you did. The rest of the ride to the airport is in silence, you both finishing your coffee as you pull up, seeing some of the guys getting their stuff out of their car at the same time. “Hey, aren’t international flights normally at night?” you ask Jake, Charlie, and Matt coming over to help you guys get your bags.

“Bergy booked the flight for all of us and we don’t question him,” Charlie says, pulling Jake away from you, the two of them wandering into the airport with Kylie trying to keep up with her own boyfriend

“It should be more concerning to all of you that he has to act like your father,” you say to Matt, walking with him to security. Besides Jake, you were closest to Matt. He adopted you as a pseudo younger sister, the one who knew just as much, if not more about you than your boyfriend.

Matt shrugs, watching Charlie and Jake mess around with each other in line in front of you, “It just kind of happened that way. None of us ever questioned it, like Chuck said.” The two of you watch the boys, bickering about something as they seemingly all forget their girls were standing right around them. You and Matt fall into a mundane conversation, watching Jake and Charlie together as they pass through security. The five of you gather your things, trying to find which way your gate was so you could meet the rest of the guys before boarding the flight.

Matt figured out that you were supposed to head to the left, so naturally, Jake and Charlie veered right, leaving you and Kylie with all their stuff to lug to the gate. “Where are they going?” you ask Kylie, dumbfounded as you struggle to carry Jake’s bag along with your own stuff.

“Charlie mentioned he was hungry on the way here, so I’m just hoping that’s where they’re going,” she mutters, “Dealing with all of them together is like herding cats,” clearly as cranky as you were earlier that morning as you try to stifle your laughter. Just like you, Kylie was not a person to interact with before she had caffeine in her, one of the reasons the two of you got along so well.

You get to the gate, Jake and Charlie nowhere to be seen even though you were suddenly surrounded by the rest of the Bruins roster. From the looks of the waiting area, the flight was mostly the guys and their families, and thankfully so: you would hate to be on a plane with the Bruins organization if you were outside the organization itself. You loved the boys, but god, they were loud and annoying sometimes. Everyone else on the plane would definitely hate the group, but they didn’t care. The city was fueled by the hate of everyone who wasn’t them.

Jake and Charlie finally reappear, more coffee and now food in hand. Jake hands you what he got you as you reposition yourself so you’re sitting cross-legged on the seat, slightly uncomfortable due to how scrunched up you were so you could face him. You lean over, kissing his cheek before you start eating

He turns his head to smile at you as you catch him off guard and kiss him again. “What’s this for?”

“I don’t tell you enough that I appreciate you,” you say to him, taking a bite of the breakfast sandwich he got you.

Jake smiles at you, turning himself so he faces you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, gently pulling you towards him so he can kiss your forehead, mumbling something you can’t quite make out against your skin. Charlie starts chirping Jake over something, resulting in him leaving you to go argue with his teammates. You can’t help but smile as you watch Jake and his teammates. You knew he loved them, just like they loved him.

“You didn’t have coffee in you when I was talking to you before and you were actually pleasant?” Matt plops down next to you, taking your attention away from Jake.

You roll your eyes at him, even though you knew he was right, “Shut up, Gryz. Jake and I stopped for coffee on the way here. This is round two,” you say, raising the cup to him. The two of you watch some of the younger guys aggregate around Jake and Charlie, Jake telling them some story while they hang onto every word of his, laughing their heads off with every sentence. “God, he loves you guys.”

“Yeah, but you know he loves you more,” Matt says, nudging your shoulder.

“I think he loves Oreos more than he loves me sometimes,” you joke, knowing that it’s not true. Hoping that it’s not true, more like it.

“Trust me, JD loves three things in this order: you, hockey, then Oreos. He loves you more than he loves hockey. Nothing you can do will change that.”

You both laugh, the announcement for your flight to board interrupting the noise the rest of the guys were making. Jake rushes over to your side, picking up the bags both of you were planning on bringing onto the plan, practically pushing Matt out of the way. He kisses you on the cheek, a soft smile on his face.

“What?” you ask him, linking your arm in his.

“I love you,” he says, getting in line behind some of the guys.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning your head against his arm.

“Ready for seven hours on a plane with these fools?” Jake asks, using his other arm to gesture to the rest of his teammates.

“I’m only ready because you’re with me,” you say to him in a sing-songy voice.

“Woah! So you can be corny, but I can’t?” he jokes, sending you two into a flirty bickering match as you board the plane with everyone. You get settled into your seats, resting your head on his shoulder to hopefully fall back to sleep despite the amount of caffeine coursing through your veins. You can hear the guys talking around you, probably annoying the rest of the passengers on the flight more than they intended.

You end up in that half awake-half asleep state while on his shoulder, the sounds of the rest of the guys fading in and out as you did. You could feel Jake occasionally kissing the top of your head, resting his on yours in an effort to go to sleep like you were. Both of you were woken up by the sound of the flight attendant coming through with food, the long flight warranting a hot meal, you and Jake being handed something different than the rest of the people around you.

“What is it?” you whisper to him once the flight attendant has passed by you.

“None of the free meals looked good so I got us something different,” he says, taking a bite of what looked like chicken covered in some sort of sauce.

“We could have just done the free meal so you wouldn’t be paying for me again,” you mumble, a little annoyed that he didn’t even ask when paying for food made things awkward earlier that morning.

You sit there in silence, eating the food that Jake bought you. Honestly, it was airplane food, not something that you had even wanted in the first place but you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

“I think I’m gonna go sit with Charlie,” Jake says, getting up without saying another word once the food is gone, leaving you to sit there by yourself with the other people in the row.

You try to find something to watch on the screen in front of you, only to be interrupted by Matt appearing and Jake’s seat, startling you as you rip out the headphones you had on while the first movie available was starting to play. “Your boy just kicked me out of my seat by sitting on top of me.”

You can’t help but laugh, picturing the other passengers' reactions around then as the grown men that were Jake and his teammates acted like absolute children. “I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he did that or that fact that I’m not shocked that he did that.” You watch him with Charlie, your smile fading as his grows.

“Hey, what’s up?” Matt asks, pulling your attention away from Jake.

“Same argument that we haven’t really fought over yet.” Matt was the only one on the team that knew about the seemingly never-ending awkwardness that surrounded you and Jake when it came to money. “It’s not getting worse, but it’s more frequent. I’m just worried we’re gonna end up blowing up at each other and losing each other in the process,” you tell him, fixating on the screen in front of you.

You hear him exhale, looking over to see a sad look on his face. A single lock of hair falls down in front of his forehead, moving along with the rest of his head, “Couples fight. I don’t want to tell you that you should have this argument this weekend, but you have to talk about it. And I mean really talk about it, not just the vague undertones you two constantly have dancing around the subject.”

You stare at him, slightly confused at how something like that came out of him, “I don’t like how you said that so eloquently,” you laugh, Matt throwing his head back to join you.

“But you know I’m right,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you huff, waving him off.

Without another word, he hands you his other earbud, starting a movie on his screen that would hopefully last the rest of the flight. You rest your head on his shoulder to get a better view of the screen, picturing Jake in his place.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you must have at some point because the next thing you know, the movie is over, the plane is about to land, and Matt is trying to get you off his shoulder so he can get back to his seat. “Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, nudging his shoulder gently. “Jake’s coming back,” he says, acting as if he didn’t want to get caught with you asleep next to him.

“Hi,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes as he plops back down in his seat, him kissing your cheek as you now struggle to stay awake. “It’s like, the middle of the night now, isn’t it?” you ask him, having no idea the time difference between Boston and where you were.

“I think it’s like 10 pm. I didn’t realize I was dating an old woman,” he jokes, pulling a laugh from you.

“You wear me out, babe,” you say, everyone getting up from their seats, the boys making more noise than anyone on the plane as people anxiously waited to get off.

“And you keep me young,” he says, giving you a quick peck before handing you your bag.

You hear someone groan behind you, turning to see Matt standing there already waiting for the two of you to move out of his way. “I’m not going to hang out with you if you’re like this the entire trip” he teases.

You can’t help but scoff, playing into the teasing nature of his comment. “Sorry, bubs, you’re the only one who didn’t bring a date so that makes you our third wheel.”

“I could third wheel any of the guys here and you know that,” he tries to defend himself as Jake grabs your hand and starts to pull you off the plane.

“That’s a weird thing to brag about,” you tell him, the three of you walking in a line to go get your bags, you and Matt carrying a conversation while Jake stands off to the side, not paying attention to the movement of the unfamiliar airport around him.

Everyone waits outside for whatever transportation Patrice had arranged to the hotel, still unsure how he swung any of the details he did. The guys had way too much energy considering how many hours they spent cooped up on a plane. You were exhausted, the coffee practically gone from your system as you tried to convince Jake to just go back to the hotel room with you and spend the night in. “Please?” you beg him, draping yourself on his arm as he waited to get your room keys.

“But the guys want to explore the city,” he whines, jutting his lip out to you.

“I have no more coffee in me,” you whine back. He pouts at you, contemplating whether or not it’s worth it to try to convince you to stay in or go explore with the guys. “I will do anything you want.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling you close to him, “Anything?” he asks, forgetting the guys surrounding you as he kisses you, his grip around your waist tightening as his teammates start teasing the two of you.

“Hey, JD! Save that for the bedroom!” Matt chirps, your face turning bright red at his words.

“Ah, fuck off and let me love her,” he says, his forehead against yours. “I think I like the sound of the bedroom.”

You ignore the chirps from the boys as he kisses you again, the heat in your cheeks not subsiding until the two of you get to your room. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out with the guys? Apparently, the nightlife is supposed to be awesome in the city,” Jake says, flopping down on the bed. You had been there all of two seconds, and he was already starfished on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

You sigh, sitting down next to him. “I told you I don’t want to go out,” you repeat, a little more annoyed than you intended to sound. “I’m tired, and when we go out, we’re going to end up spending more money and-” you stop, cutting yourself off as Jake sits up.

“Hey,” he says, taking your hands in his, “I told you I would pay for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. To me it is. I don’t need you to keep paying for me for everything. I don’t want you to.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Were you really about to have the fight you and Matt talked about on the plane in your hotel room? “Don’t you get it? You have so much money while I’m constantly struggling to make ends meet because of fucking loans. Do you know what it’s like to be a grown adult and live off someone else's money, the constant looks from people when I talk about you that say they think I’m just dating you for your money? That unless you’re home and go grocery shopping for us, I have to choose between food and gas until you get back? All I am is a fucking burden.”

“What, you think I don’t know about all of that? Why do you think I pay for you? So you don’t have to worry about food and gas,” he says, getting up.

“And I hate that you do that!” you snap, “That you feel like you have to. It’s like a slap in the face that I can never pay for anything and you have to pay for everything.”

“So what do you want me to do? Stand by and watch you struggle when I have the means to help you?” The volume of his voice matched yours, hearing doors in the hallway opening and closing, praying that it wasn’t other guests trying to figure out what room the screaming match was coming from.

“I don’t mind if you help out once in a while when I really need it but it’s stuff like the second round of Dunkin’ when I could barely get the first, the meal on the airplane when they give out free ones, or when you keep asking to go out, knowing that we’re going to spend money after I told you no.” Jake rolls his eyes, pushing past you and out the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going out with the guys. You want something, you can get it yourself, see if I care,” he hisses, leaving you standing there with the door propped open by your foot, watching him walk away. Matt gets off the elevator when he tries to get on, saying something you can’t make out when the elevator door closes.

“What the hell happened?” Matt asks, looking between you and the elevator.

You shake your head, trying to hold back the tears that were forming, knowing that there were other people in the hallway that had just witnessed the end of whatever that was. “Remember the fight you said we would have? We just had it,” you tell him, flopping down on your bed with your hands over your face. You let out a long groan, feeling the weight of Matt’s body sink the corner of the mattress down. You knew he was giving you that sympathetic look that was going to make you more upset, feeding into your already upset nature just that much more.

“What happened?” Matt repeats.

“We just finally snapped. God, of all places to have a stupid fight like this, we have at the night before your teammate is supposed to get married. I mean, fuck, we’re in Barcelona, for god's sake and you and I are here watching me mope instead of exploring like we should be.”

“Well, who says we can’t?”

“My bank account.”

Matt pries your hands off your face, forcing you to sit up despite you clearly not wanting to. “There’s so much to do in Barcelona at night that doesn’t involve spending money. We can find the guys no problem, probably doing something free.”

“And how do you expect we do that?” you ask him as he tries to drag you off the bed, grabbing the room key on the way out the door.

Matt waves his phone in the air, a smug look on his face. “I have the location of everyone on the team, past and present, on Find My Friends.”

You hesitate for a minute, your wallet and bag sitting right there by the door for you to grab to go join your boyfriend and his teammates and try to enjoy the night despite the fight you just had. “Matt,” you try to protest, your eyes darting back and forth between him and your bag. You didn’t want to worry about Jake on the night out, but you knew you couldn’t be spending a lot of money. You had been out with the guys too many times before when Jake promised they wouldn’t be big spenders, only to go home and have to worry about how you were going to survive to the next paycheck.

“If you want anything then I’ll pay for it and you pay me back with food or something. Y/N, Jake is wandering Barcelona with Charlie right now, probably just as upset as you are,” he tries to reason with you. “There’s no point in sitting here alone in your hotel room when you’re in a city that you’ve been talking about visiting for as long as I’ve known you.”

You let out a groan, knowing that he was right. “I can’t stand you,” you mumble, grabbing your bag and heading out the door with him.

Matt had his phone pulled out, trying to navigate the city based on a little dot that showed your boyfriend’s location. You had no idea where you were going, and, to be honest, you weren’t sure that Matt had any idea either. You had never been in a situation where the two of you had to wander through unfamiliar territory before, but something told you it was going to be a while before he figured out how to get to the rest of the guys.

“Matt, this is useless. We’ve been walking around for over an hour already,” you tell him, sitting down on the bench that was just off the path you had been taking.

“It hasn’t been an hour, you’re being dramatic.”

Matt sits down next to you as you pull out your phone. “We left the room at 10 pm. It’s 11. That’s an hour,” you snap at him, clearly hating that you can’t find them. “I just want to see Jake,” you mutter.

“Have either of you calmed down enough to have an actual conversation with each other? You know, not a screaming match?” Matt asks you, watching the small dots that represented his teammates move around his phone screen. “If you want to try to figure out your way around here, when neither of us speaks the language to ask for directions, we can. If not, we go back to the hotel.”

You stare at his phone, seeing JD, CM, TF, two JS’s, and a DP altogether, somewhere off the road where neither of you were able to figure out how to get to them. You shake your head, thinking about Matt’s words: you weren’t sure you were cooled off enough to talk to Jake rationally, and you had a feeling he was still the same. “Let’s just find our way back to the hotel,” you tell him, getting up off the bench.

You look at Matt, the look of sympathy covering his face as he follows you back the way you came. You probably could have easily found Jake and the rest of the guys, working out whatever the hell you needed to before the wedding tomorrow. If you couldn’t work it out, what did that mean for your future, though? If you didn’t live with Jake, you would be struggling way more than you were now, probably living paycheck to paycheck without the luxury of everything Jake did for you.

Were you wrong to be mad that he was trying to help?

The two of you get back to the hotel, the empty lobby eerily echoing with your footsteps on the marble floor. You hadn’t even noticed it before, the hotel you were staying at was probably the nicest one you had ever set foot in. You were tempted to sit on one of the chairs in the lobby, wait there for Jake and the rest of the guys to come back despite the fact that they would probably be drunk off their asses when you saw them.

Matt puts his hand on your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to stay down here and wait?” he asks you, reading your mind, “Or, do you want to go back to either your room or mine?”

“I don’t want to impose,” you try to protest.

“So, you’d rather go back to an empty room and wallow alone instead of sitting on my bed, eating ice cream, and watching a movie,” he tempts you, raising his eyebrows with his offer.

“I don’t want ice cream.”

Matt scrunches his nose, letting out a laugh. “I never said the ice cream was for you. It’s summer, I can cheat on the nutrition plans a little more right now.”

He manages to pull a laugh from you, the two of you heading up to his room. You plopped yourself on his bed, your hands behind your head while you couldn’t take your mind off Jake. You really didn’t want him to be as miserable as you felt, but part of you also did want that. Was that bad?

You knew you had to set boundaries. You knew you couldn’t live without him, both financially and in life in general.

“You know,” Matt says, pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, “The guys are back here at the hotel. If you wanted to go back to your room, I’m sure you could talk to him now.”

You roll over, your back facing Matt. “I don’t think he would want to talk to me.”

Matt sighs, lying down next to you and staring up at the ceiling. “Like I told you in Boston, Jake loves you more than anything. If I know anything about him, he’s just as miserable as you are, probably back in your room panicking about where you are.”

You turn to him, narrowing your eyes. “This is your way of trying to get me out of here before the ice cream comes and you feel like you have to share with me, isn’t it?”

You both laugh, sitting up to get ready to go. “Oh, of course.”

You head out, opening the door, caught off guard by who was standing there. “Jake?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. “I thought you would be here.” You nod, both of you standing there in an awkward silence as you held the door to Matt’s room open. You didn’t know if you should speak first or wait for Jake to do it, and apparently, he felt the same.

“As much as I love just staring at you two,” Matt breaks the silence. “Would you be able to do this with my door closed? You can be in here, but,” his voice trails off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever it was you were about to talk about even though he already knew.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” you tell him, letting his room door close behind you as Jake took your hand in his, leading you down the hall to your room.

You don’t say anything until you get into your room, both of you sitting at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” he says, his hand still in yours but unable to look at you.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you repeat, for lack of better words to say. “We need boundaries. I get that you want to pay for things, but I need you to ask me before you do, especially if it’s something we don’t necessarily need.”

“Ok,” he draws out, trying to figure out how to frame his words. “Would you be ok with asking me for help when you need it? You know I can help you, and it kills me seeing you struggle when I have the means to make this stop.”

“I just want you to ask.”

He smiles at you, raising his hand to cup your face. “I will,” he says, his lips finding yours for a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You spend the rest of the night together, trying to figure out boundaries of what and when Jake can lend you money, what should be paid back, what he doesn’t want back, everything. It was the conversation you should have had years ago, yet never did.

The next morning, you get ready for his teammate's wedding, slipping on the dress, your back towards Jake while he put on his suit. “Can you zip me up?” you ask him while he adjusted his sleeves.

He comes up behind you, his fingers holding the small zipper and slowly pulling it up your back. Jake wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in front of the mirror hung on the wall of the room, his head nestled on your shoulder. “I can’t wait until we get married.”

You laugh, craning your neck to kiss the side of his head. “That’ll be an expensive day, won’t it,” you joke.

“Yeah, maybe. But spending the rest of my life with the girl I love? That’s priceless.”

[forcefully-awoken]

hello this is for @titan-fodder's coffee shop AU collab. you can find the rest of the amazing works here. divider by @firefly-graphics

i am patently against coffee shop AU's but i do like plot twists.

pairing: Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) x Reader

Summary: Life is boring when you work at a coffee shop in a small town and your life feels like it's going nowhere. Good thing Nemuri walks through the door and sets her eyes on you.

warnings: pining, angst, ghost shit, author has never worked in a coffee shop, period typical mentions of homophobia

WC: 4.2k

You never thought your life would turn out this way.

Stuck in a dead end job at a local coffee shop, always working the opening shift, paying off loans for a degree you barely had use for now. You weren’t so old now, barely twenty three, but starting college seemed so far away. Everything felt so much easier back then, you were so young and idealistic and you were going to change the fucking world. Now you have to listen intently while the rudest woman in town berates you because her coffee isn’t heated to the exact degree she had specified.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” You reply smoothly, voice honey sweet and fake as hell, “I’ll get that remade for you right away.” You had no such intentions, but this bitch didn’t need to know that. Instead you took it behind the counter, just out of sight while you busied yourself making another drink. Then you handed the original back to her, and watched as the woman took a sip, sighing happily.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” She snips, walking away. You roll your eyes and take up the register again. Standing in front of you is the single most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You’re certain she’s never been in before, at least not while you’ve been working. She’s eyeing the menu board over your head, while you’re able to drink in your fill of her. Long black hair, falling in soft layers down her shoulders, pale, unblemished skin, full lips, and bright blue eyes. She’s dressed in the vintage style you’ve seen come back into fashion, red glasses perched on her face.

“W-what can I get for you?” You curse how you stutter out the question- you haven’t stuttered in front of a woman since the sixth grade and you realized you liked girls.

“I think just a black coffee, small.” Oh for fucks sake, even her voice is pretty. You mutely nod, picking up a cup to write down the order.

“And a name?” The words are routine as they slip from your mouth.

“Nemuri Kayama,” She replies, giving you a smile as bright as the sun. All you can do is nod back to her, taking her money and making change in silence. Your coworkers snicker quietly when you even go so far as to hand deliver her drink.

“What time do you get off work?” She asks when you manage to make it over to the table and set the drink down without spilling it on yourself. “I’d love to get to know you.” You check the time on your watch.

“Another two hours,” You reply, sadness in your voice because there’s no way she’ll wait.

“Wonderful!” Are you dreaming? You must be dreaming. “I’ll see you then!” Once again you can only nod in reply, silently wondering what the fuck to yourself as you get back to work. You try to look at Nemuri as much as you can, but she seems to just be lost in thought as she sits at the tiny two person table. She gazes out the window with a dreamy smile on her face, every so often bringing the cup to her mouth- though you notice it doesn’t look like she’s drinking, only smelling it.

Two hours has never seemed so long as your shift drags by. Customers come in, you take orders, your heart tries to beat out of your chest. Soon enough you’re hanging up your apron on its little hook, and ignoring the stares of your coworkers as you take a place across from Nemuri. Her cup still looks full, and you almost want to ask if there was something wrong with it before shutting that train of thought down- you’re not working right now.

“Hello,” You breathe out, trying not to sound so excited, failing miserably. “You waited.”

“Of course,” Nermuri practically purrs at you, leaning forward on the table, just slightly closer to you. “I wanted to talk to you.”

That’s all it takes- you think you’re in love now. The talk starts small, just figuring each other out, you tell Nemuri about your degree and she tells you she never went to college, that she worked as a secretary at a bank you hadn’t heard of. You figured it had to be in the town over, but the conversation moved on before you could ask. You don’t think you’ve had such a delightful conversation in ages, so far from your friends and not close to your coworkers.

Nemuri makes you realize how lonely you’ve been, but soothes the ache before it can even begin. Neither of you offer up your last names, but that seems so inconsequential. You want to know what makes Nemuri smile, what drives her out of bed in the morning (“Not a lot,” She says, smiling down at her now cold coffee, “Just getting by like everyone else.”). For all you can find it in you to care the rest of the world is standing still now. You think you could swim in her eyes, drown in the soft peals of her laughter.

It’s not until the pointed coughs of your coworkers that you realize the shop is only a few minutes away from close. She hesitates when you ask for her number, but that doesn’t slow you down. You offer to walk her to her car, but she says she doesn’t have one- doesn’t even have her license in fact. You offer her a ride home, eager to spend more time with the mysterious woman. She nods just the once, and you go to gather your things, taking her coffee to the back to pour it out in the sink. You’ll really have to figure out what kind of drink she likes.

Nemuri is standing by the table, waiting for you once again. She looks ethereal in the low light, and you tell her as much.

“You look like an angel,” You declare confidently, but she somehow becomes even more pale. There’s a split second where you think you’ve done something wrong enough that she’ll faint right there on the spot but she perks up after a moment.

“That’s the first time I’ve been compared to one,” She teases you, and you lead the two of you out the door. When you turn to grab your keys from you bag you take your eyes off of her for a split second, it’s barely anything, but there’s a gentle breeze and when you turn back Nemuri is gone- leaving you with disappointment and more questions than answers.

Namely, what the fuck.

You had the next two days off, and you were left to wonder- had you done something wrong? The signs felt like they were so clearly there but maybe you had misread them? Maybe Nemuri was just flirty like that, and ran at the first sign of queerness? For the first time in your memory you wish you would get called in so you could ask her about it. But your days off passed quietly, with you just puttering around your house, trying to get everything done that needed to be.

Soon enough you’re there, bright and early, and nervous beyond belief. It feels like it takes all day for Nemuri to show back up, but she arrives- this time right before your shift is over.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing out of her mouth, and damn, it’s hard to stay even a little annoyed when she looks so cute staring at you like that. You find yourself melting, smiling and taking her order- which is your favorite drink, you recommend it to her. When you join her after your shift again she gestures to it. “It’s yours.” Your answering smile is all she needs.

“Tell me about your favorite childhood memory?” Nemuri asks, and you find yourself unable to deny her.

“My mom took us to this mermaid cove place, they have a show with pirates, and mermaids, and singing, and I just remember how happy she was watching it all,” Your eyes grow a little misty thinking about the past, about your mother, “I remember telling her that I was going to be a mermaid one day, just to make her smile like that all the time. I was a very ambitious seven year old.”

“You sound like a good daughter,” Nemuri replies, smiling sweetly at you. “I’m sure your mother is still very happy for you now.”

“She passed,” You manage to choke out, trying hard to sound like you’re okay, “A few years go, but anyways, what about you? Your favorite memory?”

“I’m so sorry,” Nemuri starts, but sees something in your face so when she talks again it’s not about you, “We were down on our luck when I was a child, like everyone was. I was maybe nine or ten at the time- everything we ate was so bland, but it was all we could afford. One day papa came home with an orange- a real orange! We had to split it between everyone but nothing tasted sweeter.” Nemuri isn’t looking at you now- she’s lost in her own thoughts as surely as you’re lost in yours.

“We should talk about happier things,” You say, and Nemuri is nice enough to ignore the sniffle in your voice. “The future, maybe. Where do you see yourself in five years?” She blanches at that, actually, and you feel bad, taking a sip of your drink to focus your thoughts. “You’re right, that was bad. This isn’t a job interview.”

“I just haven’t given it much thought,” Her reply is a little stiff, formal.

“Ah, a live in the moment type of gal?”

“You could say that,” There’s a secret hiding in Nemuri’s smile, one you want to spend as long as she’ll let you trying to figure it out. “What about you? Big future plans?”

“I want to fall in love,” You blurt out, cringing back a little, “That sounds so cheesy. I just want to have a little place, just a little piece of happiness.”

“I don’t think that sounds cheesy at all,” Nemuri assures you, “I think it sounds amazing.” The two of you sit there for another moment, just enjoying each other before the alarm on your phone goes off- half an hour until your therapy appointment. You frown at the reminder, cursing it internally for disrupting your time now. You stand, gathering your things as does Nemuri.

“I have to go, but maybe I could take you out?” There it is again- the blanching, the frown that plays on her lips. “Or is that too fast?”

“We could meet back here?” She slowly suggests, “I live in one of the apartments above?” You’re not sure why she sounds so shy about it but you readily agree anyways- you don’t cherish the idea of coming back here but maybe you’ll get lucky if she’s already inviting you over.

“It’s a date,” You declare, feeling more confident when Nemuri nods in agreement. You bid your farewells and make it home just in time to pick up your therapist’s call- the wonders of telehealth. It’s hard to focus on what your therapist is saying, and she seems to pick up on that.

“I met someone,” You say, suddenly shy. Nemuri is so new, you don’t feel quite comfortable gushing about her yet. “It’s new. We have a date tonight.” There’s not much else to say after that, anyways. After that you’re able to focus just a little bit more, and soon the hour is over, with you promising to tell your therapist all about your date.

There’s still a few hours so you take your time getting ready, trying to find that balance between casual and dressed up. You’ve never felt so nervous for a date before in your life, but then it’s suddenly, somehow, time to leave again.

Nemuri is waiting in front of the shop for you, looking nervous but she lights up when she sees you. You can see a soft glow behind her- the shop is transformed. The door is unlocked, and she mentions something about being friends with the owner again when you lead the pair of you inside.

The main lights are off but there’s fairy lights all over, and the tables pushed out of the way, save for one right in the middle. There’s some take out on it, a Thai place you know you had mentioned earlier today.

“This is all so much,” You gush to Nemuri as you take your seat across from her. She looks perfect, and you tell her as much, just to watch the apples of her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink. It’s endearing, really, the way she waits for you to serve yourself, how she just watches you, and talks to you. Conversation flows as easily as the wine you brought, though you’re the only one drinking it.

“I thought I had misread the signs,” You confess. “I thought maybe once again I had a crush on a straight girl.”

“I had the same fears,” Nemuri returns, shaking her head a little, a soft strand of black hair falling around her cheek to frame it perfectly. “I know I can be a little unusual and I thought you were simply being kind.”

“Oh, no, I totally wanna fuck you,” You try to keep your voice a little light, teasing, but it comes out damn near a purr and Nemuri’s eyes widen in response. Now, your tipsy mind thinks, now you’ve definitely over stepped and you’ll be reported, and get fired or sued, and your therapist will be so disappointed and-

“It’s good to know we’re on the same page there.” Her words bring you up short, stopping your anxiety spiral before it can even really begin. Nemuri shifts, her eyes going distant when she looks away from you. “Though there is a slight complication here.”

That sends another pang of worry through you- you’re pretty certain Nemuri is perfect, what could complicate sleeping together? A million different scenarios speed through your head all at once, but for the life of you, you’d never be able to predict the next words that come out of her mouth.

“You see, I’m a ghost.” You’d laugh, but her face is kind and serious and all sorts of heart breaking.

“I’m sorry?” Your manners prevail, and you bite back what you want to say, “You think you’re a ghost?”

“I am, I know I am,” Her words hold a note of finality, so much so that you can’t help the next words out of your own- “Alright, then prove it.”

She looks back at you now, catching your eye with a mischievous grin. She stands, but the chair doesn’t move. Nemuri walks, actually walks, through the table, standing right in your food to bend over and brush her lips against yours. It’s like there’s nothing there, only the hint of coldness, something that sends a harsh shiver down your spine.

“Do you believe me now?” She asks when she pulls away.

“I do,” You answer simply, before everything goes dark and you feel yourself slide out of your chair onto the floor, as Nemuri calls your name.

Your eyes flutter open and Nemuri’s face is so close to yours that if she had breath you would be sharing it. You scramble away from her, kicking the chair as you move, and her face falls.

“You- you’re a gh—” You choke on the word as you sputter, unable to get your mind around it. Ghosts aren’t real, your mind distantly supplies, the wine is drugged, or you’re having a stroke, or you fell asleep on the couch but this isn’t- it can’t be real. Nemuri is still frowning at you, kindness in her eyes like she understands. God, how do you even begin to tell your therapist about this? That the girl you have- had- have a crush on is a ghost?

“I have to go,” The words leave your mouth, body twisting as you grab your bag off the floor and run out the door. You think you hear your name being called but you don’t look back, you don’t stop shaking until you’re home, and the door is locked behind you. Your mind doesn’t stop racing, anxiety making your heartbeat loud in your chest.

There’s a pang of regret but all you can think is why, how, what the fuck? Nemuri is a ghost, she walked through a table and kissed you and you ran away. You had work in the morning but it was so hard to think about going back. Would the shop even look the same now to you now? God, had she died there? Is this why she lingered around it? Were her bones buried under your feet as you made rude middle aged women their overpriced lattes?

That thought is enough to have you running to the bathroom, emptying your stomach into the toilet. You slide to the floor again, pressing your forehead against the cool tile to try and stop your reeling brain. You have no idea how to process this now, electing to simply crawl into bed, deciding to call in sick in the morning.

And you do- you call in sick for two days. You curl up in your blankets, and ignore the world outside. You think about the sad look on Nemuri’s face, and it sends another pang through you every time. It’s hard to think of disappointing her again but where do you go from here?

After two days you can’t justify calling in anymore. Your bills need paid, no matter how many ghosts you think you might want to have sex with. You don’t see her your entire shift either, which makes you a little sad, and that surprises you. You hesitate as long as you can, hoping to see her before you head home, but she never shows.

And for the next week you don’t see Nemuri. You brush it off when your therapist asks after her, and try to write it off as maybe a slight psychological break. But then you see her, sitting in a corner, and you notice how the sunlight goes through her now, like she’s fading, like she’s only ever been halfway there.

You don’t acknowledge her until the end of your shift when you whisper, “Tonight. The same time.” There’s no reply but when you glance back she’s gone.

Your hands shake something terrible when you drive back to work after hours. When you arrive this time there’s no grand set up (and you really should ask Nemuri how she did that!) there’s just the table by the window, the same one you first spoke to her at. You don’t even see Nemuri as you walk in, the lights on just enough for you to see.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes around the open space and then all of a sudden she’s right next to you. Materializing out of thin air like, well, like a ghost.

“You’re here,” The word sticks in her mouth, and you feel the pressure of it on you, compelling you to take a seat. You slump in your seat, eyes widening when Nemuri is just there across from you- only she didn’t walk there. She’s just there. Everywhere. The thought makes you dizzy.

“I figured,” You voice is too quiet, you clear your throat, straightening up in your seat, “I figured talking can’t hurt, right?” Nemuri nods, a little too eager. “I don’t have to solve your murder or anything right?”

“Heavens no!” Nemuri sounds scandalized at the thought which brings you little relief. “I died of old age, quietly, in the apartment above here about twenty years ago.”

“But,” Your mind is still reeling from how old she must be, what year her date of birth is, “Why are you here then?” And from the look on her face she knows you don’t just mean why is she in the coffee shop. She doesn’t look at you when she starts her story.

“My father wasn’t a nice man,” She says, a hard line to her words. “He loved me, please don’t misunderstand that, he loved me in the way fathers love their first daughters, which is to say pining a legacy on my shoulders before I know how to walk. He looked at me and saw future generations, saw grandchildren that might share the color of his eyes, the shape of his mouth.

Unfortunately for him the first time I kissed a boy I knew- I couldn’t love him or any man. I couldn’t love anybody the way I loved the girl next door, my roommate in my first apartment, the lovely barista at the coffee shop. I was… wrong in his eyes. I wasn’t the child he had been promised and that broke something inside of him. He asked me to deny myself, if I wouldn’t have a husband then at least, I should have nobody at all.

And I couldn’t deny him that. I died here. I died alone, with regrets, and one big thing tethering me to this ground we sit on. I wanted a love. I want one kiss, with someone who looked at me and saw me and understood me and loved me so much it didn’t matter that I was wrong in my father’s eyes- because I would always be right in theirs.”

You’re crying by the time Nemuri stops talking. Big, fat, salty tears make their way down your face. Your nose is running too, and with shaky hands you move to wipe your face off with a napkin. You can’t imagine Nemuri’s life the way she described it. Your mother had hugged you tightly when you came out, had set you up with the daughters of friends, had held your hand in hers on her deathbed and told you to love as much as possible.

But Nemuri, sweet and kind and loving, had been denied that because it was the wrong time? The wrong place? The wrong family? It broke your heart to think of decades alone, closing her eyes that final time knowing there was nobody waiting on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” You gasp out, trying to stop yourself from crying more, “I’m so sorry I ran off, I didn’t even give you a chance!”

“You’re giving me a chance now,” Your heart breaks a little more at how kind she still sounds, “And you’re not running. I don’t see fear in your eyes. I see acceptance, and understanding.”

“And love,” You say with some finality. It’s hard not to love someone like Nemuri, and how could you not love her now? She’s laid her soul in front of you, and all you want to do is hold her hand. You reach out, placing yours palm up on the table. She’s hesitant, but then her hand rests in yours and you can feel her- warm and vibrant and alive. She’s solid when you look back up at her. Holding her hand in yours, you move around the table, bringing your face level to hers.

“I love you, Nemuri,” You tell her, watching as tears gather in the corner of her eyes, “And I won’t stop until my dying day.”

When your lips meet hers this time you feel them, the first and best kiss she’ll ever give you, and there’s a soft exhale from her that your greedily swallow down. When your eyes open again she’s gone, but you know that’s okay.

Somewhere, she’s happier.

Your life moves on after that.

It’s weird- you think going back to the coffee shop might feel awkward but it doesn’t. You swear you can hear her laughter in the ringing of the bells over the door, feel her touch as it stops you from burning yourself on something hot. She’s everywhere and nowhere- just the simple, calming presence of an old lover.

You meet a girl, two, three, before the fourth one finally sticks. It doesn’t feel like betrayal, not when your first kiss with her happens because an invisible force pushes you forward and into her arms. Sue, your wife, is lovely and understanding, even when you drag her to a cemetery, and introduce her to a grave holding a person you couldn’t know, given that the gravestone held a death date of when you were five.

She doesn’t question it when she finds you talking aloud sometimes, to thin air, to a person who’s name she’s only even seen on that gravestone. Sue holds you tight on your worst nights and lifts you higher on your best. Every kiss with her is full of life, of love, of a happiness you find yourself thinking you’re sharing with one other person. You give everything you have to Sue, save one little corner of your heart.

You move away, you move on from that small town and everything that held you down there. Your life flourishes out, it’s more than you ever could have dreamed of, your happiness so much that you’re not sure how your heart handles it. Every little victory feels dedicated to her, to the one ghost you’ve never been able to exorcise but that’s okay, more than, because you know Nemuri loves you still, wants you to be happier just for her.

And you know it too, when you close your own eyes for that one final time, and her voice calls to you from somewhere, far off in the distance.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere Kageyama please! Maybe he is the leader of the Mafia or a Gang leader?

Now this is very farfetched, but yandere!yakuza!Kageyama? Hot. Didn’t make him the leader in case I want to write more for that AU. It wouldn’t make sense if he was a leader yet in the long run.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

Dealing with other people had never been your strong point.

It wasn’t like you lacked social skills, and you had a few friends to prove that. However, you just weren’t good at negotiations or lying. Being in a tense conversation always made you nervous, as did having to stand your ground and not be a push-over. Then again, you probably would have made it through your life just fine if not for that one mistake.

You cursed your ‘best friend’ quietly under your breath as you walked the long hallways. Feet on wood made those full, echoing sound of steps, letting you know that this was real wooden flooring, only the best of the best and expensive as hell. Things that could be bought when one lends out money and then asked for more and more back.

At the same time, you had to curse yourself too. How stupid had you been to co-sign a contract you hadn’t even read?! Who did this in this day and age, just blindly believing that you weren’t just selling off your soul to someone else’s cause? Of course, no one expected your friend to bail the moment his brilliant idea of a business got ruined, leaving him deep in debt. Still, now it was your responsibility to pay back the money you never even possessed in your whole life.

Anyone would have been nervous, wringing their hands as they got escorted through the traditional mansion. From afar, you heard calm, serene deer scares clicking and water flowing into a pond. Everything seemed so perfect.

Perfect enough to hide a lot of secrets.

Only the person who had greeted you, a tiny, young man with very noticeable orange hair, seemed as if he had no care in the world. He hummed happily, occasionally throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure you were still following, before moving forward in what could be best described as carefree jumps.

“It’ll be alright,” he hummed, after watching your wringing hands. You managed a faint smile, wanting to believe him but finding it hard to after having done your research. This wasn’t just a loan shark facility. The Karasuno clan wasn’t just men in suits with more papers than words. They were the kind of people you didn’t want to pick a fight with, the ones you’d avoid at night. The ones really desperate people would go to for help when the government refused them. The ones your best friend thought he could trust after every bank denied him a loan.

And now it was all on you to meet these people, anxiety or not.

You were led into a nice tatami room, with only one table and two seating pillows filling it. A waste of living space, but it sure left an impression. To be able to afford a mansion so big to have an almost empty conference room in it surely was something to look in awe upon.

“Kageyama will be with you in a bit. Make yourself at home!” your guide chimed, grinning widely before he shut the door behind you. Now, you were all on your own, and you shifted your weight on your feet for a while before deciding to sit down. Just standing around would be very rude, too, right? The last thing you wanted to make was a bad impression, even though that meant you had nothing to get your mind off until it was time to meet that Kageyama-guy.

Meaning, the moment the sliding door flew open, you jumped hard, having been in your thoughts for just a minute too long. “[Name]?” the person who entered asked, and you stuttered a quick, “Y-Yeah?” back. He nodded approvingly before walking over, taking the seat across from you, and you began to wonder if you were sitting on the right side of the table or if there were any rules for that.

“I’m Tobio Kageyama, thank you for coming,” he introduced himself, reaching inside the jacket of his black suit - matching the dark tuft of hair he had perfectly. For a second, you thought those were the last words you’d hear before he pulled a gun on you, but instead, he made a letter appear, as well as an expensive-looking pen.

“This is your signature, correct?” He unfolded the paper for you to see, pointing at the bottom where he had it black ink on white paper, your very own signature. “Yes...” you mumbled, slowly curling into yourself. “Alright, did you have any contact with the person who took out the loan lately? We’ve been trying to find them, but if we can’t, that would mean that you need to pay--”

“I don’t have the money.”

Whatever had ridden you to interrupt him like this vanished with the little bit of confidence you had left. You felt sweat collect on your forehead, and you were too afraid to look up at him, while Kageyama’s mouth hung open, in the middle of saying something. Closing it, he looked at the table, followed by some taps on the wooden surface.

“Do we... do we know each other?” he asked suddenly, catching you off-guard. But he managed to draw your attention again, eyes flitting up to look at his face. “I- I’m not sure, do we?”

“Second year of high school, I think I sat a few rows behind you.”

Blinking, you could barely believe what you were hearing. “Huh, you were? I’m sorry... I must have forgotten... Or wait, you were really into volleyball back then, right?”

A smile crossed his face, nothing you would have described as sincere, but it seemed like a well-meant try. Still, you felt a bit of relief ease the tension in your shoulders, despite not exactly being safe even now. “I’m glad you remembered. I just noticed.”

Clearing his throat, he looked back down at the paper again, pointing his pen towards a large number with a lot of zeroes, making you shift your attention. “See, the problem is that this was my first deal with someone from outside the organization, and I’d absolutely hate to sit on this kind of money. You understand that, right? I eventually have to give it back to my bosses, and for that, it would be really bad for me to not have it, right?”

“I understand...” you mumbled, gulping at the big sum he was talking about. “But I really don’t have it! If I could, I would give it to you right away, but there’s no way for me to pay it back anytime soon.”

Kageyama watched you intently, time passed painfully slow. Something about his unblinking stare was unsettling, but you figured he might just be thinking right now, and instead removed your eyes from him shamefully. It was your fault, and you’d do the right thing if you could to make up for it, but as you were, there was no way to do so.

“I believe you,” he eventually agreed, pulling the paper off the table and back into the pocket inside of his jacket. “So here’s what we will do instead.”

Reaching into the opposite side from where he had just put the document into - and you were almost a hundred percent sure that this was your death sentence now and he’d pull a gun - he produced a silken, deep black, and long piece of fabric. “For as long as the debt isn’t paid, you’ll work for me. There is a lot to do, and you’ll not complain nor search for outside help while you work here. I hope you understand that if you can’t pay back what you owe, we will have to find other people in your surroundings to help you; your family, for example.”

Holding out the piece of fabric towards you, Kageyama leaned forward over the table. “I only do that because we have past together, [Name]. I’d hate if there was something happening to someone I know just because one more asshole runs away from their responsibilities. I can help you, and this is a good option, believe me. No harm will come to you or anyone else this way.”

The offer sounded reasonable enough, despite you not missing the bad notions in it that he so carefully threaded into his words. In the end, even if you knew each other, he too was a yakuza, serving his own and his clan’s purpose more than anyone’s. This was a merciful suggestion compared to the alternatives, and you could not imagine how your parents would take it if they were to be bothered by people like him.

Agreeing despite your better judgment, you took the thing from him, stretching it in your hand. It was soft, and honestly, you could imagine yourself wearing a pajama in it; it was that comfortable. “Uhm...” you mumbled, realizing you didn’t know what to do with that. “Please put it on,” he instructed, standing up. Only now did you realize it was perfectly made to be used as a blindfold.

Despite your hands shaking, you hesitantly covered your eyes with it, thanking God that if this was your end, you’d at least not have to see it coming. You flinched when you felt two other hands coming down onto the back of your head, helping you to secure the fabric tightly before you were asked for your hand to help you up. Up till now, you weren’t dead yet, so that was an achievement. “It’s just for security reasons, don’t worry. I’ll bring you somewhere safe, so just follow my lead.”

His fingers linked with yours - weird considering you two weren’t so close to justify such an affectionate hold on you - and you felt his tug, urging you forward. “Where... Where will we be going?” you asked, hearing the sliding door open, followed by a small chuckle of a third voice, before familiar-sounding footsteps took off before you two. Kageyama clicked his tongue, and you already felt like you had made a mistake, unable to see that his reaction had been for someone else entirely.

“Don’t worry, [Name],” he assured you, but his lack of answering your question barely helped you.

Still, all you could do was trust him, now that you were in his care.

Trusting was something you were very good at after all, Kageyama was aware. You’d trust a friend you’d only known for a few months and co-sign his contract with the yakuza. You’d trust said yakuza when he told you he had work for you to fulfill the deed. And you trusted Kageyama to be sincere, when really, he had set you up to come to him and agree to his conditions without complaining, letting yourself be taken to his room easily.

A room in which really no one could hear you when you screamed as the Karasuno clan’s prodigy would do all the things to you he had been dreaming about for years now.

[bettsfic]

how i got an agent, or: my writing timeline

when i started writing, i had no idea how publishing worked and i had a lot of misconceptions about it. but i just signed my first literary agent so i thought i’d share what my experience has been getting to this point, in case it helps anyone else with their own publication goals. i’m also including financial details, like submission fees and income, because “i could never afford to pursue writing as a career” is something that kept me from taking the idea seriously.

for context, i write mostly literary fiction and i’m on the academic/scholarly writing path. this process looks a lot different for other genres. 

i didn’t write this in my pretty nonfiction narrative voice; it’s really just the bare-bones facts of how it went down, how long it took, how many words i wrote (both fanfiction and original fiction), and how much it all cost. 

background

2002 - 2005: read a fuckton of books, wrote some fiction, wanted to be a writer but knew it would never happen, journaled every moment of my life in intimate detail

2006: started working full-time (at a chinese restaurant) while still in high school, also started taking courses for college credit; no time to write, and forgot i had ever wanted to be a writer

2007: graduated high school, started college (psych major), still worked at the restaurant, moved out of my parents’ house into an apartment with my boyfriend; my dad got diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer

2008: continued college full-time, quit the restaurant and started part-time as a bank teller, broke up with bf and moved in with a friend at an apartment where the rent was obscenely high; had to pick up a second job altering bridal gowns

2009: continued college full-time, started dating someone else, moved in with him, had to support him, took a third job as an admin assistant 

2010: continued college full-time, still had 3 jobs; my dad’s cancer became terminal

2011: my dad passed away; i graduated college with a 3.9 and $31k of debt; quit 2 of 3 jobs; got promoted at the bank; my bf cheated on me and we broke up; moved back in with my mom

2012: a very dark time; also, bought a house (because where i’m from, it’s cheaper to buy than rent)

2013: discovered fandom

2014, age 24

this is the year i started writing and posting fanfic. prior to that i was a compulsive journaler but had no drive or desire to become a writer, despite how much i had written when i was a teenager. it seemed like a very childish dream. at this point i assumed writing was just a phase like all my other hobbies i’d picked up and set down. 

but fandom proved to be really healthy for me, and i made some good friends who encouraged my writing and made me want to be better at it. i was really not very good at writing. i don’t think i had any natural creative talent whatsoever, or even a particularly vivid imagination. the only thing i had going for me was the ability to put thoughts into words after a decade of obsessive journaling.

i started writing in spring, and by the end of the year my total word count was 311k. i was making a decent income at the bank, insofar as my bills were covered and i had health insurance. i still had a significant amount of credit card debt from college that i was trying to pay down, and which was eating up all my extra income. 

2015, age 25

i continued writing through 2015 and went to visit @aeriallon, whom i’d met in fandom and who told me i should consider applying to MFAs. i was miserable at the bank and knew i wanted to go back to school, but i didn’t think there was a chance in hell a grad program would accept me, since my writing wasn’t very good and i hadn’t so much as taken a single english class in undergrad. she told me to just look around and do a few google searches to see what i found. 

when i started searching, i assumed i would probably be more compelled toward an MEd or MSW programs and go the therapy route, which is what the plan had been in undergrad before my dad died and my life got derailed. i never wanted to be a banker, but i’d got a promotion into commercial finance that paid decently, so i took it and told myself i’d work for a year before going back to school. but then i kept getting promoted and one year became many.

i ended up being more drawn to creative writing MFA programs because they seemed to want people with weird backgrounds like mine. also the classes sounded fun and the programs were funded. i didn’t know how i would be able to afford my mortgage payment or sell my house on a fraction of the income i was making at the bank, but i figured i’d apply and see what happened.

it took 6 months to get a writing sample ready to apply to MFAs. it was the only ofic story i’d written as an adult, and in retrospect i had no idea what i was doing because at that point i didn’t read literary short fiction. but i got the sample as good as i could get it and completed my applications. i applied to 6 schools and got accepted into 1. 

in 2015 i wrote 250k. i can’t find my application spreadsheet from that year, but i probably spent between $300 and $400 on application fees. early in the year, i had finally managed to pay off my credit card debt and save a little bit of money.

2016, age 26

the school i got into was within driving distance of my house, so i didn’t bother moving. i tried to quit the bank but my boss convinced me to stay on 2 days a week working from home. i agreed to it, because my grad stipend wasn’t enough to cover my bills, and i was counting on what little savings i had accrued to get me through the program. i still had no drive or interest to publish. i mostly just wanted to go back to school so i could learn how to be better at this thing i really enjoyed doing.

in the MFA, as you might imagine, i had to read a lot of stuff and write a lot of stuff, and was encouraged to begin submitting some of the short stories i wrote for workshop. i was not particularly into the idea, considering it seemed like a lot of work for little reward, and also i didn’t think my stories were very good.

i also started teaching english comp. i hated it and decided that after the MFA, i never wanted to do it again. haha. hahahahahaha

in 2016 i wrote 343k. i didn’t apply/submit in 2016 so i didn’t pay any fees, but my grad stipend was $14k for the academic year, plus the income i was making at the bank.

2017, age 27

i did a complete 180 and decided i loved teaching more than anything else in the entire world, and i was willing to do whatever it took to become a teacher. i realized that to become a teacher, i needed to publish. begrudgingly i started submitting to literary journals. i also applied to summer workshops and got into tin house, which i highly recommend if that’s something you’re interested in. at tin house i met my dream agent, who seemed really interested in my work and encouraged me to query her as soon as i had a book done. 

a lot of personal drama happened that year. i was still working at the bank in addition to teaching a 2/2 and taking a full course load. in summer i had a long overdue mental breakdown. 

2017 was a rough year. i wrote 149k. this is the year i started keeping a dedicated expenses spreadsheet. i spent $174 in submission fees. tin house tuition with room and board was a little over $1500 + travel. i thought it was worth it because i met the agent i thought i would later sign, but that didn’t pan out. (i made some great friends though!!) tin house was definitely an unwise financial decision; i paid for it out of what little i managed to save in 2015.

2018, age 28

early in 2018, i went from teaching comp/rhet to creative writing, which only cemented my desire to teach writing as a career. i realized i was far better at teaching writing than writing, but i knew i had to keep writing to keep teaching (shocked pikachu.jpg), so i kept submitting to journals. i got my first story accepted. i didn’t receive any payment for that publication. i quit the bank early in the year (finally! after 10 years!) and was terrified about money, in part because my student loan payments were coming out of deferment and i was still paying off my hospital bills from my breakdown. 

in spring semester, i won a few departmental awards (totaling $500ish) and got a second story accepted (again, no payment). i also got accepted to another workshop which i will not name because i hated it. i graduated in may and defended my thesis in july. the thesis would later become my short story collection, zucchini.

in fall, i stayed on at my school as an adjunct, and started writing training wheels which would later become an original novel called baby. 

i wrote 450k in 2018. i paid $373 in submission fees. i was also nominated for an award for one of my publications but didn’t win. the workshop i went to was like $4000 with room and board (it was a month-long workshop). i got 75% of it covered with scholarships and i paid for the rest of it out of my savings, and even though i’d intended to drive there, my mom ended up buying me a plane ticket. again, i met a lot of big-wig writers i thought for sure would help me get an agent. i told myself i was networking, and that publication was all about Who You Knew. but that turned out not to be true for me.

as an adjunct i made $3200 per course, and i taught 3 classes in fall. in winter, i got my shit together and started applying for creative writing PhDs, mostly to convince my family i was doing something with my life, with no expectation that i would get in. in winter i applied to 2 schools. with application fees and the GRE, i ended up paying well over $500.

2019, age 29

in spring semester, i taught 2 classes while i revised training wheels into baby. when i had a completed manuscript, i finally pulled the plug and used all my networking contacts to get my dream agent i’d met at tin house. i queried her, and a very popular and well-regarded author i’d met at the other workshop emailed her on my behalf to tell her good things about me. i thought for sure i had it in the bag. this author also touched base with a few other agents whom he thought would like my work.

i didn’t hear back from any of them. not even a “no thanks.” i set down querying for a while. 

i got a third story picked up and published around this time, and i was paid $25 for it. they also nominated me for an award, and i don’t think i won? but i can’t find out who did win so idk.

my grandpa passed away and i decided to sell my house and move in with my grandma so she wouldn’t be alone. i got rejected from both PhD programs i applied to and decided to get a “real job” instead, and began applying for random positions that offered health insurance, because i knew i was drastically undermedicated and it was becoming a Problem.

near the end of spring semester, i moved out of my house, put it on the market, and was interviewing for a community development manager position for a nonprofit. at the same time, i found out about another university that was taking late-season applications, and i applied. five days later, i got accepted. one day after that, i got a job offer for the nonprofit. since i had no idea how long it would take for my house to sell, and being unable to afford both rent in a new city and my mortgage payment, i deferred my PhD acceptance for a year and decided to work at the nonprofit for a while. the risk was that i could only defer my admission, not my funding, so there was a chance that the following year i wouldn’t get the same funding package.

i lasted one month at the “real job” before i had another breakdown and ended up quitting. 

my house sold for well under the asking price and i received only $4000 in equity once it was all said and done. that’s a lot of money to me, but considering that i’d been paying on the house for 7 years, i was expecting a lot more.

i had a year to kill until the PhD so i decided to take a break from teaching and apply to artist residencies instead. i applied to 8 residencies and got accepted into 4, but only ended up attending 3, because the 4th was outrageously priced and there was no indication of the cost when i had applied.

in winter i picked up querying agents again. i queried 10 agents every other week. i also got a ghostwriting gig writing children’s books that paid $800 a month.

in 2019 i wrote 417k. i spent $441 in submission fees (to residencies and contests, not agent queries. never pay money to query an agent!!). i ended up teaching 3 classes fall semester.

2020, age 30

i started out the year driving across the country going to residencies. the first cost $100 (no food), the second cost $250 (A LOT OF VERY GOOD FOOD), and the third paid me $500. i was at the third when the pandemic hit.

the query rejections started rolling in. i gave up in february after 60 queries. of those 60, i received 7 manuscript requests for baby, but the consensus was that it was too long and plotless (you got me there.jpg). at the second residency completed and revised zucchini and decided to begin querying with that instead. i could only find a few agents who accepted collections so i only queried 16. i got one request for the manuscript but then didn’t hear back. i gave up in april shortly after the pandemic hit. 

when i figured the collection, like the novel, just wasn’t publishable, i started submitting to contests which is the more standard route for the genre. i submitted to 12 in total and was a finalist in 1. i was rejected or withdrew from the rest.

the PhD program reached out to ask if i was still interested in starting in fall, and i said i was, so they put me in the running for funding again and i was accepted. the stipend was $17k per academic year.

like most of us, i got totally derailed in spring and stopped doing basically everything. the ghostwriting gig started paying $1500 a month and i also started my creative coaching business, which slowly but surely began to supplement my income. i also received the $1200 stimulus. 

when school started, i quit the ghostwriting gig. i had no intention to continue querying either book, but i saw a twitter pitch event called DVpit (diverse voices) and decided to participate. for those who don’t know, a twitter pitch event is where you tweet the pitch for your book and use the hashtag, and agents scroll through the tag and like tweets. if an agent likes your tweet, you query them. 

i got one like, so i followed up with the query. the agent asked for the full MS and a couple weeks later followed up with the offer for representation. we talked on the phone, she sent me the contract, i asked for a couple changes, and then signed! 

so far this year i’ve written 375k and paid $518 in submission fees. i’ll give more details when i do my end of year roundup next month. oh, and i finally paid off my student loans.

totals

word count: 2.3 million

agent queries: 77

agent MS requests: 9

agent rejections: 28

agent no responses: 44

short story submissions: 86

short story acceptances: 3

short story income: $25

total submission/application fees: $1472

my (final) query letter

honestly this query letter probably isn’t very good which is why i got such a minimal response, but it got the job done eventually.

Thank you for expressing interest in ZUCCHINI through this year's DVpit event.

ZUCCHINI is a collection that views sex through an asexual lens. It poses inquiries into constructs like gender, sexuality, and love to dissect the patriarchal/puritanical foundations from which our social perspectives often derive. Being a collection about asexuality, each story portrays a relationship that develops from forms of attraction other than physical.

In one story, a grieving widow purchases her first sex toy; in another, a woman uses sex to cope with the death of her abusive father, and later in the collection faces the long road to recovery; an administrative assistant seeks out a codependent relationship with her boss; a masochist hires a professional sadist to lead him toward self-actualization; a woman begins to recover from her sexual assault by staging a reenactment on her own terms; and lastly, two lifelong friends in a queerplatonic relationship decide to get married. Asexuality is an under-acknowledged identity within the LGBTQIA community and is often misunderstood. In seven stories, ZUCCHINI dissects the notion of attraction, explores the intersections of sexual identity and trauma recovery, and conveys the experience of intimacy without physical desire.

Three stories in the collection have been published in literary magazines. “Lien” appeared in volume 24 of Quarter After Eight and was nominated for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. “An Informed Purchase” appeared in the summer 2018 issue of Midwestern Gothic and won the Jordan-Goodman Prize in Fiction. “The Ashtray” appeared in issue 16 of Rivet Journal and has been nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize.

Complete at 53,000 words, ZUCCHINI is a collection in conversation with Carmen Maria Machado’s HER BODY AND OTHER PARTIES, Lauren Groff’s FLORIDA, and Samantha Hunt’s THE DARK DARK.

If ZUCCHINI is of interest to you, I would be happy to send you the manuscript. Per your guidelines, I've appended the first twenty pages below, which is the entirety of the first story.

what comes next

i’m going to spend january revising the collection per my agent’s feedback. when i send it back to her, she’ll shoot it out to the first round of publishers. my understanding is that the goal is to get multiple offers on it so that it has to go to auction. if there are no offers, she’ll do another round of submissions, and so on, until we’ve exhausted our options. if that happens, we’ll reassess, but by then hopefully i’ll have another novel finished.

meanwhile, i’ll be continuing the PhD which entails teaching a 2/2, workshop, and 2 lit seminars per semester. i’m also still doing my creative coaching, writing fanfic, and working on my original projects. in summer, i’ll finally be moving to hopefully start going to school in person next fall. 

the PhD is a 3 year program with an optional fourth year. i don’t see myself finishing in 3 years so i do plan to take the extra year unless something comes up. after the PhD, i’m not sure what i’ll do. a lot will probably change by then so i’m trying not to commit to one idea. i might apply to post-doc fellowships and tenure track positions, or i might leave the country and teach overseas, or i might move to LA and try to get in a writer’s room somewhere. i’ve got a lot of options.

overall thoughts/stuff i learned

first of all, you don’t have to go through all of this to publish a book. you could feasibly just write a book and query agents. the only reason it took me this long is because my PTSD brain was sabotaging me every step of the way and i didn’t start taking anything seriously until i found something i was willing to fight for (teaching). i went the MFA/literary route but other, faster routes are just as good. maybe better. probably better. actually if there’s any chance you can go a different route, you should take it.

reflecting on all of this, very little of it has anything to do with talent or being a good writer. nor does it have to do with being at the right place at the right time. i’ve only made it this far because i took very small steps over and over again, and during that walk met people who could help me -- the authors who have mentored me, the editors who accepted my stories, the agent who signed me. and as i got further along my path, i started being able to help other writers in the way i was helped. 

i don’t believe i’ll ever be a great writer. the best thing i can say about my writing is that it’s competent and accessible. everything i write sets out to do something and most of the time it gets the job done. i don’t imagine i’ll ever be able to financially support myself with publishing, and i’ll certainly never be famous or well-known, but i’m good enough to keep making progress. i’ll probably continue to find opportunities that are adjacent to writing and that will keep me afloat, pending my health and provided the country doesn’t devolve into civil war. 

probably the most important thing i learned in all this is that having a wide appeal isn’t the goal. you don’t write to be lauded or liked. you have to stay as true to yourself and your interests as you possibly can, so that the people who come across your path can see you and help you. you’ll need those people; no one gets anywhere alone. if you pander, if you’re too concerned with praise and success or being adored, you won’t make it very far. the rejection will eventually kill you. 

with all that said, my advice to you is this: never stop writing. the ability to share our stories is the single most precious thing we have. you can’t let anything stop you from telling your stories the way you need them to be told.

[peachyproserpina]

Wickedly Domestic - Roommates and Puppies

Now that I am back on tumblr I figured I might as well upload my John Wick x Fat!OC fic here as well. Maybe I'll find the motivation to write it as well.

TW: Alternate Universe Canon Diverence, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Sex

If I miss anything please let me know!

There is a consistent thunk, thunk, thunk of her roommates bed hitting the wall. Despite a whole floor separating them she could still hear the sounds of her roommate getting fucked into next week, literally. Usually Maria wouldn’t care that her roommates late at night shenanigans would run into the next morning but, there was more at stake on the agenda today than usual. Maria pressed her pillow over her ears and looked at her phone; it was almost 4 am Monday morning.

There was a meeting in downtown New York that she had to attend, which the commute was a little more intense then she usually had to deal with. Living and working in a suburb outside of New York City allowed for a stress and traffic free drive to work, usually 15 minutes or less, but driving into the city always was a hassle, that drive tends to be close to an hour. Maria rubbed at her eyes and unlocked her phone, she still had 3 hours before she had to be downtown. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, this meeting was with the CEO. Those kinds of meetings either ended up in promotion or termination, she buried her face into her pillow. She could still hear the thunk and a few giggles from her roommate and company. Considering she was already up and too anxious to go back to bed she might as well get her workout in now instead of later.

Heaving herself up and out of bed with a groan she let out a yawn before looking around for her workout clothes. Pulling on her leggings and finding a clean shirt she fished around her room for her headphones. Despite living in New York state for a little over 3 months now she still hasn’t completely unpacked. Moving boxes were still stacked around the room and there was a stack of art needing to be hung up.

She wasn’t planning on moving when she did, the roommate who was busy getting fucked, offered her a place to stay. All she had to do was pay utilities and cook for the house once a week. The home had been a surprise to her roommate Cooper. An estranged great Aunt had willed it over to her, Cooper was already living in New York, and the full ride she received was barely enough to cover the dorm she had to split with 2 other people. When she was contacted by lawyers telling her she is now a proud homeowner and didn’t have to worry about student loans for the rest of her life.

One of the first things she did was reach out to Maria. Cooper was well aware of the tension at home, brewing in Maria’s family since they met in high-school. Unfortunately she had first hand seen more tear stained faces and frustration that Maria was put through. They spoke often and were close, promising to push each other to do amazing things. Sometimes amazing things means moving across the country but their love and friendship didn’t diminish over the distance. So offering the room

All Maria had to do was fund the move and drive 30 hours across the country. Dying to get out of the town she has spent her whole life, as well as always loving the east coast, she packed up, put in her two weeks at her current job and submitted an application to anywhere within a 10 mile radius of her new address. She thanked the stars when a local bank picked up her application and allowed for Skype and phone interviews, giving her the job before she even moved out there. She was introduced to her coworkers through a group chat and she fell into her role easily before she even met them in person.

The hardest part had been leaving old friends, leaving her family on the other hand had been a blessing. Her father and his side of the family had always been hard to please and any relationship with them over the last couple of years had been more of a formality than anything else. Her mother was a different story, tears were shed and a few fights were had due to this hasty decision on moving across the country. Maria’s mother had always wanted more for her daughter than what she currently had but packing up and leaving across the country in less than a month gave her mother bad feelings. Her mother backed off and gave Maria her blessing once she got her job, knowing how stubborn her daughter is once she puts her mind to something.

Her siblings had felt the same way, constant calls and texts were exchanged during the long drive while everyone was proud and knew she would be better for the move. It still hurt, promising to visit during holidays and letting them stay over if they ever visited. But it was like ripping off a bandaid. It had to be done or else it festers and could lead to infection, staying stagnant had been driving her crazy.

Once changed and headphones found under some papers she had been reviewing at her desk, she slid them over her ears and made her way upstairs, closing the door and making sure it was locked behind her. Her cat had the habit of running outside and getting lost or turning up at the local shelter and the last thing she needed was to also be worrying about her cat while she was working in the city.

She jogged down to the gate and opened it before she got into her car and made her way to the nature preserve just a few minutes away from her home. She could have ran there but she wasn’t quite ready to commit to the workout while the air was so chilly. By the time she has parked and started her stretches the world had started to wake up around her, birds chirping and the distant sounds of honking while she tried to figure out what playlist she wanted to run to. Deciding on something beat heavy she started down the trail that would lead over the swamp, it had been a while since she had run outside, usually opting to do her cardio in a class setting or on a treadmill while she binges whatever series she is watching on Netflix at the moment.

She was only half a mile in the trail before she had to stop for a moment. Her “ultra support” sports bra did not help as much as she hoped, having big tits was a blessing and a curse. They made working out hell on earth but it got her more free drinks at the bar then she would like to admit. But it also kept her from being able to run as much as she would like to before she has to stop and readjust.

She pulled out her phone and checked the time, quarter past 5 am, she still had time. She could do a mile before she went home and showered and get ready for a grueling day. She paused her music, taking deep breaths before she started up again, she thought she heard rustling behind her. Which despite being close to the city the swamp held more wildlife than she thought it would. She sat and listened, chancing a glance behind her. The sun was nearly up but running by herself in public always put her on edge. There was always the chance of someone grabbing her and doing whatever they would like to her, she shuddered and unlocked her phone, sending her location and a text as to when she would be back to the roommate group chat. Just in case she were to get snatched up at least her roommates would know where she was last.

She started up again, turning her music up all the way to drown out her heavy breathing and the sound of her feet hitting the trail. It wasn’t until she was almost across one of the many bridges in the nature preserve stretching her calf muscles when she felt something warm and slimy against the skin of her leg. She screamed and pulled her head phones off, looking down to see if she had unknowingly picked up a slug or if some creep had managed to sneak up on her. Letting out a sigh when she saw it was a small Beagle, whining and licking at her leg. She crouched down pet the dog who was whining at her feet.

“Hey baby, where are your parents?” She picked up the dog and looked it over, she saw a name tag, “Daisy- that’s a cute name. Matches my tattoo,” she flipped over the name tag and saw an address, thankful she wouldn't have to drop the dog off at home and try to find her owners later. Daisy fell asleep in her arms while she walked the pup back to her car, the thought on finishing her run gone from her mind. Once the dog was rested safely in her front seat and plugged the address into her phone. It was a quick drive back to the owners house thankfully, it was getting dangerously close to 6 am but she couldn’t not take the sleepy baby home.

She knew if her cat went missing longer than usual or her roommates dog she would be worried sick. No parent should be worried about their baby, that was the biggest motivator for her as she snaked through the neighborhood following her GPS until she pulled up to one of the biggest houses she had ever seen. She knew she lived in affluent part of the state but pulling up the gravel driveway of what was basically a mansion she started to sweat. The bouncing of her car woke the puppy up, who was happily wagging her tail, grateful to be home after wandering away in the early morning. Maria smiled, happy that the pup was glad to be home.

“Lets go baby, let's get you back home.” Daisy ran up the door and pawed at it. Maria knocked and waited a moment, when she didn’t hear any movement in the house she rang the doorbell. Daisy was sitting by her feet waiting patiently for the door to open, it felt like hours while she stood in the massive door hoping someone was home to take the pup in. In reality It had probably been only 5 or so minutes, she chanced a glance around the driveway and didn’t see a car. Figuring that whoever would have been home was gone she turned and started walking back to her car, calling for Daisy, she could take her home and try again after work. Knowing her roommates would be sympathetic to the lost puppy and take care of her until she could try again. It was then she heard the large door open. She turned and nearly lost her balance when she caught a glance at the man who opened the door.

[elocinnicole]

Butterflies Part Two

Pairing: Collin x Black!Reader, Plus Size!Reader 

Summary: Collin and Reader try to figure out where they stand after their moment a few nights ago. 

Rating: M for language 

 AN: I changed Collin’s major to Creative Writing/Poetry. I don’t know why I didn’t do this in the first place, I was over here thinking of what major would Collin have, and it went over my head so yeah, here it is. Again, this is still set in 2020. Let me know if you want to be tagged. There are about two more parts to this

Part One Part Two Part Three

Shaunice Jasmine Turner was born in the wee hours of the morning on July 26, 2020. You were so happy for your friends and the little family they were building.

“You look pretty comfortable holding Shaunice, Y/N.” Ashely teased, it was just the two of you for now. Collin went with Miles to get some breakfast for Jasmine and to pick up Sean so he could meet his little sister.

“Girl bye, I mean the thought has crossed my mind, but I want to have my salon up and running before I even think about having kids.”

“Bish, I used to say that about my non-existent art gallery, and I got two kids now.”

“I mean you could still paint, Ashley.”

“I could, but painting don’t pay the bills. The rent is ridiculous and trying to get a loan from the bank…” Ashely trailed off

“But it’s all good, I wouldn’t change anything,” Ashely smiled at her daughter, “So, what happened when Collin came back from Val’s?”

“Uh, nothing I twisted his hair and that’s when we got the text from Miles.” Ashely examined your face; she’s known you long enough to know when you’re lying.

“Y/N, give me the baby.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re avoiding eye contact, give me my daughter.” You playfully huffed and handed over Shaunice to your friend, “Now, tell me what really happened last night?”

“Well, when he came back, I was a little mad because I’m over here actually being a friend and he drop everything for a booty call. He’s staying with me rent-free, I visited him when he was locked up, put money on his books, shit, I used to let this nigga cheat off me in Chemistry back in high school. Then he tries to kiss me—”

“He what!”

“Yeah and I don’t know what to think about that, because I know that once Val calls, he gonna run after her, like what is it? Does sis have some magic pussy or some shit?”

“Y/N…”

“I know that’s your friend, but she never once checked on him and I don’t know. I’m right in front of him and he doesn’t see me.”

“Make him see you, sis.”

“Well, how the hell do I do that?”

“Bring another nigga around,” You looked wide-eyed at your friend

“Ash!”

“Girl, bye, what about that chef you was tellin’ me about? Hit him up and bring him around Collin.”

“So, you think making him jealous is gonna work?” Ashely didn’t have time to answer because Sean came bursting into the room running over to Ashely’s bed

“Is she here? Is she here Mom?!” Sean asked bouncing with excitement

“Calm down, baby. Yes, she’s here, where’s Dad?”

“Right here, as soon as we got off the elevator he ran off. He’s been asking about the baby since we picked him up from Ms. Nancy’s. Here’s your food babe.” Miles placed the take-out bag on the table and kissed Ashely’s forehead, Collin trailed behind and once he looked at you he adverted his eyes somewhere else.

“Sean, go use the bathroom then you can hold your sister. Miles can you take Shaunice so I can eat, I’m starving.”

“So, what were you two talking about before we got here?” Miles asked,

“Nothing much, I asked Ashely if you were gonna give her a push present.”

“The fuck is that?”

“A present for pushing out your baby!” You nudged Miles’s shoulder.

“What you want baby, a gift card, or some shit like that?”

“Miles, you can’t get her no damn gift card.” Collin reasoned

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because that’s a boring-ass gift, you gotta get her some jewelry or a car, shit like that.”

“Baby, I can hit up my boy Cuttie—”

“Hell no, every time you get something from Cuttie, it’s either stolen or it don’t work.”

“Ash, that’s not true!”

“What about the bike you got from him for Sean’s birthday? Cuttie stole it!” You said

“I ain’t know that shit when he gave me that bike!”

“Then you bought Ashely that purse for Christmas and the Gucci was spelled wrong.”

“It was not, Collin!”

“Babe, Gucci only got two c’s.” Miles looked stunned for a moment before sucking his teeth

“How the hell was I supposed to know that!” Your phone then went off several times even surprising you.

“Who hittin’ you up, Y/N?” Miles teased

“Nobody, just a friend”

“Stop lyin, Y/N, got a date with this ‘friend’ tonight,” Ashely announced earning a glare from you.

“Oh shit, for real!” Miles exclaimed

“Yeah, he’s nice, um he just moved out here from Detroit. He’s a chef and has his own meal prep business.” It wasn’t a lie, you had met a guy on Tinder a few weeks ago and the two of you have been talking to one another.

“So, he be making all that vegan shit?”

“What’s vegan shit?” Sean questioned innocently

“Miles!” Ashely slapped his arm

“What? I cuss all the damn time, it was gonna happen sooner or later babe.” Ashely glared at her husband not amused in the slightest “Alright, alright, Sean don’t say ‘shit’ it’s a bad word, now come over here and sit down in the chair and I’ll let you hold your baby sister.”

While Miles and Ashely were introducing Sean to Shaunice, Collin walked over to you wanting to know more about your ‘date’.

“So, what’s this guy’s name?”

“Um, I’m sorry since when did I have to answer to you, Collin?”

“I’m just askin’ his name. Want to know the person who’s taking my friend out.”

“You’ll find out tonight—”

“Hey, guys!” Everyone’s heads turned toward the door and there stood Val with various pink balloons and a teddy bear

“Hey, Val!” Ashely greeted, she practically ran over to Ashely and engulfed her in a hug.

“Congratulations, girl.” Val looked over at Miles and her smile faded slightly

“You too, Miles,” She looked over at Collin and acted like he wasn’t even there. At that point, you wanted to slap the hell out this bitch, but this wasn’t the time.

“Guys, I have appointments today I gotta head out. I’ll visit when you get home, okay?” Ashely nodded, understanding your need to leave the room.

“See you later?”

“Yeah, bye guys, and congrats again.”

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror getting ready for your date with Trevon. The two of you had been texting one another all day, you even FaceTimed him briefly between clients.

“I don’t wanna spit, I wanna gulp, I wanna gag, I wanna choke, I want you to touch that lil dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat.” You rapped along to the song that made you feel like a bad bitch, Trevon didn’t give you much of a hint as to what the two of you were going to do tonight, but he said to be casual. So, you didn’t go too overboard with your outfit. This was your first date in a while because of your schedule you didn’t have time to date between the hair and makeup clients, on the day you didn’t have to work you stayed home or hung out with friends or your big brother.

“Alright, you got this.” You said to yourself in the mirror, “You a bad bitch. You the baddest bitch, period.”

You came out of the bathroom and immediately bumped into Collin.

“My bad didn’t see you there.”

“Your date is here.” Collin went into the bathroom closing the door firmly. You rolled your eyes at your friend and walked out to the living room to finally see your date, Trevon.

“Wow, you look great, Y/N.” Trevon beamed, you smiled shyly in return

“Thanks, you do too. You ready to go?”

“After you,”

You carefully shut the front door to your apartment not wanting to wake up Collin, knowing that he was a light sleeper and this was his only day off. You couldn’t help but smile about your date with Trevon last night. After he picked you up, he took you to play mini-golf and then after you went go-cart racing. It honestly the most fun you ever had on a first date. Not wanting to go home, the two of you ended up bar hopping the rest of the night until the two of you passed out on his sofa. The smell of breakfast pulled you of your thoughts. You made your way to the kitchen only to see Val in your kitchen cooking at your stove wearing only one of Collin’s Oakland shirts and underwear.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, hey Y/N. You want breakfast?”

“What are you doing here, Val?”

“Collin invited me over last night.” She smirked going back to cooking.

“Can you please put some pants on?”

“Well, Collin doesn’t seem to have a problem with what I’m wearing.”

“Hm, that’s cute but this isn’t Collin’s place, it’s my place and I don’t want your ass cheeks out in my kitchen. ‘Kay?”

“Whatever.”

“Um, where’s Collin?”

“He’s in the shower, I think. Oh, do you have any almond milk?”

“No, bitch I drink soy.” You mumbled storming past her heading for the bathroom. You angrily opened the door surprising Collin, who quickly reached for his towel to cover himself.

“What the fuck, Y/N! Can you knock?”

“What the hell is she doing here?!”

“Oh, what, I can’t have guests over?”

“That’s not the point, why in the fuck is she cooking in my kitchen with no clothes on!”

“She was hungry, what was I supposed to do?”

“Collin, I need you to tell me when you have company.”

“I don’t see why I have to tell you,”

“It’s the principle, Collin! What if you came home and my date, dick swingin’—”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Collin frowned, not appreciating the imagery

“Shut up, making breakfast in the damn kitchen?”

“This isn’t even about the principle it’s about you not liking Val!”

“No, it’s because you living in my place RENT FREE and I need to you who you have up in here!”

“Oh, so that’s what this is all about?” You rubbed your temples in frustration

“No, Collin—”

“Collin, breakfast’s ready,” Val called through the door. 

“Go eat with your guest, wouldn’t want your food to get cold.”  You said before leaving the bathroom.

[amazedforjjk]

Black Crow - Yoongi

Summary: It’s not often you stumble upon a handsome tied up man in your parking lot in the dead of the night. What adventures this mysterious stranger is going to embark you on?

Genre: mafia!Yoongi, angst, humor, a tiny tiny hint of fluff

Warnings: Strong language, violence, blood and injuries, mentions of abuse and torture, tragic backstory, snarky Yoongi

A.N: Black Crow is finally here!! I’m so excited for you guys to read it! I’ll go on a hiatus for about two weeks but I’ll be back, don’t worry! I already have a new story idea I’m excited about!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow, I love interacting with you guys!!

Word count: 14K

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10:43 pm

It’s pitch black when you step out through the big glass doors of your office complex and the only way you manage to put a foot in front of the other without falling on your face is thanks to your flashlight on your phone. Everyone is already gone by now, and you should be as well but your boss had asked you to stay later tonight, because that fucker isn’t able to prepare a powerpoint by himself. Fucking boomers and their inability to use a computer. You huff in frustration as your heels click on the ground. You try to readjust your tight skirt by pulling at the edge. You hate this office with a passion, from your boss to his abject dress code. You absolutely despise having to dress in a tighter than normal grey skirt along with dark pantyhoses and a white blouse just for him to ogle you and your female coworkers. Your scalp hurts from having to pull your hair in a tight bun everyday.

Your heels are so fucking painful after a day of working, your boss making a point of having you run around the open space for different files that he strangely doesn’t need merely five minutes after asking you for them. You are not his assistant either, so you shouldn’t have to do anything for his fat ass but he holds your career in his hands, promising you the position you aspired towards for the past year without ever committing to his word. You huff again as you try to find your car in the dark, holding your phone between your shoulder and your cheek while you rummage in your purse to find your keys. Your office’s neighborhood isn’t exactly unsafe at night but you’d rather be home as fast as possible.

Admittedly, no one’s waiting for you there, except your bed and a comfy pair of pants, but you still sigh in contentment when you find the button to open your car. You get in in a hurry, throwing your bag across on the passenger seat and starting the car up. You already feel more relaxed in your car, removing your painful heels to drive. Your ankles are covered in blisters for sure and the tight fabric of your pantyhose pressing against the tender skin makes you grit your teeth. You drive home in a hurry, certainly not very safely but you don’t seem to care tonight, still fueled on the rage you piled up inside you today.

It’s definitely not your dream job, but a writer’s salary doesn’t pay the bills, at least not yours. And it’s not that bad; Sure you hate everyone in this office but the work in itself is okay, and the paycheck is worth the trouble. It’s thanks to that that you are two steps from owning your apartment in the center of the city, currently reimbursing your loan from the bank. It’s also why you need that new position; Bigger responsibilities but a bigger paycheck and flexible hours, perfect for an aspiring writer. Most importantly, you’ll don’t have to do anything for your asshole of a boss anymore.

You park in your parking spot down your building complex, calming down as you retrieve your keys from the ignition. You sigh. Sometimes you think you let the rage of your job consume you because it masks the loneliness overflowing from you everytime you come back home. You shouldn’t feel that way; you are the one who decided to move thousands of miles away from your parents. You are the country girl who decided to flee her small town to settle in the big city. You are not the only one, most of your friends moved as well, but not to the capital and sometimes you feel really alone. Even if you live in an over crowded city you can’t seem to find people to talk to other than a therapist.

You sigh as you slip your uncomfortable heels back on, stepping out of your car with your bag. You don’t notice at first the grunts and sounds of straining as you close your door and lock the car, but when you do you still instantly. Your eyes scan all around you while you strain your ears to find the origin of the noise. It sounds like a man is struggling against something, huffing and puffing in frustration.

The parking lot is empty and dimly lit, which is not unusual at this time of the night. You grab your phone tightly in your hand. The screen reads 11:07 pm before you tap on the emergency button. You don’t call the cops yet, but you feel a bit more reassured now that they are only a phone call away. You tentatively step closer to the trunk of your car towards the sound, steadying your breathing to be as silent as you can. Surely the person making the sound has already heard you arriving in your car and knows you are here but the fear gnawing your stomach keeps you from thinking straight. You forget about your painful heels, the rage of the day and your loneliness to focus entirely on the sounds . You can tell the man is still struggling, grunts and curse words alike becoming louder.

The deep voice spits a “Fuck!” and a car two rows away from yours sways lightly as if someone pushed against it. Having finally located the source of the sound you approach the car slowly, only stopping when you are close enough to determine what’s happening. A man is sitted against the back door of said car, head turned to look at his hands behind his back while struggling so that you can only see his raven hair. From the rope tied around his shoulders, you gather that his hands must be tied up as well and that he must be trying, with no success thus far, to break free.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, and you take advantage of that to figure out what the hell you are supposed to do in this situation. You could call the cops, leave him in their hands and he’ll be fine. Or you could try to free him from his bonds, there’s no need to get the police involved if it’s only a bad prank gone wrong. You glance at the chains around his neck; a silver skull is on the biggest of them and you can’t help but gulp. He could be dangerous… Like a gang member? Who else wears chains and skulls nowadays? Or he could be in danger, you realize as you notice a big dark stain on his khaki shirt. Wait, is that blood?

You let out an involuntary squeak as the stain seems to get even bigger. Your eyes widen when you realize how much you fucked up and you bring your hands to your mouth as if it would silence you but it’s too late. At the sound the man snaps his head in your direction, his grey eyes instantly finding yours. His brows are furrowed in both frustration and surprise, making him look intimidating. What shocks you the most though is the huge scar coming from his forehead to his cheekbone. You can’t help but take a step back, your hands falling to your sides, revealing your gaping mouth.

His eyes scour you and his eyebrows relax when he seems to understand that you pose no threat to him, but he still doesn’t talk. He gets up from where he was sitting, using the car behind him for support, gritting his teeth together in effort. You take another step back and your rear meets the car behind you. He looks much more intimidating now; he isn’t particularly tall nor is he very broad but his stance makes him terrifying. Your instincts are screaming at you to run away, that he is dangerous, but it’s like you are glued in place, unable to move. It’s only when he winces in pain again, surely from the wound on his side that you regain your ability to form coherent thoughts.

He is tied up and wounded; The man’s not a lot of a threat for you right now. A kick in his groin and you should be able to get home without a problem. You gulp before breaking the silence.

“You are wounded… It looks bad” is all you can muster tentatively. Silence.

Wow, that was lame, you internally cringe. He simply cocks an eyebrow and a smirk appears on his lips.

“Yeah, no shit”

You stammer and you feel your face heat up. Unable to find a witty comeback, you just huff, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Look, you need help or not?” you say simply but that is enough to wipe the smirk off his lips. It’s his turn to huff before looking away from you and you wonder how he could seem so intimidating earlier. He turns around, not without difficulty, facing away from you in an incredible demonstration of trust, displaying his tied up hands and you warily step towards him.

“Don’t try anything, I have a taser in my purse,” you bluff, eyeing the ropes currently cutting into his chafed wrists. The ropes are bloodied and you question how long he was trying to break free for. His shoulders move up and down as he laughs.

“I’ll be good,” he says, his voice filled with sarcasm. You roll your eyes. He is way too sassy for someone presently tied up.

You start to tug at his binds, trying to find the knot to let him free. He grunts as you put pressure on the damaged skin of his wrists. You look up from his wrist to look at him. He is turned but you can see his strained face in the car window’s reflection. Now that you can see him from a closer perspective, he looks abnormally livid, eyes unfocused and panting. He looks like he’s about to pass out, you note. Wait, he is passing out! You barely have the time to catch him before one of his knees falters.

“Hey hey hey- Dude? Are you okay?” you ask, voice full with concern. He mumbles, quite clearly unable to talk. “Fuck” you curse under your breath. You’ll deal with the rope later, you need to treat his wound. You grab his shoulder, trying to get him to lean on you and you start to walk to your apartment complex. He doesn’t even try to complain, and you are grateful; It’s already too difficult to carry his weight in your flimsy heels, especially without a good grasp on him. The ropes around him make it difficult for you to hold him steady, and he almost fell a few times when you tried to get a better grip.

Your perfect bun is ruined by the time you reach the elevator, and you are panting from the effort. Who’d have thought having to drag a semi conscious man across a fucking parking lot would be so difficult? The elevator ride provides you with a break, and you simply keep him against the wall while you catch your breath. His face is lolling forward, chin pressed against his chest. He still looks white as a sheet and you start to worry. Was it really a good idea to bring him home? You are capable of treating wounds, that’s not the problem, but if his wound is too deep or if he needs a blood transfusion you won’t be able to do anything.

“Shit, I should’ve brought you to the hospital,” you say, mainly to yourself as you stare at the elevator’s mirror.

“NO!” he shouts, making your head snap to look at him, alarmed. He managed to lift his head to look at you, his grey eyes burning with a fiery determination. “No hospital,” he repeats, and you nod at him, disconcerted. He calms after your nod, his head sinking back down to his chest.

Entering your apartment was a challenge; You had to hold the black haired man against the wall with your side while you searched your purse for your keys. He almost fell when you found them and forgot to press into him against the wall to open the door. Thankfully for him you realised your mistake early enough, dropping both your keys and bag to keep him from crashing on the wooden floor. You are also grateful none of your neighbours decided to take a midnight stroll, or they would have seen you pressing a tied up and passed out man against the wall with your body while desperately trying to open the door. Hardly something you want to be remembered by.

You plop the unconscious man on the couch unceremoniously, forgetting for a second his wound. You wince when you realise your mistake, but thankfully the man is too out of it to make one of his snarky comments. You retrieve your first aid kit from the bathroom and take advantage of his state to treat his wound. It is not too deep so you are able to patch it up without having to stitch him up. You’ve never been so happy to have a nurse as a mother, having learned most of your healing skills from her. You conclude, relieved, that his passing out is mostly due to the shock rather than excessive blood loss, since he didn’t seem to have a concussion when he talked to you. Adrenaline must have kept him in a conscious state of mind until he realized you didn’t mean any harm.

You cut through the rope with a kitchen knife, taking the opportunity to inspect him for any more injuries. You treat his wrists with an antiseptic cream before bandaging them. He is not otherwise severely harmed, though he does sport some nasty bruises on his --surprisingly toned-- chest. What the fuck happened to him?

You sit back on the ground, facing him, when you finally finish your check-up. His breathing is steady and he seems to have regained a splash of color on his face. You take the opportunity to take a better look at him. His features are sharp though he does have a cute button nose and cute pink lips. You shake your head to chase those thoughts. What is wrong with you, checking out a passed out man?

You check for his temperature before sighing. You are incredibly tired, the day was already exhausting as it is, nevermind with this sudden encounter. You decide against putting away the kitchen knife, instead taking it with you to your room. You are nice, not stupid, and though you don’t feel in danger anymore, you are not the one to take unnecessary risks.

It’s already well past midnight when you go to sleep, knife under your pillow. You hope your guest on the couch will wake up early as you need to be up early tomorrow for your job. You’d like him to be gone as soon as possible, men like this only mean trouble. Sure you’d like to know a bit more about him, like how did he wind up in your parking lot at 11pm tied up and injured. But you know the saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’, and you value your comfortable life too much to put it in jeopardy for a man’s backstory. Who knows what could happen?

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

You wake up late the next morning. After a quick shower and almost falling flat on your ass trying to get dressed as fast as possible, you sprint out your room into the living room. The couch is empty and you smile to yourself. He’s gone. Good. It’s one less thing for you to worry about so you dart through the door, trying to make it in time before getting chewed out by your boss for arriving 3 minutes late.

You manage to sit at your desk one minute before the start of your shift and you sigh. Here we go again, another day of having to deal with dumbasses. Despite the fact that you woke up late, the rest of the day proves to be quite good. Instead of being his usual manipulative asshole self, your boss decides to ask you in his office to talk about your well deserved promotion, and tells you that an interview is set for you tomorrow in order to decide whether or not you should get the job. You spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, excastic to finally see your hard work rewarded.

You rush home after another hard day of work, sleep deprived and craving the comfort of your covers. It seems however that fate has other plans for you, you realise when you open the door to fall on last night’s guest. He was still here. Shit. He is comfortably seated on your couch, feet on the table while he’s watching TV. Eyes wide, you drop your bag on the floor.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! I thought you were gone!” you shout at him. He nonchalantly eyes you up and down, smirking at your crestfallen expression.

“You locked me in this morning,” he answers simply. “I couldn’t open the door to get out.”

The way he pronounces these words without a care in the world leads you to believe he mustn't have tried really hard to get out. You bring your hands to rub your face, feeling anger building up within you. Who does he think he is?

“You have a nice place,” he says gesturing around him with his hand. “Also, you shouldn’t keep a knife under your pillow, it’s dangerous,” he adds, brows furrowed in fake concern.

“You went in my room?!” you ask, clearly fuming. The nerve of this guy!

“Of course, I had to make sure I couldn’t find another exit”, he says, as if it was obvious. This guy is seriously getting on your last nerve, and you grit your teeth, trying to avoid exploding in his face. He seems to pick up on your aggravated state and his face becomes serious. He lifts his feet from the table, standing up to move closer to face you.

“Thank you for last night. I owe you a lot”

He bows slightly and it’s like your anger evaporates, making way for your curiosity to take over.

“Yeah about that… What happened to you last night?” His face hardens instantly and his whole body stiffens. He seems to ponder what to say for a while, obviously not quite ready to let you in on the situation.

“I can’t tell you--”

“I think you owe me that much” you retort, interrupting his refusal. He huffs and thinks for a bit more time.

“You’re right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I had... uh...  Some troubles... With a gang”

By the way he forces the words out of his mouth, you figure this is the most you’ll get out of him right now. It does make sense in a way, and you are now glad you could help him. You hum in acknowledgment and he seems relieved to know you won’t ask anymore questions. It’s his business anyway, and you already know enough.

“I figure that you need to lay low for a while, wrong?” you sigh, passing by him to go to the kitchen. He looks surprised but quickly regains his composure. He hums positively, still not quite sure where this is going. “It’s late, you can stay tonight as well if you want.” 

You don’t know why you are saying this. Inviting a stranger to stay for one more night? Are you going nuts? Are you really that lonely that you would invite someone --whom you met in sketchy circumstances, let’s not forget-- to spend the night with you? His response cuts the little voice in your head nagging at you.

“That’d be good, yes” and you turn to meet his eyes. His face is still serious but you can discern a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m Y/l/n Y/n by the way”

“Min Yoongi”

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi. Tonight’s menu is take out,” you say, turning to face him completely, leaning on the counter behind you.

“I’m fine with that,” he says with a playful smile and you don’t fail to notice the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Did you say something funny?

You brush it off, instead focusing on ordering chicken fried rice and dumplings from your favorite chinese place in the neighborhood on your phone. Yoongi returns to focus on the TV while you order, and you take advantage of this to observe him. At first glance, he looks fairly nonchalant, without a care in the world, but the more you examine him, you notice the slight movements of his eyes whenever you make a sound. He doesn’t look uneasy, more like generally careful of you. In fact, it looks like he chose to sit where he could monitor you without you catching him, sitting at a certain angle so he doesn’t have to turn his head to watch you.

You gulp, suddenly feeling more on edge than before. Now that you see it, he seems more controlled than you would think, as though the very way he sits is meticulous; as if to convey that he is non-threatening to you, while still being able to act if need be. You can’t help but feel he might have downplayed his troubles, that type of behaviour does not match with a small lowlife’s who would just have “some troubles with a gang”. No, he knows what he’s doing, and has known from the very beginning, purposefully using sarcasm to break the tension and get you to help him. You don’t think he manipulated you into bringing him home though, that man was too passed out to manage that feat.

You grab the counter to ground you. Realising you just welcomed someone that appears to be dangerous and manipulative into your own home is not a great feeling. If Yoongi has noticed your sudden tenseness, he doesn’t let it show. He’ll be gone by tomorrow, you remind yourself, trying to calm your pounding heart. You feel like a prey stuck with a wolf in sheep’s disguise. But you are no damsel in distress, you’ll be just fine if you stay wary. Keep your guard up while not letting him know you figured him out. Guess you’ll be sleeping with a knife under your pillow tonight as well.

The rest of the night continues on fairly pleasantly. You do most of the talking during the night, telling him stories about your awful boss and your dream job. Yoongi is actually good company, listening to you with a smile, though you still feel that he contains himself. You purposefully avoid talking about his past or his job, not wanting to make a wrong move and anger him. The less you know the better. The atmosphere between the two of you is still somewhat tense, and you all but jump when the doorbell rings, announcing your dinner’s arrival.

He does seem to relax once his stomach full, even going as far to flash you a gummy smile when you lose balance and the empty take out boxes come crashing onto the ground. Granted, he was laughing at your clumsiness but you had a good time nonetheless.

“I need to be up early tomorrow, I should hit the sack,” you say while throwing out the take out boxes. “I’ll leave at 7:30 so you’ll have to leave at that time too”, you add and he hums in understanding.

You bid him goodnight before entering your room and as you are pushing the door a small “Thank you, Y/n” escapes his lips. You turn around and return his small smile. Is it just you or did this one seem sincere?

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

You don’t wake up sleep deprived this time around. In fact, you feel better than you have in a while. Is this the effect of having company for once? You scoff at your own thoughts before preparing yourself for the day. No, it’s of course because of your near new job interview. Yoongi is up and ready when you step out of your room to get your coffee, his wet hair sticking to his face.

“You want one?”, you ask him, pointing at the coffee machine. He nods and thanks you when you hand him a coffee. This morning feels a little awkward, you note. You are not quite sure what to say in this situation, and apparently neither is he because the both of you are just staring at each other while sipping your coffees, waiting for the other to say something. You also note the contrast between you too; him, wearing worn out grey jeans and an oversized khaki bomber jacket, and you, wearing a tight black skirt, an assorted suit jacket and an ironed white blouse. Once done with your coffee, you slip your uncomfortable heels and the both of you step out into the elevator.

It is finally time for you to separate when you step out on the street. You turn to face him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What to say? You are relieved when he starts talking first.

“Thank you for letting me stay, Y/n, I owe you one”, he says with a small smile.

“Well, two if we’re honest”, you answer with a smirk. He looks at you amused. You take a glance at your watch. “Alright, I should go, or I’ll be late for my interview. Goodbye, Min Yoongi”. You wave at him. You fail to notice the men coming up from behind him. You should have, you have never seen them before, and them sporting black clothes and heavy gold chains would have stuck with you. Yoongi does notice the ones coming from behind you though, his eyes widening. It’s far too late however, and he cannot reach you before he is grabbed from the back. You scream when you feel two pairs of hands on each side of you, maintaining you in place. Yoongi is trying to fight off his assailants but he is quickly overpowered, knocked out by a nasty blow to his temple. For your credit, your struggling gave them a hard time trying to contain you as well, scratching and kicking in every direction, but a hit in the face is enough to finally calm you, rendering you unconscious.

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

You wake up face down in the trunk of a car. You can tell by the sound of the engine as well as the smell of gasoline. Your head hurts and you are disoriented. Everything is dark and you are cramped up in a tiny space, something soft under you. The haze surrounding your mind lifts instantaneously when you remember what happened before you blacked out. You struggle when you find out your hands and feet are tied up, but still at once when the soft thing under you releases an ‘ooomph’ sound.

“Yoongi?!”, you shriek. You immediately regret speaking so loud, cursing under your breath. Just because you can’t hear them in the car doesn’t mean they can’t hear you.

“Yeah..” he responds, voice strained, obviously in pain from the elbow you lodged in his ribs as you tried to move around.

“What the fuck is going on?”, you whisper-shout, anger boiling in your veins. You knew that man was trouble but you invited him in anyway. This is what you get when you don’t listen to your instincts. You hear him sigh above your head.

“Remember the gang I told you about?” he says tentatively, knowing you are only inches away from exploding. “Well, I killed their leader and they are not very happy with me right now.”

You can’t believe what you are hearing.

“And that’s ‘some troubles’ for you?! What the fuck, Yoongi?!”

“That’s really all that you take away from what I just said?”, he retorts in disbelief.

No, it’s really not. But right now, the fact that you are acquaintances with a murderer is the least of your worries. “Fuck”, you utter, hitting your head softly on his chest. The fear mixing with anger inside you makes it difficult for you to think. How are you going to get out of this mess?

“You seem awfully calm for someone who’s just been kidnapped, Yoongi”, you say against his chest, your head still a bit dizzy from the hit you’ve received from your kidnappers.

“This is not my first rodeo, sweetheart”

You scoff at his nonchalant response, but it somehow reassures you a bit. At least you are not alone.

“So, what’s your fucking plan to get us out of here then, cowboy?”, you ask, expecting a brilliant plan to get the both of you out of harm’s way unscathed and-

“I don’t know yet”

Were you drinking anything, you would’ve spat your drink in his face in disbelief. But you are not, so you decide to head butt him in the chest instead. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?”, he whisper-shouts, obviously surprised by your sudden violence.

“You got me in this mess dude, now you get me out of it!”

You are seeing red. Even in this kind of situation he isn’t serious, driving you crazy with his nonchalant responses. He is going to get me killed, you think to yourself.

“I’ve escaped once from them, I can do it again. They are not exactly the brightest bunch”, he says, and you feel him shift under you. “The sole fact that they took you with me is proof. Would you turn on your back please, darling?”

Though you don’t understand why, you comply without a complaint. The man is supposed to be used to this, now’s not the time to ask questions. You twist on your back with difficulty, not without purposefully elbowing him in the stomach once again, disguising it as an accident when he starts to curse you out. As soon as you are in position, you feel his hands feeling around their way to yours, reaching your binds in no time. You can’t help but shriek when the cold blade of what you guess is a knife touches your forearm.

“First rule of kidnapping, darling, always check the belt”, he explains while cutting through the rope attaching your wrists together with dexterity. You are free in less time that you need to say it, rubbing your chafed wrists in disbelief. You are impressed to say the least, and quite relieved to have underestimated your kidnappee buddy. He hands you the knife.

“Alright, now I need you to free our feet. With you on top of me like that I can’t do it”

You start to shift in the small space trying to bend in order to reach your feet, feeling as you go. You’ve never been the most flexible but you don’t pay mind to the pain in your lower back as you start to cut through the rope around his feet, a weird feeling of deja vu settling in the back of your mind.

“Wait… Is that MY kitchen knife?!”, you ask in an ushered yet still incredulous voice, recognizing the grip of the knife in your hands.

“Of course it is”, he says as if it was obvious. “Did you seriously think that I, a hit-man searched for by the most dangerous gang of the country, would leave anywhere unarmed?”, he adds after hearing your disbelieving scoff. His feet are free now and you start to cut through your binds.

“The most dangerous- What?! I thought you said they weren’t the brightest bunch?!”, you reply, incredulous, stopping to cut for a second.

“Well yes, I killed the brains of the gang”, he says matter-of-factly. “You done with the knife? Give it to me.”

You hand him back the knife, your ankles now free of the restraints. The car is still moving, and you start to wonder what Yoongi is planning to do. Best course of action would probably be to wait for the car to stop and the kidnappers to open the trunk, taking them by surprise.

This doesn’t seem to be what Yoongi has in mind however, as you feel him start to rip off the carpet on the floor of the trunk. Your eyes widen but you try to move over to the front part of the trunk, letting him space to go on his rampage on the carpet. Has he gone mad? Is this how you die?

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you ask him through gritted teeth. Now’s not the time to attract attention.

“I’m looking for the trunk release cable” he says flatly, obviously focused on his task.

“Huh?”

“It should be… Right about... Here!” He pulls on something at once and the trunk suddenly opens. Your eyes hurt from the abrupt surge of light and you shield your eyes. The car starts to sway dangerously, the kidnappers obviously as surprised as you are to see the trunk pop open. Your eyes don’t have the time to accommodate before Yoongi yanks you by your hand, making you crash in his chest, before jumping, effectively throwing the both of you out of the trunk onto the road. Thankfully, Yoongi had the presence of mind to jump at an angle, making you tumble into the sidewalk instead of underneath the wheels of the car behind yours.

You barely have time to register what just happened before Yoongi pulls you by the hand again. Everything hurts and you are not quite sure what just happened, but you follow suit, running after him. You discard the only heel left on your feet after your little acrobatic feat in order to be able to run properly on the sidewalk. You don’t even pay mind to the incredulous glares the two of you gather. Oh what a sight you must be, running barefoot in the streets, cheeks, hands and knees wounded, your clothes a mess and your previously done up hair flowing in the wind. There are not many people around, making it easy for you to run, but easy for your kidnappers to find you. The car must have stopped a few moments after the trunk popped open because men are running after you, screaming.

Yoongi makes a sudden turn in a narrow and dark alleyway. You want to ask him where he is leading you but you are too breathless to even say a word. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to keep going like that, especially since your feet are starting to hurt from the gravel and the shards of glass covering the alleyway. You keep on running anyway, somehow convinced that the man running in front of you knows what he’s doing.

The sound of a gunshot rings right next to your ears, the bullet embedding itself on the wall alongside you. You shriek as the sound brings you back to earth, and you start to run even faster, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, continuing to run, brows furrowed and eyes trained in front of him. You make a second abrupt turn, leading even deeper in the maze of alleyways of your city. This part of the town is known to be the headquarters of the criminal activity, so it’s no wonder you are completely lost here whereas Yoongi expertly proceeds through, leading you to an unknown place.

The deeper you sink in the maze, the more people you meet, and the more scared you become. Everything is so foreign and dangerous to you, and you grip tighter on Yoongi’s hand as he pushes through the mob. It might be a bit stereotypical but these people all look too intimidating to you, especially since you are running away from men who just tried to kill you. You should thank them really, since they help you escape, unbeknownst to them. The alleys are larger now, though still very dark, and your nose catches whiffs of grilled meat and other delicacies as you run past the shady food stands. You are a bit overwhelmed as you progress through the crowd; Your heart is beating in your ears and your mind is racing, unable to entirely make sense of what you are experiencing.

Yoongi yanks on your hand once again, beckoning you to turn in yet another alley. This one is distinctly smaller and emptier than the former, and Yoongi stops abruptly in front of a back door, letting go of your hand to pound on the dirty metal door. His pounding is insistent and for the first time he looks nervous, eyeing where you just came from warily. The door doesn’t seem to want to open despite his persistence and he starts to curse. Behind him, you are quite literally trembling with anxiety. Your heart is throbbing in your chest and you only just realise your cheeks are wet with tears. Have you been crying the whole time?

“Fuck Jin, open the god damn door!”, Yoongi shouts, fist thumping against the metal, startling you from your thoughts. The door finally rattles and opens to reveal a tall yawning man. His brows are furrowed in discontent and you can tell he is going to chew Yoongi out before stopping crestfallen upon seeing his state. He doesn’t even notice you at first, too preoccupied for his friend to cast you a glance.

“Took you long enough” Yoongi grumbles, quickly grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside after him, pushing past his friend who is still staring at him, mouth open wide. The latter sighs before closing the door without a word and following you. The doorway leads to a small living room with a kitchen in the corner lit up by a yellow light bulb. Yoongi lets go of your hand to sink on the couch, and you stay still, not quite sure what to do while Jin settles on the armchair on the opposite side.

Jin looks fairly angry, his eyebrows furrowed and his tired brown eyes shooting daggers at Yoongi. He passes a hand through his black hair, exposing his forehead. He is obviously waiting for Yoongi to explain, his plump lips pressed in a tight line when he realises his friend isn’t going to say anything.

“What the hell are you doing here and what happened to you?” is the first thing he says, concern not well hidden under the apparent annoyance in his tone. He turns his head to you and he shoots you a concerned look. “And who is she?”

Normally, you would have clapped back that she has a name and that if he wanted to know anything about you he could ask directly, but you are too shocked to say anything, still unable to register what is happening right now. He must sense what state you are in because he walks to the kitchen and offers you a drink. You accept it wordlessly, staring blankly at him and then at the glass.

“Well apparently, Wolf’s Fang did not appreciate me killing their leader and tried to kidnap me. Twice”, Yoongi replies with his usual nonchalance. You are happy to note that you are not the only one it drives crazy, judging by the look on Jin’s face.

“Wolf’s Fa- Yoongi, I told you not to approach them, they are trouble,” he says, jaws clenched in obvious annoyance as his friend shrugs. He sighs and turns to you. You can tell he is trying hard to conceal his anger, though the furiousness of his eyes betrays him. “You don’t look so good, sweetheart, you should go to the bathroom”, he tells you, pointing at a corridor. He doesn’t need to pry, you are happy to get away from the tension in the room, making your way towards said corridor.

The bathroom is small, covered in tile. You lock yourself in, slashing your face with cold water, eager for the haze surrounding your mind to leave. You might have a small concussion from your earlier acrobatic feat, along with the mild marks of road burns on the side of your head. You can still hear the argument in the living room between the two men, and you cut the flow of water to listen to the ushered voices.

“-I told you it was the worst idea you’ve ever had, I can’t believe you did it anyway”

“What was I supposed to do, Jin, let them get away with it?”

“It was twenty years ago Yoongi-”

“They killed my parents, I don’t really think there’s a ‘best before’ date on revenge.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Just because you are used to killing people doesn’t mean you can take on everyone, Yoongi. They were too dangerous for you but you still went away and killed their leader. I told you to wait and build a team but no, you couldn’t fucking wait, could you? I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It was MY revenge Hyung-”

“That’s why you involved the girl?” Your brows furrow, and you sit on the toilet seat, eager to know what they are going to say about you. Yoongi takes a second before answering, his voice calmer and you have to strain your ears to hear him.

“No. That- That was a mistake. She found me the first time I escaped and she helped me.”

“And that’s how you repay her, by implicating her in your shit?”

“No, I- I just wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t mean for her to get caught up in this.”

“Awww, little Black Crow didn’t want her to get caught in this” Jin retorts sarcastically. “Well guess what, fucker, because of you she’s going to have to hide from one of the biggest gangs in the damn city! I don’t even care that you bring ME into this mess, but you just had to involve an innocent person. I thought you despised that.”

“I fucking hate it!”, Yoongi shouts. “But it’s too late to change anything about that, isn’t it Hyung?”

You rise from your seat, having heard enough. You don’t want them to fight because of you, and you’re afraid you’ve spent much more time in the bathroom than appropriate. Having finally regained your senses, you feel the strain your chase has on your body; your muscles ache and your feet are bloody, shards of glass and tiny pieces of gravel embedded in your skin. You tiptoe back into the living, jaw clenched from the pain, trying to avoid putting too much weight on your feet as well as bloodying the floor. They both fall quiet when you appear through the opening of the corridor, eyeing you with concern.

You can easily guess what is going on in their heads. You are still very pale, and you seem weak, eyes still a bit unfocused as you lean on the wall for support. they must wonder how much you’ve heard, and how much of a problem you are going to be to them. You are a witness and you know what Yoongi does for a living - ha, puns- and though it hasn’t crossed your mind to call the police on them, they don’t know that. Finally, you still have a gang trying to snag you, and you don’t know just how much information your kidnappers have on you. They could try to use you as bait, thinking Yoongi must be attached to you in some way.

In conclusion, this is a mess. You’ve missed both work and your interview this morning and people are bound to ask questions about your whereabouts. You’ve always been the most diligent in terms of work, never taking a day off or arriving more than 10 minutes late. You obviously don’t have your phone or your wallet on you right now, having lost everything when you were kidnapped, and trying to go back to your apartment right now, without your keys on top of that, seems fruitless.

“How are you feeling?”, Jin asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence that settled in the room.

“Still a bit light-headed. I might have a minor concussion… I think. Also I need a first aid kit, if you have one please?”

“Sure, I’ll get you that. Sit down.”

You settle on the other side of the couch as Jin exits the room from the corridor. Yoongi hasn’t said anything yet but you can see hints of concern in his eyes. Similarly to you, his already scarred cheek and his hands are bruised because of the fall from the car, though he doesn’t seem to have hit his head -which isn’t surprising since, unlike you, he was expecting the impact. He moves closer to you on the couch to take your hands in his, observing the wounds on the back of your hands.

You are slightly taken aback but don’t say anything, an unexpected blush creeping on your cheeks. He seems too focused on your hands to notice your tenseness, and you are glad. What the hell is wrong with you? It must be the concussion, making your cheeks heat up, because it certainly can’t be the way his soft hands delicately hold yours- No! What is going on in this brain of yours?

“Are your feet okay?” he asks suddenly, and you squeak in surprise as his grey eyes find yours. He doesn’t comment on your reaction, and you are happy to not receive one of his snarky remarks.

“Not really, that’s why I asked for the first aid ki- Whoa, what are you doing?!”, you shriek when he grabs your legs to prop them on the couch. He sits at the end of the couch, grimacing as he takes in the poor state of the bottom of your feet.

“There’s gravel in there, I’ll have to clean it up--”, he starts.

“No- No, you don’t have to do that, I’ll do it myself,” you interrupt, slightly panicked. To be completely honest, you don’t really trust him to do any good. The man doesn’t exactly save lives, he takes them, and he doesn’t really strike you as the healer type. You think you are saved when Jin comes back and hands you the first aid kit, one of his eyebrows raising in a silent question as he reads the anxiousness on your face. Unfortunately for you, Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind your nervousness, simply snatching the kit from your hands and putting himself to work.

Turns out you were nervous for -mostly- nothing. Yoongi actually has a steady hand, and he removes all gravel and shards of glass in an instant and rather unpainfully. He does however make the mistake of spraying antiseptic directly in your wounds, which hurts like hell. He apologizes profusely, obviously distraught by your unexpected blood curdling scream while Jin laughs freely at his startled face. As he finishes bandaging your feet and Jin brings you hotel slippers to wear for the night. They are way too big for your feet but actually quite comfortable so you accept them with a smile.

You are set to stay low in Jin’s place for the day. It would be too dangerous to leave today according to both Yoongi and Jin, and the both of them decide that you would leave during the night.

“It’s at that time that the alleys are the more crowded,” explained Jin, “the less attention you draw, the better”. That is a kind of logic you can get behind, especially since you can barely walk - let alone run if anything goes wrong.

Yoongi advises you to sleep when he notices your eyes getting droopy, and he leads you to a bedroom. You sink on the bed in exhaustion, your body suddenly refusing to carry you anymore. You feel sleep enveloping you as Yoongi starts to leave the bedroom.

“What’s going to happen after we leave?” you ask sleepily, barely keeping your eyes open. The question stops him dead in his tracks, and he turns to face you, a serious look on his face. He ponders for a little while before answering you.

“I’ll bring you to my place and we’ll find a way for you to go back to your life,” he responds, eyes earnest and you hum sleepily in acknowledgement. Satisfied with the answer, you let yourself slip into an easy sleep.

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

You wake up a few hours later, with an empty stomach but an already clearer head. It takes you a minute to remember exactly what happened to you and where you are, feeling dejected when you realise it wasn’t just a very realistic nightmare. It’s all his fault, you realize. Your life was going well before you decided to help Yoongi - well, before you were manipulated into helping him is more correct. Even if you despise your job because of your boss, you still enjoy your little routine. Working during the week to pay off your loan, writing during the weekend or enjoying your free time. Sure you were alone most of the time and you longed to meet new people, you still liked your quiet life. It was all supposed to come together today once you’d get that promotion, but no, that had to be ruined for you. One thing is certain: once all of this is over, you don’t want to ever hear from Min Yoongi again.

You decide to limp to the living room, the rumbling of your stomach prompting you to seek sustenance. Both Jin and Yoongi are in the living room, Yoongi sleeping on the couch while Jin is busy on the phone looking out the window near the kitchen. His brows are furrowed and he looks deep in thought, making you reconsider asking him for food right now. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you entering the room and sitting on the armchair, and you take advantage of this to stare at him in tranquillity.

It makes no doubt for you now that Jin is also a very dangerous man. If his earlier behaviour wasn’t particularly intimidating in any way, the man barking at the phone in front of you  exudes a deadly aura. He is quite obviously trying to resolve the mess his younger friend put himself -and you- into, calling multiple people and furiously scribbling on a notepad on the counter in between calls. He seems to know exactly who to contact, calling people back to back, until he slams his phone on the table, sighing in exasperation. He takes his head in his hands and sighs again.

“Jin?” you ask tentatively, and Jin’s head snaps in your direction. His dark eyes immediately find yours, and you gulp, intimidated by his intense glare. When he realises it’s just you, his features soften and you feel yourself being able to breathe again.

“Do you have something I could eat?” you ask after he beckons you to speak with a hum. He nods, making his way to the cupboards. He rummages through them and you settle on a stool behind the counter. Jin doesn’t look satisfied as he pulls out a cup of instant ramen and he shoots you an apologetic smile. “Ramen is fine,” you assure him, feeling too hungry to fuss over the quality of the meal. It actually reminds you of your student days, living off ramen, coffee and the sheer will of escaping your parent’s house. Granted this is not how you envisioned your future, running away from a gang with your new friend Yoongi the murderer, but you longed for adventure, right?

Well it’s not like you have much of a choice anyway, you remind yourself as Jin sets the meager meal in front of you. You must pull a crestfallen grimace because Jin laughs at you and you dive in, eager to hide the embarrassment creeping on your cheeks at his windshield wiper laugh.

“Who were you calling?” you ask with a mouth full, keen to change the focus on him rather than you. He rests his elbows on the counter across from you and he tries to find his words.

“People who could help resolve the situation,” he answers simply.

“Right… ‘Resolve’” you say with a sarcastic smile. The only way to ‘resolve’ the situation, as Jin says, is surely to take out the gang altogether. It is obviously weak at the moment because of the loss of their boss, and it’s the best time to strike.

“We need to ensure your security - that is, unless you believe you can do it alone?” he retorts, raising one of his eyebrows in defiance. You scoff at his smirk.

“Of course not.” You pause. “Thank you for helping me,” you add earnestly after a second.

“Don’t thank me, thank Yoongi. He’s the one who asked me to help you. Apparently he owes you”, he says dismissively, returning to the kitchen to throw away your no empty ramen cup. You swallow with difficulty. Of course he’s only doing that because he owes you, what did you expect? Both of those men are hardened criminals, though you don’t exactly know what Jin dwelves in. It would be foolish of you to think that neither of them is protecting you out of the goodness of their hearts. They are not as naive and generous as you are, and Yoongi could easily have left you to die had you not saved him earlier.

No wait… This is because of him that you are in this mess, of course he has to fix this situation!

“Anyways,” Jin adds as he comes back to face you, “Yoongi is going to bring you to a safer location and then he - along with my team - is going to sort this mess out. And then you’ll be good to go, as if this never happened.”

He emphasizes his last words with a dark fixed gaze on you. You gulp at his sudden change of demeanor from casual to threatening. You know exactly what he means by that; You’ll have to keep quiet about what happened, or else. You nod a bit too eagerly, suddenly intimidated by him. This seems to please him however, and he smiles at you, obviously content that you understand the true meaning of his words.

You spend the next hour or so abstently watching TV from the armchair while waiting, Yoongi still happily slumbering on the couch. There isn’t much more to do than wait, and you are bored out of your wits by the time Jin decides Yoongi slept too much and hits him with a rolled up magazine to wake him up.

“What the- What was that for?!” Yoongi indignantly asks, rubbing his head, his still sleepy eyes shooting daggers at the elder.

“It’s time for you to move” is all he says before he leaves the room, not even paying attention to the string of curses Yoongi sends flying his way. You chuckle at his indignation and he shoots you a dark look, amusing you even further. He sighs before chuckling too and he rises from the couch to stretch his limbs. Jin comes back to the living room with a backpack he chucks at Yoongi. The latter catches it effortlessly before sitting back on the couch to rummage through it, taking out a gun and observing it, checking the magazine in a swift motion.

“You might need that,” Jin says, leaning back against the kitchen counter and Yoongi thanks him. You eye warrily the weapon; You can’t say you feel particularly reassured with this. You’ve never been one to like firearms, and the sole fact that you were shot at earlier today reinforces your apprehension. Yoongi seems to sense your tenseness and he hands you your kitchen knife. You look at him questioningly.

“It might be too early for you to use a gun, let’s stick with things you know for now,” he explains with a knowing smile. For now. You can see Jin’s eyebrows furrow in the corner of your eyes but you don’t comment on his choice of words, merely nodding in understanding. There’s also a pair of grey sneakers in the bag, which Yoongi throws your way. They are too big for your feet but this is the best you are going to get so you don’t complain. You are now set to leave and Yoongi beckons you to follow him through the corridor. There’s a back door that you hadn’t noticed after the door leading to the bedroom.

Yoongi reaches to open the door and stops, taking a look at you. You are opening your mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he suddenly removes his jacket to throw it around your shoulders.

“You’ll attract too much attention otherwise” he says, and he slips through the door. You follow him into the alleyways, clutching his jacket to cover you more, hiding the knife in your hands under it.

The alleys, much like Jin explained, are more crowded than when you arrived. You are significantly less scared than before, focusing on following the man in front of you instead of observing the people around you. Yoongi is leading you through the crowd, eyes scanning the mob looking for potential threats. Jin had advised you to leave separately but it just wasn’t possible for you to navigate through this maze alone, and you are grateful to be with Yoongi right now.

People don’t seem to pay much attention to either of you and you are able to reach an underground parking lot safely. Yoongi had made sure you weren’t followed before reaching for keys in the bag. He presses the button and the lights of a car a few rows from where you are flare up. Yoongi grabs your hand and leads the both of you to the black car, letting you get seated on the passenger side before unceremoniously throwing the bag on the back seat.

The car is surprisingly nice, a black Mercedes with tan leather seats. You squeak in surprise when Yoongi makes the engine roar as you are attaching your seat belt. You don’t even have the time to say anything before he slams the acceleration pedal, leaving the parking spot like a mad man. You grip the armrest in a futile attempt to feel safer, not quite at ease with Yoongi’s aggressive driving.

You can tell he is a good driver, expertly avoiding the few other cars as he speeds down the highway, but you can’t help your heart from pounding in your chest. You’ve never been this fast on the road, and the happy glimmer in Yoongi’s eyes everytime he goes faster doesn’t exactly reassure you.

The only positive aspect with him driving this fast is that you quickly arrive at the destination. You are surrounded by tall glass buildings, and you furrow your brows. This can’t be where Yoongi lives, can it? It doesn’t make sense. Yoongi parks the car in another underground parking structure, and you step out of the car with wobbly legs and a confused expression plastered on your face. You don’t even have time to ask the first of the thousands of questions swarming your mind right now before Yoongi makes his way towards an elevator.

Unlike you, he seems perfectly at ease as he waits for the elevator, even smirking at your bemused face. The ding of the elevator makes you step out of your thoughts and you start to stammer as you follow Yoongi inside. He presses the button going to the 37th level.

“You- You live here?!” you ask, incredulous as the elevator starts its ascension. He shoots you another smirk, his eyes playful.

“What, you think I kill for the sole pleasure of it? Of course not, I’m not a monster, Y/n.”

“I- I don’t--”

“Hitman is a relatively high paying job, I’ll have you know,” Yoongi explains in fake seriousness, obviously reveling on your confused state of mind. You raise one of your eyebrows in defiance at his words, eyeing him up and down as if to prove a point. He isn’t exactly dressed as someone who makes a lot of money. He scoffs at your attitude, and he crosses his arms on his chest.

“Hey! I like these clothes!” he says in indignation and you roll your eyes at him. The elevator stops and the both of you step out of it. “Anyway, nobody knows about this place so we’ll be safe here,” he says while walking to a door at the end of a corridor.

“Nobody?” you ask as he opens the door.

“Not even Jin. It’s a safe measure. I don’t know where he lives either. No one in the gang does. That way, if someone gets caught, they won’t be able to tell where the others are.”

He opens the door and enters his apartment. You take a second to look around you. His apartment is big and modern. The walls are painted white, contrasting with his dark furniture. In the back of the apartment is a huge window, providing an incredible view of the city. But the view is unable to distract you from the many questions swirling in your mind; How many people has he had to kill in order to pay for a place like this? The place you were at just earlier wasn’t Jin’s home? The gang? What is going on? Yoongi must notice your confusion -- maybe because you are still on the doorstep, staring around with a gaping mouth -- because he sighs and starts to explain further.

“We were not at Jin’s. It’s one of our safe places all over the city. There’s always at least one member there, and this time it was Jin’s shift and I knew he was going to be there,” he starts explaining.

“Wait wait- You are in a gang?!” you exclaim, eyes wide. The more you think you know about Yoongi the more lost you get. It wasn’t bad enough that he is an assassin, he’s also part of a gang?

“Would you please come in before shouting those kinds of things?” he retorts through gritted teeth, ushering you inside and closing the door. You sink down on the leather couch and stare in the void, still not quite able to process everything. You should have seen it coming if you are really honest, but it seems that you find yourself to be in an even bigger mess than you thought everytime Yoongi tries to explain himself.

“Yes, I’m in a gang. I’m an assassin. Jin is the leader’s right-hand man. More than that he is my friend,” he says, eyeing you warrily and holding his hands up in a defensive stance, as if scared you’ll explode. If anything, you should be the one to be scared, you think to yourself, especially since you can’t understand why he would say that. Perhaps it’s because you are aware of what would happen to you, would you ever try to say anything to anyone. Not that anyone would believe your story anyway, or that you would risk telling anything to anyone. You shudder when you remember Jin’s hidden warning. Yoongi lowers his hands as you seem to have calmed down and he sits across from you on a leather armchair.

“I talked with Jin about taking down Wolf’s Fang. I’ll leave tomorrow to deal with that with other members of the gang. Then you’ll go back to your life”, he explains nonchalantly. For some unknown reason, his last words set you ablaze with rage.

“What life, Yoongi? You ruined that, remember?” you spit at him harshly, rising from your seat. He looks completely taken aback by your sudden outburst. You had made sure not to let show how much you resent him for dragging you in this situation; You needed him to fix everything, and shouting at him that it’s all his fault surely wouldn’t help your plans at all. But you snap because of his nonchalant attitude. He destroyed your chances at getting your promotion, having to go no-contact. He put you at risk of getting kidnapped and then shot, even though he knew he was himself in danger.

“Aren’t you an assassin, aren’t you part of a gang? Didn’t you know you would put me in danger with you?” you shout at him, pointing at him aggressively to emphasize your words.

“I didn’t mean--” he starts, but you interrupt him. Anger is bubbling inside you and you can’t contain it anymore.

“You knew you were putting me in danger but you stayed anyway!”

“You were the one who said I could lay low at yours!” he retorts, rising from his seat. You scoff at his irrelevant argument and he immediately cringes at his poor wording.

“I didn’t know you were an assassin and a gang member! I would’ve thought twice about letting you come into my life if I knew I’d get kidnapped!” you spit, your jaw clenched in anger.

“I didn’t want this!”

“Well I sure hope so!”, you scoff, hands rising in the air in disbelief. “But what did you seriously expect, huh?” You try to chase away the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Now is not the time to cry.

“I know I should’ve left you!” he starts in anger but his voice breaks and he looks away. You look at him in confusion. You are not used to seeing vulnerability in him. Granted you don’t really know him but this feels out of character for him. “I just- I didn’t want to be alone,” he says, voice pregnant with emotion. You are taken aback by his sudden openness, brows furrowed and mouth gaping in confusion. He still doesn’t look at you, and you don’t manage to say anything, too lost to be able to utter a word.

He passes a hand through his black hair and sighs loudly. The both of you are standing awkwardly, you staring at him and him making a point of avoiding your eyes. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, but you are left utterly speechless. He scoffs darkly before walking towards the back of the room to a kitchen.

“Anyway, you’ll be safe tomorrow, and you’ll be able to leave.”

Yoongi exits the room and you are left alone with your thoughts.

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

You decide to sit on the floor in front of the big windows, enjoying the unending view. It must be one in the morning, and the streets are empty, apart from the odd car driving down the road every once in a while. The sight is calming, as you see the few lights still lit up in the night. Your apartment is not exactly downtown so you don’t have a view as nice as this one. Everything is so silent, so still. You know exactly why you are staring so intensely at the view, trying to chase any thought of Yoongi.

You are definitely calmer now but you don’t want to think about him, trying to bottle up any emotion deep down. You’ve never been one to have a healthy relationship with your feelings, and you are not going to start now. Most of your resentment is gone now that you finally confronted him about it, but your last exchange only left confusion. Confusion on what he was talking about, but also on why your heart squeezed so painfully when you saw him so vulnerable or when he walked away from you. You bring your knees to your chest.

In a way, you can understand where he is coming from. You let him stay and threw all care in the wind also because you were feeling lonely. Perhaps both of you were weak at that moment. Surely he should have been more careful, but you don’t blame him as much as you did before.

You hear a door open and close but you don’t move from your spot, keeping your eyes trained on the view. From the corner of your eyes, you see Yoongi sit cross legged next to you. The both of you stay in silence like that for a bit of time, watching the horizon before you decide to break the silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you like that,” you say softly, turning your head to look at him. His grey eyes meet yours. They are definitively warmer than before, and you feel reassured.

“Hmm. I just hope the neighbors didn’t hear you scream,” he answers with his usual snarky grin. You shoot him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, that might be a problem in the future.”

He doesn’t look too concerned, shrugging and leaning back on his arms, stretching his legs as he takes in the view in front of him. One question still plagues your mind, and you can’t stop it from spilling from your lips.

“When you said you didn’t want to be alone earlier, what did you mean?”

He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, and he turns his head back to you, sitting up straight.

“You ever wonder where I got that from?” he says, pointing to his scar across his right side. You nod positively. “When I was six, my parents were attacked by a man and his small gang. My father was a rich accountant who refused to work for them, and the leader of the small gang took offence. One night, they raided my house, torturing and killing my mother in front of his eyes, and they planned to do the same to me.”

Yoongi pauses, staring at his trembling hands, and you regret asking him such a personal question. It is obviously a very difficult subject for him, but he resumes talking before you can say anything.

“Apparently, the neighbors heard the commotion and called the police as the leader carved a line across my eye, so he decided to kill my father and to flee. I was placed in an orphanage for boys. During that time, I met with Jin and 5 other boys. We all grew up without being adopted, and one of the other boys, Namjoon, decided that we needed revenge on life. We started partaking in some pretty illegal stuff, and our little group grew. We were seven at first, and now we are the most powerful gang” he says, a hint of pride in his voice at the last sentence.

“For more than twenty years I searched for the people that killed my parents, and Jin is the one who finally found them. It was the leader of Wolf’s Fang, a rival gang, and I decided that I waited enough for revenge. I made sure he felt tenfold the pain he inflicted my parents.”

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as the night now, contrasting with the paleness of his skin under the moonlight. An aura of dangerousness is radiating from him, and you can’t help but feel intimidated.

“But when I finally killed him I felt so empty. What was there anymore?” he adds with furrowed brows and he stares at his open hands. “I got what I wanted. I lost my edge that day. I had nothing left to fight for, or at least I was convinced of it. They found me easily, I wasn’t even trying to hide. But I remembered that they already caused my family too much pain, I wasn’t going to let them cause more. If I were to die, it wouldn’t be by their hand. So I escaped. And that’s when you found me”

He turns to face you, his eyes back to their warmth, making your cheeks heat up.

“I guess I just needed a stranger to take care of me a little,” he concludes, smiling awkwardly at you.

A comfortable silence settles between you while the two of you enjoy the view. Something seems to have lifted from Yoongi’s shoulders, he looks much more relaxed than when you entered his appartement. Maybe because he told you everything, the whole truth, and that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

You don’t know how much time you spent in silence together, enjoying each other’s presence before you start to feel tired again. You haven’t really slept that much yesterday and all the tension from the day vanishes, leaving tiredness in its wake. A yawn escapes your lips. You don’t even know why you lean your head on his shoulder but you do, perhaps too sleepy to even realise what you are doing. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind thankfully, and he leans his head on top of yours. You fall asleep like that, and you don’t even stir when Yoongi lifts you up to place you on his bed before joining you.

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

It’s well into the morning when you wake up. It takes you a minute before understanding where you are, your heart racing a bit when you realise you are alone in an unknown bed. Yoongi must already be gone, you realise when you walk into the empty living room. It’s already 12 am so you decide to head to the kitchen in search of something to eat. After your meal, you take a shower, taking some clothes Yoongi left for you this morning. You can’t help the blush creep on your skin as you realise he thought to leave you clothes just before leaving to take down a gang. The clothes he left are too big for you, an oversized t-shirt, a sweatshirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, but you enjoy the cozyness --and his smell on the clothes-- too much to complain.

The rest of your day is spent waiting. You start by exploring every inch of the apartment, trying to discover more of Yoongi. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find anything except one photo, hidden between two books. You found it by error, accidentally knocking a row of books on the desk. You instantly recognize two people in the photo, Yoongi and Jin. They seem much younger, barely adults. The others seem much younger, and your heart twists. These boys are too young to be in a gang... You turn the photo to inspect the back and you find an inscription.

“Birds of prey - 2013

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook”

The seven of them are looking in defiance at the camera, as if they have something to prove. You sigh before placing back the photo.

By the time seven rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bit worried. Is it normal that he’s been gone for so long? What if something has happened to him? What are you supposed to do then? You decide against pacing, choosing to sit on the armchair across the door instead, knees to your chest as you wait for his return.

When the door finally opens, you spring from your seat. Yoongi comes in while limping but as soon as his eyes fall on you, a warm smile erupts on his bruised face. You are too preoccupied by his disheveled state to return his smile, instead coming to his side to help him walk to the couch. He stops you in your tracks with a raise of his hands.

“Don’t worry, someone already took care of me. I’m all patched up,” he reassures you, and a bit of tension eases from your shoulders. You sit on the armchair as he settles on the couch. He can tell that you are dying to know what happened, seeing as you are practically buzzing across the edge of your seat across him.

“It’s over,” he states simply at first and you let out a sigh of relief. It’s finally over? It almost doesn’t feel real, as if these past days were just a dream. “We took care of most of the members, and Namjoon ordered some of our men to make sure the rest join them soon”

“That means I can go home?” you ask excitedly. You could have sworn you saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes but it left as soon as it came.

“Yes, of course,” he says, “I could drive-”

“But first, we need to celebrate our freedom,” you interrupt him with a smirk. He is surprised at first, but soon returns your smile.

“You’re right, let’s order some takeout for tonight”

You spend the evening eating and laughing. You are happy to finally see Yoongi relax completely with you, able to tell you stories about his life. You now would like to meet the rest of the boys in the photo, first and foremost to thank them since they were part of the team that took out the gang, but also because they sound funny in Yoongi’s stories. They all seem closer to a family than most of the conventional ones, and the fact that they are gang members doesn’t really scare you anymore. They are Yoongi’s friends, after all.

By the time you finish your meal and a movie, it’s ‘unfortunately’ too late for you to go home, and Yoongi advises you to stay just one night more. Seeing that you’ve done the same for him, he has to return the favor, he explained, and you happily oblige, perhaps a bit too ecstatic to be able to spend more time with him. It’s funny how fast you’ve come to trust this man and enjoy his company, even though you are aware of his profession.

This time, it’s him who falls asleep first, head leaning on your shoulder while watching a movie on the couch, and you decide to put him to bed. You chuckle at the feeling of deja vu when you lead him to the bedroom, supporting him as he limps his way to the bed. You pause for a moment after he sinks on the mattress; Where are you supposed to sleep? On the bed with him? On the couch? You are about to step out of the room when a hand catches your wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asks groggily, eyes barely open to look at you. You smile at him.

“Nowhere” you answer, and he closes his eyes back, his hands slipping from around your wrist as a reassured smile creeps across his lips.

You settle on the other side of the bed, careful to still put distance between you. You turn on your side to be able to face him. He is peaceful like that, and you smile to yourself as you brush away the stray strands of black hair covering his eyes.

The next morning passes rather quickly, mostly due to the fact that you sleep off most of it in Yoongi’s arms. After a rather flustered waking up, and an awkward breakfast, the both of you decide to get you back to your apartment. You need to swing by your office first, as you need to retrieve your spare apartment keys in your locker. If you were previously warry to go back there and face your boss, you don’t even care anymore. You’ve almost died for fuck’s sake, what can he possibly do that will scare you. If anything, he will be the one to be scared if he dares to say anything, Yoongi assured you, making you smile.

This time, he drives rather calmly and you are grateful for that. First of all because you don’t want to die in a car crash, and secondly because the longer the ride, the more time you can still spend with Yoongi. He is more silent than usual, a sullen look on his face. You can understand him, for some reason you aren’t exactly the happiest at the prospect of going back to your previous life, to your stupid job and your stupid boss, and more importantly to your empty and lonely apartment.

Maybe some of Yoongi’s nonchalance rubbed off on you, you think to yourself as you stroll inside your office building, wearing oversized sweats and followed by a scary looking man with a scar across his face. You don’t even stop to answer the questions the office bitch sends your way, shutting her up with a dark glare. You’ve never liked her, she always took credit for other’s work, so you don’t feel guilty for scaring her. You go straight to your locker, Yoongi still following behind you. You are thankful for him being with you, you are sure you wouldn’t have the same confidence without him.

You are rummaging through your locker and retrieving your things when a furious voice interrupts you.

“Y/l/n! Where were you? You’ve missed almost a week of work! It’s unacceptable-”

A week? What a joke, it’s only the third day you’ve missed. Anger starts to bubble inside you. You’ve never missed a day of work before, and this asshole makes it as though it was a regular occurrence, not an ounce of concern in his annoying voice as he shouts. You tune him out as you continue to search for your stuff, and you ignoring him only seems to infuriate him more - and you love this. You’ve suffered his abuse too much to pay anymore attention to him, and when you finally find your keys, you slam your locker door, shutting him up instantly.

You turn around to face him, reveling on the look of absolute shock written on his face. The once so soft spoken and respectful employee is so disrespectful now. You notice Yoongi glaring daggers at him, jaw clenched, and you are thankful that he doesn’t say anything. This is your moment.

“Listen asshole, I’ve had enough of your shit. So stop harassing me or I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to open that mouth of yours again,” you spit coldly. He stammers, trying in vain to say anything. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Also, don’t even dare try to complain about me to HR or the police, I have enough proof of workplace abuse to get you fired in a second. I’ll be back to take the rest of my stuff,” you add, glancing around in the office to find every pair of eyes on you. Satisfied with your little outburst, you leave, prompting a smirking Yoongi to follow after you.

It’s only in the car that the frown on your face lifts instantly and you burst in laughter with Yoongi.

“That felt good,” you confide with a playful grin. He returns your smile, his eyes twinkling with something that looks like awe and pride. The car ride to your apartment is already more cheery, the both of you laughing at the looks on their faces when you exited dramatically. You’ve dreamed of doing that more than once, and it seems that Yoongi gave you enough confidence to stand up for yourself this time.

The realisation that it’s goodbye seems to dawn the both of you when you enter the elevator. Your heart squeezes in your chest as the elevator gets closer to your floor. This can’t be it. You have to do something. The door opens on your floor and you step out after Yoongi.

He follows you to the door and waits as you turn your key in the lock. Thoughts are swirling in your brain; Will you be able to see each other after this? Does he even want to? You turn around when the door is finally open. You don’t know what to say, and your racing mind isn’t helping you trying to figure out a way for him to stay with you. He seems nervous as well, biting his bottom lip as his eyes avoid yours.

“Thank you… For keeping me safe,” you say meekly, cheeks heating up. His smoke colored eyes meet yours.

“Of course Y/n, you saved me first,” he responds softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He does have pretty lips. So pink, and they look so soft. You don’t even realise you are staring at them until they come closer. Wait what? You snap your eyes to Yoongi and you meet his gaze. His face stops only inches away from yours and you feel your whole face burn, and your heart beats at a thousand miles an hour. He is right there in front of you, so close that you can feel his hot breath tingling against your skin, yet he is not close enough for you.

You crash your lips against his in impatience. It feels as though you’ve been waiting for this for your whole life, feeling so right to be in his arms. The kiss is full of passion, his tongue sneaking past your lips to find yours. His hands grip on your hips to get you closer and you practically melt in his arms. Everything feels so hot, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, your hands entangled in his hair. You breathlessly pull away from his kiss to grab him closer to you, flushing his body against yours. He hastily closes the door behind you and his lips resume their assault on yours. Let’s just say that you stayed together in more ways than one that day.

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

Meeting Min Yoongi was maybe the best mistake of your life. Sure, you got kidnapped and shot at, you lost your job and had to hide from a powerful gang with an assassin, but you’d do it all over again just for him.

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Thank you @minty-joonie​ and @wwilloww​ for helping me proofread!

I hope you liked it!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow!!

💜

[thetierdslytherin]

The Avatar’s sister pt.2

Bolin x reader

this is a continuation of the avatar’s sister and it’s also based off of  season 1 eipsode 2 of lok

2.2k words 

        I'm woken in the morning by an incessant knocking on my door. I try to ignore it by pulling a pillow over my head but after the knocking doesn't stop I'm forced to get up and answer the door “what!” I throw the door open coming face to face with.“Korra! You better have a good reason for getting me up before the sun is up.” I cross my arms standing in the doorway waiting for her explanation

            “I do! I have training in 30 minutes and you know Tenzin's rule I can't leave unless your with me so we gotta go so I can be on time, get dressed” Korra pushes me out of the way entering my room “come right inthen” I say sarcastically shutting my door following her to my closet as she goes through it throwing clothes in my direction “Now get dressed and cleaned up. We don’t have a lot of time. Plus the sooner we get there the sooner you get to see Bolin” My heart beats a little faster at the mention of Bolin as I change into some of my water tribe clothes then brush my teeth and fix my y/h/c hair into a braid.

           “Well even Bolin isn't enough to make me move fast this early in the morning and I just met the guy. Besides you only to see Mako” I tease as we head out of the building to the shore “Korra i’m well aware i'm not your mother or in charge of you but please be careful I don't want to see you get hurt” 

          “psh y/n i'm gonna be fine your making a big deal out of this”

           I sigh and stop walking, Korra stopping with me. I look into her eyes before saying “Korra I know guys like Mako, i've dated too many guys like him I just don't want you to get hurt”

           “Yeah well maybe you just start minding your own business like you said you're not my mother and you're sure as hell not in charge of me so let me live my life for once!”Well,That could have gone better. We spent the rest of our journey in silence only speaking when we ordered breakfast. Maybe I am being too controlling. Korra deserves to live her own life and make her own mistakes. But we did just meet the brothers yesterday and know literally nothing about them. But I know Korra and if I push the issue any more she’ll just cut me out of her life until she's over it. 

          “Your late” Mako doesn't even turn to look at us when we enter.

           “Okay yeah true but we brought food so lets call it even then?”

            I move to one of the tables setting their food down “yeah Mako look at this y/n was nice enough to bring us food so let's just take a break and enjoy the food” Bolin says starting to make his way over 

          “ we haven't even started yet so let's not. C’mon on Bo, Korra we have a lot of training to get through” The three of them run through drills for the better part of an hour before moving to the cool downs.

           “What's the big idea making me train this early in the morning? The morning is evil” okay dramatic much Korra? The three of them move into a triangle passing a weighted ball around.

          “Were the rookies so we get the worst time slot in the gym” Bolin passes the ball to Mako

          “And you're the rookiest of us all, we gotta get you up to speed if we want to survive in the tournament deal with it!” he passes to Korra 

          “You deal with it” she passes the ball back to Mako sending him flying backwards 

          “Children, children can you please not hurt each other this early in the morning. Alright let's not make this any more unbearable then it has to be” I pass by them to check on Mako and other than a sour look on his face he seems perfectly fine.

          Bolin pipes up “uh y/n not that i'm not happy to see you I really am it's just why are you here? you're not on the team?” 

          I glanced at Korra and said, “you didn't tell them?” she shakes her head I guess she just thought I would “tenzin's one condition for her joining the team. Wherever she goes I go so that means you're stuck with me, pretty boy. and you too mako… I guess” I go moving to stand by Korra. 

          “There are my hard working street urchins, it's an honor to finally meet you avatar” a muscly man in his mid thirties approaches us.

          “And you are?” Korra says crossing her arms.alright then just go ahead and pretend like i'm not even here.

          “Butaka I run this whole pro bending shabang. Anyways here your winnings from the match” Mako goes to pocket the cash but before he can Butaka stops him. 

          “First you owe me for the avatars new gear, gym and equipment rentals for last month, rent on your apartment, and a personal loan on groceries” By the time he's done there no cash left. Is it always like this for them?

          “Oh uh one more item of business the Fire Ferrets need to ante up 30,000 yuans for the championship pot” Damn ok that's more than I make for 6 months at my job and the brothers definitely don't have that kind of money just lying around.How are they gonna come up with it?

          “30,000 yuans!” My thoughts exactly Bolin

          “Sorry kids you have till the end of the week to pay or your out” with that final statement Butaka leaves along with the fire ferrets chances of playing in the championship.

          “The two of you wouldn't happen to have a secrets bank account filled with gold would you?” Mako and Bolin look at us with hopeful eyes 

          “No sorry boys I mean I have some money I could pitch in but not 30,000 yuans”

          “I've got nothing. I've never really needed money, I've always had someone taking care of me” Korra shrugs, giving a small smile. 

           “Then I wouldn't say you've had nothing then” Makos words carries no venom though, just distant sadness packing up his gear throwing it into a duffle bag.

           “I'm sorry I didn't mean-” “no its alright its just ever since we lost our parents we've been on our own” Bolin says giving Korra a sad smile shuffling towards us

           “Bolin, I'm so sorry that you had to go through it” I put my hand on his shoulder trying to offer some sort of comfort.

         “So anyway how are we gonna come up with the money?” 

“Ooh ooh I got it. I've been training pabu to do circus tricks now people would pay good money to see that” Bolin raises pabu into the air twirling him once.

          “C'mon bolin we need serious ideas” the smile immediately falls from bolins face and I can't help but stand up for him “that is a serious idea Mako. When we first came from the water tribe I know I would've paid to see pabu perform” 

          “ don't worry about it, I'll figure it out. I always do” and after that Mako walks out of the training room presumably to ‘figure it out’.

          “Hey korra why don't you head on back to the island bolin and I are gonna hang out for a little bit” he looks at me confused“we are?” I give him a nod “we are”. 

          “Yeah okay y/n just don't stay out too late you know how Tenzin gets” I give her a smile and a ‘of course’ then it’s just bolin and I left. 

          “So Bolin, how about you show me some of pabus tricks and you help me eat the rest of breakfast that Korra and I brought?” “um yeah but can i get a quick shower first im kinda gross?”

          “Only if you let me join you.” spirits his eyes almost bugged out of his head at my comment stammering to get an answer out before I take mercy on him “i’m teasing you Bo” 

          He clears his throat “right right yeah totally know that” That leads me to where I am right now Bolin and I on their couch eating cold pastries.

           “Hey Bolin” he pauses his eating for a second to look at me “why don't you tell me something about you. I mean we basically know nothing about each other except our shared love of pro bending and food” he looks thoughtful for a moment “Pshh not true” I shoot him a look saying ‘you sure about that’

            “Well I know you're a waterbender and that you have a sister and where you live...and that sounds way creepier than I meant it. I just mean you know you live with Tenzin who lives on air temple island not like I've been stalking you because that would be weird...” i've noticed he does this thing whenever he's embarrassed he’ll scrunch his whole face up for a second and start playing with his hands, which he's doing right now

          “Well okay but I don't know any of the important stuff” I say leaning in propping my chin on my hand 

          “What's the ‘important stuff?’”

          “Like your favorite color. You know a person's favorite color will tell you a lot about them”

          “Whoa hey now you just stepped over a line. I can't possibly tell you that” we make eye contact bursting out laughing at the notion.

           “ok fine I don't really have a favorite color” he scratches the back of his neck giving me a half smile

           “well maybe instead of telling me your favorite color you tell me about your parents” after seeing the look in Bolins eyes I quickly backtrack “you don't have to though I imagine it's a touchy subject I was just curious” he sighs setting his food down turning to me

           “no it’s not that it’s just not a very fun story to tell” he takes a deep breathe grounding himself “when Mako was 7 and I was 5 we were at home with our parents one night and a fire bender broke in trying to steal from us… he killed them right in front of us y/n, after that it was just mako and I. It's been that way ever since” he looks down trying in vain to keep me from seeing the tears in his eyes. I grab his hand running my thumb over his knuckles. 

          “Hey bolin why don't we go and set up for pabu to do his tricks” he glances at me “we could set it up under fire lord zuko's statute?” he laughs wiping the tears from his eyes

           “yeah y/n that sounds perfect” 

          We're both sitting on the base of zuko's statue on a carpet with two cups and a plank for pabu to walk on.Bolin and pabu have matching get ups and bolin has a fake mustache. while I sit beside Bolin bending water into different shapes to amuse myself. “Come one come all see pabu the fantasstic fire ferret as he crosses the ladder of peril upside down” Pabu then crosses the plank and flips landing on one paw which i'll admit is cute but not 30,000 yuans cute. “Thank you folks you are too kind too kind” Bolin says as a man passes by dropping 1 yuan into the cup. 

          Bolin looks a little upset by how far we still have to go “Hey Bolin look its a start you don't have to get all the money yourself i'd be happy to pitch in and i'm sure mako found a way to make some money” he sighs “yeah i'm sure mako has” that's the problem isn't it? I bet bolin is tired of his brother always solving his problems or better yet being the one who gets them out of ruts. 

          “Hey bolin is that you?” I Look up to see a well dressed man with urban water tribe clothes on getting out of his sato mobile 

           “oh hey shady shin” he waves at the man and I urgently whisper to bolin “by any chance is this leader of the triple threat triads shady shin?”

           “mhmm” 

           Wow since when did bolin run with gangsters? “I hear you're a big time pro bender now. Not bad.Anyways lighting bolt zolt is looking to hire some extra muscle” 

           “I don't know shin Mako told me to stay away from the triple threats” 

           “it's just some security work nothing crooked” he pulls out a fat wad of cash and throws it in Bolin’s cup he's about to agree before I cut him off before he can agree “double it and were both in i'm a water bender and a healer plus i'm good at ‘security work” 

           “Alright kid deal don't make me regret it” he puts another was of cash in the cup “now let's get going” Bolin and I follow him and get in the back of his sato mobile. What a mistake that was.      

[peacedolantwins]

Resentment (G.D)

When you and Grayson first got together, it was like a dream come true. He was your prince charming ready to be everything you ever wanted, but instead of a horse and carriage, it was with a baby blue porshe.

He would pick you up and take you out just about anywhere. Theater, movies, fancy restaurants, anything. You weren’t in the relationship for the money and fancy things, you would have been just as happy watching netflix back at the house or just sitting in a park talking, but he always insisted on going out.

“A beautiful girl deserves beautiful things,” he would always say.

And while you knew the truth, any time the fans saw you two out somewhere expensive or going shopping, they were quick to call you a gold digger.

Grayson would see the comments and tweets and at first he just ignored them. But after a while, he started thinking.

Were you just with him for the money?

So he stopped.

He stopped buying you gifts, he stopped with fancy dinners, he stopped just about everything,

And you didnt mind. You didnt need fancy jewelry or clothes he would get you. As long as you got to spend time with him, the man who you loved, you didnt care.

But then things started to change.

When you two would hang out and you offered to go to the mall and walk around and maybe do some shopping he looked at you like you just offended him.

“Not Rodeo?” he raised a brow.

“I mean, if there was something you wanted to buy there, we can go.” You really werent a fan of going there since everything was way more than you could afford on your own. But if he had planned on buying something, you were okay with going with. You could go to the mall later.

So you two went and he was quick to head straight to the designer stores. You two separated while in the store. While he was picking out things he could actually afford to buy, you were simply window shopping.

You lost track of time when you felt Grayson reach out and touch your arm. Thats when you noticed he already paid.

“You already paid?” you glanced at the bag.

“Yeah, you didnt buy anything?”

“No?” you were confused about why he was asking. You never bought anything when you came to stores like this. You werent about to drop your rent check on something that honestly looked kind of ugly in your opinion.

“Hm figures,” he rolled his eyes at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, lets go,” he walked ahead of you, leaving you to follow after him.

It went on like this for over a month, him making small remarks when you wouldnt drop an insane amount of money for something. But you got used to it. You didnt let it get to you. Until he did something you thought he would never do.

You woke up late after having spent the night with Grayson in your apartment to find your jewelry box open. You figured you must have forgotten to close it the last time you put something in and you shrugged it off and got ready for the day.

But as you did your makeup you couldnt help but feel something was wrong. You walked over to the box and thats when you noticed it.

The box was nearly empty.

A few of your earings and a few bracelets were there but all of the jewelry Grayson had gotten over the course of your relationship was gone.

And so was your grandmothers ring she left to you.

You started looking around, thinking maybe Grayson might have knocked the box over this morning and everything just fell out, but there was nothing on the floor anywhere. You were starting to panic when you heard your front door open and saw Grayson come in.

“Grayson did you knock over my jewelry this morning?”

“You mean the jewelry I paid for?”

“Sure, whatever, yeah, but did you knock it over?” You didn’t even care about the remark about him paying for it all, you just needed to know what happened.

“I pawned it,” he said casually.

“You what?” you felt your heart drop.

“Its not like you wore it anyway.” While that was true, its not like you didnt wear it because you didnt like it. You had a tendency to lose everything and you werent about to risk losing a bracelet over a thousand dollars while going to the grocery store.

“Did you take my ring?”

“Which one?”

“Grayson this isnt funny! Did you take my ring? The one with the diamond?” you were scared to hear his answer.

“The one I got you? Yeah.”

“You didnt get me that one, Grayson! That was my grandmothers ring! You have to get it back!” you were beyond upset right now.

“So you seriously want me to go buy you the ring now?” he asked annoyed.

“It wasn’t yours to sell! Why would you even take it!”

“Well you better get to it before someone buys it,” he shrugged.

You looked at him in complete shock. You couldnt care less about the other jewelry, but that ring was important to you. It was the one thing you had left from the woman you spent the majority of your childhood with since your parents were always working.

“Grayson, I cant afford to buy it back!” you had gotten it appraised when you first got it and when you found out how much it was worth, you never wore it.

“Then figure it out!” He couldn’t believe how you were acting about it. Hes worn a full outfit that costs more than that ring so he didnt understand why it was such an issue.

You looked at him in complete shock.

“Unbelievable.” you muttered as you slipped on your shoes and you were out the door as soon as you had the address to the store he took it to.

You quickly found it, driving probably more than the speed limit and parked. You walked in and the man behind the counter asked if he could help you find something. After describing the ring to him he motioned you over to one of the cases.

“Yes! That one, how much is it?” you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the price he was about to say.

“That one is going to be $7,899.”

You closed your eyes and did your best to stop the tears from forming. You knew you couldnt even put it on your credit card because you had a $2,500 limit set.

“Would you be able to hold it for me? Just for today while I go to the bank,” you pleaded with him.

“The most I can give you is until four today,” he explained.

You quickly glanced at the clock behind him and started to panic. It was already twelve, and you knew the bank was closed until one, which meant you had two and a half hours at the most to go and get the loan you needed to buy it back.

“Ill be back in by then,” you gave him your information and you started your drive to the bank.

Once you arrived you sat in your car and did your best to keep your composure as you waited for it to open back up. As soon as the clock hit one you practically ran in and waited for one of the employees to tend to you.

A kind looking woman came from the back rooms and called your name and introduced herself as the person who would be helping you.

She had you fill out paperwork and once you were done she put all the information into the computer. She said it would take a little while for the credit report to come in and she left you sitting there in her office while she went elsewhere.

It was already 2:15.

It was three o’clock when she came back in and told you it all went through and you were approved. You rushed through the final paperwork with a few signatures where needed and you were out the door and driving back to the pawn shop.

You quickly found the same man who helped you from earlier and you bought back the ring.

When you got to your apartment building you sat in your car with your head resting on the steering wheel.

Looks like you were back to living the same way you did through college. Ramen noodles and cereal for every meal from now on.

You glanced around the parking lot and noticed the stupid baby blue car was no where around. Good, because you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

The next few days you found yourself at the restaurant you worked at picking up every shift you could. You had been ignoring calls from Grayson and Ethan too once he started calling you.

You didn’t have time to deal with any of them. You had an eight thousand dollar loan to pay back.

It wasn’t until the two of them walked into the restaurant and got seated in your section when you had to finally deal with them.

“Hi my name is Y/n, I’m gonna be your server today, can I get you something to drink?”

“Y/n? It’s us you don’t have to be all hospitality with us,” Ethan was confused as to why you were being so formal with them.

“We have water, tea, and pepsi products,” you placed the menus in front of them.

“Um, just water, babe-“ Grayson looked up at you and for the first time in days he noticed how exhausted you looked. You were running on fumes and he could see it.

“Great, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” you quickly walked off to get the drinks.

“Dude what’s up with her?” Ethan asked his brother.

“I don’t know, I know we had a fight a few days ago but I thought she’d be over it by now,” he explained.

“Here you go,” you placed their water down in front of them, “and did we need more time to look at the menu or are you ready to order?”

“Y/n, stop it-“ Neither of the boys liked how you were acting towards them.

“Don’t worry, take your time, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” you walked away again.

“Gray, what did you do?” Ethan had never seen you this way. You were being so cold and lifeless despite the fake smile and cheery voice you had slapped on.

“I accidentally pawned one of her rings,” Grayson explained.

“Why did you… what ring? Doesn’t she only have the one her grandma left her?”

“I didn’t know,” Graymuttered more to himself.

“You didn’t…” Ethan stared at him in shock. “Are you serious! That would be like her pawning the ring dad left us! Did you get it back for her?” Ethan knew how much that ring meant to you. And from the few times he saw it, he had a general idea of how much it cost.

His brothers silence was all he got but it was enough to let him know the answer.

“Where did you sell it? Fucking hell Grayson! Why wouldn’t you get it back!” Ethan was ready to walk out of the restaurant right now and go buy it back for you since his idiot of a brother didn’t do it himself.

“I went back later and it was already gone okay! I tried!”

“How much did you get for it?” He questioned.

“About six and a half thousand.”

“Well you gave her the money right? Maybe she went and bought it back,” Ethan was trying to be hopeful of the situation.

Silence again.

“Grayson you didn’t even give her the money?” Ethan knew you weren’t made of money and knew how much you made. Which meant he knew there was no way you could have afforded to buy it back yourself.

“Have we made a decision yet?” You appeared out of what seemed like nowhere.

“Just a salad for both of us, babe talk to me please,” Grayson knew he fucked up and he didn’t know how to make it better.

“I’ll go ahead and send that in, any appetizers while you wait?”

“No, Y/n please,” Grayson covered your hand with his.

“I’ll be back with your order,” you pried your hand away gently, not wanting to cause a scene.

What you didn’t know was that your manager was standing close by and saw someone touch one of his employees. And most restaurants didn’t care much about the workers being hit on or made uncomfortable, but he cared about his employees.

Once he saw you leave to take the order to the kitchen, he went up to the table.

“Excuse me,” he crouched down next to the table, “I’m the manager here and I’m not going to have you harassing my employees. If I see anything like that again, you’re out of here. Enjoy your meal.” He patted the table and went off to find you.

“Y/n, I’m giving your table to Erin, take one of hers,” he gestured to the two boys in your section.

“No it’s okay, I can handle it,” you would much rather deal with the twins than the group of kids who looked like they were coming in for homecoming.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve had worse than someone trying to hold my hand, I’ve got it,” you assured him.

“Okay, you let me know if he tries something again,” he looked at you.

“Yes sir,” you mock saluted him at which he rolled his eyes.

You went and checked on the other tables in your section and felt Graysons eyes on you the whole time. You eventually went and took them their salads and asked if they needed anything, but you left before they could answer.

Eventually they asked for the bill and you brought it out, more than happy to have them gone. You returned their card and waited for them to leave before going to clean up the table.

It was then that you saw the giant tip they left.

$500 in cash.

They carried more on them then you made in a week.

You grabbed it and passed by your manager and quickly explained they left something behind that you were going to return to them before following them out the front door.

“Grayson!” You called after him.

“Y/n, look I’m so sorry about-“ he started.

“Can I see your keys really quick?” You cut him off

He handed them over, confused as to why you were asking for his keys. But then he saw you sliding your key off the key ring.

“Y/n no, please don’t,” he knew what this meant.

You tossed him back his keys before you took the money out of your apron and slamming it to his chest.

“That should be enough for the price of my key back.”

With that you walked back into the restaurant and slapped the fake smile back on your face. While you really could have used the five hundred dollars, you were not going to let him try to feel better about what he did.

No amount of money he tried to spend on you now could fix the damage already done.

Pls like/comment/reblog I need validation

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[gwoongi]

(abandoned) it’s late, just stay

john wick / reader genre: sugar daddy au rating: general, mature themes words: 2.4k warnings: sugar daddy relationship, slight john wick 2 spoilers i guess a/n: this 1 is for me. i wrote her in a heat,,,she’s literally not finished. but im adding her to my online portfolio 4 the memories. Also fyi the profile was made before i indulged in seeking arrangements and as a sugar baby i know that ur not allowed to mention 90% of brooklynbaby’s bio in ur bio but who cares man this is fiction and im making it up

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

Sometimes, John doesn’t really know how he gets himself into awkward situations.

The first few occasions, he figured it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While, actually, this always worked out in his favour, John began to notice that it was more frequent that he ended up at a bar with some people he didn’t really know, or being invited to a baby shower as the date of a woman he had never even met before. Granted, John enjoyed company whenever he could get it, and whenever it avoided conflict; however socialism has never been his strongest asset. No, he simply prefers silent gestures or glances across rooms, ‘eye conversations’ where he says hello and nothing else for the remainder of the evening.

“You just need to loosen up a bit,” is what Addy had told him, whilst slipping him a glass of straight Bourbon. It had been a relatively quiet evening in the Continental, and just when John thought he could have five minutes of peace and quiet, Addy has slipped in his line of sight. “You know, go out. Make new friends.”

“You’re my friend,” John replied. He made no room to elaborate on that statement, swallowing the contents of the drink and pushing it back to her with a short nod. She sighed and rolled her eyes, doing her job.

“No, you know what you really need?” He didn’t answer, glancing at her through his hair as she filled his drink and rested her weight on her elbows. Instantly, John didn’t like the feeling in his stomach when Addy raised her eyebrows suggestively, tugging on her bottom lip with newfound excitement: “I think you need to get laid.” 

And when John scoffed with humour, she tried again, “and not like, laid as in you have a one night stand. No- hear me out, John! You should invest in a sugar baby. You know, someone you can spend time with when you’re not doing the dirty work for everybody else. It’s fun, and frisky, and also means you can start spending some of the millions you have stashed somewhere not being used.”

She tutted like a scolding mother, “Selfish boy.” Addy then smiled, “Maybe instead of retirement, what you really need is something to help you unwind.”

John scoffed, gulping back the Bourbon. “I’m married.”

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

That’s really all the thinking he had done on the subject of John- John fucking Wick- investing in a sugar baby. He simply took it in stride, almost complimented by the assumption that he was attractive and rich enough to have someone leaning on him for money and sex, and stored it away for future thought when he was lost and drunk. John never actually considered the possibility of “putting his bills to good use” until fucking Santino D’Antonio decided to light a bonfire inside his house. Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.

John doesn’t know why he’s doing this, staring at the laptop screen that smiles at him. For circumstances, Addy had loaned him her laptop for the evening he spends at the Continental, and he’s too busy browsing the elaborately made profiles that he barely registers the fact that he is still wearing his suit. He pulls at the cuffs of his blazer and is midway through taking it off when he stumbles across a profile- one of which is oddly amusing- titled brooklynbaby. He racks his mind for the reference but can’t seem to place it.

“A sugar baby suggests that I sleep with them, and as I said,” John had mentioned back in the bar, “I’m married.”

Addy had grabbed his hands and groaned, “Look- you might surprise yourself. And, I’m not suggesting that you throw your wife away for somebody new. I’m just saying you need to...make use of yourself. Honestly, you’re too sexy to be stored away like this. Most sugar babies are dumb and unobservant, they won’t even know who you are.”

brooklynbaby makes an adorably hilarious first impression, and John is hesitant to browse her profile. If he wanted to “make use of himself” by investing all of his personal time into somebody who in truth wanted him for his dick and his bank balance, then it needed to be somebody at least near to his wavelength. Somebody who was smart, but clueless at the same time, and somebody who was the complete opposite of Helen. The last thing he needed on top of a handful of a baby was the guilt of moving on. But still, even when he pinned her tab and returned to scrolling through the profiles, John realised that most sugar babies were simply trolls hidden behind pretty pictures, or girls who wanted money for pleasure and not for need.

He went back to brooklynbaby. Three times. Three times, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck it,” and favoriting her account, and pressing to send a message.

Even online, John was never great with words. He typed, and backspaced, and typed again, trying to come up with something interesting to make up for the bland profile he made around thirty minutes ago.

From: johnwick So. You like dogs?

If Addy were here, she would have slapped him.

Almost immediately after it sends, John lets out a frustrated noise and tears his gaze away from the screen. Dating just wasn’t like how it was when he met Helen. Why did everything have to be so complicated, and mysterious, and why the hell does he even have to waste his money on somebody when he could be saving this money to eventually, whenever the day comes, retire? John wrestles with the dilemma of deleting the whole account when a notification bell rings through the laptop speakers.

From: brooklynbaby yes, I love dogs!!! :D (typing) do you have a dog?

John breathes a sigh of relief.

From: johnwick Yes. I do.

From: brooklynbaby oh, great. :) (typing)

John’s leg begins to bounce quickly, the table wavering with the glass on top, like an earthquake. Suddenly, brooklynbaby stops typing and John stills. Why did she stop? Did he do something wrong? Honestly, women are so hard to please nowadays.

From: brooklynbaby want to be my sugar daddy?

Never mind.

From: johnwick I would.

From: brooklynbaby cool

Neither him or brooklynbaby says anything for a few moments, and John doesn’t notice. After-all, he is still a working man, busy with life and revenge and trying to stay alive for more than three seconds. When he goes back to the laptop and sees no reply, he frowns.

From: johnwick I am sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing. What am I supposed to say?

He makes a mental reminder to have words with Addy later.

From: brooklynbaby /(*u*)/ you’re cute we could make dinner reservations and talk over terms if you’d like!!! i say reservations because they’re fancy and if anything goes wrong, we can pretend we’re… business partners? discussing business?

Without even really realising, John finds himself laughing shortly, settling back into the chair. All of this feels weird, as in typing to a stranger he’s planning to spend his money on and occasionally fuck. John quickly revisits her profile and spends four minutes analysing her profile picture. If this is her, then she’s really very beautiful. A steal.

From: johnwick When are you free for dinner?

From: brooklynbaby hmm well i’m dogsitting tomorrow, but i can be free for the day after!!!! is that okay ^_^

From: johnwick That would be fine. [Address] at 7pm, does that work for you?

brooklynbaby pauses.

From: brooklynbaby omg am i gonna have to dress fancy?

From: johnwick Don’t feel pressured. I only own black.

From: brooklynbaby well….guess i’ll bring out like one of my old uni party dresses :( but you have to promise not to judge me!!!

John laughs again. At some point during the evening, he ends up with a planned dinner reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Brooklyn, and he’s also 2 grand poorer thanks to the generous donation in brooklynbaby’s bank account for a nice evening outfit.

When John returns the laptop to Addy the following morning, he was admittedly expecting the rant that followed. She had glared at the laptop being handed back over the bar and refused to serve him until he came up with a reasonably valid excuse as to why he wasn’t putting himself out there for a bit of company. John had blinked with an unimpressed look and drummed his fingers.

“I have dinner reservations with someone tomorrow at 7pm. Also- can I have a drink?”

But of course, with work being as tedious as ever and with his whole day being completely ruined by a blood stained shirt and poor room service for the first time in his many years of frequenting the Continental, John didn’t amuse himself with brooklynbaby until he logged onto the site on his phone, and saw that she had messaged thrice during the day. He almost felt guilty, until he saw a string of numbers at the end of the last message. He deemed it less necessary to read her above messages and instead went right to texting.

brooklynbaby ok. so should i just ask for mr john wick when i get to this restaurant??? sorry for so many texts im just kinda nervous

me Yes. I booked under my name and I will be waiting for you when you arrive. Why are you nervous? Didn’t you ask me to be here?

brooklynbaby well if we’re going to be technical then YOU asked me to dinner first :P and im nervous because i have nooo idea who you are send a picture?

John sank into bed.

me Maybe I like the element of surprise.

brooklynbaby seems a lil unfair that you get to see me but i dont get to see you :( ive seen ur dog before you thats saying something

me You could have used any image. If we’re going to be technical, I don’t even know your name, or if that is really you in the image.

John really hadn’t been expecting a full blown nude image at 4:15pm in the afternoon, but he will admit that it was nevertheless what he needed to break some steam. He had arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier than expected, but that’s okay, Mr Wick. Right this way! Now that he was sitting here, at an empty table overlooking Brooklyn and the lights, with an already ordered bottle of wine, John could understand and relate to the first date nerves. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Not since-

brooklynbaby uhhh im kind of here like ten minutes early should i wait outside for you :3

He laughs, mostly to himself.

me I’m already up here. I ordered a rosé, is that alright?

brooklynbaby YES IM RUNNING

And, surprising himself also, John had clammed up and reached for his glass. Thankfully, the owner of this restaurant knew John by face and order, because, after-all, this had been his go-to with Helen. These days, he doesn’t have time to go out to new places and eat new things, and so had panicked, and picked a place with sentimental value, and a history of good food. He gulped back his glass of Bourbon and waited until the door at the other side of the room opened meekly, and he tried to appear vacant as the waiter led a woman across the room and towards him.

“Your date, Mr Wick.”

He left curtly and brooklynbaby followed his body as he left, her feet firmly glued to the floor as her head looked back over her shoulder. John took this as an opportunity to look at her body, covered in a beautiful dress he felt proud of paying for. Finally, brooklynbaby looked towards him and paused, observing him and his clearly surprising appearance. John then remembered the gash on his cheekbone and the way he probably looked very off-putting with an unshaven face and long hair, but brooklynbaby smiled softly and raised her brows, beating him to helping her in her chair as she quickly sat down and looked at his glass.

“How did you know I liked beards?”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t.”

brooklynbaby rolled her eyes with a grin. “Of course you didn’t.” She looked up, then, properly taking in his face. John did the same, looking at every feature present and coming to the quick conclusion that yes, she was definitely the woman in the pictures, and yes, she was one of the most gorgeous humans he had ever seen on planet Earth since Helen herself.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said honestly. “But, more than my expectations. I don’t believe I’ve really introduced myself- I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

He tried it out in his head. Y/N. Y/N L.N, Y/N L/N, Y/N Wick-

“John,” he replied and she sniggered and rested her chin in her palms.

“You’re seriously so handsome,” she complimented. “Are you sure you’re not married, or something?”

Her gaze panned to his hands where she noticed the wedding band, and for a moment, she hesitated. John wasn’t ashamed of the ring, nor embarrassed to be seen wearing it. He toyed with it on his finger, looking at her from across the table. “It’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded meekly. “I see.” She cleared her throat, “divorce? Planned divorce? Affair?”

“No, I’m widowed,” he tried out a joke, but she only looked more uncomfortable. Her mouth gaped and she fumbled for words.

“Oh, John, I’m really sorry- no, really, I’m so sorry,” she stumbled, and John watched her carefully across the table. “God, how fucking insensitive. Sorry, I guess that just. Wow, that never really crossed my mind. That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” John said, finding finality in that sentence. “I’m trying to move on from it.”

Y/N nodded sympathetically. “No, yeah, wow, I get it. Completely. I...hope I live up to great expectations, then?”

John smiled and looked past her, noticing the waiter rounding the corner with the bottle of rose. “You’re getting there, Miss L/N.”

[completely-zucked]

I've been homeless and immobile for a while, but I'm in danger of losing my accommodation and wheels (again).

Mentally and spiritually, I have been homeless for nearly two decades. I have once again been threatened with eviction because I don't have enough money in my bank account to pay my rent or meet my car repayment and other loans. Each time it happens, things get worse and there's no negotiating.

This time around, though, I might call their bluff, because I was already being driven mad (quite literally) by the restrictions, manipulating and gass-lighting (being called a cold, uncaring self-centred, irrational, illogical, lazy, stupid, narcissistic and paranoid sociopath — enough to make a guy with self-esteem and motivation issues suicidal). What's changed is that now I've been banned from using, cleaning and/or performing any maintenance on any room in the house except my bedroom (including bathrooms and toilets), which was previously one of my responsibilities. I have to use outdoor ones/the old servants' quarters, which doesn't have a door on the bathroom. )I live in the southern hemisphere; it's winter here.) I'm not allowed to hang a curtain or take material to make one, so I use an old chlorine bucket in the passageway/corridor outside as an indicator that I'm in there. I'm not allowed to be out there past 21:00 and am not allowed to move my stuff to the servants' quarters or garage because they are being used as storage space for tools and, occasionally, as a home gym by/for my landlord. I'm also not allowed to use any tools or appliances (including vacuum, cleaners, brushes, brooms, dustpans and cloths), because no maintenance. Everything of mine that I don't keep hidden and locked away has been confiscated. Of that, everything that I bought myself has been discarded or claimed as belonging to my landlord and landlady. (My soap, of all things, was the first casualty, which is what tipped me off and prompted my buying locks for those things I could lock away.) I am also not financially able nor permitted to buy more tools, containers or locks (and replacements for those) since my finances are being scrutinised and my choices, decisions and purchases criticised.

My broom is a paintbrush, my dustpan a plastic shopping bag and my duster a roll of paper towel. My vacuum cleaner is a cardboard tube glued to a Pringles can with a PC fan inside. ... And they wonder why I've taken to doing DIY projects that repurpose recyclable household items ; how irrational of me ... Le sigh.

That means no fridge, kettle, microwave or stove. I also don't get cooked meals. That would be fine on its own if I weren't subject to restrictions. I live off powdered milk, coffee, cereal, peanut butter, marmite, bread, orange squash concentrate, syrup, biscuits and bananas. Sometimes, I skim a couple of tablespoons of yoghurt out of the container when they're not around, or dilute fruit juice with water at a ratio of about 1:3, just to have some variety/luxury. I had some meal replacement shake powder too, just to keep me from starving, but that's gone and I can't afford to replace it. If I ask for more, I'll have to pay it back; they keep track of everything they buy for me (including a bottle of vitamins) that I'll have to pay back if/when I get a job again. I already owe about $220. It was, of course, a big deal when I bought myself twelve beers on special for $9 the day I got paid for the first lot of contract work I'd done in nearly six months since losing my job, despite the guy underpaying me by just over $100 because I hadn't insisted on a written agreement and was in no position to haggle/negotiate; the last time I do favours for friends, especially those who're religious. (The fact that I'm rationing out the beers at one a week and am only on my sixth one next weekend doesn't have any relevance to my landlady, who tried to confiscate a couple with intent to give them to my landlord and made an almighty fuss about how selfish I was being when I said I'd be fine with sacrificing them if either of them had just asked for one, how she'd noticed my ex always bought the wine despite our having agreed on certain divisions of costs when we were together, and a whole lot of other irrelevant bullshit.)

I need help getting out before the end of June, assuming I find a job and somewhere to go by then. Otherwise, I'm quite likely to end up on the street or attempting to off myself again. Currently, I have no job, nowhere to go and not even enough money to buy a cheap bicycle for $175. Even if I take my car to a dealer who'll settle the balance of my loan with the bank, I get nothing for it because it's an old model which I haven't been able to afford to take better care of and is pretty much a lemon four years after I drove it off the showroom floor. (I should have traded it in after two, before the new model came out). That's the best deal I've been offered. The alternative is to either trade it in for something else and extend my loan or take an amount that's less than it's worth and continue paying off a loan for a vehicle I no longer have. Hooray for death by a thousand cuts under Consumer capitalism.

Apparently, it's all my fault for not learning my life lessons, growing the fuck up, sorting my life out and GTFO of the family home a hell of a lot sooner (by at least a decade, nearly two), when the physical abuse by my peers first started in small and subtle ways. I thought that would all be behind me when I left high school, then varsity, then two corporate jobs. But no, I'm the kind of person who attracts bullies and toxic, abusive relationships.

The moral of the story

If I had known what I now know and the lessons I have learned when I was a padawan/young twenty-something, I would have taken my education seriously and applied myself to obtaining both CS and EE degrees instead of a crappy, near-worthless diploma, moved into my own two-room shoebox as a priority and bought a bicycle instead of a car. Anywhere I can't reach by bike probably isn't worth going and a car is an immovable liability/waste of money two years after purchase. At least I would have my own space (which I so desperately crave). At least then, I could be an allegedly horrible, reprehensible and repulsive degenerate of a person all by myself without anybody to hurt or hurt me. I'm fucking done with living with other people for a while. Fuck that noise; I want a thousand days of solitude, even if it's in a corrugated iron shack in an informal settlement. I'm prepared to cook my supper in a three-legged potjie over a wood fire and boil collected rainwater in a cast iron pot while I wait for my orchard and mielies to grow.

Honestly, at this stage, I'm prepared to live on a camp bed with a sleeping bag and a camp chair and folding table in somebody's garage, undercroft or old servants' quarters (as long as there's a plug point and running water) just to be able to get away from here. I just want some space of my own to be myself (horrible or otherwise) again and keep my interaction with people to a minimum while I figure out how to cope with/manage my shitty life situation, get back on my feet and out in the world again without being scrutinised, criticised, judged, condemned, restricted, rejected and ostracised. That shit is literally making me crazy and suicidal. It is not in any way conducive to me so much as thinking of an action plan/way forward, let alone pursuing it. Yet, somehow, I still manage to restrict the time I spend buggering around on social media (still too much), which I apparently need to succeed in the modern world, hunt for jobs, write, make music and try to flog my Patreon to disinterested parties. Oh, and I'm also writing a proposal for a social media site for someone who's attempting to gather funding.

Seeing my shrink for two hours a month (which costs me a month's wages from my part-time weekend job) and the afore-mentioned job is not enough, as much as I love animals.

So if you can spare between ten and twenty-seven dollars a month to help keep me afloat, please subscribe to my Patreon. Your support will be greatly appreciated.

[blog-brett-matthew-west-gazette]

Banked

(I wrote this fictional Short Story for a contest in response to the prompt "I put on my mask and entered the building.")

I put on my mask and entered the building. A mid-thirties blue swan on a blank canvass. That's what I felt like. But, as Colonel Kilgore famously stated, "How I love the smell of napalm in the morning." Offensive, the mixture reeked and stuck tenaciously to targets.

That sentiment came straight from my military days. I didn't have a flamethrower, but you can bet your goat stinking ass I carried an incendiary ker-boomer in the pack I wore on my back. No more of the 9 to 5 rat race for me.

All dolled up in her ritzy pink chiffon dress, you should have seen the look of bewilderment on Marianne Morrissette's balloon-shaped face. The boo-hoo drops in the corners of her beryl-green eyes did not faze me. Upon hearing my demand the Brazilian femme fatale trembled.

Her expression brought a smile. I watched Marianne's admired sense of humor drain from her vivacious body. I always hated that pretend personality she flashed. Everyone saw right through her attention-drawing come on act.

For six long, going nowhere years, Marianne and I had been co-workers at the Titan Bank and Trust Compny. Hell, I knew all the workers there that Saturday afternoon. The clock on the wall by the front sliding glass doors would have told you it was half past one.

In lickety-split fashion, I warned Marianne, "Not a sound. I have a bomb. Place all the greenbacks in your drawer in a pouch. No dye packs. Then, in silence like I'm not even here, hand me the parcel. Do not notify anyone else or push any alarm buttons. Perhaps if I'm feeling real generous, you might live to see your muchacho tonight. Unlike Little Mario, I have nothing to lose."

"Why are you doing this, Tommy?" Marianne whispered.

My pistol in hand, I answered her, "Because I can. Besides, we'll never get rich slaving in this quagmire. So, I found a new motivation. Take what I want. Don't stall. I'll drop you where you stand! Just do what I told you."

Coal black, and part Cajun, from Gretna on the West Bank of New Orleans, I called Darnell Roundtree "Chocolate Thunder". His preferred name for me became"Coullion". The traded barbs nothing more than in-shop jests between friends. Many nights Darnell and I shared drinks and good times at Miller's Draft House. We counted on the affable giant to keep us protected. The only other gun in the place, Mister Rent-A-Cop became a threat to my well-being. In the wrong place at the wrong time, Darnell had to be eliminated.

I held no alternative when I heard the big man's booming "STOP!"

Darnell reached for the shiny Smith and Wesson 9mm in his suede-lined Safariland holster. I wheeled in his direction and squeezed off one round. A clean shot. The bullet from my pistol entered Darnell's forehead. Blood splattered against a near wall.

I know my ability with a weapon. I had been an Army Ranger for almost a decade. Darnell died before his head slumped on the desk where he had been seated. Six feet away, Type A Personality Extraordinairre Twila Jorgenson screamed a bloody squawk that brought all the other employees to the lobby.

I should have hightailed out of the bank while I could, but I had a long-standing feud to settle with our Loan Manager, Fred Thompson. He rode me like a horse. It was my turn to even the score with the unsympathetic bald-headed woodpecker.

Thorough through and through, Fred bent down and checked Darnell's pulse. He placed two fingers on the carotid artery in Darnell's neck and the arrogant menace announced, "You killed him!"

I slipped my backpack off. The canvass draped over my left wrist. I said, "You're next, Fredaroo, unless you strap this pack on your back like a good little boy. No cookies for you. Do it! Now!"

Fred balked. He told me, "Tommy, you are not going to get away with this. The police are on their way so you better get out of here."

I placed the barrel of my gun tight against the supervisor's temple. Fred took the bag out of my hand and placed the harness over the shoulders of his snow-white Oxford that still looked like he'd steam-pressed the garment that morning. Truth be told he probably did.

I grinned uptight in Fred's mug and remarked, "Pray I don't detonate the explosive, partner. You just stay seated right there in the middle of the room."

Large beads of sweat covered Fred's fat head. You could have swam in them. My comment left the rest of the crowd in wonder. Full of suspicion, they gawked at him. The double-cross felt good.

"Wouldn't bother me to see Monica a widow. Don't know how she's put up with you for twenty years. Even your step-son Kirk can't stand your guts. None of us could," I continued.

I sat the timer on the bomb and assured Fred, "You have thirty minutes to breath air. That is if you don't jostle the pack. If you make that mistake, you got a real short life expectancy."

Outside, I observed a sea of cruiser lights and considered Twila for a human shield. I allowed the notion to pass, steadied my nerves, and started for the door.

"Hold your fire. He's coming out," One uniform called to the others.

As I saw, my options were limited to three choices: suicide, death by cop, or rot in some prison cell. None of them appealed to me.

Instructed to drop my gun and put my hands high in the air, I walked on. Tucson Street and Downtown were to my left. Off the other direction laid Laramie Avenue ad the expressway out of town.

"I said drop your gun and halt!" The loud voice rang out again.

I raised the barrel of my pistol and pointed the weapon at the nearest officer. A hail of gunfire erupted as several well-placed rounds penetrated my torso. I crumbled to the littered pavement and saw a MIckey D's French fry container. Ants crawled after the grease in the red holder. Many cops circled where I fell.

The last words I heard were an exchange between one of them I assumed was the Lieutenant-in-Charge and a news hound who had managed to weasel his way in on the action, microphone at the ready.

"Know who he is?" Bob Murphy asked the officer.

"Tommy Newsome. Everyone in Farmingdale knows him," he was informed.

Murphy wondered, "You mean tell four time State Champion star pitcher for the high school baseball team a few years back? There's never been an athlete like him in this town before. His statue is in Lions' Park."

"Yeah, he had it made," the policeman answered in disbelief. He shook his head and stated, "Thing is, his father owns this bank." Then he scoffed, "Go figure."

Welcomed death closed my eyes.

[sasquapossum]

GameStop / Robin Hood Q&A

By now, many of us have heard the stories about people of relatively modest means who made enough money from the GameStop “short squeeze” to pay for medical care, student loans, etc. Anyone reading this probably also knows that I’m extremely skeptical that this situation is really good for normal people. Does that seem inconsistent? Maybe. So, here’s a little Q&A.

Aren’t you happy for these people? I am happy for them. Really happy. Truly. But you know what would make me even happier? If they didn’t have to gamble to pay for these things. If they were never forced into such dire financial (and other) circumstances in the first place, or denied other opportunities to climb out. More on that in a bit.

Are you on the side of the hedge funds? Hell, no. I’m delighted that they got kicked in the shorts (pun intended). Screw those guys with a chainsaw. On the very same day that this all became big news, I was explaining to a recruiter why I would never work in finance. And this is from a guy who did work for Facebook. Think about that for a moment.

So what’s the problem here? The problem is that those few feel-good stories are the exception, not the rule. Mostly this is a fight between different groups of people who are somewhere from well off to literally the richest person in the world. They will continue to create artificial volatility in the markets, capturing its returns for themselves at the inevitable expense of smaller investors, destroying companies, etc. It doesn’t matter which group of rich people does that.

How do you know those are the exceptions? Because of what we know about investor demographics in general. Most people don’t have $500 even for emergencies, let alone to invest - not even in a sure thing, which no stock transaction has ever been or will be. Many people struggle to - or can’t even - pay for things like rent and food every month. People investing in individual stocks are, by and large, already ahead of the game. And there’s no reason to believe a bunch of investors on Reddit, of all places, are more representative of the working class than investors generally. If you don’t have $500 to spare, even at 40x returns (the most common figure I’ve seen for these success stories) you won’t be one of those people paying off $20K worth of student loans.

Also, many of the people behind this - quite likely the ones who profited most by selling the underlying stock at inflated prices - are very rich and have already outed themselves as part of this. Elon Musk. Chamath Palahapitiya. At least one of the Winklevoss twins. The real Robin Hood wouldn’t look like any of these people, nor would he come to you as an investment app. Did you know that Robin Hood (the app company / brokerage) is actually owned by a hedge fund, and executes their trades through other Wall Street big shots? Other than the one hedge fund that got hurt, the other hedge funds and the traders and the market makers and the banks and the HFT folks and all the rest are loving all this extra action. It’s how they make money, not how you do.

But what else can we do? As far as the market is concerned, I’m honestly not sure. Unlike so many, I don’t pretend to have all the answers. Clearly, there’s a problem when the amount of options (or further derivatives) on a company’s stock exceed a certain percentage of the stock’s own value. At a certain point it stops being a useful market signal or corrective, and enters the realm of pure speculation. At that point it’s harmful to small investors, to the markets themselves, and to the real economy. I don’t know exactly where that point is or how such limits should be implemented, but the infinite speculative spiral needs to be cut short.

In a broader sense, we need to give people more financial security without relying on stock-market gyrations. This is where ideas like universal health come, student loan forgiveness, and even universal basic income come in. I’m not going to take a specific position on any of those right now, but I will say that’s the general direction we need to go. Creating an economic hellscape for most people and then cheering the few who break free is just Hunger Games dystopia porn, not a sound way to structure society.