your whole self should be insured for all the money in the world

aquiver | 04

aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering

pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre/warnings: mentions of death, slight angst, mentions or mature themes, fluff
words: 10,495
summary: Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…
note. inspired by the novella ‘The Grownup’ by Gillian Flynn, literally just the main character’s past occupation haha

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@pale-silver-comb made this post and then I had post-season-5-feelings so this happened :) 

It just became a thing they did. Stiles knew Derek needed to get out, needed to get away. Stiles knew better than a lot of his friends and could understand how much it would help Derek to get out of Beacon Hills and the hellhole that it is. But over the course of all their interactions Stiles had started to trust Derek, had started to rely on him. Stiles had gotten a hold of Derek’s number just for emergencies but he didn’t have to resort to theft to always have Derek’s latest number because Stiles became the first person Derek shared it with.

So even though he has a connection to Derek, Stiles doesn’t use it all that often. He doesn’t use it to beg Derek to come back even when he really, really could. He sends Derek stupid shit he finds on the internet. He asks Derek where he is and what he’s doing. If he’s still with Braeden, if he’s happy. Derek always, always responds. Sometimes it takes a couple hours but they both know the texts are their way of making sure the other is still alive. Even if things aren’t perfect on either side, they’re alive and that’s the most important part.

Derek doesn’t lie to him. He doesn’t sugar coat things. He rants in a voicemail and tells Stiles how sick he is of driving. How he knows he will probably come back but he just can’t stomach it yet. They need to find Kate and Peter; he needs to see them dead and gone for good before he trusts himself to settle in Beacon Hills for good. 

He and Cora fight sometimes.

Whenever that happens Stiles gets a voicemail of Derek complaining about younger siblings and they don’t understand and she’s so spoiled Stiles. She got taken in after the fire right away as soon as she’d stopped running and she didn’t want for anything. Laura and I survived off soup kitchen and homeless shelters for a whole year, Stiles, before the insurance money was cleared and we could afford to stop and stay somewhere, afford to actually buy groceries.

But he always sends a second voicemail saying how much he really is glad to have his sister. That he’s glad she didn’t have to live like he and Laura did. That for as much as they irritate each other they’re happy to have each other.

Stiles was the one that started the voicemail thing, and he does it more often than Derek really ever does. But Derek’s life isn’t as driven by insanity as Stiles’ life in Beacon Hills is anymore. At the beginning he’d sent Derek a text that read: “I just need to vent to someone I know understands but I don’t want to just throw this shit at you so just don’t answer your phone and let it go to voicemail.  It’s your choice if you want to listen or not. Don’t feel like you have to.”

It used to be stupid stuff over the summer that Derek would listen to as he worked in the yard around the house he bought up in New England. But things changed when Stiles left a message ranting about some guy named Theo and how Stiles doesn’t trust him, something is off and Stiles knows he’s up to something. It had been amusing initially because it was just such a Stiles reaction. But after all they’ve been through, Derek knows this isn’t some misguided knee jerk reaction to someone new coming into their group. If Stiles got this worked up it means he’s got a reason, and most likely, Scott didn’t want to listen until Stiles had more proof.

Derek had been settled in the little cottage in New Hampshire since the spring when he got that first voicemail about Theo. He’d wanted to really experience a New England fall and was determined to do so. Stiles didn’t have to know he listened to the message. Didn’t have to know that Derek was always waiting for the next one, waiting for a call for help.

Stiles kept sending him his normal comments on his day or his dad but Derek got an increasing amount of voicemails left on his phone.

Somebody is making supernatural creatures. Creatures that don’t have to follow the supernatural laws they should. There’s a halfhearted joke about the laws being ‘more like guidelines anyway.’

Scott’s trying to be a leader without actually using the people he’s leading to help him. He’s trying to just do everything, figure out everything by himself.

(He doesn’t get a voicemail from Stiles that people are dying but he does get a text from Scott that if he’s heard anything about it not to worry that they’ve got everything under control. He doesn’t need to come home. Derek had appreciated Scott’s words, he knew Scott didn’t mean that Derek wasn’t welcome but they both knew things would just be weird between them because of the power shift. That it would take an adjustment period before they would ever be able to be in the same pack.)

The voicemail that has Derek almost packing up and jumping on a plane is the one that starts with Stiles’ voice coming through so shaky and vulnerable Derek had had a bag pulled out of his closet before he even heard the words, “I killed somebody.”

He listens to the whole message though before he does anything rash. He listens as Stiles pulls himself together, rationalizes that even if he has to tell Scott eventually, it was self-defense. It was self-defense. Stiles was going to die if he hadn’t done what he’d done. Surely Scott would rather Stiles be alive and a killer than let the bad guy kill him. It takes a lot for Derek not to buy a red-eye flight back to California.

But then he gets a second message telling him that Stiles doesn’t want him to come back for him, he wants Derek to come back for himself.

And then Stiles doesn’t text or call for almost two weeks.

Derek wakes up from a deep, uninterrupted sleep to a beautiful fall day and two voicemails.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice comes through quiet and shaky and Derek already dreads what this message is going to end like. “Theo is worse than I expected him to be. He- he went after my dad. He hurt my dad. And Scott,” Derek hates the way Stiles’ voice breaks. ”Scott he doesn’t trust me, didn’t believe me and-“

There’s silence for a moment but Derek knows, Scott is Stiles’ brother, he’s Stiles’ rock, someone he depends on always being there. He knows what it’s like to have the world pull out from under your feet like this. Peter wasn’t always clinically insane. Derek hates that Stiles has to experience that feeling, that feeling like everything you depend on suddenly shifts and changes and isn’t there anymore.

Stiles’ voice is croaking like he’s speaking through a throat tight with emotion when he says, “I need,” before he just groans and hangs up.

Derek fumbles with his phone for a minute trying to see when the second voicemail came through and listen to it. He knows Stiles’ had been crying before he called back and finally told Derek what he has been waiting to hear.

“I know I always say I don’t want you to come back for me, to-to help me. And I still don’t; I wish you could make the decision if you’re coming back or staying away. But I can’t not ask you to come back because I want your help. I need you here, not across the country listening to my voicemails. Please, Derek, I need you to come back. You don’t have to stay, you can leave again if you need to but I just-”

“I need you here.”

Derek left the cottage within the hour, with one ticket to California and two tickets back to New Hampshire. 

To the man that stole my bag...

Hi there. My name is Michelle Valdivia. I was the girl wearing the grey shirt and the tan and black sun hat today at Lake Merritt. You stole my backpack. You just came right up from behind me, snatched it and ran off. You even had a getaway car waiting, which seems really cool in movies but is not very cool in real life. I have several things to say you, sir, but not all of them are very nice, so I am going to keep this civil.

For one, I do not like you very much. I was trying to spend a quiet Saturday afternoon reading at the lake today. I have been going to a lot of trainings recently for my new job, and I am very tired. I just got hired as an after school program teacher at an elementary school in San Francisco. My first day is this Monday. I will be teaching 4th grade. I’m very nervous, mostly because I am inexperienced and I want the kids to have as fulfilling and educational experience as possible. You don’t need to know all this, but I want you to, because I want you to know a little more about the woman that you stole from, and how your actions have consequences, perhaps consequences greater than you can see.

Today you stole my backpack with some things in it. To be more specific you stole:

  1. A small tan faux leather backpack that I bought while studying abroad in Barcelona. I worked really hard to be able to study abroad, and that backpack was the one thing I let myself splurge on while in Spain.
  2. A small black wallet with my debit card, driver’s license, zipcard, Clipper card, and other miscellaneous junk. (I hope you enjoy the $100 worth of gas you bought with my card, and the $10 I have left on my clipper card.)
  3. A brand new Van Gogh ‘Sunflowers’ journal that I got as a birthday present. I was really excited to start journaling again, and I love love LOVE Van Gogh. I would just give it someone, maybe your niece or daughter. Maybe she loves art. I hope she likes it.
  4. An old thin Van Gogh journal. I wrote a lot of random stuff in the little one, but I also had some short poems I wrote in church once. I loved those poems. They were a part of me. And now you have them.
  5. A chapstick and lip stain. Dang you got my favorite ones too, my Revlon one and the brand new sunscreen chapstick I bought. You don’t even need them. Jeez.
  6. Trash. I’m a lady, and a lady always has trash in her purse.
  7. A green water bottle with the words “Today is a great day to learn something new!” written on the side, as well as a sticker with a butterfly on it that says “Migration is natural”. The sticker my friend got for me at a woman’s empowerment conference we went to (so much for being empowered, when you took my bag I didn’t even chase after you. You scared me, what can I say?). The water bottle I got just last week, at a teacher training I went to. You should give it to one of your nieces/nephews. Give to them a love of learning.
  8. Sea shells. At least, there should still be sea shells in that little front pocket. The sea shell story you’ll have to ask me about another time.
  9. Maybe some gum? I think I had gum. You got my gum.

Here is a list of things you did not steal from me today:

  1. My phone. I really depend on my phone a lot more than I thought I did.
  2. The book I was reading, “Borderlands/La Frontera,” by Gloria Azaldua. Good thing too, it was a library book. If you are Mexican-American, I would DEFINITELY read it. I think you could learn a lot from her, I know I have. If you are Mexican-American, ay mijo, le voy a decir a tu mama lo que hiciste.
  3. The fruit I had just bought at the farmer’s market. I bought pomegranates, my favorite fruit. Good thing you didn’t snatch those.
  4. My love of Lake Merritt. Sure, this one bad thing happened to me, but I still love the lake. I’m just going to be a lot more careful next time about where I leave my things.
  5. My trust in strangers. Right when you ran off, this girl ran up to me and asked me if you had stolen my purse. I was so out of it I didn’t know what to do, so she ran off to her friends to try to get your license plate number. She was so sweet, she asked if she could give me money so I could get home okay. She just stayed with me for a good five minutes while I cried and cried. This other older guy also came over and asked me if I was okay (I was crying my eyes out at this point, but I managed to get some words out). They showed me a kindness that is rare, and it is because of people like them that I will continue to trust strangers, even when strangers like you hurt me.
  6. My sense of humor. I’m fucking hilarious, I don’t care what anyone says. Someday, I’m going to write a killer joke about this incident and perform it a comedy club and it is going to get a standing ovation, or just a hell of a lot of laughs.
  7. My willingness to forgive. Believe it or not homie, one of these days (maybe when my debit card arrives and the pain of losing my favorite bag dissipates) I’m going to forgive you. Not because you have asked for my forgiveness, but because I want to be a woman that does not hold grudges. I want to be a woman of kindness, of love and compassion, and that means forgiving those who have hurt you.
  8. My idea of Oakland as a complex place. Yeah, Lake Merritt is a nice area, but its also very representative of the city as a whole. People of all ages, races, and socio-economic status converge there. Its a busy place, it makes sense that there would be crime every once in a while. I guess I hit the lottery this time.
  9. My love of learning, and my passion to serve communities in need. I bet you didn’t know that about me when you scouted me out to steal my bag. Yep. I majored in social welfare at UC Berkeley because I knew that there are things going on in the world, things like poverty, racism, and violence, and I wanted to be a person that works against those things. I’m still going to work against those things. You can’t take that away from me.
  10. And finally, my ability to see a lesson in everything. I think there are some real solid reasons behind why you stole my bag today. I might never know those reasons, since I might never know you. But I do know that you had them. Maybe you felt pressured to do it by your “cool” friends that think stealing is a quick, easy way to get money. Do you know how people feel, especially women, when you come up behind them, grab something of theirs, and run off? It feels fucking terrifying. I really thought you were going to attack my physical body. I’m 5'3’’ homie, and I do not know how to defend myself at all. I didn’t care so much about my things. I felt scared because I didn’t know you nor what you were going to do, and in that moment, I really thought I was going to be physically assaulted by a strange man. (maybe the lesson is to get self-defense classes?) Maybe you just did it because you like to steal. I hear people get a rush out of it. Do you know what kind of rush I got today? I felt a rush of depression seeping into my skin, pulsing through my bloodstream, burning like acid. I have a history of getting stressed out about everything, and depression sometimes follows. I have worked really hard to be happy. I still do. Maybe, the lesson to learn from this is that happiness is fleeting and I should give in to the coming tide of sadness? Its probably not though. Maybe the lesson to take from this is that sometimes bad things happen, and you can’t let your whole world fall apart over those small things. This was a small thing. You stole some stuff, but you didn’t steal everything. I have my health, my super cool job, my loving family and my amazing friends (shout-out to Elizabeth Banda for taking care of me and feeding me tacos today. Thanks boo.) I have a resilient spirit, and I will not let you steal my joy.

So, guy, enjoy doing whatever it is thieves do with stolen purses. It was such a cute bag, and its a shame its gone, but this gives me an excuse to go shopping now. Retail therapy (the only kind of therapy I need… probably not, but my health insurance doesn’t cover much). Take care and you know, don’t steal. That would be nice. In the words of my homie Ice Cube, bye Felicia!