#then sitting in a windowless office all day only to find that by the time youre off its already pitch black outside

[talesmaniac89]

Charity Heist 8 - aka. B is for Boredom, Bad Decisions and Bobo the Clown

A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist

Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.

Watch the trailer here

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.

Y/N = Your Name

Start Here - Last - Next

Running to your room to hide for perpetuity had seemed like a good idea. 

That was until you remembered that you had the attention span of a toddler and needed to be entertained at all times. And, all that time in your room just meant a ton of silent, contemplative time to go over what had happened in the closet. To the point that the word ‘closet’ was close to becoming the dirtiest word you knew. 

Your brain was just one looped gif. Carefully going over every salacious dirty detail of Dean’s body against yours. His tongue wetting his lips. Strong, safe arms keeping you close to him as you subconsciously rolled your hips against him. The feel of him, clearly just as turned on as you were, pushing against your hip. The hard look in his eyes, paired with that teasing grin that told you he was a man who enjoyed being in control…

Over, and over, and over, and… Fuck. 

After less than an hour locked in your own room, you needed to get out. You needed something, anything, to take your mind off of Dean. Plus, you were 99.9% sure that boredom could actually kill you. You just hadn’t let yourself be bored for long enough to test your theory out. And you weren’t planning to start now.

Sure, you might be a thief, and a wanted criminal. But your only real crime was that you were down to clown. And, though you knew it was safest to hide in your room. You couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit bored. What with no one other than yourself to make fun of, or clown around with, in the windowless room. 

So, against your better judgment, you’d decided to sneak back out to watch Sam and Charlie do their thing, play your designated role of class clown, and maybe suggest some fitting titles for the break-in job. Though you knew any naming ideas, no matter how brilliant, would be nixed in a heartbeat, since your team chose to go the boring case file route. Every. Single. Time. 

Though you still had names for all the team’s jobs. Even if the rest of your team members didn’t appreciate them. 

You were still bitter that they’d all vetoed your name for the Met Gala con. “Paint by numbers” had been a perfect fit as far as a con job name went. It covered all the bases; the big money, the crooked accountant AND all the paint.

Still bored, but now also a little miffed at your underappreciated talent for naming heists, you’d tip toed out of your room like the super thief you were. Looking left and right for arms-to-die-for Dean, before quickly hurrying to Brainiac HQ. Not even daring to pop into the kitchen to grab some snacks and a beer before you joined your two resident nerds in their office. Even though you knew you’d come to regret not stocking up...

Hacking wasn’t like in the movies after all. 

Usually it was slow and tedious. Like an endless waiting game for the rest of you, as Sam and Charlie attacked their keyboards looking for weak points and breaking down firewalls. Or whatever it was they did in their office. You’d never really been what one would call ‘technologically savvy’. 

It was a big day for you when you figured out how to use the grill function on the microwave on your own. 

So, pairing your lack of tech savviness with your inability to sit still. You knew the smart thing would’ve been to stop by the kitchen to make yourself a boredom survival kit. For some good ol’ fashioned boredom munchies. But hey… 

No one had ever accused you of doing the smart thing. 

“Hey IT, I think there’s something wrong with my WiFi…” You chirped as you fully entered the tech twins’ lair. Hiding your messy thoughts behind well practiced jabs that you knew would push your best friends’ collective buttons.

“Careful (Y/N), or I’ll actually lock you out from the bunker network completely,” Sam shot back without even looking in your direction. Completely missing the shit-eating grin you threw him as you lifted yourself up on Charlie’s desk picking up one of the many printouts littering her desk to read about…

One of the party participants, who would soon find himself in a jail cell thanks to your little group of do-gooders. This one was apparently the mobster’s chosen tech wiz. A hacker who went by the handle ‘Metatron’. Huh... 

Whomever this Metatron guy was, he sounded like a douche canoe. And one that clearly wasn’t in the same league as your girl. Since Charlie had already dug up all his dirty deeds, including some fanfiction he’d been writing about a guy called Chuck. 

Good riddance. 

Letting the paper fall back down into the pile, you turned your attention to your redheaded best friend. Who was busy eyeing you with both wary anticipation and exasperation in equal measures.

“How can I help Char?” You spoke up before she could go all She Hulk on you and kick you out of her lair if you didn’t have a good reason to be there. Because honestly, you needed something, anything, to do. 

“Oh! Alright, could you help me map out the office? Made a rough sketch on our software when you briefed Bobby, but we’ll need details for the actual job,” 

Charlie’s surprise wasn’t misplaced. Though you would do anything for your main girl. You normally, wisely, stayed out of her way when it came to what she was best at. Or at least came prepared with things you could do for her. 

Years alone on the run didn’t exactly make you a team player. Though you were working on it. You no longer hip tossed anyone who as much as tapped you on the shoulder without warning. Now you checked to see if they were friend or foe first before hip tossing them. Which was definitely progress.

Hopping back down from the front of the desk, you slid around to Charlie’s side instead. Leaning in to watch the layout she had built on the screen, you frowned at the little rectangle in the corner signifying the closet you were actively trying to forget. Before mentally shaking your head and refocusing on the pool table. 

“Pool table was a little more to the left, and Dean’s listening device was placed more towards the center pocket,” You corrected as you pointed your finger towards the screen. Careful not to touch the monitor in fear of facing the full wrath of the 5-foot-4-inch techie in the chair next to you. 

“Alright, anything else?” Charlie’s fingers flew across the keyboard, easily correcting everything at lightning speed as you pointed it out.

“The bar cart, it was closer to the desk, just enough space between ‘em for a full grown man to walk comfortably to the desk. Add bolts to the desk legs. It’s stuck to the floor. Safe location looks spot on. Other than that…” You contemplated the digital mockup of the room carefully, cringing when you were once again forced to look at the closet. 

“The closet, it wasn’t that deep. Cut it down by a few inches,” You added after just a second of hesitation, before continuing to make little, minute changes to the layout on the screen. Ensuring your team had the full visual to build any plans and backup plans, while doing your absolute darndest to ignore the closet as Charlie did her magic on the screen.

“Thanks (Y/N). Damn, how did you even manage to hide from the bad guys in here? For someone so set on showing off his wealth, his office is pretty… Minimalistic. If you don’t count the stuff he’s got hanging on the walls,” Charlie sighed and rolled her shoulders after you finally okayed the layout and offered up the best possible entry and exit strategies. 

“Oh… You know,” You started, really wishing you had a damn beer as you had to stop to clear your throat when your voice cracked over the words.

“We just hid from the heavily armed mafia goons in the closet…. As you do,” 

“Nobody does that (Y/N). How did you even fit?” Charlie’s surprised laugh was followed by her zooming in on the very closet you’d been avoiding looking at. Clearly already doing the mental mathematics in her head to work out how two grown adults could fit into the laughably small space. 

“We… Managed,” You said, pushing yourself away from the desk and walking back around it to cut off the view of the closet and hopefully put an end to Charlie’s questions. 

“Plus, it was probably why they didn’t even bother checking. We were… Lucky, I guess?”

--- 

Though you’d done all you could to help, which wasn’t much, you didn’t feel like returning to your room and brooding over a certain someone again. So, instead you stayed and annoyed your friends watched the two geniuses work. 

They were making quick work of a lot of the preparations. Which was easier with all the extra info your team had acquired during the party. A full chart of the big honcho’s organization was already up on the main screen, including bullet pointed entries for each and every member’s dark history. Your geniuses probably knew more about these guys than their own families. 

While the smaller screens surrounding the main display were filled to the brim with code as they found, and marked, the network backdoors needed for infiltration and extraction of information and money on the day. Each smaller screen another backdoor, firewall or network that they were currently in the process of hacking.

All while at the same time slowly but surely sourcing the account details of the many shell corporations and personal bank accounts of the whole organization. 

With your two geniuses on the case, your team was nearly ready to completely empty the wallets of everyone involved and throw them in jail as soon as you got into the safe. Once you had the paperwork for the charity, the list of donators and the pen drive hiding the nefarious use of the money, you’d destroy them at the click of a button. 

Well… Sam and Charlie would be doing the button clicking. You’d be too busy breaking into whatever safe set up the mobster had. And getting the hell out of dodge if shit hit the fan. Which, considering your track record, it often did. 

Meanwhile… So far your only contribution to the ongoing techie work had been to suggest the name ‘The Donation Drive” for the job. Much to the exasperation of everyone in the room. Which, at that moment, had only been Charlie, Sam and you. A small audience for your brilliant name, sure, but one that could still appreciate your talent. If by ‘appreciate’ you meant groan and reward you with easily won eyerolls of absolute disgust and exasperation.

Which of course was what you meant. 

Though, just as soon as you’d decided those annoyed groans were better than applause… Your victorious laughter had died in your throat once the door opened and Dean walked into the office. Choking you on your sweet victory like some form of unfair karmic justice.

He was still wearing those damned gray sweatpants, which… Of course he was. It had only been… What? Two hours since he changed out of his suit? There was no way in hell he’d make a quick costume change just to save you from imagining the oh so many dirty things wreaking havoc on your heart and your libido. It wasn’t like he could read your mind. 

And thank fuck for that. 

Shouldering the door the rest of the way open, Dean hadn’t noticed you right away. Too focused on balancing the armful of beers he’d brought with him. Choosing to do the smart thing, unlike you, and bring in an offering to the tech Gods whose office you were currently failing to hide out in. 

Yet, as green eyes lifted to greet the room, the smile on his lips had fallen a little as he spotted you. Which, though fully warranted, stung like a bitch for a split second. Before the older Winchester once again soothed that same sting as he replaced the former smile with another, softer, yet somewhat awkward crooked grin in your direction. 

“I thought you guys might be getting thirsty,” Dean said, after taking a second to clear his throat. Before gently putting down the beer haul on one of the free desks not filled to the brim with paperwork, and grabbing four bottles from the stash… 

Four. 

Damn it. Your escape route was closing fast, and your brain was still too hung up on the sight of him in those low hanging sweatpants to haul ass back to the safety, and boredom, of your bedroom.

Plus, seeing him standing there; boyish grin in place and two beer bottles left in his hand after quickly depositing one in both Charlie and Sam’s waiting grasps – offering up a thirst quenching bribe to stop you from running. It was… Familiar. In a way that made you simultaneously happy to see him and terrified at how easily he could put your paranoid self at ease. Happy because of the beers, of course... Not the sweatpants. 

Oh.. Who were you kidding? It was totally the sweatpants. 

Walking over to where you were still seated, half frozen, on the edge of Charlie’s desk, Dean slid in next to you. Leaning against the sturdy wood and scooting closer; close enough for you to smell the slightly spiced scent of his body wash. 

Quickly uncapping both beers, he gave you another small, careful smile before handing you one of the two chilled bottles. Which, effectively cut off any quick retreat you could make without it coming off as equal parts bitchy and weird. 

Sure, you were used to being seen as weird. It was kinda on-brand for you. But ‘bitchy’ was something you reserved for the bad guys. Not the people you worked and lived with. And definitely not for your infuriatingly handsome crush. 

So, instead, you busied yourself with some much needed dosages of liquid courage while throwing sneaky glances at the mercenary next to you over the edge of your bottle. Following his beer bottle to his lips, and nearly choking on your own beer from the sight of those tempting droplets wetting lips you’d been so damned close to tasting only hours earlier. 

Damn it all to the seventh circle of hell, that man looked good doing anything. And was also clearly solely responsible for your own recent oral fixation. And arm fixation… Not to mention thighs, hands, freckles, eyes… 

Fuck it, you were just fixated on the whole damned man. He was too stupidly perfect for his own good. And it always turned you into a bumbling idiot. Not that that was particularly hard. What with your mind always going a mile a minute while your mouth struggled to keep up… 

Aaaaand, you were staring again. 

You caught yourself just as Dean’s eyes locked with yours over his beer bottle. That tempting mouth curling up in a small smile against the lip of his bottle as you hurriedly refocused on the beer in your own hands. Once more, resigning yourself to stripping yet another poor bottle of its precious label as you tore on a corner of the paper to avoid meeting his eye.

Yet, keeping your eyes down didn’t mean you were free from the actual human drug that was Dean Winchester leaving you feeling dizzy and intoxicated. Even with your current vantage point being 70% bottle; you could still see him out of the corner of your eye. There was no way you could kick him - he was just too damned addictive.

His toned and muscular body, leaning nonchalantly against the desk, had caused his t-shirt to ride back up again. By now you were damned sure he was doing it on purpose. To show off that sinful v shape where his sweatpants were resting low on his hips and a flash of the well trained upper body that you could remember perfectly from your close encounter in the closet. 

Which… Of-fucking-course, sent you reeling back into that very same closet as you relived every heated second. Now with the added bonus of feeling Dean’s body heat where his arm brushed up against yours, and having the spiced scent of him fill your senses, sending you reeling back in time to that adrenaline fuelled moment. Leaving you nearly unable to tell reality from memory or dirty daydreams. 

Your own overactive mind, and the many, many dirty versions of that moment that your brain could think up on the spot, had you so lost in thought that you almost missed it when Dean finally spoke up, past some simple pleasantries with his brother and Charlie. 

If it wasn’t for the electrifying feeling of his eyes on you, and the way his deep voice always had pleasurable little shivers run up your spine, you would have missed the close call altogether. As Dean had clearly given up on getting you alone, and instead seemed ready to broach the subject you had been actively avoiding right in front of Sam and Charlie. Whom you knew where totally ready to listen in. No matter how busy they looked. 

As your best friend and adoptive younger brother, both had been the butt of many a joke told by you. And you knew they wouldn’t miss any salacious details that could be turned into ammunition in future back and forths. Both already knew that the quickest way to shut up your endless parade of snarky comments was to mention Dean. So if they had more detailed information to use against you… 

You mentally shuddered just thinking about it. 

“(Y/N), I think we…” Dean started, his voice low, though still very audible in the quiet room. Yet before he could complete his sentence you awkwardly cut him off. Saying the first non-sexy thing that came to mind to stop him from talking you into a corner where you were forced to face your own heartbreak in the middle of Brainiac HQ. 

“Sam was talking about the entry strategy!” Your voice was about two pitches higher than usual, and broke over the final syllable. So, totally not as smooth as you wanted it to be, but hell you were too panicked to care. 

“Especially since I’ll need my full toolkit with me… For the safe,” You continued, reeling your panic back in with a quick sip of beer and playing off the ending as if you were the literal definition of chill. If the meaning of chill had changed since the last time you picked up a dictionary. Which it might have, since the last time you picked up a dictionary was… Well... Never.

Smooth, (Y/N). Now you just needed to ignore Sam’s raised eyebrow, plus the most likely just as elevated eyebrow of Charlie, and hope it was enough. 

Luckily, your not-so-smooth diversion, no matter how awkward and obvious, still worked. As Dean dropped the subject of needing to talk with a tired sigh. His dark chocolate and whiskey voice once more became all business as he turned his attention back to the case.

“Yeah, we might need to rethink using a covert entry strategy…” 

Though you’d successfully changed the subject, you couldn’t focus on a single word Sam or Dean said. Not when the weapon specialist’s eyes still blazed like a forest fire; sending searing waves of heat through your body and into your core. 

Which only burned hotter as he covertly placed his free hand over yours. As if he was afraid you’d run away again. Which, in fairness, he had every reason to be. You were a fucking roadrunner…

Meep meep motherfucker. 

No way you were staying to have that conversation with him. Or going anywhere else to have it with him for that matter. 

Thief rule #1: Always run away from danger. No matter what.  

Those eyes, paired with the way the wet droplets of delicious beer rested on his pillowy bottom lip in a way that forced you to bite your tongue to keep from leaning in for a taste. And the feel of his calloused fingers on the back of your hand, unconsciously tracing circles against your skin…

Yeah, there was no way you could pay attention to a word of what the Winchester brothers were discussing. Past dully nodding along and adding in small sounds of agreement, in fear that your voice would break again if you tried to string actual words together. 

At least you could comfort yourself with the fact that you’d bought your heart a little more time before a certain Mr. Dean Winchester broke it into a million tiny pieces.

You knew there was no way you could keep running from the conversation that the stubborn weapon’s specialist seemed dead set on having. You just wished he’d give you a little time first. Just one night to have a cold shower, and revel like a school girl in the almost-kiss before he broke your heart. 

You just needed time to steel yourself for it. Maybe prepare a few semi-dirty jokes to hide your hurt. Or just literal clown paint… That could work too. Maybe Amazon could overnight you a few months’ worth of grease paint if you managed to keep running from Dean’s rejection for a few more hours?

Because you couldn’t fool yourself into believing he wanted to talk to do anything other than breaking your heart. He needed to talk things through with you to keep the peace in the bunker, that was all. For Dean Winchester, family and the job always came first. And that was all you were. A part of the family; a part of the business.

There was no way THE Dean Winchester liked you… He wasn’t stupid. 

In fact you’d reckon he was one of the smartest men you’d ever met. You didn’t survive long in his line of business without a good head on your shoulders. 

“... I think it’s our best bet for entry plan A. What do you think (Y/N)?”

The mention of your name falling from Dean’s lips was enough to pull you back into the real world again and out of the strange cocktail of sinful thoughts about his proximity mixed with self-loathing and early heartbreak preparations. Though, you’d clearly been checked out for far too long. Since you had no fucking clue what ‘Entry plan A’ was all about. 

“Yeah… Uhm. It sounds good,” You croaked, fooling absolutely no one. Especially not the eagle eyed former mercenary next to you that raised a cocked eyebrow and hid a smirk behind his beer bottle. Letting you know that he had noticed your not-so-secret glances in his direction when you’d used the shop talk to allow yourself to once more zone out and let the 50% of your brain reserved for thinking of the oldest Winchester take over.

“Just… Could you get me a copy of the details tomorrow so I can read through and digest it Sam? Might be some kinks that need working out,” You added, cringing as you swore you could feel Charlie roll her eyes at you from behind her many screens. 

The biggest kink being your damned brain.

“Alright, sounds like the plan’s coming together,” Dean said with a clearly fake yawn, pushing away from the desk and grabbing your empty beer bottle from your hand. Before taking a quick step over to one of the empty desks to place them next to the rest of the beer haul, much to Charlie’s chagrin. Though short, the distance still gave your mind, and heart, some much needed breathing room after having every single nerve in your body hyper focused on the mercenary for… Hell you didn’t even know how long it had been since he first walked into the room.

Yet, the reprieve was short lived, as the fast-as-lightning soldier was right back at your side before your brain could even signal for your feet to bolt for the door. His hand, that had just moments ago stopped resting against yours, reaching for you and easily grasping yours again. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“We’ll leave you guys to it then…” He started, letting his thumb once again paint circles against the back of your hand as he got ready to drag you out of the room and into a heartbreak you still weren’t prepared enough to face. 

Yet, with the direct contact of Dean’s skin against yours, your brain had short circuited to the point of not being able to even think up a single weak excuse as you looked down at where his hand was swallowing up your much smaller one. The dirty little devil on your shoulder once more whispering sweet little nothings about how those hands would feel on your body into your ear and turning you into a tongue tied mess.

“Wait, Dean… Since you’re here…” Sam’s voice had never sounded as sweet as it did at that moment. Like a literal angel. If angels wore a fuck-ton of flannel and had more hair products than you. Which, hey… Who knew? They might? You’d never met an angel, and you were pretty sure you never would. 

What with your line of work and all. You doubted you’d be met with pearly gates when your reckless personality and bad ideas finally caught up to you and bit you in the ass. 

“What’s up?” Dean sounded slightly annoyed at his younger brother’s interruption as his hand squeezed yours. As if to make sure you hadn’t somehow managed to Houdini your way out of his grasp in the split second when Sam spoke up. 

Sure, you were an expert escape artist. Kinda came with the job. But even you couldn’t think of a way out of your current conundrum. 

“I was working the security details you’d mentioned during the debrief earlier into our plans… And I’d been meaning to double check the model of guns you saw the guards packing. Mind just coming over here and double checking the list for me?” 

Sam’s eyes were focused on the screen in front of him as he spoke. Which meant he completely missed the exasperated look Dean shot him. As well as the look of total reverence you threw his way at the same time. 

Sam’s need to have every detail ironed out before bed had just temporarily saved you from having your heart ripped out of your chest… Metaphorically of course. At least you hoped it was metaphoric. Since Dean didn’t look all too happy at the interruption. You however... 

God, you could’ve kissed the giant folder loving fool! If that hadn’t just felt… Icky. You saw him as your little brother. Yeah, no, that was just… Weird. You could’ve high-fived him. You could’ve high fived the hell out of him. If you hadn’t been too busy eyeing the door, ready to bolt the moment Dean dropped your hand. 

With an annoyed sigh, Dean let go of you to walk over to his brother’s desk as you stood perfectly still where he left you. Waiting for him to walk around the desk and give you some much needed space to make your escape. As Dean walked around the desk and leaned in to look at Sam’s screen, he threw a quick look up at you through thick eyelashes. As if he could hypnotize you to stay right there until he was done. 

But, unfortunately for the expert marksman… Unlike his perfect 20/20 vision, you couldn’t see all that well, all of a sudden. It was the weirdest thing… 

So, you chose to completely miss the silent warning in his eyes as you took a careful step backwards. Before clearing your throat and keeping your eyes focused on the door as you made your escape with a quick little wave of your hands and a jumbled and messy goodbye. 

“Well, you won’t need me for gun talk. I’m more of a stabby stabby girl, instead of… Y’know pew pew,” The words came out at a mile a minute as you hurried out of the room after throwing up some awkward finger guns. All the while pretending you couldn’t hear Dean calling out to you, asking you to wait up. 

Smoothest exit ever, you should change professions. You’d make an excellent clown. 

Actually, a career change might not be the worst idea. 

You could run away, join a circus. Get a stage name and put those under appreciated naming skills to good use. Since you doubted you’d survive much longer as a member of the Scooby Crew anyway. Not when Dean didn’t seem likely to drop the subject of your upcoming heartbreak.

Time to go buy some fucking clown makeup.

---

Start Here - Last - Next

Charity Heist: @foxyjwls007 @seppys-return-to-madness @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @twinkleinadiamondsky @tmb510 @mimaria420

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler  @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun  @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester @leigh70 @djs8891 @pink-sparkly-witch

Forever tags will be added as reblog.

#dean winchester fic #au!spn #dean au #au!dean winchester #tales89writes #hitter!dean #thief!reader #supernatural heist au #supernatural leverage au #spn heist au #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester heist au #mercenary!dean winchester

[medicslacks]

Rota flexibility has been the number one factor in whether or not I enjoy a Rotation. This is made easier by having a well-staffed rota, but I’ve found that in a true chicken and egg scenario, a flexible rota is often a well-staffed one.

Nothing to do by 3pm? We do not all need to be sitting here sweating in this tiny, windowless office with only 2 computers.

Somebody go home.

4 F1s, 2 CSTs and 3 Regs on EGS? It’s so much easier for everybody who wants to to go to Theatre.

This often requires last minute swaps and adjustments which isn’t possible in a department that sticks to the mandatory 6 weeks notice. In news that will surprise nobody, this often leads to the worst case scenario of having 5 people in with nothing to do by 12 on one day, and quite literally nobody in on another…

With a lot of people set to rank Deaneries and Rotation soon, if you can find out what a particular Deanery, Trust or hospital’s policy is on 1) swapping rotations and 2) rota flexibility/ coordination. It tends to vary Department to Department and is usually easier on Surgical rotations where there tends to be a Trainee responsible for ‘in house’ swaps vs. Medical Staffing where it is a mammoth task and usually has an entire Administrative Team following specific rules and guidelines 🌚

Both have been fundamental factors as to why I’m having such a great time in Core Surgical Training.

#medblr #uk medblr

[chandlerxfitzgerald]

Dead Man Walking // self para

The day began like any other for a normal Saturday, Chandler spent the morning putting together his ensemble he planned to wear when he went out later that evening on a casual date. Homework sat untouched until he would cram the following Sunday and the plan was to skip the droll business meeting that was a tradition for the next morning. Morrigan needed her own school work to focus on, so he thought it best giving her the space and not play the distraction. He knew where she would be at all times, in her home, either on her bed or at her desk, proving herself the academic scholar even if that was never enough for some people in this house.

Chandler knew the moment he heard the ear-splitting bellows of his adopted father, he would never make it to the date. He'd been flipping through the script of that drama season's production of Cabaret when the house seemed to shake with blazing wrath sending an imaginary explosion down every hallway and room. The screaming did not come from Douglas's office, it didn't seep from downstairs where the Urie patriarch lost his temper on the housekeepers, no, there was one place and one place only it could have originated and it is a bedroom he knew like the back of his hand. Morrigan.

He had immediately bolted from his seat and planned on jumping to her rescue, but Douglas was aware what action his adopted son would take the minute the yelling started. Chandler tried the door, turning the handle every which way, and finding someone secured the lock from the other side. "No, no, no, no...." The panic in his voice rose as he continued wiggling the knob with more urgency. "Morrigan!" Chandler began banging the palm of his hand against the hard wood, hoping and praying by some miracle she would hear him calling for her, as if Douglas magically decided against what he planned on doing to his daughter just because Chandler begged.

As much as Chandler persisted, the door wouldn't budge. Some time passed, minutes, hours, who knew how long, but he stopped fighting for an escape before he finally heard the click again. It's ridiculous allowing his imagination run wild briefly, that the shouts and struggling from the other side were fever hallucinations brought forth by long practices and surviving on energy beverages. That as soon as the door would swing open, he would see Morrigan Urie with the rare smile on her face only the male had a knack for giving her. Instead, much to his disappointment, there stood a Urie crony. Chandler didn't remember his name, hardly mattered, but he cannot forget the man's death grip.

Chandler was more or less dragged from his room with every profanity spilling from his lips the entire way and forced in the direction of Douglas' office. They passed Morrigan's empty room, sending an icy suspicion through the young teenager on where she ended up and erasing the fear from his mind, before the pair reached the office. His captor unceremoniously shoved him inside the pitch black room and slammed the door behind him, not wasting the time watching Chandler almost struggling with regaining his footing. "You piece of shit!" Chandy rammed a fist against the oak door in frustration and turned around, expecting Douglas to be sitting in his chair at the carved desk.

The first thing Chandler noticed set on the desk itself was an open laptop. The only illuminating light, the focal point. A browser window covered the screen, whatever had been pulled up appeared bad quality, and it became clear that was due to the lighting within what the camera pointed at. This windowless room, the concrete walls, the minimal furniture. The location did not click for Chandler until he made the journey across the office and planted his feet in front of the computer. This, this was live security feed. The dungeon, a prison with an intended purpose for those who angered Douglas. And there, huddled on the dingy bed sleeping was... "Momo." That's it. Their father knew. How much is a guessing game, but judging by the fact she was locked away, he wanted a name. Chandler desperately needed to speak with her, find a solution to even pass a secret message to Desmond, who always knew how to solve their problems when they needed him.

"Oh, Morri..." He uttered in a hushed whisper. Chandler barely processed the state his best friend was in before the video showed Douglas unlock the door and entered the room with an imposing stance that reeked the threat of consequences. One word came through the audio, name, something Morri wouldn't ever provide for the safety of that boy. The lovesick boy, his sister's joy source from the moment they met. Chandler prayed their father would relent and leave to try another day when she didn't give him what he wanted, but he knew the next stage in Douglas' playbook.

His gaze followed every step the man took toward the cabinet and remove the whip, nausea and horror already mixing inside the teenager's stomach for what was about to happen. He didn't want to watch, he couldn't, not as Morrigan kneeled at her father's feet. Chandler needed to scream at her never to do such a thing and grant the asshole any satisfaction submitting, but what was she to do but take the punishment? "No...no, god, please-" The first whip crack sliced through the air with a deafening snap and mixed with Morri's agonizing screams, forcing his own from his lips as if either of them could hear it. "Stop it! Just stop it!"

Whip after whip, countless and each as brutal as the next, sliced through Morrigan's flesh and sent flecks of her blood coating both the whip and Douglas' emotionless features. After the last strike finally came to pass, Chandler couldn't bear watching any longer. By the time Douglas was refused the name and finally left the room, it clicked in his mind why that monster wanted him to play witness. Punishment for his involvement in the cover-up. Sooner or later, Douglas would demand a name from him too but not before he broke first.

The footage showed the dungeon door opening again, revealing not the old man, but Dezzie. This unkempt version of him is something Chandy wasn't accustomed to seeing. He looked exhausted, sporting a broken nose courtesy of Douglas, and his own punishment the Fitzgerald boy was not envious of. Cleaning the mess and seeing Morrigan's state with his own two eyes. He watched his brother mournfully, but that slightly changed when he noticed something. A small movement of a foot, Desmond lingering by the table, filling Chandler with a hopeful spark. But it wouldn't last.

It was nightfall before the same witless goon retrieved him again, leading the boy back to be confined in a bedroom that did not look the same as when he left it. Somebody took the time to stripe the blankets and pillow case from his bed, every article of clothing was missing from his wardrobe, and the temperature. It was like stepping into an ice box in the middle of Antarctica. No coat or covers in sight, he would be forced to sleep in the frigid cold. Chandler wrapped his arms tightly around himself and climbed on his bed, huddling in the hopes he could conserve heat and fighting to erase the images of his best friend, his sister's torment, from his mind.

But Douglas Urie wasn't about to allow him peace for that is when the true horror of his punishment began. Her screams suddenly blasted throughout his room and diminished what little silence remained. Blaring, loud, the same screams from Morrigan's whipping coming through the speaker of his intercom by the doorway. That fucker, that heartless abomination had recorded his little torture session with his daughter and subjected his adopted son in a reminder that her agony was his fault. Chandler pressed the palms of his hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes tightly, and releasing a yell of anguish. He prayed to any god it would end with however many minutes Douglas spent flogging her, but no....it was played on a continuous loop. All night long.

He didn't sleep a wink.

Chandler lost his will to fight against the goon that dragged him from his room the next morning and once again haphazardly tossed him into Douglas' awaiting office. And there was the laptop, sporting a new feed as Douglas made his grand entrance through the basement's door. The teen dragged himself over where the device sat, shooting his father a glare of pure hatred as the burner phone had been tossed in Morrigan's direction. "Don't do it, Mor. Don't let him get in your head like this." He shook his head slowly, watching the interaction on bated breath. Her sobbing cut through him like a dagger and sliced the male to his deepest core.

What happened next was a blur. Morrigan lunging forward for a knife, screams flying past her lips, in a despairing attempt to cause mortal wounds to her father. Chandler couldn't deny any celebration if she succeeded in killing him, but there are no happy endings for people like them. He released a cry of her name as his hands reached for the laptop, gripping the screen tightly and willing Morri's courage to defeat a villain. But stories prove time and again that villains sometimes win against the good. Chandler's hand flew to his mouth to stifle his cries, growing louder with each punch Morrigan was administered.

It seemed Morrigan had enough. Chandler sunk to the floor laptop still in hand, utilizing the desk's side to lean against exhaustingly. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't watch her suffer until she succumbed. A flicker of consideration washed over the young man, just save face and save his sister by giving up Julian. Provide Douglas the name and this would all be over. Before the thought disappeared as he knew it would, Morri beat him to the punch. His gaze flickered over her features in stunned silence. She gave a name, alright, but it wasn't Julian's. His best friend just condemned another to die for the man she loved.

Chandler sat there on the floor until somebody was sent again to bring him back to his room. He anticipated the bedroom's interior to remain changed again, but nothing was different. Instead of the freezing atmosphere, Douglas turned up the heat. Hotter than a sauna, hotter than a desert, it was sweltering. No one could last remaining in this place without going insane. Chandy wiped a hand across his forehead and watched as it came back covered in sweat. "I want you to die..." He breathed out, lifting his head and shouting to the heavens as he screamed his next statement, "Do you hear that, you prejudiced fucker? I want you to fucking die!" His legs suddenly gave out from under him, emotion overtaking Chandler for the first time. The tears, the suffering, the overwhelming pain, he just couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't be the strong one. But what choice did he have?

Chandler knew what needed to be done. For Morrigan and for Julian.

The day Morrigan returned from her coma, Douglas finally released Chandler from the confines of his room. The temperature was dropped to his normal degrees and he was given a small window to visit the girl. He stayed by her side, holding her hand, and feeling completely numb. A silent agreement between siblings was reached that in order to keep the secret and keep Julian safe, the relationship had to end.

Julian cornered him a week later after he returned to school, catching Chandler in the hallway before first period.

"Chandler!" He watched Julian dodged other students as he squeezed through the crowd before catching up to Chandler. "What the hell happened? I sent you and Morrigan a bunch of messages and you both just went radio silent." Julian adjusted the strap of his bag and sighed. "I'm getting worried. What's going on?"

"I'm afraid I'll be the one to tell you this, but the relationship's over, Julian." Chandler knew that wouldn't be much of a reason however brief it was, but the energy to care was no longer present. He was tired and felt himself cracking at the seams.

"What? No, no. no, you can't just say it's over when I should be hearing this from her." Julian stepped forward with confusion and hurt tainting his vocal tone. How was he expected to understand throwing aside over a year's worth of a relationship and it wasn't even coming from Morri? None of this was even remotely right. "You owe me an explanation."

Something snapped inside of Chandler that he hasn't ever encountered before: pure rage. He whipped around on his heel and stalked over to the man he spent too many days protecting for his sister, his tone slightly raising a pitch. "I owe you nothing." A few students walking past the pair gave them a weary glance, but he honestly could throw them two shits anymore. He was done playing nice, he can't be right now. If he wanted Julian gone, safe, Chandler had to hit where it stung most. "Okay, fine, you want an explanation? The only reason Morrigan breathed in your direction and wasted her time sleeping around with you was because she needed the distraction. Our father's shitty, she wanted something fun to do, and she was bored. She, Desmond, and myself thought it would be enjoyable entertainment wrapping around a pretty guy naïve enough to have his head filled with the notion of true love." Chandler stepped closer, heart sinking as Julian's expression swept nothing but devastation. "You're nothing, Julian. You aren't like us. You, dove, are as stupid as you are handsome: in abundance on both counts."

"Chandler," Julian whispered quietly, knowing what the other was trying to do and still believing it anyway. "Don't do this..."

"You're hopelessly oblivious, dove, truly gullible to think she actually loved you." Chandler nodded once in resolution, releasing a scoff as his gaze swept the other, "Forget about us, Julian. Forget me, forget Dezzie, forget Morrigan. Move on with your miserable life and find another girl who doesn't gag each moment she is forced to spend in your pathetic presence."

Chandler immediately turned around and walked away at a fast pace before Julian could offer a response, hearing the man repeatedly call his name and ignoring the pleas. A Urie does not relent in the face of begging, not even from his best friend's now ex boyfriend. Erasing Julian from their lives was the best option, it was as if he actually was dead.

As he continued down the hallway with nothing painted along his usual playful features, that poor Brian Edwards wasn't the only man sentenced to death. Douglas killed Chandler Fitzgerald, broke him, molded him until he created the embodiment of a dead man walking. If he was going to hell, then he would take Douglas down with him.

Chandler couldn't stay. As soon as he graduated, he was leaving for good and never coming back.

#self para: dead man walking #crooooooes #tw for pain and agony

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

calculated, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Some people would call you far too serious. Some would call you stuck-up. And some would call you a bitch. But to freshman Jeon Jungkook, you’re the head Calculus I TA noona  – and he’s determined to fuck you.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, pussy spanking, fingering, m-receiving oral, doggy, dirty talk); non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft instigator Jimin lol

--

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

-

"I think Jungkook likes you."

The lead of your mechanical pencil snapped suddenly. Stupid soft graphite. You glared at it, annoyed, and brushed the broken piece away to complete the equation. 

"Who?"

"I think he's taking the afternoon class."

You double-checked the last question and handed him his homework back. "Jimin, you used the wrong equation, here and here."

Park Jimin frowned, face falling when he saw all your corrections. Being one of your parents' friends' kids, your parents and his parents naturally asked you to help him out when he entered the same university as you. You pretty much figured the likelihood of Jimin speaking to you was zero, since he was a dance major and you were a graphics design major. You shrugged and agreed.

Except you forgot you were also the head Calculus I TA and Calculus I was a required course for all students. And, turns out, Jimin wasn't that great at math. That's why you were sitting on cushions at your coffee table in your apartment with Park Jimin, watching a music program as you checked his homework.

"Oh."

Jimin began to look over your arrows and circles. You never actually gave him the answer. He usually ended up forgetting a step in the middle and thus fucked the answer. Usually he caught on easily once you pointed it out. 

You stared at the television screen, listening to the latest hit. Not bad. Catchy. 

"I think I should tell you because he's kind of reckless," Jimin was saying.

You placed a hand under your head and took a sip of your tea, distracted by the cute MC with the blue hair. He had a cute smile. It reminded you of a bunny.

"Who?"

"Jeon Jungkook," Jimin snapped impatiently.

You raised an eyebrow and faced Jimin. "Oi. I'm correcting your homework here. I could just correct it tomorrow and hand it back to you with red marks instead," you threatened.

He pouted at you, his full lower lip sticking out. "Sorry, noona."

You sighed. "Don't call me that. Makes me feel ancient." You turned your body so you faced him as he scowled at his homework. "Okay, okay, I'm listening now. What did you want to say?"

Jimin put his pencil down immediately and began to chat like an excited gossiping auntie. Round brown eyes getting rounder, glad for a break from his math homework. You didn't want to get him started, but he was going to nag you incessantly until you let him talk.

"I think he sits in the back?" Jimin pondered. "Dark longish hair, wears a lot of black. Looks scary when he's thinking because his eyes go really wide and he furrows his brows."

You twisted your mouth to the side and thought. You only attended the class when they had quizzes or exams because during lectures the professor didn't need your help. Mostly you remembered people by their personal scores or their handwriting, because you graded everything as the head TA. Looking at people's faces wasn't really necessary, unless you were looking for cheating. 

"Can't recall. I remember his handwriting though. Not bad," you said, shrugging. "I think he's pretty highly ranked at the moment."

"I think he likes you."

You scoffed. "How did you come to that consensus?"

Jimin tapped his temple sagely. "Intuition."

"If only you used that intuition on Calculus."

He frowned at you, pouting again. You let out a puff of air, conceding.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Jimin scratched the back of his head. "Well, er... I'm just warning you."

"... Is he a serial killer or something?"

"No, no, no!" Jimin waved his hands on the air hurriedly. "He's really nice. But he can be kind of, uh... forward."

"How old is he?" you asked, glancing at the television for a moment as you took another long sip of your tea.

"Two years younger than me."

You choked. 

"What?" you squeaked between coughs. Jimin hurried over and patted your back as you struggled, becoming pink in the face. "The fuck? Tell him to find someone his own age."

"I did!" Jimin whined. "But he's stubborn."

You rolled your eyes. "You're warning me that I have to break a poor freshman's heart?"

"Kind of."

You rubbed your throat. "Hmph. Darn whippersnappers these days."

Jimin smacked your arm, laughing. "I thought you weren't ancient?"

"I am now knowing some kid is fantasizing about their fucking Calculus TA."

You had said your comment sarcastically. You fully expected Jimin to make some joke, but he froze up a little. You looked over to him. He looked somewhat guilty, like a lost puppy who got caught stealing food. You sighed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, I won't chew your friend's heart out. Finish your homework, so I don't drop you off too late. You have practice in the morning, yeah?"

"Y-yeah, thanks."

-

Forward, huh?

An understatement. 

You were sitting in one of the math department offices, laptop open, your drawing tablet in your lap, thinking. The conversation with Jimin happened about two days ago. In that time, you hadn't attended either morning or afternoon class yet, since it was only lectures. Not that it mattered, because lecture halls were massive. If this Jungkook kid sat in the back, then you probably wouldn't be able to see him anyway. At the moment, however, you were preoccupied with your assignment, to design a logo. Logo designing was difficult, especially since a school assignment didn't exactly have a real client attached to it to ask questions. 

Technically these were Calculus I office hours, but who attended office hours? Nobody.

Who attended any type of calculus office hours?

Yeah, exactly. 

You spent the time doing homework with the door open. You were the only TA that actually showed up for the office hours. Every other TA said it was a waste of time. It was. You still came through; in the off chance some poor kid decided her grade mattered. You felt bad since the actual professor wasn't very patient when people needed extra help. Also, technically you were the head TA, so you did have a bit more responsibility than the others.

Your black boots were perched on the desk as you sat back in your office chair, sketching a few ideas. If a member of the math department saw you, you would probably get in trouble. Thankfully, the math department was usually deserted. Math wasn't exactly the most social subject. 

You took a sip of your tea from your thermos, tapping your tablet pen on your black jean-covered thigh. 

"You look even better close-up, noona."

A clear, silvery, male voice cut through the silence. The voice came from the doorframe right in front of the desk. You frowned, slowly lifting your head from your tablet. How had you not heard him? Were you really that focused on your assignment?

Chucky black sneakers. Black cargo pants, slim fit. Distressed black sweater, hands casually in his pockets. Broad shoulders. Lightly tanned skin. Sharp jawline. A tiny mole under a mischievous smile. Your eyes narrowed as you made eye contact with those sparkling dark brown orbs. Long hair slicked back, with only a few wispy strands on his forehead. 

"Calculus I question?" was your response. 

His smile quirked a little higher. The young man didn't have a backpack with him. Didn't even have a piece of paper stuck under his arm. Wasn't even trying to pretend that he needed help.

"I have questions."

He didn't elaborate. You lowered your legs, placing your tablet on your laptop. 

"This is Calculus I office hours. For calculus questions only."

His eyes flickered to your laptop and tablet. Back to you. 

"Is this what the TAs should be doing during office hours?"

Suddenly, you could feel your pulse in your ears. Point taken.

"What do you want?"

He slid into the chair across from the desk, hands still in his pockets. Watching you carefully, still smiling thoughtfully. It should have been unnerving, but there was no malice in that smile. Maybe you were imagining it though, so you kept your guard up. 

"I'm Jeon Jungkook."

Yeah, I guessed, you thought wryly. "And my name is on the syllabus. What do you want?"

He tilted his head at you, studying your face. 

"How do you know Jimin-ssi?"

Isn't Jimin older than you, punk? "Our parents are friends."

He nodded slowly. He looked around the windowless office, at the three papers tacked to the wall – outdated notices – to the still open door, to the desk with your laptop, tablet, and backpack. Then to you, sitting back in the black office chair, eyebrow raised, hands half-in the sleeves of your gray flannel, cropped black sweater underneath. 

"I think you're beautiful, noona."

Your brain winced at the compliment and your hormones looked up from the abyss. Your brain scolded them to go back to their hidey-hole. You clicked your tongue. 

"I'm too old for you."

There was an ever-so-slight tick of his head. His eyes shifted downward and then flicked back up to you, almost shyly, if it wasn't for the small smirk dancing on his lips. 

"We both know such a mindset is outdated."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. The fuck? Your hormones peeked out again. Your brain was too distracted with trying to find a comeback to tell them to fuck off. You figured you better cut this off right now before it went too far. 

"This whole conversation is inappropriate," you said evenly, standing up from the chair and rolling it back. You walked around the desk and stood in front of it, balancing your ass against it. You crossed your arms over your breasts. "You should leave."

He slowly, slowly gazed up at you. Why did he look so satisfied? Your heart did a little three beat skip. Stop it. Keep it together. Jungkook got to his feet, hands still in his pockets. Then he pulled them out and pushed his sleeves up.

Oh?

Tattoos ran up his right arm, the beginnings of a sleeve. Ink black against light tan, flexed muscle. He was not a skinny pretty boy. You were so busy staring at his arms that you barely registered him placing them casually on either side of you, face right next to yours. Now you were staring down at his broad chest, at his black distressed sweater.

"Excuse me?" you snapped testily, lifting your head to look into his smug eyes. 

"I won't touch you," Jungkook murmured quietly. "Unless you ask me to."

This punk ass bitch.

You narrowed your eyes. "What makes you think I would?"

That small teasing smile came back. 

"Well, for one, you haven't actually told me you have absolutely no interest yet."

Your hormones prodded you excitedly. Your brain told them to shut up. Your eyes moved to the open door behind his head, looking into the empty hall, trying to keep a balanced, even tone. It came out a little sharper than you intended.

"Door's wide open."

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" Jungkook purred, breath on your cheek. 

You tried not to react even though your hormones were fucking losing it. "What about you?" you shot back sharply. 

You heard Jungkook chuckle. "Fuck no I'm not." Your heart jerked heading the crude word come out so daintily and casually from his lips. "I want to be seen with you. All the time. In every position." 

You finally tore your eyes from the open door to give him the side-eye. "Real big words there."

Jungkook smirked. "I'm giving you a chance to tell me no. It's taking everything in me not to bend you over this desk right now and fuck your brains out."

You sucked in a breath. Accidentally. Not on purpose. There's absolutely no way Jungkook would have noticed unless he was literally right next to you. Which he was. Shit. He leaned in closer, still not actually touching you. 

"You like that idea?" he breathed, the lust evident in his voice, not even trying to hide it. 

"I am not some easy bitch at the club, Jungkook. This is the fucking math department," you scolded, eye-level to the base of his neck, wanting very badly to make out with it.

Now it was his turn to inhale sharply. He pulled his head back, and now you were face-to-face with those dark, dark eyes, falling, falling, your body screaming at you to do more. And still you didn’t, torn between reason and instinct.

"I'm so pissed," he growled, breath against your lips. "That the first time I hear you say my name, I wasn't watching your pretty lips form it."

Those few strands brushed against his exposed forehead, framing his furrowed brow and those intense dark brown eyes, making you breathless, telling you that you should, even though the last shreds of reason were telling you, do not, do not, do not give in to Jeon Jungkook. 

"It's the middle of the damn day," you murmured.

"And you make me horny every second of every day," he groaned, so close now that his nose almost touched yours. "With your stem stare, your assertive stride, your well-spoken words, and your beautiful body that demands to be kissed, loved, fucked." He panted, shoulders shaking. "God, I want you under me so bad. You have no idea, noona."

Resolve? Hello, where are you?

You raised an eyebrow. "You think you're enough for me?"

His dark eyes gleamed. 

"I know I am."

Your eyes flickered to the open door, the vacant hall, feeling Jungkook's body heat hovering so close, so close to you, and then you shifted your eyes back to him. Your brain was screaming at you and your hormones bonked your brain silent. The words at the tip of your tongue came tumbling out, nothing to hold them back anymore. 

"Let's see."

And then you kissed him.

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate, his large hands leaving the desk, grabbing your waist, ramming his crotch into you. You gasped against his soft lips and he slid his tongue inside, playing with yours, moaning, kissing you hungrily. His fingers pressed into you through your clothes, strong, tight, unforgiving. Your eyes flew open, surprised at his eagerness. He retreated his tongue and nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it lightly. You shivered, feeling him lift you onto the desk, pushing your legs open with his hips, grinding against you. He kissed down your chin, lifting your head impatiently, moaning against your skin. Every gentle kiss a jolt to your system, contrasting with his rough hands kneading your waist, pulling you close against his firm body, the fucking desk cutting into your thighs, eyelids fluttering.

There was movement at the door.

You froze.

Jungkook’s lips latched onto your neck, sucking sharply. You choked back a wanton moan, seeing a familiar face. A familiar, plump smile with cute, lovely eyes. He waved a small hand at you and reached for the doorknob, locking it from the inside before winking at you and closing the door silently.

Park fucking Jimin.

That bas–

Your thought was sharply cut off by Jungkook nipping at your throat, hissing as he rolled his hips into your thigh, a distinct bulge pressing into you. He yanked down the front of your sweater, sucking on the space right between your collarbones. You whimpered and shuddered, wrapping a leg around his waist and hooking him towards you, hands finally leaving your chest and grabbing his, fingers getting caught in the holes of his sweater.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard already because you’re so fucking hot.”

You caught yourself against the desk, elbow slamming onto the wood. You winced. “I haven’t done shit,” you said, surprised to feel your lips slightly swollen.

Jungkook grinned. “You don’t have to. Just you below me is enough.”

You glared at him and he bent over the desk, grabbing the back of your head, pushing your face to his, kissing you again, stealing your breath. It was the perfect mix of force and desperation, leaving you yielding, back arching as he sucked on your tongue, bobbing his head up and down slightly to pull on it. You tried not to make noise – everything was already too noisy anyway – only crying out softly when he let you go. Now you were on your elbows with Jungkook towering over you, licking his lips, the spare strands now stuck to his exposed forehead. His eyes roamed over your body before landing back on your face. You gave him your best questioning look.

He chuckled darkly. “I want to rip all your clothes off, but something tells me you will be upset with me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because this is still the middle of the math department, let me remind you, Jungkook.” You huffed. “I don’t live here. Don’t get crazy.”

He grinned, leaning forward. “Say my name again, noona. God, let me watch your delicious lips speak my fucking name.”

You raised your eyebrows. Then you felt his hands on your jeans, undoing the button, making you jump. The zipper going down, down. He yanked at the seam, digging it into your already wet pussy, shoving your panties into your slit.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

Oh fuck. That sounded kind of pathetic.

He bit his lower lip, and yanked again.

“J-Jungkook, ah…” Your eyelids fluttered, trying to keep your strict demeanor.

“Fuck,” he hissed, firmly gripping the waistband of your jeans and pulling them down your ass, half-dragging your panties down. “You like that, noona? Do you want me to be rough with you?”

You prayed to the higher power that he would just take the damn hint and not make you say it. But Jungkook was dragging your panties back up, the thin black fabric being sucked into your folds and ass as he pulled them far too high. You gasped, trying not to look down, trying not to look at his face. But he grabbed your chin, dragging you back to him, making you open your glazed eyes, making you see his excited expression.

“Look at me, noona.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook held the front of your panties and pulled, hard. You had to choke back a moan, the fabric nearly ripping, rubbing harshly against your clit. You felt the squelch of you getting wetter, hearing it clearly as he yanked at it, stimulating your clit.

“Tell me you don’t like it, noona,” Jungkook whispered hotly, letting go of your chin. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

You spread your legs involuntarily, trying very hard not to make a fucking sound, but it was already obvious by your fists clenched against the desk, your widespread legs, and your pussy lips practically sucking your panties in, so much so that they nearly disappeared into you.

Jungkook snuck a glance down, gasping softly at your glistening pussy being tortured by your panties. He dropped to his knees and you had only one second to be confused before Jungkook’s tongue licked up your slit. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out, leaving your sounds limited to muffled whimpers as he lapped at your juices, groaning into you. Your entire lower body vibrated as he teased your covered clit, smushing the fabric into your deeper, rougher. Your hips strained, trying to hump his face but only digging your panties into you harder.

You removed your hand from your face, biting on your tongue to regain some semblance of thought so you fucking talk.

“T-take it off…” you gasped. You looked down, seeing his mischievous eyes above your quivering mound, licking his lips slowly, pink tongue tracing the contours of his mouth.

Jungkook raised his hand.

Smack!

This time you had to actually shove to knuckles into your mouth and mute your squeal as pain radiated through you, your pussy stinging. He slapped you again, right on your clit, hard, making your throw your head back and nearly hit the desk, hips raising to meet him. Oh, God. He pressed his finger against your aching clit, rubbing hard, standing up to bend over you, an impossibly strong presence as he pleasured you.

“Say it, noona,” he breathed. “Tell me you like getting your pussy spanked.”

He was rubbing your clit so hard that you felt your hips raise into it, eyes rolling back into your head.

“Say it or I’ll stop,” he warned menacingly, voice so low it ripped through you.

You tore your knuckles out of your mouth. “Don’t stop, please, fuck, Jungkook, I love it when you spank my clit, fuck, please, fuck.” The words came jumbling out in a rushed, half-panicked whisper, cut off by your sharp gasp as your orgasm clawed into you. You felt Jungkook slap his free hand over your mouth, shutting off your wail as your throbbed into his hand, turning into helpless whines as he spanked your clit hard and fast, accentuating your high with waves of sudden, aching pain. You pushed his hand away, pressing your head against the desk, gasping.

“Harder, please, Jungkook, harder.”

He was staring at your fucked-out face, massaging your throbbing pussy with his palm, coating his fingers with your cum. Your voice a thin moan, hips rutting into him.

“Believe me, I want to,” he snarled. “I want to so fucking bad, noona, but we’re already loud enough and you’re making a fucking mess.”

He pulled your panties down, nearly useless at this point and roughly shoved two fingers into you. You gasped, tongue lolling out and he took the chance to put two fingers of his free hand into your mouth, rubbing your wet tongue. You could feel every joint, the calluses of his fingertips as he thrust them into you, slopping, wet sounds accompanying his movements.

“Fuck, look at you, noona, sucking in my fingers, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jungkook murmured, centimeters away from your face. “I haven’t even fucked you with my cock yet and you’re already taking me so well.”

If you could think, you probably would have a snappy response, but Jungkook was stuffing his fingers into your mouth and scissoring the others inside your pussy, driving you insane. You made eye contact with Jungkook, him and his blown-out pupils, his lips trembling as he rammed his fingers into your holes faster, harder, sliding you up the wooden desk. Something inside you snapped and you squeezed your eyes shut, your body shaking as you came again, trying to yell, but unable to because Jungkook shoved his fingers into your throat, making you almost choke if it wasn’t for your own expertise. An embarrassing amount of liquid poured down his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. You clamped your legs shut, burying his hand, hips jerking as the aftershocks rippled through you.

You heard Jungkook swallow loudly, jaw tight. He slowly pulled his fingers out of both holes, strings of bodily fluid following him as he did so. Your shaking knees were barely holding your lower body up, jeans constricting your calves and your upper body way too fucking hot.

You laid back on the wood, trying to catch your breath. Was it a fucking cliché? Probably. You felt Jungkook lift himself off the desk and you closed your eyes, chest heaving. Of course. He was just going to leave you like this, tearing your secret out of you and then leaving to boast about how he turned the head Calculus I TA into a helpless, submissive puddle of goo without even actually fucking you. Why did you even bother–

You suddenly felt the desk creak and snapped your eyes open to Jungkook climbing onto it, straddling your chest, unzipping his pants right in front of your face. His slicked hair was becoming unfurled now, more and more dark strands falling down around his ears. His brow furrowed, eyes so wide and focused you weren’t even sure he was actually looking at you.

“Uh–”

He reached in his black boxer briefs impatiently and pulled out his thick, leaking cock. Your eyes widened and his found yours, glittering with arousal. A smear of pre-cum grazed your cheek as he adjusted his position to push the red, bulbous tip against your lips.

“I want to fuck you, noona, but you have to clean me up,” Jungkook breathed, gently asking you but also trying to greedily push his dick into your mouth.

You could say something, but somehow you concluded you were going to be muffled anyway, so you opened your mouth, tongue snaking out and licking the head. Flat, wide, and all over, coating your tongue with his pre-cum, moaning at his taste. Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip, hissing softly as he spread his legs even more, lowering himself slowly into your mouth. You licked around his cock before closing your lips and sucking, growing wet as he thrust his hips into your mouth, slow and steady, eyes closed. You reached up to hold onto his thighs, whimpering as you felt his muscular quads through his pants. He opened his eyes and looked down at you, sliding his cock in a little deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck, noona, so fucking sexy, taking my cock like that,” he groaned, reaching down and pushing your hair out of your eyes. His dark hair hung down, framing his face in shadow, making your pussy throb at the image. “Makes me want to fill all your holes up, makes me want to coat you with my cum and see you covered in it, messy and dirty with me.”

You couldn’t say anything so you just whined, nails digging into his covered thighs.

“You want that?” His voice dropped several octaves again. Your skin prickled hotly with every word. “You want me to jack off all over you and leave you a mess covered with my cum?”

You squeezed your thighs together, desperate for friction, now moving your head to suck harder, rubbing the tip fiercely against the back of your throat.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out. He tapped your hand hurriedly, eyelids fluttering. “S-stop, stop.” You whimpered, sadly looking up at him. He chuckled, rubbing your knuckles soothingly.

Look here you little shit, you can’t say all that dirty stuff and not expect me to be horny, your eyes were telling him.

“I know, I know,” he purred. “But I want to fuck your pussy and office hours are almost over…”

You glowered at him, but reluctantly unhinged your jaw, opening your lips. He slid out, gasping, hitting you in the chin and getting the front of your sweater wet.

“You’re a jerk,” you muttered as he climbed off you.

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry, noona.”

You shook your hair and reached into your backpack, pulling out a condom, only to turn around and see Jungkook pulling one out of his back pocket.

“Oh.” You blinked at him. “You’re prepared.”

Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew what I was coming for.”

A muscle in your brow twitched as he tucked his tongue in his cheek, grinning widely at you as he ripped it open and slid it on slowly, rolling it down his thick cock. His voice changed, dipping raspy and low.

“Turn around.”

Part of you wanted to fight, but then you spied the time. You rolled onto your stomach, sighing exaggeratedly as your legs tangled a bit in your jeans. You felt Jungkook’s presence behind you as he bent over your back, hand sliding over your lips and covering your mouth.

“Sigh all you want, noona,” he growled, chuckling as you shivered. “Just don’t scream when I’m fucking you.”

Your eyes widened as you felt the head press against your puffy pussy lips, pushing in forcefully, expanding your tight little hole as his cock entered you, his moan against your ear, your name dripping with lust. Both of you still mostly clothed, but his cock sliding deep, deep inside you, his teeth on your earlobe. Your walls throbbed around him, squeezing him. He gasped, jutting his hips experimentally into you. A stifled moan sneaked past his fingers, your tongue licking them lightly.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Nice and tight for me, bent over this desk.” He nipped at your ear, whispering softly as he began to fuck you. “What if someone hears you, whimpering for my cock, begging to be fucked?”

Your hands clenched into fists, eyes fluttering shut, feeling him pound you into the wood, deep and slow and far too perfect.

“Noona, what if someone sees you?” His voice like smoke, invading all your thoughts, threatening your dreams, cursing you with the feeling of his lips on your ear and his hips pounding your ass. “Proper, harsh, strict noona turning into a slut for this cock, bent over this desk and humping my hips so you can get this dick deeper inside you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and wiggled your ass against his cock. He thrust his hips harder into you, jerking you forcefully upwards, your thighs smacking against the desk. Light flickered in front of your closed eyelids and you opened them, seeing your phone screen glaring at you. A message from Jimin. Finish already! You struggled to say his name and Jungkook lifted his hand for a moment to hear your shaking breath.

“Jungkook,” you panted. “Time.”

He covered your mouth again. “You’re right,” he grunted, rolling his hips into you, biting back his moans as you clenched around him. The wet, slapping sounds became louder as he changed his angle, fucking you roughly into the table. It pushed your hips up and you clung onto the edge of the desk, moaning around his hand, tongue pressed flat against his palm as he fucked you with reckless abandon, beating a damn indent of the edge of the desk into your thighs. The dull ache was going to lead to a bruise, but you didn’t care, pushing your hips back to meet him. A choked wail vibrated in your throat as you came again, whole body lurching as he sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder, groaning as he came inside you, cock twitching and throbbing against your walls. You felt the condom expand, matched with Jungkook’s hiss as he pumped into you. You pulsed your pussy around him and he detached his mouth, whispering your name against your ear.

“You’re dirty, noona,” he rasped, the words so breathless they made you shiver. “I love it.”

You shakily reached up and peeled his hand from your mouth, gasping as he straightened to hold the condom and pull out of you. Fuck. Oh fuck. You scrambled for your phone, seeing Jimin’s text.

You better rush outta there, noona.

You heard the wet, peeling sound of Jungkook pulling the used condom off gingerly. You turned around, hissing at Jungkook before he threw it in the trash.

“Are you crazy?” you muttered, snatching it from him. “Someone will see.”

Jungkook blinked at you. “What else do I do with it?”

You glared at him and tied it up, grabbing some tissues and wrapping it inside. Then you shoved it in your backpack, along with your laptop, your tablet, the spare condom, and reaching over the desk to unplug your laptop’s AC adaptor so you could shove that in your bag too.

“Fuck, your ass is so sexy,” Jungkook marveled behind you.

“Jungkook, we have to get the fuck out of here, so pack your damn dick,” you ordered, yanking your jeans up. Squelch. You sucked in your lower lip in at the cold, uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties. You zipped your bag and checked around the desk to make sure you took everything. You grabbed your phone and shoved it in your back pocket, turning around to see Jungkook rezipping his pants. Thank God. You might have been tempted if he hadn’t listened to you. Then you remembered the two bits of condom wrapping on the floor and picked those up too, shoving them in your other pocket.

Jungkook smirked at you. “So thorough, noona.”

You scowled at him. Maybe he hadn’t been in this situation before, but you sure as hell have.

“Stay here for twenty seconds and then leave.”

Jungkook pouted at you. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“But I don’t even have your number.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ask Jimin. You two are in cahoots anyway.” You popped your head out, looking around. No one. You popped your head back in. “Also, you owe me new panties the next time I see your smug little face, you punk,” you added, tone irate.

He smirked at you; his long dark hair wispy around his playful eyes.

You gave him one last look before you tore your eyes away, rushing through every back stairway to get the hell out of there before someone could realize you just fucked a freshman during office hours, your slopping, torn-up panties reminding you with every step that you really needed Jeon Jungkook to fuck you again.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

[luc606]

An Autumn Morning

(by @luc606) Saeyoung feels like he doesn't deserve the life he's built, so you pull him out of it with warm fall drinks and some light yard work.

Saeyoung x MC (MC is referred to as "you" but never by name) 1649 words, FLUFF, a little sadness but not enough to call it angst, just domestic Saeyoung with domestic brother-in-law (to be) Saeran, takes place like a year after SE, roughly based on this ask

also technically goes for mystictober day one: favorite character

Saeyoung was not accustomed to paying attention to the changing seasons.

Before, there were only days, months, and years that were spent mostly in the bunker, the time passing carefully, but not precisely measured, like sand through an hourglass. Saeyoung was used to that kind of life, and once he met you, he had found new insecurity in how well that kind of life had seemed to fit him. Now that he was with you, finding his way into a normal life little by little, there were days where it was all he could do not to retreat back into his dark office and wait for you to inevitably get tired of acclimating him to being average.

Today was one of those days.

He’d woken up before the sun, though he could only tell this by the time programmed sun lamp you had asked him to build. He’d installed them all over the bunker, and it only somewhat made up for the complete lack of windows.

Inexplicably, you’d made the bunker almost cozy. Especially now, as summer turned to fall, you’d gently folded throw blankets over the back of the couch and bought seasonal candles for the kitchen and living room.

On days like this, these touches made Saeyoung’s heart ache. Couldn’t you see that this wasn’t right for you? His love deserved a sweet suburban house or a cheerful cottage with a bay window in the dining room, not a windowless bulletproof box that had once been home to daily illegal activity.

You stir next to him in bed.

“Saeyoung?”

On days like this, he doesn’t think he deserves that name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says, rolling over to face you. To make himself face you.

“You didn’t,” you say. And then after a pause, “Are you okay?”

Saeyoung knows that he should tell the truth, tell you that he’s having one of those days where he feels like he doesn’t belong in your light. He doesn’t want to, he wants to lie and say everything is okay.

He says nothing, but his hesitation is enough for you. You’ve spent three years with the man now, you know how to tell when he’s feeling this way.

“Baby,” you say, pulling him into you. “Go back to sleep.”

Despite himself, he does.

In the morning, when the sun emulating lamp has begun to turn subdued shades of orange and pink, he finds that he is alone in the bed. You’d let him sleep in, which he almost never does. He lays for a moment, feeling foggy, but soon the door opens to reveal you in your robe with two cups of coffee. He almost smiles, smelling the pumpkin spice creamer you’ve sweetened the coffees with.

“Good morning,” you greet him with a careful smile, handing him his sweet seasonal drink.

The coffee is in a set of matching mugs that had been an engagement gift from Jaehee. His is red and yours is pink, and there’s a curve in both of them that forms a heart when they’re placed together. He loves that you go out of your way to use these mugs more than any others you own.

Saeyoung takes the coffee from you and takes a sip, it’s warm and almost too sweet. He knows you put just a bit more sugar in his coffee because he likes it better that way, even if he should learn to drink it more plain.

“I hope you slept well,” you take a seat next to him on the bed. “We have some yard work to do.”

“Yard work?” he asks, his surprise coming out as a laugh.

Before, the land surrounding the bunker was unruly. The trees and tall grass camoflauged the entrance, so he’d never felt the need to trim the grass or leaves. Now, though, the yard – he had a yard now – was fully under the jurisdiction of his brother. At the recommendation of his therapist, Saeran had begun the project shortly after you’d moved in as a way to redirect anxious energy. He’d planted flowers and shrubs all around the bunker and had laid a garden path around the front leading around to a small herb and vegetable garden in the back. It was Saeran’s pride and joy, and Saeyoung had stayed mostly out of it. He’d only mowed the lawn once, and even then Saeran had complained about the lines he’d made with the mower not being straight.

“It’s fall,” you say, emphasizing this by raising your mug of pumpkin spice flavored coffee. “The yard is covered in leaves, so you should rake them.”

“Isn’t that Saeran’s job?” Saeyoung asks, incredulous. “I mean he never lets me do anything in the yard, I really shouldn’t–”

You cut him off, “I told him you’d do it for him, I’ll help.”

Saeyoung knows what you’re doing here, you’ve done it before. When he gets down, you’ve found that keeping him busy and out of his thoughts helps him overcome the feeling faster. But yard work? This was a new low.

“It’ll be fun!” you add, taking his silence as dissent.

Saeyoung sighs, but nods. Success.

You and Saeyoung finish your coffees in relative silence, you sit perched in your robe reading something off your phone while your fiancé shivers against the cool morning air, bundled in your large comforter as if it’s a shawl. When he finally finishes his coffee (you suspect he’s sipping extra slowly, putting off getting out of bed) you take the mug from him and tell him to get dressed. He makes no move to get up, but he’s miraculously clothed when you return from the kitchen.

He looks good, it’s not often that your nerdy Saeyoung looks like this – rugged, a little messy. He’s wearing jeans and an old red flannel with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He’s pushed his hair back, as he’s accustomed to wearing it now, but without any product, a few of his curls are stuck up in the air while a few fall back onto his forehead.

You kiss his cheek gently as you slip past him towards the closet and he offers a small smile.

“Give me just a second and I’ll be ready,” you say, already slipping off your robe in the closet entrance.

Saeyoung pretends he isn’t looking as you change into a pair of jeans.

“Can I wear this?” you ask, holding up a long-sleeve red t-shirt of Saeyoung’s that he normally wears to work out or clean.

“I’m surprised you’re asking,” he jokes.

You do usually steal his clothes without permission, he doesn’t ever mind.

You shrug. “You’re right there, I’m just being polite.”

He laughs, and his face turns just a bit pink.

Once you’re dressed, you take Saeyoung’s hand and pull him out the door, through the living room, and all the way out to the small garden shed he’d built for Saeran as a gift on the twins’ last birthday.

From the shed, in which Saeran has lined up every tool neatly on pegs along one wall, Saeyoung retrieves the rake.

“How are you supposed to help if there’s only one rake?” he asks you.

You laugh, “I’m here for moral and emotional support, of course.”

Saeyoung, feeling lighter already, whips the end of the rake towards you and gently taps your backside with the handle.

“Lazy~”

“Hey!” You laugh, lunging towards him and catching the rake in your hands and pulling your fiancé towards you with it. “Saeyoung!”

Saeyoung laughs easily, and you can feel the waves of his bad mood melting off. His moments of sadness, depression from a life’s worth of grief and anxiety pushed away for years, are fewer and further between now. He’s seen a therapist a few times, a colleague that Saeran’s therapist recommended, but most of his healing was done by seeing his brother survive and learn to thrive outside of the harsh conditions of their childhood and his time spent in Rika’s misguided care.

“And it’s not that much,” you say, “I’ll put all the leaves in Saeran’s mulch pile while you’re raking and we’ll be done in no time.”

You pull the rake towards yourself again, this time catching Saeyoung’s hip to steady him while bringing him in close.

“Are you feeling better?” You ask, voice low. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

Saeyoung startles, like he didn’t expect you to acknowledge out loud that he was feeling any kind of way at all, but quickly recovers before saying, “Yes, actually.”

He smiles as you pull him down into a gentle kiss, you feel him fail to keep the smile off his face as he kisses you back. His face is warm from the last little bit of summer sun that’s pouring down on you both.

“I love you,” you say, finally pulling away.

His eyes are intense as he pulls back to look at you.

“I love you too.”

☆

Later, after the fallen leaves have been relocated to Saeran’s compost and are no longer threatening to ruin the lawn, Saeran thanks his brother for raking the yard, not with words, but with a warm cup of hot chocolate and a soft grin.

Saeyoung’s heart soars when he sees that Saeran has made a cup for you, too. He thinks he’ll never get tired of seeing his two favorite people continue to love and accept one another as family. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

He finds himself in a completely different state now than when he had awoken this morning. He settles into the couch next to you, able to appreciate the cozy autumn decor that you’ve adorned the bunker with. He no longer feels like this place is stifling you, he understands that you’re grateful for the security the home provides you, and he feels grateful too.

#saeyoung x mc #saeyoung choi #mysme 707 #mm 707 #mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #saeran choi #saeyoung headcanons #saeyoung angst #mystic messenger saeyoung #707 x mc #secret ending #luc606 #tagging #mystictober2021 #bc saeyoung is my fave ❤️

[firstdegreefangirl]

56 and 60 from the most recent prompt list said by Tim to Lucy please?

What a way to break back into actual writing, not the mad-dash outline I’ve been plodding my way through. Thanks for the request, this was so much fun! Also, hey look! Fluff!

--

Tim has no idea how long he’s been sitting in roll call, but it feels like forever. He’d never be able to repeat a word of what Sergeant Grey is saying, though, because truth be told, he’s been distracted since the moment he sat down next to Harper.  

Lucy is sitting in front of him, across the aisle where she always is in the mornings. Or, rather, Lucy is slumped in front of him, shoulders drawn in and spine arched so far forward that she can’t be comfortable.

Even her ponytail looks less perky than usual.

And Tim has no idea why.

He’d dropped her off last night, after what he had thought was a pretty good date. When he pulled up out front, she’d leaned across the center of his truck and kissed him, whispered against his mouth that she’d invite him up, but Jackson is home and they haven’t told anyone they’re dating yet. She’d squeezed his hand before she slid out of the truck, and texted him good night not long after he got home.  

But sometime between now and then, something had obviously happened. Even when she’s dead-on-her-feet exhausted, Lucy looks more cheerful than she does right now. But whatever it is can’t have been serious enough for her to call out, or she wouldn’t be here. And if things were that bad, surely she’d have texted or called Tim.

Right?

Still, he can’t stop watching her out the corner of his eye, looking for any indication that she’s coming around on the day. She’s not leaning over to chat with Jackson or John, hardly writing anything down in her notebook - which means she’s definitely not doodling, not nodding along like she normally does as Grey recaps the overnight calls and suggests follow up points for today’s officers.  

The morning briefing is winding down, he can tell, and before long, Grey is reminding everyone to stay safe and the officers around Tim start migrating toward the armory and the garage.

Lucy stands up too, a moment after everyone else, but hesitates before she takes a step. She looks around, like she’s trying to orient herself, then hides a yawn in the side of her fist.  

The meeting room is almost empty now, so Tim takes the risk that he might look like a training officer who cares about his rookie after her training ends and strides across the room.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stopping just close enough that he can rest his hand on Lucy’s shoulder without drawing too much attention. “You OK?”  

“Hmm?” Lucy doesn’t startle, but looks up at him. Confusion and surprise are written across her face. “Yeah, fine.”  

“Nope,” Tim shakes his head. “I know you better than that, Boot. If you were really ‘fine,’ you’d say you were ‘great’ or ‘incredible’ or ‘amazing.’ All of which, by the way, are true. But what’s going on?” Lucy doesn’t say anything, so Tim tries again. “C’mon, tell me what’s wrong.”  

Lucy sighs, swaying slightly closer to Tim, like she’s being drawn into his orbit.  

“I don’t know,” She crosses her arms, toying with the edge of her shirtsleeve. Tim can tell she’s not done explaining yet, gives her a moment to gather her thoughts without his interruption. “It was just a bad morning, I think.

“My phone didn’t go off, so the alarm clock woke me up, 10 minutes late. Then there wasn’t enough hot water for my shower, so I had to rinse my hair after it went all icy. And I poured my coffee, but there wasn’t enough of the good creamer for my entire cup. I found some crappy freebie single to make it drinkable, but it wasn’t as good, and I was already running late. I couldn’t find matching socks, my keys got lost in the couch cushions, it was just …” she trails off and sighs again. “It’s been a really long day, and it’s not even 9 a.m.”

Lucy shifts her footing, pitches herself sideways until her shoulder is resting against the front of Tim’s uniform. From most angles, it’d be hard to tell exactly how close they’re standing, and there are only a couple officers still lingering, so Tim lets her lean for a moment, brings his own hand up to rest on her waist, right above her duty belt.  

“I’m sorry,” he says into the mere inches of space between them. It’s not good enough, not even close to everything he wants to say. But it’s the closest he can come at work, far more IA-appropriate than come over and use my shower. I’ll wake you up, and make your coffee, and find your socks, and drive us both to work so your keys won’t matter.

When Lucy stands upright again, she trails behind Tim to the armory, signs for her duty bag and nods when Officer Ramirez tells her Jackson already checked out their shop keys for the day. She follows him again after, doesn’t seem to notice that he’s not walking toward the garage. He turns into the copy room, tiny and windowless, far enough from the bullpen that they’re more likely to escape notice, and Lucy almost walks into him before she realizes he’s stopped.

“Tim?” Lucy sidesteps until she’s facing him, and he nudges his foot forward to knock their toes together.

“You look like you could use a hug,” he glances around the room. “I thought this might be better than calling it out in front of our coworkers, but you look like you could use a hug.”

He opens his arms and Lucy’s bag drops to the floor with a solid thump before she drops herself into his chest. Tim’s arms find purchase around her waist, and even through his vest he can feel the way her fingers are twisting into the back of his shirt.  

They won’t have long here, he knows. They can only make excuses for so long, say there was a line for the bathroom or they had to wait around for car keys. But with every passing second, he can feel the tension melting out of Lucy’s shoulders and vows to hold her for just a moment longer.  

And he makes a note in the back of his mind to talk to her when she’s a little less stressed, tell her everything that’s running through his mind right now.  

Maybe next time, he won’t have to hide to hug her.

#katie writes #kw21 #katie answers #the rookie #chenford #tim bradford x lucy chen #lucy chen x tim bradford #lucy chen #tim bradford #prompt fill #anon love #anonymous

[narrators-journal]

Life after the fact

CW: mentions of some nasty stuff related to kids.

First part: Here

For the next few days you were a mess. Between the morning sickness and the guilt of having murdered someone, you were throwing up every bit of food or water you tried to digest, every shadow and small noise in your crappy, dirt cheap apartment at night sent you into a break down, sickened more with fear and the force of your sobs when you got overwhelmed. You never felt like you could relax, everything was nerve-wracking, and especially when you went outside. However, as the weeks passed, you got a handle on your fears. You weren't exactly okay, but you forced yourself to adjust and move on as best you could. As if the paranoia wasn't enough, you also had to deal with being pregnant on your own now. Oh god, I should've just stayed with Illumi! What the hell am I supposed to do about this whole thing?! You thought one night as you sat in your windowless bathroom, curled around the toilet, vomitting from the nerves, nausea, and violent sobbing, I wish I could just go back...apologize and just go back to the way things were. you lamented as you sucked in shakey, cold breaths that burnt your throat. It wasn't like you'd planned this far ahead, your escape attempt was a heat of the moment thing, fuelled by the fear of what might happen after you gave birth and the gut feeling that your partner would doom your child to a life akin to his own, which was definitely not a normal, healthy, or happy one. So, now you were left to suffer the last, stubborn thrashes of winter alone, in a crappy little apartment with walls so thin you could feel the last icy wind of winter when it blew, struggling with pregnancy symptoms and relentless paranoia of what will happen if or when Illumi finds you. After that night, you decided it was best to do what you could to lessen your stress, but that was easier said then done. For one, no matter the steps you took to ensure your safety, taking jobs great distances from where you live, whipping up a fake identity to use for work, limiting how often you went out, you could never fully convince yourself that you were safe from the Zoldyck family. Another thing that stopped you was your financial situation. You managed to nab a bit of cash from the car you'd stolen from the butler, using most of it on a cheap car, but, while a reasonable amount still, you still ended up taking up a job as a maid-for-hire of sorts, and usually your employers would tip you terrifically when they figured out you were pregnant, but with the gas bill, food, and the sketchy amount of rent you had to pay, you had little to nothing left to save for a better place or the baby. Finally, you realized after looking into it at one of your employer's homes during your break, that you were too far along in your pregnancy for termination, since at that point you were somewhere in your fourth month, so that left you with almost no other option than to find a way to give birth. After that, you just settled for having the child at home to avoid the paper trail a doctor's office would need and than leaving the baby at a church. They'll take the kid in and put it into foster care, which is a safer gamble than the Zoldycks. You thought, wiping the beginnings of tears from your eyes as you drove to the day's job. For the remainder of the day, you focused on your work, cleaning up toys, doing and folding laundry, making beds, the usual duties for this particular household, and did your best to not think about your past. That is, until you heard someone knock on the door while you were upstairs mopping the bathroom. The sound instantly sent ice down your spine. It felt as if the world skipped a beat in time with your heart, but at another knock, you took a deep breath and inched towards the distant door. Your heart thundered in your chest so hard that it hurt, but you picked your way down, staying away from the windows and doing your best to move stealthily with the slowly growing bump of your stomach until you could look out of the front door's peep hole. Thank the heavens it was simply your employer, a neatly dressed, glasses clad woman who you'd heard was a lawyer or CEO of some sort, not an assassin. So, just as she gave a third, more impatient knock, you opened the door,             "I'm so sorry ma'am! I couldn't move too quickly to get to the door sooner," you said, not meaning to sound near hysterics, but at least that made you sound super apologetic as the woman huffed in annoyance,             "It's fine, I just had my entire day upheaved." she said, walking in and you swiftly shut the door, not thinking much of the figure you saw standing at the roadside from the corner of your eye, she commonly had other helpers here when you were, it was likely just a gardener or someone to bring in her bags. "First, I burn myself with coffee at 6 am this morning, than I have to drive three damned hours to the airport just to find out my business trip was cancelled because the client decided to cut ties with my work! Ugh, don't get me started on tr-" The woman paused her ranting and hair adjustments suddenly, looking at you with concern and confusion on her dark-skinned face, "Are you alright, dear? Why are you crying?" Her voice was gentle, all annoyance gone when she'd realized you were upset, but it still made you jump and feel a small spark of guilt at the show of vulnerability, something you'd been fighting to repress. But your emotions had been so unpredictable recently, it only made sense that you failed.            "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me," you sniffed, scrubbing at your tears as she put a reassuring hand on your back and led you to a chair, letting you sit down,            "Don't worry about it, I just thought I was the one to upset you. Are you sure you're alright?" You nodded as she looked you over, looking so parental and compassionate, it made your heart hurt. And just like that, even more tears were falling onto your clothes as a sharp knife of loneliness cut through you. You did your best to at least slow the streams of tears, but seeing this woman you hardly knew be so motherly and understanding reminded you of your own mother, or maybe those times Kikyo had helped you through the beginnings of morning sickness or nausea. Either way, your boss' actions hit a chord and now you were trying not to bawl while she offered you tissues and talked you down from the hormonal extreme.          "I see now, must be the pregnancy talking." she laughed a little, "when I was expecting my eldest, the mood swings never really left, and just about anything would set me off. I remember one time, my husband had made me breakfast and I ended up sobbing over it for a good five minutes while he was just mortified." she said, giving you a comforting smile when you weakly laughed. Finally, when you were past the violent sobs, your boss helped you up and led you to the kitchen so you could splash some water on your face and she could get you some tea to help you relax. Once you were settled down at the table, warm cup of tea between your hands, your boss sat at the table with you and let you take a few sips before asking,           "So, do you have any plans set for the baby?" she asked, and you felt her warm eyes drawing out all of your issues. You started out pretty vague, admitting you weren't really sure of what to do, but that soon led to you going into detail about how you didn't think you'd be keeping the child and probably putting them up for adoption since you couldn't afford them. You told her that you felt so bad for the decision, but you didn't want to raise your child in poverty or worsen their quality of life in general, which your boss understood, laying her dark hand on yours soothingly as you spoke. For the next hour or so, you sat with the woman and she helped you through all of your options. You told her that the father of the child wasn't the best, so she explained good ways to limit contact and how to keep track of every instance of neglect, abuse, or anything of the sort just in case things required lawyers and courts. By the time you'd left her home for the day, you were feeling much better about your situation, and while your plans to put the baby up for adoption hadn't changed, you were much more confident in the steps to go about it. You kept that job for two or three more trips, telling your boss of your plans to stop after that. She understood perfectly and made sure your pay was doubled,           "Pretty soon you'll come up on being six months, you won't be able to do a lot in your third trimester." she pointed out after you refused to accept her money, but that wasn't the only kind thing she did for you. No, on your second to last job with her family she had basically spun you around at the door and herded you out to her car. "I understand you're trying to keep as low a profile as possible, but I can't in good conscious not have that child checked on." she told you as she drove you to a check up, patting your hand and just letting you bawl, but she refused to let you apologize for her helping. In fact, when you thought back on the drive after the appointment, she seemed somewhat sad, but you couldn't exactly place why and on the drive back you didn't want to ask and open an old wound. So, you simply didn't say anything about it and went home that night with knowledge that so far your baby seemed fine, and a tip from your boss to find some time to relax more, "Make sure to destress as best you can, it's good for your mental health and the baby." she advised, as motherly as ever. So, you decided on your drive home to give that advice a shot. At least once. So, after your last job with that family, while spring time was beginning to really settle in outside, leaving a crisp but fresh feeling night in the wake of a lukewarm day, you had borrowed a book from a neighbor and ran yourself a warm bath to hopefully relax in, even if you likely wouldn't be able to get out of it super easily when bedtime rolled around. Despite that fact, sinking into the warm water felt like heaven to your aching back, breasts, and hips. So, you relaxed in the water for a long while, two hours or so, just reading the book and occasionally putting your hand on your belly to feel the baby kick. The only thing that could've made the night better was if you had some scented candles and maybe a shoulder rub, but you were content with settling for this. All around, the night was near perfect, and that was somewhat because you refused to let your anxiety at the little creaks of your floor or the sounds of your neighbors opening their own doors in the ratty old hall destroy your good time. Eventually, you did get out of the cooled water with some work and got dressed in your comfiest clothes before going to bed, feeling rather happy and relaxed, and thus falling asleep rather quickly. That night, you had quite the weird dream. You weren't a stranger to nightmares about Illumi or the Zoldycks, but this dream was much more melancholy. At the start, it was pretty normal, a nonsensical flurry of dream-logic-fuelled, stream of consciousness, but than things got a bit easier to follow, and the dream took a turn from non-sense, to a bittersweet dream of laying in bed with Illumi again, letting him feel your belly and generally being happy with an undertone of 'something's off' to it. When you woke up the next day you were hit with a tsunami of yearning for that scenario, or any scenario that meant you got cuddled and comforted, and didn't feel so crushingly alone. For the twentieth time since the beginning of the month, you thought of returning to the Zoldyck estate, or at least making it easier for your fiance to find you, but than your common sense kicked in to stomp out that fantasy. No! If I go back my life will be more than just miserable boredom and restrictions. It'll become worse than hell! Illumi will be pissed beyond belief and will probably do something extreme to me! Your fearful inner voice had a point, Illumi had already threatened you when you'd asked to go out without him that day, he'd undoubtedly do worse to you for not only trying to run, but staying gone for so long and putting your baby under so much stress. Oh god, what would he do if I miscarry? The mere thought of his reaction was enough to settle the debate. You'd stay gone. You'd put up with the apartment that smelled of wet dogs and smoke, the paper thin walls, the exorbitant rent, you'd leave your baby at a church once they were born, and you'd go off the grid. If you could help it, you'd never go back to face Illumi and his family.

#Illumi x reader #sequel #outrunning obsessions #hxh #hunter x hunter #x reader #sequelette #Illumi zoldyck #fanfiction #quotev

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

What drove this country crazy after the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on 9/11? Was it how vulnerable we had been shown to be, that a group of 19 men armed with nothing more than box-cutters could bring the entire country to a halt? Was it that the attack was aimed primarily against innocent civilians, with nearly 3,000 killed at the Twin Towers alone? Was it that with the 19 hijackers dead in the suicidal attacks, we didn't seem to have anyone to retaliate against?  Was it that we had no grasp whatsoever on understanding why our country, the freest and most democratic ever, was hated so much that they would attack us?

I remember how disconnected things felt for days, even weeks, after the attacks. Travelers outside the country didn't have a way to get home because flights had been canceled. People stranded in cities they were visiting within the country couldn't find cars to rent, there were so many trying to get home. Everyone seemed to feel a need to gather with families and friends and hunker down, as if another attack could come at any moment.

The country's leadership was frozen, stunned. Remember the photos of George W. Bush as an aide leaned over his shoulder and whispered the news into his ear? He was the president of the United States, and he looked scared to death. In fact, he was rushed from the school he was visiting in Florida to Air Force One, and his plane took off on what amounted to a flight to nowhere as his administration tried to pull itself together and decide how they would respond. It wasn't until hours later that Air Force One landed at Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana and Bush hurriedly addressed the press in a windowless conference room, vowing to "hunt down and punish those responsible for these cowardly acts." Three days would pass before the president was flown to New York to appear atop the rubble of the World Trade Center at what became known as Ground Zero to take a bullhorn and make the pledge that would launch the country on a trajectory that has yet to change: "I can hear you!" he shouted to the workers at the site, "The rest of the world hears you! And the people — and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!"

A collective madness ensued. A great scrambling began to protect us against … well, against what? Box-cutters first and foremost, it seemed, as a new regime of inspections began at airports everywhere. The initial panic over the hijacked flights would lead to the establishment of the Transportation Security Administration and the Department of Homeland Security, a kind of domestic department of defense which proceeded to put us on what amounted to a wartime footing within our own country that persists even today. How many times have you had to throw a set of fingernail clippers into a bin at airport security because a TSA agent was defending us from terrorism? How about removing your shoes because a lone lunatic made an unsuccessful attempt to blow up an airplane with a "shoe bomb"?

The entire paranoid regimen under which we still live 20 years later grew out of a supposed "war on terror" begun after 9/11 that has never ended. It took a decade to find and kill the actual terrorist who ordered the attacks on 9/11, but in the meantime two shooting wars were launched, only one of which had even the slightest connection to the terrorists who attacked us. There was an elemental problem: The war on terror wasn't against an enemy, it was against an idea, and ideas don't die when you hit them with bombs and bullets.

And so, without a readily definable enemy who could be seen and shot and killed and defeated, which is what wars are usually for, lies were substituted. We were buried with lies, and not just any lies. They had to justify the movement of hundreds of thousands of troops and the expenditure of trillions of dollars in treasure and the loss of thousands more American lives than died on 9/11 and countless more lives — enemies, civilians and, my goodness gracious, even a few real flesh and blood terrorists.

Sept. 11, 2001, was when the Big Lie was born. Or should we say, Big Lies, because they came fast and furious. By now they are known to be so completely without any basis in reality, so wholly bogus, that they hardly bear recounting. Weapons of mass destruction? Connections between Iraq and its government and leaders and the terrorists who attacked us on 9/11? Ha!

And then came new Big Lies to support the earlier Big Lies: that we were "winning" the war on terror. How many times were we reassured that all those lives and all those dollars were not being pissed away for nothing? How many times were we reassured that we were rebuilding the countries that hadn't needed rebuilding until we attacked them? How many times were we told of the miraculous training of the Iraqi and Afghan armies? They even invented a new word that I never learned in the classes I took in military history at West Point, a word to describe the magic bullet that was going to win both wars: the surge. If only we sent 10,000 or 20,000 or 30,000 or 50,000 more troops, we could  win the mythical war on terror.

"Shock and awe" was a lie. "Taking Baghdad was a lie. The army of Iraq just went away. The "surge," each and every one of them, was a lie. "Winning" was a lie, every single time the word was used. Every. Single. Time. The Afghan army was a lie. It didn't even bother surrendering to the Taliban. It just went … poof. The Afghan "government" was a lie. It too went poof. The Iraqi government is a lie. Everything we have done to win the war on terror for two decades, 20 long years, has been a lie. We wasted trillions of dollars that could have been spent to, I don't know, feed hungry children in Arkansas? Pay for health care for poor families? Send kids to college? Reduce our dependence on fossil fuels and save our planet?

We wasted all those lives, American and Afghan and Iraqi and German and Australian and Polish and every other soldier from every other NATO country who died fighting "terror." And we killed hundreds of thousands of Afghan and Iraqi people for nothing.

For nothing.

The biggest Big Lie of them all was that it had meaning, that we accomplished something, that we somehow won the war on terror. Terror hasn't gone away. Hell, we're growing it ourselves now, right here at home.

I'll tell you another war we lost, maybe even a bigger and more important war than the war on terror. We lost the war on truth. And we were warned. Oh yes, we were warned. Take Donald Trump's first Big Lie right after 9/11 as just one example. He claimed — I hope you're sitting down for this — that he could see from his office window in Trump Tower crowds of Muslims across the Hudson River, several miles away, on the roofs of buildings in Jersey City, cheering as the World Trade Center fell.

Remember that one? It was such a patently outrageous lie that it zoomed right past without anyone noticing as the rest of the Big Lies hit one after another.

But Trump got away with it, and he learned from it. Oh, yes. He learned how the Big Lie worked. He learned from watching Bush get away with lying about WMDs, and he learned from the Big Lies that we were winning in Iraq and Afghanistan. So he started trying out other Big Lies of his own, like the one about how Barack Obama wasn't a citizen of the United States, that he had a fake birth certificate, that he was a "secret Muslim." Remember when Trump was all over the TV for days and days claiming that he had sent detectives to Hawaii? All we had to do was wait and he was going to reveal the "truth" about Obama.

He got away with his "birther" Big Lie, and he learned something that he has used ever since, something that helped him drive us into the ditch of the pandemic he lied about for a year, something that has helped him transform an entire political party, the Republican Party, from one of two normal political parties in this country into an authoritarian cult.

He learned that if he told Big Lies that were big enough, and if he repeated them enough times, that he could get away with it, just like Bush got away with lying about WMDs to get us into Iraq. And his party, the Republican Party, learned right along with him. Look at what they are doing right this minute about the insurrection he incited against the Congress of the United States in his naked attempt to overturn the election he lost. Donald Trump and the Republican Party are on a campaign to deny that it happened. They are trying to make a case that it wasn't Trump supporters who attacked the Capitol, it was somebody else, and those who were arrested are political prisoners facing false charges … and on and on and on.

The legacy 9/11 has left us is that there is no common set of facts we can agree on about anything: Not about the COVID pandemic and masks and vaccines; not about the climate change that has killed hundreds and left town after town burned to the ground or under water and destroyed by tornadoes and hurricanes. We cannot agree that votes counted amount to elections won or lost.  We cannot even agree on the common good of vaccines that will save us, that science is worth studying, that learned experts are worth listening to.

The lies that followed 9/11 have torn us apart as a nation and put our democracy in peril. That's our legacy: Lies are now considered by an entire political party to be legitimate political currency. A man who has told so many lies we have lost count of them is now a legitimate political figure supported for the highest office of the land by one of our two political parties.

Lies began tearing us apart after the attacks on 9/11, and we have not regained our footing as a nation. The question hanging over us now is whether we ever will.

Lucian Truscott

#terrorism #articles #Lucian Truscott #Big Lie #Salon #9/11 #War on Terror

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 10: Trapped

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Implied Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~1375

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: References to canonical character death. Time loop (ish?). ANBU Iruka. A character believes momentarily that they are hallucinating.

A/N: *Taps fic* This baby can hold so many bad tropes. And I'm okay with that. Also, I'm aware of the past-tense/present-tense change and I did it on purpose. What purpose? Your guess is as good as mine.

~

Kakashi woke up calm, rested, and hungry. He went to the sink and started the faucet, then tilted his head and turned it back off. Why did I… I didn’t dream of Rin, everything’s okay.

He dressed, locked up, and went out to wander the village.

…

Kakashi woke up calm and hungry, but feeling like he could have slept another few hours. He went to the sink and turned on the faucet but… no, everything’s okay.

He dressed, locked up, and took to the roofs to find some breakfast.

…

Kakashi woke up wondering why he couldn’t remember what he did yesterday. He looked around his apartment and his eyes caught on the sink, where he got the urge to wash his hands but—

He dressed, found a granola bar for breakfast, and lounged on his bed to read.

…

Something is wrong. Kakashi wakes up and doesn’t remember going to bed. Hell, he doesn’t remember most of what happened the past few weeks.

He doesn’t stop to lock up, just hits the roofs and heads for the Hokage Tower. The windows are open in Tsunade’s office, so he slips in.

“What is it, brat?” The Hokage didn’t even look up from her work.

“I need a mission.”

“Another time,” she waves him away. “Go enjoy the village. You don’t get to do that much, do you?”

Kakashi turns around to leave, more suspicious than when he arrived.

…

He wakes up back in his apartment and is certain he’s stuck in a genjutsu. He can’t remember anything, only that he’s calm and relaxed but also has the desperate urge to wash blood off his hand. He folds his hands together and mutters, “Kai,” but nothing changes.

Kakashi gets dressed and leaves. He has to figure this out somehow.

On his walk around the village, Gai catches his attention. “Rival! You owe me a challenge!”

Normally he would humor him, but… “Later, Gai, I promise,” Kakashi waves at him and grimaces apologetically. “I have a puzzle to figure out.”

“I shall find my own riddle to solve then! And if you solve yours first, I will—”

“That’s great. Hey, actually, before you leave,” Kakashi wanders closer to Gai and tries not to fidget, “could you do me a favor?”

“Anything for you, Esteemed—”

“Break the genjutsu I’m under,” he says, finally holding out a hand.

Gai looks down at his hand, then back up to his face, and then begins laughing. “Your sense of humor is so hip and cool,” he declares, and then turns and walks away.

…

Kakashi wakes up and groans. He can’t remember what happened yesterday, or any of the days before. He doesn’t have a concussion and anyway, hasn’t been out of the village recently enough to have gotten one.

Something niggles at his mind, that’s not right, but he gets up and focuses on the faucet. Why is he focussing on the…?

He goes out to wander.

It takes him most of the day to realize that he doesn’t recognize anyone in the village, even though they all smile and wave—and isn’t that odd in itself? Most people avoid him, either due to his reputation or Icha Icha. But today he almost seems popular. It’s unnerving and he’s not fond of having so many eyes on him.

“There’s a seal.”

Kakashi looks around for the voice, for whoever said that, but he is in a civilian district and no one is having a conversation about seals. He knows that voice but he can’t put a name to it.

“As we thought. Can you remove it?”

A different voice this time, one he’s still familiar with, and Kakashi looks around carefully but still can’t—

…

Kakashi wakes up calm and well rested, but it quickly fades. He’s still in bed and he hears voices murmuring around him, discussing a seal, vitals, genjutsu—

He looks down at his hand and sees blood. He rushes to the sink, pulls down his mask, and heaves. After, he rinses vomit down the drain and washes his hands for an hour.

He sits down on the floor and brings one knee up to his chest. The room has changed; he's not in his apartment anymore, but a small windowless white room. He looks down at himself and finds his uniform gone, replaced by white hospital scrubs.

He can’t smell anything, can’t hear anything besides his pulse in his chest. The room is bright and too clean.

How did the blood get on his hand? How did he wash it off; there’s no sink in here.

“I need a little more time.”

Kakashi perks up at the sound, but there’s no one else here. He sighs; he’s been in solitary for long enough that he’s beginning to hallucinate. At least he’s not hungry.

“He might not have more time.”

“Then find a way to give him some!”

“How—”

…

“I’ve got it. Careful, now, he could be aggressive coming out.”

…

Kakashi blinks and he’s in a cave, he’s in his apartment, he’s in the white room; back in the cave. It’s fuzzy, but he can focus on the pressure on his shoulders holding him down. He’s kneeling, his hands in his lap, and around him is a team of ANBU. His thighs ache. Where’s his shirt? Where’s his mask?

“Senpai? Are you with us?” Tenzō is on one knee in front of him, still behind the Cat mask.

“There may still be lingering effects,” Owl mutters. They’re turned to watch the rest of the cave; Kakashi's grateful Owl is giving him the privacy they can. “If he can move, we should leave.”

Kakashi can’t find the energy to speak. He feels like he's gone a week—or more, maybe—without proper sleep.

“Fox, how’s the removal coming?” Tenzō asks.

“Frustratingly fascinating,” comes the voice from behind him. Startled, Kakashi turns his head to look over his shoulder, but two fingers to his chin keep him facing forward. “Sorry, Hatake-san, but I had to remove my mask earlier. I can’t have you knowing, can I?”

But he does know. He knows that voice. And when they get back to Konoha, he’s going to corner Iruka and ask when he tested for tokujō and enlisted in ANBU.

“Can you do it on the road?” Owl asks.

“It’s still linked to this space,” Fox-Iruka responds. “Five minutes.”

Tenzō sighs. “We’ll give you what we can.”

Kakashi’s awareness is returning to him in bursts, and indeed he can feel the seal drawn on his back and the fresh ink drawn over it. Of course Iruka would have made tokujō based on his fūinjutsu; and of course ANBU would have snatched him up as soon as possible after that.

“Hatake-san,” Fox mutters. His breath is inches from Kakashi’s shoulders. He fights the chill. “I’m going to release this now. Based on how the seal read, you may feel a discharge of chakra or your own may flare up.”

Kakashi nods. He glares at Tenzō and tries to tell him don’t let Iruka get hurt without moving. Tenzō, bless him, gives him a subtle nod back.

Iruka puts his palm in between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, then pulses his chakra and says, “Kai,” at the same time. He can feel the seal shatter across his chakra and he doesn’t hold back the wince. But there’s no discharge nor a flare, and so Kakashi is left breathing hard and remembering the weeks he spent in the genjutsu—weeks, days, hours… oh, hours in real time, though it felt like weeks.

He hears the shifting of porcelain behind him, and turns to see Fox packing up his ink and brush into a storage scroll. “Ir—Fox,” Kakashi says, and it’s the first thing he’s been able to say since he was sealed. Iruka looks over at him. “Thank you.”

Fox shakes his head. “Cat and Owl found you. I’m just here for the seal.”

“Still,” Kakashi turns to the others and nods. “Thanks.”

Tenzō hands him a shirt—one of his own, with a high neck he can pull all the way up and over his face. Kakashi dresses and stands, letting Tenzō lead the way out of the cave, Fox and Owl taking up positions at the back.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump10 #trapped #fanfic #hatake kakashi #my writing

[princess-of-riviaa]

Meet Me, Love Me chapter 2: daddys_pr1ncess

Chapter 1: The Lieutenant

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Erin)

Series Summary: After meeting a woman on the dating site Meet Me, Love Me, Walter finds himself falling into a messy web of lies, deceit, and heartbreak.

Chapter Summary: Erin does her best to stay professional around Lieutenant Marshall, which doesn’t last for very long.

Warning(s): masturbating, spanking, slight angst

Word Count: 2,488

“Valdez, you’re with Lieutenant Marshall today,” Officer Romero says before continuing down her list of every intern’s daily task.

Erin’s eyes pop. Today is her first day of field training. She’ll get to be front and center to all the action, which is the entire reason she signed up to be an intern in the first place. She’s been looking forward to this day for weeks. But why are they sending her out with a lieutenant instead of a cop with a lower position and less important things to do? And why, of all people, did it have to Walter she’s paired up with?

“You’re the guy I’ve been sexting for the last month,” she’d said that day in the restaurant as she realized that Lieutenant Walter Marshall was the.lieutenant, AKA the man she’d been calling daddy for the last three weeks. She’d never wished to be swallowed up by the earth more than she had in that moment. “Wait--you’re the guy who’s been sexting me!”

Holy shit.

She spent her mornings taking this guy’s coffee order and her nights making videos for him to jerk off to. How the hell was she supposed to show her face at work now that she knew what his dick looked like, had practically memorized every detail of it after all the pictures he’d sent her of his hard-on?

“What the hell do we do now?” she had asked, not necessarily to him, but to anyone who was listening and had the slightest bit of an answer.

“The only thing we can do.” There’s a reluctance in Lieutenant Marshall’s--Walter’s voice that she’d never heard before.

For some stupid reason, she let herself hope. Hope that he would say something along the lines of I know this is probably breaking twenty HR rules but let’s keep talking anyways, now do you wanna go to my place and fuck? Call her a hopeless romantic, or a stupid idiot. She’s not sure there’s much difference. But her chest had tightened and her heart had fluttered in those few seconds between his sentences.

And then he said: “We can’t do this anymore. We have to stop talking right now. Neither one of us knew who the other was when we started this… this… whatever this was. But it’s over. It has to be.”

Of course, she understood why he did it. Not only was it wrong to keep doing it while they worked together, but he was about ten positions above her, and that made it even worse. He had to save his job and his reputation.

She understood the logic behind it. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Now, a week later, she’s being assigned to him for the day. The wound is still fresh. She still finds herself reaching for her phone to text him, only to stop herself when she opens the app and sees his username. She still reads their texts as she's lying in bed at night, feeling like a clingy idiot. They no longer riled her up now, they only make her start to cry. It’s stupid, she knows that. It wasn’t a real relationship. But she misses having him there, misses talking to someone at all hours of the day. So how the hell is she supposed to act professional around him today?

Once Officer Romero has given her instructions, Erin walks up to her and says, “Sorry, but I thought--”

The older lady holds up a hand, silencing Erin. “First, don’t ever start a sentence with ‘sorry, but..’. If you’re going to say something, you gotta mean it. I expect that kind of confidence in you before you pass your training.”

Erin nods. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I mean… uh, I was just…”

Someone calls Officer Romero’s name and she excuses herself. Just as she starts to walk down the hall she passes Walter on his way in. She tells him that Erin is going to be under him today and--god, what is wrong with her for finding something dirty in that?--Walter stops in his tracks. He looks around the room until he spots Erin. She tries to give an apologetic smile but it feels more like a grimace.

This is going to be a long day.

An hour later, Walter has settled in, scanned through paperwork, had his three cups of black coffee, and Erin decides it’s time to head down to his unmarked Ford Explorer and wait for him. She’s in an actual police uniform today--normally she’s in sweats and a police t-shirt--and though it’s something that would make her giddy with excitement, the thought of spending her first day out in the field with Walter is killing her buzz.

Walter doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to his car and hits the unlock button on his keys. Erin slides into the passenger seat. Walter turns on the car and adjusts the AC and the police radio without even acknowledging her presence.

“So, I want you to know that I didn’t do anything,” Erin explains. “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Officer Romero just randomly assigned me to you--”

He silences her with a look.

She hesitates before adding, “I just… don’t want you to think that I’m not respecting your wishes. I’m not trying to make your job harder for you.”

His expression slightly softens. Slightly. 

Erin doesn’t let her mouth get away from her this time. The car is tense and silent as Walter switches into drive and heads off down the highway. Erin doesn’t know where they’re going but he looks like a man on a mission so she doesn’t question it.

They spend the first two hours in silence. No calls come in. They just sit on a part of the highway directly between the two biggest cities in the area and wait for a call on the radio that never comes. Neither one of them speaks. Walter finally speeds off down the highway around eleven. Erin thinks he’s been notified of a crime that she isn’t aware of, and is slightly disappointed when they pull into a McDonald’s drive-thru.

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

He ignores her as he pulls up to the window and orders half the menu. He doesn’t even ask if she wants anything before finishing the order.

“Walter?” she asks, then quickly corrects herself. “Er, Lieutenant Marshall?”

He still ignores her. Once he’s paid and gotten the three bags of food, he drives back to their waiting point along the highway. Erin can only stay quiet for a few more minutes.

“I’m putting in a complaint when we get back to the station,” she tells him.

He finally looks at her, giving her a look that says, why the hell are you going to do that?

She just stares at him with a look of her own. If you want me to explain myself, you’ll have to talk.

“Why are you putting in a complaint?” he sighs.

“You’re being completely unprofessional.” Normally she’d be too shy to speak to an officer like this, but she’s had enough of the stupid chip on his shoulder. Plus, he’s seen her naked, so there’s nothing left to be shy about with him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Walter protests.

“Exactly!” Erin agrees. “The point of taking me with you is to teach me stuff. We’ve already wasted half our shift and you’ve taught me nothing, except that you eat enough for a family of four!”

“I only eat once a day,” Walter argues, like that changes anything.

Erin rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

“And what is your point? Do you actually have one or do you just feel like yelling?”

“My point is that you’re discriminating against me,” she says. “You’re letting the whole ‘Meet Me, Love Me’ thing get in your head and you’re using it as a wall between us. You can ignore me for the rest of your life. Fine. But not today. You don’t get to not teach me just because you regret our relationship. So act professional and teach me, Walter!”

He doesn’t say anything. Erin opens her mouth to yell at him some more, when she recognizes the strange new look on his face. His eyes are glazed over and his mouth slightly parted as he stares at Erin’s mouth like he’s under a spell. Erin’s face burns as she realizes what he’s no doubt thinking about: she likes to be a brat sometimes just to get a reaction out of him. He punishes her accordingly every time, but it’s the hottest thing to both of them. Walter loves laying down the law--his law--and Erin loves being punished. Intense heat wets her panties and she squeezes her legs together. He notices. His gaze jumps to her legs immediately and he fucking licks his lips. Is he trying to kill her?

“Walter--” she says, her voice shaking, but Walter’s phone goes off before she can say anything else.

He answers the call and, just like that, the moment is over.

“I’m needed back at the station,” he explains as he hangs up the phone. That’s all he says for the rest of the drive.

…

That night, after enjoying a couple glasses of wine, Erin locks herself in her room, away from her roommates, and decides to watch Pornhub on her laptop. She hasn’t needed to do this in a while; usually sexting with Walter is enough to make her satisfied. So having to look up adult videos is just another bitter reminder that whatever they had--a fling? A relationship?--is done. She may or may not have pulled up her Meet Me, Love Me messages with Walter beforehand, reading through their own conversations as a strange form of roleplay.

What she does do, however, is hit the record button on her phone without realizing. Once she shuts her phone off for the night, it automatically stops recording. And somehow, either through her tipsiness or her fatigue, she hits send. The video of her masturbating--and moaning Walter’s name as she cums--goes straight to the lieutenant himself.

…

The next morning, Walter drags her into a windowless janitor’s closet, his nails digging into her arm. He’s never been rough with her before--occasionally he’ll use harsh words when she’s been acting like a brat, but they’ve never been in physical contact for this to happen, and she has a strange and possibly psychotic gratefulness that his touch will leave bruises on her arm, a reminder that he’s not just some figment of her imagination.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he growls in a whisper-shout, cautious of the people on the other side of the door.

She has no idea what he’s talking about. She says as much.

“Don’t play dumb with me, you dirty little brat,” he spits.

Erin’s going straight to hell for the way those words--and his angry growl--sends heat straight to her core.

Walter continues, “That cute little speech you gave yesterday about wanting to stay professional… you don’t get to say shit like that and then send me videos like the one from last night.”

“What video are you…?” And then it hits her. She has no memory of sending him anything, no memory of even making a video. “Walter, I didn’t mean--”

He takes a step towards her, his shoes now flush with hers. Their chests brush against each other with every inhale. Erin has to crane her neck all the way back to look him in the eye. Dominance radiates off of him, as strong as his cologne, and fuck does it make her wet. She tries to keep her breathing steady, to not make it obvious that her heart is racing, but it gets harder the longer he looks at her with that anger in his eyes. It’s as terrifying as it is arousing.

Walter puts his hands on either side of her head, trapping her. His face is so close to hers that she can feel his breath against her cheeks. “You moaned my goddamn name when you came. You said my name--and you’re really trying to stand here and convince me that you hadn’t meant that video for me?”

“Walter--” Erin begins, her voice shaking, but she can’t get anything more than his name out before his hands are on her hips and he’s spinning her to face the wall. He presses his body against hers. His warmth envelopes her but it makes her shiver. She wants him. God, does she want him. She’d willingly let him fuck her right here and now, damn whoever might walk in on them.

“My name,” he growls in her ear, “is Lieutenant, got it?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. It’s taking every ounce of self-control to not beg him to fuck her. She can feel his erection against her ass; this is just as exciting to him. She wants that cock inside of her, moving between her walls and teasing her pussy, splitting her open as he enters her, fucking her so hard that she can’t walk after.

“Yes, what?” he spits.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Her arousal is already soaking her panties. She wonders if he can smell it, the way she can smell his arousal.

“Good girl.” He’s really trying to kill her, isn’t he? He knows exactly what that praise does to her, how it makes her weak in the knees. “Now be good and don’t scream.”

Erin pauses, but before she can ask what he’s doing he yanks her pants down. She gasps, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as the cool air hits her asscheeks. And then she gasps again--for an entirely different reason--when Walter begins to knead her cheeks in his hands.

Her Latina heritage blessed her with curves, which includes a big butt. She used to be embarrassed of it her entire life. And then she started dating guys and realized they like touching her big butt as much as she likes it being touched. But Walter’s hands are big enough to make her feel small, even as he touches the biggest part on her body, and that does something to her that she’s never experienced. Something she can’t explain but she knows she likes.

And then he spanks her. His hands come down roughly on both of her cheeks and she gasps, more at the sound than the pain. But when the sting finally registers, it’s not completely unbearable. In fact, there’s something about the way her skin burns that makes it… addicting. She wants him to spank her again.

And he does.

Three more times, on each cheek. He doesn’t bother to be gentle with her. The masochist in her loves it.

And later, as she feels the ghost of his hands with every passing second, she smiles to herself. That video had been sent on accident, but she’d do it over again in a heartbeat.

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira​ @hnryycvll​ @littlefreya​ @celestial-vomit​ @lestersglitterglue​ @watermeloncavill​ @honeychicana​ @penwieldingdreamer​ @mary-ann84​ @elixasays​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @noz4a2​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @omgkatinka​ @lunedelorient​ @aphrodites-punch​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iloveyouyen​ @deathonyourtongue​ @utterlyhopeful​ @wondersofdreaming​ @tsukuyomi011​ @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken​ @jayismz @emelinelovesjc @palaiasaurus64​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @henrythickcavill​ @secretlyactivated​ @madbaddic7ed​ @persephonehemingway​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @thedarkplume​ @spookypeachx​ @pensieveforyourthoughts​ @aletheladyinred​ @littlemissthistle @designerwriterchic​ @becs-bunker​ @angelic-kisses13​ @captainbigdy​ @sestrasasylum​ @radaofrivia​ @boundtomyfate​ @wednesdaybraids @harlotforhenry​ @radkesgirl83​ @xuxszx​ @kitkatd7​

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#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #walter marshall #walter marshall smut #walter marshall night hunter #night hunter #nomis #henry cavill nomis

[amelialincoln]

Electric Love pt 4

It was hard to keep track of time in the windowless room. The sterile bright light that hung above her was constantly on. After a couple of days she wasn’t sure whether they were bringing her breakfast or dinner. She slept a lot. Sara had warned her that her first trimester would come with extreme tiredness but it hadn’t hit until the day after her initial capture. The symptom brought her relief though, her bruises were still healing and she’d been worried that something may have happened. She was almost happy when the morning sickness returned in full force but knew that it would confirm any suspicion of her condition to her kidnappers. Which also meant all the more reason to keep her here. 

She was surprised by how long it was taking Cal to find them. He was definitely out of practice. If the circumstances were changed she’d probably be chuckling at the idea of him ordering guards around frantically in an attempt to rescue them. She found herself worrying for him instead. Other than the manacles that were beginning to open old scars on her wrists, she had definitely been in worse situations. Obviously their bed at the apartment beat sleeping on a floor covered in her own vomit but compared to her former imprisonment experiences, this hadn’t been awful. Until today, when she realized that unlike when she was in Maven’s clutches, she had more than herself to look out for. 

“Get up,” Pig ordered from the metal doorway. He’d received his nickname due to his chunky looking appearance and scrunched up face. She’d taken up observing him as he brought her meals. He was the only social interaction she’d really been receiving. He definitely had his nose broken at some point and never got it properly fixed. Mare realized she’d never laid eyes on such an ugly silver in her life. Usually they were mesmerizing. All of the most breathtakingly beautiful people she knew had silver blood coursing through their veins; Pig however, was a disgrace to all of them. “I said, get up.” She took in a sharp intake of breath as he kicked her in the side. He made up for his appearance with his strength. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” she bit back a groan, “but I’m kind of shackled to the ground.” She straightened her wrists out for him to see. 

“I knew that.” He spat, rolling his eyes. He removed a ring of keys from his pant loop and twisted a specific one into the lock on the ground. “Follow me,” he grumbled, allowing the rest of the chain to awkwardly trail along the ground. “The train is almost here.” 

“What train?” She knew she was asking herself more than him, not surprised when he didn’t answer. Suddenly the rumbling of the building every hour made sense. They were under train tracks. Where the fuck in Norta were they.

x

“We're running out of time, they’re going to move her,” Cal argued. Ever since they’d gotten a possible lead on where the rebels were holding Mare it took everything he had not to storm into the pathetic outpost and tear everyone and everything apart. They were lucky that the rebels had a mole or they never would’ve found them. The hiding spot was so good it was almost impressive. The outpost was from a war long before Cal was even born. Built under the railroad tracks, it was a perfect harboring area for anyone trying to have easy access out of the kingdom and into the states. After the railroads started to be outdated and the war finally came to an end, the outpost was abandoned. It didn’t even appear on today’s battle maps. They had gotten too lucky and Cal wasn’t about to let that change. Everything lately was reminding him of the weeks Mare spent in Maven’s clutches and it seemed like now there was even more at stake than there was back then. The other officers didn’t seem to agree. Apparently the couple’s personal reasons weren’t pressing enough to go in blindly in order to get her out as quickly as possible. Cal knew they were just trying to do things properly but if he had to spend one more night glancing at the empty spot beside him in bed, he would probably go insane. 

“We’re so close, Calore. We just need one more day to finalize plans.” Officer Leadger was a good man. Cal knew he had a wife and kids at home and could tell he was sympathizing with him but Cal was done with being asked to wait. 

“It’s time!” The large concrete doors swung open forcefully as the man that Cal had grown to appreciate over the last week burst into the room. He was sweating profusely as he raced to face the large group of generals. “You can’t wait.” Cal waited for him to say the words that he’d been expecting for days now. “I just got news to prepare for transport. You have two hours tops. I got here as fast as I could and I’m sure my departure raised some flags. If they weren’t on to me before, they definitely are now.”

“Which most likely will cause them to speed up this entire process,” Leadger was flipping through maps of train routes and bases like a maniac. “We were expecting them to move to the closest base near Corvium. Let them go, it’ll throw them off thinking we’re onto them and we’ll send out a message to the Westlakes base to keep an eye out. They won’t get far.” 

“What if they aren’t planning to go to Corvium?” Eve stated the obvious. She had been sitting unassumingly in the back of the hall for days now. Not offering a single piece of advice or input the entire time. Cal couldn’t help but wonder if she felt guilty. He hoped she did. “You can’t be sure.” 

“We go now,” Cal shouted over the eruption of officers trying to share their thoughts. He’d lost count of how many times he’d said those words since finding out her location. 

“For once he’s right,” Eve’s voice rang clearly over the commotion. “Once they’re on a train they can ride it out to Montfort for all we know. You can act like this kidnapping is all an inconvenience but have any of you thought about how the disappearance of Mare Barrow is going to affect you?” You could hear a pin drop in the room. “This little red girl is the face of more than any of us can even begin to understand. For the first time in history our country is not divided and withering in poverty. You let this little rebellion win, you let Mare Barrow die and you are diminishing the hope of recovery and you are asking for another fucking war. Do you want to see what will happen when you have hundreds of newbloods, who are more powerful than any silver in this room, tear this kingdom apart because you destroyed the one person who they could rely on?” Silence hung in the air like a thick wool blanket. “Didn’t think so.”

x Mare probably shouldn’t have electrocuted Pig. It was just that it was too easy. It also felt like a joke because the smell of fried flesh kind of smelled like bacon. It seemed meant to be too since she hadn’t hit so accurately since the baby was conceived. The humor was pretty short lived. The silent stormed into the train car as Mare lay curled up on the ground, letting out occasional groans of pain. She originally muffled the wear sounds by biting forcefully into her sweater. Unfortunately, out of pure distaste, Pig’s little friend had decided to wrestle her into a position where she was lying on her stomach and tied her hands behind her back. “I told you not to move her until I was ready!” The silent raged, shoving Pig’s friend against the wall and wrapping her slender fingers around his neck.

 “What did you idiots think was going to happen?” 

“Brutus said that we had to move quickly.” Mare was surprised by his lack of fear. “Anthony fled as soon as we mentioned leaving. He’s a traitor.” The man spat. “Brutus just wanted to speed up the process and then she killed him.” His voice was filled with hatred and Mare could feel their eyes on her. All her strength was sucked out of her as she sensed the silent moving towards her. 

“You little, red, whore,” the woman glowered as she reaped Mare of any current that she was still clinging to until she could hear her own blood pulsing in her ears. “I’m going to kill you.” The calmness in her voice echoed throughout the train car. “And I will smear your filthy blood all over the kingdom until people like you find their fucking place.”

#marecal #marecalfanfic #marecal fanfic #marebarrow #mare barrow #tiberias calore #red queen

[kihyuni3]

Secret Meeting (Kino x Trainee!Reader)

I promise that I will get around to m requests and maybe the next part of my Bang Chan story eventually (if i can figure out what i want it to be), but I had a little spark of inspo to write this today instead.

Summary: Your whole life changed when you entered cube entertainment. The constant training and inability to see family and friends begins to wear down on you. Usually you liked to find a way to cope by yourself, but after Kino finds you one night you realize that maybe it was nice to not be alone sometimes.

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst I guess (just exhaustion and general low mood) but its mostly sweet soft kino moments

Word Count: 2,032

It had been a hard day. Not that your hectic schedule was any different today than it was any other day. It’s just that everything was wearing down on you recently. Having to work really hard with little reward, not being able to contact people you loved, watching so many friends debut and move on without you, it was hard. And the worst part: having to hide it and pretend everything was fine for the sake of your image.

Not to say that you didn’t loved that you were training. You did. You loved that you had the opportunity to possibly achieve your dream of becoming a performer. But even then, sometimes it still got to you, and today was one of those days. 

Dance practice had ended hours ago. Everyone you were training with had trickled out of the building, slowly, throughout the night. Finally you were left by yourself in the dimly lit practice room.

“I just want to be ready for our next evaluation.” You had told a few of them.

“I just want to practice a little longer.” You had told the rest.

However the truth was that you just wanted to be alone. So you waited, practicing here and there, waiting for everyone to file out. And when they were gone you waited even longer just to be certain that you were truly alone. 3:00 a.m. was the time the clock on the wall read when you were finally satisfied that no one would bother you. Everyone had either gone home by now or locked themselves in their personal offices or studios. Now was your time. 

You shut the door to the practice room quietly behind you, despite the fact that there was no one around to hear it even if it had closed loudly. Just one more precaution to make sure no one knew you were around. The empty building made you feel a strange peace. Hallways that were normally loud and bustling with people, now sat quiet, dimly lit and abandoned as you followed a familiar path. It made you feel as though time had stopped. For this moment you were the only person in the world. It made it easy to let your guard down, to relax, if only for a few moments.

Ascending the staircase always took less time than you expected. Something about knowing what was at the top made it easier to climb than it would have been otherwise. Then, there it was, sitting right at the top. A big metal door, windowless and looming, bright red exit sign hanging just above. A sigh slipped its way out of your lips. Although it seemed like a plain door to almost everyone else, to you it was an escape. 

Pushing the door open, you let the cool night breeze caress your face and slide its way into your lungs. The feeling alone helping you release the tension that you held in your body. The rooftop was always where you came when you were feeling stressed or just like you needed a break from everything. Something about being surrounded by the stars and the city lights. Something about how the normally busy city of Seoul sat quiet. It all helped you clear your mind. When you were up here you didn’t have to think about deadlines, evaluations, that move you couldn’t get right, that note you couldn’t quite hit. Nothing. It all slipped away when you were up here. 

Sitting on the edge of the building, you let your feet swing over the side. The feeling of your feet dangling off the building gave you a sense of freedom. This spot also allowed you to have an unobstructed view of the city lights and the horizon. You put in your earbuds (ones that were old and damaged but still worked just the same) and went to find something to listen to. Just as you press play, the sound of the heavy door opening and shutting made you turn your head. 

Plenty of times you had come up here during the early hours of the morning, but never had anyone every come up after you. The light pouring out from the stairwell made the figure appear silhouetted and dark. You weren’t technically allowed to be up here, so you prepared yourself for the worst, but it didn’t come.

“I’m sorry,” came a smooth male voice, as the door began to shut “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Although you still couldn’t make out the figure you could tell, just by the way he spoke, that it wasn’t a staff member. Still you sat quietly. You never had this happen before and couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead you just waited. Waited to see if the man would make another move. Waiting to see exactly who it was who found you.

When the door had shut fully and your eyes readjusted to the darkness, you finally caught a glimpse of your mystery man. Although this was a man you had never spoken to before, you recognized him immediately. Standing before you was Kino, a man almost 6 years your senior at the company. 

Your loss for words deepened, but your trained response kicked in. You pull out your earbuds and began to swing your legs back over in order to bow politely and greet him and was expected of every trainee, but he put his hand up as if to stop you. 

“You don’t need to do that,” He spoke with a small chuckle, sending a gently smile in your direction “I’m the one who came and disturbed you.” He began to make his way over to you slowly. Still you remained at a loss for words, but something about his smile was contagious, you found the corners of your own lips creeping up unconsciously. 

“May I join you?” You only nodded as a response. He swings his legs over the edge exactly as yours were, though he sat a polite distance from you. One that was far enough to respect your space, but not too far as to halt your, as of right now, very one-sided conversation. 

Although part of you was slightly disappointed that you were no longer alone, you found that his presence was strangely comforting. His eyes stared out at the view you had been taking in minutes ago, but yours were still focused on him, trying to read his intention. Looking back in your direction his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before he spoke again.

“I guess I forgot to introduce myself,” he let the words linger for a moment “I’m-”

“Kino.” you finish for him without thinking. The first word you say to him and it’s his own name.

“I was going to say Hyunggu.” He laughs.

“Sorry,” you let out a bit awkwardly “It’s just that I really admire you and your group..” The words hang in the air for a moment. You’re afraid you’ve messed up your conversation before it’s even started, but his smile reassures you that it was fine and that you should continue. “I’m (Y/N).” 

It seems that everything said is followed by a small silence. However, this silence didn’t feel awkward, but instead comforting. It felt as if everything that was said was important and worth its own consideration. 

“I’ve seen you around here training a lot.” He looked down at his knees while he spoke as if he felt nervous about his little confession. “I’m glad I finally get to put a name to your face.” The silence begins to form again. Neither of you felt the need to force conversation. It felt as though you were getting to know each other simply by sitting together, sharing the view. 

Neither of you knew how long you had been sitting in silence before he spoke up again.

“I can see why you come up here.” This time is was his turn to look at you. Your gaze remaining on the skyline as he studied your face. “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, I just saw you walking alone and wanted to see if everything was okay.” His admission of concern made the smile return to your face. It was nice to know that he was looking out for you, even if you had never spoken before this moment. 

“It’s really alright.” You reassure him. “Usually I just sit here and listen to music.” Making a gesture to your now abandoned earbuds, you see a change in his expression. You can’t quite decipher the meaning, but you venture a guess just in case. “Would you like to listen with me?” 

The way his eyes light up as he looks into yours tells you everything you need to know without any words being spoken. Scooting a little closer to him, you offer him one side of the cable. There is still a comfortable distance between the two of you, but this way it will be easier to listen together. Hitting play a gentle melody begins to flow causing a smile to grace both of your lips. For a moment you stare into each others eyes before returning your gaze back to the city before you. 

It must have been at least an hour that you were sitting together. Both of you stealing careful glances at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking. Although neither of you got any closer to each other, your hands kept creeping closer and closer in the common space. You weren’t sure who made the final move, but as the sun was just peaking over the horizon your hands were intertwined. 

Watching the sun rise, you realized for the first time in a while that you were excited to see what the day held for you. Venturing a glance at Hyunggu, you find that he is already looking at you. A smile as well as a gently blush grows on both of your faces. 

The way the early morning light fell on his face made him glow. It was mesmerizing. You wished you could look at him in this light forever and study all of the small details of his face. Little did you know he was thinking the exact same about you. Somehow you managed to captivate all of his senses without even having said more than five sentences to him. Everything was telling him to lean in and kiss you, but he just couldn’t get himself to stop looking at you for even a moment. 

“I guess we should go back down before anyone catches us up here.” He spoke as the sun settled in the sky, his voice barely above a whisper. Once again you can only nod. 

Hyunggu swings his legs back over first, before returning to help you down gently. Reaching for your hand once more he leads you back toward the stairwell. He walked as slowly as possible, wanting to make this moment last as long as he could. 

“Thank you for letting me sit with you.” He speaks, stalling as you reach the large metal door.

“Thank you for keeping me company.” You both find yourselves looking at each other once again. It was almost like some invisible force kept pulling your eyes towards each other. 

“Well,” he ventures, looking down at your intertwined fingers “my studio is on the third floor, for next time.” You never considered the idea of inviting someone up to the roof with you, it had always been your private spot, but something about the way Hyunggu made you feel so comfortable made you think that it wouldn’t quite be the same without him after this. 

Eventually the two of you had to separate, although it was difficult. But you couldn’t forget the time. Throughout your schedules you kept remembering the way the golden light kissed his features and the way his hand felt in your. And Hyunggu would never admit it, but he started to wait in his studio late every night. No matter how tired he was from the day. Both of you waiting for the night you could steal away to the roof once again.

masterlist

#pentagon #pentagon reactions #pentagon scenarios #pentagon drabbles #ptg #pentagon kino #pentagon hyunggu #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop #kino scenario #kino drabble

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Disappearance 3: The Captive {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Thank you all for your kind comments and support for this story so far! We’ve got a bit of a shorter chapter today but I hope you like it!

Disappearance Masterlist

Forty-six minutes of footage had been his life for the past several weeks. He’d poured over it trying to see any possible clue he could from every angle the shopping center could offer him.

He watched the woman and the child shop for little boy’s clothing haphazardly, the woman holding shirts and pants up to him for a rough estimate of size and if acceptable draping it over her arm; nothing was ever tried on in the dressing room. The boy didn’t fuss and as far as he could tell didn’t speak at all. The only thing he did was scratch different areas of his body, darker pixels making it look like he had a rash that were just growing darker the more he scratched.

The woman paid with a card he easily found out was reported stolen later that night after the owner found unauthorized charges. It didn’t surprise him. Identity theft was clearly something they were used to.

Upon his first watch through of the footage he knew it wasn’t really Chiasa on the screen. The gait was too loose, as if she were floating through the crosswalk instead of taking careful, controlled steps. It was like he was watching her imitate Mina walking if he had to make a comparison.

The way she trailed so far ahead of the child was suspect too as Chiasa was always very warm and protective around children. She checked on them constantly with glances and questions unlike the woman he watched look straight head while her eyes darted sharply around the area, her lips pursed in silence. The vigilance was more for herself, not the safety of the small boy.

Even over four years later he couldn’t believe that she would change so drastically in the ways he was seeing—this was an imposter. When he brought these findings to the rest of his agency they agreed, remembering a much different woman when questioned by Katsuki in one of their early morning meetings.

“Can we even investigate this?” Sero asked in that same meeting at Katsuki began to explain the new concentration on that patrol route. “If she’s a missing person and there’s also potential child endangerment, wouldn’t the police be responsible?”

“They stepped out of a suspected villain hotspot in our agency’s territory; it’s all ours. Hikari made sure of that,” he smirked. She could be just as threatening as him but she knew how to word it perfectly that no one ever noticed. Combined with the ability to throw his name around, she wasn’t someone to underestimate.

With the official word that the investigation was theirs, he set his plan into motion for a heavier presence in the area of the tea shop and shopping mall. He had given that route three of the heroes on any given day to ensure that no matter what there were going to be plenty of eyes on the situation at all times. Even though he wanted to keep himself on the route constantly, he understood the importance of keeping himself visible in all the neighborhoods and areas that his agency was responsible for keeping safe.

A side bonus of rearranging the heroes allowed both the sidekicks and interns see more action on the routes that were left. Nothing extreme had occurred for sidekicks and the interns would still always be paired with a hero, but the responsibilities were upped and they were rising to the occasion. He wasn’t surprised, though. He only chose the best to represent the agency he’d worked so hard to build from the ground up.

In the time since he’d remade the patrol schedules there hadn’t been any sighting of the woman or the child. The increased presence allowed more notes for the tea shop at least, resulting in a slew of individuals being identified as having ties to prominent villain organizations. That included whispers of dealings with what remained of the League of Villains. Out of respect for Deku’s issues with Shigaraki and the past they shared he kept him in the loop with information as it came in, scarce and vague as it was.

He tried to remain hopeful even though it seemed that this path may not lead much further than Kaminari’s first sighting in the early days of September. After years of nothing, this something deserved his full attention.

The blonde bounced excitedly through the shadowed hallway with a fanged smile as she considered which shops she would visit this time. She didn’t get to go out without necessity as often nowadays so it was an event when she did.

Passing by the blue glow from their television, she paused as she heard her name.

“Toga,” called the raspy voice, “take the kid with you, he needs new clothes.”

The blonde stepped back into the doorway of the makeshift family room to meet the red eyes of Shigaraki, the blinking PAUSE on the small screen behind him illuminating his pale skin eerily. The sight didn’t disturb her but the order made her pout.

“He seriously ruined them again?” she huffed. The kid went through clothing faster than any of them and he wasn’t even the one with bloodstains to scrub out.

“Yes, but we also need to expose him to sunlight more. That’s where his mother gets her power and he could be the same way once he gets his quirk. At his age he could be getting it at any time. We need to start trying to jumpstart his power.”

Toga crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Tomura, its October, the sun is setting in an hour. He ain’t gonna get any rays in the dark!”

He hummed. “Go tomorrow then. Early. I kept him as a weapon and we need to test what he can do, make sure he works.”

She sighed in frustration, upset that her trip out of the safehouse would have to be postponed. As if her life didn’t revolve around the kid enough in the past few years. But she would listen to Shigaraki—he wasn’t being unreasonable. She could still leave for a while even if she had to take the kid too.

In the meantime, there were other things she had to do if she wasn’t going out and looking at the dim face of her watch she continued down the hallway.

As she went into the kitchen she saw Spinner and the boy sitting together with empty bowls that surely once held noodles and building blocks between them. While Spinner played on an old handheld console the boy meticulously moved the blocks and built them higher.

She watched him for a moment from where she stood at the counter.

He didn’t look like a weapon, but she supposed he never really had. The kid had been all big eyes and dark hair since the moment he was born and that hadn’t changed one bit. He was still small with too much hair and big eyes that unnerved even her when they stayed fixed on her for too long. Maybe it’s because she knew that his parents’ quirks were destructive enough on their own but considering the possible mutations? The kid could level out a city block just as easily as they could once his quirk came in.

She kept an eye on the boy as she made a small bowl of ramen, noticing the focus in his red eyes as he continued to build the blocks into a large castle. Plopping the bowl onto a tray she grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water to set next to the bowl.

Scooping up the tray, she moved out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the small locked room at the very end of the hall. It was the safehouse’s bunker hidden behind a deceptively thick iron door, the walls within solid, windowless concrete. It was the perfect prison cell for their most dangerous captive.

When she opened the door she stepped inside and set the tray down in the middle of the dark room. “Food time, missy!”

The curled-up figure in the corner shifted slightly, tired eyes blinking slowly against the harsh light from the hallway. She recognized the shape of Toga’s hair as she squinted and the faint scent of ramen hit her nose. It made her a little sick to smell it but she knew she needed to eat.

“Gotta get some more blood for tomorrow!” Toga chirped as she pulled one of her knives from her skirt. “You know the drill, hold still!”

She didn’t exactly have the energy to do anything else, without sunlight to charge her quirk and the malnutrition and poor living conditions she could barely stand for more than a few minutes. Besides, she didn’t care what happened anyway. If she died in a concrete room from blood loss or starvation all the better. It meant that the villains couldn’t be graced with a well-executed plan.

Chiasa could faintly remember waking up surrounded by darkness in the cold room, but she would always remember the chilling threat from Shigaraki.

“When the time comes, Katsuki Bakugo is going to watch the woman he loves decay into dust.”

If it was her last act on earth, she was going to spare Katsuki that sight. That had been her goal for as long as they had kept her in this room, however long that was.

She just didn’t understand why Shigaraki hadn’t made a move yet.

The next morning was calm in contrast to what the afternoon and coming days would bring.

As Katsuki secured his gauntlets over his bracers in his office, Toga tugged a stained shirt over the little boy’s head several cities away. One of the three held hope in their heart, another chaos, and the last, hollow despair.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

#bakugou imagine #bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugou imagine #bakugo katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki imagine #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha imagine #mha imagines #boku no hero academia imagine #boku no hero academia imagines #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia imagines

[magickhajiit]

Veles Taxi- Chapter 2

Finally Finished! 😁 I’ve tagged the people who liked the first chapter, hope that’s alright.  🧡

First chapter here

4 hours prior  

The clock’s hand continues ticking. Each movement signalling that the time until midnight is getting shorter. Nicolai’s sat in the weapons room, near enough to the door to listen to the Italians converse in a nearby room but further enough away to avoid the notice and resulting repercussion of anyone spotting him.  

A few sentences are legible from what little Italian he's managed to pick up over the last year. Something about Russian fools and a base deep in the Kitchen reaches his ears before a hand rests on his shoulder, its sharp fingers embedding what’s sure to be darkened prints by morning. With his eager concentration dispersed and a rope of anxiety coiling around his lungs, Nicolai glances up already knowing who he's about to face. He's met with Vittorio, one of the hired thugs in the mafia, who holds a malignant smile akin to a cat coming across a frightened mouse.

“Boss wants you", the words are jeering and his feral grin seems to stretch wider, still failing to reach his eyes. 

Nicolai nods numbly whilst getting up, tightening his hands into fists to suppress the mild tremors running through them. ‘The Boss’, Mateo Ferrero, leader of the New York branch of the Italian mafia, alternated between his nefarious businesses and frequenting high society parties each weekend, a man who was also a known murderer. He’d never served time or even been questioned, after all, who’s insane enough to go after a man who commands half the city? No one still breathing. People like Nicolai weren’t taken to ‘The Boss’ without good reason and he isn’t able to fool himself into believing anything positive was going to come out of this visit. Or even if he is going to come out alive. 

Thoughts whirl around his head as he’s led through a myriad of rooms and it feels like mere seconds pass before Vittorio half shoves him into the office. Nicolai has rarely seen Mateo close up, the first time was right after his mother had passed away and the Italian mafia had only just taken him. A year later Nick still remembers the overwhelming fear that had pulsed through him that day, like a stone of anxiety had crashed down leaving him struggling for breath. At first glance, Mateo had hardly seemed intimidating, with an infectious smile and a booming laugh Nicolai almost saw him as a friend in the unfamiliar circumstances. But that was before he saw the full force of his anger. Before he heard how his laugh turned as sharp as a knife or noticed the flecks of crusted blood ingrained in his rings, juxtaposing against the shiny silver. 

The same man sits there now. A few of his lackeys surround the desk, so deep in discussion, they give Nicolai the lack of attention reserved for a particularly inconsequential fly on the wall. Half wondering if he'd manage to sneak out without anyone's awareness, he shifts further forward hoping at least one of the men will acknowledge his existence.  

One did. The leader of the mafia in fact. The easy smile Nicolai receives imitates genuine welcoming except there’s a wicked edge to it, giving it the sharpness of a thin blade. His heartbeat begins to echo throughout his skull, as it thumps against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, a desperate bird fighting to be rid of its cage. 

"You're going with Amato’s group today," states Mateo  

His voice brings attention towards him, a yearn to protest the assignment is overshadowed by the sudden dryness of his tongue at the unwanted notice. With the heavyweight on his chest only broadening, Nick can only manage a timid nod in acknowledgment, fighting the urge to swallow down a breath that his restricting lungs will refuse to take. 

Mateo continues, “Amato will expect you in ten. You're leaving in half-hour, give or take.” The action of shuffling a variety of files and assignment reports left on his desk usually works well as a nonverbal dismissal, making sure his subordinates know how little value they have to him. Yet Nick stands in a mixture of bravery and stupidity.  

"Where am I going?"  

Mateo glances up, the slight clench of his jaw emphasizing clear irritation etched upon his face "Amato will fill in the details.” 

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

Guns, rifles, ammo, bullets proof vests, all things Nick’s seen in the mafia. Even helped load boxes of them into unmarked, windowless vans on the odd occasion. But it’s different to be this close to them. To feel the steady weight of guns as he passes them out or the cold touch of bullets in his palm, or feel Amato jostle him slightly as he helps him put on a vest. His hands brushing away Nicolai’s shaking fingers and fastening each strap himself, trapping Nicolai in an envelope of thick material, each piece perfectly designed for a man at war. 

War. That’s exactly where they’re taking him. Like a lamb to slaughter, weak and defenceless. Each time he attempts to asks, to find out something that might hint to his fate, the response is similar either ignoring him or speaking in rapid Italian over his head, the words too fast to be distinguishable to his ears. So, he stops asking and carries on with the chore he’s been given. 

Mateo was true to his word. Half an hour after Nick arrives, the men get into the vans. Nick’s led by Amato towards the leading vehicle, opening up the passenger door for him, the firm grasp on his bicep is the only thing keeping his body up. His actions aren’t out of the kindness of his heart. Nothing is ever unplanned or unexpected with the Italian mob, Mateo plans out every second of every working day for his men. So, if Nick is being taken on an assignment it’s because they need him. As the vans pull away from the warehouses and the hum of the engine is the only sound Nick has for the company, he can’t help wonder his purpose here; where the anxious, orphaned Russian boy could possibly be useful to the grand plan of a mob leader.  

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

They drive for half an hour, with Amato occasionally muttering a few Italian words into the van’s wireless or moving the wheel to avoid one of the numerous potholes littering the roads, before they near the end of the Italian’s domain. Nicolai recognizes where they’re heading, the streets he was told to avoid even before the Mafia. Amato disregards the apprehensive glance thrown his way, instead hitting his indicator light before swiftly turning left, straight into the Russians' territory.   

The apartments and shops of the Italians’ region had still possessed a warm sense of comfort, a fading memory of safety. So, there’s a sense of abnormality that comes with seeing the new area. Nothing drastically changes in design, it’s the same pattern of flashing shop lights, graffitied walls, and stacked apartments that give off the feeling of him seeing a mirror image of his home. 

‘’Where are we going?” The quiet question that slips through Nicolai's lips has been repeated multiply times in the last hour, never receiving a solid answer. This final attempt at gaining information could be blamed on the growing suspicion he has about their destination, as the group continues deeper into Russian territory. 

“There’s a Russian base in the Kitchen” the words seem deafening as they break the stretching silence of the journey. “It’s got the equipment, information on their latest transactions, and enough men that breaking in and... dealing with them will send a clear enough message to Ranskahovs.” Nicolai almost misses his previous ignorance as the plan’s revealed. “You’ll be sent in first, take them by surprise", the rest of the sentence goes unheard as that settles in.  

‘You’ll be sent in first’ the words rattle around his skull. But he’s not really there to take them by surprise. No, he’s there to distract them, to be used as shark bait, to gather the predators before the others attack and shark bait rarely has a happy ending.

They pull into a nearby warehouse soon after Nicolai has that realization. Amato is one of the first men to get out, before moving to the passenger side. Nicolai allows himself to be pulled out of the van, the shock of the surely fatal nature of his assignment has made him docile to Amato’s orders. They run over the plan again, all of the men careful not to explicitly state, at least in English, that it's most likely a death sentence for Nicolai. 

The plan starts off well. Amato leads him outside the warehouse, both of them momentarily lit up by the flickering glow of the fire exit, before the metal door slams, leaving them in the dark alleyway, enclosed between the overlooking buildings. There’s a fire escape nearby, attached to the grime ridden wall, reaching the top of the parallel building. A slight jab from behind is all the encouragement Nicolai needs to begin the climb, his mind torn between anxiety about his final destination and the mobster ascending right behind him.

Shaking hands reach out, gripping the rungs above him, each rising movement bringing him closer to the roof. There seemed to be something different about the world from the moment his feet step off the ladders and meet the floor like there’s a detailed perspective to everything around him. An intensity to the world, the biting coolness he feels as he reaches the top, the walls no longer containing the fierce wind that wraps itself around him like a tightened cloak.

The perspective doesn't last long though, it’s broken by the creak of the roof’s door. Amato holds it wide open whilst sparing a moment to shoot Nicolai an expectant look. This is the moment they part ways. Amato will head back down to the neighbouring warehouse to prepare his men, whilst Nicolai will creep unobtrusively towards the side door several floors below. Hanging in the air is the unspoken understanding between them that this isn't the real plan. 

Nicolai forced himself to take a step forward and another and once again. He passes the door’s threshold and his stride falters for a moment; an uneasy glance earns a closed door, a quiet click of the lock confirms he’s been sealed in, with the only option of continuing his journey downwards.

He manages to descend a few floors without being seen, some of the Italians would have called it beginner's luck; just enough of it to lull him into a false sense of security, to give him the optimistic view he’d make it without being spotted. The thin layer of optimism is shattered in only a moment, it splinters into pieces like glass when the pressure increases an ounce too much. An inked hand grips Nicolai’s shoulder with enough force to spin him around to face his captor. In a different situation, Nicolai would think the man little different from himself, few years between them mixed with the meagre number of scars and tattoos, marks that criminals wear like badges of honour, hints at the man also being new to the life of corruption and lawlessness.

But circumstances don't allow that thought, they grant him little rational thoughts in those moments, an animalistic urge to survive is the only thing fuelling his actions as he swiftly slides his shoulder downwards and breaks the secure hold the man has. There's something instinctual about Nicolai’s next actions, in the way his body manages to spin around and propel forward, his feet stumbling for a few steps before instinct kicks in and they fall into a quick rhythm: left, right, left, right. Shouting from the man behind him causes another spike of fear and adrenaline to course through his body, encouraging him to sprint faster. Moving around the sharp corner, with the Russian mobster trailing by only a few meters, a sliver of panic interjects its way into the numb haze of his mind. His chances of survival ever decreasing, still Nicolai carries on managing to gain more distance between himself and his pursuer, whilst trying and failing to control his growing concern that the man’s voice has drawn the attention of the rest of the building’s occupants.

Nicolai has just spun left onto the third corridor when he sees it, a door half ajar leading into a small storage cupboard. There isn’t a second’s hesitation before he slides into the room, careful to push the door to a close. Its mere seconds after the door meets the frame that the man turns around the corner, he takes a few steps forward before he pauses, arm bracing against the wall as he regains his breath, almost appearing to be waiting. The reason behind the delay is revealed as Nicolai hears two more men walking towards them, their words inaudible. Their whispered conversation becomes clearer as they round the corner. Even with such a small chance of survival he can’t help feel a spark of comfort on hearing their words in his native tongue, a language he’s rarely heard spoken since his mother’s passing. His contentment is brief, it’s drowned out by a flood of panic as he tunes into the conversation. Unsurprisingly they remark on his absence but it’s their mention of a fight that sends dread crashing down upon him, a fight? A multitude of scenarios begin running through his head. Have the Italians survived, if not then he’s alone in a rival mafia’s base, otherwise he’ll continue working for Mateo until they decide once again that he has more use as cannon fodder.  

Whilst Nicolai was contemplating his fate the men have moved further along the corridor their words no longer managing to reach his ears. Their footsteps have faded away by the time Nicolai works up the nerve to move again. His journey through the corridors couldn't be more different now, his pace painfully slow like he's walking on ice testing each step before he dares to moves. This is partnered with the action of tilting his head in fierce concentration whilst pausing to listen to footsteps. This paranoia is repeated on each subsequent floor, his journey only once being interrupted as he’s forced to hide when a Russian mobster walks past, their pace brisk in comparison. This continues until he reaches the door, making peace with the fact the plan hasn't worked. He walks towards it, planning on returning to base despite the knowledge there'll be repercussions. Not that this is deserved but Mateo finding humour in the fact the diversion has failed seems unlikely.  

Still a gasp of relief passes his lips when the door closes behind him and he can take a moment to glance around without the threat of death hovering above him. As he looks around the glare from a nearby street light illuminates the adjoining road allowing the outline of a man standing on the edge of the alleyway to be seen, his face scarcely lit up by the glow emitted from his phone. Even in the dark Nicolai can still see the police badge, like a beacon, a ray of light reflecting from it. Nervously Nicolai moves forward hoping to ask for help or a phone call or just some way to escape even if the only people he has left are the people that sent him there in the first place.  

Later on, he’ll blame the mixture of relief and left-over adrenaline for what happens next, the officer’s arm struck out grabbing Nicolai and pinning him to the wall. Only a few more memories register in his mind after that; Russian words out of the officer’s lips, the sound of men running towards them and a sharp burst of pain in the back of his skull before darkness takes over.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I think it’s clear but just in case it’s not Nicolai is meant to be the character from the first chapter. 

Thank you for waiting so long for the next chapter, hopefully the next one will be out sooner. Feel free to mention if you notice any mistakes or if the writing isn’t clear at points. 🧡

@angelaiswriting @uwuttaja @kind-wolf @not-uh-author @starsandsunlight @kellydixon01 @frostedroyaltea @stjimmie @brobachev 

#daredevil oc #daredevil fanfiction #save daredevil #savedaredevil #daredevil season 1 #semyon markov #sergei malikov #piotr veselov #Vladimir Ranskahov #veles taxi #veles #taxi #writing #aspiring writer #writers of tumblr #fanfiction writing #fanfiction writer #marvel fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil russians #russian mafia #Italian #italian mafia #mafia #mafia story #crime story #Nicolai Pavlov #Vittorio #Mateo Ferrero

[nominnation]

Shard of Broken Things

Author's Note: This has been posted on NCT Amino and a03. It was made specifically for NCT Amino with the Writing Club as we make our way writing fics for every member of NCT.

Pairing(s): Renjun x Jaemin

Synopsis: Renjun and Jaemin went to high school together. They were the best of friends, but after high school, they went their separate ways. Now, Renjun is investigating the mysterious deaths in the city with his partner, Jeno, and Jaemin is piercing veins with his teeth and dumping the bodies in dumpsters at midnight. What happens when they meet again? Will Renjun discover Jaemin's secret?

Genre: angst, slight fluff, supernatural

Warnings: major character death, crime, insanity, minor blood

Hwang Renjun trailed his eyes over the body of the male laced in black garments, lying face first in the mud-caked asphalt, money and identification long plucked from the confines of his leather wallet.

Renjun rubbed his brow in frustration before carefully nudging the body of the male over, mentally choking when he realized how young he was. The male was no older than 25, long, dingy brown hair matted in clumps, obviously someone who had been homeless or had been held captive for a long time. He knelt down and brought his gloved hand up to push back the hood, searching for something he hoped wasn’t there. His hopes weren’t answered as his eyes zeroed in on the very familiar signature markings. “Well?” Detective Lee Jeno asked from his place by the garbage bins, evidence camera hanging loosely around his neck. “Call Chief Qian. We’ve got another,” he replied before stepping away, letting the coroner step forward to bag the body. Jeno shook his head with a drawn out sigh and pulled the phone from his police issued jacket, only pressing one button before raising it to his ear. “Bite marks on this one too,” he spoke into the speaker. Whatever was said on the other side was inaudible as Renjun passed his partner to slide into the passenger side of the black SUV.

~ Shiny black shoes silently hit the cobblestone floor as the owner led them down the narrow hallway, lit by fire lanterns along the windowless hall. When the torches came to an end, they were replaced with a metal winding staircase that creaked with every step, leading up to a heavy black door, beams of yellow light creeping around the creases. Pulling on the cold metal handle, he opened the door without so much as a groan at the weight before slipping inside, pulling the door closed. “You’re late!” an annoying “sing-song” voice greeted him. “Put a sock in it,” Jaemin muttered grumpily, kicking off his shoes off by the door. “Where’s Boss?” he asked, not looking at the younger male, hands plunged into elbow-high soapy water. “I think he’s in the office with Doyoung,” the male said, looking back down at the water as he pulled up a white ceramic plate, placing it in the dish drainer. Jaemin gave a nod and headed toward the open kitchen door before the younger at the sink called out to him. “Tell Tae that we need a dishwasher! I’m tired of doing it by hand!” Jaemin shook his head, a smile finding its way to his red lips. “That’s kinda the whole point of probation chores, Hyuck,” the male said, strolling out of the room, sock feet meeting laminated hardwood. He walked through the mostly unused sitting room and up another, narrower set of stairs, three stories high, getting off at the second story. A long hallway covered in white tile greeted him as he rounded the bend. He strolled down the hall, nose picking up strong whiffs of mold and Doyoung’s poisonous musk. The office, Taeyong’s office to be precise, resided at the end of the long hall, 10 doors down from the stairs. Jaemin brought a fist up to rap on the bullet proof, metal encased door, when said door swung open, a tearful Chenle walking out. Jaemin shot him a confused glance but dared not utter a word as the smaller male rushed from the door, nearly slipping on the tile as he hurried to the end of the hall for the stairs, most likely to the comfort of his room a floor below. Jaemin pushed through the half ajar door, letting it close with a heavy clang behind him as his eyes habitually squinted in the dark room, only lit by a single lamp, highlighting two shadowy faces that Jaemin didn’t need to see to know they were there. “Did you complete the task?” “Yes. He’s been taken care of,” he responded cooly. “Where?” “The alley of 5th street.” “Isn’t that where you dumped the last one?” Doyoung chimed in. Jaemin rolled his eyes, meeting Doyoung’s honey brown ones briefly before nodding. “It’s the closest to the dumpsters! Easiest place to put them!” Taeyong’s lips pursed at the comment before tapping a pen on the mahogany desk. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lead them right to us!” Doyoung hissed. Jaemin tried to make it seem like the words didn’t affect him, but the truth was, the thought of leading the police back to him, back to them, was not a thought that had crossed his mind before. The realization hit him in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t see all that well in the poorly lit room, but the inhale from Doyoung meant he wasn’t finished and he was getting ready to cut into Jaemin’s resolve once more when Taeyong raised his hand. “That’s enough.” His voice soft like honey, but held such command that Jaemin’s eyes met the floor and Doyoung’s mouth snapped closed. “Jaemin is a new recruit. He cannot be expected to know these things without being told,” he began. Doyoung scoffed, but the sharp look Taeyong sent his way had him hurriedly shutting up. “With that said, Jaemin, you may continue feasting, but when it is time to get rid of your meal, someone will escort you until you learn the ways of disposing,” he said. His tone was sharp and hard, digging into Jaemin’s resolve even more, because it wasn’t what he said that hurt, it was how he said it. Jaemin gave a curt nod, clasping his hands in front of him stiffly. Taeyong’s eyes flicked to him and then back down to the stack of papers in front of him. Reading glasses perched on his

nose where he’d eyed the scribbles and curved writing on the paper that oddly resembled a map. With a simple flick of his hand, Jaemin’s stomach dropped to his toes, scrambling for the door anxiously, throwing it open and hurriedly bounding into the hall. He didn’t realize until he got there, that his chest felt odd. A dull aching feeling that he faintly recalled from his earlier years. As the door slammed behind him, he pressed his back against the wall, breathing out a long sigh of relief before staggering his way back down the hall, heading to the staircase. As he trudged, it didn’t occur to him that someone was likely going to be watching his every move, sticking with him like glue, and assisting on every dumpsite to criticize whatever he’s doing wrong. It also didn’t occur to him to think about who that person would be. There were only a handful of people living in this house, that would be able to assist. And there was no likely way that Taeyong would select someone from a different house unit to come live here just so Jaemin had a partner. As he made his way back into his room, he flopped on the massive King sized bed, flawlessly made up in the perfectly organized room. Who would they send with him? It couldn’t be Donghyuck or Chenle. Both were too young and Chenle was still a probationary member. Taeyong and Doyoung were both far too busy to deal with something so miniscule. Mark wouldn’t be any better than Jaemin himself at disposing of a body. Hendery was far too busy capturing the “prey” to be of any assistance. As he ticked them off in his head, his stomach churned and his brow creased, a habit from the days when he’d once sweat. That left only two possible options. And neither of them were desirable. Nakamoto Yuta, otherwise known as Prince, or Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, also known as the Ten of Spades. There was no lesser of two evils. No better choice. Both were equally rotten. He was trapped between a perverted asshole who had more in common with Jaemin than he’d like to admit, and a crazy, combat thirsty devil with a dark sense of humor. His goose was well and truly cooked. ~ Jaemin’s fate wasn’t revealed until later that night. An unknown number popped up on his phone and his stomach tightened. They never gave out their cellphone numbers. And only a unit knew everyone’s real names. This unknown number was most certainly his new “partner.” He hesitated in answering the call for just a moment before, letting out a sigh, he pressed the green answer key and pressed the device to his ear. “Meet me in the catacombs.” With one instruction, the call ended, and Jaemin’s heart would have been beating impossibly fast, but all he received was another dull ache that slowly got stronger. That could have been anyone. The voice was too indistinguishable. Driven by curiosity or the ferocity of receiving an order, he slid out of bed and strolled across the hardwood floor, slipping his feet into soft leather black boots that flexed with his movements. He grabbed a small jacket from his closet, not because he was cold, but because normal people would wear jackets this time of year, and headed for the door, pain in his chest intensifying as he walked down three flights of stairs and headed through the kitchen where Mark and Donghyuck stood, glowering at the nearly broken microwave. He opened the heavy black door he’d come out of earlier and slid himself onto the creaking metal steps. The door slammed behind him as he slowly made his way down the steps, invisible pulse accelerating now as he awaited to see who this impossible partner would be. As he reached the bottom, he expected to see the silhouette of someone, but was met with only the familiar musty air that tickled the back of his throat as he breathed in. His boots silently swept across the dusty concrete as trekked down the hall of the century old tomb beneath the frontfort mansion. It didn’t take him long to locate the shape of someone’s shadow bouncing off the rocky walls by the glowing torch light. As the shadow came into view, at first

he was confused. This was neither of the men he feared, but as he got closer, a shock ran down his spine, and he had half a mind to turn the other way. He’d been wrong. There was a worse one out of his two options. And he’d gotten the worse of the two. Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul stood alert in the middle of the tomb hallway, back to Jaemin as he studied the curvature featured along the ancient pebbles creating the wall. The pain in Jaemin’s chest grew less of a dull ache and now to full blown panic as his feet drew him closer, half hoping his silent footsteps would creep up on the other, giving him an advantage. There was no advantage when the Ten of Spades was involved. “Look who finally decided to show up!” his lips curved into a sinister smirk as he spun around to face the younger. Jaemin tried not to look startled, and failed miserably if the other’s laugh was anything to go by. “For a Bloodsucker, you sure do startle easily,” he cackled. Jaemin could feel his face burn in embarrassment, the stoniness of his cheeks rippling at the pressure, a side effect from not actually being able to blush. The other’s laughter quieted finally with a shake of his head, returning back to his normal posture. The Ten of Spades was a small, thin male that was often underestimated for his height. He looked like a tiny, frail boy that was no more than a damsel. Common belief was totally incorrect. He may have been a full head shorter than Jaemin, but he could take down a typical, full grown body guard with a few swift moves. In fact, he had. He was a master at fighting, always able to locate someone’s weak spots even before they knew what they were. “Are you going to stare all day? Or are we going to get started?” he asked. Jaemin shook his head. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. “Started on what?” he asked. Ten shook his head with a dark laugh. “Romeo brought someone else back. He’s being held in the usual place,” he said. Romeo, or as everyone else knew him, Hendery, was the units drug dealer. Except his job didn’t stop there. He was also the main man to capture and bring back individuals for Jaemin, or occasionally Yuta, to feast on. Usually, it was people who couldn’t or refused to pay for their product. Rarely was it a random civilian that had simply seen too much. Ten led them further down the tunnel, down the same cobblestone stairs he’d seen dozens of times and down into the creeping darkness that would lead to the dungeons. The brass cage door came into Jaemin’s view first, before his eyes landed on a male of about 30 or so, overweight, in ripped, bagging clothes with a trail of blood dripping down his arm. “Help me… please,” he muttered hoarsely, brown eyes filled with hope. Ten stared at him, features turning soft as he gently reached a hand in to grasp the man’s hand. Jaemin could hear the man’s heartbeat slowing as he calmed, relaxing as he finally had someone to rescue him. Or so he thought. Sharp nails dug into the chubby skin of the males arm, drawing blood to the surface in the tight grip, the male crying out at the pain as Ten’s sweet smile turned wicked. “Only death with help you now,” he hissed. Jaemin felt the familiar gnawing in the pit of his stomach as the back of his throat burned in thirst. Ten turned to look at him, giving him a wink before opening the cage door. Jaemin threw off the jacket he’d been wearing, having no desire to get stains on it. He crouched down low enough to step through the door, eyes meeting the flesh of the male before traveling up to his eyes. He was terrified. Jaemin’s eyes flashed bright red as he moved closer until he was crouched right beside the male, the delicious smell of warm blood filling his nostrils, making his stomach groan in want. “Type O. My favorite,” his voice came out as a raspy hiss. The male trembled in fright as Jaemin moved closer, placing his now parted lips on the males neck, two sharp teeth piercing the tender flesh, shooting straight into his artery. A loud, bellowing scream ripped from the males lips as he writhed and

struggled, held down by Jaemin’s iron grip as the hungry male swiftly guzzled his meal. ~ Jaemin wiped his mouth on his arm, letting the lifeless body drop to the floor as he stood up and turned around to find Ten staring at him. “Did you even leave a drop?” he asked, voice laced with humor. Jaemin shrugged in response and easily lifted the drained male, throwing the body over his shoulder and stepping out of the cage. “So are we going to go dump this thing now?” he asked. Ten gave a little chuckle somewhere between a squeak and a bellow, and nodded. “Sure, let’s go.” With that, the two made their way back up the tunnel hall they’d strolled down. “So when you drink from Haechan or Mark, what stops you from draining them like you did him?” Ten asked. Jaemin shot him a look. Since when did they have casual conversation? “Um… Well Yuta is usually there if I go too far. Not to mention, they’re some of my best friends. I keep that in mind and only drink a bit,” he said. Ten gave a humph and led them to the end of the hallway, to another black metal door. He pushed it open and stepped out first, holding the door open for the younger. When Jaemin stepped out, he was met with the blackness of the night in a back alley between the local Chinese restaurant and the Japanese manga store. Both owned and operated by members of their unit. “Now, if I weren’t with you, where would you put the body?” Ten asked. Jaemin looked around as he thought. “Maybe on 6th?” he asked, pointing with his free hand in that general direction. Ten clicked his tongue in disapproval. “And then you’re leaving bread crumbs for those stupid cops to follow,” he proclaimed. Jaemin looked down in embarrassment. He didn’t mind the killing. He didn’t mind the torture he knew some of the captives endured. He didn’t mind sleeping over an old tomb. He didn’t even mind disposing of the bodies. He just wasn’t good at it. “Come with me.” Jaemin didn’t object. He swiftly followed behind the lithe form of the smaller male, gracefully walking without a sound. “Now since you’ve been leaving bread crumbs, where do think would be the most obsolete place to dump the body without leaving a trail?” he asked. Jaemin had no idea. Up until that afternoon, he was led to believe that everything was fine with his technique, and now everything was skewed. “How about somewhere near the police station?” Ten said, a wicked glint in his eyes. Jaemin’s eyes widened. “That’s too dangerous!” he gaped. Ten shook his head and began leading the way in the opposite direction, careful to stay in the shadows of the alleys so as not to draw any attention to the boys carrying a large body. The police station was three streets over and would almost certainly be crawling with night guards, although most of them were usually alert until about 2 am. Then they’d be snoozing when they thought no one was watching or lurking. This time of night though, they’d all be wide awake, at least for another hour. And Ten seemed to think that that made the job exciting. One thing was for sure, though, Jaemin did not find this exciting. Not even a little bit. When they finally reached the back alley across the street from the police station, Jaemin could practically feel the nerves crawling over his skin. “Why do we have to do this?” he asked, voice trembling. Ten rolled his eyes and shoved Jaemin slightly, making the younger glare at him. “Relax! It’s not like we’re marching him up the steps of the station. We’re dropping him in the dumpster!” Jaemin’s eyes zeroed in on the dumpster. It was right near the entrance of the alley. Barely concealed by the shadows of the alley and the night. “No! I can’t do it!” Ten huffed and pushed Jaemin forward. “Throw it in the dumpster and run if you’re that scared!” he whispered sternly. Jaemin found his footing quickly and crept forward. He didn’t like this, but Ten would never let it go if he didn’t do this. Not to mention what Doyoung or Taeyong would do to him if he couldn’t succeed. As he got closer, he could feel the hairs on the back

of his neck stand up. He kept his eyes trained on the police station, hoping no one would see him creeping around in the dark. Taking cautious steps, he slowly raised the metal lid. Once it was open wide enough, he used all of his strength to maneuver the body off of his shoulder and down into the metal bin. As soon as the body hit the trash below, he let the lid fall, wincing as it gave a loud clang, no doubt getting the attention of all of the officers roaming the street. He wasted no more time and turned back toward the direction they’d come from and bolted as fast as his legs would carry him, not even caring if Ten could keep up or not. Jaemin let out a small groan as the phone near his head continuously buzzed, demanding attention. He rolled over, swatting around the mattress and sheets before finding the phone, answering the call without bothering to look at the caller id. It was probably an unknown number anyways. To his surprise, a familiar voice greeted him on the other side, causing him to shoot up in the bed. “Renjun?!” he asked in complete disbelief at hearing from his high school best friend again after three years. “Hey Nana, how are you?” he asked. Jaemin felt his insides turn mushy at the voice. “I’m good Renjunnie! How are you?” He heard a small laugh on the other side of the speaker. “I’m wondering if you will meet me in an hour at our favorite coffee shop. I miss you,” he said. Jaemin felt the same dull ache as the night before fill him, but this time, it was pleasant. “Ok! I’ll see you soon!” With that, the two hung up. A smile stitched itself across Jaemin’s face as he toppled out of bed, excited jitters flowing off of him as he pulled open various doors, pulling out a pair of jeans and a nice green shirt for this outing. He slid into a pair of black Vans and was out the door as soon as he could be. He bounded down the stairs with such an excited energy he was practically radiating it. “What’s got you so jittery this morning?” Donghyuck asked as Jaemin pranced into the kitchen. Jaemin couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Renjunnie called! I’m going to meet him at the cafe!” he cheered. Donghyuck’s amused face fell. “But you haven’t seen him since… you know… the change,” he said, gesturing with his hands. Jaemin’s face fell. He hadn’t thought about that. Both boys had gone to high school together, along with Donghyuck, Mark and Chenle amongst others. Renjun and Jaemin had been stuck together practically all through high school. They never did anything unless the other was close behind. Both made good grades and stayed out of the limelight as much as possible. Keeping their heads down and never getting into trouble. After high school, Renjun had gone off to school and Jaemin had stayed behind, unable to afford the luxuries of further schooling. He was happy in the mafia. Happy with how his life had turned out. He had food and friends and shelter. But then there was the minor complication of his… new self. The one Renjun didn’t know and most likely wouldn’t approve of. Just like everyone else. Jaemin took a deep, unneeded breath and shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said coolly, strolling out the door. Upon arriving at the cafe, he strolled inside, hoping to seem as nonchalant as he possibly could. He spotted Renjun sitting at a booth near the back, dressed perfectly professionally in a tan button down shirt and tan pants that looked eerily familiar. Jaemin was gleeful as he got closer, plopping down in the booth across from his friend and giving him a wide smile that Renjun returned. “I ordered your favorite!” Renjun beamed. Jaemin’s face fell. How was he supposed to explain that his high school best friend that he no longer drank the coffee he drank every day for four years? How would the male ever understand without knowing the truth? Maybe this was a bad idea. “I um… I actually don’t drink coffee anymore,” he muttered. Renjun gave him a questioning look, a cover for the slight hurt that crossed his features. He’d tried to wash it away but Jaemin could still see

it. Well that came out of nowhere. “Um… just down the street. I have a few roommates,” he said, not telling a complete lie. Renjun nodded and hummed as he tapped his fingers on the table. “What have you been up to since high school?” he asked. Jaemin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn’t like Renjun to ask him questions like that. “Well, I’ve had a few jobs here and there,” he said. Renjun nodded and tapped on the plastic coffee in front of him. “What about you? What have you been doing since high school?” Jaemin asked. Renjun gave him an inquisitive look, glancing down at his own attire as if it should have been obvious. And it was. If Jaemin had been paying attention. The badge on his shirt was a dead giveaway, and Jaemin hadn’t seen it. “Oh… I see… That’s awesome!” he exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. “Actually, my job is why I wanted to meet with you,” he began. The pain in Jaemin’s chest intensified. Why else would he want to talk to him as a police officer if he hadn’t done anything wrong. Suddenly flashes of the night before filled his mind. What if they’d seen him? It was dark, but what if they’d seen him throw away the body? “We found a body in a trash bin last night. Probably 30 or so.” Here it comes! Renjun would surely be crucified now! “Whoever is doing this apparently is a vampire, judging by the saliva we’ve gotten off the bodies.” He froze in his seat. They had his saliva! “This person seems to have a thing for young people. So please, try to be careful. I don’t want to find my high school crush in the trash.” A load removed itself from Jaemin’s chest. They didn’t know it was him. But they would have to be more careful. Wait. Did he just say- “You had a crush on me?” A blush found its way up to Renjun’s cheeks, the once sturdy male now looking like the shy boy Jaemin remembered from early high school. [C] “Had is a little untrue… I have a crush on you,” he said, muttering the last bit. Jaemin’s eyes widened. All this time he’d been pining after Renjun, and now, he finds out after the horrible accident that Renjun had been pining after him too! “I kinda still have a crush on you too…” he said. Had he had the ability, he would have been blushing too. Renjun’s eyes lit up. “So maybe you’d like to go on a date sometime?” Renjun asked. Jaemin looked around the restaurant, eyebrows creasing. “Aren’t we on a date right now?” he asked. Renjun grinned. “If we were, I certainly wouldn’t be in my work clothes. And we’d be doing something a little classier than getting coffee.” Jaemin fiddled with his thumbs beneath the table, a shy smile worked its way onto his lips. “You’ve changed a lot, you know,” Renjun commented. Jaemin glanced up at at Renjun. “What do you mean? I haven’t changed.” The male across from him let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “A few years ago, if I had said a comment like that, your face would have been as red as a tomato.” So Renjun did remember. And if he wasn’t careful, the male would piece together just how different he was. Once Jaemin opened the big heavy door from the tunnels into the house, he was almost immediately bombarded by questions. “Why would you go out like that?!” “What did you do?!” “Does he know anything?!” “Why the meeting?!” Jaemin brushed them off as best he could, opting to walk past the questions and out of the kitchen, until of course, a small, but firm arm grabbed his elbow, tugging him back into the kitchen. “Jaemin’s friend is a cop,” Ten’s voice snarled. Jaemin’s knees locked in shock and surprise. “How do you-?” “I followed you. Now I understand why you didn’t want to dump the body near the station! You didn’t want your boyfriend to see you!” Jaemin shook his head rapidly. “No! I didn’t even know-” “Maybe Jaemin’s working for them!” Jaemin’s body shook. Why would anyone accuse him for that?! Let alone, Chenle! “No! I swear!” “Get out Jaemin.” Doyoung’s voice was snarled and low. A voice he was used to hearing, but never directed at him. His feet moved on their own, head ducked low,

feet shuffling up the stairs to his room to await whatever doom was being decided upon him. Something like this had happened only once before. Jaemin had been in the vampire transition then to fully comprehend and understand what was going on. He did remember Yuta though. Bent over the trembling body of a male in their colors. Vaguely, he remembered the name. Taeil maybe? He’d obviously been someone special to Yuta. He’d never been the same since. That changed him into a ruthless, bloodthirsty killer. The door to his room flew open. Surely they hadn’t decided his fate already! It’d only been a few minutes! But when Jaemin caught Yuta’s eyes, he knew what he’d be forced to do. And it shattered him. Yuta’s arms locked around Jaemin, holding the younger in front of him as he was shoved through the dark catacombs, feet never making a sound. Jaemin struggled, a feeble attempt at getting away. And had it been anyone else, he would have succeeded. He and Yuta shared far too much in common. “You shouldn’t have gone. Then this wouldn’t have happened. But you are a fool,” Yuta hissed in his ear. If Jaemin possessed the ability to cry, he would be bawling. Instead, he was stuck, hands trembling, mind reeling, stomach hardening. Yuta shoved him through the familiar room with the cages. A room he visited almost on a nightly basis for his meals. Usually, the room had no affect on him. If he was particularly thirsty, this room brought him great joy. Now, all he felt was fear and hate. Renjun’s body was bruised badly. His arm was bent back in a way no arm should ever be. His left eye was blackening and puffy. Jaemin had hoped that at least he’d be passed out, that this could be just a little easier. But of course, this was the mafia. Great when no one had wronged them. Ruthless when someone had. Renjun’s eyes zeroed in on Jaemin. His one good eye widening then scrunching into betrayal. “I knew you were hiding something,” he hissed. Jaemin’s eyes cast to the floor, chest tightening in pain. “Well get to it. We don’t have all day.” Taeyong’s voice came as a shock. He expected Doyoung to be here. But not their usually soft-hearted leader. The cage opened and Jaemin was shoved inside. His eyes roved over Renjun with pity, fear, and sadness. Love and pain filling his chest. “I knew there was something different. I just didn’t know you were a killer.” The words pierced Jaemin’s unbeating heart. “Please don’t make me do this,” his words were a hoarse whisper. “Pathetic,” Ten’s voice muttered, stepping forward. He reached through the cage with a pocket knife and cut a large gash on Renjun’s arm, Renjun yelped out in pain. Blood beaded down Renjun’s arm. As soon as the smell hit Jaemin’s nose, his eyes glowed the familiar red. Renjun let out a strained laugh, eyes trained on Jaemin’s. “So much for our date,” he muttered. Jaemin got closer, knelt beside the male, staring at him hungrily now. Eyes bright red as the blood wafted to his nose. “I have always loved you,” he whispered, leaning closer and pressing a kiss to Renjun’s neck. Renjun sucked in a harsh breath of air. Jaemin could hear the males heart thudding in his ears. Jaemin grazed his teeth over Renjun’s vein, his brain muddled with the sounds of Renjun’s heart. He faintly heard the quiet squeak of the cage opening. Most likely a hungry Yuta coming to help Jaemin finish the job. But Jaemin had other plans. He waited for the door to open completely, and when it did, he snapped around, finding Haechan standing at the door, wide eyed. Jaemin’s mind was too addled to coherently see Haechan. He pushed his body into the elder, sending them both barreling into the floor. “Run Renjun!” He screamed, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of Haechan’s neck, the other letting out a loud scream, thrashing around. He heard the cage rattle as feet scurried around him, attempting to yank him off Haechan, who’s blood pooled into his mouth deliciously. He didn’t get to indulge long though. Arms wrapped around him, encasing him against a chest as fangs bore into

his own neck, ripping the flesh. “Get him out of here!” he heard Taeyong bellow somewhere close by. He assumed Doyoung and Hendery had carried Haechan out before Yuta attacked the young one too. “Shit! He got away!” Ten yelled angrily, stomping the ground before walking over and slamming his fist into Jaemin’s jaw. “You little traitor! You are not better than Yuta!” he screamed. The teeth in his neck retracted. Jaemin knew what that meant. He took one last breath, looking around the room calmly, relieved that Renjun had got away. “I can’t help that I loved him,” he whispered hoarsely. His body felt so very heavy. Venom trickled down the holes in his neck as he succumbed to the weight. Renjun perched right outside a window in the tomb. He hadn’t been able to go too far in his beaten state, but it was away, somewhere they’d never be able to get him. He watched with tearful eyes as Jaemin’s body was dropped callously to the floor, eyes wide but without movement. No breath entering his body. He watched as the body thinned, stomach sinking in on itself, ribs revealing themselves. Taking him back to the same state he’d been in before he was turned. And he realized it then. Renjun had gone to college because his parents could afford it. Jaemin’s family couldn’t afford food. He’d slowly starved to death. “Get him out of here,” the smallest of them all muttered, kicking Jaemin’s body and stomping away as the other vampire picked up the body. Renjun’s heart broke in two places. One side full of sadness and sorrow. The other full of pure hatred and anger. He would avenge Jaemin’s death. He wouldn’t stop until everyone in this Mafia house were dead.P

#nct fanfic #angst #fluff #nct dream #jaemin #renjun

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 9/18

not my gif just the text (The Art of Transfiguration)

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order,   joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a   Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

-

“You’re going to get us caught. Act normal or it’s over.”

“I didn’t know what to do. What if it was him?” Cassandra, metal box in hand, approached Kent Jorgensen with a furtive look.

“It wasn’t him.” She handed him the box, “These are the ones I found.”

“Listen to me, Cassandra. How much longer are we going to hold out? One thing is... but attempted murder?”

“It wasn’t him.” He insisted.

“How are you so sure? You really don’t think it’s a possibility?” Jorgensen saw in her eyes how doubt quickly took hold, fear too, but she controlled it.

“And then there’s her. She’s not a bad girl, but she’s starting to ask questions. Have you ever stopped to think about why Astrid brought her so late in the year if not for this?”

“Stop it. You have a meeting now, right? Go.”

“It was nice of you to give her some time off... even though she’s using it to snoop around. Or did you want to get rid of her?”

“I have my moments.”

Kate snaked through the corridors until she found the meeting room Astrid Rhode had told her. She couldn’t wait to see the look on the other teachers’ faces when they saw her there.

The night before, she had been practicing one of the legilimens lessons she had received from Snape, but despite her efforts, she was unable to connect with Charlie’s mind without seeing him and knowing where he was.

On her way to the meeting, she forced herself to open her mind and let all the thoughts and emotions around her envelop her. It was overwhelming, yes, but necessary in order to control it.

She let out a long sigh of exhaustion and despair. Dumbledore did not choose well. The amount of information that was accumulating was difficult to handle, and her attempts to put it all on paper ended in deep confusion.

When she reached the right door, hidden in the darkest tower of the castle, she went to push the knob, but instead of making contact with the metal, her whole body went through the wood and appeared on the other side.

“Welcome.” Astrid, sitting at the end of a long table, greeted her. Several people were already in the windowless room.

Kate responded with a nod and the faintest rise of the corners of her mouth. Her head ached, and she looked around.

Mawut, sitting to Astrid’s left, gave her a bright smile which Kate returned. Next to her, she saw who she thought was the Magical Creatures professor.

She pulled back a few red curls from her shoulder and leaned forward, “Denise Krauss”

“Kate.” She waved.

Mer Yankelevich was looking at her intently from across the table, when Kate looked up at her, her eyebrows raised.

“This I did not expect.” She snorted and pursed her lips in a comical smile before patting the empty chair next to her.

Sitting close to Rhode and with his back to Kate was Libor Marek with his arms crossed. He didn’t bother to turn around to see who had just arrived, he just waited for Kate to sit next to Yankelevich and followed her movements.

Holding her gaze, her lips curled down in a gesture of approval.

“It’s not that surprising.” He said, addressing Yankelevich. He turned his head to look at Rhode and continued, “I have class.”

Astrid raised her eyes from her papers over her reading glasses. “There’s still time. Your students can do without you for ten minutes.”

Another body appeared through the door and Kent Jorgensen came out of the shadows.

“Sorry I’m late... Williams.” Kate couldn’t identify his expression.

Jorgensen sat down next to her and questioned her with his eyes. Kate just shrugged and forced a smile.

“Well, we can get started.” Astrid announced.

Before she could continue, Libor Marek interrupted her.

“Angelov is missing.”

“He’s always late, Astrid starts without him, and Libor gets angry because... well, he gets angry about everything.” Yankelevich whispered in her ear. Paying attention to her, she couldn’t hear the argument between Libor and Astrid.

Jorgensen bent down in front of Kate to include himself in the talk. “He gets angry because he never wants to be here.”

“And you do? We already know what we’re doing here, except for Williams, probably.”

Kate mustered all the willpower she could find and kept her mouth shut. Astrid stood up and asked for silence.

“We will continue without Angelov and Rosberg...” she continued her speech, but Kate only heard Yankelevich’s whisper again, saying she meant the divination teacher.

“It will not be necessary.” Angelov stumbled his way to the chair next to Libor. Rhode gave a sharp nod and ignored Marek’s roll of the eyes.

“I called you as soon as I made my decision. As you know, for the past few weeks, Flavia Hodges has been under supervision as a result of the murder attempts she’s been suffering from.”

Murmurings flooded the room.

“Who said they were trying to kill her?” Leron asked.

Kate leaned over to the table to get Angelov to look at her.

“Hodges herself. And I confirm it. Just like Miss Steiner. She was poisoned and then thrown down the stairs...”

“This was a while ago, Leron, where have you been?” Interrupted Yankelevich.

Kate kept her eyes on Leron, but unlike Jorgensen, his blue eyes couldn’t intimidate her. She quietly challenged him to say another word, but he turned his head to look at Mawut, who was talking.

“Do we know what she was poisoned with?” The coach demanded.

“What does it matter?” Marek retorted. Kate looked away from Libor and squinted her eyes when an idea flashed through her head.

“Yes, with Wee... I’m almost sure with a very high concentration of belladonna.”

For some reason, the conversation she heard through the door of Rhode’s office repeated itself in her head, and she remembered that someone had been stealing potion ingredients.

“Belladonna,” she continued, “is a crucial ingredient of the Weedesoros potion, not only used as a poison but also for various kinds of ailments...”

“And then how are you so sure it was with that?” Jorgensen asked.

Several conversations erupted, and it was proving impossible to keep track of them all at once. Kate looked at Astrid and in a mute agreement, decided not to give any more details.

“Does that tell you anything?” Rhode asked

Mer Yankelevich crossed her legs and shook her head. Leron Angelov rubbed his nose before scratching his neck, and Libor Marek and Kent Jorgensen shared a look.

“It tells me that the person responsible has access to belladonna.” Marek spat.

“Are you trying to say something, Libor?” Jorgensen replied.

It was time to focus on the minds of those present. Unfortunately, Kate sensed so much nervousness in the room that she could not identify where it came from. Her own feelings were interfering with the process, and she sat back in her seat in frustration.

“May I ask you something?” Yankelevich intervened. All eyes were on her. “What is she doing here?” She pointed to Kate with one of his mile-long nails. If she didn’t know Jorgensen was the animagus, she’d think Yankelevich was a hawk, because of her claw-like hands.

“That’s the next point. In light of events, Flavia Hodges will be moved to an institution where she will be protected. I have personally taken care of the paperwork and she will leave this week.”

Kate noticed how Marek turned his head to look at her, but she ignored him and continued to listen to Astrid.

“Miss Williams will take her place temporarily.” Now not only was Marek’s gaze upon her, and the murmurs and complaints erupted again.

Rhode raised a hand before she put her glasses on, effectively silencing those present.

“Now, with this settled, I must communicate to you...” She glanced briefly at Kate and after sighing continued, “that Karkarov has been seen on the castle grounds.”

The reactions to the statement were varied, and Rhode had no choice but to shut the room up again.

“Does that mean he’ll be back?” Yankelevich asked.

“He can’t come back after all that’s happened.” Jorgensen answered.

“Karkarov will not return to the school and I will make sure that he does not stain Durmstrang’s reputation any more. Now, on Flavia’s departure, castle guards will control all entrances and exits to the building, the Quidditch field and the lakes, the ship included.”

A new round of protests and grievances filled the place, and Astrid and Kate looked on.

“I remind you that this is a purely informative meeting and there is no room for debate or vote. If we can prevent the ministries from interfering with Durmstrang, I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Marek slapped the table. “If that’s all, then I’m leaving.”

Astrid gestured vaguely so he could leave, and in the blink of an eye he had already walked through the door.

Jorgensen and Mawut were next, and Mer Yankelevich followed. Denise Krauss greeted Kate again and left as well.

Leron Angelov stared vacantly at the wall, but after a moment he got up too and left without a word, leaving Kate and Astrid alone.

“I didn’t know you were going to comment on Karkarov.” Accused Kate.

“I wanted to see their reactions.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.. Keep an eye on Marek. He didn’t like the decision to have guards. Are you nervous?”

“For my first day of school? I’m terrified. Although I still have to tell Steiner. I’ll be going now.”

--

 Kate stood behind the desk of room 82 and tried to calm her nerves. When she proposed being a substitute for professor Hodges, she was thinking about getting closer to the other teachers and overlooked a minor detail: she would have to perform as a professor. 

She had no training, no experience, and no one to give her advice. 

It’s just your first day, Kate, try to know the students, and... and figure out how to teach with this useless book.

The doors of the classroom opened and Hodges’ fifteen children appeared, some fought for their seats, others sat down patiently and a small group entered pushing each other. She moved to the front and leaned on the desk and waited for them to settle. They sat quietly at first, but soon the whispering started.

“Good evening, I’m Kate Williams. I’ll be teaching your herbology classes now that your former professor is... indisposed.”

She mentally winced at the wording and crossed her legs in front of her.

“Okay, well… You won’t have a lesson today because I found out that I would replace Hodges just yesterday so…”

A girl in the front row raised her hand. “We have exams in less than two weeks.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to prepare you as fast as I can for that, but it won’t be easy. However, I’ll talk to headmistress Rhode and try to convince her to let me make some changes.”

The whispering started again and Kate shifted uncomfortably in her spot before grabbing the copy of the book she had with her and opening it to the contents table page.

“You were supposed to get to Unit 5: Soils.” She looked up expecting some sort of confirmation but received silence instead. “So that’s what we’ll try to do.”

She left the book on the table again and crossed her arms.

“How many days a week do you work in the greenhouse?” There was silence again, and that started to make her worried. “Do you go to the greenhouse at all?” 

A boy from the third row raised his hand.

“Jon Hopkins, professor. Professor Marek says that Durmstrang is focused on martial magic and Dark Arts. That is over-qualified for plants, professor.”

“Of course he does…” she jumped the small step from where the desk was placed and walked through the space between the two blocks of seats. “I come from a place where herbology is also underestimated, and it is true that plants can be boring, sometimes.”

She turned around and re did the path she made, looking at the students and their desks.

“Do you know any herb or plant a bit more interesting than, let’s say, grass?” She huffed, amused at her own words, and kept pacing.

“Dev... devil’s snare?” Said a timid voice behind her. A boy was looking at her with big blue eyes.

They immediately recognised each other.

“Micael, right?” He nodded, “Devil’s snare! One of my favourites will choke you to death at the first opportunity. It will grab you with its multiple tentacles and won’t let you go…”

She walked to the desk again and hopped on it, sitting with her legs crossed.

“You will learn how to recognise it, how to escape its firm grip if you have the misfortune of encountering one. Come on, more.”

She waited long seconds and observed how they whispered to each other. Afraid of losing control of the class, she kept going,

“Have you ever heard of Venomous tentacula? Its spiky vines will try to trap anything near it. It’s not part of the program, but we can make an exception if you’re interested.”

The girl that spoke to her before murmured something to her classmate on the right, and Kate managed to catch some words.

“Ah, mandrakes.  They may seem harmless with their cute little faces…. But listen to their shrieks without protection,” she snapped her fingers in the air, “and you’re history.”

She dropped her hand as she saw the expressions of pure disinterest on their faces and nodded. The clock indicated that there were still thirty minutes left in the class. However, no one had anything else to say.

“Well, you can go now. I promise to have a class ready by Wednesday and we’ll start studying for the exam.”

Everyone left the room as quickly as they could, and Kate looked at their backs as they left. The last kid who left got her attention.

“Michael, can I talk to you?” The boy walked towards her looking at the floor and secured his bag to his shoulder.

“Is it because I haven’t raised my hand to talk? I promise to get it right next time.”

Kate was about to laugh at the absurdity of the phrase when she saw actual fear on Michael’s face and mind.

“No, I’m glad you participated, it made me feel less ridiculous. I wanted to know if you were okay.”

“My wrist doesn’t hurt anymore.” He shifted in his place, still not looking at her.

“That’s not what I meant.” Finally their eyes met. “Are you okay?”

Kate knew the answer and hoped Michael understood what she was asking him. The boy nodded quickly and looked back at the floor.

“I want you to know that in my class you are safe. You can talk without fear and count on me whenever you need to.”

“Do you say that to all the students, or just to me?”

“I say that to everyone. If someone needs help, I’ll give it to them. I thought it was a good idea to let you know now.”

With an almost inaudible “Goodbye” he left Kate alone, taking a deep breath and wondering where she went wrong. 

--

No matter how hard Kate tried to get them to learn something, she was failing as a teacher and so were her students. Few of them managed to answer more than half of the questions correctly, and yet none of them stood out particularly.

The preparation for classes, tests, and the extra hours she had used for individual tutoring had consumed every available hour since she began. She was now wondering how good of an idea it had been.

In addition, the security Astrid had implemented only caused concern among the inhabitants of the castle. Ever since Hodges’ departure, everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around, and that didn’t help her inquiries.

This is not working, Kate thought on the way to the Great Hall, and she wasn’t just referring to her competence as a teacher.

It was the first day of March and Astrid Rhode had called a meeting to inform the entire school about the most important event of the year: The Annual Exposition of Dark Arts, or as they called it, the AEDA. Today the theme, rules and prizes available for those who wished to participate in the competition would be presented.

Neither students nor teachers could hide how excited they were, and you didn’t have to be legilimens to notice.

Kate entered through the already open doors of the room. It was difficult to get to where the other teachers were, but eventually she made it and leaned against the side wall where she had a view of the whole room.

Durmstrang’s policy on the teachers’ uniform was a little more flexible, allowing her to wear her own robes as long as they were an appropriate colour, and she wore the band with the Durmstrang emblem around her chest.

Dressed in black from head to toe, and with her band firmly fastened, she went unnoticed in the crowd, and although it was not something she needed, for some reason she preferred to remain in the shadows.

“You have spoiled me.” said a low voice to her left. Libor Marek looked at her with arms folded.

“How come?”

“You’re the only one who didn’t complain about the explosions in my class. Now it’s getting harder for me to put up with those whiny mediwizards.”

Kate forced a smile that ended up looking like a grimace and waved Marek goodbye, who went off to find a free seat.

After a while, Mer Yankelevich came over too.

“I hear you’ve been having difficulties. You can ask for my advice anytime.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” Absolutely not, she thought.

She saw her leave and approach Marek. They had a brief conversation until he made a dismissive gesture for her to leave.

“Attention please, sit down, sit down.” Astrid Rhode pointed her wand at her throat and her voice was amplified all over the place.

After a while, everyone in the room was sitting down and ready to listen to what Headmistress Rhode had to say.

“For those of you who don’t know, every year the largest exhibition of dark arts in Europe is held at our school. Not only is it a magnificent event to enjoy, but also a valuable learning opportunity.”

A strange feeling made Kate frown. She stopped listening to Rhode’s words and opened her mind while looking around.

It was something she’d never felt before, as if a mind would just shut down and turn on again.

By the window, Leron Angelov was sitting in a chair looking at the ground. Kate bowed her head and waited for something to happen.

He grabbed the sides of the chair firmly and looked up at Astrid again, but without loosening his fists.

“Whether or not you decide to enter the competition, I encourage you to attend the event. Wizards from all over the world come to Durmstrang for this reason alone, and it’s a unique opportunity to make contacts or find your professional path.”

Kate stopped looking at Astrid again and met Jorgensen’s eyes for a split of a second. He immediately looked away and pretended to listen to the headmistress.

She shook her head slightly and couldn’t believe that Jorgensen thought she hadn’t caught him staring at her.

“Each and every one of you has until the first day of April to register and until the 15th of June to submit a project. We consider that this is enough time. Now, the theme this year will be: The Art of Transfiguration.”

Astrid waited for the murmurs to stop before continuing her speech, but Kate was distracted again.

She searched through the hundreds of faces around her, but both Angelov and Jorgensen were gone. No one noticed when Kate slipped through the crowd and left the room as well.

She looked to both sides and to her right she saw a cape shaking behind a corner. She trotted over there, but when she turned, she found no one.

The corridors were empty.

A flutter alerted her, and she turned to meet an owl flying in her direction. As it passed over her head, it dropped a card with Durmstrang’s stamps on it.

Katherine Williams has mail in the owlery

She looked again into the empty corridor and with a sigh went to the main gates to leave the castle.

Dear Kate,

We’ve had difficulties locating you, however we’ve decided not to charge you for all the inconvenience you have caused us.

Please accept this well-meaning gift, which is part of our Weasley catalogue.

Be aware of the honour of trying one of our most exclusive items. We accept a review and 10,000 galleons as compensation.

Yours sincerely,

Gred and Forge

Kate looked at the package with suspicion but opened it, anyway. It was long, like one of Ollivander’s boxes.

After removing a velvet cloth, she touched the wand with her index finger to check that it wouldn’t explode and when she felt more secure; she grabbed it.

“It’s not terrible quality.” She said to herself and pointed to a feather on the ground with it, “Merlin help me... Wingardium Leviosa.”

The stick flew out of her hand and into the air. As if it was playing an invisible drum, but replaced by her head, the wand began hitting her. She shrieked and all the owls in the tower started to get agitated; some flew off in all directions.

Slapping one hand in the air and laughing endlessly, she reached into her robe to find her real wand, as she tried to escape the Weasley’s trick item. 

As soon as it stopped, she would immediately write to them so that Charlie could also receive a surprise gift.

--

If you are binge-reading this, this chapter is a good place to stop and go to sleep or rest

[Part 10]

--

A/N: I know this isn’t the most exciting chapter but there were important things that needed to be said

Tag List: @eldritchscreech​ @meteora-fc​ @cazreadsstuff​

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