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vinomino · 3 months

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r/relationship_advice

u/vinomino

I (##F) have a crush on my boss (##M) who’s seven years older than me. He’s hot and so dreamy. He doesn’t have a wife or kids btw. Last week I overheard that he doesn't have a girlfriend either. Should I go for it?

Featuring: Umemiya Hajime x f!Reader

Contents: mdni 18+, restaurant owner!Umemiya x employee!reader, older!umemiya x younger!reader, unprotected sex, reader makes Ume creampie her, breeding, baby trapping(?), public sex, pregnancy

WC: 1.5k

You started working at Umemiya’s restaurant for some quick cash. The job pays well, but what really sold you was how fine Umemiya was. You never knew you had a thing for older men until your friend introduced you to him.

Umemiya was an enigma to you. A bunch of guys would the stop by on the daily, he told you they were his friends from high-school. It had you wondering how popular he was to have this many hard looking dudes showing him respect. Umemiya seems so perfect to you, he’s attractive, kind, friendly, and knew how to cook.

“Ugh, he’s just so dreamy.” You’re daydreaming to your friends again over some barbecue. “Do you want to fuck him or be his wife.” She chuckles. “Obviously number two, if I was his wife, I would’ve gave him three kids by now.” You sigh out making them all break out laughing. “Isn’t he seven years older than you?” One of them inquires. “It’s not that bad! Seven years is like nothing. I’m a grown woman.” You say waving your hand.

You detailedly remembered when he kicked out a customer for harassing you. The way he so easily picked the guy up and threw him out into the street. It had you fantasizing that night about how little effort he would need to put in to fold you like a pretzel. Umemiya was big, a six foot two hunk, so he was probably packing too.

Sitting around a table after the restaurant closes, enjoying a drink with your coworkers and boss. You’re trying not to stare too much at Umemiya’s biceps. “Umemiya-san let me help out! After all you treated us.” You exclaim, “Huh, sure!” He grins. The rest of the team has gone home, leaving you two alone. You’re wiping down the tables, “I’ll add a bonus pay to your check, you’ve been such a help.” Umemiya thanks you while putting the chairs up. “It’s no problem.” It’s not a problem at all when you get to spend more time with him.

Finishing up with the table, you take a step back. “Woah!” Umemiya shouts out from right behind you. “Sorry I was just trying to squeeze past.”

“O-Oh, I didn’t see you—“ You squeak out and try to move away. “W-Wait— shit— don’t do that…d-don’t move.” He grips your hips to hold you in place. “U-Umemiya-San…?” Your ass is smooshed right up against his crotch.

Umemiya would be lying if you weren’t attractive. Some customers kept coming back to the place in order to see you and he had to throw out one too many douches who got too comfortable. Hell, even his juniors ogled at you sometimes. “Aren’t you gonna settle down soon?” Hiragi asks, taking another swing of his beer. “What makes you say that?”

“Just thought you would be the kind of guy who’d have kids by now.” His old friend squints his eyes. “Nope, still haven’t met the right girl.” Umemiya scratches his chin.

“Seriously? What about her? You two look kinda close.” Umemiya follows Hiragi’s finger to you, working at the register. “She single? How old is she anyways…” Umemiya feels his eye twitch as Hiragi scans you. “She’s seven years younger.”

Hiragi eyes almost bulge out his head, “Yer kidding.” He covers his stomach feeling a subtle ache. “Well, I gotta get back to work.” Umemiya pats his shoulder and stands up making his way over to help you ring a customer out.

It wasn’t a secret some of the old Furin boy’s thought you were pretty. But to think you, a young sweet charming girl was working at a establishment in this part of town, left Hiragi wondering why Umemiya did something so out of character.

“Umemiya-San?” You turn your head to look at him. He lets out a low groan, scrunching up his brows. Your ass felt so plushy against his clothed dick. You feel his tent poke at you, was this really happening? “You’ve been giving me fuck-me eyes since you started working here.” He thumbs at your bottom lip. “Driving me crazy.”

The initial shock dissipated. “Really? I thought it was only me…” You smirk, grinding back into him. The friction had his mouth slightly parted. “You’re a vixen.” He hisses. “Wanna find out?” You stick your tongue out to lick his thumb.

He was going to find out. Your jeans were pooled at your ankles as he bent you over the table to ravage your insides. “U-Ume!” You squeal when he bring a hand down to your jiggling ass. You can probably imagine how red your cheeks were from the spanking. “Damn—pussy’s so tight…” He lets out a deep moan. You’re gurgling when he buries himself to the hilt and grinds against your sweet spot. “H-haah—!” You were right, Umemiya was packing. Atleast eight inches, girthy, and veiny. The biggest cock you’ve ever taken.

Shit, it felt so fucking good. Had your eyes rolling back into your sockets. He was skillfully rubbing at your clit too. You wonder if he was bad at anything. Dick game had to the best in you’ll ever have in your life.

You’re drooling on to the wooden table, “Ume! Ume! Fuck…I’m gonna cum!” He lowly chuckles from behind. “Yeah? You gonna cum?”

The lights were still on, if anyone walked past they could see him blowing your back out through the big windows. You wanted someone to see, for them to tell everyone you had him inside you. The thought make you clench down on his throbbing member.

His large hands groping your behind, pulling you back into him. Every harsh thrust had you inching on top of the table. “I— wanna see you when…I cum…” You plead.

Shit you were so cute, how could he say no to such a pretty thing. Umemiya easily flips you so your facing him, sitting on the edge of table. He’s finally able to see your adorable expressions. It has him harshly gulping when you look up at him all cockdrunk, gaze hazy, and your mouth agape. The sounds of skip slapping, your moans, and his grunts echoed throughout the empty building. The coil in your stomach makes you dig crescents into his arms. “Ume!”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, arching your back as you silently scream. A euphoric feeling fills your body. Gushing all over his length, soaking his pubes, and the tiles. His eyes crinkle when he sees how much of a mess you made. “Fuck that’s so hot—Squirting all over the place. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Heh, gotta mop the floor now.” He grunts out, struggling to plunge his dick into you at how hard you’re clenching. He captures your lips in a kiss, although it was more like a meeting of teeth. You’re looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “Ume—cum with me.”

“Shit, I’m close—“ He leans back to pull out and fist his cock over you. But you wrap your legs around his waist, “Cum in me!” You beg. “Fuck— I can’t. We can’t. Stop— if you don’t let me pull out—“ He’s clenching his jaw so hard to not spill into you. “No! Hngh—Wan’ it inside! Ume!” You’re imploring him, clenching down to try to milk him. “Your killing me here— if you don’t let me pull out..I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You want it so bad. You want his sperm in your womb. You want him to knock you up. Your walls are fluttering around him.

“Shit—fuck. No— ah— fuck I’m cumming—!” Unable to hold himself back, he’s creaming into you, painting your walls white with his cum. His head is thrown back as he bites back a whimper. Tightening your legs even further, you’re milking him dry.

The both of you panting, trying to catch your breathes after the vigorous activity.

。・゜・゜・。

“Papa! How did you meet mama!” Your five year old questions with a mouthful of carrots. “Chew your food before talking.” You’re scolding her, wiping her mouth. “Hmm? She appeared in-front of me like a fairy!” Umemiya laughs. “Really? Really?! Mama is a fairy?”

“Don’t say such nonsense.” You smile and pinch his hand. “Am I a fairy too?” Your daughter claps her hands together. “The cutest fairy.” He reaches over to ruffle her hair. “What about my brother? What is he?” Umemiya’s eyes soften at his bubbly she is. “A fairy knight.” He grins making her giggle. The scene has your heart fluttering. Umemiya places a hand over your large stomach, “Isn’t he, honey?” Your daughter’s eyes sparkle as she looks at you. “Yes, he is. You’re all my fairies.”

Update: Thanks for all your responses. Yes, I went for it. We have a daughter and a son on the way. Happy mom and wife now, peace!

#tw: pregnancy #tw: baby trapping #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut #umemiya smut #umemiya hajime x reader #hajime umemiya #mino.writes

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fadedin2u · 9 months

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pick up and roll the dice - ch. 2

read in between the lines, i know you love me…

summary: ellie takes you to a college party, you do her make up. based on the song hold on by the internet

content: college!au, childhood best friends!au, dealer!ellie, fem!reader, modern!au, ellie is a simp (not surprising), ur also a simp, art major!ellie, kinda slow burn??

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mention of reader vomiting, drug usage (alcohol, weed), lots of cursing (what do you expect), men (mentioned), expect nsfw chapters in the future so MDNI 18+

read chapter 1 here

“Hey, just FYI, a guy is gonna come over in about 15 to pick up,” Ellie warns you as she puts on some sweatpants on top of the boxers she was lounging in.

Ellie started dealing in high school, and it started purely by accident. She was always the one with bud, and originally only sold to close friends because they didn’t know where to get weed, but as college got more hectic (and tuition went up), Ellie started selling to people on campus. She sold actual bud mainly, but sometimes she’d sell shrooms if she ended up in possession of them.

You sit on your own twin bed, and look up from your phone, nodding. It wasn’t completely unusual for Ellie to have people pick up at the dorms, but more often she tried to avoid it in fear of getting caught by the R.A. and potentially getting expelled.

“Sounds good,” You say, going back to your phone.

Ellie stares at you for a moment, deliberating, “Hey, uh, there’s a party happening tonight that I’m probably gonna end up going to sell at, would you wanna come?”

Your face scrunches up, cautious, “Who’s throwing it?”

Ellie thinks for a minute, “I think it’s the lacrosse team, but don’t quote me on that.”

You groan, “Ughh… The lacrosse team? Seriously?”

Ellie sits on your bed, her hands clasped together, “Come onnnn, it won’t be fun without you there. Besides, we’ll go for an hour, get wasted and high, and come back here to play Mario Kart! It’ll be fun!”

You glare at Ellie, “You wouldn’t wanna go to this party either if it wasn’t for the business opportunity. The lacrosse guys are dicks.”

Ellie gives you a half-smile, “I know, that’s why I overcharge them.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, and you contemplate your options. You could either go out with Ellie and stay entertained, even if it is around insufferable people, or you could stay at home and play a video game for 7 hours straight.

“Okay, fine. But you owe me,” you say, folding your arms over your chest.

Ellie gives you a cheeky smile, “The pleasure of my company isn’t enough for you?”

You stare blankly back at her.

Ellie laughs, “Fine, Jesus, name your price.”

You think for a moment, not knowing what Ellie could give you besides weed.

Suddenly your face lights up, “You have to let me do your make up for tonight.”

Ellie’s nose scrunches up, “Dude, come on. I’m not a make up girl.”

You roll your eyes again, “I’m not gonna do it like mine, I’ll make it more androgynous, I promise. It’ll look so good.”

Ellie thinks about you thinking that she looks “so good”, and she sighs, “Fine. But none of that mascara shit. It feels weird on my eyes and I don’t like the way it looks.”

You laugh, “You have my word, no mascara.” You look over at the clock, seeing that it’s already about 8:30pm.

“We should probably get ready soon then, right?” You ask, and there’s a knock at the door.

Ellie nods as she walks towards the door, “Yeah, just let me finish this up.”

As Ellie takes care of business, you go over to your closet, thinking hard about what you can wear that looks good, but at the same time, doesn’t look like you put in that much effort to a college party.

You eventually pink a pair of your favorite pair of jeans, a tight, black cropped t-shirt, and some sneakers. You wait to start changing until Ellie’s customer leaves.

Ellie shuts the door, folding the wad of cash and slipping it into her wallet.

You start changing out of your shorts and hoodie into your outfit, and Ellie very pointedly does not look anywhere near you as you change. When you’re in your outfit, you look over it in the mirror.

“What are you gonna wear, Els?” You ask, fixing your hair.

Ellie stares at you in your outfit before looking down at her wife-beater and sweatpants combo. “Uh… This?”

You give Ellie a look, “Dude. This-“ you point to a stain near her neckline, “is from yesterday.”

Ellie scoffs, “Fuck you, I’m saving the environment by not washing my clothes every time I wear them.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

You go over to Ellie’s closet. You pick a black graphic tee, your favorite of her short-sleeve button ups to wear over it, and a pair of her slouchy denim jeans.

“Voila.” You say, shoving the clothes into her chest as you walk over to your shared bathroom to do your own make up. She flushes, but nonetheless changes into the outfit you picked, the idea of you picking what you think looks best on her making her stomach fluttery and warm.

When Ellie is finished changing, she walks into the bathroom, watching you in the mirror as you do your make up. You apply a light layer of lipstick as she does, and you’re hyperaware of her gaze on your face.

You finish up, your make up accentuating your features perfectly. You blot your lips with some toilet paper, and nod.

“Okay, let’s do this-“ You say, hoping up onto the bathroom counter and rifling through your make up bag until you find a brown, pencil liner.

“C’mere,” You say, motioning for Ellie to come closer.

Ellie’s hands are sweating as she walks up to you, standing in between your legs. She’s not sure where to put her hands so she leaves them dangling at her sides.

You lean forward and put your hand on Ellie’s cheek to steady her face. “Your eyes might water, just so you’re prepared.”

Ellie scoffs, “Please. A little eyeliner isn’t gonna kill me.”

You start lining her waterline, and her eye immediately tears up, “Fuck.”

You giggle, continuing to outline her green eyes. When you’re done, you put the pencil away.

“Okay, now the trick for this is to close your eyes and rub them a bit. Can you do that for me?” You ask as you rummage through your bag again to pull out some eyebrow gel.

Ellie chuckles a little, following your instructions, “I thought the point was to not touch your eyes when you have eyeliner on so you don’t fuck it up.”

You nod, “Yeah, usually, but I’m doing more of a diffused, messy look on you. It’ll look best with your whole… Vibe, I guess, if your make up is less structured and more messy.”

Ellie stops rubbing her eyes, and the green in her eyes pops brilliantly against the brown liner. You smile, pleased with yourself.

“Okay, that was the worst of it,” You say, brushing through Ellie’s eyebrows with the gel.

Ellie nods, focused on your face as you do her make up, and it makes you feel excessively vulnerable, but you don’t call attention to it, assuming it’s you who’s being weird for thinking into it.

You take a blush stick and apply a little to her freckled cheeks, and lightly dab the rest on her lips with your finger.

Finally, you apply a top layer of chapstick to her lips.

“Okay, finished,” You say, admiring your work.

Ellie nods, still in-between your legs, looking at you. “Thanks.”

You giggle, and it sounds more nervous than you intended. “Wanna check yourself out in the mirror?”

Ellie is knocked out of her stupor, and moves out from between your legs to look in the mirror. The liner makes her eyes pop, and the rest of the make up is simple and light, accentuating her features while adding a little something extra.

Ellie’s face spreads into a grin, “Dude, this is so much better than I expected.”

You kick her before jumping off the counter.

She yelps, “Hey! I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I just never really saw how I could wear make up in a way that makes me feel comfortable, and this looks great.”

You fix yourself in the mirror one last time, “Damn right it looks great. I did it.”

Ellie laughs, her smile bright. She gives you a once over, “You ready to go?”

—-

The house that’s hosting the party is only a few blocks away from your dorm building, so you and Ellie walk there together as you share a blunt.

By the time you two arrive at the party, you’re both fairly stoned. Ellie opens the door for you, and you two barely get three steps inside before you hear a “Ellie! Y/n!”

You both turn to see a clearly inebriated Jesse rushing towards you, a goofy smile on his face.

He gives you both a bear hug at the same time, and you laugh as Ellie says, “I’m guessing you already found the booze, Jess?”

Jesse laughs boisterously, shrugging, “Hey, you guys need to catch up, get on my level.”

Ellie looks over at you, eyebrow raised, “Wanna take a shot?”

You make a face, “Not really, but I’m gonna take one anyways.”

Ellie laughs at that, and the three of you migrate to the kitchen. Ellie takes a bottle of whiskey out of her backpack that’s carrying everything she has to sell tonight. She pours three shots with some miscellaneous, most likely used, shot glasses on the counter. As she does, you ask Jesse, “Is Dina gonna be here tonight?”

Jesse makes a face, and you think ‘Shit, sore subject right now, huh?’

Jesse says, “Dina and I had a fight last night, so… I don’t know if she’s gonna be here.”

Ellie makes a low whistle, but she knows her friends, and this on and off again thing between Jesse and Dina has been going on since you all were in high school together. They’ll likely be right as rain by the end of the week.

You take a shot from Ellie and pass the other to Jesse, “Then we’ll have a blast with the three of us, right?”

Jesse grins, “Fuck yeah, we will.”

——-

Famous last words.

About 2 hours later, you were sitting alone on a musty couch, your head dizzy from the several drinks you’ve already had. You nurse another one as you watch Ellie dealing to some brunette girl. Jesse left you to hang out with some guy friends, so you’re left to watch this girl flirt with Ellie, clearly putting the moves on her. Your stomach twists a little as you see Ellie laugh at something she said, her eyes crinkling.

When the girl rests her arm on Ellie’s bicep and Ellie doesn’t resist it, you stand up, going to get some fresh air.

You weave through the packed house, stumbling slightly as you turn a corner. ‘Fuck. I must be more drunk than I thought.’

You go outside, walking out onto the front porch. There are a few people smoking outside, and you try to move past them, but a man puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, y/n, right?” He asks, tilting his head. It’s dark out, but you finally recognize his face from a generals math class you took freshman year.

“Hey, Matt, how’ve you been?” You ask, cursing yourself for playing into it. You barely knew the guy, and you were really not in the mood to entertain someone’s conversation.

Matt grins, and he leans in closer to you, pulling you over to the porch railing by him, “I’ve been better without Professor Bynum on my ass about stats. How’ve you been?”

Your nose scrunches up instinctually at him pulling you over.

“I’ve been alright, pretty busy, I actually just came out here to get some air and, well- I guess I got it, so I should probably get back inside.” You say awkwardly, back away.

Matt says, “Wait! Before you leave… You should know that I had a *huge* crush on you during that class.”

‘Great. Jesus Christ,’ you think.

“That’s- Um, that’s sweet.” You say, and you couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if you tried.

Matt’s inebriated brain doesn’t seem to care about that though, “Do you think I could take you out sometime?”

You wince, “Oh, Matt, I’m sorry, I-“

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump, turning back just to see Ellie. She looks a little hurt, “I thought you were gonna wait on the couch for me?”

You give Ellie an apologetic, tense smile, starting to feel a little nauseated, “Sorry, I just needed to get some air.”

You turn back to Matt, and maybe if you were less drunk, you would’ve had more tact, but all that comes out of your mouth is, “And I’m sorry, Matt, but no.”

Matt’s eyebrows furrow, “Damn, okay. Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

You pause, wondering if you should lie to get out of the awkward situation, but before you do, Ellie says, “Why, does she need a boyfriend to not want to go out with you?”

‘Jesus, Ellie.’ You think, your stomach churning more and more.

Matt’s jaw drops, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is your problem?”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, “Nothing, I’m just explaining how to take rejection, dipshit.”

Matt looks like he’s about to say something to retaliate, but before he does, you turn away from them and vomit over the porch railing into the shrubs.

Whatever was about to be said gets lost, and you feel one hand bracing your back as another gathers the hair out of your face, and you hear Ellie’s voice by your ear, “Shit, you alright?”

You try to nod but you end up heaving more, emptying the contents of your stomach. Ellie’s hand smoothes over your back in a way that she hopes is comforting as she holds your hair away from your face.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re okay. I’m gonna take you home, alright?” Ellie asks as you stand back upright, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay,” you say, too nauseous to resist and too done with this party to want to.

Ellie seems considerably more sober than you as she wraps one arm around your waist, walking you back to the dorms. You’re about to tell Ellie that you’re fine to walk on your own, that you’re not that drunk, but you can’t help but want to take advantage of the situation, leaning into Ellie.

“I’m sorry for making you leave early,” you say, and she squeezes your waist.

“You’re just fine, babe, don’t worry. I wanted to leave that boring ass party anyways.” Ellie responds, shrugging.

The two of you keep walking. “What about that girl you were talking to? She was really pretty:”

Ellie brows furrow, “The brunette? She was nice, I guess.”

You shake your head as you laugh, “Ellie, you are so dense, she was totally into you.”

Ellie shrugs again, “I know.”

Your brows furrow this time, “And… You weren’t interested?”

Ellie shrugs, “She was alright, just… Yeah. Wasn’t interested.”

Ellie leads you up to your dorm room, and when you step inside, you immediately face plant onto your bed.

“Home sweet home,” you say into the duvet, your voice muffled.

Ellie chuckles at that, grabbing a glass of water that was by your bedside and bringing it to you. “Okay, doll. Can you drink this?”

You sit up on the bed, and sip the water as Ellie goes to fetch ibuprofen, a bucket (just in case you still feel sick later), and a warm washcloth because she knows you like to clean your face at the very least before bed.

She sets everything up for you as you wipe off your face, watching her with a lovesick ache in your stomach.

When you’re finished, she takes the washcloth and chucks it into the dirty laundry hamper. She also passes you one of her (clean) cheesy, graphic tees.

“For you to sleep in.” She says casually.

You laugh, “My closet is right there, Els.”

Ellie’s cheeks go a little pink and she tries to take the shirt back, “Well, if you don’t want it-“

You snatch it back from her, “I want it.”

She laughs and puts her hands up in surrender before going to use the bathroom to clean up herself.

You strip off your dirty clothes except for your underwear and slip on Ellie’s t-shirt. You check to make sure the bathroom door is still closed before lifting the fabric up to your nose and sniffing it, smelling the familiar scent of Ellie’s laundry detergent.

You feel that same lovesick ache pang at your stomach again, and you crawl back into bed, your drunk brain too inebriated to handle that kind of intense emotion. You nestle under your covers, and thanks to the weed and alcohol in your bloodstream, you quickly pass out.

When Ellie comes out of the bathroom and finds you asleep in her clothes, she quickly goes to pull out her journal, sitting on her own twin bed across from yours and doing a quick, messy sketch of your sleeping face.

‘This is fucking weird behavior, Ellie, what the fuck?’ She thinks to herself as she finishes up and gets up to put her journal away.

On her way back to the bed, she pauses, looking at you for a moment before kissing your cheek softly.

“Goodnight.” She whispers, before crawling into her own bed, where she would lie awake for several more hours.

———

chapter 3 here!

texts w reader and ellie here

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #tlou2 #ellie williams fanfic #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #rose writes #pick up and roll the dice

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 9 months

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In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

#personal #might delete later #my job #work #job search #hotel #rant

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prettyhighforawhiteguyblog · 9 months

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Amazon Vine reviewers should unionize.

We are being thrown housewares for our work. We are not getting milk frothers for free. We are creators writing content. Writing advertisements for Amazon itself.

Our critical reviews are used to lie about Amazons integrity. Our positive reviews get shit sold. Even our semi critical reviews being sales because they create stars and give a new product traction.

And we have to really create those reviews on our own because we sell half our shit on the Facebook Black Marketplace and write reviews that are based on what we see in the pictures.

Amazon knows we sell them. They have some nefarious reason making us pay taxes on our "free" stuff that they probably making us pay taxes on it so they can write it off as a fucking business expense.

As if the money mattered to Bezos. A few hundred bucks in taxes on our little home business means so much to us. Far more than to Bezos or the IRS. And the IRS could fucking leave us alone if Bezos would just start paying his fucking taxes on his infinite wealth. What is he going to lose when he has a trillion Freedom Tokens? But he makes us pay exorbitant taxes on trinkets we deliver all over town like drug dealers just to get some fucking pocket money.

Fuck that noise. Our ad content brings in billions for Amazon.

Mostly because they help these predatory sellers foist the same 3 shitty makes in 40 alphabet soup companies using the exact same fucking photos colluding the shit out of America. They know we're faking it, you know we're faking it. Even half the customers suspect we're faking it. But enough believe it. And these fuckers get a few dozen reviews under the newest branding of the same fucking shit from China Bezos floods is with.

You know Amazon taxes them all for using it's site and I'm sure they have some policy that makes more money somehow by charging new companies higher taxes or some shit. And the Chinese just calculate that as a minor cost of business expense.

They are raping the shit out of us for dollars and giving us our own recycled plastic shit in return.

It's hilarious. I applaud it. Well played Xi. I bow to you sir.

Now here's two middle fingers and a spit in you eye for the Weigers.

I wish.

This little scenario would doubtlessly cost me my life. I'm sure Mr Xi would make my death s priority of the Chinese Intelligence Agencies.

And I'm sure all our Bluetooth shit is infected with Chinese viruses to spy and affect our computers. I'm a dead man. All my shit is networked and GPS.

And I'm also sure the manufacturers are slapping in their own malware with the spyware contract software on everything to make extra money on our processing per and data. And a whole fucking lot of profiteering by draining all our processing for supercomputer networks dedicated to fucking crypto Global Warming accelerator bullshit for more stupid Freedom Bucks to live in Capitalism. But the Jerry rigged network of devices and computers is kinda a genius way of making at least this particular super computers doing crypto is not making CC2 directly. I mean they are still profiting from it... But anyway if someone needed a supercomputer for something more noble like scientific research...

If original, this is a Nobel kind of idea and I want a cut. A volunteer network of people putting more reputable malware on their computers. People can volunteer their processing power for science. It would never run while you were active, but when you laptop or phone goes to sleep it uses your computers processing power and spare ram to support say Stanford research. It would fire up research. It would be a cool thing to do this for your alma mater and your favorite basketball team.

Back to business. Unionizing and getting paid.

Our creative reviews get people to buy this shit. We deserve a cut

We write the reviews that get the people to buy your shit. And make you a fuckton more of these fucking US Dollars chaining us to Capitalism. We can't even live without money like a peasant. We need Freedom Bucks. And you don't. And we believe that however much that money is worth to Bezos, we deserve our wages. We deserve a cut in this dirty work.

You sell shit. We all know this. You could demand some level of quality on Amazon like the old stores. They had several standard brands. But only the brands they trusted the quality of or if the people demanded Jordans or whatever Capitalist shit we liked at the time.

We help you shovel this nameless shit at people for gross amounts of profit. Give me my pay.

I create the ads that people read. And here's the crazy thing. They find out our assessments were all over as individuals, but they're still relatively trustworthy as a whole group.

Figuring out how shitty or not this shitty product is going to work is a fucking skill. We are pretty fucking good at it.

On the rare occasion that we do we get something that is truly good, we make sure the reader knows it because we want people to get good shit.

And really, we're pretty likely to just say 5 stars and make shit up out of our butt in the review because hey, it probably works as well as one can expect for 50 bucks.

Our reviews are ads they get customers. First to check out shit with reviews to see how shitty it is and whether or not to take a chance. They look at reviews first to see what other people thought after they bought it. They see Vines. They might ignore them it they might use them as an advisor and take a chance anyway on a good bet according to johhnyfiveisalive7. And it turns outjohhnyfiveisalive7 is pretty reliable in their little analysis and obvious personal experiences. And who doesn't like a story and silly pics. So they trust johhnyfiveisalive7's suggestions and buy more of the shit you shoveled at them to try. You get a community of respected experts. People buy the shit you let us keep for our work. Even if it is shitty, just because it got enough meh reviews they take a chance on it. (And get stuck with more cheap shit usually.)

Amazon doesn't sell inexpensive decent quantity shit. It sells cheap shitty shit that is occasionally not so expensive.

Anyways Bezos is making boku bank of our creative work and expert, respected analysis. We should unionize and demand our cut.

Bezos will threaten to cut your vine access. Oh noes.

Your house is already furnished with shitty Amazon shit. Selling this shit is a shit show for spending cash unless you get real dedicated. The new toys and gifts to give are nice. But really, what do you get for your creative work beyond telling a few jokes in public.

What will they do without decent writers all of a sudden?

We They might bring in scabs. But they won't be good at their job and since the products are always new they need a new source of trusted reviewers.

So they might try to phase out dissidents here and there or in waves at leadership remove them from the community and to prevent union action. Be strong. Union strong.

But anyway we should ask for wages in proportion to the money we are bringing in and to the work we are really doing. We should get hundreds of thousands. We have better odds asking for ad creation level wages.

Without us they couldn't push all this alphabet shit on Americans and bug all our shit for China and slow down all our shit for crypto.

They can't keep selling their shit because nobody trusts their shit because it's all the same shitty shit with me shitty names that don't make sense. They killed all the real brands. They just flooded the market with cheap shit that is all nameless and unknown. Who's going to buy the latest shitty model everybody copies of nobody will review it.

Who's going to take a chance on a weird new name with 0 reviews? You need traction. You need Vine now. There's no history on all these new models. We can't see last year's buyers or 5 years ago buyers. Usually we can't even see last month's reviews, they are so new.

Nobody is going to buy your flea market shit without us. Vine wants a cut.

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By the by:

You know sneaker companies and Michael Jordan in particular need to face up to their destruction of Black neighborhoods with their shitty Capitalism shows. I say Jordon because he really launched the sneaker collector craze. With his flashy shoes and slick ads and likable personality plus court dominance.

Jordan really needsto face up and and pay up.

He has to face up to the fact he profited off some terrible shit as he sold his shitty shoes made by fucking prison slave labor. He fucked up Black community, destroyed lives and whole inner city neighborhoods. As people fight fight and died and desperately sold it bought it robbed it to wear or sell for it's inflated price based on our adoration and admiration of Jordan. People regularly resorted to prostitution and violence in order to have and/or steal. How many people died over a back alley hold up gone wrong. How many ended up in the Justice System, in hell.

Jordan needs to pay up. Reinvest in Black America. That could be his new thing while he still quietly profits off of shoe sales.

#Amazon Vine #vine reviewers #Union strong #apes together strong #fuck Bezos #how come people are so greedy? it's $2 #if Biden won't tax him we will #at least a little more of Bezos money leaks out of Panama and back to the people #selling shit on Facebook marketplace is the worst.#how come people are so greedy on there #you just can't be happy without $5 off #and delivery you say?#nobody seems to have a fucking car #no i will not meet you in fucking Visalia #wait they do have a bunch of independent weed shops out there...#get paid

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peacemaker-ic · 2 years

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Unpopular Opinion Time

Let’s start off by saying this: collecting information is wrong, using that for doxxing and sending out malicious viruses even more so, full stop. What has happened in the creator community recently is just shit and should not have happened in the first place, but here we are. But how exactly did we get here?

I have some thoughts on custom content creation and with all the drama lately, it needs addressing. I will put under a read more as I like to ramble.

it is rubbing me the wrong way the knee jerk reaction of people saying “only download from free creators.” Creating is hard, takes time and money. Yes it is a hobby for a lot of people, but a pastime can also help to support that person (my dad grew and sold plants for decades to help fund his love, so separating out income and a hobby is clearly being belligerent and is self-serving of your own beliefs). Art can be a hobby but do you lament artists selling their creations or accepting donations to see more of what they do? Paper costs money, so do art supplies and software. Content, for me at least, is as much of an art form as drawing, it is just a different medium. You may dislike early access, but that does release more free content into the community as a whole as well, while also allowing creators to do what they love without fear of it taking too much free time, or time they might have to work more at a job to make ends meet. This brings me to the wording. People are just saying to “download from” free creators, you need to do much more then that, as this is the reason we have gotten to this point.

Free creators are taken for granted. I should know, I am one of them. When you compare free creators with early access creators, there is a HUGE discrepancy between what comes in via donations, and what early access creators make. When new creators see this, can you blame them for going early access? I hate to say it, but the community brought this on themselves to some degree. People are willing to pay for new content, and in some cases equivalent quality between free and early access, but the early access creator gets so much more support. That’s not OK. These same people also wonder why creators leave the community or become early access. It’s because the community just wants their content, and if it’s free they really don’t care about the person behind it. They got what they wanted at a cheaper rate. It is really quite disheartening.

Even though EA/Maxis requires third party content to be free, that doesn’t excuse you from not supporting the creators.

So educate yourselves and don’t undervalue what CC creators do. I also don’t think it is fair to just say “download from ___ because they don’t use _____.” How about creating an environment that isn’t actively hostile for creators, support the ones that are ethical, and most importantly educate yourselves about what is safe internet usage (seriously, individual download links? So many red flags there). Yes, call out those who are unethical, but don’t use me and other content creators doing this for free to push your agendas about how “the sims used to be better before all this early access stuff happened.” No, it wasn’t, creators were still taken advantage of back then too. This is nothing new.

If you can’t support an artist monetarily (which is totally ok, content should be free, whether early access or free outright, down with exclusives), help spread the word so maybe they could find others that could support them. This situation is not just one sided, it is a situation that has come about from a number of places, and underappreciation for what CC creators do is one of them. Both sides are to blame here, that is just fact. Share the blame and address it, don’t deflect like you are innocent in all this. It’s time to address this issue head on, not deflect and forget in 10 minutes.

Again, don’t collect info, doxx, send out malicious viruses, all that jazz. That is way too far and highly unethical.

#I am ranting #doxxing is not ok #lets just say that again #don't collect people's info ok?#but support creators #we didn't just get here magically #this has been brewing for a long time #don't act like that one person #who pleads ignorance

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 3 years

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#225

“Are you Skylar313? Did you do everything I told you? Good. Strip. Completely naked. Right here, in broad daylight. You hesitate, and I’m leaving you here. Good. Fold your clothes in front of me. As you do your shorts, hand me the contents. If you have any last minute reservations about doing this, now would be the time to walk away. I went over this in our on-line chats. Just give me a nod, and your old life is over. Ok, done….

“I will be in full control for the next six days, after which you will belong to The Agency. I see your wallet is kinda empty. Driver’s license. You’re almost nineteen. That’ll bring a good price for you. Shit! Your name is Skylar Jayden Cassian Jackson? No wonder you want to leave your life. For fuck’s sake. Your new name is Cunt. It’s much simpler. It’s easier for me to give the name of Cunt to all the fagmeat that comes through my rig. Then I won’t get too attached when I finally deliver you at the end of the week. Two credit cards. They will be maxed out; probly a few hundred dollar dollar limit..

“Come closer. Three day stubble after full body shave. Turn around and let me check out my new cunt and crack. That is one pretty cunt. Pink pussy lips that look almost virginal. You’re not a virgin right? That’s right, you sent me a pic of you taking it up the cunt by some guy with a very thick dick. Very little hair, that’s good. Turn so you are in the sun. Hold still. I need to take a pic. Close up of your pubes too. The agency will decide if you should keep your naturally blonde pubes. If so, I will have your hair permanently removed tomorrow night. I have a bud that will meet us. He’s going to take you back to his place for the night and rape you and permanently remove your hair. You’ll keep the eyebrows, as fags look stupid without them. Bend the fuck over and pull apart your cheeks. They also need to see this perfect cunt hole. Now hold still. Got it. Damn, this cunt is picture perfect.

“Stay in that position. I got to send these pics off. If any man should come around, graciously offer both holes. I’m gonna be up here sending those pics. Looks like you have your first customer, and it’s an old friend of mine. He and I used to team drive, procuring fagmeat like yourself…. Hey Charlie! Got a prized one. Check out the cunt’s cunt. Go ahead and fuck it. It’s not a virgin. You got lube? Use some lube. While I love hearing fagmeat screaming from being fucked, we are not in the best situation for that. I’ll be down in a few. I just sent the Agency its pics….

“What was that?… Like a velvet cunt? Hunh. I’ll be down in a few moments…. Ok…. Just heard back from the Agency, and Cunt spin around and clean off Charlie’s cock. I’m going in…. Fuuuuck. Smooth. Velvet’s a good word…. Charlie, I know that look on your face. You want this cunt? Heh heh heh. You haven’t changed. The Agency is paying 20% more than fair market collection price….

“Hey Cunt, spin around, I want to try your pussy mouth. All the way down. All the way down. Atta cunt. What’s your offer?… Double? Fuck! Who would pay double?… Really? I haven’t heard his name in years. He’s still building up a harem of gelded fags, and he wants a fair skinned ginger hunh? Wow….

“Hey CUNT! Get back into place. This discussion doesn’t concern you. You gave up all rights to your body not ten minutes ago. Now spin the fuck around. I want more of that hole. Will he pay the 20% buyout fee from the Agency?… He will? Without you even consulting him? Damn he trusts you. We got a deal.

“Cunt you hear that? You were just sold. Fastest sale in a long time. I’m ready to nut…. I’m not pulling out until either I nut or the funds transfer. Until then the Cunt still is mine. I’m about to shoot. Oh yeah! Oh the fuck. Oh man, this hole is truly like velvet. That was a huge load for sure. Cunt, clean me off….

“Charlie, until I hear that funds have transferred, he’s not yours. Get your phone out and start the process. And Cunt, face me and get on your knees. Jack off. Now! I know the man that just purchased you, and you are going to be castrated. Charlie is under strict orders to not let any acquired slave to touch itself let alone cum. So this will be your absolute last time you can erupt. Have at it. Suck on my cock if that will help. I want you to see what a last load shooting looks like.

“You are close aren’t you? Faster Cunt. I can see it in your eyes; I can feel it on my cock…. Oh that tone on my phone indicates…. yes the transfer went through. Get your mouth off my cock. Cunt it looks like you are about to… Damn! Interrupted by a steel toe boot to the balls from behind. Those balls have got to hurt. Don’t worry, that pain will be taken care of pretty soon. Charlie, it is all yours. I’m gonna get some rest.”

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starglow-xx · 4 years

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owning a bakery and being discovered by the ada and the port mafia (part 4)

platonic! mori ougai x f!reader

type of writing: head canons !!

this is part of my head canon series, flour & fluff !!

tag list is open !! go to this google form and fill it out to sign up!

series synopsis: owning a bakery at 20 is tough; even more so when you have to handle members of two opposing organizations! this is your journey to meeting those fools and creating an unlikely bond with each of them. but only at the cost of your peace and sanity.

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: fluff & platonic stuff

previous: the doctor is in the house (quite literally)

author’s note: it’s port mafia time! ages are still one year younger than canon

also!! my 100 followers event still has 7 5 4 3 2 1 spot open for requests!! go check out this post for more info!! i’d like to get the whole prompt list done early so i have time to write them! (event is now closed as of feb. 10, 2021)

another doctor? oh wait, another doctor and his daughter

as you expected, ranpo and fukuzawa have not let you go easy after what had happened a couple days prior (3 days ago to be exact)

one of them, or more often than not, the two of them would go visit the bakery at least twice a day

once in the morning right before opening, and the second time right before closing

if they could, they would visit around lunch time, but that was usually yosano

tbh you were thankful that yosano hasn’t been as overbearing as the other two but you knew she probably wanted to give you a break because holy shit are they extremely over protective

currently, it was the fourth day of being watched by the two eldest ada members, but there were no said ada members with you at the moment

and boy were you overjoyed

turns out, the ada has an important escort job for a government official or smth, and on top of that, fukuzawa has a bunch of meetings to attend

even ranpo has his hands full with a couple of difficult murder cases across the country

you’re lowkey, no highkey, worried bc you learned literally 3 days ago that ranpo doesn’t know how to ride the train 😀😀

you were worried abt them, there’s no question, but on the inside you were a bit relieved to which ranpo called you out on it immediately

that led to the two of you going at each other’s throats for nearly half an hour

let’s just say fukuzawa scolded the two fo you for a while

going back to the present, it was around one pm and you had just finished sending a text message to both fukuzawa and ranpo (cause they insisted) when a little blonde girl with blue eyes wearing a red dress matching with a red bow in her hair and red shoes walked in

she immediately went to the glass case to look at the desserts displayed

as she looked around, you watched her at the corner of your eyes and a with a smile as you wiped down one of the tables

after wiping down the table, you quickly went to go wash your hands and you walked over and stood next to her

you bent slightly and smiled bigger as she stared at one of the treats in the glass

“is that the one you want?”

she nodded without looking away from the glass

you giggled before going to the back and placing the one she wanted on the plate and held it out to her

the blonde was honestly so confused bc one, no adult supervision, and two, there was no tell tale way to know that she had money

to you, she was an open book so when she looked at you, her face immediately read “but i have no money, or a parent...??”

you simply patted her head and pushed along to one of the nearby tables and pulled a chair for her

you did not regret anything when you saw the look on her face when you told her that it was on the house

“name’s elise!” “i’m (y/n)!”

you sat with her for a while continuing to give her sweets she reminded you of ranpo in all honestly and talking abt random things

she mostly complained abt a “rintarou” though

speaking of which, when a man in a doctor’s coat came through the door near screaming “elise-chan! elise-chan!” you figured that was probably the rintarou she was complaining abt

you smiled as you watched the two interact

“elise-chan why would just disappear like that?!”

“i wanted to see rintarou cry”

“so mean!”

...their behavior was questionable but endearing ig

“rintarou” suddenly turned to you, thanking you for “taking care of his daughter bc she’s always getting into trouble”

*cue angry noises and face from elise*

he introduced himself as a “local neighborhood doctor”

you smelled bullshit but didn’t say anything bc he has been kind to you so far

he asked you how he could repay you and you were thinking that you can actually win something bc you’re not refusing an ada member oh you poor oblivious child but you were appalled when elise answered for you

it went like this

“is there anything i can repay you with for taking care of my dear elise-chan? perhaps paying for all the sweets she has eaten?”

“oh no! don’t worry abt that, it’s nothing! it was a pleasure getting to know—”

“let’s buy out all of her food!”

h u h

you knew she enjoyed your pastries and stuff but like w h a t

you inwardly sigh in relief when the doctor agreed with you that “that’s a bit much elise-chan” and you were thanking every deity out there when suddenly

she threw a temper tantrum

you watched in confusion and slight horror at the 180 of the sweet little girl you were talking to like 10 minutes ago

her guardian panicked slightly and tried to get her to calm down but ahaha no that didn’t happen

“WAHH rintarou!! but i want it!! (y/n)’s food is the best i’ve ever had!!”

“b-but elise-chan, we can’t just buy—”

“i’ll wear all the dresses i’ve ever rejected and more if we buy it out right now and keep buying sweets here forever”

“...deal”

your eyes twitch at the “innocent” smiles the two gave you after their “talk”

fast forward literally 5 minutes and you’ve already flipped the close sign on your door with note (saying you’re sold out) and you’re all over the place running around behind the counter trying to fit everything into boxes as the two are sitting on a nearby table lightly chatting

about 20-25, nearly 30 minutes later you finishing packing everything in the glass case

it was a lot

we’re literally talking about tiered cakes and dozens of batches of cookies, cupcakes, literally everything and anything

when the two notice you’re done they get up meet you by the register

“a-ano, you really don’t have to buy all of this...the total is going to be quite large...”

“no worries!”

honestly at this point, you kind of missed the chaotic calls from ranpo that happened like every half hour

you thought you were done being surprised for the day but next thing you know men in suits come into Sakura’s and begin to load the boxes into a black car

dealing with the detectives was already starting to be a handful and now you have to deal whoever the hell these two people where

quite frankly, you were having trouble wrapping your head around all of this

like-

who buys out a whole bakery?!

and who has the money to buy out a whole bakery?!

what kind of job could you possibly have?!

was this guy really just a doctor?!

right before the two leave you call out to them

“a-ah wait! i don’t think i ever caught your name!”

the two blink at you before eyeing each other

“mori ougai” 😄😄

you started smelling bad shits again

>:/

it was a weird feeling

you felt something off but at the same time, you weren’t really afraid

and with that the two left

you were already tired from this whole thing but you now get the rest of the day off

so i guess something worked out in your favor

until the next fricking day

again, ranpo and fukuzawa canceled out on you

you weren’t sure if you were relieved or not

and as soon as you thought you were going to have a normal business day, guess who walked through the doors

yeah that’s right

“the local neighborhood doctor” and his daughter

you froze before eyeing them with suspicion

if mori was amused, he didn’t show it, only giving you a smile

elise immediately left his side and practically leaped onto you making you cut yourself with the knife you were holding

well shit now you’re bleeding

it was only 7:15 in the morning; you had literally just opened

you were cursing every deity out there

you quickly grab a nearby and press it against your wound and scrambled around looking for the first aid kit you had nearby

“oh? (y/n)-kun are you bleeding?”

“(y/n) i’m sorry!”

“a-ah, no worries elise-chan”

you really need to stop spacing out bc next thing you know, the sign on your door is flipped to close again (along with the same note from yesterday explaining you’re sold out taped on the door) and you’re sitting at a table with elise in your lap and mori wrapping your hand in a bandage

“tsk tsk (y/n)-kun you need to be more careful...but it is elise-chan’s fault”

“die rintarou!”

“but no worries! it’s not that deep so you don’t need stitches”

“thank you, mori-san, but can i ask why you and elise-chan are here again? not that i mind...”

whether or not you were lying is up to you

“oh we’re here to buy out your stock again!”

“wait what-”

the fuck???

did they not just buy everything yesterday???

frozen, you stare at the man in front if you with said man giving you another “innocent” smile

this little shit

wait till you meet dazai

but i guess that’s why the sign on the door is flipped to close bc you don’t even remember flipping it yourself or taping the note from yesterday to the door

you spent the next half hour trying to convince the two over some tea (your signature one of course) that “no you don’t need to or should buy everything i have, you’re going to deprive the rest of my customers”

cough cough ranpo

like the day before, you were losing this argument

can you just never win?

as you were losing the argument (obviously) you realized that you don’t even know why they want to buy everything again

“mori-san, why do the two of you even want to buy everything in the first place?”

“ah it was elise-chan’s request of course! but i do admit, after trying some of your sweets myself, i grew quite attached! so did the rest of my subordinates after my precious elise-chan made them try it, not like they could refuse her or me; i am their boss after all (y/n)-kun.”

*cue confusion*

“subordinates? wait are those the guys from yesterday?? aren’t you a doctor...?”

“ah ex-doctor actually, i’m the leader of the port mafia”

...

“ah (y/n)-kun that’s quite the coughing fit you have going on, do you need water?”

if it wasn’t obvious, you choked on your tea and had quite the coughing fit; you were wheezing and everything making elise leave you lap and settling for dangling over mori’s shoulders

“...you’re kidding”

“im afraid im not”

this man confuses the hell out of you??

like-

w h y would he just say that, to you of all people

but it explains the bad shits you were smelling/feeling yesterday

“are you afraid?”

“being completely honest with you, mori-san, not really”

“and why is that?”

you simply shrug not really knowing the answer

you aren’t lying, you just aren’t

maybe bc yesterday, he seemed more like a doting parent than the boss of the most criminal organization of yokohama

yes, you’ve heard the rumors, obviously, but just saying, if the port mafia wanted to hurt you, you’d probably be dead in a ditch by now

and they haven’t really been a bother to you, they were more like background characters in your life

well

until yesterday of course

mori simply raises an eyebrow and a smile seemingly okay with your very vague answer

“why did you tell me that mori-san?”

the man only smiles a bit wider at you and this time, you’re the one raising an eyebrow

“just a feeling”

yeah you were starting to smell bad shits again

“and besides! elise-chan seems quite fond of you (y/n)-kun! i wasn’t planning on doing anything to you in the first place, but even if i wanted to, i don’t think i could! i wouldn’t want to upset my dearest cute elise-chan”

“die rintarou!”

“that’s mean elise-chan!”

your eyes began to twitch in slight annoyance

cause istg the duality of this man—

this strange strange man

oh dearest you haven’t even met dazai yet

after that has been said and done, somehow you found yourself in front of stores being dragged by elise

how did you end up there you ask? i don’t know either so there’s nothing we can do abt that

eventually, you found yourself holding a bunch of shopping bags full of dresses and clothes of the sort

some of it your size and the others elise’s

...

“mori-san?”

“yes (y/n)-kun?”

“why do i have bags of clothing that are fit for me rather than elise?”

“oh that’s because elise refused to go without you and if you didn’t get anything!”

yeah

that makes perfect sense, of course

you could see why elise kept on complaining abt this guy

the two of you actually bonded over making fun of him

you have n o fear

actually, maybe just a little

the three of you were out for basically the entire day and you were exhausted

cause holy shit there was a lot of money wasted, shopping bags obtained, and walking involved

it was around 5 pm when the three of you were making it back to Sakura’s

along the way you found yourself having a pleasant conversation with mori

even if he was a questionable person to be having a pleasant conversation with, you enjoyed it nonetheless

you hoped that it makes it harder to get rid of you if he ever changed his mind but we don’t talk abt that

anywho

when the three of you arrived, you immediately dumped all the bags you were holding and went straight to work packaging everything for “the local neighborhood doctor”

before they left, mori agreed to not buy out all of your stock except for some occasions but instead settled ordering massive batches of a little bit of everything every few days

how that’s not the same as buying everything you won’t ever know

you were standing outside Sakura’s watching the two get into the car that had arrived when suddenly, mori turned to you

“ah (y/n)-kun, i know that you wouldn’t tell anyone about this, it wouldn’t be like you to, but just a reminder, it would probably be in your best interest not to let anything slip to anyone okay? we wouldn’t want any enemies using you against the port mafia. so take care of yourself hm? see you next time”

and bippity boppity boo just like that, they were gone

how that man managed to get your personality down in just like 10 hours you don’t want to know

and that’s basically the story of how you started making more food/bake goods to sell

true to his word, every few days, or sometimes consecutive days, mori called you and made a large order

and i mean large

on those days, someone from the port mafia would pick it up and then you get paid

thankfully, by increasing the amount of food you made, you always had enough to put out on display and to sell even after the large order

before doing that, on those days you didn’t have a large stock, someone by the name of edogawa ranpo would weep at your feet

he will deny this; after all, great detectives don’t do weeping

or so he says

and speaking of the detective, you never did tell him what had transpired the two days he and fukuzawa were absent on checking on you

but tbh, i even think ranpo could’ve deduct this one

you didn’t tell him bc you were afraid, no of course not that’s ridiculous mori, in elise’s words, was a loser

you didn’t tell him bc you knew he and fukuzawa would flip the fuck out

and that would be a major inconvenience to you

you didn’t see the point in telling them anyway

so whatever, it’s like it’ll be important

and if ranpo and fukuzawa noticed the abundant of bags near the door leading up to the staircase when they visited you at the end of the day they didn’t say anything

of course one of them said smth

“ne (n/n)-chan since when did you like to buy a bunch of things; waste of money if you could just be using that money to make more food so you wouldn’t sell out right away and have food to feed me”

your eyes twitched

he could’ve worded that a little better but whatever

it is ranpo-san after all

“i just got carried away since i closed up early; you know it isn’t often i get to go shopping”

and if he smelled your bullshit he didn’t say anything

for real this time

that slightly concerns you ngl

anyways

let’s just say quite a few heads were turned when they saw their boss leading a bunch of lower level subordinates carrying many light pink boxes of different sizes to his office for the second time

oh and just another thing

*whispers* he was lying when elise made his other subordinates eat your food; they kept it all to themselves”

was that a ruse to help lead the revelation of his real occupation who knows

“(y/n)-kun is a very interesting person don’t you think so elise-chan?”

“quiet. i’m eating cake.”

“that’s so mean elise-chan!”

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jamiedc-they-them · 4 years

Text

Sell and Repurchase

Requested Imagine: While trying to look for an old friend, you find her in the most unexpected of places. Even if, for her, it had been a long time coming.

You typed on your keyboard, getting the pop-up from your newest contact. This one is just asking for the contents that you had stolen from a company. Not the biggest one, but one that would have serious repercussions should you have been caught.

You hadn’t been, as you had been taught by (who, to you) was one of the best; Skye.

Saying that name always had a pang in your chest; she was your best friend, one that had helped you learn how to hack and how to do the Rising Tide podcast you had been working on for a few years before…

Well, before it all fell apart.

Now, the Tide was almost over and done with. Or, rather, you were.

You sold the secrets for money, for a chance to run. You didn’t sell it to some big corpo, just some enemies of the Tide and wanted to see it come crashing down.

With that, you went dark. You started anew, here in Denver, not really intent on making friends.

Not when your only one was fuck knows where.

You knew that those who you sold the info to and who you worked for had other intents with the information. You knew that, despite what everyone said, there was always something else going on in the background, something bad they hid in the shadows.

“You really think I do, kid?” Your local checkout guy asked you as you paid for your things, “You think I’m just gonna sell you out like that?”

“Just a matter of time. Plus, I’m helping you out, you help me.”

“Maybe. But, even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t of anyway.” You looked around as he packed your bag, seeing a customer with a hat on picking out a drink. He seemed to always be there, but so did a lot of other customers.

“Sure.” You brushed it off, going back to your van.

Again, you typed, sending the information off. Now, you waited. Waited for the pingback that would get you one step closer to finding out whether or not your best friend was still alive.

However, as the ping went off, the door to your van opened, with a man who wore shades and a smirk greeted you.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Whose it to?” You replied with, despite already having an idea.

“SHIELD.” With that, a bag went over your head.

Your cuffs kept you to the chair, again, as you tried to pull on it, “Fuck.” You cursed. It wasn’t budging.

The door opened, with that same man walking in, this time without shades, “I’m Phil Coulson, and I’m sure this is really weird right now. But, I have reason to believe you’ve just sold some valuable data to a client that has ties to a very evil corporation.” The man, Coulson, told you as he sat down opposite you.

“I just get it for them. I knew going in it wasn’t exactly going to be nice.” You confessed.

Coulson nodded, “Anything else you want to tell me?” He prompted.

“Nope. I’m sure you SHIELD guys have got a state of the art equipment to find them though, right? I mean, if I can do that from my van….you might need an upgrade.”

Coulson smiled, “Yeah, maybe we do. But, we’ve got one of our best working on that. She’s been eager to talk to you.”

“Despite not being interested, I always had a way with women.” You smirked, trying to hide the small amount of fear you had.

“Yeah, she told us you’d be like that. Managed to make a short file for you.” Ok, now he had your interest. She? There was only one --

The door opened, with the woman you have been trying to find all this time.

“Thanks, AC. Sorry for taking so long, Y/N’s always been good with this type of stuff.” She apologised. She sounded more mature, not the goofy friend you hand known.

“Nothing to apologise for, agent Skye.” Agent? He looked back to you, “Don’t worry, we aren’t going to punish you or anything. You didn’t know. As Skye tells us, you’re a good guy. Just, tell her what we need, then we’ll be on our way.” He vowed, before leaving.

Now it was just the two of you.

She sat down. You could see, in her eyes, that this reunion seemed to carry the same weight as it had to you.

Two best friends. Two siblings by bond coming back together.

“Hi, Y/N.” Her voice was light. She had lost the professionalism to it the moment she spoke to you.

Now, you just had to find out how the fuck she ended up here. Why she had stayed. That was a big one; you had never stayed in more than one location for this long before. Why change now?

“You ready?” She asked, opening a very small file. Inside was your photo. Ah, so she was looking through what SHIELD had on you.

You leaned forward, “Oh yeah, I’m ready.” You answered.

Time to get some answers of your own.

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

There was a man Skye had met, just before Miles. The one who came before. Miles and him were friends, but himself and Skye didn’t become a thing until after. His name was Peter.

“Y/N, born in --”

“You don’t need to read from that, Skye. You know me, just like I know you.” You interrupted with.

Skye looked at you, eyes hiding the emotion that laid behind them, “Or, I want to know how you ended up here. You wanna catch me up?”

She fully closed the file, pushing it to one side, “You wanna tell me who you were working for?” She fired back.

“Share for share. I go, you go.” You ‘offered’.

“You first.” She was waiting.

“No idea who they were. They just offered me something.”

“Money?” She guessed.

“Nah, got gigs for that.” You answered.

“Then what? Give me something, Y/N. Something I can use to help you get out of this.” That’s ironic.

“You. They said they had information on you. Besides, you not give them enough for me to get out this cleanly anyway.” Something happened in her eyes. They widened, for sure, but there seemed to be a bit of fear in them too.

However, she was quick to cover it up, “Tried to hack SHIELD to find anything out on my parents. Tried to find some things on yours, too.” She said, voice delicate.

You looked to the table, before up to her, “Told you, didn’t want to know ‘em --”

“I know...I’m sorry,” You shook your head, telling her to not worry about it, “Anyways, they found me, dragged me into a different room to this. But, same flavour, really: drab colours.” You let out a chuckle at her words. She smiled.

“Guy said it was a shell company. Just wanted some files. I went and got ‘em.” You said, holding up your end of the deal.

Peter was good; he was a kind, gentle, soul. Despite everything he had gone through, he had never lost the gentleness he had that his foster father had deemed as weak.

There was a time when you had a nightmare, and Skye was driving. Peter was there, waking you up and helping you calm down.

“Are they ok?” Skye asked, looking back at you both through the mirror.

You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re good. They’re good.” He assured his (then) girlfriend.

“I helped them out. I helped them get what they wanted. They wanted Mike, I helped them get him.” She continued to tell you.

“So, you gave him up?” Skye gave you a head tilt and silent glare.

“No, I didn’t. He had powers, and needed to be brought in.” She defended.

“I have powers. And you guys didn’t run at me with guns Or you tell them that from the get go, and that’s why you didn’t come running in with guns?”

“You do. And my intel played a part. Along with other pieces.” Now you looked a bit confused, “Guy who worked in the shop you went to --”

“The cashier?”

“No, a customer.” Shit.

“Fuck.” You cursed, leaning back in your chair.

“I’m sorry, Y/N --” You stopped her.

“Did the cashier know?” She shook her head.

“Guy with the hat that was always there. That was the agent.” You just nodded.

“We stopped Mike, I was made an offer; I was given the chance to be apart of something, Y/N. Be a part of a team. That, and I got the Tide an in.”

“Alright, you ready, little sibling?” Skye asked you as you both set up the mics. You nodded.

She started the broadcast to the rest of the world, telling them what you had found on SHIELD and other organisations like it; the ones who covered things up.

Peter sat in the driver’s seat, playing look out to see if anyone looked suspicious. He looked at you both through the mirror with a soft smile. His phone went off, it was Miles calling.

“Used the same backdoor to the place you showed me how to open.” You said.

“Wait, there was already a back door?” She questioned.

“Yeah, it’s what I used to get into to get the data.”

“You remember the company's name?” You shook your head.

“No, shell company. What for? I do not know. Just know that it existed as a front for something else.”

“I got my in. Started out not really sure of what to make of them. But, as it went on, we actually worked together well. It was -- It was like we were pieces to a puzzle.” At the pause, she seemed to almost have to catch herself.

“What happened there?” You pushed. This might’ve been it, this might be the key.

“There was just… this guy. There was...something about him. A pull, in a way. He was like Peter, at first, then more like Miles. His name was -- his name was Grant Ward. He was -- uh….he wasn’t a good guy. I thought he was...but...”

“I’m sorry.” You were genuine.

Skye shook her head, “Don’t be, my friends got me out. They had my back, even when they found out why I joined.”

She then put a pad on a table, “I’ve been using this to talk to Coulson about hte info you’ve been giving me. It’s notes, don’t worry. Just things for the mission. But...I think you’d be good at this.”

“At what?”

“At being an agent. Working alongside me, helping me. Just like old times.”

Now it was your eyes that widened.

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

“Them? You want me -- you want me to join SHIELD?” You asked, still shocked at the very thought of the offer.

Skye scrunched her eyebrows together, “Yeah. I mean, these people you’re working for aren’t good people, Y/N.”

“Oh, and SHIELD is?”

“SHIELD has done some shitty things, I’ll admit. It’s not perfect. Nothing is. But, it’s trying to do good. We’re actually trying to help people. We’re making a difference.” Skye argued.

“And I’m not?”

“You helped people affiliated with fucking Nazi’s!”

“When?!” You were both getting angry.

She slammed the file down, opening it pointing at the name of one of your clients, “This. It’s a front for a Nazi organisation called HYDRA. You gave them valuable information.”

“What information?”

“On SHIELD agents and their locations. That thing you hacked? That thing with the back door already open? That’s a SHIELD server. You hacked a SHIELD server!”

“I had to find you --”

“You had Peter.”

“Had. Had is the keyword there.” That stopped her.

Miles and Skye darted dating. Nothing bad happened with her and Peter, they just realised they didn’t love each other in that way anymore. He was still a good friend to you both.

“Skye.” Miles said as she stopped the van, “We need to get this new broadcast out.” He said.

“I’m not leaving Y/N behind. I’m not leaving Peter behind. I’m not leaving our friends.” She said, firm toned.

“Look, babe,” he took her hands in his own, “Just think about it, ok? You can, you know.” He was keeping it intentionally vague.

“Meanwhile, you two, you got the blowout job, right?” The ‘blowout’ job was one that had a big paycheck to it.

Part of you should’ve known with the look Miles gave you compared to the one Skye gave you; her’s being one of concern, his being faux-concern.

“Oh my god.” She breathed out, voice shaking, “He...he’s dead?”

You only nodded, “I tried to find you both after, but you had both just...gone. It’s why I took off. I wanted to find you, and Miles wouldn’t take any calls or messages.”

“He ran. He didn’t mention you when I found him, at all.” She said it all coming together for her.

“How long is it until these guys do it to you, too?” That one stopped her cold.

“They won’t.” She said, firm.

“You and I both know they will. We both sold out, just in different directions. At least I’m not fooling myself.” You hated to be harsh, you hated the look of hurt on your best friend’s face. But, you had to be if she was going to see the ‘truth’.

“I gave you up to protect you! What we did was dangerous!” She argued.

“You don’t think I don’t know that, Skye? Now, here we you, with me in handcuffs and you playing in the very role we tried to take down. Except, this time, when it crashes and burns, it’ll be you whose left in the dirt as everyone else runs!”

“Y/N...they aren’t like that.”

“Coulson seems the type. I mean, Miles did it, he has that same look to him.”

“Stop --” She pleaded.

“Did they brainwash you or something? Is that why you’re staying? Skye, I just want to know why. I wanna help you get out.” You were desperate for her to see that it was the whole reason for this.

She leant forward, meeting you in your own movement forward, she had tears in her eyes, “They aren’t like Miles, they aren’t like the nun’s at the orphanage. These are good people, Y/N. They said they’d stay and they stayed. I betrayed them by joining with the intention of taking them down, and they let me stay. I get the hate we used to have for --”

“We? No, just me, Skye. You gave that anarchistic side when you sided with them. Skye, I’m trying to help you out here --”

“And I’m trying to make sure you get out of this without anything bad happening to you.”

“And you think working with a bunch of suits will fix it?”

“You think helping a bunch of Nazi’s kill a bunch of people that want to help is good?”

“Better than selling your soul and your friends, Skye.”

She stood up, not giving a response. If anything, the slamming off the door was the response.

You may have just lost your best friend. Your best friend in the whole world; someone who was akin to a sister figure for you. Someone who was loyal, and was. Someone like Peter.

Someone like --

“I’m gonna unlock your cuffs. We’ve gotten the info we needed. Thank you for that.” Coulson said over the comm in the cell, his voice echoing all around it.

“Sure. Anything for the greater good, right?” There was a sarcastic bite to your words.

“For once? That’s true. We’ll take it and go after the funders. Any intel we can get is useful on them. I’m just sorry that this one came at a cost.” He sounded like he meant it.

Then again, Miles also managed to fool you with that one.

“Skye ever tell you about Peter?” You asked, out loud.

“No.” Was the response from Coulson.

“That was our last gig together; going in for that one last big gig before we’d all run off together. Plan was to start again, buy ourselves a good home and live there, doing what we could for people in need. Then again, some of those people are the same as those at the top, just money hungry. Miles was one of them. And I -- I didn’t see it sooner.” You had no idea why you were confessing to this man who you had only seen once.

Maybe it was the fact that Skye trusted him, looked up to him.

“I get it,” He said, “I get why you’re cautious. I get why you’re defensive of yourself and her. This worlds a scary place, filled with scary people --”

“I’m not six. Plus, Skye can take care of herself. Guess it’s just....” You paused. Coulson didn’t interrupt the whole time, “It was the way we worked, you know? Just us. Just us and the rising tide, doing the podcast and letting the world know about the truth.”

“SHIELD has skeletons in it’s past, I won’t deny that. We’ve done things; covered up things and done even worse things. We aren’t clean. But, that was old SHIELD, this is the new SHIELD.”

“Miles set us up” You admitted, “He sold Peter and me out, then Skye went into SHIELD. I don’t think he planned for her to go in as early, but there were always talks of it. Jesus, that fucker.”

“How long were you on your own for?” Coulson asked.

“Three years. Spent it finding any scrap I could on Skye. Then it led me here, with some dead agents on my hands.”

“They made it out. We managed to warn them just in time. None of them know it’s you. Skye didn’t want you caught in the crossfire. She cares about you.”

“Like you do with her.” You admitted. A DING! Occurred, and your cuffs unlocked. You scoffed as you rubbed your hands, “Might not have the deepest sympathies for you guys, but you do care about her, that means something. You’ve kept her alive so far.”

“You did good yourself. Hard to track down. If only you hadn’t gone into that SHIELD server.” There was a hint of humour in his voice.

You looked at the file she had made on you. Taking it, you opened it up. It was like a biography, with everyone she had known about you. She also had been able to find out some of the jobs you did.

“You know I’m still pissed she sold me out, right?” You asked.

“That’s understandable.” Coulson said.

“Call her back in, think I’ve got something for her.”

The door opened, with Skye walking back in. She took a seat at the table. You sat with your arms in front of you, “You ready, little sibling?” She asked, this time with what - almost - sounded like hope in her voice.

“Ready.”

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

You were taken out of your cell, looking around at the area. What you saw was people at work, some mainly in a lab. Skye just kept her eyes forward, leading you into a living area.

In it, was Coulson and a woman around his age, “Y/N, this is May. She’s like the second in command here, just like you were for when we were in the tide.” Skye nudged you.

You looked at her and scoffed, “I’m not fully a part of this ragtag group yet, Skye.”

“Are you trying to do the right thing for the right reasons?” May asked you.

“Depends on your definition of it.” You challenged.

“Fight for the innocent.” She boiled it down to.

You looked at your best friend before back to the others, “Yeah.”

May nodded, sliding a laptop to the end of the table, “Use that, find us something, we’ll get geared up.” She said, walking passed you. However, as Coulson did, he gave your shoulder a pat in both a ‘thanks’, but also a ‘welcome to the team’.

You looked at your sister figure, she shrugged, “Welcome to SHIELD.”

You both went to the laptops, you went back to the message that got you into this in the first place. You traced it, finding a place that was abandoned. You zoomed in, giving the location to them.

They flew there, with Skye leaving. However, before she did, she gave you a hug before she left.

“Ok, Y/N, we’re here.” She said over the comms. You had live footage of the area.

“Ok, the signal goes here. Just...be careful.” Was all you asked of her.

“Of course.” She assured you, before going in.

You had two newcomers enter the room, two british people; a man and a woman.

“Oh, you must be Y/N. Nice to meet you, even if not under the best of circumstances. I’m Jemma.” She said, holding her hand.

You shook it, before holding it out for the other guy, “Fitz.” He answered the silent question.

“Is that them?” Jemma asked, taking a seat on one side of you, Fitz the other, both staring at the screen.

“Should be.”

“Y/N, we have a problem, it’s empty. The signal just leads to a laptop.” Skye, unfortunately, had to tell you.

“...Shit.” You fell back in your chair, face in hands.

“Pull up the original message again?” Fitz asked. You did just so, “Look at the end,” You, again, did so, “It’s an anagram. Look, if you -- Jemma, help me.” He asked of his friend.

“Oh, I see what you mean, Fitz. Yes, if you rearrange it, you get --” She stopped, looking at you for permission. You nodded.

She typed in the new name you had, getting a ping, “There. They’re there.” She said, pointing to the new place.

“Guys, we got them.” You said into the comms, giving them the new location. You shared a smile with Simmons.

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

You sat with Skye in Coulson’s office. He sat on the opposite side to the table, “Today was a success. And, I want to thank you for it, Y/N. Without that intel, we wouldn’t have found them.” He said with a smile.

“I’m sure you would’ve.”

“They’re just being modest. We appreciate it, Y/N. Really, you came through in the end.” Skye said, putting you on the shoulder.

“Y/N, we’d like to offer you a place here. I understand you don’t agree with everything, and that’s fine. To be honest, I think we need that, now more than ever. It’ll be safer here, you’ll have company and you can do some good as you’ve always wanted to.” Coulson offered.

“Plus, we can work together again. I mean, I’ll be out there sometimes. But...I missed my best friend.” Skye said, sincerely.

You thought about it, the two just waiting for the answer.

You finally looked up;

“Ok.”

#iawaythrown #agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #agents of shield x reader #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine

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pain-somnia · 4 years

Text

Title: Take Me Now, I’m In Too Far Rating: M (for sexual content) Disclaimer Playlist Art Credit: @inknigella (used with permission) Day’s Notes: I have recently updated this fic on Patreon. It is one of three fics of mine exclusive to Patreon, but here’s a chance to read Part 1 of my “exes as roommates” AU. This fic is dear to me in almost the same way Kingdom For Two is. The fic started as a simple Roommates AU, but then was molded into something else when I decided to add the fact that they were exes. I wanted to write about two people that love each other a lot but growing up and becoming “real” adults made things difficulty. If you would like to give this fic a chance and enjoy Part 1, you can find Part 2 & Part 3 on Patreon. Here is a link to the tag for this fic. I have opened up the $1 tier permanently for access to exclusive fics and early access to publicly posted fics, but I have other tiers with different perks. One of the perks for certain tiers are PDFs that contain exclusive art that will only be found in full on my Patreon (or in some cases Cj’s Patreon). The above banner was created with a preview of one of the many works Ink has provided to help bring my work to life.

I hope you all enjoy the first part of this fic and consider becoming one of my patrons 😊

Part One

She was going to kill Karin. And her stupid boyfriend. She was going to kill Karin and her boyfriend and then take back the armchair she let them have as a moving-in-together gift.

Sakura wasn’t that surprised when Karin told her she was moving out. She had been spending so much time at Suigetsu’s apartment, it was as if she had already moved out months ago. It was only a matter of time before the two of them would officially move in together.

Karin had been considerate and had found her a new roommate before she gave her the news. And although Sakura wasn’t too keen on the idea of living with a stranger—a man at that—she was willing to put up with it for her friend’s happiness.

At least for a few months while she looked for a new place if possible.

Unfortunately for Sakura, she couldn’t set a day to actually meet her new roommate before he was set to move in. Their schedules conflicted most days so Karin went ahead and took care of all of the necessary paperwork and was present when he moved in. With how things had begun, Sakura assumed she wouldn’t meet her new roommate until her day off.

She hadn’t expected to run into him as she was leaving for work at the bakery at three in the morning and he was coming home smelling of booze.

She definitely didn’t expect to see her ex-boyfriend holding a key to her apartment.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sasuke muttered, running a hand through his messy, jet black hair.

“You’re my new roommate?” Sakura scoffed, wringing her hands in the scarf she was attempting to put on on her way out. “How did you not know that I was Karin’s roommate?”

Sasuke looked at her impassively for a moment, as if mulling over what he wanted to say before pushing past her and saying, “I’m going to bed.”

“What? We’re not even going to talk about this?”

“If we start now, you’re going to be late for work,” he called back to her without turning around. “Can’t have that can we?”

Sakura scoffed but couldn’t retort. He was right. If she missed her bus she was going to have to wait for the next one and it would cause her to be late.

She wanted nothing more than to bang on his bedroom door and demand that he come out and speak with her. How could he just go to sleep!?

“We’re talking when I get back!” She shouted, grabbing the front door. Sakura waited but there was no response. She growled in frustration and slammed the door behind her on her way out.

“Have you been taking your anger out on dough again?” Ino commented dryly between page flips of a cake catalogue, pointing out cute designs to the toddler sitting on her lap and cooing.

Sakura rubbed her temple with the heel of her palm and sighed. It was one in the afternoon and she had spent the day busy working on custom orders. At the moment she was sitting through a consultation with her childhood friend who needed to order a birthday cake for her son, Inojin. She had tried to throw herself into baking and packaging orders but now that there was a slow down where it was only her and two of the shop clerks, her mind was free to think about how her ex was now living with her.

“You know how Karin moved out and found me a roommate?”

“Uh-huh, it was kind of unexpected. Isn’t it a little early though? They’ve only been dating for━”

“Sasuke is the roommate she found me.”

“Holy━sorry, honey.” Ino interrupted herself and covered her son’s ears. “Holy shit!”

“I wanted to call her and chew her out but in her defense, she doesn’t know he’s my ex-boyfriend.” Sakura slumped in her seat, took a fork and dug into one of the cake slices she brought out for tasting. “When I did get a chance to talk to her earlier, she said that apparently Suigetsu is best buddies with him and Kiba. Kiba and Sasuke were rooming with their friend Shino but the lease was coming to an end and Shino was moving away for a teaching job and Kiba decided to move in with his fiancée. So━”

“So Sasuke needed a new place quick and conveniently Suigetsu knew a place close enough to his workplace and with someone that desperately needed a new roommate.”

Sakura tossed the fork over her shoulder in defeat and dropped her head into her hands. Ino reached over and patted her arm in a comforting manner.

“I give you guys two weeks.”

“Two weeks for what?” Sakura lifted her head up to narrow her eyes at Ino. “Before we kill each other?”

Ino covered Inojin’s ears one more time and said, “Two weeks before you’re fucking.”

“Ino!” Sakura sat up, looking affronted, hand clutching the front of her apron.

“You guys used to go at it like rabbits,” Ino gave her a sly smile, “and it’s not like you guys broke up because you grew to hate each other.”

“That was years ago, Ino.” Sakura rolled her eyes and pushed the cake slices closer to Inojin. He immediately sank his fingers into the cake and ate from his hands. “He’s probably moved on anyway.”

“It was the stupidest break up.”

“I know it was, but we were so busy and our schedules never aligned. It was frustrating.” Sakura sighed and stared off into space. “It’s been four years…”

Ino took out some wet wipes and cleaned Inojin’s chubby fingers. “So what are you going to do?”

Sakura shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Ino looked at her incredulously. “You’re just going to live with him and not do a thing about it.”

“I didn’t even notice he was there for three days already.” Sakura shrugged again. “And our schedules never sync up. I really don’t think it will be an issue.”

“Unless he brings someone home,” Ino said the words slowly so Sakura couldn’t miss what she was telling her.

“He’s not as insensitive as that.” Sakura crossed her arms in front of her chest. The action was to get as close to hugging herself without actually doing it.

The truth was that the Sasuke she knew wasn’t insensitive. But she didn’t know this Sasuke; a Sasuke that was twenty-five instead of the twenty year old she knew and loved.

The new apartment was a lot closer to the tattoo parlor he worked at than his old place. It was one of the things that sold him on it when Suigetsu mentioned that Karin was moving in with him and leaving her old roomie without. That and the washer and dryer included in the apartment which meant no more paying at a laundromat or to use the communal laundry center.

Sasuke wasn’t too keen on sharing a space with a woman he didn’t know but Karin insisted that his roommate was clean and quiet and that with her work schedule he wouldn’t be running into her except on Sundays when her bakery was closed.

Bakery.

That was the first sign that had him want to put the pen down and walk away. Because baking is what she wanted to do for a living. But what were the odds that Karin was talking about her? There were tons of bakeries in the city and Sakura didn’t own one the last time he checked.

But that was five years ago when she was nineteen and too young. She was still pretty young to be a business owner but with Sakura’s tenacity there was a highly likely chance that she would have her own shop. And wasn’t that one of the reasons she had been saving every penny she could when she started working?

Shaking his head of all of those thoughts, he had signed the documents that would transfer him as the new leasee replacing Karin.

It wasn’t until he was moving in that Sasuke found out who exactly Karin’s roommate had been.

Suigetsu and he were bringing in boxes while Karin gave him a tour of the apartment when he saw the photos on the wall. Anyone could dye their hair pink but what were the odds that another pink haired woman around Karin’s age would have gone to Catholic school for high school and wore the same uniform that Sakura used to prance around in.

“Sakura is pretty sentimental so she has photos all over the apartment,” he distantly heard Karin explain as he examined all of the photos that were lined up in the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Come check out the bathroom. It’s pretty big ‘cause the washer and dryer are set up in there. There’s a door to block out that area from the toilet and shower cabin for some privacy. It’s frosted glass but you can’t really see what’s going on on the other side.”

Karin hadn’t been friends with Sakura when the two of them had been dating so he couldn’t fault her for not knowing but Suigetsu did know that Sakura was his ex.

An ex he was still kind of hung up on.

Which is why after work he headed to the bar with Kiba and Tamaki, Kiba’s fiancée. They were supposed to celebrate him finding a new place but after Kiba asked why Suigetsu wasn’t there, Sasuke explained that he was banned from their usual bar for a few weeks because he let him move in with his ex without warning him.

If he was lucky he would never have to run into Sakura while he was living there. Because wasn’t that the cause of their breakup before? With her busy culinary school schedule and apprenticeship and then his work at the parlor running into late at night, they barely saw each other.

So stumbling in slightly drunk and a little high at three in the morning, Sasuke didn’t expect to see her on the other side of the apartment door in the middle of bundling up for the November cold.

Sakura still looked like she did at nineteen but different at the same time. Her face had lost most of the roundness of youth, but her figure was no longer as slim. She was still on the thin side, but unlike Karin who was all sharp edges and harsh angles, Sakura had filled out either with age or from eating one too many of her own cupcakes.

Sasuke ran a hand through his hair before tucking the arm it was attached to behind his head. He was finding it difficult to stay asleep which was all he had planned on doing before work for the day. Sakura had said something about talking later and he had been dreading having to have the conversation. He vaguely recalled saying something snarky about her running late for work. No doubt she would be upset over that.

The conversation was going to happen. But considering he would be gone before she came home from work, who knew when it would actually take place.

If he was lucky, she would wait until they were home and not find him at work like she used to.

When Sasuke first met Sakura she was wearing all of the cliche warning signs.

He was busy sketching when she strolled into the shop. Sasuke was supposed to be manning the reception desk and was likely to get bitched at by his cousin’s best friend for not paying attention.

“Hey,” greeted a cheerful voice.

Looking up from his sketchbook, Sasuke blinked in confusion at what he was seeing. Before him stood two teenage girls wearing the dark green tartan patterned pleated skirt and white button down shirt of a school uniform. The blonde one had a sweater wrapped around her waist but the slightly shorter girl with rose gold hair had a cream colored school cardigan with the school crest emblazoned on the left side of her chest.

“Our Lady of Sorrows is seven blocks,” Sasuke pointed out the door, “that way.”

“We have an appointment.” The blonde girl blew a bubble with her gum and popped it. “The school day also ended like an hour ago, dude.”

Raising an eyebrow, he flipped through the appointment book and asked, “names?”

“Ino Yamanaka and Sakura Haruno,” the girl with the pink hair answered, pointing at the girl that matched the names she gave. “We have an appointment with my cousin Sasori.”

Looking down the schedule log there it was. The new piercer did have an appointment with an Ino and a Sakura.

“Aren’t piercings prohibited at catholic schools?” Sasuke asked, eyeing the uniforms.

“Yeah, but you can’t get caught if you get them where the nuns can’t see them.” The pink haired girl winked at him, green eyes sparkling mischievously.

“What kind of piercings are you getting then?” He asked, taking out the waiver forms.

“Belly button for Ino.” The blonde girl raised her hand and took her form and filled out the form.

He turned to Sakura and waited for her answer. Her lips turned upwards at the corners in a coy smile.

“Hips.”

Even now, if Sasuke closed his eyes and concentrated on the memory of Sakura swiveling her hips as he thrust up into her, he could see the jewelry twinkling at him as she dipped her hips.

A lot of years had gone by since that first encounter and Sasuke was no longer the shop slave he was during his apprenticeship and Sakura was no longer that rebellious catholic school girl.

It didn’t stop him from wondering if her dermals were still in place or if after all those years her skin rejected the piercings and they had to be removed.

“What’s up with you, kid?” He felt someone ruffle his hair and he swatted at the air. The only one that had the courage to do so was Konan, one of their piercers.

“Nothing,” he replied, sanitizing the tattoo bed before his next client showed up.

“His ex girlfriend found out he lives with her,” Kiba cackled from his work station. Sasuke took his discarded gloves and threw them across the room until they hit him with a smack. “Ow!”

“Why would that be a surprise?” Konan asked. Sasuke made himself busy taking needles to the autoclave to avoid responding.

“She works baker’s hours,” Sasuke heard Kiba responding for him. “They have opposing schedules so Sui’s girlfriend took care of everything.”

“Good luck with that.” Konan went to the reception counter to check the appointment book. She had already moved on from the conversation.

I’m going to need more than luck, Sasuke grumbled inwardly.

Sakura drummed her fingers against her mug, nails clinking against the ceramic. She knew Sasuke wouldn’t get home until late so she called the co-owner of her bakery and asked her to oversee the baking of the everyday goods the following morning.

While Sakura mostly ran the show in the kitchen—Hinata being too soft and gentle to command the staff—she was mostly the cake artist and worked on custom orders. It was a lot more relaxed than the job she had as a pastry chef for the high end hotel in the city, but it still demanded a lot of her time.

She could spend hours of her day just to work on a cake that would still take her three days to make all of the components for it.

It wasn’t until one in the morning that the front door creaked open, keys jingling as they were pulled out of the lock.

“You stayed up.” Sasuke toed his boots off and lined them up next to hers. The leather work boots were of a popular brand so they hadn’t alarmed Sakura despite them being part of Sasuke’s signature look.

Sakura stood up from his seat at the couch and wrapped her oversized cardigan tighter around her body. She hugged herself, feeling exposed in her pajamas. “I said we had to talk.”

“There’s not much to talk about.” Sasuke tossed his keys on the kitchen island. Sakura grabbed them and placed them on a wall hook next to her own set of keys. “I need a place to live, you need a roommate. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Sakura asked, voice soft and slow, urging him to re-examine their situation. When he continued to stare at her impassively, Sakura scoffed.

“I didn’t know you were Karin’s roommate until I was moving in.”

“I know.” Sakura ran a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs back. Sasuke wasn’t a liar. At least the Sasuke she knew wasn’t a liar. “I know.”

“So is this the end of the discussion?” Sasuke’s eyes drifted from her to the hallway behind her. It was late and all he wanted was to get to bed. “I don’t really see any problem with us living together. You didn’t even notice that I was here for three days.”

The problem is that I never got over you. “Alright, if there’s no problem then let’s go over the rules.”

“Rules?” Sasuke gave her a blank look.

“Yes, rules. Karin and I had them and now so will we.”

“Okay.” Sasuke crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the island. “What are your rules?”

“Rule number one: no fucking on the couch.”

Sasuke’s eyes went wide and he choked on an inhale. “That’s a rule you guys had or is that one you made for me?”

“That was an actual rule we had.” Sakura shivered in disgust. “Suigetsu has a very pale ass.”

“Yeah, everyone’s seen more of Sui than they’ve ever wanted to.”

“Rule number two: toilet seat needs to be put back down after use.”

“Okay, that’s definitely one you made up for me.” Sasuke stood you straighter and looked her up and down. “Do I get to make rules too?”

“I will consider them.”

“Alright.” Sasuke was silent for a moment as he pondered. “No obnoxious noises such as vacuuming when you know the other is sleeping.”

“That’s reasonable.” Sakura sat down on one of the bar stools at the island and took out her notepad. She took out a pen and wrote down a few lines. “I do my laundry twice a week━Wednesdays and Sundays, usually around noon. Having a schedule kind of helps out ‘cause the laundry room is in the bathroom.”

They went back and forth writing down rules and going over each other’s work schedule. Sakura tapped the pen on the table and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to step on any toes or be misunderstood but she needed to bring up an uncomfortable topic.

“No overnight guests.” Sasuke raised an eyebrow and in a rush to recover Sakura blurted out, “for either of us! At least not without a heads up. I don’t want to be walking around in my underwear and there’s a stranger in my home.”

“Why would you be walking around in your━?”

“I sleep like that sometimes!” Sakura snapped, cheeks heating up. “I wake up to use the bathroom or get water and I’m too drowsy to consider pants.”

“Why do you sleep in your underwear if you get cold easily?” Sasuke’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I come home too tired to change so I just sleep in my underwear.” Sakura stomped her foot. Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “Don’t judge me!”

“Just remember that I live here now and will see your ass if you decide that pants are too much,” Sasuke yawned, “effort. I’m going to bed now.”

Sakura watched him head to his room with a frown on her face. It wasn’t until she heard the lock on his door click that she let out an exhausted sigh.

Does he have to look cute when he’s sleepy?

“Is this too much for a three year old’s birthday?” Sakura sat back and looked thoughtfully at her sketch with her chin resting on her fist.

Hinata shrugged as she continued to pipe buttercream flowers. “I mean it’s more for Ino, isn't it?”

“God,” Sakura rolled her eyes, “it really is. I’m sure Inojin would be happy with a dinosaur on a cake instead of a dinosaur made out of cake.”

Hinata giggled softly as she continued to make a bouquet out of cupcakes. She was working on cupcakes for a bridal shower. Sakura had helped her with the structure to make it appear that it was suspended in the air and now all she had to do was decorate it.

When Sakura had met Hinata, the young woman wasn’t the best baker. It was an issue of confidence and being unsure if it was the best decision she had made. Upon discovering that Hinata had a few years to become a successful baker or get married to a man her father chose, Sakura took her under her wing and when they were ready they used Hinata’s trust fund to secure a location.

At that point Sakura already had a reputation for her cake sculptures so they lucked out.

Just because Sakura couldn’t be with the person she loved, it didn’t mean she was going to watch someone give up on their dream and marry someone they were forced to.

“So how has Tinder been working out for you?” Sakura drawled as she took out the ingredients she was going to need.

“I prefer Bumble, actually,” Hinata mumbled, face flushing pink. “You know it’s weird describing myself as pleasantly plump. Usually I would just say fat or chubby.”

“But you are pleasantly plump,” Sakura teased her. “And good call on Bumble. Message any guys?”

“I might have,” Hinata muttered under her breath, face turning a dark shade of red.

“Oh, you dirty slut.”

“We only met for coffee!” Hinata insisted over Sakura’s laughter. Sakura waved her hand at her and tried to reign in her laughter. It was quiet in the kitchen until Hinata said, “I wouldn’t have minded though. He has such pretty blue eyes.”

Sakura only stopped laughing when Hinata threw buttercream at her face.

The assistants walked in from the front of the shop to find Sakura covered in pink and purple frosting, armed with a piping bag full of green frosting, and Hinata shielding her cupcake sculpture.

Sakura was exhausted by the time she got home. It was one of those rare days where she didn’t get home until late. There was so much math and engineering into creating cake sculptures and trial and error.

She slumped against her apartment door and groaned. She had just unlocked the door but had no energy to push it open.

“You’re almost there, don’t pass out now.” Turning slightly, Sakura mumbled incoherently at the sight of Sasuke holding a take out bag. “Jesus Christ, you’re dead on your feet.”

“Carry me,” Sakura grumbled.

Sighing to himself, Sasuke handed her the bag of takeout and crouched down, scooping her legs up and cradling her. “How the fuck did Karin deal with you? She’s twiggy.”

“Suigetsu was usually around or she’d drag me across the floor.” Sakura opened the bag of food and examined the contents as Sasuke set her down on the couch. “Anything I’d like in here?”

“I thought you would be sleeping, but I have some stuff you could tolerate.” He grabbed two plates and brought them to the coffee table and began to serve her some of his food. “Do you ever take a break?”

“I have a day off tomorrow technically.”

“But you’re going to go to work.” Sasuke shook his head, unruly hair swaying around his face. “Typical.”

And with that Sakura lost all desire to eat despite not having had anything to eat all day except for some bread and tastings.

“Hey, where are you? It’s getting weird just sitting here. I can order right now if you’re nearby.”

“Oh, shoot! Sasuke I’m sorry but I’m still at work.”

“Wasn't today your day off?”

So what if she was a “workaholic?” If she were a man no one would see anything wrong with how much she worked.

She knew that eventually she was going to be faced with reminders of what a shitty girlfriend she had been, but she had hoped that she would be alone as she looked back on all of the mistakes she had made.

Sasuke had forgiven her for the first missed date but once he had been stood up a second, third, fourth, fifth time he stopped making any plans for them.

“I gotta take this coat off,” Sakura mumbled, fumbling with the buttons. Sasuke reached over and helped her get free of her coat and then hung it up on the hooks by the door. If he was going to be this nice for the duration of the time they lived together, the shittier she was going to feel.

“Karin said you owned a bakery. When did that happen?” He handed her a plate full of food, much more food than Sakura would have served herself, but one look from Sasuke had her clamming up and taking the set of chopsticks he placed flat across her palm.

“A few years ago…” Sakura swallowed a bite of dumpling. “It was kind of an accident.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow and paused in his chewing. Sakura laughed through her nose and explained to him how she had met Hinata.

She had been working at the same high end hotel she had done her apprenticeship when Hinata had been hired on the spot. The tiny, plump woman was quiet and stuttered when speaking to her coworkers because no one wanted her there.

Hinata had been hired because of her last name—the hotel being owned by the Hyūga family—with no references nor any culinary school training which was required to work at the Michelin star hotel restaurant. Due to the fact they were around the same age and because she was the newest hire, Sakura was tasked with watching over the woman. No one else would take up the responsibility thinking that Hinata would hold them back.

Sakura just couldn’t leave Hinata alone. She reminded her so much of herself when she was younger. She helped to train her during her off time and guided her through the French techniques that Sakura had been trained in.

The desire to learn and the drive was there, hidden under the fear of failure.

Sakura moved on to work at a custom cake shop where she could use more of her artistic abilities. Eventually the owner was ready to retire and was willing to sell the store to her.

She wanted to own her shop one day. It was part of her goals but brick and mortar shops were expensive. If it weren’t for Hinata’s trust fund she would never have been able to afford the shop. The two of them had kept in touch and when Sakura found out that Hinata was on her way to quitting being a pastry chef, they made plans to go into business together.

Sasuke listened to her story, never interjecting but nodding at certain intervals and slight facial shifts showing that Sakura still had his attention.

“So what have you been up to?” Sakura asked, digging through the leftover noodles in one of the cartons.

“I still work at the same shop. I moved out a few years ago. Funnily enough it was my mom that was on my case not my dad.”

“Really?” Sakura was genuinely shocked.

When she had last seen Fugaku he wasn’t the biggest supporter of Sasuke’s chosen profession. He had paid for him to go to art school, not to waste his talent working at a tattoo parlor. His mother, Mikoto, was the one that had always been his personal cheerleader.

“I think it was all of the new ink,” Sasuke gestured to his sleeve covered arms, “that really did it for my mom. She always made faces at them and commented about what kind of girl I thought I would be attracting with them.”

I always liked your tattoos. Sakura shrugged and stuffed noodles into her mouth to keep from commenting out loud.

When Sakura was just freshly eighteen and finishing her final year of high school, Sasuke was the exact kind of guy her grandmother had wanted her to stay away from. She had left money behind in her will for Sakura to attend the same school she and Sakura’s mother, Mebuki, had attended.

Our Lady of Sorrows was a Catholic private school that Sakura’s parents wouldn’t have been able to afford without the money her grandmother had left behind. She had probably hoped that Sakura would go to private school, be abstinent, go to college and then medical school and then eventually marry a doctor.

It was too bad that Sakura preferred to be in the kitchen with her father a lot more than she cared for her school. If they had let her stay in public school there may have been a better chance of her focusing on her studies and eventually going to medical school like her grandma had wanted her to. Sakura had been miserable at Our Lady of Sorrows, her only solace being Ino and baking.

And Sasuke.

Sasuke had been the kind of cliché salvation a teenage girl fantasized about. And she still couldn’t believe that at one point in their lives, she had been his.

Ino cut off the boy that usually sat at the desk in front of Sakura and slid into the seat, a manic look in her eyes. “Guess what?”

“I’m not playing this game,” Sakura laughed, completely ignoring the boy that was frowning at Ino.

“Well, fine. Be boring.” Ino huffed, blowing her bangs up and letting them flop back on her face. “But anyway so I was talking to your cousin Sasori━”

“Ino, he’s way too old for you and he’s gay. And you have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not why I was talking to your cousin, Billboard Brow.” Ino flicked Sakura’s forehead. “But anywho. So I went to visit your cousin at that parlor he’s working at now ‘cause I wanna get those piercings you wanted for your birthday━no arguments. They’re on me. We’re going after school.”

“That’s awfully generous of you.” Sakura pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at her. “Is Sasori giving you a discount?”

Ino scoffed. “I wish! That miser,” she grumbled. Ino shook her hair out and then smiled slyly at her. “But that’s not even the best part.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. Ino was really milking the big surprise. She was too impatient for this and the homeroom teacher would show up soon.

“Remember that mega hottie from the public school at the student showcase down at The Factory Art Center?”

Sakura groaned, dropping her head onto her planner. How could she forget? She was just lucky that he hadn’t seen her run straight into a wall because she had been so distracted. The only good thing that came about that was that Ino met her boyfriend Sai that day. And that the boy hadn’t noticed her accident.

It had been a student showcase for the senior students in the schools in the city and Sakura and Ino attended for extra credit. Sakura had been mindlessly looking at all of the pieces until a tall boy wearing all black with messy hair had caught her eye. She had barely heard Ino call out “Dibs!” before she ran into one of the pillars because she wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking.

Ino had given up chase and did her best friend duties by checking up on Sakura. Luckily for her, a different dark haired boy had seen the whole thing and had come over to help out and Ino got her older boyfriend anyway.

“That was almost a whole year ago. Why must you remind me that I embarrassed myself in front of like, seven different senior classes.”

“Mega hottie works at the parlor your cousin does. He’s an apprentice-slash-shop slave.”

That, Sakura hadn’t expected. She had seen his work and expected him to go off to art school and then maybe come back to The Factory Art Center to be a resident artist or for him to even switch tracks and work at Glass & Iron━he did have some lampwork and some welding work as part of his showcase.

“So what?” Sakura swallowed. The grin on Ino’s face was foreboding.

“So,” Ino reached over and played with the ends of Sakura’s long pink hair, “someone is going to take her cute butt down there and finally meet him.”

“Sakura.”

Sakura blinked at the hand that waved in front of her face. Sasuke looked down at her with concern. She looked just about ready to pass out in her noodles.

“Are you okay? You should probably get to bed.” He would just have to clean up everything on his own. And if she tried to go to work on her day off, he’d call the tiny red terror━Karin or Sakura’s cousin, Sasori━to force her to rest for once.

Sakura rubbed her eye with the back of her little fist and murmured, “I should. Thank you for the food.”

She was so small and tired, Sasuke just wanted to scoop her up and bundle her up in her blankets. But then he remembered that she would be going to her own room and he would be going to his and there were four years between now and when he was hers.

Did she still curl herself inward like a cat when she slept? Bury herself under three blankets that weighed almost as much she did?

He could help her to her room and find out. She was dead on her feet and would probably need him to keep from stumbling and running into a wall. It would be so easy to just curl his arm around her waist, pull her closer to his sturdier frame.

It would be easy, oh so easy. And that’s why Sasuke left her to her own devices.

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #day!fics

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citrineghost · 3 years

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If the book is damaged, that is Amazon's fault and should be brought to customer service, not the book reviews. If the issue is not handled appropriately by Amazon, leave Amazon a bad review on Google.

Rule #6: App reviews should mainly be about functionality or game quality

If a game says it includes in-app purchases, do not complain in the reviews that it contains in-app purchases unless they literally ruin the functionality and fun of the game because of how they're implemented. If the game is playable and fun without buying anything, even if you're annoyed you don't have the paid content, you have no right to leave it a negative review. You were warned there were in-app purchases and you chose to play it. Your disappointment is on you. Find a game without in-app purchases if they upset you.

If an app is free and has ads in it, and it is labeled as having ads in it, do not complain in the reviews about the ads unless they are game-breaking or so frequent that the app is intolerable. If a round of a game lasts a minute and you receive a 30 second ad after every round, the creator is abusing ads for revenue and that is fair to include in a review. If you receive a 15 second ad after every 5 rounds, suck it up. That's how free apps stay afloat. If they bother you, pay to remove ads. Almost all free apps with ads have a pay-to-remove option.

When you leave your review it should be about how well the app works, if it's useful, if it's organized well, if it has bugs or frequently crashes, etc. For games, it's the same, plus the element of fun levels and whatnot.

Rule #7: Reviews for establishments or franchises are not company reviews

If McDonald's gets rid of the McRib, do not leave a negative review for your local McDonald's that had no say in the matter. Go review the entire company on Google.

When you review a specific branch or franchise, you're reviewing the employees, the cleanliness, and the quality of the food, within reasonable expectation of the type of establishment it is. Do not leave a negative review on a McDonald's because their burger wasn't the kind of thing you get at Outback. The point of these reviews is to let locals or visitors know whether or not the establishment is run well and worth going to.

Do not leave a negative review for a restaurant that's very busy. If your servers are working at a reasonable pace, you cannot blame the restaurant for having a lunch rush and leaving you in the drive through for ten minutes while they serve people ahead of you. If your food is good and you leave a good review, you can always note that the business gets mad lunch rushes in your written review, but this shouldn't affect your star rating.

Now, if there's one person ahead of you and you're standing in line for ten minutes while employees are on their cellphones, that's terrible service and deserves a bad review.

If Dairy Queen charges fifty cents for extra sauces, it's not the fault of the employee informing you and following procedure. If you're pissed about the sauce price, take it up with corporate. Your review should reflect the attitude of the employee serving you, not the information they have to offer.

You get the idea.

So now, go forth and actually make reviews that make sense and don't unfairly judge or shit on the people or objects your review is directed at.

Reviews aren't just for customer use, they often have very real affects on the jobs and livelihoods of the people they're directed at. Make jokes in your review if you want to, but make your star rating fair and actually attempt to give useful information when writing a review.

And remember, if you have a problem with a product not arriving, being damaged, or anything else, always review the response to the inconvenience, not the inconvenience itself. It's okay to note the inconvenience in a written review, but it shouldn't be reflected in the star rating!

#rating #ratings #review #reviews #Amazon #Kindle #McDonald's #food #books #games #psa #ghostpost #rant #long post

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years

Text

Stationary Traveler | Chapter I | Prosciutto x F!Reader

In which Prosciutto enlists the aid of a waitress to fulfill a hit placed on two former members of Passione.

Chapter Content Warnings: Smoking & Alcohol Consumption

“How long do I have?”

“One month.”

Prosciutto lifts the blazing cigarette to his lips and nods. Smoke fills the cavities of his lungs and pockets in his mouth. It permeates through the room. Flipping the filter in his grasp, he offers the cigarette to Risotto. Contemplation flashes across his red eyes, yet he does not take it. Prosciutto knows better than to press the matter.

Instead, Risotto thumbs through the dossier atop the desk. Reports and photographs adorn the pages, crudely stamped into place by wired paperclips and transparent tape. “You’re going to Calabria,” the silver-haired man states. “They bled Volpe dry before they fled. But they were sloppy and got caught selling the Boss’s own product outside of his territory.”

They – the targets: Caponata and Tortano.

“They left a trail,” Prosciutto comments, bleakly.

“Indeed, and it turned cold in Calabria two months ago – Tropea, specifically. But we know that they’re still there. Passione has no reach in Vibo Valentia: that territory still belongs to one of the remaining families from La ‘Ndrangheta. There’s a man who owns a restaurant in Tropea. His name is Ditalini Mina. He orchestrates a narcotics ring there, and he pays Passione directly for protection.”

Prosciutto stubs his spent cigarette against the crystalline ashtray. “And?”

“Caponata came to Ditalini,” Risotto says. “And Ditalini sold him out – but he doesn’t know this. You need to get to Ditalini, though he won’t speak to you; it won’t matter to him whether you are from Passione or not. Know this: the Boss has specified that the restaurant owner should not to be harmed. Unless, of course, you find out that he has been in fact aided Caponata.”

“You want me to kill him if he betrayed the Boss,” Prosciutto repeats. “I’m assuming I won’t be compensated any more for this. Why bother?”

Risotto says nothing of the backhanded comment. He points to the roster of Ditalini’s employees. A stack of photograph makes for supplementary viewing. “I recommend that you acquaint yourself with one of his staff – find out what they know before taking matters into your own hands. It might help you to avoid unneeded attention, should you find that the man is working for Caponata.”

The photographs shift as Prosciutto lays them out before him. He notes that only two women work for the man: Farinata Pavone and [Y/N] Una. Either of them will suffice. In his experience, he has found that the lips of a target are easily loosened by expensive gifts or sex. It is a horrible thing to do, using someone like that, and one that he reserves as a last-resort option.

“Ditalini frequents Di Maccu several times a week. But he never goes alone. Perhaps you should start there.”

With a sharp nod, Prosciutto closes the dossier and tucks it betwixt his arm and torso. His evening will be spent pouring over its contents, committing every face and every name to memory. “When do I leave?” he finally asks.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Prosciutto sighs. He cares little for unnecessarily arduous contracts, and this is no exception – he is paid to take lives, not to play detective. Yet, he is grateful for the work.

“I suppose I better start packing then,” he concludes with a sigh. After all, this job has never been easy.

The air within Di Maccu smells faintly of cinnamon and bergamot, courtesy of the incense burning atop the mantle of the sealed fireplace. An English song echoes through the speakers. The words are foreign to many of the bar’s occupants; yet this has never stopped the younger crowds from swaying in their seats as they upheld conversations amongst each other.

For un mercoledì sera, the bar is considerably full. The table nearest to the front door is occupied by three employees from the restaurant Il Basilico Sospeso: Farinata, a waitress and woman of twenty-six with a deep affinity for clubbing; Pandoro, a line cook who had first been hired as a young boy assigned to washing dishes; and the owner Ditalini Mina, an older man who colors the silver steaks in his greying hair with gawdy black dye like epoxy paint.

As she lowers the martini, Farinata’s voice slips from her mouth in chorus to the young pop-star’s ballad. In the waitress’s state of unassuming lucidity, she effortlessly slips into the foreign language of the singer and hums along.

Ditalini smirks over the rim of his frosted pint glass. Pandoro releases a cloud of white smoke into the air before offering his cigarette to the singing woman. She plucks it from his fingers with greed. Her red lipstick stains the wax paper. Ditalini taps the face of his studded watch. “What’s taking her so long?” he asks, his speech cutting above the music.

Farinata shrugs and flicks ashes away from the smoldering cigarette. “Maybe she died,” she says in a tone that might suggest that she is only joking. “I’ll text her.”

Pandoro leans back in his chair and points towards the window that hangs above their table. “No need,” he insists. “Here she comes now.”

The door opens, sending a ring through the cramped bar as the bell above the arch jingles. Several patrons turn to observe you – the new customer – but mostly everyone else remains focused on their own drinks. Hair sticks to your face, plastered by a light sheen of sweat. You slump down in the unoccupied chair across from Ditalini. Your coworkers gawk at you with grins. You wonder if Pandoro knows that his bottom row of teeth is filled with rot.

“Took you long enough!” Farinata berates. She holds the cigarette out to you, which you promptly refuse and instead move to fix your own hair via the guidance of your reflection in the window.

“Sorry I’m late,” you huff, digging through your purse for your money and photo identification card. “Trish needed help with her book report.”

“A book report?” Pandoro snorts. “This late in the evening?”

“Did I mention how it’s due tomorrow morning and she waited until tonight to start it?”

Ditalini brushes away fallen cigarette ashes with the back of his hand. “Well, you sister set you an hour back,” he chortles. “You have a lot of catching up to do – go on, get your drink. We’re not going anywhere.”

You do not need to be told twice. The sound of your kitten heels clacking off the brick floors is lost to the thrum of laughter and music. The line at the end of the bar is wrapped all the way back to the jukebox. The only empty barstool is the second one from the rightmost end, nearest the line, and is sandwiched between two men. The first man strikes up a conversation with the woman to his left – who, you think, is admittedly too pretty for him. The second man stares at the bottles of fruit-flavored rums straight ahead of him. You cannot help but to notice his peculiarly styled hair, held in place by four vertically braided buns at the back of his blonde head.

You weigh your options and decide that you do not have the patience (for it never has been a virtue of yours) to stand in the line. So, you settle for the barstool. It creaks beneath your weight and scuttles against the floor. The bartender – aptly Maccu himself – takes your awaiting identification card. His trained eyes scan over the finest details of lamination and creasing. Satisfied that you are of the legal drinking age, he returns the card and places a cork coaster before you.

“What can I get for you?” he asks.

“A vodka cranberry, per favore.”

“Lime?”

“Sì, grazie.”

“Any preference for your vodka?”

You clutch the wad of cash in your hand. “Whatever’s cheapest,” you specify.

“Make it a Grey Goose.” Maccu’s head snaps in the direction of the raspy tone belonging to the blonde man seated next to you; the man’s interjection has surprised you both. “Put it on my tab.”

With a quick smile, the bartender reaches for the top-self liquors. “Thank you,” you tell the man beside you. “But you didn’t need to do that.”

"Forgive my intrusion. It’s just that you look like someone who’s had a difficult day,” he nonchalantly insists, as if it is his custom to buy expensive drinks for strangers. You take note of your appearance in the wall mirror; its honesty is frightening compared to the sight that greeted you in the window. You swipe the back of your hand across your puffed, swollen eyes – you have bled your makeup dry. “None of that cheap American shit is going to make you feel any better. In fact, I would hardly call it vodka.”

You humor him: “That’s an astute observation. My mother isn’t doing well – that’s all.”

He hums to himself and returns to the bourbon that has been watered down by the melting block of ice. Despite his initial cordiality, he has made it painfully obvious that he does not genuinely wish to hold a conversation with you. Perhaps it is because of the bombshell you have only just dropped – perhaps you have killed the mood.

You were not late this evening because of Trish’s procrastination over a school assignment; in truth, there is no book report either. Your tardiness could only be blamed by an urgent phone call from your mother’s doctor. It is a challenge in and of itself to face your coworkers (whom you do not entirely care for) when you have just been told that your mother is dying.

Maccu places your purple drink atop the coaster. You thank him and squeeze the lime into the glass. Loosened seeds filter past the floating ice cubes and settle at the bottom of the glass like sediment. Your mother may be close to death’s door, but you deserve a night out nonetheless; Trish herself had insisted it.

You turn to the blonde man. “My name’s [Y/N], by the way.”

He looks up from his drink and offers his name with a faint smirk: “Prosciutto.”

You take a sip of your beverage and wince at the chill that bites at your teeth. Though your coworkers are waiting for your return, you refuse to go back. Considering your circumstances, it is not the best night to put up with Farinata’s drunken clinginess or Pandoro’s eccentricities, or to mask your annoyances with geniality.

This goes without saying that Ditalini brings about an entirely new level of discomfort for you; he unnerves you to your very core. You have worked for him for months now, and still that feeling of anxiousness gnaws at you every time you see him. In the beginning, it had been the intimidation – that he is your boss and you a new employee with limited work experience. He never hesitated to reprimand you in front of the others whenever you over-poured liquor or lost track of the rotation. But you were quick to learn. You had to be.

Ditalini has high expectations, and waitstaff is expendable.

You remember the night of the incident too clearly. You were leaving for the evening, and you used the backdoor that lead to the parking lot to exit the restaurant. And there, just before the dumpsters, stood your boss and a customer. You recognized the latter as one of your own patrons, and he had left you a sizeable tip. He held an oddly shaped parcel in his hands. Ditalini paged through a booklet of money. You had not meant for them to see you.

Ditalini’s reaction to your unwarranted intrusion had consisted only of a simple wave and a toothy grin. Among many things, you like to think that you are not a terribly ignorant person. It is not exactly a secret to the locals of Tropea that Ditalini had come from old mafia family roots, or that he used Il Basilico Sospeso as his own money-laundering scapegoat. The restaurant simply could not get by on selling underpriced beers and antipasto platters alone. You often wonder whether cocaine sales are tax deductible or not.

The very next day, Ditalini had pulled you into his office and ushered you to sit in the armchair across from his oak desk. The leather crinkled upon contact, contorting like the skin of a spoiled plum. You felt as if you were in a doctor’s office, under the scrutiny of a specialist; your boss certainly watched you the same way as your former family practitioner. You were prepared to be fired or shot in the head. Instead, Ditalini merely requested that you accompany him and the others on their weekly sojourns to Di Maccu.

You were quick to suspect the man’s ulterior motives: he sought to placate your silence with a false sense of comradery.

Downing the rest of your drink, you glance over at the table. Ditalini peers at you and rolls his emptied glass in the air as if he is contemplating another round. You turn away with a shudder. Regret is a familiar friend – you chastise yourself for finally caving into his request. You set your finished glass on the coaster. The man, Prosciutto has downed his bourbon as well. He places a hand inside his dark blue suit jacket; the sleeve shimmies up his arm just enough to reveal a silver-plated wristwatch. The corner of an MS cigarette carton pokes through his inner jacket pocket.

“Do you smoke?” he suddenly asks you.

Your eyes meet his steel-blue gaze. You think, as you take in his composed appearance, that he looks out of place in this bar. An expertly tailored suit and a large gold pendant hanging from his neck – not to mention his wristwatch – are not part of the typical uniform of the usual crowd. Di Maccu is certainly not the glitzy cocktail bar that would otherwise compliment Prosciutto’s fashion choices. He cocks a blonde eyebrow at you; you realize that your hesitation to respond has irked him.

“No, I don’t,” you tell him. Even his cigarettes are expensive.

He nods before resting his coaster on top of his bourbon glass. His form disappears as he slips through the backdoor and into the parking lot. Before he slipped away, you noticed a silver-plated lighter in his hand. It matches his wristwatch.

There is no policy that prohibits smoking inside of Maccu’s bar. Farinata and Pandoro have already demonstrated that. And yet, the handsome blonde stranger dubbed Prosciutto took himself outside to do it. Perhaps his decision was made of respect – otherwise, it came from an unspoken desire to escape from the noise confined within the bar’s walls.

Maccu comes by to collect your empty glass. “How much was my drink?” you ask him.

“13,000 lire.”

You count the proper amount and tuck it beneath Prosciutto’s cup. While you appreciate his gesture of goodwill, you cannot allow him to pay for your drink. You know well enough that a stranger in a bar would only do such a thing if he was looking for a quickie in the bathroom. Tonight is not the night for that.

Your purse begins to vibrate. You sort through discarded gum wrappers and dried mascara cartilages to find your cell phone. The bright green light of its face glares up at you

Trish – 2 New Messages:

can u come home

please i dont want 2 b alone

Ditalini stops you at the door. His hand rests on your bare shoulder, his skin calloused like sandpaper. You tug away from him, cautious not to draw attention from your other coworkers. “Is everything alright, bella?” he questions; the slur of his speech implies his intoxication, as if you could not already detect it on his breath.

You nod fervently and clutch your purse. “Trish needs my help again, that’s all,” you tell him. You feign disappointment. This seems to please him. “So, I’m heading home.”

“Would you like me to drive you? It’s late, you know.”

“No, grazie però.” You reply too hastily, but he does not notice the inflection. “I don’t live too far from here.”

And you are gone before he can protest.

| 2688 Words |

* Please note that future chapters will only be posted to Ao3 - you can find the link to my profile under my navigation tab

#prosciutto x reader #prosciutto #la squadra #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader #vento aureo #golden wind

49 notes · View notes

veinwalk · 3 years

Text

RIAIN DRABBLE: THE NORM

WARNING FOR: Blood, Gore, Torture, Drugs, Adult Themes

The nightlife, the noisy compound that was a part of this city BUSTLING with life and sound that drowned out the ability to think. But in a club, thinking was the last thing people did. No one paid mind to what happened around them, the people they were chatting with, the wolves among the cattle. No, they were too busy with the next drink, the next body to flirt with, a chance for a one-night stand in another dirty hotel room or old car. It was, in a sense, the best place for the criminals and scum to come to mingle, for deals to go down and plans to be lost within the mindless chatter of another round of songs and people trying to yell above those. No wonder the newest target of interest to the self-titled GOD had chosen this place.

’ WHERE THEY COULD TAKE ADVANTAGE, HE COULD TOO

Frame rested rather lax with arms crossed over the top bar of the catwalk, blue eyes pinpointing the group of gang members- another budding group, trying to make some type of NAME in the city of ██████ . In reality, nothing more organized than MOST groups of criminals in this city. A bunch of gun wielding drug dealers, making their money off of selling dry-wall packed drugs and cheating their customers for more then what they get. They were HARDLY recognizable, and otherwise would be of no interest to him. More people in the background, meaning nothing to his goals. What WAS of interest was things they had a hold of- the bag loosely pushed under the table, its content SUPPOSEDLY holding a rare batch of chemicals. Now it was just in a poor game of torch passing, probably sold to them under an IGNORANT idea it was useful for another batch of cooking, realizing that was wrong, and trying to sell it off again. The Kingpin, currently, was watching over the deal- his own gang member working as the mouth.

Earpiece buzzed with the information and conversation gotten, the higher quality of the piece muting a good amount of the background noise. ❝ keep chatting him up. make sure you get him to open the package, don’t just take it. move it up so i can see it when you do.❞ Calm voice spoke directly to his middleman into the ear piece, watching. His position on the upper floor was beneficial- off to the side, a good view but not making him SUSPICIOUS. Just another more relax frame. Any talking he did could easily be masked by his other crew members with him, another mouth moving to chat with some ‘friends’. Everything seemed so NORMAL, nothing standing out.

Minutes stacked onto each other, fingers starting to tap in IMPATIENCE in spite of themselves. However, beyond that, he did nothing to make it evident that he was.

FINALLY. Eyes followed as the bag was moved up, the black cloth moving and settling as it was placed upon the table, catching as the voice in the piece did exactly what was asked and demanded the package was opened. In it rest a clear container filled with an incredibly light yellow liquid. As the other moved the container, he gave a distant visual examination of it. ❝ put the money on the table, and take the package. meet out back.❞ He spoke as he turned, a nod given to the other members near him. Hand moved up to the ear-piece, pulling it out and putting it into his pocket.

’ A MUTTERED GUNSHOT

And another, and another. He didn’t need to see the nods back from his crew members, or them drawing their guns from their holders to know his UNSPOKEN COMMAND had gotten across. Screams and yells were delayed, movement like a wave- when his steps brought him to the stairs and eyes were back towards THE SPOT OF INTEREST, it was noted that those nearer freaked out first, the domino effect taking place. Some people hadn’t seemed to notice, music of more focus and proximity not close enough, for the fresh dead in a bloodied booth to be of interest. Then, there was movement TOWARDS the scene- his workers moving to keep the one intentionally living man of the gang from leaving. The dealers. Others focused on the door, blocking the exits, or disabling internal phones. The lack of signal service did a hand on that. Cameras already disabled earlier, eyes watching to make sure no pictures were taken. There was some time to buy.

Riain moved over to his speaker, who had been unaware of just how things were TRULY expected to go- intentionally kept in the dark. He didn’t need someone anxious of the gunfire that was BOUND to happen. He grabbed the bag from him, taking it back over to the table and sitting in the same spot he had been- the only spot untainted by blood. The carrier and the content inside were placed haphazardly where they had been before, hands placed over each other in a manner of professionalism. Sharp blue hues stared at the other, the smile worn seemed like an ATTEMPT at something friendly but it was just wrong. ❝ now, onto real business❞

Words, comments, rushed out remarks that ❛I gave what the other guy what he paid for! ’ with an expected mix of vulgarity. The brunette stopped him. ❝ i didn’t pay for dyed water with-❞ Top had peeled off , catching a smell from it. ❝ coriander and lemon juice? i give you credit for at least attempting to give a similar smell, but effort gets you no where. especially poor ones❞ Container placed down, with some effort to not spill the contents despite it being of no use to him. Or at least, as was. ❝ now where’s the real one?❞

An eye roll was given as more excuses were given, poor insults of him being a dumb ass and this was the real thing, he ❛ didn’t know shit ’ . The Kingpin moved from his seat, standing up and leaning over the table and getting in front of the other. ❝ well, let me just test it then.❞ Before words could be given towards this, hand reached behind the other’s head and forced the others face to meet the liquid, the large jar-like container working in his favor as it covered up mouth and nose. Force was exerted to make sure the air pocket between the liquid and the top of the container couldn’t be reached, the tension evidently testing the skin pressed against the lip of the container. The two to the dealers side grabbed him to stop squirming, the bubbles being notable from the liquid as the other tried to breathe. OBVIOUSLY, someone wasn’t used to torture. Should’ve held breathe. He gave him 40 seconds, before releasing him and settling back himself. ❝ want to claim i don’t know what i know again? if you want, when i get the real stuff i can demonstrate just how it really should have acted on your skin. trust me, it will give you more then red eyes and a hard time breathin’.❞ Eyes remained steeled on the dark-haired man, watching the color return to his face and making the red ring around his lower face start to dissipate just slightly- other then the areas were it seemed some under-skin bleeding had started due to the pressure. The ‘fuck you’ he got didn’t draw much from the criminal, what did gain more response was more excuses. Apparently this man did not learn. He looked at the man on his right, nodding to repeat what he just did. As he did, a gun on the table was grabbed by the king and the butt of the gun was knocked against the jar, causing it to shatter and face to hit against the pieces. ❝ factor number 2- you wouldn’t put that chemical into a weak glass like this.❞

Every great teacher could get to the worst of students, when the man picked himself up again, blood rushing down his face from in between glass shards and mixing with the blood spilled from the corpses around them, the fear, the signs before the words the other was starting to crumble and would ‘beg for their life’ were there. And low-and-behold, the whimpered ‘pleases’ and ‘alrights’ came forth, spilling the fact that it was in a car parked in the back lot. ❝ let’s escort you back there then.❞ The words were less towards the victim and more towards his own men to grab him, which they did. The Director moved away from the table, feet carrying him towards the back door with ease- most of the people inside cowering to the sides or attempting to find other doors by this point. The gun equipped woman peeled away from in front of it as he came, following after as he opened it as did the others with the gang leader. He demanded the other show him which vehicle was his and give him the keys, and when that went through he gave the keys to the gang member and made it clear she was to start driving once they were in. The back of the Van was opened and the man was tossed in, with one the men sitting down in the back too and the other joining another in the back seat. Riain took his place in the back of the van with their hostage, closing the door as the engine purred to life.

❝ so where is the stuff?❞ His voice was more calm, almost like asking a normal question about the time or the weather, but it held that undertone stemmed from what had happened before- don’t try to play me anymore. When the other spoke as he pointed to a box locked against the back, pressed off to the corner, his workhorse reached for it and grabbed the other bag out of it. Grabbing the container when it was released, azure eyes looked it over, gently handling it with his leather gloves. ❝ now this is lookin’ right.❞ There was a purr of pleasure to his voice as that was said, greeted only with ‘so you got what you want- let me go,’ only to be greeted with an expression that very much spoke that wasn’t going to happen. ❝ i’ve got to test it first.❞

Protests rang out, but it didn’t stop him as he took out the graduate pipette from the bag that had been brought- from the very beginning, he had expect the betrayal. He had planned in advance, as was evident. He withdrew some of the chemicals, not even enough to promote a visible difference in the quantity of the container, as forcefully grabbed the struggling mans arm with the aid of the other in the back. He released the chemical onto the open skin, watching it have an almost instant effect that mimicked narcotizing. It was allowed to sit for a second as the other yelled at the stinging sensation, before a medical swab was taken to it to wipe off the remaining droplet, making sure he didn’t come in contact with it himself. ❝ there we go- that’s how it’s supposed to be.❞ More vulgarity, this time mixed with threats of his death and blah blah blah. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it, it certainly won’t be the last. ❝ this stuff is considered government level-secret- so who sold it to you? and who sold it to them. i need to know where this stuff got lost in the trade of ignorance.❞ Riain shifted his position, ready for more lies and bullshitting and having to work more on the other to make him talk. And it started just as expected- the other not dropping the threats, refusing the easy way. He moved the chemical to the side, settling it back in the bag to keep it safe, and grabbing for a pair of pliers with one hand and his knife in the other. No use in wasting what he just got, so he’d work with what was around. He forced the others hand onto the elevated metal that was what substituted for seats, locking it in place with his knife jammed in between the palm. A yell erupted in the back, seconds waited for it to die down before words were spoken again. ❝ for every bullshit you give me, you lose another nail. now, where did you get this?❞ First nail, cussing and threats. Second nail, begging for him to stop. Third nail, more begging with muttered words of he didn’t know. Fourth nail, some skin went with this one, tears mixing with his ability to talk and more begging for him to please stop. Fifth nail, the pliers were slammed down and the nail was rather dragged off, some of the Directors annoyance starting to ring through this action. The bone was broken. More yelling, more lying that he didn’t know. The annoyance continued with him violently retracting the knife from within the others skin, tearing a bit more as he pulled it out across rather then straight up. Grip was adjusted on it, pointing it directly towards the others face. ❝keep this up, and by the time the medical examiners get to you they won’t be able to recognize a body out of the mush.❞ Out of the side of his eye, he saw his gang member shuffle a bit, some discomfort evident. It wasn’t atypical. Riain wasn’t usually the one to be forefront about getting his hands dirty when it didn’t concern his shows- with tasks he considered ‘underling work’, but when he did he made sure it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t a bluffer.

’IT HAD BEEN LEARN HE KEPT TRUE ON HIS THREATS

The dealer started to whimper out again he really didn’t know, but that was killed off as Riain shifted again, the knife moving slightly to the side and other hand grabbing for the chemical again. Those words swearing he didn’t know were instead turned to ‘wait wait wait!’ Hand withdrew slightly, resting on his knees and knife laxing. Harsh blue eyes met the others, watching the tears mix with the blood still wet coming from the glass, the moisture not allowing it to dry. ‘his name is kevin! he’s some type of informant, dealer type g-guy. apparently isn’t from here but comes here for deals! he sold me the stuff, saying it was some new potent shit that goes into some high quality crystal and can be charged a ton for. said it was chinese or russian or some shit! just- please let me go! i have a wife!’ Wife. Many who used that were lying. Not like it mattered either way, but it was a pathetic bluff. Almost as bad as saying he had kids. ❝kevin who? where does he frequent? i need more than that. that isn’t going to buy you your freedom.❞ Cruelty between calmer words and frame again, obviously not quite pleased yet. A last name was given, and a list of some locations that seemed guessed at best. The knife was placed to the side again, hands settled near his side. ❝alright.❞ A simple word, it seemed to drag some peace from the other until another grin reached The Director’s face, and the gun he had on him was grabbed out. Frantic words left the other, all of which were tossed away. ❝thank you for your business.❞

’ A BANG, A SHORT LIVED SCREAM, AND BLOOD

As the sound died, the blood droplets settling, hitting himself and the other living man in the back, his frame settled slightly. For a second, before, hands routed through the pockets of the corpse, retrieving the phone and pocketing it. He could look through contacts and history later, tracking down calls and making his own leads if lies had been made.

The next day, the news would be buzzing with a murder at a club in the middle of the night, the occupants being held hostage, and the criminals being gone by the time police arrived. There would be a burnt van, with the smoldered remains of a corpses with glass shards in their face and a hand that was completely messed up beyond repair. And there would be a man at work, the new face of some company, doing his job and running his business. No mind to the stolen phone connected to a laptop digging up information in the background, or a dangerous illegal chemical hiding within his desk. But that was just another day. A man that should be more worried that his face might be found, the truth be released, but in a town like this? This was normal. This was business. Whether it be the lower level gangs, a infamous crew destroying the city in the daylight, another batch of people to get the blame perhaps, or just the newest criminal stepping out of the dark, it was normal.

’ IT WAS BUSINESS, AND BUSINESS WAS GOOD

#character. riain #riain. drabbles #riain. main verse #( this drabble is like 4 years old so it isn't great #and it was back when riain was more of an au for a different muse that became his whole canon #but im still kind of happy with this drabble #its hugely gta based and you can tell #but so is riain in general )#blood //#gore //#torture //#drugs //#adult themes //#ask to tag //

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Footnotes

it’s been a bit since i added to the bookshop au: time got away from me!

We’re taking over the world/a little victimless crime -Do It All the Time, IDKHBTFM

Tony notices that Bucky doesn’t come into the store for a month. This is fine. Should be fine. Not like he wonders what Bucky will think of the newest latte, which is geared more to the warmer weather that has been breezing in cheerfully. The iced latte, flavored with caramel and coconut, had been a hit with MJ and Ned, who both loved it.

But Bucky hadn’t come in and tried it.

His anxiety tells him that he is found out and are currently waiting until Tony leaves the building to set up a trap and probably blow up every single book and also him.

But that would be stupid. There’s no way that the Avengers know who Iron Man or War Machine is. Tony Jarvis is a nice guy who runs a bookstore, has a suspicious amount of money from inheritance, and got a degree in English from a local college.

He even photo-shopped pictures there with Rhodey and everything. (Thank god for anti-aging technology and Rhodey’s genius.)

But he still kind of wants Bucky to come in and look at books. He even has a few records pulled just for the occasion.

“You are quite honestly the worst kind of person,” Rhodey says. “Who gets a crush on who is supposed to be their arch-nemesis and wants to make a custom coffee menu for them?”

“Not me,” Tony says quickly, pushing away the lemon-blueberry scone idea. “And besides if anyone would be my arch-nemesis, it would clearly be Black Widow. We match each other intellectually.”

“Not a chance,” Rhodey says with a snort. “Or did you forget the time you got so nervous you—”

“Hello?” comes a voice from the front. Rhodey immediately cuts off, going back to filing new shipments. Tony looks over.

“Hey, you’re back!” Tony cheers.

Rhodey makes a motion of gagging. Tony flips him off with one hand behind his back as he comes forward.

“Sorry I haven’t been in. Work has been…enlightening.”

“Usually code for ‘I-don’t-get-paid-enough’” Tony teases. “You wanna try an iced coffee drink?”

“I’m game.”

“Sit down at the table, I’ll get it out for you.”

Bucky has to admit that a good apron can do wonders for an ass. Or maybe Tony just has a really nice one. Either way, the view is spectacular.

“What has work been having you do?” Tony asks, pouring in syrup.

“Oh just…the usual,” Bucky says. He’s horrible at lying. He really, really is. “They keep twisting up what they want, it’s getting confusing.”

“Bookshops, luckily, are much simpler than that,” Tony says, smiling. He slides the drink over to Bucky. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”

Bucky takes a long slurp. Puts his head back.

“Tony, you ever experienced a masterpiece?”

“Once or twice,” Tony says, smiling.

“This is the damn Mona Lisa of drinks.”

Tony grins. Bucky sips a bit more, sighing in contentment.

“Hey, I know that last time I learned that you sold records. What are, um, your favorites?”

“I’m glad you asked…”

Bucky learns about new music. He learns that he needs to google new bands. AC/DC is a clear favorite of Tony’s, who sings along. It’s a funny juxtaposition with his cardigan and old jeans, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Bucky finds some of the old ones, which Tony doesn’t look surprised at.

“You have an old soul,” Tony says.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bucky mutters.

“Don’t I?” Tony teases. “You act as if you’ve never had iced coffee before.”

Bucky has to turn back to the player to stop from laughing in front of him. What Tony doesn’t know…well. He’s damned sure he doesn’t know that technically all of Bucky’s favorite records were either unable to be found, most likely questionable, or long disintegrated with time.

Oh, Tony knows. He knows for a damned fact that Bucky has never had iced coffee, most likely does not know who the hell Jimmy Carter was and knows how to disassemble and reassemble most weapons in under sixty seconds.

But it’s cute to mess with him. His brow furrows. Tony has a thing for furrows.

“Hey Tony?” Rhodey asks, head popping up from the upstairs. Bucky automatically looks up, finding the face to be vaguely familiar.

“What is it Rhodey-dear?” Tony calls back out.

“I have a computer glitch, you gotta come see it! Now!”

“This better not be a repeat of the pinball incident,” Tony mutters, turning back to Bucky. “I’ll be back in five minutes, I promise.”

“Take your time, love,” Bucky responds.

Bucky then immediately wonders if he bangs his head against the column near him if Tony and Rhodey will hear it. Tony also called his…person “Rhodey-dear.” Dear! Does he even have a chance?

But this brings him to think about Rhodey. He looked familiar. Bucky’s life doesn’t consist of knowing that you know someone from a certain social event and trying to place them. No, Bucky knows people because of two reasons:

1.) He tried to kill them.

2.) SHIELD has something on them.

He’s pretty sure that if he was faced with someone like Rhodey, he wouldn’t be able to kill him. Even from the head poking out, he could see a pretty defined shoulder and a look set to his gaze that read as very competent, entirely capable of taking down an authoritarian government, and also probably likes gourmet cheeses. The last one is a guess. But Bucky likes to guess pretty damn accurately.

Rhodey…

Rhodes. Colonel James Rhodes. Close with Tony Stark, who went missing. They thought he had something to do with something. He moved to New York pretty quickly after that, refusing to go into military service to a “previously unreported mental incapacity.”

Bucky smells bullshit.

Tony Stark. Another mystery in this puzzle. Bucky remembers trying to kill Howard and Maria Stark. It was the wrong person. Winter Soldier never missed his targets. Of course, Tony Stark wasn’t the target.

Rhodey is freaking out. Someone at SHIELD figured out there was a tiny bug in the system.

“When did they hire someone competent?!” Tony whisper-yells. “I thought they were two years behind schedule!”

“We made that schedule when we were drunk out of our minds from Moscato,” Rhodey hisses.

“Still! It was Moscato. It wasn’t like we drank vodka until we were shit-faced. That would’ve ended up disastrously and possibly given Dum-E and U a new sibling before Butterfingers.”

“Butterfingers wants a baby, just so you know,” Rhodey says.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Tony asks.

“Because you know what you’re doing and I figured you should know what your daughter is up to. It’s very important in developmental psychology.”

“Do not,” Tony hisses. “Let me fix this…”

With a couple more frantic curses, one eye shut, and a yelp, the problem is (mostly) taken care of.

“You think they can trace it?”

“It’ll trace back to a random e-café,” Tony says. “And there will be Justin Hammer who is currently trying to work out why his dating profile isn’t working. I’ll give you a hint: it’s the bio and the fact that he looks like he’s going to bail on paying for your dinner.”

Rhodey smiles, shaking his head and looking out the door.

“Get back down to Barnes. Don’t let him know what this is.”

“When would I?”

“You tend to be a terrible liar around people you like.”

“Why you—!”

“Thank you for helping with the pinball machine again!” Rhodey says, throwing his voice. He shoves Tony out of the office. Tony’s cheeks are bright red, he’s flushed, and he can barely walk down the stairs.

He’s not sure what exactly happened. He knows someone found out about them, tried to trace the bug back. That simply wouldn’t do because Tony runs a legitimate business. Pays taxes on April fifteenth and everything.

“Sorry about that, emergency with a pinball machine game,” Tony says.

“Understandable,” Bucky says. “What was wrong it? A bug get in?”

“Uh, not exactly,” Tony responds, body going tense for a moment. “You want to pick out a new record?”

“Yeah, sure…”

They find out that Bucky absolutely hates the pop, almost-fake music from the fifties.

“It’s…unsettling,” Bucky says, shuddering. “Gross.”

“Let me get some Benny Goodman then,” Tony says.

“How’d you know?”

“Everyone likes his music,” Tony says. “But then again, you did say you were an old soul.”

Bucky can hear the familiar music fill the air as he hums to himself.

“Hey handsome, wanna help me with something?” Tony asks. “I have some books that need to be shelved. I was wondering if you could help?”

“No problem,” Bucky says, grinning. “Can’t reach the top shelf?”

“Why you—”

“I’m shelving!” Bucky calls, grabbing one of the boxes.

Tony thinks that no one should be attractive when they’re lifting boxes. Especially when they’re holding what is essentially about forty pounds with one arm. His left one, but still.

There is also the matter of making sure that Barnes never finds out who he is. Tony has been quite careful about that, although the “bug” comment got to him. Does he know about them? Is he playing some sort of long game?

Answer: no. Bucky got distracted by a book title that he remembers from years ago.

“I forgot I read this,” he says, smiling. “It was forever ago.”

“Old books get to you like nothing else,” Tony responds. “I grew up with Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You read that one yet?”

“Add it to the recommended box,” Bucky answers.

He has his own box now. Technically a crate, but Tony’s been putting books there for Bucky when he thinks he’s found one that he’ll like. Which of course, Bucky will like whatever book is in there if Tony chose it. He likes anything Tony chooses. He would wear the worst outfit in existence if Tony chose it.

Shelving goes by with little conversation, although they both hum along to the music being played softly over the intercoms. Tony comes and goes, helping customers with different items, brewing some more coffee, and getting some more boxes.

Bucky likes the routine.

He’s sad to go, taking his books with him and waving a soft goodbye. Tony’s leaning against the doorframe, a fond look on his face as the bookshop light floats out onto dark pavement. He wishes he could be there all the time.

And then, of course, people are in his apartment.

“Bookstore again, huh?” Steve asks. Natasha’s looking through the pile of receipts on the kitchen counter.

“You go there a lot,” she murmurs.

“I like being literate, gives me a headstart on Clint,” Bucky answers glibly.

“Even if someone liked reading this much, they wouldn’t be buying obscene amounts of books and coffee.”

“I don’t buy every book. To—the owner lets me take some home if I return them the next day.”

“You’re on a first name basis?” Natasha asks, eyebrow arched. “Just what bookstore are you going to?”

“One that’s none of your business,” Bucky says.

“It says it on top of the receipt,” Steve says.

Bucky curses.

Steve laughs at him.

#bookshop au #lovelyirony writes #sorry it took so long #i've been dealing with personal stuff and schoolwork #but now schoolwork is done #writer's block on the other hand.....#winteriron #rhodey #pepper potts #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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wayward-mikaelson · 4 years

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Come Back pt 5

Word Count: 2130

Pairing: None

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader, Shifter!Dean and Shifter!Reader

About: While working the shifter case with Dean, the Reader starts to pick up on a few odd things about him. The reader only brushes it off at regret for getting caught cheating. But things turn around when the readers gut instinct gets out of control.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fighting, and Gore (blood)

18+ Content. You know the Drill. Keep Scrolling if you’re not 18+

A/N: Sorry if this is shorter. I knew it would be shorter but I tired to put as much as I could into it. Any guesses as to what happens? Again if you want to be tagged in the next one, let me know!!

The drive to the police station is silent. Dean tries to make small talk but I continue to shut him down. I'm not ready to talk to him yet. He made a huge douche bag move last night and I'm still trying not to kill him. I could have bailed on the case and gone back to the bunker or completely left and not come back. But after hanging out with Sam last night and laying next to him, I was beginning to about my feelings for Dean. I love him, but we never have actually said those words to each other. Dean and I were constantly having sex and on the nights we didn't, he barely wanted to hang out so I would hang in my room deep in my thoughts. Sam had every chance to get into my pants last night but, he didn't. He was there to comfort me and make sure I ate. He held me when I cried and the just held me. When earlier in the night I thought he was going to off himself for wanting a truce. Then the kiss on my head. That moment sparked something in me that I hadn't felt since Logan. Could I be falling for the younger Winchester?

"We're here," Dean parks the car in front of the station and looks at me. I look at him and see how tired he is.

"Did you even sleep last night?" I ask him pulling out my fed badge. "You look like hell."

"I feel like it. I threw back who knows how many shots until they kicked me out of the bar. Then this morning I find out that you changed room on us," Dean smiles wickedly. "I mean, on me. Because of course Sam knew."

I roll my eyes and get out of the Impala. "Oh for fucks sake," I say tucking my shirt into my pants and tossing my hair up. "Give it a rest. You cheated and you're jealous that your brother comforted me."

Dean gets out. "If you would have waited, we could have talked." Dean goes towards the trunk and opens it. I hear a frustrated sigh and some mumbling.

"What now?" I walk around the car to see Dean just staring at the weapons trunk. "Something wrong?" Dean has his hand balled into a fist.

He slams the trunk. "Theres a small sharp peice of metal on the lock. Got my finger."

That's weird, I think to myself. "There shouldn't be," I say following him into the station. "That's a brand new lock. Custom made out of pure silver."

"I know that!" Dean still sounds super annoyed. "Just forget it."

We walk through the station to the talk to the big wig aka the chief. While we talked to the chief about the case, I can't help but notice how Dean keeps his hand closed. He spoke to the chief in such a snarky way that I had to kick him out of the office just so I can finish talking. When I was finished talking, I thanked the chief for his time and made way to back to the Impala where Dean was laying back.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I get into the vehicle and smack dean with the files. "You're being such a dick today."

Dean sits up. "So. What."

I scoff. "Okay, you want to talk about what happened. Let's talk about what fucking happened." I toss the files in the back seat and take the keys out of the ignition. Probably the worst idea I ever had. It was almost 95 outside and if I didn't make this fast, we would be sweating. In a not so sexy way.

"You kissed another woman," I say putting my head down. "And not only did you kiss her, you got real handsy with her. I killed me to the point that I contemplated your murder. When I changed rooms I wasn't expecting Sam to be there and be the comfort I needed and I'm glad he was because I don't think he would take kindly to me killing you. This morning seeing you made last night real all over again." Dean stares at me while I talk. "This whole thing has me thinking about if we just fuck buddies or trying to be in a relationship. If we are just fuck buddies, I'm done with it all. If not, then you have some serious thinking to do. So in the mean time, we need to spend time hanging out like going to dinners and drives and such without it ending in sex."

Dean nods his head and holds his hand out for the keys. "Okay," he says as I hand the keys back. "I'm sorry. I want you to know that."

"Don't say that anymore," I say looking out the window. "Show me. And just know I'm not some shiny toy that gets old after use. I'm a fucking goddess and you better treat me like one."

Dean smiles and grabs my hand and kisses it. Thats when I see the small burn mark. "Okay, Sam called by the way. He found a lead. Cabin in the middle of the woods. Wants us to check it out before heading back to the motel."

I agree. While we drive to that cabin I couldn't help but notice a few times that Deans eyes flash a different color. But I brush it over because part of me is still mad and I guess I'm still finding to be upset over. Deans eyes always changed shades in the sun if it hit it right.But that burn on his hand made my gut tell me that something was up. I shake my head again.

"Everything okay?" Dean asks me quickly looking at me. Again, a weird eye color change. My gut starts to scream at me.

"I'm going to call Sam," I say pulling my phone out. "Ask him how his talks went and see what he's up to." I hit send on his number and it goes straight to voice mail. Not odd or anything but my gut tightens. My gut hasn't been like this since discovering the signs that all pointed to Logan being a vampire. I don't leave a voice mail but send a text telling him about my gut feeling. Just as I was about to hit send, the service cuts out. "Shit," I hiss.

"Everything okay?" Dean asks making a turn onto a dirt road.

"The service is gone and something tells me that something isn't right." I look at Dean whos smiling at me. "What?" I look down to make sure my shirt was buttoned all the way. Sometimes a buttons pops and he likes to look at my boobs. Not that I was complaining.

"Oh sweetheart," He takes a hand and places it on my neck. "This was just too easy." Next thing I know, my head is being smacked onto the dash and passing out.

I wake up tied to a chair in an almost empty cabin. My head is throbbing like hell. I look around to see Dean tied next to me. He's looking at me and with a battered face. He looks like hell.

"Are you okay?" He asks in a hushed whisper. "Those dicks came at me from behind the night we got here."

"What?" I ask. "Are you saying that you've been down here this whole time?"

"Yep," Dean says trying to yank. "Apparently the guy that runs the motel is also a shifter and sold us out." Dean stops tugging at the ropes. "Wait, what do you mean 'this whole time?' You didn't sleep with the one that looked like me did you?" Dean looks pissed off and I don't blame him. Someone using his body to do stuff. Kind of personal.

"No," I say tugging at my rope. "I caught shifter you, thinking it was you, kissing some blonde with red lips. I've been pissed about it all day. I thought you were off all day. Now that burn mark makes sense." I hang my hand.

The front door opens and I see Shifter!Dean and another shifter looking like me waltz in. "Oh look, you're awake," the shifter posing at me smiles. "This ought to be good as I sent an SOS to Sam not that long ago. He should be here soon and when he is well I guess we know where that will go."

I look to Dean who looks even more pissed. "Once I'm free," Dean says yanking on the rope again. "I'm going to kill you. Starting with the idiot that used me to hurt YN."

Shifter!Me kneels in front of Dean and takes a blade and runs it along his face. "Oh honey," she purrs. I feel a twinge of jealously as she puts her lips on his ear. "The both of us had a part in playing you."

"Why?" I ask. I needed her to pull away from Dean. "What made you change your game. No one died yet. We could have let you live. We just needed to see what the heck was going on behind leaving the body goop."

Shifter!Me turns to me and I see the same flash of different eye color in her eyes. "Really? You'd let us live?" She laughs. Does my laugh really sound like that? I think. "You're funny. The way we see it is when the Winchester boys and YN YLN stroll through town, the monster or monsters always die."

"But a small few are able to live in peace because of us," Dean says. "Theres a shifter that helps people heal after getting closure from a loved one. Theres a couple werewolves that live in peace eating animal organs and living a normal life. We knew of a few vampires that lived off animal blood. You could let us go and we'd leave you alone if you promise to clean up your mess and no people go missing and end up dead."

The two shifters looked at each other. Shifter!Dean looks at me and then Dean. "Who says we haven't killed anyone?" he asks. "This town is a hot spot for shifters to hid from hunters. We choose a poor victim and remove them and the shifter takes his or her place."

I stare at the shifters wide eyed. "So anyone in this town is a shifter?"

"Yep!" Shifter!Me says happily getting up.

Car door closes outside. I'm about to yell something when Shifter!Dean gags both Dean and I. Shifter!Me walks outside and I can hear talking. They come back in and I'm happy to see Sam. He looks around at both Dean and I. Theres anger and questioning in his eyes. I try my damnedest to yell through the gag. I even add some thrashing around.

"Try not to listen to that one," Shifter!Me says. "She's tried to convince Dean that she's the real deal.

"How'd you guys get them?" Sam asks. "The Dean one looks like he put up a hell of a fight." I continue to yell and thrash around. Sam looks at me and kneel in front of me. He takes the gag off. "What do you have to say?"

"Don't listen to her, man," Shifter!Dean says. "She could lie or something. They killed some town folk. They have to put down."

"Yeah, Sam," Shifter!Me says walking towards me with the silver blade in her in hands. "Shes gotta be put down."

"Guys, shut up," Sam snaps at the shifters. "Just let me hear what she has to say." He turns back to me.

"Sam," I whisper. "They are the shifters. Me and Dean, we are real. Human. The Dean shifter has a burn on his hand from touching the lock on the weapons trunk. You have to believe me. I wouldn't lie."

Sam looks me in the eyes. He looks down and towards Shifter!Dean and spies the burn on his hand. "Okay," Sam whispers. "I'll figure something out. Just hand tight." Sam gets up and the moment he turns around, Shifter!Me throws Sam aside.

"I told you she's gotta be put down," she growls. She marches towards me and grabs my shoulder and thrusts the blade into me.

I look down to see the red blossom of blood flow from my stomach. I don't feel the pain just yet, just the thick, warm wetness trickling down my stomach to my side. From the corner of my eye, I see Dean finally break free from his bindings. Sam gets up and runs towards me. He cuts me loose to lay me down and presses his hand on the wound. That's when I start to feel the pain. I scream out but Sams soothing voice calms me.

Soon, I heart two bodies hit the ground. I close my eyes and know that it's over. I'll be home soon.

@donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @squirrelnotsam

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