distinguished-ruler

[distinguished-ruler]

Masterlist :)

These are the stories I have so far. Not many, but hopefully this helps to navigate.

June of Doom 2025:

Doctor x Gangster - June 4, June 10

Prompts:

Cookies - Private Investigator x Mafia

Shorts:

Trapped Little Bird - Hero x Villain

Unrelated Rants:

Living Past - Being "reborn"

[distinguished-ruler]

CPR: “Somebody had to do it.”

Warnings: Gang violence, stabbing, blood, threats, medical whump, kissing (non-con?).

Click here for part 1...

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The car pulled to an abrupt stop, wheels scratching as they skimmed the curb. The man had wheezed out this address to Nathan right before passing out in a pool of his own blood. He glanced at the wound on the man's side, which was slowly seeping into the brown leather of his rental car.

The man had nearly died by choking on nothing but air. The stab wound had not punctured his lungs, but had cut deep enough into the lung cavity to cause a tension pneumothorax: a buildup of pressure in the space between the man's lung and ribcage. He noted the new puncture wound higher on his ribs which Nathan had made to relieve the pressure and stabilize the man. He had effectively saved the man who, moments before, was threating his life.

The whole situation felt like a fucked up joke.

Nathan wasn't stupid. He knew that the stranger was obviously part of a gang, and wouldn't direct him to a hospital or government controlled site. But considering the fact that he was currently bleeding out in the passenger seat, Nathan expected a medical center of some sorts, even a run down one. He did a double take at the building in front of him.

It was a noodle shop. A fucking noodle shop.

Nathan saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The man stirred slightly, groggy from blood loss. As his eyes focused, Nathan could see the moment panic set in when he saw where he was. Instinctively, his hand bolted to his belt, caressing the empty space where his gun had been.

"You really think I was stupid enough to leave you the gun you had been threatening me with?" The man's eyes bolted to Nathan like a trapped animal, flittering around the vehicle and him as if analyzing the situation.

"What the fuck-ahh!" The man cringed back into the seat and winced as he tried to move, feeling the stitches in his side and chest ripping at the quick movement. Confusion flitted into his expression as he glanced at the bloody wraps. He glanced between those bandages and Nathan, doubt creeping in. "You?"

Nathan snorted. "Don't act so surprised, my feelings might get hurt."

"Wouldn't want that."

Nathan raised an eyebrow at the man. "Well you got snarky." The man glared sideways at him. "Seriously though, where the hell did you ask me to take you?"

The man sighed. "I didn't mean to tell you to go here-"

"Yeah, well here we are, so..." He unbuckled his seatbelt and gestured to the door. "Out we go?" The man stiffened.

"No," he muttered. "No, you can't go in."

Nathan snorted. "Right, well as much as I'd love to see you hobble in yourself," he pushed open his door, "I'd rather you not die on your doorstep."

The man shouted protests as Nathan got out, but he just ignored them and walked around the car. He glanced at the run down noodle shop, noting how rundown it appeared as he opened the door for the man.

"Alright, let's go." He got no response. "You know, this moment kind of calls for a 'thank you', no?" Still no response. He glanced down and froze. There was no rise and fall of the man's chest. "Sir?" He nudged the man with no response. He leaned in quickly, checking his pulse. Nothing.

"Shit!" The man was in cardiac arrest.

He dragged the man out of the car, and it seemed like he had gained 20 pounds from when he had helped him in earlier. Nathan tilted the man's head back to ensure his airways were clear, and placed fingers under the man's nose. He felt no breath against them, and found no pulse either. He needed CPR.

Nathan threw himself into chest compressions, coming down hard and fast on the man's chest. After about 30 cycles, with no improvement, he stopped and gave 2 rescue breaths. Still, nothing changed. He started another cycle, desperation and exhaustion starting to weigh hard on Nathan.

"Come on man, stay with me."

He went in for the rescue breaths. Two breaths in, the man's body racked with coughs as the heart started and lungs began to compensate. The man continued to cough violently, cringing as the pain ripped through his chest. "F-fuck," he wheezed, "that shit hurts."

Nathan scoffed. "You're welcome, asshole." He fell back against the wall, physically exhausted from lack of sleep. He had officially been active the last 20 hours. He needed rest. All he could think of was his cozy bed at home, calling to him.

The man stayed lying where he was, too exhausted and pained to move. "What the hell happened?"

Nathan sighed, resting his forehead on his hands. "You had a heart attack. It was most likely caused by the pressure in your lungs. It put strain on your heart and blood vessels and caused a slow in the blood flow back to your heart. The extended hypotension, as well as the stress of the situation, shocked your heart into cardiac arrest. I needed to perform CPR to restart-"

"You kissed me?"

- Nathan choked on his words. "W-what?! No!" His face went red as he glanced at the man in horror. "I mean, yes, but it was CPR! I was trying to save your life-" He stopped when he noticed the smirk on the man's face, and the pained chuckles that he was letting out. "Seriously? You're fucking with me at a time like this?"

"Force of habit." The man noted the red tinge of Nathan's ears, smiling to himself. "Oh c'mon, don't be embarrassed. Someone had to do it. And, to be honest," he winked at Nathan, eyes twinkling mischievously, "I'm glad it was you."

That was the second Nathan prayed to be swallowed alive by a sinkhole.

@juneofdoom June 10 done!

[distinguished-ruler]

Prompt; "Cookies? You're bribing me with cookies? I mean, they're good, but not THAT good." "No, we're bribing you with the antidote. You have three days until the poison kills you. Think about it."

Warnings: Threats, Blackmail, Poisoning, History of Murder, Mention of Past Murder.

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1256 Rothsburn Place.

[Name] re-read the note, glancing up at the street sign to make sure he was at the right place. The note had told them to be at the park by 12 noon, a foreboding message tagged on that [Name] was beginning to doubt after waiting nearly thirty minutes alone.

A police car rolled past, window down for the police to view the large crowd. They munched contently on their lunch meal, missing [Name] as he subtly turned his back towards the patrol car. It wasn't like [Name] was in any danger of being recognized, keeping their hood low over their sunglasses. Yet he had made it a rule to be more safe than sorry when it came to his work.

A jingle sounded from his pocket, startling him from his thoughts. He slipped the flip-phone into his hand, scanning the unknown number. Get in the black SUV.

"What the fuck-" [Name] scanned the area and, sure enough, found a loitering black SUV on the edge of the park, engine running with blacked out windows. Uncertainty filled his gut as he made his way to the vehicle. The driver got out and opened the door for him without saying a word. [Name] shoved his doubt down into his gut, eyes scanning the area before ducking into the vehicle.

There were two men seating inside. One had a plain black-tie suit with black tinted glasses, an odd choice to wear in a blacked out car. The other man wore a obviously expensive grey suit, probably more than [Name] could ever imagine. He had an air of authority as he casually sipped bourbon from a glass, not bothering to look up from the document he was reading.

"It's a pleasure to meet you [Name]." The tailored man had a deep voice. [Name] didn't know how to reply, because in honesty he still had no clue who the man in front of him was. The man looked up, cheery eyes behind wide rimmed spectacles. "You come highly recommended in your industry."

"Oh?" [Name] managed to get out in a calm voice. "Thank you-"

"Are you hungry?" A plate of treats were shoved into his lap before he could form a reply. "Help yourself."

[Name] sputtered at the sudden offer. "No offence sir," he began, pushing the plate away. "But I don't get paid to eat."

The man chuckled. "Of course not," he declared, "but I can't have my employees starving. Please. Consider it a gesture of good will."

[Name] stiffened. He understood the intonation from many prior experiences in this industry. All spoken by powerful men who were only matched in their dangerous nature. It was a thinly veiled warning--a declaration that this was a test, and passing it was absolutely necessary if he wanted to live through the encounter.

He forced a thin smile onto his face and nodded slightly, picking up a chocolate chip cookie from the assortment of treats. The atmosphere in the van relaxed profusely as he took a bite of the baked good.

"Well then," the man began with a small smile, "down to business I suppose." He handed the document he was reading moments ago to [Name], who absently placed the cookie aside on the door arm. A picture of a man was on the front page, and [Name] recognized him recently as the main persecutor of a popular case in the state.

[Name] had worked many cases like this. Digging up dirt on someone in the way of something important, helping tie up loose ends of those willing to pay enough.

He finished scanning the file information, noting the fact that he had no spouse or children that could get caught in the crossfire. He closed the folder and looked up at the man, who still held a knowing smirk on his face.

"How much is the commission?" The aristocrat glanced at the other man, nodding subtly. In the next second, a briefcase was dropped into [Name]'s lap. It was heavy.

"100 grand."

[Name] choked on his breath. 100 grand?! That was enough to last him the whole year, comfortably. "100 grand for information?"

The man chuckled. "Oh no," his voice had taken on a darker tone. "That would only be part of it."

The words hung in the air, and [Name] glanced between the two men accompanying him. He quirked an eyebrow, completely perplexed by what else he could be hired to do. He was a known PI with a special talent of finding impossible information on anyone, but that was the most of his limited skill set.

"I want you to kill him."

[Name] blinked. Once. Twice. "What the hell did you just say."

It wasn't a question. Everyone had heard it. The man smiled. "For 100 grand? It seems reasonable to me-"

"No!" [Name] frantically shook his head. "No no no. No, sorry, I don't do that-that sort of thing."

The man chuckled. "Well we both know that just isn't true, don't we." [Name] froze. They couldn't know. Those records were sealed, back from when he was a child. "Who was it? Your step-dad, right? I wonder what your employers would say if they heard-"

[Name] slammed his hand down on the armrest, gritting his teeth while glaring daggers at the man. "If you say a word-"

"Relax." The man made a placating gesture with his hands. "I couldn't use those records even if I wanted to, since - well," he emphasized, eyes seeming to stare straight through [Name]. "since you killed him when you were only 12. So, technically, they don't really exist."

[Name]'s nostrils flared at the man in front of him, though his anger was only a mask to hide the overwhelming fear that had frozen him in place. "I said no, and I meant it."

"Are you sure," the man replied, nudging the plate of treats closer. [Name] huffed in exhaustion.

"Cookies?" [Name] was incredulous. "You're bribing me with cookies? I mean, they're good, but not THAT good."

Both of the other men chuckled, and it sent a chill down [Name]'s spine. "No, we're bribing you with the antidote." [Name] froze in complete shock. "You have three days until the poison kills you." He gave [Name] a wink. "Think about it."

[distinguished-ruler]

Trapped Little Bird

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Torture, Whump, Non-Con Bondage, electrocution. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Hero]'s head hadn't even hit the concrete before the electricity crackled through his body. He was thrown back by the blast, feeling airborne for a second before his back connected with a dumpster. The dumpster wall dented in with the force, wind knocked clean from [Hero]’s lungs. He sucked in air through his teeth, rolling onto his side and coughing out a red substance. Blood. [Villain] wasn't letting up, and [Hero] was losing ground fast.

In all honesty, [Hero] wasn’t that surprised with his current predicament. He had spent the past few nights cramming for his final exams, and consequently pulled an all-nighter the previous night. linear algebra wasn’t a strong suit of his, and being a scholarship student made his marks even more important if he wanted stay in school. It isn’t my fault university is so expensive.

"To be honest, I'm a little disappointed in your performance."

[Hero] got to his knees and rolled to avoid another blast. His vision spun and he felt the overwhelming urge to hurl, but he forced himself to focus. There was a second of silence where he searched for refuge. Another bolt of electricity jolted towards him, but in a blink he was gone.

He had not teleported more than thirty feet, popping up just beyond the wire fence in a breathless heap. Forcing himself up, he looked back to where [Villain] had been looming a second ago, yet found the location empty. There was a familiar crackling sound behind him, and he spun just in time for a bolt to collide with his chest, throwing him like a rag-doll to the floor.

Tremors racked his body. [Hero] tried to clear his mind of the violent whirlwind but the pain mixed with his exhaustion to create an impenetrable haze.

Landing with a soft thud, [Villain] approached [Hero]’s twitching form with a careless saunter. “C’mon [Hero], don’t tell me you’re burnt out already.” Another spark separated from his electric aura, colliding with [Hero]’s foot and causing the fallen hero to let out a stifled yell. “What,” Villain crouched in front of him, eyes shining with amusement. “Getting too old for this, hm?”

[Hero] kept eye contact as long as he could, feeling his traitorous body twitch from the high voltage, but being unable to do much more. The violent tremors subsided fast, but when he attempted to roll away, Villain simply sent another jolt to haze up [Hero]’s mind once again. The air began to fill with [Hero]’s strangled screams, each time becoming more desperate as his defences began to fall. He was stuck in an endless torment, not able to escape the torture through sleep or escape.

After what felt like hours to [Hero], the tremors stopped. It was sudden, almost unbearably so, and [Hero] quickly attempted to take the opportunity but found his body unwilling to respond. A groan left his lips as he attempted to right himself, but a figure suddenly loomed over him again.

[Hero]’s eyes widened as he saw [Villain]’s familiar domino mask. The fighting instincts kicked in as he swiftly knocked [Villain]’s feet out from under himself. [Hero] struggled to his feet, not wasting a second as he shuffled down the alleyway. He caught sight of a tall skyscraper in the distance, feeling a mixed sense of relief and dread. You can do this, he silently coaxed to himself. Just focus where you wanna go.

He counted the visible tiles, the solar panels, the birds resting calmly in the sunset. A large opening was clearly visible, and [Hero] felt his senses relaxing into rhythm with the air. He felt his own molecules begin to vibrate, enough to get a good distance on this next teleportation.

Suddenly the world tilted on its side as something rammed into his back. He was pulled to the ground, chin smacking off of the hard pavement with a sickening crack that tore through his lower neck with a hot pain. The object lay heavy on his back, making it difficult to move, when suddenly it began to move itself. [Hero] realised it was [Villain] who had tackled him.

With a new urgency, [Hero] glanced to the end of the alley, willing his molecules to move, but [Villain] had other plans. [Hero]’s sight was gone in an instant, replaced with a hazy black from the blindfold. He reached up to grab at it, but found his arms pinned beneath [Villain]’s knees. [Villain] quickly finished the knot just as [Hero] started to thrash. It took some effort, but [Villain] managed to stay in control.

“If you had tried that jump, you'd be dead.” The villain’s words were uncharacteristically caring, until he added with a chuckle; “And I can’t have my fountain of information dying on me just yet.”

[Villain] shifted to put pressure on [Hero]’s legs, using his own knees to hold them still. He grabbed onto his wrists, dodging a punch. He was so focused on the hands that he missed the elbow coming for his stomach. It wasn’t a hard throw, and [Villain] assumed it was due to [Hero]’s tired state, yet it still caused him to hiss through his teeth. He adjusted both of [Hero]’s hands into one of his own, reaching down into [Hero]’s pocket.

“What the hell are you doing!” [Hero] squirmed, causing [Villain] to chuckle.

“Does close proximity make you uncomfortable [Hero]?” [Villain] spent extra time rummaging through the pocket, smirking at [Hero]’s panicked state.

[Hero] desperately tried to pull his hand’s out of [Villain]’s grip, feeling his heart racing. “Get the hell off of me you-” He tugged again with a groan, hating every second he spent without sight. [Villain] suddenly pulled his hand out of the pocket, accompanied by a jangling sound.

[Hero] froze for a second with a gulp, before doubling his efforts. “You fucking coward! Take off the motherfucking blindfold you fucker-” A hand smacked the back of [Hero]’s head, causing his nose to bounce off the floor. He could feel the blood pour out of it, not broken but definitely bruised, as tears involuntarily sprang to his eyes. He still tried to pull away as the cold handcuff metal connected with his wrists, which surprised [Villain] slightly.

With his hands secured, [Villain] leaned back to admire his handy work. “Now would you look at that,” he sang in a mock disappointed voice. “If you take away the bird's sight, you take away the bird's flight.” He chuckled as [Hero] growled and tugged again at his useless hands. [Villain] patted his head, getting off of him altogether.

He took a step away and watched [Hero] struggle to stand. Rivulets of blood seeped from both nostrils and mixed with the red liquid coming from his mouth. [Villain] felt a seed of shame seeing the pain he was in, but quickly squashed the thought. He signed up for this the moment he chose this life. He wasn’t interested in killing [Hero] right then, he needed the information on Hero HQ before he could get to that. But who said anything about not having a little fun first?

With that thought, and after a moment of watching the hero struggle, [Villain] decided to end the show. “Ah-fuck,” [Hero] exclaimed as [Villain] again leaned on the small of his back, forcing the hero to the floor. [Villain] tsked at [Hero] like he was a child as the hero rolled onto his back.

"Now, now, [Hero],” he sat on his stomach, securely out of the reach of [Hero]’s flailing feet. “Don’t start acting up. I’d much prefer to keep my trophies as undamaged as possible.” [Villain] traced a finger along his jaw, causing him to flinch back in shock. He recovered quickly and pulled his face away with a growl.

"You're a bloody idiot if you think a blindfold can stop me-" he cut off with a sharp intake of breath as he heard another jangle of something. There was an electric hum accompanying it, which was unnerving in and of itself. "What are you doing?"

The villain only chuckled in response, clearly hearing the poorly hidden fear in the hero's voice. [Hero] tried to yank his arm away as the Villain suddenly pinned it down, but [Villain] was too strong. He snapped a metal bracelet around [Hero]'s elbow, turning the device on and causing it to glow a faint red then blue.

[Hero] felt the effects immediately, the energy being sapped from his body like a leech. It felt difficult to draw breath in, and a painful gap was left in his gut which would usually flow with unused power. He didn't have enough energy to fight back when [Villain] grabbed his face again, flinching at the pain which swelled in his neck. With his mind a haze, he only managed a weak groan when [Villain] injected something into him with a needle.

“Shh, quiet little bird.” [Hero] shivered at the name, trying to twist his head away from the hand but feeling the grip tighten at the same time. He was slightly relieved that [Villain] wasn’t able to see the terror that was undoubtedly showing in his eyes at that moment. The fear dulled slowly in the few moments when the sedative took effect. His movements slowed until they were sloppy and forced. “Sleep well kid.”

[Hero] fell asleep to those terrifying words.

[distinguished-ruler]

Denial: "It's really not that big of a deal"

Warnings: Gang violence, stabbing, blood. I think that's it.

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It was raining. Again.

Nathan pulled the edge of his hood tighter to his face as he walked against the wind, feeling the cold bite of each rain drop that managed to slip past the decrepit umbrella. Walking back from the hospital in that weather made the twenty-minute trip feel exponentially longer.

He had just come off an 18 hour shift in the ER, suturing stab wounds and stabilizing car crash injuries. The sound of ambulance sirens, crying children, and shouting masses rang hollow in his brain.

All this to say; he felt wrecked.

Tomorrow was his day off. He couldn't wait to collapse into his soft bed, sleep 20 hours, and binge Battlestar Galactica, only emerging from his hermit hole to buy food. He trudged forward, his soaked sneakers squelching with every step, each one a reminder of his life choices. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he vaguely questioned if this counted as cardio. Probably not.

He ducked into his usual shortcut, a narrow lane sandwiched between shuttered restaurants and boarded-up bodegas. It shaved five whole minutes off the walk, which meant five more minutes of not being rained on. A no-brainer.

Except tonight, something felt... off.

The alley was too quiet. No rustling rats, no humming neon signs, not even the smell of burnt oil from Mrs. Chen’s dumpling place. A stereotypical sketchy neighborhood that somehow seemed more virulent than usual. Just as he cursed himself for not calling an Uber, two sharp cracks split the air.

Gunshots.

He dropped like a bag of bricks, heart slamming in his ears. His body moved before his brain—classic trauma reflex: duck and sprint. As more gunshots sounded from ahead, he ducked behind a dumpster and sprinted the opposite way, heart thudding, feet splashing.

And that’s when he collided with something solid. Human. Unfriendly.

A gloved hand grabbed his jacket and shoved him back against the wall. Hard. The cold press of a gun barrel met his temple, causing him to stiffen.

"You think you can outrun me, asshole?" the voice growled.

Nathan blinked. Rain ran into his eyes, making the guy’s face a blur of shadows. Still, the gun pressing into his temple was hard to misinterpret. His brain was buffering, still trying to piece together what was happening and how the hell he had ended up in this position.

"I was just trying to get away from the gunfire," Nathan said, forcing his hands up, "same as anyone with a pulse."

The stranger didn’t move. Didn't respond in any way. Just stared through Nathan, as if trying to find where he fit in this dangerous puzzle.

"You part of them?" the man snapped. His voice was hoarse, almost strained. Like each word cost him something.

Nathan sputtered for a second. "Part of—what? I'm not part of anything."

The guy’s grip tightened on Nathan’s jacket. His other hand shook slightly as he pressed the gun harder. Up close now, Nathan could make out more—dark clothes, wet hair plastered to a hard jawline, and just beneath his ribs—

Blood.

It was subtle in the dim alley light, but unmistakable: a dark, blooming patch of it, just left of center. Nathan’s medic brain clicked on despite his fight-or-flight system still screaming.

"You’re bleeding," he said, tone shifting slightly. The guy tightened his grip on Nathan, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Nathan raised his hands in a placating gesture. "That’s not a good spot for a wound. Upper left? We're talking about your lungs and maybe even your heart, which are pretty important if you want to, you know, live."

The man scoffed at that. "It’s nothing."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, great. The 'it’s nothing' wound. They’re my favorite. Super low maintenance, right until the dying starts."

Another flicker—of pain? Weakness? The guy shifted unsteadily, like standing was becoming a group project. "I don't need your help."

Nathan knew how precarious the situation was. The man had blood on his hands, literally, and Nathan had a feeling it belonged to someone else who was no longer alive. He had to be careful not to antagonize the man. And yet, as he opened his mouth to speak, the anxiety took over and what came out was anything but careful.

"Cool, ‘cause I didn't offer." I'm a fucking idiot.

Despite whatever pain the man felt, it did not show in his next actions. In a flash, the man had shifted the gun under Nathan's chin, tilting it up at an uncomfortable angle. "You should worry more about yourself," he muttered as he leaned in close. Nathan's chest tightened in...fear? Resignation? He didn't know.

Thank you loudmouth. Now I'm gonna die in a fucking alleyway behind a shit-stained dumpster.

And then the man crumpled. Not theatrically, just... collapsed, like the power got yanked from his core.

Nathan stared at him. Frozen. The sudden change of events causing his brain to buffer silently. He carefully nudged the man with his toe, noticing the labored and shallow breaths the man seemed to be taking. The stab wound had most likely nicked his lungs.

It dawned on Nathan that he should take the opportunity and run. Any reasonable person would have done that. Instead, like an idiot, his doctor conscience decided to rear its ugly head as he leaned over to roll the man on his back.

"Goddamn it."

His instincts shoved all sarcasm aside. Kneeling beside the stranger, he assessed quickly—shallow breathing, pale skin, weak pulse. He unzipped the man’s jacket with practiced hands, revealing the stab wound more clearly now. Just under the left rib, deep enough to concern him.

He muttered, mostly to himself, as he unzipped his own hoodie pocket for the compact trauma kit he always kept on him.

"'Not a big deal', he says. Lung’s probably saying otherwise."

I fucking hate the rain.

@juneofdoom, hope y'all like it!

Click here for part 2...