#i need his home address and bank account details so i know where to send my therapy bills | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Damsels, Chapter Three: Interview

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read Previous Chapters Here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

The Hoover building is deserted at 4am, which is exactly why she has to be there so early. She arrives at Skinner’s office with nothing but her car keys and the casual clothing on her back. Agent Wiley, a young woman in her twenties, greets Scully warmly. She’s tall and brunette with an hourglass figure, and Scully has the passing thought that she is exactly Mulder’s type. She wonders if they’ve ever met.

“I’ll drive you to your apartment in Philly where you’ll stay for the duration of the undercover assignment, Agent Scully,” Wiley says in an authoritative though very high pitched voice. “We’ll leave your car in the bureau garage for the duration, but you can give A.D. Skinner your keys for safekeeping.”

Scully hands Skinner her keys and he sets them on top of his desk, rubbing his hands over a weary and sleep-rumpled face.

“I’ll fill you in on the case details on the way. Let’s hit the road, we’ve got a two and a half hour drive ahead of us,” she finishes, slinging her purse over her shoulder and making for the door.

Scully follows her mutely. Just as she reaches the door herself, Skinner speaks.

“Agent Scully?” he asks in a hoarse voice. She turns to face him. “I…I…” He keeps restarting his sentence, but never gets further than that.

Scully finally interjects. “It’s okay, sir. I understand. We all have a job to do.”

He nods at her with a grateful expression, and she follows Agent Wiley out to the parking garage.

The sun is just beginning to brighten the inky sky as they drive out of D.C. Agent Wiley is chatty behind the wheel as Scully leafs through the case file; once they get to Philly, she won’t have the opportunity to see it again. The only trace of Dana Scully in her apartment will be a burner cell phone, which she is to keep off and hidden in an air duct in the wall. She will call Agent Wiley at least every other day, or as needed, to share any updates. She is to turn the phone on only when she’s sure no one else is in the apartment with her. She is expected to get as close as possible to the other dancers at the club, one of whom they believe to be Mila Chamberlain. In the file, there’s a photo of Mila, a young Asian woman with a short blonde pixie cut and penetrating dark brown eyes. There is also her parents’ account of her disappearance shortly after meeting Ricky at a party, and their fears that’s she’s a victim of sex trafficking.

“Your cover is Diane Sellers, recently divorced and needing work,” Agent Wiley explains. “To our understanding, they won’t ask you much about your history, but it’s still good to have a backstory ready. It can be helpful to use real details from your life in regards to things like siblings, parents, and past romantic partners, just because it’s easier to keep straight. We don’t recommend addiction being a part of your backstory, in case that affects Ricky’s willingness to trust you. You should immerse yourself as much as possible with the staff, including spending time with them outside work if you can. You can have them over to your apartment, which is why it’s important that there’s nothing there that isn’t part of Diane’s story. It’s fully furnished with everything from tampons to Rice a Roni, but we’ve also set up a bank account and a debit card in case you need to buy anything. Once you identify Mila, call me. You should try to get as close to her as possible, and ultimately the goal is to confirm that she’s being held against her will. Then we’ll raid the club and get you both out of there. What questions do you have?”

Scully stares out the window at the cars rushing by. The pink sunrise illuminating the clouds on the horizon makes the sky look pinstriped.

“Why weren’t you asked to go undercover, if this is your case? You’re young, you’re very pretty. So I guess my question is why not you?” She recognizes the irritation in her voice, but she can’t help herself.

Agent Wiley glances over at her and back to the road a few times. “I can understand why you’d ask that. And I also realize that I haven’t thanked you for taking this assignment. It was a hard one to staff.”

Scully scoffs and turns to face the other woman. “I wasn’t given a choice, Agent Wiley.”

“Right. Sorry. Um, the reason I couldn’t take this assignment is that I have an ostomy bag, as a result of a pretty severe case of Crohn’s. I doubt anyone wants to see a stripper with a bag of poop strapped to her belly dancing around on stage.”

Scully closes her eyes against the shame that wells in her gut. “I’m sorry, Agent Wiley. That was rude of me to ask.”

“Don’t worry about it, Agent Scully. Honestly, I’d take my ostomy bag over this assignment any day. I don’t envy you.”

Scully turns back to the window, spinning up the life story of Diane Sellers as they drive on through the early morning light and towards her uncertain future.

Agent Wiley drops her off around the corner from her apartment with nothing but a set of keys and verbal instructions for where she can locate the burner phone. Her interview is today at 2, and the address of the club and interview information are on a slip of paper on the kitchen counter. They bid one another an awkward goodbye, and Scully goes in search of her home for the next several weeks.

The apartment is small, a studio, and fully furnished. She can tell that Agent Wiley herself took care of decorating it; youthful touches like a sequined throw pillow and a magnet on the fridge with “Diane” printed on a tiny license plate give it a dorm-like feel. Many of the items appeared to have been thrifted, which will be important to keeping up her ruse of being a woman in a tight spot financially. She locates the air duct and the burner phone, turning it on to be sure it works before securing it back in its hiding place. She pokes around the various cabinets and cupboards to find all kinds of dried goods and snacks, and is surprised by the 6 pack of beer in the fridge and the bottle of vodka in the freezer. The closet is full of clothing in her size, some of it basic jeans and tees, some of it tube tops and daisy duke shorts that she would never wear. Well, Scully would never wear them, but she suspects Diane would. The slip of paper on the counter reads:

Damsels in Dominance

1634 W York St, Philly

Ricky Dean, 2pm

She makes a face at the name and her stomach turns at the thought that this might be some kind of S&M club. It's just after 9am, so she has quite a bit of time to kill before her interview. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep, so instead she takes a thorough inventory of all the cabinets and closets to see if anything important is missing. In the bathroom, she opens the medicine cabinet to find a full Oil of Olay skin care line right next to a box of condoms. What the hell does Agent Wiley think she has planned for this assignment? Her confusion deepens when she pulls open the drawer of the bedside table and is greeted by a book light as well as a small bullet vibrator. Either Agent Wiley went to very great lengths to make sure this apartment would pass the sniff test for anyone who decided to snoop, or….she doesn’t even know what the other possibility is. Adding some paperback novels to her mental shopping list, she slams the drawer shut and flops down on the bed. Mulder is at work by now, and she wonders how long Skinner will be able to keep up the ruse. Knowing Mulder, not all that long.

Mulder arrives at work just past 8, noting that Scully’s car is parked in her typical spot in the garage; she must have needed to stop by before heading to Quantico. He’s a little bit disappointed that she’ll be away for the next few weeks; the basement office is exceedingly boring without her. At the same time, he’s grateful for a bit of space to think.

The tension between them had reached a tipping point but now sits suspended, teetering between coworkers and friends or whatever lay on the other side. He’s made some attempts at pushing things towards the “more than friends” end of the spectrum, but nothing seems to come of it. He kissed her, and while she kissed him back and seemed receptive to it, she hasn’t initiated anything further. The night they played baseball together was fun and flirtatious, but again nothing happened. He’s getting the sense that any move will need to be made by him. Maybe Scully just isn’t the forward type in these situations, or maybe she isn’t confident enough that he’ll reciprocate. This time that she’s working away from the office might be the perfect opportunity to take her out on a real date, knowing that if things get weird they won’t have to face each other in the morning.

Entering the office, he doesn’t find her there; they must have just missed each other. He logs into his email and opens a new message.

Hey G-woman,

What time can you get away for lunch today? I was thinking about checking out that new sushi place on 8th. Or we can meet halfway, whatever works.

Would you like to get dinner sometime this week? My treat. Let me know.

Mulder

He hits send, then digs in to some more case reports that he needs to complete. He has a vision of Scully returning to find them completely caught up on paperwork and how pleased she’d be with him, and decides then and there to make it a reality. While he’s not generally an approval-seeking kind of guy, the surprised smile on Scully’s face when he does something uncharacteristically responsible is one of his favorites. The number one spot will always, of course, be held by the smile she gives him when he says or does something that truly strikes her as funny. He finds it hard to keep from smiling just thinking about it.

Two hours later, there’s no response from Scully. That’s a little bit weird, but not exceedingly so; if she’s working on a particularly gnarly autopsy it can take quite a while. When he still hasn’t gotten a response by noon, he first checks his sent email to be sure it went out, then picks up his office phone.

“Autopsy bay, this is Richard.”

“Hey, Rich, this is Agent Mulder up at the Hoover Building.”

“Hi, Agent Mulder, how can I help you?”

“Is Agent Scully around? I was hoping to talk to her.”

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Not at all today?”

“No, I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, actually.”

A flush of worry spreads across his chest.

“Hey, Rich, are you guys pretty busy down there? I hear you have a big case you’re working on.”

“Busy? Uh, no, not really. Just business as usual.”

“Okay, thanks. If you see Agent Scully, will you ask her to call me?”

“Sure, will do, Agent Mulder.”

“I appreciate it, bye.”

He sets the phone down and sits back in his chair. Did Scully lie to him? And if so, why? Her car is here, so he knows she came in today. Picking up the phone again he tries her cell, which goes straight to voicemail. The darkest part of his brain worries that she came to the office but never made it to Quantico. He makes one final phone call.

“Skinner.”

“Hi, sir, this is Agent Mulder.”

“How can I help you, Agent Mulder?”

“Have you heard from Agent Scully today? I’m having a hard time getting in touch with her.”

“She’s assigned to work at Quantico for the next few weeks, Agent Mulder, she wasn’t expected to report to the Hoover Building today.”

“I know, sir, but her car was in the garage when I got here and I just called over to Quantico and they haven’t seen her today. I’m a little worried.”

He hears Skinner mutter what sounds like “Jesus H Christ” under his breath before he speaks again. “Agent Scully is fine, Agent Mulder. She’s on assignment. I encourage you to focus on your own assignment.”

Mulder hesitates. “Should I take that to mean that she’s NOT assigned to Quantico?”

Skinner sighs. “All you need to know is that she is fine, but unreachable. You worry about yourself and let me worry about Agent Scully, got it?”

“Um, okay. Thank you, sir.”

He hangs up the phone even more confused than before. Scully’s behavior yesterday after she returned from Skinner’s office makes a little more sense; she was uncomfortable about lying to him. When he leaves the office that night, her car is in the same spot it had been that morning. He doesn’t like this, but he knows Scully was in the same situation when he was on an undercover assignment and he should just trust her, and Skinner, and wait it out. That’s easier said than done, and he spends his entire evening imagining all the dangerous situations she might be immersed in. Drug cartels, amateur mafias, cults, hackers, the list goes on and on. He can only hope that she’s safe.

Damsels in Dominance is an unassuming building nestled between strip malls and fast food restaurants. The parking lot and entrance are at the back of the building, a fabric-draped chain link fence surrounding it for privacy. Scully pays the cab driver, though now that she realizes how close her apartment is to the place she’ll probably just walk back. After much deliberation, she wound up wearing jeans and a blue T shirt, guessing that it would be out of place to dress up for an interview at a strip club. She pulls the front door open and finds herself in a small foyer with a counter along one wall, a hulking man perched behind it on a stool. Even seated she can tell that he’s very tall, with a broad chest and square shoulders. His neck is nearly nonexistent, thick and disappearing into the rolls under his chin like a tree trunk. His head is shaved bald and his deeply tan skin shows evidence of long ago healed acne scars on his ruddy cheeks. A small gold name tag pinned to his T-shirt reads “Denny.”

“Hi, I’m Diane, I’m here for an interview with Ricky,” she says with a smile. She’s decided that Diane will be the kind of person with an easy smile. The kind of person who makes friends quickly. She channels her sister Melissa, who would talk to anyone and somehow have them sharing details of their childhood trauma within fifteen minutes. If she’s going to get these people talking, she needs to be more like Missy and less like herself.

Denny nods with a grunt and stands, proving himself to be at least six inches taller than Mulder; her head barely reaches his waist. He comes around the counter to push open a second door and holds it for her, motioning her to follow. They enter one end of a long hallway, a door directly in front of them labeled “Enter Here to be Dominated.” They walk down the hall, past some restrooms and several other unmarked doors, until they come to one that says “office.” Denny knocks and a small woman answers.

“Diane, 2 o’clock interview,” Denny says in a flat baritone, then turns and walks away.

35 notes · View notes

bitchassbucky · 3 years

Text

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff

36 notes · View notes

starryseung · 4 years

Text

han jisung + fluff + smut

☾

request: for @hannie-squirrel00 : Heeeyyy lovely🥰 I've been reading your Stray Kids imagines which I am loving btw😍🤩 and I wanted to ask you if you could do a smut for me with Jisung please? If you need anything let me know and also could you make it long? Thank you soo soo much🥰🥰 word count: 4.2k words warnings; cunnilingus, unprotected sex, blowjob, fluffyyyy

Ugly Sweaters

"And the loser is... y/n! Congratulations to all the players~"

You sigh, knowing this was coming. The rest of the night is spent drinking and laughing along to stupid jokes. You stay along with your best friend and roommate, Chaerim. She was extremely tipsy for a pre-Christmas party, and you wanted to stay by her side before she gets kidnapped by an odd guy.

You were at your college friend’s residence, celebrating the last day of November before the beginning of the festive month. All of you played games until one of your friends proposed a game of beer pong, where the winner would choose the punishment for the loser. After the winner was decided, Chan, you knew he was going to go hard on the loser. A few moments are dedicated to thinking, and he replies.

"The loser has to wear ugly Christmas sweaters for the next 25 days until Christmas Eve."

And when the loser was judged, you, Chan's eyes filled with pity after imagining you wearing an ugly yellow-colored sweater filled with clashing decorations. He laughed awkwardly, not wanting to tense the atmosphere around you. Of course, you weren't upset, it was just a game. The next few weeks at work were off, you didn't have college, so you would stay at your apartment under the comforts of your ugly sweater.

On the day before the first day of the Christmas month, November 30, you went shopping to buy sweaters with Chaerim. Your eyes filled with awe as you looked at all the latest collection of sweaters, heart-melting, and bank account shivering. You start to think that this challenge wasn’t terrible for you since you could save your money now!

But that didn't stop your shopping partner from practically throwing her money everywhere she found a cute sweater. Hell, the sweater wouldn't even cover her torso, and it would still tumble into the shopping cart to get along with its other rich mates. Meanwhile, you move towards the nearly isolated section of the store, searching for an ugly, but presentable hoodie to satisfy your friends' growing impatience on the group chat, asking for your picture in the outfit.

You spot an employee from your peripheral vision, looking at you with his booklet and pen in hand. He walks over to you and you turn around to face him with a handful of sweaters drowning you. He chuckles before speaking.

"Excuse me, do you need help with those?"

"Uh... Yes please."

You pick up feet shuffling away as you stand there behind the pile of wool. You hear wheels rolling when you peek from behind the pile in your hands to see the employee bringing a shopping cart for you. You thank him as you dump the pile into the cart, resting your arms after holding the weight.

"Thank you... Jisung", you say smiling as you notice the name on his tag reading 'Han Jisung'.

"Oh, don't worry it's my job. Why the ugly sweaters though? Lost a bet?"

You chuckle, "Lost a game. It was bad." He laughs along as he fixes some clothes falling out of the trolley. You take this moment of silence as an opportunity to check him out. Han Jisung was slim. He had a petite figure —small waist, narrow shoulders— but he was well built. His white button-up hugged his arms and waist at the right place. He had a good pair of thighs, his black slacks acting like a second skin on the limbs.

"So... I'm gonna go now, my friend's waiting for me. I hope we meet again!", you bubble, waving the male a goodbye. He smiled and went back to work, noting down some price tag values and clicking his pen close. You walk over to Chaerim, her cart overflowing with accessories and dresses that were maybe more expensive than your entire wardrobe.

"Chae, honey, we're shopping for the week. Not for the decade," you cautioned, eyeing her shopping cart. Chaerim was rich, anyone could tell. But she was humble. She wouldn't brag about her riches, but also couldn't box her shopaholic nature when she saw the designer fabric and exceptional perfume. Those were her weaknesses, and she might as well live off without a family, but no new clothes? She would die.

You stand in line as you see Jisung run-up to the next cashier counter, filling in the empty spot. You feel a tug at your arm, and only register your friend pulling you towards him. He smiles at your friend before looking at you, beaming like the sunshine. He scans your clothes, which took twenty minutes due to Chaerim buying nearly three-fourth of the store before handing over the receipt to you two. Chaerim pays for it and as she types in her credit card password in the machine, Jisung asks–

"So, what's your name?"

"y/n", you smile, mentally beating yourself up for not saying it the first time you met. You and Chaerim grab the bags of clothes as you waddle up to the exit, stopped by the call of your name.

"Hey! Wait for a second!"

You and your roommate turn on your heels to face a breathless Jisung as he hands a credit card your way. You look at Chaerim as she makes eye contact with you and you metaphorically slap her. If it weren't for Jisung, your friend would have to pick food out of a trash can.

"You can leave those here, you know. I'll deliver them at your place", Jisung nervously suggests, gesturing his hands as if trying to pry the bags away from you. You smile at him and nod as he takes out his notepad and writes down the address Chaerim dictates him. Your friend hands the bags to Jisung and leaves to call a cab, leaving you and the boy alone to hoard aside your wares. As you turn to leave, Jisung stops one last time, scratching the back of his neck.

"Can I have your number?"

You cock an eyebrow at the question amusingly. He notices your reaction, quickly jumping to clarify his words.

"I— I meant if I couldn't find your address! I don't wanna get in someone's pants after 10 minutes of conversation!"

"So if our talk lasted longer, you would ask my number to get in my pants, am I right?"

"Yes! I... I mean no! I—" he huffs out, pouting his lips as he failed to make you understand his true intentions.

"Okay okay, I'm just kidding. Here, note it down", you giggle at his softness, giving your number to him. You run back out the store as you look at Chaerim enter a taxi, running over to the vehicle and hopping inside

You and Chaerim order takeout on the way home, and you couldn't stop smiling at the interaction you had with Jisung. Your friend noticed your happiness, twirling her fingers at the base of your hair.

"Who's my lover girl thinking about, hm?"

"Hey! I'm not thinking about anyone", you mumble, grinning as your thoughts flood with Jisung's smiley and bubbly face. You hear a scoff, followed by an “As our lover girl says”, from next to you as you elbow your friend in her sides, laughter filling the cab.

You reach home and get ready for bed, phone dinging with notifications as you open your group chat to view texts from your desperate and thirsty friends. You even notice a few from Chaerim, giggling at her stupidity. You tell them all to wait since the clothes were on their way, and that was enough to blow up your phone even more; a few texts from people who you didn't even know were enquiring about the ugly sweaters.

As you brew yourself and your roommate a hot chocolate, you hear your phone ringing. You look at the unknown number ringing you and you pick up, thinking it was Jisung who couldn't find your apartment.

"Hello, ther—"

"Good Evening Madam! You are the lucky winner of our raffle round! You have won a car and a grand prize of one million dollars! All you need to do is send in your social security number as well as passport details to receive the pri—"

You hang up, annoyed at the loud voice of the call center employee. If anything, they should've hired someone with a voice like Jisung's, soft, polite, kind, and actually convincing. Realizing you wouldn’t be able to meet him then, you forget about the call, sipping from your drink. You hear your phone ring again as you pick up without looking at the caller ID.

"You better listen to me right now. I miserably need a car and definitely need a million dollars, but if I had to give out my social security number around like cupcakes, you can consider shoving those prizes right up your as— "

"Y/n! What are you talking about?" A surprised voice speaks through the phone. You realize it wasn't from the caller this time, but from Jisung on the other side. You absolutely hated yourself and wanted nothing more than Han Jisung himself tossing you into outer space.

"Listen, it's okay, that's happened to me too, and it was to my boss, which is even worse. Now don't ask if I did it intentionally or not, because that would get me fired." he laughed across the static line, making you at ease and snicker too.

"Anyway, so there's this huge stationery shop, that's your building yeah?"

"Yep"

"Great. I'm on my way!"

"Thanks, Jisung!" you squeal, thanking the boy for his kind intentions. You wait at the door for the boy to bring your clothes. It was as if you were attracted to him like he was a magnet and you a piece of iron. He was sweet, caring, helpful, not to mention very attractive and probably the best boyfriend one could ask for.

You jolt as you hear the doorbell ring, quickly shuffling to open the gate. You see Jisung standing at the doorway with his hands filled with nearly five full bags of garments. You offer him to come in and have some hot chocolate and sit down since he must be tired from delivering the huge stack of clothes all the way down to your house.

He politely denies the offer, talking about coming over some other time, preferably when he wasn't doing night shifts. You felt pity for him since he had to work even during Christmas Eve. You smile and wave him goodbye until he leaves out of your sight, tossing the feeling of your heart rapidly thumping against your ribs aside, getting ready to send your annoying friends a picture of you in your new outfit, your first ugly sweater out of the other twenty-four you were going to be forced to wear not only by your annoying classmates but also your roommate.

You do the usual routine, brush your teeth, clean your makeup, get comfortable and cuddle up next to your teddy bear plushie. You think about Jisung one last time before dozing off and place your teddy bear’s paw above your head, smiling at the feeling of your roommate’s soft hands carding through your scalp to get you to sleep.

••••

A few days pass by, and Jisung still hasn't left your mind. You always hover your finger above the call button, to at least hear his voice once. You had never behaved that way, to say the least. Even Chaerim noted how your eyes would glisten and shine at the mere mention of Jisung's name. How you would shy down under your blankets when she would ask you about him. And when the day to buy the next batch of ugly sweater rolled along, you couldn't control your happiness.

You practically ran towards the store, looking for not only the sweaters but for a particular someone. You smile when your eyes land on Jisung and you try playing it cool as if you haven’t been thinking of him all week. But when he locked eyes with you, he was the one whose heart rate skyrocketed. He squealed and ran towards you, grabbing you by your arm and taking towards the latest collection of hideous sweaters. Chaerim looked over at the two of you with doe eyes, happy that her best friend was finally getting hooked up and wouldn't be a lone wolf at Christmas.

You and Jisung had grown closer over the next few days, with you meeting him after his shifts with your new bright green hoodies and yellow sweaters. You would get a few looks and laughs here and there, but it was all a joke. You liked Jisung, and you knew he liked you back. Stating that the two of you had become inseparable was an understatement. You two were basically connected by the waist and would spend the smallest moment away from work with each other. Albeit, you two hadn't confessed.

It was only two days for Christmas now, and even Chaerim’s boyfriend had come over. It would always disappoint you that you had to sleep out on the couch when your roommate would share intimate moments with him. Not because of the simple fact that your bed was taken away from you, but because you couldn't do the same to her with Jisung. Even you wanted Jisung to kiss you, to touch you in places you've never let even the closest people touch you, to have sex with you.

To tell you he loves you.

••••

At last, it was Christmas. Your overly excited roommate had tied up mistletoes around the house. You had invited Jisung over to spend the night together since Chaerim would be busy with her partner. You and Jisung would randomly yell out a 'kiss! you're under the mistletoe!' to the couple whenever they would cross from under the leaves, earning a groan from either one of the two. You two would chuckle and sit in one position, not moving from the couch so that they didn't have the opportunity to take revenge.

You feel someone shuffling behind you when you look back at Minho holding up something above the two of you. Chaemin crosses her hands and taps her feet smirking as she opens her mouth to leave words you weren't planning on hearing for the rest of the evening.

"Kiss, honey. You're under the mistletoe", She grins, her plan working as she wanted it. You huff, mumbling a "That's not fair" to the older couple looking down at you two. You look at Jisung, who just smiles smugly and shrugs as if suggesting that you two have no other option.

He shifts in his place, making your insides shiver as he places his hand on your jaw, leaning in to meet your lips. His lips feel like cotton candy on yours, your strawberry flavored chapstick blending with his make-shift saliva covered lips.

You pull away, anxiety instead of blood coursing through your nerves. Looking away and not making eye-contact with Jisung, you make a mental note of killing your roommate and her boyfriend once you find the right moment. Jisung rubs his palm against the flesh of your thigh in an attempt to stop your veins from getting jittery. Instead, the touch does the complete opposite, making fire rage in your body. You clear your throat glancing at Chaerim and Minho and walk to the kitchen after announcing that you were going to get you all some snacks.

That night, you and Jisung were exceptionally quiet. It felt as if you two were out of topics to talk about when in reality, you didn't want to face each other. You suddenly feel regret, thinking that maybe if you hadn't invited Jisung, he wouldn't have been embarrassed, and maybe your friend would still remain.

It was late at night when you all sat down in a circle, holding three to four gifts each between your legs. You were nervous and excited, curious as to what Jisung had bought you. Chaerim started, who received a silver ring from Minho, followed by Minho, who got tickets to his favorite artist's concert from his partner. He hooted and the pair kissed a filthy kiss, making you young chicks look away. You look at Jisung and gag, making him laugh at your cute faces.

You motion Jisung to open the gift you had given him, and he obliges. He opens the wrapper to reveal an expensive album record that he had been dying to buy but couldn't since he was short in money. He fist-bumped the air, jumping up and dancing a cute dance while chanting 'I'm so happy' over and over.

"Open your's, quick!"

By now all eyes were on you since you were the last one to open your gift. Minho shoots a 'hope it isn't a five-dollar bill' to Jisung, earning a face from the younger. You smile and open your gift, revealing a red-colored oversized sweater covered in white pearls and green beads. Your mouth hangs agape as you look over at Jisung and back at the dress.

"I saw you swooning over this when we first met, so I thought it would make the perfect gift", he speaks nonchalantly, waving off the fact that he could've bought ten of the album records he'd been dying to buy all these weeks with the money he spent on one sweater for you.

You jump up and hug him as your lips meet, this time both of you sharing the affection. This was how you wanted your kiss with Jisung to be like –slow, passionate and loving, not forced and under pressure of people watching you. You hear the older two yells “Get a room!” as you smile into the kiss, his hands snaking down to your waist.

All of you decide to watch a movie, which was ultimately ditched by Chaerim and Minho because they were sleepy as they prance into your and Chaerim’s shared bedroom, preparing to keep the neighbors awake all night with their sinful sounds. You and Jisung were left under the covers, cuddling into each other. He looks at you and opens his mouth to ask you something, words stuck in his throat as you’re facing the screen, your soft features illuminated by nothing but the bright light from it.

“Did you enjoy the kiss before?”

You frown in confusion, “If I said no, will you make me feel better?”

You feel the couch shift next to you and you turn towards him completely, his hands running up and down your sides. You cup his soft cheeks and pull him into a kiss, the sensation being both feverish and passionate. He pulls you closer to him, making you straddle his legs. You lick your lips before diving back in, pushing yourself onto him so that he lies down on the couch. You lay atop him, and he grazes his tongue against your lips as you permit him entrance. You bite his bottom lip, bubbling a small whine out of him. Only through the light provided by the television, you still feel him blush red, embarrassment flooding through him.

You run your hands through his fluffy hair, tugging at it softly as he moans into the kiss, sounds muffled due to your lips connected. He props himself up such that you fall under him, and for once you thank Chaerim for buying a wide sofa. You break the kiss, breathing in a tuft of air, only for it to be stuck in your lungs as Jisung nips at the skin on your neck, his growing bulge grinding down on your inner thigh. You feel the wet patch on your clothed core growing as every second passes by, your body becoming needy for action.

He sits up and crawls down to have your pussy face him. He removes your leggings, letting your underwear remain. He blows on the wet area a few times, earning eager whines from you, and you hold a fistful of his hair between your fingers, trying to pull him closer to your heat. He obliges, licking a fat strip on your slit right above the lacey material, making you shudder with pleasure. He pushes his muscle against your hole, making a moan bubble from your lips.

Pushing your underwear aside, he quickly jumps to business. He starts eating you out like he hadn’t just had dinner an hour ago. You arch your back in pleasure when he works his tongue against your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves. Two fingers prod at your entrance and before you can think about them, they’re pushed into your core, making you moan and buck your hips into his face.

He holds you down with his free hand, rubbing his thumb against your clit and tongue licking your slit a couple times. He pushes his tongue inside you, and you clench around him. He laps your walls and reaches your sweet spots, making you thrash under him. You wanted to desperately release the alien feeling in your abdomen, but Jisung wasn’t going any further than fingering you.

“Jisung, please” was all it took for the boy to unbuckle his belt and drop it at the foot of the couch. He takes his pant off and climbs back up to you, kissing every part of your skin from your torso to your breast, pushing the blue sweater up along with his forehead. You pull the fabric over your head, revealing your bra-less figure. Jisung groans at the sight, biting his bottom lip as he starts grinding his hips into your dripping cunt.

He reaches out to run a hand through your hair, only to be stopped by your fingers curling around his wrists. You bring them down and press his palm over your heat, showing him how hot and wet you were, how desperate you were for his cock to be buried deep inside of you. He exhales a growl and tugs at your panties, pulling them off. He grinds on you a couple of times before finally pushing his length in you, inch by inch, to prevent any pain from coming to the bay.

Once he’s fully in, he opens his eyes to look at you, mouth agape and eyes screwed shut. One of your hands were tangled in his hair, while the other one was gripping the edge of the sofa, almost tearing a hole into the material. You open your eyes at the sudden stillness, only for Jisung to cock his head questioningly as if asking if he could move. You nod after a couple moments, bliss washing over the pain. He starts thrusting into you, slow and hard. He reaches lengths in you almost no one ever did, and you were shaking in pleasure.

He hears a moan, but not from you, it roams from the bedroom. Even they’re fucking. He picks up his speed once he thinks you’re doing well, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. He reaches your cervix head-on a couple of times, lolling a scream and yelp from you occasionally. You moan louder, drowning out the noises coming from the bedroom. And when he starts gyrating his long fingers against your clit, you jolt in pleasure, gripping on his arms tightly as your pleasure waves over you.

Your breathing starts getting labored and he hardens his grip on your waist, making your body burn with pleasure. He bends down, biting and sucking on your neck, licking the area after he’s created a marooned art piece. The feeling on your skin drove you to the edge, and you release around him, walls clenching at his fat length in you. He pulls out of you and thrusts into his hand, searching for his orgasm miserably.

You replace his hand with yours, and though limp, you sit up against the arms of the couch and start pumping his length in your hand. He throws his head back in pleasure, his bottom lip between his teeth and eyebrows scrunched. You lick from base to top, kitten licking his slit when you feel he’s getting closer to his high. You hollow your mouth and fill him into the cavity, making him hit the back of your throat. Sucking and swallowing at his length, what couldn’t fit in your mouth was replaced by your hands, rubbing the pads of your fingers against his protruding vein.

He orgasms hard, making his vision go white with black dots. You suck him dry, some of his cum dribbling down your chin as you get up, which he cleans with the back of his hand. He pulls you into a kiss, tasting his orgasm on your palette.

You pull away to join him under the blankets, cuddling and hugging him as he kisses your forehead. You whisper small ‘I love you’s to him, and he returns them with pecks littering your cheek, smiling like a madman. He hugs and nuzzles his head against your hair, mumbling sweet nothings. You face him, inching your face further from his.

“What are you mumbling about?”

“I bought that dress because employees have a 65% discount on store items,” he confesses, giggling. You open your eyes wide, laughing softly at his cheekiness. Your snuggle closer into his chest, hearing his heart beating only for you. He cards his hand through your hair until he hears soft snores from you.

He looks over at the ugly sweater sprawled across the other end of the couch and smiles, mind rewinding back to the time when you two first met.

—

a/n: this!!! fic!!! is!!! my!!! baby!!! also, i know Christmas is long gone, but i really wanted to write over this prompt. Enjoy ;)

286 notes · View notes

chappedandfadedvds · 3 years

Text

Dec 13th, Sunday 13:32

oh no, guys!!

I was out all day and just got back home to realise that I didn’t set the time when to publish todays’ clip... it just sat there in my drafts... so could everyone reading just imagine to be teleported back to this very early afternoon?

I’m so so sorry!! 😰

__ __ __

Hey Jens,

I know this may be a bit out of the blue as I hadn’t contacted you for over two years. I hereby do not ask for forgivness if any shape or form. A lot had happened and for a while it was close to impossible to have contact outside of work. Obviously it doesn’t excuse my absense. I am pretty confident that I may even not have written you yet, wouldn’t it have been for Helena.

Your mother was also the person to give me this email-address, I hope you aren’t too cross with her. She meant well.

I am very positive you aren’t interested to read of anything that had happened to me since our last meeting in 2016. Already four years have passed. It doesn’t feel that long ago. But obviously you may feel different about that.

So where to begin?

Helena wrote me a long text, detailing the main events of the last year and her diagnoses. I had to read it a couple of times for it to settle. It still feels surreal to have to accept her leaving earth that early. I am most sorry for you. I wish I could have been of more support from the very beginning. But now I have the chance to do something and I hope you will consider my offer.

She told me of Lies and that she no longer lives in Belgium, which leaves you at home with your mother and Lotte. I can barely imagine how very hard that Must be on you. I do hope you have enough people who can take care of you, when you put your energy towards your family.

There isn’t much I can do from my position here. But be assured that I already signed the documents to waive my choice of guardianship over Lotte. You mother was strictly clear that that was your preferred arrangement and I am in no position to interfere in your affairs at home. So they should be on their way and at yours rather soon, hopefully in time early next week. Just in case, I attached a pdf scan. Should you need anything else, please do not hestitate to ak.

I also hadn’t forgotten that you turned 18 and unfortunately I haden’t yet congratulated you. I would like to do that now, even if it may seem shallow. But I send you all my best wishes and do genuinly hope that you will find success and love along your way. I am proud that you have the strenght in you to get through such a difficult and exhausting time and I believe with all my heart that you will make it to the other side.

Regarding my mentioned offer:

I want you to be able to persue your goals in life. Surely you must have some dreams about the future you’d like to see come true. It isn’t much, but I am obviously sending money into your mothers, and now your, bank account, for Lotte and yourself since our separation. And if you would allow me to increase the amount by whatever the house or the corresponding insurances may cost, I’d be more than happy to do that. As well as money for university. A good education takes you far in life.

This is not the greatest help of course, I know this. And I hope that you’ll understand that I can’t just leave my work behind, but I am already areaging to go visit Helena in January. I have to see her before I nay no longer have a chance, and she as well asked me to.

If you, for some reason, want to meet me as well, it would make me quite happy to see you too. I understand though if that is out of question for you.

I hope to hear back from you, so we can discuss the reality of help I can provide and anything I may have forgotten to bring up. I didn’t wanted this to get too long.

You’ll find my mobile number in the document as well, but as I said, a signal is a rare occurance.

With kindest regards,

Hendrik

—

Jens, who had been hunched over his laptop for the better part of the email, leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind them on the bed.

Reading the long message hadn’t helped to clear up any conflicting emotions he had felt since the notification had arrived a couple days ago. Jens had expected the worst and the best simultaneously, and what he actually had received left him uncertain about the right reaction to such a message. Was it anger or gratitude?

„So? What does it say? Is it bad news?“

No it wasn’t really, was it? If it wouldn’t have been for the sporadic contact with his father, and the suddenness of this mail, Jens perhaps would only have a more positive attitude towards it. However it wasn’t that simple unfortunately.

Jens hadn’t told Robbe about the content of the mail or why he hadn’t opened it yet. But when he had announced that it had been his father, Robbe hadn’t asked anything else. Instead he had draped an arm around his back, before putting his attention on his phone, promising not to look. Jens trusted his best friend to keep his word and had thus quickly opened the message. Before he had a chance to change his mind.

That didn’t meant that the boy snuggled to his side wasn’t curious.

„I don’t know. I honestly don’t fucking know. I’m glad to hear from him, but I am so pissed about the way he wrote it. For example: Already four years have passed. It doesn’t feel that long ago. But obviously you may feel different about it.“ Jens read out loud, ending on a heavy sigh. He probably could have just quoted everything but that would be bringing up topics that Jens wasn’t ready to share.

„Or this bullshit of three sentences: I also hadn’t forgotten that you turned 18 and unfortunately I haden’t yet congratulated you. I would like to do that now, even if it may seem shallow. But I send you all my best wishes and do genuinly hope that you will find success and love along your way.“ He continued, almost mockingly, huffing an unamused laugh when he reread parts of the mail. „Like, fuck him. What am I supposed to do with that?“

„Seriously? That’s why he wrote you?“

It was very nice to know that Robbe seemed a little pissed off by it as well. It definitely validated Jens‘s belief, that this was a shitty thing to write given their history.

„No.“ Jens sighed again, this time a little deflated. His eyes darted briefly towards his best friend, feeling rather timid as he contemplated how to formulate his next words.

„I needed a signed document from him for the thing that is stressing me out.“ As if he couldn’t be anymore vague. „And my mom was so kind to get into contact with him first. So he basically just let me know that he send it off and attatched a pdf as well. That’s something I guess.“

„I see.“

Robbe’s second arm sneaked around his stomach, thus wrapping him into a tight embrace, as he rested his head against Jens’s shoulder.

„I think I would have preferred him to just let me know about the document and leave out the whole other stuff.“ Jens replied, leaning his own head into of his best friend’s.

He felt Robbe nodding, while his fingers stroked his back gently in an attempt to comfort his best friend.

„What did Lucas think?“ He asked Jens, receiving a soft snort in return.

„Nothing yet of course. I opened this for the first time here with you, dumbass.“

„Right. Sorry, my bad!“ Robbe shrugged a faint pink on his cheeks, as he instantly realised the his mistake at the same time Jens answered him.

„I think I’m glad that he wrote me. At least I know that he supports me in some way and I‘m not simply indifferent to him. It would have been worse, had I needed to chase him down for weeks to get the documents.“ Jens quietly said and swiftly closed the laptop. He pushed it away from them. Jens would definitely talk to his mom and perhaps let Lucas read the mail later on his own.

Robbe sat silent next to him.

„He offered to pay for stuff if I needed him to. Don’t ask me why. But it feels shitty. It is good to have, and I may take him up on it. But it is not what I really need.“ I’d rather have him around, back then and now, Jens finished his thought unspoken.

It was the truth something that felt hard to say out loud. He wasn’t unaware of the fact that he close to never spoke about his father. It wasn’t an important part of his life for years now. He wasn’t even sure what people thought about his father, his friends included. He had met them all way after he left. Did they assume he was dead? No one ever had directly asked Jens before. At least he couldn’t remember anyone had before. There were only a couple of pictures that excist in his home that showed him, and they were almost all a decade old.

“If you want my opinion despite only getting the tiniest details from you, I’d tell you to straight up take the money. My father is always a little stingy if I need more for a month. So if your father offers you something, say thank you and accept it. It is the very least he can do for you. Don’t feel bad or sorry about it, as he should do much more for you. Honestly.”

Jens sat up straighter at his best friends words, Robbe following suit as the unwrapped themselves from each other. It definitely sounded like a shitty thing to do, but then so was the offer. Perhaps Jens would just as Robbe had told him. Why not?

“And if you don’t want to spend it on yourself, use it for Lotte or take out your boyfriend or help your mom with the bills. Whatever.” Robbe added and then shuffled of the sofa, as his phone was ringing on the desk calling for his attention.

Jens watched him, not paying much attention to anything but his thoughts and feelings regarding his father. He was glad that he had come to his best friend who simply accepted Jens withholding most of the details and still helping out. He appreciated it so fucking much.

“Alright, we’ll be there in fourty minutes, I think... yea... sure... okay see you then!”

Robbe told the person on the phone, his best friend’s hand reaching for him to pull him rather clumsy off the bed. Jens laughed at the sorry attempt. Robbe just wasn’t strong enough. But he gave in the second the other boy glared at him.

“Come on. Mayo is already on his way and I’m gonna text Aaron. You can bring your laptop and everything, or you can come back here later to get it.”

“Nah, I have to pick up Lotte at seven from her best friend’s place.” Jens replied, getting up while he packed everything as fast as he could around an impatient Robbe, searching for his missing board. As if a whole fucking skateboard could just vanish?

Seriously how did Sander managed to endure this daily?

Jens must have said that last question out loud, because he was hit in the chest, luckily not by the found skateboard, but by one of Robbe’s loose scattered sneakers.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

#week 8 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded

9 notes · View notes

comfy-whumpee · 4 years

Text

Dinner And A Show

Part of the Ellis AU. @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi.

He was wearing an emerald-green silk shirt and black slacks. His shoes were polished and his hair was brushed and tied back. The ponytail was a little off centre, so that it lay over one shoulder and made a striking contrast with the shirt. He looked amazing – and the button-up sleeves hid all of his scars.

“You’re going to ace it,” Nic said as they fastened his cufflinks. “Just be confident, and don’t hesitate. Remember, this is work, not a real date. You just have to seem genuine.”

“Not a problem,” Ellis said. He briefly flashed a look of wide-eyed, guileless innocence, and Nic laughed. They laughed even as they remembered just how Ellis had come to possess that skill.

“Yeah, like that. You’ll be in control the whole time, honey.”

Ellis nodded, consulting his file one last time before setting it down on the floor. Alistair knelt there, hands holding the chain in his lap, head bent. He would be reading the file, Ellis’s strategy guide, the whole way through the outing, providing Ellis with the ability to check any detail he’d forgotten. No information would escape him. No surprises. He would be in control.

Nic kissed his cheek, and smiled. “Perfect. Go on, taxi’s waiting.”

They watched him go with a wistful smile. His back was straight and his head held high as he descended the stairs to leave. He’d never used to walk like that. He’d never been comfortable as the centre of attention. But then, they were starting to understand. The person he was day to day...wasn’t really him. He only came back to them in those private moments alone.

They hated what he was doing. They hated why he was doing it even more. He’d come out of it, one day.

For Ellis’s part, he was too busy thinking about the meeting. When he arrived, he was still thinking through information he could use. When he greeted her, he made sure his handshake was one she liked.

Handshake: Like she’s trying to crush your fingers and she wants you to do it back.

“Mr Engels,” she said, seeming impressed. “In the flesh.”

Ellis smiled sweetly. “That’s me. Pleasure, Ms Farringdon.”

She allowed him to lead her into the restaurant, and didn’t speak until they were seated. Only once the waiters were at a distance did she say, “I have heard rumours about you. You are... Different to the image I had.”

Ellis smiled a little less warmly now. He knew what the rumours about him were. Some of them, he had planted. “Let me guess. A terrifying crime lord, or Alistair’s sugar baby.”

“The latter,” she acknowledged. “They said you were... Pretty.”

He smiled again. Self-effacing, a touch embarrassed. “I’m glad you think so. But back to the pertinent topic. Why did you agree to meet me? I know you’re not on best terms with the original Engels.”

She looked to the side, prefacing her avoidance of the question. “I don’t recall any significant animosity between us.” Then her eyes returned to him and she smiled. “I was curious, of course. Alistair has worked alone for so long.”

“He has,” Ellis agreed neutrally. He looked down at the menu, considering.

Food: Hates seafood of all kinds. Hates hot food. Subtle flavours.

“I recommend the risotto,” he offered, as he selected the vegetarian ravioli for himself. “Mild flavour, delicate seasoning.”

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “No starter?”

“Oh, naturally,” he said smoothly. “But the main course should be accounted for, when ordering the first.”

She hummed a brief chuckle. One slip, navigated successfully. He returned to looking at the drinks, until she spoke again.

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

Her tone was hardened around the edges, marked by her suspicion. There were rumours about him, yes, but she didn’t know that this was the person she’d expected to meet. He could have sent a decoy. He could be the decoy, for Alistair.

“Indisposed,” he said simply. None of her doubt was being expressed aloud, and he didn’t need to address it yet. “He sends his regards.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unlikely. He doesn’t like me.”

Alistair: ‘She’s a ruthless egomaniac who would kill her own mother for a tactical advantage.’

“He respects you,” he replied, setting his menu aside for the sake of signalling to their waiter that they were ready. “He did not think you should be subjected to dinner with him. Colleagues you may be, but friends, you are not.”

She considered that for a moment. He sat still under her blue eyes, reading his expression as best she could. He made sure to look simple, pleasant and honest, and while she wouldn’t truly believe that, the plausible deniability was useful.

She looked all the way to his shirt cuffs before looking back up. “Nice cufflinks.”

The formality was eroding. Ellis smiled, touching one. “Thank you. I hope you find dinner with me tolerable, if not pleasant.”

She propped her elbow on the table, chin resting across the back of her hand as she regarded him more intensely. Under his shirt the scars hid, and itched, and she kept looking.

Farringdon shook her head. “You don’t have to try so hard, cherub. Your partner and I have worked together enough in the past that you have some goodwill. Let’s just try to have fun.”

Ellis smiled properly, eyes bright with perfectly practised sincerity. “Let’s.”

Ellis closes his eyes with his hands poised over the keyboard.

Absolute silence in his home. Alistair is by the desk, waiting for an order. Nic is outside in the garden, reading under the porch. It’s raining, but Ellis had the office soundproofed a while ago. No sound in. No sound out.

He reaches for her.

Vision. Hearing. He connects himself up to her, taking in everything that she does. His hands start to move on the keyboard.

Computer, OS, email client, email address, every one that he can read down the side of her screen. Subject titles, as fast as he can type them, before she clicks off.

Email drafting. He transcribes in synchronicity with her, a second behind the movements of her body. He follows her pauses, her typos, her corrections, her edits. He is exactly as focused as she is, her words flowing onto her page and onto his without pause.

Email sent. Closed. More subject titles for what’s in her inbox. More in her sent items.

A video of horses. Even professional murderers have hobbies.

Then she checks it. Finally, she opens her phone and checks it, and he sees clearly the little GPS tracker she put on his bag when she thought he wasn’t looking - and he wasn’t, not with his own eyes, he practically handed her the opportunity. The bag is on a bus right now, and she closes the app, returning her attention to the computer.

A file. Title, date, last modified, author, and the content as fast as he can type it, which is faster than she can read it. Some distant thought recognises that the file is about him. He doesn’t pause. He will have her knowledge, all of her knowledge, and then he will know exactly what she thinks of him.

A notification on her phone pings and she looks down at it. Payment confirmation. He catches the banking app, the mobile network, the amount. She checks the GPS again, and sees its location.

She looks back at the profile of him and he types out the details of his own weekly routine without stopping to think about what it might mean until she gets up, and picks up a pre-packed bag, and takes one last look at her file and his photo and he watches her read the line about where he will be at this time of day, which he isn’t, because he’s watching her, and she heads out of the house.

She gets into her car, license plate noted, make, model, colour, landmarks around where she is driving from, street names, he can work out where she’s based later, and then she drives to his gym.

Before she gets out of the car, she checks her bag. He’s not surprised to see what’s inside.

In the pause as she looks, he writes a note to himself. Cancel gym membership.

He watches her move through the rooms in search of him. He watches her circle the property. He takes notes on how she enters and exits, how she avoids notice, the way she glances for cameras and speaks to those she passes as though she were a normal patron. He will learn from her, as he has learned from everyone in his life.

She leaves after half an hour of looking for him, bag still slung over her shoulder. She gets back into her car and pulls out a different phone. Dials a contact, and Ellis’s fingers fly to record the number.

“Hello.”

Ellis’s fingers stop.

“He wasn’t there.”

“Well, keep trying. You only have to find him once. I’m a patient man.”

The line disconnects.

Ellis opens his eyes. At the bottom of his garbled, rushed, typo-ridden document, there is a single word spelt with precision.

Harvey.

He takes a deep breath, and rests his wrists on the desk as the assassin drives home.

Harvey is trying to kill him.

#psychological whump #ellis: a whumper #my fic #whump #paranoia fuel #telepathy #failed assassination #manipulation #manipulative whumper #ellis #harvey #farringdon #nic

20 notes · View notes

thevirgodoll · 4 years

Note

I've been married for 3 years now - this man-child has physically, emotionally + financially abused me. He allows me to "buy whatever I want" but I don't. I know he'll complain later. I also realized while being in this relationship that I may be a heteroromantic bisexual... so for me the relationship is really difficult. I keep the peace so he doesn't retaliate. I'm scared to leave 😟 and anxious he'll retaliate and mention my sexuality to my Caribbean family..

This is really serious to me so I will keep this straightforward...

1. You are going to need to understand how dire this is.

You cannot keep living like this. I’m sure you know this. We need to create a plan. You are going to have to let go of your suspicions involving your sexuality. Your safety is way more important right now, and if you work ahead of him, you can remain safe and unbothered by his tactics.

->A friend that he doesn’t know where they live is best or a family member that you can trust with the details of the violent relationship.

-> If you simply decide you want to go to a domestic violence shelter or women’s refuge, you do not have to give identifying information about yourself, even if asked.

-> You’re going to need to develop a support system over time for when you decide to leave. Your family and friends should care more about your safety. This way you can outsmart him and he will not smear campaign you.

-> Avoid the middle of the night because it will make it worse. You’re going to have to be acting seemingly normal when you leave. Have a plan.

2. Take everything with you. Your license, social security card, birth certificate. You have to get your documents together. Credit cards, debit cards, money. Change of clothes, etcetera.

-> Take the essentials. I mean this. If you’re going to get out it needs to be the essentials only, and your other items such as jewelry etc you can send to loved ones

-> You may need to buy a cheap prepaid phone that he cannot contact you on... with a spare sim card

-> Send any clothes you cannot take with you to your friend and disguise it as a donation. Begin sending things to friends over time if that is your plan.

3. Begin speaking with an attorney...

-> If something goes wrong, notify the police of your ongoing situation. Don’t file stuff until you’re safe...

-> Work should be notified as well.

4. Be aware at all times.

-> You have to stop trusting him. You have to outsmart him.

-> Once you do successfully get out, he may go on a smear campaign involving your sexuality if he knows this detail, your reputation, anything to distract you and keep you vulnerable and going back. Do not listen to it. You have to be 10 steps ahead of him.

-> Do not use computers in your home........be smart enough to delete history or use computers somewhere else. Use a computer at work, the library, your local community center, a domestic violence shelter or agency, or borrow a smartphone from a friend.

When you’re safe and gone:

-> By the time you leave, your social media should be changed, passwords, users and all. If he still knows to find you...temporarily deactivate if he is going to go straight to your account. You can begin new accounts later...so please don’t worry about this.

-> Block anyone who is friends with the both of you and won’t believe you. They are irrelevant. Block them and do not contact or they will give you away.

-> Block his number...do not cave. This is crucial as people do not listen. Please do not undo all of your hard work.

Money and Emergency:

-> Change paypal passwords, venmo passwords, banking passwords. Open banking with a new email account that is online. HIDE YOUR CARD!!!!! Try the sole of your shoe, but since you’ve been living with him I am sure you know how to hide items.

-> Don’t download the app on your phone.

-> Cancel your old bank accounts and credit cards, especially if you shared them with your abuser. When you open new accounts, be sure to use a different bank

-> Know the abuser red flags...know what sets him off.

-> Have your plan rehearsed and have your support system set up long before you leave. Ask all trusted individuals if you can contact them if you need a ride, a place to stay, or call the police. You have to have this ahead of time!!!!!

-> If you have your car make sure it has gas and it’s facing the exit/ready to go...unless you’re leaving with someone else.

-> Your abuser could have tracking devices on your car or anywhere in the house. Leave them until you’re literally ready to leave

-> At a new location , use a post office box rather than your home address

This all seems far fetched right now but you can do this. Now is the time to put yourself first. Waiting until you have the motivation or strength will make you stay there forever and you will never leave. You have everything inside that you need. I promise you you can do this.

#answered #advice #save

18 notes · View notes

threeminutesoflife · 5 years

Text

Flaying a(n Albert) Fish

Pairings: Clint x Dark!Reader x Steve Summary: Reader extracts revenge against a monster. Warnings: 18+, dark reader, blood/gore, serial killer similar to Albert Fish- mentions of sexual assault and death against children- no description, home invasion, kidnapping, cannibalism, body parts, murder Word Count: 4.5k

Halloween Challenge- Are You Afraid of the Dark @barnesrogersvstheworld Thank you for hosting! Hope you have a fantastically Haunted and Happy Halloween!

prompt: #20 monster

“I would say sorry for not having smaller hands, since that’s what you prefer... and this’ll be the last time you feel anything warm on it...” you snarled at him coldly, “but we both know I’m not.”

Taking a step away from him, you twirled the hammer in your hand.

“Don’t forget to scream- just like they did. Because this is going to hurt,” you reeled the weapon back behind your head. “So. Very. Much.”

Deafening screams filled the house as you connected again and again, bludgeoning his depravity.

Bursts of air flared from your nostrils, while you tried to collect yourself and settle your breathing.

Blood dribbled down the end of the hammer adding to the growing puddle of inside-out remains between you both. Adrenaline slowed and your knuckles cracked as you jerkily loosened the grip on the hammer.

Tossing the weapon to the side, you eyed the new bastardized art piece. Blood spilled out, a waterfall between his legs. Tormented whimpers, broken sobs and dying struggles for breath; all his suffering brought a sense of warm achievement in your chest.

The police scanner bounced off your old Tower bedroom walls again.

You knew FRIDAY could simply stream the chatter, but there was something nostalgic about pushing buttons and twirling knobs.

You’ve listened to scans and phone calls, examined emails and files, plotted an idea of homegrown justice, and researched possible suspects. It was a haunting police case taking up your attention in between the missions. Maps and photos hugged your wall with notes crisscrossing over other various notes.

FRIDAY recorded the scans and police emails when you were away. Ever vigilant to highlight any details or new findings from the police mainframe about the intruder, who was preying on families with young children.

Which is where you read that the gags he placed between the children’s teeth- were all torn from what they determined to be one main source, a blanket. A dark line of all the better to hush them with came to your mind.

According to the notes, the gags' frayed ends matched each other when lined up. FRIDAY displayed the crime photos that showcased how the arrangement made an old, faded cartoon character emerge. Police thought the sexual intruder, dubbed the boogeyman, was ripping up his own childhood blanket to use in his assaults. One detective scribbled a possibility that the intruder's gags meant he was sentimental- and this was a way to intimately share himself and be closer to the victims.

You hoped the sentimental criminal slipped up on a small detail, perhaps overlooking the copyright year by the licensed character design. A small something to help narrow down his age, but unfortunately no. The print design was too timelessly popular and none of the victims left living could describe him.

And with no leads, the crimes continued. The boogeyman kept breaking into homes in the middle of the night to preform heinous acts. He threatened to kill the parents and siblings of the terrified children to keep them quiet and pliable.

Families were terrified for their children, scared their homes would be next. If victimizing the children out of their innocence wasn't monstrous enough, he'd hog tie them with duct tape and hide them away in their closets or stuff them into toy chests. Then he'd ransack the homes, randomly pocketing worthless items before leaving.

It was a grim thought you always had when reviewing the crime photos, it was like the children were his play things and he was simply plucking them off the floor, clearing them away when he was done with them. This monster needed to be stopped before he broke more toys and threw them away completely.

But it was always the same- until it wasn't.

Michael Robertson's small body recovered from river.

Steve was well-aware how this case was taking over your attention. From the smaller missions you traded or tried to give away to other teammates- to the many nights you kept the middle of his and Clint's bed empty.

Both men clearly remembered the cold shoulder you served them when Steve sent you out on a two week mission, pulling rank and ordering you to comply. Clint sided with him believing a break away from the case would help. As begrudgingly as you felt at the time, it did help to be away from the white noise of the scanners. Until FRIDAY sent you an urgent message- another child victimized a few days into the mission, this one resulting in death. His body found a day before you got back.

Breaking News: CHILD TAKEN, BODY FOUND.

Michael Robertson, age 6, kidnapped from home while parents slept. Killer removed boy's pajamas and laid them out on child's bed for parents to find next morning.

You knew you were losing yourself more and more in this police case, but with the hysteria emerging on the streets now that the boogeyman claimed another victim, one resulting in death, you expected additional branches of law force to step in soon. And you didn't want to deal with another player on the field.

You wanted this guy. He gave you something to sharpen your attention on and the want grew in you to strike him down. It was a tumor-like revenge. The team noticed you pulled away from evening dinners and movie nights. They began murmuring their concerns among each other and then to Steve and Clint.

While looking over more crime scene photos about the Robertson case, FRIDAY announced Wanda would be making cottage pie for dinner tonight. Glancing at your watch, 3pm, you mindlessly mumbled a 'no thank you' and then froze. Slapping the desk, you knocked an empty cup over onto mission reports you've been avoiding to fill out much to Steve's annoyance.

“FRIDAY, please bring up the old police notes about cottage- about home repairs or work crews. Wait, how far back did the police look?”

“The officers went back three years, Miss. No common links appeared.”

You scanned over the photos of children and their similar ages of 6 and 7. Would he have waited for more than three years to attack? He would have known the homes' layouts, he broke in so easily to each child's bedroom. If he did wait, for how long? Why wait so long?

Your gut was rarely wrong, and the home repair angle felt like something solid, “FRIDAY, please run all the family's credit cards and bank accounts to see if there were any repair companies or purchases done within the last five years.”

Looking at the youngest victims' age, Gabrielle Reyes with her toothy smile just turned 6, “If nothing, please try six.”

An electronic chorus poured in your room as computer alerts went off, reports fired across the screen.

A description and photo of self-employed contractor photo, Randall Williams, looked back at you.

FRIDAY ran off the newly found information. The victims' families hired his company in the past four to five years. Rachel Collins' home was his last before heading out of state. He was recently released five months ago from an out of state prison for a buffet of reasons, one being incident exposure.

“Miss, I took the liberty to run his payment history. He's been paying for a storage unit over the last eight years under a different name and P.O. Box number.”

You scoffed with a mix of thankfulness for Williams' laziness of leaving a trail and a curse that the repair history was not run back further in the beginning.

“Send me the address for the storage unit and his current address please, FRIDAY. And don't forget you're beautiful!”

Snatching your leather jacket and utility bag, you ran past Steve and Clint, who were folded against one another on the couch.

“I'll be back tomorrow. Don't wait up, my loves!” You called out to them over the action movie.

Clint and Steve stared at your figure fading quickly out the door, both pairs of eyes zeroing in on your large utility bag. They turned back towards each other and exchanged a knowing look. Steve dragged his hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

Unfolding himself from Steve, Clint kissed his cheek and patted his thigh, “I'm on it.”

Picking up his keys and jacket, Clint paused and took in Steve's concerned expression. “Hey, don't worry.”

Steve only sighed again as a reply and let his head hit the back of the couch. The sound of the door locking behind Clint drowned out the explosions on screen.

—

A fresh tank of gas, a new box of protein bars and a couple bottles of water later, you pulled into the storage facility. Stretching your limbs from the two hour drive, you took in the old property. It was run down with no foot traffic or desk clerk. The only camera you could see around the buildings was pointed at the office door, lens broken.

After grabbing your leather gloves and pulling the crowbar from the trunk, you went to work on the unit's lock.

Randall Williams reminded you of New York's grandfather serial killer, Albert Fish. Breaking into the storage container and shifting through his boxes, the incriminating photos he had of known and unknown victims were simply too hard to look at.

This man, this thing, was something that needed to be put down. The police were right in calling him a boogeyman. But they didn't know the accuracy of the nickname especially since it was once bestowed to Albert Fish himself.

You hoped Williams wasn't a cannibal, yet.

The young faces looked out at you from the photographs, some with tears and others with defiance. There so many, so many unrecognizable faces. You could feel the acid burn starting to rise in your chest. For a second, you wanted to talk yourself into believing these newly discovered victims were fake snuff photos he collected along the way, but you knew better and you saw the gags. Some with the same design used on the recorded victims. This was the man you’ve been looking for, and this man was a monster.

Eyes watered and the taste of bile rose in the back of your throat. With a shaky hand, you read a recipe of brown butter and sautéed onions with human flesh. A list of spices and measurements. Your memory flashed to the little Robertson boy with questionable wound and knife markings.

Flipping through the journal you read Williams’ comments next to the favored recipes and the preferred cooking techniques.

How long has this been going on? Your eyes darted to the stacks of photos with mystery faces.

There was a strange recipe of your own growing within you; ingredients of anger, sadness, disgust, revenge.

Laying the photos out on the cement floor, you surveyed the expanding collection of tragedy. You shuffled your feet across the ground and paused before each photo. 4x6, 5x7 and 8x10’s created a paper train of frozen mementos from each child’s nightmare. On the shelf, another box of negatives caught your eye.

Monster.

Your body felt heavier with each photo; guilt and sorrow for not stopping these events from happening, even if you never knew some occurred until now. You sent out an apology and prayer in your mind for them all.

“I’m fine. Be back in a few days. Love you, see you.” You quickly sent the text to Steve and Clint. Leaving you the grim photos on the ground, you pulled the storage door closed behind you. Pointing your car west, you drove off to deliver revenge and extract other things.

Randall Williams lived outside of a small town on a neighbor-less dirt road. Parking your car a safe distance away, you quietly made your way to his neglected looking home.

The house was quiet, dark and smelled sour. The sliding door was unlocked. Flipping the safety off your gun, you slowly slid it open. Suppose monsters don't have a lot to worry about.

Closing it behind you, you immediately covered your nose with back of your hand and tried to save your sense of smell from the pungent stench. The kitchen reeked of moldy food and ignored trash. You would have thought the home was abandoned, except the mail on the counter was stamped with this week's date.

Walking around, a calendar caught your attention. Next week's dates were circled and marked, Growing Dreams Day Care- install shelving. Biting your cheek, you tried to bury down the rage.

Creeping quietly in what you assumed to be the direction of the bedroom, you gingerly opened the door with your fingertips, gun ready in your other hand. Bathroom.

Squaring your shoulders, you made your way further down the hall. The second door held the right answer. There laying on his stomach, snoring in a pair of dirty briefs was the small statured, unaware boogeyman.

Three quick fast steps into the room, you came up to the bed and kicked the mattress. “Hey! Devil's Reject!”

Randall's eyes shot open and he flipped himself over to sit up.

CRACK!

You slammed the butt of your gun on his jaw. “Hurts, don't it?”

He let out an unearthly growl and groggily scrambled up, attempting to right himself to lunge at you. Bringing your boot up and kicking him back in his sternum, his head slammed against the wall and cracked the stained plaster.

“Nighty-night, fucker,” you smashed your gun against his face again.

Grabbing his legs, you pulled his unconscious, dirty body down the hallway. Dragging him through the kitchen, you were about to set him up at the kitchen table when you saw another door.

The door creaked open and basement steps greeted you, “Bingo.”

Bringing Randall's body around, you positioned him by the stairs and let him topple down the steps without a care.

Skipping down after him, you heaved Randall's body into position. After securing him to a chair, you took the time to exam the basement and survey his workspace until he woke.

You stared almost uninterested at the bound man before you. The toe of your boot lifted the lid of his unlocked tool box and knocked it open.

“So how’s the carpentry business?” an air of indifference in your question as you reached in and pulled out several hammers before spying a box of nails.

The man only muffled and grunted against the material wrapped around his mouth.

“Yeah, sorry about that gag I suppose,” you examined the different tools in your hands, flipping them from side to side testing their weight.

“Not the same blanket you tore off for your victims, but I did make sure to grab your dirtiest work rags. So please, wet it down real good and enjoy the taste.”

Standing up, you swung the hammer around, “Ah, this is the one.”

He eyed you with hatred as he rocked and rammed his body against the ropes in hopes to loosen them. Frantic sounds erupted deep from within his chest only to be stifled by the gag, when he realized the restraints wouldn’t give.

You hummed in pleasure at the trapped animal before you.

“Girl Scouts,” you nodded toward the knots on his body, “Don’t let the cookie sales fool you, asshole. Us little Daisies grow up to be Venus flytraps later in life.”

He rocked his body forward again as you bent down and picked up the box of nails.

“Not interested in what you want to say. Plead innocent, plead guilty. Shit, I don't even care if you regret every monstrously thing you've ever did. Actually, don’t give a fuck if you don’t regret it either. All that matters is that it ends here, that you end here. I know you checked out those homes you worked on, picking out the children and then coming back for them. Like some twisted human layaway plan. That was a hell of wait, but I bet you had nothing else to think about when you were locked away. ”

Reveling in his fear, you circled him. You could practically smell the panic ooze out his pores. “Ever hear about the serial killer, Albert Fish? Preyed on kids, ate them even. You both had common interests, similar ways- he your inspiration? My gut told me within time, you'd be like him.”

Dancing your fingertips across the tops of his shoulders, you emphasized each word with a tap, “And. You're. Already. There.”

Williams knocked his head side to side, trying to shake off your touch. He glared in your direction but refused to make eye contact.

“But there's a thing you’re missing from being so very much like him. A subtle difference to some, but devil's in the detail- am I right?”

You shook the box of nails up to his ear as you leaned by his other.

“He stuck pins in his groan, 29 to be exact. They have x-rays of it. No, no, I shit you not. So we're going to improvise with these nails and recreate it on you,” you bopped him on the nose. “Artistic interpretation and all.”

Driving the nails into him with a hammer, you randomly picked spots along his inner thigh and pelvis. “Do you like astronomy? Should I make the Little Dipper?”

He howled against his restraints. Drool and hatred running down his chin. Randall passed out on nail number eight, when it was jammed into his testicle, but came back around for the thirteenth nail while you slapped him awake. He passed out again on the twenty-third nail and you carried on without your audience.

“Oh good! You're awake- again,” false happiness laced your voice. “Take a look at the new additions!”

Swiftly grabbing the back of his head, you forced him to crane his neck awkwardly downward as he tried resisting.

“Oh good god. Stop bawling already,” walking around to his front, you brought the hammer down and smashed it against his left kneecap.

More cries of anguish poured out of Randall.

Reaching back into his toolbox, you crouched down in front of him, “you only have yourself to blame- for all of this. But also because you kept passing out on me- and that… well that, gave me time to think.”

You delivered a Cheshire grin and held up a pair of pruners.

His body shook and he screamed at you through the gag as you painfully pulled down on his nailed testicles. You quickly shoved the pruners around one sweaty ball. His right nut rested between the tool's blades, the nail stuck out below. His body convulsed in pain as you smiled and began cutting into him.

Randall's shoulders involuntarily shook as he wailed incoherently. After a few minutes his shoulders fell down around him, making him smaller with the weight of defeat.

Pressing the toe of your boot into his broken kneecap, you slowly and gradually applied more pressure, “Pay attention, fuckface. There’s still more I can cut from you.”

Blood painted his cheek as you tapped his face with the pruner’s blades, You pulled down his gag and he reeled his head away.

You plucked his testicle off the floor, “Hm. Kind of looks like a weird party appetizer, meatball and blood gravy. Gore gravy? You think that sounds better? Here. Want to try?”

Twirling the hammered nail between your thumb and finger, his detached ball freckled his cheek and forehead with blood. Threads of veins and skin twirled on the air like streamers.

“Blow on it, might be hot,” you cackled at your joke.

“Fuck you!” Randall cursed through shaky, chapped lips, gaping in pained disbelief at his removed appendage.

“Tsk-tsk,” you snapped the meatball appetizer back and forth on front of his eyes. “That bad, lousy fucking attitude and those actions is what got you here, motherfucker.”

You sneered at him coldly. “Don't make me get creative. Could always skin away pieces of you and wrap them around other parts,” you dramatically cut the air with the human hors d'oeuvre and pointed at his crotch with it, “like pigs in a blanket. Foreskin's optional, you know.”

He started paling between your words and the blood loss, silently staring wide-eyed when visualizing your threat.

“Now,” you stepped between his bounded legs, “Open up, fucker. Time to try, then die.”

Pinching his cheeks, you forced his mouth open and scrapped the nail against his teeth until his ball rested in the back of his mouth. Horror filled Randall's eyes as the taste of warm iron hit his tongue.

Quickly grabbing the sides of his head, you abruptly raised your knee and slammed it up against his jaw. “Enjoy.”

A mixed sound of wet squishing and teeth cracking sang throughout the basement as Randall sobbed. The deflated testicle and pieces of teeth fell from his mouth between his hysterical wails. You leaned against the wall until his banshee screams subsided, a mask of boredom across your face.

When his shoulders stopped shaking and he settled to broken whimpers, you punched him again and slid the gag back in place between blood-coated teeth.

“And now, for our final act,” you callously taunted as you eyed his maimed and bloody crotch. Locking eyes with Randall, you jerked your chin in to the direction of his tools, “Ready?”

—

Standing before Randall's crumpled body, you heard your name float down from the top of the stairs, “Sweetheart, it’s time to go now.”

Clint silently made his way over, stepping between you and Williams’ broken corpse.

He pulled out a plastic bag from his utility vest and held it out to you with his own gloved hands.

“Meet you back at the car?” you inquired as you stuffed your bloody gloves into the bag he always provided.

“Always,” Clint kissed your forehead and tucked the soiled bag away. “Go on now, gonna do a once over here and I'll meet you. Love you.”

“Love you,” you backed away and made your way to the car.

Clint pulled out several photographs of Williams’ victims and scattered them around his corpse. Picking up the bloodied hammer, he cringed when seeing a few pubic hairs stuck to it. He promptly dropped the tool on top of the victim's photos.

When he followed you to the storage unit, he figured the photos would come in handy for what he knew you'd do next. As he resumed to tail you from the warehouse, he decided to make an anonymous tip to the police about the storage unit when you were done. He didn't want to risk any evidence showing who Randall Williams really was could be overlooked.

Back at the car, you turned up the volume and resumed listening to your audiobook. You didn't have to wait long, soon Clint tapped on your passenger window asking you to unlock the door.

Dropping into the passenger seat and assessing your appearance, Clint raised your hand to his lips for a quick kiss, “You look more content already.”

“Only because it’s over and I get to go home to you and Steve,” you smiled and cupped his face. “Thank you.”

“Never have to thank us, sweetheart.”

He rolled his cheek into the warmth of your hand. Your fingers skimmed through the top of his hair. You liked to tease that his hair felt softer with the mohawk.

Blessed is what you felt. You found a home with Clint and Steve. And they accepted your need to play judge, jury and executioner.

Clint tapped your thigh and gave it a squeeze, “Let’s get home to him, sweetheart. He’s been worried.”

He reached behind your seat and pulled out the unopened box of protein bars, “See, you plan well but then forget details like this.”

Ripping the box open, he freed a bar from its wrapper, “Eat.”

You wanted to object for a moment and say you were fine, but Clint's tone was laced with a plead, not a command.

“When we get back he'll want to feed us, you know. No one was happy you skipped another dinner.”

You chuckled at Clint's reminder about Steve's concerns and opened a bottled water, “What about your car?”

“Had FRIDAY drive itself home.”

Humming at his answer, you capped the water, “Ready?”

Clint nudged your arm and took the bottle for himself, “Yes. And tomorrow we'll have a long talk about you being more aware of your surroundings. You were so blindly driven, you didn't notice me following like you usually do.”

—

When FRIDAY announced your return home, Steve felt he could breath easy again. He knew what these kills meant to you and the sense of serenity they brought.

Determined to make your and Clint’s return as smooth as possible, he put on your favorite playlist and he spread out the 24hr takeout menus.

He heard you before seeing you, smiling at the sight of you and Clint rounding the corner. Your legs swung back and forth, head tipped back with laughter, humor staining your expressive lips as Clint gave you a piggy back ride. A smile of Clint’s own beamed across his face at Steve as he set you down.

“Hey, doll.” Not hiding his admiration for you, Steve scooped you up into a tight embrace.

“Hey, handsome.” With a kiss on his jaw, you nuzzled in closer to him.

Opening up your embrace, you both pulled Clint into the hug.

Steve pressed his forehead against Clint's temple, “Thank you for being careful and bring you both back safely.”

Clint leaned into Steve's words, “Never have to thank me.”

Steve kissed Clint soundly and turned his gaze on you, “Give me everything you need burned.”

You nodded at his request and pulled out the bloody bag.

“Weapons?”

You turned your head shyly towards Clint, and he slightly shivered as he replayed in his mind what you orchestrated in the basement.

“She used his own. Left them there with some incriminating photos. Less things to carry back,” Clint explained to Steve.

Tilting your head at Clint's mention of photos, you truly realized then just how absorbed you were for not noticing him at the storage unit. Hearing Steve call your name, you gave Clint a soft smile before turning back around.

“Alright, doll. You know the next part. Strip.”

Without a second thought to his request, you swiftly slipped out of your jacket and boots, followed by your top and pants.

“Always love this part, sweetheart, ” Clint murmured behind you.

“Me, too. She looks so pretty with that new sense of accomplishment. Don’t you, doll?”

You laughed at your boyfriends’ praises, “Gonna go shower now. We eating soon?”

“Pulled out some menus when you two got back. I was thinking that little Italian place.”

“Sounds delicious,” you left for the shower after gifting both men a slow, appreciative kiss. “Maybe come join me before the food arrives?”

Both men hummed in appreciation as they watch you walk down the hall.

“I’ll get hers. Gotta wash mine, too.” Clint offered, collecting your soiled items from Steve to bring to the laundry room and incinerator.

Clint stepped into the elevator but froze suddenly when he saw Steve holding the Italian menu.

“Steve!” Clint frantically called out, forcefully pushing the elevator doors apart. “Order mine without meatballs!”

#dark!reader #steve x dark!reader #clint x dark!reader #clint barton x reader #steve rogers x reader #ayaotdchallenge #dark!clint x dark!reader #dark!steve x dark!reader #dark!clint #dark!steve #dark!marvel #dark!fic #dark!fanfiction #steve x reader #clint x reader

266 notes · View notes

quinnybee-writes · 4 years

Text

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 3/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 3 Summary: Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and thrice is just a big headache for everyone involved.

Part 1 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on AO3

Hizashi gave the IT intern a tight but friendly smile as she waved to him before going to check on the status of the server migration. He hated having to do delicate research like this at work; every time one of his coworkers needed something in the room he shared with the server banks he couldn’t help jumping to attention, his hand poised on the lid of his laptop to snap it shut if they wandered too close. The cover it provided him was mostly worth the anxiety, however. A single IP using a VPN in the middle of an apartment block full of unsecured cable company wifi signals was suspicious; another VPN added to the tangle of secure signals emanating from a tech-heavy operation like a radio station was just another Tuesday. Hizashi waited for the intern to finish her checks before going back to what he’d been looking at before he was interrupted.

As far as he was able to find in the HR filings for Solo-Falcon Deliveries they only had one employee named Aizawa, first name Shouta. The photo that accompanied the digitized CV was younger-looking but the man was recognizable nonetheless; same perpetual look of knowing what a hairbrush was in concept but no evidence of him owning one, same dour, “are we done yet?” expression in his dark eyes. Said CV was as barebones as Hizashi had ever seen: eight years at Solo-Falcon Deliveries preceded by a plethora of short term post-middle school jobs; school transcripts from a dozen different private tutors that came to a sudden stop at the end of middle school. His permanent residence had been the same for as long as Aizawa had been working, cosigned by an adult family member with the stipulation that the lease would pass to Aizawa when he turned eighteen. As far as Hizashi could tell Shouta Aizawa had popped out of nothingness as a poe-faced fifteen-year-old looking for a job.

Trying to get any answers out of social media was equally fruitless. Retracing Aizawa’s online steps revealed a ghost town of abandoned accounts in his wake, all following the same pattern of non-use. He would sign up for a new platform, friend or follow one or two other accounts, make half a dozen posts over the course of about a year, then drop it completely without bothering to deactivate or delete. The posts were all the kind of non-entities one could expect out of someone who wasn’t expecting to stick around for very long. Even on the accounts he’d used the most they mostly consisted of inoffensive comments about the weather or work and slightly blurry cell phone pictures of cats.

Even the government seemed to have no luck in catching ahold of Aizawa longer than the time it took to confirm his address, collect his taxes, and send him back on his way. According to his Quirk registration, Aizawa had been something of an early bloomer, developing his nullification power before he even hit kindergarten and being switched from public schooling to private education soon afterwards for reasons of “health concerns”. Elementary and middle school records matched the near-yearly swapping of home tutors from his CV, but Hizashi noticed with interest that there was one massive omission between the two. Several records back in the Quirk registry’s access history was a request from the registrar of UA High School to confirm Aizawa’s personal and Quirk information. Raising an eyebrow Hizashi flipped back to Aizawa’s schooling history and found a perfunctory footnote at the bottom of the file: UA High School registration Apr 2004-Nov 2004; file sealed per subject request. Nothing else was said, just that short “by the way” on a digital post-it note before going on to document the work history and financial filings Hizashi already knew about.

Either Aizawa was some kind of subterfuge wunderkind or he really was just this disconnected. Hizashi sighed and leaned back in his chair, turning that over in his mind. A sealed UA record was as tantalizing a morsel of intrigue as you could ask for, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could go up against a security system as ironclad as theirs with nothing but a masked IP and an undeniable curiosity. There were favors he could call in, Hizashi supposed, people he could ask. Said people would want something equally backbreaking in return as insurance on their investments but that could be relegated to a date far in the future where he had the information in hand and could gauge its actual worth for himself.

Before he had time to start flipping through his mental address book, however, he was interrupted by a buzzing from his cell phone. The display showed an unlisted number being forwarded through his “business line”, a landline he’d had installed in a condemned fast food restaurant on the far edge of the city. Hizashi glanced at his door to make sure it was fully shut before swiping to accept the call.

“Mmn,” he muttered by way of greeting. There was a click, and an automated voice on the other end began to speak in choppy, text-to-speech sentences.

“Bird. Seguchi. Your backdoor into the Hero Registry failed.” Hizashi rolled his eyes. Of course he was the problem, it couldn’t possibly be that Seguchi's client was incompetant. “You owe me a workable solution, do it right this time. Meet tonight at nine sharp, no later. Directions to follow.” The message barked out the address and Hizashi scribbled it disinterestedly onto the back of an envelope. It looked like his pet project would have to take a backseat for something more pressing but way less interesting, he thought with a disappointed sigh.

Biting back a curse, Shouta stared daggers at the bland error box telling him he didn’t have the proper access clearance for the files he needed. He’d spent most of the morning trying to fake the new set of credentials the police database was requiring to view the updated version of the Mockingbird dossier. The security had never been what you could call lax, but the newest version required both the highest clearance level Shouta had ever seen as well as a password that from what he’d been able to glean was just a long randomly-generated string of characters that maxed out the number of available spaces. He gritted his teeth and decided the building headache at the back of his skull was telling him he needed to switch to something a little less frustrating, though such things felt thin on the ground at the moment.

Trying to reconcile the comings and goings of Hizashi Yamada with the known Mockingbird incidents was proving to be an exercise in futility. Yamada didn’t necessarily have an alibi for every time Mockingbird had been sighted in the act, but there was also no real reason for anyone to suspect him of needing one. Mockingbird was a serial offender with a list of potential charges that took up several single-spaced pages in his police file; Hizashi Yamada was the well-known and well-loved operations manager and late night host for a radio station that while not the biggest or wealthiest was far from needing any kind of criminal boost. The only link between the two was Yamada’s oft-abused Quirk, but even that information was a double-edged sword at best. The police had been smart enough to keep the press away from the more sensitive details of the Mockingbird case to avoid copycats and false reports but no one knowing the connection was possible left Shouta shouting into the void. If he went as a civilian witness to the police, he would have to think of a very good lie for how he knew Mockingbird’s M.O. but hadn’t gone to them before now; if he went to them as an admitted vigilante, they might take his report more seriously but he’d end up in handcuffs right next to Yamada. As with most things he’d have to go into this on his own, something that would be a much simpler undertaking if he wasn’t being actively locked out of the information he needed to do so.

“Computer trouble?” a voice above him asked. Shouta jumped, causing the large ginger cat in his lap to grumble and dig its claws into his thighs in retaliation. He gave the cat an apologetic pat on the head and looked up to see one of the cat cafe’s servers standing next to his table.

“Uh, no. It’s just old. Doesn’t like to load,” Shouta lied, swapping screens as casually as he could. The server nodded with a sympathetic smile.

“I getcha,” she said. “It’s such a pain when they still work but they’re too old to really do the work. Our whole register system is older than I am but we can’t get the old workhorse to give up the ghost and let us replace her.” She chuckled, shrugging. “Did you want a refill on that coffee?” she added, pointing to Shouta’s half-full cup that had gone cold long ago.

“Sure, thanks. One sugar, no milk,” Shouta said. He scratched the cat in his lap behind the ears until the server was safely back behind the counter putting his order in before switching back to his other window.

The page had blacked out, the error message now telling him that his session had expired and would not be renewed. He tried closing his browser and restarting it, but the window instantly dimmed and let him know that his session was well and truly dead for today. Shouta wondered if this was a new protocol being rolled out across the board or if he wasn’t the only one they were having to lock out. If the same gap in the digital fence was being used by someone with less scrupulous intents, Shouta supposed he couldn’t entirely begrudge the police for fixing the fault and adding a less easily manipulated system. Trying to channel his frustration into a more helpful direction, Shouta opened the spreadsheet he’d been using to build a Mockingbird timeline and added what scraps of new information he’d been able to screenshot. He highlighted the long periods of silence and typed each time period and Yamada’s name into individual browser tabs.

Hizashi Yamada was as easy to track as Mockingbird was impossible to pin down. Yamada put a lot of effort into propagating his breezy, unbothered persona, but seemed to put just as much into being a diligent employee; the gaps Shouta had found in Mockingbird’s movements didn’t generate so much as a sick day for Yamada. Shouta supposed if you weren’t actively looking for irregularities the lack of them wouldn’t have sparked interest, but to him it was both unnatural and damning. There had to be a weak spot somewhere, Shouta thought. Absurdly careful was one thing, but perfect was something else entirely. He had a suspicion that there was information in the locked sections of Mockingbird’s dossier that would mean nothing to the police without knowing Yamada’s civilian movements but would be the key to getting the upper hand on him for Shouta. But getting in there for a better look around would take time, and with his afternoon delivery shift fast approaching time was not something he had in excess. Another day with better luck, Shouta thought, saving what little progress he’d made and shutting his laptop.

Hebiko, Seguchi’s second in command and high-ranking candidate for Hizashi’s least favorite person on the planet, was waiting for him under the awning of the burned-out corner shop they were supposed to meet at. Hizashi groaned internally at the sight of her, fighting the urge to turn on his heel and cut his losses. Instead he raised a hand in greeting.

“Nice weather for it,” he said.

Hebiko fixed him with an unblinking stare and an emotionless smile. “It’s been a while, Bird,” she said, extending a hand to him like she expected him to shake it. Vivid memories of falling for the ploy and being subjected to the tetanus-like paralysis of her Snakebite Quirk the first time they’d met made Hizashi’s hands reflexively clench into fists. He meaningfully tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and looked around.

“Is your boss planning on joining us, or did he decide the B-team could handle this one on their own?” he asked.

“He had a more important appointment to keep,” Hebiko replied. Her smile widened without gaining so much as a scrap of good will. Hizashi was tempted to point out that Seguchi had thought this was important enough to call him out in the middle of a weekday evening, but his desire to get this over with before all of the good takeout places closed won out.

“His prerogative,” Hizashi said instead, shrugging. “Shall we, then?”

“After you,” Hebiko said, gesturing down the narrow alley between this building and the next. “We’re parked a street up from here,” Hebiko added when Hizashi didn’t move. “It’ll be easier to just cut through here.”

Hizashi scraped together the waning scraps of his patience, reminding himself that there was a takeaway curry and a quiet night at home with his cat on the other end of this nonsense, and headed up the alley where she was pointing.

“Good work today!” Shouta’s manager called over his shoulder as he left the employee changing room. Shouta’s two remaining coworkers called it back to him over the clang of closing lockers. Shouta muttered a vague reply a little too late, his mind already turning to what he had planned for after work.

With a last-minute change in the schedule he had somehow escaped an early shift tomorrow morning after tonight’s late shift, which meant he had until tomorrow afternoon to sleep and eat and all of the other things he usually had to cram into the few hours between clocking out and clocking back in. His heart ached to get out and stretch his legs on a long patrol, missing the routine in the wake of his recent garbage schedule. His head knew better, though. The late hour would mean fewer personnel working at police central intelligence, which would mean fewer eyes on what files were being accessed and by whom, and his newly-opened timetable would mean plenty of time to figure out what he was supposed to do about the lock on the Mockingbird dossier.

Shouta threw his bag over his shoulders, bidding his coworkers a hasty good night and walking quickly out the door before anything had time to interrupt his plans for the evening.

Hebiko followed at a distance that felt both too close and uncomfortably distant, her footsteps almost purposefully off-beat from his own. Hizashi opened his mouth to invite her to stop being such a stalker and just walk next to him, but instead found himself being slammed sideways into the alley wall by something that exploded out of a garbage bag next to a nearby dumpster. Hizashi staggered, breath catching short and sharp in his throat from the hit. Hebiko’s foot shot out from behind him, dead-legging him into an awkward half-crouch on the pavement. Hizashi looked up to see Takeshiro, one of Hebiko’s favorite minions, hopping out of the dumpster. The garbage bag that had assaulted him rustled and squirmed as a thick tangle of dessicated vegetable cuttings slithered out and stood ready by Takeshiro’s side. Hizashi choked back a gag at the smell of it, working to keep his face unconcerned.

“I feel like you might have taken that B-team comment from earlier a little too personally,” he said, the words coming out in a pained wheeze. For the first time Hebiko’s smile held actual mirth and Hizashi deeply regretted the development.

“You’ve been pissing a lot of people off lately, Bird,” Hebiko said.

“Including your boss, apparently,” Hizashi agreed. He pivoted on his toes and tried to keep his eyes on both of them as he straightened up. “He must be pretty irritated to send his pets to do his wet work without coming along to gloat.”

Takeshiro’s plant weapon struck out at him again, sending Hizashi skittering sideways to avoid it. Hizashi gritted his teeth. Hebiko and Takeshiro were each blocking an open end of the alley, closing ranks around him along with Takeshiro’s plant. The only other potential exit he had was a fire escape above the dumpster Takeshiro had crawled out of. If he could keep them distracted long enough to dart through and scramble up the escape there was a chance he could make it out of this in one fresh-scented fully mobile piece. He thought of the extendable police baton hidden in the holster sewn into the back of his jacket but decided it was better to keep it as a last resort. There was no point in escalating a situation already at the snapping point if he could find another way out of it.

“The boss doesn’t know you’re here,” Hebiko said coolly. “The cops caught him trying to get through the Hero Registry’s security net last week using the instructions he got from you. He’s been in custody ever since.”

“Sounds like user error to me,” Hizashi replied, “since the information wasn’t for him in the first place. Does he go through other people’s mail too?”

“That’s really cute coming from someone who makes a living out of digging in digital garbage looking for things to sell,” Hebiko snapped.

“Ooh, really hitting me where it hurts,” Hizashi said. He put on the biggest, fakest grin he could muster, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. Hebiko’s eyes narrowed, her hands flexing at her sides like she was trying to resist the urge to throttle him. Takeshiro’s plant weapon was starting to twitch and writhe at Takeshiro’s side, belying the man’s outward straightfaced patience. His strategy was panning out for the moment, and hopefully a moment was all he would need.

“We’re about to find a few more places for it to hurt,” Hebiko said, lips curling back from her teeth in a cold smirk.

“Thanks but no thanks.”

Seizing his chance, Hizashi caught Hebiko hard in the jaw with a surprise right hook. She stumbled back a step before coming towards him with an open-palmed strike of her own, ready to freeze him where he stood. Hizashi managed to avoid it just in time, hooking his foot around the back of her knee and sweeping it out from under her. He felt a hand grab him by the back of the jacket and yank him back several steps, nearly taking him off his feet as well. Hizashi twisted sharply towards Takeshiro, forcing the man to loosen his grip just long enough for Hizashi to duck away. He made it all the way up onto the lip of the dumpster and felt his fingers brush the ladder to the fire escape before something grabbed him around the waist and pulled him hard down onto hands and knees on the pavement. Hizashi yelped as pain crackled through his shins and forearms. Before he had time to recover he felt a hand snatch his sweatshirt’s hood off of his head, followed by Hebiko’s sharp fingers digging into the back of his neck. Instantly his body went rigid, joints locking painfully together against his will.

“This is why I hate birds,” Hebiko said, her voice mockingly conversational in Hizashi’s ear. “Whenever things get a little intense, they try to flit away before you get to have any fun with them.”

Without any warning Hebiko grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head forward, slamming it with all her strength into the steel side of the dumpster. Hizashi went limp, the fading paralysis replaced by a dazed ringing in his ears and an unstrung feeling throughout his limbs. He struggled to keep himself awake as black static overtook his vision. Distantly Hizashi could feel hands turning him over and working to pick him up. He heard a second metallic clang, followed by Hebiko snapping something to Takeshiro at the far end of the sludge his brain was sinking into. Before he could make any sense out of any of it, he’d drifted too deep and everything was dark buzzing silence in his head.

Shouta had been trying his best to keep his head down and his eyes on the goal of getting home, but the instant he’d seen the two of them he knew there was going to be trouble. The street was mostly empty and the few people who were out were in motion, leaving jobs or late-night restaurants and heading to wherever they were going after that. The two under the awning, however, were just standing there, carefully keeping to the little bit of shadow the scraps of ripped canvas still cast over the sidewalk. Shouta slowed, pulling his hood up to make it slightly less obvious that he was watching them. One of the figures was tall and skinny with a sharp silhouette, the other at least a foot shorter with unnaturally stiff posture. They talked for a moment before the shorter one waved the taller into the nearby alleyway. Shouta’s eyes narrowed. Never a good sign. He unsnapped the pocket he’d sewn into the shoulder strap of his bag, pulling out one of the bolases he’d stowed there for emergencies. Tucking it tightly into his palm he approached the mouth of the alley. A quick check of the sidewalk confirmed no one else seemed to have noticed him or the two he was following, so Shouta edged up on the corner of the building and peered down the alley.

A third, stockier figured had joined the group from somewhere in the time it took him to approach; they and the short one had closed ranks around the tall one to prevent any potential escape. Shouta dropped into a crouch as he rounded the corner, scuffing his feet over the ground to keep his steps quiet. The group was too far away for Shouta to tell what they were saying, but the conversation seemed to turn sour very quickly. Shouta only managed a few steps towards them before whatever was said triggered a short, dirty fight and the attempt at a quick exit by the tall one via a nearby fire escape. Something fast and tentacle-like caught them around the waist before they made it and dragged them back down. A moment later the short one had them by the back of them neck and slammed them head-first into the side of the dumpster with a sickening clang of skull on metal that echoed out in the otherwise muted night. The tall figure lolled sidewise, dropping senseless onto the ground and for a moment Shouta thought the other two were just going to leave them there. Worse plans were being made, it seemed, as instead the two still standing worked together to roll the unconscious third over and the stocky one made to throw them over their shoulder.

As quickly as he could, Shouta spun the bolas in his hand and threw it at the stocky figure as they bent over. Just shy of wrapping around them, however, the tentacle thing reared up again and slapped the bolas aside. It wrapped uselessly around the bottom of the fire escape ladder with a metallic snap and both of the standing figures turned to see Shouta where he had broken his cover. He pulled another spare bolas out and started it spinning as he rushed them.

“Forget it, get to the car!” the shorter figure commanded the stocky one as they made a move to grab the unconscious figure again. Sprinting away, they made a cursory attempt at tripping Shouta with the tentacle thing, but the swipe swung wide and the tentacle melted into a glob of rotting vegetables as he darted past. The second bolas flew straight, but the two of them had a big enough head start on their side that it dropped and skidded along the ground at their heels without making contact. They had already ducked into a nondescript black sedan and were pulling into traffic by the time Shouta reached the other end of the alley. Shouta pulled his phone out of his pocket and just managed to get a photo of the back of their car. He realized too late that the car didn’t have any plates. Muttering a sharp curse under his breath, Shouta turned and walked back to where they had abandoned the body.

A cold, dawning recognition began to spread in the pit of his stomach as he approached. The figure lay face-down on the concrete where it had been dropped, a spill of long blond hair falling over the collar of a familiar feathered leather jacket. Gently turning the body over confirmed his worst suspicion. Mockingbird’s mask now sported a jagged crack along the top and was streaked with blood from where it had cut into his forehead when his head slammed into the dumpster. Under the blood he looked unpleasantly pale in the dim alley light. His eyelids flickered and he let out a small moaning breath as Shouta put two fingers to his neck to confirm there was a pulse. Not dead, Shouta confirmed with a tight grimace, just knocked out.

Shouta sat back on his heels, brain speeding off in opposite directions at the same time. He knew he was duty-bound to find the nearest patrolling officer or hero and turn Mockingbird in; it was the only good ending for the situation, even if his accomplices had managed to get away. Then again, those “accomplices” had knocked Mockingbird out and for all intents and purposes left him for dead. Whatever had gone south between them, Mockingbird had ended up a victim of it in the end. It seemed unfair somehow for him to get turned over to law enforcement when what he needed was help, like adding insult to injury. A police siren rang out on the street Shouta had followed Mockingbird and the others off of, making Shouta jump. He didn’t have time to debate it. Before better instincts could kick in, he shuffled off his bag and opened the farthest-back compression pocket.

“Sorry about this,” Shouta muttered. Working quickly, he stripped off Mockingbird’s mask and jacket, stuffing them into his bag. Mockingbird was wearing a piece of homemade gear around his neck, partially hidden by the neckline of his hoodie. It looked like a series of spare audio parts wired into a tight collar; long wires stretched down under his sleeves to controls strapped to the palms of his hands under his gloves. The sirens were getting uncomfortably close as Shouta tried to find a way to get it off of him. Finally he just took each side of a join in one hand and yanked, pulling all of the wires free and and shoving the whole contraption in his bag as well. He managed to get everything strapped flat and his bag back over his shoulders as blue and red lights announced the approach of the police. Taking a deep breath and turning his gut-level panic into an expression of concern, Shouta half-jogged out of the alley to meet them.

“Hey! Hey over here, I think he needs help!” Shouta shouted, waving his arms to flag the car down.

The next hour was a hazy blur of trying to keep his story straight for every cop he had to repeat it to, from the scene to the ambulance to a private conference room at the hospital. He had been on his way home from work, he said in increasing tones of weariness, and he heard what he thought was a fight in the alley as he passed by. He tried to step in after the muggers threw Yamada against the dumpster, but they ran off before he could get a good look at them. No, he didn’t really know Yamada, he just recognized him from a delivery he’d made. No, he wasn’t the one who made the initial call to the police, he had been trying to check if Yamada was dead or just unconscious. No, he didn’t have any additional information, he had honestly just been in the right place at the right time. Each time the police seemed to get a little less interested in him, turning their attention to questioning Yamada when the doctors were done running tests. Finally they thanked him for his time and Shouta was allowed to sit by himself in the waiting room and catch his breath.

Every single part of him felt like it was trying to fistfight every other part, but his head was winning the pain battle by a longshot. Hizashi opened his eyes and immediately shut them again with a sharp grunt of pain as white fluorescent lights burned into his skull. He tried again more slowly, squinting his eyes open in slow shifts to let them adjust. A hospital room came into focus bit by bit.. His jacket and gear were gone and his feet were bare. He could see a doctor and nurse standing a few feet away, talking to a uniformed officer. All of them seemed relatively relaxed, considering where they were. There was an uneasy feeling of Wrongness about the situation, but before he had time to dwell on it, the three of them noticed he was awake and came to stand around his bed.

“‘M I under arrest?” Hizashi mumbled. It wasn’t the best opener, but putting thoughts into words and having them stay in the right order was proving to be a challenge right now.

“Nothing so drastic, Mr. Yamada,” the doctor said, smiling at the perceived joke. “Officer Fujiwara is just here to take a statement about what happened to you tonight after we run a few tests to make sure everything’s shipshape up here,” she added, tapping her own temple with an index finger.

“Okay,” Hizashi said slowly. The time delay between ears and brain was slowly shortening, but somehow that wasn’t helping things make sense. He wasn’t being detained (yet), and they’d called him Yamada, which seemed to imply better things than he had expected. How that better outcome had happened was still up for debate but he was more than willing to let it ride for the moment.

The doctor introduced herself as Dr. Watanabe before going through the usual battery of post-concussion memory and comprehension tests that a childhood spent roughhousing with four siblings had turned into second nature for Hizashi. Slowly but surely as they spoke Hizashi’s brain clicked up through the gears until he was mostly running on all cylinders. He kept the conversation going as they wheeled him out of the room for a quick brain scan and then back in once it was done. Too soon, however, came the moment when he had to explain himself to the police.

“I understand things may be a little bit confused at the moment,” Officer Fujiwara began, cutting off Hizashi’s excuse before he could even make it. “We can fill in the more minor details at a later date as they come back to you. For right now, just tell me what you remember.”

Hizashi hesitated, trying to come up with a story that was both plausible and matched enough of the details that it wouldn’t come back to bite him later. “Uh. I was out walking,” he started, trying to get his feet under himself as he spoke. “There’s a takeout place I like, but it’s on the other side of town from my apartment so I don’t go there much unless I’m working late.”

“Understandable. Where is it that you work, Mr. Yamada?” Officer Fujiwara asked.

“Asahi Radio. I manage operations and fill in when our hosts are out. I had some paperwork to finish up, so I stayed late tonight.” Nice, neat, normal little life, Hizashi thought, willing her to buy the excuse. Officer Fujiwara made no indication that she did or didn’t believe it. Instead she just nodded and scribbled down shorthand on her notepad, motioning for him to go on. “I was trying to get home before it got too late, so I took a shortcut to the restaurant, but…” Hizashi trailed off, stiffly shaking his head. “I don’t know. It gets kind of jumbled after that.”

“I see. Do you remember seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary while you were walking? Anyone suspicious, anyone seeming like they were following you?” Officer Fujiwara asked. Hizashi shook his head.

“No, but I wasn’t really looking I guess. Too distracted by my stomach,” Hizashi replied, cracking a smile at his own joke. Officer Fujiwara gave him a thin smile.

“Anything else you can remember?” she asked. Hizashi pretended to think. Trying to remember things in the order that they had happened after Hebiko had hit him with her Snakebite was genuinely difficult and added a touch of realism to his stymied expression.

“Sorry, no,” he said.

“Not a problem, Mr. Yamada. Here’s my card, and one for my immediate superior,” Officer Fujiwara said, handing him a pair of business cards. “If anything comes to mind later, please feel free to give us a call and let us know.”

Hizashi thanked her and accepted the cards, giving her his number at the station in return in case they needed to call him back instead. Officer Fujiwara bid him a good evening and left. Hizashi allowed himself to breathe a long sigh of relief as Dr. Watanabe returned.

“Well, the good news is your scans came back looking clear as can be hoped for,” she said brightly. “We can go ahead and keep you overnight for observation if you would like, but you should be all right to go ahead home if you’d rather do that. I believe your friend’s still out in the waiting room if the two of you need to talk it over.”

A cold jolt sank into the pit of Hizashi’s stomach, but he tried to keep it off his face. “Uh, yeah,” he agreed. “That might be best.”

Dr. Watanabe nodded and left to go get said “friend”. Hizashi sat up, sliding his legs over to sit on the side of the bed. He wasn’t really feeling up to running for his life after the rest of what happened tonight, but if Hebiko had followed him all the way to the hospital it seemed like he wasn’t going to have much choice. Maybe the cops would still be down in the lobby when he got there and he could have a miraculous return of memory that the stringy, suspicious-looking woman who had said she was here to get him was actually here to get him.

The frantic train of thought had a massive derail, however, as Dr. Watanabe returned to the room with a tall, shuffling figure in tow. Hizashi blinked, sure he had to be seeing things as Aizawa awkwardly nodded in greeting.

“Hey,” Aizawa muttered. “Erm. How’re you feeling?”

“A little confused,” Hizashi said. He tried to raise his eyebrow, but relented when the motion pulled too hard at the stitches in his forehead. “But, uh. Okay, I guess. Are you my escort home?”

Aizawa gave him a slightly sour look at the question but nodded. “I guess so,” he said.

In a renewed haze of bewilderment Hizashi reclaimed what of his belongings hadn’t been thrown out as a biohazard and signed himself out of the hospital while Aizawa called them a taxi. A very stiff, silent cab ride followed, neither of them knowing how to break the silence without making this worse than it already was.

“How’d you know where I was?” Hizashi asked finally, eyes locked forward out the front windshield of the taxi. “Decide to follow me?”

“No,” Aizawa replied flatly. “Just bad luck I guess.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

Hizashi snorted. “For once we agree on something,” he said.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of Hizashi’s building and his door creaked open to let him out. Aizawa cleared his throat as Hizashi shambled up off the seat.

“Do you...want me to come with you?” Aizawa asked, with a note in his voice that sounded like genuine concern. Hizashi paused, amused in spite of himself.

“Not even a little bit,” Hizashi replied with a cheerful, insincere smile. He shut the door and waited until the cab had pulled back into traffic and rounded the corner before going inside.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #villain!mic #vigilante!aizawa #hizashi yamada #shouta aizawa #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

16 notes · View notes

zeroreviewmaster-blog · 4 years

Link

It was 2007 I just started my undergraduate program completing higher secondary school .This is the time I set my mentality to start my own career .From than I started looking for part-time job around my city. But trust me it was seriously tough to maintain or make balance between my par-time job and engineering program. And I was really worried. Meanwhile I have to know that one of my friend Work Online From Home. And He is earning pretty good amount to maintain his lovely hood along with his study expenses. But I was wondering whether working online is legit or scam! As a beginner I now can understand why I got into dilemma. After thinking lots of issue I one day directly asked him, Does legit online jobs are really present or not? IF yes, How can I do legit online jobs? And where can I find actual legit online jobs? And I can I get paid in my bank account? Listening to my question he just laughed at me and introduced me with a Micro Task providing online marketplace Called Microkers.

Today, I am going to review on Microkers a marketplace for legit online jobs .This is the online marketplace where I personally started my online career. As a beginner you guys also can start your online career with this marketplace where you can find legit online jobs. I already told this for the beginner only who want to start their online career or them who want to work online from home. As because Microworkers.com provides legit online jobs for the beginner who does not have any experience at all.

Let me introduce with Microkers a marketplace to find legit online jobs:

Before talking about Microkers let me make you understand what is micro jobs? In very simple words micro jobs are simple, easy, temporary or small task type work mostly offered online or in person with a very short dateline. The job types are mostly blog writing, social media posting, search evolution, transcription , email id creation, proof reading, book keeping, website testing, app testing, writing review etc. The payment varies from 1 cent to 50 USD or more.

I hope you are clear about micro work or micro task. Microkers is a legit online jobs marketplace where you can find such types of micro task.It is a service of Weblabcenter,Inc hosted at 2591 Dallas Parkway, Suite 300,Frisco,TX 75034,United States. Microkers is a legit online jobs marketplace connects buyers and worker around the world. The workers are mostly students, stay at homes moms or retired professionals.

How to open account in Microkers to get legit online jobs?

Opening account in Microkers to get legit online jobs is very easy and simple. One just need to have a valid email address and a phone number to validate your virtual identity. Along with you need to have a valid mailing or postal address to verify your physical address. And Bank Account details or virtual payment processor like paypal,skrill,or Payoneer.One need to open account in Microkers to get or provide legit online jobs .Once these information are in hand below steps to be followed:

Visit Microworker and click REGISTER button colored in blue.After clicking Register the url will be directed to SIGN UP Page.Where you will find a Sign Up Form.

In this form you need to provide full name which has to be as same as given in your Bank Account or Payment Processor.Else your earning may revert.

You also have to provide a valid and active email address and a mailing or postal address.As because after completing the form an email validation link or OTP code is send to your submitted email address. Sometimes we need to check inbox to find the validation link or OTP.And address has to me accurate as because a postal mail will be send during your first payment withdraw request to validate your physical identity.

You need to click the work terms and condition agreement button and submit.

After submission check your email to get the validation credential .Here you may need to verify your phone number by sending SMS at +19723609222 “ Activate “.

After phone validation you can log in your account and you can see that numbers of task available in your account and you may think that you will be able do to the job,right? But actually not.You need to attend a 2 qualification test under Qualification Tab and Test Tab . The Qualification assessment test will be on Microworker FAQ and Basic English Test under Test Tab.

Once you complete the test successfully you will be ready to participate to do the Task.

How to Pass Qualification Test on Microworkers.com is a legit online jobs marketplace?

To qualify or complete the Qualification Assessment Test your basic English skill or knowledge has to be OK .And rest question will be on FAQ section .Here in FAQ section . you find few general question and answer to have know how on the marketplace working process as I have already mentioned this is a legit online jobs marketplace.The questions and relevant answer are discussed below:

What do you mean by Microworkers?

Answer: This is a platform to connect workers and Emplowers globally with an intension to complete small task .

Who are Employers?

Anyone can be Employer who provides task and makes payment for that even a worker also be Employer too.

Can one person have more that one valid account?

Answer: Simply NO .! One person will have only one account that is why physical address is verified.

How Can I earn money doing legit online jobs here?

Answer: To complete a job click on the job under job section and read the job instruction very carefully. If you think that you are sure to complete the task go at the bottom of the page and accept the task. After completing the task you need to submit the proof as per instruction. After that buyer or employer will review the job with submitted proof.If the task is ok and accept by employer your account will be credited with success rate else negative rating will be implanted .Account success rate has to be min 75 % of completed job. Buyer will be given only 60 days to review and rate if any task is not rated more than 60 days, automatically worker account will be credited with positive rating.

Why in Microkers Any worker needs to maintain Success Rating to ensure legit online jobs?

To maintain the quality the quality work done success rating upto the mark. This rating is provided by the Employer while reviewing the proof submitted by the worker. The success rating has to be minimum 75%.This leads to get the maximum work priority in worker account. The success rating is calculated based on Satisfied vs Non-Satisfied plus Non-rated task provided by employer. In this case employer get 60 days to provide rating. If employer does not provide rating within 60 days, the task automatically rated satisfied.

As Microkers is a legit online jobs market place, why worker needs to maintain Reputation?

Often people get confuse between Reputation and Success Rating.In Microkers Success Rating is provided by buyer and Reputation depends on the number successful task completed in a particular category of task like facebook,youtube,blogging ctc.The reputation is represented by starts .After loged in your Microworks account click here to view your Reputation. This is extremely important to get high rated or maximum valued task in your account .Which displayed in HG jobs section.

The number of starts earn by a worker represents that how good at or performing he is in that particular work category.In Hire Me campaign if any employer wants to select experience worker for a particular category ,the probability to get the chance for high rated worker.In my experience I have seen that in Hire Me campaign the value is pretty higher that the General job category.

How a worker can earn Reputation in Microworks?

To get Reputation one worker needs to complete at least 10 satisfied task to complete to earn one (01) star (1-5) in a particular category.For every category the process is same to earn a star .To gain one star minimum 10 task to be completed.

What will you understand if found no starts in you Microworks Reputation?

If you see zero stars or No star in your Microworks Accounts Reputation section, it means you have not submitted at least 2 task in a particular category or your success rate is equal to less than 50%.

What does Employer understands by seeing Stars on Microworks Reputation?

I already mentioned in my previous discursion that the number of stars in Reputation section of any workers Microworkers Account for a particular job category determines that for that specific job category that worker is more qualified. For Better understanding I am just showing an example:

If any worker holds 4 star in Facebook job category it means he has successfully completed 80% job related to Facebook. If he has zero (0) stars or no star it means he fail to complete minimum 50 % task related to Facebook so the chances get poor to hire directly by employer.

Your stars may be lose if the success rate get negative on the other hand the Reputation does not guarantee that you will be hired directly but it increased the probability.

How job are shown in our Microworks Account?

Jobs are shown in our account base on the campaign running in an Area or Zone. And based on ID hired directly by Employer .As because employer selects the campaign category to get the job done and hire worker.

As a result sometimes you may see that there less number of jobs available in your account sometimes more.

What to do if you are misrated for any job?

If you are misrated for any job you have completed correctly there is an opportunity to file a complain just clicking “ Create a Complain” link. Microworker team will review the task and credit the due amount with proper success rate. I already told you Microworker is a legit online jobs marketplace and it approaches equally to all.

Another way Employer may ask to revise the job id that case by 48 hrs you got to revise the task. If by 48 hrs the particular task is not revised, simply this will be rated NOK or negative. But is you complete the job properly you can visit the “Submitted Tasks” section to view your completed job and the current status of your completed task. If you see green sign you will see these are rated positive and red cress are rated negative. Rest will show pending .For your completed job your account will be credited which you can see in your account at left corner of the site.

How to Withdraw Money from your Microworkrs Account?

Microworkers is a global platform. People around the world works here and earn money .To Withdraw Money from Microworks account there are mainly four payment gateway available.

Skrill=Min (usd 9 + 6.50 %)= USD585

Dwolla=Min (usd 9 + 6.50 %)= USD585 [Only for USA Residence ]

Paypal=Min (usd 9 +7.50 %)= USD675

Local Bank Transfer Via Transpay =Min (usd 9 + 3 %+ usd 1)= usd10.27

Payoneer =Min (usd 20 + 5 %)= USD 21

In Microworkers to Withdraw Money PIN Verification mandatory .That is a PIN will be send to your physical mailing address to verify your Address.This is done only for the first time you Withdraw Money .Not all the time of Withdraw Money.This PIN Verification will is done if you select Skrill,Dwolla,and Paypal as your payment Method but there will no PIN Verification if the payment method is Payoneer or Local Bank Transfer Via Transpay. So if you want to avoid this PIN verification ,select Payoneer or Local Bank Transfer Via Transpay as your payment method.But if you use other method like Skrill,Dwolla and Paypal a pin will be send but if the address is not given correct and if the PIN not reached and you want a new PIN 2 us dwill charged for new PIN to send.

People who want to work in Microworkers above information will surely help you.This is a renowned platform to work and earn some extra money. Most important is that this is a legit online jobs marketplace.I highly recommend you all to work here as beginner.

The post “Microworkers” is a “legit online jobs” Marketplace you definitely should try as beginner. appeared first on ZERO REVIEW MASTER.

#IFTTT #WordPress

1 note · View note

queenlifesupport · 5 years

Text

Aching Part 2 (Rog! x Y/N

Thank you guys so much for enjoying the last part! This might suck and I’m really sorry, I’ve been sick! If you missed part one, you should check it out. SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS!!!

WORDS : 3,788

WARNINGS : Language, alcohol use, angst, & depression

Clutter of metal against the ceramic material filled the bright and happy atmosphere throughout the restaurant. It was quite busy for a Wednesday morning, but most of the people here seemed to be elders enjoying their retirement. It was a little scary, the thought of getting old and some day not being as youthful and energetic as I am now. But now is not the time to dwell, it's the time to live.

"You know, I don't think I've ever asked you what you do for living." I commented, pointing my fork at him before taking another bite of my order. I knew he made money, how else could he afford his nice home with a car, along with all this extra stuff such as breakfast. He hasn't left the house without me for a week, he must do something or get his money from someone.

"I actually own a lumber company, it was my fathers before mine. We have one here in London, then 2 in America. Luckily I'm able to hire people to take care of business for me so I can enjoy my life at home, doing absolutely nothing." He laughed slightly. It made sense, he was able to make money without doing much of the heavy work. He knew I didn't work and only had money from Rogers bank account, all of my cards were hooked to his bank and he hadn't removed any of them yet so I continued to use them for my necessities.

"I've been wanting to get a job but I'm just not sure where to look. Or even what I want to do." I looked down at the almost empty plate that sat in front of me. He hummed in response, then used the white-unfolded napkin to wipe his mouth.

"There's a record store right across from the house actually, you might check it out since you're quite fond of music." I was a bit flattered he remembered my love for music, it was what made me feel and think. I also dated a rockstar for 6 years, how could I not love music? The two of us finished our meals while having small conversations about all different things. Getting to know Oliver was the highlight of my week, him and I got along so well although we weren't much alike.

"I'll have to check it out." I gave him a smile as I considered the idea.

The air outside was a bit chilly, not too bad to handle though. Goosebumps arose upon my gentle skin, sending shivers down my spine (BODYS ACHING ALL THE TIMEEEE). We walked in a pair, the sound of distant traffic could be made out through the crisp breeze we both encountered. Our strolling led us to this small park that was placed on the bank of a fenced off pond. Oliver had averted his eyes to my now shivering frame, the wind across the body of water made the air seem a lot colder and it was taking an affect on me physically. I had noticed the grizzly man next to me had removed his olive-green pea coat, only leaving him in his grey sweater and black jeans.

"For you, my lady." He dramatized the action, making it come off as sarcastically romantic. I had to admit I was flattered by his kind gesture.

"Thank you, kind sir." I played back, accepting the larger coat. As I slid it on I realized I looked like a 2 year old wearing their fathers jacket. Everything about the coat wasn't snug or form fitting, but it made me warm on the inside and out. We continued our path that led us to a wooden park bench that over looked the pond. As he sat down and let out a sigh of relief, I pushed up against the fence, looking out onto the water. In eyesight, there swam side by side, two white ducks. One duck happened to be bigger and fluffier than the other, making me slightly giggle thinking about Oliver and I compared to the wild animals. "Look," I said pointing out in the direction of the birds, "it's us." He stood up from where he had just placed himself and joined me at the fence, looking out with me. I looked over at him and admired his features as he averted his eyes out to the direction I pointed at. His nose and cheeks were flushed red due to the temperature out, I hadn't noticed before but he had long eyelashes that I was slightly jealous of. I couldn't help but smile in admiration. He then looked down at me, making eye contact that forced now a blush upon my face.

"What are you looking at?" He asked with his kind and soulful smile. I shook my head slightly while looking down at the rubble pavement, under his gaze I felt all sorts of things. Oliver was kind as I've said a million truthful times before, he wasn't like anyone else I'd ever met. He cared for me as a person and respected me and my boundaries. He never pushed me into things I didn't want to do, he also never asked for anything in return when it came to helping me.

"I'm just looking at the view." I diverted my eyes back up to him, yet again making eye contact. He laughed abruptly while looking out to the water, then back to me.

"You're sure flirty for someone in your situation." I knew he meant that to be lighthearted and funny, but I couldn't help but feel every so slightly hurt.

"You better zip it." I rolled my eyes with a smile. Getting outside and not being cooped up in a house felt nice, the fresh air expanded my lungs and left a natural taste in my mouth. The great outdoors was the best thing on earth, right next to champagne of course. "Have you ever been heartbroken?" My elbows rested on the wooden pillar, supporting my head in my palms, now watching the two animals interact in their own way.

"Indeed I have."

"Tell me about it, Olly."

"I was visiting America, it was my duty to take over the lumber business once I hit an acceptable age. So I was away on business, while driving I saw this girl on the side of the road. She was waving down cars, clearly trying to get assistance for her broken down vehicle. I stopped and helped her out, everyone who passed her were clearly assholes." He ended his story there, visibly biting the inside of his cheek. I asked him to continue. "We went out for a few years, I proposed, we got married. She left me because apparently she had found someone better to spend her time with. I never saw or heard from her again after our divorce when I turned 25. And now here we are 1 long year later, I still haven't been with a woman since her." He spoke quickly and emotionless about it. He had mentioned he'd been married before but he didn't go into details.

"What was her name?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"Matilda." I slightly nodded in acknowledgement.

"I know the feeling. One day, it's just the two of you against the world. The next day you're completely replaced with no hesitation. It's as if nothing about you ever mattered." We shared the stillness between the two of us. The scenery was beautiful. At this moment, I felt as if everything was going to be okay, I was going to be okay.

"Want to head home? I need a nap and a cup of tea?" I could sense the small sadness in his tone, it didn't sound like the usual chirp.

"Sure." I managed to whisper, following after him along the path. I suddenly heard a voice say my name in a familiar accent, I looked up only to face Brian and Chrissy, both grasping to each other's hands. "Brian? What a wonderful surprise." I managed to hug him and then Chrissy after our small greeting.

"I haven't heard from you for a while, I was growing a little worried. Is everything going okay?" His curly hair slightly blew to the side in the wind.

"Yeah! Of course. I apologize, I've been having a kind of frantic week. I left the hotel and now I'm trying to figure out where to permanently stay." I stopped myself when I realized he hasn't met or even heard of Oliver yet. "Brian I would love for you to meet my good friend, Oliver. Oliver this is Brian, the one I've been telling you about." Oliver's smile played across his lips once he realized who I was talking about. I had shared stories about Brian and the guys with Olly as we got to know each other, he had definitely known some things about him.

"It's very nice to meet you." He said kindly, Brian had a slight look of shock on his face, probably caused from his American accent. Brian returned the sentence, shaking Olivers hand.

"I know it might be hard for you but Freddie's birthday party is tomorrow and we'd all love for you to attend. It's just, Roger will be there." He looked at me then at Oliver.

"I would love to attend. I just hope you wouldn't mind if Olly came with." I didn't even bother asking him, I knew he'd come with without complaints.

"You can bring whoever you wish. You already know the address, just get there at 7pm. I hope to see you there." We said our goodbyes and then shared a final hug, then went our separate ways. I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole situation. I was definitely nervous, I knew I'd eventually have to see Roger again.

The house was slightly warmer than the air outside, it still felt chilled although it wasn't the worst. Oliver helped me out of the coat I borrowed then hung it on one of the 5 hooks near the wood door, he sniffed as the coat latched on. The drive here was quiet, he was upset and so was I. My feelings went back to depression, I felt I had nothing to look forward to yet again. I removed my shoes as he stood in front of the window in the living room, it overlooked the large and still backyard. I soon accompanied him, not sharing any words between us. When I reached his side he excused himself and walked off to his bedroom. The two of us now felt distant just from our interaction at the park, I assumed I'd be sleeping on the couch tonight.

The dark sky fit midnight, striking upon the hour. The house was silent, I couldn't even hear the light snores from Olivers room, which I happened to learn over the course of time, he snores adorably. I had spent the rest of the day alone, he only had emerged from his room to eat and thats it. This was the one night since I've been here that I felt so alone. It reminded me of feeling like a stranger in my own home, like it was with Roger. The feeling of being an outsider slowly drifted upon me, causing my heart to ache in it's chamber. Behind my eyes started to feel heavy, warning me of the tears about to come. All I could do was curl up with no one to hold and let my emotions spiral out. I hated feeling so put up with the world, I hated being so emotionally alone, I hated myself. I felt beyond lost which made me hate myself more, I'm at the age where knowing what I want or what to do is something that was required. But here I am, no job, just lost who seemed to be the love of my life, on some mans couch feeling sorry for myself. I needed out of here, I just wasn't sure what that "here" stood for.

The clock read 6:22 as I frantically applied the last stroke of the ruby red lipstick, I knew it was Rogers favorite. I honestly wasn't sure why I still gave a fuck about how he viewed me, he messed up and lost me, its not the other way around. My feelings were complicated, even after finding out the truth. Most of me just wished this was all a horrible dream, I knew the sad reality of the situation though. I hated admitting it but for Roger, I'd go through all that pain over again, just for him. I felt insane and crazy. I knew it was bad for me, its bad for anyone, I just can't help thinking of all the good times we had. It washed to expect I lost 6 years on him. As I slightly admired the reflection I gazed at in the mirror, in the corner of my eye I caught onto Oliver leaning against the doorframe, watching my every move.

"You coming tonight?" I cleared my throat before speaking. I hadn't talked to him since yesterday. He looked tired, his eyes seemed sunken and lifeless, the shell of a delicate man.

"No." He whispered watching me through the mirror. I felt a little upset he wouldn't be joining me, I wasn't sure I wanted to face Roger alone. I also had no desire to leave Oliver here, sinking into his feelings and loneliness. I nodded softly, I wasn't going to argue with him. "You look beautiful." His random comment made me smile just the tiniest.

"You always look handsome."

"I'm not sure about always. But I do know you always look like a masterpiece. The world is your gallery." He was cheesy yet so kind. My heart fluttered with life once my ears rung with his compliment. I hushed a thank you, before saying a quick goodbye and walking towards the front door. I was dressed nicely, I had finally put in effort to look good, I wasn't mentally prepared but I was going to push myself. As I sat in my car for the first time in a week, my heart sunk to my stomach, I hesitated as I shifted into reverse. I didn't want to leave the driveway but I knew I needed to, this wasn't for me, it was for Freddie and the boys. Eventually I talked myself into leaving, nothing about this was going to be easy.

Sitting across from Roger was a whole different level than difficult, I tried avoiding looking at him but I caught myself holding eye contact at times. I had been here for about 2 hours, I still haven't said a word to Roger, our non communication said enough. I had chatted with the boys, distracting myself from the pain source in the room, he barely joined in, isolating himself in his own invisible area.

"We miss you being around, love. Where have you been staying?" Freddie sat beside me, his words were always lighthearted and he cared for me like family. We all cared for each other like a family, in our own way we sort of were one. I didn't have much contact with my biological one due to them moving from the area. I was hesitant to answer that honestly, I didn't want to cause anymore drama between the blonde headed man and I. But, he caused much more pain than this answer would ever cause.

"I've been staying with my friend Oliver, we met just recently at a restaurant across town. We sort of hit it off on night one, he invited me to stay many nights after." I swirled my drink around in my hand, rotating my wrist in a smooth motion. Freddie made a sly yet amused face.

"Oh, you say a man? Is he cute? Have you shagged?" Freddie laughed along with Brian and John. The only person at the table who didn't share the laughter, was Roger. I blushed slightly at the thought of Oliver, I was still wishing he had joined me tonight.

"No, I have not gotten in the bed with him, at least not in that manner. I mean - If I'm being completely honest, he has some good aspects about him." My reply made Freddie howl with excitement.

"Oh darling, we must meet this man of yours!" The conversation continued. It was nice being back with the people I loved the most.

A few hours had passed, I was a little tipsy but so were we all. I was having fun but that sadness still crept among me. I excused myself from the table, I was craving a break from being under the sight of Rog. I maneuvered my way through the extravagant home, reaching the balcony door. I gently opened and closed it behind me, inhaling the crisp night air. The railing that separated you from the drop down held a cartridge of cigs, I was never a smoker but tonight called for one. I opened the pack, taking one out and holding it between my lips that were a faded matte red. In my luck I knew where Fred kept a few lighters, a silver box located near the door held many of the useful item. I lit the stick, inhaling the disgusting yet stress relieving smoke. The view overlooked the beautiful town, I leaned against the mid torso-high stone barrier, it felt nice just being my own company. Nights like these made me feel like another light upon the town view, my thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of the balcony door closing harshly. I quickly looked back only to see Roger slightly cringing at the loudness, all I could do was roll my eyes and look back in my original spot. He now stood next to me, causing me to swallow hard, my heart thumped in my chest uncontrollably.

"Hey." His voice was quiet, broken even. It made my heart crack even more.

"Hey." I took a drag from the cigarette before returning the word. He didn't know what to say now, neither did I. He cleared his throat. Not one of us looked at each other.

"Why'd you leave?" I laughed abruptly at his question, was he seriously asking that.

"Roger, I think you know why. Unless you're really that fucking stupid."

"Why did you give up on me? Why didn't you wait for me to get home and talked to me about it?"

"Why didn't you keep your promise?" I now looked over at him, my eyes threaten to spill the tears I didn't know I still had after last night. His gaze turned to me too, now both of us made daring eye contact.

"Y/N, you don't know whats been going on. Theres been complications with Fr-" I cut him off, I was tired of excuse after excuse. I didn't need anymore excuses, I needed him to own up to his shit.

"We were a team. The two of us. We're not supposed to hide things from each other. And then the fact you went to someone else to handle that stress with? I've given you everything I had, I gave you my energy and time that I didn't even have. I was always there." He was silent, I could see he was thinking of the next thing to say.

"Freddie is sick. I couldn't go to you because I didn't want to see you hurt, I felt like a fuck up in my own home. I still am a fuck up, but I want to make those mistakes right."

"How long were you with her?" I turned my head once again, I felt a small tear escape, sliding down my cheek.

"4 months." I let out a harsh puff of air, I felt beyond played. I felt betrayed. I didn't say a word back, only took another inhale of the cig.

"Please don't give me up." I finally got to the point I silently sobbed, using my palm that held the lit cig to rest against my forehead.

"I fucking hate you," I managed to get out between the light sobs. I felt embarrassed crying in front of him, I felt so exposed. "But I'm so in love with you at the same time." He closed his eyes, sucking in his top lip then letting it go, allowing his lips to part.

"I fucked up so bad." Tears now started to roll from his eyes, he looked so pure and still beautiful when he cried. The tears welled up in his eyes, once the pressure got too high to handle, they gently fell from the mid of his waterline, his eyes never got red, just glossy. He looked out at the beautiful night sky, lights shone on his face, you could see the city lights sparkle in his eyes. "I just wish I could go back to those nights where everything was above perfect. I loved you so much." He paused. "I love you so much." My heart shattered. I felt so broken.

"How could you love me if you hurt me like that? When you love people, you don't hurt them if you can help it."

"I was ashamed of myself after the first night, I felt so hurt seeing you struggle to get through to me. I tried so hard to avoid breaking your heart." It was too late for that, my heart was broken since the first moments of him pulling away.

"I want what we had."

"You had 'what we had' four months ago and then you let it slip away, Roger. It's going to take more than begging me to return back." This is why I wished I had Oliver to accompany me, I would've avoided this whole situation.

"I can promise you, with my whole life, with Brians life, with Johns and Freddies, I will never hurt you or fuck up that bad again." He stood right next to me now, his torso inches away from the right side of my body. I turned my head to look him in the eyes. The light in them was completely gone. "I love you more than I love myself, or life itself. You are my life, not any woman I could meet, not my job, not even music. Y/N Y/L/N, you are the love of my life." The ending was hushed. I wanted to drop everything and give in, but I knew that wasn't the best option. I needed to look out for myself, realistically.

"I need time." Was all I could whisper back. He let out a deep sigh, he seemed relieved at the possibility of it ending good.

"Please, come home. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll do whatever you want." I wasn't sure what my next move would be.

"I don't know, Roger."

"Please."

{TAG LIST // @vanitysfairr // @michael-langdonahs // @bemywiggins // @vampire-way // @brianrogerinas // @youthinkyouknowsomebodyvt // @your-idiotic-excellency // @annachq // @mrsmichaelclifford1 // @cobra-anon // @wireless-maynard // @sweethin // @sabbrriiinnaa // @legendsaresooftenwarnings // @hayley8089 // @tara-jadet1ffen // @justanotherdramachick // @lady1505 // @bookish-oreo }

MASTERLIST

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen fanfic #Queen #roger taylor part two #queen series

74 notes · View notes

marvelousbirthdays · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday, acebabe0990!

December 21 - Darcy Lewis/Nick Fury, fluffy goodness, for @acebabe0990

Written by @celiaequus

“Oh my God!”

Nick grunted as a person slammed into his body. He knew the voice, but glanced down at the curls anyway.

“I can’t hug you back, Darcy,” he said dryly. Her arms were clamped around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. He could’ve easily broken the hold, but not without the risk of hurting her.

“Don’t care,” she mumbled into his leather coat. “You were dead. Now you’re back!”

“I can’t kiss you like this, either.”

“Promise we’ll go straight home right now, no debriefing, no scolding?” she said, finally meeting his eyes with her stubborn gaze. “No delays or procrastination of any kind?”

“I promise.”

She reluctantly let go of him. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her through the crowds and debris. He hailed a cab, bundled Darcy in and followed when she tugged pointedly on his arm. She gave their address to the driver and they settled in the backseat, arms brushing against each other.

“I’m glad you called Carol,” Darcy said. “She told me some interesting things about you. You and her.”

“That was a long time ago,” he said uncomfortably.

“Still in my lifetime, Nick.”

“Surprised she didn’t mention the cat,” he said, trying to redirect the subject.

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “About that. Why wouldn’t you let me get a cat or a dog when you’re clearly a cat person?”

“Can we talk about this later? I wanna have a long shower when we get home, some takeout, and then sleep. I may’ve been dead, but coming back to life is exhausting. And it’s not like we got any time to rest where we were.”

With a pout, Darcy leaned against him until he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

The apartment wasn’t empty. Nick could tell there was someone there, and grabbed Darcy’s wrist before she could unlock the door.

“What?” she hissed.

“There’s someone inside.”

“That’ll be Martha.”

“Did you have to get a roommate to pay the rent?” he asked, eyebrows arching.

“No,” she said, unlocking the door with her free hand. “Come on. There’s someone you have to meet.”

Darcy led Nick to the study, which had been turned into… a nursery. A young woman was in a seat beside the crib. She looked up when they entered and smiled.

“He’s back!” she whispered, jumping up. “Okay, do you need me to stay?”

“I don’t think so,” Darcy said. “Thanks. I’ll send the money to your bank account. You’ll still be our sitter in the future, right?”

“Of course,” Martha said. “I know you’ll have a lot of catching up to do together without… you know.” She winked. “Getting in the way.”

Darcy saw her out the front door while Nick stood beside the crib and looked down at the child he didn’t even know he’d fathered. Skin a few shades lighter than his, curly hair, a stubby nose, and tiny little fists hidden by the sleeves of the yellow onesie.

“What do you think of our son?” Darcy asked. Nick looked up and met her eyes. Her expression softened and she smiled. “I was working up the courage to tell you… I didn’t want you to feel obligated or anything, but then Thanos happened and you were gone and it’s been nearly a whole year and at least he’s a part of you.”

“How old?”

“Five months,” she said. “The Avengers who’ve been around have been real champs. I don’t know what I would’ve done without their support. Coulson’s done what he can, but he’s been so busy doing… well, what you would’ve done. Martha’s been a godsend.”

“Can I… can I hold him?” Nick asked, itching to reach into the crib.

“It’s better for him to get as much sleep as possible,” Darcy said. “But he’ll probably wake up in about half an hour. I can fill you in on all the milestones so far. Then you’ll be prepared to meet baby Damien.”

“Damien?”

She put her hands on her hips.

“You weren’t here to have a say,” she said. “You can name the next one, if there’s another one.”

“No, no, I like it,” he said quickly.

“Good.”

“So… tell me about him?”

They sat on a fold-out sofa in the nursery and Darcy pulled out her phone to find pictures and videos. Nick nuzzled her hair as she quietly led him through a visual timeline of their son’s development, from the earliest ultrasound pictures until the photos she took that morning, wanting to commemorate the day his daddy was due back in the land of the living.

“So I haven’t missed his first steps or words,” Nick said, relieved.

“Nah. I would’ve caught them on the security cameras by now. There’s still lots for you to see…” She was interrupted by a whimper. He sat up straight and she giggled. “Yep. I think it’s about time for a bottle, a burp, and then a big, big hug.”

He blinked back tears as Darcy fussed around feeding Damien, burping him skillfully over her shoulder and cleaning his face. Nick took in everything, noted every little detail so he could do everything perfectly when his turn came.

“Here’s your daddy,” Darcy cooed, handing Damien down to Nick. He held the baby gingerly in his arms, letting Darcy adjust the position until she was satisfied. Then she sat beside them, head on Nick’s upper arm, and watched as father and son got to know each other.

#Darcy/Nick Fury #nick fury #Darcy Lewis

27 notes · View notes

mariano70 · 3 years

Text

How to make income online without investment

Welcome, in this article you will learn how to make your first online income without the need to invest or pay any cent, just follow step by step.

I will show you how to profit from things you already know and earn income from all over the world in a foreign currency while sitting at the comfort of your home.

All you need to have is a strong desire to work and earn, 15 minutes of your time, and to know basic English,

and do not worry YOU WILL NOT PAY A SINGLE RUPEES TO ANYONE, on the contrary, you will be paid.

If you are able to read this guide and understand it, you will be able to work from home and make a very high income, just follow the steps I will show in this guide.

What you need to do exactly is to provide a service, and as a housewife or a student with no profession you will be able to provide many services and I will show you how.

First I will list some services you may provide then I will explain how to get the customers, from all over the world, who will pay you for your services.

What services you may provide if you have no experience of any work before?

1- Voice Over: many companies make animation videos and they require to ad voice to them, so they will need someone to provide them with a (voice-over service) in which they will give you a ready-made text, and all you need to do is to read this text and record it, with your mobile phone, recorded it in an audio file and send it to them and they will pay you for that.

You will always get paid in advance and before you start the work and the payment range between INR 350 to 750 for reading 150 words.

The more words you read the more you get paid, Which means if you read 300 words so your payment will be ranging between INR 750 to INR 1500 …etc.

2- Teaching: You are good at math, you know cooking, you know how to dance…etc. you can teach anything that you know and are you good at it.

Let's assume you are a housewife, and you are good at making Biryani, you can earn by teaching people how to make Biryani, now someone will try to use his rusted brain and say hey but cooking classes are all over the internet and for free, why they would pay me for it?

Well, they will pay you for it if you provide them something not available on the internet, and how is that? well, mention in your service that you will teach them LIVE, the class will be LIVE through a WhatsApp video call ( which is free ), so they will not just follow recorded instructions but you (the teacher) will be as present with them in their own kitchen, watching what they are doing and instruct them in what to do next, so you will guide them a step by step, from the start of the preparation of the ingredients, till male is done and ready to eat.

That does not exist anywhere on the internet, does it?

The payment for such a service can range from INR 750 to INR 1,500. For teaching one person over a video call, how to cook one single dish such as Biryani.

Let's assume that you are good at math, you can 1- Teach math, this is one service, 2- Solve students homework, this is another service,

you are good at a certain language, you can provide easy writing or article writing service, you know 2 languages such as English and Hindi, then you can provide a translation service, from English to Hindi, and another translation service from Hindi to English.

3- Video Review: many companies provide certain products or services, and they want to market their products or services by showing a video for someone who will say that their product or service is really great.

So, in this service the company/the buyer will send you a text which you need to video record yourself while reading it, of course, you should not show that you are reading from a paper, you should look natural speaking from your mind.

The payment for such a service can range from INR 350 to INR 3,000 depends on the length of the video, it starts with INR 350 for 150 words or 30 seconds of recording.

The more words you read or the longer you record the more you get paid.

Now From Where to get buyers ??

This is the 15 minutes I want you to spend, I want you to follow the instructions with me step by step, do not just read, but do what I do while reading,

Now go open your mobile phone and do as do below.

1- Open your mobile phone, make sure you are connected to the internet.

2- Open any browser on your phone, like Google Chrome or Safari.

You must use your phone as on computer the menus locations are different.

3- Type in the address bar of the browser this address: AgentsClub.com

4- When the website AgentsClub.com has opened :

From the top right there are 3 dashes click them

( see image )

A new menu will show on the left side, from that menu click on Register.

( see image )

A new page will open with 2 options, Buyer and Seller, you need to select one of them,

As a service provider, you are a ( Seller ) so, you need to select Seller.

( See Image )

In the next window, you need to fill a small form, as follows

User name: must be a unique name it may include numbers but it should not have spaces.

This will be the name you will use to log in to this website.

I suggest you something which you will not forget, and it will be unique,

which is to use the first part of your email id as your user name, the first part which is before the @ sign.

So if your email id is: [email protected]. then you can use the name joe007 as your user name

In this way, you will make sure it is unique as well as you can remember it easily.

Then fill in your first name, last name email id, and choose whatever password you wish to use.

Then select I’m not a robot, and also select Accept Terms & conditions.

Then scroll down to the button Register, and click it.

( see image )

Once you registered, you will be logged in to your account, now

From that page top right, click on the 3 dashes,

( See image )

A new menu on the side will show, from this menu select ( Extra Pages )

( See image )

After you click on ( Extra Pages ) a menu will popup, from that menu select ( Add job )

( see image )

On the next page, you will get a list of packages to choose from, select

The first one, which is the FREE package.

( see Image )

The form will open, I will describe what to fill in each field,

What you will fill in will be different than what I will fill in the form, because you will be providing a service different than mine.

So take what I will fill here as an example, and fill your own service in the same way.

I will provide a service where I will sing a happy birthday to the name the buyer will provide me, I will sing it

While wearing a spiderman suit, and I also can put balloons and colorful decorations on the background if the buyer is ready to pay extra for that.

That was my service now here is how I will fill it.

Title: I will sing a happy birthday song while wearing a spiderman suit.

About this Gig: I will sing a happy birthday to anyone you want while wearing my Spiderman suit. And I can use a decorated background if you want

( See image )

Keywords: Song, happy birthday

Job Status: Available

Pricing

Standard Title: Silver

Price $ : 5

As the website is for worldwide, they are using a common currency, which is the US dollars,

So in our services, we will also list our prices with US dollars, buyers ( from all over the world ) will pay us

With US dollars, the amount will be credited to our AgentsClub account with US dollars exactly in the very

Same currency the buyer has paid, but when we request to withdraw our earning from AgentsClub, AgentsClub

Will send it to us in its equivalent local currency.

For example, if you live in India, and you have made earning of $10, when you request to withdraw this $10 from AgentsClub to your Bank account, AgentsClub will Send you its equivalent in Indian currency, which is ( at the time of writing this book ) is 745 Indian Rupees.

(See image)

Description: Delivered in 3 days

Premium Title: Gold

Price $ : 10

Description: Delivered in 24 hours.

I will also click on the button ( Add Add-on ) which will open another small form.

( see image )

The following are the fields of the ( Add Add-on ) button

Add-on title : Extra

Price $ : 10

Description: I will sing in front of a decorated wall with colorful balloons

( see image )

Photo :

For the photo, I will upload the following photo

And here is it after uploading :

Videos :

You will see the videos are disabled with a message ( NO Access ) and that is because you are a free member

If your service requires you to upload a video or videos, to your job post, then you can upgrade your membership,

From free to any other membership, you can do that from inside your AgentsClub account.

Organize

Category: Lifestyle

( see image )

Make your ad stand out: I will leave them as they are I will not select any option on them, as I want to

Make this totally free for you, later when we earn from this website we can choose such extra services.

Now click on the button ( Save Changes )

( see image )

We are done, creating our service!.

After you click on Save Changes, the page will open on our service ( gig is another name for a service ),

with the edit mode so if you want to edit anything you can edit it.

The second step ( Marketing our service ).

Now we need to do quick marketing to our service.

From the same page where it shows your gig/service details, scroll down till the end,

there you will be able to see social network sharing icons of Twitter, Facebook, and a Plus sign.

(See images)

Click on the Twitter icon to share your gig/service link to Twitter, once you are done do the same with FaceBook,

then also click on the Plus sign to open more social network sharing icons.

When the plus sign clicked there will be social sharing icons for Pinterest, Linked In, and WhatsApp.

Click on them one at a time to share your gig/service with the maximum number of people.

Now we are totally done!.

We have created a listing for our service and we have made some marketing for it, now what is next?

What is next?

As a free member with AgentsClub.com, you are allowed to post 2 gigs, so now you go and post another service,

A completely new different service from your very same account, by following the very same steps mentioned above.

Also do not forget to do a social sharing for the second service when you are done.

After that you are completely done, you need to do nothing more, go live your life the way you want, and just keep checking

Your emails for any orders.

When any buyer interested in your service he will pay for it to buy it, the payment will go to AgentsClub.com, and AgentsClub will send you an email regarding the order.

At this time you need to go to the website AgentsClub.com and login to your account, and click on ( My Orders ) from the right side menu from inside your account, to view the orders you just received.

Now, you must click on ( Accept Order ), so the seller will get an email that you have started the work on his order.

You need to do the service as you have described it, in your job listing, and deliver it to the buyer.

and ask the buyer to give you a 5-star rating if he is happy with your service.

It is usually done in this way: assuming you made a video for the customer.

You upload the video, through the AgentsClub order page itself, where the buyer has left you instructions regarding what he exactly wants. Upload his work and (on the very same page) write a message saying: Here is your work completed, I hope you like it if there is any problem please tell me I will get it fixed. And if you are happy with my work then please leave me a 5 stars rating. Thank you.

Then mark the work as completed.

Now when the buyer views your service he will usually write you a review and mark the service/gig by received.

The second the buyer mark your service by received the very same second the amount which the buyer has paid for the service

gets transfers to your AgentsClub.com account.

Which you can request to withdraw at any time you want to your bank account.

Some may wonder how a $5 which is INR 350 service can make me INR 50,000 a month?

Well let us assume you have 2 services, their basic plan is $5 and their premium is $10, with some extras of $5

Let us assume you get 3 orders daily one premium and one basic and one basic with an extra that is. a total of $25

25 x 30 days = $750 and that is at the current rate equal to INR 56,118

Remember that mountains are made of huge rocks and these huge rocks are made of tinny pieces of sand.

So a tinny piece of sand can make a huge mountain, so do not misestimate the $5 especially when there are

So many orders.

If you do not know how many USD equal to your own currency, you can use google, in this way :

Assuming your currency is Indian Rupees, and you want to charge like INR 1,000 for your service,

and you do not know how much the INR 1,000 make in US dollars,

then go open google and in the google search box type: INR 1000 to USD

And click enter.

Google will give you the result according to your current rate.

( see image )

As you can see from the above image, the INR 1,000 is equal to $13.42.

BUT, you should NOT put a service rate as $13.42 not even as $13 or $14

The services rate on the AgentsClub website is incremental of 5, so you can put any figure, which is incremental of 5,

such as 5, 10, 15, 20, 25 ….etc. up to 995, as a price, you want to charge for your service,

And Yes you can charge $995 if you have a service that worth such amount.

Now back to our previous example, in which, what we want to charge is not incremental of 5, it is 13.42 then what we should do?

In such a case, we either charge $10 or we charge $15.

Get started now and head over to AgentsClub website

#make money without investment

0 notes