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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

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I'll give you wings so you can fly

requested: Can you please write a story where reader is temporary blind and Azriel takes care of her?

warnings: blood, injuries, loss of vision, trauma, scars, mention of potential rape.

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Azriel saved you. In the midst of absolute madness. A pool of blood. He heard a heartbeat. Faint and slow but still trying to claw its way out of this chaos. He moved the same way he moved the night he saved Gwyn. He had a mission: to rescue a drowning soul. Cassian was scanning the room himself. The sanctuary was supposed to be a safe space. Was supposed to. That wasn't the case. And now more than the first time, Azriel was mad. Both at Rhys for not ensuring the safety of the priestesses and equally as much at himself for not seeing it through quicker and for not stopping it before it was set in motion.

Azriel's boots were soaked in blood, but then again, most of his body was, so he didn't pay it much attention. "There's nothing on this side," Cassian said, voice echoing in the now-completely silent room. "Check the back room. I'll finish up here," Azriel said firmly before continuing his journey to the said heartbeat. The male dreaded the moment he was going to find a lifeless body and would have to hold it till the last beat of the heart. Azriel had lost count of the times he had waved a soul goodbye. Had been that last straw someone clung to in their dying minutes. It weighed on the spymaster's shoulders, but then again, if that was all he could offer at that moment and if it was in some way enough, he was okay with it.

Azriel pushed aside broken furniture pieces until his eyes landed on you. You were drenched in blood, making it hard for Azriel to make out your features. "I've got you," the spymaster said as he kneeled and carefully pulled your hand from beneath the fallen table. "It's going to be okay," he mumbled, even if Azriel wasn't sure if it was going to be okay. Considering the heavily bleeding gash on your left side where his eyes landed next and the cut that ran across your forehead. The gash looked deep. Someone must have tried to kill you with a blow to the head but, surprisingly, failed.

Azriel pressed his hands down on the wound for a moment while his mind wondered. Watching your eyes twitching, your ripped clothes barely covering your skin. "Th-ey... tri-ed," you croaked out. Hardly were they words, let alone understandable ones, but Azriel nodded his head. "I know... but it is all okay. They will not hurt you now," the shadow singer said softly, ripping the side of his shirt off and wrapping it tightly around your middle, trying to slow down the bleeding even a little bit more.

You started muttering words under your breath. Azriel couldn't make any of them out. He knew he had to wait for Cassian to return, but every moment you spent here drew you closer and closer to your death bed. So without any more hesitation, the spymaster scooped you up in his arms before he winnowed away. Leaving Rhys to get Cassian back home.

There were no more survivors. You were the only one who had escaped the invasion of the sanctuary. Madja nearly fell to her knees when Azriel kicked the door to her clinic open. Death. They could both smell death lingering. Peaking through the corner and reaching for your soul. To claim it. To take you under and away from this world.

"Should I get Rhys for the pain?", Azriel questioned as he pressed both of his palms to your wound. Madja only shook her head as she mixed up different salves in a hurry, "Too late for that, she doesn't feel anything." Those words made Azriel's stomach twist. It couldn't be too late to save you yet. He couldn't have failed yet again.

Hours. Azriel had been there for hours. Watched Madja drains her energy almost to the last drops as she tried to heal you. Let the healer channel her power through Azriel when her legs started to give out. The spymaster was worried. More than ever before, and not just for you. Madja had been like a second mother to all of them. Even if they bickered back, they loved her and the way she would pinch their cheeks while greeting them.

With a supportive hand, Azriel watched the light from Madja's hands seeping through your skin, till the healer's body slumped in the Illyrian's hands. "Can't do anything else", she muttered, bracing herself on Azriel, "Now it's all up to her if she survives it". Azriel nodded, guiding the healer to the back room, where he draped the blanket over her drained body as tiredness took over her. The spymaster was back on the table you laid on in less than a heartbeat. The bleeding had stopped, and your heartbeat sounded much more steady. Azriel reached for the herbal water, dipping a cloth into it before gently rubbing it into your blood-tinged skin, washing away the last traces of tonight.

You looked so innocent. Your face screamed young purity to him. And now Azriel was left wondering if the males who invaded the sanctuary had raped you the way they had done with the other females. But there weren't many forceful bruises on your skin. Besides the gash on your side and the cut on your hand, the rest of your body seemed somewhat unharmed. Yet he couldn't be sure until you told him so yourself.

Azriel didn't sleep that night. He both couldn't and feared to. So he pulled a chair closer to where you were lying and sat down. Eyes never leaving you. The way your chest rose and fell. He felt the need to be the first one you were going to see once you woke up. He had to be the one. The one to reassure you that you were safe. The one to tell you that you had nothing to fear. But that didn't come for weeks. Madja comforted Azriel that it was mostly the cause of the concussion. That you were stable and most definitely would wake up sometime soon. That he didn't have to come by multiple times a day to see you. But Azriel still did it. Not sure if it was more for his own sake or your own. But he did.

He was having a conversation with the healer one afternoon. As she once again tried to convince the male that only time and patience were going to show the final result. Then a scream ripped through the clinic, and Azriel was in panic mode straight away. Given that he had only heard you mumble a few words before, he was surprised that his mind instantly recognized your scream. He ripped the door open in a hurry when he saw you on the floor. Weak arms trying to hold up your still-trembling body. You must have tried to stand up and miscalculated the strength you had. He walked towards you, but when your head frantically moved from side to side and your eyes didn't seem to fall on him, Azriel stopped. Madja pushed past him, falling to her knees before you and making you jump in the process.

"I can't... I can't see..", you cried out, fingers moving to run over the valleys of your eyes. "It must be the concoction," Madja said, carefully tilting your head upwards. Moving a finger from side to side. Asking you questions about the amount of light you manage to see, shadows.

"Azriel, do you mind helping her up?", your breathing instantly picked up at the mention of the male name. "Azriel is the one who saved you, dear; he will not harm you," the healer reassured you, turning to Azriel once more. To say that he was worried about approaching you was an understatement. He was terrified. He didn't want to harm you.

"I will touch your hand, and if you feel like it, you can hold onto it." Azriel's voice was soft and familiar. You heard it the night of the invasion. Lulling you out of the share panic. You had heard it all of those weeks that you had been lying unconscious. It circled in your brain every day. The touch was soft and gentle. You flinched slightly but almost immediately wrapped your fingers over a much larger palm. You felt what seemed like scars all over it, but at that moment, you didn't care much for it. Your other hand blindly searched for the man's forearm as you inched closer to him.

"Easy there, love," Azriel warned you carefully, "You have twenty-two stitches on your left side." Even if you had spent weeks lying unconscious, Azriel was still scared that the wound would come undone. You moved an inch away, but Azriel carefully wrapped his arm over your lower back, helping you to stand up. You braced one of your hands on his chest for support. Your legs felt like jelly, but you stubbornly tried to hold yourself up. Yet that didn't last long as your body sagged down, only to be caught by Azriel in an instant. "Lay down," the male said, picking you up in his arms once more. "My eyes," you muttered, "Trust me; I'll do everything to make sure you see again."

Rhys offered you a place in the library among the other priestesses, but Azriel denied it. Locking you up in darkness was not a way for you to heal. You listened as the two argued until strong hands embraced your shoulders. In the beginning, Azriel's touches made you shiver. The male was silent. So his touch always carried something unknown with it. Now, before he touched you, he would rub his fingers together gently, alerting you. You didn't talk much, but you had the impression that he had taken it upon himself to keep you safe even though he didn't have to.

Azriel guided you through the door. The warmth and comforting smell of the place hit your senses. You made out different shadows that you assumed were pieces of furniture as you extended your hands forward. "Where are we?", you asked, running your fingers over what appeared to be the edge of a plush sofa. "My mother's house. Stay here for a minute," the male said as he walked past you, and your heart skipped a beat. For what you had learned and what your brain had put together, Azriel was closed off. Personal and professional never mixed. And you were on the professional side. You were the only one who survived. Only you could give him the answers he wanted. Even if he wasn't pushing, you had a feeling that all of this was just so you would get familiar with him, and when his patience ran out, he'd end up getting what he needed. You heard another muffled voice before the door cracked open again, letting more light into the room. A figure approached you, and you instantly moved to back away.

"Oh, sweetie, I...", a lady's voice rang out, making you frown slightly, "She really can't see". At this point, you weren't even sure if any of this was directed toward you. "Mom, let's not rub it in her face more", Azriel's voice almost seemed concerned, but you tried to not let it get to you. Without facial expressions, it was hard to distinguish between different tones at times. "I apologize... I...", the lady carefully took hold of your hands squeezing them, "I haven't seen many people and... Stay as long as you want. Are you hungry? She must be hungry." Azriel let out a sigh as his mother rushed out of the room.

"Let me guide you to your room," the shadow singer said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked. It felt calming. His touch always seemed to pull you out of the river of fear. "It has big windows, and you can just walk straight to the garden from it", the spymaster rambled on. Your fingers ran across the walls. Your silence was painful to him. He wished you would talk more. Azriel felt like he was talking so much. Well, more than he was used to, but it was mostly met with shrugs and a sentence here and there if he was lucky. Madja had stopped him on his way out the day he was bringing you up to the house of wind. "She needs care and to feel safe. Her brain might be blocking her vision. Fear can be crippling." And Azriel knew what she meant. He felt the level of fear that seemed to make him freeze. Just Azriel couldn't bring himself to speak in moments like this. His voice would disappear, and all he could do was stand there. Most took that as him trying to appear threatening while, in reality, he was nothing but mortified.

"Sorry for my mom, she's", Azriel found himself explaining until he felt your hand on his shoulder. "I'm the one who took over her home," "You didn't take over anything. I wanted you to come here, and so did she." You wondered if he warned her ahead of time that he would be bringing a freak. You moved your hand away from him, rubbing your palms together, and Azriel instantly felt the lack of your warmth on his skin. You were thinking. Hard. You seemed to do that when emotions ran high.

"You are safe here. I'll be here with you," standing up, the spymaster reached for you, and you let him take hold of your hands, "I think we can go have a picnic outside; the weather is beautiful today," "Why are you doing this?" Azriel was glad you couldn't see the way his face crinkled in confusion. He hated when people could read it easily. "What do you mean, why am I doing this?" the male questioned, the sad expression on your face breaking his heart. "If you want me to tell you what happened, you can just ask; you don't have to go all this way," you said, moving your arms around and gesturing to the room you stood in. Azriel let out a sigh. "I'm doing this because I can imagine how frightened you are, and I genuinely want to help."

You know that you should just bite your tongue and not push your luck, but it slips out, "It has something to do with your hands, doesn't it?" And now more than ever, even you know what a loud silence means. You hit near home, if not straight at it. Azriel cleared his throat, "My father kept me locked up in a basement for years. I couldn't fly; I could barely move. My brothers put my hands into flames," his last words died down as the memories filled Azriel's mind. You step closer to him, fingers inching behind him until you're met with an unfamiliar texture. Sliding your fingers carefully across the curve of what you assumed was a wing. Azriel hissed, you instantly draw your hand back, holding it closer to your chest.

"No, no, you can touch. They are just... sensitive", the spymaster says, studying your face. The way you bite your lip as your fingers once again reach out for his wings. "I bet your hands are beautiful," you murmur. "Scars like that tell the story of a survivor. I bet you inspire many people. Can you fly?" Your words pierce straight through Azriel's heart. Beautiful? Inspiring? Those weren't the words he was used to hearing in the same sentence as his hands. And the words seemed honest. Like you genuinely meant them. Azriel fluttered his wings carefully so as not to knock anything down in the room. A smile crept onto your face. "A fly around and then the picnic?" Azriel asks, and even before he finishes, you were already nodding your head.

You laughed quietly to yourself as you listened to yet another story Azriel was telling you about his brothers. It had been over a week, and you had started to feel more and more like yourself. Azriel barely left the house, and if he did, his mother was always there keeping you company and baking you sweet treats. Azriel was nothing but attentive. He managed to keep you safe while still giving you enough freedom so you wouldn't feel trapped.

You shared a bed. Only because you kept having nightmares, and after you tripped and fell during your first night here as you tried to find Azriel, he insisted that you two would stay together. You didn't fight that choice because, in all honesty, you needed to feel someone else's presence. Only managing to slip into slumber once Azriel would bring you closer to your chest. Your arms looped around his muscles as you clung to his hand. Azriel's face nestled in the crook of your neck. It felt like peace.

"I'm telling you, he nearly froze off his balls", you let out another bell laugh. The stories from the annual snowball fight never failed to put a smile on your face. "Did he tap out?", you asked, still giggling as you tried to find a slice of bread. Azrie instantly inched forward, took a piece, and dipped it in honey before gently tapping your hand as he handed you the piece. "It's Cassian, of course no", "Well, then he had blue balls quite literally", now it was Azriel who chuckled at your words as he kept a napkin under the piece he handed you so the honey wouldn't drip onto your dress.

It felt easy. Whatever was slowly sparking between the two of you felt easy. Natural even. Even if at times, Azriel tried to deny it, seeing you sitting in his mother's living room as she told you stories about Azriel's childhood felt right. Not to mention that he was now addicted to the feeling of you in his arms at night. The only way he found a peaceful oasis was with you.

The wind carried a light sound of music. There must have been some celebration in the main part of the city. The melody was light but still audible, and you instantly turned your face toward it. Azriel took his time studying your features. The color had returned to your face. The little freckles started to appear the more time you spent in the sun. The gash had scabbed, and now all that was left was a light pink scar that ran across your forehead and down the left side of your face.

"Come up", Azriel pulled at your hands softly, and you instantly frowned, not wanting to go just yet. As if reading your mind, Azriel added, "Dance with me." You let out a light chuckle. "Dance? Azriel, I'm blind", but the spymaster only pressed you closer to him, "Step onto my feet", you looked up, the silhouette of his face in the form of a dark shadow inching over you, "Come on, you won't regret it. I have some moves, believe me." You shook your head quickly as you felt his other hand slip down the small of your back. Letting out a surprised chuckle, as the spymaster spun you around and around. Even Azriel couldn't hold himself from laughing as you happily squealed in his embrace. Both of you unable to remember a time when you were so happy.

You stumbled back home late at night. Still, laughing as Azriel occasionally twirled you around? You had flowers all over your hair. Work of Azriel himself. The bottom of your dress was covered in dirt, and Azriel had ripped his pants, but neither of you cared, shushing one another as you made your way into the house. Azriel eyed his mother's sleeping frame on the sofa, a piece she was still knitting in her hands. He hadn't had a chance to ask her what she was making, but the piece seemed rather tiny. Best to be a glove for Azriel but not a piece of clothing that would fit a grownup.

You let out a giggle from behind him. Trying to find the knob of the door. Azriel moves to help you; that had almost become his second nature. Reaching for the back of the dresser, you carefully start looking for the ribbon to undo your corset. Azriel moves closer to you, carefully leaving a kiss on your shoulder before guiding your hand toward the fabric. "You learned to read my mind", you muttered, making Azriel hum in response, "I just can tell what you need". You turned in the spymaster's embrace so you could face him. You wished you could see him. Even if you traced your fingers over his face countless times. You wished you could see him and know if your imagination was even remotely close to how he looked.

"Well, then, what do I want now?", you inched closer to him. His warm breath hitting your skin, making you shiver. "Can I show inside of tell?", Azriel muttered under his breath, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You eagerly nodded your head as the anticipation started to slowly eat at you. Azriel cupped your cheek softly before leaning in, and his soft lips met yours. A breath got knocked out of your lungs at the sheer amount of fireworks that seemed to explode all inside you. You held onto his torso, scrunching up the material of the shirt he was wearing. The kiss was slow. No trace of rush. Just pure affection and care all poured into it. This male had dragged you out of death. Giving you wings and allowing you to fly again.

You woke up the next morning due to the sharp rays of sunlight hitting your eyes. You blinked a couple of times. Then a couple more and immediately jumped to sit up. Azriel instantly followed suit, hands moving to rub your shoulders as he was about to comfort you over a nightmare. You turned to him in an instant, as if only now realizing that he was also there. Hand coming up to cover your mouth as you let out a quiet sob. Azriel frowned, inching closer to you.

"Love, what's going on?" Azriel's voice was still raspy. You reached your hand to rest on his cheek, and the movement seemed a little too effortless. "I can see you," you muttered, your bottom lip quivering slightly. Azriel gaped at you in surprise. "It's still foggy, but I can see you." You let out another sob, and Azriel pulled you closer to his embrace. Placing kisses on the top of your head, squeezing you a tiny bit closer than most. "You're even prettier than I imagined," you murmured, and Azriel let out a laugh, quickly wiping away some of his tears. You nuzzled closer into his chest, letting a wave of calmness once again reach the depths of your heart.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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silentprincessandsweethibiscus · 11 months

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Three Plus one: Chapter 2- Alive But Not Awake:

Shadow finds itself in just a bit over its head. this chapters been done for a bit, but i had to wait till four minus one got to the right pint to post it, so its been sitting in the drafts. im glad to finally get it out for yall.

A sudden flash of light, the ground under its feet, the feather light touch of a breeze, and the feeling of its own tears, burning down its face. It was all far, far too much, all at once. The shade crumpled to the ground, hard and unforgiving on its raw new flesh, and clutched its head. It wanted to scream. Could feel it bubbling up inside of it, and surely it had the ability to now, but it could not. Whether from disuse, shock, fear, or exhaustion perhaps, it was unable to. All that made its way from Shadow’s lips was a single scratchy rasp followed by wimpers. It could have confused the sounds for a newborn kitten if it wasn’t so very aware of itself in this moment. The way its vocal cords strained even to make these small noises. The way its claws dug into its scalp. How hot its skin felt despite the cool breeze, and the way it itched under every piece of fabric it was wearing. Every sound in the clearing assaulting its ears all at once. The loudest being that voice it had been hearing in the void. Its owner was close to it, and it would not shut up. It was impossible for Shadow to collect itself like this, all it managed to do was glare up at the older woman with a growl. She was frowning back, clearly displeased about something. As she turned away from Shadow a wave of fear spiked through it as it lost consciousness once again.

The next time Shadow woke it was in a low lit room, on a decently soft bed. It was still hyper aware of the feeling of everything around it, but it was much less than the last time it was conscious, and now that the feeling had faded somewhat it was glad for how grounding it was. The vision out of Shadows left eye was broken up by small lines, like looking through a broken window, and it felt like it had been sat on by several Hinoxes, but it was alive again, so it would deal with the discomfort that came with that later.

Shadow got out of the bed on wobbly legs, holding on to the frame as it made its way over to the table by the door. After finding the door locked, it attempted to use the shadows in the room to teleport out, only to find its magic severely depleted. It reached deep inside of itself and found that its magic was there, just being tapped down by something. It would have to find a way out before it could figure out why though.

It wanted to scream, pound on the door, put up some kind of fight against whoever it was who had summoned it back to the light. It had no idea who the old witch was, but it could tell her intentions did not align with its own goals. Just by what scraps it could hear from the void it sounded as if she wanted to hurt its family, and it was not going to let that slide. However, its vocal cords still seemed to be out of shape, and it could practically hear Vio telling it to survey its surroundings and find a way to have the upper hand. So survey it did.

The room was relatively small, with just the bed, table, and a dresser. There was a glass of water on the table that Shadow ignored in favor of shakily making its way over to the dresser. It struggled with opening the drawers, choosing to blame how old the furniture was, rather than the fact that its arms were shaking more than its legs, but it did manage to get them all open. The results were disappointing, however, as all three of them were filled simply with scraps of fabric.

"Motherfuc-" its colorful assessment of its current situation was cut off by a coughing fit as the "ck" sound strained its disused vocal cords in a way that could only indicate some sort of damage to them, though Shadow was unsure as to what part of the dying process caused it.

Just as its coughing let up the door opened and the witch entered. "Good, you're finally awake." She gave a cursory glance around the room and her expression turned even more sour. "You should drink that."

"An' why woul-" it was once again cut off as its vocal cords spasmed around harder syllables. Once it caught its breath Shadow glared up at the woman and signed "Go fuck yourself."

The woman tutted with a shake of her head. "What a rude little creature. Nothing but hostility for the woman who gave you life once again."

Shadow may be unable to talk, but that didn't stop it from scoffing. "I didn't ask for this."

"Nonsense.” She waved a dismissive hand, and ooh, it could just punch her in her stupid pompous face. “You're very being was screaming for another chance at a life missed out on. I brought you back, now together we can take out the Heroes that took it away."

It almost felt a sick cold dread at the confirmation that she planned to fight its heroes, but chose instead to glare at her. "I will make you regret targeting my family."

“Family?” The old witch had the nerve to laugh at that. “Oh you poor deluded little shadow. You really think you matter to them. You are nothing to them.” She walked closer as she spoke, beginning to circle it. “They killed you. If the heroes truly cared about you they would have found another way.”

Shadow saw its chance as she reached the dresser, it smirked at her and signed “You are a fool.” before darting out the now unlocked and unguarded door. It was still shaking like Blue after the cave incident, but the adrenaline pumping through it should be enough. If Shadow focused it could trace the magical energy that was holding its own back, all it needed to do was get there.

It ran for what felt like hours, though it was sure its sense of time was severely warped after its time in the void, but it was able to track the magical signal. It rounded the last corner, heaved open the large door in its path, then collapsed. Shadow was sure the dry heaving that had overtaken it the second the adrenaline washed out of its body was far from the intimidating sight it would like to be showing the witch, but it's not like it had a choice. Luckily, by the time it heard her footsteps coming from the corridor it was able to compose itself long enough to slam the door shut between them. This close to the magic’s source it was even able to use some of its own to shove some of the furniture in front of the door.

Taking in large breaths, trying to regain feeling in, most of its body, Shadow looked up. Eyes finally landing on the source of the magic it gasped. A mirror. Just like the Dark Mirror. An almost perfect replica, in fact. The only thing That differentiated it from Shadow’s old source of power was how clean, and unbroken, it was. It was clearly just a replica, made to resemble the, frankly, much more powerful Dark Mirror. But that wasn't where Shadow’s shock ended. It’s appearance had changed, even in death. Its hair was longer, almost reaching their mid back, and it had to wonder how it missed that detail in the time it had been awake. And all along its body, on every surface that Shadow could see with its clothes on, was lines. Fine and almost silvery in the light, like broken glass. A large clump was fixed over its left eye, creating an effect like a stained glass window, or a kaleidoscope, and seemed to account for its wrecked vision. It was reminded of a chair leg, hitting the mirror right at eye level, and it winced. Even more damning than that, however, was the thick, jagged line that cut right across its neck. Tentatively it reached up, brushing its hands across any line it could find, but not a single one of them was raised. Scars, but only magical ones. There was no indication on its flesh that they shouldn’t be there, but its lost vision and voice prove that they have a very real consequence.

There were sounds of scraping as the witch moved the furniture back out of the way, and while Shadow struggled to stand again she entered. Once upon a time Shadow had thought the pity Zelda had held for it after its punishment for 'accidentally' helping Vio escape was the worst emotion anyone could direct its way, but the witch's false pity was so, so much worse.

"Now you see." She put a hand on its shoulder, in a move that it was sure was meant to be comforting, but only managed to make Shadow's skin crawl. "If they cared about you so much, why would they do this to you?"

She phrased it as a question, but Shadow knew she wasn't expecting an answer. "They didn't."

"Oh? Is that so?" She chuckled. "The heroes, the very same ones who defeated both Vaati and Ganon, killing the Wind Mage in the process, are not the ones who did this to you?" She finally let go of Shadow, to step back and look at it face to face again. "Then who am I to believe did?"

There were several moments of glaring from Shadow before it answered. "I did. I destroyed the mirror, killing both Lord Vaati and myself. You will not harm my family, and I will most certainly not help you do so."

There was a momentary confusion on the witch's face, as if she believed she had misread one of Shadows signs, before understanding bloomed on her face in a scowl. “I see. And here I was hoping the two of us could work together. Still, a pawn has its part to play.”

“Pawn? What are you talking about?” Shadow frowned up at the witch as she moved her hand off its shoulder and very quickly moved both her hands to either side of its head. It tried to flinch away but her grip was stronger than it expected. It could see her lips moving but if there were any sounds coming out of her Shadow sure couldn’t hear them.

Shadow’s breathing picked up as its vision started swirling. It didn’t recognize the magic she was doing to it, but it was dark. Her magic made its own shadow magic look light in comparison, and it struggled back against her, determined not to let itself fall into whatever trance she planned to place it in. The witch pulled back and the swirling in Shadows' vision finally stopped. There were a few blissful moments of smugness, at having beaten her at her own game, before the world went dark.

Once again Shadow was floating in the void, but this time there were flashes of something. Its eyes saw. Its ears heard. Its body felt. But these things all came to its consciousness like a whisper, or a memory. Like it was watching the life of someone else. Someone who was happy to help this witch terrorize the countryside, and plot to kill its family. Every time it got a flash it fought back, but whatever had locked away this part of its mind was strong, and none of its struggle ever showed outward.

The monster attacks got worse and worse, the people of Hytopia fled, and the heroes got steadily closer. All Shadow could do was hope. Hope that its heroes would save it. Or kill it. The first time they showed up to one of the camps it was working it nearly cried. Not that it could, cut off from the outside world, trapped inside its own mind. Instead it fought and screamed, begging Hylia herself to help it free before it hurt them.

Shadow was so sure she wasn’t listening, until Blue came for it head on. Swinging her hammer around and screaming about how he would kill it for daring to take on the form of their lost friend. Shadow watched as its body managed to knock Blue down, pinning him to the earth and sending her hammer flying. At first Blue glared up at it, spewing profanities, but something must have finally shown on its face, because she stopped, and stared up at it in horror. Shadow heard him say its name before calling out for Red to stop. Shadow's head whipped around just in time to see a blast of fire from the rod it had given red, and it released Blue, fleeing into the shadows as it did so.

It knew it could count on its heroes. Blue had seen something, and that's all it needed. It may not be able to fight back itself, but the rainbow was smart, the four of them would figure it out. All it had to do now was hold out long enough for them to break the curse.

#linked universe #four swords #shadow #blue #one verse #my work #hibiscus speaks #this fic doesnt get lu until later but the series as a whole is lu

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elliot-soot · 1 year

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I wrote this based on Jubilee line from your city gave me asthma.

It was supposed to be for school but I'm also gonna post it here cuz I really loved writing it and it is related enough :)

*'----------------------------Jubilee line-----------------------------'*

1007 words

2 hours

its like the clocked had betrayed me. Like it had chosen to run

its thin hands of time just slow enough for me to feel it fade. To feel the rope connecting the

two of us as we moved threw the apartment tether and tie itself to only the objects left

behind.

The words spoken like daggers to the heart and mind stabbing deep and swiftly with no

regard. All missing the line I so desperately hoped would be cut to free the pit in my stomach

and the tightening in my chest.

I wished I could have said it surprised me. I wish I could have described the feeling as a

surprise and a swift cut. But the more I sat, the more we weaved around one and other

without a word as if only to coexist without mention or notice of one and other.

Those daggers if ever to be planted were supposed to uproot my being. Cause me to call

friends desperately trying to piece together what I was unable to build on my own.

But instead, I knew. From the moment you opened your mouth that night. The knives had

been planted, placed, dangerously from minute one. Wavering. Slowly pushing deep within

with every lack of words, lack of feeling, lack of attention drawn from one and other. The

sharp pain wasn’t new or sudden.

I held the door open that night. The apartment dimmed every step you took threw the old

musted and water damaged halls of the cheapest apartment we could find. At the time it was

easy to overlook.

The taste of soil and earth that drained itself, only ever cold from the kitchen sink was

only something I agreed to in haste. In condition. Now the condensation on the glass feels

wasted and irritating as I take labored sips of the stale and potent liquid.

the air that drew threw the cracked windows

always drew in the frigid cold. I tolerated it. On conditions alone. Promises of getting out

together. Now you leave not removed nor untethered from me. connected to the old jacket

you left in the closet, your painting you framed arrogantly and boastfully above the old

stained couch, and the shoes, you left simply because they would never get you where you

needed to go.

It had only been a day. You left to stay in a hotel till the subway could take you where

you needed to go. Yet I still couldn’t figure out why that couldn’t be here.

In this old stale apartment. Littered with only slightly good furniture and appliances.

Filled with cracks and leaks that we would hide behind wall decorations and under rugs.

Where I had spent my night throat sore and raw from yelling questions at the impossibly thin

and un-responding walls. Begging for the reasons you didn’t give me. Didn’t explain.

My lips were left chapped and salted by tears and dehydration as I fall asleep with a

pounding headache and tight chest leaving it hard to breath.

The next thing my dizzying thoughts comprehend is a message, clearly un rehearsed and

unedited written in haste on the way to the station. Sent at 11:58pm. The words spelt wrong

left without punctuation or poetic feelings that you used to weave in so effortlessly with

every seemingly normal and humane message lacking and seemingly unavailable now.

Without second thought my feet on the concrete side walks. Pounding and racing heartily

down deserted and empty walkways once bustling with the people of business that fitted so

seamlessly into the London atmosphere.

My throaty still soar and hoarse my cheeks still wet from the tears shed earlier that night.

Not much earlier. Only leaving for a hour of restless rest.

My legs seem to easily allow me to trip, and plummet distracted by them. Distracted by

what ifs. My knees now dented, bloodied, ruined and broken open and seasoned in the dirt

and dust of the somehow unrelentingly quiet city.

I pick myself up unwillingly. My body seeming to give up. To chose to truly undo what I had tried to desperately to do.

With heavy breath and blood tainting my blemished and beaten knees I continue my now

staggered pursuit of the underground rails.

They were about to leave, about to be gone. They had chosen someone else and yet all I

could do was move forward towards the spaces below the seemingly abandoned city streets.

I clammer down the stairs. It stings. It stings physically, it stings internally. The emotion

wells up in my eyes taking form of salted tears that soil my cheeks but not for the first time

since they had said they needed to leave.

The moist dirty smell so strong it corrodes and taints my palette forcing a cough and a

gage as I race out into the gate.

I see them.

Then I don’t.

The train begins to lurch forward and race its way around from the platform with speed I

could never match. With the person I could never let go. The only thing I can think is how

close they were. The way they had just stepped onto the shuttle to take them away from here.

From me.

How if he had just been quicker, he could have grabbed the edge of their green bomber jacket sleeve and at least said a untainted and genuine goodbye.

One meant to send them off to someone else with my warmest regards and my unwilling

understanding. With my hopes for them to be safe and that they take of themselves even though I wouldn’t be there to see or aid them. To tell them I rather die then wish them ill or

hurt them.

But they were gone.

Down the tunnel.

Gated off and bared just out of reach.

After all.

Maybe there’s a reason London put barriers on the rail.

#wilbursoot #jubileeline #angst #your city gave me asthma #theres a reason that london puts barriers on the rails #Wilbursoot x reader #wilbursoot fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years

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“Second Riot At Kingston 'Pen' Is In Progress,” Kingston Whig-Standard. October 21, 1932. Page 11. --- The Apparent Quiet of Tuesday and Wednesday Was Rudely Shattered By a Terrific Outbreak on Thursday Afternoon —Howls of Prisoners Could Be Heard Blocks — More Than Hundred Shots Were Fired By Guards ---- With Lewis-guns trained on the main grill of the cell block corridor where about two hundred men had rioted all night long, Kingston Penitentiary officers and guards and a very strong detachment of the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery still awaited grimly this morning for the inmates to realize that it was a hopeless task to break out.

Despite a battle which raged from 4.10 on Thursday afternoon until this morning no guards have been injured although five or six prisoners are known are known to be wounded. The extent of their wounds can not be determined, however, for it has been impossible to get the injured men out to where they can be given medical attention.

At no time during the night have the prisoners been able to get from behind the strong steel bars which confined them to the cell block. In a vain effort to effect an escape, they have torn out every piece of plumbing in their cells and have broken up every bed table or other piece of furniture. With the pieces, they have pounded, pried, pulled, and hammered at the cell-doors in a vain effort to get into the corridor.

Because the Kingston Penitentiary is badly overcrowded, over a hundred men are not confined to cells. There are no cells available for them. These men, generally believed to be the most tractable of all prisoners, have been sleeping on cots in the cell block corridor, The cell block corridor is a wide corridor on which three tiers of cells face and is ordinarily used by the guards and patrolled.

All was quiet in the prison Thursday when suddenly bedlam broke loose at 4-10 in the afternoon, Tim Buck, convicted Communist agitator, and a prisoner named Croft, incited the men in the cell block corridor to another attempt to overthrow the prison authorities. They made fiery speeches using the most terrible language at their command. The prisoners fell to work with a will, and ripping out pipes used to bring water to the cells, breaking up beds, and hurling any stray articles through the windows until hardly a pane of glass was left whole, a riot began which for fury made the outbreak of Monday afternoon seem like a Sunday School picnic in comparison.

Guards poured shots through the bars at the crazed prisoners but this did not deter them from their work of destruction, a work that they did so completely that this morning the inside of the cell block presents a scene of almost indescribable wreckage.

The military are fully prepared for any and every emergency but up till midnight the soldiers had not fired a shot .The prisoners are trying to all get into the cell block corridor and then they plan to rush the gate at the end of corridor, break through it if possible, and engineer a wholesale jail delivery. That their plans can never come to fruition is apparent, for a machine gun is trained on the grill ready to mow down the attackers at the slightest indication that the grill may yield to their assault.

The frenzied convicts are also endeavoring to burrow through the cement floor into the chapel and a machine gun is grimly trained on the chapel in case they should be successful.

The men work with the fury of despair urged on from time to time by fiery speeches of Buck and Croft. It is believed that there are about fifteen of the most desperate type of men among the rioting inmates and they keep their less enthusiastic comrades up on the bit.

Like a bolt from the blue Thursday's riot broke. The apparent quiet of Tuesday and Wednesday was shattered.

Thursday afternoon, a Whig-Standard representative was at the institution and as late as as 3.15 spoke with General Ormond, superintendent of penitentiaries, who who has taken charge of the investigation being carried on.

At that time General Ormond was quite emphatic in saying that the disturbance had been quelled.

‘Everything is all sewed up,’ he said. ‘We are taking the ordinary precautions and the lid is on tightly.’

And as General Ormond remarked on how quiet everything had become when up from the cell-blocks came a great roar, convicts yelling and hollering. The convicts were hooting about something, but apart from this there was little to indicate that the normalcy of the institution had been upset.

Shortly before four o’clock, a Whig-Standard reporter drove down past the institution and back again and it was only when the top of the penitentiary hill was reached that a number of guards were seen to rush out of the institution. Just previously the prison farm gang which had been out working was hurried inside the walls. A few minutes later a big military truck, loaded with soldiers of the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery, armed with service rifles and wearing steel helmets careened down the road. In front of the big gates of the institution, the truck came to a sudden stop and out streamed the soldiers and dashed into the penitentiary. Hardly had they reached the gates when another truck and then another came until upwards of 300 soldiers were inside the grey walls.

Roads Closed At the same time guards of the institution assisted by the arrival of a body of guards from Collins Bay penitentiary and Provincial Police started to close up the roads leading to the institution and for the second time within four days no-one was allowed along King Street past Alwington avenue or past the foot of the Penitentiary Hill, while the prison road was clsoed and barricaded at Union Street,.

A couple of shots were fired soon after the soldiers entered the institution. But quiet seemed to be restored and for more than an hour hundreds of spectators who gathered in the restricted areas had little to reward them for their perseverance.

And then at 5.45 the first concerted outbreak of firing was heard. Eighteen shots were fired in quick succession and were immediately followed by agonizing screams, indicating that some convicts apparently had been hit. Then there was a respite and a few minutes later several more shots were fired to be following by a fusillade of a dozen shots within the next fifteen minutes.

For more than an hour after that there was a continual stream of shots; some seemed to be fired from the west side of the institution and as many from the east side, with searchlights all the time being played about the exterior. Until after seven o’clock there was an intermittent shooting and then a quiet spell of a couple of hours until more shooting was heard about ten o’clock. With these last shots, quiet seemed to have been restored and though the roads were kept barricaded and many people remained, staring down the vacant road in front of the penitentiary, a certain degree of normalcy returned.

Started In Dormitories The riot was the outburst of the flame which had been smoldering since Monday. Throughout Tuesday and Wednesday, there has been much restlessness on the part of the convicts and there was much murmuring and at times almost open rebellion.

An overflow population of some 110 convicts had been sleeping on cots in front of cells, there being no accommodation elsewhere for them. These corridors face the rows of cells and at the end of the corridors are high steel barred gates. On Thursday when General Ormond gave notice that he would hear the evidence of all convicts who had been complained about treatment, he was told that the prisoner did not intend to o on with their statements.

At 4.10 o’clock Thursday afternoon the spark of unrest burst forth into a flame; convicts in the corridors started to smash up everything they could get their hands on and endeavored to smash down the barred gates to get into the other cells blocks where other prisoners were confined.

In the cells there was terrible turmoil; plumbing fixtures were ripped up and smashed and water ran everywhere until the cells and corridors were almost flooded. With what improvised weapons they had, the convicts started to batter at the cell doors, the walls and everything in sight, at the same time putting up a tremendous holler. A call was sent to the R.C.H.A. who responded with their full strength, whole later machines guns were brought to the institution, and, it is understood, mounted outside the corridor gates.

More defiant even than they had been on Monday, when their strength was numbered at almost 900, the 200 rioting convicts Thursday threatened to set fire to the building.

When the rioters became more and more unruly, shots were fired into the corridor through the barred doors. Screams of pain mingled with curses and jeers as the convicts continued their battering at the bars and cells. Like roaring beasts they ripped at everything moveable and all the time more shots were poured into the corridors, most of them being fired over the heads of the convicts to intimidate them.

After a siege of more than a couple of hours, it is understood that convicts shouted to the guards that three of their men had been wounded and they wanted the guards to come and take them out for medical treatment. But the reply of the guards was that the convicts bring them out.

Prepared for Long Siege That the officials of the penitentiary are prepared for a long combat with the convicts is indicated by the preparations made by the soldiers .Not only did they arrive at the institution armed heavily but they carried greatcoats with them and shortly after their arrival, a truck load of blankets and another truck loaded with food were brought from the city.

Onto the catwalks on top of the walls poured the soldiers and their appearance was a signal for an outburst of jeers from the convicts, who apparently could see them through the tall windows in front of the cell blocks. At several spots on the walls, the searchlights were being continually operated and there seemed hardly a chance, had the convicts been outside the cell blocks, that they could have scaled the walls, if such had been their Intention. “Hell Let Loose!" “Hell let loose only worse!" was the cryptic way In which an official spoke of the latest outbreak. “I never saw anything like it even in the war. The din put up by the convicts, the shooting, the cursing and yelling and the constant smashing of furniture and everything else breakable along with the terrible disorder caused by the flood of water and sewage coming from the smashed plumbing fixtures turned the central block into seething a mass of humanity.

“I never experienced anything like it and never want to again terrible does not begin to describe it!"

Convicts Not Armed Hemmed in as they were behind the grilled gates, the rioting convicts had only the improvised weapons they could lay hands on pieces of broken cots, lead pipes, etc. with which to fight their way to liberty. Outside, the menacing machine guns were trained on them. In the cells, where convicts kept up an incessant racket in an effort to break down their bars, the turmoil was as bad; convicts were trying to burrow from one cell to another and an efforts seemed to be concentrated on all the convicts in the cell block getting together in the corridor and then rushing the grilled gate and trying to smash through the cordon at guards and soldiers, despite the fact that the latter were heavily armed.

Through the other cell blocks, there was constant hollering on the part of the convicts and on through the night the uproar continued. Many of the convicts had smashed the electric light bulbs in their cells hoping, apparently that in the semi-darkness they would be better able to break their way to freedom.

Hopeless Efforts Just how the convicts hoped to make any successful break for liberty is rather a mystery, for even if they had broken through the corridor barriers and through the cell blocks into the court-yard, they were then faced with the soldiers and guards on the walls, heavily armed with rifles and plenty at ammunition and with machine guns placed at strategic points. It was feared that it would be almost certain that fatalities would result if the rioting continued for the convicts were in ugly enough mood to cast discretion to the winds In their mad efforts to break loose.

Roads Guarded All Night Late in the evening the order went out to maintain the guards on the roads throughout the entire night and the guards settled down to an all night vigil, as they marched up and down the roads and kept the way cleared. Practical!y all the guards on the road were heavily armed, while several mounted men whose ordinary duty is guarding at the prison farm were seen at different points on the Prison Road, King Street and Union Streets.

Portsmouth People Nervous There was little or no sleep last night for the residents at Portsmouth and for the Kingston people living in the vicinity of the penitentiary. In some cases residents left their homes for the night and went to stay with friends, while invariably doors were locked as soon as darkness fell. On the corners of the Portsmouth streets, groups gathered to discuss the most sensational event in the history of the village.

All the officers and guard of the institution were hurriedly summoned back to the penitentiary late yesterday afternoon and the indications were that they would remain in the prison until the entire affair is successfully squelched.

Kitchen Isolated The fact that food supplies were brought out on trucks for the soldiers and guards indicated that the food supply at the penitentiary had been cut off. To get to the kitchen, it is necessary to pass through the corridor in which the convicts are holding sway, so that the kitchen is absolutely cut off and it is impossible to secure food from then. The convicts are also in a predicament, for they face the prospect of very very short rations while the riot lasts. Twenty convicts who were in the kitchen preparing the evening meal Thursday are still isolated there.

Power Not Cut Off There were many rumors afloat Wednesday and one very persistent report was that the convicts had secured possession of the power house and had damaged the lighting system. The rumor was found to be incorrect. The prison authorities received a tip from trusty that an effort was to be made to wreck the lighting plant and so had the Public Utilities Commission put in an auxillary line.

The officials of the penitentiary prepared for a heavy casualty list, for early in the evening several local doctors were summoned to the institution. Dr. Garfield Platt, the prison surgeon, was at the institution but it was felt that there was a great possibility of many casualties resulting in the riot and medical attention was held in readiness for any eventuality. Early in the evening Rev. Dr. W. T. Kingsley, Roman Catholic chaplain at the penitentiary, came out of the main gates of the institution after being inside for some time.

“I have absolutely nothing to say" said Rev. Father Kingsley, his face lined with anxiety. “I cannot discuss today's event at all”

No Hostages Here Says Smith

Absolute denial of a persistent rumor that 40 guards were being held as hostage by the rioting prisoners was made by Acting Warden Gilbert Smith early today.

“No one in this prison to being held as hostages," the acting warden said laconically.

Tim Buck Noted Communist Head Is Ring-Leader

Tim Buck, the recognised ringleader in yesterdays riot at the Kingston Penitentiary, the second very serious outbreak this week, was the fire-brand of Communism in Canada and is now serving a term of five years on the charge of being a member of an unlawful organisation and being party to a seditious conspiracy.

Buck, along with seven other Communist leaders, was sentenced at Toronto on November 14, but he had been national secretary of the Communist party in Canada and his comrades, who were given the same sentences by Justice Wright. were Tom Ewan, local organiser; John Boychuk, Ukrainian leader; Malcolm Bruce, former editor of The Worker, Communist journal; Samuel Cohen, alias M. Carr; Matthew Popowitch and Michael Golinski. An eighth member of the party, Thomas Cacic, was given a sentence of two years.

The Communists were arrested in a raid by Royal Canadian Mounted Police and conviction came following the national story of Sergeant John Leopold who told that on being instructed in 1931 to get evidence against the Communist party in Western Canada, joined the Regina branch of the organisation and served for nine years as secretary of the branch. During the trial Leopold told of the Communist Internationale at Moscow supplying $7,000 so that the Canadian movement could be started. He had shabby clothes and acted and looked the part he played until three years ago: when after amassing a great deal of evidence, he dropped out of sight, and when he came to trial he had prepared the documents he had collected, copying those which the party had ordered "destroyed”. The conviction of the eight men followed Leopold's story.

When he wit about to leave tor the penitentiary, Buck had been asked regarding his Communistic views and as to whether he would change when in the penitentiary, but he is understood to have stated that he expected to come out of the institution a greater Communist than he ever had been.

Gen Ormond’s Statement

"No one was injured during the disturbance," said General Ormond, superintendent of penitentiaries late Thursday night. "Every prisoner was under control at all time. What rioting there was was caused by the overflow prisoners in the corridors and they never get outside there corridors. They did some damage to furniture and fixtures but at no time did they reach the outside of the corridors. Despite rumors to the contrary, neither guards nor prisoners were injured and shots fired in the prison were merely for intimidating the rioters.”

This statement by General Ormond was read shortly after nine o'clock, but it is understood that the riot assumed more severe proportions later in the evening. General Ormond was present during the afternoon when the rioting broke out and was also at the penitentiary during most of the evening.

Mutiny Planned In Sept 1931 Was Recalled

Prior to the outbreak at the Kingston Penitentiary on Monday, which was continued in the serious riot of yesterday, the penal institution had been comparatively quiet since September 1931, when a plan of mutiny had been discovered before it could be put into effect.

For several days previous to the first day of September 1931, rumors had been in circulation of grave trouble narrowly averted at the institution and there had been even talk of a projected general jail delivery that was nipped in the bud a day or two prior to the time set for their consummation.

The disclosure was made though officials refused to discuss the affair that the notorious "Two-gun" O'Brien was the ring-leader in the plot, which was assuming large proportions when It was discovered. There had been evidence that some eight or ten murderous daggers and stilettos, some of them two-edged, were found in the machine shop and that it was in this shop that the ring-leaders were to be armed and take the preliminary steps towards the jail delivery. It was learned that an inmate at the institution overheard the plot being hatched and informed the officials, thereby preventing possible bloodshed.

According to the plans, the driver of the big truck was to be attacked when he drove to the Dome in the penitentiary, and the one or two other guards, and the signal given to the other convicts by the shouting of the word "O'Brien." This was to summon the other convicts in the shop, who were to mount the truck, drive to the north gate, and overpower the guards there. The break for liberty was to be completed immediately afterwards.

"Two-gun” O'Brien and four other ringleaders were understood to have been placed in solitary confinement, the weapons taken in charge of by officials and a three-day investigation carried on by Brig.-Gen. W. S. Hughes, at that time superintendent of penitentiaries.

Kingston Crowd Took Riot Very Calmly

A silent crowd lined roads leading to Kingston Penitentiary last night. Occasionally, there were flutters of comment as shots resounded from behind the grey walls. There were murmurs of excitement as the shouts of the convicts reached the crowd. But generally Kingston took the riot in the prison quite calmly.

Portsmouth people particularly paid little attention to the searchlight-lit. Many of the guards live in the village and their families lined the railing along the lakefront last night. Some of the guards have not been home since the disturbance of Monday. Some of them may not be home for days yet.

But Kingston and Its environs are more or less accustomed to the penitentiary and its troubles now. Then have been escapes and troubles before, in 1927 and 1922, particularly, when the district was kept in an uproar for days.

Last night there was a stiff wind blowing from Lake Ontario. A drizzle of rain swept across the waterfront. But the crowd never stirred. It was silent and orderly. Penitentiary guards and members of the militia occasionally forced the curious back, presslng firmly with the butts of their rifles. The crowd surged back at their commands but as the guards turned away strained forward again to try to see.

A constant procession of automobiles came along the lakefromt to the prison then switched off to the detour marked by the guards.

"It sounds like a football game,” said rugby-mad Kingston, as they listened to the "yammering" of the convicts. It was just another spectacle to most of the citizens, who occasionally waved to guards and soldiers with whom they were acquainted.

The crowd grew as the evening wore on but after midnight practically none were left. The rioters were under control, the searchlights had stopped around the prison but Kingstonians had to get their night sleep even if prisoners did riot. Soon only the guards at the barricaded roads were left to watch for developments, if any, through the long night.

[AL: Some of this narrative is correct, especially the broad descriptions of what was happened in chronological order and that were verified by reporters - the movements of guards, firing of guns, barricades, etc. The prisoners were not trying to escape, the riot didn’t start in the dorm, and left out is that the violence and destruction of cells was not the cause, but the reaction to, the violence of prison guards.]

#kingston penitentiary #kingston ontario #prison riot #convict revolt #prisoner resistance #prison guards #barricades #dominion penitentiaries #superintendent of penitentiaries #1932 kp riot #great depression in canada #communists #tim buck #eyewitness testimony #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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ecopro82 · 1 year

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Tips And Tricks For DIY Water Damage Cleanup

Every year, floods eliminate more individuals than lightning, twisters and typhoons combined. They can also ruin homes and companies, needing whatever from new drywall and furnishings to entirely brand-new structures.

If your house or business home has been flooded, your first priority is security. Stay away from the area till federal government authorities say it's safe to return. When you can return, take emergency materials and money with you. If you can get to a phone, call your insurer and, if essential, a flood and water damage remediation professional.

You can get started on evaluating the damage. Watch every step, because the threat of slips and falls is high. Also, be really careful around appliances, gas lines and electrical devices. Using them prematurely could trigger electrical shocks and even surges. And do not forget that wet items can be very heavy. Don't harm yourself by overdoing it.

The Destruction Water Causes

Water gives us life, but it can also take life and ruin whatever in its path. When it concerns your home or companies, understand how the following items can be affected:

Wallboard and drywall: These permeable materials imitate a sponge and become fragile in a flood, and might remain infected even after they dry out. Plaster: This thick material may not need to be changed however it takes a very long time to dry. If it is seriously cracked or warped, it will require to be changed. Insulation: Foam sheets of insulation just require to be hosed off and dried, however muddy fiberglass batts should be thrown away. Cellulose insulation, made of blown-in treated paper, will need to be removed and replaced. Solid wood: Furniture and other strong wood products may warp and crack following a flood, but they can usually be conserved when dried out completely. Particle board and laminated wood: These products might separate and deteriorate after getting damp and usually require to be changed. Wood studs and framing: These strong pillars are usually OK if they dry entirely. They must be decontaminated, however don't generally need to be changed. They are frequently far from human contact, so threats of damage from any remaining contamination are low. Flooring: Most carpets and laminated coverings will have to be tossed out after a flood, especially any with soaked foam rubber backing. An expert cleaner might be able to save small rugs and important carpets, which should be eliminated from the website instantly.

Pipes and electrical circuitry: Floods can float or break pipelines and strip electrical circuitry. Unless you're sure you know what you're doing, work with a professional if you see damage to these items. Appliances: These can be shorted out throughout floods and can leakage damaging and explosive gases into the air. They will need to be cleaned up and inspected by a professional before use. HVAC: Heater and a/c units can end up being flooded, which can damage their internal electrical systems and douse pilot burner. They can likewise become muddy, and cleaning them will need expert cleansing. In addition, venting systems can flood and become polluted. If that occurs, they must be taken apart and hosed off piece by piece to avoid contamination from being blown through the air. Dos and Do n'ts of Flood and Water Damage Cleanup

Getting Ready

The first thing you will need to do after a flood is ensure that it's safe for you and your family to be on the residential or commercial property.

- DO beware of rodents, snakes and bugs that may have come in with flood waters - DO odor for gas and try to find broken power and gas lines, foundation cracks and outside damage - DO search for damaged pilings, shifted stairs, inclined floors and walls - DO turn off water and power (unless you would have to do so while standing in water)

- DON'T enter your home or business if you see major structural damage - DON'T stroll on drooping floorings or floors above sagging ceilings - DON'T utilize electrical appliances or switch on ceiling fans and lights if the ceilings are damp

First Steps

Once you're ready to begin the cleaning procedure, it's essential to focus on. At this phase:

- DO check that your running water is safe to consume and to utilize for cleansing - DO flush your toilet prior to you utilize it to check for clogs from mud and debris - DO look for cabinets and other products that might be all set to tip over - DO temporarily spot holes in the walls and roofing system with plastic wrap and repair floors and roofing system areas with 4X4s if you can do so securely - DO eliminate particles - DO get rid of water trapped in walls - DO open all the doors and windows to improve ventilation - DO utilize a damp vac, shop vac, fans, dehumidifiers and desiccants (products that soak up wetness) to begin drying out the residential or commercial property

- DON'T drain pipes a flooded basement too rapidly, because quick changes in pressure might trigger the structure to collapse - DON'T do structural or electrical work yourself - DON'T link generators to the house's power system, but plug in fans and home appliances directly - DON'T use generators, grills, camp ranges or charcoal inside houses or within closed areas - DON'T utilize a household vacuum to remove water and mud - DON'T let trash pile up, as it could intensify contamination and home pests - DON'T leave swimming pools of standing water, which might become breeding grounds for mosquitoes

Putting everything Back Together

Once these significant issues are handled, you can start on the water damage clean-up and flood restoration itself.

- DO wear protective clothing, boots and rubber gloves - DO clean your hands typically with soap and water - DO remove all wall coverings and toss them out, as they may harbor mold - DO get rid of drywall, ended up ceilings and the majority of insulation that's touched with flood water - DO throw out permeable materials such as padded furniture and foam rubber - DO toss out all exposed food, beverages and medication, including canned goods - DO disinfect dishes and other items with soap and warm water, but throw away all soft plastics - DO tidy difficult surfaces with hot water and soap or cleaning agent - Do wipe down wood products and, if possible, take them in other places to dry - DO preserve items such as books, files and pictures in re-sealable bags and freeze them to be cleaned later - DO location aluminum foil or wood blocks in between damp floorings and the legs of furnishings that can't be moved - DO make a list of the damage and take photos or videos - DO keep a piece of damaged flooring and wall coverings to show your insurance coverage assessor - DO check with your home loan holder prior to cashing house insurance checks, specifically if the damage is extensive

Should You Call a Professional Restoration Service?

Cleaning up after a flood is a lot of work and it is possible to do much of it yourself. The expenses in time, materials and machinery rental intensify rapidly. You may need professional contractors to do the work to be eligible for home and flood insurance coverage repayments or to get structure authorizations. If you would like skilled assist with your flood clean-up or merely want a 2nd pair of eyes for security, call Paul! Our nationwide network of flood and water damage clean-up professionals is readily available 24/7.

#damage #restoration #water #fire #smoke #repair #property #flooding #flood

0 notes

lubdubsworld · 3 years

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The Devil’s Own.

Jungkook x OC

Mafia Au!

Warnings : Non-Con ! Manipulation, Degradation, Shitty hero with no redeeming Qualities you have been warned. ( i mean he does get better but not much.)

Summary : Just Mob Boss Jungkook doing mob boss things.

Chapter 1

“ Sign it. ”

I glared at him, feeling sick at the tone. The entitlement.

“No.” I said sharply and I could feel his anger swelling, morphing into something dangerous and deadly but I couldn’t care anymore. I was tired. Exhausted. This cat and mouse game had gone on , long enough. It wasn’t an even playing field, in any sense of the qword.

If today was the day I died, so be it. I would accept it. I would even welcome it.

I was done.

He had everything : an empire at his beck and call , enough money to pave the streets of Seoul in gold and an army of loyal associates behind him. His face was plastered on Billboards across the country , the President posted pictures of him on his fucking SNS and delegates from other countries had to wait weeks , just to get an appointment with the youngest billionaire South Korea had ever seen.

And yet none of those white collared dignitaries saw this side of him. The dirty, violent ruthless man who had more blood on his hands than anyone else in the country. My father’s. My brothers’.

Jeon Jungkook was both the most revered business man in the country and the undisputed king of Seoul’s criminal underbelly.

“You defiance only makes me want to break you in other ways Elena.” He said warningly and I felt my throat go dry. I stared at him, wondering how someone could look so expensively gorgeous and yet, like a hardened criminal.

The expensive silk shirt, the fitted slacks and the handmade shoes ought to clash with the dark ink that covered his entire arm and neck, the piercing on his eyebrow and the glint of metal on his tongue but it didn’t.

It just all came together to make him the most attractive man in existence.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps begging was the way to go?

“ You have my father’s company. You have my brother’s Hospital and you have the family mansion. It’s all yours. This bakery belongs to my mother. It’s all I have left of her. My sister in law is pregnant , due any day. She needs a place to stay and I don’t… I don’t have money to rent anywhere else.” I said desperately, thinking of the paltry wage I earned waiting tables. I could barely afford food for myself let alone for Jisoo and the baby on the way.

The bakery was abandoned but it had a roof. The furniture was crumbling but I could fix that. If I didn’t have to worry about rent, I could save up enough to make it livable. At least till I got a better job.

“I’ve offered you solutions for all of that.” He reminded me softly, eyes trained unblinkingly on me and I stared at him.

“I’m not going to be your whore.” I felt my voice shake.

He grimaced.

“You aren’t qualified to be my whore. And I don’t need one either. Whores are not my thing. I have a beautiful fiancée, don’t you remember? ” He grinned. I felt my heart ache because that fiancée was once my best friend. The only person I had trusted with my entire life. Lisa had betrayed my trust, had spied on my father’s operations and brought him down and I had the horrible, horrible inkling that she had also had something to do with my father and brother’s untimely death in a car crash.

But I couldn’t think about that. Every time I thought about her my heart broke and head spun, and I had to be at my maximum mental capacity if I was going to deal with her heartless fiancée.

“ If you ask me, you’re not fit for anything more than a back alley blowjob for a couple bucks. But Hoseok thinks you have potential. Join his agency, there are a lot of very wealthy men who have a bone to pick with your father. He made a shit ton of enemies. Most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of you. ”

His words felt like worms crawling all over my skin and I could feel the nausea churn inside me.

“I’m not signing the bakery over. You can call the creditors. I still have another year and half to pay the one remaining loan and they won’t come for me till then.” I felt my head begin to throb and Jungkook sighed.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up and I stayed still, watching his tall frame tower over me with ease. He gave me a small bitter smile. It was fraught with hatred and I stared back at him, knowing the emotion was probably mirrored in my gaze.

“Beautiful Elena. As pretty as the day you left me at the altar.” He smirked and I flushed.

“Your vengeance is petty and pointless and unfair…just like you.” I said angrily, frustration building u at his words. The way he talked about our broken engagement like it even mattered. It hadn’t even been real. We had hardly spoken and my father had called the wedding off at the last moment. But apparently, that had been the last straw for the Jeons. They had come after my father’s entire existence with a single minded intent to destroy him and they had succeeded. The man was dead . His two sons were dead.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook stared at me, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe. But it’s also deadly and potent. And it won’t rest until I see you reduced to nothing but a whore on the streets, spreading your legs for every man who can afford you.” He laughed. “ Saying no is a luxury , one that you’ll soon be unable to afford.”

I refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words scared me. Because they did.

They scared me so damn much.

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

“This bed is so lumpy… I’m so sorry, unnie..” I said apologetically but Jisoo shook her head quickly, palms cupping my face as I held her elbows, gently lowering her to the bed. I stared at her feet, feeling my heart race at how swollen they looked. That can’t be normal, a voice whispered and

I didn’t know if that was normal and I had no money to take her to a clinic. The social center we usually went to only allowed three visits per month and we had used it all up. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and spend the thirty thousand won it would take but that would mean no groceries for a week and surely bread and eggs wouldn’t stretch that long, even if I could sneak meals in the restaurant for myself.

“I’ve been feeling a little dizzy…I’ll just sleep.” She said tiredly. She was thirty six weeks along, not due for another four weeks but her blood pressure was erratic. Her lab numbers were oscillating and there had been talks of an emergency c section. Even with insurance it was way more than I could afford but I had my own jewelry, a few expensive trinkets from my teenage years. I’d been obsessed with diamonds and my father had indulged me and I had a pair of earrings left. I’d already sold the rest but this would take care of the medical bills for the birth itself.

“My shift starts in ten minutes. I have to go. Give me a call if you need anything…” I said softly and I saw the familiar blank and listless look come into her eyes. I knew she was depressed, dealing with grief and pregnancy and loss but there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing. I had applied for a bunch of other jobs but they never wrote back. It wasn’t easy, being rejected over and over again but it wasn’t like there was much else I could do. And the truth was I was resigned to this, accepted that at some point I would have to take more loans and be stuck in an endless cycle of debt for the rest of my life.

And I had made peace with that.

There was no future for me. And I was okay with just surviving.

If only Jungkook would let me.

Apparently, watching me wipe down greasy tables and mop up floors and toilets trying to earn just enough to get a few square meals didn’t soothe his anger. It only fueled it. Jungkook couldn’t fathom that it had been six whole months of me on the streets of Seoul and I wasn’t completely destitute yet. I’d kept myself and my sister in law alive, safe and it pissed him off.

He wanted to see me broken and on my knees, begging him for help. The idea of me somehow surviving despite him taking everything away from me, it just didn’t sit well with him.

I couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy so all I could really hope was that one day he would wake up and give up. One day he would just wake up and decide that I wasn’t worth it.

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

When I walked into my shift and noticed a familiar pair of high heeled Louboutins , completely out of place in my seedy place of employment, I knew I was in trouble. Lisa sat against one of the booths and her gaze was fixated on the door which meant she was waiting for someone. And when her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, I just knew I was the someone.

She wants to get me fired.

It wasn’t rocket science and I felt the urge to turn right back around and leave. But I tamped down on it. I could get through this. I would get through this. Lisa and Jungkook got off on invoking reactions and I wouldn’t give them that.

Except it wasn’t that easy.

It was a nightmare, watching her demand and reject and walk all over me but the sleeplessness from the past few days made spacing out easier and I just stared away at the wall as she yelled and complained and made a scene.

“You’ve stopped fighting? Finally giving up? Good…” She hissed when the manager apologized to her and told me to meet him after my shift and I felt myself tremble in indignation.

“I won’t fight you or Jungkook, you and I both know I can’t afford to.” I said quietly and she went still, something flashing in her eyes for a second. It was gone before I could fully process it but it had been there. Guilt.

Lisa wasn’t a terrible human. She had been a dear friend. We had grown up together and she had even hugged and teased me when I’d been betrothed to Jungkook, all those years ago. I had been twenty back then, naïve and spoiled. While Jungkook had taken my father’s entire legacy apart, piece by piece, Lisa had been nothing more than a pawn. I remembered all the times I had let her home, how she would disappear for lengths of time.

Planting bugs all over the house. All over his office. Jungkook had been smart. Someone like Lisa, so fascinated by thr wealth she had grown up around would naturally jump at the idea of more. It wasn’t greed. It was human nature. And with her help he had destroyed everything my father had built over decades.

I shuddered. My father hadn’t been a good man. He had been greedy, yes. But he hadn’t deserved to die. And Jungkook would have to pay for that sin, someday.

“There’s a job waiting for you in Hoseok’s club.” She smiled cruelly , “ you don’t need this one.”

“The fact that you want to take it away from me, tells me that maybe there’s nothing left in you save.” I said blankly and she turned her nose up at me.

“I have Jungkook. I don’t need to be saved.”

I shook my head. She was so naïve. Men like Jungkook cared for nothing but themselves. But I wondered if women like her didn’t care for anything but the money that came with being his. Money was precious, I thought bitterly. I’d never realized how privileged I had been until I’d had it all ripped away.

“He’s the one you need saving from. And one day you’ll realize that.” I shrugged, not in the mood to offer her anymore life advice. If she was alright with being a trophy wife in exchange for a few pretty shoes that was her prerogative.

Before she could reply, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked nervously and I felt my heart drop to my knees when I heard who it was.

I turned on my heel rushing inside and my manager gave me a look of surprise.

“ My sister..she’s… she’s sick. I need to go.” I said desperately and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst timing. He was already annoyed because of Lisa and I stared in disbelief as he quickly shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry Elena…I just can’t let you leave like that…” He said sharply.

It was so unfair.

“I haven’t taken a single day off in five months…” I said desperately..” Please, she’s pregnant..She needs me, she-“

“If you leave, you won’t have a job to come back to. I can’t do this.. First you make trouble with a customer and now you just want to walk out in the middle of your shift without any notice…”

“Fine. Fire me.” I snapped, because I’d just had enough of it. I was exhausted, and tomorrow I’d go knocking on some other tore and I’d get a job. I lived in Seoul …How hard could it be? For now, I had to get to Jisoo. I had to get the hospital and things would be okay.

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

It wasn’t okay.

“I… You want to keep her in? So soon?”

“Her blood pressure is through the roof. There are signs of severe pre eclampsia and we want to get her started on a magnesium drip. Steroids to help the baby’s lungs incase we need to deliver…”

“Deliver..?” I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, I’m sorry…. If her blood pressure doesn’t come down we’re going to have to deliver.”

I nodded, glancing at the bed where Jisoo was sleeping, her face swollen and I knew that she was sick. Really sick. She looked pallid and ill.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked hoarsely.

“We’re going to do what we can… But I’m going to be honest, we’re looking at a c section, a lot of meds and also some time in the NICU for the baby…. Can you afford it? Your sister’s insurance only covers 80% .”

I blinked, completely thrown. White noise rushed through my ears, a dull throb settling right at the base of my skull and beginning to spread all the way to my arms and back. It was panic mixed wth anxiety mixed with despair and I couldn’t quite cope. The earrings wouldn’t cover all that.

“Oh… Oh..yeah.” I said dully, “ Of course I can… Let me just…. Can I have a moment? There’s somethings I need to do.”

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

I carefully slipped the cash into the envelope, swallowing as I sat on the pavement. I’d got another call from the hospital, they had administered the steroids but Jisoo’s condition seemed to be worsening. They wanted to try inducing labour soon but they wanted me to pay for the room and for the medicines, and apparently, the earrings weren’t as valuable as I thought they were.

I fought nausea wrapping arms around myself as I stared at the cars whizzing by, the putrid city air clogging my lungs as I tried to come to terms with what was happening. Jisoo needed help. She was the only one left and she carried my brother’s son. I felt my throat clog when I thought of Daehwan. He had been a good guy. I had loved him. It wasn’t fair, what Jungkook had done to my family, I thought miserably .

And the only reason I wasn’t driven by vengeance or anger was because I was nothing like Jungkook. I hated him. I didn’t want him to live in my head, didn’t want to waste any part of myself on him , not even my anger. But it was hard when he wouldn’t let me breathe, always at my heels like a wolf : jaws snapping and blood thirsty eyes trained on me at all times. I couldn’t fathom his obsession sometimes. Surely, his hatred was uncalled for now? He’d taken everything from me anyway.

There was a dull roaring in my ears, one that said that this was not really a surprise. I’d thought about it way too often, had considered it countless times. Had even spent one absolutely horrifying evening scouring the streets of Seoul’s red light district just to see how sex workers behaved.

I’d also realized that in the face of desperation, dignity didn’t hold much value.

You are going to pay your debts on your back and on your knees.

The first time Jungkook had thrown it at my face, eyes glinting with glee, my stomach had rebelled so hard. I’d been absolutely infuriated, had thrown a vase at him. And it had been awful, watching him catch it out of the air with ease, his mocking laughter making my bones rattle as he shook his head, “ That’s how this ends, Elena. Mark my words.”

And it was pitiful , that he went through life so consumed with hatred and vindictive cruelty that he couldn’t leave me alone . He was pathetic. That’s how I saw him. A pathetic child who refused to stop tormenting the helpless ant on the floor although it was no match for his cruelty.

At some point Jungkook was going to win. And his idea of winning was seeing me stripped bare of the one thing that kept me alive : my freedom.

It had just happened sooner than I’d thought.

Because I knew what it would mean, to go to Hoseok. He would own me. Hoseok’s whores were all slaves, tangled in his web so badly that there was no hope of escape. He wasn’t cruel but he was smart. No one left the his ‘ agency’ once they went in. I would be lost, forever. And I couldn’t stomach it.

I stared at my knees, fists clenched on the fabric of my skirt. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the contacts. I considered it carefully. I had to do this on my terms. Had to make sure I retained some sort of control here.

And I knew just how to do it.

Hoseok picked up on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“I need help.” I croaked out.

The deep chuckle made my skin crawl.

“Elena Gong. What a wonderful, wonderful surprise. What can I do you for?” He drawled.

“Well sweetheart, I’m all out of charity so you’re going to have to make it worth my while.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m a virgin.” I whispered.

The line went completely silent.

“What?” The amusement in his voice died.

“You heard me and I’ll let you cash in on it. I’ll let you auction it off…” I tamped down on the burning protest in my lung, the screaming inside my head that said it was horrifying, that I was considering this. “ But only if you keep my terms.”

“What makes you think you have a say in that.” He said sharply and I laughed.

“I belong to your world, Hoseok. Did you forget that we were friends, once.” I whispered and he didn’t reply.

Laughter, kindness, a big brother I could always count on, hobi oppa, nine year old me with my fingers curled around his wrist as we ran all around the gardens , a smile so wide that he could spread sunshine on the gloomiest days. Different from Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi and the others. Willing to include a ‘ girl’ in his playtime. Lisa and I the only girls, not even fazed watching as the rest of them wielded toy guns and mock interrogation scenes, pretending to kill and maim and torture because that was the world we were born into.

“We’re not friends, Elena. Let’s get that straight. The only part of you that holds any value to me is th part between your legs. So tell me, what do you want.”

“When was the last time you auctioned off someone’s virginity? You know how much money you can make off something like that. Not just from the sale itself but from the entire night. Your club… Your gaming hell…. All of it.”

“You expect me to believe you’re a virgin. At twenty seven.” He scoffed.

“Put the word out, everywhere. If you find one man who says he’s slept with me , I’ll back off.”

“That would require me to tarnish your family name. And you’re alright with that?”

I smiled biotterly.

“Isn’t that what you and your precious Jungkookie want? To see the last living Gong, be labeled as a whore and a slut.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’ll give you that. You can do it… You know that will only interest more people. As Jungkook so eloquently put it, most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of me.”

“What’s the catch. What do you want. ”

“2 billion won.” I said firmly “It will be one night. One night only and I want enough money to pay off every one of my father’s debts, to get me an apartment for my sister in law and to support her and her baby for a year at least.”

“Done.” He said without missing a beat and I went still. What must it be like, to throw around money like that without a care in the world. And it sickened me that Jungkook was probably ten times as rich as Hoseok , the money my father owed him and his associates not even pocket change in comparison to his gargantuan wealth and yet, he stayed on my heels, snapping his jaws like a dog with a bone.

“And Jungkook doesn’t get to watch.” I said softly, knowing exactly what Jungkook would get off on.

That made Hoseok laugh.

“You know him too well. I keep forgetting he was madly in love with you once.”

I resisted the urge to vomit. Jungkook didn’t know love. He knew ownership. He didn’t love me, he thought he owned me. That I was his to play with…. For the rest of his life. And when my father had denied him that, just like a toddler in a toy store being denied a shiny toy to break and trample on, he had thrown a temper tantrum.

Except his tantrums always ended in death and destruction.

“That’s the deal. He doesn’t turn up there to gloat.”

“He’s heading out to Switzerland for a week , two days from now.” Hoseok said evenly.

“Good then. My sister in law…she “ I swallowed. “ She’s in a hospital in Yongsan. I’ll send you the address.”

“I’ll take care of it. But I want you here tonight. I’m not going to drop a couple billion won on your head without making sure I’m getting my money’s worth. And I can’t have you changing your mind and bolting either. My reputation is on the line here. If I put out the word that I’m serving something so fucking delicious and then back out, they’re not going to want to buy Hobi’s wares anymore. You understand what I’m saying darling?” Hoseok drawled and I knew exactly what he was saying. If I agreed to this, it was blanket consent for him to whatever he wanted.

“I won’t back out. I can’t. But this is one night. One night with whichever bastard you choose and that’s it. I want out. I don’t want you or Jungkook hounding me again. Ever.” My voice shook as I dug my fingers into my knees.

“My men will be there in ten minutes. Sit tight, princess.”

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

I stared at Hoseok as he carefully poured me a finger of whiskey, neat. He gave me a smirk and I shrugged.

“you remember.” I said casually, throat itching because it had been way too long since I’d had quality alcohol. I missed the burn, the warmth , the numbness that followed.

“Of course I do. You could drink all of us under the table with little effort. It was spectacular.” He laughed and I leaned back against the couch, letting my head fall back.

“I was half certain that you would have a doctor around to make sure I’m a virgin.” I stared at him and he shrugged. “ Pointless. You’re twenty seven, you’ve probably had stuff up there anyway… Not like your hymen’s still going to be intact.”

I thought it was rather horrifying, that I didn’t feel nearly as mortified as I should. This was how Hoseok talked, matter of fact and open and that was why he was so popular. Anytime an important person came into the country, Hobi was the one who offered entertainment for the night. Hobi’s girls were always the prettiest, most well behaved and perfect. They were educated, knew what they were talking about and he didn’t force them into the life. They loved it, enjoyed it and it showed.

Not to say he was a saint.

Far from it.

Hoseok knew how to dine with kings in castles but also how to wrestle with swine in the gutter. The seedy brothels in Seoul’s back alleys were his as well, and he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand. The prostitutes there feared him, one look or word enough to silence any rebellion, any thought of escape.

He was called Hope. And yet somehow that was exactly what he denied the women under him. There was no hope here. There was only lust and power and money. You came to Hobi…. You never left .

I took the glass he offered, taking a small sip, savoring the taste.

“But you believe me. I wonder why.” I watched him closely and he scoffed.

“Between your father and Jungkook, no one ever really had the pluck to come anywhere near you did they?”

Undisputable.

I sighed, leaning back to stare at him.

“Do you think dying hurts?” I asked softly.

It was frightening, how his entire body went stiff, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

“Elena, what the fuck-“

“Its just a question. You’ve killed people. You’ve watched them die… how do you think they feel?” I asked , curious.

“None of them wanted to die. If that’s what you’re asking.” The look in his eyes made me nervous.

I stared at him and the question was obvious. None of them wanted to die, but do you?

I didn’t.

“I’m not thinking of killing myself , oppa. Stop looking so horrified.” I laughed. He shook his head.

“ Don’t joke about that. It’s not fucking funny.”

I sobered up, remembering with a jolt. Ah, of course.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said quietly.

Hoseok’s little sister had killed herself when I was seventeen. She was a year older than me and her father had lost her in a wager to a seventy year old man, known for torturing his bedmates. She had heard the news, taken a deep breath and taken a deep dive off the seventeeth floor of the condo where she lived with her mother.

I’d been engaged to Jungkook by then. And I had almost wanted it. Jungkook wasn’t old at least… twenty one to my seventeen.

“Just so you know, he’s going to find out. And he’s not going to like it.”

I shrugged. Three years is a long time to be preyed upon and now my mind was resigned to a life of being hunted. Hoseok was right. Jungkook would find out and he wouldn’t like it.

Good.

“I don’t care what he does anymore. All I care is that Jisoo and the baby are left out of whatever plans he has…. If you promise me you’ll keep them safe , I’ll cooperate.”

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

It was a baby boy.

I stared, fingers itching to hold the baby but it was impossible, the little one whisked away to the NICU right after with respiratory distress and Jisoo had gone into a seizure, eyes rolling back into her eyes.

She as alright now, resting in a VIP room with the best care money could buy. Hoseok had asked me if I was happy with the arrangements, and if I would name the boy after him.

I stared at the room, large and breezy and filled with flowers and gifts, toys and baby stuff and I knew right then that I had sealed my fate. I was going to have to go through with this. I could imagine how much Jisoo would protest when she came to her senses. The only relief was that it would take her a few days to be good enough to fight or protest. But then this would all be over and done with.

Jungkook would leave this afternoon. His flight was at three.

I would reach the club at five. The patrons would arrive at seven.

One night, I reminded myself , staring at the gentle rise and fall of Jisoo’s chest as she slept, my fingers playing with the soft skin on her wrist. The IV line went through her veins and I watched the gentle drip of it.

One night.

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

I didn’t know how auctions happened and while I’d been prepared for the worst kind of humiliation, Hoseok assured me that he wasn’t going to make me stand naked on some podium or something.

“Generally, I would do something like that simply for the flair of it but consider this a favor ….a respite because you were, as you said, once a friend.” He gave me an even smile and I could only nod in mute relief.

I was grateful. Beyond grateful.

And what was more, he hadn’t told anyone, who I was.

That stunned me. Because wasn’t that the selling point? The murderous, greedy mob rat Gong Hyo Suk’s only daughter forced to spread her legs for one lucky stranger? If Hoseok had cashed in on that he would have made a fortune. But he hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Would , whoever it was be upset if he recognized me?

I was led to a bedroom, large and tastefully decorated with silky satin sheets and dark curtains and dim lighting that lit up parts of the room and left other parts plunged in darkness. Hoseok had told me to wear whatever I wanted and I realized with a pang that he really didn’t see this as some sort of transaction. He was trying to make it as easy as possible without making any decisions for me. Offering me choices and options and some illusion of being in control.

I didn’t have anything fancy so it was just a dress shirt that I borrowed from Hoseok. I’d left the underwear off, eager to merely get the whole thing over with. I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh out loud.

If Jungkook were here he really would have lost his damn mind, simply because of how little this whole thing affected me. And that was it, really. He was always desperate for a reaction.

Earlier when this whole thing had started, I’d obliged him with that. I would scream, rant and yell….launch myself at him like a wildcat, scratching at him , fists flying and it was obscene, how much he seemed to enjoy that. He would press me up against walls and tables , fingers choking the breath out of my lung, just so he could see me struggle and push back.

He fed off from every negative reaction I offered him and it had taken me a long long time that the way to beat him was to become passive, unresponsive. I would go limp in his arms, stare at him blankly as he tried to manhandle me and that…that had pissed him off. Because that meant I wasn’t playing his game anymore.

If the prey wasn’t playing, the game wasn’t fun anymore. It was drab.

Boring.

And I knew that Jungkook kept raising the stakes, kept tightening the noose around my neck….just to bring that girl out again. The one that had wanted to put up a fight . The one that wanted to mouth off even with the muzzle of a gun pressed against her head. The one who would spit in his face in front of all his associates, even if it earned her a vicious strike of his hand across her face.

I shuddered. They weren’t memories I liked reliving.

Well, if that was who he wanted, I’d make sure he would never see her again.

The door opening made me jump and Hoseok came in , with a wide grin on his face.

“Baby…. Your guest for the night.” He said softly and I peered over his shoulders, my heart and mind grinding to a halt when I caught sight of what had to be the most breathtakingly beautiful man on the face of the planet.

I felt my heart begin to pound, fear taking over because this wasn’t okay. Not really. I was okay with old, creepy and disgusting , not able to get it up for more than ten minutes.

I wasn’t okay with someone who looked like they stepped right out of the latest issue of GQ.

Hoseok left quickly, closing the door behind him and the man stepped into the light, the brightness lighting up his perfect features even more. I felt my throat go dry, and fought the urge to get up and run. Growing up as the daughter of a mobster , I’d learned how to trust my instincts over appearances.

And right now, every single one of those instincts screamed at me that this man was absolutely dangerous.

“Well, you are beautiful. I’ll give you that. “ He said casually.

“Thank you.” I said stiltedly, watching as he tugged on his tie, pulling it off his neck deftly . Instead of tossing it aside , he wrapped it a bunch of times around his wrist over and over as he smiled at me.

“Don’t thank me yet. The only reason I like beautiful things is because of how easily they break.” He smiled. “ I haven’t been with a virgin in a while…. I miss the screams.”

And there it was the full blown panic that came with stark terror. I crawled back on the bed, staring as he moved closer and there was no mistaking the look on his face, the harsh grip of his hand on my ankle telling me that I was going to regret every one of the choices that led me here.

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

“Hoseok wasn’t at the airport.” Jungkook observed casually, glancing at Yoongi as the latter finished cleaning his gun carefully, eyes fixed on his weapon with utmost concentration.

“He’s holding some sort of auction tonight. Some chick …” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook hummed. It was not the kind of thing he was interested in. Anonymous bids were often boring : actresses or female idols past their prime, desperate to make some money to survive. He had no interest in those but he was a little peeved that Hoseok hadn’t told him anything about it.

Hoseok was one of Jungkook’s most trusted friends. He was almost as powerfully rich as Jungkook and the only reason Jungkook reigned supreme was because Hoseok had no interest in challenging him for the throne. Hoseok was dangerous and cunning and loyal and Jungkook was grateful to have him on his side and he had hoped to see him before leaving. Just to ask him to keep an eye on Elena.

He grimaced, hating himself.

God, he couldn’t go two hours without thinking of her. It fucked with his head, the amount of space she took up inside him. Jungkook , for all his wealth and power, was driven solely by his need to prove himself. He wanted to be powerful and terrifying yes, but more than that , he wanted people to know.

He wanted people to look him in the eye and acknowledge him for what he was : the most dangerous man in the country. He liked seeing that fear, that worship, that admiration. He got off on it. He wanted it , craved it and for some reason he craved it more from her , than anyone else.

And instead of giving him what he wanted, instead of begging on her knees for mercy, instead of licking his shoes and begging for him to let her live….she ignored him. She looked at him with defiance and pride, her chin straight and her back unbending, her gaze locked right on him like she was his fucking equal….

And Jungkook, he’d taken a lot of insults. Taken more than his fair share of hits in life …..

But when she looked at him like that , like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe….

Fuck it drove him wild with fury.

It made him want to teach her a fucking lesson, to remind her that he owned her because he owned everything. To break her down, snuff out the flames of defiance that burned so bright in those ember eyes… Take her into his bed and brand her with his body. Till she was on the floor, on her knees covered in his spit and cum begging for mercy….

Because no one looked at Jeon Jungkook like that and lived to tell the tale..

“Seokjin’s here. Landed in Korea a couple of hours ago. ” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook smiled a bit at that. He loved his older brother, technically a step brother and growing up he had only saw him when he visited his mother in China. That meant a couple of months a year and now as adults, a bit more often because Seokjin loved Jungkook and liked to visit him often.

Seokjin was a celebrity trainer, working with actors and athletes and he did a good amount of modeling as well. He was rich, handsome and well liked and the only thing that gave away the Jeon blood in him was the fact that he was a sexual sadist.

The face of an angel with a devilish streak, he had a penchant for sadism and inflicting pain on his partners and while Jungkook didn’t particularly enjoy indulging him, he knew there were women who were into that and usually had them arranged for when Seokjin dropped by in Korea. His hyung’s visit seldom lasted more than a few weeks at a time and it was a pity that he would miss out one whole week of it .

But the issue in Switzerland was a little pressing and Jungkook had to be there in person to sort it out.

He leaned back against the seat, staring out of the window, sighing.

“An unsullied dove ….What the fuck is this shit..” Yoongi muttered and Jungkook turned, curious.

“What?”

“Hoseok’s been hyping up some new girl for the auction and Seokjin hyung’s bidding on her.”

Jungkook laughed at that.

“Jungkook…..” Yoongi’s voice is completely stunned, his eyes confused as he looks up at Jungkook.” Its Elena.”

Jungkook’s thought process came to a grinding halt.

There’s a sound between his ears, a dull rushing sound like the wind in a storm and he can’t quite comprehend what he just heard. Even Namjoon who had been buried in his laptop , looked up then, tugging an airpod out of his ear.

“Wait…did you say Elena?” His eyes were wide , lips parted in shock. Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances, no doubt bracing themselves for the explosion that was to follow.

Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Turn the fucking plane around.”

That jolted Namjoon out of his stunned stupor..

“Turn-? Jungkook what…. We’re on a fourteen hour flight-“ Namjoon began but the look on Jungkook’s face made him stop.

“DID I FUCKING STUTTER?”

Namjoon swore.

“Fucking hell… alright just calm the fuck down, Jesus…just put a fucking bullet in that girl’s head and spare us all the headache fuck…” He growled, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing to the cockpit and Yoongi groaned.

“ Let me guess you want me to get in touch with someone in Seoul and ask Hoseok to hold off on letting Seokjin near her…”

Jungkook glared at him.

“If you already know that why the fuck are you still here…” He growled and Yoongi gave him a look.

“Just tell her you’re in love with her and let us live, Jeon Jungkook.”

In love….. what the fuck….

He glared at Yoongi’s back, his asinine words making him madder. God he wanted to crush someone’s skull into dust with his bare hands.

And right now, in his head , that skull belonged to Jung fucking Hoseok.

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

“What just happened?” I asked, frantic staring at the door as Hoseok’s men casually led a fuming Seokjin away while the man himself stared at me, looking pale as parchment.

“ Jungkook found out.” He said shortly and I felt my heart drop although I was half relieved because there had been something insane in Kim Seokjin’s gaze when he’d reached for me , a cruel glint of hunger that told me he would have hurt me really badly if Hoseok hadn’t barged into the room , frantic and worried.

He had given Seokjin a wide smile and then, “ I’m so sorry. We were waiting on her blood results and turns out she has a…. well, certain occupational disease that is very infectious.”

Seokjin’s mouth had dropped open even wider than mine.

“I thought she was a fucking virgin.” He had snapped, and I flinched at how cold and furious he had sounded.

But apparently there was a reason this whole thing had happened.

“What do you mean Jungkook knows? What does that mean?” I asked frantically, fear taking over.

“ He’s heading back here… He wants to see you.”

I felt my entire body go ice cold as I shook my head…

“No…fucking no bring Seokjin back here , he can fuck me that was the fucking deal, Hobi, please don’t../…”

“Elena , I’m so fucking sorry.. Seokjin…he’s fucked in the head…. He likes hurting his whores, likes making them bleed and he would have fucking destroyed you…”

I gaped at him horrified.

“What?!” I hissed shaking my head in disbelief.

“He’s Jungkook’ stepbrother. I’ve arranged whores for him before, I knew he was a little crazy but I’d never seen him before and I didn’t know he was the Kim Seokjin…fuck he outbid everyone and fucker looks like a fucking angel, how the fuck was I supposed to know he’s unhinged? Thankfully, I messaged Yoongi and …. Fuck… Listen… I know I paid for your sister’s surgery but you’re going to have to pay me back….”

I felt my body convulse in rebellion.

“I can’t.. You know I fucking can’t…”

“I can’t make an enemy out of Jungkook…. I can’t.” Hoseok shook his head. “ You can get out of here now if you want but I’d advise you to stay. If you run it’s only going to make Jungkook angrier.”

“WHAT DID I FUCKING DO TO HIM?!!!” I screamed, feeling my composure crumble into smithereens. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT FROM ME?!!”

Hoseok flinched, stepping back and holding his hands up.

“Whether I want to or not, I answer to Jungkook. I shouldn’t have done this in the first place , I’m sorry Elena.” He shook his head and stepped back like the coward that he was and I wanted to hurt him. To shake him and ask him to fucking remember who I was. That I had nothing to do with my father’s sins . That I had been a fucking marionette in his hands, had wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“So much for being a friend…” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. But he didn’t look guilty. None of them ever did. It was like guilt didn’t exist in their world. They did what they wanted to whoever they wanted , whenever they wanted and they got away with it because that bastard’s word was law. What Jeon Jungkook wanted, he got.

“I’ll get your clothes sent in.”

I watched him leave, the door slamming shut behind him and sagged against the bed, staring at myself. What had just happened?

Was I born to endless misery and misfortune?

Couldn’t I catch a fucking break?

I’d agreed to sell myself hadn’t I? Would have even let Seokjin hurt me if that was what he wanted. Because it was one night. It was one night of this…whatever the hell this was and then freedom. That was the deal.

The door opened again and I stared as a young girl brought me a pile of my clothes neatly folded.

“Do you work here?” I said sharply.

She blinked before bowing her head.

“Yes, mistress.”

I scoffed.

“Don’t call me mistress , I’m here to get fucked, just like you. Tell me does Jungkook ever use the women here.” I demanded.

She looked trapped, glancing at the door, clearly wanting to run .

“Tell me.” I snapped and she flinched.

“I..uh..yes. Sometimes.” She said softly.

“Can you tell whoever fucks him next to kick him in the fucking balls?”

The girl bowed deeply and all but ran out and I sighed, feeling myself shaking. Jungkook was on the way here and I wanted to yell and scream and rave at him but I knew that was exactly what he wanted. I wanted to deny him the satisfaction …wanted to act all cool and composed in front of him but it was impossible…

Because I hadn’t realized just how tired I was of this whole thing, till right this moment, when the end had been in sight. I was supposed to get my two billion won pay off all the debt , give Jisoo the rest of the money and disappear. I was so tired, so tired of this life I’d gotten trapped into, slaving over for hours on end just to afford a couple of meals a day. No friends, no boyfriends, no hope of a future …..

The door banged open and I jumped, crawling back when I recognized the man who had just entered.

“Yoongi-“

“Jungkook wants to see you.” He ground out and I swallowed.

“I need to get dressed. Please just wait outside.” I said shakily.

And then the door opened further and a tall looming shadow stepped in familiar and vomit inducing.

Jungkook looked livid, piercing glinting through the dimply lit room and I stared at him. He was dressed in a tight black t shirt, he sleeves stretched thin over his biceps and the tattoos stark against his skin.

“Leave us.” He said softly and Yoongi moved away to the door leaving me alone with the devil himself. I cursed myself for not putting at least my panties on, I was naked underneath this shirt and although it was big it left nothing to the imagination.

Jungkook’s eyes raked over my form before resting on my face.

“You think you’re smart enough to outsmart me, Elena?” He whispered softly.

I swallowed.

“Send you brother back in. He can fuck me and I’ll pay you back.”

Jungkook hummed, stepping closer and grabbing my clothes from the bed, he grabbed the plain white bra and the pastel pink underwear and then to my complete and utter mortification he brought the clothing up to his face, breathing in .

“Fucking pervert!!!” I screamed, feeling the action like a physical touch and wanting to claw his eyes out and the smirk on his face told me that this was exactly what he wanted but I was too fucking gone to care.

“If you want me to be a whore, fine. I’ll be a whore. But on my terms…” I spat out and he shook his head, laughing.

“I don’t just want you to be a whore, Elena. I want everyone to know that you are one…” He dropped my clothes and moved closer, holding a hand out. “ Come here.”

I stared at the inked fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings and bracelets with the motifs of his gang. I shook my head.

“No. I’m not playing this game with you.” I turned my face away.

His hand shot out gripping my upper arm with enough strength to bruise and I screamed, agony shooting up my arm and shoulders as he dragged me off the bed and onto the floor. I landed hard, hips and elbows bruising from impact and I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve been to gentle with you. You’ve forgotten your fucking place.” He bent over and grabbed me by my hair, yanking me to my feet so hard that it felt like my scalp had been ripped away from my skull.

“Okay…okay…Okay Jungkook..just…!!” I said softly, flinching because my pain tolerance was almost zero and Jungkook’s grip was so hard that my eyes were beginning to water now. He let me go, grabbing my panties off the floor and tossing them at me.

“I’m going to count to five. Put those on and get out.”

He walked out of the door and I stumbled a little fumbling with the fabric before quickly, slipping my legs in and yanking it up to my waist. I made to put on something else but his voice came, loud and impatient.

“Get the fuck out here.”

I walked out of the door and he was standing there next to Hoseok. I couldn’t meet either of their gazes , hating how they had so much power over my life. I stared at the floor. It was tempting to yell at them and scream but that never led anywhere.

“ I’ve asked them to stop the payment on the Hospital bill. Seeing as Elena hasn’t kept her end of the bargain.”

I felt my breath hitch at that, willing down the tears as I glared at him.

“What do you want?” I snapped. “ Tell me who you want me to fuck…. I’ll do it. Let’s get this over with so you can go back to whatever sewer you fucking climbed out of. ….”

Hoseok’s breath caught like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said and the look in his eye was a warning but I was sick of this. Sick of them all.

Jungkook turned to Hoseok with a laugh.

“You see hyung? See why I can’t let her go? If I let her scot free, everyone’s going to think I’m a pushover….that any worthless bitch can talk to me any way she wants and get away with it….” He shook his head, staring at me with a glint in his eye. “ I’m not going to choose. They are. You think you can charm your way into Hoseok’s heart and get special treatment? You think you’re ready to be a whore, Elena? Let me show you how a real whore gets treated in Hoseok’s club.”

He gripped my wrist, yanking me behind him as he stalked off down the narrow corridor that opened up into the club. I let myself get dragged out into the club dismally aware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but Hoseok’s shirt. I could feel eyes on me but I kept mine on the back of Jungkook’s head as he dragged me all the way to the front. I knew what he was going to do and at this point I was just numb.

There was no point reasoning with the devil.

I glared at him as he pointed at the stage. “ Get up there.” He whispered harshly.

I stared back at him, not moving. I saw Jungkook’s jaw clench.

“Either you go up there by yourself, with your clothes on. Or I carry you up there, after stripping you naked. What’s it going to be? ”

I glared at him, pursing my lips before climbing up using the small stair in the side. I moved to the center, right in front of the stage lights, so the rest of the room would disappear. I had no wish to see any of the bastards in the room.

“I think all of you recognize this little beauty here, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice was cheerful, friendly even and I bit my lips, fists clenched. “ Well, if you don’t let me tell you . This is Gong Hyo Suk’s daughter. Remember that bastard? He put a hit out on my father. Killed him and my mom on the night I was supposed to be marrying his fucking daughter. A daughter who later called off the wedding, because I was too poor now, to give her the life she deserved. ”

I felt the familiar ice cold guilt in my vein. I was seventeen, I wanted to scream. I was seventeen and all I did was say what my father asked me to say, do what my father asked me to do.

“ That was nine fucking years ago… and you know what I told myself…. I told myself, that a greedy little bitch like this, doesn’t deserve shit.” He laughed. “ If money’s what she values the most, then the only thing she deserves is to be treated like the whore she is.”

“Why don’t you guys tell me, how much money you’d be willing to spend, to fuck her? Come on, Hobi’s been treating you guys so well lets help him make some money tonight… be generous. ”

I could barely hear what they were calling out but when Jungkook climbed onto the stage next to me, I jumped. Moving back instinctively, I winced when brought a forearm around my throat nearly choking me as he dragged up against his body.

“90 million won….That’s a lot.” He grinned. “ Jihan hyung….. that was you right? You’re gonna pay 90 million won for her?”

I felt my heart race, it was a lot. More than enough for the Hospital Bills, would even leave extra to get a decent apartment somewhere... I grabbed his wrist as it pressed into my throat, trying to pull his hand off me but he just wrapped his free hand around my waist, wrapping his entire body around mine and chuckling into my hair.

Jungkook pressed his head against mine and I froze, hating the close contact.

“Okay…but since I’m feeling a bit left out here…Why don’t I pitch in… 500 Won.” Jungkook said loud and clear.

I froze. An eerie silence fell over the club, laughter stilling and the clink of glasses slowing down.

What.

I struggled to get away from his but his hold tightened.

“Anyone else?” He called out. “ Come on… Not even thousand? Surely you think this one here’s worth a thousand won? Aren’t you going to outbid me?”

No one responded of course they didn’t. Jungkook’s anger was palpable and no one was going to get on his wrong side …..

“Ahh… is that it then? Bid’s going to close for 500 won then…. Hear that baby?” He whispered against my ears and I swallowed. “ 90, million won to five hundred won in a few seconds… What does that tell you?”

“It tells me you’re a fucking psychopath in love with your own voice… Get off me.” I hissed.

“No. What it tells you is that only I get to decide how much that body of yours is worth, not you. . You don’t get to go sell your fucking body behind my back for two billion won and then pay off all your debts and ride off into the sunset, that is not how this works….”

I went limp in his arms fighting tears because he never played fair. Never.

“Hear that Hoseok-ah… I win her for the night for 500 won…fair and square…. Is that alright?” He called out into the darkness and I felt the first inkling of dread begin to seep in.

“No.. No… get off me.” I hissed and he laughed, dragging me off the stage with ease. I screamed, kicking out in disbelief.

Jungkook grinned at me, before grabbing both my arms and yanking them behind me, and I whimpered, unable to move as he easily pulled me along to the door that opened into the hallway. Behind us I heard Hoseok’s voice.

“Jungkook, don’t be impulsive. Think about whatever you’re going to do.”

I flinched at that, panic building.

“He’s not going to do anything. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches me , I-“

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch.” He shook me hard till my teeth rattled and I sobbed out.

“Jungkook…” Hoseok warned but he merely snarled.

“I know what I’m doing hyung, just…. Don’t disturb us. And make sure everyone here knows that she’s open for business.” It was loud enough to carry through the club and I felt humiliation burn my throat, acrid like acid.

I froze in disbelief.

“Jungkook …” Hoseok’s voice held a tone of reproach.

“ And tell them that her body is amazing. Tell them she spent the night with me , the best fuck I’ve ever had , mouth made for cock.”

I stared straight ahead as he pulled me all the way to the room we had left earlier and I tripped when he shoved me inside, landing on my hands and knees . I quickly rolled back around to land on my ass, crawling back as he slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

He stared down at me, mouth grim.

“You do owe me a wedding night. I was so ready to fuck your tight cunt, nine years ago… I think I’ve waited long enough yeah.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, to yell and scream and protest and fight so he could get off and forcing me…. Fucking psychopath.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“If you pay for my sister in laws bills, and give me an apartment sure. “ I shrugged. “You’re not any different from any of the bastards here. I don’t give a damn which one of you idiots wants to rut into me like the absolute animal that you are…. I don’t care…” I said softly.

“you don’t? Really? You want me to tell you what your brother said when one of my men put a gun into his mouth…. He begged for his life…said he had a kid on the way….” Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “I told him it was better than what his father did…. My sister was six months pregnant when his lieutenant gunned her down on the streets.”

I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Why are you telling me this…” I snapped.

“Because she didn’t deserve it did she, Elena? She didn’t fucking deserve to die like that , like a dog on the street when she had nothing to do with any of this…. She didn’t deserve it.” He growled, bending down and gripping my chin hard.

“Maybe she did deserve it.” I spat out. “ If I deserve to be here, maybe your sister deserved to die too. “

He snarled, hand flying to my hair and dragging me up off the floor in one sharp yank. I whimpered as he pushed me on the bed, before climbing on top of me. I felt like every bone in my body was about to snap in two, the weight of him unbearable on me.

“I won the bid tonight…. I won it fair and square… You signed the waiver didn’t you…that you agreed to the auction…I won and I’m going to fucking collect.” He growled, and I kicked out, trying to buck him off of my body.

“Get off me.” I hissed. “ I’m not letting you fuck me for 500 won.”

“How about for your Jisoo then?” He whispered and I went still.

“What?”

He chuckled, reaching down and I felt my pulse pound as he pulled his phone out, dialing quickly and turning on the speakers.

Yoongi’s voice made me go ice cold. Everyone knew what Yoongi did for Jungkook.

“Daehwan’s wife is in a hospital room in Yongsan. Hobi’s got the details. I think she’s served her purpose.”

“No!! JUNGKOOK NO!!” I screamed , thrashing so hard my head began to spin but he grunted pressing down into me harder.

“Are you serious? I’m not home yet… I can take care of it tonight.” Yoongi said, voice casual and I sobbed, shaking my head in sheer terror.

“Okay… I’ll behave.. I promise.. please just don’t…”

Jungkook hummed.

“Well, that was easy… Yoongi-yah… why don’t you stay on the phone yeah…. Going to get that wedding night I’m owed and if my baby doesn’t co operate you know what to do, yeah?”

I bit my lips, glaring into the sheets as he gripped my waist, pulling me up.

“Ass up like the bitch that you are, baby.” He whispered and I felt my entire body shudder in disgust. It was worse because I hadn’t done this before. Didn’t know what to expect. But I couldn’t let him know that. If Jungkook knew that I was a virgin, I could just imagine how much fun he’d have with that info.

Hands gripped my wrists, pinning them to the bed and I turned my face away when I felt the press of his lips on my cheeks. He gripped both my wrists with one hand, keeping them pinned over my head and I flinched when I felt his fingers pulling the fabric of my panties aside, just enough for the blunt head of his cock to press against my slit.

“Yoongi, you there?” Jungkook said softly and Yoongi grunted over the phone. I felt my face flame in embarrassment.

“You’re a sick bastard but I’m used to it. What’s up?” he said casually.

“Remember how we used to wonder just how tight Elena’s cunt was… back when we were in school.”

Fucking monster, I thought in disbelief. I hate him I hate him I hate him….

“Good times…” Yoongi chuckled lightly .

Jungkook pushed into me in one hard thrust and pain shot straight up my spine, my insides burning like he’d fucked me with a knife and not his body. I couldn’t stop the cry of agony that got torn of me, my eyes tearing up and tears spilling over onto my cheeks.

“Damn Jungkook, she okay?” Yoongi’s chuckle made me want to claw his face off, and just the urge to kill was growing inside me.

“Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact just as tight as we thought…” He grunted, thrusting into me at a pace that was inhumane, every push and drag of him rubbing my insides raw and I bit down on the sheets under me, afraid that I would do something absolutely humiliating, like beg him to stop.

“Good, you should let me take that tight ass for a ride someday then. With her permission of course…. I’m a gentleman after all. Big on consent.” He laughed and I swallowed the urge to tell him that I would puncture his balls with a switchblade if he came anywhere near me.

“Oh, she’s going to do whatever I ask her to….aren’t you baby…” He grunted, “ Turn around so I can see you.”

He pulled out of me, his weight lifting off my body as he moved away. I couldn’t move, limbs numb and insides throbbing in pain . His palm landed on my thigh, hard and the sharp sting of it made me jump.

“I said turn around, I want to see your face when I fuck you.” Jungkook growled. I stayed limp, breathing hard and he grunted impatient, fingers sinking into my hair , yanking me to my knees and the movement made my legs scream in protest.

“How’s she so quiet? You fucked the voice out of her, kook-ah?” Yoongi asked amused and Jungkook pulled me by the hair, dragging me to the center and pushing me down till my head landed on the pillow.

“Hyung you should see her right now, all fucked out …. Like she’s never had a dick in her before.” He shook his head, “ Fucking slut. Take that off and hold yourself open for me.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending and he grabbed both my hands, placing them on my knees.

“Grab your knees and pull your legs back… So I can fuck that tight cunt the way I want to.” He said slowly, like I was a dog he was trying to train and I stared at him , defiantly.

“ Go to hell.” I whispered.

Yoongi’s laughter came from somewhere to the right.

“Your dirty talk needs work, Kook ah… Tell her she’s a precious little kitten and she makes you feel really good…. Bitches love that shit…”

Jungkook hovered over me, grabbing the back of my thighs and spreading them wide enough to make me whimper in pain.

“Is that so babygirl? You want me to tell you that? That you make daddy’s cock feel good?” He cooed, nudging the tip against me again and I had never hated anyone so much in my life. I stared up at his face, and he smiled at me, a cheeky little grin that made his bunny teeth stand out and for a second he looked so deceptively angelic and the glimmer of his piercing caught my eye.

I couldn’t help but swallow, gaze trained on the glint of metal on his tongue.

“You like that?” He grinned suddenly, sticking his tongue out for me to see, I felt my eyes widen at how sinfully good he looked .” Hyung she likes my tongue piercing.”

“Show her how it feels on her clit.” Yoongi laughed and I could barely fully process what I heard before Jungkook was crawling down my body, arms, curling on my thighs and yanking me onto his tongue .

I felt the press of his tongue on my slit, licking right into me and the jolt of pleasure was so unexpected, the pleasure so unwanted and yet so overwhelming and I couldn’t stop the way my body thrashed against the streets, lips parted as I practically mewled out in pleasure.

“Definitely a kitten…” Yoongi called out and I shuddered as Jungkook slipped two fingers into me , the ice cold press of his ring inside me making me jump. I wanted to pull away, grab his hair and yank him off but I couldn’t because it was

“Next time I’ll put the dick piercing in too, yeah? Fuck you with a bit of metal on my cock so you can feel that up there…. ” He laughed into my thighs and I screamed when he bit into the flesh there , hard.

“I’m getting bored… Either turn on facetime so I can at least jerk off to this , or I’m hanging up…” Yoongi called out .

“Hyung she clenches down on me every time she hears your voice… Just stay on for a few more minutes yeah, she tastes so fucking good, I’m gonna cum soon….” Jungkook added another finger, slipping in deep before spreading them apart inside me. I whimpered when he pushed his tongue in between the wet digits, licking into my walls and I could feel the ball of his piercing drag against my walls, ice cold and hard.

Was it fucked up that I did clench down on him again, my body apparently a slave to my base desires even as my mind screamed that he was the absolute worst bastard on the face of the planet.

“Elena, you owe me a blowjob at least for this…” Yoongi called out and I glared at the phone.

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you come anywhere near me.” I snapped.

“Fuck, I could get off just to that mouthy fuckhole of hers…..” Yoongi grunted.

Jungkook pulled away, climbing back up over me and lightly slapping my breasts.

“Now, how about you open that mouth and let me fuck it?”

Yoongi snorted from behind us and Jungkook glared at the phone before glaring at me again.

“Well?”

“You want to know how hard I can bite?” I said sharply, the pleasure ebbing away into nothing and resentment taking it place, the momentarily physicality of the situation fading and the reminder of who he was and who I was entering my sex addled brain.

“No.. You’re right…. But you know what, I’m not feeling it anymore. I was right.. you really aren’t qualified to be my whore. Your body…it’s frigid like a fucking popsicle…such a fucking turn off. ” He reached over and hung up on the phone.

“Now…”he whispered, leaning in closer and I yelped, when his fingers closed over my throat..” Shut your mouth and take what I give you like a grateful bitch.”

I swallowed when he pushed into me again, his pace steady as he fucked into me, eyes closed and I realized that he was almost fully dressed having just unbuttoned himself enough to get his cock out.

When he stiffened, spilling into me his eyes blew open and he locked eyes with me, wide eyed and for one horrible second he looked young and vulnerable and hurt.

I blinked as he pulled out, the sticky warm mess of his cum dripping down my inner thighs and onto the sheets.

“Well, that was much worse than I thought it would be.” He said and I stayed on the bed as he grabbed his phone and buttoned himself back up.

He smirked at me and then reached into his pocket.

I quickly pulled myself together, ignoring the aches and pains and getting to my knees before reaching for my dress on the bed. it was kind of pointless because I still had Hoseok’s shirt on and I wasn’t going to take that off in front of Jungkook.

“Well, I’m a man of my word , Elena so…here you go..just as we discussed.” He tossed a coin on the bed and I stared at the engraved 500 on the shiny surface, feeling my rage swell inside me.

“If you still want to work out a payment plan for your sister’s bills …. Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” He tossed his card on the bed before moving away to the door.

Fucking bastard.

Author’s note : My whole life is filled with regrets .

#jungkook smut #bts smut #ts fics #jungkook fics #bts fanfic #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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joheunsaram · 2 years

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Trapped Together (jhs)

summary - You hated your workplace, the people, the culture. The only one you could stand was Jung Hoseok, you officemate and the only one who knew of your recent pesky habit.

word count - 1.8k

pairing - coworker!Hoseok x reader

rating - pg

genre - fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings - work stress, smoking, self-deprecating thoughts

a.n - a very happy birthday to my sweet sunshine comfort hobi! and a very hobiruary to all of you! this is just a random drabble that came to me because of work stress and I hope you enjoy it! 🥰

a very special thank you to @raplinesmoon for beta reading! Love you!

Feedback appreciated! ❤️ let me know what you think!

“Psst!”

His voice carried over your typing, resounding in the small office the two of you shared. You ignored him, but he was relentless, his pen bouncing over the wooden table to grate your nerves as he called your name again and again, whining till you gave in.

“What?” you snapped, finally turning towards your coworker, rolling your eyes at his heart shaped grin. He just wiggled his eyebrows at you, lifting a hand to his lips, two fingers placed in front of them as he mimicked taking a drag.

“Let’s sneak away,” he suggested, and you were powerless. Hoseok was the only one who knew of your recent habit, the stress of the upcoming grant deadlines getting to you. You would die if anyone at work knew you smoked — public health organizations tended to look down on the destructive practice. Yet, Hoseok looked at you judgement free. Perhaps it was because he shared your ailment, or maybe it was because in the three months you had worked here, he was the only one who you had befriended.

You weren’t antisocial by any account, but your coworkers were a toxic bunch. You had learnt in your first week after your boss reprimanded you for a typo in an email that all anyone cared of in this organization was how to expose your faults to get ahead. That is, except for Hoseok, your bright, sunny partner in crime.

Shaking your head you gave in, grabbing your purse as he stood up leading the way through the crowded office and out through the front door. He knew you would never feel comfortable smoking in the designated sections like your other male coworkers, and so he had shared his secret spot with you. The rooftop of the building next door.

Every few days the two of you would make a silly excuse to the guard at the gate and access the rickety elevator that led to the second floor, making your way to the stairwell and sneaking upstairs. You doubted if the old man even cared, always waving you through with sleepy eyes as he took his 4 pm nap.

“I’m tired,” you bemoaned, punching the flesh of your thighs as they cramped from walking after sitting in the same position for hours. “Let’s take it to the top?”

“It goes to the top?” Hoseok asked, but followed your lead and pressed the button labeled three. You shrugged, not sure of the answer but willing to be adventurous, despite your scheduled meeting in half an hour. You needed that cigarette if you were going to get through another meeting with the board of old senile men misinterpreting your programs and shoehorning their agendas.

As the doors opened, you were greeted by the sky, blue and clear with a few fluffy clouds peppered across it like cotton candy at a fair. The roof itself was in disarray from misuse, broken tiles littering the floor and dusty furniture abandoned across it. But for you it was paradise, a little piece of heaven tucked away from the watchful eyes of your coworkers where you could take a few minutes to be yourself.

“Score!” Hoseok exclaimed, pumping his fist as he stepped out. “Fuck. Let’s never take the stairs again.”

Chuckling, you made your way towards the corner where a metal awning shaded you from the harsh sunlight. You unwrapped a small plastic poncho from your purse, laying it on the floor, and the two of you settled on it, sighing in relief and taking in the soft breeze caressing your skins.

Hoseok offered you a cigarette, leaning into light it, his brows knotted and lips pursed in concentration as the flame brushed against the end of the stick, ebbing into a warm red, the corners of the paper turning to ash at its touch. He smiled as a puff of smoke escaped before lighting his own, a hand cupping around the light to ensure its longevity. For someone so kind hearted, his features were almost a little too sharp, making him look a little angry during the rare times he didn’t smile.

You exhaled, shoulders slumping as the nicotine rushed through you, relaxing you in an instant. The two of you sat in silence, the sound of traffic below you providing an ambient hum. The chirp of a message broke the calm.

“Great! Meeting got canceled,” Hoseok sighed, stretching the poncho behind him to lie down, hands behind his head and eyes closed as he enjoyed the balmy wind. You smiled at him. He looked so at ease, peaceful like always. It made you feel worse for not turning off your brain.

You hated how instead of relaxing at the cancellation, you were rattled, your nerves spiking so high that the rush of nicotine had no effect. It was typical of your bosses to not take into consideration how hard you’d worked on the last minute meeting they’d called this morning. They had no care that the figures you had to gather made you set aside your pride and all but beg your vicious coworkers for them. It had the smile slipping off your face, had tears manifesting on your lashes as you took a deep breath to calm yourself. You hated that you cared so much when no one else did.

“We should head back,” you said, patting Hoseok’s chest lightly. You were proud it only took you a few moments to gather yourself, the man in front of you would see right through you otherwise.

Hoseok hummed in agreement, discarding the butt on the ground like you did and standing up, helping you fold the poncho to its once tiny shape so it fit in your purse. He followed you to the elevator, pressing the button and waiting as you checked your phone for any other updates.

The two of you waited a minute and when the elevator didn’t arrive you pushed the button yet again. It didn’t light up, the blank dust covered wall staring at you. Patience running thin, you tried again, panic swirling in your throat. No. This could not be happening.

“Fuck, you think it’s broken?” you asked Hoseok, who frowned at the button, bending down to inspect it before he was straightening and walking to the door to the stairwell. Too anxious to move, you waited for his cheerful voice to announce the escape route. Yet, all you heard was the clambering of the door as he pulled it again and again for it to not open.

“Fuck. Fuck!” he exclaimed, and your heart lodged into your throat. It was close to 5 pm, and you were sure that the people in your building were all packing up, if not already on their way to enjoy the weekend. You couldn’t speak, barely hearing Hoseok’s assurances as you trembled, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you, throwing all rationality out of sorts.

It was fitting that you’d be left abandoned, withering away on the rooftop of a building that housed your worst thoughts. Fitting that the place responsible for your plummeting self esteem would be responsible for your death too.

“Okay don’t panic. We’re not going to die,” Hoseok said, walking towards you and you realized that you had spoken your thoughts aloud. You wondered how much you had said.

“Shhh,” he cooed, as his arms wound around you and his citrus scent enveloped you. You had always thought it was an air freshener he used before you entered your office, something to cheer you up and make you forget about the dreary windowless room the two of you bid your time in. Turns out the scent was just him, an essence of the man you had been repressing your crush on all these months.

“Hoseok…” you cried, looking up at him and hating how your voice wobbled between the two syllables.

“I’m here,” he assured, pulling your head to his chest as he rocked you a little. “Nothing's gonna hurt you.”

He moved you to one of the discarded couches, removing his jacket and placing it on the dusty cushions before settling you down. Crouched in front of you, he wiped your tears, gentle and kind, a little smile reassuring you.

You sniffled, feeling much too weak for your ego to handle and looked behind him to watch the sun start to set on the horizon. It would’ve been a beautiful sight, the orange and yellows melding into a violet blue over the sprawling streets glittering with rush hour traffic. But your breaths refused to settle. Not until Hoseok guided you through the panic, acting as an anchor as he placed your hand on his chest, mimicking the deep breaths he wanted you to take.

It took a while, the sky already beginning to be peppered with stars by the time you stepped out of your brain and acknowledged him. He smiled widely, encouraging you, and your heart started beating faster once again. Your conversations with Hoseok had always been surface level, relegated to asking about each other's nights and interests, but in that moment it felt as if he knew you, knew your fears, your hopes, your aspirations.

You didn’t know why but with his steady heartbeat under your palm and his warm hand against your cheek, you forgot your inhibitions. Leaning in, you placed your lips on his, as gentle as he had been with you. And just like Hoseok was always willing to help you with your projects, happy to follow your lead, he did the same, moulding his lips to yours with the same care you showed him.

Unrushed and euphoric, the moment stretched, till you separated. But now that you had tasted his lips, it was hard to let go, so with a sigh you wrapped your arms around his neck burying your face in his neck. He returned your embrace, falling from his crouch onto his knees and pulling you close, one hand stroking your hair and the other around your waist.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and he squeezed you tighter, lips landing a soft kiss on your hair, thumb leaving a comforting heat on your back.

“I’ve got you,” he replied in a murmur that set you at ease, helping you feel a little less broken, a little less stressed. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you affirmed, loosening your grip around him and moving away. Cupping his face, you looked at him and he just gave you the same smile he always did, confident and reassuring.

This time he leaned in, his hand on top of yours as he met your lips once again, making you forget why you were troubled in the first place.

With his soft lips on yours and the late summer breeze in your hair, trapped on that roof you felt invincible.

I hope you liked it! For more, check out my masterlist!

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raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

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The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved.

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why?

Because she has her mothers eyes.

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“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming.

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother.

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair.

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months.

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him.

“My lord, you--”

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth.

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there.

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--”

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

*** “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?”

“Love” ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes.

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of.

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence.

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?”

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?”

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting.

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine.

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.”

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table.

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!” Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,”

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it. He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him.

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part.

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound.

Thor walks up to him with the baby.

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child.

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well.

No, this was not his child. Not anymore.

“Get rid of it.”

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga.

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.”

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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#loki x daughter!reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson #loki imagine #angst #fanfic #mcu loki #mcu imagine #tom hiddleston #poc #poc reader #reader insert #Loki x poc!reader

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

Love Brings Patience.

A/N: Just an angsty "3am thoughts and listening to hozier while doing" it blurb. Enjoy!! ♡♡

It thunders outside loudly, but she didn’t flinch. The mass of blues and viridescent ivory painting the sky -- a call for rain, as when there’s blessed pour of shower after every winter sick – but it’s monsoon —- there’s none of the sympathy that these boofy clouds could slip into Y/N's pocket as she lays on her bed watching through the glass roof of the home ... they built together.

With so much, love, trust, faith and passion for eachother that anything in the world was unable to come between them – until it did.

Pinning against them and keeping them apart.

Everything will be okay, in the end. It’s not okay. It’s not the end.

It’s just beginning. Beginning to suffer alone and without him, his emotional and physical support, his cheery smile that’d race her heartbeat like chariots of Hades and his gentle need to saturate the distances between them wherever they’re, his loving gleamy eyes never skimming past her and he'd dot soft grateful kisses to her raspberry cheeks and kiss her temple as if she’s the goddess that resides in his home and it’d be a sin not to cherish her.

He loves too much. He did. He does. He loved her beyond everything that it killed him, he was sobbing that night – drenching the lilac carpeted floor with the water droplets dripping down and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the roar of lightening against the creaky windows of their home or the feebleness of his voice that sobered her into dust.

“Been hurtin' ye'fo’ years .. by being away from you fo' months and coming back to just give y'memories and hopes for me early arrival —-.. what .. -- what kinda lover does that?” He hiccupped. His wet fringes didn’t let Y/N fetch him and dip her hand in his soul to touch it and tell him where he belongs, he always belonged to her – and your path is always destined to ones, who you belong to.

“-- ... makes ye' -m..m—makes you wait and takes the test of yer patience, like you’re not human –...” But, this isn’t what love brings? Wait and patience and sacrifice —- the yearn to have the love of your life in your embrace while you pace through the alleyway of airports.

Love brings patience.

“... darlin’ ye' deserve the same warmth of a body, same attention and love that everyone out there’s getting ..” His sniffles sharp and breathless as he pointed out the window to indicate the world and she doesn’t know how in just one night he became so silly, because her world is him — only him.

Her whisper came out broken, “And what about you?” Her caring question for him made him push the heels of his palms to his sockets and rub the stubborn fat tears away.

“It’s hurtin’ me to. Makes me not breath at nights, stayin' away from you -- ‘m never focusin’ –- ‘s just you, Always you in the pocket of me heart – the back of my mind —-- can’t escape it. My stupid stupid heart tries to see you in strangers faces ‘n —--... my arms pulls at cold sheets to get to your warmth but it never comes, whatever I do.” His chest tightened and it’s repeating the same shortness of breaths he used to get while crying to himself in those hotel rooms, the puffy lips gasping for oxygen and Y/N' was rushing towards him grabbing his jaw to inspect him but he’s slip shutting his eyes and gesturing her he’s okay.

Murmured sadly, “And lovie’ it hurts.” So, loving her hurts him? What kind of love is that? A piece of failure when it should be what they tell in fairy tales.

She failed him.

She was shuddering letting his hand slip from her sweaty palms when he stood up with a worn out sad face, head hung down with the burden of guilt and selfishness.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.” She was on her knees. Lips wobbled glum. She tugged on the bottom of his trousers crying dolefully without any word.

“Not wanting to hurt me by hurtin’ me more?” She cried hugging his leg and not letting it go.

His bestowed assertion made her shudder as he stepped away and to side, “I don’t w'na hurt us anymore.” His heart cracked and promised to him that it'll never heal up how much he'd beg later.

He was crying into his wrist leaving their apartment. Closing his ears with his palms to shut down the loud reckless sobs that echoed till hallway.

That cruel summer night still haunts her every moment and it’s been two weeks, and she wishes that he'll come running towards where she’s shrinking into the bed and jump over her as he used to —-- covering the little distance from the kitchen towards the bed and always made them bounce with the glee of his soft giggles.

How merciless could he be?

Leaving her alone in their home, where every piece of furniture holds his memory; the pink vinyl that’d play their favourite French songs, the squared tiles of their kitchen walls that he wrote different recipes over, the glassed roof through which they'd moon gaze snuggled into eachother and he'd be more happy to stroke her skin and love on the softness of it rather than the twinkle of stars – because he does it when he misses her, not when she’s right in his arms kissing his cheeks to happy affection, his cat who’s homesick because her momma is there or not – it’s not a much difference.

Everything is just ghosts of his memories making the edges of her heart bleed and cracking them dry.

She misses him. She misses him terribly and no day goes by without his thought swimming and tickling her mind.

Telephone rings. It keeps on ringing and she ignores it closing her eyes and tries to surrender herself to darkness of sleep, but then it kept on cutting through the tranquillity of their home and she’s plucking the yellow receiver and speaking something – embarrassed when her voice doesn’t even reach herself.

There’s loud annoyed groaning, vigorous disturbance and a high pitched squeaks before Mitch's monotone voice startles Y/N, “Can you please take him home? He's proper waffled .. broke his —-.. Harry! Can you sit down? Christ. Look you’re looking like a clown in front of all these nurses —-- Y/N?” He sighs and Y/N turns the curly wire around her finger out of anxiousness.

Fidgety on the tips of her toes.

“Where are you? Nurses? Broke? Is Harry okay? Tell me Mitch what’s happening!!?” She’s yelling into the receiver snatching the notepad when Mitch mutters grumpily, “Harry’s in hospital.”

Her heart drops to floor at that and she stares at her feet letting it sink before blinking the tears away and asking him for locations.

The time she reaches it starts raining and she covers herself with the cardigan she sneaked from his wardrobe to feel his presence, his scent and his brush of touch to her skin.

When she’s stumbling inside the rushy lobby filled with people waiting for their turn and her blurry gaze moves in every direction to find Harry sitting on the steel benches, wearing loose tailored curdory trousers and a baby blue sweater she knitted him as a gift for his birthday.

His apple-ish cheeks rosy and his button of nose scrunching up as he sits clumsily on the bench, poking Mitch's bum every other second to laugh at some kid who has his hand struck in a pot.

His own wrist bandaged up and around his neck, his pupils glassy foam and his condition dishevelled and ruffled up. It tears her up and she breathes in a sniffle – wiping her nose and padding towards him.

When his eyes rakes up a huge dimply smile is adorning his weary features and he’s waving her with limpy fingers shyly.

He’s drunk, drunk.

He pouts cherry-ly. Brows flinching together and he position himself straighter with Mitch's help when he takes in the dampness of her cheeks, “Why’re y'cryin' lovie’?” Darn that pet name. He slurs and his words mumbish.

“You’re hurt...” She points at his wrist. He looks down as it isn’t obvious and Mitch rolls his eyes, “Not hurt.” He shakes his head and when looks back up he’s grinning.

“Was just takin' hugeee steps downstairs -- ye'know me clumsiness and it’s kinda Mitchy's fault too ... told him to grab me tightly —-... ‘cos ‘m sensitive lil petal —--...” Y/N's biting down a snort at his squeaky high pitched voice and Mitch’s cutting him with thin smile.

“Been biting my ears off about you. How was I supposed to keep my balance when he clings to me so hard as if I’m summat his lover....” Y/N's eyes widen when Mitch grabs Harry from armpits and slinks his one arm around Y/N's shoulder as if Harry’s some parcel and he didn’t like it.

“Take him, home.” He mumbles and she stutters, “Wait ... hey! How? Mitch come back you mummy head.” She calls for him but he just walks away and Y/N’s left with no option but to take Harry with her.

“Be careful.” She whispers walking down the slope at exit of hospital with Harry clinged to her, “You came here on car?” She nudges his cheek with her shoulder but he just snuggles his face into the nook of her jaw.

“Mitch took it?” She groans. Swiping the rain droplets away from her forehead and steps behind under the shelter, “No ... it’s parked right here.” He mumbles against her sweet spot making her shiver and she makes them do a lil jog to the car and Harry’s giggling squeaking nonsense in her ear.

“Harry if y’refuse to leave me .....” She warns him trying to squirm out of his embrace as he sits in the passenger seat holding her so she sighs and tries to stick to more gentle coaxing way.

Shaky fingers gliding up his cheek to cup it and stroke the blue bags under his eyes, screaming that he having restless night for week now, “Petal if you don’t leave me how ‘m supposed to drive?” He gazes her peculiarly –- caressing her knuckles, stares his own motion and gives her the most puppy eyes that melts her on the spot, “Then hold me hand?” Now, could she say no to him? Never. She hates herself for it.

“’kay you could hold my –-- lemme —--... just --.. good boy.” She takes her hand out of his grip and pats his thigh before rushing to driver’s side.

She knows that how much he needs reassurances when he’s drunk and how much his love language of touching her peaks to sky.

She fulfils her promise and let him hold her hand, enjoying the little happiness because she knows it’s temporary and in the morning she'd be met by empty bed and hollow arms.

“I missed home.” He smiles wetly. Eyes closed as he stays on hugging her walking inside and whines when she squats down to untie his laces.

When she make him sit on the sofa and tries to leave for the kitchen, he’s lurching forward to grab her wrist and plead into her arm with moisture in his eyes, “No.No.No lovie' don’t go. Don’t go, pleaseeeee.......” She pets his sweaty curls kissing his forehead and murmurs against his hair while he loops his elbows lazily around her waist.

“Not going anywhere bub. Bringing you water.”

“No water. Just you. I missed you. Missed you so much. Missed you too much.” He’s rambling knuckling at his eyes and her belly fills with butterflies that flap till her heart and makes her feel woozy.

Though, she overcomes the bitter sweet feeling and brings him water how much he whined.

He has his hand planted softly at her thigh and gasps loudly and dramatically finishing the last droplet, and puckers his lips making funny noises against the rim of glass and she takes it away from him giggling, “’kay it's enough.”

He shuts his eyes for a moment and when opens them back it’s sea of pinks and the tears are shining at his waterline and he croaks out hoarsely, “Y/N ....?” Sobered up. He's feeling awful and in constant need to take her in his arms.

“Hmm?” She hums giving him a nervous smile and he straightens up taking both of her hands in his's, “I don’t want to be away from you anymore, darlin'. It’s worse than being temporarily away from ye'. Terrible. Terrible. I feel sick all the time as if there’s a dagger twisting into my heart ‘cos I know ‘m never fallin' in love with anyone except you ... but I don’t think you deserve me —.. I -- I —... I just think you —--- it’s killing me baby. Take me back please, baby take me back." He sniffs the tears and she’s crying with him; calling out his name and when he doesn’t listen she’s cradling his face delicately in her palms and making him look at her.

“Harry, my sweetheart. I love you. Isn’t that enough to assure you that I deserve you and only you – no one else.” He's blinking furiously and she bobs her head not flickering her loving gaze away from him.

“I love you too, will you take me back now? After what I did?” His insecurity and doubts about himself floating back.

“You left for best. Realised that we couldn’t live without eachother, didn’t you?” She pecks the corner of his lips and he leans in for a chaste kiss, their teeth clanking from smiling wide and happy and he giggles when she pushes herself off from him.

They crawl to their bed together and she flumps on his chest and he moans squeakily, “Ow.”

“Oh my, Har ....” She gasps. Shakes her head and flicks him on forehead when he grins bashfully.

“G'na take care of me?” His chin doubles over adorably as he tries to see her and brush her hair away.

“Gonna take care of you, petal” She patches a soft kiss to his chest and erupts into loud giggles when he teases her nonchalantly, “G'na help me wipe my arse.”

“Harry! Your other hand’s perfectly capable of wiping yourself clean!” He brings her closer with his uninjured hand and kisses her tenderly -- to show her all the love they missed on these few weeks.

“I love being home.” He murmurs into the kiss. Playing with her tresses round his nimble and traces kisses all over her face.

“Promise me you’re never doing silly again.” She pouts and he plucks at it – smooching a kiss to it later.

“Promise.” He tries to hook his bandaged pinky to her's and she laughs into his neck – shakes her head and kisses his cheek hugging him tightly.

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles.

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed.

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster.

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made.

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard.

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait.

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on.

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child.

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance.

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease.

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.”

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself.

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.”

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek.

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips.

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement.

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

If you’d like to be tagged please send an ask!

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov @trash-dino-5000 @reader-s-cantina

#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x reader #Catfish x reader #catfish x you #Frankie Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Frankie Catfish Morales fanfiction

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ukai-simp-services · 3 years

Text

because i love you

prompt: tainted hues: “if you loved them, why did you break their heart?”

@tooruluv | #tooruluv2kparty

oikawa x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, poor mental health, depression, heartbreak, small panic attack, alcoholism.

a/n: why am i so sad after writing this,, i think this is my first time writing angst with no fluff T^T

somewhere in argentina, there is a large penthouse with tall windows and cornered with perfectly trimmed green hedges. the interior of the penthouse is simple, there are no memories cluttering the walls, there are no fairy lights adorning the windows, there are no bento boxes in the fridge, and there are no sweet scented candles in every room of the house.

there is only dull colored furniture, only overflowing laundry baskets, only a kitchen sink filled to the brim with dirty dishes, and only empty liquor bottles littering the dining table.

a home without you, is hardly a home.

in this penthouse, a young man, barely 25 years old, sits at the kitchen table with a glass of fernet in his hand. one large window is opened, letting the warm evening breeze rustle the thin kitchen curtains and brush over his exposed skin.

oikawa still couldn’t stop thinking about what iwaizumi had asked him two years ago.

no amount of mind numbing liquor could ever make him forget that interaction -inevitably, the last face-to-face interaction he ever had with his best friend.

“oikawa, if you loved her, then why would you break her heart?”

oikawa gasps to himself, suddenly feeling chills run up his back, as if the memory happened just yesterday.

he remembers vividly how furious iwaizumi’s voice was and the tired look in his best friend’s eyes - a look that all but told oikawa that he was exhausted picking up the shattered pieces that he always left behind.

he downs the glass of fernet.

he pours himself another.

he remembers that, that was the first time he had nothing to say - the first time that tōru oikawa was at a loss for words. because men like oikawa, men with quick rebuttals and prepared excuses, always knew exactly what to say in every situation.

that day, iwaizumi had walked away from oikawa with sadness in his eyes, no trace of hostility to be found anymore. there was no slap to the back of oikawa’s head, no ear piercing screaming of a lecture, and no insults thrown at him. there was nothing.

but oikawa would’ve preferred a slap to the head or some sort of beating.

a gentle ache presents itself in oikawa’s throat, threatening a small cry to stumble out.

oikawa washes it away with a swig to his drink.

iwaizumi is a faint presence in oikawa’s life now, he calls and texts - the occasional check up - but he had stopped being his best friend a long time ago.

losing a brother pains him; it burns from the depths of his core, but losing you practically kills him; it steals every bit of oxygen from his lungs.

because, ultimately, you were his reason for living - for breathing; your warmth, your comfort, your presence is what kept oikawa going every day. without you, his days are meaningless, he inevitably lives his life without purpose.

but, now he finds it ironic; he chose volleyball over you, his life.

everyday, from 9am to 7pm, he mindlessly serves, sets, and passes a volleyball. for hours on end, he feels his muscles contract and relax as he tosses the ball up high, just for him to smack it down against a cold and shiny gym floor, he watches at it ricochets back into the air just to fall back down onto the ground again. bounce bounce bounce, till the sound ceases and the ball rests in its place.

oikawa now wonders when a blinding passion - a heart pounding desire to play this sport, turned into just a distraction. he finds that now when the very familiar surface of the volleyball brushes up against his palm, he no longer feels his adrenaline pumping with excitement; he feels resent.

because trying to dissipate his memories of you by overworking his body everyday no longer worked anymore, if anything it only made things worse.

every game, every screech of his name from the crowd, every praising cheer after he makes an award winning serve, it all reminds him that you aren’t in the stands cheering him on. faces upon faces, all different colors and all different shapes, none of them are yours.

oikawa hisses as he feels a dull ache in his knee, the same knee you would spend hours massaging after practice every day.

the lump in his throat has become more apparent now, he drowns it out with the bitter liquid in his cup - trying to suppress the feelings that will always be there.

he is only 25, yet he can feel his body beginning to give up on him. his muscles are weaker than they were two years ago, his bones throb under his weight with every step he takes, and his mind is continuously drifting off into oblivion.

he wonders who he is living for at this point. he can’t lie to himself and say that volleyball is his reason, because then who is he playing it for?

this country; even with its busy streets and loud music - he still can’t help but feel alone.

his favorite memory of you plays in his mind like a film, it’s grainy and colored with a brown, faded hue. your hair whipping in the wind, your dress flowing over your hips, your feet sinking into the sand, your hand intertwined with his, and your mouth open with that melody of a laugh spilling out of it.

he remembers your skin felt soft, flawless against his calloused palm. shimmering silver earrings decorated your ears, a gift he had gotten you for your birthday. the air around you was warm, despite the unforgiving ocean winds that was tussling through your hair and clothes.

as the memory plays, your laugh begins to fade away in the wind, the already loud noise getting increasingly louder and louder. his ears are ringing now, he can’t hear your laugh anymore. the sky is no longer a heavenly blue, it is now an unsettling gray. your body, your hand holding his, the scenery of the beach, is being ripped from his mind and transforming into a different memory, one he would kill to forget.

there you were, eyes big and brimming with tears, standing in front of him. the beach background has now turned into your shared apartment in japan, both of you in the living room. you open your mouth, but oikawa can’t hear your voice - he remembers your words vividly, but his mind refuses to play them.

tears spilling down your cheeks, your hands balled into fists; oikawa watches as he breaks down the one person who he deemed to be unbreakable. everything he had built - everything you had built, he watches fall apart for the hundredth time.

a sharp pain shoots through his chest, snapping him back to reality.

he clutches at the fabric of his t-shirt, heaving breaths fall from his lips as he tries to compose himself.

the cup full of fernet falls to the floor, pieces of his heart are scattered on the floor alongside the broken glass.

oikawa lost meaning in his life the second he walked out the door that shameful day; he lost his motivation, his strive.

everyday, his body aches with loss. the sounds of cars racing down the busy streets, the loud music playing from his favorite coffee shop, the smacking of countless volleyballs being slammed down onto gym floors, and the lively chattering coming from some rom-com that he left playing on his flat screen tv, all sound like background noise to him - numbly playing in his ears as background music to the memories he constantly has playing in his mind.

oikawa never knew about loss or pain until you, never imagined that this is what it would feel like.

but, loss has made him wiser; he knows now what will lie ahead for the both of you. he knows that as years come and go, the pain will begin to diminish a little, bit by bit - but he also knows that there’s no way that it’ll ever fully leave his heart.

because, as he gets older, he’ll only get more tired. his skin will begin to wrinkle, hair will start to gray, his bones will ache from weight of the world, his lungs will begin collapsing from the pressure constantly on his chest, and his heart will eventually cease to beat, from the death grip you still have on it.

he will age unforgivingly, eyes devoid of any color - they have already lost the once charming glint they used to hold.

unlike him, he knows you’ll only burn brighter as the upcoming years pass you by.

you’ll get back on your feet, your skin will glow again, your muscles will strengthen and your heart will beat with a newfound passion to love yourself - that’s something he’s always admired about you, the passion you held for all things involving love.

you’ll age with an unstoppable beauty; you’ll laugh and smile so much that permanent crinkles will form next to your eyes, you’ll dance so much that your muscles grow tired, you’ll fall in love again and have all those kids you wanted - kids that will fill every single gap in your heart that oikawa left behind.

despite pure science and human biology, your youth will never leave you. you’re one of the few people oikawa has met that have the ability to live young forever. your soul is unbreakable. sure, oikawa may have put a mere scratch on it, but he never came close to cracking it.

and that’s the difference between you and him; he will die miserable and alone, heart poorly stitched together and the inside of his body bruised and weak. you will pass away surrounded by people who also - like him - became allured by your kind spirit and your lively energy. his body will fall weak from exhaustion, but yours will fall weak from years of dancing and laughing and singing. his heart will die battered with pain, your heart will die full of love and forgiveness.

it’s painful to think about, but oikawa knows this is the truth, and simply just how life works. he won’t sugarcoat it for himself, he knows his ending is exactly what he deserves.

so he begins writing a note. the bottle of fernet he was previously so dependent on, is now long forgotten. he holds a shiny black pen in his hand and a white slip of paper in his other. he clicks the pen and holds the tip above the blank page for a few beats; hesitating, before he’s letting the words flow out.

it starts, with an answer to a question.

“i broke her heart, because i love her.”

#laughs nervously #tooruluv2kparty #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq angst #oikawa tooru #hq #oikawa toru #oikawa toru headcanons #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x fem!reader #oikawa angst #tooru oikawa angst #haikyuu smau #haikyuu angst

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

Text

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

°• ✾ •°𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰°• ✾ •°

You were currently locked inside a secret room in your mansion. Hongjoong specifically had it made for situations like this. Even though the possibilities of someone finding you were slim to none, you were still frightened. You just wanted Hongjoong to get there as fast as he could and comfort you.

As if on cue, the door opened and Hongjoong appeared. You immediately got up and held onto him as if your life depended on it, the tears you've been holding in now finally pouring out.

"Shhh calm down honey, it's ok. I'm here now, don't cry." Hongjoong ran his fingers through your hair in an effort to comfort you, get you to calm down.

"I was so scared. I kept thinking they'd find me and maybe harm me or our.."

You couldn't finish the last part, but Hongjoong knew what you meant when you placed a hand protectively around your baby bump. He smiled at you softly and put one of his hands on top of yours.

"I promised that I'd take care of you both and I'm not breaking that promise. Don't be scared anymore, I won't let anyone hurt either one of you."

°• ✾ •°𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪°• ✾ •°

Seonghwa was currently trying to discuss a possible merge with another gang. Things seemed to be going pretty well, both sides satisfied with what the other had to offer. They were finishing up details on the contract when one of Seonghwa's men burst in, interrupting the meeting.

"Sir! Your wife just called! Some enemy broke into your house!" The man exclaimed, trying hard to catch his breath.

Seonghwa completely forgot about the meeting. Not wanting to waste another second, he ordered his car to be ready as he ran out of the room, some protests and groaning heard from the other people in the room.

But Seonghwa didn't care. You and the child you were carrying were his top priority. That's how he went well above the speed limit so he could reach the house in time to save you. Once making sure you were both all right, he started packing a few things.

"I'm taking you to stay somewhere else. I'm not risking anything again."

°• ✾ •°𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸°• ✾ •°

At first, Yunho wasn't going to take the call, but when they told him it was you, he immediately took it, knowing you wouldn't interrupt a meeting if it wasn't an emergency.

"Baby? What's wrong? Is everything ok? Oh my god! Please don't tell me the baby is already on the way!" He kept rambling on.

"No, not that. However ..... we have a little problem..." You stated.

"What kind of problem?" Yunho asked.

"Well, I heard glass shattering in the living room, so I went to look-"

"You went to look?! What if it was someone breaking in?!" Yunho scolded you.

"Well you hit the nail on the head, it was someone breaking in." You sighed.

"What?! I'm on my way! Stay calm! I'll bring back up just in case." Yunho was already grabbing his car keys.

"Can you also bring one of the medical staff?" You asked kinda sheepishly.

"Why?! Are you hurt?! Is our baby hurt?!" Yunho felt like he was getting a heart attack.

"No....but the guy who broke in is. You see, I was in the kitchen, so before I went to check, I was holding a frying pan.... and I may or may not have hit him really hard on the head with it and....well he ain't moving." You confessed rather awkwardly.

Yunho stood silent on the other line, trying to process all of this. He didn't know whether to laugh or get mad or just continue freaking out.

"Well I guess it's good to know you can still defend yourself. I'm on my way."

He shook his head as he hung up.

"That girl is gonna be the death of me."

°• ✾ •°𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰°• ✾ •°

Yeosang kept fidgeting his finger on the armrest of his chair. He couldn't concentrate anymore on what was being said at the meeting. His mind was thinking about you, worrying about you and your baby's safety. He knew he could trust the men he sent to go help you out, but he was still worried about you. Perhaps he should have gone himself, he kept thinking that.

One of his men quietly came up to him and whispered.

"Your wife is safe. We found the intruder and we have locked him up. You have nothing else to worry about."

Yeosang released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He thanked the man before excusing himself from the meeting. He neglected you for too long. Upon seeing you, he ran to you and hugged you tightly.

"Thank God you're both all right!"

You could tell he was becoming emotional so you smiled to ease his worry.

"Yes, we're fine. Nothing happened." You assured him.

He took your hands in his and looked down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there myself..."

You leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"I trust you Yeosang, you know that. I know that even if it's not you personally, you'll still protect us no matter what. That's why I'm never scared." You confessed.

Yeosang felt immensely happy when you said that. He kissed your forehead and held your growing belly.

"Thank you for never doubting me or my love for you both."

°• ✾ •°𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷°• ✾ •°

San burst into the house, not caring that he literally busted his own front door down. He signaled for his men to quietly search around, not wanting you to be more frightened than what you probably already were. He searched in your bedroom.

"Y/N?" He called out to you.

Slowly, you peeked out from underneath the bed.

"San?" You asked.

"Y/N! What the-"

He walked over and pulled you out.

"Out of all the places, you choose to hide underneath the bed? You could hurt yourself or our baby!" He began fussing around as he gently rubbed your barely visible bump.

"Oh relax. I'm not that far along yet, and leave me alone! I panicked and that's the nearest place I could think of." You pouted and crossed your arms.

San chuckled at how cute you were and cupped your cheeks.

"You're so adorable." He pecked your lips.

One of his men interrupted you two.

"Sir, perimeter is clear, no sign of any intruder anymore."

San's smile disappeared and was replaced by a scowl.

"Fine. Search for any clues that could give out their identity. Report back to me when you find something." He ordered.

"Right away sir."

San turned back to you, who was standing with a smirk.

"What?" He asked.

"Your duality seriously is no joke." You teased him.

San giggled and pulled you into a hug, kissing your cheek repeatedly.

"I'm just really soft for you and our little jelly bean."

°• ✾ •°𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲°• ✾ •°

"Mingi! I think someone broke into the house!"

Your voice echoed through the entire room, as Mingi had put you on speaker.

"What?! What do you mean?!" He asked.

"There's a mess all over the living room and kitchen! The couch is ripped up and several furniture is turnt over!" You were shouting now.

"Oh my god! I just heard some shuffling..." Your voice suddenly went quiet.

"Baby....just stay down and we'll be there." Him and the other members were already getting their guns ready.

"I see something moving in the corner! It's still here! It's it's-"

"Just lock yourself in the safe room!" Mingi interrupted.

"It's a dog?" You suddenly said.

"What?" They all asked in unison.

"Yeah. It's a dog." You repeated.

"What kind of dog?! Does it have a collar?!" Yunho asked happily.

"I think it's a golden retriever, let me get closer."

"No! Don't get close to it! It could have rabies!" Mingi warned you.

Suddenly the sound of something falling was heard.

"Y/N! What happened?! Do I need to call animal control and put the dog down?!" Mingi asked frantically.

"No! Don't put it down!" Wooyoung begged.

Your giggles were heard, making everyone confused.

"It's licking my face! And he's so cute! Can we keep him?!" You squealed.

"If you say yes, can we help name it?!" San asked.

Mingi pinched the bridge of his forehead, trying to calm down.

"Well this was certainly a very entertaining meeting." Seonghwa laughed.

°• ✾ •°𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰°• ✾ •°

"So uh... don't freak out Wooyoung..." You started off.

"Oh no. Every time you tell me not to freak out, it's cause it's something worth freaking out about. So what is it?" He asked.

You sighed. "Ok. So while I was sleeping, someone broke into the house."

"What?! How?! Do you know who it was?!" He began asking, already gathering some people to go with him.

"No, I was sleeping." You calmly said.

"How could you have been sleeping?!" He exclaimed.

"Hey! Being pregnant makes me tired and when I'm asleep, I'm practically dead!" You defended yourself.

"Ok fine! But are you sure you didn't hear anything?" He asked.

You face palmed on the other end.

"Wooyoung... I told you! I was asleep! I didn't see or hear anything! I only know that someone broke in because the front door knob is broken." You responded.

"Ok that's it. I'm installing better security and hiring someone to watch you while you're sleeping since clearly, anyone can just come in then hurt you and you won't even notice till you're dead." He said, his voice raising 2 octaves.

"No! I won't be able to sleep if I know someone is watching me." You cringed.

"Fine. I'll watch over you and our baby then." He said decidedly.

"That's even worse!" You shouted.

"It's called making sure you're alive! Goddamit woman, stop being so difficult." He screamed back.

°• ✾ •°𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸°• ✾ •°

Jongho looked back and forth at you and the man currently tied up to a chair in front of you both.

"Run that by me again?" He asked, unable to believe your story.

"It's simple. I heard someone looking through some documents in the office, so I went to go check-"

"That was already a pretty stupid decision." Jongho cut you off.

You glared at him.

"I took a weapon with me!" You exclaimed.

"Yeah! The expensive vase that my mom gave to us on our anniversary!" Jongho gestured to the broken pieces of porcelain scattered around the floor.

"Well it was the closest thing I had in hand! Besides it worked! Knocked him out long enough for me to tie him up and wait for you to get here." You were actually proud of yourself for being able to handle the situation like you did. Jongho always said you were tiny and couldn't protect yourself, that's why you needed him.

Jongho sighed and looked back at the guy next to them.

"I mean.....I'd asked you to confirm her story, but I think you tied up basically sums it up."

The guy only nodded.

"Are you going to torture me now?" The man asked.

"Listen my man, you got knocked out by a tiny and pregnant woman, you a grown man. I think you've suffered enough humiliation for one day." Jongho snorted, but he was also proud of you for protecting yourself and your child.

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez mafia au #mafia!au #mafia!ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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buckyjamess-archive · 3 years

Text

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter eighteen • a/n: last chapter folks- wanna thank all those who interacted/read it, I hope you enjoyed it! ♡ gonna miss these fools, ngl • wordcount: 2k • warnings: nothing but fluff. Parenthood. Babies. Kids.

summary

going through rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

His hands are warmer and maybe even bigger as his fingers are intertwined with yours, gently swaying back and forth, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand or a light squeeze to remind you he's still there.

a few steps ahead, rosie groans, huffs and puffs as she pushes the stroller the best she can. Talking to her little brother who gurgles back just as much.

"You're really heavy!"

a soft pink, round handbag with minnie mouse printed on the front hangs loosely in Steve's other hand. Handed to him seconds after leaving the restaurant by Rosie herself as she offered to push her little brother back home. A heavy diaper bag he'd taken off the stroller to take away some weight, hangs of his shoulder– you told him you could carry one of the two but Steve being Steve, refused your offer and instead clamped his hand in yours.

A day out planned by the man walking next to you. A day with the four of you, letting Rosie and JJ get used to Steve being around for more than the two hours every night before getting tucked in. That Steve wasn't just a friend anymore– though Rosie 'just knew' when you told her Steve was more than a friend, a special friend.

'I don't kiss my friends like that'

Rosie didn't mind, or at least you think. She was good with everyone, stranger or not. Opening up to Steve wasn't a problem, becoming friends with Steve came easy for the girl.

And bucky, bucky would always be dad.

'Now I have three daddies. My real daddy, my normal daddy and steve.'

And though you never intended to let Steve in your life so quickly, it became serious pretty fast.

Delicately glueing back each other's pieces left of a broken heart; giving solace, a shoulder to cry on and someone to hold. Steve and you never intended to become this, you were just friends, used-to-be-coworkers. It happened. Bucky no longer floating through your head every other minute or feeling that ache in your chest– just you and Steve and for now after the heartbreak Bucky caused you could in all honesty say that Steve Rogers treated you better than anyone ever did.

The stroller comes to a halt when Rosie stills in front of the apartment block. She let's go of the stroller and places both hands on her sides, bright yellow sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, she sighs heavily.

"That was heavy."

You and Steve chuckle at Rosie her stance as if an old man admiring his self-built furniture, sarcasm dripping from her body yet as innocent as can be.

"I bet it was, kid."

"Yes, JJ eats too much."

"Says the girl who ate all my fries."

Letting go of your hand, Steve hands Rosie back her own bag which she happily takes– slipping the diaper bag from his shoulder, you wrap your hand around it and carefully toss it over your own. Hand digging in to find your keys. Taking the few steps up the building, you push open the door and watch how Steve casually carries the stroller and JJ up the steps and follows Rosie in the building.

The walk to the elevator is short, the three of you and the stroller packed tight in the small space– you stay quiet, watching the interaction between Rosie and Steve, your heart grows ten times its size. You thank the gods above for giving you all these amazing men in your life, even if they broke your heart in different ways- teaching you the ways of life, giving the best things to ever exist, trusting you, caring about you..loving you.

Riley, your first real love. The one that changed your life forever. Teaching the ropes of this crazy thing called adult life. Be the calm to your chaos. Showed you love like you'd never had before– sure enough about it all to put a ring around your finger and giving you the most important job of them all; be a mother to a beautiful, funny and feisty daughter. Riley who gave you real heartbreak, leaving an empty hole in your heart and took a piece of your soul with him

Sam who stood by your side through it all. Going through the process together of losing a spouse and partner on the field. Your shoulder to lean on when things got rough, a friend of your man turned into your best friend– showing you the meaning of family by letting you into his own.

Bucky who stole your heart so fast, you never had a chance to let it settle– a wild man willing to wait. A wild man who showed you that life after Riley could be something beautiful; taught you how to love again, brought you back to life and gave you the gift you call your son, gave Rosie a father figure. Bucky the best mistake you'd ever made in your life.

And maybe all these men were needed to get you with the one. Without Riley no Sam and without Sam no Bucky, and you'd never have met Steve if you didn't move to Brooklyn. All these men lead you to him.

Steve. The man who picked up the pieces and put them back together– the man you so desperately needed in your life. The calm that Riley once gave you and the wild and silly bucky once showed. The one for real this time.

Even if things didn't go your way, men changing every chapter of your book– life was pretty amazing.

Steve must've seen the slight wobble of your chin and your eyes filling with tears. His firm hand back into yours, you look up to meet his blues, you shoot him a tight lipped smile.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

You inhale deeply, quickly wiping away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks and not trusting your own voice, you smile at your daughter but shrug.

"You know what I think?" Steve quips, the hand that's intertwined with yours now snaking around your waist to pull you ever closer into his side "I think mom's just really happy."

Rosie nods unsure but gives a toothy grin "then I'm happy too, then we're all happy."

"Then we're all happy."

He reads you like an open book, something you got to love and hate over the last few weeks. Nitpicking little flaws to get under your skin or be the biggest sap whenever you're feeling down; he knows you like the back of his hand.

"This is so stupid," you breath out a shaky chuckle "Jesus, I'm crying in an elevator–"

"It's not stupid," Steve reassures "we're all just very happy, right?"

"Yeah." You nod.

Squeezing your side, Steve let's you know he's there and plants a kiss to your temple before resting his chin upon your head.

"I love you, sweetheart."

Bucky can't quite believe it himself; just a month ago he labeled Steve Rogers as his arch enemy and wish bad things upon the blonde and now, now bucky hopes and wishes the blonde would treat you better than anyone else– welcomed Steve into the mess.

At ease, okay, alright but above all grateful. You didn't kick him out of your life or that of his kids– you wouldn't be the first mother to do such a thing, he's seen it on TV multiple times. Bucky's grateful that you and him still were a thing just not the same. Parents of your kids, friends.

Though jealousy would strike once in a while and he reminded himself of the mistake he'd made, It was good this way.

Big helium balloons in the shape of letters and numbers float above the table shoved against the wall, reading 'JJ 1 YEAR'. Silver birthday garlands hanging from ceilings along the baby blue and white balloons– table filled with snacks, gifts and drinks. Cramped in your apartment but done together– texting back and forth, nights of planning brought you all here, JJ his first birthday.

Friends and family here to celebrate something the two of you made from love.

Bucky leans against the kitchen bar, one hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans and the other wrapped around a bottle of beer. Eyes upon the small crowd gathered and lands on Steve, barely on his knees next to a side table, small plastic tiara on his head as Rosie applies makeup on the guy's face from the set she'd just got as a gift from uncle Sam.

Bucky smiles, at least you picked a child magnet, a guy who'll love his kids as much as the two of you do.

Bucky scans the crowd again and spots you without any problem, another smile on his face at the sight of his godchild hailey holding JJ, probably gossiping around with you.

It's good this way.

"Hey man."

Snapping out of his own world, Bucky meets the eyes of a man he hasn't spoken to in months; sam. Not since he got to learn about Bucky's mistake.

"Hey." Bucky shoots him a tight lipped smile.

Standing still next to Bucky, Sam leans against the bar in the same stance and follows Bucky's gaze to the crowd to you, his son and hailey.

"He looks like you." Sam confesses "scary."

Letting his head fall, Bucky chuckles and nods "at least we know it's mine."

Sam chuckles along till it dies down, silence falling over both men as they keep watching the scene in front of them. How you leave Hailey with her nephew and mingle with some friends– bucky can feel Sam's eyes burning on his face.

"Told you so, didn't I?"

Bucky snorts "Let's not go there, I've learned my lesson."

"Do you?" Sam quips with a grin on his face "No new love on the horizon?"

Bucky nods, he has learned his lesson and he knows he'll never find someone like you again– he has definitely learned his lesson and definitely not ready for something new.

"No man, I'm going to focus on my kids." Bucky breathes out a soft chuckle "apparently I still have two."

"Rosie loves you– I have to thank you for that, giving Rosie a father figure."

"Wouldn't trade it for anything else."

"I know."

Another, comfortable silence falls like a thick blanket. Knowing each other well enough to know what they're thinking– a smile creeping on both men's faces at the sight of you pushing yourself past some people and beelining towards the duo.

"Mind If I join?"

Scooting aside, both Sam and bucky make space for you in between and your arm that snakes around Bucky's back gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling– he pulls you closer into his side with his arm dropped over your shoulder

"A year ago you nearly passed out." You mumble softly

"I didn't pass out." Bucky scoffs

"I said nearly–"

"Not even nearly."

"The nurses had to sit you down."

"They never–"

"They did!"

It's a game of back and forth, getting underneath each other's skin and Bucky hopes things like this will never change even if you decided to spend the rest of your life with steve. The silly arguments, the silly fights and the lame jokes– bucky would be alright as long as that stayed.

The squeeze around his side makes Bucky aware you're still there. Locking eyes with yours, one's he's found himself lost in many times before, he copies your smile.

"What?"

"Nothing– we did good." You state.

Though things didn't go the way it was supposed to, the two of you did good indeed, more than good even.

"I think we did amazing." Bucky smiles back.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder a bit tighter, he places a quick kiss on your forehead before following your gaze into the crowd, his daughter, his son, his family and steve.

It's good this way.

"So, guys," Sam clears his throat from beside you "really gotta know what happened on hailey her birthday party that day."

"No, you don't." You and Bucky chuckle in unison "you really don't."

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #rosie and i*

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Lover

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: After a day of unpacking and delving into memories, a moment of fondness is shared with your lover.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of food, fluff fluff fluff, kissing

A/N: This is my fic for @gcdric ’s Taylor Swift writing challenge! It’s based off of the song ‘Lover’. Lyrics I’ve used will be bolded and italicized!

The day was quite perfect, you must admit; almost as if it’d been just so in correspondence with your plans. The late afternoon sunshine cast warmly across your skin, beaming bright before the clouds sweep over it fleetingly only to return just as glowing as before.

It was beautiful as you stood in front of the little cottage before you. You must have gone back to do so a thousand times by that point, but it was an act all too irresistible as you gazed at it, hand enveloped in Ron’s. It was your house.

It stood much shorter than the Burrow, most anything was now that you thought about it, but it radiated the same kind of warmth nonetheless. Wildflowers sprinkled and flourished tall and bright amongst the grass in patches of blues and yellows and reds, sprouted up from around the edges of the cracked stone slab pathway leading to a very golden yellow front door. The roof bowed inward a bit at the center, a chimney standing on the far left side of the sweet little home.

Moss and vines had mingled and curled up the side of the stone house, swirling around the door and curving around the window above it on the second floor. A small set of matching yellow benches had sat on either side of the door, its paint chipped and worn with use, telling of their exposure to the elements, but you think you like them better that way. Perhaps your favorite part was the wind chimes that still remained, singing softly each time the wind had pushed them together. It was all encompassed by a wooden sage green fenced, the numbers of your address stamped on a metal oval slab fixed to the very front. You could have asked for a better place to live with the love of your life, it was entirely more perfect than you could have imagined it to be.

Even with the beauty and dream come true standing right in front of him, Ron still couldn’t manage to hold his gaze on anything but you. With the four times you had come to the very end of the walkway to admire just what your fate had been, he found himself looking at you each and every time. He always did that when you were around, and he always would. When you’d catch him doing just that, the crimson burning in his cheeks was expected and far too worth it, for your smile melted his heart when you casted it upon him.

His hand squeezed your own as he smiled, taking a moment to admire the soft smile you held as you looked at your very first home, your forever home. And the way your gaze bounced around every little detail and every little flower. He took one last look before his smile widened at his next words.

“Love, we’ll be unpacking clear into next month if we come back out here a fifth time,” he quips, your own grin widening as you turn your head and look at him.

“Be quiet, Ronald, or there just might be a sixth,” you counter with a smile so sweet his heart nearly leaped out of his chest right then and there. But rather than gushing over you he simply scrunches his nose in response to the use of his full name, in response to your lighthearted teasing he so fully loved.

He’s got no time to gaze at you a moment longer as you squeeze his hand, tugging him along the stone path to the front door and slipping inside the house as your laughter trails behind.

Box after box littered almost every surface you could think of, the only thing of use having been the mismatched furniture dotting around the living room and kitchen, and the unmade bed upstairs. Most of the boxes had been opened simply to see what was inside before they’d been left in favor of looking in another or sharing a kiss far too distracting. Some of said boxes had been dented, their corners pushed in from when Ron and Fred had dropped them, but it’d been far too amusing to hold even a drop of anger about it. Unbeknownst to you it’d been your very lover’s fault, having been so caught up and fawning over the way you’d twirled in the living room, the breeze catching in your hair and a smile on your lips—so caught up he’d stopped abruptly and promptly got run into by his brother following just behind him.

The laughter that left your lips was much too worth it for him to care about most anything else, especially Fred’s grumbling and swat to the back of his head. Okay, maybe he’d interrupted his adoration to toss a glare in his older brother’s direction.

A gasp sounded from you and pulled his attention, and he watched as you pulled something out of a box labeled ‘Miscellaneous’. In your hand was a very crooked and poorly taped wand, a thin layer of dust coated on it. He hadn’t used it in quite a while, having gotten a new one that has yet to be broken, yet to be encountered by the Whomping Willow.

“You saved it?” He asks, laughter in his words.

“Of course I did. How else would we honor the very first time you stole your dad’s car?” You tease, tapping it against the very tip of his nose. While his heart fluttered at the thought that you’d pulled it from the trash and saved it, he snatched it from your hand with a frown soon turned to a smile.

“It doesn’t really work anymore, you know,” he says, brushing his thumb over the tape he’d put there just over a decade ago.

“Maybe it’s just the user and not the wand,” you quip, his eyes narrowing at you as you stifle a laugh.

“No way!” He raises the bent wand his eyes fixed on the lamp seated on a small table by the window. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The spell is spoken with the utmost of concentration, the lamp in question rising very wobbly off the table before clattering unceremoniously to the floor. He flinches at the dreadful noise and you couldn’t fight your laugh any longer as you stole it back from his hand.

“Reparo!” You state, watching as each broken shard had mended with its matching piece, each fitting together so perfectly it’s like it’d never been broken at all.

Ron bites the inside of his cheek at the sight of your triumphant smile. You were right, you were always right. But, with a simple movement of his hand and a glowing orange beam of light, you found yourself pulled to him with ease, Carpe Retractum falling from his lips.

“I’m quite better at magic than you think, love,” he murmurs, smiling against your lips as you kiss him.

Your laughter puffed against his lips as you kissed him once more, spinning from his embrace much to his dismay in favor of digging through more boxes. “If you insist.”

He hadn’t missed the smile that had accompanied your teasing words, and you hadn’t missed his, and he was tempted to utter that spell once more just so he could kiss you again for far longer than just a mere moment. In fact, to do so until the end of time seemed perfectly well to him.

You pulled back a flap of another cardboard box that had yet to be labeled, smiling at the sight. You tugged the tangled clump of Christmas lights out, it’s cord thoroughly, knotted and woven with itself in what surely will be a pain come time to hang them up. In that moment, the thought hadn’t bothered you quite as much as it assuredly would in three month’s time, your smile beaming and bright.

“You kept these?” You ask, mimicking his earlier tone. He chuckles, nodding as he fumbled with the end of the cord that hadn’t been so terribly mangled.

“Christmas lights are essential to the holiday season, you know,” he defends. Regardless of your playful teasing, you knew just how much he liked them when it came time for the festive spirit. Well, they came second only to the assortment of cookies made every year without fail. “I suppose we can leave them up for as long as we want to now, can’t we?”

“This is our place, we make the rules.”

He smiled at the very thought, you both shared the same smile for that matter, and you knew for a fact that you’d been thinking of the same thing. You could make the rules. You could stay up past midnight to read without complaint of the glow of the lamps light streaming through floorboards and waking one of his siblings. He could practice quidditch with you in your very own backyard without his mother worrying over you both from the sidelines, though you’d done a well enough job worrying over him when she’s not around. Ice cream can be had for breakfast and breakfast can be had for dinner, dishes can be left in the sink and you can sleep in together till however late you wanted.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “yeah, we can.”

He takes a moment to look around the small living room, at the bookshelves encompassing nearly the entirety of the far wall. You’d filled that readily with your shared books, taking little effort to fill the old wooden shelves with stories read at least two times over. Scattered amongst them sat picture frames and trinkets, photographs of the two of you so gingerly placed behind glass frames to display a moment forever captured. Some of them were polaroids labeled haphazardly with the date they’d been taken, a brief caption scrawled at the bottom. Some of them had been family pictures taken by his mother, gifted to him for the time the day had come that you two could display them in your own home and you most certainly did.

Tiny treasures sat amongst them—bookmarks still tucked in books, little gifts from hogsmeade tucked atop shelves. Even the since emptied bottle of broom oil you’d gotten him for his birthday in fifth year. You knew he’d been eagerly excited to be a part of the quidditch team, his dreams of being a keeper rapidly becoming more than just dreams. He opened that little gift and saw that little bottle, something that might have seemed so awfully simple and practical to just anyone else. But the thought behind it was something more than just simple and more than just practical, even if your shared feelings hadn’t been known just yet. So there, in front of old books and photos, sat a little glass bottle, it’s label worn and faded as dregs of broom oil sat at the bottom.

He looked to the couch, it’s fabric frayed and worn in a few spots and edges. His cherished Chudley blanket taken from his childhood bed lay strewn across the back of the checkered material. The blanket you made after you insisted you could crochet lay splayed beside it, put together in uneven squares of colors that didn’t match as much as you’d hoped. Regardless of the outcome, Molly had been quite proud of it, and she adored the time well spent with you in the making of it.

He thought of how Harry could come and stay the night, for old times sake, Hermione too. There weren’t any guest bedrooms, so the living room would have to suffice. The couch and the loveseat hadn’t been too terribly comforting for slumber, but you suppose with a few extra pillows and blankets it’d be just fine. They never seemed to be one to complain anyway, always simply happy to spend time as a group without worry of danger or life changing events anymore. That very moment was put behind you six, nearly seven years prior.

It was fine, and everything was okay.

Your gasp had pulled him from his thoughts once more, his gaze finding you as you tugged his old quidditch sweater from a box labeled ‘Important: Do Not Lose’.

It was torn at the collar and a few strings of yarn had been pulled free from their stitching, and certainly it was washed more than a few times to rid it of its smell. You loved the tattered thing to pieces, he knew that. He knew from the very first moment you’d worn it that it’d been more than just a sweater to you. He remembers the way you smiled upon slipping it over your head, and the way you let the cuffs curl over your hands. He remembers the way you nuzzled into it that very night, the smell of cinnamon and a bit of his cologne still lingering on the fabric. He knew from that very first moment that it wouldn’t be the last time you’d stolen it from him, he knew you loved it and for that very reason he’d stopped his mother from turning it into a commemorative blanket.

You pulled it over your head, that very same smile on your face as there always was when you wore it. It hung from your shoulders in heaps of maroon and golden yellow, effectively staving off the cool September breeze. He’d had plenty more quidditch sweaters and jerseys considering his once fond hobby had turned to a career, but none of them seemed to hold as much sentiment as this.

He couldn’t help the way his heart swelled with pride when you wore it, when he thought of just how proud you’d always been. Even when he hadn’t had a successful match, even when he hadn’t been at the top of his game—you still cheered for him fiercely and boasted so highly of him that his cheeks burned at the mere thought. Whether it was just the two of you on the quidditch pitch the night before a match against Slytherin or it was from the stands at a match hours from home, you had always done it.

You looked so utterly beautiful, so completely radiant he felt his heart just might burst in his chest should you be anymore ethereal. He hadn’t known how he’d gotten quite so lucky, but he had.

You look to Ron across the unfinished living room, his smile soft and beaming and focused entirely on you.

“What is it?” You ask, laughing softly as your cheeks flush under his gaze, your hands smoothing over the yarn. The look on his face then is photo worthy, but holding it in your memory will have to suffice.

“Dance with me?”

Your smile widened, heart hammering in your chest with lovestruck excitement at the mere thought of it. Not to mention the grin tugging so cutely at the corners of his mouth that made it absolutely impossible to keep from mirroring it. It was often that Ron Weasley’s actions spoke far louder than words, that a simple look could declare a thousand ‘I love you’s’. It was then, in that very moment as he stood contently amongst a dozen boxes yet to be unpacked, that the look he so lovingly held just might’ve spoken a million.

You walk to him without a second’s hesitation and take his offered hand, squealing when he pulls you close. His own laughter soon fills the room as he twirls you once, twice, the action wonderfully dizzying as you settle into a rhythm not quite in sync with each other. His smile was beaming and bright as the sun streamed into the room, everything it landed on golden and orange.

“Ron Weasley, I thought you hated dancing?” You say, your smile just as teasing as your words.

“People change, right?” He shrugs, quick to rain a flurry of kisses across your flushed cheek as his laughter presses into your skin. That is, until he’d parted from you just enough for you to see a glimpse of realization cross his face. “Don’t tell my brothers.”

Your laughter is immediate as you kiss him, his brief moment of panic simmering into a smile that’s nearly too fond for his own good. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

He groans in protest against your very kiss, lifting you up to spin you in his arms in the sweetest of retaliations. Somehow, he believes the lifetime of teasing from his brothers would be entirely worth it if only to see you smile, if only to hear you laugh.

“I’m only kidding, my love,” you giggle, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, sure,” he grins, kissing down your cheek.

Can I go where you go?

This very moment was one that’d stick with him for the rest of his life, happily, one that he’d get to live each and every day and the thought alone was unbelievable. It was your house, your home, a place entirely the perfect fit for the two of you to flourish and thrive and spend for seasons in. It was a culmination of the very things that made the two of you who you are.

Truthfully, he’d follow you anywhere without hesitation. He’d travel to the very ends of the earth if it meant he’d be with you, and you the same. He knew since he was sixteen that he’d wanted to be wherever you were and wherever you will be. He hadn’t thought at the time that he’d wind up in a home amongst the rolling hills, tucked away to yourselves. He hadn’t thought he’d even have the nerve to tell you he loves you. His future had been far brighter than he could have ever imagined it to be.

And you, you were right where you wanted to be, right where you needed to be. Ron Weasley was the love of your life, a dull moment never shared. You felt you could do just about anything so long as he was with you, go anywhere so long as he was there. He was loving, he was kind, he was true.

Can we always be this close?

The laughter had since dulled to breathy sighs and soft smiles, a gesture you’re very aware of when you lift your gaze to look up at him once more. A smile that’s shared most tenderly in the close proximity, noses brushing and breath sweeping warmly over lips. It was then that you lean on your toes and kiss him, his very grip on your hand tightening a fraction and your swaying becoming distracted and stilled. His smile was immediate against your lips, telling of just how profoundly giddy you’d made him, how wholeheartedly he loved you.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, his lips brushing over yours as he kisses you once more. The softness of his laughter dances across your skin, his forehead resting on yours as he makes no effort to hide his smile. “I love you. I really, really love you.”

Your nose scrunches against his and your own smile widens and soon you find yourself kissing the very tip of his nose, his cupid’s bow, his lips. The warmth blossoming in your chest is a feeling most unbeatable to all else; it was love. It lanced through you with certainty and settled permanently within your heart, a feeling so frighteningly wonderful, and so dizzying in its wake.

The two of you began to sway softly again to music unheard, hands clasped as your other rests on his chest as the sun dips lower in the sky, the long yet happy day soon to be put behind you. One more kiss is pressed to his cheek before you dip your head to rest on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed with all the contentment in the world. And softly, you murmur, “I love you. I really, really love you.”

You’re my, my, my, my,

Lover.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @vogueweasley @ch0colatefr0gs @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

#laniestaylorswiftwc #ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley fic #ron weasley headcanon #ron weasly imagine

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

Text

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

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