warnings: depictions of violence, descriptive smut, mention of minor character death
A/N: thank you to @kenwayer27 for helping me develop the plot of this series. thank you to @gukvory for putting up with my constant teasers and torment.
a cog in the machine: a small or insignificant member of a larger organization or system
“Run!” you heard Hyunsik shout behind you as your feet gained momentum on the pavement. Yoongi was already several yards ahead of you, leading the way to safety. The three of you had been ambushed. Your targets now made you the target.
You could feel your heartbeat in your chest as you tried to run as fast as you could, but you were stuck in place. There was no place for you to go. There was no place for you to hide as the sounds of their bullets started to ring through your ears.
“I told you to run!” he shouted again, angry that your feet hadn’t made any progress.
“I can’t move!” you shout as you turn around to face him.
The air gets knocked out of your lungs when you see the sight in front of you. Hyunsik is on his knees. Flowers grow from chest where the metal bullets made impact. He silently begs you to turn around, not wanting you to see the gardenia’s blooming. You let out a silent scream, no one able to hear your cries as you watch the petals of the white flowers spread open as they drain the light from his eyes.
Your eyes snapped open to a room full of darkness. You were dreaming. It was just a dream. You grabbed at your chest only to find that you weren’t dressed. Sitting up, you realized that you had fallen asleep in his bed. The clock on his bedside table read 4:30 in the morning. You had to be up in 30 minutes.
He doesn’t stir as you slip out of his bed, cursing yourself for breaking one of the most important rules between the two of you: never stay the night. Sleeping with your partner was already a very bad idea and neither of you wanted to deal with what could happen if either of you developed feelings. Emotional weakness could get either one of you killed.
And as your dream reminded you, you had already lost enough.
Author’s Note: I decided to write this to celebrate the trailer of American Assassin coming out and it was a fucking amazing trailer. Dyl looked so good. oml. I want to thank like all my friends for encouraging me that this is good! I wanna thank @dumbass-stilinski for looking it over, helping me with some parts, and just being amazing all around. You da best babe. I hope you guys enjoy!!
It’s funny watching TV documentaries of animals being dissected because the people dissecting the animals always wear protective gear and sometimes even full body suits but I know if you put a bunch of VC folks in a room with a dead elephant we’d all be knee deep in its guts wearing nothing but jeans and maybe latex gloves.
1,2,3 & 16 with Bucky Thank you love, and sorry for the other one xD
2. “You save everyone, but who saves you?”- Bucky Barnes
After moving to the Avengers compound as the teams doctor, always being there to check up on them after missions, fix any injuries and on a couple of occasions saving their lives, you’d fallen hard for a certain metal armed super soldier, and lucky enough for you, he’d fallen just as hard.
“Steve, what did I tell you about jumping out of planes without a parachute?” You sighed, getting up from your desk as the blond super soldier limped in, held up by your annoyed looking boyfriend.
“Okay, but technically-” He started, silenced by both you and Bucky narrowing your eyes at him, “Fine…” He muttered, hopping up onto your table with a wince.
Snapping on a pair of gloves, you set about examining all of his newly acquired injuries. Prodding gently at his ribs, you heard him hiss above you.
“Well, this seems to be where most of the damage is…” You murmured, unrolling some bandage, “Luckily for you, with your advanced healing, you should be fine in a day or two. Just take those specially made painkillers Bruce made, and make sure to rest up.” You instructed him, making sure not to wrap the bandage too tight as to not restrict air flow.
“Thanks Doc.” Steve smiled sheepishly, pressing the ice pack you handed him gently to his ribs.
“It’s what I’m here for, just quit doing stupid shit.” You smirked, throwing your gloves away.
“I’ll try my best.” He smiled, ruffling your hair before leaving the room.
“So, how’d the mission go? Other than that idiot hurting himself again?” You murmured to Bucky, not looking up as you washed your hands.
Sighing, your brown haired boyfriend hopped up on your desk, ignoring the disapproving look you sent him. “It was… a mission…” He muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“That bad, huh?” You asked sympathetically, linking your fingers with his.
“Yep.” He sighed, rolling his neck before looking down at you, “Glad to be home though. Saving the world is a tiring business.” He smiled tiredly, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.
“You save everyone,” You whispered against his lips, letting your hand rest against his cheek, “But who saves you?”
“You do.” He murmured, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours, “Everyday.”
Bellamy doesn’t believe in any higher power, not really. He also doesn’t believe in fate, or coincidence, or any of those other things that people like to blame random happenings on.
But he will admit that if he did actually believe in any of those things, he would be fully convinced that they were laughing at his misfortune at this very minute which. Honestly, he would be too if not for the stab wound in his side. Stab wounds apparently make the whole laughing thing kind of difficult. Who’d’ve known.
“Would you just hold still?” Clarke huffs as she tries to clean the wound.
“And your bedside manner sucks, princess.”
She pinches the soft skin on the inside of his bicep and he yelps, glaring at her balefully.
It’s not like he wants to be here, sitting on the uncomfortable examination table in the ER, shirt off, and paper crinkling noisily beneath him each time he so much as breathes. No one ever wants to be in the ER, leaking blood all over the place because they were fucking stabbed in a mugging gone wrong, not even if the opportunity lends itself to a bout of truly morbid humour.
Just this morning he was telling his sophomores about the Ides of March and now here he is, living his own version of it. Again, he would be laughing except- stab wound.
Clarke is bent over his side, wisps of blonde hair escaping her braid and looking platinum in the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she goes over the cut with antiseptic, and he hisses once more.
“That hurts,” he grunts, and then flinches again when she goes back in with another piece of gauze. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but there’s still a lazy trickle that she has to keep wiping up intermittently.
The sound of glass shattering makes
you jump and turn around in alarm. A few
feet behind you one of your rookie techs is standing near a lab bench behind
you, staring in shock at the broken glass at her feet. In an instant you know what it is; the mini
habitat you’d constructed in the lab to mimic the conditions of the last planet
the Enterprise had visited. Your team,
led by you and overseen by Commander Spock himself, had been tasked with studying
the various flora and fauna the team had retrieved from the surface of the
planet. This particular terrarium had contained
the beginnings of a fruit bearing bush, one that the commander had been
particularly interested in for its healing properties. The only sample had been in that tank. Which was in pieces, on the hard floor of
I'm sorry to be a bother, but I recently went through a bad breakup (I was cheated on) and I could really really use some cheering up. I'd appreciate help from any of you wonderful people.
Honey:*chin wobble* That’s mean! I can’t believe someone would do that to you!
Mori: Or anyone for that matter.
Tamaki: Oh Princess, fret no more! Here at the Host Club we offer sanctuary to anyone in need! Here’s my hanky, go ahead and dry your tears. *Hands guest a hanky even though his own eyes begin to water*
Twins: Hey boss, I think we oughta teach this jerk some manners.
Kyoya: As thoughtful as your suggestion may be, this is really a matter that needs to be handled discreetly. And we need to keep our hands clean from any impending lawsuits.
Honey: I think this jerk just needs to remember… I’ve killed intimidated before. So has Takashi.
Tamaki: That’s it, lads! We’ll fight like gentlemen and settle this with a duel!
Tamaki: *throws glove* AT DAWN WE FIGHT!
Haruhi: Ignore those losers. They mean well but can honestly get a little carried away. I think what they’re trying to say is that you’re worth too much to be with a person who disrespects you. Remember that you are valuable and deserve much better, and if being single for a while is the only way to stay true to your shine, then that’s perfectly acceptable.
It was what you had come to know as a typical night. The city was wet from the earlier rains, causing a moonlit highlight on the bricks and asphalt. It also kicked up an unpleasant stench, but one you had grown familiar with in all of your years of living here.
“Alright, kiddies. Time to work,” a burly man clapped his gloved hands together before throwing open the back door of the truck.
Barrels and barrels full of bootleg lined the inside. Thousands of dollars of product for the family to profit from, brought over on a meat truck they used frequently to disguise their hauls. But from where? The shipping yard, you guessed. Now if you could just figure out when it docked…
“What are you thinking about?” the boy next to you asked.
You hadn’t realized he’d been watching you. He scratched his hair underneath his cap before straightening it with a smile. Yoosung, or ‘Lucky’ as he was known, was always smiling. He seemed to practically skip instead of walk. Not the typical mafioso wannabe. But neither were you. In any case, he’s the closest thing you had to a friend right now. And you needed that.
“That it’s cold as shit and I wanna get this over with,” you huffed.
Lucky and some of the other boys popped up into the truck. They all shifted the barrels in their spots as if to weigh the contents before proceeding to move them. They had to roll a few of them down before you could start to dolly the liquor inside the small storage warehouse.
“Attaboy,” the driver said gruffly and condescendingly. His wide hand pat one of them on the back as they wheeled a barrel away.
“Turn the lights off, you nitwit,” the beautiful brunette, your capo-Jaehee, seethed as her heels clicked around the side of the truck and stopped in front of the driver.
“S-Sorry, right,” he nodded before scrambling to the front to turn the headlights dim.
“This is the last job for tonight, so make it snappy,” she played with her gloved hands, seemingly annoyed, “well go on!” she urged you.
You picked up the pace and wheeled the barrel Yoosung placed on the dolly for you. A single one wasn’t too heavy, but do 5 or 6 in a row and boy were you feeling it. Towards the end of the truck you felt beads of sweat on the back of your neck.
“What’s her deal tonight?” one of the boys whispered as you all worked to shift the hooch inside the storage room.
You glanced back to see Jaehee and the driver. It looked like she was scolding him, all while gesturing to the truck.
“Probably in a rush to get to the club to see ‘Pretty Boy’ sing his little heart out so she can drop her panties,” one of the guys joked and pretended to sing into a mic dramatically.
“Shut the fuck up, idiot,” another one smacked him in the back of the head, “if I have to listen to any more of your stupid jokes tonight I’m gunna stuff ya in one of these damn barrels.”
“Alright, alright, lay off,” he rubbed his head with a sour face, “I was only tryin'a lighten the mood.”
A flash of headlights washed over you before being turned off. You all stopped to watch a black car pull up by the truck. You and Yoosung both paused, gripping your dollies and watching as a man in a brown trench coat stepped out and straightened his collar. Bits of red hair peeked from his hat and a serious expression plagued his face.
“Shit, what’s he doing here?” one of the guys whistled menacingly.
Though you had only seen him a handful of times, you knew who it was. Saeyoung, the Underboss. Or as people liked to call him-‘The Mad Hatter.’ You believed him responsible for countless hits over the years. And now you all stood to watch, though some of the outfit stayed back in the warehouse, exchanging quiet glances and pretending to work.
“It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?” Saeyoung and his two body guards met Jaehee and the driver.
“It’s a bit too cold if you ask me,” Jaehee replied.
“Ah, but it’s a clear night,” he looked up to the sky, “star, after star, after star. An endless void. If you look long and hard enough you can get lost in it. How many do you think there are?”
He returned his gaze to the two of them, his solemn face unchanging. Neither of them spoke.
“I asked you a question,” he turned to the large man, “how many do you think there are?”
“Stars? I-uh…” you could almost see the man begin to sweat.
“You can count, can’t you?”
“Well ya, but I-I don’t know-“
“Of course you don’t. There are too many up there. Maybe a simpler question, then? Since you can count and all..how many barrels am I missing from this truck?” he gestured to the meat truck.
“Missing?” his big belly heaved with his now labored breathing.
Saeyoung’s fist swung into the mans gut and sent him coughing to his knees.
“Now, now. You’re good with numbers, remember? I’ll give you a second to count them in your head before telling me. And you’d better tell me. Or things are only going to get worse for you.”
The man started to sob at Saeyoung’s feet, “I don’t know nothin’ about missing barrels I swear on my kids life,” he pleaded.
“I don’t like liars,” Saeyoung grabbed the mans hand and pulled the glove off, “shall we count together? Maybe that will help.”
He singled out the mans pointer finger, while the driver looked up to Saeyoung’s face in terror. His wet eyes were pleading.
“One…” Saeyoung bent the finger back in a swift motion. The snap of bone was like a dry twig breaking under your boot.
The cry in pain filled the empty street and the body guards stuffed the man’s mouth with a cloth before holding him in place on his knees. He struggled for a moment but quickly admitted defeat.
“Two,” another snap of his middle finger, “three…”
Even with the cloth to muffle, you could hear the pain bellowing from his chest. Tears streamed down his stubble-heavy face and his brow pinched together in agony. It took everything in you not to stop him. The cold metal of the gun on your thigh had never been more apparent.
“Four,” the pinky was the last one and it broke easily, “four barrels. Now do you remember?”
He let the mans hand fall before stepping back. The cloth was pulled from his mouth before shoving him forward into the damp asphalt. Shaking and nodding at Saeyoung’s feet, his right hand was a mangled mess now.
“Good, I thought so. Now you won’t forget that number,” he tossed the glove at the mans face, “get out of my sight.”
With his good hand he palmed the glove and clambered to his feet all while stifling sobs. Wobbling slightly and almost running into Jaehee in the process he started to walk fast in the opposite direction down the silent street.
“Hm…I changed my mind,” Saeyoung reached into his coat and pulled a pistol to aim at the man.
The truck blocked your view but the sound of the shot and the thud that followed were telling enough. Your legs were suddenly jello and a pair of hands held you up.
“Keep it together,” Yoosung whispered as he grabbed you. You were just noticing his eyes had glassed over slightly and there was an indent where he must have bitten his lip.
All you could think about were flashes of Saeyoung’s face as he held a gun to your head. ‘Lemme show you what we do to rats and pigs,’ he’d say, his sadistic grin being the last thing you see before he squeezed on it.
“Someone clean that up,” Saeyoung gestured to the body before turning to one of the men, “you, get this truck out of here.”
He handed a wad of cash to Jaehee, explaining that she was to deliver it to the man’s wife. It was to help her get by, at least for a little while, without a husband.
He took long striding steps back to the car. His gloved hand opened the door and he turned to you with a smile before getting in.
“Hey, Lucky! Both’a you, be in the wind before the bull arrives, huh?” he waved and got into the back seat.
The bit of food in your stomach was trying to make it’s way up but you took some sharp breaths to calm your nerves as the car drove away. No wonder there wasn’t a soul at the station willing to try and infiltrate this syndicate. They all either laughed at you or turned a cold shoulder when you brought it up. Not even the feds were willing to acknowledge this level of organized crime was going on. Businesses and citizens alike accepted that this was just the way things were. And here you were, a cop gone under cover. A rat. A bull. The regret was like a thick syrup that clung to you. This was the first time you realized you were probably going to die. But there was no turning back now.
“Come on, there’s still a bit of work to do…” Yoosung pat you on the back with a solemn face. It was the first time you’d seen him not smiling.
Authors Note: So, I am not a fan of this but I wanted to post something. I know the Shawn pieces are not getting any notes, but I like writing them so I am probably going to continue this trial run until I officially make up my mind on whether to continue writing them. Enjoy! Xx
You had been awake for quite a while, in a non-creepy way watching as Shawn harmoniously sleeps beside you, his fingertips wrapped around the corner of his silk pillow, his hair messily falling around his face, his mouth occasionally twisting, allowing a few mumbled hums to escape, along with a few moans.
He tends to be a heavy sleeper after performing shows, there are times he sleeps through his alarm and you have to pry him away from his sleeping state. You know this morning is going to be one of those mornings; a morning where you have to shake him a few times before he’s alarm is set to blare through the hotel room, a morning where you’ll have to whisper sweet nothings into his ear until his eyes gradually open, in which he will mumble an ‘I love you’ before falling back asleep. He’s not hard —per say— to wake up, but he’s not exactly always waking up the moment you shake him. The concerts take everything out of him.
I lie awake in
bed in the same leggings and big sweater I put on a couple hours ago. I glance
at my watch and realize that it’s best if I get up and start making breakfast;
strong coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast.
How else could a
hitman get his strength back?
I turn the
lights off again when I’m done and sit on the window sill with my cup of coffee
so I can stare at the city and its brief quietness and calm before the
commuters fill the streets. I can see the sun starting to come out, making the
buildings glisten, and I wonder if this shitty one glistens as well. I doubt
so. But it is better this way, at least we go unnoticed.
sunlight will kill the reflection of the intermittent neon signs that hang from
every store and restaurant in this neighborhood. They reflect all over the apartment.
Even when I’m trying to sleep and my eyes are closed I still catch them
blinking every few seconds.
I let the coffee
warm me up as it travels down my throat, and leave my mug on the window sill
briefly while I stretch my arms and then put my hair up into a messy bun. I reach
out to grab the ashtray and pack of cigarettes that rest right outside, on the
fire escape ladder, to light one up. And he’s punctual. As soon as I blow out
the first puff of smoke, he shows up.
I can hear the
Mustang soft hum as he parks in the alley, so I take my flask and spike the
coffee with a bit of bourbon because I know he’ll appreciate it.
and gracefully climbs up the ladder with his glock in hand.
30 minutes earlier.
The 1969 Mustang
Boss 429 advances through the streets and makes a violent right, tires
screeching as it heads towards more recondite sections of the city after losing the two
SUV’s that followed closely.